#SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE SECOND HALF OF TODAY

[wovenstarlight]

next time i have to go to the hospital at 9 in the fucking morning i'm just going to stay home and be sick i swear to god

[flowersforbucky]

all's well that ends well to end up with you

bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together.

word count: 3.8k

warnings/tags: SMUT, 18+ only mdni, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, nipple play, reader is afab, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader is described as being shorter than bucky, fluffy as hell, sweet domesticity

wrote this for my bb @embbarnes 💕 happy (very early) valentine's day, everyone!

Of all the ways you had been hoping to spend the last few hours of Valentine’s Day, over 30,000 feet in the air next to a snoring man who has never heard of deodorant was at the bottom of your list.

You should have seen it coming from the moment that your two day mission was extended to a three day mission, but you naively held out hope that you’d be able to make it back home in time to salvage the second half of the day.

Getting back early enough to keep the seven o’clock dinner reservations that you’d made for a new, upscale steakhouse in Brooklyn would have been possible if a last minute thunderstorm hadn’t delayed your flight back to New York.

Now it’s already half past seven, and you’ll be lucky if you make it back home before midnight.

Truthfully, you don’t care about the dinner reservations. Sure, you’d heard great things about the food and you had been excited to go, but you could easily reschedule the reservations for another time. The only thing that you were truly bummed about was not getting to spend the day with Bucky.

Today is your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, and instead of spending it with him, you’re spending it on a commercial flight with dozens of strangers. You can’t help but wonder how many of them are missing their significant other, too.

If you’d had it your way, you would have woken up to his face this morning. The two of you would have slept in as late as you desired, and had a slow, lazy morning before cooking him brunch. Waffles, sausage and bacon, scrambled eggs with extra cheese and hot sauce – all of his favorites. You would have taken a stroll through the park before stopping at the bakery that you frequent for doughnuts and coffee, and maybe visited the botanical gardens before your dinner reservations this evening.

Bucky had assured you that it wasn’t a big deal and that the two of you would make up for it when you were back home. He patiently reminded you that life doesn’t take holidays and special occasions into consideration when dishing out things such as extended work trips and inclement weather conditions.

Valentine’s Day aside, you simply miss him. You’ve been missing him since the moment you left for Nebraska, and you’re more than ready to be back in his arms. This is not the first time you’ve been apart due to work related trips, but this is by far the longest – a whopping seven days.

You miss the way he wants to keep at least one hand on you throughout the night, the way he talks to Alpine as if she will actually respond, and the way that he hums without even noticing that he’s doing it. All of the seemingly little things that you don’t think much of on a day to day basis, but when you’re apart, make you miss him all the more.

By the time your flight lands in New York and you catch an Uber back to your apartment, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Bucky, of course, had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you had insisted that you were okay with getting an Uber, not wanting him to get out so late at night in the heavy rain.

Plus, if he had picked you up, it would have ruined your plan to surprise him by stopping by his favorite pizza parlor down the block from your apartment on your way home. Sal’s Pizzeria is always open until midnight, and every year they run specials the entire week of Valentine’s Day on heart-shaped pizzas.

Knowing Bucky, he’s likely been living off of instant Ramen since you left for your trip, so you figure he’ll be ecstatic over a late night pizza. Not to mention, you’re famished yourself – all you’ve eaten since lunch being the pack of Biscoff cookies you’d been given on the plane.

Lugging your suitcase, a backpack, and the large pizza box, you fumble with your keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

At first, you assume that Bucky is already asleep. But as you walk down the short hallway, you realize there’s soft music playing from somewhere in the apartment. You don't think much of it, since you know that Bucky prefers playing music as opposed to the television for background noise.

It’s almost completely dark, minus low orange lighting that trickles into the hallway from the kitchen.

“I’m home, baby,” you call softly as you approach the kitchen’s entryway. “I know it’s late, but I brought you some pizza, if you're hun—”

You stop dead in your tracks when you step into the kitchen. Dozens of tea light candles illuminate the room, placed strategically on the island in the middle of the room. And on the countertops, and the shelves – basically any flat surface twinkles with the delicate flames.

You stand frozen as a statue with your mouth agape as you take in the scene before you. In addition to the candles, there’s a spread of food across the island. Plates of delicious smelling pasta, small bowls of soup and glasses of red wine. Tied to the backs of the barstools are red and pink heart-shaped balloons.

It looks straight out of a romance movie.

“Pizza pairs well with pasta, I think,” Bucky's voice breaks you out of your trance. “Can never have too many carbs.”

Your gaze snaps over to where he emerges from the den. He wears a bashful smile, and even in the low glow of the candlelight, you can see the faint hint of blush blooming across the apples of his cheeks. He has his hands behind his back, as if trying to conceal something from you.

“You did all of this?” You ask lamely. Your voice is barely a whisper and contains a noticeable quiver. “For me?”

You can’t wrap your brain around it. No one has ever done anything quite like this for you. All of your ex boyfriends always shrugged off Valentine’s Day, leaving you feeling lucky if you got so much as a card. You’d long ago learned not to expect much of anything. Definitely not anything as intimate and thoughtful as this.

“Of course for you,” he murmurs with a low chuckle. He saunters over to where you’re still standing with the pizza box clutched in your hands, and pulls what appears to be a bouquet of flowers in a large mason jar out from behind his back.

“Who else would it be for? Alpine?” He teases, extending the jar to you. You plop the box onto the counter so that your hands are free to accept the flowers.

Upon closer inspection, you realize the bouquet of flowers are not real flowers.

Well, yes and no – they’re wildflowers, made of out Legos. You can’t help but giggle, remembering how you had mentioned how cute you think the Lego set is when you saw it while buying some groceries at Target a few weeks ago. You giggle even harder when you picture Bucky assembling all of the tiny pieces of the bouquet with his large, vibranium fingers.

Your eyes begin to well with tears that threaten to spill over. You quickly blink them back, not wanting to show just how emotional the ornate, colorful arrangement of plastic flowers is making you.

Not just the bouquet – all of it. The food and the wine, the balloons, the candles, the forties music playing lowly from the record player in the living room – the sheer amount of time and attention that he put into creating such a romantic display, and all from the comfort of your home.

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, wiping away a stray tear with sleeve of your sweater. You place the mason jar of the plastic flowers in the midst of the spread of food in front of you, making the scene complete.

“It’s all perfect.” He opens his arms to you, and you happily melt into his embrace. He smells of his familiar earthy cologne, and you can’t help but inhale deeply, relishing in the comfort of his scent and warmth.

Even if you’d come home to him passed out in bed, you would’ve been ecstatic to just crawl under the covers beside him. All of this is more than you ever would have hoped for.

“All I got you is a lousy heart-shaped meat lovers pizza,” you sniffle against his t-shirt and you feel his chest vibrate with laughter. You know that you have the reasonable excuse of being on an assignment in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska for the last week, but you still feel bad.

“Hey,” he murmurs, using his index finger to tilt your face to look up at him. He grins down at you for a moment before tenderly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him right away, having missed the feeling of his lips on yours in the week that you’ve been apart.

His hands travel to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands cradle his face, your thumbs caressing the light dusting of stubble that adorns his cheeks. You can already feel the outline of an erection forming through the thin material of his pajama pants when he pulls away, much to your disappointment.

“I love meat lovers pizza,” he assures you with a smirk. “And I love you. The best present you could give me is coming home to me.”

“Still. I’m going to make it up to you,” you promise with a feather light kiss to his lips. “I promise. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to—”

You’re cut off by a low rumbling noise that sounds from between your bodies – a reminder that you haven’t eaten a substantial meal in twelve hours now. You glance over to the plates of food on the island beside you, inhaling the delicious aroma of the dishes.

“I made an educated guess that you’d be hungry,” Bucky chuckles. He reluctantly drops his hold on your waist and moves to pull the barstool out for you. You hop up, taking your seat in front of a heaping plate of pasta and a bowl of French onion soup. Your stomach growls again at the sight.

“Did you make all of this?” You ask, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. It’s not that Bucky is a bad cook – he has a few go-to meals that are always excellent, but he normally doesn’t stray too far out of his comfort zone.

“I did not,” he admits with a sigh. He takes a seat directly across from you. “I ordered takeout from the bistro down the street before they closed earlier. Heated it all back up when you texted me that you were almost home.”

“Well, it’s fucking delicious,” you mumble through a mouthful of the creamy pasta.

You eat together in the glow of the candlelight, with soft music playing in the background and heavy rain beating down against the windows of your apartment. You talk about everything from the details of your mission to what he did while you were away. The food is delicious, the wine he picked out pairs perfectly, it’s cozy and peaceful and romantic – and you realize that you’re enjoying this so much more than you ever would have enjoyed an upscale steakhouse in downtown Brooklyn.

You both end up being too full of pasta and soup to eat any of the pizza that you’d brought home, but you’re happy that you’ve got a whole pizza to look forward to having for lunch tomorrow.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him after swallowing the last sip of your wine. “For all of this. It was more than I could’ve hoped for today.”

He reaches across the counter, grabbing your hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. “Of course,” he murmurs against your skin, eliciting goosebumps down your arm. “As much as I wish we could’ve spent the day together, I still wanted to make the last hour of it as special as possible.”

He stands, releasing your hand as he begins to collect the empty plates and glasses. “You go on and get ready for bed, yeah? I’ll clean up in here.”

“Nonsense. It's almost midnight. These dishes can wait until the morning. Just stick them in the sink and come shower with me.”

You don’t even care if the whole apartment still smells of garlic and French onion soup in the morning – you’ve been showering and sleeping without him for the last week, and it’s still technically Valentine’s Day, so you’ll allow the dirty dishes to sit for the next eight hours.

To your pleasant surprise, he needs no further convincing. He piles the dirty dishes into the kitchen sink and puts the uneaten pizza in the fridge while you get the shower water up to temperature. By the time his pajamas fall to the bathroom floor, you’re already standing under the hot stream of water.

He opens the shower door, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as soon as his eyes trail up and down your body. The way he looks at you never fails to make you feel like he’s seeing you naked for the very first time, every time.

His hands immediately come to rest on your hips, easing you back against the cool tiling of the shower wall. “God, I missed you,” he sighs as he massages his fingers into the meat of your hips. The contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold vibranium hand on your waist has you arching into his touch.

“I can tell,” you giggle, pulling his face down to yours by the back of his neck. His mouth slates over yours, his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip. You part your lips for him right away, more than ready to feel and taste him after all of your time away.

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, inserting one of his large thighs in-between your own. You sink your bare pussy onto the expanse of his muscular thigh, dragging your center across him for friction. He kisses you until you’re breathless, and only pulls away to instead latch his mouth over one of your nipples. He rolls it between his lips and tongue, using his hold on your waist to help move you up and down his thigh. He alternates between each nipple, kissing and sucking on each until they’re pert and pebbled.

His erection gains your attention as it juts against your belly. You reach between your bodies, taking his length in your hand and stroking him with ease, the water from the shower making his skin slick.

You whimper above him, desperate for some release. He laughs, peppering kisses across your breasts and up your neck. You feel him smiling into the column of your throat.

“I think you missed me, too,” he murmurs against your pulse point.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice etched with impatience. “Why don’t we hurry and get out this shower so I can show you just how much I missed you?”

He presses a final kiss to the side of your neck before pulling away and smirking down at you. He reaches over to one of the shelves in the shower, grabbing a loofah and your bottle of body wash.

“I’ll have you know that I showered before you got home,” he says as he squirts a dollop of the gel onto the sponge. “I’m just here for your entertainment – and your convenience, of course. Now turn around.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the shower wall. You brace yourself against the tiles with your forearms, relaxing as he begins to massage the soap across the tops of your shoulders and down your back.

He takes his time, lazily rubbing the skin of the backs of your thighs before reaching around and doing the same to your stomach and chest. As good as it feels, all you can focus on is the head of his cock nudging against the curve of your ass.

“Bucky.”

The word comes out somewhere between a moan and a warning – a warning that if he doesn’t finish lathering your body in the next two seconds so you can rinse the fuck off, you’re going to take matters into your own hands.

“What is it, baby?” he asks innocently, stepping forward ever so slightly so that his cock inches between the space where your thighs meet your ass.

You turn back to face him, grabbing the loofah out of his hand and tossing it to the opposite end of the shower. The stream of water that beats down against your bodies washes the suds down the drain.

“You’re really going to tease me like that? On Valentine’s Day, of all days?”

“Pretty sure it’s after midnight now,” he quips with a smirk.

You turn so that you’re out of the direct line of the water, and lower yourself to the shower floor. His cock bobs inches in front of your face. You grasp him in your hand, languidly stroking his length as you stare up at him.

“Then I guess you’re lucky that I missed you so much.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it shut with a sharp intake of breath when you wrap your lips around his tip. You swirl your tongue around him, lapping up the beads of pearlescent white that had gathered around his slit. You begin to bob your head, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

Above you, he throws his head back and hisses at the sensation. His metal hand cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements. You gag at the overwhelming fullness, pulling away from him for air. You ease him back into your mouth, setting a steady pace. He rocks his hips forward, meeting your movements with his own.

In one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging the sack. With your free hand, you attempt to relieve the growing ache between your own thighs by rubbing quick circles over your clit. The thrusts of his hips start to grow erratic, and you feel him twitch against your tongue when he suddenly pulls away from you.

“Not gonna cum in your mouth,” he answers when he looks down to see your questioning stare. “Not tonight. Missed you too much.”

He pulls you up by the tops of your arms and eases you back against the shower wall once more. He then takes your place on the floor, kneeling in front of you. He trails kisses along the wet skin of your thighs as he hooks one over his shoulder. He wastes no more time, diving into your pussy. His tongue swirls over your clit as he brings one long, metal finger to tease your hole. He nudges it inside as his lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your folds.

Your body goes relaxed, your back sliding down the wet tiling of the shower wall. Bucky helps support you from down below as he sinks his vibranium digit deeper inside you.

The coil in your lower belly tightens quickly, pent up from a whole week without his touch. He can always tell when you’re close by the little noises that you make and the way that you tug on the short brown locks of his hair with your fingers.

He groans as he licks a thick strip up your slit, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm washes over you, your cunt clenching around his thick vibranium finger as he sucks your clit until you go still above him.

It's then that it hits you that the water from the shower has started to run cold.

“Come on,” Bucky says, rising as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns the faucet off and grabs the two towels that hang over the glass wall of the shower, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. “Let's get out of here. I’ve got one more gift to give you before we continue this.”

“Another gift? You’ve already done so much. I didn’t even get—”

He gently shushes you with a sly grin, exiting the shower before you can protest any further. You pat your skin dry before securing the towel around your chest and then follow him into your shared bedroom.

Alpine is snoring softly at the foot of your king sized bed, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re even home. Everything is exactly as you left it, from the stack of half finished books on your nightstand to the orange Himalayan salt rock lamp that hasn’t been turned off a single time since the two of you moved into the apartment together. The comfort and familiarity of everything makes you feel all the more grateful to be back home.

You grab a bottle of lotion off of your bedside table and begin lathering it onto the skin of your legs as you watch Bucky rummage through the drawer of his own nightstand. After a moment, he pulls out a small, dark red colored box.

“Catch!” He warns before gently tossing it across the bed to you. You catch it, a smile blooming across your face as you sooth your thumb over the velvet material encasing the small box. He walks over to your side of the bed to stand beside you.

You raise the lid to box, revealing a dainty gold chain with a capital letter B dangling in the center.

You think it’s perfect. It’s isn’t overly ostentatious – it’s the perfect size, and so very you.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“I love it,” you assure him, overwhelmed by how sweet and thoughtful he is. “Help me put it on?”

You don’t care that it’s the middle of the night, you want it on you right now.

Bucky takes the box from you, carefully removing the necklace. You turn away from him, letting him drape the delicate chain around your neck. The charm lands just below your clavicle.

“There,” he murmurs as he clasps the chain together. You turn back to face him, letting him see his initial displayed across your chest. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper as you raise up on your feet to press your lips to his. The light flavor of your slick lingers on his lips, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your gut. “So much.”

“Of course,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Now lay down. Wanna see how it looks on ya without the towel.”

••••••

thanks so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[nylqnder]

BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION MATT REMPE

pairing: fem!reader x matt rempe

summary: matt makes sure to go all out for your birthday, hoping to make it one to remember.

warnings: sweet sweet fluff, reader not liking her birthday, brief crying (but out of happiness!)

wc: 1.4k

notes: fun little birthday celebration with matt :)

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, and before you’re fully awake, you feel the gentle brush of lips against your cheek, the warmth of a breath close to your skin. Blinking your eyes open, you see Matt’s face hovering inches away, his expression tender as he places soft, sleepy kisses along your forehead, down to the tip of your nose. “Happy birthday, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.

Still half-asleep, you reach for him, pulling him closer, savoring the warmth of his embrace and the scent of him — a mix of his cologne and vanilla. You’re not entirely sure why he smells like a cupcake, but your sleepy brain doesn’t think about it much. The last thing you want to do is leave this cocoon, this perfect moment wrapped in Matt's arms. A contented sigh escapes your lips as you press your face into his shoulder, barely able to articulate anything beyond a soft, murmured, “Can't we just stay like this all day?”

You’ve never been one to celebrate your birthday with much fanfare. The thought of a day centered entirely around you has always felt a bit uncomfortable, and you’d rather let it quietly slip by with minimal fuss.

Matt chuckles softly, tightening his hold as if he, too, wants to savor every second of this peaceful morning. “That’s exactly why I planned something low-key, just the two of us,” he whispers, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. You can’t help but feel your heart warm at his thoughtfulness. He knows you so well — how the attention of a big celebration has always made you feel slightly on edge, how you’d rather not be the center of it all.

As he pulls you a little closer, he murmurs, “I know you don’t like all the fuss… but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make today special for you.”

He presses a couple of kisses along your jawline, hands holding your frame tightly to his. Suddenly he pulls back as you let out a disappointed groan. “As much as I’d love to stay here all day… I actually planned something for you.” he says, his voice carrying the faintest trace of excitement, “And I put a lot of effort into it so you’re going to have to get up and at least see it once.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you out of bed, the world outside seeming less enticing than the warmth you were leaving behind. He wraps an arm around your shoulders as you shuffle down the hallway, staying snug in Matt’s hoodie you slept in last night. When you reach the living room, your breath catches.

The room is transformed. Streamers drape from every corner, a riot of colors filling the space, and a little banner in your favorite colors stretches across one wall, proudly proclaiming, Happy 22nd Birthday! Balloons in every shade are placed around the space, while small decorations and a few scattered confetti glitters on the coffee table. For a moment, you’re speechless, turning slowly to take it all in.

“Did you seriously do all of this?” you manage, looking at Matt, feeling almost shy.

“Of course I did,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of pride and a soft, almost vulnerable joy that takes your breath away. “Oh, you have to come see the best surprise.”

You follow him to the kitchen which is where you see a cake sitting on the counter. It’s a beautiful mess: the frosting uneven but clearly, painstakingly applied, a little lopsided, and decorated with a generous helping of sparkling sprinkles. He must have worked on it for hours, trying his best, determined to make it perfect just for you. The sight of it, so personal, so filled with love, tugs something deep within you.

The gratitude, the overwhelming sweetness of it all, builds so suddenly that you feel your eyes start to prick with tears. You try to blink them away, but it’s too late; Matt notices. His face changes, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, hands finding your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did I…did I do something wrong?” There’s a thread of worry in his voice as he reaches up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing away the single tear that’s escaped down your cheek.

You shake your head, a tremulous laugh bubbling up. “No, no… it’s just… no one's ever done anything like this for me before.” You gesture around the room, the carefully decorated chaos, the little details so clearly made with you in mind. “All of this… it just means so much.”

Relief floods his features, and he pulls you into a warm, solid embrace. His hands press firmly into your back as if anchoring you to him. “Well, it's your birthday, and it only comes once a year," he says, his voice soft but steady, almost as if he’s saying it to himself. “So, of course I’m going all out. You deserve every second of it.”

You sink into his embrace, feeling the truth of his words settle around you like a warm blanket. The tears fall a little harder because of that — the sheer simplicity of being seen, of being loved without conditions.

You pull back, a smile breaking through the tears as you look up at him. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of emotion. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek, then another just shy of his lips. It’s a little kiss, but it carries all the gratitude, affection, and quiet awe you feel for him in this moment.

His eyes meet yours, his cheeks tinted a little pink as he grins back, clearly touched. “You’re so worth it,” he says quietly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before nodding toward the cake. “Now, let’s eat some of this masterpiece, yeah? And then — you still have to open your present!”

You both settle at the kitchen counter, laughter filling the room as you cut into the cake, teasing Matt about the abundance of sprinkles. You take a bite, tasting the slightly sweet, perfectly imperfect frosting. It’s delicious, mostly because you know he made it himself. “Matt, this is incredible, thank you.”

As you savor another bite of cake, Matt fidgets slightly, his eyes glimmering with eager excitement. He clears his throat, before reaching into his pocket. “Okay,” he says, looking almost bashful, “now for the real present.”

Matt pulls a small, velvet box from his pocket and places it on the counter between you two. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look at him with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “Matt…” you start, but he cuts you off gently.

“Just open it,” he says, his voice soft.

You pick up the box, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you lift the lid. Inside, nestled in the soft fabric, is a gold charm bracelet with a single small charm dangling from it — a tiny, intricately detailed ice cream cone. You gasp softly, instantly remembering your very first date with Matt when you got ice cream, talking for hours until the diner had to kick you out.

“It reminded me of our first date,” he says, watching your reaction closely, “and every time you look at it, I want you to think about all the other firsts we’re going to have together.” He gives a soft smile. “And, I thought… maybe over time, you could add more charms. Little things that remind you of us — of things we’ve done together, memories we’ve made.”

