#is this considered a yours truly moment???

[myladytara]

What Every Man Should Know About Women

1. Women fall in love through a man's words, but they stay in love because of his actions.

2. When a stranger uses intimate terms like "dear," "sweetheart," or "love" towards them, they consider it a turn-off. He may think it flatters them, but they find it cheap and feel like he’s using these terms on any random woman.

3. Before saying "I love you," make sure you understand the meaning, depth, weight, and responsibility of those words.

4. She prefers to reveal herself slowly, so don't push or rush her.

5. Even if she believes in love, you need to show her why she should love you. It is your responsibility to bring her heart out from behind the walls.

6. Only if you are serious will she awaken love within herself.

7. Honesty is the key; no matter how painful or hard it is, always tell her the truth. She will love and trust you even more for it.

8. Women love attention; the moment she notices that you're no longer paying attention to her, she will feel that things between you two are changing.

9. The best gift you can give a woman is your time. You can buy expensive gifts, but if you deprive her of your presence, those expensive gifts won't mean much to her. The indicator of her love is your time.

10. There is a difference between loving and being in love. Her love for you is her personal choice; whether she falls in love with you depends on how well you treat her and how excited you make her feel.

11. Saying that you love her is one thing; showing her love is another.

When a woman loves, she truly loves.

[softidiotsposts]

Anyone Can Cook

as the wise tale of ratatouille states "anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great"

{Hello! Second fic, this time pure fluff for recovery! Warnings: kitchens being messy, mentions of bland food, cooking, mentions of the french and reader is french, picky eaters, incorrect cooking terms (probs) // word count: 2.2k}

masterlist

Leah always mentioned Ratatouille around you, like a little disease that you could never shake. The little blue rat named, Remy, had become a staple in your household- even earning you a nickname based on the rat. She thought herself funny, with you being French and all- even a native Parisian, which apparently made it even more of a gag. One that you didn't enjoy very much.

You didn't get it- the film, while good in a general sense and clearly a children's film- had no idea of what a professional kitchen actually looks like and you liked to point out the serious misconceptions to Leah every time she forced you to watch it.

"Seriously, Lee- I have had enough of this film!"

You grumble when Leah once again picks Ratatouille to watch on your weekly movie night- this makes it twice in a row that she's picked this. Making you absolutely devastated that watching Notting Hill was being put on hold, once again.

You wonder whether revoking her TV rights on film night would fix the problem but then remember that Leah could do absolutely anything and you'd probably let her do it anyway. Even if it's a chef rat based torture.

Still, it's actually getting to the point that you remember practically every single line of the film and the plot never surprises you. Not when Leah insists on watching it all the time.

You don't even think she actually enjoys the film enough to watch it all the time either so it must only be to see your reaction.

"But it's so good- really lets me get the idea of what you do at work," Leah giggles and presses start and the obnoxious "French" sounding music starts to play.

You groan, "This is not what I do."

"Yeah, yeah, Remy- You do some cooking with fancy things, I know."

"Actually, I-"

You're about to correct Leah with the most attitude you ever have when she presses her lips against yours and you melt like butter in a pan. She knows that you can never resist her when she has her soft lips against yours and it works without fail each time- even when you're terribly angry.

Leah smirks and wraps an arm around your shoulders. In turn you sigh, knowing that there is no winning when Leah has her mind set on something or whenever she uses her ultimate weapon.

It's around half way through the film, when the famous line is said that you come upon the genius idea. Taking Leah through cooking something that cannot be made via a machine- a cooking lesson with the most inept chef you've met.

The words anyone can cook are true... to a certain extent- It comes down to personal opinion mostly, what does one truly classify as cooking? In theory, if making toast with butter was considered cooking then Leah was the expert but when it came to the taste department- that is where your girlfriend falters.

Before Leah, when you still lived in France, you swore up and down you could never date anyone with the taste buds of a five year old- saying that it was the ultimate deal breaker. Now here you are, dating a famous Arsenal footballer that has the diet of a primary schooler.

