#and i'm in the middle of writing another fic for another fandom

[streetlizard]

i find it so hard to write merlin fanfictions, and i've wrote tons of fics when i was younger, but everytime i start to write a merlin one i just blank

it's like i can never quite grasp the characters eventhough i've seen the show 100 times

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[anmwrites]

Beneath the Surface

Azriel x Reader

Hi All! So this isn't one of the Az requests unfortunately, but this is one of my private fics I already had written. I'm still working on the Az request that's in the queue, but I'm lowkey hating everything I've been writing so it'll probably take me a little longer to perfect it.

In the meantime, I wanted to get something put up for you all. Sticking to the fandom that was requested I decided to post this Az fic! Probably very stereotypical trope, but this was what I got. This one is a little heavier than my Xaden fic, so please read with caution. I hope you all enjoy!

Content Warning: Mentions of Suicide, self-sabotage, depression, & guilt

Again, I apologize if I missed any other warnings. Please read with caution.

Talk soon, and please enjoy!

“I’m getting her back,” a low growl cut through the tent. Y/N’s head whipped to the Shadowsinger. “I’m going with you,” her High Lady’s voice intervened. “Then you will both die,” her sister’s cold voice replied. 

Y/N’s head was reeling. In just hours after scrying for the Cauldron, the Inner Circle and then some were gathered around in the middle Archeron’s tent. She was stolen away. Lured by the promise of her human past. And…and Azriel was the first to throw himself into harm's way. 

Y/N was barely there as she watched Feyre shift into the dead priestess. Barely there as everyone began moving, readying themselves for their departure. Azriel hadn’t glanced once at her. His best friend. 

A silent brush of claws filled the Illyrian’s head. Y/N dropped her shields momentarily allowing Rhys’ voice to float into her mind. You are awfully quiet. Y/N snorted. He can do whatever he sees fit. A bemused feeling washed over her as Rhys carefully crafted his next words. I heard what happened. Quite a nasty little argument you had with him earlier. Y/N’s eyes shot to Rhys who was conveniently studying the daggers Cassian was equipping Feyre with. He started it. Trying to sideline me. I may not have wings but I know how to fight. 

Rhys finally met her gaze, You need to tell him. 

Tell him what exactly, brother? Y/N quirked her brow. 

You know. The fact that you are in love with him.

Feyre’s eyes darted back and forth between her mate and Y/N clearly noting they were having some form of silent conversation. He made his choice Rhys. Just as it’s always been for the past five centuries. There’s no point in telling him now. 

Truth be told, Y/N had known this story. Had lived through it with Mor. And now she had to live through it again with Elain. Her best friend, for centuries, after Rhys’ mother had taken her in regardless of her lack of wings, was hopelessly in love with another female…as usual. It was nothing new to Y/N. He only saw her as a friend. A sister perhaps. 

Y/N wasn’t really sure when her own feelings had shifted. Her and Azriel were always more than just siblings like she was with Rhys and Cassian. Everyone around knew there was something special between them. So much so that Y/N had even felt a spark of hope until Azriel met Mor, and then the whole incident with Cassian, Eris, and Mor’s father occurred. She slowly realized he would never see her as more than a friend, and Y/N began to be okay with that. And then she watched him do it again when Feyre’s sister entered the picture. It stung, but she was used to it. 

There is the point that we all may die or he may die. Rhys’ voice cut into her thoughts. Rhys. Stop. I can’t think about all of this right now or I will break. He’ll be fine. Rhys merely gave her a sympathetic feeling before she felt his presence exit her mind. He was right though. Azriel could very well die. She needed air. Or she would lose it. The initial shock of his announcement wearing off, nervousness settling in. 

Y/N quietly retreated outside of the stifling tent. The cool night air brushed over her clammy face as she took a deep breath. Something tickled at her ankles. She glanced down to see a single tendril of a shadow wrapped around it. She gave it a small smile. “I’m alright,” she whispered to it. “Go tell him I’m fine.” 

The little wisp of darkness hesitated before retreating back into the tent. Y/N grimaced, that old, familiar feeling of heartache seeping into her chest. She didn’t want him to go. Nesta and Rhys were right. They most likely would die. Everyone saw what the camp looked like. Elain could be anywhere. And selfishly, she did not want her High Lady and Shadowsinger to go in there. Especially her Shadowsinger.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Y/N took a shaky breath. A quiet rustle behind her signaled someone had stepped out of the tent. She felt him before she saw him as she always did. Slowly, Y/N turned around and saw Azriel standing behind her. His face softened as he took her in. “Y/N I…” he started, approaching her. “I–I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” Y/N sighed before meeting him halfway. Her heart crumpled. He was still her best friend, and she still cared. “It’s okay, Az. I understand,” she said quietly, gazing up into his warm eyes. Eyes she was so, so familiar with. His warmth engulfed her, as they were standing maybe just a hair closer than any normal friends would stand. 

“No. It’s not. I just–you’re not incompetent. I know what you can do on a battlefield. It’s just–I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he signed, taking his hand in hers. Y/N watched as his gaze fell on their intertwined hands. He fiddled with her fingers as a nervous habit. 

“I know. I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” Y/N whispered, her unspoken selfish words hanging in the air. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to hers studying for a moment. Were they closer? Y/N thought to herself. “Say it,” he replied. “Say the words and I won’t do it. I won’t go.” 

Y/N’s heart picked up. She knew if she told him not to go after Elain he wouldn’t. He would drop it immediately. But Feyre’s face flashed in her head. Nesta’s moans of pain ripped through her. They were a part of their family now. Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping down her face. “I can’t do that,” she let out a shaky laugh, casting her head down. His other hand felt warm as he caressed her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. 

“You’re the only one who has a chance to get in and out without being noticed. You have to get both of them out. They’re family now,” Y/N whispered. Azriel didn’t say anything, but when she met his intense gaze, those three little words felt heavy on her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so bad it was like her skin was on fire. Y/N couldn’t breathe. He could very well be walking right into his death. 

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drop the biggest bomb on their friendship when he needed his sole focus elsewhere. So, she stayed silent. She stayed silent even as he nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll come back to you.” She stayed silent when he pulled her into his warm body and hugged her a little tighter. Y/N stayed quiet even when he led her back into the tent and she watched him disappear with their High Lady in the blink of an eye.

•••

Rhys let out a shaky breath after the departure of his mate and brother. As everyone dispersed, he noticed Y/N was still frozen in place, staring at the spot where the pair had just disappeared. He could see her visibly shaking. Cassian passed her and gave her a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder before he exited. Rhys slowly approached her. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/N said without turning to him. Rhys could hear the tears in her voice. The uneven breaths she took. “He told me to tell him to stay and he would’ve in a heartbeat. I couldn’t do that to Feyre. To you. To our family,” she continued. Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. His heart was so full of emotions. Terror, absolute terror for his mate and his brother. Love–love for his unselfish sister. The baby he saw that day his mother brought her home. All in a frantic rush to warm up this little, tiny fragile thing she found in the snow, abandoned by her blood relatives because fate was cruel and did not give her wings. 

Y/N let out another shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re also trying to keep it together. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” 

This. This was why he felt he had to take it all on himself. Rhys’ heart was breaking for her. For his most kind and caring, living sister. This beautiful soul who has slowly fallen in love with Azriel for all of the centuries spent together. He didn’t understand why the Mother didn’t make them mates…his train of thought paused. It was as if he was hit with a brick. Sifting through all his memories and countless conversations with her, it finally clicked into place. 

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked quietly. Y/N slowly turned to face him. Pain and anguish, only that of which someone with a mate would know. The same pain and anguish he felt watching Feyre disappear. Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “Since Starfall five years ago. When you were…away.” Rhys was slightly shocked. He noticed the smallest shift in their relationship when he had returned. But after all it, he expected everything to be different. 

“Why didn’t you tell him? Me? Does Cassian know?” Rhys asked. Y/N shook her head, “I didn’t tell him because we were all dealing with the loss. I didn’t let myself find peace while you were gone. I couldn’t. I knew there were horrors you were enduring. Horrors I couldn’t even fathom, and I just couldn’t let myself be happy. And Az, well Az went to a dark place when you were gone. The only thing he clung to was his love for Mor, and I couldn’t disrupt his entire life. I wouldn’t. We didn’t speak for a few months after you were taken. We were all a mess,” tears flowed freely down her face as she spoke to him. 

Rhys could barely contain his. 

“So I buried it. I buried it so deep inside of myself no one would pick up on it. Or at least notice it without having to scrutinize me. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I saw how you were when you returned Rhys. I couldn’t do that to you. You were trying so hard to pretend like you were okay and then your mate was with another. I just couldn’t do that to you, so I didn’t. I continued to bury it, but it just…just all got away from me.”

Y/N let out a choked sob that had Rhys moving. His arms wrapped around her engulfing her in a hug. “Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” he whispered, “My sweet sister,” he started, pulling back a bit to look at her. “You never need to hide anything from me. No matter what I am going through, you can always come to me. I am so, so happy for you. Although, I do need to kick Az around Velaris a bit since he cannot see what has always been right in front of him.” Y/N let out a garbled laugh before burying her head back in his chest. 

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Whatever is going on in Az’s head. We’ll figure it out together. When all of this is over. We’ll both get our happy ending. I promise you that,” Rhys concluded. Y/N only nodded, before stepping out of his arms and wiping her face. “Cassian suspected it and I’m sure Amren knows. She has never mentioned it to me but Cass has. I didn’t confirm anything with him and he hasn’t mentioned it to Az.” Rhys nodded, guiding her outside of the tent for some fresh air.  

•••

Y/N knew she should have told someone about the mating bond. It was something she could only suppress so much. But the guilt she and the rest of the inner circle felt when Rhys sacrificed himself ate at her too much. How could she let herself be happy when their High Lord and brother was subjecting himself to the horrors Under the Mountain, willingly, to protect them. 

There was no point dwelling on it now. Not as she paced in front of Rhys who was sitting tense in front of his war tent. The minutes ticked by all too slowly as they silently awaited Azriel and Feyre’s return. “Tell me about when it happened,” Rhys said quietly, interrupting Y/N’s nervous pacing. She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were glazed over like mind was somewhere else. He needed a distraction. For her brother, she would tell him everything. 

Y/N took a breath. “Starfall wasn’t the same without you. We knew how much the celebrations meant to you and so did Velaris. We never hosted a grand party anymore. The House was opened to those who wished to join, but it was almost as if the city was mourning the loss of our High Lord. Some came, but it was another quiet celebration.”

Rhys’ gaze flicked to hers. 

“I–I was upset that five years had already gone by and you weren’t able to see this and be there with us,” Y/N continued, “I was close to breaking by that point. My hope was running out. I was up on the private balcony where you and Feyre celebrated. Azriel of course found me. Sitting there, silently looking at the stars or spirits or whatever. Wishing on them so hard that they would return you to us.”

“He sat with me for I don’t even know how long. Let me cry on his shoulder and just be a comfort. Everyone held it together a lot better than I did, Rhys. You were my brother. My first family and the one who took care of me when I had nothing. When we lost your mother and our sister, you were the only thing I had left of them.” 

Y/N sniffed, more tears running down her face as she took herself back to that night. “I honestly debated pitching myself off that balcony that night,” she muttered bitterly. Rough hands immediately grabbed her face. Rhys’ anguish poured off of him as he seethed at her, “Do not ever think that. Even when I am gone. Never.” 

Y/N gazed at him for a moment before slowly nodding, continuing her story, “But Az came up. His presence was like a lifeline. And when I finally stopped moping and looked at him he gave me one of his rare true smiles. Sad, but also his true smile. I felt it then when I looked at him. Like a beautiful golden thread tethering him to me. Pulling me out of that abyss. I don’t know if he knew it, but I knew.” 

“I’ve always loved him. From when we were kids. I can’t tell you when my feelings shifted, but I have always loved him and I always will,” Y/N concluded. Rhys looked at her with a mixture of sadness and pure joy. He was about to open his mouth when commotion snapped them both out of it. 

Y/N’s head whipped so fast to the outskirts of the camp. There they were. Covered in mud and dragging along two petite figures. Y/N let out a strangled cry before tearing away from Rhys. The latter hot on her heels. She smelled the blood before she saw it. 

As she approached the puddle of people, her blood ran cold and she stopped dead in her tracks as she watched Elain plant a gentle kiss on Azriel’s cheek. She heard a faint “Thank you” before Elain was being swept up by others. Feyre reached Rhys first, letting out a strangled, “I’m alright…Azriel’s wings.” That kicked Y/N back into motion. 

She flung herself at the Shadowsinger causing him to let out an oomph. Though her heart ached at what she just witnessed, she still needed to make sure he was okay. “You–your wings,” she cried after releasing him. She frantically began inspecting every inch of him. “Hey, hey…” he said, grabbing both of her wrists. Y/N was too much in a state of horror. “Y/N look at me,” Az said quietly. She finally snapped her gaze to him. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m alive,” he said, giving her a strained smile. His hand reached up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. Y/N merely nodded more to herself than anything as Rhys came around and helped lift him. “We need to get Madja before anything permanent sets,” Rhys grunted, hoisting him up. Azriel swayed a bit. Y/N let in a sharp intake, flinching a bit as she felt some of his pain. 

Az gave her a weird look but she just shook her head, burying that golden thread down and down once again. Rhys began moving as Cassian took up Azriel’s other side, leading them away from her. Y/N noticed Feyre and hurried to her. She looked as if she was still in a daze. Y/N gently took her hand and led her to her tent. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered gently as she settled in to help clean her up. Feyre merely nodded. 

The minutes flew by and soon Feyre was curled in her bed, cocooned by her sisters as Rhys ushered everyone out. 

Y/N took a deep breath once she was away from the commotion. Her mind was reeling between the conversation she had had with Rhys to the state that her family was in. Alive. That thread hummed from deep within herself. She almost felt as if it was calling to her. Tugging her. Her head turned slowly, spying the tent from which that feeling was coming from. Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain. 

The tent was thankfully silent except for the soft crackle of faelights illuminating the space. Azriel’s large form was sprawled across the cot on his stomach. The glimmer of salve and magic lingering on his shredded wings. Y/N’s voice got stuck in her throat. His beautiful wings. 

His head lifted as she entered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me have worse,” he said, trying to comfort her. She still could not speak. “Come here,” he urged, trying to sit up. His muffled groan of pain set Y/N moving. “Don’t–don’t try to move,” she said, shakily sitting on the floor near his head. His eyes softened as he took her in. “You were worried about me,” Az chuckled a bit, reaching his hand up to brush that stray hair out of her face again. His shadows pooled around her, rubbing and twining up across her body in a soothing matter. “Of course I was worried about you,” Y/N hissed.

“Why?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

Y/N glared at him. “You are my best friend, Azriel! Why wouldn’t I worry about you!” She couldn’t comprehend why he was acting like a snarky bastard right now. “I mean look at you!” Y/N plowed ahead, “Your wings are shredded! You could have died!” She wasn’t really sure what came over her. Maybe from speaking with Rhys, that bond she had spent years shoving down, surfaced again and was not going down without a fight this time. “Imagine if you had!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

Azriel just gave her a small smile before trying to sit up again. “No, no, no. Don’t try to sit up!” Y/N seethed. He started laughing, pushing himself up anyways. That bastard was laughing. “Azriel!” Y/N pleaded, clearly noting the grimace as he fully pushed himself up. Once he was sitting his laugh dimmed. Y/N pushed herself up to her knees so she could at least be near eye level with him. He would always tower over her no matter what. 

“Tell me the real reason you have worked yourself up,” Azriel murmured, taking both of her hands in his. Y/N froze. He couldn’t know. 

“Because you are my best friend,” she whispered, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. “And your mate?” he replied gently. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond or look at him. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he gently placed a finger under her chin and made her head tilt up to look at him. And for once in her life, Y/N saw the love shining so brightly in his eyes. One that mimicked how she would always admire him from afar. If she was being honest, maybe more emotion than he ever let on was swimming through his beautiful face. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Y/N muttered pathetically. The Shadowsinger let out a quiet chuckle. “I think you do,” he said. Y/N just nodded. “How–how long have you known,” she rasped. “Subconsciously…well probably awhile now. Consciously, I felt it snap into place as you were leaving the tent before we left. That’s why I followed you out there,” Azriel stated. Y/N said nothing. “That’s why I asked you to tell me to stay,” he admitted quietly. 

Y/N finally took all of him in. All of his beauty and intensity. So broken yet still somehow put together. She studied his intense gaze on her, those hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the soft light. His tattoos across his very bare torso, and those wings. Oh, those beautiful wings still shimmering with healing magic. 

“How long have you known?” he asked, breaking her out of her stare. “Starfall. Five years ago,” she whispered. Azriel studied her harder, more emotion filling his eyes. “That night. I felt your sadness that night. I think part of me knew then and was scared to admit it,” he confessed after a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

“I–I just couldn’t,” her lip trembled before her story finally came tumbling out. 

After she explained, Az slid to his knees on the floor before her, gathering her in his arms, “Oh my sweet girl.” Sobs racked through Y/N as all of the feelings she had bottled up ran rampant through her. Relief, sorrow, love. All of her bleeding heart finally pouring out. 

When she finally calmed down enough to get a word in, she pulled back out of his embrace, “I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. With everything you told me about Mor, and then I saw it shift to Elain, I figured you deserved to be happy. Even if it would break me. Your brothers have found two sisters–” Azriel raised a brow at that. Y/N let out a small laugh, “You can’t tell me there isn’t something between Cassian and Nesta.” “Fair enough,” Az joined in with her quiet laughter. 

Y/N sighed and continued, “But I just know you and I didn’t want to ruin anything we had with a mating bond. To me especially. An Illyrian without wings.”

“Y/N,” Azriel said sternly, “Just because you were born without wings doesn’t mean that I will never love you any less than I already have my entire life.” 

“I was an idiot and I was in denial. You have been my entire world since I don’t even know when. I have loved you for so long, but I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. I-I thought to myself that you would never love me like that. I have done things, you know what I have done. And I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful soul like yours falling in love with me. A part of me did love Mor. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t, but I was finally able to admit to myself that I was in love with you. Was finally able to see that my stupid crush on Mor was a way to suppress all of my feelings for you. Every piece of me is consumed by you and belongs to you,” Azriel pressed.

“And Elain?” Y/N could only see that moment when they first returned. When she placed a kiss on his cheek. It made her blood begin to boil. “The thought crossed my mind when we met. It was the only thing that made sense. Three brothers, three sisters. But, I still couldn’t shake what I was trying so hard to hide from myself. And seeing you tonight. Seeing you go through all of this hell has finally given me the courage to be honest with myself and you,” he said. 

Y/N was pretty sure she had gone into shock. This was the most honest the both of them had been to each other in years. He actually loved her. She hadn’t dared to let herself dream of this moment. Especially not in the circumstances they were in with the war and all. 

“Please say something,” Az nearly begged, shaking her out of her stupor. Y/N focused back on his face. There really wasn’t anything she could say except surging forward and pressing her lips gently on his. Az tensed in shock for a moment before processing what was happening. And soon he was fervently kissing her back. 

Her lips molded perfectly against his as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were just as soft as she had dared to let herself imagine. His hands quickly found her waist, roaming up and down savoring the feel of her pressed against him. Over 500 years of knowing each other and they hadn’t once kissed. Even when Cassian put them up to stupid games like spin the bottle. Azriel couldn’t get enough. 

Y/N let out a moan as his tongue found his way into her mouth, shooting a blast of heat through her spine. Az reciprocated the feeling, pulling her closer, leaning back on the edge of the cot. He stiffened, suppressing a groan of his own. But well, mostly of pain. Y/N froze before pulling away. Az tried to chase her with his mouth and whined when she moved out of reach. “Azriel!” she hissed. “I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to lean in again. “Az,” Y/N said, sticking a hand on his chest. “You are in no condition.” Azriel scoffed, leaning forward and thoroughly attaching his lips to her neck. Y/N shuddered. “Azriel I am not having sex with you when you can’t even lay on your back,” Y/N huffed. He was leaving a sloppy trail of kisses up and down. 

“Don’t need to lay on my back,” he mumbled. “You can hardly sit up,” she responded. “Don’t care. You’re my mate. My newly found mate,” he said into her neck. “Been dreaming of this for a while now,” he sighed dreamily, sucking on the one spot that made Y/N melt. She could feel the bastard grin before he continued his assault. 

It took a lot to shove him off of her. An extreme amount. All sentimental feelings from their confession were out the window and replaced by need. Pure, lustful need. But he was in pain. And he was her mate, so she pushed him off her. He let out the most un-spymaster like whine. “Y/N why are you doing this to me love?” he groaned. “Because you are injured and like I said, I’m not fucking you until you are at one-hundred percent,” she quipped, standing with more clarity than she had in years. She went over to the little table littered with food. 

“And so I can give you this,” she turned, holding a little apple in her hand. Az’s face softened as she approached. A silent request as she held out her hand. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Azriel, every piece of me has always belonged to you and it always will. I have never been more sure in my life,” she replied. 

He smiled, grabbing the apple gently from her hands taking a slow bite. Y/N smiled in return before ushering him back down on his cot. “Time to rest, Az,” she said, nestling in next to him. “But I’m perfectly fine for other activities now,” Azriel pouted. Y/N just laughed, running her hands through his soft locks. “I promise when you are fully healed we will partake in those said activities,” she smirked. Azriel grinned and pushed himself upwards, stealing another kiss. Y/N giggled, before placing his head back in her lap. “Sleep now,” she mumbled. Azriel hummed softly as she resumed running her hands through his hair. “I love you,” he whispered before his steady breath evened out. “I love you too.”

[thebluester2020]

Any general sex hcs for the bachelors? ;)

OBVIOUSLY 👀. Buckle up, you're gettin' a mini rant anon.

Minors DNI Plz!

Elliot

As much as I write Elliot being a gentle dom whose the king of munches. I can't help but believe he'd want to have his pretty princess moments as well!

