#but its not quite the same for the reader

[safetypinxtales]

Santa baby | Azriel

summary: it's nearing solstice and you have an extensive list for your mate Santa.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, a bit of seduction, Azriel is stupid in love, like absolutely whipped, reader sits in Azriel's lap, feminine reader (lipgloss, hair below shoulder-length), otherwise neutrally described reader, no use of y/n, it's an AU where everything is the same except Santa is a thing.

notes: well, it's been a while but it's Christmas and I have free time for once so why not write? I whipped this one up in like an hour whilst waiting for our guests to arrive today, and it has minimal editing, but it's something light and sweet for the holidays. Hope you enjoy and merry Christmas! 🤍

masterlist

The glass is cold in your hand as you waltz into the living room. The winter sun had already set on the quaint seaside cottage you shared with Azriel. He had surprised you with it after your mating ceremony last solstice, and as you took in the shadows dancing around on the walls, cast by dim candle light, a feeling of contentedness enveloped you. The amber liquid in the glass sloshed with each step you took, but never quite enough to spill over the rim. It was a practiced routine, bringing him a drink whenever you found your mate a little too stuck in his work.

His head lifted from the paperwork he had been going over as he sensed your presence entering the living room, the hand that had been carefully turning a leaf falling slack on the armrest.

His eyes dropped down to your hips, watching them sway with every step you took, gaze fixed as if in a trance.

You let out a low hum as you reached him, extending the glass. His eyes met yours as he put the paperwork aside and accepted your offering.

Slowly – gracefully and practiced – you slid into his lap, one arm snaking its way around his shoulder. The warmth of his hands on your waist spread all the way into your chest, making your heart beat just that little bit faster.

Grabbing his face, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek under your palm, you planted your lips on his. 

The kiss was soft and warm, and perfectly matched the feeling blooming in your chest has he murmured a low:

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello,” you hummed back and felt that slow tug in your chest that you had come to love so. 

You gave a loving tug back and felt Azriel shudder beneath you.

Letting you gaze flit over his face, you marveled at his features. 

The dark lashes framing those mesmerizing hazel eyes of his. The colour of the finest of honey, all swirling and golden. 

The constellations of freckles adorning his cheeks, like a map only you were privy to read.

His lips, currently smeared in your lipgloss and stretched into a dopey smile making him look just as lovesick as you felt inside.

“Hey, Az?” You broke the warm silence that had enveloped you.

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before finding their way back to yours.

You leaned in to give him another soft peck, only pulling away to rest your forehead against his.

“I have.. I’ve been thinking about something,” you whispered, feeling the breath from his curious yes? on your lips. “About what I want from Santa this year.”

He pulled back slightly at your words, eyebrows raised and that dopey smile still plastered on that pretty mouth of his. He knew as well as you that Santa meant Azriel himself.

“Oh, really? Please, do tell,” his curious hum sent you heart fluttering as you settled in further in his lap.

“Well, do you remember that dagger I liked so much when we visited summer? The gold one?” You purred and ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered as your nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“The one with the eye-sized ruby in the pommel?” You nodded. “My love, that blade is useless. You couldn’t even cut an apple with it, much less cause any real damage,” he scoffed, ”you’d be better off fighting someone with a cotton ball. That you could at least shove down their throat – hope they choke to death.”

His eyes gleamed at the gasp you let out. The soft swat you landed on his chest drawing out a quiet chuckle.

“I know it’s useless in combat, but it’s so pretty isn’t it? Besides, why would I need to fight when I have you to defend me?” You chirped with a flutter of lashes. 

You just managed to catch his eyes darkening before he pulled you into yet another kiss, this time firmer. Purposeful. 

Claiming.

When he pulled away his breath was heavier and his voice rougher as he swore, “I will always protect you, always defend you.”

“Even if I’m in the wrong?”

“No such thing.”

Your toes curled at his admission, and the hand that was tangled in his hair tightened its grip.

“Good answer,” you mused, and his thumbs swiped at your waist – up and down. 

“What else should Santa put on his list?”

You pretended to think for a moment, pursing your lips into a glossy pout, knowing just how crazy the act drove your mate.

And just as you could have predicted, his eyes dropped down to your mouth, his smile fading slightly, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Well you know that necklace that Feyre has? That she wore on our mating ceremony?” You asked.

He nodded in response, eyes still focused on your lips.

You let your cheeks pull into a broad smile, “well I saw that the jewellery shop by the Palace of Thread and Jewels has its twin in gold.”

“The diamond necklace you kept sighing about for weeks after the ceremony? The one that had me questioning if it was the mating bond that was making you so blue?” He questioned, his voice laced with disbelief.

“That’s the one,” you replied. Removing your hand from where it was nestled against his head, you moved to push your hair over your shoulder, exposing your décolletage.

”Wouldn’t it fit me so well?” You asked, letting your hands graze the bottom of your throat, following the curve down to the top of your chest, watching his eyes track the movement with a predatory focus.

Azriel’s throat bobbed, “It would.”

Your hand fell to his arm, giving the muscle hiding under his sweater a light squeeze. 

“Yeah, you really think so?” You gave him your best hopeful look, batting your eyelashes for added effect.

He simply nodded, too much of a lovestruck, mess of a male in your presence to form any actual words. 

“That’s good,” you hum, “now I only have one last thing on my wish list.”

Your mate didn’t verbally respond, but you took the squeeze of his hands on your hips as a sign to keep going.

“An apartment in the city.”

That seemed to bring Azriel back to life.

“An apartment? Is the cottage I got for us not enough?” He asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, no, I love the cottage – you know that. But sometimes it would be nice to have somewhere closer to go to after having spent the evening with the others, don’t you think?”

“It takes half a second to winnow from there to here,” he deadpanned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“But I think it would be nice to stay in the city sometimes. To be able to walk home, a stroll along the Sidra,” you gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile and added, “just you and me?”

You could see his resolve melting, and felt the largeness of his hand leave your waist in favour of gently stroking your thigh. 

“An apartment, huh?” His soft voice still had some reluctance hanging on to it, but you could tell he was warming up to the idea pretty quickly.

Your head bobbed up and down in confirmation, and an amused sigh left his lips.

“You must think mighty highly of yourself, dear, to think Santa would give you such special treatment,” he mused as he pulled you closer. 

“Well, I just have it on a hunch that Santa might know that my wonderful, loving mate, who – if I haven’t already mentioned – loves me so,” Azriel’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you continued, “works for the high lord.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, and a soft red glow started making its way up his cheeks.

“So maybe someone like that, like me. Like the mate of the Night court spymaster, deserves to be a little spoiled.” You leaned in to kiss his jaw, and stopped to whisper in his ear, “it sure would make her happy.”

He hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking across your thigh at a slow but steady pace.

“Besides,” you continued, leaning back to look him in the eyes, “I have been such a good girl this year.” 

Azriel’s administrations on you leg stopped, his large hand instead coming up to cup your face. 

He hummed lowly, eyes locked on your lips, eyebrows drawn together in a pensive look.

“You really have,” he murmured.

Again, he pulled you into a kiss, molding his lips to yours. You let yourself melt into him – your wonderful, loving spymaster – into the warmth radiating from his large body. Into the secure grip of his hands and the gentle softness of his lips. You let yourself melt into your mate, with no care in the world, besides kissing him back.

When you finally pulled away you leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “if Santa is very kind to me, I promise I will be just as good next year.”

“Yeah?” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Yes, maybe even better.” You promised, and leaned back to look at him. 

You cupped his jaw, the slight stubble adorning the skin scratching your hand in the most comforting way.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Not possible.”

Want to be added to my taglist?

tags: @missussimonriley @azrielshadows1nger @anuttellaa @tele86 @aria-chikage @lilah-asteria

(since I haven't written in a while, lmk if you want to be removed)

[rusmii]

𝜗𝜚 (HIS) ONLY

ft. dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa x fem!reader ; how they spend their december with you. cws; tooth rotting fluff, not edited, may be ooc.

love, runi. dear gosh its been so long since ive written 😭... i have a nsfw draft in the works, but i was feeling fluff atm 🙂‍↕️💗. i hope i did the boys justice 😭😭 and it doesnt seem too ooc :(. additionally, i don't think i'm going to disclose the actual reason for being offline for so long. am i sorry for deactivating? nah...

the 24th — his hands ran cold, puffs of icy air battling the hot cry of warmth. he could feel the ache in his bones, yearning for the fire a room away. "isn't it cold?" you ask dazai, who was sitting upright on the edge of your shared futon. "it is," he answers, a whisper so loud, even the wind howls with it. you shift away, holding the large coze of your blanket up high, a cave forming in mere seconds. "then get in." you say with a tired face, "i'm cold too, 'samu." warm me up, he almost missed. without protest, he curls up into your arms—embrace heating the ac he calls his blood. "can't sleep?" you ask the obvious, knowing he appreciated the sentiment anyways. "no." you can feel the small shake his head makes, as slow as a toddler may stand to understand physics, dazai is the same with himself.

it was confusing, all energy he focuses on you, is forced back on him with a stern lecture from you. every bicker and mumbles of defeat helps see the purpose of your intentions. "how are you going to take care of me, when you can't take care of yourself?" a question he could argue with, but deep down—he'd ponder the same question in his head. if he took care of himself, it'd make you happy, and him feeling unsure. if he took care of you, it'd make him happy, at the cost of your disappointment with him. take care of yourself, osamu. you'd always cry sheep as you comforted him. the same building resentment of having his freedom forced onto a schedule quietly turned into appreciation for your efforts.

you didn't leave him. didn't need to help him. you did anyways, the warm flutter he always feels whenever his hand grazes yours or the accidental eye contact throughout the day, was already telling enough. dazai wasn't obligated to show any gratefulness, and neither were you—yet you still did it. and every year since the day of your anniversary, there was always something special waiting for him. clothes, games, your love; everything, was there, in a box wrapped with his blues and your yellows. he envisions each gift to the tune of a shake from the box. each of them perfect, and what he preferred to have on this special occasion.

the 24th, his special gift waiting for you under the tree. to be opened, to be named, that's up to you to guess. but the small gift glistening underneath, cannot wait 'til morning. "i wonder what you got me." he feels your chest rumble softly. in almost an instant, the wear and tear of his job finally catches up to him. "you'll find out soon." dazai smiles against your chest, the soothing lullaby of your breathing nearly puts him to sleep. "happy anniversary, osamu. i hope you'll like my gift tomorrow." a few small circles rub dazai's head. he doesn't fall asleep until you do first. "i know i will," his voice quieter, gentler, matching the tempo of the dying breeze. and you'll love mine too, goes unheard. baby steps, baby steps were still baby steps.

the 25th — you looked just like a dream, the prettiest girl he's ever seen. in chuuya's mind, nothing quite comes and goes as slowly as your beauty. in fact, everyone assumes it's permanent by how he's so enamored—consumed with adoration. it should come as a surprise to no one, when he gifts you a personalized advent calendar to count down the days of his super secret selection of affection that chosen day. first it was hugs all day, then came kisses on the 3rd, and—oh he was so overwhelming with his love! and yet, you could never be bore of it. an excited squeal always left your mouth as soon the clock hit midnight, chuuya already making preparations for his swooning affection for the month of deer. "how's today?" he asks, seeking your approval from the early box picking. "perfect," you say, "i think you'll have me falling from the balcony with the way i'm falling for everything you do for me." he chuckles, "don't die yet, you still have a day, counting six extra, left."

the following day, you're awoken to the soft scent of cinnamon and marshmallows filling the tiniest gaps of air. you struggle to waken fully, still groggy from your late night endeavors with chuuya. matter of fact, where was he? it wasn't unusual for him to leave in the yawn of morning hours, but on his month off.. assuming the solution by the smell, you make way to the kitchen where chuuya stood behind a counter. he notices you in his vision before releasing a blinging smile. "good mornin' beautiful." a wink catches your eye, "couldn't sleep without me?" he says while patting fluffy pancakes down, each stacked imperfectly delicious with a drizzle of syrup and fruits decorating it. "and if i did?" you match his tease, creating an easy tension that could dissolve in any minute.

"well then, i won't keep ya' waiting." his lips form a familiar slant. using his ability to carry the plates and breakfast stand, chuuya's arms are already lifting you bridal. "why're you out of bed? i thought i gave myself enough time to surprise you." he nearly pouts to your face, not embarrassed to do so in front of you. you laugh it off, " 'tis okay, chu." booping him, he drops you onto the bed as some sort of petty revenge. "only if you say so." his lips met your cheek, propping the breakfast tray as you perched on your bottom. your stomach growled in anticipation, kneading the inner lining of your stomach. "well?" he asks, awaiting your approval once again. you picked up a fork and stabbed it into the fluffy pancake. bringing it up to his face, you tell him to open his mouth.

"first bite!" you nudge it closer, "okay," and without another word, chuuya took the entire thing into his mouth, "mmm - wow delicious. why don't you say; thank you chef nakahara." the mischievous in his tone was hard to miss—a smirk you wanted to wipe off his face. "you're welcome my princess." a giggle escaped with it. acting annoyed with the nickname, chuuya sneakily placed a dot of syrup on your cheek. "chuuya!" you gasp, scrambling to wipe away the sticky substance. "my bad, dear prince."

a small smack hit his shoulder, "go away!" nodding his head, he moves to get up, but is stopped by a small tug on his arm. "and bring me my gifts please." he thinks for a moment, arms relaxing and his body sinking back onto the bed. "oh? you mean the ones i threw in the fire to keep you warm last night? those presents? from under the tree?—ow! kidding!" he threw his arms up in surrender after getting smacked again, this time harder.

the 16th — when it came to december, atsushi was no stranger to the cold weather. being nearly stripped of everything but rags for clothes, he often got sick without compromise from the orphanage. when it came to his life in the agency—his life with you—he was taken care of, given affection he was denied, able to show the vulnerability the director shut down. in his own little mind, you were the stage centerpiece; a transition from the filthy pinecone to the golden star he finally got to place on his tree. "quiet," he almost flinches, until he heard a melody instead of the desolate, angry, mob. he opened his eyes, eyes blinding him with your beauty. "an angel?" he questions, still hazed from his pain. "no," you laugh, replacing the towel on his head, "[name]."

"[name]..." he repeats, affirming his belief of being fine and alive. in your shared home—kyouka standing beside you. "is he going to be okay?" her weary voice echoes concern, to which you pat her head and tell her to fetch some more water. "of course he is, he's atsushi. i need a refill, can you do it for me?" with kyouka hurriedly jogging away, you're left alone with atsushi. he moans, his joints aching with every twist. "are you doing okay?" you ask, rubbing soft circles on his palm. "feel so nauseous." he mumbles, throat hoarse like the attack on trojans. you cooed, a sweet lullaby that comforts him through thick and thin, "feel better soon, m'kay?" he bobs his head like copier, obedient. atsushis' peace answers with silence.

admist your little moment, kyouka arrives back with the water in hand. she hands you the small bowl and takes her seat next to you again. "he seems at ease," she notes. "does he?" you question, busying yourself with replacing the towel every now and then. "mhm," she nods, "i'm glad." a small smile comes foward on her dollified expression. kyouka also takes notice of the faint blush resting on his face, daint and obvious. she doesn't speak up about it, opting to pop the question in when atsushi was better. for now, she'll wonder what you two had talked about while she was out of the room.

the 31st — if akutagawa had any say about attending any gift-related events, he'd stay home. if akutagawa had any shred of empathy left, he'd conserve it just for you. a mistake, honestly. he curses to the devils' and above for forcing his heart to ponder sweetly for you. "no," he says, unwavering in his decision. "but, ryu!!" you whine so casually, wanting him to give in and get out of his comfort zone. you knew it wasn't an easy task, seeing as your beloved friend preferred to stay within the four white walls the port mafia created. "annoying," he grumbles, eyes tilting blinding anger, "leave me be." he shoves past you, destined to cast away your binding spell. you stand there, resolve strong as ever while defending against hollow words. "be that way," you sigh, "but before you leave, let me give you this." you pull out a small present, throwing it to akutagawa who caught it with rashomon.

"what's this?" he inquired, an annoyed grunt passing his lips when you don't answer and turn on your heels to leave. annoying, he thinks again. he decides to unravel his gift later, when he was in the comforts of his own home. "what's inside?" gin poked at it, wanting her brother to hurry it up already. "don't know, [name] gave it to me]." he sighs—a gentle remonstrance. gin nods in understanding, waiting eagerly for her brother to tear the paper apart. inside laid a small box, "is it jewelry?" akutagawa shrugged his shoulds, "might be."

he uncovers the tiny trinket inside. it appeared to be a plain, silver lining necklace with nothing attached. at the bottom of the box, a note read; a pitiful necklace for your grey home, truly, a noteworthy gift you thought of. "seems like [name] really likes you," gin jokes about. akutagawa was quick to shut it down though, not in the mood to entertain any lovey dovey tease. "alright, alright," she giggles, "are you going to the party tonight?" she switches the topic. the mafia didn't often hold parties—this year being an exception—to keep their reputation in check. "no, i don't think i will." gin pouts at her brothers' rejection. "i won't force you, but maybe you'd enjoy it." you'll see [name], is what she's implying. as much as he can deny the pointed accusations, it was obvious to others around, that akutagawa held a soft spot for you. he grounded himself, "no." his mental fortude will not be broken down by measly gifts. "mhm–okay," gin hides her grin exceptionally well.

on the day of the party, you're feeling gorgeous in your outfit, hair done and kept to match it. you greet others with polite grace, "good evening to you too executive ozaki." you return her greeting. she does a curt bow before leaving the short talk. hunger gnawed a tight grip on your stomach, a loud growl emitting nothing against the loud chatter of the room. you scan the area for the nearest buffet table to ease your hunger. spotting none, you traverse the mounts of cleanliness ordor into another area of the building, where you laid eyes on an exquisite high-top table filled to the edge of some of your favorites. your inner-self squealed in excitement, still needing to maintain your professional composure while walking down to it.

the closer you got, a familiar voice rang nearby. "i'd rather not talk about it," he adjusts the chain sitting on his neck, your eyes catching wind of his movements unbeknownst to him. "aww, c'mon akutagawa! just tell us!!" tachihara whined drunkenly, using gin as support as he leaned on her. "no," he says. "my brother is a little shy on the outside. don't worry tachihara–i promise he's feeling fluttery on the inside." gin reassures her friend with light taps on his hand. "am not." he glares, hardly ever removing that mean scowl of his. tachihara was about to make a scene until he flinched from your voice, "it's all in the tone, tachi," your half assed smirk eased in—delighted to see akutagawa wearing your gift, "the chain suits you, doesn't it?" you smile, that teasing glint shining in your teeth nearly makes the man in question falter.