His words settle over you, filling your heart in a way that’s almost overwhelming. Each little charm to come would be a reminder of this — of him, of this journey you were both on together.

You look up at him, feeling your voice catch slightly. “Matt, this is… it’s perfect. I love it,” you say, reaching for his hand. “Every time I look at this, I’ll think of you. Of us.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he gently fastens the bracelet around your wrist. “Good,” he says quietly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “That was the idea.”

You lean back, the weight of the bracelet on your wrist a reminder of everything Matt has done to make this day special for you, to help you enjoy your birthday again. As you look up at him, your heart swelling with emotion, you can’t help but smile.

You press another soft kiss to his lips. “I think this might just be my best birthday yet.”

[paarksunghoon]

hello omg i love love LOVE deep honey, which is rare cus i usually do not touch fluff at all but smth abt the way u wrote got to me. i was wondering that in case u wanted an idea, u could write abt sunghoon rushing over to take care of his sick girlfriend? :3 just a thought or any headcannons u have on that would do fine but if u wanna turn it into a drabble or fic that's good too, especially if it's a continuation of deep honey

anyways, that is all from me, have a good day!!!

thank you so much :’) for all of my nsfw drabbles and content, I really enjoy writing the softer kind of stories. switched up the request just a little. consider this a token of my appreciation for your kindness. xx

ps this is what I’m imaging him wearing

***

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that nothing good could ever happen when you text someone past 2AM.

Both existential and physical dread consume you the second you open your texts and see a plethora of unread messages due to your current state of being. You’ve been bedridden for what feels like years but it’s only been a few of days. It’s technically Sunday morning and technically you should be fast asleep, especially since you’d taken medication to help you rest throughout the night. But seems like your body has other plans for you.

Tossing and turning won’t do either. Your head feels much better than it has for the past two days. You’d taken two days off or classes because of intense migraines paired with what seems like onset sickness due to it being flue season. Guilt over missing classes and groveling to your professors (even if they extended grace and told you to rest up) ate you alive, only ebbing away when you closed your eyes and slept.

Your roommate has been away because of a family event and what was once a promising weekend full of relaxation and the apartment to yourself is now a time for you to wallow in your misery. You’ve gone through countless tissues and have slept more in the past few days than in your entire life. It feels like your head might as well be cut off with how many problems your eyes, nose, and throat are giving you.

To pass the time, social media distracts you for a few minutes and you catch glimpses of what your friends have been up to. Partying. Studying. Eating at the cafeteria. All of these are mundane events you took for granted because you’d love to be anywhere but rotting away in your apartment. You’d rather studying for a midterm over feeling like you can’t move without losing your breath.

You take this time to catch up on texts as well. There are so many what remain unread by you and guilt crawls up your spine as you begin to reply to everything.

hi riki!! sorry I haven’t replied yet. I’ve been sick all weekend :/ I wish I could’ve gone to jake’s game with u bc it looked so fun ☹️

jungwon ur your cat is so cute omg…please send more vids. also sorry for replying late im sick lol

sunoo I swear to god if you watch another episode without me, I’m gonna beat your ass whenever I recover

yes, mom. I’m resting as much as I can! sorry I haven’t responded sooner. I still feel sick

heeseung do u think sunghoon would be weirded out if i text him right now. pls advise 😁

Heeseung immediately reads the message and the text bubble appears straight away. He’s one of your closest friends in university who always happens to be friends with Park Sunghoon, the guy you’ve been talking to for the past month and a half.

heeseung: Nah not weird. He’d probably like hearing from you

heeseung: He was asking about you earlier today and said you haven’t been talking to him as much

you: looking at my phone made me nauseous :/

heeseung: You should probably tell him that bc he’s been staring at his phone all day

you: soooo it wouldn’t be weird if I texted him out of the blue rn?? usually we don’t like…start conversations so late

heeseung: You’re overthinking. Just text him and if he doesn’t reply then he’s asleep and will text you in the morning

you: I’m scared of fucking it up

heeseung: There’s nothing to fuck up. If he gets mad that you took care of yourself (he won’t be) then he’s the one who fucked up

you: ugh when did u become the voice of reason

heeseung: :)

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard after you’ve opened Sunghoon’s text. You can imagine his slight pout when you think about how he’d react when he realizes you haven’t texted him back, which makes you feel even more guilty than you already are.

You’re not really sure how you started talking to him, let alone befriended Heeseung to the point where he started inviting you to hang out with him and his group of friends. Heeseung had originally been a study partner for a shared class back when the two of you were sophomores. It’s been a couple of years since then and now most of your conversations consist of TikTok jokes and Heeseung having to deal with you pining over one of his friends.

Sunghoon is every bit of cool you can imagine. He was so quiet when you first met him, residing in his oversized sweater since it was approaching the beginning of autumn. Heeseung invited you to a local bar on a Friday night after midterms and said your first drink would be on him if you made it before last call, knowing very well you were likely getting ready to slip underneath your blankets and call it a night.

He was right as always. You showed up wearing jeans and an old shirt with a jacket that was too big for your body. You’d made somewhat of an effort to look presentable since you’d be hanging out with his friends near campus and would rather not look like you’d gotten rolled over by a locomotive. It was there you met Sunghoon for the first time. He was so quiet that you barely heard him talk until an hour into hanging out with him, but that’s when you learned that he was someone you needed to get to know before he’d show you his loud, boisterous personality.

The more you hung out with him, the more you started to picture yourself with Sunghoon, away from the group you started to call your friends too. You’d only see him when Heeseung invited you out or if you bumped into someone else while Sunghoon was in tow with them. Neither of you seemed to cross paths otherwise and even then, Sunghoon was a bit too timid to approach you first and start a conversation.

Part of you wondered if you were ever too bold when you’d get drunk with him and your friends. You were loud, full of laughter and affection that none of your friends were surprised every time you shouted compliments across the tables and declared your love for the little group you considered to be your family away from home. Heeseung had gotten used to it pretty quickly and so did the others, albeit it took a while for their ears to stop glowing red every time you’d pull them into a drunken hug.

Maybe you sent a little too far with Sunghoon, who immediately tensed when your arms wrapped around his shoulders the first time you let your inhibitions down fully. A few beers and shots in, and Heeseung was anticipating your drunken rant about how much you love the little life the five of you had created and hoped that it would continue even after you all graduate.

Sunghoon always looked a bit intimidating with his dark, thick eyebrows and shielded his wandering eyes. He always looked like he knew what he wanted and his grace always made you think twice about what you’d say to him. Although, you knew this was the beginning of an onset crush that wouldn’t remain hidden for long, let alone when you weren’t sober.

So you’d thrown your arms around Sunghoon’s shoulder and told him how happy you were that Heeseung introduced the two of you. While you try not to think about that moment too much, you recall telling Sunghoon that he was slowly starting to become one of your favorite people because of how funny he is when people least expect it. You liked that he was so kind to his friends and that he was so confident in himself, and that you wished you could be a little more like him.

You also said he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. It was a sobering moment because he looked at you like you’d grown two heads and his shoulders felt like they might’ve been pushing you off of his body.

Stumbling with consistent apologies, none of your mutual friends seemed to notice what was happening behind them. You can picture the look on his face when your mind crosses to this moment, how he’d looked at you with bewilderment with his mouth ajar. Sunghoon didn’t say anything and you took that cue to leave him alone and head to the bar, where you hoped distance would make this night seem less tragic than it was.

When morning came around, you were the only person in your shared group chat who declined getting a late morning breakfast due to your embarrassment. Even during the next weekend, when Jake opened up his apartment for a casual hang out, you were the only person who didn’t show up, citing work and study stresses keeping you away from your friends.

Heeseung knew those were merely excuses.

“Cut the shit, Y/N. Are you okay? Did one of the guys do anything to make you uncomfortable?” The worst laced in his tone made you feel guilty for having him think the worse of people he knew before he met you.

“No, nothing like that. I think I’m the one who fucked up and made them uncomfortable.”

“Well clearly not since Jake invited you to his place. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”

The last thing you expected from Heeseung was to see him double over in laugher when you explained your predicament, clutching onto your bed like he’d fall to the ground if he didn’t. You’re sure that fit of laugher gave him a new set of abs.

“Sunghoon wasn’t weirded out. He texted me and asked if you were okay.” Heeseung pulled his phone out of his pocket to show you, leaving you in a cloud of confusion. “He probably likes you. Sunghoon’s a natural with girls even if he doesn’t realize they’re flirting with him. I think he likes you too because he’s acting really awkward because he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

That night left you with more question than answers. You considered texting Sunghoon and asking if the two of you could talk, but you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable and tell him what Heeseung told you in fear of putting your friend in an awkward position. So you let the discomfort settle and braved seeing him the next time one of your friends invited you out.

Which, to no one’s surprise, was the weekend after Jake’s get together. Seoul’s autumn carnival was in its third weekend by the time the five of you were able to find adequate time to ride every rollercoaster and eat until your stomachs caved in. You loved the fair and were the first person to buy an admission ticket. Poor Jay, who wasn’t the biggest fan of big rides in the first place, tagged along with Jake every time he insisted on it. You tried your best to keep some distance between yourself and Sunghoon, even if Heeseung said you were being ridiculous. You’d chosen to stick by him until Sunghoon volunteered to help you pick up the food trays when you lost a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“I’m sorry that I acted weird that night,” he said, cutting the silence as the two of you waited for your order. He didn’t have to explain. You knew what he was talking about. “Heeseung said you felt bad for making me feel uncomfortable but I need you to know you didn’t make me feel that way.”

That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you, let alone it being the first time he initiated a conversation with you. He watched as you stood with your eyes wide and mouth parted like you wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it.

“I think you just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say nice things about me. I didn’t realize we were that close because you’d been affectionate with everyone but me up until that night.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was, uh, flustered.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He averted your gaze and looked at his shoes momentarily before he looked back at you. “I liked what you said. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You laughed at the awkwardness dissipating. “I thought I crossed a line, or something. You just sat there and I thought I fucked up by touching you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. I…I liked it a lot.” You tried to hide a grin by keeping your bubbling excitement under wraps failed miserably. Sunghoon smiled too, offering to carry most of the trays back to the table where your friends were too hungry to talk for the next ten minutes.

The memory brings you back to the present where your thumbs hover the keyboard. You start to read back the conversation between the two of you and feel those butterflies erupt in your stomach for the umpteenth time. The two of you have talked about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits. So why is texting him to let him know you’ve been sick for the past few days so difficult for you?

you: hi

you: sorry I haven’t texted a lot in the past few days. I’ve been having migraines and now I’ve caught a cold ):

you: im sorry for texting so late too

He texts immediately.

sunghoon: You don’t have to be sorry. Are you feeling better now?

sunghoon: Actually don’t answer that

Your phone rings.

“Hey,” you say with your phone propped against your ear. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m the only who’s calling you when you’re sick, so I’m technically the one bothering you.” His laugh on the other line makes you smile a little too hard. “I was really worried. None of the guys heard from you so I figured you needed some space.”

“Unfortunately. I had to skip a few classes because it hurt to stand up. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept more this past week than I have in the last month.”

“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“I feel bad that I haven’t been able to talk to you.”

As if Sunghoon could sense you pouting, he clicks his tongue and reassures you. “It’s fine, Y/N. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t imagine how much pain you’ve been in.”

“I would honestly rather study and take a million midterms than go through this again. I feel like someone just took their shoe off of my head.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine, maybe?”

You cough a little. “No, but thank you. My friend dropped off a lot of NyQuil and other stuff to help me. It’s working…kind of. Still feel like shit, though.”

“…Can I come over? To help you with your sickness, of course. I can bring you soup.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You frantically rise from your bed amidst his words and realize there are tissues on the ground and dirty clothes strewn everywhere because of your lack of energy. Your living room must be a mess, too, and this would also be the first time Sunghoon would see you without any makeup on.

“I want to. But I mean, only if you’re up for it. I don’t want to stress you out since you’re sick. I just want to help make you feel better. That…and I miss you.”

Sunghoon’s never been so direct before. Even though the two of you have been talking for a while, neither of you have been so forward about it. Conversations are always subtly flirty to the point where the effervescent feeling simmers just underneath the surface. The two of you have hung out without the rest of your friends and have been alone before, but neither one of you has gone so far as you be so bold about the other.

“I miss you too,” you whisper into the phone.

“Give me thirty minutes. I’ll come with soup.”

He hangs up and with a newfound sense of urgency, you make your bed and throw away any stray trash. You put your dirty laundry in the hamper, which is piled high and untouched. It’ll be a problem for when you’re not sick.

The living room isn’t too bad. You straighten furniture and throw away empty takeout containers and wash a few utensils. The tasks don’t feel as draining as they did a few days ago and you’re starting to regain a little bit of your breath.

True to his word, Sunghoon arrives thirty minutes after he said he would. You open the door and look at him. He’s wearing blue hoodie and sweatpants with specs that make him look significantly more attractive than you’re used to.

“Hi,” Sunghoon says with a gentle smile. “I missed you.”

You bite your lip and blurt out your first thought. “You look really good in those glasses.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “Thank you. Can I come in?”

“Right, right.” You step aside and he follows you into your apartment. He takes his shoes off and places them neatly by the shoe rack.

“I might need to reheat this. I got it from that place near my apartment. You know, the one with the yellow banner?”

“I love that place.”

He smiles at you. “I know. Can I heat up some soup for you?”

When you nod, Sunghoon moves to the correct cabinet and pulls out everything he needs. It astounds you because he’s only ever been to your apartment twice before, both times with your other friends in tow. It dawns on you that it’s the first time the two of you are alone in your space. You’re touched that he remembers where your things are.

He beckons you to sit on the counter in front of the steaming bowl and the aroma of spices makes your mouth water. You haven’t been able to eat consistently in the past few days, surviving on bland foods like bread and crackers to sustain your health because anything else made you feel sicker than you were. The steam feels good against your skin and you dig in right away.

Sunghoon pulls your hair back when it gets close to the rim and holds it for you while you lap up the soup. It seems as though you’re hungrier than you thought because you sit there wordlessly, shoveling liquid into your mouth while Sunghoon watches.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I must look like a zoo animal.”

“You’re sick, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for. The first meal you can stomach is the best one.” It’s like he gets you. Sunghoon continues to hold your hair back until you’re finished. He washes the bowl and spoon, and puts it back where they belong.

Sunghoon turns around and looks at you under the ambient lighting you and your roommate put up in lieu of the overhead lights. It feels like he’s inspecting you and you try really hard not to think about the fact that you don’t feel presentable in this moment.

“Your apartment feels very you,” Sunghoon says. “I like all of the green furniture and the art on the wall.”

“My roommate picked the decor out but I’m starting to understand why she loves art so much.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking at you. “Would you want to go to an art museum with me?”

“I’d really like that.”

Sunghoon pulls you by the hand to your couch and you try your best not to feel flustered with his touch. He sits you down on the cushion and immediately you feel like you need to be hyper vigilant because he’s looking around the apartment and you’re wondering if he can see the messes you see.

“Do you have a blanket? We could watch some TV. Or I could go. I don’t know.”

“Don’t go.” You say it too quickly but Sunghoon’s shoulders relax. “The blankets are beside the couch.”

He drapes it over you, leaving himself to fend for the cold. Although you’re sure he’s pretty warm, you open up the blanket and invite him to share it with you.

This is new territory. You two have just been talking. But Sunghoon isn’t deterred. He slots himself next to you and doesn’t shy away when he feels your arm pressed against him.

“Sorry for the mess. And for, well…” He watches you gesture to your face, which is undoubtedly red with dark circles underneath your eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I still like you.”

You aren’t used to him being so upfront like this. He watches you with easy eyes, the kind of feeling that makes you believe what he says. Sunghoon is pretty reserved when it comes to these types of things and you often find yourself being the one to push him towards his bolder side. But even though you feel flustered by his words and underneath his stare, you like this newer side of him.

“I’m such a mess.”

Sunghoon watches you push your forehead into his shoulder in an attempt to hide yourself from him. He smiles at your antics and loves the feeling of your body on his. He’s been hesitant to do things like hold your hand or kiss your cheek in fear or overstepping a boundary. He doesn’t know what came over him when he held your hair back from falling into the hot soup. He knows very well that he could’ve asked where you kept your hair ties, but helping you when he knows you need it felt like the right thing to do.

Now, he wonders if you’re growing bolder with him too. You let your forehead rest against his hoodie as you take deep breaths. He hears you sniffle a few times and nearly coos at the mere thought of you suffering from your sickness. When you pull yourself away from him, the tip of your nose is slightly runny and your eyes look a bit more red than usual.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

He bites his lip. “You could look worse.” You try not to let your cheeks rise in heat.

“You’re just being nice.”

Sunghoon laughs and shakes his head. He could never lie about how he feels towards you. “Nope. You still look really cute.” He watches the gears work inside your head and locates the TV remote when you don’t say anything. “What do you want to watch?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, you must’ve been watching TV while you were cooped up here.”

You shake your head. “Migraine, remember? Felt like my eyes were gonna burst.”

This time, he coos out loud. Sunghoon puts on a show you’ve mentioned enjoying in the past and hopes he chose correctly. You seem to be mellowing out and paying attention to the screen in front of you until you start breathing heavily. It’s not until he hears you try to silence a small coughing fit that he shoots up from his seat and pours you a glass of water.

“Here.” Sunghoon doesn’t let you hold the glass. Instead, he beckons your mouth open by placing the rim between your lips and lets you swallow the water, tilting it up until you’ve consumed all of it. He wipes the excess water from the corners of your mouth with his thumb and looks down at you with concern. “Do you have any tea? I can make you some. Hopefully that’ll soothe your throat.”

“Stupid medicine isn’t working,” you grumble. “I might as well perish.”

“Tea, baby,” Sunghoon says, the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. You almost don’t notice it. “Where do you keep your tea and honey?”

“Cabinet beside the fridge.”

Sunghoon comes back a few minutes later with piping hot chamomile tea with honey. You don’t know how he does it, anticipating your every need and putting just enough honey where it doesn’t feel like you’re stuffing your throat with the sweet nectar. You sip on it slowly as he situates himself back underneath the blanket and keeps his eyes on the television while you try to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Eventually, the episode finished and it’s almost four in the morning when you start to get sleepy. Sunghoon hears you yawning beside him and does his best not to grin like a lovesick idiot when you push your body against his in an attempt to get comfortable. You’re holding the empty cup loosely in your hands when your eyes start to droop and as much as Sunghoon would love to stay like this, he knows it’ll be better for you to sleep in your own bed with your back against the mattress.

“Baby,” Sunghoon whispers. He grabs the mug from your hands and sets it on the coffee table. “I think you should sleep in your bed. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”

“But you’re so warm.”

He bites back a smile. “Thank you, but you’re gonna wake up with back pain and I know you’ll be mad that you didn’t sleep with pillows.”

He’s right and you know it but that doesn’t stop you from letting a whine slip past. Sunghoon doesn’t complain when you lean on him for support (or rather, you push your full weight onto him because you cannot be bothered with physical tasks at this late hour). Instead, he holds your waist with his arm and guides you into your bedroom from his memory of coming here a couple times before now.

Despite this, he’s never been inside your room. You’ve always kept the door closed but as he opens it, Sunghoon completely melts at how your bedroom is so utterly you. The dark green comforter hugs your queen-sized bed and a mountain of pillows cover the top near the bed frame. Your desk is an organized mess of notebooks, pens, and highlighters you carry with you during study sessions. Photographs in pretty frames decorate your walls along with posters of your favorite music and films.

He spots a picture of the two of you from that day at the amusement park when Heeseung insisted on taking a photo since the lighting was “perfect.” Sunghoon suspected that wasn’t the case but let him take it anyhow. He always considered that to be his first official memory with you. Knowing you might feel the same makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

His soft touches make you fall much deeper into your tiredness. The mattress below you feels too good to be true as Sunghoon opens the blankets for you to crawl underneath. He watches you carefully as you scoot to one side and make yourself comfortable, wondering if you’re enjoying the side of him that wants to pamper you.

When you’re all tucked in with the blankets underneath your chin, Sunghoon can’t help but lean down and brush a few stray hair strands from your face. He caresses your cheek and holds himself back despite your lips being right in front of him. Instead, he settles for rubbing your soft cheek with his thumb before leaving.

Except, you reach out and grab onto his wrist. “Where are you going?”

His looks back at you in the dim light. “Home, baby. I’ll let you sleep.”

The pout you’re wearing is tearing him limb from limb. “I don’t want you to go home.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “Please…I haven’t seen you at all this week.” Sunghoon hears the strain in your voice and he isn’t sure if you’re awake enough to know what you’re saying. “I-I just want you here with me.”

How could he say no to that?

Sunghoon sits on the empty side of the bed and lets you guide your hand in his bigger one. He watches as you shake your head and he’s about to ask what you mean when you open the blanket.

He feels momentarily guilty when he pulls his hand away from you because he hears you whine again, but he slips off his hoodie to avoid overheating. He’s left in his sweatpants and a loose shirt when sliding into your bed right next to you.

You waste no time and attach yourself to Sunghoon, pushing your body until you’re resting on his chest. He does his best not to let his heartbeat give him away. This is the most he’s ever touched you. At best, he’d brush his hand against yours and waited for the right time to hold it. Today feels like he’s thrown caution into the wind.

Sunghoon puts his glasses on your night table and pulls you close to him, encircling his arms until he finds a comfortable position. Your warm breaths litter his skin and he feels like he could run laps with how happy he is in this moment. You look so cute with your body limp against his. He loves that you’re not hesitant around him anymore and hopes you know just how much he wants you close to him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sunghoon says in the dark, unsure if you’re still awake or not.