At first, it had come as a shock- you went to a restaurant on your first date (not your ideal place for a date but Leah insisted) and she ordered the plainest thing on the menu. You were in such shock that you double checked the menu to see if you weren't misreading because who orders chicken nuggets at a Michelin star restaurant? And why did they even serve such a dish?

It also happened to be the moment that you fell head over heels for Leah, so you learned to get over the food very quickly.

Yet, this was a moment to teach Leah a lesson in taking you seriously... or maybe at least putting a stop to rewatching Ratatouille every single week.

So you take a week to prepare everything perfectly, you plan out what you're going to teach Leah to cook, even survey your kitchen staff before opening with a little questionnaire.

Then you make sure that all knives are sharpened, pots and pans are present- even though you're the only one who uses them- and that all other additional equipment is on hand if needed.

After all the prep work, you go out to the market early on Friday morning to buy a whole chicken since Leah is most likely to actually eat it after it's cooked- you're against wasting food in any circumstance. Then circle around to the other side for fresh vegetables. Once you have acquired all that is needed, you return home perfectly on time.

It leaves you enough time to get your chef coat that you wear when working and find the spare one you had borrowed for Leah, then set out all the ingredients on the marble countertops. It looks absolutely perfect and tickles that ocd part of you brilliantly.

In hindsight, you should have given Leah a slight pre-warning as to what the two of you were doing today but the expression on her face when she walks in is priceless- so priceless, you wish you had recorded it, so you can show it to all her teammates and your co-workers.

“What’s all this?” Leah says, clearly confused as she drops her training bag by the discarded sneakers. 

You fan your hands out, presenting all the different things across the countertops with a large grin- just as large as Leah’s everytime she picks Ratatouille over any other mildly interesting film. 

“This, my love, is your cooking crash course with the best chef in London.” 

It’s true, the London’s society of restaurateurs had voted you best chef for the third year in a row and you couldn’t be happier to flex it in Leah’s face. It’s your personal victory and you like to compare it to her Euro win with England- just to watch her turn a little red as she fiercely defends it to be harder. 

You'd normally agree but maybe she won’t be so quick to correct you next time though because as soon as she’s in the white coat with you (and after you had taken a photo of her that will be posted on instagram later.) the two of you are off, cooking what you think is going to be the driest chicken ever. 

“No- not like that!” 

You’re quick to correct her, it’s automatic and you feel as though it’s a little harsh but this is payback for making you suffer through a cartoon rat cooking. 

You place a hand on top of hers and you swear she blushes just a bit but you ignore it, instead guiding her hand to correctly dismantle the chicken into its individual parts. After helping her with one side, you watch as she tries to complete the other- and to her credit, it is not a total disaster. The cuts are a little jagged and some of the chicken looks more like it’s been massacred rather than taken apart but albeit still looks edible. 

Then she looks up at you with proud eyes and you forget about everything for a moment- all the mental gymnastics- and focus on her sweet smile that warms your heart. You come a little closer and give her a kiss on the cheek, careful not to touch her since you've just been cutting chicken.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart."

Maybe it's an exaggeration but the blush appears on Leah's cheeks after it is completely worth a white lie.

"Thanks, Remy, I have the best teacher," Leah wiggles her brows at you suggestively and you roll your eyes in return.

"Well, I do have three Michelin stars to my name," You grin and Leah smiles back at you.

Then you add, "It's like having three of those golden ball thingys that you all pine after."

Leah's face drops a bit, "You mean a ballon d'or?"

Your face lights up and you nod rapidly, "Yes, exactly!"

Leah pulls a face and furrows her brows, "Okay, baby... maybe we should focus on the cooking?"

You nod and turn your attention towards the dismantled chicken in front of the two of you- You resist the urge to cringe and put all the different parts into a bowl that you then place into the fridge.

"Let's wash hands before the next part."

The two of you take turns washing your hands, Leah flicking water at you playfully when it's her turn and you frowning when she does so.

