#familiar bonding chest party

[crazyfangarlady]

chest party time

Im tired of waiting and i'm celebrating hatching a project I was working on! Emptied my hoard, money etc... archiving the results here for posterity

Chests time :D

Take your bets as to how much I'll have by the time they're all open! ...and how long that'll take me lmao

[pathologicalreid]

little duck | s.r.

in which Spencer is too excited about his first Halloween as a dad to remember he's supposed to be celebrating his birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: jareau!reader, birthday party, halloween, dias des los muertos, roslyn talk, this IS my ffofa family but you don't need to read it to read this (just know that reader and jj have beef), mostly wholesome content, babies and having babies, the spencer reid dilf agenda! word count: 1.53k a/n: is this any good? not sure. it's definitely cute though.

Your eyes flickered around the kitchen, trying to spot a familiar mess of brown curls that you’d lost track of about an hour ago. “Hey,” You said to Penelope, putting an arm around her shoulders, “Have you seen my husband anywhere?”

The blonde shook her head, taking the opportunity to glance around the house to see if he was hiding in plain sight, “Haven’t seen him,” she shared a look with Emily, who shrugged, “Did you check outside?”

Shaking your head, you sighed while picking up some trash from the counter and setting it in the trash. “No, thanks though,” you flashed them a small smile before continuing your way around the house, he wasn’t in the office or the library either.

The house was decorated in a hybrid celebration of Spencer’s birthday and Halloween. Décor for the latter had started going up in September, but the fake spider that Spencer put in the guest bathroom still made your heart race. Balloons fluttered in the air while you strode past them, “Hey, there’s the lady of the house,” your head snapped up.

“Hi Dave,” you greeted Rossi with a hug, “How are you enjoying the party?”

He lifted his glass of punch up, “Other than the fact that I’m not sure how you got the punch to turn green, it’s a beautiful party. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Thanking him, you promised to come back and chat once you found Spencer, who was still missing. As for the punch, you were under strict orders not to tell anyone how the punch had turned green, but you knew that Spencer had used spinach as a natural food dye. Personally, you were avoiding the liquid like the plague.

Finally checking outside, the only thing you found was Matt’s older four chasing each other with glow sticks while their father watched on. Kristy was inside with Rosemary, who wasn’t quite old enough to chase her older siblings yet. You smiled at the thought that maybe next year she’d be able to join the big kids.

Henry and Michael were on the playset, the older of the two trying to impress his younger brother by crossing the monkey bars. You waved at Michael on the swing before closing the door behind you, turning around to continue your search in the house, jumping when you found someone behind you. “Oh,” you hung your head in shock, “You scared me.”

Your sister smiled at you, “Sorry, I saw you looked like you were searching for something, I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

JJ made your chest ache. Every time she offered to do something for you or surprised you with a gift, she continued to get into your good graces, but it just reminded you of your broken bond. Shaking your head, you looked around the living room, “I’m just looking for Spencer.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, “He went upstairs with Amelia about ten minutes ago. I didn’t see him come down.”

You sighed in relief once you knew where your husband and baby were, “Thank you.” Making your way to the stairs, you turned and spoke up again, “And J, take some leftovers home! I really don’t need all of it.”

Hopefully, you could convince everyone to take at least something home. Throwing parties was a curse, there was always too much food. You made your way upstairs, checking the master bedroom before peeking your head into the nursery, finally finding Spencer.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mila propped up in front of him, still learning how to stand unassisted. You leaned against the door frame, watching Spencer adjust her Halloween costume as she stared at him in wonder.

It was a tradition in your family for your mom to make the costume for Halloween, at least the first one, and Spencer was more than willing to adopt any tradition available to him, especially if it involved Halloween. You gave your mom free rein of the costume idea, so you shouldn’t have been surprised when she showed up before the party today with a baby duck costume in tow.

She was blowing raspberries at him while he brushed some feathers out of her face, “We’ll have to trim some of those, honey,” he spoke to her gently. He had refrained from putting the hood over her head, either because he didn’t want to ruin the tiny ponytail she had sticking up from her head or because he didn’t want her to get too warm, but she seemed more than content to be dressed in the bright yellow outfit.

You were thankful that she’d be comfortable in the costume because the rest of the week would be jam-packed. Tomorrow night was the FBI trunk or treat, then a Halloween party at Rossi’s, then actual Halloween, and then a Dia De Los Muertos party at Penelope’s to round off the week.

Honestly, you weren’t sure who was going to be more exhausted by the end of the week, you or Mila.

Eventually, you caught the gaze of your eight-month-old, who reached out and made grabby hands at you, exposing your location to Spencer, who turned his head to look at you, “Hey,” he said, still holding her upright even though his eyes weren’t on her.

“Hi,” you greeted back, unable to take your eyes off of the baby. More specifically, you were unable to take your eyes off of her costume.

You took a seat on the floor across from Spencer, who helped Mila off of her feet so that she could crawl to you, “Go see mama,” he urged her gently, watching as her tiny arms and legs carried her across the floor.

Once she reached you, she pushed herself up on your leg until you scooped her up, settling her in your lap and raising your eyebrows at him, “You know there’s a party going on downstairs.”

“I had noticed that, yes,” he answered, neatly folding the hood of Amelia’s costume and setting it in a pile.

Adjusting the bow on top of her head, you craned your head down and kissed the side of her head—she gurgled in response. “Did you know that they’re all here for you?”

Spencer smiled slightly, “I knew that too.”

Mila continued to babble while you looked at your husband curiously, “And yet,” you started, “You’re up here, putting her Halloween costume on while you should be at your birthday party.”

“I just wanted to see her in it,” he confessed, eyes flickering down at his daughter in her baby duck costume.

You had to admit, she was heart-achingly cute in the handmade costume. You were so happy when your mom brought up making the costume, not wanting to ask right out for it.

From the day she was born, Amelia was surrounded by family, you and Spencer made sure of it. She was cuddled up in the hospital with a blanket that Penelope crocheted. Even her nickname—Mila—had been granted to her by Derek’s daughter, who couldn’t quite swing the three-syllable name at the time.

There was a pit in your chest that was brought upon you by the symbolism of the costume, you often wondered what life would be like if your eldest sister was still around. You wondered what she’d think of your baby’s middle name—Rose—and if she’d think it was cool. “Hey, Spence?” You whispered, carefully standing up with Amelia in tow.

“Yes, my love?” He responded, following your lead and getting up off the floor, taking the baby from you, and changing her into pajamas.

You hummed behind him, taking the discarded costume and folding it up, placing it on top of the dresser until you needed it tomorrow. “Happy birthday,” you told him for the nth time today.

He smiled at you, resting Mila on his hip before he turned back to you, “Thank you.” Spencer leaned over and kissed you, the action receiving a coo from your daughter.

Laughing softly, you cupped her head tenderly, “It was a pretty good year, huh?”

Spencer pulled you into his side, you being held in one arm, and Mila in the other. “Yeah,” he murmured, “This one was definitely a favorite.”

Becoming a parent with Spencer was a dream come true, there was nothing you could think of that would top this year. Tilting your head back, you looked up at him, “So, what are you going to wish for this year?”

His gaze flittered down to the baby on his hip.

You shook your head immediately, “Pick something else,” you said, giggling at his silent suggestion. To you, it felt much too soon to think about another baby, and you knew Spencer was mostly joking. The two of you had previously decided on waiting.

Spencer sighed in response, looking between you and Mila, “More of this,” he answered, “The three of us, together.”

Raising your eyebrows, “Avoiding a party together.”

“As a family should,” he affirmed, beaming at you.

You were smiling so much that your cheeks ached, and you nodded your head in the direction of the door, “C’mon, there’s a cake downstairs with your name on it. Literally.”  

[hyunjincanraptoo]

FOURTEEN FOURTEEN FOURTEEEEEEEENNNNN 🙏🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Your wish is my command 🙂‍↕️ this is my first time writing something like this so please be kind to me haha

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, threesome (Hyunjin and Felix are just sharing reader, not doing anything between each other)

Alexa, play Envolver by Anitta

For your birthday, Hyunjin and Felix surprise you with an unexpected gift

The party had been a blur of laughter, flashing lights, and dancing. Felix and Hyunjin had been practically glued to your side the entire evening, making sure you had the best time. Now, after the last guest had left and the music had faded away, the three of you were left alone, the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of a glass the only sounds in the room.

“You should be used to cleaning up after parties by now”, Felix teased as he wiped down the counter. His smile was wide, and his eyes twinkled with mischief, “I don’t mind”, you shrugged, brushing your hair out of your face as you picked up the scattered plates and cups. The room still smelled like cake and lingering alcohol.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, watching you both with a playful smirk, "Don't forget to thank us for the surprise gift later, huh?". You raised an eyebrow, "Gift?!". Felix stepped forward and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. Your heart skipped a beat as you took it from him, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, a charm that you knew meant something special to them. The charm was a piece of a three piece puzzle that only felt complete when together— a symbol of your friendship, a sign of your bond, of the fun, the mischief, and the shared moments, “Guys, this is... perfect”, you whispered, smiling wide. Your heart swelled with affection, and you pulled them both into a hug.

The alcohol you’d had earlier was still swirling in your bloodstream, making your movements a little looser, your thoughts a little less controlled. As you hugged them, a strange warmth filled you. The close contact, the way their bodies pressed against yours, the comfort of their familiarity. It was almost too much.

What started as an impulsive, messy kiss turned into a tangle of limbs and low, breathy laughs. Awkward at first— Hyunjin bumping noses with you, Felix accidentally knocking over a plastic cup— but it didn’t take long for the teasing touches to melt into something deeper. Hands slipped under clothes. Moans slipped past lips. You ended up sandwiched between their bodies, their mouths everywhere— Hyunjin kissing down your neck while Felix’s fingers explored under your shirt. The air thick with soft gasps and whispered curses. “God”, Hyunjin groaned against your skin, “You taste so good”. Felix’s voice was breathless beside your ear, “This might be the best birthday gift we’ve ever given”. And in that moment, wrapped in their heat and touch, you couldn’t have agreed more.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly and, in an impulsive rush, planted a soft kiss on Hyunjin’s lips. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he smirked, leaning into the kiss and returning it gently. Felix, who had been standing beside you, let out a small chuckle, “Humm… okay, wow! Get a room?”. But you turned to him, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, “Why don’t you come here too?”. His brows lifted up, but he didn’t hesitate for long.

You didn’t remember how the three of you ended up sprawled on the couch, tangled in each other, clothes half pulled off and kisses exchanged like secrets. Hyunjin hummed softly from behind you, where he was pressed along your back, shirt already discarded, chest warm against your skin, “You’re such a temptation”, he muttered, kissing the curve of your shoulder before slipping his hand under your waistband, fingers brushing over your core

It was clumsy at first— Felix trying to push your pants down while you were still seated, Hyunjin’s hips nudging yours, impatient and eager. But eventually, it settled into something slow and charged. You found yourself leaning forward, bracing yourself on your elbows as Hyunjin knelt behind you, stroking himself slowly before guiding his length to your entrance, “Shit”, he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “Do you really wanna do this?” “I didn’t plan to”, you smirked, looking over your shoulder, “But now I want to”. “Fuck”, Felix laughed under his breath as Hyunjin massaged your ass, “Relax, baby”, he whispered, pressing kisses along your spine as his hand gripped your waist, “I’ve got you”.

The stretch was intense but delicious, making your breath hitch as he slowly slid inside you. Hyunjin let out a low groan, head falling backward as he sank deeper, one hand still caressing your waist while the other gripped firmly on your hip.

In front of you, Felix was already stroking himself lazily, watching the way your mouth parted, the way your hips pushed back into Hyunjin’s. He reached forward, his hand guiding yours to wrap around his shaft. Immediately, your thumb teased the head, “Shit”, he gasped. You moaned in between the slow, steady thrusts behind you and Felix’s sexy groans in front of you. Your body felt hypersensitive, pleasure hitting you in waves.

Then Felix reached for something from the table— an unfinished slice of cake, the icing slightly melted. You barely registered it before he spilled a bit of frosting over the tip of his member with a little smirk, “Let’s make dessert even better”, he said with a wink, before you leaned in to lick it off, tongue curling obscenely as he moaned at the sensation. Hyunjin groaned behind you, thrusts deepening slightly, “Are you serious?”, he panted, laughing breathlessly,“You’re licking cake off his cock?”. You chuckled between licks, voice trembling, “I multitask”.

The scene was messy, hot, and overwhelmingly intense— Hyunjin’s hips slapping softly against yours, you alternating between stroking Felix’s member and licking it, your body arching and trembling under the pressure of so much stimulation. Hyunjin was losing control, breath hitching with every thrust, “Fuck, you feel so good…. so tight…”, he grunted, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep with every thrust of his hips.

Your hand worked faster now, lips pressing kisses along the length, as Felix whined your name. You were so close, heat pooling low in your belly, tension building, unbearable. “Come for us”, Hyunjin whispered against your shoulder, voice husky, “Let go, baby”. You cried out, your orgasm hitting you hard as you felt Felix’s release on your tongue. Your whole body was shaking, muscles clenching around Hyunjin, who cursed low and spilled inside you, balls deep, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss.

Felix leaned back, amused with the scene— you all covered in frosting, cum, and sweat. “Well… this party turned out better than expected”. You collapsed forward with a breathless laugh, flushed and wrecked, “Best birthday ever”. Hyunjin pulled you close, kissing the nape of your neck, “Next year, we’re getting more cake”. Felix raised a brow, “And maybe whipped cream”. You groaned, but didn’t say no.

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[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ fin ]

— summary: the one where you nearly tear your hair out, trying to find the perfect christmas gift for your office crush. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo verse, modern au, aged-up characters, mutual pining, misunderstanding trope, mild language, silliness, angst — notes: the finale for this. edit: i lied. this is the finale for this series. thank you for reading! — now playing: swan serenade - piano house

You spend the remainder of the party avoiding your boss like the plague. But running into him is inevitable. You work directly for the man, after all.

As the staff trickles out, taking with them their drunken merriment, you’re left to pick up the pieces of your wounded heart and the party’s aftermath. 

You shove Solo cups and decorative paper plates into a trash bin. Snatch off tablecloths and roll the karaoke machine into the broom closet. Wipe off tables, tear down garland. You do everything you can to stay busy, your self-loathing an ever-present rain cloud hanging overhead.

What were you expecting? For Mr. Sylus to fall to his knees for you? For him to sever whatever bond he has with Ms. Hunter for you? You snort at yourself as a wet film of heat slides over your eyes, impairing your vision. You feel ridiculous. Sick to your stomach. 

The trash bin slips from your fingers, thudding dully on the carpeted floor. In an attempt to collect yourself, you prop your hands on the edge of a table, releasing a shaky sigh. You blink away the new commination of tears. You’d been doing good so far, having given yourself a lengthy pep-talk in the bathroom earlier. Something to get you through what remained of the night without wearing your anguish on your sleeves.

So what if he doesn’t view you in the same light as you view him? This isn’t the first time you’ve faced rejection, and it most certainly won’t be the last. It doesn’t make this iteration hurt any less. You’re his secretary, for God’s sake. Not a friend nor a potential love interest. The quips and laughter you exchange daily are nothing more than him being polite. The model gentleman, maintaining the peace between himself and the person responsible for organizing his life. 

You are so swept up in the turmoil of your mind that you hardly register your name being called. Someone beckons to you again, this time more assertive, though not scolding. You whip your head around to the source of the sound, homing in on a familiar shock of white. 

Tamping down the emotions swelling in your chest, you straighten, fixing your sweater, and a superficial smile takes up residence on your face.

“Yes, sir?”

He studies you for a beat from the slab of space permitted by his half-opened door, long fingers wrapped around the oakwood like spindly spider limbs. He gives you a once over, his brows slightly wrinkled. His lips quiver, gaze pensive like he wants to say something. Something other than what next comes out. 

“Would you mind assisting me with something?” he asks, his tone deceptively impassive. 

Your stomach lurches, the feeling akin to cresting over the slope of a roller coaster. You swallow, pushing your disappointment to the back burner. What did you expect him to say? Sorry? Like he even knows you’re upset. Like he knows why you’re upset. 

Like he cares. 

You nod curtly, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. “Of course, sir.”

You move to your desk, your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin while Sylus slinks back into his office. He promptly reappears, thrusting a thick stack of envelopes of varying sizes and colors towards you. Your vision blurs and adjusts as you glance between him and the envelopes.

“Christmas cards,” he answers flatly with a shrug. “I could use some help opening and drafting up responses to them all.” 

“Oh.” Try to sound more disappointed, why don’t you? 

Your fingers graze the clutch of his hand when you reach for the cards. And the worn, warm glide of his skin beneath your fingertips makes you stiffen. You wonder what it would feel like to purposely hold his hand. To commit the feel of his palm to memory. But you banish such thoughts, bowing your head and ducking away.

“Sorry,” you pinch out, moving to the chaise sofa against the wall by his office door. 

He’s wordless as he plops down beside you, releasing a weighted sigh. He drapes his arm along the back of the seat. You try vainly to ignore his slender fingers near your shoulder, drumming against the polished leather. 

You lapse into a rigid silence, your shoulders and jaw set. You find your resolve trickling away, the warmth he exudes beside you making you feel dizzy and shameless. He even has the audacity to smell good, that unmistakable mixture of birch wood, pressed clothing, and his natural musk, conspiring together to overhaul your senses. 

You wonder if he would be offended if you just… leaned a little this way and—forget it. The bubbly’s getting to you. You’re not testing your luck tonight. You worked your ass off to secure this job, enduring tireless screenings and background checks. Worked even harder to gain his trust. No sense in allowing your feelings to compromise your position. 