“What’s your secret?”

Your eyes remain closed, eyelashes covering your beautiful eyes and your cheeks are squished into a pout against his chest. He looks down at you like you’re precious cargo and a rare gem he never wants to let go of.

“I really want to kiss you.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, Sunghoon feels you move your head until you press a kiss against his chest, allowing your lips to linger for a few seconds before reverting back to your original position.

“Kiss me tomorrow.”

Sunghoon hears you snoring soon after.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself. “I can do that.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[cloudywriting05]

one of your girls. — coriolanus snow.

we dont gotta be in love, no. i don’t gotta be the one, no. i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

part two published, read here.

cw: dom!coryo, p in v, Bondage, vulgar language, pain during sex, daddy kink, slight sadism(?), 18+, slight non-con, etc

words: 3048 [good, GOD], MAY be grammar errors.

tags: @euphemiaamillais my lovely lady.

“Hey, Snow.” 

The blonde boy snapped his head at you, a stern look plastered to his face. You watched his eyes travel up and down your figure, his expression softened as a small smile crept on his face. He turned his body to face you and sighed.

You and Coriolanus’s relationship was unique, to say the least. You’ve known each other your entire life but dedicated your every day to one-upping each other. Your decade-long academic rivalry with him was something you found deeply annoying, and you knew if he wasn’t as attractive as he was, you would’ve killed him by now. Coriolanus found the rivalry thrilling. Watching you stress and work out to get the best grade was entertaining for him. On the days he was lucky, you would be in the library at the same time as him, searching for textbooks to grab before the other could. The number of times he caught himself peering down at your small figure, bent over, frantically digging through piles of chemistry books was criminal. 

The new school year had just begun, and you were instantly bombarded with strange rumours. Rumours about Coriolanus, more specifically, his dick. He’d allegedly slept with half of the grade’s female population, including your own friends. You rebuffed them initially, that was until you overheard the said ‘girls’ discussing it, confirming it all. You were annoyed, absolutely livid at the thought of Coriolanus sleeping with them. Why did he leave you out? Was this something else he was showing you that you could never get? Whatever he was doing was working. Fucking your entire friend group but purposely dodging you was a smart move on his behalf. But you were never a loser, never second place.

So here it brought you. Standing in front of your arch nemesis with your arms crossed. 

“Could I help you, gorgeous?” he purred, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re a slut, Snow. Fucking all my friends is pretty corny, don’t you think?” you remarked, running a finger down the locker beside him. 

He looked at you, guilt written across his face. “I’m not a slut, little girl. And who told you that?” 

“Everyone. Everyone is talking about you and your dick, Coriolanus.”

“I got busy over the holidays. Who knew Academy girls could be so desperate for my dick?” he sneered, smiling to himself. 

“So why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” he asked, puzzled.

“Fuck everyone but me? Were you trying to tick me off? If so, it worked, Snow.”

He let out a laugh, completely bewildered. “Are you high? What are you trying to get at?”

“Did I stutter? You fucked every girl in my friend group but me, even though I should’ve been the first. Now, because you decided to fucking skip me, I have to hear about how freaky you are, or how big your dick is all day!” you blurted, your frustration getting by the absolute best of you as his nonchalant demeanor sent you over the edge. 

“So, let me get this straight; you’re angry at me because I didn’t fuck you?” he questioned, eyes wide, trying to comprehend what was coming out of your mouth.

You stuttered for a second. “Yes, yes I am.”

“We played sandbox together and here you are now, in this empty hallway, begging me to fuck you,” he said as he fixed his uniform.

“Oh, so you don’t wanna fuck me?” you purred, your arms crossed, looking up at him. 

“Just to piss you off, no I don’t. Doesn’t matter how hot I think you are, or how long I’ve wanted to for this to happen. I like seeing you mad.” he smiled, knowing he had ticked you off. “I’ll see you in bio, little girl.”

He spoke as he walked away. Your eyes twitched in anger; Snow could not win. Not today. 

“Fine, I’ll just ask Plinth!” your words stopped him right in his tracks.

He turned and stalked towards you, stopping only a few inches in front of you. He glared down into your eyes. “If you fuck Sejanus, I’ll kill you both and make it look like an accident.” 

You scoffed. “Would you, actually? I don’t know. All I know is that I want you at my house by eleven thirty. If you’re as good as one of the girls was vouching you were, then prove it. Or I’ll get one of your friends to, just to make it even.”

“You win, I’ll see you there, doll.”

It was eleven-twenty on the dot and there was still no sign of Coriolanus. You’d pondered about the interaction from today for hours, worried you came off too demanding. You thought to yourself for a while that he was going you stand you up and purposely not come, that would’ve sent you over the edge. You sat on your bed, every negative thought running through your head. Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of frantic knocking. 

You rushed downstairs and stood in front of the door. “Who is it?”

“Is that a joke?” Coriolanus spoke from the other side of the door. “Let me in, sweetheart. I’m freezing.” 

You flung the door open, Coriolanus stood there, a smile plastered to his face. He sported a worn-out shirt that was fitted, hugging his chest. He paired it with pajama pants with a red pattern and slides that looked like they should’ve never left his house. He walked right past you into your home. “You look like you’re about to go to sleep, couldn’t dress sexier?” 

“I mean it’s gonna come right off, isn’t it?”

“Whatever, my room is upstairs and the first to your right.” 

“Perfect.” 

You watched the boy jog up the stairs and disappear behind the wall, following him shortly after. 

You entered the room to him sitting on the bed, using his arms to sit up behind him. You closed the door behind you without breaking eye contact. You could physically feel the tension in the room, his entire demeanor shifting from minutes ago. You felt almost chilled. 

He lifted himself from the edge of your bed and walked towards you, stopping himself only when his face was inches from yours. “Did one of the girls ever tell you what I did to them?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think.”

“I’ll have to show you, won't I?” he purred, his hand traveling up from your side to your chin.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

His hand landed on your cheek, taking you by surprise. You gasped as his hand returned to your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Stupid girl. You wanted me to treat you like your friends, right? They didn’t talk, so why should you?”

You should’ve walked away; you should’ve told him to get out. The boy who defined your entire academy life just slapped you in the face and degraded you, yet your entire body yearned for his touch. You stared into his eyes, they were glistening, wild with power and lust. His blonde hair dimly lit by the streetlight peering through your window into your dark, cold room. You needed to get even; you needed him to fuck you to get even. You needed him inside of you and in that moment, you didn’t care if it was the last thing you did that night. 

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, now,” he demanded, his grip on your chin tightening as he forced you to look up at him, helpless.

You shook under his touch, completely powerless. “I- I want you to fuck me, Coryo.”

He lowered his head, resting his lips against your ear, sending a cold shiver down your spine and straight to your heat. “Say it louder, so everyone in the Capitol knows how much of a dumb, little slut you are for me. Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me because I’m a slut... for you.” you proclaimed, your voice projected as he breathed against your cheek, his grip on your chin still tight.

“Pathetic, but good enough,” he replied, he released your chin and moved himself away from you slightly. “Get on the bed and strip for me, now.”

You nodded dumbly, crawling onto the bed. You lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it on the ground beside you, removing your pants and underwear right after. You sat there idly, completely bare, whilst a clothed Coriolanus stood in front of you, fucking you with his gaze. His eyes traveled up and down your frame, admiring you.

He raised a hand and began to caress your cheek; you instinctively nuzzled your face into his palm causing him to softly laugh. “The smartest and prettiest girl in the academy, sitting naked waiting for me to fuck her like a good girl.”

He looked down on you, you were naked and nuzzling your face into his palm, inaudibly begging him to fuck you. You were desperate and it turned him on so much. The most stubborn girl he fawned over for years now naked and begging him to fuck her. He could feel his dick trying to break free from his pants just from the sight of you.

He walked away and disappeared into your open closet, leaving you clueless. He walked out with a ribbon in his hand.

“That’s my grandma's, Coryo. That’s the ribbon she gifted me. What do you need it for?” you questioned, puzzled.

“Put your back against your bed frame and stop asking me stupid questions. Sluts with dirty mouths like you, my dear, don’t get to talk.” 

You followed his command and shuffled up until your bare back was against the headboard, waiting patiently for his next command. You were the smartest girl at your academy yet there you were, brainlessly waiting for Snow to tell you what to do. 

He climbed onto the bed and motioned for your hand. “Give me your hands, doll.” 

You timidly raised your hand towards him. He grabbed your wrist and began to firmly tie the piece of ribbon around them, causing you to wince slightly. The thin material pressed against your skin as you looked at him, hopeless. There he had you. Your wrists tied, naked. Your knees spread exposing you. 

He took his time once again, admiring your small, fragile frame. “You look so gorgeous, let daddy see what’s between your legs better, okay?”

You nodded and spread your knees apart more, fully exposing your heat to the boy. He hovered over you, staring down at your pussy, glistening with juices. He used his hands to turn you over on your knees, your hands still restrained, using your elbows for support. 

“How many times did you speak to that bitch this week?” he inquired from behind you.

“Who? Sejanus? … Maybe three or four times, I’m not too sure–”

“Too many times. Way too many fucking times.”

You felt a hard hand land against your cheek, your back curled in pain as you threw your head between your hands. It was followed by another, causing you to cry out in pain. He slapped your ass again, and then once more. Painful groans escaped your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain.

“Four slaps for four conversations. Turn over and spread your legs a bit more for me, okay?” 

You dumbly followed, still wincing in pain. You turned yourself onto your back and spread your legs as far as you could, quivering and vulnerable. Coriolanus watched, entranced by your naked body. You looked at the boy, gawking at you. His hand grabbed your tied wrists and lifted them above your head. The boy then moved his head between your knees, planting a kiss on your knee, then on your inner thigh. He peered up at you, your pussy throbbing and yearning for his touch.

“Please, I can’t take it. Touch me,” you begged, your voice timid, scared of the boy between your thighs.

“Say please.”

“Please, please?”

“Good girl.” he purred, lowering his head further, you felt his nose graze your pubic bone.

His lips planted a kiss, then moved down to your folds. A moan instantly escaped your lips, your body churning at the feeling of his lips on your moist folds. Your back arched. You felt his lips move against your core, lapping at your folds. He used his tongue to press against your clit, making you cry out and heave. His arm traveled up to your breast, massaging it as his tongue lapped at your pussy. His nose pressing against you. You squirmed as he used his mouth to suck your clit, sending your eyes to the back of your head. The sensations overstimulate you, leaving you hopeless. You didn’t dare bring your arms down, knowing he wouldn’t react well.

He lifted his head from your heat for a second and peered up at you. “You taste so good, let me show you.”

He raised himself and lowered his lips onto yours. Forcing your mouth open with his, his tongue invading your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. You moaned in his mouth, completely dumbfounded by the boy.

“Now, open your mouth,” he said, gripping onto your chin. 

You dumbly followed, letting him spit into your mouth. You swallowed without hesitation. 

“Good, you did one thing right,” he remarked, unbuttoning his pants, holding eye contact with you from above. 

He swiftly removed his pants, followed by his shirt. His body was leaner than you’d expected, his muscular frame surprising you. He hauled himself off the bed and lowered his brief, freeing his throbbing penis. You let out a small gasp. He motioned for you to come towards him, you crawled, wrists still tied, and sat on the edge of the bed in front of him. His penis right across from your face. He stared down at you.

“Look what you did to me, fix it up. Now,” he demanded.

You nodded your head as you leaned to lick his penis. You use your lips to latch onto his tip, sucking on it as you let your tongue massage it. He groaned from above you, eyes closed. Your head moving slowly to and from, his dick still in your mouth. Your tongue glided back and forth as you pleasured the boy. He threw his head back as you did everything you could to his dick with your mouth alone, you spat on it frantically as you took his cock deeper into your throat. Gagging on his dick and pushing yourself past your limit.

“Go fucking deeper, you dumb fucking slut. Treat it like you would treat some other guys. Whore.” he demanded, his hand latching onto a chunk of your hair. 

He pushed himself further down your throat, tears rolling down your eyes in return. He pumped your throat like it was your pussy, you gagged on his cock uncontrollably. Your wrists were tied in front of you, helpless as he fucked your throat. He pulled your head back with the chunk of hair. You gasped for a breath of air frantically, tears rolling down your eyes. His open palm landed against your cheek again, causing you to gasp in pain.

“When I tell you to go deeper, I mean it, slut. Aren’t you meant to be smart?” he scoffed, looking down at your frail frame. “You spent years trying to get under my fucking skin, now I’m on yours, and you don’t know how to act? Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you.” you whimpered, sniffling as he shot you a smile.

“There you go, pretty girl. Turn over for me now.” 

You nodded dumbly, turning around on the edge of the bed. You used your elbows for support as you perked your backside up. The boy stared at you hungrily. You felt a slap land on your cheek again, causing you to flinch in pain. 

“You wanna feel me?” 

He watched your head bop and down in response. Within no time he prepped himself at your entrance, slowly pushing into you. You groaned into the mattress, feeling his large cock stretch your pussy. 

“Little Miss Capitol is tight, isn’t she?” he sneered.

He slowly pushed himself in, then out. You groaned as his pace picked up excruciatingly slow, every thrust filling you up. His dick stretched your walls, every bit of your pussy was filled with his cock. He gripped your hip and leaned forward, using his free hand to push your wrists further from you.

His pace quickened. His cock slung in and out of you, moaning as he slapped your ass. You didn’t flinch, distracted by the feeling of his cock. Your moans grew louder as he quickened his pace, hitting a spot within you that hadn’t known of until now. Your body quivered as you felt the boy fuck you with all his strength.

You felt his arm wrap around your throat, pulling you up and restraining your breathing. You gasped, his pace not slowing. You felt his chest against your back as he thrusts into you mercilessly. His free hand slithers to your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion. You felt your muscles wear as he continued to push into you, overstimulated beyond comprehension.

Your stomach tightened as you came, and you shrieked. Your entire body loses its balance, flailing forward on your chest. Coriolanus didn’t stop. He continued to thrust into you, your body limp in front of him. You moaned into the mattress as he fucked you whilst his hand circulated your clit. 

“I came, Coriolanus, I came!”

“I know, shut up.”

He ignored your words. Your body tightened again, this time your juices threatened to squirt out. You fought every bone in your body to not let it out. His finger still rubbing your clit as he pushed into you. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum again. I can’t, it hurts!”

“Yes, you can, you can.” He breathed from behind you.

You cried out, shamefully squirting on your bedsheets. The boy pulled his cock out and frantically massaged it until his semen shot on your back. He heaved from behind you.

“Now, you are just like the rest of the girls. I’ll see you on Monday, doll.”

—

pt2 published…. read here.

[coucouatoi]

now you're in my life... | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Warnings: sexual tension, slutshaming, women being viewed as wives and baby makers only (not by Harry), fluff, Harry being a gentleman, implied age gap, smut

A/N: Bridgerton fic incoming!! I'm late to the Bridgerton party but I've finally rewatched it all... also didn't reread a 7th time so if u find any errors, sorry <3

Summary:

Dearest Gentle Readers, remember that a Bridgerton Courting season is never complete without some juicy drama. Here's some tips to stay... out of trouble:

1- Don't attempt to stand out

2- Don't even try to become the Diamond

3- Don't get caught with Londons most sought after bachelor in a compromising position

Good luck readers!

Lady Whistledown

Travel is exhausting. It always is.

Travelling with the end goal being dancing, presenting yourself, being courted and then wed is excruciating.

Your mother, bless her, is more excited than you've ever seen her. The carriage is already quite cramped with you, her and your younger brother squeezed tightly against each other. Her legs bounce constantly, her fan is flapping like she wants it to break in half and the lessons. Oh god, the lessons. A second of silence is too long. You have to be bombarded with rules and tips to make you the perfect debutante this new season.

Your brother, however, is barely spoken to. He is not going to be presented to the ton until a few more years have passed. The conversations seem to bore him. Bore him so much that he has seemingly slept through the entire trip... or at least pretended to.

Your trip to London is quite long. You have taken a boat and ridden so many carriages your behind has most likely become flatter. Today is the last day of travel thankfully. You'll be arriving at your family's English estate soon enough, your father is probably already waiting in the steps most likely impatiently tapping his foot.

He and your mother are still obsessively in love with each other. Married three weeks after courting during their first-ever year as debutants. First child, you, nine months later... after that things slowed down. It took them twelve years to have another child and now, six years later, she's gotten pregnant again. Their grand finale as they keep calling it.

You can only wish that you'll be able to find someone who makes you feel even just a smidge as happy as your parents make each other. That there's someone here, in London, who will make a worthy husband and an even more worthy father.

Your mother's squeal startles you out of your thoughts as you turn into the estate. She must have spotted your father.

The time has come, you must now be the best future bride possible for all the men in the Bridgerton ton to run after.

-

You feel absolutely ridiculous. Who allowed this to be the standard for debutantes?? A feather tucked into your neatly styled hair but not just any kind of feather it's not small or dainty, no. It's tall. Taller than most things in the room. On your tiptoes, you could reach some of the lower ceilings with it. The dress is fine, the gloves are only a little itchy and the shoes are actually quite pretty. But that damn feather...

"Are you sure I can't just accidentally set it on fire?" you grumble to your mother who is your sponsor for your official debut this season.

"That would certainly bring attention to you... I'll entertain the thought" she quips with a small smile.

"I look ridiculous with it! What's the point of looking like an ostrich? Is that what English men find desirable?" you're incredibly confused. This can't possibly be something that attracts suitors...

"The Queen demands it, my dear", she rubs your arm reassuringly, "We don't want to upset her"

You shrug in defeat. Your mother is right, no one would dare go against the queen. Especially when you are to be presented in her court.

The two women in front of you are escorted into the ballroom as their names are called. The doors close as the debutante bows to the Queen.

This is it. You're next. You're going to walk in front of the entire ton as fresh meat. Someone they don't know.

Your father owns an estate here but you've only been to London twice before this. Never enough time to make friends or make any kind of impression. Hopefully, they don't eat you alive.

Your mother fusses over the sleeves of your dress. Then she tugs your gloves up, making them pull uncomfortably at the webbing between each of your fingers. You let her fix anything that she deems askew or not perfect enough. It's the nerves making her twitchy. As the doors open in front of you she pushes the feathers you wear deeper into your up-do.

"Y/N L/N and her mother Lady L/N" Your mother locks your elbow with hers as you walk forward.

The room is littered with people, London's finest and richest gathered to see what fresh meat this courting season brings.

The other debutantes are lined next to each other facing the door, their mothers or older sisters behind them peering over shoulders.

Once your eyes lay on the queen you suck in the breath you were about to take. She sits on her throne like she was born to be on it. Her head held high but her eyes inquisitive. She eyes you up and down, more than once, it makes you stand up straighter. You want her to like you, get her and the rest of the ton curious.

Your mother lets go of you as you get closer to the Queen. The last steps you take are the most nerve-wracking ones you've ever taken. All eyes are on you; men, women, debutantes, the queen's harem, potential prospects.... Everyone.

You bow to her, deeply. Your right leg goes behind your left, you bend your knees and your head tucks down towards your chest. You stay like that, it's only polite to stay low as long as you can but when your foot starts feeling numb you stand back up.

She's in front of you. Eyes locked on your face, she examines it as a smirk forms on her face. The Queen approves of you.

"My diamond, make me proud" She taps your cheek once, twice, thrice before kissing your forehead and nodding her head as she makes her way back to her throne.

What does she mean by Diamond?

-

As soon as you enter the Bridgerton ball with your family you're swarmed. It's as if you're the newly set dessert table.

Potential suitors waving pens in your face begging for a spot on your dance card.

Is this what being the Diamond is all about?

Being chased around like you're nothing more than a cheap prize to these men? That's probably what you are to them...

You fill out two dance spots at random before managing to wiggle your way through the crowd and into the actual festivities.

The ballroom is enchanting, with flowers of every kind scattered all around the room. You feel like you've stepped into an indoor garden, everywhere you look there's at least one blooming plant. It's gorgeous. You want to stay in this room forever.

The dance floor is currently occupied by couples, waltzing around each other, the choreography running through their veins as if they were born knowing them.

It's all so hypnotizing. The dances, music, seeing the ton gossip so proudly, the men trying to woo this season's debutantes and the women batting their lashes waiting for someone to walk up. It's a game, all of it and you love being a witness. Well, a player now...

"They have a buffet!" Your little brother exclaims as he runs through the crown and straight for a table littered with a large array of foods. He's going to be distracted there for at least 2 whole dances. You have the next dance clear for now so you take the time to wander around, head held high as you take everything in. Your mother had fused incessantly over how you should act tonight and over your chosen outfit. It had to be:

- Fit for a diamond (whatever that may be)

- Have flowers, by order of the Queen

- Unique enough to attract attention

- Modest but not prudish

Complicated demands under the time restraints you had but she made it work. Calling upon her best modiste contacts and personally seeing to the design of them. You have to admit she has done quite the selection for you this evening.

Your gown is a light green, sage might it be? There's a thin layer of darker tule over the bottom half and your sleeves, giving it dimension. The area that goes around your bust and upper back is lighter and full of gemstones shaped like different flowers. It looks like the modiste managed to sew an entire bouquet into the fabric. The gloves are sage as well, going past your elbows and trimmed with the same darker tule. Your mother had a spare ribbon of the sage silky fabric saved for your hair. It's styled into the updo, weaving itself perfectly between the colours of your neatly styled hair. Smaller gemstones have also been placed precariously to make sure you shine as bright as any diamond should.

They've done an excellent job at making you look like a walking dream. Tempting, gorgeous and almost unattainable.