"it does," he mutters, walking away with a clenched heart—the blush on the tip of his ears giving away his true feelings.

@ rusmii—everything is owned by mayira, she doesn't appreciate copyright breaches.

anyways lil rant at the bottom but, if ur not a writer, then u have no right to complain abt the amount of smut to fluff ratio 😭 (even then, as a writer, u should understand that complaining is not going to change anything).

im also tired of yall bitching abt everything in the x reader tag 😐 gtfo the place where ppl come to READ fics, not read ur bitching 🙏!

[complaining abt xyz] "oh im going to put this in the x reader tags to gain attention and sympathy for my cause!" OH MY FUCKING GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

anyways, hello guys ik i wasn't gone for that long, but it feels like forever (cause i haven't written anything good yes ik). buuut.. my hyperfixiation on bsd isnt leaving anytime soon so why not make the most of it rn and write again. next fic is def smut 😴🤞.

[foodiegoogie]

pahinga (rest)

remus lupin x fem!reader | 1.7k

summary: remus can’t sleep again. luckily, you come to save him, and he finds his rest in you. cw/tags: self-deprecation, slight anxiety (?), three little eepy bois and one (1) insomniac, peter pettigrew appears (he’s not corrupted here), hurt/comfort <3 note: 'pahinga' means rest in filipino. its root word, 'hinga,' means 'to breathe/breath.' the 'pa' part can make it literally mean, 'let me breathe.' also, u can never have too much “reader patches up remus after a full moon” fics 🥰🥰 p.s. the vibes are inspired from isa lang (only one) by arthur nery <3

It’s way past midnight in the Hospital Wing, and Remus knows this because his friends are knocked out around him; James is sprawled out like a starfish on a cot to his left, Sirius laid asleep at the edge of Remus’ own cot, and Peter had long since made himself comfortable in the cot on the right, curled up in a blanket. 

Usually, they’d be up late with Remus. Something about boys being boys, having an endless amount of energy surging within themselves. But they were also only human at the end of the day, despite being unregistered Animagi. 

Remus also knows that he should be asleep himself alongside his best friends, but this particular night had taken a toll on him. Sure, he’s had full moon nights happening every month, every year, ever since he was turned at four years old. But regardless of how frequent they took place, it never became easy to deal with for the lycanthrope. Especially not now while he’s unable to sleep.

Poor Madam Pomfrey—she’d given Remus countless potions to aid him in his condition, time and time again. But it seems like even the Sleeping Draught that was brewed for him earlier just couldn’t work on him either.

Thinking about failing to fall asleep is ironically keeping him from falling asleep. Remus Lupin is, quite frankly, stressing out about not being asleep yet. He knows he needs it, so why can’t he do it? He almost feels immensely envious of how easy it was for his own friends to have fallen asleep quicker than he did, and he was the one who turned into a werewolf that night. 

Remus turns his head to get a look at Sirius’ slumbering face where it lay at the edge of his cot. Sirius is a handsome being, whether asleep or not. But right now, his wide-awake friend doesn’t know whether to be glad because he gets to appreciate his friend’s company because he’s asleep, or if said friend should be frustrated for the very same reason.

Before Remus even gets to decide however, he hears footsteps scurrying towards the entrance of the Hospital Wing. He perks up at the sound, attempting to sit up in his cot but failing, wincing as he was reminded of his injuries.

He doesn’t know which comes first: the sound of the double doors being pushed open or the bags of chocolate falling to the ground, coming from your arms.

Remus’ bleary eyes flicker over to your incoming presence - how he knows you’re here for him is needless to say with the bags of chocolate you’re re-gathering in your arms presently. He sees you throw an apologetic glance, mouthing “sorry,” but Remus receives it with a lazy smile, more amused and fond than it was teasing.

“Hope I didn’t wake them,” You whisper to him as you approach his cot, looking warily at the three slumbering boys surrounding him. Remus feels compelled to follow your gaze towards them, address that you didn’t actually wake them (and he’s certain that you didn’t, the lads sleep like a log), but his eyes remain on you as well as his smile.

“What’re you doing here?” He murmurs.

You scoff quietly, giving him an incredulous look. “What, not even a ‘hello, how are you?’ You’ve changed, Lupin.” 

Remus’ smile widens at your words, the familiar banter bringing a lighthearted feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s because of his fatigue mixed with frustration that’s making him feel lightheaded, but he finds himself momentarily entranced by the sight of you as you start to near him in his cot. The moonlight which filtered through the windows finally landed on your features, and Remus was convinced at that moment that he’s met an angel in person: you.

“Anywho, I come bearing gifts,” You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, setting down the array of chocolates beside him. Remus shifts so that there’s more room for you in his bed.

He looks down at the sweets, the corners of his lips quirking up into a lazy smile, then looks back up to you. 

“Dark or milk?” Remus asks.

You furrow your eyebrows, giving him an incredulous look to which the boy grins at. “Milk, duh. I’m not dumb, Remus. You only go for dark when you’re feeling fancy.”

It’s true; Remus doesn’t like dark chocolate as much as he likes milk chocolate, which is a classic and a whole lot sweeter than the former. He tries not to think too hard about how you knew that about himself like it was just sitting casually in the place of your mind. He wonders, then, about what else you knew about him, and took care to remember and save for times like this. His heart races at the thought. 

“Did you come all the way here to butcher me for my taste in chocolate? Flattering, really,” Remus quips, reaching for one of the chocolates.

“No. I came here to do just that and more actually,” You mirror his actions, unwrapping the chocolate from its plastic shell, popping the whole treat in your mouth all in one go. 

It’s a lot more attractive than Remus would like to admit - you being so unapologetically yourself, uncaring about being seen as prim and proper. Here you are, sitting in front of him, munching on the chocolates you’ve brought him and looking like a squirrel stuffing nuts in its mouth for the winter. Adorable, he thinks.

But then your eyes narrow at him, and he’s caught in the act of shamelessly staring at you. It’s only then that he realizes that he has been staring at you.

“See something you like?” You wriggle your eyebrows suggestively, reaching for another chocolate from the dwindling bunch on the bed.

“No,” His voice comes out a little breathy, an octave a tad higher than what’s normal. Remus clears his throat. “Just- it’s amazing how you keep going.”

You pause mid-bite into another chocolate drop, putting it back inside its plastic wrap with a sheepish smile. “Right, I brought these for you. Not for me.”

“S’alright,” Remus smiles fondly at your suddenly shy expression. “I couldn’t finish them all by myself, anyway.”

A soft chuckle falls from your lips, shoulders relaxing from his reassuring words. Even in such a state, Remus still goes out of his way to make sure people are cared for in his own, heartwarming ways. But rarely does he ever take the time to inflict the same kind of treatment to himself. 

And, speaking of which—

“I thought you’d be asleep, you know,” You blurt out all of a sudden, fidgeting with the unwrapped, uneaten chocolate in your hands. “coming here. So… why aren’t you?”

“Dunno,” Remus lets out a deep sigh, his fatigue finally coming through in his expression. Your chest tightens at the sight and sound of it.

Finally, he finishes, saying, “I just… can’t.”

Almost instantly, a knot forms between your brows at the same time the corners of your lips turn downwards into a slight frown. Remus hates being pitied. He’s had enough of people apologizing on his behalf, as if he had been a mistake in the first place long before he was given this unfortunate tragedy, a weight he has to bear on his shoulders for the rest of his life. 

But with you, it’s never pity that he sees in your eyes when you look at him. It’s something warmer, something that’s coming from a deeper place of intent. Something like care—genuine care, and concern. Perhaps there’s more than that, but Remus is already dizzy enough as it is right now, and he doesn’t want to render himself unconscious just because he’s feeling a little lovesick by you. 

“Oh no, I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?” You say, and Remus is a bit startled by it. You don’t notice. “Should I leave? I– I feel like I should leave—”

“No, no. Just—” Stay.

Remus reminds himself to be very careful with his next words, lest he betrays his true feelings and ruins one of the few good things he has in his godforsaken life. 

Another thing that he hates is owing people something, or anything really. It’s no big deal for him to go out of his way and be the giver rather than the receiver out of a pair, but it bothers him to no end to think that he’d actually have people do something—anything just for him. 

For some reason, it just feels… wrong for him. Almost as if Remus believes that he doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. 

But for the love of Merlin, he’d really like to get some sleep, and he really likes you being here with him. And if you walked right out of the Hospital Wing right now, leaving him alone, Remus is certain that he’d be getting no sleep at all. 

So, just this once, he’ll be selfish. 

“Just… just talk to me. Tell me about your night.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, a slightly amused smile coming alive on your face as you ask, “My night? Well, my night’s going pretty well right now.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face betrays his true emotions. “Tell me about your day, then.” 

Now, a full-blown grin takes place on your face. “Now that I can do.”

And so, you start telling him about your day in a hushed voice, careful not to be too loud as you recount something that had made you happy during the day so as not to wake the other three boys you’re surrounded by. 

Far along the way as you’re speaking to him, your hands—yours and his—drift closer and closer to each other. Remus wonders if you notice this, even as you’ve taken ahold of it now and started to play with his fingers absentmindedly.

Before he knew it, he was on the way to dreamland by the ticklish yet gentle feeling of you tracing the lines of his palm, coupled by the soft timbre of your voice, low and sweet. 

It is then that Remus realizes that he finds his absolute rest in you. 

A shame that he managed to miss the featherlight kiss you leave on his forehead as you bid him a good night, though. 

aaa thank you for reading! (づ￣ 3￣)づ as always, likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated !! <3

[frannyzooey]

You, and this fic, own me.

This chapter had so much to give!!! I thought it was going to be pure filth and then you hit me with that ending, and I am fucking yearning for these two so goddamn bad (while also being so out of my mind aroused --)

There were so, so many good parts in this one, like the way my mouth fucking dropped open at this:

“Just another reason that maybe you should be inside that church, rather than suckin’ dick in its parking lot."

and THIS:

And so help you god, he’s wearing his tool belt. 

But THIS -- this took the fuckin' cake:

“Then play ‘house’ with me,” you purr, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You can be daddy,” you stroke down his cheek, over his lips, “I can be mommy. And you can try and put a baby in me.”

I was literally levitating at this line. ROCKETING TOWARDS THE MOON!! I was also so in love with how light and free and fun their fucking and teasing was -- the way they just slide into role play like it's no goddamn thing had me grinning ear to ear

Annnnnnnnnd then you hit me with the emotions:

The discordance stirs in your stomach. Right now, you’re actually witnessing the loving-husband-turned-infidel façade weave its way through his marriage. He’s asking her to leave…for you. To free up time to be with you. Under the guise of caring for her. 

You wish it made you feel worse. It just feels…uncomfortable to actually view firsthand.

I literally cannot even imagine what it would feel like to witness the deception happening first hand, and it's something that a lot of cheating fics don't explore? (and I should know 😌)...the way you treated this scene was literal perfection because you brought so much nuance to his emotions. He's being deceptive, but not a manipulative gross creep like this situation is often portrayed. He genuinely hurts....yet does it anyway. I'm obsessed with this scene because you're doing such a good job extending Joel, as a man, the same grace that people often give to the reader in these types of stories. They empathize with the reader feeling bad but doing it anyway, but they often villainize the man, or assume he doesn't feel as bad, ya know? Anyway, just me waxing on about your beautiful brain ❤️

I had all these amazing thoughts about your writing skills....and then they all leaked from my brain when I read this:

You: Yours is the only mouth I want sucking on these titties right now, daddy 👅

You fix your sweater and peer back through your peephole, just to see his face collapse in arousal, grinding the heel of his palm over the crotch of his jeans.

I know the desk fucking scene was so taboo and so filthy, but I felt so, so fucking soft when he said this:

setting the frame down in front of you before yanking your hair at the root and slamming his hand down next to the photo. “You stare at that girl while daddy’s tearin’ apart your slutty little asshole. Remind her that she deserves better than that piece a’shit.”

I live for this line 😭😭

And then this -- this -- was perfection:

“Baby,” he takes your face in his hands again, his expression edging on broken. On your behalf. “What has this fuckin’ monster done to you? My girl from the bar, she knew what she was fuckin’ worth. And she’d let you know it. She came first, and she didn’t apologize for it or accept anything less. What did he do to that fuckin’ girl?”

“Maybe it wasn’t all him."

I could literally envision the look on his face when she said that. What a fucking LINE, Katy and then to have it followed with her speech about how Jack isn't a monster, he's just a man??

The way you are out here giving the depth to this trope that it needs has me SAT and quite frankly, green with envy

This chapter was so fucking good 💀💀💀 ily ❤️

Good Neighbors | (joel miller x f!reader) (18+)

Part Three of Four

✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧A fic inspired by Fortnight by Taylor Swift✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧

Part One | Part Two

summary: your affair with joel heats up with a week of uninterrupted bliss. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak!au, age gap (joel is 48, reader is 32), joel x ofc (no sexual content), reader x omc (pitiful sexual content), infidelity, daddy!kink, fingering, unprotected PIV, unprotected anal, oral (m! and f!receiving), degradation!kink, praise!kink, brief roleplaying, unashamed sexualization of the term "kiddo", discussions of SA and domestic abuse, marital discussions regarding mismatched desires on having children, reader struggles with body image as a result of her abusive husband, unhealthy/toxic age gap marriage. this chapter is a much needed break from Jack. immersion notes: reader has hair, wears dresses/makeup, and is considered a "trophy wife" type. additionally, reader is specifically implied to be conventionally thin. apologies to anyone for whom this kills immersion for, but it felt very necessary in the context of the story. word count: ~11.6k a/n: wanted to give the lovebirds a little part that's primarily fun times before shit hits the fan <3 So there will be one more chapter!

Available Only to Registered Users on AO3

[cyberdollface]

╔══ ❀•° Daisy Chains °•❀ ══╗

Summary: You seduce your dad's best friend, the hound of the underground.

fem!reader x Vander.

Warnings: smut with a little tiny bit of plot; size kink; sexual frustration; sexual tension; masturbation; fantasizing; teasing; slightly bratty reader that torments Vander.

word count: 4.457.

Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

Your dad asked you to take the order for the newest deal inside the store, as it was too heavy for Ekko, his new adopted kid, to gather from the spot you were on to the middle of the alleys 3 feet below.

Your dad’s best friend was there too. The big, mighty Vander was busy saving a small salesman from a beating and making the dealer pay the money. It was cute how caring he could be to the nation of Zaun—his people. It made you want him more. 

You were a teenager, barely 16 years old, when everyone followed him, marching to the other side of the bridge, and taking the first seat when it all came down. Now, you were standing in the same place as they did, but 10 years later.

You admired the old man, the best guy around Benzo. You even missed him while doing business away from home in the Noxus Empire, but you couldn't deny it. He looked even better now with his softer belly and pepper and salt hair.

You felt his gaze before you could see it. He had been looking at you since you got back to town. You pretended that you didn't see his longing eyes on you every time you went to the Last Drop with your friends in your short, pretty dresses, or whenever you hung out with Vi and the kids, teaching them to climb their way up to Piltover.

He always got himself together, though. One who wasn't chasing his behaviors wouldn't have noticed, but you did. You loved his attention; how couldn't you? Being desired wasn't new to you, but it being him made it different. All that authority and aura made you feel a little bit cogent. You couldn't help it; it was going to your head.

His eyes following you when you walked away for the day or even fixed your voluminous hair couldn't go unnoticed for you. Even around your poor, unaware father…  Benzo could not even suspect it. His own friend gawking at his older daughter, full family gatherings passing around more rapidly with your new game of catching his attention.

Vander approached you, cutting off your thoughts:

“Where are you going with all that heavy stuff?” 

It wasn't late, the sky had just got dark.

“I'm going to drop this off at the shop” You smiled at him. “I wouldn't mind some help, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, contorting his face into a slight grin.

“Can’t deny helping a lady, right?” His posture straightened when he heard your giggles as if he was more sure of himself now.

You kept walking steady, even though one step of his equaled two of your own, he was ensuring that you were walking at the same pace. You guys even managed to make small talk now and then, cutting through the crowd.

“You’re going to the market tomorrow? Heard there's gonna be some good stuff there.” 

He said to you while minding his steps.

“Of course, I'm going, Van. Wanna buy some more skirts and dresses, you know? Quite like this one I'm wearing” You smiled again.

“It looks cute on me, doesn't it?” You posed for him the best way you could with the small box in your arms. Of course, he grabbed the bigger one to carry.

His eyes went momentarily darker as he stared at you. It lasted only for a few seconds before Vander averted his eyes. A trash can now looked really interesting at that moment.

“Yeah, it looks… good on you.”

You were having too much fun.

As you two neared the back of the shop, you thanked him, soon enough you would be putting the boxes away in the stock and closing its locks. 

