#but then she finds out he made one for her too

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - During

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was too late, and something was brewing. The fate of your wings rested in the balance and there was nothing left of him to reconcile with.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, injury, violence

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. The next part is going to be long guys <3 Thank you for reading all of this angst!!!

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The ground beneath Azriel’s feet must have disappeared. 

He was unstable, falling, plummeting into an unknown abyss. 

When he looked down, Azriel saw the plush carpet at his feet, but as he replayed Rhysand’s words—four words, echoing—the blur behind his eyes made the physical obsolete. We can’t find her, Rhysand had said, followed by a multitude of questions from Cassian that Azriel could not hear. Everything was buzzing and the carpet was gone. 

Where was Lucien? Azriel remembered that Lucien was to go with you. Where was he? 

He had to be dead because if he were alive and you were missing, Azriel would kill him himself. 

“Lucien,” Azriel spoke, his voice rough, interrupting the conversation he had not been part of. 

“What?” Rhysand asked. 

But Cassian ignored his High Lord’s confusion. “She was never bringing Lucien,” he growled, throwing his brother a sneer. “She only said that to make sure you went on your date. I told her I should’ve come. I told her—” 

Azriel had lost his breath. He was grappling for it, trying to make sense of Cassian’s words as his lungs began to burn, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? Why would you lie to him? Over something like this? 

“Cassian, enough,” Azriel gasped, the buzzing of his brother’s voice a constant barrier in the losing battle within his head. “Who’s looking for her? Where should we go?” 

Azriel was dressed in a ridiculous button-up shirt with slacks that now felt too tight on his legs. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his shadows took advantage of the open space, trailing up to protect him from nothing. Because nothing was here—he wasn’t in danger. 

You were. 

Azriel had only gotten through drinks with Elain before the call from his High Lord sent him into the sky. He couldn’t remember if he apologized. Azriel’s shoes were pinching his feet. 

“I had just lost connection with her when I called you. I sent her to the northeast camp. There’s a possibility that—” 

Azriel was traveling through the shadows, darkness consuming him before Rhysand could finish his sentence. He should have grabbed Cassian for backup, but that was a thought Azriel would only have much, much later. 

His mind was on you—only on you. 

That wasn’t unnatural for Azriel; you were one of the most important people in his life and you had been in trouble before. Life-threatening, war-induced trouble, but somehow, this felt different. 

You had been distant lately. 

Azriel had noticed, but Azriel had also been so zeroed in on getting Elain’s attention that he figured he would have time to check on you in a few weeks. 

When he landed in the camp, the foreboding quiet made him consider that he might never get to check on you again. Illyrian camps were never quiet. There was always shouting or fighting or nagging mothers getting after their young. But the insects in the bushes could be heard in this camp, and Azriel paused amid his racing heart to make sense of the noise. 

And then he heard the scream. 

Your scream.

And he was running. 

His shoes groaned as they pounded into soft dirt and you screamed again. Azriel had never heard that sound come from you. The way it erupted into the air—it was as if it was ripped from your throat, evoked from nothing but agony. 

He pushed himself harder, faster, until the screams became closer and a small hut materialized on the horizon. The image of the quaint house brought Azriel relief, but that relief was short-lived because your screams had become tired in his journey. With each step, your voice broke more and more and Azriel didn’t even feel angry. 

The rage he expected to feel was consumed by the terror that gripped him. 

He ripped open the door and that terror only increased tenfold. 

Azriel was usually focused during battle, his mind razor-sharp. He was known for calculating every step, for remembering each life he took, and being able to recount each slice of his blade when asked for a report days later. Azriel was a warrior and a spy. 

But Azriel could not remember his actions. 

From the moment he opened the door and found you on the ground, surrounded by enemies and so broken, he lost the ability to calculate anything other than death. 

He figured a few must have gotten away because he vaguely registered that the door made a sound. But over the screams, that sound was inconsequential, and with the image of you before him, lying in your blood, chest only minutely rising and falling, everything else was inconsequential. 

He only remembered that the rage finally found him. 

Only when bodies littered the floor did the anger make way for the visceral fear that came with reaching for you—grabbing you as you let out small, weak sounds and took labored breaths. 

“Y/n?” Azriel stressed, eyes roving over your figure with haste that his hands couldn't match. He had to be careful; so much of you was broken. “Y/n,” he spoke again, as if the echo of your name would somehow fix you, snap you out of the hurt. 

Azriel’s breath quivered. His scarred hands hovered over your skin now, afraid to touch you more than to bring you into his arms. His fingers shook. Your wings—it was your wings. 

“You’re okay,” Azriel affirmed, whispering only to himself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

Salt tainted the surface of his tongue, and Azriel then recognized that he was crying. Fat, heavy tears blurred his vision and fell into his mouth as he repeated his mantra into the stagnant air. 

Your wings looked beyond repair. When Hybern destroyed Cassian’s, the roots remained. The delicate flesh was burned and torn, but regrowth was still feasible.

Only small pieces of the membrane along your back remained. 

Azriel’s soul wept. 

You groaned, and Azriel stopped his inspection of your back, his hands brushing your hair off from where it stuck to your skin. 

“Y/n?” he tried again. “Can you hear me? I’m—I’m going to bring you home, okay? You’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

He shouldn’t have promised that. His voice broke as he spoke the words and Azriel knew he shouldn’t have promised that because you only let out a broken rendition of ‘my wings?’ that Azriel had no response to. He only squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your temple before shadows consumed him once more. They had been rampaging around the pair, whispering worried, angry words in Azriel’s ear, but they remained faithful. 

They brought you home. 

Mor screamed first. 

He assumed everyone would be out looking for you, but Azriel hadn’t broken the connection to Rhysand’s mind, and they had been expecting him. His family stood before him as your blood stained the rug of his High Lord’s favorite sitting room. Rhysand was missing, gone to retrieve Madja, but Azriel was only looking for those he knew could help you. 

His throat caught on air as he frantically searched for Feyre in the room. When he saw her wide eyes, he let out a desperate, “Help her,” that sounded nothing like him. His High Lady’s shoulders rose and fell with hurried panic as she came forward and then hesitated. 

Azriel heard someone vomit in the corner of the room—Cassian, he thought—and Mor came to kneel beside him. 

“Feyre,” he sobbed. “Please. Please, try.” 

Mor was crying. Cassian had wiped his mouth and come to stand beside Feyre, but everyone was too afraid to touch you. You rested in Azriel’s arms, but even his palms remained face up and did not connect with your skin. He would break you more, he was sure of it. Your wings bent at odd angles and hung from your body by only tethered threads and no one knew what to do. 

Azriel thought that dying would be better than this. 

His button-up was stained red. 

“Fuck.” Rhysand’s voice rattled the air in the House. At some point, Feyre had broken her hesitancy and kneeled before you, a gentle glow emitting from her hands as she tried to stitch together the broken remains of your skin. When her mate appeared with the elder healer, she turned wild eyes towards him. Rhysand stood frozen, mimicking each person in the room, but he was the High Lord—a composed leader—so his reverie lasted only seconds before he was sent into action. 

“The table,” Rhysand demanded. “Lay her on the table.” 

No one moved. 

Azriel couldn’t stop looking at you. 

Madja then spoke, no, demanded, “Now.” 

The table was cleared, everything swiped to the floor with abandon. As gently as he could, Azriel rose from the floor on shaking legs and heaved you up with him, offering soft apologies as you cried out. He wished you would pass out from the pain, be free of it all, but the agonizing reality that you might not wake up struck him harder. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against your hair. His body ached. Azriel leaned you against the table as the other members of his family turned you on your stomach. He kneeled to meet your lidded gaze, your face pressed against the wood. “Madja’s going to fix it, okay?” 

The healer was giving orders—Cassian to get water, Mor to support your head, Feyre for support. It was all a buzz in Azriel’s ears. He licked his lips and tried to meet your eyes, but they were trailing off, unfocused. 

“Y/n?” he tried. “Angel?” A name he had dropped once Elain came into the picture. Your lashes fluttered. His attention peaked. “It’s okay, angel. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry—” 

Azriel was torn from his position on the ground, a heavy hand shoving him up and against the wall. His shadows remained caressing your skin, but a fist met Azriel's face and he lost sight of you. 

“This is your fault.” 

“Cassian!” Mor called, desperately pleading with no one. 

“It is,” Cassian seethed, his arm pressed to the Shadowsinger’s throat. “If he hadn’t been searching for something with a woman not even meant to be his, he would have been there. She would have said anything to ensure your happiness. Anything, Azriel.” 

Azriel blinked and Cassian’s face was inches from his own. “I didn’t—” 

“You have been blinded, brother. You’ve been blind for years and now this is the price.” 

“I don’t—what are you saying?” Azriel pleaded, trying and failing to look over Cassian’s broad wings to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Cassian, this is not the time,” Mor scolded, but the anguish burned so deeply in Cassian’s eyes that Azriel could tell he wasn’t hearing her. 

“She gave you everything,” his brother continued. “She—” 

Your scream punctuated the building tension in the room. Cassian whipped around and Azriel used the opportunity to shove him away, the Shadowsinger racing to your side once again. But, once again, he was pushed away. Rhysand held his shoulder back this time, shaking his head with a furrowed brow. 

The screams echoed in the room and they hurt. 

They hurt everyone. 

Feyre and Mor stood beside Madja, the three of them set to the fruitless task of saving your wings. A small part of Azriel spoke the truth that they were also just trying to save you. You had lost so much blood and he still knew nothing of your other injuries. 

“Rhys,” Azriel begged, beseeching him with his gaze. 

But Rhysand only shook his head once more. “They need the space.” 

“She needs me.” 

Cassian scoffed and ground his jaw, but a glance in the general’s direction found only tears and the quivering of his lips as he pressed them together. 

“You need to let them work.” 

“This is my fault,” Azriel spoke, his tone dead, lost within the echo of your screams. “I was seeing Elain,” he admitted. He met Rhysand’s eyes. “You told me not to. She lied so I could go.” 

Rhysand didn’t even look disappointed. He didn’t look surprised. He only ticked his jaw to the side and breathed deeply through his nose as your screams filled the room once more. 

Azriel flinched. The soles of his shoes were caked with blood and cracked along the stitches. 

Rhysand would have the right to be angry. He had the right to send Azriel away and force him to sit in uncertainty and the consequences of the night, but Rhysand found something familiar in the Shadowsinger’s eyes—something different. Something that Rhysand could find in himself if he were to search his mind from the night he thought Feyre to be dead. 

Impossible, the High Lord assumed, but you were still screaming and there was no time to inspect the intricacies of Azriel’s reaction. 

So Rhysand only held back the maelstrom of his own emotions, his sister broken on the table just feet from him, and kept his response to that of a leader. 

“Let them work, Azriel.”

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 1

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

It was late enough that the House of Wind had quieted down for sleep. Late enough that it was dark outside…Late enough that her room was pitch black. Irena was curled underneath her duvet, staring at the wall when she felt the first touch.

Not from another person. Oh no.

This touch was utterly magical.

Irena felt her mate’s shadows wrap around her wrist softly, feeling slightly cool to the touch and squeeze slightly in greeting.

“He’s home?” she breathed the question. The shadows squeezed twice in answer. “Can you bring me to him?” Irena requested softly.

Two more squeezes.

She held her breath as the shadows descended on her. Not even the wards of the House of Wind were a match to them if they really wanted.

Azriel had explained it to her once…told her about the difference between winnowing and the shadow walking he did, from one patch of shadows to the next…

And for her…for her these shadows were more than willing to bend the rules. They snuck her from the Priestesses’ dormitory to her mate’s room and back again before anybody was the wiser. 

Irena reappeared in one corner of his room moments later, her eyes blinking as she took in the faelights that were still on. The curtains were drawn and she watched the shadows lock the door and pull back the thick, heavy furs that covered his bed.

They were there just for her. Irena seemingly was always cold. So Azriel had made it his mission to find her the thickestfurs he possible could for her to cuddle underneath…

 In her own room she only had woolen blankets and a few crinkly quilts. None of these ever managed to keep her as bone deep warm as her mate did. But then, she hadn’t dared to take any fur back to her room yet. She was worried that then it was maybe a bit too obvious that she had an illyrian warrior go hunting whenever he could so that she was wrapped in warmth. 

Irena could hear water in the bathroom, so she simply limped to the bed, regretting the fact that she hadn’t brought her cane. She winced as she made her way across the room, the pain from her injury flaring up…she sighed as soon as she reached the bed, relieved that she could sink down onto the soft mattress.  

Irena buried herself in the thick furs, letting out a sigh of contentment. The bed smelled like her mate, like mist and cedars, and she breathed in deeply, taking comfort in his scent.

The sound of the running water stopped and Irena sat up slightly, anticipation coiling in her stomach. A moment later, Azriel stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp from his shower and bare chested.

She swallowed at that sight.

She couldn’t help herself, her eyes traveling over Azriel’s broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest and the ridges of muscle in his stomach. The linen pants he wore draped low on his hips, and she couldn’t help but admire the sight of him…It wasn’t until Azriel cleared his throat that Irena realized that she was staring, and she tore her eyes away, feeling a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“I see the shadows were impatient,” he told her with a crooked smile. She looked up at him, her heart beating a little faster at the sound of his voice. "They may have been a little enthusiastic," she replied, her smile a little shy.

He crossed the room in five quick strides, his wings trembling…and then he was suddenly near enough that she could reach out to cup his cheek.

“Cauldron, I missed you,” he whispered, leaning into her touch.

Irena felt a rush of warmth at his words. "I missed you too," she replied softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. "The days feel longer when you're gone."

She could see the weariness in Azriel's features, the tightness around his eyes and the lines on his forehead. "You look exhausted," she said softly, concern lacing her voice.

Azriel let out a breath. "It was a long mission," he admitted, sitting down next to her on the edge of the bed. "But now I'm home."

Irena reached out, taking his hand in hers. "And I'm glad you are," she said, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "You can rest now."

Azriel looked at her, his expression softening. "Being here with you is already making me feel better," he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead

She tipped her head up…and then he brushed a soft little kiss against her lips and she melted.

Being with him…not once had he hurt her. Not once had he laid a single finger on her in a way that hurt. She had never thought she would have that. Not after what she had endured before. Not after what had happened to her.

Every priestess had their own scars. Some rougher than others. Some more visible.

The limp that Irena was left with was one of the more obvious ones.

She leaned into the kiss, her arms coming up to wrap around Azriel's shoulders. She knew that he would never hurt her, knew that he respected her boundaries and her space in a way that no one ever had.

She shifted when she felt the twinge in her hip, but he already picked up on it.

“The weather?” He asked her softly as he moved them, slipping her under the many many furs and then joining her.

Irena nodded. "It always acts up when it's about to rain. And the weather lately has not done me any favors." She sighed, snuggling into his arms. "But I'm alright. Just a little stiff. Your hands?” She asked softly.

Azriel flexed them slightly, thumb brushing against the naked skin of her forearm. "Do they hurt?" she asked, her voice gentle. She knew that he had been in pain for so long, that his hands were a constant reminder of it. 

Azriel shook his head. "Not right now," he said softly. "Holding you makes it better." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck and taking a deep breath.

Irena felt a rush of warmth at his words, her heart fluttering in her chest. "I'm glad," she said softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Being with you makes everything better for me too."

Everything.

She heard a growl from somewhere to her right, muffled through the walls and she pinked, just as Azriel sighed.

“One day he will learn how to use a damn sound shield,” he muttered under his breath, even when a thin blue film was already surrounding them. Blessed silence.

Irena couldn't help but chuckle at Azriel's muttered remark about his brother. "Well, we all have our shortcomings," she said teasingly. "At least you know how to use a sound shield."

Azriel just rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to her temple.

They kept their relationship quiet. It hadn’t even been on purpose at first. It had just happened.

Nobdoy knew. They both quite liked. Maybe in another year or two. Maybe in a decade.

Who knew. Until then it was just them. And nobody needed to know about it.

Irena smiled as she rested her head against Azriel's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. 

She liked the secretiveness of their relationship, the way it was just theirs. And maybe, in another year or two, they would reveal it to the world. But for now, she was content just being here with him, cherishing every moment they had together.

She sighed, feeling a sense of contentment settle over her. "Just us," she said softly, her fingers drawing idle patterns on his skin. "That's all I need."

Azriel hummed agreement, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "Just us," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She fell asleep like that, safely and warmly ensconced in his arms. She was safe, she was warm, and she was loved. And there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be.

The night seemingly was too short. 

Irena stirred awake to the feel of soft kisses being pressed to her face. She opened her eyes to find Azriel's face hovering over hers, a soft smile on his lips. "Good morning," he whispered, his voice rough with sleep.

She smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. "Good morning," she replied, her voice drowsy as she stretched out, feeling the stiffness in her hip from sleeping on her bad side.

"How's your hip feeling?" Azriel asked, his gaze going to where she had been massaging the sore spot.

Irena flexed her leg slightly, wincing as she did. "A bit stiff, but manageable," she said, trying to sit up. Azriel immediately helped her, propping some pillows behind her back to help her sit upright.

She smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's always worse in the morning, but once I get moving, it loosens up."

Azriel nodded, rubbing circles on her hip with his thumb. "I know," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "I just wish I could take your pain away."

She reached up, gently tracing her fingers over his face. "Just having you here helps," she said earnestly. "You make everything better, Az."

Azriel's eyes softened at her words, a small smile quirking his lips. "I'm glad I can be here for you," he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "You make everything better for me too."

Another kiss before he sat back. 

“What are your plans for today?” He asked her sweetly.

