#fic: capitals

[satisfactuality]

"oh adaine would be the last of the bad kids to forgive the rat grinders" "adaine would hold a grudge against oisin" "this is why adaine would never help redeem the rat grinders"

all of these ignore the infinitely funnier option that adaine immediately forgives them for everything and just hates them unrelated to their plot to end the world

[benevolenterrancy]

hi!! I think your art is *so cool* o(≧∇≦o)

do you think you could draw more moshang? either post canon or that au you did last time?? (baby mobei has my heart and all I own)

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) oh! how about return to childhood—moshang flavor?

don't question this king, shang qinghua, he knows what he's about

[lesbianslugreaction]

Man, if there was any justice in the world, Valvert would be the biggest Les Mis ship by a long shot. Seriously, they're the protagonist and the antagonist. They're FOILS. They're enemies (?) to lovers. They're based on the same guy. They're soulmates. They're old men. They're sad and dead, but have the capability to live and love if they just saved each other. They're toxic. They're the most loving couple out there. They've been alone for so, so long. They're the only people who truly know each other. They're virgins. They're kinky.

And they only have 2500 fics on ao3🤡

This glorious old man yaoi was Victor Hugo's original vision. Let us not forget it.

[dewwshi]

every time i get into any ship ever i have to draw them chillin on the couch

[onlybeeewrites]

Angel Eyes

Request: Hello I would like to request a Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader! I see that you also do starwars and it had me thinking. How would Coriolanus do if either your his tribute or a mentor or his wife? and a little kid came up to the reader and asked her if she was an Angel?

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: classism, mentions of malnutrition/malnourishment, Coryo’s manipulation, slight diversion from canon for fic sake

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Capitol Zoo was unusually quiet that morning, as if the city itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the Games. The sky above was pale and washed-out, making the enclosures seem more like cages.

You walked slowly beside Coriolanus, your fingers brushing together before he finally gave in and laced his with yours. It was one of the few soft things about him—this quiet affection when no one was watching.

Well, when he thought no one was watching, at least.

His eyes were locked on the girl in the District 12 enclosure, her bright dress muted by the grim bars and stale air. Lucy Gray stood with her chin tilted high, a performer through and through, even in captivity.

You both watched her for a few moments—Coryo calculating, curious, captivated. You, quieter, unsure how to feel about the girl who smiled like she knew secrets.

“She’s different,” you murmured, your eyes trialing her up and down.

“She’s dangerous,” he replied. But there was something like admiration in his voice. Though you weren’t threatened by it.

After all, she was the one behind the bars; you weren’t.

You nodded once, then gently tugged his hand. “Come on. I want to see mine.”

Your tribute was a girl of only twelve, a slip of a thing with tangled hair and limbs too thin for her frame. She was tucked in a corner of the enclosure, knees pulled to her chest like she was trying to disappear.

You reached into the elegant satchel slung over your shoulder, the one your mother insisted matched your family’s station.

“A Tolston never leaves the house looking anything less than exceptional.” Was what your mother had always said to you.

The Tolstons were old money. Old, influential, and perpetually seated at the Capitol’s highest tables, with your father’s name on every infrastructure committee and your mother curating the Capitol’s most exclusive fashion exhibits.

You weren’t supposed to cry about the Games. You weren’t supposed to feel things for tributes. But it was different now that you were in charge of taking care of one, to try and help your tribute to win.

So here you were, with wrapped honeyed bread, pear slices and soft cheese tucked between embroidered linen napkins. A large fancy ‘T’ stitched into it.

“Hi,” you said gently. “This is for you.”

She blinked up at you, wide-eyed, hesitant. Then slowly, carefully, she stood and crept over, taking the bundle like it might vanish if she moved too quickly. Her fingers brushed yours, feather-light, and you smiled.

She stared at the food, then at you. And then she said, in a small, wonder-filled voice

The little girl stood on the other side of the bars, hay in her hair while she stood in the dirt. The food you had passed was clutched tight in her small hands like she was afraid someone would take it back.

“Are you an angel?” she asked, voice breathy, eyes too big for her thin face.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She nodded seriously, stepping a little closer. “An angel. My mama used to talk about them all the time. She said they were the most beautiful creatures in the world. That they come when you’re really scared. When you’re about to give up.”

Your heart twisted. “Oh, sweetheart…” you crouched lower so you were more at her level. “No. I’m not an angel. I’m just…” You hesitated, glancing at the food in her hands. “I’m someone who thinks you shouldn’t be hungry. Just someone who is looking after you,”

She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head like a curious bird. “You look like one. Your voice is soft. Like my mama’s was.”

Behind you, the soft buzz of a camera lens adjusted, zooming in. You could feel the eyes of the Capitol watching—Lucky Flickerman’s commentary somewhere off to the side, smooth as ever.

“Your name is Lina, right?” you asked gently.

“Lina,” she said with a nod, “Lina Grove,”

“Lina Grove,” you repeated, giving her a small smile. “That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s—”

“I know,” she interrupted, suddenly shy. “They said your name on the screen when we got here. You’re the pretty girl that walks with the white-haired boy.”

You choked on a surprised laugh. “The white-haired boy?”

Coriolanus, who’d remained behind you but close, let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. His fingers tightened around yours—possessive, protective. “Charming,” he muttered under his breath.

Lina giggled.

“You’re funny,” she said to you. “And you smell nice. Not like the rest of this place.”

You leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s because I carry soap in my bag. Want me to sneak you some tomorrow?”

Her eyes lit up like you’d promised her a crown or the most sparkly jewels on earth.

“Really?” she whispered. “Even just to smell it?”

“Promise.”

She hugged the food to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Do angels make promises?”

You hesitated, just for a second. “Only the good ones, I suppose,”

Lucky’s voice rang out from somewhere behind the camera. “And there you have it, folks—our mentors are shining this year! Capitol hearts everywhere are absolutely melting.”

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your skirt. Lina backed up a step but kept her eyes on you, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.

You gave her a nod. “Every day until the Games.”

She bit her lip. “Even after?”

Something in your chest fractured. And unfamiliar ache.

“I’ll try,” you whispered. “I’ll do everything I can, I promise,”

Coriolanus stepped closer, slipping his arm around your waist, his voice low beside your ear. “You’re going to make it very hard for them to forget her.”

You didn’t answer. Just watched as Lina sat back down with her food next to her district partner; an older boy maybe around 16. And, for the first time, looked like a child again.

And for a split moment you felt guilt. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The gravel path shimmered faintly beneath your shoes as you and Coriolanus walked away from the enclosure. The buzz of cameras had finally died down, Lucky Flickerman’s voice trailing off into some other scripted sentiment. 

The air felt heavier now, quieter. As if your lungs were remembering how to breathe again the further you got away from it all.

You glanced back once—just once—toward where Lina now slept in one part of the zoo’s enclosure.

“She’s so little,” you said, more to yourself than him. “Twelve. She still has baby teeth, Coryo.”

His hand tightened on yours. Just a bit. Just enough. Though you didn’t see it, there was a small shift in the boy you loved so much.

“She’s a tribute,” he said, like it was supposed to explain everything. So simple. How could it be that simple?

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s just—” You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “She called me an angel.”

“She’s scared. They all are.” His voice was soft but sure, like velvet hiding steel. “And you gave her exactly what she needed in that moment. Comfort. That’s not a bad thing, my love,”

You nodded slowly, but something still stirred beneath your ribs. Not outrage—nothing so dramatic. Just a quiet ache. A tug of something soft and uncertain.

He stopped walking, gently pulling you to a halt beside him. You looked up at him, and the Capitol haze made his blond hair shine almost silver. Stunning. He was absolutely stunning.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, brushing your hair from your face with careful fingers. “But we don’t get to be soft right now. Not when everything we want is within reach.”

You blinked up at him, uncertain.

He leaned closer, voice dropping like it was a secret meant only for you.

“We’re doing this for a reason. You and me. The mentor who make it out of this with winning tributes—our lives change. We move forward. Higher. We don’t get stuck in the mud like the rest of them. The Games are there for a reason. To keep the districts in line. But now they’re also the one place we get to prove ourselves.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. Your eyes never leaving his, not once.

He slid his hand to your cheek. “You want a future, don’t you? Not just for her. For us.”

Your throat bobbed. “I do. Of course, I do, Coryo,”

He smiled then—slow, warm, like sunlight cutting through clouds.

“Then we play the game, my angel,” he said softly. “And we win it.”

Something about the way he said we made your pulse flutter. As if your names were already written into the Capitol’s future. As if this moment, however sharp around the edges, was only the beginning.

Like everything was already promised, and all you needed to do was just grab it.

You exhaled slowly, letting the guilt drift back into the shadows. He was right. He always had a way of being right. And you were grateful he was there to bring you back to common sense.

“I hate when you talk like that,” you whispered, lips curving into a reluctant smile.

“Why?” he teased.

“Because you always make me believe it.”

His grin widened, all charm and quiet power. He kissed the back of your hand, elegant and practiced. “Good.”

The two of you then continued down the path—two golden children of the Capitol, walking the road toward something both of you could only hope for; while Coryo was determined to grab.

A life he deserved, with plenty of money, power, and the Angel of the Captial at his side.

[rogueddie]

Steve wakes up to a beeping noise- a heart monitor. He struggles to open his eyes, turning to squint around the hospital room. Something about it feels off, though he can’t tell what.

A woman stumbles in, almost spilling her coffee. She looks familiar.

“Hey,” Steve tries, only to end up coughing. His throat is painfully dry.

“Steve!” She exclaims. She hurries over, swapping the coffee for a plastic cup of water. She carefully holds it to his mouth for him to drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake! I know we can’t talk here but… fuck, man, you really had us scared for a minute. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again!”

“I promise?”

“Oh! Eddie finally woke up too! Just the other week. He keeps asking about you, I should go-”

Steve is only more confused. There’s only one Eddie he knows and that Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead worrying about someone like Steve. Not unless...

“Munson?”

“Duh. Oh! Nancy! I was supposed to- you’re ok, right? I’ll just be a minute!”

“Yeah, sure.”

She throws him a thumbs up, darting out the room, calling for Nancy.

His head throbs. He’s not sure what is going on, what happened… maybe that thing in the Byers house did get him after all? Maybe this is just a dream.

"Ah, Mr Harrington," a nurse greets with a warm smile. "It's good to see you awake. I'm just going to check your vitals and all of that stuff, then we'll need to go over some questions. Does that sound alright?"

"Questions?"

"You've been asleep for a few weeks. We need to make sure that everything up there is ok." She lightly raps her knuckles on the side of her head.

Despite how light she's trying to be, Steve feels a sinking in his stomach.

"Is that possible? What- what could be wrong?"

"Nothing too serious. You're speech is clear and legible, you're conscious and cognitive." She lifts the clipboard off the end of the hospital bed. "You remember your name?"

"Yeah," he says. After a moment, he realizes; "oh! Right, sorry. Steve Harrington."

"Date of birth?"

"April 29th, 1967."

"Do you know what todays date is?"

"Um... how long have I been out? You said a few weeks, right?"

"Almost three weeks, yes."

"Three weeks, so that would make today... December 4th?"

She doesn't respond for a moment. The way she keeps her eyes on the clipboard feels too calculated.

"The year?"

"Uh... 1983?"

She only pauses for a moment, before continuing to ask simple questions about current events, how he's feeling, where he feels any pain or discomfort.

He lies when she asks if he remembers what caused him to be hospitalized. He's not sure what the story Nancy and Byers will give. He can't imagine people... involved, would want the truth out. And he's not willing to risk whatever consequences will come with that.

"I'm going to talk with your doctor," she finally says. "I'll be one minute."

"Wait! What- am I ok?"

"Your doctor will explain everything, don't worry."

Amnesia, his doctor explains.

Three years of his life, gone. They try to reassure him, say that it's still early days and he could completely regain his memory, no problem.

But they don't know. Not really. It's all 'possibly's, and 'maybe's. No guarentee. There's still a chance that he may never remember.

The woman who ran in when he woke up, sat by his bedside and holding his hand in a death grip, doesn't look anymore reassured by their optimism than he is.

"We're... close?" He asks her.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile. "Platonic soulmates. It's, um... Robin, by the way. Robin Buckley."

"Do we have that... Mrs Click, you sit behind me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She looks stunned, almost dazed. "I didn't think you remembered, or even noticed me."

"How could I not? You're hilarious!"

"What? We never-"

"Oh, uh, you're muttering. Behind me. It wasn't exactly, um... quiet."