Besides, you know where you stand with him. Or don’t stand. The spectacle before with the darling Ms. Hunter was all the confirmation you needed. The words you never stood a chance resound in your head like a struck gong. You scoff, tearing into a crimson envelope, dispelling the cacophony in your head. 

“This one is from Mrs. Carter over in HR,” you say, waving the card around. You don your usual playful mask, praying your hurt doesn’t show through the fissures. He acknowledges you with a gruff sound, immersed in a card of his own. You take that as your cue to continue.

Feigning nonchalance, you flip the card open. You clear your throat, repositioning yourself on the sticky, squeaky sofa, crossing your legs, and leaning towards the opposite chair arm. You rattle off the card’s contents aloud. A generic greeting, hollow praise, a bidding for a successful new year. 

“Send her a gift card,” he answers dismissively. You scoff, tucking the card between your thigh and the chair’s arm. Is it just you, or is he being unbearably cold? You’re the one with the wounded pride here.

You occupy yourself with another letter, trying to quell the new swell of emotions burbling in your chest. You’ve reread the same line repeatedly, the cursive scrawl embedded into the cardstock blurring and bending. It’s exceedingly difficult to focus with him so close. And you find yourself stealing little glimpses of him in your peripheral.

He looks even better beneath the incandescent lights like this, like a Roman sculpture bred from patient hands. His cheeks are mottled red, probably from throwing back one too many glasses of champagne. Delicate, alabaster strands fall from their usual coiffure, sweeping over set brows and hollow cheeks. Dark lashes dust over warm ivory skin, scarlet irises dancing beneath as he reads over another Christmas card. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. Find yourself, too, swallowing against the dry, scratchy feeling in your throat.

You tug in the neckline of your sweater. It’s itchy and thick, and the heater’s turned up in the building to combat the cold outside. You’re uncomfortable because of the temperature and not because your boss is so unbearably close.

With a sigh, you peel yourself from the lounge. You venture to your desk in search of a letter opener. If you’re going to spend the rest of your night working, you might as well make the task a little less daunting. Rifling through your drawers, you happen upon the biggest one. And your breath catches, grip white-knuckled on the brass knob when you catch sight of it. Inside lies your present—his present—the intricate foil wrapping gleaming condescendingly.

Something pulls in your chest. Your hand shakes. Your lips pull into a taut line, embarrassment spuming like a hot geyser into your face. You’re about to slam the drawer shut, but a streak of warm skin stains your peripheral vision. And as horror descends onto your features, he snatches up the contents of your drawer faster than you can process things. 

“What’s this now?” your boss asks, intrigue mixed with amusement hanging in the boughs of his voice. 

Wide-eyed and mortified, you look at him. Your flight or fight instincts kick in, pushing you towards the latter. He dons a wolfish grin as you swipe at the box in his hand, and he holds it just out of reach. Damn him for being so absurdly tall!

“Sir!” you clip, swiping at the gift like an enraged feline. He doesn’t relent, instead spurred by your reaction, and the contents of the box shift about as he continues his childish game of keep away. Your chest slides against him each time you strain on tippy-toe. And you try to ignore how pleasant he feels, warm and hard-bodied against you.

Spinning out of reach, your boss chuckles at your expense. He seems to enjoy this, watching you hop after him like a field mouse, trying vainly to swipe the object from his hand. 

“You think I didn’t notice you fretting over this all night?” he teases once you’ve stopped—at least for now—your cheeks puffing out, nostrils flaring. 

“Mr. Sylus, I—”

“And you weren’t even going to give it to me.” He clicks his tongue, feigning hurt. “What have I done to warrant such cruelty?”

Reality slowly seeps in. He’s one step closer to opening your gift and discovering how much of a useless spazz you are. Switching tactics, you hold out a placating hand, stepping towards him like he’s holding a charged explosive.

“Sir, I need that back!”

His mouth forms a pensive line as his gaze shifts between you and the box clutched in his fingers. “Why? It’s mine, isn’t it? It has my name on it.” He squints at the meticulous scrawl of your penmanship, and when you make a surprise lunge toward the box when you think he’s distracted, he swings his arm out of reach, baiting you like a bull.

He laughs low, a mirthful crease to his eyes. You’d take time to appreciate it if you weren’t fighting for your life. 

“What’s got you so worked up? What could possibly be in here that you’re willing to bite my head off to get it back?”

You swallow thickly, chest heaving as you watch Sylus drop onto your leather rolling chair, cross-legged and smiling like the cat who caught the canary. He shakes the box near his ear, its contents rattling about. 

“Sir, don’t.” But it’s too late. The sound of paper ripping is jarring in the stillness of your office space. 

You’re stiff as stone, mouth hinged open, terror screwing up your features. Eventually, you concede to your fate, hands falling listlessly at your sides whilst your boss uncovers what lurks beneath the pretty foil paper you’d spent so much time wrapping his present in. You pour yourself onto the chaise lounge, your shoulders touching your ears, feeling like a child waiting with their parents at the principal’s office. You sneak little glances at his hands, each tear making you wince like a scrape against your heart.

Sylus quirks a quizzical brow at you, looking between the matte grey box he uncovered in his hand and you. You don’t contest him, too busy trying to remember how to breathe. He takes your cue, slowly peeling the lid off the box. He reaches inside to procure yet another box, slightly smaller than the one it’s nested in, neatly wrapped in paper similar to what he just tore off. 

Giving you a perturbed look, Sylus repeats the previous process. And again, he’s faced with matte gray. He carries on like this, peeling back a lid, finding another box nested inside, and tearing through wrapping paper for another three iterations.

“How long does this go on?” he prods, faced with another box. “And how many trees did you kill to pull this off?”

You press the tips of your index fingers together, pursing your lips as you look elsewhere. “You’re almost there.” You’re half-grateful he decided to be shit about it. You don’t feel as bad for nesting his gift away like matryoshka dolls. He deserves to feel the same distress he subjected you to mere minutes ago.

Vexation rolls off him in waves when he reaches yet another box, and he fixes you with a look that bodes danger. There aren’t too many times you’ve witnessed him this annoyed. He’s normally like this when his afternoon nap is interrupted by anyone but you or he’s dealing with a particularly ornery client. 

You stand from the couch with a nervous titter in your throat, snatching up the discarded red bow and ribbons you adorned his gift with and tacking it onto the crown of your head. You do a little jig, something to dispel the tension, wordlessly cheering him on. 

Sylus rolls his eyes with a resigned sigh. A ghostly smile rounds his lips thereafter, and you could swear you see something like fondness shining in his eyes at your antics. It disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by a determined pinch between his brows. 

You continue swaying your hips from side to side and pumping your fists in the air, the bow's ribbons falling comically over your eyes and water-falling off your shoulders. 

Finally, finally, Sylus exposes a matte, black box that’s the size of his palm. Wrapping paper lies like carnage at his feet, bent-up cardboard boxes piled atop your desk. You sigh in relief, though it’s short-lived, as he opens the final barrier between him and his gift.

He studies the contents of this new box, eerily quiet. You swallow as he reaches inside, producing something garish and pink from within. “What the hell is this?” he queries, waving the plastic novelty revolver around.  

You snort, the flatness of his tone catching you off guard. “A gun,” you answer as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Sylus scoffs. “Clearly. But what is it for?”

Flourishing your arms, you plaster on a grin. “For you to put me down in case you no longer find any use for me!”

Looking between the pink revolver and you, he crooks his finger around the trigger, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to ‘Old Yeller’ you?”   

“If that’s what it comes down to.” And what comedic timing he has, pulling the trigger, a banner with Bang printed in bright Comic Sans popping out, complimented by a flurry of rainbow paper confetti.

Silence lapses between you as the confetti flutters to the floor. You caution a look at your boss, and he shakes his head, his lips crooked into a smirk, though the knit of his brows reveals his disappointment. 

“You can also use it during your meetings when someone pisses you off,” you warily add, shifting your weight between your feet. He doesn’t honor you with a response, instead setting the revolver on your desk with a definitive clack. He studies something in the distance, seemingly ignoring you.

If you weren’t already feeling silly before, you most certainly do now. You figured something unconventional would suit your boss. Something to define your work relationship, the pair of you often trading morbid and esoteric jokes to make the day's hustle a little less daunting. It seemed like a good idea when it caught your eye in the mall. In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t a good buy after all. Especially when compared to Ms. Hunter's gift, and the recollection makes something cold wash over your innards.

You press the tips of your index fingers together, gaze cast on the floor. You’ve screwed up, and you’ll probably lose your job over this. Either that or your working relationship will turn to shit. You’d honestly rather be relieved of your position when considering the latter option. Turning to leave, to pick up the jagged shards of your pride and finish tidying up, you gasp when you feel a warm presence behind you, the fine hairs littering your body standing at attention. 

You turn to acknowledge him, wincing away, expecting to be struck. Mr. Sylus has never raised a hand at you before, only lightly flicking your forehead or tapping your nose when he felt playful that day. You realize how ridiculous you must look and sound, but you steel yourself against the worst possible outcome regardless.

A hit never comes. You’re instead greeted with the hard press of a body against yours. With arms loosely winding about your middle and a chin finding the crook of your shoulder. His scent is overwhelming. The heat he exudes is dizzying, wit-pilfering. 

Wide-eyed, with your hands opening and closing awkwardly at your sides, you stiffen as you grapple with the notion that your boss is hugging you. Mr. Sylus. Hugging you. No matter how many times you turn the words over in your mind, you can’t process them. You didn’t even know he was capable of such an act.

“Thank you,” he intones, his voice a pleasant vibration in your body. He rubs over the notches of your spine, nuzzling into you further like you’re his security blanket. Once your common sense returns, an affectionate smile touches your lips. 

You clumsily return his hug, unsure of the proper conduct in this situation. But you throw caution to the wind, full-on embracing him, your eyes twinkling with tears. “Of course, sir,” you murmur, swallowing against the swell of emotions in your throat.

The hug ends much too soon for your liking. Sylus peels away, his hands clasping your arms. You tilt your head quizzically as he studies you, the bow's ribbons brushing off your shoulder. You must be quite the doe-eyed sight. His eyes darken as his gaze falls to your lips, his own mouth slightly parting. He looks as if he’s wrestling with something in his mind. Turning it over, at war with himself. He seems to win whatever battle is taking place behind his eyes, for he slowly pans in, his lashes bowing.

And maybe you’re swept up in the moment, too, his hug having buried your defenses in the sand. You don’t fight him, only awkwardly shifting when your lips meet before relaxing beneath the slight chap of his lips. 

Beneath the ethereal twinkle of the fairy lights you hadn’t yet snatched down, through the stillness of the investment firm’s tenth floor, and with your pulse thundering in your throat, Mr. Sylus kisses you. A full press of lips, his grip on your arms tightening the barest as if to keep you rooted to the spot. Not that you would run, feeling weightless, like navigating a dream. 

As quickly as reality floats onto your shoulders like a wispy shawl, he pulls back, wild-eyed and panting. And it’s as if you’re the greatest sin he was never meant to indulge in. He releases you before tearing a shaky hand through his tresses, pushing out a weighted exhale. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping away from you before you can think, each hurried thump of his loafers across the floor like a strike to your racing heart.

You strain your ears for every bit of sound until the elevator around the corner pings, and you hear him step inside, the doors swishing shut. And you’re left to the swell of static and impenetrable silence, staring after the faint afterimage left by his tall visage. 

You turn towards the ceiling high-window, dazed. Touch your lips with shaky fingers, the sensitive skin still tingling with the remnants of your kiss. Flecks of white streak the violet canvas beyond the window, the first snowfall fluttering in gossamer patterns towards the ground. 

You got what you wanted. What you’d maybe consider the greatest Christmas gift you've ever received. But as a bitter smile tugs at your lips, your eyesight glossing over with a warm film, and you clutch your chest, your thoughts seep in.

Why does it feel like it’s not what he wanted? 

[drowsyapple]

Where the Sun Meets the Sky

Pairing: Caleb x Non!mc reader

Tags: University AU, tall/POC!reader, fratboy!Caleb, friends to lovers

Synopsis: After a crushing loss, your ride-or-die Caleb shows up with snacks, stats help, and way too much info about your life. Now he's making you go to his frat formal. Is he just being your overprotective childhood friend... or is there something he's not telling you?

(Yes. The answer is yes.)

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: This chapter is pretty tame, but there are hints of protective/possessive behavior, mild stalking vibes, and academic stress

Author's Note: I'm not a writer, I just like to write :) the reader is a taller tomboy girly who loves basketball and hates stats class... I plan on making this a multi-chapter fic (might already have the next chapter mostly done) so let me know if y'all want more :D enjoy!

Tag List: @rcvcgers @seasal-t

Comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list :)

The gymnasium was a cacophony of sound—squeaking sneakers, the rhythmic bounce of basketballs, and the occasional shout from Coach Jenna. The chill of the fall air seeped through the cracks in the old building, making you shiver as you wiped sweat from your brow. Your dark brown curls, most of it slicked back into your signature ponytail, clung to your forehead in damp tendrils, a few rebellious strands escaping to frame your freckled face. Your hazel eyes, sharp with focus, scanned the court as you sprinted down the hardwood, your 5’10” frame moving with the kind of fluid precision that came from years of training.

The Linkon University basketball jersey, number 25, hung loosely over your athletic build, the fabric darkened with sweat. Your skin, kissed with melanin, glistened under the harsh gym lights, and the faint dusting of freckles across your nose and cheeks gave you a youthful, determined look. The sound of your sneakers squeaking against the floor echoed as you pivoted, your ponytail swinging behind you, as you gave it your all on the court.

“Hustle, ladies! This isn’t a tea party!” Coach Jenna barked, her voice cutting through the noise. She stood on the sidelines, her clipboard clutched tightly in one hand, her sharp eyes missing nothing. 

Your teammate, Simone, shot you a grin as you ran side by side, her dark braids swinging with each stride. The squeak of sneakers against the polished hardwood floor echoed through the gym, blending with the sharp whistle of Coach Jenna. “Coach is on one today,” Simone panted. 

“When is she not?” you shot back, your voice strained but laced with humor. You dodged around a cone, your legs burning as you pushed through the drill. The chill of the air made your breath visible in short, quick puffs. 

The scrimmage against Skyhaven University had ended with a narrow loss, the opposing team’s star center sinking a buzzer-beater three-pointer that left your team groaning in frustration. As punishment for the loss, your coach had you doing line drills for each point difference and shot missed. Your muscles screamed with every sprint, every pivot, every jump, but you pushed through, determined to not fall behind your team. 

After what felt like an eternity, you slumped onto the bench, your chest heaving as you chugged from your water bottle. The cool liquid was a relief, but it did little to ease the ache settling into your muscles, a familiar reminder of the grind. Simone settled down next to you, her face flushed and her two french braids damp with sweat. She quickly gathered her things, her movements efficient despite her fatigue. You wondered how she still had the energy to move so fast.

“I’m heading back to the bus first,” she said, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder before glancing over. “Do you want me to save you a seat?” 

Simone was your best friend on the basketball team, and as fellow freshmen, you’d formed a bond that went beyond the court. She was the first person to welcome you to the team, and her relentless optimism and dry sense of humor had gotten you through more than one grueling practice. You appreciated the camaraderie between you two and the unspoken understanding that you were both doing all you could to climb the team’s ladder. 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you said between breaths and sips of water. “See you in a bit.” 

Simone nodded. “Don’t take too long. You know how Coach gets if we’re late.” 

You watched as she walked away, her braids swaying with each step. The gym was quieter now, the rest of the team already heading to the bus or packing up their gear. You took a moment to catch your breath, your eyes scanning the empty court. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights, and the faint scent of sweat and sports drinks lingered in the air. 

As you sat there, the weight of the loss settled over you. It wasn’t just the score, it was the missed opportunities, the shots you could’ve made, the passes you could’ve intercepted. You clenched your fists, the frustration bubbling up, but you pushed it down. There’d be time to analyze the game later, to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. For now, you just needed to get through the ride back to campus and the inevitable scolding from Coach. 

As the team continued to file out of the gym in groups of two or three, you lingered behind, taking time to stuff your gear into your duffel bag. Your muscles screamed with every motion you made accompanied by the sound of your growling stomach. The sound of the gym doors on the opposite end of the building creaking open drew your attention, and you glanced up to see Caleb leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a slight smirk playing on his lips. 

Caleb was impossible to miss. At 6’2”, he towered over most people, his broad shoulders and athletic build a testament to his dual life as a star basketball player and an aspiring pilot, currently majoring in aerospace engineering. His dark brown hair was tousled, falling slightly into his striking purple eyes, which gleamed with amusement under the fluorescent lights. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, his orange and black flying jacket slung over one arm. The jacket was worn but well-loved, a fond memory from his high school days, and it suited him perfectly. 

“Tough loss, pips,” he said, his voice warm but teasing. 

You rolled your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stood up, ignoring your protesting knees. “Don’t remind me. What are you doing here, anyway? I remember telling you I was riding back with the team.” 

Caleb pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, his boots clicking against the floor as he walked to meet you halfway. “I already talked to Coach. Told her I’d give you a ride.” He said shooting a quick wave to your Coach, and she, distracted by the notes on her clipboard, returned the gesture. Since when did they get so close?

You groaned at that, dragging a hand down your sweaty face. “Caleb, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m perfectly capable of taking the bus.” 

“And miss the chance to spend quality time with your favorite person? Not a chance,” he said, his smirk widening. He reached out and ruffled your damp hair, earning a swat from you. 

You muttered under your breath while slipping on your favorite hoodie, and followed him out to the parking lot where his beat-up pickup truck waited. The truck was a relic from high school. You and Caleb had found it abandoned in the neighborhood junkyard, its red paint faded and speckled with rust, but Caleb said it had character and fixed it up in no time. The man has always had a way with tools, yet you struggled using something as simple as a toaster. You climbed into the passenger seat, tossing your bag into the back, and noticed a small paper bag on the dashboard and a large Diet Coke waiting for you in one of the cupholders. The cup was filled to the brim with the crunchy, nugget ice you loved. 