"Take this seriously, Lee- In my kitchen-"

"Our kitchen-" She corrects you.

You raise your brows in question, "Who uses it the most?"

Leah suddenly fiddles with her coat and looks anywhere but you, you scoff but a smile finds it way to your face anyway- then you wrap an arm around her waist.

"Whatever, just focus- as if it were a match!"

Leah chuckles but steps up to the cutting board where various different vegetables are laid out with one of your personal knives that you bring to work besides it.

"So what now?" Leah asks, evident confusion in her voice.

"I want you to cut the peppers julienne and the carrots paysanne."

Leah looks at you with the most confused expression you've seen to date when the French leaves your mouth and all you can do is sigh.

"Peppers thin like matchsticks and the carrots into circles, please."

"Now that, I can understand," She laughs and begins to chop the peppers, first gutting them and throwing the seeds in the bin beside her then slicing them into strips.

You're leaning your head on her shoulder and your arms are wrapped loosely around her waist as you watch what she is doing- Leah's fingers are wrapped around the wooden handle and she guides the blade down each pepper part with some kind of precision.

You smile and encourage her by giving a light squeeze that you feel she leans into-

"Focus, that knife can cut your finger off."

You hear Leah scoff, "Maybe you shouldn't distract me then?"

You don't say anything nor do you move your arms away from her waist instead focus on the way she's slicing the various peppers- somehow, Leah begins to stray from the very thin slices into thick chucks without even acknowledging it.

You smile, "Stop for a second, Lee."

Leah pauses instantly and turns her head to look at you from where you stand behind her, she raises a brow in question and you grin in return. Then pick up a slice of pepper, holding it up for the two of you to inspect.

"Too thick, darling."

You press yourself closer to her back, forcing her to face the board again- this time you place your hands on top of hers, they are slightly warmer than yours and the heat immediately spreads, then begin to slice as you had instructed.

The rest of the vegetables go smoothly and you let them rest to the side before taking the chicken out of the fridge again-

"We are going to bake the legs, use the bones to make a sauce with the peppers and boil the carrots."

You explain, pointing to all the different elements as you do so and all Leah does is nod before stepping closer to you so she can wrap her arms around your neck.

"Yes, chef Remy," Leah chuckles when you scoff.

She gives you a quick kiss that you so desperately want to deepen but she pulls away before you can. Instead, she turns to the board and looks at you with the same focus you see on the pitch.

"Alright, let's start."

The rest of the evening goes... as well as you'd imagine- the kitchen is thankfully still standing, but in a state of utter disarray. The sauce that Leah made under your guidance had boiled over after she turned the temperature up, so that it would "cook faster". You didn't even get the chance to explain that it doesn't work like that, when a blob of sauce landed on the floor.

So there was a large spillage of sauce all over the stove and countertop but that was the least of your worries since the fire alarm had rang... once... twice... and a third time when the chicken was in the oven. Turns out that Leah cannot preheat an oven to the correct temperature either- so that chicken wasn't even dry, as you'd predicted, it was just simply not even there anymore.

All the meat had burned into crispy back sludge and the bones smelt disgusting- so disgusting that Leah had to stand on the balcony as you threw it out. Stating that she would throw up if she had to do it. 

It turns out that nothing was safe from Leah's horrid cooking skill since the carrots suffered a death by over boiling- turning into mush rather than keeping their shape after the plunge in the steaming hot water of the pot.

In the end, Leah and you end up on the plush sofa with white styrofoam take out boxes in front of you and the normally tidy kitchen left in a rather untidy state, much to your dismay- but none of you had the energy to clean on an empty stomach.

You're shoveling food into your mouth when Leah picks up the remote and you dread what's coming. You see disney being opened and the pit in your stomach turns into sickness-

"So... Ratatouille?" Leah giggles and presses play, you music ringing out of the speakers. 

"Darling- No, please!"