The song that is playing is about to end, which means you're about to have your first dance of the evening. You can't even recall with whom you had simply grabbed a random pen and wrote the colour of his jacket. Too many names had been screamed at you for you to decipher which was his. Hopefully, whoever occupies your first spot manages to find you and whisk you away to the dance floor.

As the couples either leave the dance floor or get ready for the next song, you look around somewhat panicked. Is your first slot not even going to find you? That would be slightly humiliating...

"Lady L/N" you turn swiftly toward the voice behind you. "I'm Lord Talag, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance" Lord Talag takes your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. His suit is blue with silver stitching, your very first slot. He leads you to the dance floor and you both take the first positions for the waltz. The violins start first and you're instantly moving.

Arms gracefully twirling over your head as you spin backwards. As you turn you can't focus on Lord Talag but you know he's doing the same thing. When you stop your turns and face your partner, you see that he's fallen. On his ass, on the floor, in front of everyone. The other couples around you stop abruptly to not trip over him.

"My Lord! Are you alright?" you gasp reaching out to help him stand. However, he ignores your attempts to aid him back on his feet and dusts himself off.

"Good evening, Lady L/N," he says and rushes out of the room. He resembles a kitten running to beg their owner for a treat: legs kicking quickly, bum shimming from side to side, a determined expression...

You're left standing in the middle of the dance floor as everyone looks at you with a confused expression. Your own must look quite similar to theirs. Your first dance partner for the evening has walked out on you. All because he fell on his ass. Men, am I right??

Taking a breather after the embarrassing moment Lord Talag put you through is essential. You can't possibly face the ton as they gossip about it. His chances of finding a bride now are squashed, he's the laughingstock of this courting season. Well, for now at least...

The midnight air is crisp. The cold air prickles at your skin causing goosebumps but you enjoy it, your skin had heated up under everyone's stares. There's no wind, no sound (besides the muffled voices inside) and only a slight orange hue glows around you on the balcony. There are some oranges perched around you and over your head. They aren't quite ripe yet but they do look particularly inviting.

You turn to rest your bum against the marble railing, lifting your head towards the sky. The stars are bright. Brighter than you would have imagined to see in the city. They reflect over the artificial pond under you, seemingly dancing on the ripples. It's all so peaceful.

"Don't you think it's a little cold to be out here without a coat?" the deep voice has you jumping out of your skin. You turn around abruptly to see who's sharing the balcony with you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was already here" you bow politely already stepping towards the door. You're not about to have two incredibly embarrassing moments in one evening. Would the Queen be tempted to take away your 'Diamond' status?

"There's no need to leave!" He rushes towards you, his right arm extended towards the door and body facing you. You back up quickly not wanting to make any accidental contact. You're unchaperoned in a private setting with a man... Please let no one come outside!

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I just realized you were holding onto yourself quite tightly... as if trying to heat up" he adds moving away from you as he stands up straight again. He must have realized how compromising this could seem.

"Oh! No, I'm actually comfortable... I'm just overthinking" you clarify for the mysterious, albeit handsome, man. You don't want him offering his jacket or anything of the sort. That would look even worse.

"Ah, I see. These types of events always bring out the worst in people" he laughs dryly as he shakes his head. It's almost as if he's recalling a specific memory. "I'm Harry, Duke Styles if you want specifics"

DUKE??? Your nighttime patio buddy is a DUKE?? This could not look any worse. You have to leave the secluded area now! Before anyone joins you and screams indecency.

Your panic must not be very well concealed as Har- Duke Styles, gets closer to you again with his hands raised.

"I'm not going to bite you, please don't panic" his hands are waiving slowly in front of your face. He's trying to demonstrate that he means no harm but all it does is make you jump back. Your mother would berate you if she knew what was happening right now. "What's your name?" he asks in a soft tone.

"Um, I'm... I'm Lady L/N" You somehow manage to speak in a slow and stuttering manner but it worked.

"The diamond?!" Oh god. He didn't even know. "How do you have time for a breather? Isn't your dance card full?" he sounds completely shocked.

You shake your head rapidly. It's the only answer you're able to give him before the patio door bursts open as a couple attached at the lips tumbles outside. They walk straight into Lord Styles, making his knees give out and then falling straight into you. His hands grasp your waist and arm seemingly trying to get himself straight up on his feet again. He fails. He keeps falling unfortunately dragging you down with him. His left hand, the one holding your arm, quickly moves to the back of your head before it makes contact with the stone floor. The other at your waist stays there but his grip tightens, you can feel it firmly through your corset.

The couple has separated from one another and they are now looking at you both in shock. They were most likely not expecting anyone outside. They are speaking, well you think so. Their lips and arms move erratically but there's only a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The hand on the back of your head tilts it away from them, your eyes meet Lord Styles. They are wide, worried, panicked. You're not sure why.

He's talking too but he must be whispering as the ringing is still the only thing you hear. It's getting annoying; you want to know what he's saying to you. It seems important.

Your vision blurs right before it darkens completely. You've passed out not even knowing of the commotion you've caused.

-

Tule, satin, silk, needles, charcoal drawings on the walls, books scattered on various surfaces... Where have you found yourself now? You seem to be in a study of some sort that also serves as a studio. You manage to sit up slowly, the pounding in your head spiking for a second before it settles.

"Mother?" you call out in a weak voice. How did you get here? Or better yet, who put you in here? No one answers your call so, at a snail's pace, you manage to get into a standing position. Your legs are stronger than you thought they would be, aiding you in your quest to figure out where in the Queen's name you are.

As soon as you leave the study your eyes burn because of the bright sunlight streaming in the hallway you now find yourself in. Blinking a few times makes your eyes adjust quicker making you able to tune into your other senses.

You hear mumbling, a few different voices leak out of the room right next to where you had been sleeping. You try to make out what they saying but nothing makes sense in your mind. You can't even hear them enough to confirm if you know any of the voices.

Not even considering that some may think it rude or even improper you open the door and make your way inside.

Lord Styles is the first on his feet; almost seems like a knee-jerk reaction. His posture is tight, and uncomfortable he is standing straight as a ruler as he looks at you with a terrified expression.

"My darling!" your mother rushes to you as fast as she can with her swollen feet and round stomach slowing her usual pace.

She brushes your hair out of your face before embracing you. She holds you tight but carefully as if to not break you.

"How do you feel?" she asks you once she pulls away.

"Fine, I think. My head hurts quite a bit but it's bearable" You smile at her reassuring as your gaze drifts back to the man still statuesque in the middle of the room. You don't find words to say but you do walk towards him. You don't like seeing him this uncomfortable... especially in what seems to be his estate.

"This is yours? The house?" you ask him gently. His eyes meet yours and the tension seems to bleed out a little. He's a bit more at ease seeing that you are polite and cordial with him.

"Yes, we thought it was best to bring you back here... less scandalous" He gestures to your father and he only nods back as an answer.

"Less scandalous?" you look around the room, at the three people surrounding you with different expressions on their faces. Your mother; excited, your father; thoughtful, Lord Style's; embarrassed?

"Why is your estate less scandalous, Lord Styles?" you meet his eyes, hoping to somehow be able to read his mind. Figure out why he's so closed off now. He did seem pretty willing to talk to you on the pat-

The patio. Oh my. The patio!

"Why am I here Father?" your headache spikes when you turn your head rapidly towards him. His expression tells you all

that you need to know. You're now engaged. There's no scandal because you're going to wed Duke Harry Styles.

"An outdoor wedding would be gorgeous this time of year, don't you think so Y/N?" your father smiles at you kindly. He's happy with the man you've managed to "score", even if it isn't a love match like him and your mother.

You only nod at him before looking back at Lord Styles, whom you find to be already looking in your direction. He meets your gaze and bows his head in a polite gesture, welcoming you. Welcoming you in your new home, into your new life as a Duchess.

The wedding is set to happen in 9 days. The first wedding of this year's courting season. Your mother has been on top of everything, she's practically planning the whole thing. You and Lord Styles, your fiancée, let her do it... after all this was a surprise to both of you.

Today you're choosing your wedding dress. The last dress that you'll wear as the incredibly eligible and sought-after diamond. The dress you'll become a bride and then a wife in. You'll become a duchess, Duchess Styles...

"What do you think of this one, dear?" your mother is holding a white gown with delicate baby pink embroidered flowers all over it. You nod approvingly making your way back behind the changing partition as she brings it over to you. It's only the second one you're trying on so your spirits are still high. Madame Delacroix, the modiste, was much too eager to have you wear one of her gowns on your big day. Said it was "Perfect marketing!" and she led you to her newest collection that was apparently straight from France.

You manage to slide it on with no issues and as you're about to ask the modiste for some help with the clasp in the back you hear a voice you don't recognize say your name. You stay quiet hoping to hear what they are saying.

"You haven't read Lady Whistledown yet?! This one is so juicy, she talks about Duke Styles and the Diamond"

"Please tell me you have a copy of it on you! I need to know how that happened"

Are people really this eager to know how you got engaged?

After the first girl presumably pulls out a copy of whatever they were talking about they start reading it aloud.

"But how could I forget to mention the most surprising moment of the courting season yet? London's own most wanted bachelor, Duke Harry Styles, has found a worthy bride. He does shoot for the stars, doesn't he? Or rather in the mines... as the newest Duchess soon joining the ton is Lady L/N, the Diamond.

However, the choice seems to have been made by herself and herself only. Who wouldn't throw themselves at him just to be caught in a compromising position? I certainly would! Her parents must be so proud to have such a stellar whore seductress presented this season.

The hopefully happy couple already share a house, how warm is the Duke's bed? Has Lady Y/N done what so many other noble women have wanted to do?

Congratulations to the happy couple... See you at the wedding!

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown"

Your blood runs cold, you're frozen in place after hearing what was written about you. You don't even know who these two girls are, who the writer is or where this paper comes from. Is that really what people think of you? That you whored yourself to Duke Styles to secure a wealthy and powerful man? You haven't made a single friend yet and now this is what people are saying about you, how are you meant to live amongst them now?

You quickly undress yourself of the wedding gown and get back into your dress, you somehow manage to clasp it yourself. Before running out of the boutique you hand the dress back to your mother and take a quick look at the girls that were just gossiping.

They are already looking at you with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Well, at least that's what you think their reaction is to seeing you practically trip out of the shop.

You don't hear what your mother calls out to you, too concerned with the humiliation pumping throw your veins. You need to get back to the Dukes manor as soon as you possibly can. You're grateful to have ridden here separately from your mother so you don't have to leave her stranded with no carriage and very pregnant. The ride back feels never-ending... How can you ever face the ton again?

The bath water is almost boiling, perfect to wash away the shame you felt. Your mind is all over the place. Nothing you can come up with will fix this, you're stuck labelled as some desperate whore. Does your betrothed know who this woman is? What those papers are? If anyone and everyone reads what she writes about other people? The lies she creates to make things interesting... You didn't even manage to find a gown you liked for the wedding... You might now not even be able to face the public, would the Queen allow a private wedding for her diamond? Probably not.

"Oh! I'm sorry I didn't know you were back" For the second time today your blood runs cold. The scorching hot water feels icy against your skin as you look up to meet Duke Styles's gaze.

He is also stuck where he is. His feet seemingly glued to the floor, one hand holding the door handle and the other stopped halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes leave your face and trail down your nude body under the water. No man has ever looked at these parts of you, he isn't supposed to see them until your wedding night.

He swallows when his gaze snaps back to yours, probably just registering what he was doing.

"I'll let you bathe, sorry for interrupting" he turns around quickly but before he can close the door you call out to him.

"Who's Lady Whistledown?" your voice cracks halfway, desperate to get an answer that no worker has answered. Not the chariot driver, not the gardener, not even the maids that helped prepare the bath everyone avoided your question. "Why did she write about me, my lord? About us?"

He takes a few seconds to walk back into the room but eventually comes in and shuts the door.

He sees there is a small stool in the corner of the room, the maid has used it to undo your hairdo when you got in the bath. He grabs it and places it next to the tub, close to where your face is. He sits facing you with one of his arms resting on the edge, trying to look nonchalant.

"Call me Harry, no need for formalities between us" is the first thing he says, you nod as your answer.

Before speaking again he takes in a deep breath and wipes down his face, looking for a way to explain this.

"You read it?" your voice is meek, he saw that she called you a whore. He read that you threw yourself at him to trap him.

"I did. Only because the men at the club told me to" he answers honestly. "I told them that what she wrote was wrong. That yes our marriage was unexpected but not an entrapment"

"Did they believe you?"

"Yes, after I told that I am very satisfied with my future wife. How lucky I am to have such a gorgeous lady share my house, such a smart lady in my life. They wouldn't dare question me or us" his words shock you. You didn't know if he was satisfied with you or your engagement. There hadn't been a conversation about it but you're happy to hear he doesn't resent you.

Harry seems to read your mind and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, he lets his hand fall to your shoulder after.

"She called me a whore, a seductress. I've never even let a suitor hug me... Much less seduced one" his eyes bore into you. They are enchanting and so inviting. You want him to look at you this way always like you're the only thing he could ever look at so attentively.

"That's what she does... Last season she almost destroyed Lady Eloise Bridgerton... You haven't met her yet but she didn't leave her manor for the rest of the season" his hand is rubbing from shoulder to shoulder, pinky finger grazing the very top of your breasts at each movement. You don't move or break the eye contact it feels good.

"The ton eats her words up but don't waste time thinking about what she thinks, she is a coward saying all of this nonsense anonymously" he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"So there is no Lady Whistledown in the ton? Is it an alias?" your questions stays unanswered but it is obvious that is what he was saying. No one knows who she is or rather who they are.

Harry's hand has travelled lower without you even noticing he's gone past the water and travels from your chest to your stomach. It seems casual and natural like you've done this a million times before.

Silence stretches as you take in the small amount of information about this person who spreads false claims about you and the man currently exploring your body.

He is now going up and down your legs switching legs once in a while. You don't know what he's doing or why he's doing it but it feels so intimate... so good that you don't stop him, you don't want him to.

You will bear his heirs and pleasure him when he wants you to but what he is doing now seems to actually pleasure you. His fingers graze your core and you gasp as the sensation takes you by surprise. This breaks the trance he had been in as he rips his hand away from your body and out of the water then out of the room before you can even get a single word out.

You finished your bath shortly after with your skin still tingling from where Harry had touched you. The ghost of his fingertips exploring places no one has touched not even yourself. You wanted to see how far he'd go, what he would do to you, how he would keep exploring your naked body. Seeking him out feels desperate but you have to know how far he was willing to take you. Was he just as affected by the intimacy? You knock at his chamber door softly praying that he doesn't reject you. "Come in" you hear him speak through the thick wooden door.

You quickly smooth out your sleeping gown before making your way into his chambers. This is the first time you've been in them, the amount of fabric, mannequins and art around the room surprises you. You had previously seen his work room where he designs and creates many different clothes but you had no idea he had more where he rests. You find Lord Styles lying on his large bed with one arm covering his eyes. He hasn't realized that's it you that's walked in yet so you take some time to look over his designs. You see some suits, daywear, and gowns of all kinds but then you stumble upon one that is called "My Bride". You pull it out from under some other sketches. The gown he's drawn is breathtaking, tight bodice detailed with what you think must be lace and gemstones, there's many layers of lace going downwards towards the bottom of the dress giving the impression of a flower that has not yet bloomed. He's added a simple shawl to the sketch which just adds to the elegance of the look.

"Would you make this dress for me?" your voice is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Harry startles on the bed, clearly not expecting you, sitting up quickly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking at the paper you are holding.

"I can, if you want me to make it for you I will" he nods looking back up, studying your face.

"I'd like that" you smile "I'm much too ashamed to go back to the modistes anyway..." you put the drawing back down on his desk. At this point, you are only pretending to be looking around his space. Your goal is to make your way to his bed... try to get him to touch you again.

"There's no need for you to be ashamed. They should be ashamed, the ton is over-critical of newcomers" he leans back on his hands the now completely unbuttoned shirt falls off of his torso, revealing it.

"I suppose so... it's still disheartening to think that people think like that about me" you sigh walking towards him again. His eyes don't leave you he seems to be analyzing you, your actions, your body, everything.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" he tilts his head in thought, "Threaten anyone who looks at you wrongly? Find this Lady Whistledown and burn her out of existence?"

"You..." Okay, deep breaths, this is when you'll make your move, "You can touch me again... Keep doing what you were doing?" the pitch of your voice is much higher than usual as you finish your suggestion. You avoid meeting his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his reaction.

What you hear isn't an answer but the sound of him moving on his bed, towards you? God, you hope so. You still don't totally understand what his touch made you feel or why it has you craving for more. You don't even really know what "more" means.

"I wouldn't want to ruin you as some say" he guides your head towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes, so intense and inviting.

"Well, they already think you have... I just want you to make me feel good" You don't back down keep your eyes on his.

"Have you ever made yourself feel good?" Harry's voice is deeper than you've ever heard, it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head as an answer, the ability to speak lost when he placed his hands on your hips. He tugs you forward, bringing you so much closer to him it makes you flush. He hums in understanding, still debating if he should do this or not... but the look on your face, the curiosity and the neediness makes his decision very easy.

He gently pulls you to lay down on his luxurious bed, the silky sheets and soft mattress feel glorious. You could stay in his bed all day long.

"Don't you resent me? I cut your first courting season quite short" he gently pecks your cheek before gliding across your lips to do the same to the other. You unconsciously follow his lips trying to have them meet yours again, you're already in a mental fog of pleasure and he's barely touched you.

"Can't answer, doll? Mh... don't worry I'll make you feel good" That's when he kisses you. Properly.

You let him take complete control as you've never kissed anyone. You don't want to make it unenjoyable for him or yourself so you follow his lead. His hands slowly bunch your nightgown up revealing more and more skin, skin that he is now seeing for the second time. He separates from your lips to look down at you, to admire your figure. Goosebumps spread all over as he delicately rubs his hands up and down your thighs spreading them apart adding him in lying down between them.

His face is inches away from your most private parts. Parts that have never been seen by anyone but your aids when getting dressed or cleaned. To aid him you didn't put any underclothing on, hoping he would accept your request. So, he's staring directly at you, making you flush from embarrassment.

"You want me to do this, gorgeous, you're sure?" your eyes meet his. His expression is unreadable, you've never had someone look at you like that. Like he wants to eat you whole.

"Please Duke Styles" you answer in a soft voice, he smirks at your answer and immediately gets to work.

What you're feeling is something completely new, foreign, unbelievably good; The curl of your toes as his mouth meets the skin you've never even explored yourself, the arch your body does and the loud gasp that slips past your lips. Who knew you could feel this way? Why did no one tell you that you could feel so unbelievably good?

Your hands grab onto the edges of the pillow you're lying on and you try to meet his gaze or maybe just to see what he's doing looks like.

Harry's eyes are already on you, your gazes meet easily, his pupils are dilated and his brows furrowed. He's so concentrated...

His tongue circles your clit sucking at it before letting his free hand join. His middle finger teases your entrance, not wanting to take your purity, he'll be somewhat of a gentleman and keep that for the wedding night.

"Ah! Harry" you moan desperately, desperate for something you don't even know, begging for him to keep going. You have an urge to shut your legs together but Harry's pushes onto your left one, keeping it pinned to the mattress.

The hand that was teasing your hole slowly goes up your nightgown, touching your skin delicately as he works his way up to grab your breast. His hand is warm on your chest, grabbing and massaging the skin he reaches.

He uses your slight distraction to prod his tongue inside of you exploring the few inches he's able to reach. Maybe exploring your inside isn't so bad... You'll be married no matter what happens...

His hand leaves your chest and makes its way back down, circling your bud. He can feel how close you are so he zeroes in. Lost in your pleasure and on his quest to make you feel good. Make you forget about the judgement the ton regards you with. He pinches your clit making your body lock up and your breath hitch but Harry doesn't stop. He keeps going until your whole body is spasming against his mattress until you're unable to make a sound with your mouth agape in pleasure.

You don't feel anything besides the tingling going from the tip of your fingers to the tip of your toes and the ends of your hair. Your heartbeat slowly stops being so erratic and your breathing calms down. As you start wondering where Harry has gone you feel a damp cloth rubbing against your intimates. You shiver at the feeling, obviously still sensitive, flinching when he gets close to your sensitive bud.

"How do you feel, my lady?" Harry's voice is soft and tender. Probably trying to preserve the warm atmosphere around both of you.

You hum positively as an answer, words lost as you meet his intense gaze.

"Cats got your tongue?" his tone is teasing. He throws the cloth away and joins you on the bed. You shake your head with a smile.

"I'm lost in thought" is the first thing you say to him, "I will be for a while after that" you sigh dreamily as you get comfortable in his sheets.

"Mh, maybe we should rush the wedding, get the Queens blessing for her diamond to wed in a rush... you won't speak a week after what I'll do to you" You just might have to march into the royal palace first thing in the morning.

[topgun-imagines]

Soothing Touch

Requested: yes

Summary: When Ice returns from a long day at work, you’re there to help melt all his stress away.

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: none

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped Ice as he stepped into your shared home. Maverick was such a pain in the ass. The entire day had been filled with Ice and Slider having to deal with Maverick and Goose’s shenanigans. Those two were little devils; Ice was convinced. Now, all he needed was to spend the evening curled up with the love of his life.

You head the front door close softly. What shocked you was that you didn’t hear anything from your boyfriend. Usually, he would call out to you, a newfound happiness in his voice now that he got to come home to you. Today, however, Tom never spoke a word as he stepped into your home. “Honey?” You called softly as you stepped out of the kitchen.

After a few seconds, you found him stepping out of the front entry, shoulders sagging and a soft frown on his face. The sight made your heart clench. “Tommy?” His head snapped up, eyes tired as he offered you a smile. You gave him a sympathetic smile in return, opening your arms wide as he walked toward you.

