#i’ve muted him long time back but every now and then you still see the drama

[whitehartlane]

Rahul what is this whole invertthewing drama? I don’t have twitter so just been seeing like snapshots of batshittery

mate it’s genuinely hilarious i swear 😭 so invertthewing is this guy on football twitter who sort of made his ‘claim to fame’ at the beginning of last season when he started yapping about spurs and ange. he’s self proclaimed not a spurs fan (i think he’s a stockport county fan) but he ‘loves the game’ and reps people like pep, ange, palmer, kane, etc. he’s sort of famous for talking about tactics (clearly been run through an ai) and for being absolutely unhinged. he trolled arsenal and liverpool fans 24/7 last season (quote: ‘you come at the king you best not miss’ ???).

anyway what he’s done now is go off the rails and proclaim after two preseason games that djed is better than pedro and that he’s going to be our starting rb next season. i’m not sure if he’s ever repped pedro really…? i feel like i remember him talking shit abt him towards the end of last season. i digress but what pedro’s done is block him (absolutely legendary) and invert took it so to heart 😭 started tweeting about how he’s not upset and it doesn’t bother him but then talking about pedro spending too much time on twitter and how him blocking invert speaks volumes about his character and then yapping about how djed must feel seeing his teammate blocked invert at the suggestion of djed starting over him yadda yadda. then he started talking about how it’s his last days on twitter bc ppl are mass reporting him and THEN he was like i’m not going to let the haters silence me 😭 the guy is unhinged it’s actually box office

ALSO aj tracey was in his replies 😭😭😭

[blvdheart]

LIKE A LITTLE PIECE OF HEAVEN

→ Sneaking around with your grandparents’ ranch hand during the summer!

CW: x Fem!reader with she/her pronouns, starts with fluff and turns into smut, switch!Leon, dry humping, cowgirl, butterfly (i think that’s the position name?), fingering, short hold the moan snippet, reader wears a sundress at one point, mention of a palm injury via a cut

WC: 1.8k

NOTE: written just for fun to entertain myself during an excruciatingly long car ride, sorry that it’s fast paced </3 title lyric is from ‘tulsa jesus freak’ also i tried my best at a southern accent for him okay

MASTERLINK

You always complained whenever your parents sent you on your annual trip to your grandparents’ place. Mosquitoes ran rampant and a prayer whilst holding hands was mandatory before every meal. Summer was supposed to be a break so you could be lazy in bed all day, but now you had to go help tend to the animals.

Sure, farm animals are cute and all…but gushing over how adorable they are is much different from actually taking care of them. So much for that ‘Charlotte’s Web’ childhood dream of yours, none of the pigs are like Wilbur!

But you had a change of attitude when you went the summer after your freshman year of college. Upon your arrival, your suitcase was hauled by strong skin-kissed hands, like if your packed belongings weighed a mere pound.

Looking up, your eyes met irises that rivaled the beauty of the ocean.

Oh.

You almost had to physically lift your jaw back up to introduce yourself. Then you ran upstairs to bury your face into your pillow.

Leon Kennedy. Would his last name suit your first name? Or vice versa? Jesus.

That first summer was full of fleeting glances and flirtatious conversation. There was something romantic about being in a space far away from civilization. Like you were in your own little universe with him whenever the two of you snuck around. During dinners, you always nudged at his leg with your boot to mess with him, liking the way he cleared his throat to ward off a smile.

And maybe you relied on silly methods to see if your feelings for him were reciprocated.

Pluck.

He likes me.

Pluck.

He likes me not.

Pluck.

He likes me.

Pluck.

He likes me not.

Pluck. Last one.

He likes me!!!

Childish excitement coursed through you, an instantaneous smile on your face. You thanked Mother Nature for giving you the answer you wanted.

You also thanked the Sun every day for gifting freckles to Leon. One day, you held onto his face and tried to count them all. Squinting your eyes, you counted aloud, missing the way he looked at you with nothing but sweetness in his gaze.

The world around you was muted, as if the cows standing behind the fence had stopped mooing just for the sake of your concentration.

“Sure this is gonna work? Listen, I’ve always been an optimistic fella but—“

“Shh, you’re distracting me.” After a beat, you groaned. “Fuck I lost count. Okay, hold still for real this time.”

“Sure, doll.” She’s real cute, he thought to himself.

Or that one time when the Sun’s beams were too hot and made Leon take his hat off so he could pour a fresh bucket of water on his head. You felt so betrayed at the sight.

“You’re shitting me!”

“What?”

“Your roots…” Not very polite, but you pointed at his hair. “I thought you were blonde. Like, born blonde.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He hid his amusement with a shrug, lowering his head to give you a better look. “Haven’t had time to dye it.”

And of course, you owed the Moon some gratitude for being an audience member to a memory you cherished. If said memory could be physically stored, you’d keep it on a frame so you could rewatch the moment your relationship blossomed.

The confession came when two heartbeats aligned, two bodies snuggled against each other on top of the roof. Leon gazed at you as if you hung up the stars and moon that were beautifully assorted in the sky, the same ones he had admired all alone prior to you coming here. He never thought he’d have a pretty woman wanting to get to know him.

“This is crazy…I can actually see the constellations out here.” Your words were a murmur, the glimmering dots above reflecting in your pupils.

“And ya couldn’t back at home?”

“Pfft. With all the pollution in the city? Not a chance.”

“Yeah? Mus’ be a special night for ya, then.”

It was. But not because of the view, rather, because of the handsome guy holding you close like you were his girlfriend.

“Yeah, it is.”

A hat was placed onto your head. His hat.

You broke your admiration of the stars, turning to look at him instead. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, suddenly his hand was cupping the side of your face. His skin was scarred and calloused against yours, a physical manifestation of how different his lifestyle was from yours.

Books always made it seem like butterflies would be swarming in your stomach at moments like these. But you felt calm. This was fate, it was supposed to happen. And who were you to deny the universe’s pull and Cupid’s arrow?

Leon was a gentleman first and foremost. “Can I…?”

“Mhm.”

Your first kiss was witnessed by the moon.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You kept in touch through letters. Leon was old fashioned, and very rarely did he pick up his cheap flip phone when you tried giving him a call. Something about his phone always being stored away, he hardly used the thing anyway. He already had the task of picking up the mail, so it wasn’t like your grandpa or grandma would get it.

You didn’t mind much. There was something endearing about sending letters, running to the mail like you were a dog fetching the weekly newspaper. It was hard to imagine his voice sometimes when reading his letters because he wrote all properly, it didn’t match his accent.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to send another letter. I accidentally cut my hand when fixing up a fence and it took a while to heal, it left a scar. I’m okay though, promise. Just don’t want you to think I forgot about you or anything like that. Your grandpa was real nice about it, he gave me some time off, he’s got a kind heart. And your grandma kept cooking up some soup…said it would help me heal quicker. Not sure if it’s true, but it left my stomach happy and that counts for something.

The entire time I was resting, I found myself thinking of you. Would you have patched my hand up if you were here? Kissed my pain away?

Every time I look at the moon, I wonder if you are too.”

You always traced over his handwriting with an unclicked pen before proceeding to leave a kiss mark on the corner of the page and putting it in your stored pile.

Summer became the highlight of your years. You actually packed cute clothes now, flowy sundresses and some matching undergarments you wouldn’t mind Leon seeing. Of course, you also bought some riding gear, wanting to partake in his hobbies too.

The instant you were back at the farm and the two of you were alone, Leon grabbed you by the hips and pressed you up against the outdoor wall of the house, smiling at you all coyly.

“Missed ya. Shoulda jus’ stayed here with me.”

“Thought you liked me for pursuing a higher education?” Your grin matched his. Maybe after you got your degree you’d join him more often.

“Mhm.” God, that intellect of yours was sexy. He could listen to you ramble about your ambitions for ages. “Wish that college of yers was nearby, though.”

“That makes two of us…I missed you too, by the way.” Your lips inched closer to his. “A lot.”

His cheeks turned roseate, his heart thumping as fast as the hooves of a bronco at a rodeo. “…Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so unsure! Need me to show you?”

“I’d appreciate that, y’know how I am.” Leon wasn’t the most self assured, having been worried you’d find some college guy to get with.

All it took was some more sweet talking and daring touches on your end before he hoisted one of your legs up with your permission, the fabric of your dress lifting and bunching around your hips, the plush of your ass pressed against the weathered down paint of the walls.

He let you set the pace, keeping you steady as you bucked your hips against him, your panties soaking from the friction of his rough denim jeans. Your mouths clashed messily out of pent up desperation.

It didn’t go farther than dry humping, though.

Leon made sure your first time with him was more planned out, not wanting it to be in some confined space or rushed. You rode him until dawn, your knees meeting the soft blanket he laid down against the grass with each roll of your hips.

“Ah ah ah. Slow, sweetheart, slow.” He pleaded in a throaty voice, you were killing him, milking him over and over.

“Fuck…okay.” You slowed your pace, your breaths mingling when you rested your forehead against his.

“That’s it. Like that.”

And after that, there were more spontaneous times.

You wanted to get dicked down on your mattress so that’s what Leon gave you, if only your bed wasn’t so fucking squeaky. He had to put pillows behind your headboard.

“Shh…gotta be quiet f’me.” His hand covered your mouth, muting the moans that almost spilled from your mouth.

Leon wouldn’t live to see another day if his boss found his sweet granddaughter’s ankles hugging his neck and her toes all curled.

You ran your nails against his scalp, turning his hair into a mess, taking advantage of the fact he didn’t have a hat indoors. He bit down on his lip harshly to prevent himself from groaning aloud. Yeah, he had to climb out your window after that.

You almost got caught once inside one of the rundown abandoned stalls that was in need of some fixing. You were sitting betweens Leon’s spread legs, his hand down your pants. His palm gently smacked your clit with every push of his fingers inside your cunt. Open-mouthed kisses grazed your neck, making you loll your head to the side.

If only your granddaddy hadn’t interrupted.

“Son, ya in here?” Some incoherent grumbles before he got to the point, thankfully giving you some time to smack Leon’s hand away, snickering at the expression on his face — like he was about to be put six feet under. “Need yer help with the pipe I was tellin’ ya about earlier.”

“‘m on it.” Leon called out after pecking your lips, but there was a crack in his voice that left you silently giggling as he got up and wiped his fingers on his pants. He seemed so embarrassed, sparing you an apologetic glance and then tipping his hat down to hide his flustered expression from his boss.

But who knows, your grandparents adored Leon. One day he’d muster up the courage to tell them he was sweet on you, or maybe they’d catch the two of you holding hands under the dinner table.

Either way, you were no mere summer fling, and he let that be known by adorning your finger with a shiny promise ring.

[soulofapatrick]

A part of me is tethered to you - Azriel x female reader 

Summary: you can’t sleep and go to see out your best friends but end up going to Azriel

Warnings: none really; more fluff than anything 

Words: 4.3K

Y/N's POV

I toss and turn in bed, every position more uncomfortable than the last. My sheets are tangled around my legs, and no matter how many times I close my eyes, the restless feeling gnaws at me. Sleep refuses to come, my thoughts too loud and the remnants of my nightmare still clawing at the edges of my mind.

With a sigh, I sit up, running a hand through my hair. It’s no use—I won’t find peace tonight, not like this. Feyre or Cassian is probably still awake; they usually are, always up late. Maybe talking to one of them would help, at least enough to shake off this tension.

I slip out of bed and pull on my robe, the cool air of the House of Wind whispering over my skin as I step into the hallway. The house is quiet, its usual warmth a little muted in the dead of night. The stone beneath my feet feels grounding, steadying, but as I make my way down the corridor, something shifts inside me.

As I pass Azriel’s door, an invisible pull tugs at me, soft but insistent. I stop in my tracks, my heart suddenly beating faster in my chest. His door is closed, but the moment I’m near it, it’s as if something deep within me is drawn to it. A feeling I can’t quite explain—like I’m being called to him, to his presence, without words or reason.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

I’m supposed to be heading to Cassian’s, but my feet don’t move. Instead, I find myself staring at Azriel’s door, the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing against my chest. I’ve tried to keep them buried, tried to convince myself that what I feel for him is nothing more than friendship—admiration, respect for the way he carries himself, for the quiet strength he exudes. But I know it’s a lie.

It’s so much more than that.

The truth is, I’m drawn to him in ways I can’t even fully comprehend. There’s something about him that calls to me—his shadows, his silence, the way he moves through the world with such restraint, such quiet intensity. And then there are the rare moments when his gaze lingers on me just a second too long, when the soft brush of his hand against mine sends a shock of warmth through my entire body.

I’ve been fighting these feelings for too long, pretending I don’t care. But standing here now, the pull toward his room stronger than ever, I can’t deny it anymore.

My hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation prickling at the edges of my mind. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. He didn’t invite me in. But the draw is too strong to ignore, as if my heart knows something my mind doesn’t.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grip the handle and twist, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The door shuts behind me with a soft click, and I’m immediately enveloped by the warmth of his space. Shadows flicker lazily along the walls, but they seem calm, almost serene.

And then there’s his scent—cedarwood, smoke, and something distinctly him. It fills the room, wrapping around me like an embrace, and I find myself inhaling deeply, letting it seep into my skin. My heart races, but it’s not from fear or anxiety. It’s from something deeper, something that stirs in my chest every time I’m near him.

I step further into the room, my eyes falling on his bed. It’s perfectly made, the dark blankets smoothed out neatly. The pull tugs again, more insistent this time, urging me closer. My fingers graze the soft fabric, and a shiver runs through me. His bed looks so inviting, so warm, and without thinking, I let my hand glide over the blanket. I know I shouldn’t, but the temptation is too much.

Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling the covers back and slipping beneath them, sinking into the softness of his mattress. His scent is even stronger here, enveloping me completely, and I can’t help the way my body relaxes, every muscle softening as the warmth of the bed wraps around me.

It feels… right. Comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. As if being in his bed is exactly where I’m meant to be.

My head sinks into his pillow, and the overwhelming sensation of him makes my breath catch in my throat. My heart pounds in my chest, the awareness of what I’m doing—the intimacy of it—settling deep into my bones. It feels forbidden, like I’m crossing a line, but it also feels… so good. Like I’ve been craving this closeness, this connection, for longer than I want to admit.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his bed and the quiet of his room seep into me. There’s something about this space that makes me feel safe, something about him that makes the chaos in my mind go quiet. My feelings for Azriel—those hidden, aching feelings I’ve tried so hard to suppress—bubble to the surface, and for a moment, I let myself indulge in them.

What if… what if I didn’t have to hide them? What if he felt the same? The thought sends a thrill through me, but I push it aside, knowing it’s dangerous to hope for something like that.

Still, as I curl deeper into his bed, I can’t help but imagine him here, lying beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. I can almost feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body pressed close. It’s a fantasy I’ve had more times than I care to admit, but here, wrapped in the reality of his space, it feels closer than ever.

And as the scent of him and the softness of his bed lull me further into warmth, I let my eyes drift shut, letting the fantasy take over, letting myself believe—for just a little while—that this could be real.

Sleep comes easily this time, with Azriel in my thoughts, the pull on my heart finally settling as I drift into a dream.

The gentle caress of fingers across my cheek stirs me from sleep. It's soft, featherlight, and for a moment, I think I'm still dreaming. But then it comes again—a slow, deliberate brush of fingertips against my skin, followed by the feeling of someone smoothing my hair back from my face.

I blink, eyes fluttering open, the world still hazy with sleep. It takes a second to register where I am, but when I do, my heart lurches in my chest.

Azriel is sitting on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes watching me with an expression so soft, so tender, that it sends a wave of warmth rushing through me. His shadows curl around him, flitting in and out of the room’s dim light, but there’s something about the way they seem to reach for me—gentle, almost curious, as if they’re part of him, mirroring the way his hand is smoothing my hair back. His touch is delicate, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he presses too hard.

My breath catches in my throat. This isn’t a dream.

Azriel’s gaze is steady, his eyes full of something I can’t quite name—something that makes my chest tighten and my skin flush. There’s no anger, no judgment. Just a quiet intensity, like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here, in his bed, yet there’s no trace of displeasure in his expression. If anything, he looks… amused. Fond, even.

I can’t breathe. My mind scrambles, replaying every step that led me here, and embarrassment crashes over me like a tidal wave. I’m in Azriel’s bed. His bed. Without permission. Without an invitation. Oh gods, what was I thinking?

Heat floods my face, and before I can stop myself, I yank the duvet over my head, retreating beneath the heavy fabric as if it could somehow shield me from the mortification that’s burning through me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m sure my face must be crimson beneath the covers.

I hear a soft chuckle—low, barely audible—and it only makes my humiliation worse. Azriel, the Shadowsinger, deadly and unreadable, is laughing at me. Of course he is. I’m in his bed, hiding under his duvet like some child, utterly mortified by the fact that he found me here.

I can still feel his presence beside me, the warmth of him seeping through the blanket, his hand still resting lightly on top of the duvet where I know my head is hidden beneath. His fingers brush the fabric, a comforting gesture, as if to coax me out from my hiding place.

But I can’t. I can’t face him right now—not with my heart pounding like this, not with the knowledge that I’ve crossed a line I didn’t even realize I was crossing until it was too late.

His voice breaks the silence, soft and soothing. “You don’t have to hide.”

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my grip tightens on the duvet. He sounds so calm, so gentle, and I don’t understand how he can be so unbothered when I’m dying of embarrassment under his blanket.

“I—” I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. What can I even say? How do I explain that I felt drawn to his room, that the pull was so strong I couldn’t resist? That I didn’t mean to invade his space, that I was just so tired and somehow, being here, surrounded by his scent and his warmth, made everything feel right?

I squeeze my eyes shut beneath the blanket, heat still rising to my cheeks. This is a nightmare. But instead of running, he stays—quiet, patient. His shadows curl around me, and I can feel the gentle pulse of his presence, waiting for me to emerge. Waiting for me to face him.

I take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart, and slowly—hesitantly—I pull the duvet down just enough to peek out at him. He’s still there, his dark eyes fixed on mine, and the warmth in his gaze makes my stomach flip.

His lips curve into the slightest smile, and it takes everything in me not to hide again. But there’s no judgment in his eyes, no anger. Only that quiet, steady intensity that always seems to surround him, as if he’s seeing something in me that I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper, not knowing how to explain myself, not knowing how to make this less awkward. “I couldn’t sleep, and… I just…” I glance away, feeling the burn of my embarrassment all over again.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me, and then his hand moves again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch so tender it almost undoes me.

“You’re always welcome here,” he says softly, his voice like a whisper in the quiet room.

Azriel’s soft gaze lingers on me, and I can feel the warmth of it, steady and reassuring. I should feel more embarrassed than I already do, but there’s something about him—his presence, the way he’s just there—that soothes me. His hand is still gentle in my hair, smoothing it back in a rhythm that makes me want to close my eyes again and sink into it.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. It’s a tone he uses when he wants someone to open up, when he’s coaxing out a truth they’re too afraid to admit. His fingers pause in my hair, and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t want to lie. I can’t lie—not to him.

“I’ve… I’ve been having nightmares,” I admit, the words coming out in a rush. I shift under the duvet, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed. “I haven’t been able to sleep. But last night…” I glance up at him, the blush rising again in my cheeks. “Last night, I slept. In here. In your bed. It was peaceful. I don’t know why, but it was.”

Azriel’s expression softens further, something like understanding flickering across his features. He studies me for a moment, his shadows still swirling around us like they’re listening too, before he nods. He doesn’t ask why I didn’t come to him earlier, or why I kept it to myself. He just accepts it, the way he always does.

He stands slowly, his movements deliberate, and I realize for the first time that he’s still in his armour—his siphons gleaming faintly in the dim light. The realisation sends a fresh wave of heat over me. He must’ve been out, maybe just returned from one of his late-night missions, and here I am, taking over his bed. My guilt surges, but then I see the calm in his eyes, and it melts away.

Azriel starts unfastening his siphons, setting each one down with a practiced ease, and as I watch, something strange stirs in my chest—something that makes me feel both breathless and desperate to look away. But I don’t. I can’t.

He removes the last of his armour, and his hands move to the hem of his shirt. In one smooth motion, he tugs it over his head and tosses it aside. My heart stutters as my eyes take in the sight of him—his toned chest, the ripple of muscles beneath his skin, the faint scars that only seem to add to the raw power that radiates off him. My gaze moves lower, following the line of his stomach, and I feel my face burn as I realize how little space there is between us.

I should look away. I should turn around and give him some privacy, but I don’t move. I can’t. My body seems frozen in place, my breath hitching in my throat as he unbuttons his tight trousers and shimmies out of them, leaving him standing in just his black boxers.

He’s beautiful. Inhumanly beautiful. His wings unfurl slightly behind him, leathery and dark, casting long shadows across the room. They’re massive, strong, and powerful, but there’s something almost graceful about them, like they’re an extension of him in more ways than just physically.

A strange ache settles low in my stomach as I watch him. The air between us feels charged, and my heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. I feel that tug again, that invisible thread pulling me toward him, urging me closer.

Azriel’s eyes meet mine, and they’ve darkened—intense and unreadable, like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. His gaze seems to burn into me, the weight of it making my pulse race, and I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. But it’s impossible, especially when he moves closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps.

“Move over,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I blink up at him, my body too tense to react, but then his lips curve into the faintest smile, a soft nudge to break the tension. “Come on,” he says, softer now, his eyes never leaving mine.

I scootch over, making room for him, though my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. He slides into bed beside me, his body so close I can feel the heat radiating off him, and my breath catches again, the space between us suddenly feeling too small.

Azriel settles beside me, his wings curling slightly around us, cocooning us in a soft darkness. His presence is overwhelming in the best possible way, and as he lies there, inches from me, I can’t help but feel like the world has narrowed down to just us—this bed, this moment.

And I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

Azriel shifts closer, the bed dipping beneath his weight, and before I can react, his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him. My heart stumbles in my chest, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s so close—closer than I’ve ever been to him. His warmth seeps into me, the solidness of his body pressing against mine in a way that feels both comforting and electrifying at the same time.

I should pull away, should give him space. But instead, I melt into him, my body fitting against his as if we’ve done this a thousand times. The scent of him—night-chilled air, cedar, and something uniquely Azriel—fills my senses, grounding me and setting me alight all at once.

His breath is warm against my hair, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand. I’m not sure what to say, how to fill the space between us now that we’re like this, but then his voice breaks the silence, low and rough.

“You shouldn’t have to sleep alone if it’s that bad.” There’s a hint of something deeper in his words, something that sends a shiver down my spine. His thumb begins to trace slow circles along my waist, and I swear I can feel each stroke burning through the thin fabric of my clothes.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s not just the nightmares…” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t know why I said it—why I feel the need to bare the truth of what’s been gnawing at me. But now that the words are out, I can’t take them back.

He tenses slightly, his arm tightening around me. “What else is it, then?” His voice is softer now, but there’s a heaviness to it, like he’s afraid of the answer.

I hesitate, my pulse racing. The air between us seems to thrum with something unspoken, something that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long I don’t know how to let it out. But lying here, wrapped in his arms, with the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I feel braver than I have in a long time.

“I sleep better when I’m with you,” I whisper, the admission barely audible, but I know he hears it. I feel his breath catch, the shift in his body as my words sink in. “Last night… it was the first time in ages I didn’t wake up in a panic.” My heart is pounding now, and I can feel the flush spreading across my cheeks. “Being near you… it calms me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve said too much. If I’ve crossed a line. But then, slowly, Azriel moves, his fingers tilting my chin so I’m looking up at him.

His eyes are dark, swirling with emotions I can’t quite read, but there’s something there—something raw and intense that makes my breath hitch. His thumb brushes along my jaw, and I lean into the touch without thinking.

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. His thumb strokes my skin again, almost like he’s testing the waters, and I feel that ache in my chest grow sharper. “I didn’t know it was like that for you.”

I blink up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Azriel, I—” My voice falters, my throat tightening as the weight of what I’m feeling crashes over me. I’ve kept these feelings buried for so long, locked away because it never felt like the right time, because I didn’t think he’d ever see me like that. But now, with him holding me like this, the truth feels too close to keep hidden.

His hand moves to cup the side of my face, his touch so gentle it makes my heart ache. “You never have to hide from me,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability I’ve never seen before, and it takes my breath away.

My chest tightens, and I take a shaky breath, feeling the tug in my heart pulling me toward him, drawing me in. I don’t know if it’s his shadows or something deeper between us, but every part of me is screaming that this is where I’m supposed to be—here, with him.

That tug in my chest tightens, and suddenly, I know.

It’s not just attraction. It’s not just this bond between friends, or the warmth of being close to someone who understands me. It’s something more. Something I can’t deny anymore, no matter how hard I try.

“Azriel…” My voice is shaky as I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. “Do you feel that?”

His hand moves from my waist to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. He nods, his jaw clenched, as if he’s struggling to find the right words. “I’ve felt it for a while now,” he admits, his voice low, almost hoarse. “I just didn’t know if it was real. If it was possible.”

I swallow hard, my heart racing as the realization settles between us. It’s not just a pull, not just a bond forged in battle or friendship. It’s deeper than that. Stronger. My emotions have always been sharp around him, heightened in ways I couldn’t explain, and now I understand why.

We’re mates.