“You know what else I want to buy at the store?” He leaned in closer to you to hear you better. 

“A new nail polish. It's green, kinda yellowish” You hold your hand in front of you, passing one finger atop a nail as to illustrate the act of painting them.

“Hmm, quite close to this color” you approached him, lightly touching the buttons of his shirt.

He stopped breathing, swallowing thickly while looking at your hand on him. He cleared his throat.

“I better get going, you know… open up the bar.” You couldn't help but laugh a little, looking up at him through your browns.

You had his full attention, Vander was radiating heat, and you could almost taste his want for you, for something.

“You wanna fuck me, right?”  You ask him while playing with the buttons on his shirt. You couldn't help but notice how big he was, standing at least 40 centimeters taller, his frame twice your size even though you weren't exactly a small girl.

His left hand goes to your waist, playing with the bow tied to your red dress. You lift your eyes to hold his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"You know I would do anything, for it – for you. But we can't, you know it right? We shouldn't – I shouldn't"

It was working—hell, yeah, it was working. It made you feel powerful, how much of a reaction you could get from a man like Vander, especially when you knew he wasn't so easily charmed.

"Well, that's a real bummer, huh? I need someone like you...—" You made a show of tightening your arms together, showing more of your cleavage to his hungry eyes. "... Ya know, I've been thinking 'bout it, daydreaming, but it's never enough. Can't ever fill me deep enough with my fingers, it doesn't matter how hard I imagine it's your hand instead of my own." 

You pout at him, grabbing his fingers from his right hand just feeling how wide and long they are, not stopping your mind from wondering how they would feel inside. Could you even accommodate more than one? Hell, you would die to know. You let out a hot breath and realized that the hand you were holding was trembling. Did you just make the hound of the underground shake?

You grab him, making him press you more against the wall, one of his legs between your tights. The slit in your long dress gets higher and higher the more you flex your thigh.

Vander let his head lay low on the wall, his nose right in the curls of your hair. It smells good, he thinks, it's always good. He took a deep breath, no more fighting the hard-on he was growing.

"Think about you too, princess... Too fucking often" He pinches your waist then drags his hand lower and lower, reaching the skin of your thigh revealed by the slip in your dress.

You reach between your bodies and put your hand on top of his to ground him, making him grab the fat of your thigh harder. It made you gasp a little, eyes closed but you didn't need then to know he lifted his head to peek at your reaction. Fuck your face was pretty... Dark skin shone with the low lamplight of the street you were in.

The frenzy you two were in reached its end as you heard a loud crack on the streets, followed by voices.

It was like his mind returned to earth, his hands were more sure of themselves, Vander cleared his throat, getting off your hold and adjusting your dress.

As he distanced himself, you couldn't help but finally look at the obvious bulge in his pants. It was promising and Vander could feel the wet spot he made in his trousers with his precum.

You knew that he was close to breaking. You would eventually get what you wanted; you always did.

You watched as he fixed himself, trying to hide the taint but failing, his cheeks pink.

He tried looking at you over the wall, the disappointing expression on your features, damn you were pouting again. The sight made him throb in his pants so he looked away.

"I should go, fuck, should've never come with you in the first place–" he passed a hand through his hair, which was falling in his face and sighted "– Good night, I guess."

You will eventually get what you want, you told yourself. You always did. 

Vander avoided you for some days, never letting his eyes lay on you for too long, making conversation short. He could see that he was getting on your dark side by denying you attention.

He couldn't help it, he already had a good imagination by just flirting, your little escapade with him only served to feed into his fantasy.

In the late nights, he found himself palming his trousers, mind drifting to you. Vander wished he would have kissed you that night, smudging that pretty shiny lip gloss off your lips. He grunted slowly, he hated that he had to do that again, beating one off to his friend’s daughter. Fuck he was disgusting, but the kids were sleeping, he had time for this at the very least. Vander never thought he was being so obvious, but honestly, how could he help it? When you went to his bar on Friday nights you always wore the thinnest mini skirts ever, fuck that black one was his favorite, hanging low on your hips, your soft tummy lightly poking out… The memory made him throb. 

Suddenly his pants were too tight, he needed some relief, needed you. Sitting upright in his bed, he pulled his sweatpants down below his balls, just enough to free his cock. He let his imagination hang free, thinking about how easy it would've been to just bend you on one of the tables, making you feel him, how you made him feel. 

He spat on his hand, leading it to his dick, smearing it up and down. You would have offered your body to him, he knew that now. Fuck, what type of panties would you wear? One time he got a peek, white and frilly with some lace, really cute. Vander loved your thighs, he knew it would feel amazing between his hands, around his cock. His hands were working faster on his length, he was panting a little, biting his cheek to remind himself not to make too much noise, that the last thing he needed was some of his kids waking up.

You always smelled so good too, sweet, it was sweet. In his fantasy you giggled at him that way he found endearing, looking back at him and arching your soft body so the skirt would flip over your butt.

He was getting close, fuck his balls were aching so much, he needed that release.

You nodded at him, as to say ‘Go ahead, Van’ wiggling your bottom to encourage him, he didn't need to be rushed twice, he touched your ass, countering the fabric of the frills, when he got to the bottom he found the spot wet, it was so easy to imagine himself pulling the cloth aside and filling you up. You looked tiny under him. God, he tried his fingers around his fat tip in the upstroke to mimic the tightness of your hole, letting out a grunt. It was all he needed to cum in his hands, cursing your name under his breath. Fuck, he was disgusting. 

God, he prayed Benzo would forgive him. Vander can never let this fantasy of his come to life if he gets all worked up with just a few stolen glances and some dirty talk… Imagine what actually fucking you would do to him? 

“We are closed.”

You said when you heard the door from Benzo’s open thinking it was just a regular customer. To your surprise, it was Vander, and by his stunned face, you could see that he wasn't expecting to see you behind the counter.

He stood there awkwardly, sucking his teeth and gazing at his feet with a pack of papers in his hands.

“I thought Benzo was working today, I’ll… I’ll come back another time.”

You rolled your eyes at him and said: 

“My dad will come back at night. You should look for him around 8 pm, Van.”

You said while returning to paint your nails on the counter. He recognized the color, it was that green nail polish you had talked about that night.  You had indeed bought new dresses in the market, he had memorized your everyday clothes by now. That dress you were wearing right now was pretty, the pinkish color looked good on you.

He was already turning his back to leave when you dared to speak again:

“You have nothing to say, Vander?”

He sighed. You have always been stubborn since you were a teenager. He turned around irritated, his brows furrowed ready to scold you.

“I’m sorry about that, okay? Shouldn't have never gone that far.” His eyes were sharp as he was exasperated for just having to talk about that.

It made you even angrier. That day you played with yourself all night because that stupid man didn't want— no he didn't dare to finish the job. He left you hot and wanting in that damn alleyway.

“Now you say you didn't mean it? Hells Vander, now I am offended!”

You finished painting your nails and got off the bench, pouting as you made your way to the center of the store.

“We both know damn well what you did when you got home that night… You've been rubbing one off thinking about me for quite some time now.”  Now you were standing in front of him, trying to look mean, pointing at his chest with your manicured nails.

“Too bad you're too much of a pussy to do something with the real thing.” 

You waited for his reaction with a smug look on your features. Did you want attention? You would get attention.

He took a sharp breath and looked down at you. Vander was getting tired of this game of cat and mouse, if there was a proper time to solve the issue, it was now.

He sighed loudly before saying:

“Stop this shit, you know damn well we can't do this.” His voice was low, holding a bite to the words.

 It was a warning, he freed his hands from the paper and held your arm down. It made you smile, he was so much stronger than you, and you wondered what he could use that strength for.

He saw the grin on your lips and he tightened his grasp on you, face twitching into something dangerous. You pressed against him, closing the distance even more, not running from him.

You flexed your fingers in the air, your hand in an odd position with the way he was gripping you. It was like the world disappeared around you two, you wanted to kiss him, make him lose it, so you got on your tiptoes, your face closer to Vanders now, being able to feel his breath on your face.

“Not asking you to marry me, ya know? Just asking to be fucked…” You sneaked your other hand up to his side, grabbing the fabric of his shirt near his hips tight with your fingers. Oh, you hoped you didn't ruin your nails with all this playing.

He leaned down on impulse, only realizing his movement when you two kissed. Vander pressed you more against him, if it was even possible to get closer, now one hand was still gripping your arm as the other went to your waist. The hound tasted addicting, like mint and cigars. You moaned slightly in his mouth.

“Thought you could do this for me… Been wanting this for so long ” You said, making a trail of kisses from the corner of his mouth down his bearded jaw as his right hand kneaded your skin, feeling up your body.

“Know you want it too, old man. So why not just do it?”

You said with your lips grazing his. Vander couldn't escape your affection, you had him wrapped around your daisy chains. 

He brought you forcefully around the counter, getting you easily on top of it. 

He kissed you with purpose, as to compensate for how long he took to do it, even though he was still apprehensive to touch you.

You let your hands wander from around his neck to his big shoulders, down his muscled arms, finally reaching his hands and leading them around your bum.

Vander groaned, breaking your kiss away, and gathered your skirt past your hips, revealing your lower body. He broke the kiss away to take in the sight, his body between your legs with you on the counter. 

He could see your soaked panties from this angle. Damn, he was losing it. He gazed at your covered pussy intently, tracing his fingers to the outline carefully making you gasp.

He had grown a chub in his pants and it throbbed badly. He wanted to see it bare — needed to. You noticed him staring, dropping the weight of your body on your elbows behind you and chuckling at his reaction.

“You can take it off, Van.”

He eyed you, hating the expression on your pretty face, so full of yourself for what you accomplished. He wasn't himself now, he wanted to see it, your cunt felt chubby against his fingers, your wetness sticking to his skin.

He tried to still his hands while taking your underwear off, but failed. He noticed that you had seen it and yanked your bottom forward into him, kissing you to cancel his annoyance. You pushed him closer to you, making him bench a little as you left his tongue to dominate yours. 

Vander was so affected by the act that he started to grind his bulge against your folds, hands groping all your body with his big calloused hands.

You got out the kiss, letting lose a little moan against his ears, which turned him on even more, hells, you had him cursing under his breath. 

“Fuck me, please!” You whimpered under your breath. Vander opened his eyes he didn't notice were closed to look at you, your pouting face and doe eyes. It was wrong. The whole situation was fucking  wrong, he can’t fuck you in the damn shop, in your dad’s counter, what the hell was he doing.

“You don't need to put it in, Van!” 

You wiggled your hips to try to get more friction from the rough material of his jeans that confined his borderline painful erection. Your bare pussy leaving dots of slickness on the fabric, he realized he said that out loud when you answered.

“Just rubbing is fine!” You whined closing your eyes when it grazed your clit just good. 

“Take it off, please? Please!” You begged.

He grabbed your hips firmly, Vander couldn't help but gaze at your pussy again. "Stop the fuss, princess– fuck" He panted into the air.

You opened your legs wider, "Van, if you just use it to jerk off it's fine, right?" You used your hand to open the inner lips wider to his hungry eyes.

"I-if you just don't put it inside it's going to be fine, just rub your cock right here" 

You gathered slick in your fingers and ran them up and down your folds, which made you hiss, grabbing your bottom lip with your teeth.

You were giving him a headache, but when he returned to himself he was already taking his hard cock out of his trousers with trembling hands. You pushed him closer with your legs and put your hands on his member for the first time, your fist not quite closing from the thickness. It was feverish hot and so heavy it wouldn't even stand, instead, hang low right next to your center.

You stroked him to the top lightly, pushing it into your pussy, so he could feel your entrance. Vander let out a trembling sigh when you started to guide his cock up and down your folds, coating him in your essence.

His eyes closed when you started to moan for him, he was bumping your clit continuously with that big head of his cock. It was a shade darker than his skin and so fucking big... You know you were the one to propose to him to just use your cunt to jerk off, but you wanted to feel it inside, stretching you.

"Fuck, fuck, you're so..." he opened his eyes to see you shyly smiling at him.

"Is it good for you too, Van?" You meowed when you felt him take hold of his member, lightly shoving your hand off. He applied more pressure on it, so it was rubbing harder against you. You were so fucking wet and hot against him, he could barely speak, instead, he let his mouth open panting slightly.

His other hand found itself holding your right thigh open from behind your knee, sure it would leave bruises.

"Wanna feel it inside, please?" You moaned, your hands reaching the neckline of your clothes, pulling them down to reveal your chest to him. You knew what you were doing to him, turning his brain to mush.

"Can't do it, you know I can't" he grunted closing his eyes not to look at you in fear, he knew once he saw your pouting face he would listen to your every word. 

You got that quickly, lifting one hand to his face, pulling him atop of you so you could give him a smooch on his lips and moan into his mouth as his tip grazed just right against your folds. His hands are now caging you, arms successfully holding his weight so as not to crush you.

"Open your eyes, want to see you" He tried to say no, but you caressed his face in such a loving way... He'll be damned, you will be his downfall for sure.

When he stood comfortable still kind of hovering over you, he opened his eyes, and what a sight was you, sparred all over Benzo’s counter, opened wide for him with your tits spilling from your dress, one of your hands guiding his dick down your slit to your entrance. Fuck, Vander could feel you spasm around nothing trying to pull him inside.

"Just the tip, Van." 

You sighed, giving him your best puppy eyes as your right hand on his face caressed his jaw, your thumb firing his mouth agape, gathering his spit and bringing your fingers to one of your nipples, pinching lightly.

"Wanna feel the stretch…” You moaned for him. “Don’t you wanna feel me too?”

His hips jerked upwards, his eyes wide as his gorgeous tip stretched your opening. Your toes curled and Vander tensed on top of you, holding himself back from pushing all his length inside.

"Fucking hell, you're so, f-fuck" his eyebrows were scrunched. You couldn't help but smile drunkenly, haha, the big scary Vander was at a loss of words over you, because of you.

The thought made you clench, his hands flying to your hips as to make you still. All Vander wanted was to empale you on his dick, make that sly smile on your face disappear and give space to a scream.

You put your hands between your bodies again, he was more relaxed and that was the perfect time for you to guide his head slowly in and out of your cunt, tightening your fist around him a little.

He was all grunts as he manhandled you alone, taking your hands off him and putting it to his heart, that you realized later that was racing. Vander's eyes were moving intently between your cute face and your cunt glistened in slick.

You brought your other hand to your mouth gathering spit and dragging it over your soft belly into your hooded clit.

Vander was losing rhythm, "Gonna cum, ahh" 

He was panting like a dog, trying to pull himself out of your grasp, but you used your legs to cage him.

"Please, let me out, princess, can't do it like that." 

He was falling apart, too pussydrunk to do anything about it. His tip still going in and out of you in shallow thrusts.

You said: "No, no! You gotta do it in me, inside! Wanna feel your cum filling me up.”

You were stubborn, grinning between meows and moans, it made him irritated, you were always the brat, fuck now he was angry.

He shoved his whole cock inside you and gave you what you wanted, cumming deep inside with a grunt as your nails dragged across his arms.

You whimpered while he took his time being milked by you, as he worked your clit at a fast pace.

You finally came on his cock doing a final clench that made him shudder.

He got down to earth eventually, removing himself from inside you, and admiring the mess he made of you. You giggled shyly, waking him up from his stupor. Suddenly his brows furrowed, he remembered he was mad now, at himself for being fooled, at you for charming him.

He stopped his seed from spilling on the counter, which was already a mess with your slick, pushing his thumb slowly inside.

"Happy now?! You got what you wanted, just know it won't happen again."

He was putting himself back in his pants with a scow on his face.

"Let's see how you manage, old man.”

Your legs were trembling when you tried to stand to gather your underwear. He had to support you with one hand, then helped you fix your dress.

He got away from you, trying to find the bottle of water Benzo got at the shop, filling a cup and giving it to you.

He gathered his documents long forgotten on a side table, getting ready to leave.

"Oh Van, no goodnight kiss?" You approached him slowly, damn he could see his cum running down your plush thighs.

"Maybe if you play it nice I’ll let you fuck me again, this time properly."

He passed one hand through his hair while closing his eyes.

"That ain't gonna happen, I already told you"

Was he scolding you right now?

"Then I gotta have to look for another man to do the job."

He gave you a look, his eyes dark. Tormenting him was always so much fun! He turned his back to you.

"I should probably go, before... Before someone sees me"

Vander felt so upset, but when he closed his eyes he saw you, your body under him, the thought making him bulge again.

He knew damn well it was going to be another time, honestly, he could not wait for it.

Wrote this with my pussy btw. It was clapping in morse code, all I had to do was type it down.

Happy Christmas, guys!

The cute divider is from: @strangergraphics-archive

[contentloadingandstuff]

Relationship Headcanons - Ganyu x Male!Reader

A/N1: This is a new format, and as such, it includes just one character. Do you think it's comprehensive enough, or is there something I missed? A/N2: When I looked for a gif for this one, I found that the gif I used in the "at the dead of night" Ganyu fic is one of the first results when you search up her name. Nice to know I have somewhat of an impact, small as it may be. A/N3: While I was thinking of making a Christmas special, I decided that the best gift for you guys would just be getting posts out more regularly - so I will post them at least twice a week for the next three weeks at the very least. Anyway, happy Christmas, and enjoy!

Loving Ganyu requires patience and the gentlest approach, but her affection eventually blossoms on its own. She just needs a bit of time and guidance - it's her first time, after all. 

Being a notoriously hardcore worker, at first she'll be absent from home for most of the day. Her work-life balance is completely off the rails, and Ganyu will need all the help she can get in overcoming her centuries old habits. Now she has someone, remind her. Tell her that this special someone cares for her very much and would rather not see her worn out like an old pair of boots each night. 