"Oh my god," she slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "You heard me talk about you!"

"Yeah, like I said; you're funny."

Luckily, someone else bursts into the room, interrupting whatever epiphany Robin is having.

"Steve!" He yells.

The guy looks like a kid, barely out of middle school. But he rushes to Steve, eyeing him up like he's Steves babysitter.

"Uh, hi?"

"Oh no," is the kids response. He turns to Robin. "How much does he remember?"

"He is right here, you know."

"I think some time in 83?" Robin replies, ignoring him.

"Before or after the whole... uh..." He glances at Steve with suspicion, then pointedly to the door.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, rubbing at the crease between his brows. "Did Nancy and Jonathan tell you, or what?"

"Tell us about... what?"

He rolls his eyes at them, pointing to the kid. "Whatever has short stack paranoid. The thing with the-" he flops one hand around, raised towards the ceiling, "the lights."

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?" The kid quickly asks. "At the hospital, and Will?"

"You mean the Byers kid? Isn't he, like... dead?"

"So you... don't remember me."

"Sorry?"

"It's fine," he lies.

Steve hates how sad the kid sounds. He glances between the two of them, both seemingly wallowing quietly about the situation.

"Which room is Munson in?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"What?" The kid frowns. "Eddie? Why?"

"Which room?"

"He's two doors down to the left," Robin answers. "Why- woah! Don't get up! You're still-"

"I'm fine," Steve gently pushes her away, ignoring both of them trying to plead for him to get back into bed.

Despite the bandages, bruises and sick look to him, Munson somehow looks better than Steve remembers him looking. The longer hair definitely suits him.

"Steve?" He frowns. He tries to sit up but, grimacing, he soon stops. "What the hell are you doing up? You're gonna freak Dustin out."

"Dustin? That the kid?" He asks, grunting as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"What do-" he pauses, expressions slowly twisting with the horror and realization. "Yeah. Yeah, man, Dustin is the kid."

"Right. So... um... we're friends now?"

Eddie winces. "We haven't exactly had time to talk about... that."

"What? It's been years!"

"It's not that simple."

"Are you saying that because it's true or because you don't-"

"Because it's true," Eddie rolls his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Steve. You fell in love with Wheeler."

"What?" Steve can't hide his confusion. "Nancy?"

"Yes, Nancy. You made sure everyone fucking knew about that."

Steve snorts, having to grab at his side with a wince. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"So you're still easy to rile up?" He asks, smirking.

"Wh- you-" Eddie gasps. He tries to sit up again, grunting when he flops back down. "You were trying to make me jealous?!"

He's looking at Steve with disbelief, but he's also smiling.

"Are we friends now?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Stevie. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"I don't... Steve, how bad is your amnesia?"

Steve quickly looks away, wincing. "Not... that bad? I remember that- the first time. This, um... monster shit. Falling out with Tommy. And the doctors are optimistic- they're pretty sure I'm going to remember."

"Alright... maybe it'd be better if we talk then, instead of rushing into it now."

"Jesus," Steve frowns. "I really have missed a lot. When did you get mature?"

"Hey-"

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry came home to odd shit in his house all the time. To be fair he was related to two 'n the others, well, he couldn't get rid of them now. But other than its occupants, Darry was used to comin' home to cans twisted up to look like little men, knives stuck in the wall holdin' up keys or notes, 'n the odd beer bottle with a candle stuck down in it. His brothers had an affinity for the type of decor that would be home in a kindergarten class 'n Darry had to pick his battles. Glory knows they gave him his choice.

Hell, last month he'd come home to three traffic signs mounted around his living room. He'd promptly forced Soda, Steve, Two, 'n Dallas to return them to wherever the hell they had taken 'em from. They had bitched 'til kingdom come until Darry had threatened to load them up into the truck with those forsaken signs 'n call the damn cops on them himself. Of course, he hadn't meant it. They'd trudged out with one sign between the four of them swearin' they'd come back for the others too. And, naturally, they got caught.

Soda had used his one phone call to beg Darry to pick them up, Steve to whine about how they'd only gotten caught 'cause Darry had made them put them back, 'n Two to make a long series of jokes that ended with Darry threatenin' to leave him there for the night. Dallas had apparently elected to call Tim to bitch instead. 'N Tim had called him. Glory, he should have just left them there forever.

Since both groups were firmly blamin' the opposite party for the events of that night, Darry had elected to save himself the damn headache 'n just let them leave the two signs they hadn't managed to return on their walls. The odd street sign would still sometimes show up, but as long as they weren't important ones Darry simply pretended they weren't there.

So when he trudged into the house 'n glanced at the peelin' wallpaper, he wasn't necessarily surprised to see the new addition. He toes off his boots 'n hangs his keys on the knife buried so deep in the wall none of them can get it out. Darry makes an absentminded mental note to ask one of the men on his crew about it. Pony knew his son 'n he's sure he'd seen worse.

He turns to take a look at whatever was simmerin' on the stove when he catches his name on the piece of paper haphazardly drawn out into a chart 'n pinned to the wall.

In descendin' order the chart reads angelic, good enough, toein' the line, in the shit, Darry's gonna kick your ass, capital F fucked.

"Hey y'all, what the hell is this?" Pony looks up from the kitchen table where him 'n Soda are scratchin' away at old clothes pins. Pony's holdin' a pen knife clenched in his fist, stabbin' away far too close to his fingers for comfort. Darry reaches over 'n adjusts his grip, whackin' him gently on the head.

Steve ducks into the kitchen, brandishin' his own clothespin. He shoots Darry a grin 'n clips it to the chart at angelic. Darry can see his name carved into the side. "Provin' a point is what it is."

"Knock that shit down to fucked- you're pissin' me off." Pony scowls, goes back to his project, lookin' at Darry pointedly as he moves his fingers away.

"Ok. Well. Anyone wanna explain the point to me or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?" Darry sighs, glances into the living room where Two-Bit has been conspicuously silent. He's standin' on the couch, tongue between his teeth 'n brow furrowed as he frantically screws a yield sign into the wall, not noticin' Darry at all. "Two-Bit Matthews!" Two's head whips up at him with a big grin, droppin' the screwdriver 'n leanin' against the wall to block his handiwork like Darry hadn't just watched him for a full ten seconds.

"Darry! What are you doin' here?" Darry rolls his eyes 'n Soda snickers from somewhere behind him.

"Oh fuck, Soda, casserole." Soda scrambles up from the table so fast his chair falls backward. Darry shakes his head 'n sighs.

"Two I live here."

"So... come here often?" Both Pony 'n Steve snicker 'n then glare at each other like it was a cardinal sin that they both find the same joke funny.

"I'm gonna close my eyes 'n if that damn sign is gone by the time I open them I won't kick your ass." Darry drops his head against the door frame 'n shuts his eyes 'n Two mutters fuck 'n dives for the screwdriver. "Now would be an excellent time to explain that shit on my wall, by the way, Pone." Darry prompts, eyes still shut. Glory, he could fall asleep right there in the doorway.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Soda opens the oven 'n the distinctive smell of burnin' food pours into the kitchen. Darry raises an eyebrow 'n turns half around.

"Hey, don't open your eyes yet I'm workin' on it!" Two shrieks 'n Darry manages to roll his eyes with them still closed.

"Lordy, fine. Soda, lil' buddy? All good?" There's half a second of silence 'n then Soda snorts a laugh.

"Anyone want Dairy Queen for dinner?" Darry lets out an almighty sigh 'n Soda makes a disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

"Well, worth a shot. PB 'n J guys?" Pony groans 'n Darry can hear the thunk as he drops his head hard onto the table.

"Pone, this shit on my wall?"

"Oh. Steve thinks he's less of an asshole than I am. 'N I think he's a liar. So we're provin' it-"

"Nuh-uh. The kid thinks he's better behaved 'n I think that's horseshit. So we're doin' a chart to prove that he's the one always actin' like a hooligan-"

"Who are you callin' hoologian? Don't you have your own house? Why don't you stop loiterin'-"

"You're just mad Soda actually picked my ass 'n got stuck with you-"

"Glory God almighty. This shit's like, what? A behavior chart? What level is pissin' me off 'cause you're both there right now."

"Darrr-"

"Aw, man c'mon. We didn't mean it." Darry stops noddin' off standin' up to glance over his shoulder at Pony 'n Steve. Their fightin' damn near forgotten they're both starin' at Darry with twin pouts. Darry actually snorts a laugh before he swallows it down, muffles it with a cough.

He fixes them both with a glare 'n jerks a thumb at the chart. "C'mon. Both of you down to, uh," He peeks over his shoulder at the rankin', "in shit. I'm sick of you fightin'." He really doesn't know what he expects but he can tell you what he doesn't. 'N that's for both Steve 'n Pony to glower at each other but shuffle sadly over to the wall to fix their clips 'n then plop back down at the table 'n actually knock it off.

"C'mon, if I have to get knocked down for just ribbin' the kid then Two better get knocked down for that sign shit." Two lets out an indignant gasp 'n clutches a hand to his chest, finally reappearin' in the kitchen with the sign held behind his back.

"What sign?" Darry narrows his eyes at him in contemplation, rockin' his jaw back 'n forth like he always does when he's thinkin'.

"Yeah, alright. You're below Steve 'n Pony." Two's jaw drops open 'n he lets out an indignant wail.

"Woah, woah, woah! C'mon I'll patch the hole I put in the wall." Darry opens his mouth 'n Two barrels on. "In fact I'll even patch the holes from the last one too." Two wheedles, droppin' the sign behind his leg, foldin' his hands together 'n blinkin' up at Darry.

"Fine. You can be on Steve 'n Pony's." Two hoots 'n snatches one of the unmarked pins, scratchin' his name into it 'n slidin' it over Pony's.

"Hey!"

"That's not fair!"

Darry rolls his eyes. "Well, I didn't hear any offers from you two." Two grins smugly at them, Steve flips him off 'n Pony sticks out his tongue.

Soda snatches up his, suddenly very interested in the proceedin's. "Where am I, Dar?" Darry studies him, finger pressed to his lips.

"You can be in toein'. All you did was burn dinner, that's in your nature I should have known better." Darry ruffles his hair when Soda lets out a little scoff. He flounces past Darry, stickin' his tongue out at Steve 'n puttin' his clip the highest of all of them with great flourish.

"Hey Dar, why don't we get somethin' if we don't get bad marks for the week?" Pony sticks his bottom lip out a lil' 'n Darry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll tell you what you get. Your ass not kicked."

"Aw, c'mon Dar. What if when we stay good we get Dairy Queen?" Darry leans against the door frame. Studies his kid brothers gathered in the kitchen as they all blink back at him 'n suddenly remember somethin' they all have in common.

"How about this, if you all stay in the black you get Dairy Queen at the end of the week." Two 'n Soda let out a whoops 'n Pony 'n Steve grin. Darry puts up a hand to indicate he ain't finished yet. "'N the lowest one has to pay."

A fierce urge to win. Especially against each other.

They all stop, eye each other with sharp-toothed grins 'n mischievous smirks.

Well. For once one of Steve 'n Pony's fights had done Darry a favor. 'N he had a feelin' that stupid chart was about to make his life a whole lot easier.

[leyyvi]

Levi doesn't mind helping you study, but you definitely get distracted with him. Sometimes he has to be a little strict with you or you're not gonna get anything done. It becomes very apparent that you're really not trying to memorize the content of the flashcards he's holding up, because he keeps meeting your eyes instead of seeing you read what you wrote.

"Don't look at me, look at the card," he finally says when you take a bit too long to recall what's on the back of the card.

"I can't help it! You keep looking at me first." You huff, hunching over with your face in your hands.

"It's to make sure you actually read..." Levi sighs and ruffles your hair despite your protests.

"I give up. i can't focus, you're just too pretty--"

"That's not a valid excuse," Levi deadpans, ignoring your pout. "Hey, c'mon. You need to know this for tomorrow."

"Ugh, okay..." you trail off in thought, pursing your lips as he holds up the card again.

"Tell me the answer," he encourages. You frown before slowly reaching over and moving his hand so that the card covers his face.

It marginally works. Less so distracted by his expectant gaze, you manage to offer a partial explanation to the prompt on the card. Though he doesn't look too satisfied.

"It's closer than you've been the last ten minutes." He murmurs with an exasperated sigh.

"Hey, just keep your pretty face covered and I won't get distracted! I'll get better, I swear."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Is it really that distracting?"