He collapsed into your arms, making you grunt slightly as you adjusted to support his weight. “Wanna talk about it?” You whispered into his shoulder as your hand ran up and down his back softly. He only shook his head. You could have guessed what was bothering him. It had been the same thing for the past week and a half. Maverick.

Wordlessly, you lead him to the couch. You sat down before pulling him on top of you. Your boyfriend barely put up a fight as he rested his head on your chest. His long body filled the entire couch, so much so that his legs hung over the edge slightly. His arms wound around your waist as he tucked his head into your neck.

You could feel his eyelashes flutter against the soft skin of your neck as he closed his eyes. The stress of the day rolled off him in waves as your hand moved p and down his back. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Tommy?” You whisper softly into his ear.

A beat of silence passed as your fingers drew delicate patterns over his shirt. He sucked in a soft breath, contemplating his response. But you soon realized that Ice wasn’t going to say anything. The pilot simply grabbed your hand and placed it on the top of his head, wordlessly communicating what he wanted.

There was a soft smile on your face as you began carding your fingers through his hair. For as perfectly styled as it was, there was a surprisingly little amount of gel. Your fingers moved slowly and gently through your boyfriend's hair, fingertips gently scratching at his scalp.

You could feel him melt into you at your soft touch. The feeling of your fingertips running across his scalp had him nearly moaning at the sensation.

This was how you remained for the next twenty minutes Eventually, Tom's breathing evened out and he was snoring softly. You smiled softly at the sound. After such a long day, you were glad that you were able to help him relax. Plus, you would never turn down an opportunity to play with your boyfriend’s hair.

Your fingers kept moving carefully through his hair, your other hand holding the back of his neck as he slept soundly. By now, you were simply running your hand gently across the top of his head, almost as if you were petting his head.

Your hand eventually slowed until it was just resting on his head. As your eyes slipped shut, you could feel his arms tighten around you and nuzzle further into your chest. Your thumb stroked softly over the back of his neck as you allowed sleep to finally pull you under.

a/n: Thank you all for reading. Feedback is appreciated and requests are open :)

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[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | next chapter

Six days after Maverick’s disappearance, Bradley isn’t quite whole anymore. But, there isn’t time to crumble.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc! avery mitchell : age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, extra warnings to be added chapter by chapter. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

“Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back.”

“Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone.”

It’s a stomach-sick, sweat inducing kind of fever that lingers now on this mild morning. Breeze blowing across his skin, patterned and rhythmic, reminding him every now and again to breathe.

It has been exactly six days since Pete Mitchell was declared missing in action. Six days since a missile meant for Bradley hit Pete’s plane and sent the sixty-five million dollar aircraft spiraling into miles and miles of desolate, freezing forest. Bradley has slept four times in those six days, and each time he has, his subconscious reminds him of exactly what he is responsible for

Today is a relatively chilly morning in May, and Bradley is sitting on the front step of a cottage near Bird Rock in northern San Diego. Today is the first day since he got home three and a half days ago that he has left his apartment. Natasha stayed over last night. She has stayed over every night. She slept by his side, on top of his covers, just holding his hand. When he was in the shower this morning, she laid out his clothes for him. She hasn’t ever known him to be this quiet. Ever.

He hasn’t said much at all since they got back. Natasha knows that he’s picturing himself alone in that forest. Dead, or worse.

Now, she sits at his side and rubs soft circles on his shoulder over the black fabric of his t-shirt. He would do it for her, if she was the one going through this. She would be too stubborn to listen to him too. They have known each other since flight school. Natasha got so drunk the first Friday that Bradley spent his entire first Friday holding her hair back while she threw up.

The next day, Bradley had embarrassed himself so badly in front of a girl he liked that he almost quit just so that they wouldn't have to see each other again.

That kind of thing bonds you for life: After that, they have remained pretty close. Especially now, when they need each other.

“Rooster, no one expects you to be here right now — you went through something awful out there.” She says it one last time anyway, even though she knows that it won’t change a single thing.

That’s one of the reasons that their friendship is so strong — sometimes a person just has to do what they have to do, Bradley and Natasha respect that sentiment. Even if it means texting back a no-good ex, or staying out a little too late on a work night now and again. Each other’s best interests are always at heart, but it’s human to not put yourself first now and again.

Bradley hasn’t sat on the steps of Maverick’s two bedroom beach cottage since he was thirteen. Right before Maverick pissed off an admiral and got shipped out somewhere crazy, somewhere cold — he can’t remember exactly where anymore, he never wrote a letter there.

That was all right before he started only seeing Maverick on holidays and special occasions, the occasional baseball game.

Pete bought this place back in the eighties.

He got it for a steal. A craftsman bungalow three blocks from the beach, with two bedrooms and a small yard. He had wanted to be close to Carole, and he had just gotten married.

Bradley’s memories of Charlie are faint, but he knows that her father helped Pete with the down payment. Maverick hated him for that. His first and, as it happened, only marriage hadn’t lasted very long. Two or three years, maximum. She was gone before Bradley finished second grade, anyway.

He remembers that she always made sure they had the ice-cream that he liked when he came to stay here — Mav had always been a little bit more forgetful when it came to that stuff.

The spare room here used to be Bradley’s. Back when his mom worked weekends at a hotel in La Jolla, and he and Pete would take Friday night trips to Blockbuster every week.

He hasn’t even been inside yet. He can’t imagine how much the interior would have changed since those weekends back in the nineties.

Glancing down at the IWC clock face on his wrist, the big hand has been creeping up on ten o’ clock for what feels like hours by now.

Breeze sweeps a strand of Natasha’s hair off of her face. She leans against her best friend, her palm trailing to the middle of his back.

Natasha has two parents. They definitely don’t see eye-to-eye often, but she knows where they are. It’s a Sunday, they’ll be at Costco. She has a sister who gets on her nerves but adores her nonetheless, Leona will be at a spin class this morning. None of the people she loves are missing. If one of them were, she would have others to lean on.

For Bradley, it’s just her now.

“I can’t let her turn up to an empty house.” Bradley’s voice comes out more hoarse than either of them is expecting it to. He hasn’t cried yet. He keeps thinking he might, the urge is there, but the tears just don’t come.

Bradley doesn’t even know her. Not really. Not even when he was a kid. It’s been sixteen years since Bradley was even on speaking terms with Maverick. Even when he still was, the news about Maverick’s accidental bundle of joy had been quite hush-hush.

He saw her a couple of times, the wriggling infant with perpetually sticky hands in an out of place looking car seat in one of Mav’s sports cars.

It doesn’t matter now that he never got to know her. Because of him, her life will be different forever. He’s got a debt to her father that he’ll never repay. For the sake of that, he’s willing to wait hours for her to turn up.

It has been six days. If Maverick survived the initial hit, and the ejection, then he has still been out in the snow for six days.

Probably injured. Alone. Being hunted. He’s gone. And yet, Bradley just can’t — or won’t — grieve him. Moving on isn’t an option.

So, he just sits here and waits. He doesn’t even know who, really, he’s looking for. He never met the mother, hasn’t really seen any pictures of you ever.

Pete Mitchell’s only child. The last time he saw her was when she was three years old, staring at him from the backseat of her mother’s blue ford escort with a pacifier in her mouth while your parents argued a few feet away.

He’d been sitting on these same front porch steps, pissed off because Mav was making him late for his baseball game.

Admiral Simpson is the one that has been doing all of the correspondence. He did Bradley a favour by giving him a heads up that the girl was even coming. Bradley wouldn’t have even known how to contact her himself.

He doesn’t have Maverick’s number any more, much less a girl he met a handful of times.

Back when he knew her, she didn’t even know her numbers. And her mother lived up near Oregon. She was a waitress. Most of the time Pete drove up to see her, or the weekends that she visited him, Bradley would stay with a neighbour.

He bows his head just slightly, elbows rested on his parted knees. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn sweats. He hasn’t ever let Natasha dress him before. Today wasn’t a good day to start. Meeting Mav’s kid wouldn’t be a formal occasion, but under the circumstances he reconsiders.

His ears perk up at the sound of an engine misfire.

Natasha flinches against him. She’s not been feeling that great since they got home either. Her dreams are like his too. It doesn’t matter.

The car squeals around the corner at the far end of the street like its driver is trying to get it onto just two wheels. He lifts his head in time to see a steel blue ford escort hit the curb on the street just past Maverick’s property line.

Instantly, he pushes himself onto his feet. That kind of maniacal attitude to manning a vehicle must be hereditary.

Both he and Natasha watch as the driver slams their fists into the wheel in frustration. Then, the driver notices them for the first time.

Hair twisted up messily, her face stark and tired, with a caught expression like a scolded child. She swallows.

Avery Mitchell has seen Bradley Bradshaw periodically throughout her life. There is no escaping his image when Maverick’s around. But, none of those photos are recent. They’re all from at least twelve years ago now.

She blinks, vague recognition in her expression as the engine splutters to sleep and she gets out of the car with the keys in her hand.

While she thinks Bradley looks different, he can’t find any semblance of the way he remembers her in her face now at all. She’s not a little kid anymore.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her palms onto her jeans. A brief look is sent towards her best friend, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He’s staring straight ahead as Avery starts off with one foot on the pavement, swinging the groaning car door shut behind her.

High top black converse. The other foot follows next. Jeans. Normal, appropriate for the early May weather before the heat really picks up. She exhales and her hand flies up to wring at the nape of her neck, sore from sitting all that way.

“Hi,” She forces out. “Bradley, right?”

That’s stupid. She knows who he is. He knows who she is. Both of them know why they’re here.

“Yeah.” Bradley agrees without a nod. His hands are neither in his pockets nor doing anything else that might be productive. He tells himself that he should maybe shake her hand, but he doesn’t. He tells himself that maybe he should say something more, but he doesn’t.

Towering over the pretty brunette at his side, Bradley doesn’t look anything like he had in his photos at high school graduation. His face is longer and wider at the same time, his cheeks have lost some of their roundness but they still have a youthful pink flush. His hair is shorter, auburn and tidy around the back and sides. Still trying to be curly on top.

He grew up near the beach and his skin tells the tale. Freckles and a golden glow to his skin that is an all year round kind of thing by now. Slight redness across his collarbones, the high points of his body where the sun hits most when he’s drying off after a swim.

In his eyes, Avery searches; she was hoping to find the boy from the pictures. The grinning blond in the baseball uniform. Something familiar down here, at least. Instead, there’s something else.

Whatever that look is, she hopes it isn’t pity. Just because his dad — no, she stops herself, she shouldn’t think that. It shouldn’t start out like this.

“How was the drive? — Not too bad, I hope?” The tiny brunette finally bursts through the wall of silence that Avery and Bradley have been competitively building up since her sneaker touched the pavement two minutes ago. “I’m Natasha. I work with… — I — I’m Bradley’s friend.”

“Hi.” Avery starts out, dropping her hands down to her sides and shifting on her feet. She glances back at the car — practically a smoking pile of crap on the road. “It wasn’t too bad. I need to see a mechanic while I’m here, but — I don’t know. I’ll find time.” Just from watching her, Natasha can see that Avery is a personal all over the place.

Neither here nor there. She doesn’t look like you’ve been crying, either. Mascara intact, lips glossed, her makeup looks pretty.

But, there’s a restlessness in her eyes that gives her away.

Bradley knows that it has been a long time since he and Maverick were on speaking terms. He knows that even before that, they didn’t talk much about the kid he had a couple hundred miles away.

But, shit — he wishes now that he had at least seen a picture first so that he could prepare himself.

He remembers footie pajamas and drool and chubby, perpetually sticky cheeks.

Now, there’s a belt looped through her blue jeans makes sure that the denim hugs her in all of the right places and that tank top is confirming to him that she’s absolutely nothing like the faint image he has in some of his oldest memories.

There’s got to be something wrong with him — that that’s one of the first things that sprung to his mind.

That Mav’s kid got hot in the twenty years since he saw her last. He shakes it from his head. Physically. He shakes his head and finally springs into action.

“What’s the matter with it?”

For the first time in five days, it’s the first time that someone hasn’t started a conversation by asking how she holding up. It catches Avery totally unprepared, and her knowledge of cars leaves her under qualified to answer anyway.

Bradley Bradshaw takes three long strides along the stone garden path and he has reached her already.

He’s on a course right for her, and he’s big when he’s not squished into one of those photo frames in Maverick’s house. She leans back slightly, starting to brace for the impact of him hitting her.

He’s aware of his size and has learned to grow careful with it, stepping around her narrowly and heading straight for her old shitbox of a car.

“I don’t know. The steering is loose and the engine is making a weird noise.”

Bradley twists his neck and shoots an incredulous look at her, back over one of his wide shoulders.

It’s a fourteen hour drive down from the Oregon coast, on a good day, and this car ran like shit when her mother bought it twenty something years ago.

Popping the hood, Bradley finds himself thinking of something other than those snowy peaks for the first time all week. He lets out a deep breath.

Ahead of her, Avery stands confronted with Mav’s place.

The cottage she was forced to spend the occasional weekend or weeks in during the summer a couple of times through her childhood.

Most of the times that she had seen Pete was in her hometown. He was always the one who travelled. It seemed fair. His job meant that it didn’t happen often.

Avery’s memories of this house are faint, but the same uncomfortable restless feeling it gives her remains. She remember quiet days sitting on the couch with her hands in your lap, waiting for that court-mandated forty-eight hours to be up.

Natasha is facing the other way. She watches Bradley step off of the curb and pop the hood. Bradley has a technical knowledge of engineering from his career, and a slightly broader scope from his interest in vintage cars — but he’s not a mechanic.

A quick glance to her right and she takes note of the way Avery’s frowning down at the weeds poking through the stone path pavers.

Like watching a storm roll in before a big surf, Natasha has a bad feeling about this arrangement. There’s a competitive nature to the way Bradley needs to be busy — given the right permission, he’d run himself into the ground with it.

Two people who should be coming to terms with their grief, and it's clear to her that they’re both planning on ignoring this problem for as long as they can.

She stares at you, already planning on tearing up all of those weeds for the week to come.

“You can’t drive this piece of shit.” Bradley decides from the street. He stands back and plants his hands firmly on his hips, shaking his head.

Avery turns slowly on the balls of her feet and pushes her hands into the pockets of her jeans, glancing back at Natasha for a little bit of help here.

He doesn’t even look up.

Crowding over the hood of the car, glaring down at it. Thick shoulders filling out a plain black t-shirt and long legs hidden under loose fitting grey sweats. An auburn curl dangles over his forehead.

“I… Kinda have to.” Avery points out. A recent graduate with no immediate career plans, who just quit her waitressing job to pick up the pieces of her presumably dead, semi-estranged father’s life. Buying a new car isn’t exactly in the budget right now.

Bradley opens his palms and braces them against the open hood. He turns his head and looks first at Natasha. His best friend. Then, the house. He learned to ride his bike on this street. Maverick lived on this street. Finally, his attention turns to her. He watches her watch him.

Leaning against her shitty, old car like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. Squinting at her because he left his sunglasses in work and the doctors won’t let him go back there for another couple weeks. Natasha’s going to pick them up for him later today.

Avery’s staring back at him, wondering why he’s looking at her like that. Like he’s looking for something.

He pushes off of the car and stands, wiping his hands on his sweats. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever you need. I can drive you for a bit.”

As Bradley walks around to the back of the car and pops open the trunk to grab her bags, Natasha is struck with a numbing realization.

This really is a bad idea. She knows it’s more than him being nice, and it’s more than him owing Pete Mitchell.

Maverick put himself in an early grave trying to make up for a mistake he made when he was young, and she’s got a bad feeling that Bradley won’t stop until he does the same.

…

Tags: @ahoyyharrington @diorrfairy @just-a-harmless-potato @hangmanshoney @sgt-barnesveins @shanimallina87 @nykie-love-anime @lilyevanswhore @sammyrenae68 @moonlight-addisyn @pulisvertz @cherrycola27 @chxosunbound @tayygriffith @yuckosworld @callsign-magnolia @trickphotography2 @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @sushiwriterhere @books-for-summer @thelonelyumbrella @angelbabyange @iwontshutuptilltheyaddgeckoemoji @stillreadingfantasy @casualhilarity @s-u-t @topguncortez @sweetwhispersofchaos @aaprilshowers @shadeds-library @bradswolfe @wishingwell-2 @roostersgirlfrxend @itsmytimetoodream

[garagepaperback]

dandy They go to five different shops and still nothing. Ron suggests and then insists they break for food, which Harry allows because the next shop is in France and even if he pushed his fringe aside and they managed a last minute international Floo with no reservation, it still doesn’t open for another hour. 

Across the tiny bistro table at Hera’s, the posh little cafe off Diagon that both of them hate, Harry’s halfway through writing back to Pansy for the fourth time this morning. Ron, with a mouthful of his second inexcusably expensive mini breakfast roll, says, “Is it really that big of a deal?”

Harry blows out a lung and half’s worth of air, considering that response enough and folds the note up, shoving it towards the owl waiting at the open windowsill. It shouldn’t be this hot for early June. He woke up sweating, if he’s being honest, due to a couple of reasons. One of which is currently filling his stomach with lead, which reminds him of the small box in his pocket, resting against his thigh which is the reason and somehow also lead - getting the hair potion is the simpler task to focus on. 

“How about just doing a date night in a week or something?” Ron manages to sound almost like he believes it. He works innocently through another bite of sausage, bacon and egg but the smirk leaks through.

“Yeah. He’d love a quiet, no-fuss thing on his lunch break, maybe. It’s not like he’s one for details or drama or anything like that.” Harry belatedly notices the owl still there, staring at him, and bargains with a messy three-quarters of his already quite small pastel de nata, shooing it away once it accepts the bribe. Pansy’s in charge of the fireworks and she’s being a complete wanker about it.

Maybe that isn't fair - he’s very tired. Harry hadn’t actually woken up today as much as eventually conceded that it was morning after a full eight hours of staring at the back of his own eyelids. Next to him, Draco, however, had slept like the fucking minister of sleep, like an angel that was born only to dream and look really docile and soft and comfortable or whatever other kind of thing slept well - Harry doesn't know, he's too knackered for the metaphor. 

Just before bed, Draco checked the post and grumbled that the fancy hair potion he'd ordered last week hadn’t shown up and then Harry’s entire plan for today had begun its slow-motion avalanche. It’s bordering on a real disaster, at this point, though he can’t really tell if the feeling is actually big or it's the enormity of the day itself making everything feel huge. He drinks a hurried mouthful of coffee and leans over a little, staring through the window like that might summon the owl back quicker. 

“Do you think it matters that much? Like, in terms of the whole plan, d’you think he really cares about getting the shampoo he likes?”

“Not sure if you’ve met him.” Harry says, not taking his eyes off the empty street, the view from the window. It just feels like the owl could come back faster this way, and once the fireworks and the semi-legal aura-borealis-in-a-bottle are all confirmed, he can relax even just a single molecule more. “But he’s sort of like a really finicky breed of show cat. That I live with.”

Ron supplies, “And, that you shag.”

“And, that I shag.” Harry smiles.

“That you’re gonna marry.”

The smile stretches, dangerously close to huge. “That I’m going to marry.”

“I think, who cares about the shampoo, then.”

“I care.” Upending his glasses, Harry digs a knuckle into one eye, like he can push back the exhaustion and heart-obliterating anxiety and whatever other massive, wonderful, terrifying feelings linger all over, brimming just under the skin. “It’s not about the hair potion, though he is like, one Victorian petticoat thing away from going full dandy." Harry pushes a hand through his hair, looking back at Ron. "There's no way he's gonna say no, but it’s just... worth doing. Not to convince him, but. He notices stuff like this, all these little things, which makes me notice more little things, which makes the whole world feel like it's got more to it, like it's deeper or fuller or something and it's because of him that I-”

“Okay, save it for the vows, Merlin.” Ron pops in the sixth and final mini roll and stands up, chewing and thoughtful. He checks his watch, all in, Harry’s best fucking man. The best man. “Percy should be behind his very important department of transportation desk by now. We can bully him into getting the Floo authorization for bloody Paris, and still be back in time to meet Ginny at the bakery to get the cakes off to Wiltshire before your future husband even wakes up and wonders where you've gone off to.” “Future husband.” Harry repeats and Ron's grin is wildly contagious. Or maybe it's been idling in him even through the sleepless night, because he actually couldn't wait for today and today could hardly wait for him. Standing, he finishes off the coffee and runs a nervous, ready hand over his pocket. Inside, a weightless thing made enormous because it's the whole rest of his life, eager to arrive.

for day 27 of @microficmay

[vmiuchi]

INK AND TEMPTATION

Chapter 2.

Just another normal and quiet day at the tattoo parlor you work at in the heart of Helsinki, Finland. Or so you thought ?

The night was slow, dragging in a way that left Ville restless. He had been back in Helsinki for a while now, and though he loved his city, something about this particular night made the air feel heavier. Maybe it was the whiskey sitting half-finished on his table, or the faint hum of an old Leonard Cohen record playing in the background.

Or maybe it was her.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the stray strands back as he stared out over the dimly lit streets. Y/N. She had been on his mind more than he cared to admit.

Ville had met thousands of people, women especially, who hung onto his every word. Yet she was different. The way she barely reacted to him, the way her focus remained purely on her work—it intrigued him. He was used to being admired, used to having eyes follow him wherever he went. But she? She barely looked at him unless it was necessary.

That, in itself, made him want to keep pushing.

His fingers drummed against the table as he took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his chest. He had gone to the tattoo shop today on impulse, curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to see if the first time was just a fluke, if she would falter, even for a second, under his teasing.

She didn’t.