An important skill you have to teach her is saying the word “no”. “No, I won't accept overtime”. “No, I have plans this evening”. “No, putting the entirety of Qixin paperwork on my shoulders is not ethical or healthy - Ningguang needs more than three secretaries”. In time, Ganyu will find it in herself to set healthy boundaries on how much she works. True, helping Liyue grow and prosper is her passion, but enough is as good as a feast. 

Walk alongside her on this road. Visit her at work, if only to give her a simple kiss on the forehead. Make sure she comes up from the underworld of bureaucracy to the real world. Bring her light snacks. Ask her about her day. Remind her that there is someone waiting for her back home - she will appreciate that beyond words. 

Working for the Liyue Qixing means basically swimming in Mora - especially that Ganyu leads a rather humble lifestyle. She does, however, live in a very nice multi-story house with a large garden in the most scenic part of Liyue Harbor, with a skeleton crew of staff to maintain in her absence (that being most of the time). But besides that, her expenditures are very small and everything she doesn't need or put aside, she donates to charity. 

While having a boyfriend is nice, she would feel much better if she’d be able to refer to you as her husband instead. Especially that she would prefer to save herself for the wedding night, and make your first “proper” time really beautiful and special. Ganyu is also a bit subservient to you, used to the idea that the husband is the head of the house - no matter if she has more money. At the same time, she is happy to be taken care of and protected, so as long as you treat her right, she’ll be comfy. 

While Ganyu isn't one to insist on much in a relationship, she will encourage you to live with her. Her house is big and quite empty… Having you there would liven it up and surely make it much cozier. Coming home to a warm hug and a kiss from her lover is a dream come true…

In terms of past times, well… Ganyu doesn't have much. Her work is her main pastime, or was anyway, and she didn't really see a reason to look for other things to do in her spare time. Just a few conversations with you made her realise that, while you have a broad range of things to talk about, she doesn't quite compete in that regard. Hundreds of years of paperwork made poor Ganyu quite a one-note person, but she will work on that, don't worry. 

And so she will frequently come up with things to do, together. Would you like to go to a museum? Or see a movie from Fontaine? You don't have to go with her, but… It would be really nice if you did!

Have any problems at school or at work? Personal Secretary Ganyu is on the case! She's had lots of experience in all sorts of matters and will gladly put it to use in helping out her favourite person succeed. She's a patient teacher and never raises her voice, no matter how hard it is for you to learn or do something. With her backing you up, nothing is impossible. 

Ganyu, by her own admission, gains weight easily, so while the urge to fatten her up with love and Qixins is huge, she'll be grateful if you hold your horses. Her thoughts always spiral into self consciousness about weight, so it might be a good idea not to include chocolate. However, a more tender approach to her and her beautiful body - with countless kisses and words of affirmation - may change her outlook on herself. If you do get her something to eat, make sure to feed her - she couldn't say no to you. 

Arguments with Ganyu are white crows in your day-to-day life. Being a timid and easy going person, it takes an impossible amount of pressure to make Ganyu lose her composure. If that somehow happens, she will be so upset that her anger will almost instantly fade into tears. She just cannot fight with you. You mean far, far too much for her to be angry. No matter if it's her fault or yours, she will end up apologising for it profusely, hoping to get past this dreadful road bump. Ganyu knows that she is prone to doing this, and will try to be a bit more decisive, only to fail spectacularly. No matter - she trusts you to never abuse that part of her character. 

And don't you dare, Ganyu has to be protected at all costs. 

At home, she’s a quiet and busy presence - even if it happens to be that time of the month. Ganyu doesn’t really struggle with illnesses or bodily discomfort that much, for which she is really thankful to the fates. At most, when afflicted by either, she’ll get extra sleepy and will love some extra cuddles to make the pains go away. 

You are probably the only person in Teyvat that has the right to touch her horns. They are indeed sensitive, but with the right guidance, the feelings of having these caressed are simply divine. Having their horns touched is a very intimate experience for Qilin, and Ganyu is no different. It will always be in bed, cuddled into each other and falling asleep, or while engaging in more lively bedroom activities. 

Ganyu has some friends and family, and they are quite happy to keep an eye on her. Xianyun will make sure that you are a proper man worthy of her disciple’s hand, and when she does confirm that fact, expect to hear all about Ganyu’s early life, as well as past hobbies and habits; knowing them might prove useful even in the present day. She will also make frequent visits, if that’s something you are okay with. Shenhe, on the other hand, will not follow you around per se - not you as a couple, that is. Because she will keep an eye on you. If you ever raise your hand at Ganyu, expect to be skewered and served at the next Lantern Rite’s banquet. But as with Cloud Retainer, if you prove yourself to be a good man, expect the same level of protection for yourself - Shenhe knows that your safety is Ganyu’s happiness, and if anything were to happen to you, her adoptive sister would cry her soul out. 

Zhongli, being Zhongli, will gladly officiate the wedding. 

The secretary is a girl that goes to sleep and wakes up early. She eats healthy and exercises just enough to keep herself from rusting over. Her house is perfectly clean, both thanks to her own efforts and those of her staff, and full of well-tended plants. She's a neat, well-organized and healthy little goat. If it makes you feel bad for your own lifestyle (and it should), Ganyu will be happy to help you care for yourself by cooking healthy meals for you, reminding you of your goals and helping you be consistent. For what? Why, for the delightful moment when you look at yourself in the mirror and finally smile at all the work you have done. Your happiness is her happiness. 

Acts of service are her form of love. If you happen to come home later than her, you'll arrive to a nice bowl of warm soup, held by your dear wife. You casually mentioned that you need to, say, iron your shirt tomorrow? Ganyu's got you - even if she had to wake up that little bit earlier to do it. Maybe you're talking about a difficult achievement in one of your video games? If you teach her how to help, she'll be glad to tune in and grind with you. Whenever you act surprised at her actions, or say that she ‘didn’t have to’, Ganyu will always replay with a kind smile and reassurance - she does it because she loves you. 

She's the most receptive to physical touch. Sometimes things are going badly and the reasons for it are exhausting to put into words. Those days Ganyu would like nothing more than a simple embrace, your hand in hers, a gentle kiss on the forehead. Your touch reminds her that everything will be alright, and that she does not have to brave the world alone anymore. 

Thanks for reading!

[ylangelegy]

new traditions 💍 joshua x reader.

it's christmas day and joshua still loves you.

★ fiancé!joshua x reader. ★ word count: 1.3k ★ genre/warnings: fluff, talk about marriage/weddings. heavily inspired by toneejay's bagong tradisyon. ★ footnotes: this is a quick one (a 1/2, if you will), but it's a christmas gift for the first friend i made on here. @chugging-antiseptic-dye, it's a privilege being a carat the same time as you! i offer you your husband (literally), and one of the songs that you & i bonded over. i'm in your corner all the way across the sea. 💌

The brass of the apartment key is cold between your fingers.

You turn it over, absentmindedly tracing its biting and shoulder. This is one of two copies; the original remains in Joshua’s safekeeping.

Speak of the devil, you muse when you hear his faint call of “Love?” from the living room. 

You tear yourself out of your thoughts enough to pocket the key and pad out of the apartment’s one bedroom. What greets you is a sight for sore eyes. Cardboard boxes strewn across the floor, luggage bags practically bursting at the seams. 

In the middle of it is Joshua. Your Joshua. 

After all these years, you’re not any less accustomed to the sight of him— even if it is just him in a black, ribbed tank top. He had opted to dress down, knowing that moving day would entail a lot of hauling and organizing. 

When you step into the room, the initial look of frustration on his expression gives way to something more affectionate. This is what his friends constantly teased him about— how Joshua was so damn soft for you.

It didn’t matter. It was a feeling you reciprocated, anyway. 

“Love,” he starts as he gets to his feet. From the look of it, he had been sorting through the cutlery. “Where did you pack the mugs?” 

You gingerly step through the fort of boxes, your eyes skipping over the tape bearing the contents of each carton. “Should be with the plates,” you note. “It was one of the last boxes you brought in.” 

Joshua lets out a thoughtful hum. In the next five minutes, he finds exactly what he’s looking for. 

“Thank you,” he says distractedly. “Love you.” 

There it was. The easy, unconscious way in which Joshua would dole out those words. It didn’t matter where the two of you might be, whether you were with friends or if it was just the two of you. 

Ordering takeout? I’ll have a pizza. Love you. Visiting his parents’ house? Shop with mom for a bit, ‘kay? Love you. Falling asleep together after a long day? A yawn, and then a quiet exhale. Love you.

To Joshua, loving you was as much of a given as breathing. 

There are times when you underestimate it, when you think the words may lose their gravity because of how often he says them. That had been your fear in the beginning. You kept the words close to your heart, saving them for special occasions and big moments.

Consequently, you don’t respond to him, too distracted by the box containing your pillows and comforters. As always, Joshua refuses to stand for that. 

With a furrowed brow, he abandons his mug-organizing to saunter over to your side. 

“I said,” he says pointedly, his arms finding purchase around your waist. He gently pulls your back to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I love you.” 

The petulant tone of his voice draws a laugh from you. You can’t quite turn your head to see his face but you can already imagine the expression he’s sporting. His lips, downturned into a frown. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I love you, too,” you respond. You reach behind you, the position a little awkward, as you attempt to pat Joshua’s hip reassuringly. 

He lets out a low scoff. His hands move up to your shoulders so he can ever so carefully turn you around until you’re facing him. 

You’ve never been a particularly superstitious person. Neither is Joshua. Even so, the two of you didn’t want to risk anything, and so you subscribed to every existing credulous belief about moving houses. 

You didn’t do it on a rainy day or a weekday. You opted for a day where the moon phase would be a new moon. Most importantly, you made sure to arrive before six in the morning. The last one was a nod to starting the new day, supposedly promising homeowners a prosperous beginning. 

At first, you had been vehemently against the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to begin the whole moving process. Now, though, you find yourself grateful for it. 

The sunlight starting to streak through the window has Joshua glowing as he holds you. He’s incandescent, all honeyed skin and warm eyes. The real clincher is that he looks at you like you’re the sun itself. 

“I see how it is.” He heaves out a dramatic sigh, his gaze fond despite his alleged annoyance. “I put a ring on your finger and you get cocky.” 

Said engagement ring glints in the morning light as you go to rest your arms over Joshua’s shoulders. You return his jab with a roll of your eyes.

“Are we really going to fight on our first morning in our new place?” you bite out. 

Joshua responds with an exaggerated gasp. “Who said we’re fighting? I would never fight you. I couldn’t bear to do it.” 

You have half the mind to push the envelope, to insist that his attitude has led to a good number of spats. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right, too. Joshua would sometimes be on the verge of tears when the two of you were getting into more serious arguments, and it was in large part because he couldn’t stomach the prospect of even raising his voice at you.

When you don’t contest him immediately, Joshua flashes you a winning smile. He rewards your concession with a lingering kiss to your forehead, and you begrudgingly take the ‘prize’. 

His lips are still on the top of your head when he mumbles, “Say that again.” 

“Hm?” 

“I liked the sound of that. ‘Our place’,” he hums as he pulls away to grin at you. 

Joshua wasn’t always vocal about his feelings on your big move, but it was in moments like these that you’re reminded just how badly he wanted it. How he had dragged you to IKEA every weekend in search of the perfect table linens and curtains. How he had gone through all the forms and processes with ruthless efficiency. How he had begun to include it in his prayers, the plea unassuming and full of hope. 

Lord, please let me have this. 

You’ve never been able to deny Joshua a thing. Your fingers go to stroke the short hair at his nape. Instinctively, his eyes flutter close at your ministrations. 

“Our place,” you concede to repeating. “Welcome to our place, love.” 

The dreamy smile that tugs at his lips makes it all worth it. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at you with a new kind of devotion. 

There’s still a lot that the two of you have to do. Joshua has yet to contact an internet provider to get the apartment WiFi. You need to figure out how to transport the bigger pieces that the two of you have purchased, like the couches and the wardrobes. 

But for now—

Joshua leans down to kiss you. And it’s everything. It’s his litany of love you’s throughout the years. It’s the way his hands shook when he got down on one knee. It’s the unpacked couple mugs, and the bed that you’re going to share, and the life that awaits the two of you. 

When he breaks the kiss to breathe, he doesn’t go too far. His mouth is still against yours when he softly says, “This is the best Christmas ever.” 

Initially, you want to agree. Instead, you find yourself whispering back, “No.”

You go on, “We’re going to have a dozen more Christmases together.” 

“A hundred,” he shoots back in between giggles.

You’re not usually one to give in to your fiancé’s hyperboles, but you’re willing to make some exceptions. “A thousand,” you promise, making him laugh a little more. 

Outside, day breaks. 

There is a key in your pocket, a ring on your finger, and your heart in Joshua’s safekeeping.

BONUS — translated toneejay's bagong tradisyon for your reading/listening pleasure. here's to the loves that last us entire lifetimes.

This year The two of us will live Under the same roof Oh, oh You said You're excited to see What our new traditions will be Oh, oh And Christmas will never be sad again Because you have me And I have you Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh Our bodies May grow old But my feelings for you Will stay the same Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh If there is no more love That only means I'm no longer around If there is no more love That only means you're no longer around Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh This year The two of us will live Under the same roof

[bambisnc]

can you write something about winter????? write harever you want with gn!reader. thank you!!!

apple cider [ft. k.mj]

pairing : winter x gn!reader genre : everything i write is crack honestly. some fluff cw/tw : swearing + uneditted af xx + reader is js confused <3 wc : 0.7k?

your first time meeting kim minjeong had entailed a bruised hip, a spilled drink and a late pass.

it was almost as if the universe had had it pre-determined; made up its mind, even, for you to not like her.

... sure, it might've slightly been your fault that you were late and scrambling to find a seat in the already pretty hectic classroom that caused you to bump into said girl,.. which in turn had the equal and opposite reaction of her managing to push you and your (now bruised) hip with a loud thud! towards one of the tables.

which lead to you spilling your entire drink all~ over your shirt.

your favorite shirt.

before you even knew her name, you had decided you were not a fan. and even now, having spent considerable time in roughly the same friend group,.. you really don’t get the hype around her. 

okay, yes, you admit she’s, like, really nice and pretty and helpful and cute, but it’s whatever.

hence, obviously, the only liable course of action then was to take advantage of the fact that your teacher announced a project to be done in pairs and end up being minjeong’s partner because you don’t really like anyone else in that class which somehow ends up with you having to break her out of a literal, physical fight with some girl whose name you couldn’t even be bothered knowing.

huh? 

“let’s meet at the library.” she had suggested, “it’ll be quiet – it’d be easy for us to focus and get our work over and done with as fast as possible.” 

you had taken a little offense to that. but hey, at least you knew your (slightly) bitter feelings towards her were just as reciprocated. 

so naturally you were surprised when you walked straight into a crowd in the otherwise quiet hall, and happened upon the previously mentioned scene. 

the tense scene was captivating, to say the least. both girls involved showed no apparent signs of remorse or stopping. it even took you a while to manage to pick up your jaw off the floor and move to intervene, albeit your actions being mostly on instinct.

you’re not quite sure why you did it. maybe because your project was at stake? yeah that was probably the only reason.

… doing so was shockingly easy, however. the minute minjeong felt your touch on her, she paused, quietly. a strangely herculean feat on her part, considering how fiercely she’d been fighting merely seconds ago.

but her opponent didn’t have the same mindset. despite the comparatively much more bruised appearance (minjeong barely even had a scratch on her, really), she still found the ability to paste on a sneer and speak out. “wah~ your beloved’s here for you, huh? here to rescue you? just like you were trying to keep their name clear from the rumors-” 

at which point, the girl previously in your grasp all but leapt out to land one last (rather satisfying) punch square on her opponent’s face. 

and then, wordlessly, effortlessly, she walked out;... with you trailing behind, mind chock-full of questions but not being really sure how to express even one of them.

you could only watch as she walked all the way to the courtyard with all the casualness of the world before sitting down on one of the benches .. and soon find yourself stopping in front of her, offering her the bottle clutched in your hand all this while, surprising not only minjeong but also yourself. 

“...you’re probably tired out after all that .. exertion. plus dehydration’s never fun.” is your flimsy, offhanded excuse.

she smiles, then, and accepts it, but both you and her know that she doesn’t really believe it. 

your eyes meet hers, finally, asking if she’d mind company. she shakes her head, no, shifting to make space for you. 

the warmth of the late evening embraces both of you with an orange haze. from where you’re sitting, a disarmingly comforting scent invades your senses, your mindspace even. 

it’s somewhat fruity. and it’s so inexplicably kim minjeong that you feel like you’re almost going crazy for thinking about it like that.

when minjeong hands you back the bottle, you notice rather grimly that she’s finished almost the whole drink, “i didn’t know you liked apple cider too. it suits you, weirdly.” 

her words only barely register, but her voice manages to crash your reverie completely. 

what exactly was that bitch girl saying earlier in the library?

why are you even here with kim minjeong right now? it’s not like you owe her comfort or anything, it was her fault for getting into an unnecessary fight (over you?....) in the first place  –  god knows you don’t even like her that much.

…

wait. fuck.

notes : tysmmm for requesting lovely <3 im sorry it took like. almost exactly 6 months (june 24th.........) :( + [m.list] song rec : ill edit link in later but apple cider by queen bea

𐙚 . regulars : @brocoliisscared ⋆

[orangeblossomsintheair]

DON’T BE A STRANGER – CS55

summary : faceless driver + secretly royalty carlos sainz w leclerc!reader

wc : 2k

an : ring ding ding ding- its me again >:)) what an amazing week this has been on the website, thxx everyone. i mostly just wrote this so the idea could stop bludgeoning me

The faceless driver of Ferrari steps onto the paddock like a rumor, all sharp lines and shadows, the prickle of something not quite real. They call him Sainz, only Sainz, as if a single name could hold the weight of everything unknown.