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine pt. 3 - firefighter!rafe

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: After a couple weeks you & Rafe finally get to see each other again. He invites you over & makes you dinner & you know the perfect way to thank him. Of course it only ignites the mutual obsession.

warning: firefighter!rafe x teacher!reader, fem reader, fluff, two people obsessed with each other, oral (m. rec), dirty talk, rafe being sexy

an: hi! sorry this took so long & it’s on the shorter side. I promise the next part will come much sooner. Ugh I feel like this isn’t my best work. Also this can kinda be read as a stand alone.

masterlist ★ part one - part two

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

It had been a couple weeks since your first date with Rafe and since then you’d seen each other a couple times sporadically. It was only ever for a few minutes though. He’d be just getting off a sixteen hour shift and meeting you for ice cream or you’d stop by the station and drop off baked goods. His busy schedule and yours didn’t allow for much free time.

Occasionally he’d leave treats at your front door before he went off to work. A hot coffee and a muffin or a scone to help you get through the day. Sometimes even a small bouquet of flowers and a cute note, that particularly made your heart flutter.

The two of you texted practically all day, sometimes he’d call you on his way home if it wasn’t too late and you weren’t lesson planning or grading. It was nice to not feel so obligated to see someone you were dating every day.

At least you think you guys are dating. Actually you don’t know what the two of you are doing. You wouldn’t consider one date to be dating. But every thing since then has felt so much like dating.

He wasn’t shy about letting you know how much he liked you in turn neither were you. He was the first guy to not make you feel embarrassed about your over flowing feelings.

When he let you know that he had a few days off coming up you made sure to get as much work done before then. Yeah you did like the idea of still having your space but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. Plus trying to catch up on lesson plans, grading, and parent conferences all week had run you ragged. You could use some alone time with a hot firefighter.

The thought of seeing him again made those butterflies flutter. It may be possible that you actually had missed him a lot. Not only had you missed his smile, jokes, and his attentiveness but you also missed his mouth and his hands. The smell of his cologne made you want to lick him.

What he had done to you the last time you’d seen each other replayed in your head whenever you had a spare moment. You hadn’t felt so wanted in so long that having him just wanting to taste you and being satisfied with that made you all the more desperate for him. He was truly the first real man you’d been with and you can’t even imagine what he’d be like during sex.

Rafe invited you over to his place so he could make you dinner. From what you had told him he could tell you had a long busy week. He made sure to promise you there’d be cherry wine of course.

It was a Friday and he had the day off so he had spent the day cleaning his condo and getting everything for dinner ready. He even bought some of your favorite snacks you had mentioned in conversation in case you wanted some while watching a movie later.

A part of him hoped you’d want to sleep over, it’d be nice to not sleep alone for once. He decided on cooking steak since that’s what he knew best. He was just a man after all.

He was a bit nervous. Which was a new feeling for Rafe. He didn’t typically miss people and usually that was because he didn’t stick around long enough to know anyone like that. It was a defense mechanism but there was something about you that made him want more. It wasn’t just how good you tasted and looked but it was how easy it felt to talk to you. Rafe thought you were funny, smart, and he liked how you played along with his teasing.

-

After school was over and you touched up your makeup in your classroom. You even changed into a tank top that was a bit revealing and your favorite pants that made your ass look fantastic. You didn’t want to waste anymore time away from him so as soon as you finished you headed out to his place.

That feeling of missing him so much should scare you but you liked it. You liked missing Rafe and you liked that you knew he missed you. With him everything felt real and you didn’t question your feelings or if you were being too eager.

You had to send the principal a fruit basket or something for continuing to insist the firefighter come every year. A few days ago you found out they almost didn’t do it this year but it all worked out. You can’t imagine not meeting Rafe now that you know him.

He didn’t live too far from the school so the drive was relatively short. You had texted him when you left school and since then he had been waiting outside for your arrival. When he saw your car pull up he walked down his driveway to meet you.

Being the gentleman that he is he opened your door for you, that smirk never falling from his lips. You loved him in date attire and his work uniform but him dressed like this. In a sweatshirt and grey sweatpants was making you swoon. He looked so domesticated you would get on your knees for him right here in the driveway.