The thought crashes into me like a storm, and I see the same realization flicker in his eyes. His breath hitches, and for a moment, he looks at me like he’s afraid to believe it, afraid to hope. But I feel it—the undeniable truth, the connection between us that’s always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I didn’t want to push you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s always been there. That pull… every time I’m near you, I feel it. Like a part of me is tethered to you.”

My chest tightens, and I bite my lip, trying to steady my racing heart. “It’s the same for me,” I admit, my voice small but certain. “Whenever you’re close, I can feel it. Like you’re part of me.”

His thumb strokes my jaw again, and I shiver at the touch, my skin tingling under his gentle caress. “I thought I was imagining it,” he says quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. “But now… now I know.”

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against mine, and the warmth of him, the strength of him, floods through me. “We’re mates,” I whisper, the words heavy with meaning, and his grip on me tightens as he exhales shakily.

His eyes darken, and I see the raw emotion there—the longing, the need, the fear and hope all tangled together. “I never thought…” His voice breaks off, and he shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I never thought I’d be this lucky.”

I feel a soft tug in my chest, that same pull toward him, and without thinking, I press my lips to his cheek, just a gentle touch, barely there. His breath hitches, and before I can pull away, his hand slips to the back of my neck, gently pulling me back toward him.

His lips are on mine in an instant, and the world falls away.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if we’re testing the waters, but it deepens quickly, becoming something more. It’s not just a kiss—it’s the release of everything we’ve held back for so long, all the unspoken feelings, the quiet longing, the need to be close. His hand slides to my waist, pulling me tighter against him, and I can feel his heart beating wildly beneath my palm.

I melt into him, my body pressing against his as his wings flare behind him, cocooning us in shadow. His lips move against mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it, and I can’t help the soft sigh that escapes me as I kiss him back with everything I have.

It’s not enough. I want more. I need more.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, and I can see the same hunger in his eyes that I feel in my own chest. His forehead presses against mine, and his voice is a ragged whisper when he speaks.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along my lower lip. “Wanted you for so long.”

I close my eyes, my heart full to bursting, and I press my lips to his once more. “I’ve wanted you too,” I whisper back, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “I think… I think I’ve always known.”

Azriel pulls me closer, and I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. His wings wrap around us, sheltering us from the world, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel truly at peace. 

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[lucid-loves]

Personally His

Imagine: Simon Riley rewarding the 141’s personal assistant for doing a good job with putting up with him.

CW: MDNI, Smut, Office Sex, Slow and Deep, Praise Kink, Edging

You on his desk, your back arching against the smooth oak as he runs his hands over your hips. Simon Riley loves looking down at you, blouse buttons open, pencil skirt hiked up, new tights ripped to reveal your dripping cunt. Every now and then, his hands will squeeze your thighs hard, making you gasp and quiver before he massages the pleasurable pain away. 

“You’ve been such a good assistant, love~” He praises in his deep, husky voice that never fails to give you shivers. While you were everyone’s personal assistant within the 141 team, Simon was quick to make you his with rewards. This is one of them.

“I’ve never seen my desk so organized. You must’ve spent a long time fixing it for me. Such a good girl~” He continues, spreading your legs further apart to get a better look at you. You whimper, pussy clenching in anticipation for his cock. 

Everyone except Simon had been easy to take care of. He’s been messy, neglectful, and always busy. He’s snapped at you and been curt with you a few times too when you invaded his space. It wasn’t until you saved him from attending court for an unpaid parking ticket that he let you really help him out. 

After that, you’ve been rewarded for your work with flowers for your own desk, lunches on him, and now a good fuck over your hard work.

“S-Simon. . .” You sigh, senses on fire as you feel his tip press against your entrance. You are eager, but also nervous. You glance towards the closed and locked door, your heart shuttering. 

He takes your chin to redirect your attention onto him. His eyes behind the mask gaze at you hungrily. “Don’t worry, love. They won’t be back for a while. You’re all mine.”

His cock plunged into you before you can respond, bottoming out within a second. His hand covers your mouth, muting your near scream as you feel yourself stretch to accommodate his length. Plunging into a sudden orgasm, your body trembles and you struggle to catch your breath. Your hands go over his, gripping hard to try to regain some semblance of control. All you can see are stars.

He feels your pussy tighten around him, soaking him already in more nectar than before. You knew he's smirking under that dark mask. “You cum already, love? Someone must’ve been looking forward to this. Such a good girl~”

Electricity runs up your spine as he calls you the name you’ve been wanting to hear since your first day here. You were his good girl. His good little assistant.

He slowly rocks his hips, forcing you to feel every single inch of him. Forcing you to take him as deep as you can. It takes everything in you not to moan as loud as you want. To scream his name like he's equally yours. The team may have gone to a meeting, but it didn’t mean that passerbyers wouldn’t be able to hear the hot sex behind the door. 

Simon presses his hand against your lower stomach, making sure that you can feel all of him. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. Look at you, taking me so well.”

Your toes curl within your heels as he continues to thrust slow and deep. Biting your lip helps control the desperate whimpers that hung in that back of your throat. Suddenly, Simon thrusts hard, making you release that pretty voice that he has grown to like. Even when you were nagging him to take better care of himself, he wouldn’t want to hear it from anyone else. 

“Sorry for being difficult at the start. Promise to make it up to you, but I wanna hear your moans too.” He admits teasingly, pulling and pushing his hips hard to properly fuck you on his desk. The wet sound of your cunt reverberates throughout the office, making you blush.

You can barely take it anymore. He's fucking you hard, but still slow. You want more. He knows you want more by the way his exposed eyes crinkle with a hidden, devious smile. You had to beg for what you wanted. “P-Please, Simon, more!”

Your begging was only slightly rewarded. He settles your legs on his shoulders and presses your soft thighs down against the polished wood. Gloved fingers dig into your skin, only making you more aroused from his man-handling. But his movements are still only slow, deep, and hard. It keeps you away from another orgasm that you crave so badly. Edging you. While you do want more, you are enjoying feeling all of him please your pussy. 

He enjoys your heat pulling him in as well. Though, he can be a little more patient than you. He wants to make sure that your next orgasm will rock your world. That and he wants to enjoy his time with you before he had to share your attention with his team again. 

“Not yet, love. Be a good girl and be patient while I savor this some more.”

[vernons-girl]

doubts | yoon jeonghan

angst to fluff, wc:0.5k

You were spending some nice quality time with Jeonghan, curled up on your couch and watching a random drama to make the day pass a bit faster.

Usually Jeonghan would always comment the drama with you, that was your little thing, you two would always point out all the stupid things a character would do or say, sometimes if the drama was really bad you would even mute the sound and do your own dubbing to make it funnier than it was.

But tonight there was none of that.

Jeonghan was distant, the only thing you were cuddling was your blanket, not a noise aside from the TV could be heard, he even had the audacity to be on his phone instead of even faking giving attention to what was going on around him.

It wasn’t the first time it happened but you knew that everyone had their bad days so you never thought much of it, you were pretty understanding so you’ve always let it slide, but this time it really hurt your feelings.

And as you were so lost in those thoughts, your walls broke and your eyes starting to water and you breathed out loudly, a shaky and long breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

And this, this caught your lover’s attention, he didn’t think twice and came closer to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and pulling your face eye level to his by softly and carefully putting his hand on your face, fingertips almost shy to make contact with your now warm skin.

“Baby what’s wrong ?” he whispered, as if he was scared to startle you by speaking too loud. 

“Do you even still love me ?” you let out between shaky puffs of air. Jeonghan's eyes widen at your statment, “What ?” he asked in disbelief, “I - Y/N baby where is this coming from ? Of course I still love you. I would not be here otherwise.” he said bluntly, you knew Jeonghan could be harsh with his words sometimes but he was never a liar, he was always honest even though that meants he had to be too blunt from time to time.

But you trusted him, you wanted to trust him and believe that he hadn’t fallen out of love with you. He saw the doubt in your eyes and kept on going, “I know I’ve been kind of a dick these days, I am aware” he said making the both of you slightly chuckle, “And I am genuinely sorry for that but sometimes I just need to close myself off a little, you do that too sometimes but that doesn’t mean you don’t love me anymore, right ?” of course this was a rhetorical question but you still replied with a nod, “See ? I do love you Y/N, more than I ever loved anyone but I have these days where I just want to be with you even though it means just us being in the same room and doing our own thing, I still want to feel your presence because” he brought his face closer to his and said in between every kisses “I - love - you.” which didn’t fail to draw a smile on your face, “I love you too Hannie.” you confessed before kissing him again and pulling him into a hug.

And just like that, the both of you went back to your usual cuddles and comments in front of your drama.

[trashcakery]

In the night, Style fought cold sweats and shivers. His body was regulating after the shock of it all—the bullet wound that tore through muscle and tendon, the loss of blood made worse by their hours-long route to the island, the pain, the unnecessary dip in the water. Style had his back turned to him, but Fadel could hear the labored breaths, the muted clicking of teeth, and quiet groans. It was so uncharacteristic of Style to keep to himself, but Fadel understood now, after seeing him put his life on the line and take a bullet like it was nothing, that he was doing this so as not to burden him. Style’s selflessness was his crowning glory. Fadel could sit and marvel at it for the rest of his life, but in this moment, it broke him. You’re in so much pain. Show me that you’re my 100% in this too. I’m here, aren’t I?

He wanted to reach out, to touch Style’s shoulder—the want playing at his fingertips like needles—but he feared this was a line Style wasn’t ready to cross. That it was too soon for him to love unfiltered.

An hour passed. Just as Fadel began to doze off to the sounds of the night—

“Hold me.”

It was a whisper, barely a breath, but it tore right through Fadel’s gut. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat and quickly but carefully, gently shifted behind Style, pressing his chest and hips against his body. He slid an arm around Style’s waist, took his hand in his, and held him. Style was freezing cold.

“Here,” he whispered into Style’s ear. He tucked his chin over his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Style let out a quiet noise, and Fadel pulled him closer. “Don’t cry, hey. Hold onto me. I’m here,” he said and kissed where he could—the corner of Style’s jaw, his cheek, the side of his mouth. Style’s skin was pale and damp, his pretty black hair plastered to the back of his neck. Fadel buried his face there. Their hearts beat in tandem, fast, anxious, terrified. You look so pale. Fadel’s clothes grew damp too.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he found himself saying.

“Fadel,” Style said back. His fingers clutched weakly at Fadel’s wrist, seeking something solid, something real. It was instinct, not thought—he was too far gone for thought.

Fadel tightened his hold, lips to Style’s temple. “I’m here,” he whispered again, voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Style trembled harder, but this time, it wasn’t just the cold. Fadel felt it—something breaking open, raw and unguarded. The tears burned where they dropped from Style’s lashes to Fadel’s skin. Fadel wanted to pull him even closer, to chase away every shiver, every lingering shadow of pain.

“It’s okay. Here, let’s think about our day tomorrow,” he said quietly, running his thumb over the back of Style’s hand. “You’ll wake me up with another one of your loud surprises. We’ll dress your wound together and see that it’s so much better. We’ll lie down on the beach, put our feet in the water, pace it out. I’ll make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had, teach you how to steer Bison’s boat. I’ll kiss you every minute, okay?”

A faint, “Okay.” Fadel wanted to fucking kill himself.

“Okay. You’re already doing so well,” he whispered. “It’s just this one night, I promise.”

He went on to describe how he intended to take Style on a tour of the island, just the two of them, to tell him secrets no one else knew, not even Bison, about his childhood. There were moments when Style apologized for getting Fadel’s shirt or hands wet, or for keeping him awake through the night, but Fadel kissed him when he did and kept talking about tomorrow.

And finally, after what felt like a thousand heartbreaks, Style’s body went still. He turned, melted into Fadel’s chest, his breath still rough but steadier now, as if—just maybe—he believed him.

For @clemelntine

[distantdarlings]

PARTY MONSTER // m. riddle

RATING: R / 2K words

Mattheo Riddle x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details, though mentioned that the reader is wearing a dress)

+ SUMMARY - You are invited to a Slytherin dorm party but cannot seem to find your friends anywhere. Your search is interrupted when someone else finds you. (Smut)

+ WARNINGS - Language, tension, sensuality, heavy kissing, petting, implied oral sex but not described, dom!Mattheo

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Party Monster - The Weeknd

---

The music overhead pounded throughout the stone halls. Dark green and blue lighting was strung from every possible hanger that could be found. A few green-flame candles hung suspended in the air above your head. The entire enormous room was coated in the house’s rich color.

Frankly, you were surprised none of the staff had been called down to see what the hell was going on. You figured one of the older students had put some kind of muting spell around the whole common room to keep everything private. The Slytherin common room was vast and intricately decorated. You’d only been inside of it a few times. Though students were not supposed to go into common rooms other than their own, you had been snuck in a couple of times for study sessions with some of your Slytherin friends. Because of this, you were a bit more comfortable finding your way around. 