This is where I go into suggesting that Elliot likes the idea of his spouse taking control in the bedroom here and there.

The farmer is already super strong so the idea of Elliot being picked up and essentially manhandled by his spouse? It gets him hard so fast to where he's nearly embarrassed at the fact.

But I think he'd take it a step faster

Especially by suggesting to his partner that both of them act out a scene from his book. All for the sake of being able to write the scene out better, of course!

And as a loving spouse who's totally not onto how your husband seems to like being thrown around a bit...you're more than happy to oblige!

Sebastian

Weirdly enough? I think he'd be into public sex.

Nothing like fucking out in the middle of the day but something more low-key like sneaking away from Spirit's Eve to fuck close next to the river or something. Once you two are at the stage of having sex, the both of you are more than comfortable with one another.

As awkward and shy as he is, he's more than happy to fuck you silly next to either the river or behind a couple of bushes!

Bonus points if he's really getting into the spirit of Spirit's Eve by incorporating some fearplay by teasing you that "Oh, can't you hear the monsters in the distance? What a shame if they suddenly escaped and walked in on a monster slayer by fucked like a whore."

And the feeling of you clenching around him even harder, your moans turning into needy whines and embarrassed gasps would make him throb inside you as he clenched you tighter against his frame.

All of a sudden, he'd want to fuck you outside even more from then on out!

Sam

Okay so this one isn't exactly a headcanon but—

Hear me out—that one cutscene where the farmer and Sam are in his room and they're almost caught by Jodi.

Not exactly a headcanon but I think that moment (as embarrassing as it was in the moment) would've awoken a side to Sam that he never knew he had in the first place. Namely, the kink of almost being caught.

Ofc, he wasn't ready to admit it to his crush but the moment you suggested doing something now that you were in his room and underneath his sheets.

He was all on board for that plan.

Shane

The fandom has spoken and agreed upon this already, Shane is a dom.

But—I don't think he would be disturbed or outright say no to the farmer dominating him. Nothing even close to what he does to you (degrading you, a few slaps here and there, etc.) but the idea of you taking control of your pleasure via you pushing him around a little? He nearly gets dizzy from how fast blood rushes to his cock at the sheer thought of it.

You shoving on his chest to make him lay down on the bed while you fuck yourself stupid on his dick? He'll take that and a little side of something more! And bonus points if you suddenly get achy in the middle of sex and then beg him to take control and fuck himself up into you.

Harvey

As much as I like the idea of Harvey being a dom. I can't help but see him as a submissive???

I imagine that the stress and toils of being a doctor would make him too tired to really take the lead in the bedroom, automatically giving the role to you if you were willing to take the reigns and if you are? You're in for a world of surprises with just how cute Harvey is when you two are fucking.

I'm talking about—imagine this for a second; walk with me. Harvey with a dog collar and a leash but you're the one pulling the leash, urging your adorable doctor to fuck you even harder while he's settling into the role of being the perfect obedient dog fucking his master so earnestly! I should write a fic on this wait

Or, better yet, I can see Harvey coming home from work more tired than usual. He's not in the mood for sex but you can tell he wants something.

That's where your hands and mouth come in and the noises he makes are sinful as he practically pleads for you to keep going! And thankfully for him, you have no intention of stopping anytime soon.

Alex

I kinda feel like Alex is super vanilla with some light kinks that are only inspired by the farmer. And most of them would probably surround the fact that he's a hunky jock.

Lots of rough fucking mixed in with him showing off his strength via fucking you in positions that no normal person would be able to hold up for anything longer than a minute. Besides that though? I think he'd also be...kinda mean?

Not exactly degrading but just mean, kinda like a bully more so teasing you that "Oh you can't do this, you can't do that" and stuff like that but when it comes from Alex's mouth, it sounds wayyyyyy better.

Unbeknownst to you, you'd be falling right into his trap when he teases you that you totally can't handle him fucking you into a mean mating press without passing out.

You being the strong-willed farmer that you are, you're in it to prove him wrong! Only for him to be proven right when you're balling up your hand against his chest crying that his dick is so good that you're on the verge of blacking out.

[harringtonstilinski]

Potion - Steve Harrington (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 4,490 Warnings: fluff, angst, reader is referred to as henderson before nicknames are thrown, Requested: no | yes; requested by the amazing @fandom-princess-forevermore !! this request has been sitting in my inbox for months, and i've finally gotten around to it! i hope you enjoy it, bby!! Smut: no | yes, 18+ MINORS DNI; oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (pls wrap before you tap), missionary, cowgirl, doggy, sitting up(? i no idea what the name of this position is, lol), shower A/N: Hi, friends! I had a time writing this fic, lol. I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in while; I've been more into reading books than I have fics, or writing fics. Let me know what you thought! If you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy��😊

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Steve Harrington Playlist

They say that everything happens for a reason, right? Well… that question and thought has been running through your head all day long at the prospect of hearing and seeing the fireworks at the show The Party has invited you to.

Groaning as you flip over in bed, you could feel your anxiety creeping up on you just at the thought alone of being near Lover’s Lake in a few short hours.

Your anxiety increased tenfold as the phone rang, the noise causing you to jump out of your skin. Getting up out of bed, you sauntered over to the phone that was on your dresser, yawning as you picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“You’re coming to pick me up, right?”

“For what?” you asked, trying to play dumb.

“For the fireworks!!”

Pulling the receiver from your ear, you blinked at the loud voice on the other end before putting the earpiece back to your ear. “Yes. I’ll come pick you up. What time is that again?”

“They start at sundown, which is - what, 8:30? So, pick us up at around 6 so that way we can get everything set up.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at six.” You hung up the phone before they could request anything else, like you getting them snacks from the gas station or grocery store.

Jumping out of your skin again, you placed a hand over your heart and made your way to your front door, opening it to peek outside, only to see Steve standing there with a to-go coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, my stars, you’re the best,” you said, opening the door a little more. “Get in here.”

Chuckling, Steve made his way inside, giving your forehead a kiss as he walked by. “Did you just get up or something?” he asked.

“Yeah. The kids called and basically reminded me about picking them up for the firework display tonight,” you replied, closing the door and walking into the kitchen where Steve stood. “It’s giving me anxiety just thinking about going.”

“Why?” 

Looking up at him, you could also see the same anxiety in his eyes that you felt. “Because of the loud noises and the flashes. Steve, we just survived another stint in the Upside Down. I’m having stupid flashbacks again.”

“And what did I tell you about having them?” He walked over to you, rubbing his hands gently up and down your arms. “To call me. No matter the time of day.”

Sighing, you leaned your forehead against his chest. “I know. But with you working, I don’t want to call the video store and get you fired, or have your parents mad because the phone’s ringing in the middle of the night.”

“Hey, don’t worry about Keith or my parents. They don’t matter at that moment. You do.”

Looking up at him, you smiled a little. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the bestest friend a person could have?”

Smiling back at you, Steve replied, “Every day since the third grade.”

“I mean it, Steve.”

“I know.”

The small smile that grazed your lips into a full fledged smile. Steve made you one of the happiest people on the planet, and you made him the happiest person on the planet.

“How about this?” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders. Rubbing your upper arms, he explained, “Why don’t we just drop the kids off at Lover’s Lake, then we’ll go back to Family Video and rent a couple of feel good movies, go back to my house and have a little Fourth of July celebration of our own.”

Sighing, you said, “That sounds wonderful.”

“What sounds wonderful?” your mom asked.

“Having a quiet night with Steve, celebrating the Fourth with a movie and some popcorn,” you explained. What you didn’t explain or want to say was Steve and I are having a night in because the boom of the fireworks will cause me to go into panic because of our experience in the Upside Down, but you didn’t. Your mom didn’t need to know everything.

“Oh, won’t that be nice?” she smiled. “Steve, it’ll be nice to have you around for the night. Your best friend here has been so lonely.”

“Oh, my goodness, mother,” you sighed, walking into the dining room to lean against your hands, which you placed on the table, your head hanging between your shoulders.

Although your mother didn’t know that you could still hear her when she said to Steve, “Talk to her about her nightmares, Steven. She wakes me up screaming at night.”

Crossing his arms, he looked over at you, replying to your mother, “She’s screaming?” Looking back at your mother, he added, “What is she screaming about?”

Sighing, your mother looked at your back while saying, “You, Steven.” Looking back at Steve, she tacked on, “She screams about you.” Placing a hand on his arm, she gave a sad smile, one that says I hate hearing my daughter scream and cry at night, so fix her, please.

As your mother walked away, you picked your head up with closed eyes and sighed. Why did she have to tell him that? you thought to yourself. Feeling Steve walk up behind you, you slowly turned around to face him, bracing your hands on the table behind you.

“You’re screaming about me at night?” he asked.

Nodding, you looked at a random spot on his shirt. “Yes.”

Steve looked around, seeing if he could spot your mom. When he couldn’t, he took a step closer and quietly asked, “Are they about the Upside Down? The Bats?”

Again, you nodded your head.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve asked, “So, are the nightmares also the flashbacks, or are those completely separate?” He wasn’t mad, just curious.

“It’s both, Steve. I can’t read the word thunder without going back into my mind. I can’t see the color red and not think about the lightning, or the blood that poured from you and Eddie after the Bats tried to make meals out of you two.”

Without so much as thinking about it, Steve wrapped his arms around your shoulders, your forehead immediately going to the center of his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Scoffing to yourself, you muttered, “I haven’t even asked about you. I’m so selfish.”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he shook his head, sighing. “I’m not worried about me right now. I’m more worried about you.”

Sighing, you let a tear fall from your lash line, a tear you didn’t even feel building. So quietly, you say, “I love you, Stevie,” before looking up at him. Steve took it as a friendly confession, not one you’re actually meaning.

Your love for Steve grew from friends to love interest when thought he was dead meat when he got dragged into the Upside Down at Watergate. When you found him not dead, you sighed with relief.

Steve, on the other hand, has always loved you as more than a friend. Ever since he found out what it meant to love someone else. Sure, he loved Nancy, but not nearly as much as he loves you. Which is why the only response he gives is a kiss to your forehead, your eyes shutting at the feel of his lips on you.

“Hey, Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Can we go run our errands now?”

~~~

“This is going to be so much fun!” Dustin exclaimed from the backseat. “The gang all back together again.”

You looked over at Steve, apprehension on your face. “Yeah, about that, Dusty.”

It was quiet for a moment before Dustin whined, “Noooo. You have to go!”

“Dustin, I’m still having those nightmares and flashbacks. I’m not going to scream my head off at a town event and be talked about like I’m like the town freak.”

“Your sister doesn’t need to be tossed in Pennhurst, okay?” Steve said, coming to your defense.

“I mean, I understand it,” Max said. “I wouldn’t want to go there, either.”

“You don’t wanna be there with Mr. Creel?” Lucas asked.

A quick look in the backseat brought a smile to your face, seeing Max give Lucas the bird, but then cuddle up next to him. “You two are so adorable.”

“So, what are you going to do then if you’re not coming to the firework show?” Dustin asked.

“Steve and I went to Family Video earlier and rented some tapes, so we’ll be sitting at one of our houses watching feel good movies and eating some popcorn,” you answered.

It was silent again for a moment before Dustin mumbled, “You two better have clothes on when I come home.”

That statement alone set your cheeks ablaze, and Steve with some ideas before you two chuckled at your brother.

~~~

“Really?” you asked. “Police Academy? Again?”

Chuckling, Steve said, “You watched me pick it up.”

“No, I didn’t. I walked away!”

The two of you ended up going back to Steve’s house. With the plans that Steve has to distract you from any firework sounds, he thought it best to come back to his house to not scar your sweet, sweet mother… and your little brother Dustin.

“You picked up Sixteen Candles again, so why can’t I pick out Police Academy?” he asked.

Tilting your head and forth, you thought about it for a moment. “You have a point there. Steve - 1, me - none.” Leaning back against the cushions after grabbing a handful of popcorn, you placed a few in your mouth, chewing the salty snack.

“Plus,” you added. “Sixteen Candles only has one boob scene. This movie-” You pointed to the screen. “Has a total of three… with sex!”

“What’s wrong with sex?” Steve asked, not thinking.

Shaking your head slowly, you replied, “Not a damn thing.”