“Paperwork,” she said drily. “Look through some new research topics and tell people off if it’s an insane endeavour. Figure out what to do with the overflow of brussel sprouts Ananke has managed to produce in our garden.” 

Azriel made a face at the mention of brussel sprouts. "Ah, yes, the brussel sprouts. I had almost forgotten about those," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "I have my own pile of paperwork and reports to get through, so I'll be stuck at my desk today. But at least we'll be miserable together." He leaned in to press a quick kiss to her forehead "The shadows will bring you tea,” he promised her softly. 

Irena smiled at Azriel's teasing and the promise of tea.

They always did that. Ever since the mating bond had snapped nearly 2 years ago…whenever she was alone, Azriel’s shadows made a pest out of themselves. They plied her with tea and cookies and made sure she actually went to all the meals. Kinda like an extremely fussy pet that insisted that their owner kept themselves fed and watered.  But they were so sweet about it that she couldn’t manage to make herself dislike it. 

She loved it. 

"That sounds lovely," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'll hold them to that tea delivery. And we can commiserate over our paperwork mountains this evening."

Azriel chuckled. " And I'll listen to you rant about all the ridiculous research proposals you get. You have the patience of a saint, you know that?" he told her seriously. . 

Irena laughed. "Oh, I have lost my patience more than once with some of those proposals," she said with a grin. "But someone has to keep the rest of the scholars in check. And it looks like today, that someone is me."

He pressed a last kiss against her forehead…and then the shadows whisked her away, making her reappear on her own bed, the soft light of early morning filtering through her curtains. She smiled at the thought of Azriel using his shadows to sneak her back into her room. He was always thinking of others, always trying to make things easier for her.

She pushed herself up out of bed, wincing slightly as her hip protested the movement. It was time to face the day.

***

“How did your talk with Merrill go?” Emerie asked Gwyn curiously. Nesta only listened with half an ear during the cooldown stretches.

“She was in the same good mood as always,” Gwyn muttered.

Nesta rolled her eyes. "I don't know how you handle her, Gwyn. She's always so...Merrill."

Gwyn chuckled. "Yeah, well, I've learned to just let her comments roll off my back. It's not worth getting worked up over…and it it gets really bad, I’ll tell Irena.”

Irena? “Who’s that?” Emerie voiced what Nesta was thinking.

“You haven’t met Irena yet?” Gwyn asked surprised. “Neither of you?!” 

Nesta just shook her head. 

She was pretty sure she had heard the names a few times…but Irena had never been one of the Priestesses that had turned up for training so Nesta had never really thought twice about it. 

Clearly an oversight. 

 “Irena is probably the only person Merrill respects other than Clotho. Officially she handle all the administrative tasks surrounding the library. Signs off on new acquisitions, on new research projects. You want a book we don’t have, you go to Irena,” Gwyn explained. “But that’s not all she does…she also handles all the other accounts and expenditures, and organises the sewing circle.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "So she's basically in charge of everything that's not related to actually shelving books," she said, her tone slightly dry. "Sounds like a busy job."

That was an understatement. 

Gwyn laughed. "Yeah, pretty much. And she's really good at it," she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. “And she always stays so calm, even when thinks are really hectic.” 

"She sounds like a saint," Emerie said with a laugh, stretching out her arms. "Any idea why Merrill respects her so much?"

“Irena isn’t somebody to be trifled with,” Gwyn said drily. “Also Merrill’s little party trick with the wind? Last time she did that to Irena, Irena told her that she lived through worse, so Merill could just stop behaving like a toddler that can’t control her magic.” 

Nesta smirked. "Well, that's certainly a way to shut someone up," she said amused. "Sounds like Irena isn't afraid to stand her ground. I like her already. Why doesn’t she come to training?”

“She can’t,” Gwynn said simply.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Does she have some sort of physical limitation?"

Gwyn hesitated for a moment before answering. "She does," she said finally. "She was severely injured before she came here and it left her with some lasting damage to her hip and leg. She can't do a lot of physical activity anymore, so training is out of the question. She can’t walk without using a cane.” 

Nesta's expression softened with sympathy. "That's rough," she said sincerely.

“She did tell everybody else to at least try it once though,” Geyn said with a smile. “At least the ones of us that are physically and mentally able. She does some stretching exercises for the ones with similar impairments to hers in the evenings a few times a week.”

Emerie nodded. "It's good that she's trying to help others in a way that she can," she said. "It's not easy to live with a physical limitation…” Emerie said softly and Nesta looked to these ruined wings that hung from her back. Emerie probably understood this better than most. She paused, then added, "I'd like to meet her sometime."

Gwyn smiled. "I'm sure you'll like her," she said warmly. "She's smart and incredibly kind. We can go see her this afternoon. She can usually be found in her office.”

That’s what they did. After training and lunch, Gwyneth walked them to an office near where Merrill’s was located. The door wasn’t closed all the way and Gwyneth knocked.

“It’s open!”

They stepped inside, finding themselves in a neat, organized office. A bookcase stood against one wall, covered in neatly stacked papers and ledgers.

Behind a desk sat maybe one of the most beautiful females Nesta had ever seen.

Pale ivory skin,  dark brown hair, carefully braided away from her face that fell to her waist and dark doe eyes. Tall and slim and delicate.

She looked up as they entered, eyes lighting up when she saw Gwyn.

"Gwyn," she said warmly, setting aside the papers she was working on. "What brings you by?"

"Hey, Irena," Gwyn said with a grin, approaching the desk. "We just came from training and decided to drop by and see you. I wanted to introduce you to Nesta and Emerie. I couldn’t believe that they haven’t met you yet!"

Irena rose from her chair, moving out from behind her desk to greet them. As she walked forward, Nesta was struck by the way she moved. There was a limp in her gait, noticeable and distinct, but she carried herself with confidence and grace. 

"It's lovely to meet you both," Irena said, offering them a warm smile and a nod of her head. "I’ve heard a lot about yout two. It's nice to finally put faces to names."

Nesta returned the smile. "Likewise," she said politely. "Gwyn told us that you’re the one who manages all the administrative work here. It must keep you busy.”

Irena nodded. "It certainly does. I try to keep everything running smoothly, from acquisitions to research to the accounts," she said with a chuckle. "It's a lot of work, but I enjoy it. It’s like running an estate. And I was raised to do that." She said that so simply. 

But of course, if she was indeed a…highborn girl, than that would have been what she was raised to do. It was what Nesta herself had been raised to do. 

"That's impressive," Emerie spoke up. "I don't think I could handle all that and keep my sanity intact. My shop was more than enough for me."

Irena laughed. She was even prettier when she laughed. "Oh, I'd be lying if I said it was always easy. There are definitely days where I question my own sanity. 

“Did you get new tea?” Gwyn complained at that moment. “I swear you always get the best one!” she was poking at the delicate dark blue teapot that stood on a low table. 

“I did. I think it’s from Dawn,” Irena answered. 

Gwyn pouted. "You always have the best tea," she said, pretending to sulk. "It's not fair."

Irena chuckled, gesturing towards the small table in the corner of the room where the steaming pot of tea sat. "Help yourself, Gwyn," she said, her tone fond. "You know where the cups are."

Gwyn beamed, already opening the cabinet beneath. "You're the best, Irena. You know that, right?" she said, pouring out a cup for herself and taking a sip…and then she suddenly found the plate of delicate, wafer thin, chocolate covered cookies next to it. “And cookies!” She gasped.

Irena just laughed. "Of course, you find the cookies," she said, her tone amused. "Just try not to eat them all, Gwyn. I do not have an infinite supply."

Gwyn just grinned at her, reaching for a cookie. "I make no promises," she said, biting into the cookie with delight.

“You’re welcome to tea and cookies, too, by the way,” she told Emerie and Nesta drily as she sat back down behind her desk. “I am sharing. I am nice like that.”

Emerie grinned. "Thanks, Irena," she said, helping herself to a cup of tea and grabbing a cookie. Nesta followed suit, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Irena's desk.

Irena looked up from her work, watching as Gwyn and Emerie made themselves comfortable with their tea and cookies. "So, what brings you to my office today? Other than the free food and drink, I mean. Not that I mind, of course." she said with a smile, her tone light and teasing.

Emerie took a sip of her tea before answering. "Gwyn was talking about you earlier, and we were curious to meet you. And also, the free food and drink is a bonus," she said with a shrug.

Irena chuckled. "Well, I'm happy to provide, then," she said, taking a sip of her own tea.

Gwyn grinned. "And the cookies are delicious, as always," she said, nibbling on one. "You always have the best treats here, Irena. It's like a little hidden perk of coming to visit you.”

Irena smiled. "It's the least I can do, considering all the work you girls do here," she said warmly. "You deserve a little something sweet every now and then."

“Irena?” There was another knock at the door, a priestess that Nesta was unfamiliar with. 

“Meera, what happened?” Irena asked immediately and Nesta took in the tear tracks on the other females cheeks.

“You told me to come to you if Merrill got…bad again.” Meera said weakly, arms crossed in front of her like she was holding herself together. “I don’t want to work with her anymore.”

Irena's expression immediately softened. "Oh, Meera, come in," she said gently, gesturing for the other priestess to enter. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Meera took a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling slightly. "I...I don't want to work with Merrill anymore," she said again, her voice quavering. "She was mean, Irena. She yelled at me for no reason, just because I asked her a question."

Irena's eyes narrowed at that. "I see," she said, her tone firm. "Thank you for coming to me, Meera. I'll speak with Merrill and make sure this doesn't happen again. You don't have to work with her anymore if you don't want to. There are plenty of other people you can partner with."

Meera sniffled. "Really? You can do that?" she asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "But...but Merrill said that I had to work with her because nobody else would want to, because I was too slow and clumsy and useless."

Irena's expression hardened, her spine straightening, and Nesta realised absentmindedly that beneath the exterior of a well brought up lady, was a spine of pure steel.  "Merrill had no right to say that to you," she said firmly. "You are not slow or clumsy or useless. You are smart and capable, and you deserve to be treated with respect. I will make sure that Merrill understands that, and that she apologizes to you properly."

Meera looked at her with wide eyes. "You...you really think so? That I'm smart and capable?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain. "I...I don't think Merrill would apologize. Not to me, at least. She never does."

Irena's expression softened again. "You are smart and capable, Meera," she said firmly. "Don't let Merrill make you doubt yourself. And I promise you, I will make sure that she does apologize. She may not like it, but she will do it. No one deserves to be treated the way she treated you." She gave Meera a reassuring smile. "Now go and rest. I'll handle everything from here. And if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to come to me. Alright?"

Meera nodded, sniffling again. "Okay," she said softly. "Thank you, Irena. I...I appreciate it. More than you know." She turned to go, slowly making her way back out the door.

"If you'll excuse me," Irena said grimly, rising from her seat. "I need to go have a word with Merrill now."

“She has been…especially crabby lately,” Gwyn said with a grimace. “I came to her with some research questions yesterday and she nearly bit my head off.”

Irena nodded, her expression hardening. "I've noticed," she said with s sigh. "And it's not just you, Gwyn. She's been snapping at everybody, and it's unacceptable."

Gwyn winced, “Yeah, she can be...a handful," she said tactfully. "But I don't know what's gotten into her lately. She's been worse than usual."

“I imagine it’s because I turned down her latest research proposal and told her that unless she finds a spell crafter to work with, it’s a no. ” Irena said darkly. “It’s too dangerous.”

Gwyn's jaw dropped. "You turned down one of her proposals?" she asked, stunned. "I thought you always approved everything she did, as long as it wasn’t something completely insane."

Irena sighed. "Usually, yes. But some of her recent ideas were too reckless an too dangerous. I can't let her conduct experiments without supervision, especially with the type of thing she's been proposing lately. The potential for harm is too high."

“What did she want to do?” Nesta sled curiously.

Irena's expression darkened. "She wanted to experiment with some very powerful and volatile forms of magic, without any safety measures in place. I am not letting her experiment with dismantling some ancients spells that we don’t even fully understand what they actually do. It was...too risky, too dangerous. I couldn't in good conscience allow her to proceed with such experiments." She shook her head. "It's not an easy job, being the one to tell her no, but it's necessary. We have to protect ourselves, each other, and the library.”

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, processing what Irena had told them. Finally, Gwyn asked in a small voice, "Do you think Merrill is okay? I mean...she's not usually this bad. Even when she gets mad or frustrated, she's never been this unreasonable, this mean before."

Irena's expression softened slightly. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know she's been under a lot of stress lately, and maybe I've been too lenient with her in the past. But this behavior is unacceptable. I'll do my best to get to the bottom of it and see if there's anything I can do to help, but Merrill has to be willing to accept help for anything to improve."

“Still her behaviour with the other priestesses can’t continue. This is the third time this week one of them came to me crying,” Irena said darkly.

Gwyn's eyes widened. "The third time? I didn't realize it was that bad."

“The third time,” Irena said with a sigh.  "I've been trying to keep an eye on her and keep her in line, but she's been pushing back hard lately. And it's not just with the acolytes either, she's been a terror to everyone. It's like she's a walking black cloud, just spreading her bad mood everywhere she goes."

Nesta's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you know what started all this? She's always been prickly, but this is on a whole other level."

“Merrill is used to get whatever she wants,” Irena said. “And when she doesn’t…, she can’t deal with that,” she said with a shake of her head. I know how difficult it is to deal with Merrill. Believe me, I'm used to it by now. But this behavior towards the other priestesses is can’t continue. She can't keep getting away with treating them poorly. It’s not fair to them, and it's not good for the library. Wish me luck,” Irena said drily, as she picked up an intricately carved cane. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Gwyn nodded, looking concerned. "Be careful, alright? Merrill's in a mean mood, and she's not exactly in the best state of mind right now. She might lash out at you."

Irena gave her a weary smile. "It's not the first time I've had to deal with her like this. I can handle it."

With that, she gathered up some paperwork and her cane and headed out the door. Gwyn watched her go, her expression worried. "I hope she'll be alright," she said softly. "Merrill can be quite vicious when she's riled up."

Nesta nodded in agreement. "She's always had a sharp tongue," she said. "But lately, she's been downright nasty. I can only imagine what Irena is walking into right now."

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst, some fluff, mentions of a miscarriage, just pure agony! wc: 1.8k inspired by the song 'touchy subject' by peach prc.

a white baby gate fixed in my hallway stays haunting the house with the angels we made; sometimes, i dream, a decade away, we meet in a grocery store; you look the same, with just a few grey hairs. the blonde little girl who tugs on your shirt with your smile looks nothing like me.

it had been four years since you had last been on kildare island; four years of trying to forget the life, or the ruined bones of one, that you'd been escaping from.

after ending your engagement with your fiancé, you'd traveled all around the country in your beat-up truck, hoping to find a place where you'd belong; only to end up back in the outer banks. they say there's no place like home, and in a way, it was true. you can leave kildare island, but kildare island will never leave you.

"everything okay?"

you're startled out of your thoughts by the melodic sound of your mother's voice, and when she follows your gaze to the baby-gate attached to the door leading to the kitchen, her mouth twists into a frown. "i was meant to take that down before you got here..." she chewed on her lower lip, a pang of guilt almost punching her in the chest.

"it's fine." you shrug, trying to lift the ends of your lips into a smile, only for it to look artificial and rehearsed. "i should start unpacking."

"alright." your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, but should've been a comforting gesture, made you feel like you were underwater and the hand was simply pushing you deeper.

you stood alone in the living room of your apartment, the only thing to be heard of was the ticking of the clock your mother had already mounted on the clock, mixed in with the sounds of passing cars, so unlike the day you first moved into the apartment, yet so much like the day you were last there.

"you should keep the apartment."

"rafe, i can't do that. it's way too much, and i'm leaving-"

"it's already in your name." the man sighed, smoothing his hand over his shaved head; he looked so different than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making him look like he had aged ten years, his usually tan face almost pale. "you can do whatever you want with it. keep it, sell it, i don't care. it's yours. i never want to step foot in this place again."

your feet were almost moving on their own, the hardwood floor cold under your feet, leading you to that door, and even though you felt your blood run cold, every cell of your body telling you not to open it, you couldn't help but nudge the door open.

you didn't know what you were expecting.

stepping into the room, you let your hand trail over the soft-pink wall, still remembering the smell of paint.

"you know, you shouldn't be doing that." he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "i can just hire someone to paint the walls."

you roll your eyes, your denim overalls covered in the soft pink paint as the paint stained the white wall, "i want to do this. i'm not gonna hire someone to do everything for me when i'm perfectly fine doing it on my own."

"you're not-"

"hush." you pointed the paint roller at rafe, "i'm doing this. now pick up a paint roller or quit whining."

you look down at the crib, lined with white lace, picking up the brown teddy bear that used to belong to you when you were a child, brushing your hand over the fur, straightening the pink bow around its neck.

hung above the crib, was a picture of a couple that had just gotten engaged, wide smiles on both of their faces; a couple that had once been so familiar to you, but now, it was like you couldn't recognize either of the people in the photos.

it felt like everyone was staring at you as they walked past you; four years clearly hadn't been long enough to make the people of outer banks forget about you, and as you made your way towards the local cafe, you couldn't help but think about how long it'd take for the person you didn't want to know you were in town to find out.

you were strolling down the street, rafe's hand in yours, your fingers intertwined. you licked the ice cream cone, deep in thought, letting rafe take the lead.

"what's going through that pretty head of yours?" he chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, your engagement ring glimmering under the sunlight.

"baby names." you shrug, "what should we name her?"

"do you have any names in mind?"