You weaved through the dancing crowd, brushing past sweating, swaying bodies. You were dressed just about like everyone else but you still worried you stood out like a sore thumb. The general feeling of not belonging made you a bit nervous. Nobody had ever told a professor when you had been in here before but you couldn’t help but keep your head down as you looked for your friends. 

Since there were no classes tomorrow, you had agreed to come to this party, though you were now wondering if it was a mistake. The burning stench of firewhisky found its way to your nostrils, making your eyes water slightly. Somehow in your journey to track your friends down, a glass of the strong stuff found its way into your hand. You sighed in defeat and raised the cup to your lips. Hopefully, it hadn’t belonged to someone else.

After another few minutes of wandering aimlessly, you had just about given up on finding your friends when a set of long, dark fingers slid their way around your waist to the front of your stomach. You laughed at the slightly ticklish feeling and turned around.

“Emily, I’ve been looking—oh!” The smile on your face faded. Before you stood the exact opposite of your best friend. A darkened boy with an intoxicated smirk on his face. His eyes hung low almost like he was tired and his lips appeared slightly swollen. The hand not around you cradled a full-sized bottle of firewhisky. You willed your eyes not to widen as he tilted the ashen bottle back. His lips curled determinedly around the mouth of the glass container, the suction from his drinking forming a dark bleed around his lips. So that was why his lips were so swollen, you thought. Your eyebrows screwed together as you pushed that thought away from your mind.

“My name is not Emily,” the boy smirked, his hand falling away from your waist as you turned. 

“I know that—I’m sorry, I thought you were my friend,” you tried to explain. You struggled to pull your eyes away from his black ones, yet no matter how hard you tried, they just seemed to drag you deeper into them. 

“You know who I am?” he asks. You knew who he was. Mattheo Riddle. He was infamous within the walls of this castle. Everyone knew who he was. They knew his attitude, his friends, or his body and you happened to know all three. By acquaintance, anyway. A girl that sat behind you in your Herbology class had—apparently—slept with him a few months ago and had managed to describe everything about him. She, fortunately, did not leave out a single detail and that, along with seeing Mattheo in the hallways on the way to class, had been the subject of your fantasies for a while now. 

You finally pulled your eyes away from his and looked down at your painted nails. He got around often and quickly and you knew that. He wasn’t actually interested in you, he—

His fingers gently slipped beneath your chin. He tilted your face up to look back at his. Your eyes fluttered as you struggled to not look away. It was honestly hard to look straight at him. The expression on his face and the firewhisky beginning to broil in your system started to make this whole situation seem better and better. What had you been saying? He wasn’t actually interested in you? He was just a player?

His tongue slipped between his lips to gently wet them. He never broke eye contact with you. Your eyes glanced down at the bottle in his free hand. He caught the change in your line of vision and chuckled darkly.

“Head back, love,” he cooed, pushing your chin back slowly and raising the bottle. 

You were not going to fuck this boy.

***

His room was dark and smelled lightly of candle smoke and something rather…earthy. Mattheo walked past the extinguished fireplace on the left wall and further into the room. You felt his fingers unfurl from yours as he tossed his wand onto the bedside table, the wooden object hit the surface with a clatter. He whispered something and the fire to your left erupted in flames. It was bright and too warm for your liking but the boy it illuminated was cut like David.

Mattheo walked back over to you. His softly carved fingers traced slowly up your arms. Though you wore a long-sleeved dress, you could still feel the boy’s fingertips through the material. A shudder passed through you as his eyes found your lips. 

He pressed his hand tightly against the small of your back, pulling you close against his body. You recognized this position as the one that he had done while he was dancing out in the common room only moments before. Your hips melded against Mattheo’s as you let him roll you back. You closed your eyes as you allowed Mattheo to support you, your hands clutching the collar of his white shirt. You felt your back crane against his hand, as the boy pressed his head in the crook of your neck. You hid a smile as your fingers slid in his curled hair. His lips and tongue found purchase against your soft skin. Your fingers tightened in the strands and didn’t release when he groaned against your neck. 

It was endearing how Mattheo seemed to incorporate sex into everything, but you knew it was probably more of a teenaged-boy-hormone thing rather than an artistic thing. Mattheo was an experienced boy, that much was clear, but you weren’t. You’d never gone further than kissing but the way that Mattheo moved your body within his hands made you feel like you’d always known. Like you’d always felt that rhythm that Mattheo kept in his body. Maybe that was a bad thing, but at this moment you didn’t care. Mattheo’s lips against your skin and the firewhisky in your blood seemed to dull a lot of caution.

He pulled you as close to him as you would go. Your lips trembled as the boy walked you backward to his bed, molding his red lips against your chest. You weren't sure how you felt about this, feeling a boy's touch and wanting more. If your parents knew what you were up to right now, they'd murder you but this was your small way of rebelling against them. You were a young student, for Merlin’s sake, you figured it was time for you to have a little fun. Being magical was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, but now you wanted to experience a little bit of mundanity as well. No magic, no spells, no potions, just your bodies moving together.

"K—" you breathed out, your chest shuddering beneath the pressure of the other's closeness.

"What?" Mattheo asked, his eyes flicking up to yours.

You looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into them. You wanted to fill the brunette's arms wrapped around you and his cold lips on your chest. You wanted to feel his heartstrings wrap around your throat and suffocate you. You no longer cared about any consequences at the moment, you just wanted him.

"Kiss me." 

Mattheo exhaled shakily and pressed his lips to yours, holding your face in place with his firm fingers. You wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to be closer to him in any way possible. 

You felt Mattheo’s hands fall away from your back and slip beneath the underside of your thighs. You let out a gasp as he lifted you off the ground and pressed you to the wall just beside his bed. The feeling of the stone behind you and Mattheo’s rough body in front of you made you shudder with delight. Your legs tightened around his waist, pressing his belt buckle tightly against you. Black spots appeared at the corner of your eyes.

The brown-haired boy's lips melded perfectly with your own, allowing you to see that this was what you wanted. 

You unwrapped your legs from the other's tight waist, placing your feet gently on the floor. You pushed Mattheo backwards and over to the bed. The boy fell against it and allowed you to straddle his hips.

“Baby,” he let the word slide out slowly as your hips slid against his. His head tilted back against the bed, exposing his throat so perfectly to you. You laid down against him and bruised his throat. If Mattheo was a player, you were the end to that. Every touch and whisper of a breath against his bare skin had him keening for you like you were oxygen and he was drowning. 

He pulled your lips back to his own, feeling the way your chest pressed so beautifully against his own. You let out a small moan at the taste of Mattheo’s tongue.

He brought his fingers up to your hair, burying them within the soft strands. Your chest rumbled against Mattheo’s at the feeling of the boy gently tugging on your hair. He chuckled meanly at the reaction he pulled out of you. His fist suddenly closed tightly around your hair, yanking your head to the side. You whined at the sudden pain in your scalp as he rolled the two of you over.

The brunette's hands quickly traveled down to your waist, pulling the hem of your dress up to your waist. His nimble fingers found their way to the thin panty straps on either side of your hips. The white lace contrasted gorgeously with his honeyed skin as his fingers curled the fabric tightly within themselves.

“Don’t rip those,” you growled when the tension being applied to the fabric started to become too much. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he responded in the same tone.

“Mattheo, I’m serious—they were fucking expensive,” you gripped the hair at the front of his scalp, holding his head back to look you in the eye.

“All for me?” he whispered, his fingers still not releasing the straps of fabric. 

“All for whoever was going to get it tonight,” you joked, warning him with your eyes. “You think you’re special?” 

His eyes darkened at my words. I was lying through my teeth. He was special and, truly, had been the reason you dressed up for tonight. You’d already been crushing for months, so you figured it was time to try and act on it a bit. If it didn’t work, you’d drop it and move on. But if it did… 

“Nobody else out there would ever make you feel like I would,” he growled, his fingers snapping the fabric finally. You yelped in protest at the beautiful torn fabric settling on either side of you.

“You dick—”

“Shut the fuck up—I’ll buy you new ones,” he settled himself between your thighs. “Won’t be the first time I do it either.”

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous comment, trying your best not to just kick him right where he was. He was goddamn annoying but, fuck, did he look good down there. His eyes watched you closely, his head tilting slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

“Wondering if I go and get Blaise, this will go any faster,” you smirked, knowing that would rile him up. His smile faded and his eyes darkened once more. He gripped the back of your thighs roughly, digging his fingernails into your fleshy skin, and yanked you to the edge of his bed as fast as he could. 

“We’ll see if you still want Blaise by the end of tonight.”

[coloursflyaway]

Hi there, I’m not sure if you taking dbda prompts anymore, but I’ve recently fallen in love with your hurt comfort fanfics and your writing style in general. If you want to, I think it would be heartbreakingly amazing if you were to write something where Charles sees his father again (either like his father comes into the agency looking for help, not knowing that Charles works there or like they go to visit him and Charles’s mum) and the kind of anger and hurt it brings up in Charles and then Edwin ✨comforts✨ him

You don’t have to, but know I would read the hell out of this if you did :)))

Hi anon ♥

Thank you so much for the prompt, I am sorry this took forever and a day, but here you go!

I went into a slightly different direction, but I always wondered what would happen if Charles told Edwin about watching his parents in the mirror, so I thought I would combine those things.

It’s something Charles never thought he would be able to share with Edwin, and yet, somehow, here they are.

At least they are in the agency, he reasons with himself as he touches a fingertip to the mirror, willing it to change its image. By now, it should be second nature – he has done this countless times before, after all – and yet, he feels strangely nervous, like it might go wrong, show a different house, a different living room, a different set of people watching TV. Like the act of showing Edwin could somehow make it not work.

But then, the mirror ripples and the agency fades; instead, there are Christmas lights and his mum wrapped in a burgundy blanket, a glass of wine in her hand as she flicks through the channels with the other. His dad, next to her, is reading something, and just like it does every time, Charles’ heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

For years, he hasn’t been able to make out just what he feels for his father, thirty-odd years away from his scolding, his belt, his words of kindness strewn in between. He still isn’t certain, but it is clearer: there is anger, there is pain, there is love, nonetheless.

“So, this is what you did when you asked me to give you a few minutes alone?”, Edwin asks next to him. Careful, as if he was handling fine china; Charles loves and hates it at the same time. “I never even suspected.”

“Well, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it?”, Charles replies, half a laugh tacked onto his voice, so Edwin won’t be able to tell how strangely difficult this is for him. Shouldn’t Edwin next to him make it better, less confusing?

After all, while those people in the mirror are his parents, it’s Edwin, who is his family.

“I suppose”, Edwin concedes, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “I just- you could have told me, Charles. I might not have understood, but I never would have judged you for it.”

And maybe, Charles knew that on some level, yet hearing the words breaks something open in him, something that feels ancient and yet new.

“I-”, he starts, watching his father put down the book and say something to his mother, who gives him a tired, well-worn smile. Not dismissive, but only half-listening anyway, like it is a conversation they have had a thousand times. “It’s just-”

And all of a sudden, he is crying.

Tears spilling down his cheeks that feel like they have been waiting within him so long they must have died with him, thick and hot in the muted way only ghosts can feel, dripping down Charles’ chin and evaporating before they touch the ground, his shoulder’s shaking as he tries to suppress sobs that rival earthquakes.

“It’s just-”, he tries again, and hears the moment Edwin realises what is happening instead of seeing it: the world is clouded by a new shower of tears.

“Charles”, Edwin gasps and then there are arms around him, thin and yet the most secure thing Charles has ever felt, pulling him against Edwin’s chest, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, the other pressing firm against his spine. “Oh, Charles… if I had known… you didn’t have to show me, I didn’t want you to-”

“No, it’s-”, Charles tries and fails to get out, hiding his face against Edwin’s shoulder. This, at least, he knows, is real; this is forever. “It’s-”

“Shh, it’s fine”, Edwin tells him, slender fingers brushing through Charles’ curls in a way they never have before, and Charles loathes it, loathes himself and his father and the tangled mess of emotions in his chest for stealing this from him. This should have been a tender moment, just them and the intimacy they are slowly building between them. “I shouldn’t have asked, I should have known there was a reason why you did not share this with me before. I am sorry, Charles, I truly am.”

“It’s not that”, Charles finally forces from his lips, words half drowned in sobs; Edwin hugs him harder, and Charles knows that he could fall apart in Edwin’s arms so, so easily. “I should hate him, I want to, but I can’t.”

And that’s… it.

There are a hundred other things as well – fear for his mother’s safety, the pain of missing her, the ache he sometimes feels when thinking about his old room – but then there is the image of his father, smiling at him across the dinner table overlayed with him snapping the belt against his palm, violence in his eyes and the line of his mouth and the muscles bulging in his arm. The same man, and yet unrecognisable.