“Hi,” You said bashfully as you stepped out. Every time you saw him it felt like the first time. Still occasionally turning into a pile of bashful mush around him.

“Hi,” He shut your door and placed a hand on the small of your back leading you up the driveway.

“Been waiting for me?” You teased.

He nodded, “Of course. Been thinking about you all day.” The heat creeped up your neck at his earnestness.

“You’re not shy about what you want huh?” You teased.

He shook his head with a smirk, “Then how would I always get what I want?”

You scoffed as he opened the door letting you in first, “I don’t know if cocky is a good look on you Cameron.”

He laughed, “Not cocky just confident,” he shut the door and gently put his hand on your stomach pushing you back against the door, “And I always get what I want.” Rafe leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth.

It was like finally breathing fresh air when your lips met for the first time in a while. You would make out with him all night right there if you could, but he pulled away with a grin.

After gathering yourself you laughed and gently shoved him, “You’re dangerous.”

-

His condo was nice. It was clean and had as much decor as a man in his 20s with a demanding job can have. There were a couple frames pictures on a shelf. They looked to be his sisters he had mentioned a few times. At least you didn’t have to worry about him secretly having a family.

In the living room he had set up blankets on the couch and candles on his coffee table. It was cute how he wanted to set the romantic mood. To top it off he had Netflix open ready to have a movie played.

You sat on one of the stools on the breakfast bar as you watched him cook. He wanted to wait till you were here so the food was hot. It smelled delicious. If he could cook good food you were never letting him get away. He was almost too good to be true.

The way his back muscles flexed under his white tee shirt had your mouth watering. You wanted to bite him. The two of you made casual conversation about your week. It was weird how his ability to multitask made you more attracted to him.

“You wanna pick a movie while I plate?” He asked turning to you with a smirk.

You agreed and walked over to the living room. As you scrolled Rafe got the wine glasses and opened a bottle. He walked over to you with two plates and glasses.

“Wow, thank you chef,” You teased helping him with the plates.

“Don’t say that too much now you’ll turn me on,” He laughed but was being completely serious.

“Maybe I will then,” You smirked.

-

A bottle and a half of wine later the two of you were settled on the couch not particularly paying attention to the movie playing. It was a romcom you had suggested and obviously Rafe wasn’t going to say no. The pair of you couldn’t keep your mouths shut talking about anything and everything.

It felt so natural laying with you and talking. Everything from the outside world disappeared and Rafe could just focus on you and making you laugh. A sound he had grown to admire. The sound warmed his chest and made him want to pinch your cheeks. It was scary how fast he had become obsessed with you.

He hoped the feeling was mutual but by your body language he’s sure it is. Seeing Rafe relaxed in his own space was doing something to you. The alcohol in your blood stream not helping either. It didn’t help that he also couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Not even inna sexual way but it was still lighting you on fire.

His warm heavy hand had been resting on your thigh and he’d squeeze it occasionally. If he saw your hair move in front of your face he’d be quick to tuck it behind your ear. He even fed you some of your steak and used his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth. Then he had the audacity put his thumb in his mouth to taste what was on your mouth and hum. You’re convinced he was put on this earth to torture you.

It finally became too much when he grabbed one of your legs and draped if over his. His hand began to trace circle on your inner thigh. Moving higher up every few minutes.

You set your empty glass on the table and turned fully towards Rafe. Both of your legs across his lap now. He didn’t notice your change in demeanor as he looked forward and went on about this show he saw with the main guy in it.

“Then he like asks her-“

“Rafe?” You interrupted.

He turned to you with a small grin, “Hm?”

“Thanks for dinner and everything,” You spoke softly.

His lips lifted in a crooked boyish smile, “Of course sweetheart.”

You reached out and rested a hand on his chest, “I think I need to thank you properly.”

Rafe could hear the innuendo in your statement and he was loving where this was going. He maneuvered you as a surprised sound left you when he placed you on his lap to straddle him. His hands now resting on your hips and yours on his shoulders.