"i was thinking..." you pursed your lips, not sure if the name you had been considering would be appropriate or not, chewing on your lower lip as you turn your head to face your fiancé, an expectant smile on his lips and his brows lifted in question, "evelyn."

when the name left your lips, you saw his mouth fall open, and for a moment you thought that you never should've spoken, but after rafe cleared his throat, there was a clear smile on his lips, his blue eyes glassy.

"you- you uh, wanna name her after my mom?"

"yeah." you smile, squeezing his hand. "i do."

for the millionth night, you were laid in bed, looking through pictures, featuring the faces of the couple above the crib in the room next door. pictures with the man's arms wrapped around the woman's waist, ones of them holding hands, ones where one was pressing a kiss the other person's cheek, ones from the several midsummers parties they spent together, ones from halloween, thanksgiving, christmas...

the girl in the dress she had planned to wear on her wedding day.

"rafe, where are you taking me?" you laughed, the blindfold covering your eyes, "if the blindfold's for some kinky purpose, you better forget about it."

rafe laughed, continuing to lead you, his large hands on your waist, "come on, have a little faith in me. i'm not that bad, am i?"

"oh, you definitely are. just last week we were an hour late to ava's party because you just thought i was irresistible."

rafe snorted, "well, that's because you were." he pressed a kiss on your cheek, "you can take it off." he whispered, taking a step away from you.

untying the blindfold, you blinked a few times, letting yourself get used to actually being able to see again, only to be startled by the sight of your boyfriend on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, "rafe...?"

you wiped away the stray tear that had left your eye without permission before it could reach your jaw, continuing to scroll through the pictures, knowing that it'd be yet another sleepless night, but when you saw a picture of her, you paused.

you weren't sure who was more nervous, you or rafe, even though you were the one in the examination chair, your shirt pulled up and your rounded stomach on full display. his hand was tightly gripping yours, the man's jaw clenched.

"let's take a look, shall we?" the ultrasound technician smiled, and you nodded, feeling her spread the cold gel onto your stomach, a slight yelp leaving your lips, making rafe squeeze your hand even tighter. you looked to him, nodding reassuringly, speaking softly, "it's okay."

rafe's grip loosened slightly and he softened his grip, both of you turning your heads to the screen, and the moment you saw the little lump on the screen, you couldn't help but feel tears stinging in your eyes.

"look. that's our baby."

"shit..." rafe stared at the screen wide-eyed, letting out a low breath, "that's our baby."

just like on any average day on the island, the sun was shining, your skin radiating with warmth as you walked down the street, looking in through shop windows; it had been a few days since you'd first stepped outside, and it seemed like your arrival had become widespread news, and you didn't receive as many stares as you did before.

you arrived at rafe's door, bringing your hand up and pounding on the door before you could stop yourself and chicken out for the third time that week. you were a wreck, unable to sleep, to think about anything other than how much you knew you needed to talk to rafe.

you waited, tapping your foot against the ground and biting down on your lip, when finally, the door slowly started opening, a small smile forming on rafe's lips when he realized that it was you.

"hey baby," he chuckled softly, placing his hands on your waist, "you miss me so much you couldn't even text me to let you know you were coming?" he grinned.

"i have to talk to you." you pull away from his embrace, taking his hands off your waist, the blonde looking down at you with furrowed brows, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, clearly alarmed by the slight frown on your lips.

"what's wrong?"

"i'm pregnant."

without even realizing it, you had stopped in front of a jewelry store, gazing inside at the things on display as you were going down memory lane inside your head. you let out a small chuckle, about to step back and continue walking, when your blood ran cold, the smile fading away from your face, feeling as if someone had stabbed you in the heart.

to anyone else, it would've just been the backs of two random people. but even without seeing his face, you could recognize the only man you'd ever loved no matter where you went.

his short-sleeved white collared shirt was tucked into his dark jeans, riding up slightly as he ran a hand through his hair, having grown out slightly since the last time you'd seen it, his signet ring on his middle finger.

you saw him let out a chuckle, and you could almost picture how it'd sound, his hand going to rest on the back of the person he was with.

a younger woman smiled up at him, and even just from her side profile, you could tell that she was gorgeous, her flaming hair flowing over her shoulders, the smile on her face genuine, matching his.

and when you saw what she was holding up and showing to him, the knife in your chest was twisted.

an engagement ring.

[everythingspokenfor]

─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─

Being best friends with Bakugou has been one of the best things for you. He is a good hero, but a greater man. He cares even tho it may seem he doesn't.

Occasionally, complimenting the way Kirishima used he quirk, because he knows, how insecure he is about not having a "flashy" quirk. Pulling aside Kaminari, when he knows that overdoing his zaps, his brain fries. Looking out for Jirou, because he knows she stays quiet and sometimes overthinks things. Helping Mina design things for her agency under the disguise that he doesn't want it looking sloppy. Setting Sero straight when he knows he has gone off track.

Overall Bakugou looks out for his friends in a very subtle way. You notice it tho, you have been noticing it for few years now. Sharing an apartment with Bakugou has shown you a new side of him, you suppose. When he cooks beef, he makes 3 servings because the extra gets packed for Kirishima. When he makes brownie he makes a separate batch to send back to U.A. for Eri and co.

The cutlery he buys, always have to be in sets of 12, for when there is a family and friends dinner (even tho he jokes he doesn't like inviting extras).

He has a spare bedroom always equipped with new sheets and toiletries just in case someone wanted to crash in. His bathroom cabinets holding a container filled with extra brushes.

You know he cares. So you care for him too. You cook for him even tho your cooking skills aren't that good. You do his laundry separating the whites and blacks even tho you find it tedious. You dust around the house every once in a while too.

Hoping that may Bakugou figures out that you care for him too.

Tho you know he cares for you how he cares for everyone, cooking you food because you share an apartment and the responsibility that comes with it. Carrying a spare jacket because he knows, you desire to be fashionable will be taken over by your desire to be warm.

You wished he cared for you differently, perhaps it's selfish on your part to ask for more than what you are already given, but you can't help it. Especially when you know, how Bakugou cares when he loves someone.

You know she works at his agency, on the 4th floor, with pr department. Bakugou told you that. The day his team hired, you didn't thing you would loath someone you didn't even know back then.

Initially she was just a name, an employee then she became someone that was clumsy and funny. Then Bakugou told you, she smells like bakery and has a tendency to eat brownies during work. So the 2 brownie batches became 3. 3rd one being packed in pretty yellow boxes and taken to work the next day while you cleaned the brownie pans.

You suppose your jealousy subsided when you saw how happy he was. Meticulous Bakugou that woke up at 5 am to workout became Katsuki who woke up at 5 am and stood at his balcony giggling on the phone till 6. Beef servings became 4 because Kirishima told her that Bakugou cooks more then just sweets.

Always coming back home around 6 pm Bakugou turned into "I'll be staying at her place tonight" Katsuki.

Get togethers with friends became slightly suffocating because everyone talked about how happy she made him. Bakugou ducked his head and blossomed red till his ears. You teased him for it, throwing you head back and laughing. You knew he deserves happiness and you where glad she makes him happy.

It wasn't long before you met her. She was pretty, infact quite beautiful. Clumsy just like Bakugou told you, no wonder he found her endearing. She talked easily, always including everyone in the conversation. Despite that you felt like you were intruding, like it's not your apartment and as if you should look at the clock and bid farewell and leave.

You knew that apartment you moved in together after high school wasn't really a permanent home.

But you didn't realise you would want to move out so soon.

─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ─ ・┈ ・ ─

[moonchildstyles]

rosemary for halloween?👀

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Harry frowned at his reflection. 

While he loved (Y/N) more than anything, and would do anything for her, he wondered if he finally found limitations to that philosophy. 

Because dressing up like a sailor just to match with her for a Halloween party was beginning to look like the line he needed to draw in the sand. The ascot was bad enough, he doubted the hat that was looming on the bed behind him was going to make this outfit any better. 

The familiar sound of perfume being sprayed from the bathroom told Harry he didn't have much time left to fiddle with his costume before (Y/N) would appear to fawn over him and make him change his mind. In an impulse move, he attempted to tug off the ascot around his neck and hide it away in a pocket she could see. 

All hope was lost just as (Y/N) emerged from the bathroom in a plume of sparkles and sea salt. Her hair was styled full of pearls and glimmering sea glass clips, matching the shifting blue and purple iridescent glitter spread across her eyelids. There weren't many places on her body that weren't imbued with a sparkling sheen, giving the effect of shimmering mermaid skin. Her top was little more than a decorated bralette cinched in a thick band around her ribs, emulating a pair of scallop shells studded with pearls and shards of sea glass. Her high waisted bottoms were a tight fit around her hips and thighs before fanning out after her knees, mimicking that of a mermaid's tail. The material was a swirl of pearly threads, shifting with pinks and purples, teals and bioluminescent greens. Her bag for the night—the purchase that inspired the costume—was a golden seashell. 

Harry, distracted by the sight of the swathes of skin she had on display—a strip of her soft stomach, the slope of her neck and sparkling décolletage, her pretty, manicured hands—didn't catch the way her entire face lit up when she saw him. 

"You look so cute, honey!" she bubbled, rushing towards him with her hands reaching out towards his collar. 

(Y/N) preened over him, a bright smile on her glossy lips. The ascot he attempted to rip off was smoothed down, his shirt straightened, and the epaulettes on his shoulders patted down. 

He wanted so badly to keep up the attitude he gained while looking in the mirror, but not a shred of it remained when she smiled at him like that. 

"Y'like it?" he murmured, his own lips creeping into a short curl. 

"I love it!" She beamed up at him with her hands going stationary on the planes of his chest. "I know you weren't sure about it, but I'm so happy we match. Thank you." 

Moving on instinct, he lent down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring about the glitter that would no doubt transfer to his own skin. 

"'M happy we match too," he smiled against her skin, the tip of his nose knocking against her own, "I don't think anyone's going to be looking at me, anyway. Not when 'm standing next to you." 

Her grin turned giddy, only widening when Harry encouraged her to twirl before him. "Do you like it?! I think I put on too much body glitter, but I can't go back now." 

He shook his head. "'S perfect. Look like a real mermaid. Y'would have lured me right to the sea, no doubt." 

She keened under his attention, canting her head with a flutter of her lashes. "I couldn't do that, though—I wouldn't want to hurt you." 

"I'd learn how to breathe underwater, then," he answered simply. He would find any solution if it meant he could be with her. 

Her answering laugh was enough to have him eager to wear any and every silly costume she wanted. This reaction was always going to be worth wearing an ascot and sailor's cap. 

"You're sweet, H," she crooned, surging to her tiptoes to share another kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, drawing one more kiss from her before she made a step away towards her closet. "Are you ready to go?" 

Harry answered with a nod, hoping she didn't notice the hat missing from the top of his head. 

"Perfect!" she chirped, "I need to put my shoes on, and then we can go!" 

Just short of breathing a sigh of relief, Harry figured himself to be in the clear by the time she slinked into her closet. 

Until, of course, she called out to him. "Oh, and don't forget your hat!" 

He wanted so badly to frown, to groan and tell her he didn't want to wear the hat. But none of that came out. Only a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

There was a time in his life that he never thought he would have anyone that would want to spend these kinds of nights with him, let alone in a planned out matching outfit. Even if it felt a bit silly, there wasn't a single bone in his body that was going to say no to something like this.

"I won't, peach." 

—————

Despite the sweat beginning to slick his palm, Harry didn't pull his hand out from (Y/N)'s. 

While he was growing more used to the idea of large and loud crowds of people—especially crowds that knew him and made a point to say hello when he walked by—but there was still much more progress to be made in that department. Sabrina's Halloween party was one of his bigger trials, that was for sure. (Y/N) was his only anchor, her hold on his hand being the only thing that kept him from running through an obsessive cycle of spying all exits and attempting to scan each face around him for anyone suspicious. 

Though, tonight, it was a bit hard to see from scanning the room, if only to get a view of all of the costumes and decorations around them. Sabrina's annual halloween party was something Harry had only recently learned about, but (Y/N)'s excited descriptions made the space as familiar to him as his own. As she promised, faux cobwebs were stretched across walls and stuffed in corners. Streamers and metallic fringe hung from doorways, the visages of classic horror tropes were scattered on the walls, including decals of blood spatters that Harry made a point not to look at for too long. Everything was orange and purple, black all throughout. Music played throughout the space, though it was decidedly softer than most of his experiences when it came to house parties. 

Harry saw many familiar faces among the party goers, though more often than not they were disguised in costumes and altering makeup. There were plenty of Barbies, and angels, a few fairies and sexy iterations of mundane professions all throughout, being broken up by even more silly costumes. Video game and movie characters stuck out in iconic silhouettes. Many couples and friends were in matching costumes like the one he was in (though there weren't any other mermaids and sailors as far as he could see). More than a few lent into the season with spooky costumes, fake blood and weapons at their sides. Those were not Harry's favorite. 

Especially not when he felt a little flush when he saw the liberal use of blood on some costumes.

There was no way Harry was going to be peeling himself away from (Y/N)'s side. Even if he was beginning to feel a little like a potted plant while he listened to her converse with her friends. 

"But, you don't mind, right, H?" 

Blinking back to earth, Harry saw (Y/N) looking up at him with an affectionate smile and a familiar face from his days of sitting in at the bakery looking at him expectantly. His mouth fell into a gape as he attempted to find the answer to a question he wasn't listening to. 

"Um," he started, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, "Sorry, what?" 

(Y/N) didn't look all that surprised to realize he hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. "You like the costumes, right?" 

"Oh, yeah." He automatically nodded, looking at (Y/N)'s friend. "They were her idea."

A laugh bubbled from the woman, a joke Harry hadn't heard before now coming into play. (Y/N)'s hand pulsed around his own, her smile bright as she gazed up at him. 

"Next year, I'll have to see if he'll be the mermaid," (Y/N) laughed, her nose scrunching while her friend joined in. 

In the back of his mind, Harry was sure he should have tuned back in when the chattering started up once more, but he just couldn't. Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn't completely enamored, just short of being brought to his knees, when she muttered something so innocent like plans for the future? Was that ever not going to steal his breath? The idea of having a future and stability and someone for the rest of his life? 

(At least, he hoped (Y/N) would be with him for the rest of his life. He'd just have to scrounge up the courage to ask her one day).

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s friend bid a short goodbye, promising to see them around the party, before they were left to meander around. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom to look at my makeup, if you want to come," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile, "Unless you want to go get a drink or something." 

He didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. "I'll go with you." 

(Y/N) turned with that pretty smile on her face as she led him through the partygoers, taking a seemingly familiar route towards the restroom. Sabrina and others spotted (Y/N) as they passed, saying hello with glassy eyes and praising her costume in slurred comments. Every slowed step while she engaged in the short conversation, she never left him out, immediately pointing out that they went together. 

Harry was sure a flush was beginning to creep up his neck by the time the third person stopped them.

Lucky for them, by the time they successfully reached the restroom, it was empty. Slipping inside, Harry shut the door behind them. It was a small bathroom, leaving little room between them while (Y/N) turned towards the mirror. 

In the quiet of the restroom, Harry felt his lungs finally expand to capacity. It wasn't hard being at (Y/N)'s side while she was a social butterfly, but it was exhausting trying to remind himself everything was okay when there were so many people around them. He'd learn one day; his body would catch up one day. That's what (Y/N) told him, anyway. 

"You doing okay?" she asked, catching his eye in the mirror while she scraped a rogue glitter away from the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding his head. "Jus'... a lot still, I think." 

"I know. We don't have to stay too much longer, though. I just want to hang out with Sabrina a little bit, and then we'll be free." 

"'S okay," he shook his head, his fingers a knot behind his back, "We don't have to leave until y'want. I'll be fine." 

Abandoning the reflection, (Y/N) turned towards Harry with a cant to her head. Her features were made of soft lines and affectionate eyes. "It's no fun if you're not having a good time, H." 

"I am, I am," he insisted, even if the deep breath he took in wasn't all that convincing. "Halloween is fun." 

At this, she couldn't help but to let out a bubbling laugh. "Is it?" she teased, crossing the short space between them to wrap his middle in her arms. His body moved on instinct, draping his arms around her shoulders. "If you have to say it like that, I have a feeling it's not really true." 

He could feel his expression loosening as he gazed down at her. If this were another life, and he were a sailor out on the sea, it would only take a glimpse of her between the waves to have him swimming out into the unknown. Though that was what he figured his real life was like anyway; she was the lighthouse that guided him to a new shore, away from everything he knew before. Now, here he was, at someone's home on Halloween night in a sailor's costume. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. 

"I jus' like being with you, peach," he admitted, "If you're happy, so am I." 

"You're gonna make me cry," she laughed, eyes shimmering like her eyeshadow, "I really do want to go home soon, though. This outfit isn't as comfortable as I want it to be." 

A pinch appeared between his brows. He knew the corset-like fit of her top was what she wanted, but he'd worried about how well she was going to be able to breathe. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands beginning to frantically trace around her form. 

"I'm okay, honey," she assured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the point of his chin, "I think I'm just ready for some pajamas." 

He could work with that. He could make sure they were safe and comfortable at home soon; if he was fast enough, he might even be able to throw her pj's into the dryer while she takes off her makeup, leaving them warm for her once she was ready. 

"'M ready whenever y'are, peach." 

This time, when she raised to the tips of her toes, she met his lips with her own. It was a short kiss, hidden away from the rest of the world, but still more than enough to draw his heart into pounding against his ribs. 

This kiss was urging him to take back his earlier words. He should have told her he wanted to head home immediately. 