His helmet never comes off.

Never.

Not on the podium, not in interviews, not in moments of victory or failure.

A flawless red shell. He is the mirror they didn’t ask for, the face they’ll never see. And that, perhaps, is the point.

And the rumors? Oh, the rumors.

They twist through the paddock like smoke from an invisible fire, impossible to pin down but inescapable all the same. Louder than the engines sometimes, they cling to the corners of conversations, the edges of glances, until the air is thick with questions no one dares to answer.

After all, the motorsports world is small, excruciatingly tight-knit, and talent doesn’t spring from nowhere. It has roots. And roots, as everyone in the paddock knows, have a way of surfacing when you dig deep enough.

Surely, he belongs to someone.

People don’t just rise to the pinnacle of Formula 1 without a trail to follow, without whispers of their origin. There are always breadcrumbs: the karting academy, the private sponsors, the family connections that weave a web so tight it’s impossible to escape.

And yet, with Sainz, the web feels intentionally erased.

Which is why the theories have grown, wild and unruly, feeding on the silence Ferrari so fiercely maintains.

Some say he’s royalty.

“Think about it,” one engineer murmured late one evening over drinks at the hospitality tent. “It makes sense. Why else would Ferrari go to such lengths to protect him? Royals love their secrets.”

“Royals?” The mechanic across from him snorted into his beer. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids. Royals don’t hide. They thrive on attention.”

“Not if they’ve got something to lose.”

“Like what? A throne?”

The first engineer leaned back, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not? Formula 1’s full of money, right? What’s the difference between a billionaire’s kid and a prince? Nothing. Except one of them has a crown.”

The argument has traction, though. The idea that Sainz is an heir to a European throne, Spanish, most likely, has fueled countless debates, forums, and conspiracy threads.

“Think about it,” fans say online, dissecting every detail like forensic scientists. “A prince could afford the best. He’d have access to elite training, connections, and anonymity if he wanted it. He’d be untouchable.”

And yet, skeptics roll their eyes at the notion. “If he were a prince,” they argue, “you think Ferrari wouldn’t plaster that all over their marketing? A royal in the red? They’d be printing posters and selling merch faster than the car hits 200 miles an hour.”

It’s a fair point. Ferrari doesn’t just protect Sainz, they shield him, encase him in layers of secrecy that feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Why? That’s the question that eats at everyone.

They defend him like he’s the crown jewel of Maranello, and when it comes to Ferrari, you don’t defend just anyone like that. The Scuderia doesn’t go to bat for drivers like they go to bat for Sainz.

Why would Ferrari, a team known for its relentless media machine, its flair for drama, its love of spectacle, choose to keep someone like Sainz hidden?

Why fight tooth and nail to keep his helmet on, even when the FIA itself came knocking?

The fight with the FIA was the turning point.

It started with whispers, rumblings that the governing body was “concerned” about Sainz’s anonymity. Drivers, after all, are public figures. Fans deserve transparency, or so the FIA claimed. There were rumors of mandatory press appearances without helmets, of new regulations aimed squarely at pulling Sainz into the light.

Ferrari’s response was swift, brutal, and uncompromising.

“The helmet stays on,” Luca, Ferrari’s head of PR, told the press during a heated exchange after qualifying in Monaco. His tone brooked no argument. “His performance speaks for itself. His identity is irrelevant.”

When pressed further, Luca leaned into the microphone, his voice like steel. “We protect our drivers. Always. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the board in Maranello.”

Behind closed doors, it was said that Ferrari’s lawyers were already drafting lawsuits before the FIA even made their first official statement. Confidential documents circulated among team principals hinted at Ferrari’s threat to pull out of the championship entirely if Sainz’s privacy was breached.

“They’d never leave,” Toto Wolff scoffed during a press conference. “Ferrari is Formula 1.”

But the threat worked.

The FIA backed down, releasing a carefully worded statement about “respecting driver boundaries” and “valuing individual choices.” And just like that, Sainz’s helmet remained firmly in place, untouchable once more.

It was the kind of move that convinced everyone that Sainz wasn’t just another driver. Ferrari doesn’t go to war for nobodies. They don’t risk their reputation, their legacy, for just anyone.

“He must be someone important,” a junior driver muttered once, staring at Sainz’s car as it glided into the garage. “You don’t get that kind of protection unless you’re…”

“Unless you’re what?”

The driver hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

But here’s the thing: it’s never enough.

The rumors spread, and with them, the obsession. The more they try to pin him down, the more he slips through their fingers. It’s the perfect magic trick. Sainz isn’t just a driver.

He’s a myth, an idea, a story unfolding with every lap.

He is both the question and the answer.

—-

The paddock is a sensory overload: cameras flashing, fans yelling, mechanics rushing around like their lives depend on it. The heat and humidity press down on you like a second skin.

You weave through the chaos, dodging a camera crew and a gaggle of reporters, the noise too loud, the air too thick.

All you want is a quiet place to breathe.

You pull your phone out and fire off a quick text to Charles. Where are you?

The reply comes almost instantly. Driver’s room. Come here.

Relief washes over you.

Finally, somewhere away from all this madness.

You know the layout of the Ferrari paddock well enough to navigate without issue, your access pass swinging from your neck giving you clearance to move unbothered.

You round a corner and spot a door, slightly ajar, with a sign you swear reads “Leclerc.” Close enough. Without thinking, you push it open and step inside.

It’s quieter in here, the noise from outside muffled by thick walls. You let out a breath, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. But as you glance around, something feels… off.

This isn’t Charles’s room.

The walls are too clean, the floor too pristine. There’s no sign of your brother’s clutter: no jacket thrown over a chair, no half-finished water bottle on the counter. Instead, everything is painfully organized, the space clinical in its perfection. And the overwhelming Ferrari red, too much of it, everywhere, makes your stomach twist.

Before you can retreat, you hear footsteps. Sharp. Purposeful. Coming right toward you.

Your pulse spikes. You freeze, too startled to even turn around. When the figure emerges, it’s not Charles, or a mechanic, or anyone you recognize.

It’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a kind of quiet intensity that instantly sets you on edge. He’s already pulling a balaclava over his head, but not quickly enough, you catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline, his piercing dark eyes. He stops when he sees you, his body going rigid like a predator caught off guard.

His voice slices through the silence, sharp and low. “Who the fuck are you?”

You flinch, your throat dry as you scramble to explain. “I- uh- this is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps, cutting you off. His accent is Spanish, his tone icy. “How did you even get in?”

Your brain short-circuits. The balaclava, his tense posture, the way he’s blocking the door—it all screams danger.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, fumbling for your phone.

“I- uh- just stay right there!” you stammer, raising the phone like it’s a shield. “I’m recording this! You’re not gonna- uh- get away with- whatever you’re doing!”

The man’s eyes narrow. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, with terrifying speed, he lunges forward and snatches the phone out of your hand.

“Are you serious?” he growls, holding your phone up like it’s a toy. His voice drips with disdain. “You barge into my space, and now you’re trying to record me? Do you even know who I am?”

“No! Do you know who I am?” you snap back, panic making your voice louder than you intended. “You’re the creep in my brother’s driver room! I should be suing you!”

He pauses, his head tilting slightly, confusion flashing across his face. “Your brother?”

“Yes, my brother!” you shout, emboldened by your growing irritation. “Charles Leclerc? Ring a bell?”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place- amusement? Annoyance?

“Leclerc,” he repeats, almost like he’s tasting the name.

“Yes! And he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out- ”

“This isn’t his room.”

His words are slow, deliberate, and laced with sarcasm. They hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You blink, your bravado evaporating. “What?”

He gestures lazily toward the door. “The name on the sign. Read it.”

Your stomach churns as you turn to look. There, in bold letters, is a name that definitely isn’t “Leclerc.”

Sainz.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, the realization crashing down on you.

“Anything else you want to accuse me of?”

You stammer out a garbled apology, your face burning with embarrassment. “I- uh- thought- I mean- oh god, I’m so sorry- ”

“You thought,” Sainz interrupts, his voice flat, “so now I’m the creep in your brother’s room? Really?”

Your tongue feels like lead. Every molecule of bravery evaporates under the weight of his piercing stare. “I didn’t- I mean, I-”

He sighs, glancing at the phone in his hand. “Did you take any photos?”

“What?” you squeak.

“Photos.” His tone sharpens, patience wearing thin. “Did you take any?”

“No!” you exclaim, horrified by the implication. “Why would I-”

“Because if you did,” he cuts you off, leaning in slightly, “I’ll sue you.”

You take an involuntary step back. “Sue me? For what?”

“For trespassing,” he replies coolly. “For invading my privacy. For whatever the hell I decide to call it. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t even know this was your room!” you blurt out, frustration bubbling over. “I wasn’t trying to invade anything! And you’re the one wearing a balaclava like some kind of-”

“Like some kind of what?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“Like some kind of criminal!” you fire back, your voice rising in pitch.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air. His lips twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh, but his gaze stays icy.

“I wear this because I’m a driver,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child. “Not because I’m robbing a bank.”

You press your lips together, mortified and furious at the same time. “Look,” you say, holding out your hand for your phone, “this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in here, and I didn’t take any photos. Can I just have my phone back so I can leave?”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally handing it over. “If I find out you lied,” he warns, “I will sue.”

“Noted,” you mutter, clutching your phone like it’s your lifeline.

You spin on your heel, desperate to escape this nightmare, but his voice stops you just as you reach the door.

“And maybe next time,” he calls after you, “learn how to read a sign.”

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Your face is burning, your heart is racing, and the humiliation is seared into your memory forever.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Astarion stumbles upon a new skill and the legend of Two Hand 'Starion is born!

Tags: Humour, fluff, crack, violence, dirty jokes, slight Astarion x Reader.

This fic has been inspired by the amazing @radish-breath , whose late night BG3 conversations with me (on how re-spec of characters changes the whole party dynamic) have fuelled this madness. Merry Christmas, Radish! 🎄🎊

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Faerun was a land of contrasts, if your adventures were anything to go by. On the one hand, new and varied wonders unfolded before your eyes each day, while on the other, those same wonders sometimes sprouted a few too many teeth, claws (and in some cases, tentacles) for anyone's liking. 

Today was that kind of day; today the dice rolled against luck, and you and Astarion were its unfortunate victims.

Ogres, of all things.

After that rather daunting meeting with three of the aesthetically-impaired species in the Blighted Village, you'd fancied yourself a bit more careful going forward. One would think that after such a mistake, you might have recognised the signs.

And Gods, were the signs noticeable. Maybe if Astarion hadn't started an argument about Scratch slobbering all over his tunic while he slept, you wouldn't have been quite so distracted and may have picked up on the smell (like a latrine frequented by fifty oxen with the flux) or maybe the bones (femurs the size of your torso scored by the marks of large teeth) or perhaps the smell of roasted dwarf on a spit over a campfire (with its remarkably unique bouquet).

The hunter's stash that you'd found the co-ordinates for, and marked on your map, had yielded disappointing results. Someone had got to it first, evidently, only leaving behind some weaponry and a few alchemical ingredients.

Among them were two finely crafted hand crossbows which Astarion had regarded with barely concealed disdain. He'd been on the lookout for something that dealt more damage. Temperament soured, he'd started bemoaning the state of the camp with that 'flea-ridden bag of blood' prancing around.

And so it was that you'd strolled, rather nonchalantly, right into the middle of an ogre dinner. You'd stopped dead, all arguments for the healing powers of Scratch's saliva promptly forgotten. Beside you, Astarion opened his mouth to counter you, spotted the ogres and slowly cranked his jaw shut again.

Silence reigned in the clearing. One of the ogres wiped sheep fat off his lips politely, presumably waiting for you to introduce yourself. Collecting your wits, you stepped forward, far more boldly than you felt.

"Well met. We're just passing through."

The ogre grunted, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Nah."

"You see, I - "

"You lookin' tasty, little piggy."

Another ogre, with an alarming growth of fungus along the side of its face turned his full attention to you, picking gristle from between his teeth with a pike.

"I mean, that one looks tasty. The other un' be lookin' runty. No flavourin'".

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you, good sirs, my flavour is just sublime."

"Oo you lyin' to, wormy?"

You cut in before any further damage could be done. It was time to bring out the charisma. And a flash of inspiration had struck you, that daredevil little spark that seemed to emerge whenever the odds were stacked against you.

"Oh, his flavour is nothing to be laughed at. Don't you know who he is?"

Beside you, Astarion tensed. His voice was a hiss, audible only to you.

"What do you think you're - "

But now you have the ogres' full attention, and you're not about to waste this window of opportunity. Stepping forward, you pulled off your hood, gesturing to Astarion with a flourish.

"Have you never heard of 'Two Hand 'Starion'?"

Fungus Face belched loudly, eyes sliding inwards to the bridge of his squashed-pudding nose as he gave this question the consideration it deserved.

"Nah?"

"Oo in the seven 'ells izzat?"

Your hands spread wide, inviting them into the weave of your tale.

"Oh, he's known by many different names across the realms. I've only been his travel companion for a fraction of his long journey. He also goes by Starblazer, or Boltazar, the fastest draw in Avernus."

Astarion's glare was now eating into the back of your head like an acid-spill, but you were in too deep to retreat. Skipping lightly forward, you mimed the action of drawing and firing two crossbows.

"He's unmatched in speed, graceful as a panther, his hands nothing more than a blur as he rains bolts of flame and ice down upon his foes."

You spun on your heel and the third ogre, who had been quietly occupied with stuffing his face, hoping that nobody else would notice the food disappearing down his gullet, dropped a dwarf leg in surprise.

"He stalks the astral realm, beyond where even a seasoned traveler like myself dares to roam, and braves the wrath of the fiercest githyanki warriors. Even they cannot pin him down, because his draw is faster still."

Fungus Face scowled.

"What if I eat one o' them arms? Then he'll just be One Hand 'Starion."

Sheep Fat seemed to be the smarter one among them, because he was beginning to look a trifle nervous. He made a shushing gesture at Fungus Face.

"This sounds awful f'miliar. What if she's telling the truth? About this Starblazer? Swear I 'eard the name before."

You're not sure which of the many embellished tales this ogre has heard and confused with your own hastily-spun fantasy, but that's hardly your concern. Clearing your throat, you take a few more steps towards safety, gesturing expansively at Astarion. He looks singularly unimpressed.

"But you must have heard the tales, or at least some form of them!"

You raise a hand, expression turning suddenly sombre.

"Please, in your best interests, friends. Don't impede our journey. I see you're all enjoying a good meal, around a roaring campfire. Don't let our intrusion cause an unnecessary skirmish. I only say this with your lives and safety in mind."

You jerked your head subtly at your companion. If this ruse was to work, it needed one final demonstration from him. Granted, you weren't expecting a lot, just enough to sell the story to a bunch of gormless (if rather terrifying) ogres who the two of you would definitely struggle to take in open combat.

What you weren't anticipating was the entirely separate persona that seemed to inhabit Astarion's body the moment your signal was given. As disgruntled as he'd seemed at your initial ploy, he was certainly playing along beautifully now.

Kicking lazily off the tree he'd been leaning against, he sauntered into the firelight, bringing with him the sure-footed elegance of a seasoned bounty hunter. The two crossbows you'd discovered in the stash earlier appeared in his hands as if by magic, a deft twirl of the wrist settling them in firing position. His eyes gleamed scarlet in the gloom, dangerous and calculating.

"Now, I don't see the point of revealing my identity unless truly necessary."

Even something about his accent had changed, the timbre of his voice lower, deeper, edged with malice.

"I do recognise, however, that you three are worthy of being called strong. I'd hate for your lives to end here. After all, when you've wandered as long as I have, strong opponents are hard to come by."

The ogres were now silent,  uncertain. Or at least, two of them were. Fungus Face was slowly reaching for his club. Before you had a chance to shout a warning, Astarion's hand came up, a soft 'zing' sounding through the clearing before the club spun from the ogre's grasp, flying a few feet away. Another bolt had been loaded and strung before anyone could react, the vampire's jaunty posture a direct challenge.

What in the - Had Astarion always been that good of a marksman?

You hastily adjust your expression. Whatever the outcome, you couldn't be goggling at him in the same manner as the ogres. You had a performance to complete. Astarion's drawl cut through the tension pervading the camp.

"Dont make me riddle you with holes, there's a dear."

Fungus Face, finally convinced, sat down heavily. You nodded, cautious.

"Let's ... be on our way then. No use in troubling these fine ogres any longer."

As soon as you were out of the ogres' perception, you broke into a sprint. Only when the clearing had been well and truly left in the dust, did you slow down, panting heavily, hands resting on your knees. You turned, one finger stabbing at the pale elf who jogged up beside you.

"What in the hell was that?"

He sneered.

"I should be asking you the same question. 'Two Hand 'Starion'? Was that the best you could do?"

You waved aside his naming concerns, struggling to catch your breath.

"No, not that. I mean ... when did you get so skilled with a crossbow?"

As much as you'd only been traveling together for a month, you knew enough about Astarion to pick up on his little tells. While he seemed to be trying to hide the fact, he was also somewhat confused by the convincing nature of his own charade.

Glancing down at the crossbows, he gave a graceful shrug. 

"Well, I've had many years to practice with missiles of all kinds. I suppose my skill with other bows must have carried over."

"So what you're saying is ... that you're actually a natural? And this is really your first time dabbling in this particular skill?"

He cleared his throat and your eyes narrowed. Were the tips of his ears turning ... pink? Since when had praise of any kind unsettled him? Astarion was quick to change the subject.

"Can we please get back to camp now? You've had me traipsing through this damn forest for hours and my fingernails are in an absolute state."