"Obviously! i think anyone would be with how pretty--"

"Nevermind, I shouldn't have asked."

"Just take the compliment already, god." You grin at him and he shakes his head, the tiniest smile painting his lips.

"Fine. Thank you," he says, tone laced in sarcasm as he holds the next card up over his face. "Answer it before I start making you rewrite these instead."

[velarisdusk]

Subjugation

Day 31: Fuck or Die | Lucien x Reader, Rhysand word count: 6.6k author's note: I LIED IT DID IT ON TIME LITERALLY FINISHED MAKING THIS POST 2 MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT HAHAAA!!!!! this is loosely based on an audio i heard months back that i was OBSESSED with but has since been deleted ugh im so sad :( account deleted as well :( im very sad about it so this is my way to cope. i really hope yall enjoy this one, bc ive been looking forward to it all month. thank you all for sticking around, i loved seeing your reactions and thoughts on all of these fics!! this was my first ever kinktober so she might be a bit rough around the edges, but im really glad i did it, and im really glad it was received the way it was. much love to all of you and i hope you enjoy!!! <333 warning! given that this is literally a “fuck or die” there are strong themes of dubious consent, walking the very thin line between dubcon and noncon. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

Darkness enveloped you, a thick blanket that pressed down, squeezing the air from your lungs. As consciousness crept in, the first sensation was pain—raw and relentless, coursing through your limbs like a wildfire. Your body ached as if it had been trampled, every muscle protesting against even the slightest movement.

You blinked against the dim light creeping in, squinting at the cold, damp stone that pressed against your back. Confusion clawed at your mind, a fog of disorientation shrouding your thoughts. Terror coursed through your veins  as you tried to lift your arms, only to find them restrained above your head, the chains biting into your wrists, cold metal pulling you down like a heavy weight.

A muffled sound escaped your throat, the thick fabric in your mouth pressing harshly against your tongue, making any scream futile. The taste of iron and fear filled your mouth, and your heart raced as reality settled in—the sheer vulnerability of your situation sank like lead in your stomach. You were exposed, chained, and completely at the mercy of whoever had brought you here. Was this it? Has she finally come to claim you for her twisted games?

Frantic breaths filled the air, and you strained to look around, the dimness revealing little more than shadows. It was then that you noticed him—a familiar figure sitting a few feet away, naked and equally bewildered. Lucien.

His eyes fluttered as he began to stir. The sight of him sent a jolt of relief through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the dread coiling in your gut. What had happened to you both? 

His skin appeared paler than usual; the months you’d already spent under the mountain seemed to have drained the life from him. That godsforsaken fox mask still lay on his face, but the eyes underneath it seemed more sunken, and the lines of worry etched into his face spoke of sleepless nights and the weight of hopelessness that hung heavy in the air these days. 

As Lucien's gaze met yours, confusion morphed into alarm. He seemed to struggle against the haze of unconsciousness, and panic surged through his face as he took in your surroundings. “Where…?” he murmured, his voice raw and hoarse.

The gravity of your situation settled between you, heavy and suffocating. You were trapped—naked, chained, and entirely exposed in a dark, cold room. You could see the realization dawning on him, and the fear mirrored your own.

“What the hell is going on?” he croaked, panic lacing his voice as he strained against his own restraints, testing the chains that bound him.

The sound of your shackles echoed in the silence. You wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but the gag stifled your voice. Instead, you shook your head slowly, tears pooling in your eyes.

Then, without warning, a chilling voice slithered into your mind, a darkness that curled around your thoughts like smoke. “Ah, waking up already? How delightful.”

It was Rhysand. Dread pooled in your stomach, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. You and Lucien looked around frantically, your gazes darting through the shadows for any sign of him. But even in the darkness, it was clear: he wasn’t there. The world around you twisted, and the horrifying reality of your situation settled in like a heavy weight. You would die in this room. 

“Consider this a bit of recompense,” he purred, voice laced with amusement, “for Lucien’s heroic outburst on Feyre’s behalf. But I’m feeling generous, Lucien… I could have chosen anyone for this, yet I thought of your dear, sweet friend—consider this a gift from me, really. All he has to do is indulge his more… primal urges. Simple enough, wouldn’t you say?”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a blade. You and Lucien exchanged a glance, the gravity of the situation dawning on both of you. Your heart raced, panic and dread swirling in your chest like a storm. Lucien’s eyes were wide and pleading, but his body remained tense, muscles coiled as if ready to spring into action despites the restraints binding him.

“But let’s not pretend you don’t understand the stakes here. You see, my dear, in this world, power is everything. Those who wield it have the privilege of making the rules. And I, well, I have quite the extensive collection of rules. Your friend Lucien is merely a pawn in this little game, and you? You are the prize. Such a sweet, tempting prize, chained and vulnerable before him.

“Do you feel it?” he continued, a dark thrill evident in his tone. “The dread curling in your stomach, the fear flooding your veins? That’s the gift of knowledge, darling. Knowing that your fate lies in the hands of someone who enjoys watching you squirm. You were so certain you could resist, that you could outsmart those of us holding all the power beneath this mountain. But look where that has brought you—naked, exposed, and utterly at my mercy.

“Lucien, dear Lucien,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You think your defiance gives you strength? How quaint. You may feel brave now, but courage can crumble in an instant when faced with true power. You’re in a game far beyond your understanding, and right now I hold all the cards. The choice you face isn’t just about survival—it’s about how low you’re willing to stoop to escape this fate.”

You could feel the panic radiating from Lucien as he continued to struggle against his restraints, the chains rattling with each futile attempt. The atmosphere shifted, a tension coiling tighter as if the air itself were charged with impending doom.

“And now, let’s have a private chat, shall we, Lucien?” Rhysand’s tone shifted, smooth and menacing. You watched as Lucien’s eyes widened, the fear creeping across his features, and your heart sank.

“Get out of my head!” Lucien shouted, his voice raw with defiance. It echoed off the cold stone walls. 

“Oh, but we both know that’s not how this works,” Rhysand purred, his voice curling around Lucien’s mind like a serpent. You could still hear him—Rhysand wanted you to hear him. “I want you to understand the gravity of your situation, Lucien. You have a choice to make—one that will determine not only your fate but that of your precious friend as well.”

Lucien’s fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he glared defiantly. “You think I’ll let you do this? You’re a monster, I won’t—”

“Spare me your bravado,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re in no position to make threats. You see, either you take her, or I will end both of your lives right here. Think of it as a favor. If you truly care for her, this is your chance to save her. I can see the way you look at her—how long have you wanted her?”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tersely, attempting to mask the turmoil roiling within him. 

Rhysand’s laughter echoed through both of your heads, smooth yet laced with venom. “Oh, we both know that isn’t true, Lucien. Maybe Amarantha hasn’t seen it, but I certainly have—the longing, the desire you think you’ve hidden so well. It’s pathetic, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s noticed and has said nothing because you’re simply not worth her attention.”

You tried to shake your head, tried to let Lucien know that you heard the exchange and what he’d said about you wasn’t true in the slightest. But your head wouldn’t move. It was then that you felt the claws scraping against your mind, holding you in place. 

Lucien’s face shifted from anger to horror, and you could see the internal struggle etched across his features. You wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but Rhysand and the chains held you captive, the gag stifling any sound of support.

“You’re sick, Rhysand!” Lucien’s voice trembled, a mix of anger and desperation. “This isn’t power. You don’t hold any power here! Amarantha loosens her hold on your leash for two minutes and you decide to play these twisted fucking games. You’re the one warming her bed, doing her bidding, yet you call me the pawn?” He shook his head, disbelief etched across his features. “You have no real control, Rhysand, you’re a puppet.”

“Oh, Lucien,” Rhysand began, his voice smooth as silk but laced with venom. “You talk a big game, but what good is your bravery when it leads you to this? You call me a puppet, yet here you are, bound and powerless. Look around you—this isn’t a game of chess where you can play the noble knight. You are the pawn, desperately clinging to the hope that your defiance means something. It doesn’t. It never has.

“I’ve delayed long enough,” he said, his tone shifting to something colder, more calculated. “Let me make this perfectly clear to both of you: Lucien, you will fuck her. If you refuse, I will delight in watching you both die slow, agonizing deaths—your minds crushed bit by bit until there’s nothing left but despair. Your little friendship will unravel in a cacophony of screams, and I will ensure you understand the price of defiance.”

With those words, a chilling silence enveloped the room, filled only by the sound of yours and Lucien’s ragged breathing. You could see the conflict raging in his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a vice.

With a sudden clatter, Lucien’s shackles released their grip, the cold metal falling away from his wrists and legs. Without a moment’s hesitation, he bolted to your side, kneeling beside you on the unforgiving stone floor. His presence felt like a warm beacon in the oppressive darkness, and you instinctively leaned into him, desperate for any comfort.

He gently brushed your hair away from your face, his touch feather-light yet grounding. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and urgent, eyes scanning your face as if searching for signs of damage that could never be fixed. He wiped the tears streaming down your cheeks with his thumbs, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting with the hopelessness in your chest. You wanted to scream, to protest, but the terror of what Rhysand would do if you didn’t comply loomed large in your mind.

Lucien’s gaze softened as he took a deep breath, determination flickering in his eyes. He reached around to your mouth, fingers brushing against the gag that stifled your voice. Just as he grasped the fabric, his body went rigid, and he doubled over in pain, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

“I wouldn’t,” Rhysand’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and merciless. “If you remove that gag, I’ll kill you on the spot, and she’ll be much worse off than she is now.” The threat hung in the air like a noose, tightening around Lucien’s resolve.

You watched helplessly as Lucien’s expression twisted from concern to agony, the weight of Rhysand's grip on his mind pressing down like a heavy hand. The moment felt suspended in time, your hearts racing in unison as fear clawed at both of you.

Once the pain subsided, he searched your gaze, the anguish etched on his face evident as he spoke. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. I’ll—I’ll figure something out.” His resolve was palpable, a fierce determination to protect you despite the impossible situation. 

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks, but you nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. Lucien was your friend, and as much as the fear clawed at your insides, you knew he would be gentle. If this was the only way for you both to escape this cruel nightmare, then so be it. You would endure, not just for yourself but for him, too.

His breath shuddered, both with relief and hesitation, and he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ll make it as easy as I can,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. You wouldn’t be alone in this.

Lucien moved to position himself in front of you, averting his gaze as he spat on his hand, giving himself a few quick pumps. Despite the dire situation, his body responded quickly, hardening at the sight of you. He looked at you with a mixture of apology and determination. “I need you to spread your legs,” he asked gently, his voice soft and careful.

You complied, legs parting with a trembling reluctance. Lucien took a deep breath, aligning himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, the movement as gentle as his grip on your waist. Every inch felt like a battle against the situation you were in, but he made sure to look into your eyes, his expression full of concern and care.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, pausing to let you adjust. You nodded, focusing on his face—the only anchor you had in this horror. As you gazed into his eyes, you could see the conflict warring within him. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hold back any sign of pleasure. But there it was, faint and undeniable.

He rocked his hips against yours cautiously, checking on you every few moments, his hands trembling slightly as they caressed your sides. “We just have to get through this,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “We’ll be okay. Everything will be fine.”

Lucien moved with an agonizing slowness, ensuring that every moment was as painless as possible for you. His eyes never left yours, and you could see the torment in them, the guilt and helplessness he felt at having to do this. 

Without warning, he began thrusting into you harshly, his movements losing their previous tenderness. Confusion and a jolt of pain surged through your body as he pounded with a force that left you gasping. 

A dark, chilling voice echoed through you, but this time, it was Lucien’s. “Too gentle for my liking,” he purred, dripping with what could only be described as malicious delight. “I prefer things a bit rougher. Don’t you, darling?”

You realized with horror that Rhysand had seized his mind, turning him into a puppet for his sick amusement. Lucien's face twisted with anguish, his eyes pleading for forgiveness even as his body moved against his will.

“Gods, your pussy feels so fucking good,” Lucien's voice taunted, his words—not his words, you had to remind yourself—a cruel mockery. “Look at you, taking him so well. Maybe you’re enjoying this more than you care to admit?”

Tears streamed down your face as Lucien’s thrusts grew more violent, each one sending unwelcome jolts of heat through your body. You wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but the gag stifled your cries, leaving you trapped in silent agony.

“Tell her, Lucien,” Rhysand commanded through Lucien's lips, his voice dark and commanding. “Tell her how much you’re enjoying this.”