With a soft smile to himself, Steve looked at your profile, happy with your answer.

~~~

“And I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek,” you recited, putting another handful of popcorn into your mouth. “See, this is why I love this movie. It’s got amazing quotes, and it’s funny, too.” Suddenly sitting up, you twisted to look at Steve, asking, “When this is over, can we go back to Family Video and get Weird Science and The Breakfast Club? Ooh! And maybe Back to the Future, too?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile a little at you, moving his hand from the back of the couch where his arm laid to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “We can do whatever you want.”

A soft pop sounded in the air, your body and mind immediately on alert. You could see the same thing on Steve’s face; alert. While Steve’s alertness was more of a protective alert, yours was more of a scared alert. 

The phone ringing had both your heads turning towards the device, Steve deciding to get up and answer it.

“The fireworks just started. You two okay?”

Sighing, Steve closed his eyes and hung his head a little. “Yeah, Hop. We’re okay. For now. Just on high alert.” Hearing whimpers from the living room, Steve’s protectiveness went up tenfold at hearing another soft pop. “Yeah, no, nevermind.”

“Is–”

“Yeah, she’s here. The popping is scaring her. I’ve got a plan to distract us.”

“Well, put that plan into motion, kid. They’re gonna keep popping them off for at least another 10 minutes.”

“Will do. Thanks, Hop.” Hanging up the phone, Steve called your name, your eyes immediately going to his. “Come here.”

You didn’t have to be told twice! Shooting off the couch like a rocket, you made your way into Steve’s arms, wrapping your own around his middle. “You doing okay?” you asked, voice a little muffled from where your face was pressed into his chest.

Rubbing your back, Steve answered, “I’m fine.”

Another pop of a firework had you both tensing.

“Look at me.”

Looking up at Steve, you didn’t have to ask him what was wrong because his lips pressing against yours shocked you more than anything. It didn’t take you long to sink into the kiss, the action going from testing the waters to hungry and needy.

Steve’s hands went from your back to your hips while yours trailed up from his ribs to his cheeks. Without even thinking, Steve bent to place his hands on the backs of your thighs, your body reacting without much thought as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Stopping the kiss very briefly, you breathed, “Steve, take me to bed.”

“Oh, I wholeheartedly planned on it.”

Looking at Steve, you couldn’t help but smile at him, a soft laugh from your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Yup,” he replied, walking you towards the stairs and up to his room, your head resting perfectly in the crook of his neck.

Before you knew it, your back was against the mattress. Looking up at him, you threaded your fingers through his hair. “What did you have planned, Harrington?”

Shaking his head softly, he said, “Just planned to distract you once the fireworks started.”

“And yourself. Don’t forget yourself.”

Steve nodded while smiling, bending his elbows to place his lips on yours, the hungry and needy kisses from moments ago now gone. Soft, sensual, loving kisses are now shared between you two.

Before the two of you knew it, you both were panting messes, Steve slotted between your legs, the both of you without any barriers between you; nothing but skin on skin.

“Steve, are you gonna fuck me now?” you asked, fingers carding through his hair once again. 

Placing kisses on your neck, Steve hummed. “Not yet, baby.” Trailing those kisses down your chest and the valley of your breasts, he looked up at you. “I can still hear them going off. Gotta keep distracting you.”

A giggle escaped you before you said, “Well, you’re doing a mighty fine job.”

He smiled before placing a kiss to your stomach, trailing his tongue over your belly button. You smiled as he did, leaning your head back a little, a satisfied noise sounding from your throat.

When you felt his hands spread your legs even further, your head shot up off the pillow, looking down at Steve as he placed kisses along your inner thighs. Bringing your arms underneath you, you rested against your elbows, every bit of confidence you felt now drifting away. “Steve.”

“Yeah, baby?” he replied, still leaving trails of kisses along your skin.

“Uhm, are you… gonna…?”

“Gonna what?”

After a few beats of silence, he looked up at you, seeing nothing but nervousness dancing in your eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s just that… no one’s ever…–”

“Ate you out?”

You shook your head no, nothing but embarrassment seeping through. “I’ve always given a guy head, but he’s never returned the favor.”

Steve rubbed his thumb along the top of your thigh, trying to sooth you. “You don’t have to return the favor tonight.”

“Wh–” Before you could finish the question, Steve’s tongue on your core shut you up with a slow intake of breath. You could feel him smile as he worked his tongue over you, hands coming to rest on either side of your pussy, spreading you open a little bit more for him. “Steve, wha– fuck!” 

As his tongue worked your clit, Steve smiled to himself as he peeked a look at you, seeing that you moved from resting on your elbows to having laid on your back, hands in your hair.

“Oh, my. That’s–” You cut yourself off from finishing that statement with a chuckle. “Oh, my gosh, keep doing that.”

“You like that?” he asked.

“Fuck yes!”

Steve chuckled, looking down at your most intimate area, his tongue going right back to your core, slowly dragging up. Without warning, he entered two fingers into your wet heat.

“Holy shit, Steve,” you said, picking up your head to look at him, his eyes closed to the pure passion he was feeling. “Steve.” A loud moan escaped you, your hands going to your breasts. “Steve, come here. Ste– fuck.” With your head tilted back, you almost screamed as your first orgasm of the night washed through you without much warning, and once it subsided, you looked back down at Steve, a lazy smile on your lips. “Get the fuck up here and kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, smiling. Hovering over you with your hands coming up to his face, the two of you kissed with such passion, it almost felt like you were having an out of body experience.

A laugh bubbled up out of you, the feeling of Steve’s lips on your teeth almost sending you into overdrive. 

“Why are you laughing?” Steve asked, kissing down your cheek to your neck.

“I-I can f-f-f-feel your cock jabbing me in the th-th-th-thigh,” you laughed. “It’s just a weird feeling.” Looking at the unamused look on his face, it made you laugh even more… then your eyes went wide as another firework shot off, this time a little closer. “Put it inside me now to distract me, Steve, or else I’ll hide in your bathroom with the lights on.”

“I don’t have any condoms near me,” he said. “They’re all in the bathroom.”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill. I trust you.”

The telltale sign of a firework shooting into the sky had your eyes widening even more as you reached between the two of you to grab Steve’s hard length and lining him up with your entrance. Another squeal in the sky had you looking back into Steve’s eyes. “Steve, I think if you push in, I’ll moan loud enough to drown out that firework that’s about po– oh my god!” 

Steve pushed into you, that loud moan you promised drowning out the firework pop that sounded through the sky. “Damn, baby. You made good on your promise.”

“Steve, this is no time for jokes,” you said. “We both have PTSD from that unforgiving place. Now, please, just… fuck me until the night passes.”

Chuckling, Steve replied, “I’m not sure I can go that many rounds.”

“Well, you fucking better, Harrington.”

With determination, Steve thrust in and out of you, both of you moaning loudly to drown out the sound of the fireworks going off, one right after the other. Neither of you heard the phone ringing downstairs.

At some point, you had rolled the both of you over, your body straddling his hips as you rode him; moving your hips back and forth, bouncing almost like your life depended on it. 

“Fuck, babe, that’s hot,” Steve breathed out.

Leaning forward, you braced your hands on his chest, your fingers carding through his chest hair, breaths heavy as moisture started to build on your forehead and back. “Steve, we have to switch. My legs are getting tired.”

Without missing a beat, Steve leaned forward and wrapped his arm around your back, lips on yours for a moment before he knelt on his bed, gently turning your body to hopefully get you to pick up what he was putting down.

Thankfully, you did. You removed yourself from his grip, turning around and getting on your hands and knees, where Steve grabbed your hips and thrust into again, both of your moans sounding out throughout the room.

His thrusts this time were unrelenting, his orgasm creeping up on him. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

“Neither am I,” you breathed. “Keep going.”

With every thrust, you could feel his balls slapping at your clit, the feeling stimulating you in ways your fingers never could. It doesn’t feel as good as Steve’s tongue on your clit, but nevertheless, the feeling was amazing. “Oh, my god, Steve. That feels amazing. Don’t stop.”

You could feel Steve holding back from releasing his orgasm as you chased yours. Steve reached forward and placed his hand on your stomach, bringing you to sitting up, your hand immediately going to the nape of his neck, feeling his own perspiration there.

Steve rested his chin on your shoulder the best he could, watching your breasts bounce with every thrust. Without warning, his orgasm washed over him, your own following not long after.

Neither of you moved for a second. Neither of you wanted to. You had a feeling that this would change your relationship forever. Steve, on the other hand, wants this to change your relationship forever. He wants to be with you. 

“Hey, Steve?” you whispered.

“Yeah, Henderson?” 

“I have to pee so bad.”

Chuckling, Steve gently leaned you forward, the both of you hissing at the feel of Steve slowly pulling out. Getting off the bed, you waddled your way over to his bathroom, relieving yourself. When you were done and after you washed your hands, you looked at the glass shower door.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Henderson?”

“Can I shower?”

Steve walked over to the bathroom door, opening it just a little, seeing you looking at his shower through the mirror. “Yeah.” He walked in and shut the door behind him. “As long as I can join.”

You turned to face him, seeing a smirk on his face. Not being able to help yourself, you laughed lightly, nodding your head. “Yeah. Yeah you can join.”

Steve walked over to you, gently cupping your cheeks before bringing his lips down on yours, you immediately kissing him back. He walked you backwards a few steps before stopping. The only reason he took his lips off yours was so he could open the shower door to turn the water on. Looking back down at you, he said, “Now, I don’t like my water the temperature of hell.”

You laughed loudly, the sound like music to Steve’s ears. “That’s okay. Warm water is best for my hair type, so is cold water.” At Steve’s puzzled look, you explained, “Warm water for washing and conditioning and rinsing like normal, cold water for that final rinse before getting out. Dustin hates it, Eddie’s getting used to it, and I secretly love it.”

“Will it work on mine?” he asked.

Chuckling, you said, “Of course it will. Keep using your Faberge shampoo and conditioner with that final cold rinse and your hair will look better than ever.” You smiled, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

Sticking his hand inside the shower, he deemed the temperature to be where he likes it, stepping in before taking your hand and guiding you under the water with him. Without missing a beat, he put his lips back on yours, a searing kiss that had your knees almost buckling. 

Tongues dancing, the sound of the water hitting the tile floor and yours and Steve’s moans sounding between the two of you, Steve was up and ready for round two.

“Thought you said you couldn’t go all night,” you mused. 

“Yeah, well, I can be wrong sometimes,” he said, smiling. He kissed you again after you smiled, both of your bodies and hair soaked from the shower. When you pulled away from him and started kissing down his body, Steve furrowed his brows, wondering what you were doing. 

Steve threw his head back, hands coming up to the top of his head, smoothing his hair back at the feel of your mouth on him. “Goddamn, Henderson. You really know how to put that smart ass mouth to use.”

You almost choked on his cock from letting out a snort before pulling off of him to laugh. “You can’t say shit like that, Steve. I almost died!”

Lifting you off the floor, he wrapped his arms around your middle, your arms resting on his shoulders, a smile on both of your faces. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

The soft kiss turned into one of hunger and passion. Steve lifted your leg to rest on his hip before swiping the head of his cock between your fold before pushing himself into your sore core, a gasp releasing from you.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“Shhh,” he whispered back. “Just go with it. I’ll be soft, or at least I’ll try to be.”

Nodding, you breathed deep, feeling his soft thrusts. It was almost like the two of you were moving in time, dancing the same steps with the way you were moving in sync with each other. 

Just like before, you both finished together before showering each other off. Before the two of you got out, Steve turned the water on cold for the final rinse for your hair. Steve stepped out first to retrieve towels for the two of you.

Stepping out of the bathroom with the towels wrapped around your bodies, you suddenly remembered that you didn’t have a spare change of clothes, something that Steve also noticed.

Without saying a word, he walked into his closest, grabbing one of his t-shirts and basketball shorts. Looking through his drawers, he grabbed a pair of his boxers for you, handing them to you. 

As he went back into the closet to grab himself some clothes to change into, you went back into the bathroom to change and find a spare toothbrush, which you found under the sink in a storage container.

“Hey, Steve?” you said, voice raised.

“Yeah, Henderson?” he said, standing right next to you.

Jumping, you turned to look at him, hand over your heart. “Oh, my– Shit, I’m sorry. Uhm…–”

“Yes, you can use my toothpaste. I don’t mind. Really.”

Smiling, you whispered your thanks before grabbing the tube off the counter and putting a dollop on your brush after wetting the bristles. You wet the paste before putting it into your mouth, brushing your teeth clean of plaque and food.

Steve did the same, spitting out the foam when necessary. Once done, you both rinsed your mouths out and went back into the bedroom. Sighing, you looked around, not sure of what to do now.

“Uhm…” you said. “We could go finish watching our movies? I’m not supposed to go to bed with wet hair. It’ll flatten my curls.”

“Yeah, of course, whatever you want,” Steve said, smiling. “But before we do, I need to ask you a question.”

“What’s up?”

All of a sudden, he was nervous and embarrassed at the same time, not sure if he could ask the question he wanted to. “How happy do you think Dustin would be if we got together?”

Blinking rapidly, you weren’t expecting the question as you tried to think of an answer. “Uhh… I think he’d be happy. I mean, he fucking adores you. I mean, I adore you, too. You made me come like three times.” You laughed as Steve wrapped you up in his arms, a smile on his face.

“So, is that a yes, Henderson?” he asked.

Cupping his cheeks, you smiled. “Yes, Harrington, that’s a yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! i'm so so sorry this took forever to get out. writer's block hit me like a brick! plus, i've been reading books like crazy, and i've gone in and out of depression episodes. thanks for sticking around! let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i'm trying to add the character masterlists and playlists onto all my one-shots from here on out! let me know if it makes it easier for y'all to back and choose!

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on July 2, 2025

[reallyromealone]

Hi! Just sending in this ask before I forget my idea, dont answer this until your asks are open again I just want to write this down before I forget!! Boten x single father! male reader, reader works at a restaurant and Boten comes in one night and Mikey takes a liking to him, his daughter sits in the staff room and draws/plays because she’s too young to be home alone- 🦇 anon

Title: cute waiter

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: bonten

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Mikey x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, single dad reader, fluff, nameless daughter, Mikey has that weird ass rizz as the kids say

Notes:

Summary: bonten goes to a small restaurant while in town for business and Mikey falls for the cute waiter.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

(Name) Could never thank his boss enough for letting (daughters name) stay in the office, the elderly woman finding the toddlers company pleasant while she worked on scheduling and order's.

"(Name), could you cover booth three? I have to talk to (boss name) about the schedule" (name) looked to his co-worker who managed the hardest puppy eyes he could "fine, but you owe me"

"Thank you!"

(Name) Never knew what to expect at the small restaurant, typically it was the locals in the small town but sometimes some rich people came in and even foreigners which was a gamble on how the experience would go.

Usually they were nice though.

"Hello! Could I get you gentlemen started with water or perhaps the chef's choice of wine?" (Name) Said happily to the group who sized him up, the man in the middle just staring him down with cold blackened eyes but (name) just continued smiling and even making eye contact with them.

Blissfully unaware of who they were or what their tattoos meant.

"We will start with the finest wine you have" the white haired man with snake like eyes said simply, his rings shining under the warm lights "of course! I will be back momentarily with your wine, gentlemen" and with that (name) turned and left, bonten not missing Mikey's curious look and the lock on to the waiters ass. They all exchanged glances while their boss just ate his snacks, flipping to the dessert menu to see they had the good stuff.

(Name) Returned moments later and filled their glasses, Mikey freezing when the waiter got close to him and the white haired man could smell the others cologne faintly and nearly shoved his face into the poor man's neck if it wasn't for his self control "so tell us about yourself, Mr waiter ~" ran was going to do his boss a favor, knowing Mikey had the romantic abilities of a snail. "Ah, what would you like to know?" (Name) Was so easy going, care free "you in school?" "You single?" "You know how to bake?"

(Name) Was a bit startled by the questions but didn't see the harm "I'm not, I graduated last year, I am single and I do know how to bake, yes" (name) laughed a bit at the questions "now, what can I get you gentlemen?" Changing the topic to get to business and not have these attractive men ask every detail of his life.

Of course they ordered the nicest things on the menu, it was going to be a pricy bill no doubt but (name) wasted no time getting their order before his coworker took over his table for his break and hang out with his tot. (Name) Brought in dinner for the two, free food from the restaurant and (daughters name) got cute rice balls shaped like hearts and for dessert she got taiyaki shaped like stars and filled with custard.

"Wow you drew this?" (Name) Cheered on his kid who beamed, the owner who became their grandmother of sorts always splurged on the good coloring supplies for the little girl and finding some cute toys for the office so she's never bored.

"Why don't we show the team, yeah?" (Name) Asked the little one who bounced a little, clearly happy at the idea "let's go!" Holding his little girls hand, the restaurant was nearly dead save for the group of eight who were furious that (name) was changed out for another person but Mikeys anger quickly melted when he saw the tiny version of (name) waddle towards the elderly owner who was rolling cutlery.

"My!" She cooed and lifted the little girl up "you're so talented!"

Mikey and (name) locked eyes, the waiter offering a sweet smile and Mikey's face dusted red, (name) didn't miss the stares and the blushes on the pale man, knowing damn well the awkward blond thought he was attractive "you enjoy your meal?" (Name) Asked him casually, the blond composing himself "yeah..." His words simply and short, never the one for small talk "that your kid?"

"Ah, yeah... She's too young to be alone and my boss practically helped raise me as a teen so she just hangs here"

Mikey nodded and looked over (name) who caught his stare "would you like to go out sometime?" (Name) Thought the blond was cute, even if he barely spoke and just stared ominously.

Mikey froze, usually it was him doing that "you don't know who we are, do you?"

"...models...?" (Name) Said confused, unsure of his answer and Mikey just stared back at the man "what? Used to people not recognizing you?"

"Something like that"

"Well I hope to get to know you better, I have to get my rugrat in for her nap but I'll be back soon yeah"

Mikey never felt so complacent, nodding and even letting (name) kiss his cheek gently before going to get his daughter.

[ozzgin]

Heyyy just checked your masterlist and saw that despite you being into obey me! fandom, you don't have a fic. I'm married to Solomon in my mind so how about a situation where the reader (fem or gn your pick) is equally in love with this old man and begs him to recreate that time potion which made him immortal. Oh? Did i mention i want him to be a yandere? Please do that as well ^^

I love me my morally grey wizard ;)

I have 3 unfinished drafts for Diavolo, Barbatos and Satan on my Wattpad, but it was around the time I started getting Baki related requests here so I haven’t had the time to continue them. This goes for everyone reading, if you see a fandom title with no works you can always request something! :) This blog is only a few months old and I wasn’t writing much before (twice or thrice a year if I was generously inspired), so the variety is rather limited still. (I also finish requests at the pace of a snail, sorry about that)

Yandere! Solomon x Reader Headcanons

Featuring your fellow human classmate and now soon-to-be husband who couldn’t be happier about your wish to spend an eternity with him.

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior

It started rather subtle. Just idle curiosity at first, a mere feigned surprise that was quickly swept aside for more important matters. Sure, Diavolo bringing another fellow human to the Devildom, especially one without any powers, was at least mildly intriguing. Your situation was as tempting as a puzzle to fiddle with in between tasks. Beyond polite offers to help you handle the new challenging environment, Solomon was not planning on prying further. Then the surprises begun to queue one after another. To think that you had barely learned your way around and somehow still forged a contract with one of the devilish siblings. Then another. And another. Fascination crept its way in and the greatest sorcerer found himself begging to learn more about the mysterious (Y/N).

Naturally such fascination should’ve had an intellectual grounding and nothing more. What is it about you that has caused such a ruckus across RAD? All he needed was an answer. Yet he discovered much too late how embarrassingly involved he’d become. Childishly clutching his D.D.D. in the middle of the night, wondering if you’ve already fallen asleep, and grinning when the screen lit up with a response from you. Cancelling all plans the instant you’d ask - casually - if he wanted to join you after class to check out a new café. No, of course he had nothing else to do. Yes, it’s definitely a lucky coincidence that he’s always available when you want to hang out with him.

Once he accepted he was madly in love with you, he began fretting over all possible obstacles. The demon brothers, life after RAD. He’d never engaged much with other humans and his charisma only covered superficial pleasantries. How was he to properly convey that he’s - mildly put - obsessed with you to the point where rejection won’t be taken lightly? Uh oh. Closer to a threat than a confession. Thankfully the Heavens were gracious and you immediately returned his affections. No need for potions or hexes (not that he would’ve…he had them prepared just in case). He remembers it to this day, years after, the wide, innocent smile that you so generously bestowed upon him. Almost like a premonition, he knew you’d be the person to marry. Something he never considered in his long, lonely life.

You lazily lift your hand and admire the ring again. Solomon is quite clumsy and forgetful, but he goes all out for the things that matter. The proposal had been planned to a dizzying amount of detail and you couldn’t believe how much thought he put into it, with many aspects you otherwise assumed he’d forget or omit. Yet staring at the intricately carved band adorning your finger now, you can��t help the pang of melancholy blooming in your chest. Solomon lifts his gaze from the book he’s reading, sensing your discomfort. “Something bothering you?” He inquires with a hint of worry in his voice. “What happens after the wedding?” You demand, turning to face him. “Oh my. I personally prefer to focus on the present.” He answers with a chuckle. “Sure, because you don’t have to worry about your future. It’s mine that will end at some point.” His eyes widen and his hands are suddenly cold. He’s been so entranced by your company that he didn’t even entertain the idea of a potential end to it. He almost strokes his cheek to soothe the hard slap of your words, leaving him in a frightened stupor.

Oh no. No, no, no. Within the blink of an eye he finds himself standing before the alchemy shelves, rattling the bottles for the right ingredients. You didn’t even need to mutter a word. He knew exactly what you’re thinking of. How shameful of him to have caused you this distress in the first place. You’re young, and time for him has lost its human meaning, so your mortality hadn’t crossed his mind this entire time. He would’ve found a solution for it later, most certainly, but he didn’t expect this postponement to make you so anxious. His lips are quivering and his slender fingers are visibly trembling. Partly from the fear of almost failing you as your future husband, partly from the excitement of what’s about to come. He always imagined there’d be nothing more beautiful and precious to witness than you in your wedding attire as you tie the knot. But now? Oh, how ravishingly tempting and seducing, the fact that he can listen to the mundanely repeated words of “Til death do us part” and stare down its meaning until there’s nothing left of it. Not quite. Not for you two. The veil will be lifted and your face will radiate eternity.

After all, nothing will stand between him and his fated soulmate. What’s death to a wizard of his caliber?

[akari-of-moonlight]

HELLO GUESS WHO'S GOING TO TRY TO WRITE A REGULARLY UPDATING FIC!!!

I don't have ao3. uh. here.

Kamimura Kazutoshi and the Unfortunate Reality of Interpersonal Socialization

Chapters: 4/17

Fandom: Tetro Danganronpa Pink

Relationships: Kamimura Kazutoshi & Everyone

Additional tags: Alternate Universe - Dorm AU, Fluff, Humor, Some emotional stuff will probably find its way in here but this is a silly fic, 5+1, kind of, it's more of a 15+1, I don't know how to tag fics help

In which Kamimura Kazutoshi slowly and unwillingly gets to know the fifteen other freaks in his dorm building.

I'll try to update this weekly on Sundays but this is my first ever consistent fic and I'm Nervous. to say the least.

Thank you to @thewhimsicalenderdragon for betaing I love you

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Prologue (How the Fuck Does One Get In This Situation Anyway?)

Kazutoshi was going to bash in someone’s fucking skull.

That was the only thought in his head as he slouched against an empty wall. 

It might’ve been a bit overdramatic, but sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and altogether full of spite and malice as he was, he didn’t have the patience for another painfully optimistic orientation just for the freaks in his dorm. He didn’t exactly come to university to fuck around and socialize.