On the way back to your base, you eyed him surreptitiously. He seemed deep in thought, fingers occasionally drifting down to trace over the crossbows which now had place of honour on his belt.

"All right. Out with it. What's going on with him?"

It was Gale who posed the question while preparing dinner a few weeks later. You were helping him slice vegetables into the large cast-iron cook pot. On your left, Karlach, who'd been peeling potatoes, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, it's not like him at all. What happened, that day in the forest?"

Sighing, you vented your frustrations on a hapless carrot.

"Look, it's exactly what I told you. We ran into those ogres, he improvised with the crossbows and now he bloody well won't let them out of his sight."

Gale's brow was knitted in thought.

"He does favour them, yes. And then he keeps disappearing into the forest - "

Karlach gasped.

"Wait, you don't think he - "

You shook your head vehemently.

"He wouldn't. And besides, if he really was wandering into the forest to kill creatures left and right, we'd be seeing the bodies, yes?"

Karlach gave you both a blank stare.

"Oh. No, I was imagining more along the lines of him wanking off to them."

Gale choked on air and you almost sliced off a finger.

"Karlach - "

"Elaborate?"

She waved a hand, the potato within it dwarfed by the size of her palm.

"Dont ask me about the logistics, mate. Astarion is creative when it comes to those things, right?"

Gale massaged at the growing furrow between his brows.

"As skilled as I have no doubt he is, I think even Astarion would find it difficult to - "

"To what, my darlings?"

All three of you froze in position.

When had he arrived? Astarion had always been stealthy, but not like this.

Gale glanced up at him, eyeing the crossbows that had now been holstered in a special harness across the shoulders that Astarion had fashioned for himself.

"Ah. Astarion. We were just - "

"Talking - "

"About stuff and ... you ... and - "

"About ... you know... your crossbows and - "

"Wanking," concluded Karlach, solemnly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow before sashaying over to the campfire and draping himself over a nearby tree trunk.

"As much as I love the idea of all three of you tickling your little pearls in longing for me - "

Gale grimaced.

"Never happened, I assure you."

" - I've got a more ... immediate issue."

"Oh?"

You stare at him curiously. Since the ogre incident, Astarion has been particularly reticent, and him seeking out your help was an unusual, if welcome change.

Karlach, ever eager to assist, perks up immediately.

"Well, out with it then."

Astarion's eyes dropped to the ground and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked slightly bashful. He unsheathed his crossbows and placed them carefully within the circle of firelight, where you can all see them clearly.

"I - I need ... "

His words come out in a rush.

"I need some help naming them."

Gale promptly dropped the ladle he was holding.

"Naming?"

Astarion rose, looking slightly agitated, and began to pace before you.

"Look, I know how it sounds. I know how unlike me it is to become attached to something, even if an inanimate object. I know, all too well, the impermanence of the material, but ..."

He turned to you, and the earnest appeal in his eyes surprised you to no end.

"I like how the crossbows make me feel. It's the first time something has come this ... naturally to me. It's effortless. Not something I have to elaborately craft. Just - Just help me with this. Please."

Karlach made her way over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You can rely on us, Astarion. We'll help with anything you request."

You felt a little misty-eyed yourself and even Gale cleared his throat and dabbed at his eye suspiciously. Karlach clapped her hands, taking charge of the situation.

"Right. So, good people, Astarion needs help finding names for his trusty weapons. I'm partial to a little naming myself. I had a Blood Drinker and a Kidney Shredder, once upon a time."

Gale waved his hands hurriedly, as Astarion's nose abruptly wrinkled.

"Lovely names, to be sure, but maybe Astarion is looking for something a tad less on the nose."

You hummed thoughtfully, taking in the strong, delicate lines of the crossbows.

"Hmm. How about, Sting and Strike?"

Your vampire companion moved closer into the firelight, eyes gleaming, stroking his chin.

"Direct, yes, but ... too pedestrian."

Gale stood, the cook pot forgotten.

"Warp and Weft."

"More suitable for a wizard, I think."

Karlach slammed a fist into her palm.

"Growl and Thunder."

"My crossbows are not of the canine persuasion."

Slowly, the whole camp gets drawn into the naming exercise, their enthusiasm growing. Wyll, Shadowheart and Halsin were next in line to provide their suggestions.

"Valour and Honour."

"Wax and Wane."

"Briar and Nettle."

To his credit, Astarion gave each of their ideas due consideration before rejecting them. Nice of him, considering how outlandish some of the names brought forward were.

"Bulette and Shroom!"

"I'd rather not have memories of that place."

"Rough and Tumble."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Frank and Furter!"

"... what?"

You shrug.

"Sounded appropriate."

It is, surprisingly, Withers who steps in to save the day. Quite suddenly, he is among you, pale eyes calmly taking in the crossbows while the fire flickers along the gold tracery adorning his face. His voice, soft as it is, immediately silences the good-natured bickering around you.

"There are many instruments of death, some reliable, primitive. Others speak of ingenuity, the kind directed at dealing pain. Strange they are, the subjects that stimulate human creativity."

He turns to Astarion, expression distant, as always.

"For one whose name has already been recorded, pain must be your constant companion. You must be a disciple of chaos and mayhem. If these weapons must be yours, let them have fitting names. Be the death that comes swiftly, and leave sorrow in your wake."

So saying, Withers made his calm exit. Astarion was nodding to himself, eyes kindling with ... something you couldn't quite be certain of.

"Swift and Sorrow. Hmm. Yes. I think that'll do nicely."

Soon enough, you realise what Astarions's lengthy disappearances into the forest had been in aid of. He had been ... practicing.

You're not quite sure what kind of regimen he had put himself through, but the results were quite astounding.

The first time you saw it in action was during a raid on a bandit camp that your party has been planning for a while. You'd received intelligence of an medical text in a vault, stored deep within the mountain, that might give some insight into how your parasite might be removed.

The trouble began with the discovery that a group of bandits had settled right outside the entrance, completely unaware of the significance of the chambers beneath them. Their camp was well-fortified and guarded, almost impregnable by anyone's standards. The sheer cliffs surrounding it saw to that.

You had no choice but to approach from the lower ground, which gave you a distinct disadvantage, in both numbers and position. Nonetheless, the text within the vault was important. You had to get hold of it to give yourself every opportunity available.

On the morning of the raid, Astarion caused a bit of a stir when he emerged from his tent.

Gone was the light leather armour he favoured, the lace-edged collars and sleeves jutting rakishly out at neck and wrist. He was now dressed in Drow armour, lithe form encased fully in the dark leather. Some enchantment had been placed upon the ensemble, shadows gathering about him like a shroud.

By the time you'd reached the enemy encampment, it was late evening. The crudely drawn symbols on ragged red pennants flapped vigorously in the wind, a warning of what was to come should you venture further up the winding mountain pass.

Just as you were all moving into your respective positions, Astarion's hand came down lightly on your shoulder.

"Would you be so kind, my pretty dove, as to allow me to go in first this time?"

In the growing gloom, his form was even less distinct. The hood that came with the new armour had been pulled up, his glossy, pale curls completely concealed. You'd never noticed before quite how predatory his eyes seemed in the darkess, polished garnets lit from within with unholy fire.

Nodding slowly, you agreed.

"All right. We'll be right behind you. Be careful."

Slowly, cautiously, you ascended the rocky path, Shadowheart and Lae'zel in tow. The githyanki warrior was unusually quiet. Under regular circumstances, she'd have passed some biting quip on others' lack of strength or fighting ability, but tonight she looked ... almost anticipatory. Excited.

Soon, you're in a fairly favourable position, crouched in some bushes on the outskirts of the camp. You have a clear view of the sentries and the bandits milling about at the centre. However you looked at it, it would be a difficult battle, what with that palisade barrier and those -

"Oi. Where's Marcus got to?"

"Said he was brushing down the horses. Why?"

The blonde bandit who had asked the question shrugged, looking slightly puzzled.

"Well, that's where I saw him last. Can't find him now. Oh well."

You exchanged glances with Shadowheart, but held your position. Shortly afterward, another bandit, a halfling with a long dagger strapped to his back, wandered past, looking confused.

"Hey, did anyone see those powder satchels I left on the casket?"

"Be more careful, idiot! Look around. It'll turn up."

An aggravated shout came from across the camp.

"Marcus, you lout! I've been looking for you high and low, where have you - Wait. Wait. Marcus? What in the hells are you - "

"That's - that's not Marcus!"

"Run!"

Narrowing your eyes, you made out the figure of a man, presumably Marcus, shambling into the firelight. It was obvious that he was no longer among the living, but his limbs carried him with jerky, spasmodic movements towards the blaze. Strapped around his form were the missing powder satchels.

From beside you, Shadowheart gave an approving hum as the bandits swarmed in panic, diving out of the way as 'Marcus' made a beeline for the fire, leaping right into the midst of it. An explosion rent the air, a cloud of acrid smoke pouring from the centre of the camp, accompanied by a rain of what appeared to be the remnants of Marcus.

Floundering within the cloud of smoke, the bandits soon realised that their number was being cut even further. First one, then two, then four, each brought down with a gurgling yell, dark tendrils lacing their skin where the fine bolts pierced their flesh.

"Who is it? Where is it coming from?"

The leader of the bandits, a hefty man in plate armour, wielding an enormous axe, brandished his weapon, eyes streaming from the smoke.

"To me! To me!"

His rallying cry brought a stumbling group to his side, their weapons held at the ready.

"Show yourself, you stinking coward!"

A voice came coiling through the night, mocking, sultry, full of dark delight.

"My, my. We are fierce aren't we? Pity your ... large, stiff swords won't be of much use here."

Another bolt, shot with unerring precision, through the smoke, straight through the heart of one of the bandits.

"Behind the wagons! Now! Take cover!"

Lae'zel grunted, her nostrils flaring. The scent of blood was making her itch for battle, but you still didn't give the signal to break cover.

"There's the bastard!"

From behind the fire, a sleek shape stepped into visibility. One of the men crouching behind the wagon slung a smoking vial of acid his way. He sidestepped neatly, tutting like a school marm at a rowdy bunch of youngsters.

"Where are your manners? You haven't even allowed me to introduce myself."

"Who the fuck cares! Fire his way! Don't stop!"

Astarion dodged another arrow, then danced around a volley of bolts laden with an ice enchantment.

Was he -

Yes. Yes, he was giggling.

"Gentlemen, not all at once! Please. My sore little body can't take any more."

In spite of herself, Shadowheart's mouth was twitching. You groaned internally. If you used a spell to speak to the dead that littered the camp, you swore that they'd all sit upright screaming about sexual harassment.

The leader of the bandits seemed to be growing more and more enraged with every one of the insouciant vampire's taunts.

"Who in the fucking blazes are you?"

Astarion came to a dramatic halt, arms spread wide, eyes positively shining.

"Oh darling, I'm so glad you asked. They call me Two Hand 'Starion, and these lovely ladies are Swift and Sorrow."

The crossbows appeared like lightning in his hands, twirling, dropping, leveling. His voice lowered an octave, suddenly lethal.

"Now watch closely, or you'll miss the show entirely."

So saying, he vanished once again. And that was your cue.

"Now!"

Lae'zel leapt from the bushes with a roar that startled the bandits so badly that one of them promptly wet himself. Her sword carved a swathe through your hapless opponents, brushing off cuts and blows as if they were mere insect bites.

From the shadows, Astarion's gleeful shriek of laughter sounded.

"Mother, scold her! She isn't leaving any for me!"

Bolts carrying necrotic blasts and purple flame speared from every angle, miraculously bypassing your party to pierce the flesh of the bandits. One of them made a run for it, towards the entrance of the vault, only to have two explosive bolts fired directly into his buttocks.

"Naughty! No dine and dash allowed!"

Clutching at his backside, the unfortunate man screamed in agony as - well, imagination can fill in a fair few blanks.

The leader chose this moment to launch himself at Astarion, where he was now visible on a small incline above the camp.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

The greataxe came down on a shimmering illusion and Shadowheart smirked, waving away the remnants with a flat motion of her palm. The brawny man spun on his heel, eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, sweetcheeks."

The words were a venomous hiss, the blades punching upwards, through the leader's ribcage with the speed of a striking cobra. Astarion slid away across the scorched earth, and came to a halt at Lae'zel's side, watching with dark satisfaction as the drow poison with which he'd coated his swords went to work.

Axe clattering to the ground, the captain of the bandits fell. 

The stragglers who'd managed to survive this far either made a break for it, or surrendered in abject terror. You sheathed your blade. Honestly speaking, you'd barely had cause to use it.

Beside the fire, Lae'zel turned to Astarion with a sharp smile and slapped him rather hard across the shoulders.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Elf. I may just allow you to lick the sweat of battle from my skin after all."

"Oh, how delightful. I can hardly wait."

In spite of his grimace, you could see that Astarion was secretly pleased. He preened as Shadowheart complimented him on his crossbow skills and then his eyes turned hesitantly in your direction.

You cleared your throat.

"Well. Looks like Starblazer's made a name for himself."

"Oh Gods, you know I never agreed to be called that."

A smile curves your cheek, warm and genuine. Well, as much as it could be surrounded by present carnage.

"I think that we should leave the monikers up to the bards. After all, they'll be singing your story far and wide for years to come."

Astarion looked flustered, patting at his hair. The action seemed a little incongruous, considering that he'd almost single-handedly leveled an entire bandit base.

"You think so?"

"Yes. Now let's get back to camp. The vault can wait. We need to celebrate your ... considerable skills."

And thus the dark legend of Two Hand 'Starion, Master of Swift Death and Silent Sorrow, The Poison Tempest, Harbinger of the Sore Bottom, (and in some circles, Nasty Asty) was born.

Your own role in his much needed healing and self-discovery was not often spoken of, but that was something you didn't mind in the slightest. He remained at your side by his own choice, and that was all you really wanted.

The evolution of his skill was something you embraced fully. After all, change often comes like a bolt from the blue, or, in this case, with the roll of the dice in the hand of an unknown God.

[anniebeemine]

Last Christmas- s.r. x reader

wham! fucks me up every year with this song.

warnings: alcohol consumption, angst themes but a happy ending

The snow was falling gently outside, blanketing the city in a layer of pristine white. Inside Penelope Garcia’s apartment, the atmosphere was warm and festive, the air filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon, and the sound of cheerful Christmas music playing in the background. Laughter and conversation filled the room, but amidst the holiday cheer, you found yourself standing by the fireplace, nursing a glass of mulled wine and trying your best to blend into the background.

It had been a year since you’d last stood in this very room, surrounded by the same familiar faces, all of whom were blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning inside you. It was Penelope’s annual Christmas party, a tradition that had once been the highlight of your holiday season. But now, it was a painful reminder of everything that had changed.

A year ago, you had been standing in this very spot, hand in hand with Spencer Reid, your heart full of love and hope for the future. But that future had unraveled with startling speed. Last Christmas, after everyone had left and the lights had been turned off, you and Spencer had given yourselves an ultimatum. The pressure of your demanding jobs, the strain of balancing a relationship amidst the chaos of the BAU, had finally taken its toll. And so, on December 26th, you had packed your things and moved out of the apartment you’d shared, leaving behind the life you’d built together. The next day, you’d requested a transfer to a different department, unable to face the prospect of seeing him every day at work.

Now, as you stood at Penelope’s party, watching your friends laugh and enjoy themselves, you felt a pang of sadness. You hadn’t expected to feel so out of place, so disconnected from the people you’d once considered family. But then again, you hadn’t expected to see Spencer here either.

He was across the room, standing near the Christmas tree, his tall frame partially obscured by the branches heavy with ornaments. He looked much the same as he had a year ago, his hair a little longer, his suit a little more worn, but still the same Spencer. The sight of him sent a jolt of longing through you, a reminder of how much you had missed him. But that longing was quickly followed by a wave of guilt and regret, memories of harsh words spoken in anger, of nights spent apart even when you were physically together.

You tried to focus on the conversation happening around you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Spencer, to the way he had looked at you when you walked in, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. It was clear he hadn’t expected to see you either.

“Hey, you okay?”

You blinked and turned to see JJ standing beside you, a concerned look on her face. You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… lost in thought.”

JJ didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she handed you a fresh glass of wine and nudged you playfully. “You know, it’s a party. You’re allowed to have fun.”

“I know,” you said, taking a sip of the wine. “I’m just… adjusting.”

JJ nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. “It’s been a tough year for all of us,” she said quietly. “But it’s good to see you here. We’ve missed you.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “I’ve missed you guys too.”

JJ squeezed your arm and then excused herself to go check on Henry, leaving you alone once again. You glanced over at the tree and found that Spencer was no longer there. Your heart skipped a beat as you scanned the room, searching for him.

You spotted him near the window, his back to the party as he gazed out at the falling snow. For a moment, you considered going over to him, breaking the ice, but then you hesitated. What would you say? How could you possibly bridge the gap that had grown between you?

As if sensing your gaze, Spencer turned, his eyes locking with yours across the room. For a moment, neither of you moved, the noise of the party fading into the background as you stood frozen, staring at each other. Then, slowly, Spencer made his way over to you, his expression unreadable.

When he finally reached you, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, the words you had planned to say dying on your lips. Instead, you both stood there in awkward silence, the tension between you almost palpable.

“Hi,” Spencer said finally, his voice soft, tentative.

“Hi,” you echoed, feeling like your throat had closed up. You hadn’t been this close to him since the day you’d left, and the proximity was almost too much to bear.

“It’s, um, good to see you,” he said, his eyes searching yours for something, though you weren’t sure what.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But Penelope is pretty persuasive.”

You chuckled softly, the sound hollow to your ears. “Yeah, she is.”