Lucien's mouth moved against his will, the words spilling out in a broken, pained voice. “You... you feel so good,” he choked out, the horror in his eyes betraying the vile words he was being forced to speak. “So tight, so perfect.”

“Such a good little slut,” Rhysand sneered through Lucien, forcing him to continue the brutal assault. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be used, to be fucked hard and rough.”

The torment in Lucien’s eyes grew, a silent apology for the nightmare he was being made to inflict upon you. But there was nothing he could do, nothing either of you could do.

Suddenly, Lucien's movements slowed and then stopped altogether. His eyes, wide with horror and filled with tears, met yours. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It wasn't me. I promise it wasn't me.”

You nodded, your eyes brimming with understanding and hurt. You knew he was being controlled, that he was as much a victim as you were.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, tears streaming down his face as he began to move again, Rhysand’s control forcing his hips to continue. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

Every thrust was accompanied by another desperate apology, Lucien’s voice cracking with the weight of his guilt. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you. Please believe me.”

You could see the agony in his eyes, the helplessness as his body moved against his will. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “We’ll find a way out. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

But it continued, Rhysand’s cruel laughter echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the power he held over both of you. Lucien’s apologies blended with the sounds of your muffled reactions through the gag, moans and whines you couldn’t contain. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucien whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I swear, it’s not me. I’m being forced to do this.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face. Each thrust was gentle now, driven by Lucien’s desperate attempts to make this as bearable as possible for you. His hands, though trembling, caressed your sides soothingly. “We’ll get through this,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “This is our way out of here. Just hold on.”

The gentle rhythm continued, Lucien’s eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and determination. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “You’re not alone in this. I’m here with you. I’m so sorry.”

But his words of comfort were short-lived. With a sudden jolt, Lucien’s body stiffened, and the cruel, mocking tone of Rhysand filled the room once more.

“Enough of this pitiful display,” Rhysand sneered through Lucien’s lips. “I’m growing quite bored.” Lucien’s eyes still held a flicker of horror as his body moved with a violence that was not his own. 

“Such a beautiful thing,” Rhysand mused through Lucien. “Taking him so well, aren’t you?”

The words were a cruel mockery, each one a knife twisting in your heart. Lucien’s body responded to Rhysand’s commands, thrusting harder and faster, the pain and humiliation a relentless torrent that threatened to drown you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Lucien said, the words a twisted parody of desire. “So tight around me.”

The brutal rhythm continued, your body aching from the force of it. Rhysand’s control was absolute, Lucien’s face impassive, eyes vacant as he was made to use you. “You’re just a toy,” Rhysand purred, his voice a dark, possessive growl. “Both of you. Playthings for my amusement.”

This couldn’t be happening. You tried desperately to focus on anything but the pain and humiliation. You prayed Lucien was fighting back.

Lucien’s head tilted slightly, and Rhysand’s words, dripping with amusement, spoke through his lips. “Oh, he’s trying. But there’s no fighting me, darling. He’s mine, just as you are.”

 Your eyes widened, full of tears. Why was he doing this? What did he gain?

A laugh burst from Lucien’s lips, a cold, mirthless sound. “Power, control, and the delicious pleasure of watching you break,” he replied, thrusting Lucien’s body harder, the force causing a cry to escape your gagged mouth. “I told you, my dear. In this world, power is everything.”

He reveled in this, drawing pleasure from your suffering and Lucien’s unwilling participation. It was sickening. You couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over, had lost that battle long ago, and you wished desperately that this was just a nightmare you could wake up from. He was a monster. How could he live with himself?

Lucien’s face contorted in a cruel smile, Rhysand’s influence evident. “Quite comfortably, actually,” he said, relishing each word. “And don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this on some level. The thrill of submission, the helplessness—it’s all written across your lovely face.” 

He reached out to caress your tear-streaked face, but you turned away, trying to pull back from his touch. Your defiance only seemed to amuse him, his fingers trailing down your cheek in a mockingly gentle gesture. “Such spirit,” he murmured. “It’s almost a shame to break it.”

It felt so surreal, hearing Lucien speak to you with such harshness. These were combinations of words that would never leave his lips under normal circumstances. The assault continued, each thrust a reminder of your helplessness, of the power Rhysand wielded over both of you. “You see, my dear,” Rhysand continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “true power is making others bend to your will, breaking them in ways they never thought possible.”

Lucien’s eyes flickered with awareness, the harshness in his expression softening momentarily. But his movements didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He was still fucking you roughly, his body obeying Rhysand’s commands despite his own desperate efforts to regain control. Tears blurred your vision as he tried to speak, his voice strained and choked with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, his hands gripping your waist tightly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I would never... never think to treat you this way.”

Suddenly, he halted, a look of panic washing over his face. “I can’t move,” he panted, desperation clawing at his voice. “He—I can’t move, he won’t let me pull out.” A swell of confusion now mixed with your dread. 

Then, Lucien’s eyes glazed over, and you tried to reach for him before the shackles bit into your skin. You sensed a shift in the air. “Oh, do you want to see?” Rhysand’s voice slithered into your thoughts, smooth and taunting. “I suppose I could let you in on it, I don’t see why not.”

Images flooded your mind, and your heart raced with horror as you witnessed Lucien’s desires twisted into something perverse. You saw yourself bent over a table, Lucien behind you, thrusting deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in your ears. In another, you were sprawled across the floor, your moans mingling with Lucien’s gasps as he took you from above. Each vision was more frantic and vivid: you on your knees, lips parted and glistening as he slid into your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on. There were scenes of you tied up, your body trembling as Lucien’s mouth explored every inch of you, his fingers curling inside you while you writhed in pleasure. Another vision showed you pressed against a wall, legs wrapped around his waist, your nails digging into his back as he pounded into you relentlessly. The most depraved was of you blindfolded, your hands bound much like they were now, as Lucien alternated between fucking your mouth and your cunt, the sounds of your shared ecstasy filling the air. 

But the one that drove Lucien over the edge was an image of you straddling him, moving with abandon, your breasts bouncing with each motion, the pleasure on your face unmistakable. It was a sight that made his entire body tense with desire, reacting to the carnal imagery Rhysand forced into his mind. Just as the haze of those visions lifted, your eyes met Lucien’s—clarity breaking through the chaos. In that fleeting moment of connection, he climaxed inside you, his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth as he gasped your name. 

You shuddered violently, your breath hitching in ragged gasps as the reality of what just happened sank in. More tears spilled down your cheeks, unstoppable, as agony tore through your chest. The sound of your sobs filled the air, harsh and broken. Lucien’s face twisted with anguish behind the mask, his eyes wide and wet, reflecting your pain back at you. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t stop it, I… I didn’t want—It wasn’t—”

His hand reached out, trembling, to wipe away your tears, but you flinched, recoiling from his touch. The sight seemed to pierce him, his face filled with a deep sense of sorrow. He continued to stammer apologies, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic plea for forgiveness. “Please. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t control it.”

You forced yourself to nod, to show him that you understood, that you didn’t hold him responsible for the nightmare you were both trapped in. But the tears kept coming, your body shaking with each sob. Then you felt it—his cock, still buried deep inside you, starting to harden once more. The sensation was like a cruel twist of the knife, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over you. Lucien’s breath stilled, his face contorting with the effort to suppress the groans that threatened to escape. Each twitch, each pulse, echoed the relentless torment you were both enduring. His eyes squeezed shut, a desperate attempt to block out the reality, but every time he tried, Rhysand flooded his mind with more depraved images, leaving no escape from the cruel grip he held over both of you. 

Lucien took a deep, shuddering breath, his demeanor calmer, more composed. You felt a flicker of hope as he looked at you, his eyes softer. “No… That’s it,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ve done what he wanted. We can leave now.” He glanced to the side, his brow furrowing. You followed his gaze, but there was nothing there, only the cold emptiness of the room. When he looked back at you, his expression had shifted, a shadow of confusion in his eyes. “He just... Rhysand just told me... we need to do it again.”

Your stomach dropped, a pulse of dread that sent your heart racing. No… No! This wasn’t what you agreed to! You shook your head fervently, desperation clawing at your throat. The gag stifled your cries, leaving you to struggle against the rising tide of fear as you locked eyes with Lucien, your gaze flickering between the golden and russet one. The hope that flickered moments ago now felt like a cruel joke. This wasn’t… You were both supposed to be free…

Lucien’s face twisted with helpless resignation. “He never specified how many times… or for how long. I’m sorry… We have to,” he said, a tremor in his voice. Before you could react, he grabbed your legs and threw them both over his shoulder, holding them tightly to his chest as he began to thrust into you again.

The new position was jarring, the sudden change leaving you disoriented. His movements were slower than before, but deeper and harder, every thrust sending an involuntary warmth curling low in your stomach. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this, why each relentless push ignited sparks that shouldn’t have been there, mingling with the knot of dread that twisted tighter inside you. 

“Just relax,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing if it weren’t for his bruising grip on your legs. “Just let yourself relax, let yourself feel it. You’re doing so well.” His hand trailed down your side. “I knew you’d be this perfect.”

With each helpless moan that slipped from your lips, he groaned, a dark gleam sparkling in his eye. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust as he thrust into you. “You know, I… I always knew you’d be tight, but gods, I never imagined like this.”

Each thrust drove him deeper, his cock filling you completely, hitting places inside you that sent shocks of pleasure and pain through your body. It wasn’t how you had ever imagined Lucien to be in bed, but the way he spoke, the raw need in his voice, it was turning you on despite yourself. His thrusts were relentless, each one sending waves of sensation that blurred pleasure and pain. The scent of your arousal only seemed to spur him on, driving him to quicken his pace.

He leaned down, practically folding you in half, his hands braced on either side of your head as his hot breath ghosted over your ear. With each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the cold stone walls. “You’re squeezing me so perfectly,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal. “Fuck, I can feel every little tremor inside you. You love this, don’t you? You love how I’m filling you up.”

Your body betrayed you, a heated flush spreading across your skin, the mix of pain and pleasure muddling your thoughts. One rough hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips before he trailed down your neck, lingering at your collarbone. His fingers moved lower, tracing over your skin until he reached your breast, kneading it firmly as he thrust into you with an unyielding pace. “Look at you,” he continued, his tone a blend of mockery and genuine desire. “Look at how you’re taking me, every inch, like you were made for me.”

The words sent a conflicting wave of heat through you, your mind reeling from the unexpected arousal that mingled with your horror. He must be putting on a show for Rhysand’s twisted pleasure; surely, that was what the sick bastard wanted. Fine, if that’s what it took, you could play along. He shifted slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit a spot inside you that made your back arch involuntarily, a strangled wail of pleasure escaping your lips despite the gag.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never forget it,” he promised, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. He straightened back up and moved his hands to your thighs, spreading them wide, pushing himself in even deeper. The shift sent a shock through your body, each movement igniting a raw, dizzying ache that left you breathless.

“Do you feel that?” he growled, his eyes darkening with desire. “You’re so fucking wet for me. It’s like your body was made for this.” You nodded, and his thrusts quickened, a relentless rhythm that sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Each stroke was more brutal, yet so deeply satisfying that it tugged at the edges of your resolve.

“How good is it,” he demanded, his breath ragged and heavy as he continued to take you apart. “I want to hear you. I want to hear how much you love it, how deep I am inside you.” The mixture of pleasure and pain danced in your core, and your body instinctively responded, betraying your sanity.

You could only moan in response, the gag smothering each sound into something raw and desperate, your mind too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts. Your wrists strained against the shackles with the urge to reach up, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I can feel you tightening around me,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So close to coming all over my cock. Do it, come for me, darling.”

That twisted something deep inside you, an abysmal flicker of recognition even amidst the haze of pleasure. Your heart raced as you took a closer look at him, your mind struggling to align the image before you with the heat in his words. As your gaze locked onto his features, a wicked smirk spread across his lips.

“Surprised to see me?” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

A wave of horror crashed over you, realization hitting like a cold slap. It was Rhysand. How long had it been him? Your pulse quickened, panic rising as all you could think about was him forcing Lucien to watch, helpless, as his own body betrayed him. And worse, it was Rhysand who has brought you to this fevered pitch, whispering words that left you trembling, stirring something you couldn’t deny. 

He ripped the gag from your mouth, and the sudden rush of air felt like freedom, but it was quickly swallowed by the screams that erupted from your throat. “Get off! Get out of his head! Let us go!” you shouted, thrashing against the bonds holding your wrists captive, but they held firm. “You’re a sick fuck, where do you get off making us do this! Huh?”