Unfortunately, he didn't exactly have a choice. 

Wonderful.

He gazed around at the unfamiliar faces around him, registering them each in turn.

The first person he saw, a brown haired guy dressed in eyeball-scorching, headache-inducing red, was engaged in equally as eyeball-scorching, headache-inducing argument with a raven haired girl whose voice sounded unequivocally patronizing. A third glasses-wearer stood behind them awkwardly, rolling his eyes every time one of them made a particularly pointed jab. 

On their right, another group buzzed with a cacophony of exchanging exceedingly louder personal information. Kazutoshi groaned internally. If he was going to live in the same building as these people, they’d better be able to fucking shut up. 

Within the group, Kazutoshi’s eyes skimmed over a short blonde girl whose violent arm waving had probably been on the receiving end of several manslaughter charges, a willowy girl who wore the bright red against her dark skin much better, if Kazutoshi were to judge, and a tall, slender figure hidden under an altogether unnecessarily large coat. He shivered as his eyes fell upon their painted kitsune mask, looking away before the slits of those eyes could catch him staring.

In a farther back corner of the room, another trio was gathered. This time made up of a tall, broad shouldered guy whose tattoos made him look like he should be on the poster of a movie Kazutoshi would rather die than watch, a tiny blonde girl who looked at most, like, twelve, and a large straw hat. There was probably a guy under the hat, but Kazutoshi didn’t get that far before registering a much more significant detail about the group. 

The guy in the hat had open a backpack, and peeking out of it like a housecat was a fucking tiger. 

Kazutoshi blinked, hard. Who the fuck let this guy have a tiger? How did this get past the administration? Better yet, was he planning to keep the fucking thing? 

Kazutoshi had heard stories about exotic animals found and kept as pets in college, but he’d expected, like, a peacock or something. He flinched as the tiny girl reached to pet the tiger. He wasn’t exactly ready to see a small child get her fingers bitten off by a tiger. Miraculously, the tiger just pushed its face into the girl’s hands, like it was a cat urging scritches. He looked around, baffled that no one seemed concerned about the apparently very real threat of getting mauled to death by an oversized housecat in the middle of their dorm hallway.

Then he did a double take. He squinted at the tiny girl’s bouncy blonde twintails, vague memories floating to the surface of his now aneurysm-riddled brain. 

No fucking way. No fucking way the live fucking tiger was somehow still not the most insane guest in that trio. The girl turned to say something to the tattooed guy, and Kazutoshi caught a glimpse of her face. Yup. That was Chiba fucking Airi. In his dorm. Playing with a fucking tiger. 

Sure, why not? Why the fuck not. 

Kazutoshi quickly turned to look over the rest of the gathered crowd. He needed something to cool down from whatever he’d just seen. No such luck with this crowd.

Leaning against a far wall, a blonde guy with sparkling blue eyes who looked like he belonged in a hotel staff lineup and a bright, bouncy girl wearing a fucking cape chatted as if either of their attire was normal. 

A little further down the same wall, a small boy who looked like he’d blow over in a small breeze fidgeted with his stained jacket as his eyes fixed on the ground like he was waiting for a hand to reach up from it and pull him down into the depths of decade-old carpeted hell. He was the third person Kazutoshi had seen who made him wonder if he had somehow stumbled into a fucking middle school somehow. 

The boy glanced nervously at the person closest to him, a girl with bright red hair who surveyed the room in a similar fashion to Kazutoshi, eyes flicking around with more analysis than nerves behind them. Her bright tattoo and toned arms made her look like a stereotypical delinquent, but she didn’t seem aggressive or hostile. Her eyes met his for a second and she raised an eyebrow. Kazutoshi looked away, caught, as he focused his gaze onto the last set of people in the hall.

A girl with vibrant orange hair tied up in twintails and a tall, awkward looking guy with soft brown eyes sat in vague silence next to each other. Kazutoshi couldn’t exactly read the air between them, and he didn’t think he wanted to. The brown eyed guy adjusted his overly formal suit – why would he wear a fucking suit for this? – and cast a glance around the room as well. He caught Kazutoshi’s gaze for a second and an awkward, nervous smile slipped onto his face like a greeting. Before Kazutoshi could respond, the suit guy turned away, looking like he’d remembered something. He fished around in a bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out something Kazutoshi couldn’t see. He hesitated, then offered it to the girl sitting next to him, who accepted it, the two of them starting up a less awkward conversation. 

Kazutoshi looked away, opting to glare around at his more inanimate surroundings rather than be caught staring again. His eyes fell upon a slightly obnoxious sign declaring that he was going to have a stellar time in the Fujioka dorm. He rolled his eyes, wondering if it was set up by a member of the staff, or by one of his overly enthusiastic dormmates. 

Behind the sign, the ominously cracked walls of the building displayed flaking light blue paint. The entire room they were in, which seemed to once have been a dining commons, but now was a fissure-riddled, weirdly barren lounge room. Kazutoshi glanced at the thin but vaguely threatening cracks, wondering how many students before him had prayed under this roof that the building would wait to fall apart until after they graduated. Not like he was going to break the tradition. 

A high pitched whistle cut through his thoughts and his eardrums.

Around him, the others flinched at the same time, before turning to see the source of the sound.

“Jesus, Sasaki. Are you trying to give us all tinnitus?” The guy cosplaying a stop sign snapped, covering his ears.

The raven haired girl next to him sighed. “I’m trying to get their attention, Hiroaki.”

“Well, give me a warning first next time!” Hiroaki whined, red sunglasses flashing and practically radiating an obnoxious air as he crossed his arms.

“I literally– No, I’m not going to do this,” Sasaki said, shaking her head and turning to address the group as Hiroaki glared at her. “Okay! Thank you all for coming out here!”

“We… didn’t really have a choice,” the masked figure from the right corner pointed out. “The dorms are still being… cleaned.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with the dorms?” her blonde compatriot asked. “I just went straight here cause I thought it was, like, a get together.”

Sasaki tried to cut in over the murmurs of a lot of people who really didn’t know how to whisper. “It is, and nothing’s–”

“No, the dorms are fucked,” declared the red haired girl, still leaning against the wall. “Apparently the wildlife got to it over the summer. Rooms are trashed.”

“That’s not–” Sasaki tried, but she was interrupted by the chatter of overlapping voices. 

“Are we sure it was wildlife, and not, like…” the girl in the red uniform piped up from behind the blonde girl, trailing off and gesturing in the direction of the tiger guy.

Chiba Airi leaned around the backpack that was blocking her view, proclaiming, “Sawa would never!”

“Is that a fucking tiger?” Hiroaki screamed from the front of the room.

The blue haired boy standing next to him shook his head. “How did you not notice that before?”

Hiroaki glared at him. “Oh, I don’t know, I was a little distraced by Miss High and fucking Mighty–”

“Okay!” Sasaki yelled, flicking her hands exasperatedly. “If you would all let me speak, I have a few things I’d like to clear up, as the only one here with information from actual staff.”

“She takes one summer of prep classes, and she thinks she’s queen of the school,” Hiroaki muttered.

“I heard that,” Sasaki snapped.

“Oh no, you did? I was praying you wouldn’t. This is a nightmare,” Hiroaki said, sarcasm thick enough to stop a bullet.

Sasaki muttered something that sounded like “You’re a nightmare,” and continued.

“Alright, well, as you all have been informed, the dorms are…”

“Fucking trashed?” The tattooed boy suggested.

“Temporarily out of commision,” Sasaki corrected. “But they’ll be ready by tonight, I’ll make sure of that. In the meantime, you all can get to know each other a little bit, and I’ll do my best to make sure all of you can unpack as soon as possible.”

“And it will definitely be ready by tonight? Like, actually ready?” Hiroaki prompted. 

Sasaki turned to him with a tight lipped smile. “Yes, Hiroaki. They will be. Give or take… a few mattresses.”

“What?” Hiroaki demanded in time with a few others from the crowd.

“Just yours, Hiroaki,” Sasaki half-singsonged, the vocal equivalent of smoothing down a skirt. She turned to the rest of them with a forced smile, raising her voice to be heard over Hiroaki yelling about being an insomniac. “In the meantime, get to know your roommates! A good relationship with them is very important.”

The room dissolved into a gradient of panicked or excited chatter, everyone mimicking freshly dropped marbles in both movement and cacophony. Kazutoshi spotted the tiger being stuffed back into the hat guy’s backpack and breathed a sigh of relief. In the corner of his eye, he noted the guy in the suit glancing in his direction, before being pulled into a conversation with the orange haired girl.

Sasaki tapped the blue glasses guy, pulling him aside. Now a lone fire alarm in the buzzing crowd, Kazutoshi saw Hiroaki glance around at the others, as if he was looking for someone. Then his eyes fell on Kazutoshi, And he started walking.

Kazutoshi almost ran. He had the feeling he was about to regret not going for it.

“Hey you. Blue,” Hiroaki said, sauntering up to Kazutoshi with impenetrable smugness.

“Hey you, asshole,” Kazutoshi retorted, mimicking his tone. “Who the fuck starts a conversation like that?”

“Excuse me?” Hiroaki said, sounding appalled. “Do you know who I am?”

Kazutoshi rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, he’d seen the fashion designer’s name on a magazine or two. Assuming this was the same guy, though, he couldn’t exactly act all high and mighty if he was going to university here.

“I don’t care who you are. Fuck off,” Kazutoshi growled, eliciting a gasp so dramatic he was surprised there was any air left in the room.

“What the hell is wrong with you? And how do you not know me?” Hiroaki said, aghast. “What is your problem?”

“Well, currently, it’s that a fucking stranger won’t stop bitching at me,” Kazutoshi retorted.

“You’re so crass!” Hiroaki yelped. “And so uninformed. You seriously don’t know who I am? My heart bleeds, Kashimura.”

“Kamimura,” Kazutoshi corrected on instinct. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Wait. How the fuck do you know my name? Why the fuck do you know my name?”

Hiroaki crossed his arms, “Why should I tell you?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Kazutoshi snapped, mind racing. He hadn’t told anyone his name. He hadn’t even talked to anyone.

Luckily, Hiroaki obliged, his apparently bruised ego sending him back to his blue-haired human support blanket’s side. As he glared over his shoulder at Kazutoshi, he “whispered” something to the other boy. Kauztoshi heard the word roommate slip. 

Oh fuck no.

Kazutoshi glanced around across the room like anyone in there could save him. 

No such luck.

Maybe he could just live in the lounge room.

[peachglazewrites]

i so so loved your “safe in your arms” fic with abby, it was so well written that i had to get off tumblr and scroll another app cause i didn’t want it to end, i read your bio abt how you are trying to write for other fandoms like arcane and i was wondering if you can do a similar version of “safe in your arms “ but with vi pls ???🙏🏻

𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 ₊⊹ 𝚟𝚒

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: vi/f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: smut (18+ mdni), use of words like cunt/pussy/tits, mild use of force, use of safeword, panic attacks 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: established relationship, angst, fluff, use of petnames (sweet thing, sweet girl, pretty girl, babe/baby), boob stuff (vi!receiving), fingering (r!receiving) 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n, in canon world 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 7k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Waking up in your girlfriend's arms, cooking breakfast, a little bit of kissing in the kitchen-- it's the perfect morning, until it's not.

a/n: thank you so much for your kind words and request!! I'm so excited to write for something outside of tlou, and hope I did Vi justice (though this is the first time I'm writing for her so please be kind orz)

I kept the timeline for this SUPER vague, but it is in the canon world of arcane! I also want to stress that even though a safeword is used, Vi was in no way being abusive or hurting reader! sometimes things just feel icky and people slip up.

I hope you enjoy ♡︎

̗̀➛ master list ̗̀➛ request your own here

Something being knocked over in the alley under your window, the window that never fully shuts no matter how much force you put behind it, startles you awake. The following sounds of children cackling and yelling at each other as they run away from the scene soothes your racing mind, your pounding heart.

The curtains pulled across the window sway slightly, fluttering in the lightest breeze that somehow makes it all the way down to your level of the Undercity. You follow the ripples in the fabric, blinking your bleary eyes that are still heavy from sleep.

Despite the open window, you can’t help but feel exceptionally warm under the covers. The air is always dense down here, humid and clinging, but the furnace that is your blankets is something else entirely.

You shift, kicking a foot out to catch the blanket to drag it off your body, but the arms slung around your middle tighten, pulling you back further into the heat.

Ah.

A small smile spreads across your lips as you begin to slowly turn around in the arms, strong hands now splayed across the line of your back. The face that was buried in your shoulder blades now moves to nuzzle between your breasts, warmth blooming through your shirt and onto your skin from her deep breaths. Past a shock of pink hair, side shaved down to a fuzzy dark magenta that sticks out at all angles are broad, naked shoulders—intricate tattoos, a network of gears, pistons and rolling steam working down her back. They shift and move as she pulls you closer, scrunching the material of your sleep shirt in her fists.

Soft snores vibrate against your sternum, and you do your best to stifle your giggle at the way it tickles your skin.

Vi. She must have snuck in late last night, off lending Caitlyn a hand or getting into trouble— or both at the same time. The dismantlement of Shimmer has been a lengthy and tense process, one that requires just as much physical intimidation as reams of paperwork and Council meetings. And despite the many protests-- mostly from her own mother-- the Kiramman heir has taken it upon herself to be just as involved in both ends of the process, dragging along the Zaunite she broke out of Stillwater with paperwork that she’d rather not discuss the legitimacy of.

That same Zaunite who runs ridiculously hot despite being nearly naked, and is snoring away in the softness of your chest.

Over Vi’s head you catch sight of her chest and hand wraps, haphazardly balled up on the bedside table, a trail of her other clothes leading from the slightly ajar doorway to the bed-- her striped pants, stolen jacket, her top.

You hum softly, brushing a hand through her hair to try and tame it. Vi sighs softly, sound muffled against your chest as she melts into your arms, arms relaxing slightly around your middle. It takes a little bit more coaxing, some more petting and a few kisses to the crown of her head before she settles back down, loosening her grip on your enough for you to begin the Sisyphean task that is unravelling yourself from her arms.

You take it slow, soothing her displeased grunts with more trailing kisses as you slip from her, replacing your body with your pillow. She latches onto it, burying her face into the material and relaxing at your familiar scent, throwing a leg across your side of the bed as she sighs into the mattress.

You crawl off the end of the bed, padding your way out of the room and slipping through the ajar door, having successfully completed the morning gauntlet.

In the hallway you yawn, rubbing at your crusted eyes on your way to the bathroom; a brief pitstop to freshen up, to wash your face and wake up a bit more before making your way out to the living room. You find yourself standing in the middle of the room, blinking as you look around, brain still catching up as you try and figure out what you’re going to do with your morning.

Your stomach decides for you, rumbling softly.

Breakfast. You’re going to make breakfast.

You pad into the kitchen, humming softly as you crouch down by the fridge, the cold rush of air chilling your bare legs. There’s not a whole lot inside, reaching the dwindling end of what you managed to buy with your pay. Running through what’s left, you figure you can make some kind of omelette, still having eggs, a couple of peppers, some cheese, and a parcel of meat that you hadn’t used just yet from the butchers. It wouldn’t be the fanciest meal in the world, but it’d be better than nothing.

You grab the hem of your shirt and hold it out, using it as a makeshift basket to collect all of your ingredients to transport them over to the counter. You have to rummage around a bit to find the pan you want to use, Vi having stored it away in a different spot when she did the dishes last, but you grab it and a couple of chopping boards and get right into cooking.

You listen to the noises of the city outside as you work, chopping up your ingredients, grating the cheese, mixing up the eggs. Omelettes are quick and easy, and you have the egg mixture bubbling in the pan in a matter of minutes.

Arms sliding around your waist from behind make you jump, the spatula in your hand nearly fumbling in your grip as you gasp. A warm chuckle is muffled against your shoulder, Vi pressing herself along your back.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

You roll your eyes, hiding your smile as you lean back against her, into her arms. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it. I don’t see what the issue is,” she says, kissing along the exposed skin of your shoulder, the collar of your sleep shirt stretched out enough to slip down your arm, hanging loosely.

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tilting your head back to nose along her cheek. “Good morning.” You kiss just to the left of her lips, skin still warm from sleep.

Vi smiles, the scar on her top lip pinching the skin slightly, exposing a hint of teeth. She leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. “Morning, sweet thing.”

The pet-name sends a tingle down the back of your neck, a soft flush rising to your cheeks. It’s your favourite one out of the arsenal that she keeps for you, though you’d never tell her that. You’re pretty sure she knows, anyhow.

“What time did you get in last night?”

Vi shrugs, resting her cheek against your back. You bring a hand up, scratching lightly at the back of her head as she gently sways the two of you from side to side. “More like morning. I didn’t even check the time, but the sun was starting to rise when I crossed the bridge. Just wanted to get home to you and sleep.” She yawns, muffling it against your shoulder. “Your thing’s gonna burn.”

You jolt forwards, slipping out of Vi’s arms as she snickers, watching you take the lid off the pan to sprinkle the fillings into the omelette, using the spatula to carefully fold the egg over itself.

You give the cheese some time to melt, the peppers a moment to cook just a bit before shuffling the spatula under the omelette, plating it up. You place a tab of butter in the pan to oil it before turning to Vi.

Your girlfriend is leaning up against the counter, arms crossed over her chest as she looks at you. Her eyes are lowered, locked onto the flesh of your bare legs, though they flick up guiltily when you turn around.

Not that you’re much better, Vi having forgone a shirt like she usually does in the mornings; chest bare and unwrapped, modest but shiny piercings sitting pretty through each nipple. You swear she got them just to distract you, unable to help the way your eyes draw to them whenever they glint in the corner of your vision.

“Eyes are up here, babe.” She’s grinning, her embarrassed flush at getting caught ogling you still colouring her cheeks.

“You know, I think not wearing a shirt in the kitchen is a safety hazard,” you say, holding out the plate for her to take as you avert your gaze.

“Oh yeah?” She takes the plate, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek in thanks. “For you or for me?”

“For all parties,” you huff, amused.

Vi barks a laugh, pressing a hand to the counter behind her before hopping up, sitting herself along the edge. She places her warm plate next to her, gently back on the counter next to her thigh.

“Not gonna eat?” You ask as you turn around, the butter sizzling away in the pan. You pour the remaining egg mixture into the pan, placing the lid back on to let It cook.

“Wanna eat with you.” She kicks her legs, heels of her bare feet thumping softly against the drawers under her. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve had breakfast together.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, gooey and sweet as your heart squeezes. You can’t help but turn back to look at her, finding her already looking. Her smile widens when you make eye contact, sending you a cheeky little wink that has you giggling, shyly looking back down to the pan.

Vi has always had this kind of effect on you, able to make you melt and feel like a lovesick teenager again over a single look or a couple of sweet words. It comes almost effortlessly to her, like she doesn’t even have to think about it. It catches you off guard every time, and leaves you flustered and stuttering, unable to think of how to respond and get her back.

Not that you’re unable to. You’ve had your own fair share of moments where you’ve flustered the woman, though they’re usually because of actions rather than words. The first time you bought her flowers she had accepted them and then promptly left, saying she needed a minute. You were convinced she hated them, that you overstepped, but it turned out she’d never received flowers before and had left to hide how weepy it made her.

It makes you a little bit sad sometimes, when you think too hard about how these acts of kindness and romanticism that you don’t even think twice about catch her by surprise. Like she never would have expected you to buy her new wraps when her old ones were hanging on for dear life, or make the trek over the bridge to Piltover to drop her lunch that she forgot off to her in Caitlyn’s office— as if she’d never been treated in such a way before.

You turn and lean against the counter next to the stove, the warmth of the flame heating your side. “You’re cute.”

You catch her with that, pink springing up on the highs of her cheeks. She plays it off though-- plays it off well-- grinning over at you. “Says you.”

Another roll of your eyes, playful. “Just take the compliment, babe.”

“Or what?” A scarred eyebrow raises, challenging, body leaning back to balance on her arms that are propped behind her, strong hands splayed across the counter.

Shit, she looks good. Too good. And she knows it.

You fall right into her little trap, placing the spatula down next to the stove to walk over, slipping between her legs that she opens slightly wider to fit you. Her sweatpants (or were they yours?) are slung low over her hips, a trail of deep magenta hair disappearing past the waistband. You place your hands on her clothed knees, sliding them slowly up her thighs as you look at her.

The muscles jump under your touch, and she brings one of her arms to sling over your shoulder, hand cupping the back of your neck. “So now that you’re here, what’s your plan?”

You shrug, letting her pull you closer. “Didn’t think that far.”

Vi hums, her thumb brushing up and down the sensitive skin on the side of your neck. She zeroes in on the wave of goosebumps that roll over your skin at the touch, smirk widening.

“Are you open for suggestions?”

“Just kiss me already,” you murmur, pushing yourself up to press your lips to hers.

You can feel the shit-eating grin she has as she kisses you back, using the slight height advantage she has on you to take control, thumb still rubbing almost possessively along the side of your neck.

It’s lazy, slow, perfect for a morning like this.

You slide a hand up her hip, settling on the bare skin of her waist to feel the hard muscle underneath, the pocked skin from where people have fought dirtier than her; bringing knives to fights she flies into with her fists. She never complains, though, coming out winning nearly every time.

She feels so nice under your hands, familiar and warm, the smell of your shampoo that she never admits to stealing tickling your nose as you thread a hand into her hair, something crispy and burning—

You pull away, gasping, “The omelette--!”

Vi laughs as you rush back to the pan, fumbling with the lid as you grab the spatula, using it to peek under the egg. It’s a lot darker than you wanted it be, but not totally inedible. You dump the rest of the fillings into the overcooked egg and fold it over, not letting it cook for as long as the first, but just enough to warm up the inside before removing it from the pan.

Placing your plated up omelette next to Vi’s, you can see just how much more burned it is in comparison. The edges are crispy and the egg is a dark brown, rather than the nice golden colour that spreads evenly across your first attempt. With a sigh, you pick the plate up off the counter, only to have it taken out of your hands.

“What— Vi!” You watch as she balances the plate in one hand, shuffling her legs to grab two forks from the drawer underneath her. She holds one out to you, and you take it without thinking.

“Thanks, babe. Smells so good,” she groans, digging in before you can protest.

You huff, taking the plate closest to her and holding it up to your chest, stabbing at it with the fork.

“You didn’t have to take the burnt one,” you murmur around your food, holding a polite hand up to hide your mouth.

Vi shrugs, grinning over at you in response, chewed up egg peeking through her teeth. You groan in disgust, swallowing your own mouthful with a shudder.

“You’re so gross.”

“I love you?” Vi says, wiping across her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I love you too, I guess,” you sigh, unable to hide your fond smile. “You want any sauce?”

She nods, despite her omelette already being half gone. “Yes, please.”

You manage to find some sauce all the way in the back of the fridge, something yellow and spicy that Vi had tried to make herself after eating at Jericho’s one night. She’d taken over the whole kitchen trying to perfect it, sitting you down at the table to try each batch and get feedback.

She eventually gave up and just went to Jericho himself and bought a bottle.

You stand next to Vi as you eat, the two of you basking in the ambient sounds of the morning; forks scraping against plates, the hustle and bustle of the streets below. It’s nice, domestic.

Vi stacks your plates once you’re done, placing both of the forks on the top plate and sliding them off to the side, near the sink. She gently grabs one of your arms, pulling you back between her legs, throwing her arms over your shoulders.

“Thank you for breakfast.” She sighs, content and full. You place your hands back on her thighs, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles. “I need to wife you up already.”

You laugh, squeezing her thighs. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” She nods, tilting her head slightly to the side, enough for her hair to fall across her face, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “You don’t think so?”

“My Violet, I love you dearly, but I am not being proposed to in our kitchen with sauce all over your tits.”

“Sauce on my—” She looks down, bringing a hand to her bare chest to wipe it clean.

There’s nothing there though, tits sauce-free, and you can’t help the snort that leaves you when she looks back up— her brows furrowed, lips pulled into an adorable frown.