Another awkward silence fell between you, and you could feel the weight of all the unspoken words, the things you had left unsaid a year ago, pressing down on you. You had so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you didn’t know where to start.

Spencer seemed to sense your hesitation, and after a moment, he cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” you confessed, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “I never wanted things to end the way they did,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “I’ve missed you.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the walls you had built around your heart starting to crack. “I’ve missed you too, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you building until it felt like you might explode. Then, suddenly, Spencer reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“I know we made mistakes,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “But maybe… maybe we could try again?”

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was the same love and longing that you felt in your own heart. You knew that taking a step back into a relationship was a risk, especially after everything that had happened, but as you stood there, hand in hand with the man you had never truly stopped loving, you realized that it was a risk you were willing to take.

“Maybe we could,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “But we need to be honest with each other this time. No more hiding our feelings, no more letting the job get in the way.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I promise,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “I won’t let anything come between us again.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time in a year, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. “Then let’s give this another shot,” you said, your heart swelling with hope for the future.

Spencer’s smile grew, and he stepped closer to you, his hand still holding yours. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice full of promise.

As you stood there, the sounds of the party fading into the background, you realized that this was your chance to start fresh, to build something new with the person you had always known was meant for you. Last Christmas may have brought heartache and pain, but this Christmas, you had the chance to rewrite your story, to make it something beautiful and lasting.

And as you and Spencer walked out of the party together, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel like you were finally home.

[marauder-misprint]

Tension

Post-Regulus Black x fem!Slytherin!reader, Pre-Sirius Black x reader is endgame

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Not happy with how this part went but it's filler to get the story where it needs to be. Sorry not sorry

3.2k words

cw: swearing, fluff, Y/N

The common room isn’t deserted when you get back from Hogsmeade. There’s enough younger students milling around, not allowed to go to Hogsmeade yet, and older students opting to suffer through homework that your return wasn't a break in the monotony of the room. Therefore, you didn’t garner attention as you slipped into the boys’ dormitories. It wasn’t like girls never went into the boys’ dorms to hang out, but it was better you went unnoticed. 

You found the fifth year dorms and creeped into the room. You look around the thankfully empty room. You were glad that Regulus was a Black for once; their family crest is branded onto everything he owns, including his trunk. You approached his bed and then his desk, looking for something but you weren’t quite sure what yet. Nothing was jumping out at you. Then you moved to his trunk. It was unlocked. You gently moved things aside until you saw it. A fairly ornate silver ring with tiny emeralds. It was beautiful. It was most definitely expensive. And best of all, it didn’t scream House of Black. You slid it on your finger, put everything back in its place and left the dorm. 

No one noticed you cross the common room to the girls’ dorms. Once back in your own dorm, you put the ring on a small jewelry tray on your desk. With your new treasure, you could be bitter. How had Regulus not known you weren’t a pureblood? Why did he have to hold enough of his parents’ beliefs? Why couldn’t he be his own person and see reason? How had he known you thought blood status was stupid and still let that ruin what had potential to be a solid relationship? 

You shook your head as if to get the thoughts to fall out of your head. You knew you were scowling, but you were less concerned about your face right now. You had your thoughts and anger to worry about. If you listened to your impulses, you would have trashed his room a little bit, or taken more than a singular expensive ring, or maybe you wouldn’t have left the Hog’s Head as calmly as you did. If you listened to every heinous thought you had during the walk back, you would likely be expelled, or at least serving detention from now until you graduated. Maintaining your composure was the most important thing.

Over the next few days, there was a palpable tension and awkwardness between you and Regulus. You started putting distance between the two of you at meals and in the common room. You stopped studying together in the library. Regulus seemed more than content to spend time with his less amicable friends, Mulciber, Wilkes, Snape, Avery. Evan and Barty watched as Regulus still couldn’t take his eyes off you, although they could tell it was for a different reason. His expression wasn’t the same anymore. They enjoyed teasing him when he enamoured with you; now, that was gone, replaced with something they didn’t quite understand. The Slytherins weren’t exactly aware of why you and Regulus couldn’t be in the vicinity of each other anymore.   

You successfully evaded discussing it for a while. At least until the girls cornered you in your dorm where you are holed up to do homework in peace. 

“Alright, that’s not due for a few days and we need answers,” Dorcas said, looking at the assignment you’re working on on your bed. She slowly closed the book.

“Answers for what? The Herbology assignment?” 

Dorcas laughed as she sat behind you on your bed and leaned back against your headboard. 

“Black, actually,” Beatrice said. 

“I don’t talk to Sirius,” you replied, adjusting your position so you were sitting, rather than laying down.

“Once again, wrong Black,” Beatrice said. “Why would we be talking about that one?”

You shrugged. 

“Okay, so I asked if you and Regulus were a thing on the train and you said no. You got really close. And now you won’t look at him at all. Care to explain?”

“No.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cora said, leaning against your bed. 

Beatrice and Pandora were sitting on Pandora’s bed which is right next to yours. 

“Be like what?”

“Y/N, just tell us what happened. We know something happened,” Dorcas said firmly, although her voice was gentle. 

“Of course something happened. You’d have to be blind to not see that something happened between the two of ‘em. We just need to know what,” Pandora piped up. She gave you a kind look, as if trying to say that it didn’t matter what happened, the girls were just extremely curious and wouldn’t drop it until you gave them something to satiate them. 

“We, uh, may have gone on a few dates,” you mumbled, not making eye contact with any of them. Your hands were much more interesting than seeing what your friends thought of this revelation. 

“I knew there was something! A spark!” Beatrice exclaimed. She sounded far too pleased with herself for your liking. 

“The easiest spark to snuff,” you retorted as you gave her a scathing look. “There won’t be any more dates. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Cora asked.

“Do you think we’d be avoiding each other if there were going to be more?”

“Was he a bad kisser or something?” Dorcas asked. 

“Can’t be his status or financials,” Beatrice stated. 

Pandora gave her a warning jab in the side. Pandora knew you well enough to know that neither of those were a concern to you, and frankly, all of the girls should have known that. You rolled your eyes before twisting your head to crack your neck. 

“He didn’t know that I’m not a pureblood,” you said monotonously. 

Cora snorted. “How did he not?”

“As far as I’m aware, it’s not a hot topic,” you said almost coldly. “Unless you lot talk about my parents when I’m not around. And it’s not like the rest of the purity fanatics disrespect me.”

“You don’t exile your supplier,” Dorcas smirked, nudging you playfully with her foot.

“Exactly.” You turned to give her a smile. 

“Still feels weird that he didn’t know,” Cora said. 

“Okay, but isn’t Snape half, too?” Pandora asked. “Not every Slytherin is pureblood.”

“He makes up for it with curses and knowledge of the dark arts,” you sighed. “If half bloods want to survive in Slytherin, we have to make up for it somehow. Or you accept that your common room is going to be tense when you’re around and you make friends in other houses, if they’ll have you.”

“Hufflepuffs take anyone, even Slytherin rejects,” Beatrice said. 

“Guess that means I should start looking at the Hufflepuff boys. Maybe one of them will take a fancy to this rejected Slytherin,” you said, keeping your tone light and joking. 

Judging by the look on Pandora’s face, it didn’t come across as unbothered as you had intended. It wasn’t like you were going to actively search for a rebound or a new boy to drool over in general. You still wanted time to be bitter before you fully moved on. And a new boy would catch your eye whenever he did. It wasn’t something you were too concerned with. 

---

It didn’t take Sirius long to notice that something had changed between you and Regulus. You acted about the same in the classes you shared, but outside of them, your demeanor had shifted. After a few meals of observing you sit on the other end of the table than Regulus, Sirius came to the conclusion that Regulus’ advances were over. He waited a few days before bringing it up to the rest of the Marauders. He wanted to be more than certain that he was right. “Regulus’ little crush has gone south,” he said out of the blue. 

“What does that have to do with the Transfiguration test?” Remus asked, already knowing that the answer was nothing and Sirius hadn’t been listening to the rest of their conversation since they sat down for lunch.

Sirius made a face. “Nothing.” As Remus predicted. “Just look though!” 

Peter and Remus turned around to find Regulus sitting between Snape and Wilkes with you at the absolute end of your friends, sitting closer to a group of second years rather than the boys. 

“Okay?” Remus said slowly and confused as he turned back around. “Do we care?”

“Means his dating advice isn’t as good as he thinks,” James laughed. 

“Oi! My advice is rock solid,” Sirius defended. “So, where do we think he went wrong?”

“Have you considered that maybe she isn’t interested?” Remus asked.

“Oh please, Moony,” Sirius sighed with a smirk. “Blacks don’t get turned down. We turn people down.”

“No, Padfoot, Moony has a point,” Peter said. “Some girls are very against dating younger blokes.”

Sirius frowned. “What do we know about Y/N? Is she the kind of girl to be like that?”

The boys shrugged. They didn’t know much about you. You were well liked and known by a lot of people, but you kept details about yourself close to your chest. You weren’t the kind of girl to go around dating every boy with curly hair or brilliant blue eyes. You didn’t date enough to have a hint of a type. While it wasn’t a secret that you were a half blood, you didn’t share too much about your home life with just anyone. You didn’t have anything to hide. You believed it was simply better to not be an open book. 

Remus started talking about the Transfiguration test again. While James and Peter listened to him list off topics they should review more diligently, Sirius continued to stare at you. Every so often, he’d glance toward Regulus. It would only last for a moment before he looked back at you. He still stood by what he said at that first party of the year: you’re pretty and he’d like to be in your personal space. 

---

The tension between you and Regulus doesn’t go away over the rest of the term. It lessens, but it doesn’t go away. Part of you wonders if it just feels less tense because you don’t spend any amount of time with him, unless you can’t avoid it. The most time you spent near him was at the quidditch matches, and even then, you surrounded yourself with the girls. He wasn’t even within an arm’s reach of you. The games were oddly quiet in your opinion. You had grown used to Regulus’ commentary, even if it was unnecessary. 

You both knew that things couldn’t go back to the way it was before. There wasn’t any friendship left. But, you were moving forward. Tension dispersed. It eased. You had your time to be bitter. You eventually reached the point where you could sit on opposite ends of the common room and not care if you heard his voice carry from where he was talking with Barty and Evan. You could sit only tables apart in the library. You could sit with less people between you at meals. 

Sirius found Regulus alone in the library. Regulus’ face was stoney as he studied the book in front of him. Sirius slammed his hands down on the table to get his attention. The younger boy didn’t lift his gaze nor said a word. 

“Regulus…” Sirius sighed, his voice quieter than how he usually spoke in the library.

“Go away.”

“What happened with Y/N?” Sirius asked, leaning down so his head was closer to his brother. “You don’t seem so close.”

Regulus looked up to glare at Sirius. Sirius returned his gaze with an intense one. Sirius needed to read his brother, but being Blacks, they had been taught from early on to hide their feelings. Being an open book wasn’t an option for them. 

“I said, go away,” Regulus repeated with his voice low. 

“And I asked a question, dear Reggie.”

“There’s nothing between me and her,” he grumbled. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. 

“But there was.”

Regulus nodded slowly. 

“And?” Sirius pried. 

It was quiet for a moment. The sounds of the library seemed to amplify for that moment. The scratching of quills, turning of pages and low murmurs filled the air with a new thickness. 

“I was wrong about her,” Regulus finally said.

“Oh.”

Sirius knew exactly what his brother meant. Disappointment swelled in his chest. Regulus hadn’t been able to look past something so miniscule, so unimportant, so frivolous as blood status. If it had been something else, anything, Sirius might have tried to understand. But this? This was their parents’ doing. It was their parents’ beliefs that they had instilled in him. As far as Sirius actually knew, you could’ve been the most perfect girl for Regulus, but because you weren’t pure blood, it wouldn’t be. 

“Shame. Seemed like you really liked her,” Sirius said as he stood up straight. 

He got his answer and that’s all he needed. Regulus watched as Sirius walked away from his table. Regulus wanted to say that it was just a crush or that you were just a girl. Neither felt right to say and Sirius had been right. Regulus had really liked you, but he knew what was expected of him as a Black. With Sirius already being the disappointment that he was to their parents, Regulus had to be a proper heir, and the proper heir couldn’t be with anyone less than. He knew his parents would see you as less than. 

 Sirius didn’t see you anywhere in the library. If he had, he might’ve stopped by and dropped a compliment. Maybe you would warm up to him now that his brother made a fool of himself. Sirius only felt a little guilty that his brother’s actions would put him in a better light. He thought about it the entire way back to Gryffindor Tower. 

---

You weren’t sure what made you put it on, but you wore Regulus’ ring to class. As you tried to pay attention to your professors, you found yourself spinning it around your finger and tracing over the design. A fair amount of your classes were reviewing old spells and topics so you were more than bored. 

You didn’t notice Sirius staring at you. The shine of the silver ring caught his eyes and he frowned when he recognized it. It caught him off guard; why were you wearing Regulus’ ring when you weren’t seeing each other? If he remembered correctly, it was a gift from one of their uncles. He wore it every once in a while, but it wasn’t in his regular repertoire like the family crest ring or his Slytherin house ring. Sirius even had one that was similar to the one you were wearing. His had tiny rubies rather than emeralds. This uncle believed that Sirius could still be a proper Black, even if he wasn’t in Slytherin. Now, however, the uncle didn’t talk to Sirius; he had taken his rebellion too far for him. 

Dorcas leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder in History of Magic. Professor Binns droned on about some goblin rebellion and the notable giants who participated. 

“What do you think of a Christmas party?” Dorcas whispered.

“When the ministry hosts them, they are rather dry,” you replied just as quietly. 

Dorcas scoffed quietly. “No, Y/N. One here before we leave for the semester.”

“Like the start of term?”

She nodded. You hummed in contemplation. The party had been fun before Williams threw a fit. But then you remembered that Slughorn’s holiday party was coming up.

“Not sure how many parties I have in me.”

You felt her frown into your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Slug Club’s party is this week.”

She groaned quietly. Then she lifted her head and gave you a curious look.

“So who are you going with?”

You shrugged. 

“Haven’t really thought about it. I’ll probably just go alone.”

“You can’t go alone!”

“And why not?”

“Isn’t Sluggy like super uptight about it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Who would I even invite? Avery? Wilkes? Mulciber?” You shook your head. “No, I’d rather just go alone.”

“What if you invited Black?” Dorcas asked with a small smile on her face. 

You gasped and tried to turn it into a cough. Professor Binns gave the two of you a concerned look before continuing his lecture. You knew your face was bright red.

“We still aren’t talking,” you hissed back to Dorcas.

“Not that one. Again.” She looked like she was ready to start laughing. “I’m talking about the one who’s been staring at you all day. Sirius.”

You held in another gasp that became a choked noise. You turned to look toward the Gryffindors. Remus appeared to be paying attention, Peter was definitely asleep and James looked like he was trying to stay awake but failing. And then there was Sirius. You made eye contact with him before immediately turning back to Dorcas.

“Did you say all day?” 

She nodded with a wide grin on her face. 

“Invite him. It’d piss off Regulus too.”

“No. I’ll just go alone.”

“Fine. Be alone forever.”

“I won’t be alone forever,” you defended yourself quietly. “I just don’t want to bring him. If you had someone better in mind, preferably someone I actually know, I’d consider it.”

Dorcas hummed and slumped into her chair. You ran a hand through your hair. Had Sirius really been watching you all day? How had you not noticed? Either too focused on the consistent reviews or too zoned out to care about it… The latter. You knew it was the latter. 

You ended up going to the party alone. Dorcas and Pandora fretted about it all week, practically insisting that you needed a date. You didn’t. It wasn’t required. You dressed up enough as required, so a black skirt and nice top. You weren’t going to waste money on a new dress, even if your mum would’ve paid for it, and you didn’t feel like finding one to take. 

You did get some looks as you walked in without a date, but Professor Slughorn didn’t mention your lack of date. He greeted you as he did for everyone. After a brief talk with him, you found your way to the drink table. You could mingle easier with a cup in your hand. You tried to ignore Regulus on the other side of the room. Instead, you listened to a seventh year Ravenclaw tell you about the interview at the ministry that she was going to have over the break. 

 Regulus, like his brother, couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was wondering if sharing his parents’ beliefs was the right thing, but it had to be. He had to be the right heir for the House of Black. But you looked beautiful. He nodded at whatever Snape was saying from next to him. You just captivated him way more than any conversation could. He noticed a glint of silver and green on your finger. He felt curious about it, but he wasn’t going to talk to you. The tension between you was still there and he wasn’t going to make it worse by accusing you of stealing a ring from the bottom of his trunk. 

By the time you were boarding the train to go home, you were more than ready to leave Hogwarts for a few weeks. You didn’t really want to be at home, but it was better than seeing Regulus every day.

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid

[spicyspiders]

first time you called me baby

aka male reader takes clark's virginity. cw warning for smut, bottom reader, praise kink, and insecure!clark.

984 words

“Clark?” You asked, tugging at the back of his head with the hand buried in his messy hair, “you okay?” You fixed him with a confused look after you pulled his head up and found a nervous look on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, cupping his sweaty cheeks. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he slurred, his body curled over yours protectively. And fuck, he looked close to tears as he ran his hands over your stomach, just shy of your hard cock which rested in a pool of precum that leaked from the head. 

The laugh that bubbled up your throat was borderline hysterical, and it only scared Clark further. At the sound, the tears in his eyes fell from his blue eyes, making them shimmer. He went to pull away, but you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing your bodies together in a sweaty tangle of limbs. 

“Clark, baby,” you said, pulling the man down to kiss him as his tears hit your fingers, “i’m not in any pain,” you said after you pulled away from the kiss, “quite the opposite, actually,” you said with another laugh, this one sound a lot less crazy. 