“After-game snack,” Caleb said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Figured you’d be starvin’.” 

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t hide the smile creeping on your face. “You’re such a dork.” He always knew exactly what you needed, even without asking.

“Your dork,” he corrected while starting the engine, which earned a snort from you. The truck rumbled to life, and you two pulled out of the parking lot. 

As your childhood best friend drove, you leaned back in your seat, sipping your drink and nibbling on the peanut butter protein bar that was in the paper bag. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with him. You talked about the scrimmage, taking this chance to vent about the missed shots and the opposing team’s star player. 

“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Caleb said, his tone encouraging. “You’re a shoo-in for a starter spot next year. Hell, you might even be captain one day, just like me.” 

You snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Valedictorian.” 

Caleb’s expression softened. “Please let that go,” he chuckled. “High school was ages ago, and I’m already a Junior. Seriously, though. You’re killin’ it out there. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?” 

As you opened your mouth to respond, your phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. You pull it out of your pocket to see a text from your roommate, 

Tara: Have you seen the back of my earring??? I’ve looked everywhere!

You sighed, typing out a quick reply of nope before tossing your phone onto the dashboard. “Roommate again,” you muttered. 

Caleb glanced at you briefly, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just… Tara’s a mess. I swear, I spend more time cleaning up after her than I do studying.” 

Caleb’s jaw tightened a bit, but he didn’t press. Instead, he changed the subject. “You wanna come over for dinner? I made your favorite.” 

You hesitated, the idea tempting. “I really should study. My stats class is kicking my ass, and if I don’t pull my grade up, I’m gonna lose my scholarship.” 

Caleb drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. “How about this? You come over, we eat, and I’ll help you with your stats homework. I TA’d for Professor Lucius last year, so I know his style.” 

You opened your mouth to refuse, but Caleb flashed you his signature puppy-dog look. Wide eyes, slightly pouted lips, the whole nine yards. You groaned, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine… but only because I’m starving.” 

Caleb’s triumphant grin was almost too much to bear. Suddenly, a thought flickered in the back of your mind. 

Did you ever tell Caleb you had Professor Lucius this semester? 

The cold sweat of the cup bit into your palm as you searched your memory. No, you definitely hadn't told him. Between basketball drills and Tara's latest crisis, you'd barely registered the mid-semester professor switch yourself until the first confusing lecture. Yet Caleb had said Lucius' name like it was common knowledge, the same way he always seemed to know your schedule before you did, your coffee order before you spoke it, and when you'd need him before you knew you needed him yourself.

The realization prickled at you—you’d never told Caleb about Professor Lucius. Struggles with statistics, yes, but not who taught it. Not when six other instructors were teaching it this semester. Yet he’d known. Like he always knew.

Still, it wasn’t like Caleb to get details wrong. He was meticulous, almost annoyingly so. Always remembering the smallest things about your schedule, your preferences, and your life.  

You shook your head, brushing the thought aside. 

It’s nothing. Probably just said it in passing and forgot. 

You removed the lid of your cup and took a long sip of your drink, the satisfying crunch of the nugget ice between your teeth pulling you back to the present. The familiar sensation was comforting.

You glanced outside the truck window, the campus of Linkon University beginning to roll by in a blur of autumn colors. The trees lining the pathways were ablaze with gold and crimson, their leaves fluttering to the ground in the crisp fall breeze contrasting the setting sun. Students bundled in scarves and jackets hurried to and from classes, their laughter and chatter faintly carrying through the glass. The clock tower loomed in the distance, its hands inching toward evening, and the faint scent of woodsmoke from a nearby bonfire drifted through the air. 

You leaned your head against the cool window, letting the rhythm of the road and the hum of the truck’s engine lull you into a sense of calm. Caleb’s playlist, a mix of classic rock and indie tracks he’d curated over the years, played softly in the background. He was humming along under his breath, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat. 

You tore your eyes away from the passing scenery and glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His profile was sharp against the fading light, his jawline strong and his amethyst eyes focused on the road. There was a quiet intensity about him, a steadiness that had always been there, even when you were kids. He was the kind of person who made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit you needed it. 

But there was something else there too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A tension in the way he held himself, a flicker of something in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. You’d noticed it more and more lately ever since you started college, though you couldn’t explain why. 

“You okay over there?” Caleb’s voice broke through your thoughts, his tone light but with an undercurrent of concern. 

You blinked, pulling yourself back to the present. “Yeah, just…thinking.” 

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Dangerous habit.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Says the guy who overthinks everything.” 

Caleb laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Guilty as charged.” 

The conversation lulled again, but the silence between you was comfortable, simple. You turned your attention back to the window, watching as the campus gave way to the quieter streets of the neighboring residential neighborhood. The houses here were old but charming, their porches decorated with pumpkins and fairy lights. A group of kids played in a leaf pile on the sidewalk, their laughter ringing out like chiming bells. 

You took another sip of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides of the cup. The thought from earlier nagged at you again, but you pushed it aside. 

It’s Caleb. He probably just heard it from someone else. 

You always have been the forgetful type, forgetting even your birthday one year.

Still, as the truck pulled up to his apartment building, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. But for now, you decided to let it go. There were more pressing things to worry about, like surviving stats class and figuring out how to deal with Tara’s latest disaster. 

🍎🍎🍎

Caleb’s studio apartment was small but cozy, a reflection of his no-frills personality. The brick accent wall gave the space a rustic charm, its rough texture softened by the warm glow of a single floor lamp. The room was dominated by a worn leather couch, its cushions dented from years of use from its previous owner, and a slightly cluttered coffee table stacked with textbooks, a half-empty coffee mug, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. A small kitchenette sat in the corner, its countertops surprisingly tidy except for a single pan soaking in the sink. 

Photos of you and Caleb lined the walls, a timeline of your shared history. There was the one from your 12th birthday, where he’d surprised you with a basketball cake and a goofy party hat. Another from last year’s New Year’s Eve, the two of you bundled up in scarves, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the sparklers in your hands leaving trails of light in the dark. New Year’s Eve had always been yours—the two of you pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowd or curled on a couch, watching the clock tick toward midnight with the same quiet certainty as the years turning over. No matter what chaos the year had brought, that moment always belonged to you both.

And then the candid shots, Caleb ruffling your hair after a game in middle school, you laughing as he tried to teach you how to cook (and failed miserably). Then there was a photo of you two during your high school graduation just half a year ago; you were clutching your diploma, and Caleb’s arm hung loosely over your shoulders, smiling bright. Each photo was a snapshot of a moment frozen in time, a reminder of how intertwined your lives had always been. And behind each photo was your adoptive grandmother, Josephine, always eager to capture the moments of her kids with her clunky camera.

You walked in and turned to the used couch. A deep red throw blanket was draped over its back, the vibrant hue a stark contrast to the muted grays and browns of the room. You flop down after dropping your bags to the side of the couch, stretching out horizontally and scrolling through your phone, your feet hanging over the edge. The leather creaked under your weight, and the faint scent of Caleb’s cologne, something woodsy and warm, lingered in the air. 

Caleb disappeared into the kitchen, humming along to the classic rock playlist he’d put on. The opening chords of a familiar song filled the room, Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was one of his favorites, a track he’d played on repeat during road trips back in high school. 

“Seriously, Caleb,” you called out, raising your voice over the music, “how do you still listen to this stuff? It’s so old.” 

“It’s timeless,” he shot back, his voice carrying over the sizzle of the stove and the hum of the microwave. “You’ll appreciate it when you’re older.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “If you say so.” 

You set your phone down on the coffee table and headed to the bathroom, leaving it behind. When you returned, Caleb was setting two plates of braised chicken wings on the table along with two cups of microwavable instant rice. The rich, savory aroma made your stomach growl, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude. He’d remembered your favorite dish, just like he always did. 

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, shifting from sports to classes to Caleb’s latest escapades with his frat brothers. He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he launched into the story. “So, last weekend, we decided to build a homemade drone,” he began, his eyes lighting up with the kind of energy that always came with his wilder ideas. “You know, just a little weekend project. What could go wrong, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. “Famous last words, Caleb. What happened?” You asked as you took another bite of your favorite dish, a slight note of ginger hitting the back of your throat.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, we got it all put together, or at least, we thought we did. But when we fired it up, the thing shot straight into the air, spun in a circle, and then nosedived right into the grill!” He exclaimed waving his hands around. “Next thing we know, the propane tank’s hissin’, and the backyard’s basically a fire hazard.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on your food. “You’re kidding me! Did you at least get it on video?”

“Oh, we got it on video,” he said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. He handed it to you, and you watched as the drone spiraled out of control, followed by a chorus of panicked shouts and the unmistakable sound of something catching fire. You were laughing so hard your sides hurt, and Caleb joined in, his laugh filling the room.

“I can’t believe you guys didn’t get kicked out of the house,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes.

“Oh, we almost did,” he admitted, still grinning. “But, you know, we cleaned it up. Mostly. And no one got hurt, so… win?”

“Barely,” you teased, shaking your head. “You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

The lighthearted banter continued, the tension from the scrimmage slowly melting away. It was easy, comfortable, the way it always was with Caleb. He had a way of making everything feel less serious, less overwhelming. For a little while, you forgot about the game, about the pressure, about everything except the sound of his laughter and the warmth of the moment.

But once you cleared your plate and pulled out your stats homework, the mood shifted as reality sank in once again. You groaned, staring at the equations like they were written in another language. The numbers and symbols blurred together, and you felt that familiar knot of frustration tightening in your chest.

Caleb noticed immediately, his grin fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“It’s this stupid stats homework,” you muttered, shoving the paper away from you. “I don’t get it. None of it makes sense. I’ve been staring at it for hours these past couple of days, and it’s like my brain just shuts down. Why do I need to know this? I’m a basketball player, not a mathematician.” 

Caleb chuckled, leaning over to look at your notes. His arm brushed against yours, and you caught a whiff of his cologne again, distracting you slightly. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You’re overthinkin’ it,” he said simply with a small smile.

“Easy for you to say,” you retorted. “You’re, like, a wannabe math genius or something.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “I’m no genius. I just don’t freak out about it like you do.” He reached over, pulling the paper toward him and scanning the problems. “Okay, look. This one’s not that bad. You’re just makin’ it harder than it needs to be.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, that’s my specialty.”

He smirked, glancing up at you. “True. But lucky for you, you’ve got me.” He grabbed the pen you were holding and started scribbling notes in the margins, explaining each step in a way that actually made sense. You watched him, the frustration slowly easing as his calm, steady voice broke through the mental block you’d been hitting.

“See?” he said after a few minutes, sliding the paper and pen back to you. “Not so bad, right?”

You looked down at the page, the numbers suddenly less intimidating. “Okay, maybe you’re a little bit of a genius,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you said, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Thanks, though. Seriously.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “You know I’ve got your back.”

And you did know. That was the thing about Caleb. No matter how chaotic or ridiculous things got, he always had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay. Even when the numbers didn’t add up and the world felt like it was spinning too fast, he was there, steady and sure, reminding you that you weren’t alone.

He walked you through a few more of the problems, his voice calm and patient as he explained each step. But your eyes drifted to your phone, which buzzed incessantly with texts from Tara. The screen continuously lit up from where it was placed on the edge table, and you couldn’t resist glancing at it. Huh, did you set it all the way over there before you headed to the bathroom?

“What’s so important?” Caleb asked, interrupting your thought, his tone light but with an edge of curiosity. 

“Nothing,” you said, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Just Tara being Tara.” 

Caleb raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he reached over and plucked the phone from your pocket and proceeded to stand as tall as he could, holding it above his head. 

“Hey!” you protested, standing up and reaching for it. But Caleb was a few inches taller, and you couldn’t quite reach. 

“You said you’d focus,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Caleb, give it back!” you demanded, jumping in vain. 

He laughed, but there was a hint of sadness in his expression. “You know, it’s hard to compete with your phone for your attention.” 

You stopped jumping, your frustration melting into a tinge of guilt. The look in his eyes—part amusement, part something deeper—caught you off guard. “I’m sorry,” you groaned with a slight eye roll. “How could I ever make it up to you.” 

Caleb’s smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh?” 

You hesitated, then sighed, having an idea of where this conversation was headed. “What do you want?” 

Caleb’s eyes lit up, and you knew you’d walked right into his trap. “Come to the frat formal with me. Tomorrow night.” 

You huffed, but there was no way out. This was the grave you dug and now it was time to lie in it. He had been bugging you about his frat’s autumn formal for weeks. “Fine. But you owe me.” 

Caleb’s triumphant grin was worth it, even as you mentally prepared yourself for the chaos of a frat party, grimacing at the thought of dressing in clothes other than your trusty knee-length basketball shorts, hoodies, and sneakers. 

🍎🍎🍎

The ride back to your dorm was short, the silence between you and Caleb comfortable. The truck’s engine hummed softly, and the faint glow of streetlights flickered across Caleb’s face as he drove. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping in time once again with the song playing on the radio. You glanced at him, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly whenever your on-campus dorm came into view. He hated this place, your co-ed dorm, and he didn’t bother hiding it. 

When you arrived, Caleb parked the truck and walked you to the door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The cool night air nipped at your cheeks, and you pulled the hood of your hoodie tighter around your head. The dorm building loomed ahead, its windows glowing with warm light, and the faint sound of laughter and music spilled out from the common room. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, turning to face him. 

Caleb’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled, that familiar, easy grin that always made your stomach flutter, which you promptly ignored. “Anytime, pipsqueak,” he replied as he placed his hand on your covered head, his voice soft. 

You turned to the entrance while reaching for your key card, swiping it swiftly to unlock the door with a soft click. The sound was barely audible over the hum of the dorm’s hallway, but it felt loud in the quiet space between you and Caleb. You opened the door but held it open with your foot. Pausing, you turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Y’know, can you quit it with that silly nickname already?” you protested, though there was no real bite to your words. “I’m hardly small, and I could easily destroy you in a 1v1 any day.”

Caleb’s grin widened, that familiar, infuriating smirk that made your stomach do a little flip, which you ignored once again. For a split second, you thought he might say something…something real, something that would explain the way he’d been looking at you all night, like you were the only person in the world. But instead, he just chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair under your hoodie like you were still the scrawny kid he’d met all those years ago. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice light but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. 

You rolled your eyes, brushing his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingered. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to head inside. 

As the door began to close behind you, you caught a glimpse of him still standing there, his hands back in his pockets and his smile fading. His purple eyes lingered on you, intense and unreadable, and for a moment, it felt like the air between you was charged with something unspoken. But before you could say anything, before you could even process what you were feeling, the windowless door clicked shut, leaving you alone in the dimly lit hallway, the sound of the common room drowning out as it became overpowered by your thoughts. 

You leaned against the door for a moment, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Caleb was always like this. Teasing, protective, and just a little bit maddening. But tonight, it felt different. Like there was something he wasn’t saying, something he was holding back. 

Shaking your head, you pushed off the door and headed down the hall towards your shared dorm, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the space. Whatever it was, you’d figure it out later. For now, you had a roommate to deal with and a mountain of homework waiting for you. 

🍎🍎🍎

The dorm was a disaster when you walked in. Clothes were strewn across the living room, empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, and a half-finished puzzle sat abandoned on the floor. Tara was kneeling in the middle of the chaos, her dark hair a wild mess as she dug through a pile of laundry. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, dropping your bag by the door. 

Tara looked up, her eyes wide with desperation. “What took you so long?! I still can’t find the back of my earring! Please help!” 

You sighed but knelt down to help, shoving aside a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that definitely wasn’t either of yours. Tara had always been like this, chaotic, scatterbrained, but endearing. You’d met her during orientation, when she’d accidentally spilled her iced coffee all over your shoes and then insisted on buying you a new pair. You’d been inseparable ever since, even if her messiness drove you up the wall. 

As you searched, Tara began peppering you with questions about your evening. “So, I figure you were with Caleb, huh?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“Don’t start,” you warned, but Tara just laughed and returned to digging through the pile of clothes in front of her. You continued, “I have to go to that stupid frat formal with him now just as I started to think I was in the clear. As if I don’t have anything better to do than put on a dress and be surrounded by drunks. Coach doesn’t even let us drink! What the hell am I supposed to do all night sober?” 

“Oh come on. His frat holds, like, the most exclusive party of the year. You’re so lucky!” 

You groaned, shoving a pile of socks aside. “You can take my place if you want.” 

Tara shook her head, her loose curls bouncing. “Nope. I’ve got plans with that guy from my bio class.” You said a small ah under your breath nodding. You never understood Tara’s extensive roster and never bothered asking for specifics. She was with a new guy what seemed like every other week.

You finally spotted the earring back under the coffee table and handed it to Tara, who squealed in delight. 

“You’re the best!” she said, pulling you into a hug before retreating to her room. 

You did the same, tossing your phone onto the bed, and almost like magic, it lit up with a notification from Caleb: 

Sleep well, pips. Don’t let Tara or your floor mates keep you up :) 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. Caleb had always been like this, a protective older brother figure in your life. He hated your co-ed dorm, and he made no secret of it. 

“It’s not safe,” he’d said when you first moved in, his arms crossed and his jaw set. “You should’ve taken the single dorm I found for you.” 

But you’d refused, partly because you didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything and partly because you liked the idea of chaos that came with living on the same floor with a bunch of noisy dudes. It reminded you that you were finally on your own, making your own decisions, even if those decisions drove Caleb a little crazy. 