“How would you do that hm?”

You shrugged feigning contemplation, “A kiss maybe.”

He raised a brow, “Oh yeah?”

You nodded and leaned forward closing the gap between you. Rafe pulled you closer so your chests were pressed together. He groaned as his body lit up feeling your weight on him. Your hands moved up his chest to grip the strands of hair at the back of his head.

Rafe’s hands gripped anywhere he could reach. The way he manhandled you had your underwear getting damp. He pulled away but only to press open mouthed kisses on your neck. He moved one of his hands into your hair and gently tugged at it to expose more skin. He could just eat you up.

The small whines and soft sighs you were letting out made his dick swell. He mumbled something about how good you taste before his lips slotted with yours again.

After a couple minutes of kissing and you may have started grinding against his bulge. As if you could stay still while feeling just how much he wanted you, but you had something else in mind for tonight. Especially since he’s already been so giving to you, so gently pushed his chest as you pulled away.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” He asked hazily. Rafe was drunk on you.

You giggled and shook your head, “Nothin I just think there’s something else I could be doing with my mouth.”

His eyes widened a bit surprised but it was quickly replaced by excitement. Now usually Rafe is a giver and he doesn’t mind not receiving. Like the last time you were together he got off just on making you cum, but he wasn’t going to stop you if you wanted to suck him off.

“Yeah? Feel free to show me,” He rubbed his hands up and down her sides.

“oh I will,” You smiled softly before leaning in and placing a kiss on his jaw. Moving down to his neck as your hands ducked under his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his abdomen.

Soon you were kneeling on the floor and your hands were fumbling a but as you tugged at his sweatpants. He helped you pull them off and he sprung free from the confines.

You’re not particularly fond of the way dick’s look but Rafe’s was one you could appreciate. No other guy had one this pretty, was it weird to think it’s pretty? you thought as you leaned forward. Never breaking eye contact with him as you gave his head a tentative lick.

That alone had him throwing his head back with a groan. Your mouth wrapped around his head. Rafe was going to explode with how warm and wet your mouth was you gently sucked on him.

Inch by inch you took him in deeper. Your head bobbing up and down at a slow pace to start. Once Rafe felt himself hit the back of your throat his hips stuttered. He was doing everything in his power not to thrust into your mouth.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this,” He groaned as he looked down. You looked like an angel with his cock in your mouth and doe eyes looking up at him. Your hand holding what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Drool was starting to fall from your mouth. He felt your throat constrict around him as you sped up your pace.

“So pretty with my cock in your mouth,” He continued praising you once he saw how his words made you rub your thighs together. You hoped he hadn’t noticed that but he did.

You hummed softly around him. The vibrations adding to his pleasure. Rafe wrapped one hand around your hair to create a makeshift pony tail as your motions became sloppier.

“Getting me so close,” He sighed, “Feels like heaven in your mouth.”

One of your hands reach between him to fondle his balls. This is what got him closer to the edge.

“Dirty girl eh?” He gripped your hair a little tighter, “You’re so hot I could cum just by looking at your face.”

He felt you gag around him and that is what tipped him over, “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby.” He thrusted his hips upwards fucking your mouth. Not too hard obviously but it was enough to finally push him over the edge.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He chanted and groaned as you took him as deep as possible as the his cum shot down your throat.

You pulled off of him with a pop and wipes your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt hot as you thought about what just happened. Rafe had his head thrown back with his eyes closed as he still worked on catching his breath.

“Was that okay?” You asked a bit shyly. Rafe let out a choked laugh

“Fucking better than okay,” He laughed as he peered down at you. You laughed softly and he leaned down to pull you back on to his lap. With you on top of him he maneuvered his sweatpants back on.

Rafe pulled you in and kissed you. His tongue invading your mouth. You’re thinking he surely must taste himself but not care. That thought left you even more damp. Your thighs clenching around his hips.