And that? That made things even more interesting.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. With a sigh, Ville pushed himself up, making his way across the apartment. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but there weren’t many people who came knocking without a reason.

Opening the door, he wasn’t surprised to see Bam standing there, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Jesus, took you long enough," Bam scoffed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He dropped onto Ville’s couch, stretching out like he owned the place. "What the hell are you doing in here? Writing sad poetry again?"

Ville smirked, shutting the door. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Bam grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table, taking a swig straight from it. "So," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "how’s your little tattoo artist? You really skimped the details over text so I figured out that I should check on you myself."

Ville exhaled a short laugh, grabbing his cigarette pack from the table. "She’s not my anything, Bam."

"Yet."

Ville smirked around his cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease. "She doesn’t seem the type to fall easily."

Bam raised an eyebrow. "So? That ever stopped you before?"

Ville exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting the question hang between them. No, it hadn’t. He enjoyed the chase. The slow unraveling of interest, the shift from indifference to something more. But with Y/N, it felt different. Not just a game.

A challenge.

And Ville Valo never backed down from a challenge.

Ville walked through the quiet streets of Kallio, cigarette between his fingers, sunglasses shielding his tired eyes from the early morning light. He had barely slept, but that was nothing new.

What was new, however, was the fact that he found himself walking past Y/N’s tattoo shop again, despite having no real reason to be there.

Habit, he told himself. Pure coincidence.

He slowed his pace, glancing toward the darkened windows of the shop. It wasn’t open yet, but he could picture her inside, sketching away, lost in her own world.

Ville smirked to himself, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette into the street.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

The soft drizzle of morning rain clung to Ville’s coat as he stood across the street from the shop. Helsinki had a way of being romantic even when soaked in grey—fog curled around the edges of the buildings like smoke, and the cobblestone shimmered faintly beneath the haze. It felt like a dreamscape, one that matched his mood almost too perfectly.

He leaned against a lamppost, lighting another cigarette with slow, deliberate movements. His silver rings glinted under the overcast sky, the flame of the lighter briefly casting shadows across his pale fingers.

She’d be arriving soon.

He told himself he was just curious. That he just happened to be in the area. But Ville had never been good at lying to himself, not really.

He wanted to see her again.

Not just because she intrigued him, though that was certainly part of it. But because she carried something fragile behind her eyes. A quiet wariness. He’d seen it in her hands as they hovered above his skin, the way her fingers were steady, but her energy wasn’t. She didn’t trust people easily. That much was obvious.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to know why.

He heard the jingle of keys before he saw her. There she was, hood pulled up, black hoodie soaked at the shoulders from the rain. She didn’t notice him at first, not until she unlocked the shop door and stepped inside.

Ville took another drag and let the smoke swirl out between his lips, eyes still fixed on the now-lit windows. A few moments later, her silhouette moved behind the frosted glass—setting up, switching on the light at her station.

He stayed there for another five minutes before flicking his cigarette to the curb and walking away, coat swaying behind him like a long, dark shadow.

He didn’t go in.

Not for now, at least.

He wasn’t in a rush.

Let her wonder.

The studio reeked of sweat, stale beer, and smoke—just the way Ville liked it. Mige was strumming a bassline absentmindedly while Linde fiddled with a distortion pedal, the feedback screaming momentarily through the room before fading.

Ville sat on the worn leather couch, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, ash gathering in the cracked glass ashtray next to him.

"You’re quiet," Mige noted, plucking a few deep notes from his bass. "That usually means trouble."

Ville smirked. "I’m never trouble. I’m a saint."

"Bullshit," Linde muttered without looking up.

Ville chuckled but didn’t offer anything more. His thoughts were miles away—still back at the shop, still on her.

“You seeing someone?” Mige asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Ville exhaled smoke through his nose, grinning faintly. “No.”

“But you want to.”

That made Ville pause. His grin faltered for just a second. “Maybe.”

Mige raised a brow. “She a groupie?”

Ville laughed, low and amused. “Hardly. She can barely look me in the eye.”

“Ah,” Linde muttered. “So she’s normal. That explains your obsession.”

Ville leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “She’s...interesting. Real. Doesn’t care who I am. Probably hates me, if anything.”

“That’s a first,” Mige said with a chuckle.

Ville didn’t reply. He let the laughter fade and the sound of guitar fill the room, but his mind wandered back to her again. The smell of antiseptic and ink. The way she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear when she thought no one was watching.

Yeah. He wasn’t done with her.

And he’d make sure she knew it.

Even if he had to show up at that damn tattoo shop every day until she let him in. He'll make sure she drowns in his love.

The soft buzz of the tattoo machine was silent today, the shop unusually quiet even for a rainy Helsinki afternoon. Outside, the city shimmered in a slick sheen of moisture, the kind that clung to windows and turned every light into a blurred painting.

Y/N sat at her station in the corner, furthest from the front door like always, curled over her sketchpad. Her pencil moved in light, practiced strokes across the paper. A bat wing in one corner, blooming roses in another. Something calming about the repetition, about lines taking shape where there had been nothing.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone all day, and that was exactly how she liked it.

But something… felt off.

It started this morning, when she stepped into the shop and got the strange feeling someone had been watching her. She brushed it off—Helsinki could be weird like that. The city was always awake, always moving, even when it pretended to sleep.

Still, her nerves hadn't settled. Not completely. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was that lingering sense of unease she’d carried since him—the one she’d left behind three months ago. That feeling didn’t go away overnight. Sometimes it showed up in the smallest ways. A look. A sound. A shift in energy she couldn’t quite explain.

She set her pencil down and stretched, trying to shake it off. The shop felt safe. Familiar. Her second home, really. Between the muted lights and the hum of the machines, it was the only place she truly relaxed. Most of the time.

The bell above the front door jingled, breaking the silence like a gunshot.

Y/N jumped, breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Chris had left for lunch over an hour ago. There were no appointments scheduled until the next day.

Wiping her hands on her hoodie, she stood and made her way cautiously toward the front, footsteps soft against the worn floorboards.

Then she saw him.

Ville Valo.

Again.

Her breath hitched for an entirely different reason this time.

He stood in the middle of the shop, dark coat trailing behind him like something out of an old vampire movie. His hair damp from the drizzle, cigarette smoke still clinging to him like an aura. The silver rings on his fingers caught the light, same as before, glinting like little secrets.

He wasn’t looking at the art on the walls this time.

He was looking at her.

Y/N froze, fingers curling slightly at her sides. “You… didn’t have an appointment.”

Ville tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “Didn’t say I did.”

“So… why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow step forward, his boots echoing softly in the quiet room. His eyes swept over her, unreadable but intense.

“Do I need a reason?”

She blinked. “Most people do.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but not the usual cocky kind she expected. It was softer. Tired, even.

“I was nearby,” he said simply. “Thought I’d say hello.”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of the way her hoodie hung loose around her, of the smear of pencil dust on her fingers. She hadn't prepared to be seen, not like this. Not by him.

“And hello’s all you came for?” she asked, voice quieter now. Not suspicious—just unsure.

Ville nodded once, almost solemn. “Something like that.”

He stood there like he had all the time in the world. No rush, no excuses, no bandmates in tow. Just him. Watching her the way he had the first day, when she was too stunned to even meet his eyes properly.

“I thought you were the type to disappear after one visit,” she murmured.

“I usually am,” Ville admitted. “But you don’t exactly make it easy to forget, kaunokainen.”

She stiffened at the pet name, though something fluttered low in her stomach at the sound of it even if it wasn't the first time he called her that. Beautiful. She didn’t know why he kept calling her that, didn’t know what he was getting at. Maybe it was just teasing. Maybe it was just him. But the way he said it made it feel like it meant more.

She hesitated, then finally asked, “Do you want coffee or something?” Trying to not drown in the awkward silence that hung between them.

Ville raised an eyebrow.

“I mean—” she rushed, flustered. “If you’re going to stand there like a ghost, you might as well sit. I think Chris left some coffee in the back.”

Ville smiled. A real one this time. No smirk, no edge. Just quiet and warm.

“Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

And somehow, despite the soft rain still falling outside, the shop didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello M! I saw you were open to writing for characters for GOT/HoTD, so I was wondering if I could send in a request for Aegon the Conqueror x fem! reader (non-Targaryen - maybe Nymeria's sister?) with the prompt 'Gift giving'? As for smut level, if possible lemon please, if not default or lime are perfectly fine too! Thank you and have a great rest of your day :)

Hello! Nymeria actually lived and died long before Aegon’s birth, and the princess ruling Dorne during Aegon’s time was already eighty or so, so I will write this fic with the reader being princess Meria’s great-niece instead. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Aegon the Conqueror x Fem. Reader (House Martell/Great-niece of princess Meria | Second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut

Warnings: Size kink | Kissing | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 1.3K words

Summary: The day after his return to Dragonstone, Aegon receives his first gift on the day of gift giving

Rating: 🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: In this version, Visenya and Rhaenys are merely Aegon’s sisters, and not his wives. I also write the seasons running for three months each, instead years and years.

Divider by @estrelinha-s

The Dornish custom of gift giving during the winter solstice was not unheard of in the other kingdoms, but they, besides the Northmen, were the only people to practice such a custom. Once King Aegon took a Dornish princess to wife and adopted many of their ways, his own kin started to exchange gifts as well.

The dreary holdfast that was Dragonstone was awash with black and crimson banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and black and crimson bunting besides. Sprigs of evergreen clung to columns and windowsills, adding to the color that cut the chilling white of snow.

When Aegon opened his eyes, it was to the sound of a bell chiming. It was still dark out; the sun was obscured by thick clouds bearing more snow. Aegon hoped it was morning and that he had not slept through an entire day. His journey to Volantis was a triumph. It was also long and tiresome. Now he was home, and he did not have to think of leaving again for quite a while.

“Good morrow, my love.” Relief surged through him when he heard your greeting. It was indeed morning, and he had not, as he had feared, slept for a full day. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead, sweetling.” Aegon threw back his pelts and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The room was still warm; someone had added fresh logs to the fire. He suspected it may have been you, and he was grateful for it. “Is everything ready for tonight’s feast?”

“It is.” The featherbed was comfortable, and the pelts were soft against your skin. Still, you opened your eyes and sat up in bed. The appointed hour for the giving of gifts was still a long way away, but you wanted to give Aegon his before breaking fast. “And I have something for you.”

“You need not trouble yourself, my lady,” Aegon replied. He watched while you slipped out of bed and slid into a thick robe. He felt a stirring in his blood, a yearning. He decided the first meal of the day would have to give way to more pleasurable diversions. “I have a great many treasures already, you most of all.”

“True, my lord,” you agreed, and then blushed after hearing his praise. Aegon was now king. The immense wealth of gold and jewels of House Targaryen was his to use as he saw fit. Nevertheless, today was the day of giving gifts, and you padded across the room and opened the doors to your wardrobe. There, safely concealed between gowns of velvet and silk, was a heavy object wrapped in leather. The king sat up in bed, his eyes full of ravenous curiosity. “But I thought of giving you this all the same.”

“What have you there?” He inquired. His fingers twitched in anticipation. For nigh on half a year, the two of you shared the same chambers as husband and wife. You dined together and shared the triumphs and trials of ruling a great kingdom together. This, however, was his first true festival with you, and he did not know what to expect.

“I carved this myself,” you confessed, and you placed the parcel on the bed. Worry consumed you the entire time. Aegon had received many a fine gift in his life, and you prayed your own would pass muster. “It took quite a while, and I had to make sure you never came upon me making it.”

“Oho! You made it yourself, is it? Now I have to see it.”

Despite the many cares and expectations that came with wearing a crown, Aegon still possessed the enthusiasm of one free of such. He loosened the thin ribbon and drew away the leather.

“It is you and Balerion,” you explain, and run your finger along an unfurled wing. They were the hardest to carve. One night, you despaired that you would not get them right. “That was how I remembered seeing you for the first time. When you arrived at Sunspear, to ask my great-aunt Meria for my hand.”

Aegon lifted the piece of carved wood and studied it intensely. He admired the embellishments along Balerion’s body: the scales all over his underbelly, the horns on his head, and the sharp spines going down his tail. Then there was Aegon himself, perched on Balerion’s saddle, his crown atop his head. The king was deeply moved. All the wealth he possessed did not compare with this.

“I will treasure this always.” Aegon placed the carving on the chest of drawers next to his side of the bed. He decided to have the carving placed in his council room, on the mantle beside the painted table. “And I have a gift for you as well, my lady. For now, come here.”

He did not give you time to frame a reply and pulled you back into bed. Thoughts of gifts and feasts and celebrating were all but forgotten after his kiss. He was exceedingly gentle as always, stroking your arms, your thighs, his mouth hot and sinful while it plundered yours. Your hands found their way into his hair. He trembled and kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth when those same hands moved lower and clutched desperately at his back.

“Temptress,” he growled when nails dug into his flesh. Aegon slipped his hand over your belly, and loosened the sash of your robe. The rush of warm air made goosebumps prickle all over your skin. He trembled again, this time when you slipped out of it and wrapped your legs around his thighs. Your husband was big, and wonderfully so. You felt it even more when he slid that rigid part of him inside of you.

It hurt a little, even though you were more than ready. And it felt glorious at the same time. Every time he drew his erection out and then pushed it back in, flames sparked to life and surged through your veins.

“It is wonderful to be home again,” Aegon whispered in your ear. And it was not just him who thought so. You felt the same, and you reciprocated his sentiment by kissing him with fire and passion. Aegon nearly faltered, his hips and back now burning with effort. The room felt hotter, and the air was thick and sweet. His cock twitched within the warmth of your body when he felt a coiling deep in his belly. Faster he went, driving you deeper against the featherbed as he chased his release. It was too much. The pleasure was too much. The sensations that came whenever he pushed himself in were too much. Bliss—pure and otherworldly—rose and dragged you into a dark tunnel you did not seek to escape from. You could not think. All you could do was feel: the trails of fire that lashed at you and left you weak, and your very body slowly dissolving into a kind of pleasure that had no name. Then you heard it—your name spilling from your husband’s lips, and the deep, guttural cry that followed. Aegon thrust one last time before he stopped, and went still. 

Later, after he forced himself to move away from you, he admired his gift once more and then inquired after his sisters.

“Rhaenys has built a small mountain of gifts, her ladies tell me.” Aegon hooted when you told him. “Most of it will be given away to our guests during the feast. Visenya has only prepared tokens for us, for Rhaenys, and for no one else.”

“At least she has crafted a token for you, which is a miracle in itself.” Visenya, having expected Aegon to wed her according to the traditions of their House, was wroth when he chose a Dornish bride for himself. She had been cold and aloof for most of your marriage to her brother, but during the the last turn of the moon, there was a softening in her stance, an attempt to meet you in middle ground. It gave you hope for a much stronger bond with her in the future. “Send for the servants, sweetling. I think it is only proper for you and I to share a bath.”

[kodared]

₊˚⊹ No me mires con esos ojos. ☆˚- _ MoonBerry _ -

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°•. ★ .•°

“Astro, M’fine.. I just need to get a bit of sleep and I'll be okay for the next run tomorrow. “

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Based on the Artwork of the lovely @Strolling.Star on Tiktok and @Strexxed.Vylxd on Instagram!

Two-Part Fanfiction! Second half to be uploaded soon!

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Sprout is trapped in his Dream, and who else would come to his rescue other than Astro?

WordCount: 1,645

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- Part 1 (You are here!) -

- Part 2 -

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“ I’ll be alright Astro, promise. “ 

It had been a particularly stressful run that evening. The main run didn't go as planned, and even the common toons who tagged along were hurt, which weighed heavily on Sprout's conscience. 

Every time he blinked he swore he could see the events of the day replaying over and over. Rudie, covered in ichor diving for Boxten with no time for him to escape before he was impaled in the arm. 

It wasn’t Boxtens' fault entirely, No. He just didn't see Pebble rounding the corner in time to move off the machine. 

As the group of main toons returned to their rooms for the evening Astro stuck beside Sprout. He made an effort to make sure he made it to his room safely without passing out, and the bags under his eyes were especially prominent today. 

His many hands fidgeted under the blanket wrapped around his shoulders anxiously as he looked up at the taller toon. 

“Are you sure… You don’t seem alright... I can swing by your room and make you some tea, Teagan always says it helps.. ” 

Sprout felt his eye twitch as he reached and rubbed at his face. Trying to wake himself up a bit more, he didn't want to sleep. If he slept he would see Ichor. The substance that kept them alive always came back to haunt him in his dreams most nights. 

…He never told Astro of course. He already spread himself much too thin helping others, and even still a few slipped through the cracks no matter how hard Astro tried. 

No. He didn’t want to be a bother. 

Instead of telling his partner his woes he pulled his hand away from his face and gave a meek smile as they neared his room. Stopping just short of it as he turned to face Astro directly. 

“Astro, M’fine.. I just need to get a bit of sleep and I'll be okay for the next run tomorrow. “ 

Dandy never really allowed the toons breaks from Ichor runs, especially the mains, but Astro would be damned if he wasn’t tempted to ask for one for Sprout right this instant. 

Now that he was looking at Sprout dead on he could see just how prominent his eyebrows pinched together. A clear indicator he wasn’t really okay. He was used to picking up on the little things the other toons did. 

He was supposed to help the others, and to help he needed to know when things were wrong. 

Astro felt his worry spike as he continued to pick apart the little details Sprout tried so hard to hide from the others. Astro always noticed. He noticed how his leaves slightly frayed out of the usual style he used, how he bounced on his feet more, and especially the eye bags. 

…But he wouldn’t pry. It wasn’t in his nature at the end of the day, no matter how worried he grew for Sprout. 

Instead, he spared a glance down the hall, making sure the others were squared away in their rooms before slipping his blanket down just a tad. Letting his two hands reach up and cradle the side of his face. 

Neither of them made an effort to hide their feelings towards each other, but still, Astro never liked showing his hands. It always drew questions. 

Sprout practically melted into the other cool touch, his artificial warmth seeping into Astros' naturally cold hands. 

“...Please tell me if anything is bothering you… I can help..” 

He was made to help, but he didn't say that of course. 

Sprout just carefully reached for his second set of hands still buried under his blanket and softly squeezed them. Trying his best to reassure his partner as he felt his eyes slip shut momentarily against his will. 

He quickly regained his balance and sat up slightly, pulling his face out of Astro's hands. 

“ I promise Astro… Go rest my Nova.. “ 

Astros' hands meekly went back to holding his blanket corners as Sprout still held his bottom two. Giving a weary smile as he tried to read Sprout's expression. How he wished he could know what was going on in his mind. 

“ You as well… I'm right across the hall if you change your mind on that tea…” 

Astro knew he wasn’t going to rest anytime soon, and if his assumption was correct neither was Sprout. Hopefully, he would see reason and just come to get him if he needed anything. 

Sprout let out a soft and airy chuckle as he gave Astros hands a final squeeze before turning to go to his room. 

“ Of course, sweet dreams Astro,” 

He then turned and went into his bedroom. His door softly clicked shut behind him, leaving Astro in the hall for a few moments before the moon went to his bedroom. His mind filled with anxiety for his partner. 

…He would have to be sure to keep an eye out for his dream tonight. He hadn’t been seeing any from Sprout for a while now. 

—--

—-----

Sprout didn’t sleep for a good long while that night, not that he really wanted to anyway. His knees ached as he lay in his all too stiff and creaky bed. You’d think Sprout being a main toon would atleast get him a better bed, but nope. Dandy was stingy as ever. 

He flopped on his back and stared up at the ceiling. If he zoned out hard enough it almost made him feel relaxed. 

…But it always crept back. The Ichor. 

A constant force in his everyday life no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. No one knew how it started infecting them, not even Rodger of all Toons could pinpoint anything. 

He sighed and let his eyes fall shut for only a few seconds. Feeling his body relax ever so slightly into his mattress before feeling something cold and slimy drip onto his cheek.

Slimy and cold. 

He sat up with a start as he felt his heart hammering in his chest, he couldn’t breathe as he swiped it off of his cheek. Scrambling for his bedside lamp. 

His hands were slick with either sweat or Ichor, he couldn’t tell anymore. His skin prickled with artificial goosebumps as he felt around on his table. 

…Only to feel a cold and damp jello-like surface give way under his palm. His body reeled back as he tried fruitlessly to push himself back onto his bed. 

His front half of his body fell forward, almost as if gravity didn't exist anymore as he felt his chest heave in a blind panic. A terrible sense of vertigo took hold of his mind. 

His hands pulled away from the surface he thought was his nightstand so he could hold them in front of his body. Bracing for everything and anything. 

He screamed, or at least he thought he did, he couldn’t hear himself over his ears that began to ring. 

He fell face-first into the darkness surrounding his bed as it all encompassed his being. 

His face felt uncomfortably warm and wet at first as he fell into the Ichor that surrounded his bed. His torso and legs followed soon after. His arms flailed to gather some semblance of gravity as his conscience reeled to grasp the situation. 

A pipe must have burst filling his room with Ichor. He hadn’t been paying attention. He shouldn’t have tried to sleep, he shouldn’t have even laid down. 

He was supposed to support everyone. Why did he always fail? 

Sprouts' hands eventually breached the surface of the Ichor. His legs kicking to tread and keep himself afloat desperately. His mouth momentarily opened to gasp in the air he craved, only to get a mouthful of the dark substance. 

It burned the back of his throat as he tried to breathe. The dark liquid was heavy in his mouth as he tried not to taste the liquid that hurt so many of his friends. The bitter tang settled on his tongue as he hacked and heaved. 

He was going to die here. He was going to die and it was his fault, he should have been watching his friends' backs. He should have been up and making sure none of the Ichor got onto the main floors they lived on. 