He only chuckled, an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker, his movements insistent and unwavering. “Interesting choice of words. I didn’t expect you to be so articulate, given the circumstances,” he said, a playful lilt in his voice that only fueled your anger. “If you want, I can hand him back. But I can’t guarantee he’ll be in any state to help you.”

With a casual ease, Rhysand slipped out of Lucien’s mind. Lucien, brow furrowed and eyes screwed shut, remained lost in the throes of desire, his movements relentless and unyielding.

“Lucien!” you cried, desperation thickening your voice. “Lucien! Please! You can hear me, right? You have to hear me!” But there was no flicker of recognition in his expression, no sign he paid any mind to your pleas. Panic surged within you, and your heart raced as you continued. “Lucien! Fight it, please! Please, just listen to me! Just stop for a second!”

But he was too far gone, the waves of pleasure crashing over him, drowning out everything else. “I’m not stopping,” he murmured. 

Your heart sank at the words. Shock coursed through you, a bitter ache settling in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but all you felt was a suffocating despair and the cold metal around your wrists. 

“I’m not gonna stop,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust and determination, each thrust punctuated by a growl. “It’s too good. I’m not gonna stop… You feel too fucking good.” The heat of his words wrapped around you, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. “So perfect… So perfect for me…”

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to—Gods, just let me have this… Gonna fucking pound you,” he grunted, the primal need in his tone sending shivers of both fear and arousal coursing through you. “Feels so good, you feel so good…” 

Your heart raced, torn between the conflicting sensations that surged through your body. You were trapped, and as Lucien continued to move inside you, it became clear he was too.

“So good, you’re so good,” he hissed through a clenched jaw. “Gonna—Fuck, gonna pump this fucking pussy. That’s right, gonna pump your pussy full of my cum.” Each repetition of his promise warped his voice; what had begun as a deep, raw rumble now took on a more taunting, delirious lilt. “I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop.”

“Please, Lucien, listen to me!” Your voice trembled with desperation, but it was drowned out by the feverish rhythm he maintained, each thrust echoing with an intensity that rattled your very core.

His only response was a deep, throaty growl, a mix of pleasure and something darker that made your skin crawl. “You’re so good, you know that?” he gasped, words slurring together as if he were intoxicated by the moment. “So fucking perfect… for me…” The way he said it twisted something deep inside you, a sickening blend of yearning and dread. 

A guttural laugh rumbled in his chest, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. “You feel so good… so fucking good, can’t… can’t stop… Gods, you’re so warm, so wet… so perfect, gonna fill you up…” 

“Please, Lucien!” Tears streamed down your cheeks, frustration bubbling within you as you struggled against your bonds. But each desperate plea seemed to dissolve into the air, swallowed by the insatiable hunger that consumed him. The look in his eyes was a haunting mix of pleasure and torment, and it shattered your heart all over again.

“Gods, you’re so warm, so wet… so perfect,” he repeated, his voice thick with lust, each word a reminder of how far gone he truly was. “Gonna fill you up… Can’t help it.”

His hands dug into your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh as if anchoring himself in reality. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, each exhale fanning the flames of your undeniable desire. “Come for me,” he urged. “I know you like it. Just come for me. Come for me.”

“No, I—” you started to protest, but the words fell from your lips like dead leaves in a storm. The heat coiling in your core was overwhelming, threatening to drown out your thoughts.

Then, with a sudden, calculated movement, he pressed his fingers against your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. Pleasure burst forth, raw and electric, igniting every nerve ending. Your mind screamed a protest, but your body betrayed you.

“Oh, gods…” you gasped, your resolve crumbling as the world around you faded into a blur. You came almost instantly, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over you, blurring the lines of desire and despair.

The moment your body clenched around him, Lucien’s breath hitched, and a primal growl erupted from his throat. “Yes, just like that…” His movements turned erratic, each thrust deeper and more frenzied, and he followed you over the edge, surrendering to the same wave of pleasure that had claimed you.

“Gonna fill you up…” he grunted, the delirium of his release washing over both of you. The heat between your bodies seemed to ignite the air, the world around you fading into a distant echo as you felt him throb inside you, pulsing with the remnants of pleasure.

As your bodies trembled together, the shock of what had just happened crashed over you like a frigid wave, pulling you from the heights of ecstasy into the depths of despair. You had surrendered in that moment, allowing the overwhelming pleasure to consume you, but the reality of your situation loomed larger than ever.

His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a fleeting instant, you saw a flicker of clarity in his eyes—a glimpse of the male you knew buried beneath the haze of lust. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same twisted hunger that had taken hold of him. You were left with the haunting knowledge that, despite the shared climax, he was still trapped in this nightmare, as were you.

“Lucien…” you whispered, your heart pounding with a mix of yearning and anguish. The connection you had felt in that moment now felt like a cruel joke. The struggle within you simmered, and you realized this was far from over when he began nibbling and suckling at your neck. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[senditcolton]

January Gloom

...you're like the sunshine in the lazy days of June

summary: You and Anthony have been friends for years. That long friendship means that you know each other probably better than anyone else. So that means that Anthony notices when you start to pull away. It also means that he will drop everything to help you. song inspo: January Gloom (Seasons Pt. 1) by All Time Low word count: 5.7k warnings: implied feminine reader, non-specific mental health struggles, minor reference to suicide, playful innuendo filled banter, and fluff! a/n: Finally getting back into the Wake Up Sunshine series with a super self-indulgent fic. Dividers within indicate a perspective shift.

Anthony’s hand connects with the wooden door of your apartment, knocking in gentle but rapid succession.

Again.

And you still aren’t answering.

That was reason enough for Anthony to realize that his concerns might have some level of truth to them. That he wasn’t overreacting. There had been a nagging feeling that something was wrong forming in the back of his mind for a few days now.

Even though he was busy – with both the continued efforts to meld with his new team and the end of the regular season – he wasn’t blind his best friend pulling away. It had started small; the circles under your eyes growing darker, which turned into absences from his games, which then turned into shorter and shorter text messages shared. It wasn’t until you didn’t respond to Washington’s playoff-clinching win that the quiet nag gave way to genuine fear.

From an outsider perspective, the lack of congratulations being the catalyst for Anthony standing outside your apartment might have seemed selfish; like he was upset that you weren’t giving him enough attention. But if those outsiders really knew the relationship you two shared, they’d understand. The two of you always celebrated each other’s accomplishments. It was one of the foundations of your friendship.

He was the biggest supporter at your college graduation back in New York. You screamed with joy over the phone when he told you he was traded to Washington, happy to share a city with your best friend since his departure from Long Island. That was why the radio silence from you led him here.

He knocks again, hoping that maybe this is the time you’ll answer. Fifth times the charm, right?

From the gap under the door, he can hear muffled voices on the other side, but none of them have your clear cadence – a sound Anthony memorized ages ago. Which meant the noise was most likely the TV. You never left the television on when you weren’t home so, you had to be in there. But there is still no response.

The nerves that had been steadily growing over the weeks finally reach their peak as Anthony reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keyring. He flips through the collection of metal until he finds the spare key you had given him for emergencies – something he’s had since he first stepped foot in DC. He holds the key between his fingers, hesitating for a moment, wondering if this situation really constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant entering your apartment without permission. But he rationalizes that this utter lack of communication – something he never experienced in the nine years of friendship you shared – was enough.

The key is inserted into the lock, the doorknob now turning with ease and Tito enters your studio apartment.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the space, your shades are closed tightly, blocking out the afternoon sun. The only solid light in the room came from the glow of the laptop screen perched on your nightstand. The voices that he had heard previously were indeed coming from the device, currently playing a series that he knew you had seen a thousand times. Once his eyes get used to the darkness, Anthony’s gaze rakes over the room, attempting to locate you. Waiting to see if you are indeed at home or if he was about to be the biggest idiot in the world. But his eyes finally land on your bed, noticing the texture of your hair peeking over the covers, and when he wanders over for a closer look, he notices the way your body rises and falls with your gentle breathing.

Anthony can’t stop the small smile that plays at his lips when his eyes find your face, nestled against your pillow. Your hair is disheveled, most likely tangled, some of the strands obscuring your features but apart from that you seemed fine. Anthony let that knowledge flow through him, relaxing his body.

You were okay.

You were, however, still asleep in bed at almost 2pm on a Wednesday, which caused a little bit of concern to linger in his body. Finally, Anthony’s eyes tear away from your sleeping form and return to glance around your apartment, fully taking in the space.

It was a disaster. Anthony knew that you were not a neat-freak by any means but this… it was worse than he had ever seen it. Dirty clothes piled on your couch and scattered around the floor, trash on multiple surfaces: your coffee table, your mantle, your bookshelf. Curiosity and worry continue to pull at him as he walks towards the kitchen and when he peeks inside, he sees your small trash overflowing, a pile of take-out bags sitting next to it, before his eyes connect with the sink and the counter next to it, filled with dirty dishes.

Tito can feel his eyebrows furrow, body turning to once again take in your sleeping form. You look peaceful, deep in slumber. Anthony’s gaze rakes over you, the rumpled sheets, and your nightstand. That’s when he spots the pill bottle. His heartrate increases as his hand reaches for the container, fearing the worse. The relief that he feels when he sees that it is just melatonin boosters is incomparable.

But the presence of sleep aids causes more questions to form in Anthony’s head. You were the type of person that could fall asleep anywhere, so much so that it became a recurring inside joke between the two of you. You never needed help sleeping so why did you need it now?

Anthony’s eyes dart around the room again, taking in the disarray.

You were in a bad place. He didn’t know why or what caused it. But that was what all the clues lead him to believe. You were going through something, something that caused you to disappear into your apartment, into your bed, into the reprieve of slumber.

You needed help. You’d never admit it, a personality trait Anthony noticed when your friendship first began, a trait that he instinctively knew could turn destructive. But he never thought it could lead to this.

You needed someone. You needed a friend.

And here he was.

Anthony sets down the bottle, his eyes glancing over you, a pang appearing in his heart at your distress. He wanted to take care of you. He would take care of you. It’s all he could do.

He leans in, pressing his lips against the crown of your head in a gentle kiss before he steps back, figuratively rolling up his sleeves before getting to work.

You are awoken by the sound of running water.

The initial instinct that moves through your body is to just bury yourself deeper in the sheets. Part of you nags that the sound could mean a leak in the kitchen or bathroom. Just your luck if it was. Another thing piled on top of literally everything else.

You’ve had rough patches before – you wouldn’t deny it. But this one… this one felt worse than all the others combined. Finances, career, friends, relationships. Every aspect of your life seemed as if it was imploding. Granted, you knew that you held the blame for some of those things – you shouldn’t have bought so much take-out, you should’ve been more proactive in finding a job you actually enjoyed, you shouldn’t have pulled away from your friends no matter how shitty you felt. But it was difficult.

You wanted to relax but how could you when the problems would still be there the next day? You wanted to clean and cook but how could you when every day you came home, your energy was completely drained?

It felt like a never-ending deluge of awfulness. And now, water was running somewhere in your apartment.

With a groan, you lift your body upright, hands pressing against your face as you prepare for the worst. But when your eyes open and your gaze darts around the space, the first thought that passes through your mind is that you must still be dreaming. Because your apartment – something that once looked like the wreckage of a tornado – looked… better.

It wasn’t perfect but the trash was gone, the pillows on your couch and knick-knacks on your shelves a little neater. And once your mind fully comes to, you can still hear water running but underneath the sound was the clink and clang of metal and ceramic.

Your gingerly remove yourself from the bed, your hands keeping a hold of one of your blankets. You wrap the fabric around your body for a sense of security as you gingerly walk through the threshold of your kitchen. Your eyes first notice the absence of trash once again before connecting with the tall frame of someone standing in front of your sink. The panic of a random man in your apartment never has a chance to fully sink in, recognizing the chocolate curls of your best friend Anthony with a quickness that could only be contributed to your long friendship. A sigh escapes you, thankful that some weirdo didn’t break into your house to clean… but it was still odd that Anthony was here.

You aren’t sure if he heard your soft sigh or if Tito just managed to sense your presence because his head turns to look behind him, his eyes meeting yours. You watch the small smile tug at his lips before his voice sounds out over the running faucet.

“Go back to sleep. I’m almost done.”

Your only response is a nod as you turn around. You aren’t sure if it’s just what your body automatically wanted to do or if you were in such a fugue state that you couldn’t help but comply or if you were actually still dreaming. Whatever it was, you do end up returning to your bed.