“Oh, Charles”, Edwin breathes into his hair, so soft, another first touch stolen. “It’s alright, it’s okay. I understand. And I don’t think any less of you for it.”

Another sob, wrenched from somewhere deep, deep within Charles, and he clings to Edwin like he’s the only thing left keeping him upright.

“And if it helps”, Edwin adds a moment later, fingers still stroking slowly through Charles’ curls, “I’ll hate him enough for the both of us.”

And perhaps, he is.

[mcondance]

i love you caspian 😞

caspian would be so gentle with his girlfriend…… you insist on going on his travels with him because you don’t want to leave him alone, as you know how in his head he gets at times……… so you set sail with him……… and he’s so sweet to you on board…….. i would say you don’t lift a finger while you’re there, but caspian knows you’re not the type to just sit still while everyone else is bustling around you. and, you like sailing. so he lets you help with whatever you want to help with. he’s still worried for you though, especially when he can’t see you, so he pulls drinian and reepicheep to the side on your first day at sea and tells them “look out for your lady.” drinian and reepicheep oblige. especially reepicheep, as he splits his time between helping with the ship and perching on your shoulder as you pick up whatever task you see left undone.

at times, caspian’s so overwhelmed by your beauty that he stops what he’s doing and just stares. “look at our king,” the crewmates whisper when they catch him watching you again, “he’s in love.”

and at night, when reep’s on watch, and drinian’s looking over the map, at night when things are quiet and calm, you find yourself in caspian’s lap in his quarters, your pink, flowy nightdress bunched in his lap with his hands seemingly all over you. caspian’s level-headed, and he’s a man of control and wisdom, but watching you enjoy yourself doing something he loves endlessly tightens his chest and causes him to turn over and pepper kisses and praises along your jaw until you end up here, rocking back and forth with the motion of the ship.

“you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he’s speaking, but it’s like he’s inside your mind, because it’s so much and you couldn’t respond even if you tried your hardest. all he gets back is a whine and another sway of your hips, but it’s enough for him. hearing his princess feel good because of him is more than enough. in a while, a long while because you two could kiss and touch for hours, he’ll finally slip your underwear off with his lips still pressed to yours, and slip in like that.

“oh, caspian,” you gasp when the head of him notches against your entrance, and caspian swears he feels you trying to suck him in.

“yes, my love?” he asks as he slips in just a bit, his arm braced around your back, his devoted eyes fixed directly on your divine face. at your whine, he feels his heart melt even further in his beating chest. further down you slide, whimpering all the while, until you’re flush against him.

like this, you and caspian stay, for a while. it’s always been like this, there’s never been a rush to move to the next stage, and you and caspian quite like this one. slowly, you find that the slow rocking of the ship provides soft, muted stimulation, and caspian’s heart swells as he realizes that two of his greatest loves are working in tandem now.

“my love, my right hand, my companion,” he all but moans into the soft fabric of your nightdress. when he thinks about how much he loves you his mind bends. you nod at every declaration, gazing into his eyes and finding love reflected back at you. when he’s like this, he can’t stop himself from waxing soliloquies to you. “i’ve travelled so many seas, seen lands so beautiful, but none have been as beautiful as you. aslan has blessed me so.”

in the midst of his admissions, you both begin to move slowly, and still his mouth drips milk and honey.

“i love you,” you confess, and a groan rips out of his chest, “i love this, i love sailing with you, i love watching you lead, i love you.”

“we can do this until aslan calls us home. i’ll take you as far as you want. i promise- i swear i’ll show you beauty you’ve never seen before. but none will hold a candle to you. nothing will ever be as beautiful as you.”

at times you wonder what you did to deserve a love like this. caspian wonders the same. his thanks to aslan are ever-flowing.

in the morning, he’ll wake before you and take pleasure in watching you rest. the soft roll of the ship calms you, and keeps you suspended in sleep. when you wake, with sleep still in your eyes, and climb to the top deck, caspian’s eyes melt when he spots you.

“good morning, high princess!” reepicheep greets you, and caspian thinks he could lose his breath watching you play with reep, your dress flowing in the wind, so graceful and so very beautiful.

sometimes, you help him keep watch. perched up on the upper deck, you rest your head on his shoulder and he intertwines his fingers with yours, and you both watch the sea roll. caspian loves you, narnia, and the sea, and traveling. and here, with you by his side, the sea billowing under him on a voyage to unknown lands, and the title of king, he has all his loves with him.

[sturnlova]

Gonna hear you (M.S)

(Matt Sturniolo x Female reader)

( Warning : Smut of course , fluff, new to writing, long asf sorry i got carried away 😭 , not proofread but when is it? that’s all i think )

( Word count : Around 850 )

( Send requests!!!)

Y/N POV:

I walked in the house shared with Nick, Chris and my boyfriend Matt and placed my keys on the key bowl on the wooden table. I could hear muffled screams saying “You IDIOT!!“ “How’d you mess it up” “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT“ i knew at this point they were playing Fortnite i didn’t know if they were streaming though.

I walked into Nick’s room to say hi as i always do, stumbled my way to Chris’ room and gave him a hi before i walked to matt room. I finally reached matt’s room kissed him on the cheeks and moved his headphones to whisper in his ear “hi pretty boy, how are you you?” he blushed at my words and pressed a button on his keyboard to say “ hi sweetheart i’m good, but better now that your here “ I looked at the camera as he unmuted and waved a quick hello.

His stream was going crazy as they read what our mouths said and went wild over the nick names, it made me giggle.

Time skip

I just finished my shower and left my clothes on matt’s bed well he was still on stream. Fuck. What do. i called matts name as he went on mute and asked “what’s wrong? “ I stepped to show my naked body but still out of frame for them steam couldn’t see me.

All his blood travelled straight to his pants and made an obvious bludge in grey sweatpants, i couldn’t help but giggle at the fact i made him this way.

He turned his camera off and threw me my top but nothing else. He instructed me to his lap, i quickly followed like a dog following the smell of food. He pulled his pants down and jerked his 8 and half inches before allowing his self in me. We have tried cock warming a couple of times it always ended in him fucking me.

He turned the camera on along with the mic, i could hear Nick and Chris talk about how he was such a simp for me. Matt just told them to shut up and continued the game of Fortnite for an hour or two. Every time he would laugh or get angry he would thrust up and make me whine.. i moaned a bit to loud into the mic a bit to many times. fuck i could not stay quiet for the life of me. Matt moved his hands to my hips and squeezed them to tell me to shut it along with his whisper yell“ There gonna hear you”

But holy shit i couldn’t handle it, i started to grind on him and didn’t stop, matt turned his camera and mic off and told me if i didn’t stop his gonna end up fucking me.. but shit that didn’t sound like a bad idea ?? He turned everything back on and i continued doing my actions. Matt game skills were shit at this point, i could hear Nick say “ Matt are you feeling okay? your game is worse than mine lmao 🤣” Matt responded with “ actually i’m not feeling that good, ima head off now..” They said there byes and matt said bye to chat and turned discord call off along with twitch.

Matt took me off his lap and spoke into my ear “ you wanna be a slut and want my brothers and over 20k people hear you moan? knowing they are gonna hear, than your gonna get fucked like one.” the way he spoke just made me get wetter to the point were i was leaking onto my thighs since i had no underwear one.

He gave me no warning and thrusted into me.. he didn’t need to stretch me as he already cock already did the job. Fuck the speed he was at was a speed that i’ve never experienced, but holy shit i loved it. I was begging under him, screaming his name like a chant.

After 3 orgasms and Matt not stopping i couldn’t even moan i just had my mouth in a ‘o’ shape and heavy loud breaths. I couldn’t take it anymore and matt saw it on my face and spoke “ you can take it i know you can, i can take it so can you, plus remember you’re the one who couldn’t wait, one more baby please baby i know you got this” i really couldn’t. Shit after he kept going i couldn’t do it i screamed out safe word “ketchup” repeatedly. i know it’s a silly safe word but it worked.

Matt stopped immediately and was so worried asking if i was okay and if he went too far, I reinsured him telling him i was okay and that i was more than okay i just couldn’t handle the over stimulation. Matt hurried off to the bathroom and grabbed a wet hand towel to clean me up and then cleaned him self up.

Matt checked his phone and saw 3 messages from chris …

[dearly-somber]

just keep swimming | h.dm

-> pairing. non-idol!dongmin x f reader

-> genre. unrequited love, pining, swim athletes!au, high school!au

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1124

-> warnings. None!

-> a/n. I finished this a while ago but was too lazy to format, sorry y’all 😔

-> bnd ficlet, oneshot & series m.list

-> started. May 18th, 2024 @ 20:02

-> fin. Wed., Nov. 27th, 2024 @ 02:14

-> edited. Sat., Nov. 30th, 2024 @ 13:57

-> divider credit. @strangergraphics

The fact that you and Dongmin are both top athletes for your school’s respective swim teams means you see each other often.

Which also means you have to fight back the urge to drown yourself every time he does anything even remotely attractive, because anytime he does you feel yourself falling deeper into the hole that is your years-long unrequited crush.

It’s unfair, really. You not only have to see him shirtless every other day of the week, you also have to see him wet. You have to share a training space with him and watch on your breaks how his shoulders move when he swims; how he shakes out his hair once he’s surfaced the water.

And that cocky ass smile he gets whenever he’s beaten his record… You could drown yourself just thinking about it!

“You still in there?” Aria asks with a knowing laugh, taking a towel to her neck and down her arms. You give her a pained half-smile that has her shaking her head and laughing just a little harder, grabbing your own towel with a deep sigh.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask with a pout, pulling your hair out from under your swim cap. You ruffle the wet curls until they fall over your shoulder, pulling your towel over your shoulders as Aria does the same.

“Painfully,” she agrees, shoving into your side with a teasing smile. “Why don’t you just talk to him about it?”

“And face rejection after years of pining? I’d rather lose a race.”

Aria raises a brow. “That serious, huh?”

You sigh and nod dramatically, yelping as you stumble forward a bit when one of the boys bumps into you. You turn around to glare but find your eyes widening at the sheepish smile on Dongmin’s face.

He shoots a thumb over his shoulder at Kim Donghyun, certified alien and also Dongmin’s best friend, tattling, “It was him.”

You nod mutely, grabbing Aria’s arm and dragging her along a little faster, your cheeks warming like you’d been stuck in a sauna for the last hour and a half.

“Hey, Y/N?” Aria waits until you hum and turn to her before she leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “you’re hopeless.”

You hiss and smack at her arm, shaking your head even though your chest pangs at the truth in her words.

Things were a lot easier before he started talking to you. It’s much harder to ignore the object of your affection when said object-of-affection makes you feel so seen.

•••

“Y/N, wait up!”

Your eyes widen and you nod dumbly, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear. You pull your duffel tighter over your shoulder, your throat dry now that Dongmin’s standing next to you with a shy half-smile.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you?”

“No!” You wave your hands, laughing softly as you turn away from him and clear your throat. “Not at all…”

“That’s good,” he says, trailing off and walking in silence for a second before saying, “I just thought you might want someone to walk with, since Aria wasn’t here today.”

Your eyes widen in surprise.

He chuckles sheepishly, ruffling his hair. The wet strands stick up in all directions, and it takes everything in you not to reach out and fix it for him.

“I just thought I’d offer some company,” he mumbles. “I’ve never really seen you with any of the other girls, so…”

“That’s really sweet of you, Dongmin. Thank you.”

Your heart flutters dangerously as you send him your most sincere smile, looking away when he waves you off with a bashful grin. “It’s nothing,” he assures you.

“Where’s Donghyun? You guys usually walk to the showers together,” you comment, trying to keep your voice casual.

“Ah.” Dongmin laughs, his eyes scrunching up with the force of it—your stomach flips in response. “He’s got the shits.”

“What?” you laugh, unable to bite back the ugly snort that leaves your lips at his deadpan delivery.

Dongmin laughs with you, his smile warm enough to evaporate the water on your skin. “He ate a cup of Buldak ramen on a dare last night. He’s really bad at eating spicy foods, and I think he overdid it, so his stomach had some complaining to do.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Boys. The things you’ll do for a game.”

Dongmin scoffs. “Like girls are any better. I’ve seen chicks do some weird shit.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, playfully squaring up with him. “Like what?”

“Well, I once saw a group of girls in T-Rex costumes dancing to We’re All In This Together in the middle of the cafeteria because they lost a bet, so—”

You pick your mouth up from the floor, shivering at the secondhand-embarrassment and giggling at the afterimage in your mind. You tend not to hang out around the cafeteria (mostly because Aria is sick of you staring wistfully at the men’s swim team table), so it’s not surprising you weren’t there to witness what must’ve been an amazing act of friendship.

“That’s awesome,” you agree, nodding as the two of you continue walking, eventually reaching the separate washrooms, where a group of young men are exiting right as a giggly group of girls are heading inside.