He spat out what he could as he tried to keep afloat. His heart desperately clattered in his ribs as he felt his chest was about to burst. His legs ached from how hard he had to tread to keep afloat. 

His lungs burned and all he could think about was his friends. He would never get to bake with Cosmo again. He would never get to bake cookies for Pebbles or hear Vee’s snarky remarks. 

He didn’t like Rodger very much because he tended to pry but he would never get to tell the detective off again. He would never hear Rodger complain about Glisten. He would never hear Teagan and Tisha idly chattering in the kitchen while he baked. 

His heart panged as he remembered the most important one, someone who meant more to Sprout than just a friend. Astro.

His Supernova. His star. The center of his heart, his Sun.

The Ichor soaked his scarf and it held heavy around his neck. He pulled at his once beloved scarf now wanting nothing more than to yank it off. 

He thought of yelling out. To scream. To thrash and fight to live. 

…But if all the Ichor was in his room right now his friends would be none the better. He just hoped the others weren’t awake for it. 

He stopped fighting against the Ichor and felt his hands fall away from his scarf. Letting the heavy and waterlogged fabric tug him down into the neverending sea of darkness. 

‘I’m sorry everyone. I’m sorry Astro.’ 

.

.

.

.

“...Oh my dear..” 

----

---

.✮。• *₊°。 ☆°。

I wrote this for funsies because of the impeccable art drawn by @/Strolling.Star over on Tiktok, do go show them some love! Their style is truly something that I believe all can enjoy no matter what you ship. Speaking of ships, please do not go into the comments of my work, or anyone else's for that matter, talking about Fruitcake. I MIGHT write it in the future, but if greeted with "Where's Cosmo??" Comments I'm gonna just delete them. Let people ship what they want as long as it's not harmful! I do hope you all enjoyed! Until the next update!!

.✮。• *₊°。 ☆°。

[noosayog]

[IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU] - ft. knight! iwaizumi hajime

warnings/content: princess! reader x knight/personal guard! iwa, royal au, arranged marraige, angst. One more after this!

wc: 2.1k

part 5. directory here.

--

With Hajime gone, the days fly by. Before you know it, the wedding is set to take place in a week. Your family will be arriving in a few days and will stay to attend the ceremony to be held in the Nekoma castle. There’s no need for you to lift a single finger. Your dress, itinerary, dinner, guest list were all prepared by the maids in the manor. And that was fine because this is not the wedding you always fantasized about anyway. There is no use in stressing over the details. 

What you are excited for, however, is seeing your older brother again. While all the knights and courtesans in Nekoma are kind, you miss your family. 

And despite your father’s brutishness, you do miss him. After the union, you know your opportunities to see him will be few and far in between.

And it goes without saying, but your sore heart aches for your knight. Iwaizumi may have broken your heart, but you would be lying if you said you did not miss him. You have already long resigned to the fact that you will love him forever, silly as that may be. At least once an hour, he double crosses your mind and the next 10 minutes will be spent thinking of him, a deadly mix of daydreaming about his smile and bracing yourself to keep it together when you see him again.

Thus, the days are spent lounging alone in the gardens with a cup of tea and untouched pastries. Sir Kenma and Sir Kai have long given up on checking in on you when the faraway look glazes over your eyes. Most of them, sharp and cunning, have seen right through you, knowing of your feelings for your ex-personal knight. They used to sit with you to keep you company, but that does little to soothe the loneliness that seeps through your bones. So they have learned to give you space. After all, they have the rest of this lifetime to get to know their future queen. The days go by in a blur and before you know it, the day of your family’s arrival comes.

You expect a summon to dinner that night, but none comes. You arrive at the dining room as you do every night and find it completely empty save for some of the maids. When you ask about the Aoba Johsai entourage and the usual Nekoma attendees, the maids only shake their heads. You have dinner alone and wander through the halls in hopes of running into some familiar faces, but the castle hallways are silent and empty. After a dragged out tour of the entire building, including the outdoor gardens, you reluctantly give up on your search. 

Much to your disappointment, the next two days pass similarly. With the exception of Prince Kuroo having breakfast with you, the only human interaction you receive is from the servants. And with that, the day of your wedding arrives. 

~•~ 

The morning greets you with bright sun and beautiful weather, blue skies and not a cloud in  sight, perfect for an early summer wedding. Strangely, not a single maid disrupts your sleep, even after the additional half hour you spend lounging in bed. You decide to get up to find some breakfast and hopefully some company. 

When you push your bedroom door open, two familiar figures standing guard on either side of your doorway turn to face you.  

“Slept in on your big day, eh, Princess?” the first one teases. 

“Pretty heartless of you,” the second one jokes. 

“Mattsun! Makki!” you exclaim, wrapping each of them in a hug. “What are you two doing here?” 

They chuckle warmly, patting you on the back and reciprocating the embrace. 

“We’re here to be your escorts before it’s time to prepare for the ceremony,” Sir Hanamaki explains. 

“Shall we have breakfast in the garden today?” Sir Matsukawa offers.

“Where’s Toru and my parents? Am I not going to see them before the wedding?” 

“‘Fraid not, Princess. They’ve been busy dealing with some diplomatic shit apparently,” Hanamaki responds carelessly. 

“Makki!” you exclaim at his inappropriate language. You have missed that. 

“You’ll see them soon enough,” Matsukawa covers. “Well?” he prompts, offering you a crooked elbow. 

You slip either arm through each of their proffered elbows and practically skip your way to the gardens.  

Breakfast is a pleasant affair as the two catch you up on things you have missed at home. They go through a list of people and their respective updates, including your Father, Mother, Toru, Kindaichi, Kunimi, and all the others. 

They tactfully keep Iwaizumi off the list and while you are undeniably curious, it may just be better off not knowing. It may even be better that he does not come to the wedding at all. You keep those thoughts to yourself. 

After breakfast, they escort you straight back to your room after turning down your request to take a walk in the gardens.

“No can do, Princess.” Matsukawa declines.

“Don’t want you to run into any surprises, you know?” Hanamaki says cryptically. 

Once back in your room, you’re left again to your own devices until lunchtime. At exactly noon, a knock sounds at your door. Without waiting for your permission, the door opens and you are greeted by another face you have missed dearly. 

“Toru!” you exclaim, running over to your brother to tackle him in a hug. 

He lets out a grunt as he catches the impact of your body, giving you an easy spin before setting you back down. 

“Why haven’t I seen you since you’ve arrived?” 

“I’m sorry. There’s been some… situations I have needed to deal with since arriving.” 

He puts a strange emphasis on situations, but you do not question it. After all, diplomatic matters have always been more of Toru’s responsibility than yours.

“I wish we had more time to catch up,” your brother says, “but I have to ask you some questions now.” His eyes show a seriousness unbefitting of your whimsical brother, his voice solemn. 

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. 

“I need to know if you still love Iwaizumi after all this time.” 

You recoil at the question, surprised by the question and baffled by the relevance of the topic at this stage. 

“Don’t think about anything else. Just be honest with me, as my little sister whose happiness I wish for. Be honest with yourself.”  

“Yes,” you whisper. “I do still love him, and I think I always will. You may not know but Prince Kuroo and I… we agreed to…” you trail off, not sure how to explain the situation in a way that will not upset your brother. 

He surprises you by nodding in understanding. “I know. I know what you and the Prince agreed to. And don’t,” he pauses a bit here, as if searching for the correct words. 

“Don’t overthink what I’m about to ask, okay?” 

You nod. 

“If you had the chance, would you still want to be with Iwa? Forget all the circumstances. Do you still long to be with him?” 

Your answer is easy. A tear escapes your eyes as you respond, “if he and I could simply exist as ourselves, and not as our titles, then yes. I do.”

Your brother smiles then. He gives you one more hug and something about the look in his eyes tells you not to ask anymore questions. You return his embrace, allowing yourself to cry silently in his arms. You don’t know how long the two of you stand there like that, only separating when another knocks sounds at the door. 

It’s the maids, ready to prepare you for the ceremony.

Toru releases you, holding both of your shoulders steady. He leans down, face-to-face with you. “Don’t lose faith,” he says quietly, wiping the swiping tears from your cheeks. 

~•~ 

When Toru leaves, the maids enter, but instead of the Nekoma maids you have become accustomed to, it is your old maids and good friends, Rose and Marie. 

They are quick to gather you into a tight embrace, exclaiming about how you have lost weight and mildly reprimanding you for crying your eyes swollen on such a big day. 

With little time to catch up, they prepare you, adorning you with ribbons, flowers, and jewelry, all while chattering away in their comforting voices. When you slip into your dress and finally see yourself in the mirror, a strange calm washes over you. The same calm that has developed in the days you spent daydreaming in the Nekoma gardens. The same calm that covers your consciousness in a blissful haze. The same calm that makes you feel like you are looking at someone else in your body. 

It’s only as Rose and Marie join you on either side, admiring you through the mirror with tears in their eyes that you blink back into the moment. 

“You are so beautiful, Princess,” Rose sniffles.

“We are so proud of you,” Marie adds. 

You smile at them, fighting the urge to cry again and ruin all their hard work. 

“And remember,” they say. “You are destined for happiness. No matter how this day ends. Now, you must go, Princess.” 

This day has been nothing short of cryptic messages, but they are right. Outside, the sun is just beginning to lower itself onto the horizon and the sunset is a summon for you to be at the Grand Hall. You give your friends one last hug and a whispered “thank you,” before making your way out. 

~•~ 

At your arrival, the large double doors open to reveal an intricately decorated setup, but sparsely filled. The number of attendees is incredibly few for a wedding of royal caliber. As practiced, you walk down the aisle, vision blurred by the veil covering your face. When you arrive at the front of the room, Prince Kuroo is not at the altar, as he was during the practice sessions. And instead of an ordained priest behind the altar, your father and Queen Kuroo stand in that place. You see the monarchs of each kingdom holding their stern expressions, but as you meet your fathers gaze through your veil, you see a kind look in his eyes, one you have not seen since you were a child. He gives you a small nod and in spite of your confusion, you proceed.

Your destination is on the small elevated stage by the altar. You take the 2 small steps up, dragging the train of your dress behind you and turn around to face the guests. As you finally get a good glimpse of all the attendees, you notice that Hajime is nowhere in sight. On the Nekoma side of the hall, the first chair closest to the stage is vacant. You are not sure who is missing from the Nekoma side save for your absent fiance. 

The first to speak is Queen Kuroo, as you hear her begin to announce her son. 

“Announcing: Representative of the Royal Family Kuroo, Prince of Nekoma, and future heir to the throne, my son, Kuroo Testuro.” 

At the very end of the hall, the curtains are drawn and you see the Prince enter, walking down the same carpet you did just moments ago. However, instead of alighting the steps to join you on stage, he stands on the ground directly in front of you. He does not turn around to face the guests. You give him a questioning look and he just grins like he knows something you do not, though it seems more and more like everyone knows something about today that you do not. 

Next, you hear your father clear his throat. His next words make you turn your back to the audience to make sure you hear him correctly. 

“Announcing: Captain of the Aoba Johsai Royal Order of Knights,” 

Your breath catches. 

“And future heir to the Dukedom of the Iwaizumi estate, Iwaizumi Hajime.” 

 You swivel around abruptly enough that your veil slides out of position. Your obscured vision only sees a flurry of motion at the end of the hall. You see the curtain at the back of the hall pulled back to reveal a figure you dare not register as familiar, though it is one that you have watched and chased after for as long as you remember. Your vision grows hazy and you don’t know if it’s tears or the veil. So you pull the veil right off, not trusting your covered eyes. 

At the other end of the carpet, is Iwaizumi Hajime, not in his usual armor, but dressed in formal attire, not unlike Prince Kuroo’s. His eyes are trained intensely on yours. Something in the way he looks at you, walks to the altar, and takes your hands tells you that he is not here to simply watch. He is here for you.

[zayne-li]

Bloom

I do what I want in this fandom ok I write indulgence for myself. SFW.

Length: 1.2k

Pairing: Zayne/trans masc reader

Warnings: none

Other: Fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is a trans man who's been on T for a year

It's a quiet afternoon. A rare one, where Zayne and you both ended up having the same day off for once. Well. So he thought. Neither of you had been able to see much of each other lately, with his long shifts and your own busy schedule as a hunter. And well… You might have asked Xavier to trade a shift with you so that you could spend the day with your sweet boyfriend, but Zayne doesn’t need to know that. 

Anyway, he looks so content right now, like a big happy cat. Both of you are curled up on the couch, his head resting on your thigh while you watch a movie together. Well, you were watching the movie, but your poor sleep deprived Zayne dozed off about 20 minutes in. Your fingers carding through his short, soft hair probably hadn’t helped him stay awake either. Not that you mind. You hum and continue brushing through it almost absently as the credits start to roll, looking down at him as he takes in a sharper inhale, indicating that he’s finally waking up.

 

Zayne sighs, his hand coming up to wipe at his eyes as he yawns and his eyes crack open. Adorable. You give him a second to regain his bearings as he rejoins the waking world, but your fingers continue to pet his hair as he watches the names scroll by on the screen. He frowns and pouts a little as he looks up at you, and there’s something that flashes in his eyes you’re not sure you recognize.

“I slept through the entire movie?” He asks, disgruntled, his voice hoarse with sleep still, and you laugh, the hand in his hair moving to stroke his cheek as he turns onto his back to look up at you more fully.

“Clearly you needed it. It’s okay. You’re cute when you’re sleeping.” You respond, and he looks like he’s about to retort, but instead he yawns and rubs at his face again. 

“It’s been a long week. Month.” Zayne manages once the yawn subsides, and grunts, turning over so he can grab around your middle and press his face into your stomach. His voice becomes muffled now, rumbling against you in a way that’s almost ticklish. “I missed you.”

Your thigh fell asleep a long time ago, but you aren’t about to tell him that. Not when he’s acting so cute it makes you want to squish him like a stress ball. 

“I missed you too.” You shift a little, and his arms just hold on tighter. 

“Was the movie good?” 

“Yeah, it was…” You start, like you’re about to continue, but pause… It ended up being a pretty sad movie, actually. One where the couple at the beginning was so happy together, and throughout the course of the hour and a half, watched them slowly fall apart because one of them changed. They grew apart as they found themselves as individuals, rather than who they had become and remained for each other. It had left you with an odd, bittersweet feeling. The joy of becoming who one was meant to be versus the heartbreak of losing someone you thought would be with you forever. 

“What was it about?” Zayne asks, nuzzling his nose into your belly button, getting under the hem of your shirt and pressing a soft kiss to your hipbone. It makes you shiver a bit. 

Instead of answering the question, you find yourself blurting something else. “Zayne… Are you still attracted to me?” 

That causes him to pause, his lips stopping their gentle kisses on  your warm skin, and he looks up at you entirely bewildered. Your eyes meet for a long moment, and his own bore into you like he’s trying to determine the source of such a sudden and ridiculous question. After all, you’d had sex once already today, before either of you had even gotten out of bed. 

“... Have I done something to make you think otherwise?” He asks after a pregnant pause, and the hand you have resting on his shoulder drifts a little lower on his arm as you look away and shift beneath him.

“No… I just…” The thought of speaking the worry you have out loud is embarrassing, because you know it might sound silly, or maybe just insecure.

Zayne sits up. Propping himself on one of his arms, and you feel a tingle in your leg where he was resting as blood begins to flow properly again. 

“Tell me.” 

You can’t meet his eyes, and he doesn’t force you to, instead waiting patiently. 

“I just mean… I’ve changed a lot the past year, you know?” You’re trying to dance around the subject, but he catches on almost immediately. 

“You have.” Is his simple answer. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to work out the puzzle you’ve placed before him. 

“And… I’m going to keep changing.”

“Is that not one of the beautiful things about life? My love, we all change.” Zayne says, and leans a bit closer, his free hand coming up to your cheek. “You’re afraid that the more masculine you become, the less attracted I will be to you.” It might have been a question, but coming from him it’s a statement. 

Your face feels hot, but you lean into his large palm, just nodding, afraid of your own voice at the moment. There are tears that seem to be pricking at the backs of your eyes as you keep them fixed on your own hands in your lap. 

Zayne sighs, and out of the corner of your vision you see him shake his head. 

“Look at me.” He says, and you obey, the lump in your throat growing tighter once you see his earnest expression. 

“I just… I don’t want to lose you because of it.” Your voice is small, and Zayne sighs again, leaning in to press his forehead against your own as he strokes your cheek with a thumb. 

“If you believe that’s even possible, then I’m not sure you truly know me at all. If anything… I love you more than I did before you began this journey. I feel as if I am getting to see you for the first time in my life, and it has been a privilege to be by your side and watch you bloom.”

“Zayne…” You whine, unable to handle the surge of affection in your chest. 

“Your gender makes no difference to me. And it never will. What matters to me…” He continues, determined to quell the anxiety in your chest, and his hand slides down to rest on the beating of your heart, “Is this.” He turns his head, his nose brushing against your cheek, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “And this.”

You lean into the kiss, reaching up to hold him closer by the back of his neck. “What about when I start growing back hair and a beard?” You ask. What if he doesn’t want that? The person he fell in love with was soft and dainty, and nowhere near who you’re becoming now.

Zayne chuckles. “If those things make you happy, then I will love them too. As long as I get to see your smile.”

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 42 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

The chapter I wanted to post today was too long, so I cut it in two. There's another one after this one. Enjoy! 

! Don't forget to read the previous and following chapters ! : Here

Chapter 42

When Rhysand opened his eyes, his vision was blurry and his entire body was still asleep. He couldn't move and could barely wake up. He had slept really well. Gradually coming back to himself, he could feel his soulmate in his arms, resting on his bare chest and drooling on it from how well she slept.

He smiled, tightening his grip around her, running his hands in long strokes down her back and through her hair. He took a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of peace that had washed over him and eased him since she had returned. A tear of pure joy and relief left his eyes as he continued to take deep breaths.

He stretched his neck forward to place a kiss on the top of her head, taking another breath, relishing her scent. He smiled again. How did she smell so good?

He had opened his eyes in the meantime - when Cassian and Azriel moved to retrieve Luxiana and take her in their arms or when he, himself, felt too much the lack of his soul mate to extricate her from his brothers' arms - he had then seen rays of sunlight penetrate the room and it was now night again. So they had at least slept 24 hours. All four of them had a lot of sleep to catch up on, but the meeting of the high lords was today and they had regained their taste for life.

Rhysand's determination and hope had returned, and he wanted to do anything to protect his soulmate and the human kingdom that had saved and sheltered her when he couldn't. He would do anything to win the war, stop the king from destroying the wall, and save the humans his soulmate cared about.

He tightened his grip around the blonde's body, taking another deep breath, as if he hadn't breathed the entire time without her. Damn it, how had he survived? He felt so good and so alive with her by his side, he truly wondered how he could have thought to take her away from them. He would never make that mistake again. He could never lose her again. He needed her to breathe, to live, and to feel happy. He loved her so much, and he thanked the gods every second for giving his soulmate the strength to forgive him and come back to them.

Azriel was on his side, facing Rhysand and his soulmate. He was having fun running his fingers through Luxiana's white locks with a goofy smile on his face. Her hair was so soft. He ran his fingertips over her face, caressing her skin. Her milky skin was so soft. And there, like that, her mouth half-open and drool dripping onto Rhys's chest, she was so cute.

God, he'd missed her so much. How had he agreed with Rhys and kept her away from them? How could he have been so stupid? God, he could never have gone on living without being able to wake up next to his soulmate every morning. He could never have borne the knowledge that she had ended up loving someone other than him. He would do anything to protect her, anything, and there was no one other than the three of them who would protect her better. Because there was no one else who loved her more than they did.

Azriel loved her so much. He felt like Luxiana was inside him, under his skin, in his soul, possessing his being. He felt like she was a vital part of him, and without her, he would die.

He examined every inch of the blonde's face and couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to see her blue eyes for the rest of his life. He strangely wanted to bite her chubby cheeks and was dying to dig his fingers into her dimples that stood out perfectly when she smiled. God, he wanted to make her smile so badly. She was so beautiful and she was his soulmate and she had forgiven them for their stupidity. They were never going to lose her again. Never again. She was theirs forever now.

He ran his index finger over her lips, wanting to kiss her. She was back. He took a deep breath, soothed. She was back with him. He couldn't believe it. He'd been so afraid it wasn't real, that it was a dream. He'd fought sleep for hours, afraid she'd be gone when he woke up, but he'd fallen asleep, despite himself. And when he woke up, she was still there. It wasn't a dream. It was reality, and he thanked every god he could.

Cassian woke with a start, bolting upright and frantically looking around for his soulmate. He'd had a nightmare about waking up, still drunk, on a street in Velaris, and none of it had happened.

But when he laid eyes on Luxiana, asleep on Rhys's chest, he fell back onto the mattress, exhaling his whole being. She was there. She was there, and it was all real. She had come back to them. He began to smile broadly, his heart dancing with joy in his chest. He was so happy. So happy.

Suddenly, he remembered last night when he'd fallen asleep with Luxiana in his arms. He sat up again, turning toward his brothers. Rhysand had taken his place in the middle while Cassian had landed on one side. "You bastards stole her from me," he said, almost shouting with disappointment.

"Shut up," Azriel snarled, glaring at her, "you'll wake her up."

Rhysand nodded. "And you slept with your arms and legs spread, you didn't even hold her in your arms while she was on top of you." She could have left at any time. "You didn't deserve to keep her. And besides, we took turns. Now it's my turn."

"No, that's not fair," Cassian complained. "I'm sure you took advantage of my sleep to steal her and there wasn't any fair time between us." He reached out to Luxiana, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her towards him. "Give her back."