“Got ya.”

Her frown morphs into a confused blink of her wide eyes, the cogs turning in her mind before her eyes narrow, lips shifting back into her signature smirk.

“You little shit.”

She pulls you in, squishing your cheeks together as she attacks you with a flurry of kisses all over your face and shoulders, every inch of skin she can get her lips on. You squirm in her grip, the both of you laughing as she locks her legs around your hips, keeping you in place.

Her kisses begin to concentrate more on the soft line of your neck, under your jaw and over your pulse-- your laughter dying down into breathless giggles, then a sharp gasp as she latches on, playfully nipping and sucking at the skin.

“Vi,” you sigh, your hands inching up her thighs as you melt into her grip, letting yourself be pulled closer.

“Hm?” she hums, smiling against your neck as she sooths the sharp sting of a bite with her hot tongue, a shudder running through your spine.

Her hands drift down your body, thumbing the hem of your sleep shirt before inching them up underneath the fabric, smoothing across your bare back. You can feel every scar and callous on her fingers— a fighter’s hands. You can’t get enough of them.

Vi kisses back up your jaw and steals your lips, a sigh tumbling from your mouth as she kisses you deeply.

Your hands slide higher up her thighs, gripping her hips to pull her close towards you, balancing her on the edge of the counter. She presses her chest flush against your own, and the feeling of the jewellery poking through your shirt, brushing along your tits makes you gasp into the kiss.

You can’t keep your hands still, running them up and over her defined torso, tracing the lines of her abdomen and relishing in the way they shift under your touch. Vi huffs as her tongue slides across yours, wet and warm, hand clasping around the back of your neck to tilt your head exactly how she wants it. And you let her.

Your hands inch up, fingers itching the higher they get until finally, you’re brushing your thumbs over her nipples, tugging and teasing on the jewellery.

She grunts and pulls back, bumping her forehead against your own. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, eyes fluttering closed as you press just a bit harder, palms coming up to squeeze and grope at the soft flesh.

You press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips as you drag your palms down, beginning to roll and pinch at the hardening buds between forefinger and thumb. She hisses, the sound seeping from between her teeth as you kiss her chin, then just under her jaw, until you’re pressing kisses all the way down to her chest. Blunt fingernails dig into the fat of your hip the lower you go, stopping when you’re level with her chest.

Her body tenses under you, waiting expectantly, goosebumps raising along her skin at the feeling of your breath puffing over one of her tits. A soft sound, almost a whine leaves her, and you decide to be kind and finally take pity on her, replacing your rolling fingers with the hot flat of your tongue.

Vi groans, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling as you work her over, switching between slow drags of your tongue and teasing flicks. Her arms slip from your hips, one of them helping to keep her propped up, the other holding the back of your head to keep you against her chest.

“S’good,” she sighs, back arching to press her tits up into your mouth, and you bite gently around her areola, titanium clicking against your teeth.

Wrapping your lips around the swollen bud, you suck it into your mouth, running your tongue over it as your hand keeps working on her other breast. Vi’s hips shift underneath you, twitching up along your clothed stomach. You grin, soft flesh pressed against your lips, eyes flicking up to her face.

Her head drops back down, lips parted as heavier breaths leave her, chest heaving under the attention. She blinks her eyes open, that powder blue slowly being swallowed by the black of her pupil, the ones that widen even more as she catches you watching.

“Don’t f-fucking look at me like that,” she moans, hips thrusting a bit harder now. Her foot digs into the small of her back, pulling you close to give her something more solid to grind against. “Why are you so hot?”

You chuckle, the vibrations making her bite her lip and groan. You pull off with a lewd smack, smiling up at her with faux innocence. “Says you.”

Vi huffs, amused but also slightly frustrated that you stopped. “You stealing my lines, now? Thought—fuck—thought they were annoying.” Her hips are working at a steady, low roll now, and you can feel the heat of her through her sweats, rubbing against your stomach.

You shrug, flicking gently at the bar through her skin. “You’re just too fun to tease,” you say, pinching her to prove your point. “Easy to, I’d argue.”

Her reaction is immediate, her hips pausing, back straightening. “I am not easy,” she says, looking down at you with a hint of something in her blown out eyes-- disbelief, challenge.

You laugh, kissing the underside of her jaw. “Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah—” the words die off into a groan, another pinch to her tits. “That’s not fucking fair,” she sighs, bordering on a whine, tilting her head back to give you more room to kiss at her neck.

“All’s fair in love and war, or however that goes,” you murmur, nosing along where her pulse thumps under her skin before biting down—not enough to hurt or leave a mark, but enough for her to feel. You lave over the skin afterwards, tongue hot and heavy and wet along her skin.

A groan rumbles under your lips, and you’re too distracted by the feeling to notice the hand slipping down your body, the fingers that brush over your underwear until they’re cupping your cunt through the fabric. Your body tenses, and you can’t help the way you gasp against her skin as she presses two fingers up against your clit.

“Sorry,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice. Her fingers start swirling in light, loose circles, the friction of your underwear sending shocks right through your cunt. “You were saying?”

Your legs tremble slightly, a hand coming to grip her hip tightly as a means to steady yourself. “Now that’s unfair,” you gasp, hips rolling against her hand.

“’All’s fair in love and war’, I thought” she quips back, the circles tightening.

“Shut up—” A moan bubbles from the back of your throat, your forehead falling onto her chest. “Vi, fuck--”

“Scooch,” she murmurs, not quite commanding, chuckling as she unhooks her legs from your back.

You hesitate, not wanting to move too far from her hand, from the delicious grind she has going on your clit, but she starts to slide off the counter, so you take a step back, giving her room. Her hand continues to rub along your cunt, the other coming up to cup your jaw and you bring up into a kiss. She licks into your mouth, and you let her, hands falling to cling onto her biceps as you lean into her.

“It’s cute when you try and act all tough,” she sighs against your swollen lips, loving the way you feel as you melt against her.

Al you can do is whine, and though it’s embarrassing, and you know you’re just making yourself look more pathetic, you can’t seem to find it within you to care when she’s touching you like this. “Vi—”

She gives an amused chuckle, hand slipping away from your soaked underwear to grasp at the fat of your hip. She shushes your protests, pressing lingering kisses to your lips and cheeks as she slips behind you, using her grip on your hips to walk your forward. One of her hands slides up, across the small of your back and to the space between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you down against the counter.

“There you go,” she murmurs, rubbing your hip as your chest presses against the cold tiles, hand running up and down your spine soothingly.

You groan, melting against the counter under Vi’s strong hands, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. She shuffles up behind you, thigh nudging your own apart, giving her room to press right up against you.

“So fucking pretty.”

Her hand massages along your hip, shifting lower and lower until it’s sliding along your front, slipping back over the fabric of your underwear to rub at your clit again. Her pace is faster, focused, hand on your back pressing you tighter against the tile as your legs tremble slightly beneath you.

She pushes a moan from your lungs, loud as it reverberates around the kitchen, hips thrusting and pushing your ass back against her. Vi grunts at the pressure, at the way the roll of your hips against her fingers starts a grind against her cunt, still pulsing from when she was rubbing herself all over your stomach.

“Want this so bad, huh?” Her fingers slip away from your clit, puffy and so sensitive, trailing up to the hem of your underwear, teasingly dipping in. “You want it, sweet thing?”

You nod against the counter, lips slightly parted, cheeks sticking to the tile. “Baby, please,” you moan, pressing your hips back insistently against hers.

Vi groans, giving in and slipping her hand past the hem. Two fingers slide themselves over either side of your swollen clit, dragging down to where you’re clenching around nothing. She gathers up the arousal there, teasingly pressing against your sopping hole for just a second, then drags it back up to your throbbing clit, playing with it teasingly before picking up her pace again.

You buck against her, a strangled gasp piercing the air, the sound mingling with the slick sounds of your pussy and she swipes over your clit. Your hands come out to grip the edge of the counter, hips grinding down against her hand. “Fuck, Vi—Need you so f-fucking bad—” you moan, growing impatient, body burning with need.

“Need what, baby?” she asks, a little breathless. Her pace doesn’t let up, but she doesn’t give you more, either.

“For fucks—” you groan, hips snapping. “Vi, baby, please… need your fingers in me—” you gasp, cheeks burning hot as you beg her—bent over the kitchen counter and desperate for her to fuck you right here, right now.

She groans, relishing in the way that you buck against her, the way that you move as she grinds her cunt up against the soft flesh of your ass. She kisses across your back, over the cloth of your shirt.

“’Course, pretty girl.”

She reluctantly peels herself off of you, removing her hand from your underwear. You whine at the loss, pushing yourself back to feel her weight back against you, but you’re just met with a breathless chuckle and a pair of hands on your hips.

Her fingers hook into the elastic of your underwear, dragging them down the thick of your thighs, pulling them away from your weeping cunt. They fall by themselves after reaching your knees, slipping to the floor to tangle around your ankles, binding them together.

Vi presses back against you immediately, calloused hands dragging up the back of your spread thighs. “Look at you,” she sighs, a moan slipping past your lips as she ghosts over your cunt, dragging a single digit through your folds. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Vi…” Your legs tremble as you press back for more, trying to get a better angle. “Come on, don’t tease…”

You don’t need to see her to know she’s grinning, her finger lightly dragging over you again. She presses lightly against on your clit but doesn’t move, making you jolt at the shock it sends zipping through your veins.

“Violet,” you warn, voice clipped despite the need thrumming through you, your pussy twitching under her hand. You turn back to look at her, glowering over your shoulder.

Vi shifts against you, breath hitching at the use of her full name like that, the way you glare. “Just playing, baby,” she mumbles, and instead of doing something to alleviate the ache, to put you out of your misery, she just taps her finger against your clit, like some kind of fucked up morse code.

You squirm, legs shaking as a moan is ripped from you, the hot sparks that flash through you after each touch causing something to snap, your already thin patience crumbling away.

One of your hands leave the counter, slipping between your legs to grab Vi’s wrist, dragging her hand down to where you need her. You rut against her palm, a long, gasping whine echoing in the kitchen as you thump your head back against the counter.

“Oh fuck,” Vi moans, brain short circuiting as she watches you. “Holy shit.”

“Vi, please fuck me,” you beg, holding her hand tight against you.

She blinks, eyes unfocused and hazy as the scene unfolds in front of her. She takes a shuddering breath, coming back to herself as she finally moves. She grabs your arm-- and your other one to be sure—gripping your wrists in one hand and crossing them behind your back, pressing them down against your skin to lock them in place, effectively pinning you to the counter.

“So impatient,” Vi chuckles.

The two of you have played around like this before, her using her strength to pin you down as she fucks you. You love it, bucking and squirming under her, knowing that she’s got you exactly how she wants, and all you can do is lay there and take it.

But this is… wrong. This isn’t the grip you’re used to—the slightly loose hold around your forearms, wrists free to move and grab at her for stability, or to tap her to let you go if your mouth is full. This is rougher, pinning your wrists with a bit more weight behind it, your hands unable to do anything but clench into fists.

It’s almost too strong. You can’t move.

You would never ever think that Vi would want to hurt you, that she would ever touch you in a way that wasn’t filled with adoration and love—but this feels too much like the hold she uses on people that aren’t you. When she’s pinning them down after a fight, when she’s dealing with awful people who have done awful things.

Suddenly you feel too exposed, like you’ve been caught.

The counter digs harshly into the softness of your hips, cunt on full display to the air, wrists locked behind your back, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“V-Vi—” you stutter, breathless, so soft. Too soft. “Vi I—”

“I know, baby,” she coos—but she doesn’t. In this very rare moment, she doesn’t know.

You swallow, squirming, but she doesn’t think anything of it.

You begin to panic, breaths leaving you fast and shallow, feeling like your lungs are pressed flat and deflated against the counter, like you can’t get any air into them.

“Violet—” you say louder, more desperate, a tinge of fear in your voice. “Vi—Red—Please, red--!”

She’s off you in an instant, hands up in the air by her face, a slight tremble to them as she stumbles away. What little air you could pull into your lungs leaves in one big rush, your arms dropping away from your back to your sides. Your legs tremble beneath you, the counter the only thing keeping you up as you slump against it, still unable to catch your breath.

Things are somewhat fuzzy around the edges, slow, the darkness behind your eyelids as you blink feeling like it lasts longer and longer each time.

You vaguely hear your name muffled from behind you, hesitant and laced with fear, concern. A head of pink hair rounds to the side of the counter, where you’re facing, Vi squatting down to be in your line of vision.

“Baby? You need to breathe in real deep for me, okay?” Her eyes are wide, roaming your face, hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach out but is thinking better of it.

It takes you a moment to register what she’s saying, to decipher it in your mind clouded with panic-- and then a few more moments to try. You take as deep of a breath as you can, sealing your lips to hold it.

“Good. You’re doing so good. Now breathe it out real slow, okay? Like this—” She lets out all of the breath in her lungs, out through slightly pursed lips as if she were blowing out a candle. She keeps those piercing eyes on your own, making sure you’re present and listening.

You nod, cheek still squished against the counter, pursing your lips and blowing out. It’s shaky, and you breathe out a bit faster than you should, but Vi just smiles, as reassuring as she can despite the clench of her heart, the fear thrumming through her veins.

“You’re perfect. Just keep going, alright?” She looks over your body, eyes flicking from point to point—the way your bare legs tremble, the underwear that pools at your feet, the clench of your hands against the counter by your side.

She cringes, gut twisting at the vulnerable position you’re in.

“Can I touch you? I just wanna get you dressed.” She watches you carefully, the way you pull in another breath, briefly nodding as you hold it.

She nods back, smile dropping the second she stands up again, slowly moving behind you. “Gonna touch your hip, okay?”

“Okay,” you manage to get out, the burning in your lungs easing just a bit.

Vi gently places a hand on your hip, stabilising you as she leans down, picking up your underwear from the floor and sliding it back up your legs. Your muscles tense the higher she gets up your thighs, and she can do nothing but mutter a series of ‘sorry, I know, I’m so sorry,’ as she settles them back on your hips. She pulls the hem of your shirt down to cover you, though it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Vi’s stepping out of her sweats before she knows it, leaving her in just her boxers. “Gonna put these on you, okay?” She crouches, scrunching up the pant leg and placing it near your foot. “Can you lift your foot for me?”

She helps you step into the sweats, hands brushing ever to lightly over your calves and hips as she pulls them up over you, covering your naked, trembling legs from the air.

“There you go. Did so well for me, baby,” she praises, rubbing soothing circles over your hip, over the fabric of the pants that she can’t even tell who they belong to.

“Vi…” you mumble, voice low, sounding so tired.

“I’ve got you,” she says, voice quiet. “Let’s get you off this counter, yeah? Can you stand?”

You shake your head, clenching and unclenching your hands around the edge of the counter. Your legs feel like jelly, like they’ll buckle underneath you if you try to rely on them to stand.

“That’s okay,” she reassures. “Can I pick you up, then?”

“Yes, please.”

Vi slowly peels you from the counter, gathering you in her arms as she lowers the two of you to the floor. She nestles you across her lap, tucking you up against her bare chest, letting you shift and press against her shoulder to bury yourself into her neck. Your breathing is steadier now, more stable, and the feeling of her bare skin against your frigid cheek helps to ground you further.

Vi’s head tilts down, lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. She just keeps you bundled there; strong arms wrapped around your aching limbs.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into your skin, kissing it again. “Are you okay?”

You nod, picking up your arms to wrap around her neck, holding yourself impossibly closer. “Yeah.”

She lets out a breath, pulling away just enough to look down at you, eyes searching what she can see of your face. “What happened, sweet girl?”

You swallow, throat thick with lingering fear and a flurry of other emotions, mind still clouded with them. It takes you a moment to find your words. “I don’t know… You grabbed my wrists and I just—It was too—I don’t know.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Vi whispers, kissing you again. “Was I too rough?”

You can only shrug. “Kind of? Not in a way that hurt, but it was just… different. Not like how you normally hold me, but like— like I was bad. Like I did something wrong, and you caught me? I can’t explain it.”

Vi stills underneath you, muscles tensing as you speak. You peel your face away from her neck, from where you can hear the breath hitch in her throat. She’s already looking at you, blue eyes wide. She looks devastated.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t— Janna, you know I didn’t mean it, right?” She runs a hand through her hair, head thunking back against the cabinet behind her. “I’m not—I still did it. I can’t excuse that, but I would never do it on purpose. I—”

“Vi,” you murmur, one of your hands sliding from her neck to her jaw. “It’s okay.”

She swallows, the movement shifting under the skin of her neck. You try and guide her to look at you, but she resists.

“Violet.”

She stiffens, finally letting you move her head down to look at you, letting you see the way her lips are downturned, how her scarred brows are drawn tight, her nose crinkled as she holds back her emotions.

“You’re okay,” you reassure.

“I just—the idea of hurting you—”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I promise. I just got scared.”

Her frown deepens, and you slide your other hand to cup the other side of her jaw, cradling her entire face. She relaxes down into it, letting her eyes flutter closed, the remnants of yesterday’s makeup smudging over her eyelids. You shift in her lap, bumping your forehead against her own.

You both sit there, breathing each other in, letting yourselves take a moment to calm down.

“I’m so sorry. Are you really okay?” Her voice is soft, hesitant in a way that tugs on your heart.

“I’m sure. Just wanna sit here with you. I can’t—I don’t want to move just yet.”

“Of course.”

Her eyes open, and up this close you can see everything swirling behind them, everything she’s keeping locked away-- the things she’ll think about when she can’t go to sleep tonight, mind combing through every second of the morning to find all the ways she failed you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She leans in to kiss your cheek, then the other, then your forehead before letting you sink back against her.

You curl yourself up into her arms, drawing your legs up a bit higher against your chest. She slides a hand down to place it on your calf, rubbing soft circles into the muscle as she holds you there. Not having to keep your legs up, you allow yourself to relax, resting your head against her chest, over her heart that you can hear still hammering away in her chest.

“Can you sing for me?”

“Sing?” She asks, blinking down at you.

“The one you hum all the time,” you supply, thinking of how it starts. “Dear friend across the river…”

Vi pauses before nodding, hesitating out of nothing but pure shyness. She never sings openly-- not purposefully, anyways. You mostly catch her humming when she’s busy, concentrating too hard to realise she’s doing it. Sometimes you’ll hear her singing when she’s trying to sleep, like she’s trying to soothe herself.

She shifts in place underneath you, clearing her throat before softly starting to sing the words, voice quiet and warm. She doesn’t look it, but she has a beautiful voice, and you’d give anything to hear it more.

You let your eyes flutter closed, allowing the words and soft vibrations in her chest to soothe you—calming as her heart rate slows to a normal pace, the song working on her as it always does.

Dear friend across the river

My hands are cold and bare

Dear friend across the river

I'll take what you can spare

I ask of you a penny

My fortune, it will be

I ask you without envy

We raise no mighty towers

Our homes are built of stone

So come across the river

And find the world below

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ request your own here! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[1dcommunityficrecs]

Rec List: New Authors!

Welcome to 2025! And as we say goodbye to 2024, this list is taking a moment to shout out new authors who ventured into 1D fic this year -- welcome aboard. It's truly amazing to me that 15 years since the band was formed, and 9 years since they as a group put out new music or performed together, new people are still joining the fold -- or dipping their toes into writing and posting fic, after hanging out in other spaces for a time. I'm sure plenty of people are joining via the solo music, but it still warms my heart to see this community that has meant so much to me continuing to grow and flourish. New fans are just as valid as old fans, and are absolutely essential for a healthy fandom ecosystem.

So with that said, here are 9 fics from people who started posting for the 1D fandom in 2024. And some of these writers have been incredibly prolific -- two of the fics listed are over 100k, and one of the authors has sixteen 1D fics already! Here's hoping we see more from them in 2025 and beyond -- please join me in giving them a warm welcome to the community!

Notorious by violetlilachyacinth (64021, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: period-typical homophobia, implied/referenced rape/non-con

1946. WWII has just ended, but there's still work to be done. To help bring Nazis to justice, U.S. government agent Harry Styles receives a new assignment: recruit Louis Tomlinson, the American son of a convicted German war criminal, as a spy. Neither knows the full extent of the task they're asked to complete nor the full impact they will have upon each other. The stakes are quite high.

Reccer says: This fic blew me away! It's an adaptation of a film, and I can imagine how much work the author did to make it their own. Harry and Louis' connection leapt off the page. And no spoilers, but I loved the ending.

freaky friday by tracksuitponytail (1700, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: dubious consent due to body swap

It’s Friday the 13th—a day like any other for Louis until he wakes up in the middle of the night... in his best friend's body.

Reccer says: SO well written! I enjoyed it so much, and it really cheered me up on Thanksgiving

Coffee and Confessions by Vyshv (676, General, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles)

A cozy coffee shop in New York City, with the warm aroma of roasted beans and the soft hum of chatter, two lost friends find each other.

Reccer says: This fic so so soft and lovely! I love the feelings it evoked

Hazelnut by BlackRose_Lilly28 (100, Not Rated, None)

Another drabble based on a twitter prompt. This time: "Hazelnut."

Reccer says: Fun to read, and very sweet!

here for the thrill by worldsofdreamers (3357, Explicit, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik)

niall wore a cowboy hat and he was just saving a horse

Reccer says: we needed a fic of niall in his lil cowboy hat and this fic DELIVERS. always love fics from this author. they’re very good writer and they are a good go to if you’re in need of a ziall fic.

All in the Golden Afternoon by leighllbealright (126028, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

When Louis Tomlinson needed to find a new preschool for his daughter, he wasn't expecting the one across the street to be everything he and Goldie ever needed. Or: the one where Louis is closed off, Harry is the weirdest person ever, and Gemma may as well be a psychic. Somehow, calico-cat-style, they forge a beautiful family from pieces that don't quite fit.

Reccer says: This series is one of my top 10 from 2024. Brilliant characters, gorgeous writing, Harry’s sweaty elbow-pits, everyone is a flower, naked treehouses and more.

Whole Lot of History by Blue_Green28 (73592, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

With 3 children coming out of their twelve years long marriage Harry and Louis are essential parts of each other's lives even though they have moved on with new partners since their divorce ten years ago. Or have they?

Reccer says: Exes to Lovers, Miscommunication, mpreg

everything of mine is yours by blueskiesrry (33000, Explicit, Harry Styles/ Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Reccer says: The scene where Louis reads a Lincoln biography out loud to H in the bath? Swoonworthy!

The Handbasket Diaries by Hazel_tea_dreams (160326, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

London’s expensive and work’s a grind but everything is a little better when you have good mates who understand you. The narrow brick flat building in Brixton, home to Louis, Liam, and Zayn and affectionately referred to as The Handbasket, is more than a place to catch winks and reheat leftovers. When Harry stumbles into its midst (and Louis' lap) with flatmate Niall in tow on a particularly hot Pride weekend, none of the five of them will be fully prepared for the shenanigans, tomfoolery, true friendship, or steamy romance that will unfold over the year.

Reccer says: This was so fucking lovely. I binged it in two days—only put it down to scream about it on Bluesky (and sleep and like, essential stuff). The writing is witty and tender and, apparently, communication kink is my jam. This is the only fic (in recent memory) that I finished and then wanted to restart immediately.

[majulians-groupie]

"Where true home is"

Summary:After returning from a long visit to your parents from across the world,you're more confused than ever about your relationship with them.It is not long before your mind spirals, but thankfully,your sweet boyfriend is always there to tether you back to the ground.