You threw off your shoes and plopped into bed, still wearing your outside clothes. As you laid there, staring at the ceiling and debating a shower, your thoughts drifted back to him. His teasing smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did. He was infuriating, endearing, and entirely too much. But he was your childhood best friend, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Still, there was a part of you that wondered, what would happen if you let him in completely? If you stopped pretending you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you, or the way his voice softened when he said your name? 

You shook your head, pushing the thought aside. For now, this was enough. 

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

Headcanon that Darrel did this thing where he would pick Ponyboy up and throw him like half over his shoulder then would walk to his room and toss Ponyboy onto the bed before telling him to go to sleep.

It started when Ponyboy was six and his parents told him it was bed time and he stubbornly crossed his arms and shook his head, saying that he didn’t wanna. After 20 minutes of his parents trying to get him to listen, Darrel had come in and just plucked Ponyboy into his arms and walked him to his bed before tossing him onto the bed, Ponyboy giggling the whole time. Once Ponyboy was fully tucked in, Darrel had put his hands on his hips and asked which story he wanted before going to bed. While all this was happening, Mr and Mrs Curtis sat on the couch, stunned at how easily Pony complied when his oldest brother was asking.

It kept happening, so much so that it became their little tradition. Pony would never admit it, but sometimes he’d refuse to go to bed because he wanted to bond with his brother. That especially started happening when Darrel hit high school and was suddenly at practice, or a game, or a party more often.

Like one time when Darrel was 16 and about to leave for a party. He’d kissed his mama’s cheek and told her he’d be back the next morning. As he was about to open his front door to jog over to Paul’s car, he heard his mama tell Ponyboy it was time for bed, and he’d heard the familiar groan that meant Ponyboy wouldn’t be listening. He’d chuckled, and turned around to run up and grab his little brother, laughing harder when Pony shrieked. He’d walked to his brother’s room and tossed him onto the bed like normal, this time pausing as Pony looked up at him like he wanted to ask for something. Darrel sighed before sitting on Pony’s bed and ruffling his kid brother’s hair. He expected Pony to shake him off or smack his hand away not lunge forward and hug him. He held his little brother and smiled when he felt Pony mumble “I love ya Darry” into his chest, before saying a simple “I love ya too, buddy. g’night”. Once he knew Pony was situated, he got up and flicked off the light, smiling as he watched his baby brother snore quietly. He’d said another goodbye to his mama before running to Paul’s car and recounting the story on the drive to whatever shitty party they were headed to.

The next big time was Darrel’s last night before college. It was a bittersweet time for their family, they were overflowing with pride, but they were going to miss him. When it had gotten late, Mrs. Curtis had turned towards her youngest and told him it was time to go to bed. This time, instead of contradicting her or refusing, Ponyboy had simply turned his gaze to his oldest brother, silently pleading for him to do their tradition. Seeing that look in Pony’s eyes made Darrel’s heart hurt, because Ponyboy was twelve now and constantly insisting that he was getting too old for it, but here he was, sitting on the floor, a movie playing on the tv, silently begging Darrel to be his annoying older brother. So Darrel kissed his mama’s cheek, thanked her for the dinner celebration, and told her he could take care of this. When he started towards Ponyboy, his expression shifted to be a mischievous one, before he started tickling his brother. He let him squirm for a bit before picking him up. Once they were in Pony’s room, Darrel stopped and sat down on the bed. He didn’t miss the tears that threatened to spill out of his brother’s eyes, so he pulled him in close. He felt his shoulder start to dampen, then he heard something that took his heart and stomped on it. “I’m gonna miss you Darry, don’t forget ‘bout me ‘n Soda, okay?” Darrel just rubbed his brother’s back and promised him, “I ain’t never gonna forget ‘bout you, buddy, and I’ll miss ya too, every damn day”. That night, Darrel stayed in Pony’s room. And if Soda crept in and tucked himself against his brother too, that was his business.

It stopped happening once their parents died. Suddenly, Darrel was too tired from work and taking care of the house and the gang. Suddenly, what was once playful banter became screaming matches. Suddenly, Pony’s brother was drifting away.

But then it happened again. It was a normal night with the gang, Soda and Pony and Steve were engaged in an intense card game, where in which Soda was obviously cheating but still managing to lose at the same time. Two Bit was sprawled across the couch, watching Mickey on tv. Darrel was in his chair, watching the game and laughing. When he checked the time, he realized how late it was, so he looked at Ponyboy and told him, “alright time for bed little buddy”. Pony rolled his eyes and whined about how it wasn’t that late and couldn’t he just stay up tonight. Darrel gave him a knowing glance but Pony wouldn’t budge. So Darrel got up, pulled Ponyboy up from where he was sitting and threw him over his shoulder. When he got to his brothers’ room, he plopped pony down on the bed, but was shocked when he looked at Pony, who worse a smile with tear filled eyes. Darrel immediately stopped and looked at him, worrying he’d accidentally hurt his brother again. When he asked what was wrong, Pony choked out “‘s nothin, just, it’s the first time you done that since mama and dad died” all while bringing his arm up to wipe his eyes. Darrel sucked in a short breath before hugging his brother tight to his chest and responding with a simple, “I love ya, honey, don’t you ever forget that, okay?” He felt Ponyboy nod against him before he responded with a quick, “‘course, love ya too Darry”.

Maybe they weren’t perfect, maybe they wouldn’t ever be, but they were getting better. Pony was closer to having his oldest brother back and Darrel was slowly becoming Darry again.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x First Meeting (fem)

MDNI🔞

I'm sorry for not posting as often as I usually do! There has been a lot of things going on in my personal life, but I promise to be back on my normal schedule soon! ILY all and thank you so much for everyone's patience and grace🩷 I hope you all have a great day/night!!

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, sexual thoughts

1.4k word count.

📻

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.

Over the last three years, you’ve always just been a soft voice on the other side of König’s radio. What was first professional talk only quickly turned into deep conversations and flirting. Every mission he can rely on you to always be there. You’ve been able to help him out of terrible situations, causing the bond to grow stronger. It helps that your voice is so feminine and soothing to him.

Even though you both have never met face to face, he’s developed deep feelings for you. Other than your first name, he knows nothing about you. Are you married? Do you like men? That doesn’t really matter; men like König aren’t built for relationships, so he’s never sought you out. Why ruin something good?

König has just returned from a successful mission, his team put together a small party at the local bar for him. He sat at the bar with Horangi as everyone else spread out across the bar. In the middle of the story Horangi was telling him, he hears your voice. His eyes widen as he looks around trying to find you. Then you speak again.

The light coming in from the windows behind you formed a halo of golden rays around your body, framing your stunning shape. It’s as if König was looking at an angel, a dream come true. He places a hand on Horangi’s shoulder as to excuse himself as his feet guide him to you.

“Y/n? Is that really you?” König asks as his eyes travel all over your body as he stops a few feet from you.

“König!” You respond in such a happy tone, your lips curving into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. He is a massive man; in height and in muscle mass. While you can’t see his face, you can see his beautiful pale eyes.

“Y- you’re here. In the flesh.”

He is trying his best to be respectful, but finding it hard to take his eyes away from your body. To see you, the body, the face, to match your voice; he feels as if this just confirms that he’s in love with you. This is exactly what he was worried would happen if you two ever met.

“It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.” His eyes meet yours once more as he holds his hand out for you to shake.

The sweet familiar giggle leaves your lips as you brush past his hand and wrap your arms around him for a hug. “There’s no need to be so formal.” You tease, causing his cheeks to turn red underneath his mask.

König wraps his arms around you, returning the hug. You’re so much smaller than him that your head barely reaches his chest. He leans down slightly and takes a deep breath. You smell like a breezy spring day. Everything about you screams home to him, he came picture himself coming home every day and burying his head between your breasts and letting the stress of the day melt off.

When the hug ends, he can still feel his body tingle where you touched him. His icy blue eyes are stuck on you, trying to study every little part of you that he can. He notices your eyes travel over his body as well, giving him an ego boost.

“Congratulations on your work.” You say grabbing his gloved hand.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Süße.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he squeezes your hand slightly. There are so many words fighting to be said, but he doesn’t know where to begin. “Would you like to sit together and chat?”

“I would.”

Horangi turns in his seat to see König walking hand in hand with you. He raises his eyebrow and shrugs, getting up to join the crowd of people to give you both some time alone. You sit, sliding into one side of the booth and König ops to sit beside you verses across from you. He can’t take his eyes off of you or stop touching you. Three years of only knowing your voice. Three years of joking, flirting, and life saving advice.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be.” You say softly as you gaze down at his hand caressing your upper thigh through the fabric of your jeans. The sexual tension between the both of you is insane.

König chuckles at your comment while nodding his head. “I am. I’m a big man, kleine Taube.” Your thighs are so deliciously thick, he can only imagine what they would feel like underneath the fabric of your pants. His eyes drop to your cleavage before traveling back up to your eyes. “It’s crazy to finally put a face to the voice.”

“Hopefully a cute face.” You smirk and chuckle.

“A beautiful face. You’re so beautiful and small.” His face heats up at his words as his mind begins to wander about what it would be like to have you completely to himself.

“Well, thank you König. I can’t see your face but I imagine it’s just as attractive as your voice.”

He leans back in the booth and laughs, shaking his head in disagreement. “I have scars, Taube. Graying hair.” His eyes travel from your eyes to your soft pillowy kissable lips then back up.

“Maybe I’m into that.” You smirk.

It’s just like speaking to you have the radio, you’re just as flirty and confident in person and that’s very attractive to König. His hand on your thigh squeezes twice before he shifts his body to face you more. The hand moves from your thigh so he can remove his gloves, showing off his pale large hands. His fingers dance across your small palm before linking fingers with you. You place your free hand on his arms, caressing his muscular bicep. His pants grow tight on him as he feels his cock begin to harden.

Before anything else can be said, Horangi brings over two shots for the both of you. He has a sly smirk on his face as he passes one to you and then to König. “Celebration shot!” Horangi gleefully shouts.

You reach for yours and then look at König and wait for him to grab his. He does and watches you closely waiting to see what you will do. When you bring the small glass up to your lips and drink the harsh liquor with no reaction his cock twitches. What he wouldn’t give to see your lips wrap around him instead.

König looks at you and lifts up his mask, exposing his lips to you. You can see a scar coming from his cheek down past his lip to his chin. He takes the shot quickly, but before he can drop his mask you lean up and kiss him. Your lips fall on his cheek, but the corners of your lips touch and it drives him mad.

He looks down at you for a moment, not reacting while he attempts to gather his thoughts so he doesn’t just bend you over this table and fuck you in front of the whole bar. One of his hands comes up and caresses the side of your face as he leans in to kiss you again. His lips are soft and delicate at first. Slowly his lips move against yours in a more possessive and passionate heat.

Your lips feel just as soft as clouds, you smell and taste so sweet. His hand slips down your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. The kiss intensifies as he feels your lip’s part. He wastes no time; the tip of his tongue runs across your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth.

A small hum rumbles from his chest as he moves his hand up and down your back, moving to your side to explore your curves. You feel so perfect in his hands. You taste so good on his tongue. There is no one else. You are the one.

König pulls back from the kiss; his eyes look down into yours. All he wants to do is ravish your body and get to know every inch of you, but he knows he should take you out first. You’re more than just a hookup, he can build a future with you. He thinks for a moment, letting his eyes trail down your body once more before speaking. “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I would love to.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“I’m free all day, Süße. You can take as much of it as you want.” You could take the air from his lungs and he’d die a happy man.

“I want it all.”

König smirks at your response. His hand lingers on your upper thigh once more, letting his fingers rest on your inner thigh. “You can have it all. Anything for my Taube.”

[pellucid-constellations]

hi! If you’re still taking requests I would looooove some Az comforting the reader, maybe she’s having a bad day and is trying to play it off and tell everyone she’s ok but Az sees right through her and she ends up crying and he comforts her or something if you’re up for it. I love love love your writing by the way <3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: ~1.3k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angsty thoughts

a/n: I loveeee hurt/comfort and this kind of took on a life of its own. Enjoy!!! Thanks for the request ❤️

____________________________________________

You could feel his eyes on you from across the room—calculating, contemplative, planning. You had been doing your best to ignore him for the better part of the evening, but his presence was hardly discrete as he stood strong and stiff in the corner. 

This day had been atrocious. 

You had woken up before dawn to begin preparations for the gala currently taking place, been screamed at by multiple vendors unhappy about their placements, got caught in the rain on your way around town, and barely had time to sit down before you were thrust into a chair and made to get ready for the night. 

And that was just today.

There had been pressure from all sides to find comradery between the courts after the war, and as an emissary to the night court and the one most familiar with each High Lord, you had been elected to carry out that task. A task that had taken weeks of bad days to come to fruition. 

To put it lightly, you were beaten down. 

��Perhaps you can speak to the High Lord about that, yes?” the Spring Court emissary drawled, an ending to the 20-minute speech you had hardly been listening to. 

You smiled anyway. “Oh yes, of course. Perhaps you could send me a follow-up correspondence in a few weeks to ensure I get your reply readily?” 

The emissary scoffed, looking you up and down with a cloistered sneer. “Can’t even keep track of little conversation? Typical. I guess I can send you a reminder, though…” 

The vicious man’s words began to bubble out of your mind, a low buzzing replacing the demeaning tone. You jutted your jaw to the side and pursed your lips in an attempt to hold back the burning in your waterline. 

This was exhausting and too much and was quickly becoming a thankless job. You had told Rhysand you were up to the feat, but you had not accounted for all of the screaming and complaining and belittling some of the courts seemed to favor. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Azriel kick up from the wall. You threw him a watery, chastising look—knowing by the gleam in his eye that he was set to cause trouble with the man before you—but the Shadowsinger only raised a brow and tugged on the bond deep in your chest. 

Azriel had grown weary of your tired excuses and your half-hearted assurances that you were doing okay. It was obvious that every time you lied, he grew more impatient, more concerned. 

But you had to do this—for Rhysand, for Feyre, for the court. 

You hadn’t been able to fight in the war, so you could throw a simple gala and suck it up. 

Your mate stopped his approach, but you saw his jaw clench and his fingers roll up into his palm as the man only continued to drone on. 

“Do you think you could do that, then?” 

Shit. You had not been listening to a word he said, too concerned with Azriel’s thwarted approach. 

“I apologize,” you shook your head with a sheepish smile. “Could do what? It’s just so loud in here.” 

“Is this truly the best the night court has to offer?” 

That made the battle with your tears even more difficult. You swallowed the lump growing in your throat and tried to pretend you weren’t staving off a massive headache alone with it. 

“I know, I’m sorry. There is just much I have to do for the night and my mind is elsewhere—” 

“Thank you, Fike. You can send a letter addressed to the night court emissary when the night concludes,” Azriel cut in, interrupting the rough scratch of your voice. “It’s uncouth to speak so much of business at a party. And you are always so boring.” 

You heard the remnants of another scoff leave the Spring Court emissary's mouth, but Azriel was already guiding you out of the ballroom and into the hallway with a steady hand on your back. You took deep breaths as you went, your nose burning with the action. 

Get yourself together. You’re fine. A small issue in an otherwise—

Azriel hummed and pressed you against the wall of the hallway, quelling your rampant thoughts with the hand on your stomach. His other was pressed above your head, trapping you in an embrace, keeping only him in your eyeline. 

“You’re okay,” he comforted, taking exaggerated, deep breaths. “Just us here.”

You blinked and shook your head in quick succession. “No, I know, Az. I’m completely fine. I just needed to get away from Fike. I have to go back in.” 

“You are crying, my love.” Azriel brought his hand up from your stomach and brushed away tears you hadn’t felt fall. “You’re overwhelmed. I don’t know why you’ve put yourself under this much stress, but you need to stop for a moment.” 

“No. No, I'm okay. I’m not stressed. I don’t know what’s happening to me—why I’m crying. I feel fine.” 

Azriel’s expression pinched, grimacing as he watched your chest rise and fall unsteadily. “Y/n—” 

“It’s just a gala,” you affirmed, more tears falling with the quick flurry of your words. “Just a gala. I can do this one thing. You all fought in a war and you made me stay home. You could have died. I can host a stupid gala.” 

You furiously wiped at the wet tracks on your cheeks, brushing Azriel’s soft touch aside. But he only halted your movements, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“Hey—hey. Don’t be so rough. Y/n, this is not a stupid gala. Look at me.” When you refused, Azriel released your wrist and tipped your chin up until you met his eye. He smiled despite the pain in your eyes. “There’s my girl.” 

And despite the pain, you huffed out a small laugh. 

Azriel would take it. He readied the spiel he’d been prepping since you began this venture. “This is not just a stupid gala and you didn't just stay home during the war.” Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, a pause he couldn’t help but take. “You protected everyone in the allied courts. You were our informant. You were winnowing so often you passed out, need I remind you.” 

“But I wasn’t—” 

“I don’t care if you weren’t fighting. What you did was just as valuable and you know that. Just as this gala is valuable to our peace. You are valuable.” 

Your face heated beneath his words, his body pressed to yours in the hallway as the gala continued on. 

“I need to be useful,” you admitted, after a pause. “This needed to be perfect.” 

“It is perfect, my love. My sweet mate. You need to take a rest. You’re breaking apart and I can’t stand to see you like this. Come here.” Azriel slotted your head in the bend between his shoulder and his neck, sliding his hands down your back until his wings came around as well. “Can I force you into bed? Just for an hour at most. I swear I’ll wake you up and we will come back down.” 

You made to move away from him in disbelief, still panicked at the idea of abandoning your work, but Azriel only held you tighter. 

“That wasn’t really a question.” 

And so Azriel took you to bed. 

[simplyhughes]

Reunion | Evan “Buck” Buckley x Reader

WC: 2.2K

Request: “Pis pls plss do a childhood friends to lovers w buck like she moved to La to be close to buck and everyone at the 118 thinks they're dating because of how close they are but they aren't dating YET and can you please try to throw in a heated argument between them that ends with a heated kiss!!!!!! Pls plss plsss”

Pairing: Evan Buckley X Fem!Reader

Warning: sad childhood ?? Idk nothing rlly

A/N: Please give me feedback!! I hope you like it!!!