“Yeah?” Clark whispered, his voice wet and full of emotion, “I feel good, too,” he said breathlessly. His body was taut, tight under the pressure of trying to stay completely still. The pressure started to finally give when you clenched down on his cock, the man above you groaning. His hips twitched forward, moving the thick, hot brand of his cock that rested deep inside your body to brush your prostate. 

You pulled Clark down into another kiss, silencing the teary sorrys he tried to get out. Your tongues met with a moan, Clark’s higher in frequency after you clenched down on his cock once more. 

“Want me to do it?” You asked, your legs loosening around Clark’s waist. 

“You mean like,” Clark began, his face going a dark shade of red as he spoke, “fuck me?” He whispered, like he was afraid to even utter the words. 

You giggled, pulling Clark down into yet another kiss, “next time,” you said, a warm feeling of satisfaction washing over your body when Clark’s face lit up, “I meant do you want me to do the work? Want me to ride you?”

“Oh!” Clark responded, glancing down where your bodies were connected before quickly looking back up, “yeah. Yes. That sounds good,” he said as the redness on his face went down his broad chest, “great, even-” he said excitedly, but you cut him off by surging up for a kiss. 

It was a little difficult to switch positions while at the same time kissing, but you managed. You were both breathless after you settled on top of Clark, his hands finding their way to your hips. His hands tightened when you reached back to guide his cock back into your hole. You went down slowly, aided by Clark’s grip on your hips.

You both moaned once you bottomed out, feeling as if it was deeper than it had been previously. Clark pulled you close until you were chest to chest, his hands roaming the expanse of your back as he pulled you into a slow kiss. 

“You feel so good,” Clark moaned, his cock giving an involuntary twitch deep inside you. His eyes, now dry, still twinkled, especially as he could do nothing but watch as you raised your hips up and brought them back down. 

A punched out moan left your throat as his cock made its way back into your body. You groaned in a mix of frustration and pleasure as his cock missed your prostate, but the burn of it going back just as deep was enough to send shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

You placed your hands on Clark’s broad shoulders, using them to bring yourself up and then back down. They fell once you established your rhythm, your fingers digging into his pecs as you bounced on his cock. 

“Not gonna last long,” Clark said through gritted teeth, already seemingly close to the edge. His hands rested on your ass cheeks, helping you fuck yourself down onto his cock. 

You slowed down to pull Clark into a kiss that was just as slow, “touch me,” you commanded after you pulled free from the kiss to press your forehead to his. You gasped when Clark wrapped his fingers around your cock loosely, “tighter,” you said, hissing when his fingers tightened to a perfect amount, “good boy.”

Clark let out a low noise at the praise, his hips twitching up into your body. His fingers glided along your hard cock, using what leaked from the head to slick the way. His hand moved in the rhythm of your thrusts, pulling you closer and closer to edge with every stroke. 

Clark came before you, his mouth falling open as moans of ecstasy fell from his lips. The sight of it pushed you over the edge just moments later, cumming messily over Clark’s fingers. You kissed him soft and slow as you came down from your orgasm, Clark taking your weight easily onto his muscular chest. 

“You okay?” You asked once you had your breathing under control. The feeling of worry that you felt threatened to sour your orgasm when Clark hid his face into the crook of your neck, “what?” You asked after you felt the vibrations of Clark softly speaking. 

“I didn’t last long,” Clark repeated, this time loud enough for you to hear. 

“I didn’t either,” you responded with a chuckle, grabbing one of Clark’s hands. You led it between your bodies, right into the mess you splattered onto your chests.

You cupped his cheeks to pull him from his hiding spot, “we’ll just have to build your endurance,” you said with a soft smile before you pulled him into a soft kiss.  

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become its own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (with fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉

[slytherinshua]

⟡　MY JEWEL 　( 휴닝카이 )

genre royalty au , forbidden romance , fluff , servant!fem!reader x prince!kai   cw not proofread   wc 787   request @jihyokat for kai + gleaming gemstones for the 3k event   note this fic being the first event one kinda broke my writers block id say??? it's been a while since i've even touched my google docs and written a sentence, but this was super fun to write and these tropes are always some of my favs to work with hehe. i hope you enjoy lexi!!   net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet

You were no princess. Growing up in poverty, you were always detached from high society and royalty. Riches, luxury, exquisite food and elegant clothing— all were foreign to you. But it changed when you were hired by the royal palace as a maid and ran into Kai almost immediately by accident. 

Being so unused to the winding hallways of the castle that seemed to never end, you quite easily got lost on your first day at the job. What was supposed to be a simple task of delivering a basket of fresh fruit to the kitchens turned into a 30 minute tour of random halls on probably the opposite side of the palace. How else would you have ended up in the prince’s quarters?

Despite your rocky start, you seemed to have extraordinary luck that day, running into the prince himself who found the whole ordeal quite amusing (and you, quite adorable). Prince Kai kindly offered to show you the way to the kitchens, and anywhere else in the palace until you memorized the routes yourself. And you, eager to not endure the same embarrassment again, took him up on it. 

Not a single thought crossed your mind on how inappropriate such a thing might be, talking and walking casually with royalty so soon. Kai didn’t seem to mind, and you didn’t begin to question it until much, much later. Six months to be exact. After that first meeting, you had gotten quite close with the young prince. It was only when you started to feel strange fluttery feelings whenever you were around him that you realized just how bad the situation was.

You were staff. Kai was legions ahead of you in status. Not even taking into consideration the opinion of the public, just by maintaining a relationship with him, you were certainly breaking basic code of conduct. There was no future with him to be seen, whether as a friend or lover. So, you decided it would be best to cut it off before it became more painful.

Unfortunately, you were already in too deep. So was Kai.

“It’s a gift,” Kai explained quietly. “For you,” he added as clarification, as if it wasn’t already obvious. It shouldn’t have been, given the circumstances. 

It was late in the night and Kai had summoned you to his chambers. Privately, of course. He knew the repercussions you might face if people found out, and he was mindful of that. You were grateful for his precautions, although in the back of your mind you were on edge by all of it. How beautiful Kai looked, moonlight shining across his face. The delicate silver necklace with a shining precious sapphire set in the middle of it resting in the palm of his hand. The way your heart was thumping in your chest, the urge to fall into his arms getting stronger by the second.

How much you loved him was dangerously growing each day. Your mind reminded you of how little hope there was to be with him, but your heart did not care. You were sane away from him, but as soon as he was in front of you, no thought or reason reached you. Your heart behaved autonomously, and Kai directed every decision it made.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, truly mesmerised at the sight of the gem. It almost glowed with its clarity, and you could see the light of the moon reflected off of its polished edges. Kai moved closer, wrapping the chain loosely around your neck. He carefully fastened it, securing the precious stone to its rightful place: decorating your neck. 

“There. Just as I thought. You look stunning, Y/n,” he said earnestly, taking a hold of your hands. The warmth of his palms made your heart jump, and his words gave you feeble hope.

“I love you.”

You had said it before, and you decided you would say it again. A million times over if you could. No matter how wrong. No matter how forbidden, or unheard of. You were uttering those words to the prince of the nation. You. No one else. And that gave you a sense of belonging that only Kai could bring out of you.

As long as he trusted your place by his side, why should you let the arbitrary rules of the world tell you otherwise? He was the only thing that mattered, and you would only take his thoughts into consideration.

For once, you fully accepted the flurry of feelings; the connection between you and Kai that was so unexpected but felt so right. Your hearts beating in sync, fully devoted to one another. 

He was your jewel, and he shined his brightest only for you. 

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,,

@wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,,

@bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,,

@nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees

[akutasoda]

* ☆ my heart's wish, a lover's gift

╰➜ wriothesley x reader

synopsis - it was, was a humble wish. but sometimes they mean the world when they come true

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, small teensy bits of angst, maybe a tad ooc, probably the most cliche thing i'll ever write, wc - 2.5k

a/n: this is my secret santa fic dedicated to the one and only, super amazing sunni @scribs-dibs which i totally didn't rewrite completely with 5 days before the deadline... ahem- hope you enjoy this sunni!! im wishing you the absolute best and more, happy holidays :)

it was always a commonly known fact that wriothesley was always quite the busy man.

he spent most of his time down in the fortress. it was his job after all. although ever since you came into his life, wriothesley did try and spend more time away from the damp depths of the fortress - but when that wasn't entirely possible you could always count on letters back to you or even taking the initiative and visiting him yourself.

even during the holidays wriothesley was still required to be at the fortress, to nobody's surprise. he didn't exactly have the most flexible schedule and definitely didn't have defined holidays or even days off. so you weren't that disappointed to find out that he wouldn't have the winter holidays off as you expected that to be the case.

although that still didn't take the sting of realisation away. even a simple walk down the streets of fontaine could be a painful reminder of how little you saw the man you cherished so. seeing most people smiling and interlocking arms with their spouses or even simply being with their friends was a reminder painful enough to bubble that bitter feeling of loneliness back to the front of your mind.

even being home didn't help very much - opening the door to you and wriothesley's shared abode just to be greeted with silence was always a cold reminder as to where your lover was most of the time, at least the fortress was livelier than the lone rooms of the abode.

you often found solace in the fact that you knew that wriothesley would rather be spending his time with you. but the simple truth was that you loved him and he loved you, so you bore the cold isolation until he returned once more as you knew it would be worth the wait.

but was it really so much of an absurd wish for him to be home a bit more?

it was christmas eve.

the final chills of winter were more evident than ever, promising a few more days of sheer cold. but your day had been its same monotonous routine. a couple of errands had been run and companions of yours had been met - namely as most would be busy the following day.

but you were running out of things to do, ways to distract yourself. a part of you wondered if you could ever get someone to give wriothesley time off, although you had simply no clue on who would even be responsible for something like that

the streets of fontaine had never looked prettier. at least it was a pleasant sight while you wallowed in your own thoughts and dejection.

“may i ask what's weighing on your mind?” the calm, rather distant, voice served to startle you and scurry your thoughts away.

you looked to find neuvillette walking closer to you until he stood beside you, a quizzical yet composed look on his face.

your gaze became slightly downcast and you shook your head in an attempt to send a silent, unspoken, signal of “don't worry about me” before you looked up at him to finally verbalise something, something unrelated to his previous question

"what brings you out here at this time? surely you're quite busy?” and your assumption would be correct, it was barely the evening and so from what you remembered, neuvillette would most likely still be occupied with some kind of work

he let a small reassuring smile grace his face before briefly explaining something about having a break and taking a moment for himself

before he stopped briefly before continuing on a rather different train of thought, “apologies i digress from my true intentions, i'm here specifically to give you a message”

now it was your turn to be confused, “me? from who and what about?”

“i'm afraid it isn't that kind of message, as they only asked for me to ask you to meet them here” neuvillette hummed as he handed you a rather scruffy note

you read it's contents and something was itching at the back of your brain, you knew that handwriting. it looked so familiar yet you couldn't place exactly who it would've belonged to - perhaps your mind was too occupied to think clearly.

a brief thank you and a bid farewell was exchanged between the both of you as you began to make your way to the location. a million and one thoughts raced through your mind as to who would've wanted to see you right now, or even simply who.

it didn't take long at all for the named destination to be reached, neither did it take long for you to start thinking it was some kind of joke as it appeared nobody was there. maybe you were early? neuvillette wasn't exactly the kind to get himself caught up in jokes or pranks.. in your eyes anyway.

you looked down to the piece of paper again, rereading those same words, the handwriting still so painfully familiar yet completely lost on you as to who the owner was.

you flipped it over to see if you missed anything but the blank space led to that idea being quickly shut down. looking up again, you scouted the area to see if anyone was in the distance at least but yet again being greeted by the streets being bathed in an eerie silence, devoid of life.

a few minutes had passed since you arrived, it was cold and the evening certainly wasn't getting any earlier, so you decided that if this person didn't show up in the next couple of minutes you would just go home and confront neuvillette tomorrow. hopefully getting him to tell you who gave him the note and told him to deliver it.

just as you sighed to yourself, you heard footsteps approaching. looking around yet again, you managed to quickly deduce just where they were coming from - mainly by the distant shadow shrouded figure that was heading in your direction.

your eyes narrowed, attempting to try and deduce who it was and you swore from the figures stature and outline that you knew who it was immediately. but it couldn't be no? he would've told you if he had finally been granted time off.

your train of thought, and even slight bewilderment, was very quickly cut off when the figure got close enough for you to start distinguishing features.

features that undoubtedly belonged to your lover, the very same who you were not expecting to see anytime soon.

it took all your strength not to practically run and throw yourself at him - and judging from the way he stopped briefly before picking up the pace, nearly breaking out into a jog, wriothesley was fighting a similar battle.

although, he was losing his. as soon as wriothesley was in a reasonable range of you, he virtually tackled you into a hug. knocking you off balance to the point you would've fallen over should he have not been holding you.

wriothesley quickly had one arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as his over arm worked its way up to allow him to place it over your shoulder, holding the base of your neck. at this point he was practically squishing you, but for now you couldn't care less.

you began to relax into his grip, slowly beginning to attempt to wrap your arms around his frame. it was almost as if the bitter cold of winter was long forgotten and the evening could slip away freely as for right now, all that mattered was that wriothesley was here. in your arms, embracing you after so long.

although it was only a matter of time before you started questioning why he was here. it wasnt that you didn't want him here, if anything it was the exact opposite but

it was simply the fact that you kind of expected him to not have the time to be with you anytime soon.

he pulled away first, it wasn't as if you had the option to anyway with his bear grip making it near impossible, but he brought your hands into each of his as he did so, holding them low. almost as if he couldn't believe himself that he was actually with you.

wriothesley could see your slightly confused expression and he could take quite the accurate guess as to what was the cause of your confusion. so he soon broke the air of silence between you

“you didn't really think i'd let you spend the season alone, did you?” his expression was one that was somewhere between a smug smile and genuine slight amusement that stemmed partly from his curiosity.

the obvious answer was yes.

you knew he wouldn't have done so intentionally, but it was pretty much expected that wriothesley was always more likely to be stuck deep in the depths of the fortress rather than in the comfort of your shared abode. so you hadn't expected him to be around, and even the mere thought of him having the holiday off seemed like wishful thinking on your end.

and he hadn't exactly told you otherwise at any point prior.

slowly, and slightly embarrassingly, you shook your head no and he let out a small awkward laugh

he smiled, “i don't blame you, even i only knew a couple of hours ago after i managed to fight my way into gaining these next couple days due to-”

his reasoning was soon lost to you.

rather admittedly, you couldn't actually care less about how or why he was granted a holiday and you definitely wouldn't question it in risk of jinxing him, somehow causing him to lose it and then he would end up going back to the fortress.

wriothesley quickly clocked your lack of interest in his reasoning and shook his head subtly, stopping his explanation which was losing its point by the second in honesty.

“nevermind, all that matters is that i'm here now and able to spend my time with you”

and with that, wriothesley gave you a smile, “so, how about we head home now yeah? it certainly isn't getting lighter”

you nodded.

wriothesley let go of both your hands, walking away in the direction of your shared home with you by his side. but it barely took a minute before he interlocked his fingers with yours on the side that was between you both.

he raised your hand in his slightly, “how about we stay like this for the journey? wouldn't want your hands to get cold now would we?” he smirked slightly at seeing you practically stare at him in disbelief.

all of sudden, the streets of fontaine seemed all the more brighter and livelier - despite actually having less people in them.

the lights twinkled brighter, illuminating a soft glow onto wriothesley's features as he talked to you about whatever was on his mind, namely what you both could do tomorrow with his day off.

you couldn't help but stare shamelessly at the joy evident on his face - something that was caused by the fact that he was thrilled to be able to simply spend time with you.

the walk home felt unreasonably quick, perhaps you were simply longing for more small moments like that wishing that they never ended - even if the end goal was back at home, with wriothesley by your side which only meant more time with him in retrospect.

upon opening the door, your shared abode feeling warmer and happier despite nothing actually physically being changed.

wriothesley stayed glued to your hip at all times. barely sparing you a minute to yourself but it wasn't as if you minded that much. he followed you like a lost puppy as you went about whatever you had to do, occasionally, and very regretfully, he would part from you to do his own thing before sprinting back to you.

and before you both started getting ready to turn in for the night, he turned to you, smiling softly as he brought you in for a kiss - one that held many apologies from his end but still carried the same warm feeling of affection, almost as if it was a promise.

a silent vow to you - one that pledged that no matter what, he would always hold an unmatched love for you and how he would always return to your embrace wherever it may be as that was his home.

you awoke the next morning, in your grogginess you could swear last night was a dream. some kind of wishful thinking to keep your mind occupied from a bitter reality. fortunately, it wasn't.

it would be hard to believe it was when you could feel wriothesley clinging onto you like some overgrown puppy, almost as if he was too scared to let go of you for his own fear of it being a dream as well.

but it was in fact a welcome reality, as opposed to the one you were more acquainted with of waking up to a usual half empty bed that was always stone cold to the touch.

he stirred when you did, pulling you even closer toward him, a silent plea for you to allow him to indulge in the gentle warmth that was provided by the air of laziness that was still very much present in the morning air. and who were you to reject him?

and to sweeten the deal, wriothesley began peppering your face in gentle kisses. opening his eyes ever so slightly and giving you a syrupy warm smile that was infectious - his messy bed hair making him all the more charming, evidence that this was one of the best rests he'd had in a long time.

it was this domesticity that you both craved.

the snugness of having small moments like this to give the reminder of what kept you two together. love so much more present in these times. just the two of you, in your shared house, not even doing anything, but it was more than enough.

you both could bare those bitter droughts of being away from one another if it meant that this was always what you two could return too and treasure.

truly all you could ever wish for was wriothesley back home in your arms - and he would do anything to fulfil that wish.