You don’t follow Anthony’s orders completely, however. Instead of burying yourself into your sheets and falling back asleep, you sit on top of the mattress, blanket still around your shoulders and eyes still glued to the kitchen entrance. Waiting for Tito to come back or waiting for this entire thing to dissipate, confirming that you were indeed dreaming.

Turns out the first possibility prevails, Anthony appearing in the doorway, wiping his hands on one of your towels. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there bewildered. Instead, he walks straight to your closet, fishing out your overflowing laundry bag and lugging it over. He stands at the foot of your bed, hands fishing out bunches of clothes and placing them on the mattress.

“I was doing to do this first but I know you’re particular about your clothes so I decided to wait until you were awake so you could help,” he explains as cooly and as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“Tito,” you say, your voice not as sharp as you wanted but perhaps the mere sound of it was enough for him to pause and look up at you. “What are you doing?”

The jovial grin tugs at his lips before he returns his attention to the pile of dirty clothes.

“I told you: we’re doing laundry. These don’t get dried, right?” he asks, holding up a pair of your leggings.

“Anthony,” you say again, using his actual name instead of his nickname, indicating both your confusion and your seriousness. “What is going on?”

“I was worried about you,” he replies with a shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal but you can hear the genuine concern lacing his words. “Came in using the key you gave me just to check on you – sorry about that by the way – but then I saw this and figured you needed help. So, here I am helping.”

The flood of emotions that hit you was far too much and far too conflicting for you to fully register with the haze of sleep and the cloud of confusion still hanging over you.

You felt happy to see him after a long period of no contact. You felt guilty that you made him worry that much about you that he felt he had to check on you. You were peeved that he felt so comfortable waltzing into your apartment and rummaging through your things. You were grateful that he was willing to do all this for you. You were mortified that he was seeing you at such a low point.

Anthony doesn’t seem to notice the storm of warring emotions within you. Instead, he just continues to lift clothes out of your laundry basket – some of which you recognize had been laying on your sofa previously – until a practical mountain forms at the end of your bed. The sight of it makes another pang of shame surge through you, your body scooting forward as you reach out to grab Anthony’s wrist, temporarily halting his movements.

“You don’t have to,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual even though you can feel the heat flooding your cheeks. Anthony just playfully flicks your hand off him, his hands reburying themselves in the pile of laundry.

“Of course I do. What else are friends for?”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, your head finding a place in your upturned palms.

“Why?” Tito teases. “Do you have a little lacy number in here that you don’t want me seeing?”

His quip – a quintessential bedrock in the foundation of your friendship – makes you lift your head to connect your eyes back to his, a wry smile on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The bright smile that twists onto Anthony’s lips makes your heart soar, happy to see him so happy. Happy in yourself that you had managed to dig out a little playfulness from the abysmal black hole that had currently taken up residence in your life.

However, the joy is short-lived when your eyes dart back to the pile of dirty clothes – a reminder of just how bad it had gotten. And at the fact that Anthony was almost elbow deep in the mess.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… this – it’s so… I don’t know. Embarrassing!” you attempt again, still not quite able to succinctly put your emotions into comprehensible words.

“Really?” Anthony asks, one of his eyebrows raising. “More embarrassing than the time you got food poisoning in Vancouver and I held back your hair as you puked your guts out at 2am? Or that one time your bikini bottoms got launched from your body when you failed at wakeboarding? Or the time, in Nashville when we went to that karaoke bar and - ”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut him off, a hand lifting to cover your face. In annoyance or embarrassment, you weren’t quite sure.

Anthony stops his rummaging for a moment, reaching out to grasp your hand, pulling it away so your eyes reconnect with his. You can see the care expressed so clearly on his face, his eyes soft and a gentle smile on his lips.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’ve both seen each other in much more embarrassing situations than this one, yeah?”

You nod your head in agreement, the memories of nine years of friendship flipping through your mind like an old film reel.

“I just want to help. That’s why I’m here,” Anthony continues, hand still holding yours. “But if you’d like me to leave, I’ll respect that.”

You let yourself sit with his offer. You allow all the emotions to run through you, trying to organize and catalogue them. There was still a hefty amount of guilt and chagrin that existed within you; at both yourself for letting it get this bad and for dragging Anthony into your disaster. But above all of that, there was a stronger sense of relief and appreciation. Relief at having someone who cared for you so deeply that they took the time to check on you. Appreciation that Anthony was here wanting to help you – that he wasn’t doing this out of some sense of obligation or anything like that.

This was just Anthony – your Anthony – proving to you yet again why you were best friends.

The soft squeeze of his calloused hand around yours, him patiently waiting for your answer, is the final nail in the coffin, your eyes darting up to meet his. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you playfully shrug your shoulders.

“I guess you can stay,” you mumble, the hint of a chirp in the words letting Anthony know you were being serious and not just resigning yourself to whatever fate he had planned. A grin appears on his face, giving your hand another squeeze before releasing his hold on you, turning his attention back to the laundry piled between the two of you.

“Awesome. Now help me organize this stuff.”

You roll your eyes at his playful demand before helping him sort your clothes into two piles of ‘can go in the dryer’ and ‘has to air dry.’ It goes quickly with two pairs of hands helping sort through the mess. Anthony shoos you off as soon as the laundry is sorted, saying he found your detergent when he was looking for your dish soap. You let him lug the clothes back into the kitchen where your machine was located and you finally find the strength to unfurl yourself from the bed.

You arms lift over your head, stretching your body as you fully observe your apartment. Anthony did a damn good job. Some of your knick-knacks were a little askew and the blankets thrown over your couch were haphazardly folded but it looked miles better than it did before. It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

The sound of your washer rumbling to life draws your attention back to the kitchen doorway, seeing Anthony step back into your main room.

“Alright, now that that’s started, you can… I don’t know. Sleep some more if you want? Take a shower? Help me clean some more?”

“What else do you have left to do?” you question, looking around. He already did the heavy lifting with the dishes and laundry. Plus, the trash was taken out and surfaces were picked up.

“Thought about wiping down your counters and tables. Changing your sheets if you aren’t using them anymore. Stuff like that.”

“Tito,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done so much.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Anthony replies, shrugging off your dismissal.

“Do you even know how to use a bottle of Clorox?”

The tease comes easily from your lips and makes Anthony laugh, his eyes playfully rolling at your insinuation.

“I haven’t lived like a bachelor for seven years without learning how to do basic cleaning tasks, you know?”

“Whatever you say, Tito,” you hum, another chuckle coming from your best friend. You take a deep breath, your hand lifting to comb through your hair. The movement is halted by your fingers catching tangles, a small grimace crossing your face at both that and the oily feeling of buildup that had now transferred from your strands to your fingers.

“Now that I think about it, I really do need a shower.” You turn to face Anthony, your head cocked to the side in an expression of resignation. “You know where the cleaner and rags are?”

“Same place as your detergent.”

“And replacement sheets?”

“Top shelf of your closet.”

You nod your head, turning to walk to the bathroom before you are halted by Tito’s voice ringing out.

“I’ll take everything off your body.”

Your body spins back to face him, your eyebrows furrowed even as the playful grin twists your lips.

“I’m flattered Tito but I don’t think we have that kind of friendship.”

The confusion passes over Anthony’s expression and you can practically see the gears turning as he processes your response and recalls his previous words. The potential innuendo hits him suddenly, his cheeks flushing making you let out a cackle – the first genuine unfiltered laugh that had escaped you in what felt like ages.

“I meant for the laundry. Like, you can throw them out here before you get in the shower so I can add them to the next load,” he mumbles, the embarrassment still clearly flowing through his body. You just let out another soft chuckle before resuming your path towards the bathroom.

“If you wanted to see me naked that bad, Tito, you should just ask,” you call out to him, closing the bathroom door before he has a chance to respond.

It takes for the sound of the shower starting to snap Anthony out of whatever trance he found himself stuck in. He was still 100% embarrassed about the way he phrased his previous words, the innuendo being entirely unintentional. But there was another glimmer of something underneath all that.

A flash of hope brought on by your departing words.

Part of him was ready to chide the voice of his boyish crush surging forward, saying that you were just joking – a similar joke he made about the possibility of lingerie in your hamper. But that logical reasoning would fall on deaf ears. He told himself that so many times, every time your playful banter tiptoed over the line into something potentially more.

It was stupid really; falling for his best friend. He knew that. The biggest cliché found in every Hallmark movie and BookTok romance. But it was easy. You made it easy.

It wasn’t just your looks – although he would have to be blind to not notice how attractive you were. But it was all the little parts of you, parts that he got to see and discover and grew to love in the multiple years you’ve known each other. If anything, your long-term friendship contributed to his feelings for you developing from platonic to romantic. A friendship that lasted nine year, two countries, and multiple cities didn’t just happen without both work and natural chemistry. Hell, he knows married couples that had been through less than you and him have.

He never acted on these feelings though. It was harder when you were both living in Long Island and he saw you almost every day but when he was traded to Vancouver, the distance helped him keep a hold of his emotions.

He did think about confessing to you the night he left, though. If it blew up in his face and he ruined the friendship you shared by doing something stupid, it would be easy to leave it all behind and get over it. Couldn’t get further away than an entirely different coast.

He didn’t do it, however, and now with hindsight, he’s glad he didn’t. Your friendship spanned both time and space. And his crush on you never diminished. Every time you visited him or vice-versa, those feelings resurged with the strength of a thousand suns. Turns out distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

And when he got the news that he was traded again but this time to the city you called home, it felt like fate. Much like it felt like the universe’s hand that kept both of you single this long; like some higher power was conspiring for the two of you to get together.

Anthony shakes his head, fully snapping himself out of his reverie. It was just a silly crush. Would he ever get over it? Who knew? But he told himself long ago to just let things progress naturally. If it was meant to happen, then it would happen.

He had to believe in that. It was the only logic that kept him sane.

So, instead of continuing to wallow in his feelings, he turns back to the kitchen, fishing out the multi-colored rags and Clorox bottle from underneath your sink before turning his attention to the still dirty marble countertop.

This shouldn’t take him that long: he only had the kitchen, coffee table, mantle, nightstand, and bookshelf to do. And when the laundry currently tumbling in the washer had finished, he would hang those out to dry and start another load before he stripped and made your bed with fresh sheets.

That’s what friends did for each other.

That’s what he would do for you.

Because he cares about you.

Because he loves you.

The shower was much needed. You had felt your body relax as soon as the steam filled the room and stepping into the warm water just multiplied that feeling. You took your time, slowly pampering yourself after a multitude of quick in-and-out showers you had forced yourself to take to maintain a base sense of hygiene. The conditioner in your hair felt heavenly and the subtle vanilla of your body wash helped the entire experience feel luxurious even though you weren’t adding any major steps to your routine.

You had even managed to find the energy to go through your entire skincare routine and deep clean your teeth. Standing in front of your sink, your body clad in your fluffy bathrobe and your hair still damp, you allow yourself the opportunity to take a deep breath.

The mere fact that you were able to slow down, to take a moment to enjoy this reprieve in the shitshow that currently your life was a blessing. Part of you knew all your problems weren’t instantly solved by a shower and a clean apartment. But it helped. It definitely helped.

And you had Anthony to thank for that.

You owed him. Big time. Hell, in nine years of friendship, you were probably indebted to him already but this… this was different. He didn’t have to do what he did.

He didn’t have to come over to check on you. He didn’t have to stay. He didn’t have to spend his time and energy helping dig you out of your sadness when he could’ve been doing much more exciting and productive things. But he did. He chose to.

That part. The fact that this was his choice… that meant so much to you.

You stretch again before grabbing the fresh pair of pajamas that Anthony had brought to you while you had been applying lotion to your face. The soft, still somewhat warm cotton against your now clean skin increased your happiness and you hang your robe back up before pushing out into your living room.

The smell of lemon and linen greet your nose as your step from the tile to the hardwood, your eyes perusing the space. It didn’t look much different but your nose tells you that Anthony did indeed keep his word about cleaning the surfaces and you can see the color of new sheets stretched across your bed. The man in question was currently perched on your couch, hunched over and scrolling through his phone, your laundry hamper sitting next to him.

His attention lifts as soon as you clear your throat, shooting you a grin.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“Of course. Clothes are on your drying rack and I just put your old sheets in the dryer,” Anthony explains, vaguely gesturing to the wall behind him that separated your kitchen from the main room.

“Awesome. What’s with the hamper?”