It was always Buck and Y/N—everyone knew that. The two of you had been inseparable ever since you moved in next door in the second grade. It all started with Maddie babysitting you for some extra pocket money. You adored her; she was the sister you’d always wished for. And when Buck began tagging along, the rest was history.

The day Buck told you he’d been kicked out of community college, your heart broke for him. When you pulled away from the hug meant to comfort him, he shared that Maddie had given him some money to figure out his next steps. You questioned him, pestered him, trying to keep him from doing something irrational. By the end of the conversation, he stormed out of your apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving you sitting there in tears.

Once Buck hit the road to California, his regret set in. He knew he had to do this for himself, to find himself. His guilt poured in like rainfall. After a couple hours of driving, A few hours into the drive, he pulled into a rest stop with a diner and ordered coffee and pancakes. Without thinking, he dialed your number, desperate to make things right. The two of you talked for over an hour, hashing out everything. You understood his need for a fresh start, but it devastated you that it wouldn’t include you.

When the call ended, both parties felt relieved. You promised to come visit when you finished school and both of you vowed to stay in touch. The vow was never broken. Everyday you hear new thrilling anecdotes of Evans' life. The trashing fire he put out, now that he was a firefighter, or the crazy new fling of the week. Though every time he brings up a new girl you feel your heart pang, you stay happy for him and you're grateful to hear his voice.

After you received your diploma, you wasted no time. With your degree in hand and a mix of nerves and excitement in your chest, you booked the next flight to the City of Angels. Maddie, now living in Los Angeles herself, was the one who gave you Buck’s current address.

You’d thought about this moment for years, imagining how it would feel to see him again. The two of you had kept in touch, but phone calls and texts could only do so much. You wanted to be there in person, to see him in his element, living the life he’d always dreamed of.

When you arrived, standing outside his apartment door, you hesitated. What if things had changed too much? What if the years apart had built walls that even your bond couldn’t break? But before you could overthink it, the door swung open, and there he was—Buck, with his boyish grin and those familiar eyes that held both surprise and joy.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Hi, Buck,” you replied, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, he engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug, sweeping you off the ground and spinning you around like a rag doll. When your feet finally touched the floor, his hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. I missed you so much,” he confessed.

Before you could reply, his excitement took over. “Oh! You have to meet my team! They’re going to love you…” He rambled on about how great they were, how much he’d missed you, and how everyone already knew all about you.

Grabbing your hand, he led you out of the apartment and down to the parking lot. It was crazy—like no time had passed at all. Everything between you felt natural, just as it had before he left.

Buck opened the door of his Jeep, helping you into the passenger seat before rushing around to climb in himself.

“Wait… Are we really going to meet them?” you asked nervously. You’d heard so much about his team, but this was all so sudden.

“Well, I was already on my way to work. This is perfect! Don’t worry—they already know all about you,” he assured you with a grin.

The firehouse was bigger than you’d thought. Buck leads the way with you trailing closely behind him, almost hiding yourself from the fire fighters inside the house.

“HEYYY BUCKAROO!” Echoed through the house, originating from on top of one of the fire engines.

“Hey Chim! Look- I brought someone!” Buck chirped.

“You brought someone?” Spoke a man who had walked out of the locker room. From all the pictures that Buck sent of his new LA family, you were pretty sure this was Eddie. Now standing in the middle of the fire house, Buck tugged on your arm pulling you out in front of him. You are now face to face with three members of Evans team. Chim, who was on top of the Engine, climbs his way down standing next to Eddie.

“Guys, this is Y/N!” Buck exclaims, acting as if this was an elementary show and tell.

“Wait, the Y/N?” A woman you “knew” as Hen questioned.

“Like Pennsylvania Y/N?” Eddie followed up.

“That's me.” You reply sheepishly, giving them a small wave.

“It is very nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Bobby” The older of the four introduced himself, sticking out his hand for you to shake.

“Captain Nash, right?” You question, shaking his hand softly. In return, he nods with a sweet smile.

You shuffle back, finding your place next Buck, whose beaming smile never left his face. He loops an arm around your waist, giving you a reassuring nod. Buck announces he is gonna give you the “grand tour” of the fire house. He clasps your hand with his as he pulls you off upstairs.

Hen, Chim and Eddie lounged across the couch, subtling watching you and Buck. Your elbows rest on the kitchen counter sipping on a glass of water Buck poured for you. His mouth is talking a mile a minute, subconsciously always keeping a hand on you. The other firefighters watch Buck, noting his eyes gleaming with awe. Buck sweeps his large hand across your forehead sweeping a strand of hair out from your face.

“I missed you” He whispers as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I missed you too—” You began to respond before you got rudely interrupted by the piercing sound of the alarm.

“Hey, you can go back to my place or hangout here. Whatever you want, mkay? I gotta go, but I'll see you too.” He quickly explains releasing you from the hug, placing a soft kiss against the top of your head. You didn't even have time to respond before he ran away with a grin. He shoots down the firepole meeting the rest of the team for departure. Overlooking from the banister, you watch him in action. The engine pulls out, sirens blazing. Now you are left all alone.

After a minute, you decided to call an uber back to Buck’s place. Only one problem, you couldn't find your phone. You retraced all your steps and still couldn’t find it. Ten minutes later is when you realize your phone was left back at Buck's apartment. You didn't want to take Buck's car and overstep, so your only option left was to hang around until the 118 got back.

A couple hours later, the truck pulls back into the bay. You watch the team file off the truck, shedding their heavy gear and recapping about the recent call. After a minute you spot Buck and his group.

“So, what's with you and Y/N?” Hen asks.

“What do you mean?” He hums, tossing his jacket over his shoulder.

“You’re like attached by the hip!” Chim jokes.

“You guys together?” Eddie pesters nudging Bucks shoulder.

“Huh? What? Nonono, she has been my best friend since forever! Like a second sister!” He defends himself. That felt like a kick to your gut. Suddenly, your stomach swirled with lost hope. A gloss film spread across your eyes, but you tilted your head up to rid the tears.

After the team put all their stuff away, Buck spots you in a similar spot to where he left you. He gestures you to make your way down to him. You sluggishly trot down the stairs, approaching him.

“I thought you woulda left.”

“I forgot my phone back at your place, I wanted to call an uber.”

“You could have taken my car! But m’sorry, I hope you were able to entertain yourself.”

“It was no problem.” You shrugged.

“You good “Y/NN?” He questioned, voice laced with concern.

In return, you nod offering your best smile. “Just jetlagged.” You lied.

“Here i'll get you an uber. I'm on call for a few more hours and I'll be home ASAP.” He smiled, opening the app on his phone.

You sprawled out against Bucks couch, flicking through the channels on tv. But you are too lost in your head to decide on a show. Not only did you realize your feelings for Buck but how could you have been so foolish to think he thought of you that day? He is a jacked firefighter with all the gorgeous LA girls at his disposal. You were just next door neighbor Y/N.

Buck arrives back at the apartment a few hours later, exhausted but grinning when he sees you sprawled on the couch.

“Y/N, you here?” he calls out, dropping his bag by the door.

“Yeah, on the couch.,” you reply, sitting up, though your voice lacks its usual spark.

He notices. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You hesitate, but the events of the day are still fresh. He tosses a pillow off the couch, making room for himself, plopping down next to you. Finally, you blurt out, “Why did you say that to them?”

Buck freezes, confused. “Say what?”

“That I’m like a second sister to you,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Buck’s brows knit together. “Because that’s what you are! What’s wrong with that?”

The emotional dam breaks. “Because I’m not your sister, Buck! I flew across the country to be here—to be with you. Do you even realize how much you mean to me? And to hear you say that…” You trail off, your voice cracking.

He steps closer, his voice softening. “Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“You just don’t see me the way I see you,” you cut him off, tears threatening to spill. “And that’s fine, Buck. But I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”

Buck’s jaw tightens, and his frustration rises. “You think I don’t care about you? I care about you more than anything—maybe too much. That’s why I said it, okay? Because if I lose you, I don’t know what I’d do!”

His words hit you like a freight train, and the room goes silent except for your uneven breathing.

“Then stop saying things like that,” you whisper.

Buck stares at you, his chest heaving. “You have no idea how hard it was to be that far away from you. And now to be this close to you and not—”

“Not what?” you challenge, stepping closer.

His restraint snaps. “This,” he whispers, and in one fluid motion, he cups your face and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is searing, all pent-up frustration and years of unspoken feelings spilling over. Your hands tangle in his hair as you pull him closer, melting into him as though the world outside doesn’t exist.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, his forehead resting against yours, the only sound being you struggling to catch your breath.

“I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. It killed me to leave you.” he admits, his voice hoarse.

Your heart swells, and a small smile tugs at your lips. “Took you long enough to say it Buckley.”

He pulls you into another hug, his strong arms wrapping around you tightly like he’s afraid to let go. “So…does this mean you’re not leaving anytime soon?”

“Not unless you want me to,” you tease, your voice lighter now.

Buck leans back, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t want you to go. Ever.”

“You’re stuck with me, Buck,” you murmur, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hair.

[sturnmeovr]

♡‧₊˚ Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader - You Don't Deserve It

“Your total is one hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents,” the cashier beams from across her register, a little too friendly for your liking. You never understood why or how some people went on about their day so happily, like the world wasn’t quite literally crumbling underneath them. That’s how it has always felt for you most days. You nod to the bubbly cashier, plastering a fake, toothless smile on your face as you swipe the credit card your father so graciously gifted you for all your needs and wants. 

You were always your dad’s main priority in life, being the only child your parents had, it was easy for him to put you first. He never felt the need to remarry after your mom left, your dad wanted to raise you on his own, and he did just that until you were ready to fly the coop - with his help, of course. Your apartment was the first place you had ever lived alone, and while it wasn’t everything you expected it to be, emphasis on your obnoxious upstairs neighbors, you were grateful for what you had. Normally, your father would be on your tail about managing money correctly, not partying too late, making sure the doors were locked, etc. – Lately, you couldn’t help but notice your dad wasn’t checking in on you as he usually did the first few months of you being on your own. You weren’t complaining though, you didn’t miss his random surprise visits at all hours of the day. On second thought, it was kind of lonely without them. 

Nearly a block away from your apartment building, you have your groceries bags laced around your arms as you follow your route home, quickening your pace as light raindrops pitter patter along the sidewalk. The rain starts to down pour with each long stride you take, almost like it was racing you to a finish line, “fuck!” you groan, stomping your foot in a growing puddle beneath you. Just your luck.

By the time you reach the front door of your building, you were completely soaked, little beads of water form at the ends of your sleeves as you dig in your bag to find your keys. That’s when it hit you – you didn’t have your keys that unlocked the security door to your building, you only brought the set of keys that went to your personal apartment door. You throw your head back in disappointment, letting another loud groan escape from your lungs, stamping your foot at the pavement below you, “this can’t be happening.” 

There you were – soaking wet, shriveled to a prune, as you tucked your small frame and all of your bagged groceries underneath the patio awning, your back pressed against the wooden door, hoping someone would open it at any moment. You didn’t care if you went tumbling down the steep steps of your mediocre apartment building as soon as they did either, at least you’d be able to get up and go inside where it was warm. It had been well over an hour since the rain had started, your arms hug your chest as you shake violently, the cold breeze sweeping your hair thru the wind. It wasn’t the best week for you – you were late clocking in twice and last night you burnt your dinner, luckily the fire alarm didn’t go off. It was finally Friday, and you had plans to go out with a few friends, a few drinks were well deserved after this shitty week. 

“Y'locked out?” the same familiar deep, husky voice from a few nights ago drags you from your daydream, making you look up to see the exact person you expected – your annoyingly loud, yet extremely sexy, upstairs neighbor. You sniffle, blinking away the tears that brimmed the waterlines of your eyes, ready to blame it on the harsh wind if he asked. As sensitive as you were, you hated it whenever someone saw you cry, it didn't matter if you shared a close bond with them or not. One thing you absolutely hated was other perceiving you as weak. You suck in a sharp breath as you examine the man in front of you; he was dressed in light blue jeans, a white t-shirt, steel toe boots, and a brown Carhartt jacket, all of which were splattered in some type of white paint, plaster, or saw dust. The umbrella he held kept his messy hair perfectly dry as he stared down at you with a set of furrowed brows, his gaze hardening once he notices your signature eye roll. If he was being completely honest, he thought it was the cutest eye roll he had ever seen, but he’d never tell you that. 

You let out a huff, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear, “I forgot my key to the stupid security door,” you grumble, not wanting to make eye contact with him. Normally, you could give a fuck less if you were a bitch to anyone, but the events form a few nights before left you wondering if you should’ve been nicer to your upstairs neighbor. You had a bad habit of reacting off of your emotions. Instead of thinking things thru, you usually acted on the first emotion bestowed upon you. It didn’t matter if you were happy, sad, or pissed. When hade no problem letting people know how you felt, you weren’t one to hide it. It was a gift and a curse at the same time.

“Well,” he starts, a sly smirk pulling at his lips, “I’d let you in if you weren’t such a brat to me the other night.” You watch as he digs a hand in his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, nodding to you like wants you out of his way. 

“I was not — just let me in, it’s freezing, and I’ve been out here for an hour,” your voice trembles as you attempt to get the words out. You watch as his eyes look you up and down, his smirk fading slightly before letting out a scoff, “a please would be nice — or I don't know, maybe an apology.”

Maybe apologizing to him wasn’t such a bad idea, who wants to feud with their upstairs neighbor? Looking up to see the scowl engraved deep into face, his eyebrows knitted together once again – it made you change your mind, only pissing you off more. You match his energy, folding your arms tighter against your chest, “you should be apologizing for disturbing my sleep every night of my life.” You try your hardest to keep your eyes locked on him, but his arctic blues stare right thru you, too piercing to let you take control. It was a challenge, and you loved a challenge. The air around you slowly decreases as he takes a step forward, so close your breasts are almost pressed against him. You can feel his chest vibrate as he lets out a low chuckle, “is that so?” you watch as he leans down to unlock the door, challenging the proximity even more than he already was, the smell of his cologne wafting over you. You couldn’t tell if you felt uncomfortable or too comfortable with him being this close to you. It nearly makes your heart jump out of your chest, you quickly sidestep him, no longer protected by the small awning; the cold rain pours down on you. 

You watch his chest deflate as he lets out a breathy sigh, pulling the door open, and grabbing a few of your grocery bags that sat, soaked, on the welcome mat. Saving yourself from anymore embarrassment, you scoop the remainder of the bags up, holding out your arms for him to add on the ones he had, “I got it,” you tell him confidently. He threads the bags over your arms, weighing them down slightly. Another low chuckle escaping his lips, “y’sure you got it?” 

His question makes you a bit irritated. Leave it to a man to think a woman can do a simple task such as carrying her own groceries up three flights of stairs. A light scoff leaves your lips as you sneak past him, “I got it – thanks,” you mutter before lugging the heavy plastic bags up the stairs. “Oh – kay,” he stretches out, following behind you quickly. You lean on the rail for some form of support, unknowingly giving your undeniably sexy upstairs neighbor the perfect view of your ass as you make your way up the three long flights of stairs. You can feel his eyes burning a deeper and deeper hole into your backside with each step you take. Little you know, he was in a mental battle, trying to stop himself from reaching out and claiming what he really wanted to. Once you reach your floor, you heavy foot your way to the stairwell door, fumbling to free a hand so you can open it. To your surprise, your neighbor comes to rescue once again, you can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of yours as he yanks the door open. You look up at him, his hypnotizing eyes staring down at you much like before, “uhrm – thanks.”

The same grouchy expression still stuck on his face, “no problem,” his sounds gruffly, his voice echoing off the empty hallway walls as he holds the door open for you. Stuck in the moment, it's like your feet are suddenly glued to the floor as you study him; his brown Carhartt jacket fits him nicely with a red and black flannel and white t-shirt layered underneath, the smell of his woodsy cologne makes you want to step closer to identify exactly what it was, his week-long scruff looks like it'd to justice tickling the inside of your thighs. You pull yourself away from your fantasies, nodding to him as you go on about your way. 

Each step you take makes you regret not saying more. Maybe an apology was in order after the way you talked to him. Besides, you hadn’t heard a peep out of the apartment above you since you gave him a piece of your mind. He was nice enough to let you in when you were locked out in the rain, even after you cussed him out with no remorse. The trail of thoughts running thru your head convinces you to drop your grocery bags, sprinting on your feet to catch your upstairs neighbor before your chance was over. For some reason, you felt like you were chasing after a stranger you’d never see again. It was New York City, after all. 

You push the door open, stumbling to the foot of the steps, only to see the shadow of his muscular figure disappearing around the corner. Your voice comes out louder than expected, “hey!” making your upstairs neighbor recoil his steps. His husky voice echoing off the walls again, sending shivering up your spine, “yeah?” 

You keep quiet until you see him at the top of the stairs, the sunlight reflects off of his body, casting a large shadow over your small silhouette. The sight of him makes you tremble in all the good ways, a pool forming in your panties while you look up at him. You clear your throat, “gonna tell me your name?” batting your lashes a few times as you look up at him with narrowed eyes. A sly smirk makes itself known on his face, “Matt,” he states nonchalantly, looking more interest than ever at the same time. You bite back a smile, “well, Matt –,” flipping a section of your sopping wet hair over your shoulder, “thank you for letting me in.”