—————

"Oh my god, did you put these in the dryer?" 

Harry couldn't contain the smile stretching across his face when he heard (Y/N)'s shout from her bedroom. He didn't respond when he heard feet padding across the floor, coming right towards where he was tucked into the cushions of her sofa. 

Still with her mermaid hair and makeup on, she now had on a light purple crewneck and teal blue sweats. She wanted to stay within the spirit of her costume for when children would inevitably knock on the door for candy, but Harry could see she was much more comfortable in her new clothes. 

"Harry," she crooned, looking to him with softened features. Warm, pumpkin lighting filled her home, candlelight flickering over the glitter pasted to her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he said, parroting her affectionate tone. 

"You're so sweet, honey. Thank you." She crawled atop his lap as she spoke, fitting her knees on either side of his hips. 

He moved instinctively, his hands landing on her waist while she looped her own around his neck. Looking up at her, Harry let a smile bloom over his lips, a warmth bubbling under his skin. 

"Do y'feel better?" he asked, running his hands over the curve of her waist, "More comfortable?" 

"Much," she affirmed, pursing her lips to dot a kiss on the bridge of his nose. The sparkle in her eyes rivaled that of the flecks sticking to her skin when she pulled away. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. It was more hectic than I thought, but it means a lot that you came anyway." 

Harry's smile turned shy at her praise. It was still a very hard thing to hear these kinds of sentiments directed to him. The honey of (Y/N)'s voice made it just a touch easier to take, at least. 

"I know 'm not very fun at these things, so thank you for staying with me." Shifting to bar his arms around her middle, Harry pulled her into a hug as he perched his cheek on her shoulder, nose skimming the column of her neck. 

(Y/N) slid her fingers into the curling locks on the back of his head, threading through the waves in comforting trails. "It'll get easier, H. You're already doing so much better than you think." 

A flickering silence settled over the room. "Thank you," he murmured into her neck, "I want to keep getting better. With you."

In that moment, Harry was brought back to a motel room. He was sitting on a much stiffer, mustier sofa with darker thoughts clouding his brain. But he still had (Y/N) in his arms, reassuring him that he could—and would—get better. That she was right there with him, would be right there as long as he needed her. 

He held her tighter at the memory. 

She didn't make any move to pull away, letting Harry get his fill of her before eventually peeling away to gaze up at her. 

"You're still alright with me spending the night?" Despite posing the question, he didn't think he would have an easy time getting out of this spot even if she said no.

"Of course—who else is going to protect me on Halloween night?" 

She spoke with a teasing smile, canting her head with a slight pout puffing her lips. This was one of those moments he had to remind himself that he wasn't occupying his previous life—this was nothing more than a joke, something flirty that (Y/N) said to draw an affectionate reaction out of him. There was nothing real, nothing coming to get her in the middle of the night. 

A short smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think I can manage that, peach." 

She must have sensed the brief hesitation, causing her to push a soft kiss to the curled corner of his mouth. 

"If you start some popcorn, I’ll pick a movie for us?" she offered. 

He responded with a quiet nod, pulsing his hands on her waist before she climbed off of him. He left her on the couch as he started towards her kitchen, the ghost of her warmth clinging to his front. Keeping an ear out, he rooted through her cabinets in search of a packet of popcorn—a snack she seemingly always had on hand, though he hadn't caught her indulging in the kernels more than once in the last months. 

A ring of the doorbell succeeded by muffled giggles had Harry's muscles bunching for a split second. It's Halloween, he reminded himself. Of course there were going to be people at the door, and (Y/N) wasn't going to hesitate with swinging it open. 

Old habits die hard, even the ones that were already in the process of being buried. 

Hurriedly shoving the packet into the microwave with numbers punched into the pad, Harry moved across the kitchen. Peeking around the threshold, he had a clear view of (Y/N) with a large bowl in one hand as she answered the door. 

The giggling grew louder as she pulled open the door. From the angle she was standing before the threshold, he had a view of her smiling profile as she took in the little critters at her stoop. The children, flanked by parents standing a few feet away, all smiled brightly up at the mermaid before them. 

"Trick or treat!" 

"Wow, look at you guys!" (Y/N) cheered, balancing the candy bowl on her hip, "You look amazing! Such cute costumes!" 

"I'm not cute, I'm a zombie," one of the children contradicted, a lisp in his voice. 

(Y/N)'s smile only grew wider, before she fell into a shocked character. "Woah, you are really scary. I don't have any brains, will candy do?" 

Harry was vaguely aware of the way the children cheered for her, the giggles and smiles filling the doorway as she handed out bundles of candy, but he only had eyes on the mermaid. 

He doubted she even knew just how fearless she was. More than once, he'd heard her describe herself as shy, boring even. Never doing anything new, sticking to her routine. She had no idea what kind of effort Harry would have had to exert to do this simple task she did so easily. 

She had no idea just how special she was in the most mundane ways. He would never run out of things to admire about her. He was sure. 

Waving goodbye to the children and their parents, (Y/N) shut and locked the door behind her. It was then that she caught eyes right on her. 

"They were cute, don't you think?" she chattered, unwitting of the fact that he could barely recount any of the details of any of the trick-or-treaters or their costumes. 

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, a dreamy haze smoked around his voice, "Really cute." 

Before she could offer a response, the microwave beeped. The fragrance of buttery popcorn scented through her home, drawing him away from the entryway. He made quick work of emptying the packet into a pastel pink bowl, rushing to head back to her side out on the sofa. 

Curled up, legs under her bottom with a pumpkin-printed throw blanket across her lap, (Y/N) flicked through her chosen streaming service on her television. It wasn't until he was seated at her side, his peach lifting up the edge of the blanket to allow him to slide in next to her, that he saw what she was looking for.

True to the season, he was looking through a section of Halloween movies. Though, not quite the kind he was sure was playing in many other houses in the neighborhood. 

"I know it's not really scary, but I was thinking Scooby-Doo might be fun to watch tonight," she muttered, looking through the various classic movies available for streaming. One Harry remembered watching as a child caught his eye.

Definitely a better option than the home invasion or slasher films he never really found the appeal of.

He moved to overlap her legs over his thighs, spreading her warmth across the side of his body. "That sounds better than anything scary." 

Moving to pick through the popcorn bowl settled on his lap, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the way (Y/N) turned her attention to him. 

Her eyes were impossibly soft, tracing over the planes of his face. She canted her head as she looked at him, just enough so that the light caught the glitter on her face. He wasn't sure what she saw when she looked at him like that, but whatever it was enough to draw her closer to his side. 

"H—" 

Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to share, the doorbell rang. She hesitated before removing the blanket from her lap. 

"I'll be right back," she murmured, "You pick. 

A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, just where his dimple devoted his skin. 

Remote in hand, Harry absently scrolled through the title cards though he was listening instead to the giggling conversation happening at the door. 

The sound of her voice soundtracked the beats of his heart. He heard the way she bubbled to these children, playing along to whatever tricks they pulled for the treats in question. He could still feel the press of her lips against his cheek, the warmth a point of clarity as he sunk into the amber-tinted moment that was his own life. Never would he have thought he would ever find himself in a place like this.

"I'm already starting to run out of candy," (Y/N) exclaimed as she made her way back to the couch, "I'm probably giving out too much, but I feel bad if I don't give out, like, handfuls." 

(Y/N) slid back into her spot, as natural as breathing. Entirely fearless, always. 

"You're so sweet, peach," he breathed, much too heavy an answer for something so simple. 

Though it was entirely worth the smile she gifted him. 

Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to be a huge fan of Halloween, but he could see why others enjoyed it. Especially if these breezy nights went on like this. 

—————

happy (late) halloween everyone! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own, please send them in!!

[suguann]

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late." 

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold." 

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks. 

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute." 

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch. 

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube." 

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times. 

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty. 

"Hey," you repeat dumbly. 

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.  

After a moment, you meet his gaze again. 

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

[ashwhowrites]

Hihi!! So glad requests are open again and I caught it!! I’ve been craving some pervert Eddie 🥴🥴

Eddie is avoiding Carver and slips through a door (the door happens to be the back entrance to the girls showers that was left unlocked but he dk that). He’s hiding when a girl walks in to the shower. The first time he doesn’t look. He leaves quickly. But he can’t help but go back the next day and the door is unlocked again. He talks himself out of going in. And again the next day. Finally he caves and sneaks back in hears the shower running and reader is showering (putting on an exaggerated show). He cums in his pants. Can’t help but come back the next day. She’s already in the shower so he sneaks over to peek and there’s no one in the shower. Reader is behind him and quips something. Eddie is terrified and stammers apologizes and is hating himself and disgusted with himself like he has been the whole time. He’s on his knees begging her forgiveness when she chuckles, drops her towel and is like “who do u think kept unlocking the door?” (So she saw carver chasing after Eddie and unlocked the door, hoping to find him and talk with him because she likes him. But didn’t see him cause he was hiding so she just took a shower. Then she heard the door shut and realized he had been in there. Gets excited by the idea he was watching her, and unlocks the door in the hopes he’ll come back. Except that first time she got too caught up in teasing to actually speak so she tricks him.) And then smut or fade to black as suits ur mood.

So like pervert reader pervert Eddie.

But also if this is an ick or anything for u no worries at all! It’s a yum for me but it might not be for someone else. Feel free to change it to feel not ick, or just not do. Only love and hugs here friend, I 💖 ur writing and am so thankful u give us stories!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️pervert eddie

Watching you

Eddie panted as he slid through an unlocked door, closing it quickly. He listened as Jason's footsteps ran past the door and he let out a relieved sigh. Eddie looked around and realized he was in the girl's locker room, the thought alone made his cock twitch. He froze when he heard the sound of water being turned on. He fought with everything in him not to look, slipping back out the door.

Eddie found himself standing outside the locker room door the next day. He could hear the water running and desperately wanted to open the door, curious about who was behind it. He shook his head and walked away, disgusted about his interest.

He returned the next day, the doorknob burning his hand. He felt like he was being called. He looked around the hallway, checking that the coast was clear before he slipped in. He could hear the water running, closing the door quietly behind him.

He crept over to the showers, hiding behind a locker. A girl was facing the showers, her back facing Eddie. He gulped as his eyes raked down her body. He felt his cock grow hard as he took in the roundness of her ass, the water dripping down her skin. He pressed down on his hard-on, sighing at the pleasure. He moaned quietly to himself when she slowly turned on.

He blushed when he saw her face, it was Y/N. One of the hottest girls in school was naked and showering right in front of him. A girl he thought about many times alone in his room.

He licked his lips as she rubbed the soap around her breasts. He bucked his hips, humping the air as she moaned out. Her hands massaged the soap into her skin, circling her nipples as she cleaned herself. Eddie softly palmed himself, moving against his hand as her hands slid down her body.