“Oh, I didn’t really know what to do with your other clothes. I found your pajamas but I didn’t know what was hung or folded or anything else like that,” he tells you, a hand raising to scratch the back of his neck – a telltale sign of his nerves.

“No problem,” you reply with a hum, silencing any of his anxiety before grabbing your hamper and dumping the clean clothes onto the newly made bed. “I can put these away.”

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“Tito, you’ve already helped so much. I’ve got the energy now, thanks to you, so let me do this while you finally relax,” you laugh. “Besides, I have a whole system that I know you would just mess up.”

“Figures you have a system for clean clothes as well as dirty ones,” Anthony quips, to which you reply by throwing a coupled pair of socks in his direction. He catches the fabric with ease – damn his hockey reflexes – and places the bundle on the coffee table. “Fine, then I’ll order pizza. You want your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you work, Anthony only interrupting your flow with little quips and comments that you return with ease. The relaxed atmosphere coupled with the bliss that natural came when you hung out with Anthony lifted your spirits indescribably higher. He was like a breath of fresh air, the sunlight in the lazy days of June. He was just what you needed after feeling like you were trapped in the gloomiest Mondays of a never-ending January.

You managed to completely put your clothes away right as Anthony came back from picking up the pizza from the cute little shop down the block. He even had the foresight to grab paper plates and napkins so the two of you didn’t immediately dirty a pair of dishes.

You and Anthony come to settle on opposite ends of the couch, a blanket thrown over both your legs and pizza in your hands, the two of you eating in silence. Eventually, Anthony finally clears his throat, wiping his hands off on a napkin before fixing his blue eyes on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t have to elaborate what ‘it’ was. You’d be an idiot to pretend like you hadn’t seen the concern and question hanging over him ever since you woke up, even though he hid it well. You respond with a sigh before putting your own plate down on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you confess, the statement being as close to the truth as you could get. “It was just one thing after the other, all of them effecting each other until it became too much, y’know?”

The silence falls again as you sigh. Some of your problems still weren’t solved; your job still sucked; you didn’t suddenly inherit a million dollars. But this was a start. You look back to Anthony, his own eyes distant as if he was going through the past weeks, wondering if he could’ve done something different. You reach your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“I’m sorry for not telling you. Making you worry.”

Anthony’s first reply is a gentle shake of his head, those eyes softening with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“No need to apologize. I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”

Your brows furrow, not fully understanding his logic, leaving Anthony to explain it to you.

“Would I have liked for you to tell me? Yeah, of course. But you could’ve just as easily lied to me and then I might have never known something was wrong. I wouldn’t have known you needed help.”

“You don’t have to rescue me, Tito. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“I know. But I’ll always be here if you need me. That’s what friends are for.”

You smile, his genuine words continuing to melt your heart. How you managed to survive before Anthony Beauvillier came into your life, you’ll never know. You were insanely thankful that the two of you were once again in the same city. A wicked smile appears on your face and you can see Anthony’s eyebrows quirk in a question as he takes in your change of expression, even though a similar smile appears on his lips.

“Yeah,” you say in response to his statement. “That is until you get traded again.”

The teasing lilt of your voice makes it obvious that you were poking fun at him, something that Anthony reads with an ease and responds to immediately, his hands lifting to his chest to press against his heart like you actually wounded him.

“Ouch,” he says, the sarcastic whine falling from his lips making you laugh.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re probably right. But hey,” you continue, nudging him with your foot again. “Congrats on making it to the playoffs with your brand-new team!”

“Thanks. We all know they never could’ve made it without me.”

“Oh, of course.”

“You have a guaranteed ticket to the first game,” he tells you, those beautiful blue eyes sparkling at you, the sight of which makes you smile soften, your next words holding a stronger sense of sincerity.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Anthony just grins again before the two of you focus back on the pizza in front of you. When you were done, the leftovers wrapped in foil and placed in the fridge, Anthony lays down on the couch with you snuggled into his side as he turns on a generic romantic comedy to fill the now evenings quiet. About halfway through the movie, you look up to him, your eyes taking in his strong side profile, letting your heart swell with affection and appreciation for the man next to you. He must feel the weight of your stare, his eyes turning to connect with your gaze, a silent question painted on his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the low-lamplight of the room. “Again. For doing all this for me.”

You just watch a gentle smile wash across Anthony’s face, the genuine expression of utmost care and… love he was directing to you making a small part of your heart – one you had kept under lock and key – flutter. Anthony doesn’t speak immediately, instead choosing to lean his head down and press a soft kiss onto your forehead. The action causes you to melt further into him, your body moving impossibly closer to his warmth. Your sunlight, your joy, your Anthony.

It isn’t until the two of you a proficiently tangled in each other does Anthony’s voice finally fill the space.

“Always.”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @solros-world @svexhenthusiast @jjgsunflower

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[sashthesloth]

Made a lil meet my ocs thing for some of my beloved characters

[smokingcitrus]

Birkin is an ugly crier.

He sniffles and sobs, moans and wails as his face reddens and scrunches up until he's almost unrecognizable, strings of snot uncontrollably leaking from his nose. He wipes it over and over and over, trying to get words out but never quite getting past the hurdle of keeping his mouth clean enough. He resigns himself to curling in on himself, shoulders hunched, and he holds his elbows as if hunkering down to ride out the emotion. In that moment, his world shrinks, incapable of accommodating the impossible size of his distress. It explodes in size, its growth exponential as it rips and tears through him, gouging the edges of his repressed mind like sandpaper in a bullet wound. Frantic thoughts follow it like freshly torn sinew, incomprehensible and indistinguishable from each other, barely forming before snapping in half with a static-like spark that causes his trembling shoulders to jolt anew.

His meltdowns are far and few in between, major stressors acting as a wrecking ball against his mental state where inconveniences have only been able to wear away at the edges like water erosion. The only constant in all of them has been the conviction that he might just die where he lays, wailing and clawing at himself until he bleeds: Wesker presence is always an afterthought as his soul unravels.

Wesker has never been able to do anything other than observe: when he's unfortunate enough to witness another one of Birkin's episodes, he can't do more than stand before him, mentally measuring the distance between his straightened back and Birkin's folded one as he waits for him to be coherent enough to continue working.

The first time this happened in his company, he was young and naive enough to think that he, Albert Wesker, could comfort him. A stiff hand had reached for Birkin's shoulder — a gesture he'd practiced since seeing it in a movie all those years ago — which was promptly smacked away, paired with an incoherent gurgle from a snot-filled throat. When physical comfort didn't work, he tried reassurance, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He didn't know what he expected. Spencer's golden child, someone who had been hand-picked to be as close to perfect as a human could be, was everything but the right person to be doing this. He had never received comfort. He wasn't supposed to give it. So he stood up, steeled himself, and returned to his side of their tiny dorm room. He didn't acknowledge his roommate for the rest of the night, patiently waiting for his palm-muffled screams to subside to sniffles.

He's in a similar situation now. Wesker only watches as Birkin looks up at him, the telltale lip quiver almost making him groan. The fact that he doesn't is enough to snap him out of the déjà vu, uncomfortably conscious of the change in his own breathing pattern. Where irritation would have picked at him, a bud grows in his chest instead, sucking away all of his energy like a tumor until all he can do in his uselessness is meet Birkin's watery, reddening eyes. The bud blossoms. It shoots through him and into nothing as thorns rake his insides. His face hasn't moved, and he only realizes that his vision has started to blur when Birkin brings a shaking hand to his face, wiping his flinching eyes with a tenderness that almost warrants guilt.

Birkin smiles at him through all of his ugliness, as if Wesker is the one that needs reassurance. Birkin whimpers, shudders, and wipes his face, but his eyes train themselves on Wesker's face as if afraid that he would disappear. "I missed you, Al."

He knows Birkin's fear is justified. Wesker's throat croaks, but he isn't trying to speak. He blinks, and Birkin's calloused hand brushes his cheek a second time, then a third, and then it gets so bad he needs to use both hands.

Despite how badly he wants to share the sentiment, Wesker can't bring himself to respond.

[ryangravytrain]

Call that Doggy style

[peachhcs]

keep on dancing…

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

coming out of my hiatus to say that yes, i’ve been keeping up on the news and i can’t believe ryan and gabe are onto their pro careers 🥹🥹 this is not samy + will but i really love writing samy + gabe + ryan’s brother/sister relationship so here’s samy at the regional game in new hampshire where things change very fast when denver eliminates bc (and lowkey cliff hanger at the end lmk if we want part 2)

i also won’t fully be back from hiatus until the semester is done (end of april eeek), but once i’m back TRUST i’ll be back :)

au masterlist

it really wasn’t looking good as the boys tried pulling for anything they had left in the last period. it was 3-1, bc down by 2 and almost every bc fan in the stands knew they weren’t walking away with a win tonight as disappointing as it sounded.

it was a gutting feeling for everyone. the boys started so strong in the beginning, but the losses hit them fast and hard—first the beanpot championships, not making the playoffs, and now this. with only 8 minutes left, there was no way the boys could scrounge up 2 points to even tie it.

samy stood in the stands getting deja vu from last year’s ncaa tournament where the outcome was nearly the same. they worked so hard to make it to that point and it hurt coming up on the same outcome this time around too.

she knew what this loss would mean once the game finished. she’d been talking with gabe and ryan about it ever since the season started. it started as mere thoughts and considerations, but as the season went on, their decisions became a bit more firm each time they talked and samy knew this feeling all too well.

as soon as that buzzer went off and the time ran out, gabe and ryan would be on a plane to their professional teams in 24 hours to make their debuts in the post season playoffs. oh, how it hurt so bad knowing their time at boston was coming to an end so fast, so soon, and so sadly.

suddenly, samy could see herself standing in a similar arena watching luke play one last time with his michigan teammates before jumping on a plane to jersey.

it hurt more knowing julianne couldn’t make it out and emma was back in boston so neither of them would be here to say one last goodbye. all of the boys’ stuff was packed and sitting in their new places for when this game was done.

the clock ran down like how cinderella had to be back home by midnight. everyone was anticipating it and samy could see it weighing down both boys as they fought tooth and nail for at least one more point. no one even really knew they were signing but her, only close friends and family so the news would be a surprise to a lot of fans.

when the buzzer blared through the arena and the bc fans clapped sadly for their boys samy watched the teams exchange pleasantries. ryan and gabe weren’t huge criers—the only time samy’s seen them cry was last year’s finals—but she saw the tears in their eyes as they skated down the tunnel.

the brunette followed the crowd out of the seats. she texted her brothers the news and then her parents. she knew it’d be awhile until gabe and ryan emerged so samy made herself comfortable in one of the back hallways where they’d appear later. she had the replays up as if it would tell her something that the team could’ve done differently to get those points.

another fifteen minutes passed when samy heard her name, “hughesy?”

she saw gabe and ryan, a soft expression on her features. “hi.”

the girl stood and that’s when she saw how upset the two looked about leaving. she’s known them for quite awhile, yet neither of them have ever looked this sad before. samy opened her arms so one of them could step into her embrace. gabe took the lead and as soon as she wrapped her arms around his large torso, the water works followed and he cried into her shoulder.

samy frowned and then looked at ryan who looked equally as sad but was holding it together for the sake of both of them.

“i know, i know,” she didn’t know what to say, so she comforted as best as she could. her arm stroked his back while her other hand gently rubbed the tension through his shoulders—poor gabe sobbing into her shoulder.

ryan adverted his gaze by turning away slightly. he hated crying more than gabe did and if he ever did cry, he made sure people didn’t see.

“it’s all over. all of it,” the dark-haired boy cried more.

“you played your heart out. you both did. i’m proud of you,” samy looked at ryan too. the taller brunette managed a smile.

“i-i just..fuck. i didn’t even tell emma,” gabe finally pulled away and now it was samy’s turn to be surprised.

“what? i thought you did?”

“i couldn’t bring myself to..i never had the right chance and..i couldn’t hurt her anytime i thought about telling her,” gabe explained the situation and samy’s jaw dropped open.

“gabe.. you can’t not tell her. you're supposed to be on a plane to new york in like..7 hours," samy looked at her phone that read 10:42pm. she knew ryan and gabe were set to head out early tomorrow morning where ryan would go back to boston since that's where the capitals were as of right now and gabe would be in new york.

she couldn't believe gabe didn't even tell his own girlfriend and suddenly she knew that feeling all too well.

"i know, i know..this whole thing has been so hard to think about the closer it got...i thought i'd have more time to tell her if we won.." gabe shook his head. samy and ryan exchanged a glance and the girl imagined emma sitting back home in boston probably blowing up gabe's phone about the loss and how sorry she was and how she had no idea her boyfriend actually wasn't going back to boston tomorrow morning.