“Welp,” you sigh. “I guess this is where we part ways.”

Dongmin laughs, “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for walking with me.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

He smiles a smile so soft you feel like wrapping yourself up in it. “Anytime,” he says.

And with that, he gives you a two-finger salute, turning on his heel and disappearing into the men’s washrooms.

You stand outside for a little longer, biting down on your lip to stop an idiotic smile from forming on your face. You exhale to calm your racing heart and head inside to wash up, your feelings a little more cemented than before…

•••

But in the end, you lose. A few days after the last competition for the season, right when you’ve mustered the courage to finally confess, Dongmin posts a picture of him and Lee Chaeryeong kissing.

My one and only.

“It’s okay,” Aria tries to comfort you, rubbing your back as you sit numbly in the middle of the bed, your crossed legs going numb and phone slipping between your fingers. “Dongmin’s not the only guy you’ll ever meet, yeah? There’s plenty others who’re dying to get with you!”

You manage a tiny nod before turning into her shoulder and sobbing.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, you think. You never really knew him, and you were never really anything beyond acquaintances. But it does.

You are breathless, and you are heaving for air, and you are drowning.

[deputyrook]

Chocolate- [Or: how Rook, many years before she was Rook, met Viago de Riva and enlisted in Antivan Crow training.] [Or: why she prefers cioccolata calda to coffee.]

Law of equivalent exchange, every time I post something that took me hours to write, I have to also post something fun that I wrote in 20 minutes. This is that. Written as a character study piece for my Rook, Mina de Riva ♥

TW: Discussions of slavery, forced blood magic. A newly freed slave is talked into becoming an assassin which is arguably a little problematic.

“What’s this?”

The assassin looks at her like she’s a child, or else very stupid.

“It’s chocolate,” He says, deadpan, “You’ve never had it? It’s sweet. Eat.”

Mina studies the food for a moment. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be willing to eat food given to her by an assassin that she met less than 24 hours prior. But it’s been an odd day.

“If this kills me, I’m coming back to haunt you,” she grumbles. 

“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t waste my poisons,” the assassin sounds a little offended at the notion.

Breaking off a small piece of the ‘chocolate’ and popping it in her mouth, Mina chews thoughtfully before concluding-

This is the best thing she’s ever tasted.

The assassin watches her with a muted expression. Like she imagines is true for all good professional killers, he seems impossible to read beyond his slightly-grumpy disposition. And yet when she smiles at him and says, “Okay, yeah, this is now officially the best day of my life,” he gives her the smallest smile back.

“It wasn’t already?” He asks, eyebrow raised.

“Well, yes, but this is elevating it.”

With every passing second, the caravan they’ve hitched a ride on draws them further and further from Tevinter. It was one thing to know that she was free, but it’s another to feel it. Soon, she won’t even be able to see the spires and the lights of the city if she turns around to watch them go. 

Curled up cross-legged in the back among a bunch of crates, Mina watches the assassin from the corner of her eye. He’s sitting on the edge of the caravan, one leg dangling off the back. Mina’s not exactly sure how old she is at this point- maybe fifteen or sixteen- but he’s got to have about ten years on her.

“You never told me your name,” Mina says to the assassin after a moment, swallowing a second bite of chocolate. Even if it hadn’t been over a full day since she last ate, she’d still be scarfing it down. It’s so sweet. She’s never had something so sweet in her entire life- it’s like her taste buds are exploding. It’s great. 

“...Viago,” the assassin replies, a bit reluctantly, “Have you ever been to Antiva before?”

Mina shakes her head, and he continues. “There are shelters that I can take you too, for people who don’t have homes. Not nice, but better than what you’re used to, I’d wager. We tell no one you were a slave. You cover up your scars. You used the last of your wages to pay for my escort. Do you understand?”

She nods, taking another bite. She likes that Viago doesn’t wince around the word slave, like so many of the “sympathetic” humans seem to. They used to cringe when they’d see her, but do nothing. Pity is the last thing she wants.

And if Viago doesn’t want anyone to know that she helped him get into her former magister’s mansion, past the magical wards he’d erected, in exchange for getting her out of Tevinter? That’s fine by her.

At first, all she’d asked for in return for helping the assassin get into the kitchens was her master’s head on a plate. But Viago had stubbornly refused to make that part of the deal- “Doesn’t count. I’ve already taken a contract to kill him.” 

Taking her back with him, to wherever he was headed, seemed like the next best thing.

“I don’t think anyone will come look for me, anyway. The mansion will be in too much of an uproar to worry about missing slaves. And it’s not like there’s a long list of people who knew me in Tevinter to begin with,” she grins, a nasty thing, “Shorter now.”

“Do you have any family out there?” Viago asks, and she gives a little shrug, her smile falling. The chocolate is almost finished, but the warmth of it has filled her and her hunger has ebbed, for now. She feels so happy watching the caravan take them over the hills that she could cry.

“Kind of,” She answers after a moment. “I was the youngest of three. My ma sold me to get her and the rest transport out of Ferelden when the Fifth Blight hit.” Mina hasn’t spoken about her mother in years. It stirs an old ache in her chest, the kind of feeling she’d tried to smother. And she’d thought she succeeded. “I was starting to show signs as a mage, so... I guess she figured the Circle would’ve taken me anyway. But mages make for good slaves, y’know? Long as they’re young enough, so they haven’t learned to fight back and cast fireballs. Gives the blood magic an extra kick.”

Mina doesn’t look at the assassin as she wipes at her face. He allows them to sit in silence for another moment, before he asks, “How’d you learn to fight then, if you weren’t trained at the Circle? I saw you with some of those guards.”

Her chocolate was delicious, but she’s reluctant to take the final bite. She wants to hold onto it. Make this moment last. “I pestered an older woman in the Magister’s service to teach me how to read, until she did,” She tells him. “Then I stole some books from the magister’s son on the basics of conducting magic. You’d be surprised what you can pick up, if you pay attention. I sat in on a lot of blood rituals.”

Mina sighs, stretching out her legs before she adds, “I’ve been waiting a long time for an opportunity like today’s to come along.”

Viago makes a thoughtful noise at that, before asking, “What will you do now?”

Honestly, she has no idea. But anything has to be better than where she’s coming from.

“I’ll get a job. I’m a mage, I have skills... I can cook, and clean, and I can read and, well, mostly write well enough. I’ll.. figure something out,” She says. Mina looks down at the last bite of chocolate, wondering if she should maybe save it for later, in case it’s a while before her next meal. Still, she’s surrounded by crates. If she has to, she’ll bust one open and take a peak.

Viago looks at her then, considering. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“…If you were to hone your skills a bit… with a lot of training, especially magical training… well, you’re a bit of a mess right now, but there is potential there.” The assassin is muttering under his breath, casting her a curious look. Mina’s not quite sure what to make of it, so she asks him outright.

“What are you mumbling about?”

“Mina,” Viago says, after another long moment of consideration, “How do you feel about killing people for money?”

She pops the last piece of chocolate into her mouth, and considers it with a smile.

[todorokis-girl]

Hii I have request for a fanfic I wish you can do this. I think the character can be Dazai and y/n can be his gf or just coworker. Y/n will get drown when try save him one of his suicide. Y/n can be die or half death I don't know, it's your choice. If y/n dies, he will feel guilt. I don't know your way to finish this fic but I am sure it'll be awesome. Please see my request! Good time for write!

Hello, and thank you for the request. Sorry it took so long; only now have I been able to sit and actually go through the things I have left to do.

Masterlist

The Depths of Us

The ocean roared against the cliffs, waves crashing with an unrelenting ferocity, as if it sought to devour the very land itself. Dazai Osamu stood at the precipice, his silhouette sharp against the moonlit sky. His overcoat billowed in the wind, each gust tugging him closer to the edge.

He peered down at the tumultuous sea, his dark eyes unreadable. “If the water takes me, will it grant me the quiet I’ve always sought?” he mused aloud, his voice nearly drowned out by the howling wind.

“Dazai!”

Your voice rang out, frantic, cutting through the chaos of the night. He turned slightly, his usual mischievous smirk flickering across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You came,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing.

You stood several feet away, panting from your sprint. “Of course, I came. What the hell are you doing?”

He tilted his head as though the answer were obvious. “Testing a theory.”

You clenched your fists, anger and fear churning in your chest. “You can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “You can’t keep throwing yourself into the void and expect no one to care.”

His gaze softened, just for a moment. “But why do you care?” he asked quietly, almost to himself. “It’s not like I—”

“Because I do!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Because you matter, even if you don’t see it. And because… because losing you would destroy me.”

For a fleeting second, something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before you could name it. He turned back toward the sea, his hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s just water, you know. No different from the rain, the tears people shed, the blood we spill. In the end, it all returns to the same place.”

He took a step forward.

“No!” You lunged toward him, panic surging through you like lightning.

The gravel under his foot crumbled, and he slipped. Time seemed to slow as his balance wavered. Without thinking, you threw yourself forward, your fingers just managing to grasp his arm as the two of you tumbled over the edge.

The fall was chaos.

The wind roared in your ears, drowning out your scream, and then the icy embrace of the ocean consumed you. The cold was a shock, a knife slicing through every nerve as the water dragged you down. Your limbs flailed instinctively, fighting against the relentless pull.

Somewhere in the black depths, you felt Dazai’s hand brush against yours before it slipped away. You kicked harder, desperate to reach him—or the surface—you weren’t sure which.

Your lungs burned, your chest screamed for air, but the waves were merciless. They pushed and pulled, spinning you in a disorienting dance until you couldn’t tell up from down. The last thing you saw was the pale glimmer of moonlight above, fading as the darkness swallowed you whole.

When Dazai broke the surface, gasping for breath, the world seemed muted. The stars above blurred, the sound of the waves dulled by the pounding of his heart. He whipped his head around, searching frantically.

“(Y/N)!” he called, his voice raw. “Where are you?!”

And then he saw you.

Floating face-down a few feet away, your body eerily still.

Something shattered inside him.

“No, no, no…” He swam toward you, his movements wild, frantic. When he reached you, he turned you over, his trembling hands cradling your lifeless face.

“Come on,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Not you. Please, not you.”

He dragged you to the shore, every muscle in his body screaming with exhaustion. The moment his knees hit the rocky beach, he laid you down, pressing his ear to your chest. Nothing.

“Damn it!” he shouted, his hands trembling as he began compressions. “You can’t do this to me! You hear me?! You’re supposed to save me, not—” His voice cracked, tears streaming down his face as he worked. “don't leave me!”

He leaned down, breathing into your mouth, forcing air into your lungs. His mind was a storm of thoughts—memories of your laughter, your stubbornness, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth saving.

And then—

You coughed. Violently. Water spilled from your mouth, and you gasped for air, your body convulsing.

Dazai froze, his breath hitching. Then a laugh escaped him—a broken, disbelieving sound that turned into a sob. He pressed his forehead to yours, his damp hair clinging to his skin.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. “Dazai…”

“I’m here,” he said quickly, brushing wet strands of hair from your face.

“You’re an idiot,” you rasped, a faint, wry smile tugging at your lips despite your shivering. “But you’re… worth saving.”

His smile faltered, and his expression crumpled. “What if I’m not?”

You reached up, weakly brushing your fingers against his cheek. “… let me decide that,” you whispered, before exhaustion pulled you under once more.

The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady beeping of the monitors. Dazai sat by your bedside, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed.

You stirred, the motion pulling him from his thoughts. His head snapped up, relief flooding his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

You smiled faintly. “Looks like I am.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you, his gaze searching, as though trying to convince himself you were really there.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“For everything,” he admitted, his hands clenching into fists. “For putting you in danger. For making you think I’m worth this kind of pain.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “Dazai,” you said, your voice steadier now. “You don’t get to decide what you’re worth to me. You’re alive, and that’s enough.”

He didn’t reply, but for the first time in a long while, something in his expression softened.

And as you drifted back to sleep, he stayed by your side, the weight of the ocean still lingering—but now, perhaps, a little lighter.

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

Ficlet: Diavolo x GN MC. Waking Up.

Diavolo woke to the soft whisper of candlelight and the gentle rustling of silk as it shifted beneath him. The world around him was a blur of muted colors, the weight of his body still heavy with the remnants of pain. It was as if he had been submerged in darkness for days, lost in the clutches of an illness that had drained him of his usual vitality. But now, in the dim quiet of his room, something pulled him back—something warm, steady, and familiar.

His eyelids fluttered open, the world slowly coming into focus, and there you were.

Sitting at his bedside, your hand cradled his own, your fingers gently entwined with his as though you had been holding him together while he drifted in and out of fevered dreams. The soft glow of the room wrapped around you like a halo, painting your skin in golden hues. In the stillness of the moment, you looked almost otherworldly, like a figure born of the dawn, waiting to guide him out of the shadows.