He locked his lips shut so no sounds escaped, watching as her hand slid between her thighs. She spread her feet apart, her wet pussy on display. Eddie moved against his hand faster as she slid two fingers between her folds, letting out whiny moans. He shivered at the sounds she made, fantasies in his head. She moved her hands to rub between her thighs, turning around and bending over to wash her legs. Eddie felt his stomach tightening as her cunt and ass were on display. He pathetically rubbed himself over his jeans, his eyes rolling back as he came undone in his pants.

~~~

Eddie wasn't pleased with his actions. He told himself it was disgusting and it should not happen again. But he was aching to go into the locker room. He stood outside of it, telling himself to walk away before he did something he would regret by morning. The sound of the shower snapped him into reality, and before he knew it he was walking in.

He crept in just like yesterday, but the shower was empty.

"Are you my secret visitor?"

Eddie jumped out of his skin as a voice came from behind. He turned around, fear in his eyes as Y/N stood in a towel.

"I heard some sounds yesterday during my shower, did they come from you?" she teased

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," Eddie rambled, "I was wrong. I totally invaded your privacy and I'm a disgusting person. Please don't hate me." She turned her head as she watched him panic. Her silence made Eddie panic more, making him drop to his knees.

"I'll never do it again. I'm so fucking sorry. I'm gross and a pervert and upset by my actions and I know I'm very wrong," he stuttered over and over.

"You'll never watch me in the shower again?" she asked, suspiciously squinting her eyes.

"I promise!" His brown scared eyes looked up at her, making her feel like she had all the power in the world. She smirked, dropping her towel. His eyes went huge and didn't hesitate to look at the exposed skin.

Y/N mocking laughed, making his eyes snap back up to her eyes. He blushed as he realized his mistake. "Did you ever wonder why the door was unlocked?"

Eddie truly didn't give it much thought, just appreciated how easy it was.

"I wanted you to see me, Eddie," she said. He shivered as her hand cupped his jaw. He felt breathless as she looked down at him.

"You did?" he whimpered out. A flash of excitement in his eyes.

"I think you're adorable. I heard you running from Jason, figured I'd help you out and we could talk. But I felt you watching me yesterday, decided to give you a show. Did you like it as much as I did, baby?" She purred.

"God yes," Eddie whispered. Y/N smiled and moved her hand into his hair, yanking his head back. Eddie cried out but his hard cock showed he liked it.

"Since you spied on me, I think you should make it up to me, yeah?"

Eddie nodded, ignoring how his hair was pulled. "Anything."

She lifted her leg and placed it on his shoulder. He licked his lips as her pussy ghosted above his mouth. He moaned as she shoved his head against her clit.

"Eat up, handsome," she smirked. A moan left her throat as Eddie didn't waste a second to dive in.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 18

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17

Steve doesn’t see much of Eddie for the next few weeks. Presumably there are still Dungeons and Dragons sessions and band practices, but Steve and Chrissy are no longer invited. Jeff flits back and forth between their two groups like a child of divorce, and Steve? He just misses Eddie.

Eddie, who even once Steve slinks back to his usual seat in the cafeteria for lunch, no longer gives his table top rants. He doesn’t say anything at all, not where Steve might overhear him. But he still has Chrissy, and Robin, and Jeff, and that’s enough.

In his free time, he writes aimless letters destined to never be read.

Steve’s moving on—getting over it is a process, or so he tells Chrissy. He never shows her the letters, can’t bear to see the pity on her face. He doesn’t talk about it with Robin again either–just hides his notebook away and gets on with his life.

Eddie’s just a boy, and it’s just a crush. Steve can move on, he always does. He tells Eddie as much in a letter he’ll never read.

Everything changes when he opens his locker and something drops out. It’s a bright yellow envelope, sloppy sunflowers drawn on the sides with black pen, and there, dead center, is his name written in a handwriting he’d recognize anywhere, is his name. Not Secret Admirer, not even Harrington, just Steve.

He shoves it into his backpack before Robin can close her own locker and notice.

It stays hidden there for the rest of the day as Steve’s heartbeat rabbits away in his chest, and his palms itch with sweat. He doesn’t open it that night either, too afraid of what he might find in it. It’s like that one story Robin had told him, where the guy goes crazy after burying someone under the floorboards or something? It’s calling to him, no matter how hard he plugs his ears.

Steve doesn’t get much sleep that night.

He still hasn’t opened it by school the next day. Might not ever have opened it if he hadn’t glanced toward Eddie during lunch and caught his eye. Eddie’s staring, gaze intense even with all the distance between them. But then, the weirdest thing happens—Eddie smiles just a little, and finger waves at him, like they’re friends.

Steve just stares, gobsmacked until Eddie’s entire face starts to turn a splotchy red and he looks down at his lunch table as if embarrassed.

“What was that?” Chrissy asks, looking behind her at whatever had caught Steve’s eye.

“I have to go,” Steve blurts, rushing out of the cafeteria before she can ask anymore questions.

His and Chrissy’s usual abandoned classroom has a teacher in it, so he ends up in his and Robin’s bathroom stall, this time alone. Still, he sits on the ground, leaving enough room for the ghost of Robin to have a seat, too.

He opens his backpack, zeroing in on the envelope instantly—as if he’d ever, for a second forgotten about it—and finally pulls it out.

He traces the sunflowers on the paper, memorizing the grooves Eddie’s pen had made before finally turning it over and sliding his fingers beneath the seal to tear it open.

The paper’s thicker than he’s used to getting from Eddie, and it’s that same, bright yellow that doesn’t fit Eddie’s aesthetic at all. But it fits Steve’s, and that’s the thought that finally gets him to bring the letter closer to his face and begin to read. 

   Steve,

   I wanted to start this out by saying that I’m sorry—it’s a phrase I’m becoming alarmingly used to saying in recent weeks. To Jeff, to Gareth, and now to you. No matter how surprised I was, I had no right to say all that shit to you. And for that, I’m sorry, okay? Really, truly sorry.

   As Chrissy and Jeff pointed out once you’d left, I was a dick, and there’s no excuse for that. And as my uncle told me when he was doing his disappointed parent shtick, I might have been projecting, just a tad.

   Eddie Munson might be gay—who knew?

   So, I’ll hope you accept my sincerest apologies for how I’ve handled this whole thing, Steve. I can’t imagine how it must have felt. Well, I can now, a bit. And it’s scary, right? But, I think it’s my turn to be brave. If I haven’t already ruined any chance I might have had, maybe we can go on a date?

   I’ll pick you up this Friday at your house, say around seven? If you don’t answer the door, I’ll understand. That’ll be my answer.

   But I really, really, really hope you do.

   Yours, always, hopefully,

   Eddie

Steve stares down at it, flummoxed. He reads it again, and again, and again. When the words on the page don’t change, he slips it delicately into the envelope, and goes to his next class, mind swirling away with the clouds.

“Can I drive you home?” Steve asks Jeff before he can climb into Chrissy’s car.

“Uh, sure?” Jeff replies just as Chrissy cuts in with a near-frantic, “are you okay?”

Steve smiles tightly at her and says, “I’ll call you tonight, okay? I just need to talk to Jeff.”

She bites her lip, looking even more worried than before, but all she says is, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Jeff and Chrissy trade an indecipherable look and then Jeff dutifully follows Steve to his car and climbs in. Before he starts the engine, he pulls the envelope out of his pocket and hands it to Jeff.

“What’s this?” Jeff asks.

“Read it,” Steve replies, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression crosses Jeff’s face as he reads.

It’s silent for a few minutes aside from The Clash filtering quietly tinnily from the radio, but then Jeff says, “so, he finally did it.”

Steve’s fingers clench on the steering wheel at the vague answer to the question he hasn’t yet asked. “Is it some sort of joke?” Steve grits out, still unable to look at Jeff’s face.

“No, man,” Jeff replies, doing that same shoulder clasp thing he’d done last time he’d been in Steve’s car while he was upset. “He’s just been working through some stuff.”

“So he’s…” he finally shifts his gaze toward Jeff, hoping to convey his question without having to say it aloud.

“Seems so,” Jeff replies.

And Steve shudders, all those same feelings he’d been working so hard to suppress bubbling back to the surface, the most dangerous of all being hope.

“Are you going to go?” Jeff asks, voice even enough not to show his opinion on the decision one way or another.

Steve swallows, throat dry. “I don’t know.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, and when he calls Chrissy later that night, she asks the same thing.

“Are you going to go?” she asks breathlessly, like she’s hanging on his every word.

Steve sighs. “He said he might be gay, Chris. What if we go out and he’s wrong?”

Left unmentioned is the niggling voice in the back of his head still insisting that the whole thing is some sort of cruel prank to get back at him. He’d lied, and strung him along, and gotten him hurt. No matter how many times Eddie apologizes, Steve knows he’s not really the one that should be.

“What if he’s right?” she asks.

Steve knows, deep down in his bones, that he’s going to go, just at the chance that Chrissy’s right, that Eddie’s right, that Jeff’s right. Steve desperately wants to be wrong. 

***

Steve doesn’t show any outward appearance of having received the letter. Eddie watches, obsessively trying to catch even the barest hint of what he thinks of the note– if, when he knocks on the Harrington’s front door, he’ll open it.

He keeps looking, and looking, and finally, blessedly, when Eddie looks, Steve’s looking back. Their eyes lock, and such a wave of relief courses through Eddie that he, like a fucking idiot, waves at him. Steve stares, mouth open, and does absolutely nothing back.

Eddie looks down at the table, whole body aflame with mortification, hair dangling messily into Doug’s mashed potatoes.

“Dude,” Doug says, shoving Eddie’s shoulder, forcing him away from his precious lunch.

“You good?” Jeff asks, leaning across the table to poke at Eddie’s bowed head like it’s potentially diseased roadkill he found on the side of the street.

“He hates me!” Eddie whines, turning his head just enough to glance towards Steve’s table, spitting a chunk of hair out of his mouth.

Steve’s not there at all anymore.

“Harrington?” Gareth questions around the bite of apple lodged in his throat. “Aren’t you trying to steal his girlfriend?”

“Of course no—not anymore!” Eddie stutters, turning his head the other direction to glare at Gareth instead.

For his part, Gareth just looks down at him, supremely unimpressed. “Uh huh,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet even when very obviously fed up. “Is this more secret bullshit you’re refusing to tell me?”

“It’s not my secret!” Eddie hisses, finally removing his head from the table so he can crouch on it instead, leaning over Gareth like a gargoyle. “And I promised!”

“Bet you told Wayne,” Gareth mutters.

“Oh my god, I told Wayne!” Eddie cries, dropping off the bench entirely to crawl under the table where he belongs. It’s not like there’s anyone in the room right now that he wants to impress—he already scared Harrington off.

“Dude,” is all Jeff says, peering under the table to look down at him judgmentally. “Chrissy is going to kill you.��

Eddie clutches his hair hard enough that it hurts. “It’s Wayne! He doesn’t count,” Eddie whines, “does he?”

Jeff snorts, kicking his foot out until the toe of his sneaker connects softly with Eddie’s kneecap. “He doesn’t count,” he starts, continuing before Eddie’s even slumped with relief, “to you.”

When Eddie slinks out from beneath the table, Steve’s spot is still empty, and Chrissy’s sitting there, glaring across the cafeteria at Eddie like she can just sense that he didn’t keep his vow of secrecy.

God, girls are scary.

He avoids looking in her direction the rest of lunch, picking at his own potatoes and mushy peas just for something to do.

Steve’s not going to open the door—he knows that. But, even still, he wakes up early on Friday morning to sneak into Mrs. Johnson’s yard to carefully cut a few of her sunflowers, ducking low enough that the bushes in front of her windows will obscure him.

When he’s done, he’s got five perfect sunflowers, tied together with the brown shoelace he’d stolen from a pair of Wayne’s old boots.

He leaves them in the kitchen, awkwardly propped into a bowl full of water since the Munson’s aren’t the kind of family to own a vase, or even a tall enough glass, apparently.

By the time Wayne gets home from the graveyard shift, Eddie’s elbow-deep in a trash bag in the back of his van. Wayne peers through the propped-open doors, eyebrows already raised as Eddie freezes, hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.

“What’re ya doing, boy?” Wayne asks.

Eddie stares, brain full of ants and TV static as he fumbles for an answer. What comes out of his mouth is “I asked Steve out!”

Wayne’s lips quirk up, and he’s smirking at Eddie as if to say, see? told ya, the smug bastard. But all he says is, “is that so?” drawling and easy like he’s not acting all-knowing and superior.

Eddie groans and takes his hand out of the garbage bag to run it through his hair and pull. “Or I left him a note?” he says, gut churning as Wayne’s face drops to his more customary frown. “Oh my god, he’s not going to show!”

“Then why’re you cleaning your van out?”

Eddie puffs up, glaring back at Wayne now. “Well I’m going to show up, Wayne!” he replies, voice shrill. “I’m a man of my word.”

Wayne snorts when Eddie calls himself a man, just like he always does, but his lips are quirked up again, looking almost proud as he replies, “good man,” with only a slightly mocking intonation. “Want some help?”

They get all the trash out in a matter of minutes. When it becomes clear that the vacuum cleaner can’t reach no matter how close they park the van, Wayne comes back out with the broom from the kitchen and they sweep as much debris as they can from inside before Eddie steals the comforter from his own bed and lays it across the back carpet, masking the weird stains.

Wayne finishes it off with a spritz of his own rarely-used cologne, covering up any remaining funky smells. Even so, Eddie elects to leave the windows rolled down to air it out for as long as possible.

When Wayne notices his commandeered shoelace around the sunflowers, he doesn’t say a thing.

Then, he’s forced to go to school, wiling away the hours until he’s standing in front of the Harrington’s front door, boots shined for the first time in his life, sunflowers clutched in shaking hands, van parked neatly behind him, hair brushed into submission. He’d even used his fancy conditioner, thoughts of that half-remembered first letter waxing poetic about his hair fueling his action. 

All for a boy who won’t answer the door.

But, Eddie’s a man of his word, so he knocks.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He waits such a long time that he jumps when the door opens, breath catching as he looks at Steve Harrington, face-to-face for the first time since that disastrous day in his living room. His mostly-healed eye aches with remembered pain, his ribs cold with the absence of Steve’s hands.

He’s missed looking at him.

Steve’s in light-wash jeans, hair perfectly coiffed, wearing a green sweater that makes the gold in his eyes pop, even in the dim light from the Harrington’s porch light. He looks good, put together enough for a first date, casual enough to just be his everyday clothes.

Eddie’s heartbeat flickers with something that feels alarmingly like hope.

“Uh, hey,” Eddie says, finally breaking the awkward silence.

He smiles, trying to be charming, but he’s never done this before, doesn’t know how to contort his face. He holds out the sunflowers, arm awkwardly extending, hoping desperately that his offering will be accepted.

Steve stares down at them, hand still clutching the door like he’s one second away from slamming it closed in Eddie’s face. Eddie holds his breath, heartbeat ratcheting up from the oxygen deprivation.

Steve reaches out, his fingers brushing Eddie’s as he tries to take the flowers from him. Eddie’s fingers stay clenched around the stems for a second too long, hand following the flowers trajectory toward Steve’s own chest until Eddie forces his hand open and lets it drop uncomfortably back to his side.

Steve stares down at them, leaning down to take a sniff. Eddie winces—they don’t smell like much, just dirt and nebulous green things. But Steve smiles, just a tiny, little thing that hits Eddie’s body like electroshock therapy.

“Thank you.” Steve says quietly, not looking away from the sunflowers as he asks, “come inside while I put them in some water?”

Steve swings the door open wider, and Eddie slides past him and into the Harrington’s house. As Steve wanders further inside, Eddie stands in the entrance—foyer?—feeling remarkably out of place. Even from here, he can see enough negative space to house twenty-odd people, a vaulted ceiling, and is that a chandelier? Eddie doesn’t step a toe off the mat beneath his feet, afraid his very presence will stain the perfect white interior.

He shouldn’t be here. Places like this aren’t for the Munson’s of the world. They’re for royalty, kings and queens, and all the upper crust that spits down on the rest of them. But when Steve comes back, sans sunflowers, he’s smiling just a little, tromping his own shoes over the white carpet like he doesn’t give a shit.

Maybe he doesn’t belong here either. Maybe it’s possible to carve out a space for him in the Munson’s shitty trailer, however small.

“Alright, Munson,” he says, still smiling just this side of awkward. “What’re we doing?”

As Eddie holds Steve Harrington’s own front door open for him to step through, Eddie’s mind’s buzzing with maybes.

***

Eddie’s van smells like mothballs and cologne, and the radio’s quietly playing the sort of generic pop music Steve usually mumbles along to on his way to school. But, Eddie’s fingers are twitching against the wheel, and he hasn’t said a word since they’d climbed in, so Steve sits on his own hands and keeps his mouth shut.

The longer the silence drags on, the more Steve regrets ever opening the door at all. Eddie pulls into Hawkins’ drive-in, and buys their tickets and two bags of popcorn. Steve’s hand clenches in his lap, Eddie’s words to Chrissy all that time ago running through his head—we can go to the drive-in and hold hands the whole time.

“I hope this is okay?” Eddie says, finally breaking the silence as he spins the dial to the correct channel to catch the movie. “I wasn’t sure if you liked horror, but this is all that’s playing this weekend, and I’ve been wanting to watch it so—”

“It’s fine,” Steve replies, and it is.

He’s never been much for horror beyond putting it on for dates so he has a built-in excuse to reach out. But, he’s not squeamish, and maybe those same thoughts are running through Eddie’s head: an excuse to reach out and touch.

But, as the title card flashes SLEEPAWAY CAMP in big, boxy font, all Eddie does is reach into his popcorn bag and stuff a handful into his mouth. Steve follows suit, the buttery kernels turning to ash on his tongue.

He watches with little enthusiasm as the stupid teenagers on screen fool around and get torn apart. Eddie makes little comments throughout the movie, but there’s nothing Steve can grasp onto.

What does one say to, “whoa, blood fountain,” or “god, that kid’s a douche,” or, “they should’ve killed him sooner.”

Steve still tries, humming and nodding along and verbalizing his own agreements. Eddie never responds, just keeps stuffing his mouth with popcorn until the bag’s empty. Steve stares down at his own mostly-full bag and wonders if the separate bags were just to make sure they didn’t accidentally brush hands. 

He hands his own popcorn over, and Eddie grabs it twitchily, muttering a “thanks, dude,” without really looking at Steve at all.

Steve just wants to go home, crawl into his own bed, and forget this whole thing ever happened.

But he just sits there, silent as the movie plays on. He doesn’t understand the end, but he missed so much of the beginning and middle that he barely questions it.

When it’s over, Eddie turns the dial back to that same, nondescript station that doesn’t fit him at all, fingers clenching hard enough on the wheel that Steve can hear it creak under the strain. Steve turns away, to look out the window, throat clogged up with feelings he doesn’t want to think about.

The longer this date drags on, the more excruciatingly clear it becomes that whatever is driving Eddie to this, it’s not him returning Steve’s feelings. This isn’t how dates go when you’re excited about them, there’s nothing clicking into place–it doesn’t even seem like Eddie’s trying.

He feels small, and sad, and every minute that passes with Eddie saying absolutely nothing at all only makes Steve feel more like a charity case that Eddie’s taken pity on. 

He never should have listened to Chrissy and Jeff’s encouragement. They’d both been so hopeful that he’d caved, but they’re not the ones stuck in the devastatingly uncomfortable moment. It’s just him and Eddie, living with the fact that Steve’s got a crush on a boy that can never like him back.

There’s no coming back from this, no matter how nice Eddie tries to be about it. Because he is nice, no matter how he’s been acting the past few weeks.

Steve’s the problem—always has been, always will be.

So, he stews in the silence, watching the same familiar buildings pass him by like it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. And maybe it will be, if Eddie decides to be not so nice. This was all so catastrophically, unbelievably stupid from that very first letter all the way to this moment, stuck in a van with a boy that won’t even look at him. 

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize they’re going the wrong way until Eddie’s pulling into a familiar clearing in the quarry. His headlights illuminate the skid marks Steve’s car had made in the dirt when he’d screeched to a halt to stop Jason Carver from rearranging his face.

Eddie slides into park much more levelly and cuts the engine. The quiet is absolute, made worse by the darkness surrounding them. Steve can hear the crinkle of Eddie shifting on his seat, the sound of his throat as he gulps like he’s about to go off to war.

 “I thought—” Eddie starts before petering off as his voice breaks. Steve listens to him take a few shuddering breaths before starting again. “I thought we could star gaze?”

Steve sighs, slumping back into his seat, so unbelievably tired. “Eddie—”

“Unless you don’t want to!” Eddie rushes out. “I just thought…”

Steve would kill to know what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, Eddie doesn’t pick up his trailing sentence, just leaves it hanging in the silence between them. Steve sighs again, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, desperate to keep an even keel.

“Look, Eddie” Steve starts, turning toward Eddie. He can see the silhouette of his frame hunched over in the driver’s seat, but his face is a black void for Steve to project upon. It makes him brave. “You don’t have to do this. You, like, tried it out, right? And it didn’t work out.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine, Eddie,” Steve cuts in, exhausted. “You can just drop me off at home, and we can go our separate ways.”

Eddie makes a sound like a strangled cat, and then his silhouette lunges across the distance between their seats. Steve jerks back, head banging painfully into the window as Eddie’s mouth mashes against his, more teeth than lips.

Shoutout, once again, to my beta reader and friend @queenie-ofthe-void for this one!!! I struggled for weeks on the date, and then they said, "what if you just make it as awkward as possible," and then I wrote this entire date in a day. Truly a muse for me <3<3<3

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter nine - final

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 3.7k