You could tell he was trying figure you out by the way he raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest, “still no apology?” Everything about him screamed he knew how to put you in your place. He had attitude, it showed more than anything. Not new news to you, considering the fact he called you a bitch in the first five minutes of knowing him. You lose the battle, letting your smile break thru. Your pearly whites beam bright, making Matt study you even harder than he already was, “I don’t think you deserve it,” you shoot back sarcastically before spinning on your heels and heading for the exit. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t know what you were doing because you knew exactly what it was that you were doing - you were reeling him in. Your seductive charm never failed you; it worked every time.

Wc - 2120

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - Sorry for the wait, I've been planning out how I want this au to go lol. I don't want to rush anything! Let know what you guys think <3

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© sturnmeovr - Please do not copy my work.

[hangesdarling]

Can I ask for hate sex with hange?

(Hope this fits within your rules!)

commitment — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. Commander Hange find it difficult to commit into a relationship with you. CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, biting, leaving bite marks, vaginal fingering, oral sex (hange receiving), overstimulation, panty stuffing, scissoring, angst, alcoholism, teasing, dirty talk (lmk what else) WORD COUNT. 4.1k (i got carried away 😭) A/N. School may be killing me but at least I get to write this angsty smut for Hange (sorry for taking so long anon, and yesss, this fits with my rules 💕)

Your privilege from birth remained an indelible mark and only strengthened when your father rose to rank in the military police brigade. Those itchy elegant clothes at private parties, or of wearing a proper pin-up dress when you want to cross the road without a word of judgment became a pervasive familiarity.

Maybe even freedom contorted itself to your comfort and safety for you only saw Titans in those publications. Hange thought of you as an entitled woman untouched even by the dust from Shiganshina as expected from someone who lived in the inner walls from birth. 

But you love playing with fire. You love Hange's esoteric yet strangely fascinating eye bored through you across that expansive room. It was full of people in the usual fancy setting you were used to. Empty words were exchanged through them as if a common meeting could create another layer of peace to prevent such bonds from breaking. 

However, tonight was not so tasteless when you're exchanging wordless conversations and suggestive glances with the Commander of the Survey Corps. 

The party was not fascinating but the eventual meetings that followed were. For some time, your father almost believed you were interested in a position in the military from how you frequented the headquarters. Your surreptitious meetings with Hange came once a week, turning twice or thrice later on. Eventually, their vision of you as an entitled woman shattered under one kiss followed by sloppy lovemaking in their office. 

"So you weren't so stuck up after all," Hange mused, their lips stained with the gloss from your lips. 

"And you weren't so sophisticated, Commander." A teasing smirk rose on your lips, fingers circling the angry kiss marks trailing up from their chest to their neck. Your hips mounted to reposition yourself in their lap, earning an appreciative smile from them just for your boldness. "Taking me right here in the office? Really?" 

Your banters flowed like fluid robbed of viscosity, a free-flowing connection to the soul. Hange has this charming, relaxed smile, a glimpse of their youth smothered by the weight of responsibility on their shoulders. Your presence became a prying tool, each loving word uttered lifting the heaviness within them. 

You relished on those weekdays you had to pretend that you were not fucking the Commander. A sensational thrill shot through your body, even to the tips of your toes just from writing each lipstick-stained letter, each lewd word placed upon paper to be mailed directly at their office disguised as a formal letter. 

Lately, your meetings have thinned to twice or thrice a month, putting intense yearning upon waiting for a familiar letter in your mailbox. It wasn't frequent but Hange had a way with words, and it was enough to make you read their letter the way a devotee reads their bible. 

However, upon another chance of meeting after such intense longing, you found Hange in haste, bounding your conversation into half an hour based on how the clock on their wrist ticked. 

So you hugged them, you nestled your head on their chest like you always used to as if doing so would merit their stay. 

"Sweetheart, I really have no time for this," their tone sounded apologetic, as if in repentance for your yearning bounded by their time. "Say what you want to say, Y/N."

"Tell me, Hange. What are we?" It was soft yet so pointed that Hange stirred from your touch. They can't find a way to scoot around the topic with your tone of adamance. Their lips pursed into a thin line before sighing. 

"Y/N, we've talked about this." 

Your fists clenched at their olive uniform, your face remained buried on their chest. 

"But Hange... We've been seeing each other for such a long time now. And I..."

Hange knows you cannot finish your sentence, each word snatched from your mouth for fear of sounding pathetic. 

"Y/N, look, I wasn't carved out for such a commitment," they pulled away gently, lifting your chin to look at them and letting go eventually when you shook their hand off. "I care for you, Y/N. But we can't do this now." 

That's what you always say, you wanted to scream out. That this wasn't the right time, that it would be best to keep things this way not to hurt each other. You always do this as if there was always a better time than now.

Your hand clenched around their coat once more then let go all at once. Hange's watch ticked twice.

"I hate you," your lips moved in scorn, in an angry desperation to not burst into tears. It took all Hange's strength to not argue back, to resist your statement and pull you back in their arms so this parting wouldn't hurt as much. Their watch ticked again and like any other meetings, they didn't have time. 

Hange sighed, squeezing your hand and letting it go as they stepped back. "I'm sorry, Y/N. We'll talk about this when I get back."

Your eyes welled with tears as their footsteps grew fainter from where you stood frozen. You tried to walk away silently but the sound of their train leaving clutched you in an urge to scream. 

-

Maybe Hange was right that being in an official relationship wasn't any better.  I have to grow up, you told yourself. Hange has this mature view of things that smothers their imaginative side. Their decisions felt like the safest yet most terrible ones you couldn't wrap your heart around. You grew up knowing that things you want would materialize the moment you wished for them. It contrasts all the harsh experiences Hange had outside the walls all those years ago, not only fighting titans but the corrupt humans themselves. This isn't a fairy tale, Y/N, your mind spoke in Hange's voice. 

But you want to stop longing, to await for a love that does not dither, for a piece of commitment you could hold onto each time you wait for Hange to come back. Just the slightest verbal evidence that you're the person they come to as a lover. But your attempt to get their heart in your care failed once again. 

Maybe you were never their lover. You're just another one of those women they invited over for a fortnight of pleasure. You just happen to last long enough because they weren't tired of you just yet. You scoffed to yourself, pouring yourself another drink later that night day when Hange left. They should be getting on the ship as of this time based on your estimate. Another few weeks of not seeing each other, but this time parting with such bitter words. 

I hate you. 

Did you truly mean it? Maybe you hate their choice, but not them. Or perhaps it was irritating how much you cannot fully place hate on their name even if you tried.

You drank the bottle of wine to the last droplet, mind considering a visit to your father's headquarters early that morning. 

-

Not long ago, you earned a temporary job in the headquarters as an excuse to see Hange. It was rather tedious but you're not aversed about reading lengthy reports and sorting them when you could always meet the Commander afterwards. But with Hange's absence, the papers were getting more difficult to bear that you had to avert your eyes from the pile for at least an hour. 

However, you left the room later on, remembering you shouldn't have to bear with such things when you have a privilege placed on your name. You could always pay that kind soldier trying to help you out. But later that noon, he won't accept monetary payment, but rather a chance to take you out on a drink until night. 

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad offer since you needed a drink yourself. A splash of alcohol might hopefully erase Hange's face from your mind. You haven't even written a single letter since they left and planned to keep it that way. 

The bar where soldiers of low ranks weren't as sophisticated, and the cheap drinks tasted unique. Your first drink burned your throat but you were too thrilled by the new environment to even protest. You tried to imagine Hange in place of the guy next to you. Hange would have looked at you in amusement, maybe even tried to down a bottle to show you a glimpse of their previous life before they became Commander. 

But that daydream blurs and vanishes into a tasteless reality as you down a few drinks. This place only reminded you of Hange's absence, an environment far too cruel for you to bear. It was clear that you wanted to leave the bar and cut that night short. The man who brought you here has been a help in your tipsy state, and much to your distaste, he began a shaky confession of why he brought you here. 

His hands were cold when they met yours, you wanted to roll your eyes at how he was trying to meet your eyes. You're beautiful, you're friendly enough. I always see you frequent the headquarters. 

Shallow confessions, you thought to yourself, and yet it all sounds tempting especially now that the alcohol was kicking in. 

You tried to kiss him mid-sentence, tasting the cheap beer on both of your lips. His lips felt strange, unfamiliar, and almost cold from the air outside. You retracted almost immediately, the tempting whispers of the alcohol in your system diminished all at once. It was a terrible kiss and it will never feel good when your lips keep searching for Hange's sweet and loving ones. 

You're not one to toy with other people's feelings but the kiss stirred and hazed your mind back to soberness that you ran away into the frigid night. You tried to wash away the taste with another glass of wine when you got home but the feeling of betrayal lingered.

But then again, it wouldn't be a betrayal to Hange because you were never theirs. They've made it clear a few more times than enough. 

We can't do this now. There wasn't an ‘us’ to begin with. 

Later that midnight, you tried writing several letters addressed to Hange but none felt right. All ended up in a discarded pile beside your bed, your inked hands unwashed as the alcohol inched you closer to slumber. 

-

Returning to Paradis without you in sight made the morning all the more bitter for Hange. Not a letter from you, nor an answer for all the letters they sent while they were away. They remember the hatred laced with your words the last time you saw one another. 

Against all the bitterness nestled within them, they remained wishing that you never meant your words. 

Later that afternoon in the headquarters, they wanted to come to you but decided against it at the last minute. They need a few hours to themselves. Maybe for sleep or other things. However, Hange cannot sleep now that their mind is occupied not just by the pressing issues in the military, but also by you. 

They thought of your sweet, blushing face in their hands whenever they kiss you, or how you make a seat for yourself in their lap whenever you're in the mood to be playful, but above all that, they longed to feel you after such a tedious time away. Their mind was plagued with questions of where you were and what had happened while they were gone. Do you still resent them? 

However, their questions were beginning to be answered in such an unlikely manner when they overheard a conversation among soldiers drinking at work. The Commander wanted to burst in and admonish them for misbehavior when they heard your name being spoken along degrading words. A slut. A woman easily persuaded by an invitation to drink. Hange proceeded to listen, fists clenched as the soldier you kissed not even a week ago decided to warp his story of rejection to your disadvantage.

Hange glanced at these soldiers, remembering the names and faces they would subject to grueling military work later that day. They forgot their tiredness and went out of the headquarters to look for you.

-

Hange didn't want to believe that man's words. They placed their trust in you to that extent. However, their reasoning shattered when they heard it from your mouth. 

You resent them because seeing them makes your heart ache. You wished to hurt them the way they did when they broke your heart. 

 "I was never yours, Hange. You've made that clear several times so why bother to snoop around to what I'm up to?" you glared at them when they stood blocking the way out of your room. 

"Are you telling me these things because you're bored of me and wish to have a new plaything, or is this your petty attempt to make me mad?" Hange gave you a tired glare, arms crossed over their chest. They were too exhausted to deal with your temper at that moment and wished for a more civilized conversation. 

Your brows rose from their claim and said, "I'm not one to find playthings, and toy with them until I'm satisfied. Maybe you should look at yourself, Hange."

Your attempt to storm out of the room was interrupted when Hange caught your arm and brought you back to face them. "You think I'm toying with you?" Their tone only indicated that you managed to anger them with that statement. 

"What am I supposed to think when we only met several times just to fuck each other and yet you seem revolted by the idea of even calling me your lover?" you jabbed a finger on their chest, your tears more unbridled than that of your last meeting. "Was it easier to dedicate your life protecting a hopeless, godforsaken land than loving me?" 

Your claims were making Hange snap but they couldn't let themself lose control now. 

"You misunderstood me entirely," they muttered as if speaking any louder would prompt them to break. "And don't you dare call Paradis hopeless. You know nothing about it."

"You think so low of me, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to know what's happening here?" you argued, hastily wiping your tears so they wouldn't blur your vision. "It's obvious we don't understand each other. Maybe it's better if we stop all of this entirely."

Their grip on your arm tightened unconsciously. "You don't mean that," they scoffed. 

"Don't challenge me, Hange. You must be a fool if you think I can't replace you," you said coldly, earning a glare from them. Hange couldn't hold themself any longer, the frustration from work coupled with your behavior towards them irritates them further. 

They swiftly locked the door and pulled you towards them, arms circled tightly on your waist. Their face was centimeters away from you, their warm breath brushing against your lips, "This is not what I'm expecting when I come back here, Y/N. You're such a clever girl so you must know what I'm feeling right now."

Their hand went to the back of your head, lips touching yours as they whispered, "I'm so damn fed up and not just that..."

Hange dragged you back to your bed, forcing you to sit down. Their silent aggressiveness scared you when they slowly pressed their body against yours, their frame caging you firmly like one would do to a prey. Your legs dangled over the edge as their knees pressed on your sides. The bruising kisses they gave dug into your skin, almost like Hange was trying to tear the soft surface apart until you bled. 

"Hange, not here," you hissed, pushing on their shoulders. They groaned on your neck and gathered your wrists over your head.

"Don't act like this is the first time I fucked you here," they retorted, completing the cruel necklace of love bites surrounding your neck. Hange rolled up your skirt to your waist, their other hand pushing at the back of your thigh so you would lay open for them. 

"My father's at home, you asshole."

"I don't care," they replied almost immediately. "Let your father hear us. Let him know I'm already defiling you so he'd force me to marry you. After all, that's what you want, right?" 

"You twist my words," you argued. 

"I'm just learning from you," Hange muttered, their desperate lips now kissing on your chest. Hange could feel that your wrists were starting to relax on their grip. "Do you know how much irritates me when you think I don't love you?" 

"Maybe you should ask yourself why I think that way," you shot back. 

"If I'm so terrible in your mind then let me prove you otherwise," Hange told you like a firm promise, letting go of your hand to undo your clothes to the last button. Their hand kneaded on your waist, finding their way to settle on your breasts. 

You hated how much your body leaned into their warmth, of how you let yourself become so vulnerable and bare in their eyes. Your resentment felt so shallow when you fall apart every time their hands touched you.

Hange breathed onto your neck, their hand passionately locked around yours while the other glided over your folds. You gave their neck the same treatment from earlier as you left bruising kisses on their skin, making sure that their subordinates will see through the marks even with their uniform. 

Hange kept your moans muffled with their mouth, their usual loving whispers gone and replaced by a desperateness to have you, to make you come all over their hands once more. Your fingers gripped and dug into their uniform, the coil on your stomach tightening with each thrust. 

"Hange..." you whispered their name and repeated it like a fervent prayer as their lips never left your body. You clamped a hand over your mouth as your hips rocked against their fingers.

"Louder, sweetheart. You want people downstairs to hear you, right?" Hange smirked, their lips and thrusts both deepening as if in punishment for the moans you were trying to muffle. They tore your hand from your mouth and bit on your skin, earning a whimper from you.

You desperately closed your legs in between their hands but Hange only pulled them farther apart.

Come again for me, sweetheart, they would whisper, and you would collapse onto them over and over again the way rocks gently wear away against the crashing of waves.

Hange pulled their calloused fingers from your dripping cunt, groaning when they felt your teeth biting them again once more.

You wrapped a leg around them, shifting your body weight so you could straddle them. Hange felt your hands ripping at the zipper of their pants, the button securing the band disconnecting from the fabric.

 "Ease down, Y/N, damnit," they grunted as you strip off their button in haste. You bite on their lip as you kiss, letting them know you're in no mood to be gentle nor loving like you always used to. Your passion was coarse and carnal, grating through their flesh. Your hands found their underwear, slipping it off their legs without letting them say a thing.

You balled the fabric into a loose gag before stuffing it on their mouth. Your lips curled into a smirk before kissing their forehead, saying,  "You talk too much, Commander, it’s irritating. So you better keep that on until I'm done with you."

Hange groaned softly, patiently watching you settle in between their thighs. Your eyes bored onto theirs as the soft pad of your thumb circled their clit. Their hands found your hair, gripping onto them the moment your tongue glided along their slit. Hange whined at how torturously slow you used your tongue, getting them to the edge and pulling away when they needed it most.

Hange kept their mouth stuffed as you wished but proceeded to brutally use your mouth later on in accord with their liking.

"That's right, put your mouth to good use," they grunted, spitting out the gag later on, their inner thighs pressing on your head as their cum smeared your lips and chin. They delivered a wet, warm kiss on your lips, fingers resting on your chin as they said, "That's a lot better than arguing with me, don't you think?"

You groaned at that remark, yet your stamina was too depleted to protest when they're shifting you into another position. 

"I'm tired, Hange," you mumbled. 

"And I'm not, Y/N," they answered back, lifting your leg so they could settle in between. "I'll stop once you cease this bullshit with me, and handle your temper so we could talk."

"You wish," you rolled your eyes. 

Their hand circled around your throat as they inch closer to your face and spoke, "Then shut your mouth and take it."

Hange pushed your legs further, your soaked entrances meeting. Hange groaned as they felt the friction building up close to their pelvic region. They gave your throat a light squeeze as their hips moved against yours. You pulled onto their collar for a kiss, distracting both of you from how the bed creaks just by your movements escalating to roughness. 

Your intimacy was full of marks, of bites that drew blood. Your bodies moved in such a way where a stronger emotion could be felt other than desire. Perhaps it was longing, or an immense unresolved yearning of two hearts who could only find understanding through the flesh. 

Hange's lips trembled against yours as they came, their grip loosening so their hands could trail along your back. They placed a band of love bites that turned to purplish bruises, their tongue licking along the ones that managed to bleed. It took a while before your breathing stabilized enough.

Hange untangled their body from you and dressed up silently a few minutes later, mumbling about how it was getting too late, that it would be suspicious for them to stay. You're too tired to sulk as you shift your body to turn against them, finding comfort from the warm sheet encasing your body. Fine, just go, you wanted to mutter in defeat. 

However, Hange walked over to you, kneeling down so they could meet your eyes once more. They tucked the stray hair from your face as they spoke, "I'll talk to your father first thing in the morning."