“Y-you’re here,” Diavolo murmured, his voice raw from days of silence, but there was something deeper in his tone—relief, quiet and vulnerable. His eyes, though still clouded with exhaustion, were fixed on you, as if you were the only thing tethering him to the waking world.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “I’m here,” you whispered, your voice as tender as the touch of a breeze through autumn leaves. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Diavolo’s heart clenched at your words, the simple truth of them cutting through the lingering ache in his body. For days—he couldn’t quite remember how many—he had been locked in a battle against his own weakness, his fevered mind plagued by the fear that he would succumb, that he would lose himself to the sickness without ever seeing you again. But now, with you by his side, the fear dissolved like mist at sunrise.

“I thought…” he began, his words faltering, heavy with the unspoken. His hand squeezed yours, as if to reassure himself that you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he’d fall back into.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured, leaning closer, your face inches from his. Your eyes held his with such tenderness it made his breath catch. “Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

He wanted to protest, to tell you everything he had been feeling—the frustration, the pain, the overwhelming helplessness that had gnawed at him in the depths of his illness. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he allowed himself to be still, to simply feel your presence beside him, solid and unwavering.

Your hand, still clasping his, was an anchor in the storm of his thoughts, grounding him in this moment of fragile peace. The scent of you—soft, warm, like the earth after rain—mingled with the faint fragrance of healing herbs that lingered in the air. It soothed him, calming the tumult in his chest. As you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, Diavolo’s eyes fluttered shut. The touch of your lips was like a balm, chasing away the last vestiges of fever and pain, filling the space between you with something sweeter, something deeper than words.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

Your hand tightened around his, and when he opened his eyes again, you were gazing at him with a quiet fierceness, a promise written in every line of your expression. “You’ll never lose me,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Diavolo exhaled, the tension in his body finally giving way to a warmth that spread through him, slow and soothing, like the first rays of sunlight after a long, bitter night. He let himself sink into the comfort of the moment, his heart settling into a quieter, softer rhythm.

With you here, beside him, the world seemed to right itself, the pain receding like the tide, leaving behind only the quiet lapping of your presence against his soul. And as your fingers traced gentle patterns along his wrist, Diavolo found himself drifting once more—but this time, it wasn’t into darkness. It was into the safety of your care, into the soft promise of your love, which had pulled him back from the edge.

He sighed, a quiet breath of surrender, and closed his eyes again, his hand still held in yours.

“I’ll rest now,” he murmured, his voice softer, lighter than it had been in days. “As long as you’re with me.”

And with that, Diavolo let the warmth of your touch carry him into the quiet peace of sleep, knowing that when he awoke again, you would still be there, a constant in the turning of the seasons, a light in the heart of his autumn.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fireworks to Firelight

Summary: The long journey has taken its toll on Frodo and his partner. But only together can those glaring wounds of the past heal. Warnings: None For my friend @pixie-skull. Hope you enjoy it! :) A small respite from kinktober for the rest of y'all

In the soft light of an early evening, Frodo and Y/N sat on a wooden bench under a sprawling, ancient oak tree. The familiar sounds of chirping crickets and the distant laughter of children playing in the fields surrounded them, creating a comforting backdrop. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers and freshly baked bread from a nearby hobbit hole.

Frodo absently twirled a small, withered leaf between his fingers, lost in thought. His once bright eyes now carried shadows of memories that haunted him—flashes of fire, darkness, and the weight of the Ring. Y/N noticed the distant look on his face and reached out, gently squeezing his hand.

“Frodo, are you okay?” he asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

He glanced at Y/N, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but the sadness lingered behind his eyes. “I’m trying to be,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… some days feel heavier than others.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the unspoken burdens they both carried. “We did something incredible, you know. We saved Middle-earth.” His words were meant to uplift, but Frodo’s gaze drifted back to the ground, the weight of his experiences still pressing down on him.

“I thought coming home would mean everything would go back to normal,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But every time I close my eyes, I see…” He paused, the images flooding back, the memory of Mount Doom, the fiery chaos, and the darkness that almost consumed him.

Y/N shifted closer, wrapping his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he whispered. “I’m here, Frodo. Always.”

With a deep breath, Frodo leaned into Y/N, finding solace in his warmth. “Sometimes, it feels like the Shire is just a shell of what it used to be for me. The laughter feels distant, and the sunsets… they remind me too much of what I lost.”

————————————————————————

In the cozy warmth of Bag End, the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the familiar, cluttered space. Frodo sat at the small table in the corner, an assortment of pens and brushes spread before him. He had picked up his old hobby of writing again, trying to capture the beauty of the Shire—the rolling hills, the stories they had endured outside its lush borders; but today, the story felt muted. 

Across the room, Y/N was curled up on a comfortable chair, engrossed in a book. The pages turned quietly, but every so often, he would glance up, watching Frodo with a tender gaze. Frodo’s pen hovered over the paper, hesitation gripping him as he struggled to translate the beauty outside into something meaningful. 

“Frodo?” Y/N called softly, breaking the silence. “What are you working on?”

He looked up, forcing a smile. “Just trying to capture the view of Rivendell” he replied, motioning to the half-finished paragraph. The words were there, but they felt flat, lacking the vibrancy of his memories.

Y/N set the book aside and moved closer, leaning over his shoulder to see and read carefully. “It’s beautiful,” he said, their voice gentle and encouraging. “I love the way you’ve captured the light.”

Frodo’s smile faltered. “It doesn’t feel right. I can’t seem to bring it to life like I used to.” He put the pen down, the weight of unexpressed feelings crashing over him. “I think I’ve lost my touch.”

Y/N frowned, sensing the deeper struggle beneath Frodo’s words. “You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to feel… different. Maybe your art needs time to evolve, just like you have.”

————————————————————————

Frodo and Y/N strolled through the peaceful landscape of the Shire, hands intertwined and the warmth of their bond contrasting the weight of memories they carried. The soft glow of the setting sun painted the rolling hills in hues of orange and gold, a reminder of the beauty that still existed in their world despite what destruction they had battled not but mere months ago. That pivitol day on the of Mount Doom still felt vivid despite the fact the Shire had resumed its tranquil rhythm.

As they walked, Frodo glanced at Y/N, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Do you remember Bilbo’s 111th birthday party??” he asked, his eyes twinkling with the reflection of their past.

Y/N chuckled, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his voice. “How could I forget? You snuck me behind the nearest tent and were very intent on kissing me—”

Frodo laughed, a sound that felt like music to Y/N’s ears. “I was! It felt so extravagant, so… adventerous at the time. But it was also magical.”

Their thoughts drifted back to those carefree days before the quest. Nights filled with laughter and stolen kisses under bursting colors, the world seemed boundless then. They had been so young, so enamored, celebrating love with a fervor that felt untouchable. 

Yet now, as they stood together, the shadows of the war loomed like distant thunder. It was a part of them, woven into their souls. Frodo’s eyes reflected a maturity that came with hardship, haunted by a wisdon, and shaped by loss. 

“Sometimes I miss those simpler moments,” Y/N admitted, squeezing Frodo's hand. “But I also cherish how we’ve grown.”

Frodo nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Our love feels deeper now. We’ve faced so much together, and it has changed us.”

As the two settled in front of a crackling fire that evening, the warmth enveloped them like a comforting embrace. Y/N leaned against Frodo, his head propped on the slightly taller man’s shoulder as they read together. 

“Do you think we could ever go back?” Y/N mused, glancing up at Frodo.

“Not to the same place,” he replied, his voice steady. “But we can create new memories. We’ve learned to appreciate the quiet moments even more now.”

Y/N smiled softly as the fire crackled and the stars began to emerge, Frodo gently kissed Y/N, a tender gesture that spoke of everything they had endured and everything that lay ahead. In that moment, under the vast, twinkling sky, they knew their love, though changed, was still an unbreakable bond—a beacon of light in the darkness.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,790

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

You groan and squeeze your eyes tight as you snuggle into the pillow you’re holding, too comfortable to be bothered with whatever is trying to disturb you. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

The noise grows louder, and you scoff as you peek your eyes open, muted sunlight shining behind the curtains of your room. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper as you push yourself upright, pressing a hand to your head as you feel the reverberation in your skull from having a few too many glasses of wine last night. 

After Lisa’s message and your inability to find a backup rental, you definitely drank more than you intended as you attempted to relax on the broken-in couch and tried to focus on the cheesy Hallmark romance you had found on Netflix. But you had failed and drank until you felt sleepy enough to effortlessly pass out in the bed that would be yours for the next month. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You throw the covers off and storm to the door that leads to the bedroom porch. You peek behind the curtain and see the owner standing there, his foot tapping with impatience as he raises his fist to the door again, the morning sun shining bright behind his broad silhouette. 

You grunt and shake your head at the sight before you grab a hoodie and step outside, your toes curling underneath you as they make contact with the frozen wood of the deck. You cross your arms over yourself in an attempt to keep the morning cold from stealing any body warmth as your jaw tightens.  

“Can I help you!” You shout, raising a hand to cover your eyes from the sun as your warm breath appears in front of you. The man turns to face you, seemingly surprised to see you on the opposite deck. He hurries down the steps and takes a few long strides before stopping in front of your porch. 

“How much’s it gonna cost?” He demands, his spiked, brown hair reflecting in the rays sneaking through the bare branches of the trees around you. You squint your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?” You bite back, confusion and disgust deepening your voice. You have no idea what the hell this guy was on, and you take a step back towards the door, ready for a quick getaway if need be. 

“To get you out of here.” He clarifies. “How much?” 

You close your eyes and shake your head. It was far too early for this and you were a tad hungover. It takes a moment for his words to make sense.

“You’re offering to pay me to leave the rental?” He just responds with tight lips and raised eyebrows, seemingly annoyed that you’re just now catching on. The action draws your attention to his eyes, and for the first time, you notice his strikingly green irises, dark like the forest around you in warmer months. 

You cross your arms and think. You wanted out of this situation just as much as he seemingly wanted you gone. Problem was, you had looked into other listings last night, with it being such short notice, prices were high and options were low. Even if he paid off your rental, it was still going to cost you a pretty penny to change spots since Lisa had priced the rental at such a steep discount. 

Which you now knew why. 

Not to mention you wouldn't have access to your apartment until your little “vacation” was over. 

But between the rude wake up call and his bad attitude, you had enough. 

“Look,” You snap and point a finger at him. “I’m not here to be the pawn in your divorce game. I came here to relax. Problem is, every other place I’ve looked at in the area is either sold out or way more expensive than here, and I can’t afford it. You wife-”

“Ex wife-” He interjects curtly. 

“Whatever,” you snarl at his interruption. “Rented this place for a good deal, and considering I don’t have a job right now, I can’t really afford to go somewhere else.” 

“If you don’t have a job, what the hell are you doing here then?” He challenges, crossing his arms and matching your stance.  

“That’s none of your business.” He tsks his tongue and throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. 

“Look,” You lower your voice, hoping a calmer tone will help ease the situation. “Unless you need this house for anything, I promise I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t bother you, and you’ll barely know I’m here. But I already paid Lisa and I don’t have any other options, so you’re stuck with me.”

The man takes a deep breath through his nose and purses his lips.  

“Fine.” He snaps. “Enjoy your freakin’ vacation.” He huffs before he storms away from the porch and back to the main house. You shake your head at his antics.

Like a toddler having a temper tantrum. 

Between Lisa’s bitchy attitude and his man-child behavior, it’s a wonder how those two ever actually liked each other enough to get married. 

But that wasn’t your problem. Since he begrudgingly agreed to let you stay, you decided it was time to finally settle in and actually unpack.

You step inside, your body uncoiling in the warmth of the bedroom. You wander over to your nightstand and tap your phone awake to see it’s 6:54am. 

Actually, you could unpack later, for now, you were getting back into bed.

Dean huffs as he flies back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He really didn’t like the idea of someone staying on his property, especially a complete stranger sent here by his vindictive ex-wife. 

But unless he was willing to shell out cash to get her out of here – cash he didn’t really have considering he was in the middle of a two-year long divorce – he was stuck with her. 

For fuck’s sake. 

Dean runs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. At least she said she would stay out of his way. He never used that house anyways. 

The last time that house was used, Lisa was sneaking in her now fiancé, Gavin. Since then, Dean’s had no real interest in stepping foot inside the guest house, and he wasn’t one for solo hot tubbing. He’s used it a few times with some women he’s brought back in an effort to make himself feel better, but he always took them back to the main house before things progressed.  

Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts and grabs his coffee tumbler and keys and heads back out the way he came, this time locking the door behind him before jumping into his truck and peeling out of the driveway. 

Dean grinds his teeth as he drives through town, his mood effectively soured by the bullshit Lisa decided to throw at him this week. It wasn’t enough that she imploded their marriage, she couldn’t let him live in peace. 