"You're dreaming," Rhysand growled, tightening his grip around his soulmate to hold her back.

Luxiana let out a long, disgruntled moan, half-opening one eye. "Just shut up and let me sleep."

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood there in silence, but they pursed their lips to keep from bursting into laughter. "She's always in such a good mood when she wakes up," Azriel teased softly.

Luxiana then sat up suddenly and glared at the spymaster. "Whose fault is that? Oh, you little…," she threatened before lunging at the Illyrian and biting his biceps with her mouth.

The three Illyrians burst out laughing, making Luxiana groan. "You're lucky I like you."

Now fully awake, she leaned on the mattress to push herself up and stand. But Cassian caught her mid-motion, wrapping his arms around her hips to pull her towards him. He pressed her back against his chest while turning away from his brothers, triggering Luxiana's laughter.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cassian asked, nuzzling his soulmate's hair.

"I'm hungry," Luixiana complained. "So hungry. I need to eat before I eat you."

"Oh, I'll take that as a real threat," Rhysand assured, getting up and standing in front of Cassian and his soulmate, offering her his hand. "Come on, let's eat."

"Yes!!!" She grabbed the lord's hand, and he pulled her out of bed despite Cassian.

Then the four of them headed towards the dining room. The three Illyriens were starving now too. They had eaten so little in recent months.

Azriel held Luxiana's hand as the latter jumped for joy with every step she took. She felt so good, so happy as the three Illyrians surrounded her. Her heart was beating so fast. "I'm so hungry. I want to eat a hamburger! Do you know what a hamburger is? I don't know if you've ever tried one! Tamlin and Lucien had never had one! Jasper made me try it, apparently it's a typical human thing! It's really good, it's bread with meat and sometimes vegetables and sauces and..."

And Luxiana continued to speak with joy and good humor. And the three Illyrians looked at her with shining eyes as their ears began to tickle with pleasure and their chests swelled with happiness. She had returned. They had missed the sound of her voice and her endless words so much. They could listen to her speak for eternity and never tire.

They sat around the dining table. Azriel released Luxiana so she could sit beside him, but the blonde sat directly on his lap. The blue-sipped Illyrian couldn't hide his smile or stop his eyes from sparkling with joy. He wrapped his arms around his soulmate's pelvis and held her tight while nuzzling the back of her neck. He took deep breaths, making the blonde shiver, as she gently fought with Cassian, who complained that she hadn't come and sat on him.

Rhysand detailed his soulmate in his brother's arms as well as her verbal, provocative, and smiling interaction with Cassian. And to think he'd almost missed out on that and deprived himself of it for the rest of his life. Damn it, he would never have survived it. He'd almost missed out on such happiness.

He filled a plate with food and piled some pieces onto the fork, offering it to Luxiana. His soulmate didn't even question the gesture and let Rhysand feed her. But the blonde ended up glaring at Rhysand and silently ordering him to eat too. He did so without upsetting her, but still laughing.

And Luxiana talked about everything and nothing, making lots of facial expressions and gestures in all directions, and the hearts of the Illyrians were healed a little more with each second.

They were better. So much better because of her. They were alive again and felt so happy. And Luxiana couldn't stop talking, she was having trouble managing the surge of joy that made everyone of her muscles vibrate. She felt so... happy.

Suddenly, someone nearly broke down the front door of the mansion as they savagely burst inside. "Listen to me, you old bastards," Mor's voice shouted from the hallway. "You deserve what's coming to you! Now get your asses moving. The meeting with the High Lords is in a few hours, and it's the only way you're going to help your soulmate protect the people she loves. You idiots..." She stopped abruptly when she entered the room as she saw the four of them gathered around the dining room table. Her eyes widened when she noticed Luxiana on Azriel. Then a broad smile spread across her lips at the sparkle of life and joy the three Illyrians had found back in their pupils.

"Hello Mor," Luxiana exclaimed happily, waving vigorously.

"Oh," she breathed, smiling even wider as tears of joy began to well up in the corners of her eyes. "So you four made up. That's good." She sniffed, wiping away a falling tear. "That's good."

Rhysand smiled at her tenderly. "Thanks for trying to take care of us despite everything, Mor. We're back. We'll be here for the meeting. We'll take care of it."

Mor let out a sort of happy sob before turning around to hide it. She was so relieved for her family. "Excuse me," she cleared her throat. "I have to go… deal with the dust in my eye." She practically ran out of the room just as Amren arrived at her side.

The brunette watched in incomprehension as Rhys's cousin left, thick tears streaming down her face. But when she looked at the three Illyrians finally accompanied by Luxiana, she realized they were tears of joy.

"Amren," Luxiana gushed again, glancing back at where Mor had been, unsure of what had happened.

Amren—with his usual impassive face—said at Luxiana simply. "You shouldn't have forgiven them, they don't deserve it. You're worth more than that."

Azriel tightened his grip around his soulmate as his muscles tensed one by one. What if she changed his mind? He was so scared. "Amren, shut up and get out before I make you pay."

"She's not wrong, though," Rhysand murmured sadly, bowing his head.

Amren—barely intimidated—gave Azriel a bored look, raising an eyebrow. "Wretch. Only your soulmate freaks me out."

Luxiana waved her hand in front of her. "I'm not a witch anymore, Am."

"Yeah, but you're still a completely crazy psychopath. That's what freaks me out, not your powers," Amren replied in her tired voice.

Luxiana let out a sort of high-pitched chuckle, accentuating her look of madness. "You are so cute."

The brunette shook her head, fighting back a shiver. "Creepy. I love it." She turned and disappeared as quickly as Mor.

Luxiana laughed at the bizarreness of the scene, and nothing from that past mattered to Rhys, Cass, and Az anymore. Only their Luxiana's melodious laughter echoed in their minds and hearts. Everything would be so much better now.

***

The high lord's meeting was about to take place. Luxiana looked around the room where the seven chairs were arranged in a circle. She swallowed hard, grimacing in worry. She had never seen this room, yet it looked exactly like the one in her nightmare.

The three Illyrians—noticing her anxiety and even feeling it deep in their chests through a bond that was growing stronger between them and their soulmate—gritted their teeth.

Cassian crept around Luxiana's back to wrap his arms around her stomach and rest his chin on her shoulder. Then, as if he'd read her mind or knew exactly what was upsetting her, he whispered, "Nothing like what happened in your nightmare is going to happen. You're not that witch anymore."

Luxiana's eyes widened for a second, surprised that he knew. Then she smiled in relief, slumping down on Cassian. He was right. But that nightmare and that witch had hurt her so much. Her and them. It was hard to move on. But she knew that now, it was all behind her.

Azriel stood in front of her, crossing his arms and a closed-off expression on his face. "On the other hand, if Helion does what he did in that nightmare and proposes, I'll knock his teeth out."

Luxiana burst out laughing. "Then get your fists ready because he does it every time he sees me."

Azriel threw up his hands in a huff. "My God, this can't be true. Do all the men around you want to marry you?"

Luxiana was still laughing. "No, and certainly not Helion. It's just a joke between us. He loves someone else. Believe me. You have nothing to fear from him."

"Oh, because we have to fear other people?" Cassian asked, stepping back a little to get a better look at his soulmate's face.

Luxiana pursed her lips mischievously, shrugging. “I don't know… Eris maybe. You know, he was my first love. And Kayden was my second.”

Cassian froze from head to toe, even stopping breathing. Rhysand's eyes widened so hard his eyeballs could have fallen out. And one of Azriel's lower eyelids began to jump nervously as something twisted inside him. All three of them turned white at once.

Luxiana burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “You should see your faces. I was joking.” She took back a serious expression. “Well, not really, but I wouldn't be here with you if I preferred them to you. I chose you.”

"Oh," Cassian grinned, puffing out his chest and straightening with pride. "She chose us."

Rhysand smiled, shaking his head and running a hand over his face. Despite his soulmate's reassuring words, he was still worried. He knew Eris would be at this meeting, and he now knew what he meant to her. And what he meant to his brothers and him. He had saved their soulmate's life, and that was priceless.

Rhysand finally gestured to Luxiana's throne-like seat. "Sit down," he invited her.

Luxiana frowned as she eyed the chair and the six others. There were only enough seats for the seven high lords, so this seat belonged to Rhysand. "Why? No, it's your throne," she refused with a lost smile.

"No, Luxiana, it's yours now," he assured her, stepping towards her. He cupped her chin with his thumb and forefinger before placing a quick, light kiss on her lips. He gritted his teeth at the tickles the simple touch caused in his face and lower abdomen. It had been so long since he'd kissed her, but he'd never been able to forget what it felt like. "You're our high lady now, Luxiana."

Luxiana's heart slammed against her chest as her cheeks flushed. But she rolled her eyes and smiled. "Um, no, I'll let you have the seat. I'm so much more than that anyway." With a smug air, she tossed her hair behind her shoulder. She looked haughty, but inside, she just didn't feel worthy enough compared to Rhys. This was his seat, and certainly not hers.

But Rhysand nodded to Cassian, who, laughing, grabbed Luxiana by the hips, lifting her up and sitting her on the throne.

"No," Luxiana protested, laughing and struggling without much willpower. After all, she could still overpower Cassian even though she is no longer a witch.

When Cassian let go of her as she sat on the seat, her skin burned with discomfort. It didn't feel right. She leaned on the armrests to push herself up, but Azriel placed a finger on her chest to push her back into the chair. He looked down at her with a glistening look of glee. "Do I have to tie you to it to keep you there?"

Luxiana was electrified through and through with arousal as salacious images flashed through her mind. "Oh, okay, if you insist," she joked, presenting her wrists to him, really hoping he'd tie them up. "You know I love it when you tie me up. It means you do very… fun things to me afterward."

Azriel raised an eyebrow as his gaze grew lustful. His breathing quickened, and his lower abdomen began to burn within a fire.

But Cassian and Rhysand detailed the interaction with raised eyebrows. "Excuse me? What does she mean?" Rhysand laughed, filled with doubt.

"What are you doing to her?" Cassian didn't understand.

Luxiana smirked, her provocative gaze never leaving Azriel's. "Yes, what are you doing to me, Az?"

Azriel smiled back. "I guess when this meeting is over, I'll have to show them."

Luxiana couldn't help but blush, pursing her lips to keep from smiling broadly. She was dying to. But the action brought out her dimples and made something explode in the stomachs of the three Illyriens who just wanted to see that mouth around their dicks.

Despite themselves, the meeting began, and the high lords appeared one by one. Luxiana, seated on the throne, was frozen. She clearly didn't feel comfortable, and everyone could see it, as she stood so straight, her legs pressed together.

Cassian casually leaned his shoulder against the back of the throne. On the other side, Azriel crossed his arms, like his high lady's personal guard. And Rhysand positioned himself behind the seat, resting his forearms on the top of the backrest to cross his hands above his soulmate's head.

Tamlin and Feyre teleported with Keydan and Jasper, and the three Illyrians blanched for a second. They were exactly as they'd seen them in their nightmares. God, it was crazy.

The four newcomers scanned the room and had to double-check when they saw Luxiana sitting in Rhys's place. The blonde, seeing their wide, confused looks, smiled and tried to look a little more at ease. She shrugged. "I got promoted," she laughed, trying to whisper.

Jasper and Feyre pursed their lips and shook their heads to keep from laughing, and Keydan grabbed the bridge of his nose in a bored manner.

When Helion spotted Luxiana, he gasped in surprise as he stepped forward into the middle of the room, in front of her. He was about to drop to one knee, but Azriel, already knowing what he was going to do, reacted instantly. "No. Don't even try," he hissed, grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him up and shoving him back into his seat.

Helion, surprised, looked back and forth between Azriel, who was pushing him, and Luxiana. "But how did you know what I was going to do? And why not?"

Luxiana bounced in her chair with joy. "Because they're my soulmates, all three of them," she explained, smiling, pointing at Rhys, Cass, and Az.

A general sound of surprise rose in the room. Amid confused glances from everyone, Rhysand—happy that his soulmate had shouted it out to everyone—started the meeting.

After this revelation—which no one questioned—things unfolded almost like in their nightmares. Kallias and Viviane -in fear- assured them they would fight in the war without discussion, without even suspecting that Luxiana no longer had any power. Then the other high lords followed. Beron, Thesan, Helion, and Tarquin, who in turn bitterly confirmed their presences in the future war. They all disappeared, leaving only Eris with Tamlin and the others.

Eris just stared at Luxiana. He stepped toward her, and Luxiana stood up from her throne. But instead of lunging at Eris, she stopped. She turned to Cassian, then to Rhysan, and then to Azriel, eyeing them with concern as they all looked at her the same way. But still, she didn't move.

Eris detailed the interaction without understanding, freezing in turn. So they really were her soulmates? It was evident in the way they looked at her and the way she regarded them.

She just stared at Azriel with a face full of hope and expectation. Azriel glanced at his brothers in surprise. She was waiting for his permission? HIS permission? The Illyrian's heart began to pound wildly in his chest. He let out a small smile. Maybe she was asking his permission because she knew he was the most jealous. Maybe she was doing it because she knew he was the one she could obey for anything and everything. But it didn't matter. Not anymore. Because she was asking his permission. Because that was how Luxiana operated with the people she loved. Azriel took a deep breath. "Princess, you don't have to ask my permission for anything, but go ahead," he allowed her, pointing at Eris.

And Luxiana smiled with all her teeth as she threw herself on the redhead to take him in her arms.

Eris returned her hug with a big smile, hugging her tightly, so tightly that he almost lifted her off the ground. "Hello, kitten. I'm so happy to see you again," he whispered in her ear.

Azriel rolled his eyes, losing a few inches as his knees weakened. He already regretted not asking her to stay away.

Rhysand clenched his fists and his teeth but said nothing. He just kept repeating to himself, 'We are her soulmates, we are the ones she chose.' But despite these words, he was afraid.

Cassian took a step to intervene and separate them, but immediately took a step back. After all, he had no reason to be afraid; she wouldn't have told them she loved them if that weren't the case. But doubt was overwhelming him. What if, just with that hug, she realized that she preferred Eris to him, to them? Oh my god. It was better to be careful.

He ran to Luxiana and Eris but stopped right next to them, waving his hands in all directions, not knowing where to grab his soulmate to pull her away. Their bodies were so tight. He let out a sort of animalistic growl as he spun around. No, he couldn't disappoint his Luxiana again and prevent her from hugging one of the people she loved. But damn it, why the hell was this hug taking so long? "Uh, this is enough, isn't it?" he tried in a small, uncertain voice.

Luxiana then moved away from the redhead, but without taking her eyes off him or taking Cassian's into account. She gave the son of the Lord of Autumn a wide smile, revealing all her teeth. "How are you? Has your father been better with you, or should I go back and give him a painful reminder?"

Azriel slammed his forehead against the side of his clenched fist. Damn, his soulmate was so cute and it wasn't even for him.

"No," Eris smiled. "Don't worry, he learned his lesson the first time. Well, sometimes he's rude to me, but mentioning your name usually calms him down."

"Haha," Rhysand let out a fake laugh to make his presence known as he walked towards them. He possessively placed an arm around his soulmate's back, gripping her opposite hip with his fingers.

Eris examined Rhysand's gesture for a second before glancing at Cassian and Azriel, who were tense and attentive. "Are they really your soulmates?"

Luxiana nodded vigorously, smiling, a flush of red on her cheeks emphasizing her words. She sank down a little onto Rhys, leaning against him before wrapping her arms around his pelvis. She rested her chin on his chest and looked at him with shining eyes. With loving eyes.

And Eris noticed this with a sad smile. "I'm happy for you then."

Luxiana was about to thank him, but Rhysand reached out to Eris. "Thank you, Eris. Thank you for saving our soulmate. Without you, we would never have met her, so thank you."

Eris narrowed his eyes for a second, studying Rhys and his suspiciously outstretched hand. Then he raised his palm to take it and exchange a firm handshake. "I didn't do it for you."

"It doesn't matter who you did it for," Azriel said, positioning himself beside Rhysand and extending his hand to Eris. "You did it, and we owe you a lot for that. Thank you so much," Eris took his hand as well. "I don't know what I would have done or what I would have become without her."

Luxiana lowered her head to bury her flushed cheeks in Rhysand's chest and hide. God, when would she stop blushing so much over the little things those three said?

Rhysand's heart thudded against his ribs at his soulmate's cute gesture, and he couldn't help it, but smiled. "He's right. If you need anything. Anything, just ask me," Rhysand assured him, trying to focus on Eris.

Cassian walked past them and gave the ginger a quick hug. Eris's eyes widened as he took a step back. Cassian cleared his throat, almost blushing at what he'd just done. "Thanks, man."

Eris, still in shock, nodded. "Uh, you're welcome. I'll go, huh." He took another step back before relaxing as he looked at Luxiana. "See you soon," he said, giving her a sad wink before vanishing.

A silence fell over the room before a huge, unabashed laugh broke it. "Damn, that was both so cute and super awkward at the same time," Jasper laughed again, clutching his sore abs from laughing so hard.

Everyone turned to Jasper alongside Tamlin, Keydan, and Feyre who were still there.

Keydan drew a small knife from a sheath on his thigh before pointing it at his eyes. With his other hand, he forced his eyelids open wide. "I didn't want to see that," he said in his cold voice, pointing the knife at his pupils. He didn't want to risk seeing something like that again.

Jasper, still laughing, grabbed his boss' wrist with the knife and pulled him down without even looking at him. As if it was normal for him.

Azriel straightened, gritting his teeth. "As for you, I don't thank you." He took a threatening step toward Keydan. "You used Luxiana when she was just a child. You shouldn't have used her as a spy, as if she were just a common object when she needed the love and comfort of a home. You..."

He took another step forward, but Luxiana moved away from Rhysand to stand in front of him and stop him, placing a hand flat on his chest. "You're wrong. He gave me what I needed. He gave me a job, a purpose, a family, and most importantly, he helped me heal."

Keydan crossed his arms over his closed face. "I was the one who comforted her when she woke up screaming from her nightmares. I did everything I could to save a little girl who wanted to die. I didn't have instructions for that, and I was alone with her. You weren't there."

Luxiana turned to Keydan, her eyes filled with tears and thanks.

Cassian looked down, clenching his fists. He wanted to make the bastard swallow his tongue, but he knew the bastard was right.

Azriel took a deep breath—so hard it burned his throat. Keydan was right. He was right. He hadn't been there for his soulmate.

Rhysand positioned himself behind Luxiana, moving closer to Keydan. He nodded, fighting the bitter taste spreading across his tongue. "True. Thank you for that. But watch your words. The only reason I didn't disintegrate you is because Luxiana cares about you."

Without waiting, Luxiana elbowed him in the ribs, forcing him to double over with a strangled sound. Everyone burst into laughter, even Rhysand, who had a sort of proud smile on his face as he straightened up.

Feyre finally regained her composure and asked Luxiana, "Are you coming back with us?"

Luxiana took a breath to speak, but Cassian grabbed her hand. "Certainly not! No." Then, with a sudden, doubtful look, he turned to his girlfriend. "No? Huh?"

Luxiana gave him a confused, questioning look that made Cassian sweat. "Uh, or not long..." he corrected himself, hesitant, before giving in completely with a sigh. "Don't go," he begged.

Luxiana's eyes widened, gasping for air. She cupped her free hand over her nose and cheeks to hide her blush. She began to fidget, unsure of what to do or where to go to manage her emotions of joy and happiness. "I'm going to stay with them to, uh..." she cleared her throat, embarrassed as she tried to answer Feyre. "You know... keep an eye on them."

Jasper laughed again. "They're going to fuck."

Luxiana burst out laughing, kicking her best friend in the shin. Keydan, who wasn't laughing, walked over to Luxiana and stood in front of her. "Are you sure? We're not going to find you as sick and sad as you've been for the past few weeks?"

"We messed up once. Never again," Rhysand assured him vigorously.

"Not just once," Feyre growled under her breath.

"We'll never hurt her again. We want to make her happy," Azriel added with a determined expression.

"I'm not talking to you," Keydan cut them off with a sharp voice and a dark look.

"I'm going to beat his ass," Cassian announced, clenching his fists and clenching his jaw.

Luxiana turned to him to raise an eyebrow in a nasty glare.

Cassian couldn't hold his gaze and looked everywhere else. "She's freaking me out, damn it," he whispered to Rhysand, leaning closer.

Luxiana laughed.

Keydan took a deep breath as he examined Luxiana. She looked peaceful and happy. Something in his heart lit up. A mixture of jealousy and relief. "Are you sure this is going to be okay?"

"I swear," Luxiana promised. "I trust them."

"Good," Keydan backed away. "Then I'll see you soon on the battlefield. Then we'll go home. You'll always be welcome at my house, you know that, sweetheart."

"Oh my god," Cassian yelled. "Why does everyone keep calling OUR soulmate cute nicknames? Shit."

No one paid him any attention as Jasper walked over to Luxiana and hugged her goodbye. From his head on the blonde's shoulder, he could see the three Illyrians. He raised his eyebrows perversely, eyeing them all while moving his hands down to Luxiana's buttocks and kneading them. "Enjoy," he said, spanking the blonde before walking away, laughing.

The three Illyrians' mouths were wide open in surprise. Did that bastard really just do that??? If Luxiana hadn't been laughing so hard, they would have ripped his arms off.

Keydan leaned forward to place a tender kiss on the blonde's cheek. "If they hurt you, show no mercy," he whispered to her. And he waited for the blonde's sincere confirmation—which reassured him—before walking away.

Then Luxiana's two friends, Tamlin and Feyre, gathered together to disappear.

Rhysand - eager to leave this place and the horrible and incongruous scenes they had just witnessed - grabbed Luxiana's hand to teleport all four of them into his house.