Words:2.4k+

Warnings:strained relationship with parents,verbal and physical abuse mentioned,FEELINGS TALK,aangst,Tooth rotting fluff!🥺,mild alcohol consumption,established relationship,reader is purposely not given a name but no use of y/n,a bit of crying

🪷Writer's P.S. (skip this if you want to go directly to the story by spotting the lilypad emojiss down below)🪷

Y'all HIIII!🌸✨️

I am returning from a damn big depressive episode which also caused me a huge writer's block :(

This is also my first Bucky fic ever so I am bit nervous🥺🥺.I'm so damn sorry I'm so late to answer your Arcana fandom asks,but I promise I will!

This may fic may slightly be a bit personal.I actually did not intend to post it .I started writing this to cope with some personal stuff,but I ended up really liking the way it turned.If you're facing similar struggles about the relationship with your family,hang in there,know you're not alone.I know things may seem so messed up,but it's going to be okay.Hope you all enjoy this!

🪷TO THE FIC:🪷

It's a calm,Sunday evening at the compound's kitchen.Almost as if the weather owed Bucky a favor,there wasnt a single cloud in the sky.The room was filled with the last rays the sun had to offer for the day,showering it with an ethereal yet warm auburn glow.

-Perks of a certain billionaire hiring the best architects in the country to build this place.-

Bucky was bursting with excitement.He wanted everything to be perfect.He was cooking your favorite meal,had purchased your favorite wine and had bought a bouquet of forget-me-nots,your favorite flower,to decorate the table.

The rest of the team had offered to take a night out,to give you some privacy for the cosy cute welcome back date Bucky had planned.As much as they wanted to see you,they thought that you deserved some space for just the two of you .After all,it was the first the time you were physically apart for this long ever since you became a couple.

Bucky didn't get the chance to pick you up from the airport.He himself had also returned from a long mission-one he picked happily to cope with the absence of his doll- a few hours ago,giving him very little time to shower and prepare everything for your return.Fortunately,Happy was more than happy to help,bringing you back to the compound late by taking the long drive home,giving Bucky time to fix everything.

He had just turned off the oven when he heard the ding of the elevator,which made him drop the spatula he was holding.When he turned around,he was met with your grinning face from across the hall.You dropped your suitcases in front of the elevator and quickly rushed to your boyfriend's embrace giggling.

-"I missed you so much!"

His grip on you was bone crushing,but you didn't care the slightest.You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck,relishing in his scent for a few seconds,before peppering him with small kisses on his face.

He responded by kissing you softly between words.

-"I missed you too doll...so..*kiss*..so..*kiss*..much!

You stayed in his embrace for a few seconds before you took a look at his face..taking it in the palms of your hands

-I almost forgot how handsome you are from upclose...

-"Ahh..doll...that would be a scandal now wouldnt it?"he chuckles.

You take a look behind him and notice the beautifully set table with the bouquet of flowers in the middle.

-"So this is why Happy did not come upstairs with me huh?I thought he just had a date night with Peter's aunt."

-"I dont know about him but this compound is taken for another date night",he said smiling.

He kisses you again,his kiss a bit more intense than before,relished in the feeling of you in his arms.

-"Baby..you didn't have to do this..you just got home from the mission didn'-?"

He tossed the butterflies in his stomach from you calling him baby aside and sushed you with another passionate kiss.

-"I missed you so much..haven't seen you in almost a month..you deserved a nice welcome home."

-"What did I even do to deserve you?"

He just silenced you with another kiss,as he always does when your usual self-depreciating rambling starts.

"You will forgive me for not having the salad ready won't you?Happy said he will bring you back at least before 18:30"he said frowning at the clock on the wall.

You fake sigh

-"If I have to..."

You roll your eyes before you start chuckling and hug him tight.Despite his insistence on the matter,you really couldn't fathom what you did to deserve such a perfect man.

Your date went along perfectly.Bucky hadn't let you lift a finger.He jokingly served you dinner pretending he was the waiter of a very fancy restaurant,filling your glasses with sparkly water and wine and always asking you if everything was okay mid conversation,earning your giggles and sarcasm in return.

"The chef would kindly like to get your feedback regarding the meal",he asked mid filling your third glass.

-Please tell him that he is a five course meal himself,so he won't have to worry about me skipping this dinner.You give him an exaggerated wink.

Bucky almost broke out of character.

"Miss as much as delighted he will be to hear your honest compliments,I am afraid this is a serious restaurant"

You started giggling again before he took you hand in his and started kissing it softly.He wanted to know everything about your trip back home.He let you yap for hours about how nice it was to see your friends,your little excursions and get togethers,how exciting it was that you were all back in Athens after so many years of the friendgroup being spread in literally all five continents.At first,you even seemed to be  happy about your stay at your family's.

-"I mean...I was kinda nervous of how it would go but..it was nice to see them.You remember how they were insisting...I didn't have the guts to tell them that the idea of staying with them after all these years freaked me out so..I couldn't skip.But it wasn't half bad.We had our nice moments.They actually seemed to miss me a lot you know?

-"I'm very happy to hear that doll."He kept your hand in his,interwining your fingers.He knew that when it came to your parents,things were always complex and complicated.Things weren't black and white.They weren't always directly horrible to you,but they weren't exactly a model for parenting either.They had their own set of issues which made them do stuff that would occassionally make Bucky flinch,not just at the actions,but also for how you often seem to have them normalized.It wasn't a rare occurrence,you narrating Bucky a story about your childhood,where you casually mentioned that they had neglected you or insulted you in some way,always berating yourself about the fact that it still bothered you.These moments Bucky had to actually sit you down and remind you that this was wrong,that despite their defensiveness you had every right to be upset about it and that it was unfair that you had to go through something like that.That despite all the years that had passed,it was normal and okay to be bitter,and it didn't mean you were "oversensitive"

Of course you weren't stupid.You knew that real life people weren't disney villains.They had multiple sides and layers.You knew that abuse can also be verbal,that a slap in the face is indeed violence,as much as it considered a normal way to reprimand kids in your family.After multiple therapy sessions,you recognised how these stuff shaped you as a person.Hell,only you knew how much work it took to deal with the damage these stuff had inflicted upon your personality.How as a young adult, you had to learn from the start,as if you were re-growing up,how to stand up  for yourself,to stand your ground,to not be afraid to take space,to be confident in your skin and unapologetic in the things that made you yourself.It was shocking to see how many people in your life subconsciously took advantage of your low self confidence,even sometimes without even realizing.It often made yoy wondering if you being more confident had saved you off some pretty bad relationships and friendships...

Long story short,you had made the choice to not completely cut your parents from your life,but  keep a safe-for your own fucking wellbeing- distance.

-"I mean..crazy right?..and..their excitement for me being back after all these months..it even made them easy to live with..at least for the first five days,you said almost as if it was the most normal thing in the world,before you took a bite of your plate.

Bucky frowned,instantly knowing where this conversation would lead.

-"What do you mean doll?"

-"Well..I had almost forgotten how hard they are to live with,"you said half chuckling.

"Kind of ironic if you ask me.You know,back when I was still living with them,my therapist would tell me that when I move away,our relationship will be easier to handle and time may mend some things,making it easier to forgive and forget.I wouldn't believe her back then...I thought it was impossible.I thought it meant that I would have to pretend nothing ever happened and everything was perfect so we could have a somewhat normal relationship."But,..."

You make a long pause,to think.

"I think it came naturally you know?I guess it is easy to ignore something if you're not constantly affected by it.It just feels kinda wrong.And I guess unfair to my younger self.I feel as If I can't stick with a narrative inside my mind."

Bucky looks you deep in the eyes.

-"Baby your emotions are much more complex than a "narrative".You're allowed to have mixed feelings about a situation.You're allowed to feel as if a matter has multiple layers.And most importantly,if your mind naturally wants to leave a few things behind and make you be the bigger person for the shake of healing,you are fucking allowed to let it do it.It doesn't make your experience any less important and you're not betraying yourself.

He takes a long sigh before speaking

"Thing is doll,you're not in that enviroment anymore.You don't have to prove a thing to anybody.You don't have to stand your ground to validate your experience in them,or in anyone's eyes.Right now,you know and you have accepted that some things were wrong.And you were rightfully hurt.But you're ready to start healing and moving on.Back then,you used to cling to every thing that was proof of your struggle.You had to,because you were constantly gaslighted into thinking that their behavior was somehow your fault,or even that there was nothing wrong with it.You used to clung to the anger and the pain,because they were constantly telling you that you had no right to have them.And it was suffocating,because others can't dictate what you feel and don't feel."

-"So they would do stuff that would hurt me,yet they wouldn't allow me to feel the emotions that come with processing what they did.Because then they would have to admit that they indeed did something wrong."

-"Exactly..."

You sigh.

-"I never get bored with them don't I?You give a bitter laugh before looking outside the window,trying to ease the tension that threatened to make your vision cloudy with tears.You didn't want to cry.Not now.This was supposed to be a romantic dinner.The sweet and adorable surprise Bucky had put so much effort into to welcome you back home.It was supposed to go perfectly...you were pretty damn sure he was stressed about it..you know him too well.But your sweet boyfirend couldn't give a damn about the dinner at the moment.

-"Doll..."Bucky touched your cheeck tenderly,trying to make you look at him

"I know these things are not easy...but you are so strong" he whispers..So fucking strong..and I'm so proud of you..you know that?How you have the courage to face these things head on instead of avoiding them.How you work with them.I know first hand that bad things don't make you stronger on their own..you have to work for it.And I see you working so hard sweetheart.Everyday.Without giving up...Do you know how much I admire that in you?"

He smiles softly,his ocean blue eyes holding looking at you with so much affection.

"How you look up to the future with a heart full of kindness and hope despite everything.To me it feels...as if you literally choose to carry light baby..and that's..that's what made me fell in love with you.When you started sharing some of this light with me..and after a long long time..you actually made me see a future..a good one.Something I had not been able to in a while"

You couldn't hold your tears any longer.Not when Bucky wears his heart on his sleeve for you.Not when he showers you with such a huge amount of honest love.Not when he mentions his own struggles and you can hear the slightest bit of tremble in his voice,which tries to conceal for your shake.

-"I'm so sorry".It's your voice thay trembles now.You sloppily move from your chair to his lap and hug him tightly,letting out a few small sobs.You don't even know what you're even apologizing for at this point..but it felt that you had to..just to be safe.Bucky seemed to be reading your mind.

-"None of that baby".He wraps his arms around you tightly and kisses your forehead."None of that" he whispers into your hair.He starts rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"It's okay,it's alright.I got you.Let it out sweetheart.You can do it"

The final phrase seemed to open the dam.You desperately tried to calm yourself down,but the more you tried to control your breathing,the worse it would become.

"Focus on my voice sweetheart.Im here.I got you.Im not leaving.It's just us now"

He kept on murmuring praises and reassurances while holding you tight in his embrace.His voice,his touch,started anchoring you back to the ground.After a bit of time on his arms,your breath evened out.Your thoughts stopped sprinting and your voice became steady.

-"I would say I'm sorry,but you will get mad,so I will just say thank you."

He chuckles."You're right doll.You have no reason to apologize.And you don't have to thank me either."

You cut him

-"Buck.."

-"Ah ah ah.Baby,listen to me.I love you.So.damn.much.I will be here for you anytime you need.Anytime you WANT."..Also,it is not like you're not doing the same for me each time my own issues come to the surface..so stop acting like I'm some kind of saint here doll."

You can't help but giggle.The darkest parts of your mind hated the fact that Bucky dared to put the hell he has been through in the same discussion with your issues.That man has been through more trauma in single days than regular people see in a lifetime.You were admiring him more than anything in the world.You couldn't believe how after everything,he still was Bucky.Your Bucky,your sweet,too good for this world boyfriend with a heart of gold,that held space for anyone that saw beyond his past and wanted to reach him.Your Bucky,who would hold you at night when stress made you unable to sleep,whispering into your hair,dissolving the darkness that once threatened to consume him as well away.

But he never made you feel as if your struggles didn't matter.He never believed that pain is something to be compared or compassion a right to be earned.He was simply,always,there for you.

🪷PHEW...THATS WAS EMOTIONAL HEHE.

I hope you enjoyed it.Every feedback is appreciated,I love hearing your opinion!🪷

[ryescapades-archived]

₊˚⊹☁ 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝟏𝐤𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 ☁₊˚⊹

to celebrate having 1000+ of you here, and my birthday which is also around the end of december (1k + cakes = 1kakes haha get it). thank you so much !! this is my little attempt at repaying you guys.

much love, rye.

𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐱 || 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 || 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐬!

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SLICE ONE ; speak up ! ] ༊*·˚

send me a character + sfw/nsfw (choose either!) + one dialogue from the list here OR one of your own! i will write you a drabble/short fic based on your dialogue, and 1k is the word limit.

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SLICE TWO ; scarf down ! ] ༊*·˚

send a character + theme / colour OR one of your selfships + some trivia (don't have to be lots. just one or two are good enough!) i’ll make a moodboard based on the vibes of your request.

e.g. “bf!isagi” , "y/n x f/o + golden retriever bf x cat gf" or in any form that could help me with what you want. samples: x – x

╰┈➤ [ 🍰 SPECIAL SLICE ! ] ༊*·˚

in honor of joining the secret santa events hosted for the members of @/pixelcafe-network, and another one for HoW!

[ rules ]

you can order for slice one, slice two, or both !

mutuals, followers, non followers, all are welcomed!

exception for slice two: any character is acceptable!

some may contain nsfw so please mdni with those.

no angst because this is a happy occasion (hurt/comfort is okay).

fandoms i’m accepting: kn8, bllk, wbk, tougen anki, haikyuu, genshin impact, jjk, mha

[ notes ]

this was supposed to be held in november but life got in the way of things (and i still have some old requests marinating in my inbox lol i'll try to work on those in between i prommy TT) so i had to postpone it.

i'm hosting this event while still in the middle of my midterm season btw so it'll be a gradual process. plus finals are less than 2 months away so highly likely it will be a long term project. no rushing me please !! if you are fine with that, feel free to request away.

@17020

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[lunalovestowrite]

FMA Fic Recs!!!

I'm gonna make separate posts by fandom. So, first up, some FMA fic recs!!

All of these recommendations are complete, with the exception of one!

Capra Series by SiryyGray

I feel like this one is really obvious to pretty much anyone who's into FMA fic, and anyone who's read my fics, but yeah the Capra series is so good. Such amazing character writing, and the emotions are so well handled I love it so much!!

I'm also a huge nerd for this era of history (I wrote a research paper about it when I was younger) and there were multiple points during this fic that I called my friends to nerd out to them like "the historical accuracy... it's so beautiful..."

This is canon to me over Conqueror of Shamballa now.

2. Dear Roy by Blue_Sunshine

A really wholesome and sweet Parental Roy fic!! I don't know how one even thinks of this idea and then writes it so beautifully, but I'm really glad they did because I love this one so much. Roy's relationship with Alphonse in particular really shines in this fic, which is awesome because Roy and Alphonse's relationship tends to be pushed to the side a lot in the fandom. He cares about that kid too!!

I also love the way this fic characterizes Trisha. It feels very canon-accurate while also giving her a little more depth than she ever really gets in the manga. The side of her that would do absolutely anything for her children really gets to shine, and you can totally see what would get Roy to fall for her in this one.

3. One Step at a Time by twoxfourthreezero

This is just a really cute EdLing fic!! It's a modern AU and kind of a chatfic with a lot of fully written scenes in the middle. Specifically the thing that stands out to me about this one the most is the relationship between Ling and Greed, and the way both of them are written. Pretty much any time I write Greed is definitely subconsciously inspired by this fic because I love the way he's written in here so much.

I also love the way the author writes the Resembool trio! It feels like a good amount of EdLing fics will kind of push Winry to the side because they're focusing on Ed's relationship with Ling (which is fine and makes sense!) but this fic really emphasizes Ed and Winry's bond and how important it is.

Plus T-Boy Ed is SO good in this fic. Honestly one of if not THE best T-Boy Ed fic I've read.

4. You Could Be A Hero (But Here You Are) by WakingNightmares

When I eventually make a Batman/DC fic rec list you'll see way more of this author because they're probably my favorite Ao3 author at the moment T^T

This fic is just whump. It's whump and I love the whump so much. Ed goes through it. Havoc goes through it. This fic made me appreciate Ed and Havoc's relationship a lot more, and I went down a rabbit hole of fics that explore their dynamic after this one.

Unfortunately this fic has been discontinued. But I think it's still worth the read.

5. Five Times Edward Elric Shocked Jean Havoc and One Time it Was the Other Way Around by Breemore

Modern kind-of foster care AU where Ed is in protective custody and Havoc is often the one assigned to watch over him.

I found this during my Ed and Havoc rabbit hole dive and this one is just really sweet! I love the way Havoc is written in this, and the way Ed is written is on point. Even though Roy takes a bit of a backseat, his relationship with Ed is also perfectly portrayed and I adore it. I would love more of this universe!!

6. Rest Until You're Rested by BeyondTheClouds777

Another modern foster care AU but this one focuses entirely on Ed's relationship with Roy and Riza after they adopt him. I've reread this one like 15 times because it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy while also having some really strong angst, whump, and character writing.

Genuinely the way Roy is written in this is so on point!! Like yeah, that's Roy if he adopted Ed. Even though Hughes doesn't actually show up, their relationship is hilariously written. Riza is also totally on point. Just everything about this fic is MWAH!! Perfect!!

7. The View from Over the Fence by dorobee

This fic completely blew me away when I first read it. Like wow!!! It's actually insane!!! The outsider POV really works for this one, and the OC character actually ties so much together in the end. Even though it's a one shot, the POV character and Ed both go through distinct character arcs that you can see from beginning to end, and the way Ed is written is just WOW!!!

Another modern foster care AU focused mostly on Ed's relationship with Roy and Riza as his parents. Though from the perspective of their elderly neighbor who thinks that Ed is a brat lmao.

Roy and Riza are also just SO well written in this. Protective, caring parents who would do anything for their son. I love this one so much. And Alphonse is also a major part of this one, unlike most of the foster care AUs that I've read!

Okay that's all my FMA fic recs for now. Please let me know if yall have any recommendations that you think I'd like based off this list!! I'm always looking for more!!

[fushiglow]

Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people.

Thank you for the tags, @detta-pica and @hollow-lime-green! I cheated by posting a whole new fic before having a go at this, but there we go. The first fic in this list marks my 34th upload to AO3 for the Jujutsu Kaisen fandom which... Fine. Yeah. Looking forward to celebrating number 40 sometime later this year, I guess.

Let's have a look then...

1. Five Days of Summer

Summer is an endless gasp for breath. It shudders past August and into September. It rattles damp and desperate around Suguru’s lungs. It persists without pause, leaving him aching for relief.

Turned that over in my brain for a whole day. Needed the opening of the fic to capture its essence immediately. It's fire for a reason.

2. Energy

It was a long way down. Long enough to survive the fall? Probably, for him, but was he really going to risk that? A fate splattered on the grimy streets in the bowels of the city for some bleeder to ransack whatever remained of his body? His best friend?

Star Wars AU, my beloved. I wanted to withhold the POV from the reader for a little while since part one, Balance, is told from Megumi's POV. The fic summary spoils it, but alas.

Part two and the currently unpublished part three were originally the other way around, but I decided I wanted to give part three (exclusive spoiler! It's called Warmth and it's a very fitting title) a bit more emotional oomph, so we went back in time a little further first. I'm enjoying the non-linear storytelling of Star Wars AU a lot.

3. Phantom Power

Looking back, Suguru had been stupid to believe everything would simply slot back into its rightful place the moment Satoru came home. Impressively stupid, even for him. It had been easier falling asleep with Satoru’s familiar weight in the bed next to him. It had been easier to drift off tangled in his too tight hold. But they must have rolled away from each other at some point during the night, because Suguru was cold when he awoke in the darkness.

This is kind of cheating since it's the opening to the most recent chapter of a multi-chapter fic, but all of the chapters are standalone shorts so I'm saying it counts. It's also very beautiful with gorgeous accompanying art by bean! This is (not) just a plug!

4. A Cappella 

I could do that. It was the errant thought that passed through Suguru’s mind as he watched Sugar from yet another angle. Childish, really. With his face pressed into his pillow, drawstrings of his hoodie (Satoru’s hoodie) pulled tight around his chin, Suguru dragged the scrubber back to the start and watched the video again.

I watched so many Tiktok dance challenges during the process of creating this oneshot, mostly this one by San from ATEEZ. So we've got Santoru, SaTENru and... Jackson Wang. Yeah, I can't find a way to merge their names, but they're the three main influences on threshold!Satoru at this point. Honourable mention to Taemin, too.

Anyway, make sex sad again!

5. Race You to the Bottom 

Satoru usually enjoyed holidaying with his friends. Usually. However, even putting aside the pandemonium that was the Swiss Alps in the middle of February, it was quickly becoming clear that a group ski trip was Utahime's worst idea yet.

Sigh, take me back to ski fic...

Kidding, I think. I definitely look back on this fic with rose-tinted glasses because it turned out so well and I had so much fun writing the first two chapters especially. However, the last one was hard work. Basically, turns out I enjoyed writing the actual extreme sport more than I enjoyed writing the, uh, extreme sport.

6. Taste Test 

‘Is it a knife?’ he blurted, excited both by the prospect of winning a point and the implications. ‘Is this your way of telling me you want to try knife play?’

The opening lines are just the summary of the fic, so here's Suguru being a horny kinky bastard instead.

7. erase me

Gojō sits in his car and cries. He’s so sick of winter. He can’t remember the last time the sun shone on this shitty little town. Thinks it was probably— Gojō doesn’t want to think about Suguru. Gojō always wants to think about Suguru.

Your honour, I slayed. Severance AU is peak (fan)fiction. And the opening makes it if you ask me. The whole thing reads (and looks) like a poem and I love that.

8. Summer's Last Cherry

Suguru wore his twenty seven years well.

Simply because this fic is tagged "canon compliant", oops.

9. Over the Threshold 

The beat dropped and Satoru went with it, falling to his hands and knees as though gravity had become irresistible. He began moving against the floor like it was his lover, gyrating his pelvis in effortless synchronisation with the gaggle of dancers surrounding him. His soaking wet tank top left little to the imagination, clinging to his torso in a way that was only somewhat offset by the baggy cargo pants that sat obscenely low on his hips. From the shaggy mop of waves atop his head to the chunky combat boots hugging his calves, Satoru was a vision in white, cast in a cerulean hue under the studio lights.

The actual opening is a definition of limiting (which I agonised over a lot, it's important!) but these are the opening lines of the actual fiction. I wrote this so long ago and it's one solid paragraph, which is interesting, because it's not often that I open a fic with a long paragraph like this. It makes sense here, because it's basically a description of the video Suguru is watching rather than any close internal monologue. It gets increasingly silly as Suguru forms an opinion and we drop into his POV, and although I had doubts about the opening to Over the Threshold in the past, I love it these days. I think it conveys the premise and also themes of the fic very quickly.

By the way, I make a direct reference to that last sentence in chapter 14, coming god knows when. Sooner rather than later, I hope.

10. A WIP?? A WIP???

It begins quietly. The instrumentalists arranged on the stage settle into stillness. A cellist at the back of the ensemble taps his bow along his D string on a pedal point played portato. The violins ease in with an eerie whine, playing a dissonant interval suspended over that single sustained tone. Still, the two performers positioned at the centre of the string orchestra remain motionless.

This will probably be the next fic I post (?) and, yeah, I'm sorry it's not Vocal Rest. It's that other music AU I know a few people have been waiting for instead. It's really just AO3 user greaterglow being a nerd about music but in a slightly different font. Who'd have thought?