When he pulls into Singer’s Auto Repair, his knuckles are white as he takes his usual parking spot and he slams the truck door shut with more force than necessary, but he doesn’t care as he stomps over to the faded navy building and unlocks the front door, the first one to arrive for the morning.

Which wasn’t a surprise. When Bobby Singer finally decided to retire, he offered Dean a managing partnership in the shop. Dean had been working for Bobby since he was sixteen years old, and after Dean’s father had unexpectedly passed a couple years later, Bobby filled that gap in Dean’s life. So Dean wanted to make sure he made Bobby proud. He was regularly the first one to arrive each morning; setting up the shop with coffee and making schedules for the day. Dean enjoyed the quiet mornings. It gave him time to settle into the day, and also the opportunity to control the radio. 

But this morning was not a usual morning. Instead, Dean trudges around the shop, doing his usual task list but not finding the relaxation the routine typically brings him. 

He decided to get a head start on the first car for the day, giving himself something to focus on that wasn’t Lisa or the woman holding his guest house hostage. 

“‘Mornin’, boss.” Benny’s voice rings out through the quiet garage not long after Dean gets started. “Radio not workin’?” He asks as he settles his belongings into his locker, hanging his newsboy cap that he has an affinity for as he notices the absence of the morning rock show that Dean typically starts the day with. 

“Don’t really feel like music this morning,” Dean grumbles from underneath the car he’s working on, tightening the last bolt on the oil pan before wiping his slicked hands on his coveralls and wheeling himself out from underneath the Nissan Altima that was due to be picked up this afternoon. 

“Let me guess,” Benny smirks down at Dean as he zips up his monogrammed jumpsuit. “Lisa?”

Dean just responds with a shake of his head before heading over to the work sink and washing away the rest of the oil. 

“What she do this time?” Benny continues his own routine, taking a look at the schedule to see where he’s needed first. 

Dean shuts off the tap and rests his hands against the basin. 

“She rented the guest house out on AirBNB or something.” Dean shakes his head. “Some girl is staying there.”

“Whacha mean she’s renting it out?” Benny grabs his toolbox, not letting the conversation distract him from the work that needs to be done as he starts to get set up in front of a Kia Optima that’s almost as old as his tween daughter. 

Dean breathes out a deep breath and turns in his spot, resting against the sink as he crosses his arms, the navy coveralls crinkling at the movement.

“She’s not letting up about getting the property, so she’s decided to annoy me into giving it to her by renting it out. And some fucking lady is renting it for a month!” He throws a hand off his bicep, emphasizing his frustration. Benny just nods his head. 

Benny was a homegrown boy, he was a few years older than Dean – his salt and pepper beard betraying his age – and he’s been around long enough to remember a time when Dean and Lisa were heart-eyed newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He was also there as things began to sour; Lisa stopped coming by the shop more and more, Dean complaining about Lisa almost every day, and when she hammered the final nail in the coffin of their marriage when Dean got home early one day and found her and her boyfriend in bed. 

He’s heard firsthand how petty their divorce proceedings have become, and it didn’t surprise him that Lisa was turning to more creative tactics to get her way. 

“Can she do that?” Dean shrugs.

“No clue. I gotta ask my lawyers, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to run me dry until I’ve got nothing left and have to give in.” Benny sighs, shifting his jaw left to right as he scratches his beard.

“Dean, you sure this is the path you wanna go down?” Benny’s shoulders drop with the question. Dean just licks his lips and looks away. It wasn’t the first time Benny’s tried to convince him to just walk away. But Dean was stubborn and pigheaded. They both knew Dean was going down a bad road dragging on this divorce, but he was refusing to back down. 

“What about the woman staying there?” Benny decides to shift the conversion. “Does she know Lisa?” Dean shakes his head.

“I don’t think so. She thought I was breaking in when I confronted her yesterday. Told me she was gonna call the cops.” Dean huffs in a half laugh at the memory and Benny snorts. 

“I woulda love to seen Jody come down there and try to arrest your ass for trespassing on your own land.” Benny chuckles with a shake of his head and Dean joins him, the tension in the air dissipating. Exactly what Benny was hoping for. 

The side door opens and Linda hobbles in, offering nothing but a grunt and a wave as she makes her way to the front office. Dean and Benny wave back, even though she doesn't bother to face them. She’s just as, if not, grumpier than her younger brother, Bobby. She’s retired five times over the past few years but always manages to find her way back to the office when she “doesn’t feel like sitting on my ass just to wait around and die” anymore. 

As the rest of the crew begins to trickle in, Dean and Benny return to their work and let the day begin.

The clock on the microwave reads 12:59 by the time you finish unpacking and settle into the quaint cabin. You thankfully fell back to sleep for a few more hours, this time awakening to the sounds of the local forest, and not some manic divorcé at the ass crack of dawn. You also managed to sleep off your “wine headache” as your mother referred to it as, which you were grateful for as you weren’t planning on hanging on the couch all day. Sure, hangovers were a hell of a lot worse at 29 than they were at 25, but you were grateful they weren’t totally putting you on your ass just yet. 

As you shove your emptied suitcase into the hallway closet, you decide it’s a good time to head into town and one, explore, two find a good lunch spot, and three, pick up some groceries. It was also a good time because you were starving and had no food other than the morsels of leftovers you had brought up with you that you had pretty much finished for dinner last night. 

You throw on some jeans and a warm sweater, the weather app on your phone showing a meager 27 degrees. You give your hair a quick brush and swipe on some concealer, blush, and mascara before you grab your keys and coat and head out the door. 

You hum along to the local classic rock station as you pull into town, parking spots along both sides of the street only partially full on this Tuesday afternoon. You take the first spot at the edge of town, wanting to give yourself the opportunity to walk the full length of main street.

You tuck your hands into your gloves and pull your beanie over your ears before you venture out, zipping your coat tight against the wind as you begin your stroll, spotting the shops you noticed yesterday when you first drove through. As you continue down the near-empty sidewalks, golden letters hanging onto the red-brick façade catches your eye: BILLIES DINER. The English snob in you scrunches your nose at the missing apostrophe, but it’s the only restaurant you’ve seen so far, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore your growling stomach. So you hurry across the street, taking a quick peek through the store-front window, surprised to see it fairly full, before you step inside, rubbing the cold out of your hands as you wait at the hostess stand. 

The diner isn’t very wide, but it is deep, with booths and tables along the left side and your typical breakfast counter along the right. 

“Sit wherever ya want, hun.” The curvy woman behind the counter calls out to you. Your eyes roam the room, most booths already taken so you wander over to the counter and take a seat at the corner, closest to the door. There are a few barstools between you and the next person, an older gentleman with a stack of newspapers. He catches your eye and you give him a smile, which he returns before continuing his reading. 

A glass of water and a menu appears in front of you, the woman behind the counter greeting you with a smile. 

“Specials on the board,” She points to a chalkboard towards the end of the diner, various colors of chalk spelling out fleeting fares. “Just give me a wave when you know whatcha want.” 

You give her a nod and flip open the menu after she heads to the opposite end of the counter, grabbing the coffee decanter as she goes. You bypass the breakfast pages, heading straight for lunch. For a small place, they sure had a lot of food options; pages of appetizers, sandwiches and lunch entrees to choose from.

A balsamic chicken panini catches your eye and you wave down the waitress, putting in your order with a side of fries and a Diet Coke.

As you wait, you drum your fingers against the laminate countertop and purse your lips, taking in olive walls, walnut furnishings, and upholstery that matches the paint. The walls are decorated with a mix of nature paintings and framed news clippings, mismatched together in no apparent design. Your eyes continue to scan the room when you catch sight of the side profile of one of the patrons; a distinct jaw line, covered in scruff that matches the spiked hair on top of his head. 

Oh shit.

Just this morning you said you would stay out of this way, now here you were showing up where he was having lunch. He was going to start thinking you were following him, or maybe even colluding with Lisa to bother him.

You’re about to turn away, but the bearded man sitting across from him catches your eye and offers a soft smile as he says something across the table. You swallow, quickly turning in your seat just as the homeowner begins to face you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening as heavy footsteps grow closer. You feel someone move next to you, and as you peek one eye open, the homeowner is sitting on the barstool next to you, arms crossed on the countertop. 

“Thought you were going to stay out of my way.” He drawls, his features impassive as his full lips rest in a tight line. As the afternoon light shines in through the front, the green of his eyes 

shimmer and his hair looks blonder than it did this morning. As he sits a mere foot or so away from you, you realize just how strikingly handsome he is. 

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable from his proximity now having realized that the homeowner was actually a babe. God damn. 

“I meant it.” You start quietly and quickly clear your throat. “I was just taking in downtown and it was the only place I saw that had lunch.” His green eyes narrow and you almost miss the tick up in his lips.

“And the only place worthin comin’ too.” The waitress appears again, her bright smile a deep contrast to her umbre skin as she places your meal in front of you. Once her hands are free, she rests one on the counter and the other on her hip as she leans in. 

“Dean, are you bothering the tourists?” She smirks at him and the man, Dean, straightens up in his stool and returns her smile. 

“I’m hoping if I bother her enough she'll up and leave.” He quips with a raise in his brows. The woman frowns at him.

“I’m staying in his guest house.” You clarify, picking up a fry and taking a bite, not being able to resist the smell as your stomach cramps in hunger. “His wife rented it out to me.” You say over the potato.

“Ex-wife.” Dean corrects you again. This time you raise your brows and shrug at the waitress as you enjoy another fry. 

The waitress then turns her gaze on you, and you lower your half-eaten fry under her hard gaze. 

“You’re friends with Lisa?” She asks incredulously, a layer of anger simmering beneath her tone. 

You quickly shake your head.

“Not at all. She just rented the house to me on AirBNB.” You pop the rest of the fry into your mouth, ignoring the hard gaze hitting you from your periphery. “I only know about their relationship status because he keeps telling me about it.” You twist in your seat and meet Dean’s gaze with a lazy smirk as you chew on your fry. His eyes narrow and you watch as his shoulders tense. You may have felt intimidated by him just a minute ago, but now he was ruining your nice afternoon out. He could have just ignored you but he went out of his way to make a scene, so you were happy to give him one. 

The waitress just stares between the two of you slack jawed before throwing up her hands.

“Okay I’m staying out of this. I’ve got a restaurant to run.” She drops her hands. “Nice to meet ya, hun.” She gives you a smile before heading towards the end of the counter.

“Really though, why are you here?” Dean starts again once it’s just the two of you. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious.” You point down to your plate with raised brows and Dean mirrors your annoyance. 

“Look,” You put your thumb up. “First you wake me up at the ass crack of dawn by banging on my door like a lunatic, and now,” A second finger goes up. “You’re disturbing my lunch. I meant when I said I would stay out of your way, but you keep getting in mine.” You just shake your head. If anyone should be annoyed, it’s you. But your mom always told you to be the bigger person. So if it meant wiping the slate clean and having some peace with your pseudo landlord, so be it.

“How about we start fresh?” You smile tightly and reach out your hand. “I’m Y/N. Sounds like you’re Dean. Nice to meet you.” You relax your features, hoping to convey the genuinity in your gesture.     

Dean stares down at your hand, lips ajar before his eyes flick back to you. His tongue darts over his lips as he looks away for a moment before sighing.  “Fine.” He grunts before he pushes off the barstool and returns to his table, your hand still hanging in the air as he takes his seat. You just roll your eyes at his childish antics and turn back to your food, finally digging in as you think, what a fucking grump.

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NEXT TIME:

Dean went to high school with Nick. Grade A douchebag then and grade A douchebag now. He may have even broken Nick’s nose once senior year.  

He’s chatting with someone, definitely a woman.

Poor girl. Dean thinks as Jacob returns with the pitcher, and Dean thanks him. 

Dean heads back to the table, dropping the pitcher right in the middle before, for some reason, he takes a glance back towards Nick. And from this angle, he can see exactly the poor girl he’s talking to. 

Shit. 

It’s Y/N. 

Dean turns away, shaking his head. 

He should stay out of it. He and Y/N hadn’t crossed paths since their lunch run-in a few days ago, and he had planned to keep it that way. 

You’re an adult, and free to chat with whomever you want. Even if he’s a complete dickbag. 

But then he thinks back to a few days ago. How he was a total asshole to you, and he had regretted it. He was better than that. This wasn’t the guy he always was. 

Maybe this was his chance at redemption.

Tag List

Forever 

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213

TGH

@suckitands33 @deans-baby-momma @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @spnbaby-67 @jackles010378 @itsdesiree86 @becca-rebel38 @rizlowwritessortof @deans-spinster-witch @jamerlynn @briagallen @crxstxlxtxs @kazsrm67 @waywardxwords @winchestergirl82 @ladysparkles78 @deansbbyx @rach5ive @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @justrealizedimmascifygurl @justherefortheficandsmut @m-indkiller @sassy-pelican