You were alerted, brows creasing as your eyes tried to scan their intentions. "For what?" 

"Well," Hange sighed softly, playing on the loose strands on your face. "You have quite a traditional family so I'll formally talk to your father about us. I hope to merit a positive response."

"But I thought you don't want a committed relationship with me..."

"I know I told you that several times before," Hange traced a thumb over your cheek. "Truly it scares me because I know what I'm like. I can't give you all my attention, Y/N, and I don't want that to hurt you. But I've hurt you several times already because of my refusal. My fear is not worth breaking your heart over."

Their solemn gaze met yours, and you could feel another layer wearing away from them. Another vulnerability they're willing to hand over to you. You couldn't have guessed that they would bare their heart this way.

"Hange..."  There are things you wanted to say but couldn't find one where you could subdue your intense, profound appreciation. Your hand went to their cheek, gathering their warm skin onto your hand. 

"Y/N, you deserve more than I could give you. I can't promise to be everything you wished for. And perhaps it scares me terribly that you'll end up hating me for it," Hange continued, their gaze softening. "But I'll try, alright?" 

"Alright," you smiled, absentmindedly fixing their collar and tugging on it as a subtle plea. "Could you... stay for a bit longer?" 

Hange's responsibilities await like an undesirable visitor at their desk, waiting for them to get through their office door and pounce upon them. It thins their energy and will, a fuse burned into blackness within their heart. Staying with you would only create another opportunity for work to pile up higher, and yet, they couldn't find the heart to refuse. They felt like a charred, pitiful wick that once burned brightly. Your loving embrace, and intoxicating touch, your insistent love they cannot shut down for much longer— all made them forget their inanition and diminished vigor within.

"Of course I can stay," Hange smiled before letting themself sink back into your embrace, drowning themself into your depth until they couldn't breathe. 

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

[junowritings]

What about romanced Astarion reacting to the normally goody-goody Tav revealing that they stole the special potion from Araj before they left. He discovers this because Tav gives it to him as soon as they are out of sight from the blood merchant.

Oh I absolutely love this idea. Though writing this made me realize I need to put Astarion in my party more often. Went off on a bit of a tangent but I do hope you enjoy~!

=======

♡ Oh, the things we do for love, ey?

♡ Astarion plays nice with others in the interest of survival, and he’s made no attempts to hide that fact from you since you had really begun to bond. You on the other hand are akin to a bleeding heart, all too often going out of your way to do what you thought was right even if it meant putting yourself in harm's way as a result. At the beginning that attitude seemed pitiful - he figured it would simply end up getting you killed later down the line. And yet you’d rise, time and time again making an example of the morals that you set and surviving every encounter stronger than before. Even if your morals didn’t always align, he respected that tenacity.

♡ Even after you’d managed to worm your way into his very heart, the pair of you have butted heads more than once on the matter; at the high and mighty goody two shoes act that you face the world with. All of the reminders about doing good deeds for the sake of being good, not stealing from just anyone nor going behind others backs rummaging through personal effects for answers or loot. Not to mention all of that time spent helping others and listening to their plights as though they were your own. Honestly, darling, you really do make things harder on yourself by playing into other people’s sob stories. 

♡ Astarion never suspected that the encounter at Moonrise tower could have changed anything.

♡ He’s uncharacteristically quiet as you leave the room together after dealing with Araj, but that’s because inside Astarion is absolutely seething. A familiar feeling of disgust he’d longed hoped to quash down burns a hole deep within his chest, opening old mental wounds as though freshly torn asunder upon his flesh. He’s mad at that damned drow; the way she looked down upon him, using honeyed words that he knew were a damn farce because for fucks sake he’d been using the same tactics for well over a century. That look, that calculated appraisal as Araj gauged what the vampire spawn could offer her in exchange for her potion made his skin crawl, all too familiar with the look that spoke volumes of his value - as a means to serve her own whims and not an actual person.

♡ And then, when he’d shown reluctance, she’d turned to you, as though you’d reign him in and get him to bend to your will like some fanged pet you kept on a tight leash. Far from the truth, of course, but the lack of autonomy that Astarion felt watching the pair of you converse about him as if he wasn’t even there had him clenching his teeth hard enough that the ache in his jaw persists long afterwards.

♡ There had been a swell of satisfaction when you put your foot down on the matter, nipping her demand in the bud with a firm reminder that he had already refused her request - there was no more to discuss. The drow had gotten bored after that, uninterested in further discussion with her own desires now off the table, and Astarion was all too happy to be out of there as you trailed a few paces behind.

♡ Astarion stands by his choice, but another part of him kicks himself for turning down the reward. A moment of discomfort, to give up a piece of himself for a potion that could prove invaluable was all it could have taken. He had done it before - done it for centuries to placate that vile beast he once served - why would this be any different? A transactional relationship, one that could have given you a leg up in the battles ahead, and he’d refused. 

♡ He’s still stewing in these thoughts when a nudge breaks him from his reverie, a gentle brush of your fingers against his hand as you move into step beside your partner. Your touch is warm yet he prickles as though he’s been burned, pupils akin to pinpricks as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. He’s measuring you, for a moment. Takes in the brow furrowed and questioning eyes - not pity, concern - trying to gauge how he’s feeling. It’s a discussion for later, so Astarion dons that usual placating smile and turns to you, fully prepared to pull a spiel about that whole conversation being a waste of your perfectly good time. And then he notices.

♡ His ears perk up at a noise, the gentle slosh of something moving. Crimson eyes dart down to the source, to the hand you’d touch him with. It’s not empty - no, fingers curl tight around the corded neck of a familiar glass green bottle, and your nudge this time is more insistent as you press the bottle into the palm of his hand, urging him to take it. You relinquish the bottle to his hold, pale hands taking the glass and stirring up the liquid inside as he brings it up to get a better look. Surely this isn’t…

♡ But then sure enough you smile, a mischievous twinkle in your eye that makes his own widen as you shrug.

♡ “For you. Figured she didn’t need it anymore; since she just left it lying out in the open and all.”.

♡ The laugh comes before Astarion can stop himself - loud and unabashed from the sheer absurdity of it all. You? Actually stealing something? And for him no less! And they say that romance is dead, yet here you are wooing him one stolen novelty at a time. 

♡Hells he hadn’t even noticed that you’d swiped the damned thing - had it been when you’d turned the blood merchant down? Or back when she’d had her sights set on him? He doesn’t care for the answer, not really. He’s more impressed that you pulled it off, but Astarion certainly doesn’t miss the irony of it all. His lovely partner, casting aside your usual goody nature in favor of stealing something and getting one up on the woman who’d disrespected your lover. As if he wasn’t fond enough of you already - this was just another lovely little reminder of the lengths you’d go for him.

♡ His smile for a moment is all teeth, shoulders still shaking with the last dregs of laughter - which damn if he didn’t need - as he brings his free arm to curl around your side. The kiss pressed to your cheek is quick, vibrating with the appreciative hum that passes the spawn’s lips when you lean a little into him. Once he pulls away Astarion keeps his free hand looped around your side, the other holding the bottle up and giving the contents a dramatic little shake to show off.

♡ Perhaps he’ll keep this as a little secret; or maybe he’ll spend the rest of that night flaunting this potion teasing you for your first act of casual thievery. Whatever the outcome it’s worth the grin he flashes you as he gives a conspiratory wink and declares.

♡ “Oh my dear. We’ll make a fine miscreant of you yet!”

[bookwormjust]

Tea party with the girls of the inner circle (established relationship with Cassian)

The tea party had been going on for a while now, the soft chatter and clinking of cups filling the air. You were seated with Nesta, Feyre, Elain, Mor, and Amren, all of you enjoying the rare moment of peace together. The conversation had drifted from casual topics to teasing jokes, laughter filling the room, but even amidst the warmth and company, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or rather, *someone*—was missing.

Cassian.

Though you had been enjoying yourself, your thoughts kept drifting to him—his warmth, his humor, his presence that always seemed to ground you, no matter where you were. And now, without him beside you, you felt a little empty, like a part of you wasn’t fully here. 

As Nesta and Mor engaged in a lighthearted debate over their favorite sparring techniques, you leaned back in your chair, tuning out the conversation for a moment. You closed your eyes briefly, focusing on the bond that tied you to Cassian. It was always there, a warm, steady thread connecting you to him, humming in the background of your mind. You reached for it now, sending a gentle, longing pulse through the bond.

*Cass?*

Almost immediately, you felt him stir on the other side. A wave of warmth and affection washed over you, along with his familiar presence. Even though he wasn’t physically with you, just feeling him through the bond made your heart flutter.

*Miss me already, sweetheart?* His voice in your mind was filled with that playful, teasing tone he always used with you, though you could sense the undercurrent of affection behind it.

*Maybe,* you sent back, smiling to yourself. *Are you busy?*

*Never too busy for you,* he responded, his presence growing stronger as he focused more on you. *What’s going on? You need rescuing from the tea party?*

You chuckled softly, keeping your expression neutral so the others wouldn’t notice your distraction. *No, nothing like that. It’s actually been nice, but…* You hesitated, biting your lip before admitting, *I just miss you. It feels weird not having you here.*

There was a pause, and then you felt a rush of warmth and love flood through the bond, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. *I miss you too, sweetheart.* His voice was softer now, filled with that tenderness he reserved only for you. *Wish I could be there with you. But I’m here if you need me—always.*

The warmth of his words settled into your chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the sensation of his presence. Even though he wasn’t physically with you, it felt like he was, his love wrapping around you like a protective shield.

*What are you up to?* you asked, wanting to stay connected to him for a little longer.

*Just dealing with some training schedules,* he replied, his tone a bit more serious now. *Nothing too exciting. Az and I are sparring later, though. Wanna watch?* You could hear the grin in his voice.

You smiled, imagining the sight of him sparring with Azriel, muscles flexing and wings outstretched. *You know I love watching you spar.* You sent a teasing pulse through the bond. *Especially when you’re shirtless.*

Cassian laughed, the sound deep and rich in your mind. *I’ll make sure to take my shirt off just for you, then.*

You were so absorbed in the conversation with Cassian that you barely noticed Feyre giving you a curious look from across the table. She raised an eyebrow, smirking knowingly. “Talking to Cassian?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks as the others glanced your way, all of them clearly picking up on your distraction.

“Guilty,” you admitted with a sheepish smile, causing Nesta to roll her eyes playfully.

“Of course you are,” Mor said with a grin, leaning back in her chair. “You two are always so wrapped up in each other.”

Amren smirked over her cup of tea. “At least you’re subtle about it. Cassian usually just pines out loud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. *Guess I’m busted,* you sent to Cassian, amusement and affection coloring your thoughts.

*Sounds like you’re in trouble,* he teased back, though you could feel the pride in his tone. *You should tell them how much I miss you too.*

Your heart swelled, and you couldn’t help but smile at his words. Feyre gave you a soft, understanding smile, as if she could sense the warmth and love between you and Cassian even without needing the bond you shared with him.

“Tell him we’ll return him to you soon,” Mor teased, taking a sip of her tea. “Can’t have you getting too distracted.”

*They said they’ll return me to you soon,* you sent to Cassian, grinning to yourself.

*Good,* he replied, his voice low and full of affection. *But just so you know, I’m already counting down the minutes until I can hold you again.*

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you sent a wave of love and warmth through the bond, knowing that no matter where you were or who you were with, Cassian was always with you in some way—just a heartbeat, a thought, or a feeling away.

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, angst, mentions of shooting, confusion, flufffffff

The morning light beamed through the windows of the bridal studio as I quickly unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar sight of lace and silk. It was a quiet Saturday morning after my date with Chris, and the shop felt like a safe space from the thoughts swirling through my mind since last night. I flicked on the lights, the soft glow illuminating the rows of white gowns hanging in neat lines. Saturdays were always busy, especially with brides coming in for final fittings, but today felt like it would be a bit harder since there was a heavy weight in my chest that I couldn’t seem to lift.

As I settled behind the counter, I turned on the small radio, keeping my normal routine. Soft music played for a few moments before the news interrupted.

“Breaking news this morning: Boston police are investigating two separate shootings that occurred last night. One incident took place in Somerville, while the other took place in the South End area. No fatalities have been reported yet, but authorities believe both incidents may be gang related. More updates to follow.”

I paused, my fingers freezing over the appointment book. Two shootings? I felt a chill run down my spine as I listened. How awful it was that violence like this was so common here the last few years, and how easily lives could be shattered overnight. The mention of gangs tugged at something deep within me - a sense of unease I had been trying to push away since Chris abruptly left last night. I shook my head, trying to shake the thought.

I went through the motions of my normal working day, greeting brides and their families with the same professional smile, but my thoughts kept drifting. The night before had left me feeling.. off.. and heavily single. Chris and I had started the date on such a high, but the way he left so suddenly, without really explaining much, left me with a sinking feeling. It wasn’t just disappointment, it was confusion, too. Was I the only one catching feelings? It made me feel fucking stupid.

After my shift ended, I headed home, my legs heavy with exhaustion. As soon as I walked through my bedroom door and threw myself on my bed, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it, expecting a message from Willow, and sure enough, her name lit up my screen.

Willow: “Hey girl! There’s a party at Tyler’s tomorrow night. You should totally come! And see if Chris wants to join ;) Maybe ask him to bring along a certain friend too..”

I sighed, dropping my phone on my bed. A party. Part of me wanted to go and let loose, but the other part was still tangled up in confusion about Chris. I hadn’t gotten the chance to fill Willow in on it yet. Was I being ridiculous for feeling this way after one date? I barely knew him now.. he wasn’t the same Chris I’d remembered from my teenage years. He was more.. closed off, like there were parts of his life he couldn’t or wouldn’t let me see. The uncertainty of it all scared me.

I told myself I’d wait a bit to reply to Willow. As I was about to set my phone down, it buzzed again.

Chris: “Check your tree house.”

I blinked, confused. What could he possibly mean? I pushed myself off of my bed and stepped toward the balcony door, pushing it open as the cool evening air washed over me. My gaze shifted to the old tree house in the backyard, a relic of someone’s childhood that hadn’t seen much use in years. With curiosity tugging at me, I slipped outside, my heart pounding as I squinted across into the tree house window that was now glowing inside.

I stopped once my eyes fixated on what was inside, my breath catching in my throat.

The tree house was transformed. There were fairy lights hung around the edges of the roof, blankets and pillows spread across the floor, pizza boxes neatly stacked in the corner, a bouquet of wildflowers lying on top. It was perfect in a way I hadn’t expected.

I looked down from the treehouse and standing there was Chris. His eyes met mine, a small smile forming on his lips as he waved.

"Hey.." he called up softly. "Can I come up?"

I couldn’t help but smile back, my heart doing backflips. “Yeah get up here” I laughed.

Chris climbed up with ease, as I climbed in through the window. He glanced around at the setup, his expression a little smug. I laughed, warmth spreading through me. "This is really sweet, Chris. You didn’t have to do all this."

"I wanted to" he said, his eyes meeting mine in a deep, sincere way that made my heart race. “I wanted to make up for last night” he said quietly. “I’m sorry about the way things went.. I really didn’t want to leave like that.. I felt like I messed up, and I don’t want you to feel like... I don’t care. Because I do."

I studied him for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It’s okay” I replied, though a part of me had been hurt. “I was just.. a little confused. I thought we were having a good time, and then you had to go so suddenly.”

Chris nodded, his face full of regret. “I know. I didn’t plan for it to go that way. But I really did enjoy our date, and I wanted to make it up to you with something a little more.. private.” He gestured to the tree house, the pizza, the flowers. “I figured this was a good place to start.”

I smiled, warmth spreading through me. “It’s perfect.”

We sat there for a while, sharing slices of pizza and talking. It was so easy to fall into conversation with him. Every now and then, I’d catch him looking at me with that same intensity I remembered from years ago, only now, it was deeper, more meaningful. It was like he was seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time. I had to admit, I liked the way it made me feel.

"You know" Chris said, his tone becoming a bit more serious, "when we were younger... I always thought you were going to do something amazing, I was always in awe of you."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You were always so determined, so driven. I mean, you seem to really be doing things for yourself Y/n."

I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, and the way he seemed genuinely interested in me. It made me feel seen, like he really cared. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was scared. Scared because I could feel myself falling for him. Fast.

We kept talking, the hours slipping by as we shared stories, hopes, and dreams. The conversation flowed easily, and before I knew it, it was near midnight, and a cool breeze had started to creep into the air.

I shivered slightly, and Chris noticed immediately. "You’re cold" he said, concern flashing in his eyes.

"A little" I admitted, hugging the blanket around myself.

He glanced toward my house, then back at me. "Do you want to go inside? I mean, if you’re okay with that."

I hesitated for a second, but then nodded. "Yeah. My parents are still away, so.. there’s no issue."

We climbed out the tree house window, making our way back inside through the balcony door. The warmth of my room wrapped around us, and I gestured for him to make himself comfortable. Chris settled onto the edge of my bed, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on me.

"This is nice" he said, smiling softly.

I sat beside him, my heart racing a little faster now that we were inside. The atmosphere was different - more intimate, more charged. And yet, there was a sense of comfort that made me feel safe. Chris shifted closer, and I could feel the warmth radiating from him as he gently took my hand in his.

“This place is exactly how I imagined it would be” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head in curiosity.

Chris chuckled softly, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “I don’t know.. It just feels like you. Neat, organised, but with a little bit of chaos thrown in.” He nodded toward my cluttered desk, where textbooks and random papers were strewn about. “Like that.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing as I sat down next to him. “Hey, I’m busy! College life is no joke.”

He grinned. “I know. And I still can’t believe you’re studying law.”

I felt my cheeks warm at the compliment, but his tone had a hint of something else - something more uncertain. “What?” I asked, studying his face. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“No, that’s not it” he said quickly. “I just.. I don’t know. It’s a lot. A lawyer and a guy like me?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s one hell of a combo.”