I'm going to be so honest. The reason I delayed making this post is mostly because I wanted to avoid including ~certain works~ that make me a bit sad, so I waited until I'd posted Five Days of Summer and padded it out with a WIP of music AU number 5725 😭 However, because of this post, I literally pulled up a new doc to start writing the daddy!Satoru pairing for ~that fic~ so I can reclaim it for myself.

I hate that harassment has soured my feelings about a work that was made with so much love for someone who means very much to me. I still haven't replied to a single comment on it, I just pretend it doesn't exist. So, we're going to fix that with an equally emotional and, this time, extremely self indulgent "daddy" counterpart. Make of that what you will.

(If you've spent any amount of time reading my fics, it shouldn't be that hard to work out the angle I'm taking with this, honestly. It's going to be fantastic.)

—

I really don't know who to tag since I'm very late to this and don't know anyone with 10 fanfics who hasn't already done this challenge! However, it was fun looking back through various works! I love yapping about my writing and I'll always take any opportunity to do so!

[mrsalwayswrite]

All I Long For - Chapter 1 (Billy Russo x fem!reader)

So I recently joined The Punisher fandom and oops, now I'm obsessed with Billy. The idea for this series wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. A huge shout-out to @e-dubbc11 for their fantastic Billy fics and the encouragement to write my own!

One thing to note- in this fic, Billy never worked for Rawlings and Frank's family is alive.

Summary: You were there for the job only, just make it through the weekend and get paid. But it's never that easy or simple when Billy Russo shows up. When seeing him uncovers feelings you thought long buried, tainted by heartache. You just had to keep your head down and survive the weekend, then things could return to normal. Unless Billy had his way…

Words: 2400

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Staring up at the vast, brick mansion, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. 

This job had come highly recommended from your new neighbors, a lovely middle-aged couple who were kind enough to put in a good word for you with the business owner. Someone they apparently knew. Not long after, you found yourself working for a catering company after hastily moving to New York City. It was not the job you wanted but it paid the bills. 

And it was those suffocating bills which were the only reason you were going to set foot into that mansion. 

Not that you hated the job, per se. It certainly was not what you wanted to do with your life, nor what you got a college degree in; but your boss was fair and most of your coworkers were fine, so you refrained from complaining too much. The hours were detrimental for a social life but that was not why you moved to NYC. Most of the events you worked at were weddings or charity functions for fancy, rich people. Somewhere it was easy enough to blend into the background, to just be another faceless person. A fact you were content with. 

Now you found yourself staring at a massive mansion just on the outskirts of NYC for a four-day weekend. 

Two weeks ago, your boss called asking if you would be willing to work for a long weekend at an estate outside of the city. Some rich guy had rented out the place for him and his friends for a weekend away and he had hired the catering company to provide food. Of course, your boss mentioned that because of the extended hours, you could be getting far more than your regular rate. Apparently, the rich guy was very generous with his money for these sorts of events. 

With those bills glaring at you, mocking you, how could you refuse? 

So with trepidation tickling your spine and determination a helmet over your mind, you grabbed your suitcase from the back of the van you and some of your coworkers had piled into. Holding your head high, you walked into the estate, hoping the weekend would pass uneventfully.  

If only you had known….

*****

“Holy shit, I can't believe we're actually here!” Beth squealed, standing by your side. 

Currently, the small catering crew waited in the kitchen for the head chef to return, all while snooping around the space they would be spending the majority of their time over the long weekend. 

The arrival of the rich man and his friends hung over everyone with barely concealed anticipation. The guests would arrive in several hours, due mid-afternoon on Friday, stay over the weekend and leave on Monday mid-morning. Which meant the catering crew arrived Friday late morning to settle in, get a layout for the estate and begin prep work. 

The estate's manager was kind enough to give a tour, showing where the catering crew would be sleeping. Which turned out to be in the basement in several rooms set up like dorms to the disdain of particular persons. The special guests would be staying in the luxurious rooms on the upper floors. In addition, the estate boasted several rooms for the guests to wile away their time in. In a separate part of the basement was a large in-house movie theater, with an additional room set up with the latest gaming console and large TV, specifically ordered for this weekend. On the main floor was an indoor heated pool, hot tub and sauna. There was a massage room for the guests to book appointments, if desired. Near the lavish dining room was a space with a pool table, short bar set-up and tables with various card and board games. 

Outdoors held a large terrace off the back, leading down to the greens of a golf course. On either side of the course were thick woods that went for acres to allow guests privacy from neighbors or paparazzi. 

“It's beautiful.” You admitted, leaning back on the metal countertop. “I can't imagine how much this place costs to rent.”

Lana scoffed from down the line, adjusting her ponytail. “I bet this didn't even put a dent in his wealth. The man could burn money for fun.”

“He doesn't have to burn money to get his rocks off,” Ashley winked, then gave her shoulders a little shimmy, “he just needs to take me on a date. I'll show him such a good time, he'll beg to have me again.”

Lana laughed. “He never goes on a second date. Everyone knows that.”

“I never said nothin’ about a second date. He'll beg me to be in his bed every night!” 

Beth smiled over at the two across the large island. “Play your cards right and you might get the chance this weekend. I know he didn't hire any kind of female entertainment so...”

“God, I hope so!” Lana groaned. “He's so hot it's unfair. I swear all he'd have to do is flash that big smile of his at me and my underwear will be soaked.”

Ashley hummed in agreement, running a finger absent-mindedly along her lower lip. “Mmmm…I'd get on my knees in a heartbeat for him. Hell, I bet he even tastes good.”

“Think he's a tits or ass man?”

Donovan walked past the four women carrying a crate of fruit. “Maybe I'll try and flirt my way into his bed.”

“What would your boyfriend say?!” Ashley chuckled.  

He shrugged, setting the crate down along the counter. “Oh, we've already talked. Billy Russo would be a hall pass, for damn sure.”

At the name, static filled your ears. Any further conversation around you was muted by the buzzing in your mind. Fingers gripped the countertop painfully. Your heart raced, pounded within your chest as realization hit you like a sledgehammer. 

“Beth…”

She glanced over at your near whisper. “Yeah? Hey, you okay there?”

“Who–” you licked your lips, forcing the words to come out of your suddenly parched throat, past the lump and turmoil building within you, “who hired us? Who's the rich guy coming?”

“Oh, didn't you hear? It's Mr Billy Russo. He's the CEO of Anvil…”

And there was that static again, threatening to drown your senses but you forced yourself to listen. 

“...yeah, I guess he rented out the place for himself and some of his military buddies to come have a boys’ weekend or something like that.”

“Oh…okay. I–I'm gonna step outside for a minute. Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, you hurried away, moving through the lower passages that were clearly meant for ‘the help’ and away from the main house. 

It was not until you stepped outside, the warm, summer air filling your lungs that you felt like you could take a deep breath. Panic fogged up your mind, filling you with equal parts dread and curiosity. It had been years since you last saw Billy Russo in person. Selfishly, you wondered what he would think seeing you again. Just imagining seeing him had your heart fluttering, desperate to fulfill that childish wish. Yet accompanying that longing was the shards of pain and hurt always attached to his name now for you. 

The conflicting emotions tore at you, eating away what contentment you held for the busy weekend. A rigidness zapped your muscles, making you tense as if ready to flee, to claim something had to come up and you needed to get back to the city. You knew Peter would understand, your boss was considerate, especially if you lied and said something happened with one of your grandparents. You could do it…

“Hey…you okay there?”

You looked over your shoulder at Beth, clearly having followed you out. “Yeah, yeah. Just…fine.”

“Yeah, I can smell the bullshit all over that.” She lazily walked over to stand next to you. You both stared out over the manicured lawn for a long moment before she spoke again. “Is it something about Russo? You seemed to panic when you heard his name.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the duality of hurt and hope creating a painful symphony in your chest. “I just– I didn't realize it was for him, you know? I don't know. It's stupid.”

“What? That he's walking sex on legs?”

You choked, not wanting that imagine in your head…even if you would never admit out loud how you knew already.

She laughed at your reaction, before nudging your elbow with hers. “What's it then?”

“Um, I just… I don't know. I guess I thought the party was gonna be a bunch of rich frat boys or something. Not…not Anvil and you know, military guys.”

“Will that be a problem? Do you need to leave?”

“No. It's fine.” You tried to say confidently but even to your own ears, your voice sounded strained. “I promise I'm okay. I was just caught off guard.” 

She stared at you as if unsure whether to believe you or not before finally shrugging. “Okay, well say something if you need to leave. Shit, I thought you were about to pass out.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Ready to go back in? Peter is about to start passing out assignments.”

“Yeah.” 

After taking a deep breath, allowing the summer air to swirl in your lungs once more, you followed Beth back to the large kitchen. Standing around and listening to the head chef, Peter, explain what everyone's role was for the weekend and how they had better not fuck it up, you tried to focus on the task at hand. 

Your insecurities, your fears, crept along the edges of your mind, taunting you, but you dutifully ignored them. 

The rational side of your mind repeated repetitively how you had a job here, tasks to do. You would barely have time to rest, let alone lounge around for Billy to notice you. Plus, it had been so long you doubted he would even recognize you. He would be spending time with his friends…not paying attention to you. 

You knew how to be a wallflower, you knew how to blend into the background. This weekend, you hoped that was all you would be.  

*****

It was hours later when you finally saw Billy. 

You attempted to remain in the kitchen, picking up extra tasks to help out and finding every excuse not to leave, especially once Billy and his rowdy friends arrived. There were about twelve men total in their group and you knew feeding twelve ex-military men would mean a lot of food. 

Unfortunately, your plan was thwarted when they needed help bringing plates out to the dining room and its several tables. 

Girding your loins and silently praying for divine intervention, you kept your face down as you helped carry out a large tray lauded down with full plates. For the first night, Billy requested plated dinners instead of the typical buffet. 

Smiling and flirting, Ashley passed out the plates on your tray, you just had to hold the tray steady. For a split second, you were immensely grateful for her more enthusiastic, outgoing personality, masking your poor attempts at subterfuge. 

The atmosphere in the dining room was jovial with the men looking forward to the weekend. Riotous laughter and teasing conversations filled the air. A smile graced your lips as you listened to these battle-hardened men who currently sounded like boys off at summer camp, talking about what they wanted to do and making competitive bets. 

It was then you happened to glance across the table as you readjusted the tray in your hands, only to freeze as a pair of dark onyx eyes stared straight at you. 

Your mind blanked as you met his gaze, unable to read the emotion behind his eyes as they stared at you. You used to be able to know, you used to be able to read him with just a look…but that was years ago when you were both younger and different people. 

Since the rise of Anvil and Billy‘s influence, you could not escape seeing pictures of him in tabloids or online of people lusting over him. Yet those pictures epically failed compared to him in the flesh. That jawline that begged to be traced with lips. Those dark eyes that pierced and entranced. Plush lips that were meant to be tasted and bitten. A lithe body that radiated raw power. There was something about Billy, a seductive magnetism that drew people around him, like he was the sun and people fell into his orbit and were unable or unwilling to escape. 

He maintained keeping your gaze captive, unwilling to release you from the visual bondage. All the while, your mind was infuriatingly blank. Then after a long moment, you watched his eyes crinkle, those plush lips turn upward, that million dollar smile people swooned over…

…and your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening, as you easily read the joy in his beguiling eyes. 

“Hey, can you grab the other tray, please?”

Ashley's question jolted you back to reality, like a bucket of ice water tossed over your head. A flush warmed your cheeks and you stuttered out some form of acceptable agreement before darting back towards the kitchen without looking back. Mentally, you scolded yourself for practically standing there ogling Billy in front of his friends. You wanted to die at the vivid reminder of how you lost all sense of poise in front of him, degraded to a simpering idiot. But mostly, you hated how seeing him only proved how even with a glance and a smile, he still made you yearn…

Thankfully, you were able to foist the job onto Donavan, who was happy to ogle handsome men. You fell back into step with the order and needs of the kitchen, trying to ignore the memory of those dark eyes watching you, of his breathtaking smile…

You shook the thoughts from your head. You just had to make it through the weekend, keep your head down and stay in the kitchen. He was here for his friends, not you. You just had to make it the four days without doing anything stupid. Then…then everything would return to normal. Then you would go back to NYC and to your new life. Once you were no longer in his line of sight, he would forget about you. 

Again. 

Thanks for reading!

[jitarossun]

Heyy ive read your Cain fic i really liked your writing ^^

can you write one for Abel? this fandom is so small I haven't found any 💔💔

The stage is yours

Summary : Seeing that you were feeling down, Abel decided to try and take your mind off things by inviting you to the theater.

Pairing : Abel x reader 

TW : But use of Y/N, none!

Words count : 7.4k

A/N : There it is ! Thank you for your request, I hope you’ll enjoy the fanfic ! :) And thanks @littlefrenchiestar for helping me choose the protagonists' clothes. (Just know btw that my requests are still open)

Your backpack seemed to weigh a ton. Yet you didn't have all your books in your bag, you were carrying some in your arms, pressed against your chest, your eyes fixed on the floor. The hallway is noisy. Yet you couldn't hear a thing. The laughter of the other students, the footsteps echoing one after the other, the locker doors slamming, the sound of padlocks being locked to make sure no one but their owners could open them.

All that hubbub would give anyone a headache. But not to you today. All those noises just echo in your head. You're clearly somewhere else, and it shows in the way you don't even look in front of you, almost bumping into another student who has his nose in his phone. Luckily, he dodged you at the last second.

And in all this chaos, which you're more or less used to, you don't notice that someone is walking beside you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You don't look away, your thoughts are still elsewhere, when suddenly, just as the university floor was starting to look more interesting than ever, Abel's head appears, his blue eyes meeting yours, one eyebrow raised as he stares at you.

You stop dead in your tracks, Abel straightens up and crosses his arms, a half-empty water bottle in his left hand, a smile finally appearing on his face now that you've acknowledged his presence.

“So, drama queen, are you going to keep that face all weekend or is it to get sympathy from an invisible audience?”

His mocking tone made you roll your eyes, which made him smile, his blond hair falling perfectly over his forehead and his eyes sparkling with a mischievous energy that was a little too cheeky for a Friday evening.

“Very funny, Abel.”

“Yeah, I know, you don't have to tell me.”

You groaned in annoyance, but in reality you were happy to talk to him. It felt good after spending half the day dodging José and the other half trying to stop yourself from insulting Emily in front of absolutely everyone.

“Okay, what do you want? Is it important? I'd really like to go home now.”

And even though deep down you were a little happy to talk to him, you couldn't deny that the idea of being back in your cozy bed, warm and safe, was more than appealing at the moment.

“Wow, what's wrong?”

Abel asked curiously, looking you up and down, a flash of concern crossing his gaze. He knew what had happened to you, after all, who didn't, after the argument you'd had with Emily in the middle of the courtyard?

“Do you really want to know?”

You looked at him, your eyes tired, a sad pout on your face.

You knew he knew, or at least suspected, what was wrong, but it didn't matter. Talking about yourself, from your point of view, to someone other than Florian might do you some good. At least that's what you told yourself.

“No, not really. But since I'm a charitable soul... and devilishly irresistible.”

He added these last words in a whisper, almost inaudible, to him or to you, you didn't know. And of course, it was typical of Abel, you didn't even know how you could have thought for a second that you could confide in him. Just as you were about to tell him to give up and move on, he spoke before you did.

“I've come to save your weekend. Tomorrow, you, me, Shakespeare, curtain at 4 p.m. You have no say in the matter.”

He punctuated his sentence with a satisfied click of his tongue, as if he had just announced that he had won a bet. You looked at him with an exasperated and slightly amused expression. His attitude and the way he changed your mind were a little unusual. Some people would have suggested going to the movies, but he wanted to take you to the theater.

“Shakespeare? Seriously?”

Abel scoffed, looking at you incredulously, his expression saying almost the same thing as you, seriously?

“Oh, please, I'm not allowed to try and take your mind off things? Do you really think I'd let you spend the whole Saturday moping around while I gorge myself on soliloquies and tragic passion? You deserve better. Like... a VIP seat next to me.”

He opened his arms dramatically, as if waiting for imaginary applause, or for you to jump into his arms and hug him. A student walked behind you with an annoyed sigh, dodging Abel's arm, but he didn't flinch, too busy watching your reaction.

You don't move yet, not really sure how to react to this. Abel broke the slight silence between you, his arms still wide open.

“Not even a little yes to confirm?”

A sigh escaped your lips, and you moved your books to hold them with only one arm while you rubbed your forehead with your thumb, index finger, and middle finger.

“I don't know, Abel. I'm not really in the mood to go see a play. I'd like to rest, and I have work to do. I have to study.”

Again, Abel scoffs, puts a hand on his hip, and narrows his eyes slightly, trying to look a little authoritative.

“Well then, I'll rephrase that. You have no choice. And anyway, to hell with your homework. You'll have much more fun with me.”

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You understood the real reason why he had suddenly decided to invite you to the theater.

“Cain doesn't want to come with you anymore, does he?”

Abel crossed his arms and looked away.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

You couldn't help but smile, and Abel noticed. He smiled back, his face relaxing as if he had finally achieved his goal.

“I much prefer to see that little smile than your downcast expression. Come with me to the theater tomorrow. Yes, I admit, Cain doesn't want to come with me anymore, but I was really planning on inviting you anyway, with or without him. It'll take your mind off things, and besides, it's an honor to go out with me!”

This time, you didn't hold back the laughter that had been threatening to escape you for several minutes. It felt good after everything that had happened in recent weeks. Abel had a knack for taking your mind off things and making you smile again.

With a simple nod and a soft, low voice, you confirmed that you would go with him to the theater.

“Great! I'll pick you up at your place around 3:30 p.m.! Dress up, okay?”

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

Saturday had flown by in a flash. It seemed like only two hours had passed between the moment you woke up and the moment you started getting ready for the theater. Yet you had been productive: you had studied, cleaned the house, and made yourself something to eat. Well, “made” was perhaps too strong a word, considering that you had simply microwaved some ravioli from a can.

You had hesitated at least three times over what to wear. Too fancy? Too casual? Abel had told you to dress nicely, but how nice? Was Abel going to turn up in a three-piece suit or a simple T-shirt and a velvet coat? Impossible to guess.

But your hesitation was cut short when you heard your phone vibrating on your desk. A message from Abel had just arrived, telling you he was downstairs.

“I'm here, drama queen, I hope you look presentable.”

With no time to choose your outfit, you grabbed one of the outfits you had already tried on, slipped it on quickly, sprayed on some perfume, fixed your hair, and grabbed your coat in case it was cold.

You wore chocolate brown pants, straight and flowing, long enough to subtly brush the tops of your deep burgundy patent leather shoes.

Your loose-fitting, warm brown shirt, deliberately cut to be relaxed, contrasted with the natural elegance of your beige coat, buttoned up at the front. Knee-length, it protected you from the light afternoon breeze, while completing the outfit with a classy simplicity that you hadn't necessarily been looking for, but which worked perfectly.

Sugarball meows at you when he sees you, you sigh and leave your house, instantly spotting Abel's black limousine waiting for you.

Abel gets out of the back door and looks you up and down, crossing his arms. Abel had opted for a neat outfit, of course.

He was wearing a perfectly ironed sky blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up with almost annoying precision, as if he wanted to give the illusion of casualness without ever really being so. The fabric, light but structured, emphasized the fineness of his shoulders, and the fluid drape accompanied his gestures with an almost studied elegance.

His deep navy blue trousers were straight cut with crisp creases at the front, the kind of detail he never left to chance. They fell just above his shoes, revealing a pair of perfectly polished slate-blue suede brogues, obviously matching the rest of his outfit.

In his shirt pocket were small blue hydrangeas, tied simply with natural string. You wondered if he had dressed like that to impress, or simply because he found it dramatic.

As you approached, he sized you up with a sharp eye, clearly judging your outfit without any shame, so you stopped in front of him, raising an eyebrow.

“Chic enough, your highness?”

“Let's say it's okay this time, but next time I'll send you a stylist just in case.”

You looked at him, half amused, half exasperated. Looking him up and down, you searched for a response, knowing you had to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Are you going to be in the play, or are you just going to watch?”

“It depends. If someone forgets their lines, I could sacrifice myself.”

He opened the door with a slight exaggerated gesture, almost a bow, as if inviting you into a palace rather than a vehicle.

“After you, my dear.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway, taking your seat on the soft leather bench. Abel got in and closed the door with a soft, almost ceremonial click.

The limousine started smoothly, eliciting a small sigh of relief from you. Finally, a moment of peace.

Abel settled comfortably, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, his back straight, as if he were about to give a television interview.

“So, what Shakespearean tragedy are you dragging me to see today? What should I expect? Death? Fiery monologues? Tights?”

You ask him, turning your head toward him, and he laughs heartily, one hand resting on his chest as if you've just broken his heart.

“Tights? What a reductive view of classical theater! But don't worry: no tights. Well... not on me. At least, not for now.”

He paused with a sheepish smile before continuing

“We're going to see Twelfth Night.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself.

“That's a comedy, right?”

“Absolutely. A marvel of misunderstandings, disguised identities, unrequited love... and, of course, perfectly orchestrated chaos.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. He loved talking about theater, it was obvious. You could almost feel the excitement vibrating in his voice, the passion filling his eyes.

“You're going to love it. There's a scene where a guy falls in love with someone who's actually a girl dressed up as a guy, while everyone else thinks she's his long-lost brother... Shakespeare went wild.”

You shook your head in amusement.

“Why do I feel like you identify a little too much with this kind of mess?”

“Because I have a flair for drama, duh. And because if I ever have to pretend to be my own missing twin to solve a complicated love story... well, I'd be great.”

You let out a laugh. It was impossible to follow, and yet it made it all entertaining.

The car continued on its way, lulled by the city lights, and for a moment you forgot about Emily, José, and everything else. It was just the two of you, a little too well dressed for a Saturday, on your way to the theater and maybe, just maybe, a little lightheartedness.

Looking out the window, you couldn't help but mentally thank Abel for taking your mind off things. You felt good with him, and even though you would never dare say it out loud, you hoped for more moments like this, just the two of you.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The limousine stopped in front of the steps of the theater, a building with white columns illuminated by golden spotlights. On the forecourt, a few elegantly dressed groups were chatting as they waited for the doors to open.

Giuseppe opened the door, and Abel stepped out with insolent ease, nodding briefly to the butler who was waiting for you to get out before closing the door.

You greeted Giuseppe, having forgotten to do so when you got into the limousine because of the partition between you and the driver.

“Giuseppe, sorry I didn't say hello. Abel was rushing me a bit and...”

He raised his hand gently to interrupt you, a sincere smile on his lips.

“No worries, (YN), I know how distracting he can be, especially when he's excited about something.”

Giuseppe leaned in close to you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“To tell you the truth, he was really looking forward to spending some time with you.”