Chris had never bought a girl flowers before, so he was anything but confident when he walked into the local flower shop not far from his home, finally building up the courage to ask the girl he had fallen head over heels with on a date. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he hung on every word she said, wanting to make her feel valued and heard when she spoke. He couldn’t imagine finding any girl prettier than her, it was impossible in his head.

When he finally picked out a bouquet, he paid happily with his allowance money that he’d saved for a couple of months now, wanting it to be the most beautiful bouquet she’s ever received. It made him giddy, knowing he was finally going to get an answer as to if she felt the same.

He kept the flowers hidden in his locker for the day, waiting until the end of the day to finally tell his dream girl how he felt. His nerves almost got the best of him, but he told himself it was now or never. He had to make his move.

But he couldn’t find her. Anywhere. He had looked in every room she could possibly be in, he had looked out front, he had even asked a girl to check the bathroom for him to see if she was hiding out with some friends. But it was to no avail.

Finally, as a last ditch effort, he decided to check the fields, see if she was hanging around waiting for football practice to start. She was so social and knew at least one person in every sport, so she loved to show support any time she could. He loved how supportive she was of her friends and their interests, even if she didn’t care for it herself, she was always around to let her friends know she had their back. She was so kind.

He was about to give up, for real this time, maybe just bring the flowers to her house later in the day, when he saw movement under the bleachers, and without thinking anything of it he peeked under, feeling like his heart audibly shattered in his ears when his eyes landed on you locking lips with some asshole jock that could never treat you right.

He couldn’t believe it. He was too late. He had missed his chance with you, and now he was just a fool standing around with a bouquet of flowers for nobody.

He quickly turned and started walking away, knowing he needed to get home as quickly as possible. His heart was broken, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

When he finally arrived home after walking by himself, he looked for the only woman he knew would never break his heart, finding his mom in the kitchen starting to cook dinner. He walked up to her and handed her the flowers, smiling sadly up at her.

She grinned wide, not seeing how sad her son was in the moment, eyes locked on the beautiful arrangement of flowers in front of her. “Wow!” She exclaimed. “What’s this for, baby?”

Chris handed them off to her before wrapping his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. “You deserve it, mama.”

He has never and will never let his mom know how much that hug meant to him, and the tear that slipped out and landed on her shirt will always be his secret.

-

If having to love you in silence was suffering enough, loving you loudly and losing you was a million times worse.

Some moments he thought it might be easier to just run away from his life and start over, but nothing would rid him of the thought of you.

When he found himself at the flower shop, he couldn’t help but feel like the fifteen year old version of himself, pining over a girl he’d never get to call his own, desperately trying to win her over with a few words and a bouquet of flowers.

But he wasn’t going to let you slip so easily this time. This time he was willing to put up the fight.

-

Days had passed of Chris trying to contact you any way he could. Texts, calls, FaceTimes all ringing through your phone at almost every hour of the day, all going completely ignored by you, not having the energy to text him back, not wanting to open that wound just yet.

You knew you’d have to talk to him eventually, you couldn’t ignore him forever.

Matt had texted as well, trying to make sure you were okay, wanting to see if you needed anything, but you didn’t want to talk to him either. He had remained neutral through everything, but he was still too close to Chris for comfort right now.

You had spent the last few days cooped up in your apartment, either sleeping on your couch or your bed, not having the energy to do anything, barely even eating. You weren’t even hungry and couldn’t be bothered to make food that you wouldn’t even want to eat anyway, so you just rotted away with your thoughts, asking yourself over and over how you were so stupid to believe someone like Chris.

So many questions flowed through your head over those days. Why would he tell you he didn’t want to talk to her anymore? Why would he confess to you just to keep seeing other people? Why would he damn near tell you he loves you just to ruin everything?

Part of you hated Nick for ruining everything but another part of you was grateful to him for pulling the cover from your eyes, literally. If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be with Chris, sneaking around his brothers while the whole time he was sneaking around you.

You knew it was awful for you to do, but the first night when you got home, you found this Maya girl on instagram, scrolling through endless photos of a girl who you thought was so much prettier than you you almost couldn’t be mad at Chris for not being able to let her go. Of course he’d choose her, she was perfect. They still followed each other, too. Even after all of this, after you had found out, he still followed her. Maybe you were looking into this too deeply, but in your brokenhearted mind it all made sense.

Your phone rang again from where it was next to you on the couch, Chris’s name and a selfie you guys had taken together lighting up the screen. Every time you saw that picture your heart tightened in your chest. You both looked so happy, smiling wide like there was no place you’d rather be. You had no idea how things went so bad so quickly. Part of you wishes you could’ve lived in ignorance forever, never to find out the truth about Chris’s antics. You would’ve been so much happier.

“Stop tickling me, I want to take a picture!” You squeal at Chris, body curling away from him as his fingertips attacked your sides, something he couldn’t stop doing now that he knew you were ticklish, wanting to hear your loud giggles for the rest of his life.

“No pictures!” He opposes, but stops tickling you, pulling your body close to his where he stood.

You guys were out on what you guess you could call a date, exploring parts of the city you hadn’t seen before, popping into small gift shops occasionally, grabbing ice cream and little snacks you had come across throughout the day. You both had just left dinner and were just walking around now, you taking photos of whatever caught your eye, but now you wanted a photo of the two of you for your contact photo and just for the memory as well. You didn’t have many photos together yet, but you loved looking through the few that you had when you were alone, most of them either goofy photos of Chris or photos of him with the biggest smile in the world, lighting up your face every time you saw them.

“Please! Just one, I swear.” You beg him. He had his arms wrapped you from behind and his chin on your shoulder where he groaned loudly, which you giggled at, knowing he was about to agree.

“One,” he tells you and you squeal, bringing your phone up in front of you guys.

“Smile!” You tell him and he obliges, both of you smiling as wide as you can, him with his eyes clenched shut. You couldn’t help it, you snapped a few, continuing to take pictures when he turned his head into your neck and peppered kisses there before he turned back to the camera and flipped it off with a deadpan look on his face, making you laugh loudly as you put your phone away.

The memory fades from your mind as the call goes to voicemail, the fourth one today.

You couldn’t help but miss Chris, miss the way he made you feel. You didn’t understand how things turned bad so quickly when they were so good, good to the point where you thought for sure you had locked him down.

You groan to yourself, rubbing your eyes harshly, noticing the tears flowing intermittently from them. “Fuck,” you huff, annoyed at yourself.

You throw your lap blanket off of you and stand up from the couch, walking to your bathroom to wash your face, wanting to rid yourself of the days and days of tears, deciding it’s time to get over yourself and get back to life, not wanting to sit around and wallow over this boy who clearly didn’t care about you in the first place.

You’re just stepping into the bathroom when your doorbell rings, startling you. You whip your head around to the sound, heart racing. There was only one person that could be. He hadn’t tried coming to your home yet, only trying to contact you via phone, so you were unsure how you would get out of this. There was no way you could pretend you weren’t home, your car was right outside.

You wipe your face with your hands and walk to the door, standing directly in front of it. “Go away,” you say sternly, crossing your arms.

“Please let me in,” Chris pleads from the other side of the door.

“No,” you reply. “Go home.”

You hear Chris sigh loudly, then a small crinkle. “I’m already here, just let me explain, please. It’s not what you think.”

You debate it for a moment, wondering if you need the closure, but knowing you’re not ready yet. “Chris, leave. I don’t want to see you. Go bother your other fucking girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. That’s the first time you’ve even slightly referred to yourself as his girlfriend, and the circumstances of it almost made you laugh.

Chris is silent for a few beats, thinking of what to say next before he speaks again. “Let me in and let me explain and if by the end of it you never want to talk to me again I’ll respect that and leave you alone. I just can’t handle you thinking I would hurt you like that when I never would. Please.”

You consider it. If he’s serious and he would leave you alone, it might be worth it. Plus, you would get an explanation as to why he thought you’d never find out, why he thought you were the perfect person to hurt so badly.

You remain silent as you unlock the door, peeling it open slowly to reveal a disheveled Chris staring back at you. His hair was in his face, his face unshaven since you left, eyes red and puffy. Your eyes trail down to where he’s holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, wondering how on earth he knew what they were.

He holds them out to you and you just look back up at him, turning around and heading back in, going back to your couch and flopping down, waiting for him to reach you.

You hear the door shut and shoes being taken off before you see him again where he’s walking through your living room, placing the flowers down gently on the coffee table before he sits next to you, taking a deep breath.

“Is there anything you want to know specifically?” He asks you, to which you scoff out a laugh at, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, I’d love to know why you played the fuck out of me while the whole time you were fucking somebody else behind my back. I’d love to know how you even had the fucking time when I was sleeping over almost every night, and the days I wasn’t there, you were here.” You snap at him, voice quivering as you speak. You couldn’t help it, you were sad and confused and the confrontation only made it worse. “You made me look like a fucking idiot not only to myself but in front of your brothers, too, and that is so fucking mean, Chris. I should’ve known it wasn’t all an act, you really are a fucking dick to me. There’s no way you could’ve treated me like that for the last however many years and it not be real.”

Chris sucks in a breath at the insult, your words feeling like a dagger to his heart. “It’s not true,” he croaks out. “Nick was wrong, he didn’t know what he was talking about.”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “You got caught, Chris, and now you’re trying to pick up the pieces. It’s over.”

Chris felt lightheaded, that sentence echoing loudly in his head. It’s over. It couldn’t be over, you guys still have so much more life to live together.

“No,” he starts, scooting closer. “No, no, you said you’d hear me out so hear me out. You’ve got this all wrong, Nick was wrong. I wasn’t seeing anybody but you, I wasn’t sleeping with anybody but you, you’re it for me, you’re my dream girl, please believe me.” Chris was full on pleading now, his own eyes welling with tears as he spoke. “I cannot lose you, you don’t understand how deep this runs for me. I’ll let you go through my phone, my texts, my instagram, fucking anything just to prove to you.”

You have to tear your eyes away from the begging boy beside you, afraid you’ll give in too easily if you stare him in the face. “Say whatever you want to say and then get out of my house.” You tell him, voice monotone.

Chris releases a shaky breath, knowing this is the only chance he’ll get. “Okay. I guess I’ll just tell you what I think you should know. I would never hurt you like that, I would never risk losing you for something so stupid like a date or sex. I’ve been thinking about you being mine for so long that even I wouldn’t be so dumb, I swear to you. The date Nick was talking about was a business meeting for my brand, he just assumed because he saw I was out to dinner and didn’t know where I was. I told you about that dinner, I literally left your place to go there. I already talked to him about it and he feels really bad for making you think that I was on a date. And the girl? Maya? I haven’t talked to her since before the wedding, she hasn’t even texted me, and I‘ll show you my phone, we haven’t talked. But I kept leaving and not coming back for hours or coming home with hickeys and they kept noticing so I had to tell them I was somewhere and I just said I was seeing her because you still wanted this to be between us.” Chris finally pauses and looks at you with a soft expression, hoping you would believe him. You didn’t speak though, staying still where you sat with your hands in your lap. “I could never live with myself if I lost you in such a stupid way.”

Your lip quivered and you dropped your eyes down to your hands, not wanting to cry again for the umpteenth time, especially in front of Chris, but the wave that hit you made it inevitable, a small, choked sob leaving your lips. “Why wouldn’t you say anything right then?” You ask him brokenly.

Chris scoots closer and places a hand on your thigh, other hand reaching for your cheek to pull your face up to his. “I was stunned in the moment, it all happened so fast. I didn’t even process anything until I had Nick damn near in a chokehold and Matt was trying to calm me down. He told me to give you space and that you needed time away so neither of us said something we don’t mean.”

You turn to face Chris, tears flowing freely from your eyes now as he spoke, emotions taking over. “I was so sad, Chris. I still am. I’ve been sitting here wallowing in my feelings for fucking days just thinking about how badly this hurt and how hard I fell for you.”

Chris’s thumb brushes over your cheek, listening to your words intently. “I know, baby, I know and I’m so sorry. I really am. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“Why would you even think of bringing her up? Why did she even come to your mind when they asked you where you were? You could’ve just said you were with a girl but the fact that you told them you were with her is like… a punch to the face.” You tell him sadly, wiping your tears frustratedly. “Is she still on your mind?”

Chris immediately shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “No, absolutely not. She’s just.. sorry, she’s the last person I slept with and they knew about her so it was the easiest thing so they didn’t ask questions. She’s definitely not on my mind.”

You think over his words, still feeling apprehensive about it all, but wanting nothing more than to believe him. “I just don’t understand why you let me leave under the impression that you were seeing somebody else, Chris. It just makes me think you took these days to think of a good enough lie before coming here.”

Chris sighs, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I told you, I just panicked. I swear on everything, I swear on my brothers, baby, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You finally allow yourself to take in Chris’s disheveled appearance, realizing he looked just as bad as you did. He looked miserable.

“It’s gonna take a lot for me to fully trust you again but… I want to believe you so bad. So I do.” You tell him quietly. You’ve never seen such relief on Chris’s face before this moment, the way his eyes lit up and the corners of his lips curled, a breath of relief falling from his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, reaching both hands out towards you in the hopes you’d close the gap between you both. “I’ll earn your trust back, I promise.”

You sniffle and nod, scooting closer so that you could swing your legs over his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. The room is quiet for a few moments, Chris gently rubbing your thigh with one hand while he held you close with the other, before you clear your throat gently. “How’d you know my favorite flowers?” You ask timidly.

Chris looks down at you, sucking in a deep breath. He knew this was the moment where he told you how he really felt and how deep it actually ran.

“You and Matt had a conversation a couple years ago and you guys were talking about flowers and you said these were your favorite, so I remembered in the hopes of getting to buy you them some day,” Chris starts out. “I don’t know if you remember when we went on that date and you yelled at me saying I didn’t know anything about you?”

You nod against his shoulder, prompting him to continue.

“I always made plans on your birthday because I thought you wouldn’t want me around. I always made sure I was busy, just so I didn’t have to deal with the disappointment of not being invited somewhere. I’ve always known when it is.” He sighs nervously, swallowing before continuing. “There’s a canvas in my room and it’s just all different shades of the same color; I’ve had it for about a year. I painted it after you posted this one photo to your instagram, the one where you have no makeup on and you’re facing the sun. I thought your eyes looked so pretty in that picture and I couldn’t tell you, so I painted them instead. Baby, I have been painfully in love with you for years and I’m not about to lose you over some stupid shit my brother said.”

You were blown away by his words, not even being able to comprehend someone being so head over heels for you that they’d do these things for you and suffer in silence, all because he thought your feelings towards him were nothing but negative. How would you possibly be able to stay away from him ever again, knowing what you know now?

You didn’t think you wanted to.

Chris slid you off his lap and sat you facing forward on the couch, moving to get on his knees in front of you, hands grabbing your own and holding them close to his chest. “I love you,” he tells you, not a shadow of a doubt in his voice. “I want to do this. For real.”

You stared down at the man in front of you, broken at the thought of losing you, but fulfilled at the thought of calling you his. It seemed like a no brainer.

“I guess I could suffer through being your girlfriend a little bit longer,” you tease, a smile lighting up your face.

Chris grinned with you, pushing himself up until your faces were aligned, lips molding together like you were made for each other.

Turns out your love wasn’t all smoke and mirrors.

-

a/n: (‘:

my babies are finally together

i’m so happy this is over!

thanks so much for all the love <3

feel free to send requests based on these characters or requests for new fics I love u guys so much always

- avery

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 1

pairing: you x drew starkey

The sound of Drew’s laugh filled the cozy apartment as you scrolled through your phone, settling deeper into the plush couch. It was a laugh you’d heard a thousand times – warm, genuine and utterly infectious. You glanced up to see him standing in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce in a hoodie that he’d stolen from your side of the closet weeks ago. The sigh made your heart swell.

“How’s it going?” you asked, setting your phone aside.

“Almost done,” Drew said, flashing you a grin over his shoulder. “Hope you’re ready to be impressed by my gourmet skills.”

You chuckled, pulling your knees to your chest. “If it’s anything like last time, I should probably have the takeout app ready.”

Drew pretended to be offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “That was one time! And in my defense, the oven was possessed.”

Moments like this had become your favorite part of life with Drew – quiet, intimate evenings that felt words away from the chaos of Hollywood. For all the glitz and glam of his career, Drew was just Drew with you.

As you watched him carefully plate the pasta, you couldn’t help but feel proud of everything he’d accomplished. His latest role in the Hellraiser reboot was shaping up to be a major career move. And while you knew the spotlights came with challenges, you’d always been his biggest cheerleader.

Later that night, as the two of you lounged on the couch, Drew’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, then sighed.

“It’s my manager,” he said, sitting up. “Give me a sec?”

“Of course,” you said, reaching for the remote to find something to watch.

Drew stepped into the next room, his voice low but audible enough for snippets to carry over.

“…. Press tours…. Odessa …. Chemistry angle?”

You tried to focus on the TV, but your curiosity got the better of you. Odessa A’Zion – Drew’s new co-star. You’d seen her name pop up recently in articles about the movie, paired with glowing reviews of her talent and personality. She seemed nice enough in interviews – bold and charming in a way that made you feel a little plain by comparison.

“Everything okay?” you asked, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, but his tone wasn’t convincing. “Just.. movie stuff. Our team thinks Odessa and I need to lean into the whole co-star chemistry thing for the press.”

“Chemistry thing?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

“It’s all PR,” Drew said quickly, his hands finding yours. “They’re talking about a few staged photo ops, maybe some friendly banter during interviews. You know how it goes.”

You nodded slowly, even as an uneasy feeling settled in your chest. You did know how it went – Hollywood loved its narratives, and the lines between fiction and reality often blurred.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Drew added, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. Not Odessa. Never Odessa.”

You smiled softly, but the words didn’t erase the knot in your stomach.

The first set of paparazzi photos hit the internet like a wildfire: Drew and Odessa at a café, leaning across the table as if sharing a secret. Her laugh was captured mid-burst, her hand grazing his arm.

The headlines were just as dramatic as you’d feared: Drew Starkey and Odessa A ‘Zion’s Off-Screen Chemistry is Off the Charts!

You scrolled through the photos on your phone, bile rising in your throat. They were clearly staged, every angle too perfect to be a coincidence. But that didn’t make it easier to stomach.

The worst part was the comments. Fans fawned over the “new power couple”, dissecting every detail of their interactions. People who had once rooted for you and Drew now seemed eager to erase you from the narrative entirely.

When Drew came home that night, you tried to play it cool, but your unease must’ve shown.

“Hey” he said, dropping his bag by the door and crossing the room to kiss your forehead. “You okay?”

“Mmm, fine” you said, forcing a smile.

Drew studied you for a moment before glancing at your phone. His face fell as he recognized the photos.

“Y/N, I –“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, setting the phone aside. “I know it’s just PR. It’s your job.”

Drew sat beside you, his hands wrapping around yours. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said firmly. “You’re the one I come home to. You’re the one I love.”

You wanted to believe him. But as Drew kissed your temple and pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered, whispering doubts you weren’t ready to face.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @hoelesslyt @wtfdudesblog

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

she was simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus miss (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme bot. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating them.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did she assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell her that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all people in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[aurynsia]