"you need to call her," the youngest hughes urged.

"fuck, she's gonna hate me," gabe frowned.

"gabe. you need to call her. don't fuck this all up like will did a year ago," that made the boy snap out of it. the look on samy's face was chilling and one gabe couldn't say no to, so he pulled out his phone and stepped away for privacy.

now it was just ryan and samy in the deafening silence of the hallway. ryan walked a ways until he could sit down on one of the steps that plunged further into the locker rooms. the soccer player silently followed where they sat and stared at the blank wall saying nothing. nothing really could be said because they were both thinking the same thing.

"i can't believe it's over," ryan mumbled.

"you played well. the capitals are going to be real happy to have you. julianne told me how excited she is to visit you in D.C. this summer," samy grinned.

"mm, yeah she's been yapping my ear off about summer. she's planning my whole apartment actually," the two shared a laugh. "it's gonna feel so weird leaving boston again..like for good," the brunette continued.

"for good?"

"i always knew i'd probably come back after dev program, but like this is it. unless they trade me, my new home is washington for however long," ryan explained and samy slowly nodded.

"it's bittersweet. everyone's slowly leaving and monthly reunions will turn into yearly reunions," the soccer player hummed. of course, she'd still visit boston to see drew, aram, teddy, james, vote, and fowler if none of them signed on, but it was going to be different not having ryan, will, and gabe there anymore.

"well, at least we'll always have the lake house to come back to, right? we'll be around this summer, don't worry hughesy. i've been looking forward to this all year," ryan roughed up her arm making the girl's smile return.

summer was so close again and she was really glad she was going into it with will by her side after the events of last summer. plus, this certainly wasn't goodbye forever to the two hockey players. these boys were family and samy knew she'd still be texting them her every thought like an annoying sister from across the country.

"yeah, jack, luke and quinn can't wait to have all of my annoying friends over," the two laughed again. "but seriously, i think you're gonna have a lot of fun in the pro leagues. my brothers will always have your back if you need anything," samy continued more seriously and a small smile sat on ryan's lips which was refreshing to see after the many tears and frowns in the last hour.

"i'm really excited. i think it's gonna be really fun," he agreed.

"one chapter closes to open another. plus, you already know i will be at the games at some point or another. i can't wait to see you two go head to head with will," the girl giggled. one positive note was that next season, the trio's paths were going to be crossing a lot more frequently now that all 3 were in the nhl.

"oh, i can't wait to push that kid into the boards. he already knows i'm not gonna go easy on him," ryan laughed, a genuine laugh, which made samy happy to hear his spirits were slowly lifting.

the friends sat on the step for another good 20 minutes just reminiscing on everything and the possibility of gabe, ryan, and will getting to play for team usa at some point again when footsteps remerged behind them. expecting gabe, they turned around and were not surprised when they saw him, but the look on the boy's face did not look good.

samy immediately got up, "gabe?"

"she broke up with me."

a look of horror flashed on ryan and samy's expressions.

[tennessoui]

I know fic rec lists take a lot of energy and time, but I really need something obikin to read and I trust your taste in fic after having read literally everything you've written 🧡 Can you share a few obikin fics you've recently read? I'm not asking for a huge list or anything, just a few for a lunchtime work read would hit the spot!

hello, yes I can do this! honestly, it’s a new years resolution of mine to write a few fic lists because I haven’t had a lot of time to read fic these past few months, but I miss it (and I honestly think not reading fic has been a huge contributing factor to my writer’s block) and I want to make fic recs a thing again for me

(a sort of related fic resolution of mine this year is to comment more on fics i read, which is why i have about 53 tabs open on my phone and yet am still bad at leaving comments - these things happen in baby steps)

this won’t be long list because I have an early start tomorrow and not a lot of new fics to rec (like I said, I have not been reading enough lately), but here are the most recent obikin fics in my ao3 History tab

(beneath the cut: 7 fics i've read, 3 fics on my To Read ASAP list, 3 WIPs i'm subscribed and SAT for along with the ever relevant and only slightly preachy reminder to read your local authors' wips if you want more complete fics)

let's turn up the heat until we fry by @grapenehifics (explicit, modern au)- what an amazing fic this was! i read it sometime in january and my god it made me crave summer almost as much as it made me crave tattooed anakin, a plot device people are not making enough use out of for how great (and hot) tattooed anakin is. especially when he's a dad. especially when he's still a dork. a 4.5 out of 10 on the buffoon scale (complimentary) have i mentioned obi-wan's slutty earring??

lost canines by @bunnywan (explicit, canon) - no one does men crying like bunnywan does men crying. also spit. and teeth. but also such a fascinating character study into what flavor of emotinal wreck both of them would be if the jedi won the war and then anakin left the order to be with his wife. amazing on all levels for this. fictional smut between two fictional men never feels as real and possible as it does when this writer is writing it

running through my head by @darthwillies (mature, canon, sort of crack premise based on an anime but incredibly poignantly heavy fic) - man, i had to search deep into my history for this fic because i was obsessed with finding and reading the final scene of chapter 2 again (specifically - no context for spoilers - obi-wan saying "that is the cruellest thing anyone has ever said to me") because oh man that bit of bare and painful honesty and all the bare and painful honesty following? scratches my brain the best way. this fic was just so incredible for many different reasons. i loved the world building and the ensemble in the background - it felt very much like something that could happen if every character made slightly different choices. both anakin and obi-wan's characterizations read spot on and painfully beautiful. no one is to blame for everything, but this is where we've landed and everyone's healing and communicating (which is my favorite sort of whump/comfort fic) this fic is heavy but the author does a very good job of inserting tags into the author's notes of each chapter so read those. but read the fic as well.

i will tell the night by @riduurburton (explicit, set in the gffa, same ageish, enemies to friends to lovers) - it took me three days to read through this and i was just blown away each time i clicked to the next chapter. would have read through it faster if i hadn't started around christmas time. an instant fandom classic in my mind if those are still things. as i was reading it, i was constantly reminded why i love star wars fanfictions and this ship - it read like a love letter to the characters and the universe, though things are necessarily changed by the premise. i just know if this wasn't published all at once, i would have faithfully followed each update. it's everything i wanted in same-ish age fic, where anakin is newly knighted and obi-wan is a senior padawan. the ensemble characters carry so much of the story, and i love the pov switches - it does so much to make the fic feel like a whole world. perhaps not something to read on your lunch break, but absolutely absolutely something you must read!!

(no) fixing it by skyl_tales (mature, canon au) - will this author's works never not have a strangle hold on me? i'm honestly unsure. something about their writing is just incredibly readable every single time. this fic has gotten two more updates than i expected and may get another (who knows?? anything is possible) but reads like a complete story as is. asks the all important question: what if obi-wan was given the choice to go back to make sure that the worst thing in his life didn't happen and he accidentally/truthfully goes back to mustafar and not a few days before? also, as a follow up question, what if sucking on obi-wan kenobi's tits kept anakin from the influence of the dark side? it's worth a shot!

relative matters by anonymous (explicit, modern au, half brothers so actual incest instead of just the canon vibes incest going on generally) - man, i read this during those two weeks of the year where your brain is rotating the folger's coffee commercial around on repeat (you know the feeling) and it managed to scratch the itch perfectly. dirty, dysfunctional, snotty nosed teenagers obi-wan and anakin are stupid and messed up and 'just imagine that i'm your girlfriend' as youre having sex with your half brother....i come back to that vibe sm. need more of it.

in the eye of the beholder by booksnchocolate (explicit, canon, trans!obi-wan) - oh my god! i just read this tonight and loved it so much. another fic where i was just viscerally reminded why i love this ship while i was reading it. anakin's pov of obi-wan is just so soft and interwoven with so much love that it almost feels wrong calling the sex hot because it feels almost too intimate for that. and the author makes it incredibly clear how much obi-wan loves anakin, all without changing pov or having any very long or drawn out confession scene. it's just there, throughout the fic as they interact. and the banter they share, the cameos by ahsoka and rex and the council, all of it together makes this such a great fic. 10/10 would read again instead of writing my policy brief due tomorrow

by omission by posthumous_vigor (explicit, reverse master/padawan, set in the gffa) - i think i reread this for the billionth time sometime in december, but i can't remember. anyway. many heart eyes. love as always. sometimes you just need drunk sex with your master who can read your every thought because you've accidentally dropped the shields around your mental link. also you're wearing fishnets. and you're very drunk. and jealous because your master refused to fake marry you for a mission even though you totally want to be real-married instead. god. it's just hot idk i love this fic and the way this author writes these characters, in all their iterations i've seen from them so far!

On My To Read ASAP List:

heartlines by @lilredghost (explicit, canon au, heavy topics) - as soon as i have fic reading time this weekend that i actually plan out, i'm going to read this fic. i saw the writing process for it in the big bang server and i know it's going to be an actual gem and do my head in so much. there's hardly anything i love more than a twisty curvy timeline plus an unreliable narrator plus coma patient obi-wan waking up and having emotions about anakin having lived life without obi-wan on the peripherals of it etc etc. i'm sat. i can't wait.

the way our horizons meet by @soldieronbarnes (mature, set in the gffa, mail order bride anakin, a/b/o dynamics) - i mean?? mail order bride anakin?? reluctant and perhaps even guilt-ridden obi-wan who has infinite sadness?? this is one of those fics i know i'm going to absolute devour as soon as i start the first paragraph. i cannot wait for dilf obi-wan who looks like obi-wan from the kenobi show caving to his new spouse's wiles or insistent demands or something of that nature. can't decide what i'll love more, but will love it regardless

do the same for him by @thegingerwrites (mature, canon au) - oh geez, this is also one of those fics where i know i will be consumed with the need to keep reading until it's finished as soon as i start it. i love this author's writing style from their previous fics (which you should absolutely check out!) and the summary of this one is promising so many good things. i love a good obi-wan goes after anakin fic <3 it's what they both deserve and this one features sith holocron as well!! it's been a while since i read anakin whump and i am very excited to return to my well-beaten path of adoring some anakin whump <3

WIPs I Am Sat For:

(weekly/monthly/yearly reminder: please consider reading wips if you don't usually - they really are the lifeblood of fandom. if you can, please consider sitting in the kitchen with us writers and keeping us company while we cook. i just think it would be nice)

blur by @darthwillies (explicit, canon au, a/b/o dynamics....or? a dynamics?) - this fic!! what a fic!! it is such an amazing take on like...being on the outside of this very common trope we see all the time and seeing it for the horrors that are embedded in it that we sort of take for granted or filter out because both characters meet each other in the middle of these actions, but in this fic, anakin presents as an alpha and everyone else is just human Jedi around him and no one has any idea what's going on and anakin is a mess of emotions, not least of which are anger and fear, and obi-wan would do anything to make sure he's safe. he's doing a very good job so far imo i can't wait to see where this goes, but i am loving everything that i have been gifted with so far. this author's mind 🤯 unparalleled

close the blinds and kill the birds by @riduurburton (explicit, modern au, same age, mind the tags - dark elements in play) - i am so so fascinated so far with this story, holy hell. what a modern au!! everyone's sorta fucked up and fucking each other up a little further. the intricacies of the relationship growing between obi-wan and anakin and their shifting understandings of each other, even while overshadowed by terrible circumstances in their lives...immaculate. i cannot wait to see what happens next and where this and the characters go. i imagine it'll be pretty dark before (/if) it gets better, but i am already obsessed with following along on that journey

water's turning red by @bunnywan (explicit, modern au, infidelity) - obsessed with this fic sm that whenever i think about it i almost forget that it's a wip. to me it is nine chapters of different ways rich obi-wan is a bitch, connected under him having hired anakin to be his poolboy so he can get a good dicking when his husband is away. their relationship (anakin and obi-wan's, but also i guess obi-wan and cody's) is fascinating. delectable. i would easily read sixty thousand more words of obi-wan stringing anakin along for his dick and not realizing at the same time how much he's come to care about him as a person attached to that dick, etc etc. no notes, no thoughts, just the very, very accurate tag: 'obi-wan is a bitch and i like him so much'

(and finally,,,,sneaking in a black sails, silverflint fic i read in january after i got homesick because omg this reminded me so much of home but make it horror. the writing is so good. half of what haunts me about it is the sentence structure and word choice. the other half is the frankly creepy appalachian mountain range depicted in it but we don't get to pick our homes nor our ghosts)