Those few words made you pause for a moment. A slight blush spread across your cheeks and a tingling sensation ran through your heart. But before you had time to respond, Abel called out to you as he reached the theater doors, waiting for you to follow him, which you did.

One of the ushers recognized Abel immediately, a polite smile spreading across his lips.

“Mr. Conti. Your private box is ready, as always.”

You frowned as you joined him.

“Your private box?”

Abel shrugged modestly, or at least what could have passed for modesty if his smile hadn't been so proud.

“Mmh. Yes. Let's just say that after a few discreet donations and several years of regular attendance, they decided to grant me a... little privilege.”

He gave you a falsely innocent look and began to whisper so that only you could hear him.

“And with a little check from Cain, too.”

He straightened up and cleared his throat, his lips returning to their usual smile and his eyes regaining the mischief and gentleness you had grown to love.

“A private box. Better acoustics. Better view. Better seat.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but amused at the same time.

“So you come here like other people go to the local café.”

“I love the theater, what can I say?”

“Thanks, Cain.”

You smirked, waiting for his reaction, which was not long in coming. His eyes widened and he looked at you as if you had just said the most scandalous thing of the last century.

“”Thanks, Cain”?! You mean thanks, Abel! Cain may have signed the check, but they know me here. Without me, you wouldn't have this private box, darling.“

As you were about to reply, Abel pressed his index finger against your lips.

”No, not another word before I have a panic attack hearing you talk such nonsense."

You both entered the theater and looked around, a little impressed. As soon as you stepped through the heavy glass doors, a muffled warmth enveloped you. The theater lobby was bathed in soft, golden lighting that glided over the antique woodwork and intricate moldings. The marble floor, polished by years of use, reflected the elegant silhouettes of the audience, and a subtle scent of amber and old paper hung in the air.

Abel led you without hesitation, greeting an employee here and exchanging a knowing glance there. He clearly knew every corner of the place.

Then a question popped into your head, and you couldn't resist asking it, even though it would certainly break the dramatic aesthetic of the moment and, above all, you might look a little silly in his eyes.

“And... Do they sell popcorn?”

Abel looked at you, shocked as if you had just blasphemed.

“Popcorn?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness.

“What, it's a show. I'm hungry.”

He placed a hand on his chest, as if his deepest pride had been wounded.

“My God... I'm taking you to see a Shakespeare play in a century-old theater, in my private box, and all you can think about is popcorn... I'm going to have to rethink your entire cultural education program.”

“I'll have you know that in Twelfth Night, there are also jesters and drunk people. I'm right on theme.”

He burst out laughing, shaking his head, almost touched despite himself.

“Well played. But sorry, you'll have to survive without popcorn. Instead, you'll get a velvet armchair, a glass of champagne, and my exquisite company. It's not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Honestly, I've had worse deals.”

With that, he took a discreet side staircase that led upstairs, away from the main commotion. Abel's box was on the right side of the room, slightly set back but perfectly centered in relation to the stage. In fact, it overlooked everything. Two large, deep burgundy velvet armchairs, more comfortable than some sofas, stand alone behind a carved wooden railing, their rounded backs facing the rest of the room, as if to emphasize their exclusivity. A small mahogany coffee table has been set up, where two champagne glasses are already waiting, ready to be picked up.

You look around the room, impressed. From here, the stage seems close without being too close, framed by a crimson curtain held back by golden tiebacks. The painted ceiling depicts a cloudy sky dotted with cherubs and allegorical figures, and in the center, a huge crystal chandelier shines above the parterre.

The room slowly fills with elegant murmurs rising like a breeze, while a lone violinist tunes his instrument in the orchestra pit.

Abel settles into his seat with a satisfied sigh, crossing one leg over the other.

“See? I told you it was worth surviving without popcorn.”

You settle into your seat, your fingers sliding over the soft velvet, your gaze drawn to the majesty of the place.

“I think I'm ready to believe you. But if the play is rubbish, I'll give you an earful.”

He laughs softly, turning his head slightly toward you.

“Don't worry. Shakespeare has never disappointed me.”

And the lights dimmed, giving way to the voice of the stage manager announcing the start of the show.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The play has been going on for several minutes now. On stage, the actors recite their lines with passion, the ancient words resonating with astonishing clarity. The dim light of the box softens the contours of the theater, almost isolating your gaze in a world apart.

You glance at Abel. He is completely absorbed in the performance. His face is turned toward the stage, his chin slightly raised, his blue eyes shining intensely.

From the side, you can see the small beauty spot he has under his right eye. You notice that his lips are barely moving, silently reciting the lines, almost whispering them, as if he too were acting in the shadows, secretly sharing the stage with the actors. There is something deeply theatrical about his posture.

His back is straight, his fingers resting on the armrest as if he were controlling the moment, and there is a slight quiver in his eyes when a line reaches its emotional peak. A very special light comes on in his eyes, a mixture of passion, nostalgia perhaps, or simply a sincere love for this art.

You stand there for a moment, no longer watching the stage. Just listening to the voices, while your eyes follow Abel's subtle movements. He smiles slightly, every feature of his face seeming to be carried by the words he knows by heart. It's almost intimate, this moment shared with him without him knowing.

You don't know if he's replaying an old memory, imagining himself in the actor's place, or simply experiencing the play through his own skin. But you know that you're seeing him as he is when he no longer needs to perform.

And that, perhaps, is even rarer than the play itself.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The play ended to thunderous applause, but it was in the calm outside that the moment seemed to linger. Abel refused to get back in the limousine, saying that the fresh air would do him good. And you didn't protest. The night was mild, and walking beside him in this bubble suspended after the theater had something almost soothing about it.

The city streets were quiet, a few streetlights cast their golden glow on the sidewalk, and your footsteps echoed softly in the empty streets.

Suddenly, Abel groaned and broke the moment of tranquility.

“I'm starving.”

You turned your head toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“You had two glasses of champagne and a box of chocolates in your box, wasn't that enough?”

He puts a hand on his stomach with a dramatic pout.

“That was just decoration. Who can survive on three caramel truffles and a raisin, anyway?”

You laugh softly, shrugging your shoulders.

“If it makes you feel any better, my dad's not here tonight. So if you're really hungry, I can whip something up at home.”

He pauses for half a second, a little surprised, then resumes walking with a smirk.

“Is that an official invitation to your humble abode?”

You roll your eyes, already a little too used to his theatrical tone.

“It's an offer of food. Don't get carried away.”

He chuckles softly, his hands in his pockets, his blond hair ruffled by a light breeze.

“Too late, I already feel honored.”

A few steps later, you arrive at your house. The porch is silent, bathed in the light of an outdoor lamp. You take out your keys, glancing at him.

“Are you sure you don't want to order something in your air-conditioned limousine?”

“Nah. I want a real meal, a real table, something that's not just frozen fries and a burger that isn’t really tasty.”

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling.

The door opens, the house is silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes, becoming more intimate, more intimate. Abel follows you in, looking around like an actor discovering the backstage of a new theater.

Abel closes the door behind him, looking around with discreet curiosity. He takes off his jacket, hangs it on the back of a chair, and as you walk toward the kitchen, he stays in the hallway for a moment.

He finally decides to speak, his voice lower.

“It's cozy here.”

He pauses for a moment, looking around a little more. Sugarball is sleeping on a chair. Abel strokes his head and Sugarball starts to growl without opening his eyes, wagging his tail in annoyance and making Abel quickly withdraw his hand.

“It's the kind of house where you can breathe without worrying about how you're holding your cup of tea.”

“What? You do that at your place?”

“No, but I'm glad I don't have to do it here either.”

You smile without turning around, putting down your keys and taking off your shoes automatically.

“Thanks, by the way. And if you're saying that because it's a bit messy, know that I take it as a compliment.”

He laughs softly, then follows you into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. He stops short when he sees the empty box on the counter, traces of your lunch still visible. He leans over to read it, as if he still can't believe what he's seen.

“...Canned ravioli?”

You shrug, your arms already reaching for a cupboard.

“What? It's convenient. Quick.”

But when you turn around, Abel is standing there, frozen, his eyes wide with contained horror.

“Convenient?! Quick?!” 

He shakes his head, raises his hands to the sky.

“Madonna mia... ma è una tragedia culinaria!”

You stifle a laugh.

“Did you just curse my cooking?”

He approaches the box, grabs it between two fingers as if handling a radioactive artifact.

“You can't call that ravioli. That's not ravioli. Those are imposters. Crimes in cans. I'm personally offended. My great-grandmother is crying in her grave.”

You look at him with a big smile, both amused and exasperated by his behavior.

“You're going to survive, or do I have to make you a plate of real Parmesan to appease your ancestors?”

He pretends to think about it, puts the can down gently, as if not to trigger a curse, and looks at you with a smirk.

“I'm not saying no to a dish of apology. But I'll be watching. I refuse to let you massacre pasta a second time.”

Abel, with a fake look of concentration, walks over to the cupboards, already rolling up the sleeves of his sky blue shirt he had pulled down earlier. You watch him intently as he opens one cupboard, then another, with almost scientific seriousness.

“Flour... olive oil...”

He sighs when he sees that you don't have much to stuff the ravioli with. He takes the ground beef out of your fridge, which your dad bought a few days ago at the supermarket. He mumbles a little, not very happy with his find.

“Let's say it'll do...”

He takes out the ingredients one by one, lining them up on the counter with unexpected efficiency.

“Salt, eggs... (Y/N), tell me you have eggs.”

“Third drawer in the fridge.”

He opens it and nods with satisfaction.

“We're saved.”

You watch him a little open-mouthed as he even finds an old rolling pin, a salad bowl, and pulls out a clean dish towel with the elegance of a Michelin-starred chef. It's a transformation. He's no longer acting, or rather, he's playing a role that comes naturally to him.

"We're going to make homemade ravioli, the kind you'll eat and your taste buds will never forget.“

You approach, curious, washing your hands, ready to help.

”What do I do?"

He hands you a knife and points to the herbs to be chopped. But as soon as you put the blade down, the sound of metal against the board makes him turn slowly.

He looks at you. Then at the basil. Then at you again.

Silence.

Then he puts his hand on yours.

“Never mind.”

You frown. 

“Am I really that bad?”

He takes the knife from your hands, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes.

“If you want me to be a hypocrite, I'll say I'd rather do it so you can relax, but if you want me to be honest, then yes, you are.”

So you step aside, slightly amused, and simply sit down on the edge of the worktop, your legs dangling. And you watch.

He works without talking. He knows exactly what he's doing. His movements are fluid and precise. He beats the eggs into the flour without spilling any, kneads the dough as if he's done it a thousand times before, then leaves it to rest under a tea towel. He prepares the filling next to him, tasting and adjusting. He tastes again, squints, adds a pinch of salt.

You don't say anything. You don't need to. It's peaceful, as if the kitchen has suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world. He is focused, intent, and you watch him. The crease in his brow, the way his mouth sometimes murmurs something in Italian, the supple movements of his hands.

And in this quiet silence, you realize that it's not just a meal he's preparing. He's offering you a little piece of himself, without saying a word. A little bit of his world, his roots, what he loves.

A sweet moment. A rare moment.

And you tell yourself that you could definitely get used to these little moments, even enjoy them.

As the water begins to simmer in the large pot on the stove, a sweet scent of herbs and flour already fills the air.

Abel, focused, tastes one last time to make sure everything is perfect. Then he exhales slightly, as if he has just accomplished a mission of the utmost importance.

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, then turns back to you, leaning against the counter with a falsely authoritative air.

“Come on, assistant chef, set the table.”

A small smile appears on his face.

“You can do it, right?”

You roll your eyes but don't respond, then straighten up to open a drawer and take out the cutlery. You feel his gaze follow you for a moment, but he says nothing, simply resuming his task, gently placing the ravioli in the boiling water one by one, almost tenderly.

You set the table your own way, without thinking too much about it, two plates, two glasses, the cutlery laid out simply, but with the napkins folded a little more neatly than usual, as if the occasion deserved it.

In the silence between you, all you can hear is the water boiling, the slight clinking of the dishes, and, at times, a satisfied sigh from Abel.

You glance over at your couch and TV, thinking that a quiet dinner with Abel in front of a movie might be a good idea for a future date.

A future what? You shake your head, trying to forget what you just thought.

When you're done, you return to the counter. He doesn't say anything. He just nods, looking at the table, as if silently approving of your work. Then he looks at you again, his eyes sparkling with a knowing gleam.

“Not bad. Almost worthy of a real Italian dinner.”

Abel then places the ravioli in a small round dish and carries it to the table like a work of art, still steaming. He sets it in the center and is about to sit down, but his eyes linger for a moment on the living room, just behind you.

The sofa, the dim light, the television still off.

He looks up at you with a smile on his lips.

“Tell me... why bother eating at the table when we can sprawl out in the supreme comfort of a sofa?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but not opposed to the idea. Was he reading your mind?

“You want to eat in front of the TV?”

“Yeah, why not? It would be almost criminal not to. Look at this atmosphere, it's made for it.”

You let out a little laugh. He's not wrong. The room is quiet, the temperature is just right, and the idea of settling down together on the sofa with a hot plate in your hands has something sweet and simple about it. You didn't expect you'd be thinking the same thing.

Abel stands up, fetches two plates, and fills them with the same care as a waiter in a fine restaurant. Then he hands you one.

“And if the movie's no good, we'll improvise a heated debate about the best pasta dish ever. But I'm warning you, if you say penne, I'm getting up and leaving.”

You laugh again, a little louder this time, as you take your plate. He winks at you and follows you to the sofa.

You settle down, too, close by, but not too close. Just close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his presence. You turn on the TV, but you already know that no matter what movie is on, your attention will probably be elsewhere.

And when you turn your head toward Abel, you see him already picking at a ravioli with extreme concentration, as if it were a blind taste test of his own cooking.

You ask him softly and curiously.

“Verdict?”

He chews slowly, frowns, then nods with satisfaction.

“It's a work of art. I'm a genius.”

You roll your eyes, a smile already playing on your lips.

When it's your turn to taste, you gently bring the fork to your lips, a little curious. You were expecting something good, but Abel is the kind of person who doesn't do things by halves, and from the first bite, you freeze for a moment.

It's really good. Very good.

The dough is thin, the filling perfectly seasoned, it's simple but tasty.

You turn slightly toward him, a little taken aback, your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Wait... you seriously made this?”

Abel doesn't answer right away. He chews slowly, looking very focused, then puts down his fork, wipes the corners of his mouth with an imaginary napkin, and turns his head toward you with a lazy smile.

A small smirk appears on his lips.

“You thought I was bluffing?”

You don't say anything, but your expression speaks for you. He's clearly enjoying himself, his eyes shining in the dim light of the living room.

“I told you you deserved better than canned ravioli, didn't I?”

You nod slowly, still a little bluffed.

“And just imagine if it was meat from the butcher. It would be even more perfect.”

Very proud of his effect, he leans back against the sofa with a satisfied sigh.

“I'm irresistible, cultured, charismatic, and now an outstanding cook. It's crazy, I'm surpassing myself.”

You laugh again. He's good at making you laugh, he's proven it all day long.

With your fork in the air, you reply before shaking your head and smiling.

“You know you're unbearable, right?”

“Absolutely. And yet you let me in.”

You scoff but have no reply. You end up watching a movie on a random channel without much expectation.

The movie plays, it's not very interesting, a fairly basic romance between the unpopular girl who's top of the class and the captain of the football team. The two are destined to hate each other, but they end up working together on a group project for their science class.

Your gaze wanders to Abel, who seems focused on the movie, unlike you.

You take the time to observe him, to observe his face from the side. His profile is perfectly drawn, as if it had been designed to be captured by an artist's brush. The warm light from the living room gently highlights the curve of his jaw, sharp but not too angular, just enough to define his face without making it look harsh.

A strand of his blond hair falls softly across his forehead. It moves slightly as he turns his head slightly, focused on his bite, unaware, or too aware, of the way you're looking at him. His eyes, an almost too perfect light blue, catch the light as if they were carved from glass. There was something both playful and intense in their sparkle, a quiet mischief mixed with a passion that was difficult to hide. Even when he said nothing, his eyes spoke for him.

He turns his head slowly, and when his eyes meet yours, it only takes a second to understand. His smile widens, a little mocking, a little tender, but above all very Abel.

“What? Did I get something on my face?”

He tilts his head slightly, feigning concern, but his voice betrays his amusement with his distinct smirk. And you, caught in the act, look away, shaking your head gently to chase away the embarrassment. But it's too late.

You looked at him for too long. He saw you. And of course, he's not going to let you get away with it that easily.

“You were staring at me, admit it.”

His tone is low, almost soft. Not accusatory. Just playful.

You shrug your shoulders, looking falsely jaded.

“Maybe I was wondering how someone so unbearable can make such good ravioli.”

He laughs. A real laugh, light, affectionate. He puts his fork down on the coffee table, then leans toward you a little, his face a little closer to yours. Not too close. Just enough for you to feel the space shrink.

“Mystery is part of my charm.”

His gaze seeks yours, insistent but not pressing. As if he's waiting for something. An answer. Or just that you won't look away this time.

And you don't.

Then, after a few seconds where you thought for a moment that you were going to give in and kiss him, he pulls back and grabs the remote, turning off the TV.

“Well, I see the movie's boring you. That's good, because it's boring me too.”

“The theater was definitely more interesting.”

“Yeah, of course, how could you even doubt that? Especially when there aren't any corpses falling from the ceiling.”

You grimace at his words, remembering that moment, but not wanting to ruin the mood, you try to lighten the atmosphere.

“At least it didn't ruin your performance...”

“Are you kidding? Where were all the roses the audience was supposed to throw at me? The applause and screams from people impressed by my talen-.”

“Are you acting or are you just being pretentious?”

Abel crosses his arms, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You think I'm playing? Don't move, I'll show you what playing really is.”

Abel suddenly stands up and knocks everything off the coffee table, throwing it all on the floor, much to the delight of Sugarball, who pounces on Abel's plate, which has one last ravioli on it.

You look at him, surprised and confused, but before you have time to ask him, he climbs onto the table, clears his throat, and takes on a much more serious expression.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And, by opposing, end them”

The words roll around the room, carried by a vibrant, almost trembling tone. No thunder. No exaggeration. But such controlled intensity that you forget to breathe. He's not acting, not really. He's living what he's saying. And that changes everything.

You don't move. You can't.

You watch him. That's all.

Every gesture. Every nuance in his voice. Every sparkle in his eyes.

He moves forward, backward as best he can on the small table, raises his hands, then lowers them in an almost painful whisper. He gives everything. For you. Maybe not consciously, maybe just because he doesn't know how to do anything else but give himself completely when he's on stage, even an improvised stage in a living room, lit by the pale light of a paused movie.

Your heart beats faster. Not because of Hamlet. Not really.

Because of him.

Because of who he is, there, in front of you.

A little too real. A little too beautiful.

“The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.”

And when he finishes, when the last words fade away, he stays there for a moment, motionless, his gaze lost somewhere above you. Then he slowly lowers his eyes to you, his lips parted, breathing heavily.

You still haven't moved.

And he looks at you, this time really, breathless, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Well?”

But you... you still can't find the words.

Abel looks at you, as if worried about your reaction, a grin appearing on his face as he tries to lighten the mood.

He raises his arms in the air as if waiting for an ovation, then takes a theatrical bow, one knee bent, hand on his heart.

“Thank you, thank you, I'm available for weddings, funerals, and private receptions. I accept payment in cash or compliments.”

A small, slight smile floats across your lips, almost in spite of yourself. He sees it. He never misses it. His expression softens, just a little. He straightens up, runs a hand through his hair, as if to brush away the tension he himself has created.

“Or maybe you're just shocked that I didn't miss a single line. Is that it?”

“That was... beautiful, Abel.”

You pause. He doesn't say anything. He listens to you.

“You weren't just good, you were...” 

You search for the right words, because you want to be precise, you want him to understand.

“You did more than just recite a script. You were there. You lived every word.”

He still doesn't speak. He's not laughing either. He's really listening to you.

“I understand why you love it. Why you need it.”

Your eyes meet his. He doesn't smile this time. Not right away. He just stands there, frozen. Maybe he didn't expect you to be so honest. Maybe he didn't think it would affect you so much. He finally opens his mouth.

But he closes it again, unable to say anything.

And now it's you who's looking at him in silence.

It's not really a theatrical moment anymore. It's just a moment between the two of you. Suspended.

And in that intensity, you yawn, unintentionally of course, and with that you get a chuckle from Abel.

“Tired, darling?”

You smile and nod a bit, teasing him some more.

“I guess your theatrical performances have worn me out.”

You look at the clock on the wall. It's almost midnight. It's not that late, but your rhythm is set like a school schedule. Up early, to bed early.

Abel gets off the table and gently grabs your upper arms and lays you down on the sofa before sitting down himself, gently guiding your head to rest on his lap.

He runs his hand through your hair and whispers a few words.

“I'll wait until you fall asleep and then I promise I'll leave. Your father won't have any idea I was here.”

You shift to get more comfortable and close your eyes, your voice soft and tinged with tiredness.

“Okay... Thank you, Abel, for today. It was great.”

He doesn't answer right away. Your eyes are closed, and you feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

His hand continues to slide slowly through your hair, his movements calm, steady, almost hypnotic. He looks at you for a moment without saying anything, then, in a low voice, as if telling you a secret.

“I'll make more days like this for you. I promise.”

And he stays there, motionless, silent, until your breathing becomes steady.

↠━━━━ღ◆ღ━━━━↞

The soft morning light filters through the half-open curtains. Your eyes open slowly, still heavy with sleep. You sit up in bed, a little confused. You don't remember lying down. And yet there you are, comfortably tucked under your duvet, your socks still on, your sweatshirt slightly pulled up over your stomach.

It doesn't take you long to figure it out.

Abel.

You get up slowly, your steps still a little unsteady on the warm floor of your bedroom. Your gaze instinctively falls on the shelf because you notice that something is wrong. And indeed, there is a special place where you always keep your old Polaroid camera... but it's not there.

It's on your desk.

Intrigued, you approach. And you see it. Next to the camera is a photo, a recent one, and a small note, carefully folded.

You grab the photo first. It's Abel, shirtless, facing your mirror, holding the Polaroid in one hand, a cheeky smile on his lips.

He obviously took off his shirt just for the photo, just for fun, to get a reaction out of you. A little too proud of himself, as always. Or maybe he did it sincerely, thinking you'd like it, which you clearly did.

You open the note.

"You were sleeping like a tragic star fallen from the sky. So I carried you to your bed. I cleaned up the kitchen (you can thank me later). Sugarball tried to bite me after I gave him his kibble. I have a scar of honor to prove it. I left quietly, but I couldn't resist leaving you a souvenir. You really have a very flattering mirror, darling.

PS: I'm sure you'll stick this photo somewhere. If it's in your diary, try not to open it in the middle of a lecture.♡"

A smile escapes you, a real, tender, amused smile. That idiot had literally turned your living room into a culinary theater stage, rocked you like a heroine in the final act, and now he's left you proof of his visit. You feel like you’re in the middle of a romantic comedy.

You place the photo against your bedside lamp and reread the note. You're not sure what this thing between you is... but one thing is certain, Abel is never where you expect him to be, he surprises you, helps you feel better, and makes you feel those strange butterflies in your heart. And strangely enough, you like it.