what would be the life after hogwarts for james and reader? i can just imagine james thinking of the best ring he could give reader to ask her to marry him, or even like thinking of where they should live in.

Life After Hogwarts

James Potter x Reader

Summary: James won’t settle for anything less than perfect for his perfect girl...

Warnings: Intense fluff, Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, James is just a good hearted rich boy who wants the best for his partner <3

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for the request! I wrote this as a sequel to this series, but it can just as easily be read as a stand alone oneshot. Enjoy!

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Pads, please focus here. This is serious!”

“No, I’m Sirius, born and raised! Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded, Prongs?”

James and Sirius stood bent over the cabinet of delicate rings, the latter struggling to free himself from a ring size too small. James huffed in frustration, brows furrowed in contemplation as he glanced across the display one last time.

“None of them feel right, I’m telling you! We‘ll just have to find somewhere else, she won’t like how flashy all of these diamonds are,” James sulked and grumbled as Sirius finally eased the ring off of his nimble finger.

“Prongs, this is the fifth jeweller we’ve been to in the past four hours. Merlin, the sun is already setting and you haven’t even considered a single one of the more than acceptable rings we’ve looked at!”

Sirius scrambled to chase James out of the store, pace quickened along the damp concrete of the sidewalk.

“It needs to be perfect, she’s perfect. I will settle for no less.” James held his head high, nose turned upwards at the raven haired boy who grew visibly sluggish with every step.

Sirius groaned, only following his bespectacled friend for another quick moment before James stopped abruptly at a pawn shop window, eyes bursting wide with hope.

The ring in the window shone elegantly against the store’s harsh light. The metal twisted and turned in a smooth curve that was sure to make your skin glow radiantly in contrast. It was understated, with only the minor details in the engravings making a quiet display of the mountain of money James was about to spend.

“That’s the one. It’s perfect.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The cool breeze wrapped around the Potter’s summer house with ease, pressing against your skin to form goosebumps along the soft surface.

James had been acting strangely all day, almost avoiding you at every turn of the house’s walls like his life depended on it. He fiddled with his fingers, stuttered out his words and blushed at every subtle sound of amusement you made.

Finally relaxing into your side, James sheltered you from the wind with his body on his family’s beach-side deck. Your evening beverage was pressed between your legs, freeing your hands to run soothing circles over your boyfriend’s back.

His eyes clenched shut, head growing wrinkles as he sought his trademark courage that seemed to all but disappear the moment you were near.

Slowly, tentatively, he lifted his body from your warmth, flashing you a sympathetic smile to compensate for the absolute fool he was about to make of himself.

“Love, I- you mean the world to me…” he turned to face you. “These past years with you have made for some of the happiest moments I’ve ever experienced…” he shifted to lift up onto his knees, gazing down at your curious expression.

“I love you so, so much. I loved you when I first met you, the shy girl on the Hogwarts express. I loved you when we started dating, all smiles over candle lit dinners, and…” He moved again, down on one knee. “I want to keep loving you when you marry me.”

You gasped at the genuine glaze of his soft brown eyes, his lean towards your stationary body, and the ring sat in his grasp, shrouded by a velvet box.

He coughed slightly at the awkward atmosphere, repeating himself with clarity. “Will you…marry me?”

“Godric, James- yes!”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Fleamont Potter was showering his son with engagement gifts. James never had any reason to complain about his family or economic situation, and to say he grew up comfortably would be a drastic understatement.

House hunting was James’ first protocol after his successful proposal. He had patiently listened to you ramble about your dream house for years, trying to stay focused under your captivating gaze and endearing energy. Big windows, lots of light, and a burning fireplace.

That’s exactly what James was searching for as he strolled down the streets of Godric’s Hollow. He had inspected every single house he could find, taken or not. The day was wearing out, washing lines already dried under the subtle summer heat.

His gaze fell in a wave of sluggish fatigue, only to be snapped open by the sight of a Southern-style mansion positioned right on the edge of Godric’s Hollow, towering over the sidewalk. The house was decorated with shutters and balconies, as well as a small red sign in the front yard.

FOR SALE.

He rushed to the front door, conveniently propped open. “It’s a beautiful place, really, but we’re after something a little more…modern.” A family glided past James in a pack, concluding what he could only assume to be a tour of the house.

The estate agent fixed his tie as he bid farewell to the family, promising something about searching closer to the city the following week. He spun around to find James gawking eagerly at the front door, before clearing his throat to gain the young Potter’s attention.

“Would you like a tour?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James flashed you a smug smile as you gazed in awe at the intricate architecture of your new townhouse. You were perched on the front lawn, tucked into James’ side with his hand on the small of your back.

“It’s so beautiful…” you mused wistfully, gaze drawn to the rustic tiles on the roof like sunflowers to the sun. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, I mean- this must have been an absolute pain to buy…” you finally tilted your gaze to see James peering over you, a lovesick longing painted on his features.

“Love, my father knows people - too many to count - who were more than happy to help with this little engagement gift,” he chuckled, eyes still locked on yours. “When I saw this house for the first time…it was calling your name. Our names.”

The house was big enough to hold a few kids and some small pets - clearly too big for just you and James, but he hoped that your family would fill it out in the coming years. There needed to be room for at least one big black dog.

Still uncertain, you gave James a sceptical look. “It was no trouble, really.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he drove you through the open door by your shoulders.

You stumbled through each room, captivated by the warmth in every corner you turned to. James was hot on your heels, guiding you by your waist every now and then to show you specific features of the kitchen, the bathrooms and the already decorated master bedroom.

You jumped onto the bed with glee, warmth engulfing you under your body.

“Jamie…it’s perfect…” you mused, eyes shut as you felt the bed dip with your Fiancée’s weight, who shifted to kiss your forehead with care.

“You’re perfect, love.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 17

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU 🥰🥰

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Sad steve, a little angst, fluff 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/N: ugh finally is all i gotta say

Masterpost

Steve stepped into the apartment quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. The living room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, the TV playing a muted rerun of an old sitcom. He looked up as Steve entered, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Did you find her?” Sam asked, sitting up and setting the popcorn aside.

Steve nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. She was sitting on a park bench not too far from here.”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And? She okay?”

Steve hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before walking over to the couch. He sank down beside Sam, exhaling deeply. “She knows,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation.

Sam froze, his jaw tightening. “Knows what?”

Steve looked down at his hands, clasping them tightly as if trying to hold himself together. “That I’m in love with her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of Steve’s words. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And what did she say?”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “She said she doesn’t love me back. I asked her if she thinks she ever could, and…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “She said at one point, maybe. She believes she could have. But now, with everything going on with Bucky…”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes softening with sympathy. “Man, I’m sorry.”

Steve leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as the ache in his chest deepened. “It’s eating me alive, Sam. Knowing that if I’d just made a move sooner, she could’ve been with me. Maybe she wouldn’t be so hung up on Bucky. Maybe we could’ve been happy.”

Sam let out a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Steve… you can’t do that to yourself, man. You can’t sit here and play the what-if game. Trust me, it doesn’t help. And honestly? If I’m being real with you, this was always going to happen.”

Steve frowned, his eyes opening to meet Sam’s. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a sad smile, his tone gentle but firm. “The universe was always gonna have it be her and Bucky. You’ve gotta know that. They’ve got that messy, complicated, meant-to-be kind of thing. And yeah, it sucks for you—it sucks for anyone standing on the outside looking in—but some things just… are.”

Steve looked away, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Sam nodded, understanding the weight in Steve’s voice. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at the muted TV. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s not gonna for a while. But you’ve gotta find a way to live with it, man. Letting it eat at you? That’s not gonna do you any good.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I thought maybe if I just held on, if I waited long enough, she’d see me. But she never has, not like I see her.”

Sam leaned forward again, his tone firm but not unkind. “Steve, you can’t do that to yourself. I know it hurts, but you’re stuck in a shitty situation. The universe has always been rigged for her and Bucky. That’s not on you.”

Steve’s lips twitched in a faint, bitter smile. “You think so?”

Sam nodded. “Oh, I know so. Hell, I figured it out back in college.”

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Remember when I asked her out that one time?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, the memory rushing back. “Of course, I remember. You came back, said it wasn’t gonna work, and then you two were best friends from then on.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s because thirty minutes into the date, I realized she wasn’t just talking about Bucky—she was glowing every time his name came up. I sat there thinking, ‘How the hell did I not see this before?’” He paused, his voice softening. “Doesn’t matter what she says or doesn’t say about him. She’s always been his, Steve. And I think he’s always been hers too. They’re just too damn stupid to admit it.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. “You’re probably right.”

Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, I know I am. You should’ve seen Bucky that night I took her out. He didn’t say anything, but the guy didn’t sit still for hours. He kept pacing around our dorm like he was waiting for her to come back. And once I started hanging out with you and Bucky more, it was even clearer. Bucky looked at her like she hung the stars, and she was over there looking at him like he was her entire world. You couldn’t miss it.”

Steve leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “So why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t she?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s just who they are. Stubborn as hell, both of them. And I think part of it is fear, you know? They’re both so scared of losing what they have that they’ve been too chicken to reach for more. But, Steve, that’s not on you. It’s not your fault they’ve been stuck in this endless loop.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. “But here’s the thing—you’re not second best, Steve. You’re not just a fallback option, and you shouldn’t let yourself feel like one. If it wasn’t meant to be with her, that’s on the universe, not you.”

Steve let out a small, bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Not as easy as you think. But I’ll tell you this—there’s a world of people out there who would give anything to have someone like you in their corner. Someone who sees them the way you see her. And maybe one day, you’ll find someone who looks at you the way she looks at Bucky. She may be closer than you think….You deserve that, Steve. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Steve’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, but he nodded slowly, the truth of them settling in. “Thanks, man.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. “Anytime. And hey, remember—there’s plenty of fish in the sea. You just gotta let yourself cast the line.”

Steve let out a weak laugh, but there was a hint of hope in it. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Sam said firmly. “Now, ill grab us a beer and lets figure out what the hell we’re doing tomorrow because I’m pretty sure the group’s about to implode.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Sounds about right.”

The two friends settled back into the couch, the weight of the conversation still lingering but lighter now. And as Steve stared at the muted TV, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right.

College First year

It was a crisp fall evening, the kind where the air had just enough of a chill to make you wish you’d brought a scarf. The campus was alive with chatter and laughter, students hurrying to and from the dining halls or bundling up for late-night study sessions. You’d agreed to go on a date with Sam, mostly because Wanda and Natasha had been relentless about it.

“Come on,” Natasha had said, practically throwing your coat at you. “He’s great. He’s charming. And let’s be honest, he’s got arms that could carry you out of a burning building.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed. Sam had always been easy to talk to, Steve said he was the better roommate out of him and Bucky, so that was a good sign and you figured if nothing else, it would be a fun night.

When he showed up to pick you up, he greeted you with his signature warm smile, a casual button-up, and a bouquet of flowers that was just the right mix of thoughtful and not overly formal. “Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

The two of you ended up at a cozy Italian restaurant just off campus. It was charming, with string lights and the soft hum of an acoustic guitar playing in the background. The warm glow of the string lights outside the building made it feel like a scene straight out of a rom-com. Sam opened the door for you with a playful bow.

“After you, milady,” he said, flashing that signature grin that had most girls on campus swooning.

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. “Don’t push your luck, Wilson.”

Sam was, as expected, funny and kind, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. You laughed about your classes, swapped embarrassing stories about your friends, and commiserated over the sheer insanity of trying to balance everything college threw at you. He was cracking jokes and telling stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly spilled your water more than once.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Sam recounted an embarrassing story from his freshman year. “You really thought sneaking a chicken into your dorm room was a good idea?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “In my defense, it was my chicken. His name was Nugget, and he was a gift from my uncle. You don’t just abandon family.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t think a chicken counts as family, Sam.”

“Clearly, you’ve never owned a chicken,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

As the food arrived, the conversation shifted to classes, mutual friends, and campus gossip. Everything felt easy—until Sam tilted his head, his playful smile fading slightly.

But somewhere between the second course and dessert, Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh no. What? Is it the way I hold my fork? Natasha said it’s weird.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… you talk about Bucky a lot.”

Your fork froze mid-twirl, and you blinked at him. “I do not,” you said quickly, your voice a little too defensive. “Do I?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart skipped a beat.

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. I mean, I get it—you’ve been friends forever. But it’s not just that. It’s the way you talk about him. And the way your eyes kinda… linger when you bring him up.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you quickly looked down at your plate, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “It’s not… I mean, Bucky and I, we’re just friends. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been.”

Sam gave you a look, one that was both knowing and a little amused. “I'm sensing that maybe someone, not naming names, is feeling a little more than just friends?” He paused, his smile fading into something more serious “Does he know?”

Your stomach twisted, and you set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And please don’t tell him. I don’t even know what I want, and the last thing I need is for him to know that I’m…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “In love with him?”

Your head shot up, and you glared at him, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sam said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together before, but it’s written all over you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. “Well, great. Now you know my secret. Are you gonna tell him?"

Sam laughed, reaching across the table to gently tap your hand. “Hey, I won’t. But… you should probably figure out what you want. For your sake, not his. I don’t think I’m the guy you’re supposed to be out with tonight.”

You felt a pang of guilt, but Sam’s easy grin quickly soothed it. “Sam, I’m sorry—” You sighed, your fingers gripping your fork tightly. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Bucky and I… we’re complicated. And I’m not even sure he thinks of me like that.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re both blind as hell. But hey, that’s not my business.” He reached across the table giving your hand a squeeze “Don’t be, I’m glad we did this. I mean, it’s not every day you go on a date and realize the person you’re with is completely hung up on their best friend. But hey,” he added, his smile widening, “I can already tell we’re gonna be the best of friends.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said with confidence. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, if you’re done breaking my heart with all this Bucky talk, I have an important question for you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What question?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, completely serious.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Sam repeated, his grin widening. “It’s a make-or-break question for me. We can’t be friends if you’re one of those ‘ghosts aren’t real’ people.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier easing slightly. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ve never seen one.”

“Classic ghost-denier response,” he said with mock disappointment. “But it’s okay. I’ll convert you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “What are you, the Ghost Whisperer?”

“Exactly,” he said, winking. “And by the end of the semester, you’ll be a believer too.”

The rest of the evening was spent walking around campus, talking about everything and nothing. Sam made you laugh so hard your sides hurt, and by the end of the night, you felt lighter—like you’d gained not just a friend, but someone who truly understood you.

As he walked you back to your dorm, he gave you a warm hug, whispering, “Don’t wait too long to figure out what you want, alright?”

You nodded, feeling both grateful and a little overwhelmed. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

“Anytime, Ghost Denier,” he teased, pulling back and giving you a mock salute. “Now go figure out your complicated Bucky situation before I have to knock some sense into both of you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you opened your door. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Y/N” he said , turning and walking down the hall. “And remember—ghosts are real!”

As you closed the door, his words echoed in your mind. Figure out your Bucky situation. If only it were that simple.

The city was quieter now, the usual hum of nightlife softened as you made your way back to your apartment. It was late, the chill in the air biting at your skin as you wrapped your coat tighter around you. Natasha’s words echoed in your head, their weight pressing heavily on your chest. Stop wasting time.

When you reached your building, your hands were shaking—not from the cold but from the uncertainty of what waited for you inside. You hesitated for a moment, staring at the door, before finally gripping the handle and pushing it open.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the lamp in the living room. Bucky was still there, sitting on the couch in the same spot you’d left him hours ago. His posture was slouched, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. But now, his eyes were red and puffy, the streaks on his cheeks betraying the tears he’d shed.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you tried to steady your breathing.

You swallowed hard and turned back toward the door, pressing your back against it as you shut your eyes tightly for a moment. You inhaled deeply, gathering the courage you needed, and when you finally opened your eyes again, you faced him.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

Bucky blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He stood slowly, his hands hanging at his sides, and took a tentative step closer. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, raw with emotion.

Bucky’s voice cracked as he answered, “It’s the only thing I’ve ever meant.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them wrapping around you like a second skin. You stared at him, your breath hitching as every wall, every defense you’d built, threatened to crumble under the sincerity in his voice.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, like he was afraid any sudden motion would shatter the fragile moment between you. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since the day you tied your shoe in kindergarten and told me you’d be my best friend forever.” A hollow, broken laugh escaped him. “I think I loved you even before I understood what love was.”

Your lip quivered as tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I mean it, doll,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “Every girl, every date, every time I tried to move on—I couldn’t. Because none of it felt right. None of them were you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sheer honesty in his gaze cutting through every doubt, every fear.

Your voice broke as you finally said, “You can’t just say this now, Bucky. Not after everything.” You wiped at the tears streaming down your face, frustration mixing with the flood of emotions. “Do you know how hard it’s been? To watch you with other girls, to convince myself that what I felt didn’t matter because you didn’t feel the same?”

He winced like your words physically hurt him. “I know,” he said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been such a coward. I’ve spent years too scared to say it, too scared to ruin what we had, and instead, I ruined it anyway.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as you looked away, your voice rising. “You didn’t just ruin it. You hurt me, Buck! You let me believe I was just your backup, your best friend who didn’t measure up to everyone else.”