I nudged him playfully. “A guy like you?” I repeated, teasing. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Chris.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Maybe.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen for a split second before putting it back without replying. The name had flashed across the screen too quickly for me to see, but there was something about the way he ignored it that made my stomach churn. Was it another girl? 

“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

Chris hesitated for a beat, then smiled. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t, maybe I’m overthinking.. There’s no way he’d do all of that if there was another girl in the picture.

Chris’s hand was still held in mine and I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. His presence felt so calming, yet there was this underlying tension, a kind of electricity I couldn't quite ignore.

I shifted slightly to face him, our eyes meeting. For a second, we just stared at each other, as if both of us were trying to figure out what the other was thinking. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, and I could feel my heartbeat quicken.

“Chris..” I started, not even sure where I was going with it, but his name felt like the only thing I could say in that moment.

He leaned in a little closer, his hand gently finding its way to my cheek, his thumb lightly brushing my skin. The touch sent a wave of warmth through me, and I instinctively leaned into it.

“I’m really glad we reconnected.” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were so sincere, so full of something I hadn’t expected to see – vulnerability.

I felt the same vulnerability rising in me, too. “Me too” I whispered back, and before I could say anything more, he closed the small gap between us.

His lips met mine gently, testing at first, almost hesitant. But when I responded, pressing back into him, it was like something clicked between us. The kiss deepened, his hand moving from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. I could feel my heart racing, but this time it wasn’t out of nervousness or fear. It was because this felt right.

For a moment, everything else melted away. The awkwardness of the previous night, the confusion I had felt.. all of it disappeared as the kiss continued, soft yet filled with an undeniable intensity. It was like we’d been waiting for this moment for years, and now that it was here, neither of us wanted to let go.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. I could feel his warm breath on my skin, and I smiled softly, my lips still tingling from the kiss.

“That..” I began, still trying to catch my breath, “was.. unexpected.”

Chris chuckled lightly, his hand still gently holding the back of my neck. “Yeah” he murmured, his voice low and husky, “but in the best way.”

I couldn’t help but agree. There was something about being here, in this moment, with him, that made everything else seem so far away, like we were the only two people in the world.

Before I could second guess myself, I looked up at him and smiled. "There’s a party tomorrow night, Willow invited me.. do you want to come? She said you could bring Nate too if you’d like"

Chris smiled, his eyes lighting up in that familiar, charming way. "I’d love to. I’m sure Nate would too."

For the rest of the night, we stayed close, talking in whispers, sharing more smiles, more laughs and even a few more kisses. It was like we were stepping into something new together, something unspoken but full of possibility.

The nervousness I had felt earlier about catching feelings seemed to evaporate, replaced with something even scarier – hope. Maybe, just maybe, this thing between us could actually work.

a/n: are things going to work out???

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @slutniolo @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend

[imaginedreamwrite]

Wish You The Best

A/N: Forgive me, I started another series...oops

Summary: You meet an alpha from your past, and he introduces you to what will become your future.

It's as if you've been transported to another world. Between the stone arches that act as supports for the glass ceiling to the natural wildflowers that decorate the tables, you feel transported. There's nothing more perfect for Ava MacTavish’s wedding to her fiancé, a day with delicate sunlight and the end of summer warmth. 

You find it nice that the ceremony and reception will be in the same old building, speaking volumes to Ava’s connection to Scotland. The place she was born and raised had as much meaning for her as it had for you, albeit for entirely different reasons. 

This was her home, the place where you had met and had run wild across the grassy knolls behind her house. The two of you were best friends, classmates that had become like sisters with an unbreakable bond. As you grew older you had become entangled in a childlike crush on her older brother, Johnny MacTavish, who was only 3 years older than yourself.

The alpha that had stolen your attention had reciprocated feelings beyond friendship when you had turned 18, and he was well on his way toward the SAS. It was the epitome of wrong timing but the right person, and as time tore you apart your thoughts shifted from him. You had doubled down on your schoolwork, on getting your bachelor’s degree in education and then landing a job. 

Now at 24 you were a primary school teacher in a cozy school in smalltown England, a job you had always wanted. Being an omega who taught young kids had always seemed like a good fit for you, given that Johnny had once claimed you were the personification of the sun. A bright personality, bubbly and always trying to see the best in people, believing that everyone had some inherited good within them. 

Now you were back in Scotland for Ava’s wedding and undoubtedly you would cross paths with Johnny. The alpha you’d had a crush on all those years ago was supposed to be here, as Ava had promised, and it was only a matter of time before you ran into him. You knew that if Ava and her fiancé had wanted a wedding party, Johnny would’ve likely been the best man. However, to spare drama and money, both Ava and her fiancé wanted just themselves to stand and have everyone else be guests. 

The moment you had set foot on the property you headed toward the seating chart for the wedding to find your name written amongst small cardstocks. You set a hand down upon the table and leaned in, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as you scoured the charts, and upon finding your name a smile had graced your face. There written in black ink was your name next to Johnny’s, and on the other side was someone you hadn’t met yet but had heard about. 

“Steaming bloody Jesus, you’re still alive.” A voice so recognizable stirs your attention and you turn your head, looking over your shoulder. Sparkling blue eyes meet yours with that consistent mischievousness reflected in those blues. Your smile only grows, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you feel those familiar butterflies afflicting you. 

No matter how much time had passed, seeing Johnny had affected you greatly. 

“Hey Johnny,” you greeted him warmly, your smile bright and that bubbliness not lacking for a moment, “what do you mean still alive?” 

“I mean yer clumsy as hell, bonbon.” He grins cheekily and doesn’t hesitate to pull you into a deep hug, lifting you clear off your feet. Your laugh is infectious, and you can’t help but hold onto him as if he’s your lifeline, until you're standing again. “And you’re too trusting, especially with animals.” 

“I like animals.” You fix your dress once you’re on your own two feet, and briefly your attention is drawn from Johnny to the hulking alpha standing next to him. 

“Hi,” you greet the intense looking alpha with a cheerful chirp and extend your hand, that familiar smile still on your face, “I’m Y/N. I'm Ava’s best friend and-” 

“-the clumsiest little omega this side of the world.” Johnny grins and throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you straight into his side, while your hand is still extended. “This is Simon.” 

He stares at you, this other alpha, with brown eyes that could appear dark and cold. His dirty blonde hair is slightly ruffled and messy, and there’s a distinct set of bruises on his neck that make you pause. You don’t know how you hadn’t put the pieces together but now it’s so obviously clear. The way Johnny’s scent mixes with this brooding alpha’s, you know they are mates. And they very recently had sex. 

Your wide eyes bounce between Simon and Johnny, lips parted slightly in surprise as you look your old crush over. He, like Simon, has bruises on his neck and their scents are very well intertwined. There's a smirk that’s playing on Johnny’s lips, and he’s unashamed by the indication of their sex life, something you had just stumbled upon. 

“Now what’s that look for sunshine?” Johnny teases you, his nostrils flaring as he inhales, filling his lungs with your perfume and scent. “Are you getting shy, little bonbon?” 

“I am not!” You squeak and dart under his arm, pulling away from him to create a little distance and when you look at Simon, you can see the shift in his eyes. The amusement that seems to briefly flicker in his brown eyes, though he’s stoic and silent. “I have to take my seat-” 

“Aye, yer between Simon and myself. Lucky omega.” Johnny reaches past you toward the seating chart and plucks the three cards with your names on them off the board, handing one to you. You notice on the bottom of the cardstock is a table number that matches the seat number, and you are wholly aware that Johnny is right. For the ceremony and the rest of the night, you’ll be placed between the two alpha’s. 

“That’s fine, it’ll be fine.” You don’t allow any nervousness to shine through, because this is Johnny, and you knew him. You harboured a huge crush on him when you were younger, even if there were years and distance between you that didn’t make a difference. You were comfortable around him, and this would be a chance for you to catch up. 

“This way, sunshine.” Johnny’s arm returns to being wrapped around your shoulders and he steers you away from the entrance of the venue to the seats. He escorts you while Simon follows, still silent yet obtusely observant of the whole interaction. His eyes were burning into your back as you walked with Johnny, deep and intense stares making your heart skip a beat—just as it had with Johnny. 

“So, bonbon...” Johnny struck conversation when you were seated between two hulking alpha’s, his hand resting on your knee, his blue eyes searching your face, “what does little miss sunshine do for work?” 

You feel heat beneath your skin, warmth that spreads when you feel the two of them staring at you. And although Simon has been silent, that only seems to spur you to get him to talk. You had looked at him from the corner of your eyes, his arm draped across the back of your seat, his fingers lightly brushing over Johnny’s shoulder. It was a subtle yet intimate act, one that had only furthered the heat bubbling beneath your flesh. 

“I teach in a primary school.” You don’t know why you feel so bashful when you say it, your voice is so low and quiet. 

“Awe that’s fitting for a ray of sunshine like yerself.” Johnny’s croon is enticing, and your head snaps up in his direction, your eyes boring into his own. “Sweet little thing-” 

“Ava said you’re a soldier.” You make the statement, only intending to push the attention and conversation onto someone else, yet you don’t expect it to the catalyst that finally makes silent Simon speak. 

“We both are.” His voice catches you off guard, the rich and deep baritone sends a shiver through you and your attention quickly falls to him. He leans in slightly, the brush of his chest against your shoulder catches you off guard and your drop your gaze to avoid his intense stare. There's something that you almost miss, an almost incoherent sound of an alpha that relates to them being pleased. You don’t know if it’s from Johnny or Simon, but it doesn’t really matter either way because it still makes you feel weak. 

“SAS, bonbon.” Johnny grins and reaches for you, subtly cupping your chin to draw your attention back toward him as he takes the last few minutes before the ceremony starts to hold your gaze again. “Yer such a sweet omega, ya know? You always were special, cute little sunshine.” 

That hold breaks when the music for the wedding stops, and the guests start to stand. You wait for a single moment, in order to catch your breath before you stand on shaky legs—making the astute observation that between Johnny and Simon, you feel tiny.  

[therealcocoshady]

So I was thinking if you’re taking requests maybe a Em x reader where she’s plus size, they’ve been friends for a while and someone makes a comment making fun of her weight or how Em would never be with someone like her & reader overhears Em’s confession/response? In need for a happy ending type of fic.

Kinktober - Day 20 - Size Difference

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : thank you for your request ! I think it fights right with the Kinktober Day 20 prompt, which is « Size Difference ». I hope you enjoy it 💕.

CW : Size difference - Plus sized reader - Fluff

The dining room was warm and buzzing with laughter and chatter as the evening settled into its comfortable rhythm. Marshall sat beside you, leaning back with that familiar, laid-back posture, fingers idly tapping the edge of his glass as he listened to some story being told across the table. You felt a flicker of contentment just sitting beside him, enjoying the moment. You loved a good dinner party : great food and good company. It was even better when Marshall was around : his humor and playful remarks were always the cherry on the cake. The two of you had been friends for years, your bond built on banter and that magnetic, unspoken understanding. There was a spark, sure, but you had always kind of danced around it, knowing it was always there, like a half-breath between you. It was playful and fun but, at the end of the day, he was him and you were, well, you. And even though you sometimes thought of how great it might be if the friendship turned into something more, you were simply grateful to be in his presence.

At one point during the dinner, you excused yourself to step outside, needing a breath of fresh air and maybe just a moment alone. As you headed for the balcony, you didn’t realize that your absence would become the focal point of a conversation you’d never intended to overhear. Marshall was taking a sip of his drink when he heard one of his friends, that you had not crossed paths with too often, chuckle, glancing toward the door you had just passed through.

“So, uh, what’s the deal between you and Y/N?” the guy asked, with that tone that conveyed his thought on your friendship, probably deeming unlikely. After all, most people wouldn’t expect one of the most successful rappers to be such good friends with a female, much less one that did not look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Marshall’s brow furrowed at the question. “We’ve been friends for a while. Why?” The guy shrugged, giving a half-smile. “Nothing, man. I’m just surprised. Thought you’d go for, you know…” He motioned vaguely with his hand. “Someone more your…size.”

Marshall’s eyes narrowed, but the guy kept going, oblivious. “Look, she's nice, sure, but I mean— she might get the wrong idea and think there’s something there. And, well, she’s not exactly…. In your league, you know what I’m saying?” A heaviness dropped in your chest. You didn’t mean to overhear a conversation you were obviously not privy to. You could feel your eyes starting to burn. How humiliating. You’d left your seat for a minute and people were making fun of you. Right when you thought you were having a great time. You stayed on the balcony, looking away, pretending not to hear anything, hoping the conversation would end soon, so that you could go back to your seat and pretend that nothing happened. You didn’t see Marshall glance toward the balcony door. “Yeah,” Marshall said, his tone cold, “you’re right.”

You could feel your heart drop. Of course you knew that Marshall was out of your league. Anyone could see that. And you knew he knew it too. But to hear him acknowledge it, as simple as that, it still hurt. You would have hoped he’d at least defend you and say what a great friend you were. You could feel a lump form in your throat, before he continued. “She’s way out of my league.” Marshall’s voice softened as he glanced back toward the balcony door. “She’s the kind of woman who’s smart and hilarious, who’s real and doesn’t fake a damn thing. She’s gorgeous and incredible and—well, you wouldn’t get it. Someone like her?” He paused, letting the words sink in. “She’d never go for someone like me.”

The guy stammered, clearly at a loss for words. “But I mean, what is it that you actually see in her?” Marshall shook his head, a glint of disbelief in his eyes as he looked his friend square in the face. “What do I see in her?” He gave a small laugh. “Everything. I mean, have you seen her?”

You thought you were about to cry from the humiliation, but then you heard Marshall’s voice, steady and honest, filling in every corner of doubt she’d ever had. By the time he finished, your cheeks felt hot. There was a moment of silence and you decided to come back. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and approached the table, quietly slipping back into your seat beside him. Marshall glanced over, flashing her that signature, knowing smile, like you were his favorite person to see across the room. The conversation switched to another topic, moving on to some workplace gossip.

Without a word, you reached under the table and found his hand. His fingers stilled for a beat, then curled around yours, his thumb tracing a gentle pattern on your skin, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had. He looked over, and your eyes met, a silent understanding passing between you, deeper than words. “Out of your league, huh?” You whispered, your voice a mixture of teasing and something softer, more serious. He squeezed your hand gently, his demeanor oddly calm though you could see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. “Way, way out of my league,” he murmured, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You both focused on the table conversation, but neither of you could actually keep your attention from straying to the connection between your hands, fingers gently toying and tracing each other. Every once in a while, Marshall’s thumb would brush across your knuckles, a delicate and unhurried stroke that sent little shivers up your arm. You bit your lip, suppressing a smile, feeling your cheeks warm under the subtle, unspoken affection radiating from him. At one point, he leaned back casually, still holding your hand beneath the table, and threw in one of his usual sarcastic comments at something one of your friends said. But as he spoke, he lightly drew circles against your palm, his fingers grazing yours with a mix of playfulness and tenderness. It felt like a secret only the two of you shared, a silent language spoken in touch instead of words. You risked a glance at him, your eyes catching his for the briefest moment. He was mid-sentence, but when he saw you look, he shot you a crooked smile, raising one eyebrow in that mischievous way of his. He gave your hand another gentle squeeze, like he was saying, ‘I’ve got you.’

Your friends seemed oblivious, absorbed in their own conversations, while you and Marshall seemed to exist in your own bubble, a world of hidden smiles and quiet gestures. With each minute that passed, your confidence in this unspoken connection grew, and your touches became bolder. His hand slipped down to your wrist, feeling the steady rhythm of your pulse, while you traced your fingertips along the callouses on his, each touch a little thrill that left you wanting more. By dessert, you were leaning in just a little closer, your shoulder brushing his as you exchanged quick, playful whispers and comments about the evening’s conversations. The closeness of him, the warmth of his hand in yours, all made your heart pound in a way that was intoxicating.

Finally, as the evening wound down, people beginning to gather coats and say goodbyes, Marshall gave your hand one last squeeze, holding your gaze in a look that spoke volumes. As you stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut, the quiet tension that had been building all night seemed to close in around you. The moment you were alone, it was as though the air became charged, the silence between the two of you suddenly thick with every unspoken word and lingering look you’d shared at the dinner table.

You leaned back against the wall of the elevator, your breath catching as Marshall took a step closer. His gaze roamed over you, clearly taking in the way your dress hugged your curves, accentuating every line, every dip. He looked at you like he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried, and your pulse quickened, your body responding to the heat in his stare. He raised a hand, his fingers brushing along your cheek, trailing down to your jaw, gentle but deliberate. His voice was a low, warm rumble, barely above a whisper. “You’re so damn gorgeous, you know that?” You felt your cheeks flush, your lips parting, but before you could say anything, his mouth was on your, soft but insistent. The kiss was slow at first, like he was savoring every second, his hand slipping around to the back of your neck, holding you close as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pulled him closer, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his body pressing into you. She could taste the faint hint of Diet Coke on his lips, feel the steady beat of his heart against your fingertips, and it made your head spin. Marshall’s hands slid down, resting on your hips, pulling you against him, his touch possessive yet tender. His lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you melt against him, your breath coming quicker with each soft, lingering touch. “You have no idea…” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “No idea how beautiful you are.”

His hand traced down your side, following the curve of your waist, fingers exploring every dip and line as though committing you to memory. You arched into him, your own hands roaming up to his shoulders, feeling the strength in him, the tension just beneath the surface. When he looked at you again, his eyes were filled with an intensity that made your knees weak. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek as he leaned in once more, capturing your mouth in another kiss that was deeper, needier. The world outside the elevator ceased to exist; there was only the warmth of his touch, the soft hum of the elevator, and the way he made you feel, like you were the only woman in the world.