His voice cracked as he took another step forward. “You were never my backup. You’ve always been my first choice—always. I’m just an idiot who didn’t know how to show it.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the kind born from heartbreak and exhaustion. “And Steve?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Did you ever think about what telling me about him would do? How I’m supposed to face him now, knowing what I know?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I know I shouldn’t have said it. I know it wasn’t my place, but I was desperate. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—to Dean, to Steve, to anyone.”

“Steve doesn’t deserve this,” you said, your voice softening, your heart aching for the friend who had loved you quietly and selflessly for years. “He’s been nothing but good to me.”

“I know,” Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I hate myself for saying anything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I couldn’t watch you slip away again.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as his words washed over you. “You don’t understand what this does, Bucky. To us. To all of us. What if this destroys everything, friendships...”

He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out but stopping short, hovering near yours. His voice was low, desperate. “Maybe it will. Maybe we’ll burn everything to the ground. But I can’t lie to you anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this—don’t feel you—like a part of me I can’t live without.”

The dam finally broke. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I love you too,” you cried, the words spilling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve loved you for so long it hurts. But I don’t know how to trust this, Bucky. How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

“You love me” He breathed out like it was his last breath, he blinked away the tears of relief his hands finally found yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life proving I won’t.”

The tears were falling freely now, both yours and his, as the weight of everything settled between you. His hands tightened around yours, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I’m all in, sweetheart,” he whispered. “No more games. No more running. Just us.”

The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding so hard it hurt, but when your eyes locked with his, everything else disappeared. In those piercing blue depths, you saw it. The truth. The love. The promise. The years of unspoken feelings and tangled emotions were laid bare between you, and for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it—believe him.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, surging forward, your lips crashing into his with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release, a culmination of years of pain, longing, and unsaid words. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline, while his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld you into him.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and raw. His lips were warm, firm yet trembling with emotion as they moved against yours. His hands roamed, one tangling in your hair while the other settled on your waist, holding you steady against him. You could feel the desperation in the way he kissed you, the silent plea for you to believe him, to stay, to never leave again.

You broke the kiss for a second, gasping for air, but Bucky didn’t let you go. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both stood there, trembling. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me… we can make this work. We have to.”

The intensity in his voice, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze, made your chest tighten painfully. You nodded, your tears blurring your vision, but a soft laugh escaped you—shaky, but real. “You and me, Buck. Always.”

A flicker of a smile broke across his face, small but genuine, as if he could barely believe this moment was real. His arms tightened around you, pulling you so close that you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your chest.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. His lips brushed yours again, this time slower, softer. It was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, the taste of you, as if he couldn’t quite trust that you were truly his.

Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the faint stubble on his cheeks. You deepened the kiss, letting it linger this time, savoring every second. His lips were gentle yet unyielding, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way he kissed you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise.

When you finally pulled away again, your breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours once more. His voice was soft but resolute, every word laced with a quiet, unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay. It’s us.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and for the first time in years, you felt truly whole. “It’s us,” you repeated, your voice a whispered vow.

[whoreforsexymen]

Vander 🫗 | SMUT Headcanons

Pairings: Vander x Reader, Dom!Vander x Reader

Rating: NSFW!! 18+, MDNI ! You WILL be blocked.

Pronouns: She/Her + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Word Count: 898

Tags: DaddyDom!Vander, Spit play, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Crawling, Thigh Riding, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Etc.

Notes: Just some spicy Headcanons for our big, old, husky, bearded barman 🤍 as well as some for a darker version of our big teddy bear dad 🤍

- Vander is completely enchanted by your lips. Every chance he gets, especially when he cradles your face in his hands, he can’t resist the urge to brush his thumb over them, savoring their softness. It’s also no wonder how primal it makes him feel considering how your own natural instinct is to suck the skin of his thumb gently. Every. Single. Time.

- He can’t help but prod at them until you let him breach the surface. You’re always so hungry for a taste of him, no matter if it’s his cock or his fingers. Always so insatiable, and deeply unsatisfied until moments like these when you’re greedily swirling your tongue around his finger.

- He never wastes time in hooking his thumb into your mouth, toying with making you and your tongue slave to find it. The slickness of your saliva and the sounds that follow are nothing short of immaculate, a perfect blend of neediness and yearning that leave him desperately smitten.

- The way you whimper, and the way your thighs grind together to ease the tension and aching in your clit drives him to the brink—the sounds unraveling him, each one igniting the flames of his own aches.

- He wants nothing more than to switch his fingers out for his cock— but unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to hear you as well. His fingers are slim enough to let the noise pass over them, but his cock would be a different story.

- Vander is a gentle lover by nature, but— like any part of nature, he has his more unpredictable moments. His ‘natural disasters’ or sorts. Though—you wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘disasters’.

- Just as easily as it is for him to spend hours tenderly ramming his cock into you, during more ferocious, needy moments, he’ll waste no time in fucking you senseless. Despite it mainly happening every blue moon, he knew when you needed it like this, and he knew that you’d be willing to take it on the days he needed it like this.

- You both have happily accepted that he’s a man with a wild side to be nurtured every now and then. And you’re so good at nurturing it for him. When laying in bed, he’s started fucking you from behind, quickly losing his patience for tenderness. He’s sat upright against the headboard, and pulled you on top of him, all without ever disconnecting from you for even a moment.

- With your back pressed to his chest, he cups under your knees, almost folding you in half from the way he gripped and pulled them back- as he started slamming his hips at a merciless pace. The angle had you practically foaming at the mouth, considering—with his given strength—he uses minimal effort to bounce you up and down to meet the way he was snapping his hips up into you. The way your ass bounced on his legs is a sight that constantly makes his dick twitch when he thinks back to it.

- The screams you could never bother to try stifling almost kept him up at night sometimes. Too many times have the recollections made him overfill a pint or two behind the bar counter, earning questioning glances from bar patrons. He can’t always help the way his mind wanders when he has you to ravish every night.

- Vander often says things like:

“C’mon Angel— Look at me while you suck my cock dry. I wanna see those pretty little eyes of yours.”

“That’s it— Attagirl. Atta-fuckin’-girl.”

Dom!Vander HC’s

- Will make you kneel on the ground, mouth wide open, pussy dripping, and leave you like that. He’d tell you that you weren’t allowed to swallow your spit. He’d then pull up a chair and sit in front of you, despicably far, and just watch you. He’d wait until your shirt became transparent from how much drool had fallen on it. Then—only then, would he speak.

- “Crawl…” he commands.

- You obey. You crawl to him, almost desperately quick, until you stop at his boots. He’d be tempted to make you grind on them, but he prefers his thighs for that.

- You crawl onto him, straddling one of his massive thighs.

- Just a few minutes into him making you grind yourself down on it, his blue jeans are just as soaked as your shirt.

- “Attagirl.” He’d coo as he’d start guiding your hips for you with his hands. It’s your fault if you think he’s going to let you cum anytime soon, though.

- When he halts all movement once you’re practically falling off the edge of your orgasm, he’d tut at you when you keep trying to desperately find the friction again.

- “Don’t you fight me.” He’d snap as you greedily tried to chase your orgasm, thrashing your hips around against his grip.

- He’d pull your hair and make you look at him, his other hand holding your jaw with contempt.

- Denial was his virtue. He won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

- “Cry for me, Angel.” He’d command, needing to see the tears in your eyes while you begged for release.

- When you’d get too embarrassed to do so, he’d grip your face tighter.

- “Let. Me. Hear. You.” So you do. You let it out.

- And then—only then, will he slip his thick fingers in you.

- “Excellent. Such a good girl. Now. Get yourself off on daddy’s fingers, yeah?” He’d purr.

[reysdriver]

okay, just thinking about some celebrity daring to hit on sirius and he's like "bitch??" and then immediately runs to tattoo reader's name (VERY BIG) on the left side of his chest, right over his heart! and since he takes off his shirt at every show, everyone can enjoy the view (reader is also taken by surprise, she gets very horny if you ask me

Sirius shows the world where his passion lies — rockstar!sirius x reader fluff

warnings: allusions to sex, very suggestive

words: 1k

a/n: I love this request so much omggg that is such a Sirius thing to do (I could see James doing it too actually) but it's just PERFECT. I did change it a bit by making reader know about it beforehand but I hope it's still good! Also horny part 2 maybe... idk yet

You came back to the hotel room with coffee in your hand, a bag of pastries in your purse, and a tabloid magazine under your arm. 

With The Marauders on tour, you’ve been living out of suitcases with your boyfriend and your friends for the last couple weeks. You’ve all been sharing sleep schedules with wolves, staying up until dawn and sleeping later than everyone else in whatever city you were staying in. 

That’s precisely why you left to grab breakfast at eleven in the morning and Sirius was still fast asleep. 

By the time you got back, you walked in to find Sirius wide awake, but still in bed, tangled in the bedsheets. 

“Good morning, love.” Sirius said, shirtless with one hand behind his head. 

“It was a good morning.” You teased, tossing him the magazine. “Then I saw you in the news.”

“Me?” He feigned surprise. It wasn’t at all uncommon for Sirius to be in the news or the tabloids, but it was usually for something he did, not some pop princess who writes songs you get tired of after two listens. 

Sirius sat up and scanned the front page, curious as to what was going on. 

Mary Macdonald makes her move on rock star Sirius Black; New musical romance in the works?

The caption was sitting atop a picture of the popstar in question onstage at a concert, her crop top showing off a fake tattoo on her abdomen with text reading Reserved 4 Sirius Black alongside an arrow pointed down. 

“Oh, come on.” Sirius laughed, throwing the paper to the end of the bed. “This is what got you all bothered?”

You set your purse down and brought the coffee and pastries over to your boyfriend. 

“Yes, so bothered I almost didn’t buy you a coffee. Be happy I did, though.” 

“Of course I’m happy. I love you, doll.”

Sirius lifted the sheets and held out a hand to beckon you into the bed with him. You obey reluctantly, putting on a dramatic pout as you crawled in with your boyfriend and straddled his lap. 

“You know you’re the only one for me, right?” He whispered, hands tracing along your hips. 

You combed your fingers through his perfect hair, a frown on your face. 

“Tell that to the singer-songwriter superstar announcing to the world that you’re the only person she wants between her legs.” 

Sirius smiled in a way that made it painfully obvious he had something stupid to say. “Love, there are millions of people who feel that exact way about me. Including you, I would hope.”

Damn, this man was exhausting. And of course you loved him for it. 

You rolled your eyes and tried to get out of the hotel bed, though your attempt was foiled by Sirius holding you back. 

You let him get his way, but gave him an unimpressed look that did not match his badly-stifled grin. 

“I’ll take care of it, alright?” He said, not elaborating at all. 

You shook your head, hoping he would say more about whatever PR stunt he had in mind. 

“Siri, what are you gonna do?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Sirius said softly. He took your hand in his and slid your palm gently across his bare chest. “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.”

✦✧✦✧✦

The next concert the band had was a few days after you first saw that magazine. You stood in the wings of the concert stage, just before the show started. 

All the other band members had gone onto the stage and started setting up their instruments and playing the long intro to the opening song; it was just Sirius left, saying goodbye to you before he started performing and you made your way to the VIP section. 

“You’re gonna do great, Siri.” You told him sincerely. 

He winked at you, cocky as ever. 

“I always do.” 

Sirius then softened and masked your tone. He held your upper arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’ll let them all know I’m yours, and only yours.”

“They’re gonna go crazy.” You smiled.

“Damn right, they will. I’ll see you out there.”

Sirius gave your ass a playful smack before jogging out to the stage before he missed his cue, so you went down to your reserved space in the audience to see the band play from the best angle. 

The audience lost their minds when Sirius ran onto the stage, per usual, screaming and shouting when all he’s done so far was enter. 

But once Sirius started singing, the crowd noticed something off about the performance—Sirius was wearing a whole shirt for the first time throughout this tour. None of the band acknowledged it, of course; they were too busy playing music to be worried about what Sirius was wearing tonight. 

Once the song finished, Sirius took a moment to say hello to the audience. After all the routine talking points—you know, your ‘how’s everybody doing?’ and whatnot—Sirius found it was the right time to say what he wanted to say. 

“I saw a magazine cover the other day, with my name on it.” He started. “And not for the usual reasons. Mary Macdonald, I think it was…”

Many audience members went wild at the mention of her name, either because they were fans of her music, or they knew exactly what headlines Sirius was referring to. 

“That was definitely an odd thing to wake up and see. But I’ve thought about it because it’s been everywhere, and I just have one thing to say about that.”

Instead of responding verbally, Sirius pulled off his black tank top with a smooth, swift motion, revealing his newest tattoo. 

Your name was printed loud and clear on his chest, right over his heart. He got it done the day the Mary Macdonald pictures came out, and he was ecstatic to show it off to the world. 

It caused quite a reaction, but you weren’t listening to the audience to know what they were even thinking. All you cared about was Sirius up on that stage, blowing you a kiss as The Marauders started to play the next song.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

A Kingdom of Shadows and Steel

Paring: Poly 141 x Reader

AU: (Medival) Knights!141 x Healer!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of injuries, boys assist in training their healer

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i might make a story about this-

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The wind carried the scent of blood and smoke as you knelt in the ruins of the battlefield. Around you, the cries of the wounded echoed—some fading into silence as life slipped away, others clawing at the edge of survival. Your hands worked quickly, trembling but steady, weaving threads of healing magic into a soldier’s mangled leg. The golden glow of your power barely illuminated the grotesque wound, but slowly, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together.

“Get out of here,” you urged, your voice strained but firm. “Before they come back.”

The soldier nodded weakly, dragging himself toward the treeline where others had fled. You sat back on your heels, every ounce of strength drained. Magic always demanded more than you were prepared to give, and this battlefield—a wasteland of broken bodies and charred earth—had swallowed your reserves hours ago.

The sharp crunch of boots on gravel snapped you out of your haze. Your head jerked up, instinctively raising a hand as though you could muster another spell. A shadow loomed over you, taller and broader than anyone you’d encountered today.

“You’re braver than you look,” a low, accented voice drawled.

You blinked, your vision sharpening. A man clad in battered black armor stood before you, a half-mask obscuring the lower half of his face. His eyes, sharp and dark, studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Behind him stood three others, equally imposing: a grizzled, blue-eyed man who carried himself with the weight of leadership; a younger soldier with a cheeky grin, his messy hair barely kept in check; and a man whose presence was like a shadow—silent, his face hidden behind a skull-like mask.

“I wasn’t aware the crown hired mages,” the grizzled man—Captain John Price, you realized—remarked, his arms crossed.

“They don’t,” you replied, struggling to your feet. “I’m not with the crown.”

The masked one, who had yet to speak, tilted his head slightly, his gaze pinning you in place. “Then what are you doing on *our* battlefield?”

You met his stare, unwilling to back down. “Saving lives, since you lot can’t seem to stop spilling blood.”

The younger man—Soap, if you remembered correctly—barked a laugh. “She’s got fire, eh? I like her already.”

Price’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’ll see.”

They didn’t leave you behind. Despite your protests—and your insistence that you could take care of yourself—they decided it was too dangerous for a lone healer to wander war-torn lands. Price gave the order, and that was that.

At first, their presence was overwhelming. They moved like a unit, each man fitting into the group like a piece of a puzzle. Ghost’s quiet intensity was unnerving; you often caught him watching you, his gaze unreadable. Price was distant but protective, a commanding figure who seemed to expect competence from everyone—including you. Soap, with his endless jokes and easy grin, was the only one who made an effort to pull you out of your shell. And then there was Gaz, whose sharp wit and subtle kindness chipped away at your defenses before you even realized it.

The days blurred together as you traveled. The landscape was a patchwork of desolation: burned villages, abandoned farmlands, and the occasional stretch of wilderness untouched by war. At night, the group set up camp in silence, each man falling into a routine as practiced as it was efficient.

You, however, struggled to find your place. Healing was all you knew, and while they respected your skill, you felt like an outsider. That began to change one cold evening when Soap handed you a dagger.

“You’re good with magic,” he said, twirling his own blade between his fingers, “but magic won’t save you when someone’s got steel to your throat.”

You hesitated before taking the weapon. “I don’t know how to use this.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He grinned, positioning himself behind you. His hands covered yours as he adjusted your grip and stance.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re too stiff. It’s just me.”

His touch was firm but careful, his teasing tone oddly comforting. By the time the lesson ended, you were breathless—not from exertion, but from the way his laughter warmed the cold night air.

Over the following weeks, the 141 began to feel less like an obligation and more like a team. Price often joined you during quiet moments, his gruff voice softening as he asked about your past. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, and though he rarely spoke about himself, the glimpses he gave you felt like pieces of a puzzle you were eager to solve.

“You’ve got the heart of a soldier,” he said one night, his eyes steady on yours. “Even if you don’t see it.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your heart like a shield.

Gaz, meanwhile, became your confidant. His sharp humor and easygoing nature made it impossible not to let your guard down. One evening, as you stitched up a tear in his tunic, he regaled you with tales of his childhood.

“Got myself stuck in a tree once,” he admitted, grinning. “Had to be rescued by my little sister. Never lived it down.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine you needing rescuing.”

“Well, we all need rescuing sometimes,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Even you.”

You looked away, his words striking a nerve you weren’t ready to confront.

And then there was Ghost. He was the hardest to read, his silence a wall you couldn’t climb. But his actions spoke volumes. He always seemed to know when you were on the verge of exhaustion, his presence grounding you in ways you couldn’t explain. One night, as you cleaned a gash on his arm, he surprised you by speaking.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, startled. “So are you.”

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. And in that moment, you felt something shift.

It was during an ambush that everything changed.

You were caught off guard, the group scattered as enemy soldiers descended upon your camp. You barely had time to draw your dagger before a blade was swinging toward you.

“Down!” Ghost’s voice cut through the chaos. He moved like a shadow, intercepting the attack with brutal efficiency.

The battle was over in minutes, but the fear lingered. As you sat by the fire that night, your hands still trembling, Soap leaned close, his grin softer than usual.

“You did good,” he said, his voice low. “You held your own.”

“I froze,” you muttered.

“And then you fought,” Gaz added, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “That’s what matters.”

You looked around the circle, meeting each of their gazes. For the first time, you felt like you belonged.

The firelight cast flickering shadows across their faces as the five of you huddled close. The tension that had been building for weeks finally reached its breaking point.

“I’m not blind,” Soap said, breaking the silence. “I see the way you all look at her.”

You froze, your heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

Gaz snorted. “Don’t play dumb. We’ve all got eyes.”

Price cleared his throat, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s true. We’ve… grown attached.”

Ghost’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not just attachment.”

You stared at them, speechless. The walls you’d built around yourself began to crumble, the weight of your feelings crashing down.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking.

“Say you’ll stay,” Price said, his tone gentle but firm.

“Say you’ll let us protect you,” Gaz added.

“Say you’ll let us love you,” Soap finished, his grin softening into something vulnerable.

Your gaze swept over them, each one looking at you with a mix of hope and fear. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face the world alone.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