You pulled away and leaned your forhead against his as you softly spoke, “Rafe I really like you.”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb as he held your face, “I really like you too.” You let out a breathy laugh feeling like a giddy school girl.

He pulled away to look at you properly, “Want to stay the night? We don’t have to do anything else.”

You nodded before he could even finish, “I’d love to stay.”

[sensationallysangwoo]

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜: 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗/𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐-𝙷𝚘 𝚡 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙵𝙵 ♡

♡ 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊��𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜.

♡ 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚂𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝙰𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝. 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢. 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚙 (𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙳𝚄𝙻𝚃.)

♡ 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your hands are shaking. You feel like crying as you anxiously wait for the result of the test.

You honestly should have 100% expected this to happen, but in the moment, neither you nor Berlin were thinking about protection.

He was on top of you, kissing and worshipping your whole entire body as you came undone underneath him. The way he slammed in and out of you was heaven as your bodies intertwined passionately.

Before you knew it, he exploded inside of you and you were so caught up in the pleasure you didn’t even consider the outcome. All you could focus on was him.

Berlin is your boyfriend officially, but things are still very very new. You have only been together for a little less than a year now but you know in your heart that he’s perfect for you. He’s intimidating, bold, the slightest bit domineering. Your sweet, gentle disposition compliments him perfectly, making you two a match made in heaven.

He’s older than you as well, so much older. He’s 41, and you are in your early 20’s. You look up to him as sort of an authoritative figure, but primarily a lover. He guides you through life and you remind him not to take himself too seriously, despite the “business” he’s in.

The double line illuminates on the screen of the test. Positive. Your pulse throbs in your neck as anxiety washes over you.

What will Berlin think? You immediately do what your brain always does: imagine the worst case scenario. He’s going to be pissed, upset, stressed, and then leave you. He won’t want to deal with a baby at his age, let alone at all. Berlin, Song Jung-Ho, one of the most high-profile criminals in the country, is not going to want to be a father. Nuh uh. No way.

You hastily throw the test in the trash.

You’ve always wanted to be a mother. You love babies. You have always wanted to nurture a little one, watch them grow and develop their own personality, and share so many memories and experiences with them. Will Berlin want that too, though? You really truly don’t know, but as mentioned before, you’re almost certain he doesn’t want that. He’s too wrapped up in his “business.”

The front door jostles and heavy footsteps clunk in the foyer. Shit, he’s home for the day.

“My angel! Where are you hiding?” His voice echoes through the house as you slowly tiptoe out of the bathroom.

“Hey…how’s the planning going?” You ask, trying to make conversation while also keeping your cool.

“It’s going well. Those goddamn hostages better start behaving themselves, though. I’m tired of their shit. The only way to get ‘em to listen is to scare the shit out of ‘em.” He scoffs.

You nod slowly, a worried expression clearly donning on your face.

He’s quick to notice that you are not your usual cheery, bubbly self. Normally you’re all over him, arms wrapped around him, peppering his face in kisses. Right now, you’re noticeably somber.

He approaches you. His tall frame hovers over you as he brings a hand up to your cheek, cupping it tenderly.

“What’s wrong my little love? You can tell me anything.” He softens his gaze.

You smile bashfully at his touch. His dark, almost black eyes bore into you . Your own eyes fall to his chest, unable to maintain eye contact. He knows the hold he has on you.

“Nothing, Jung-Ho. Just have a stomach ache, that’s all.” You lie.

“Go lie down, then.” He squeezes your cheek before kissing it, then pats your head and makes his way to the bathroom. Oh fuck.

Your heart races. You lie down on the couch and hope and pray he doesn’t notice the test in the trash. This was futile.

The bathroom door creaks. Berlin stands in front of you. He crosses his arms, smirks, and cocks an eyebrow. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

You gulp as you quickly stand up.

“Jung-Ho, I’m so sorry—I was way too scared to tell you—If you want to leave I understand—“ Your face burns red hot as your stammer.

He smiles so widely that the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He immediately pulls you into a strong embrace. He nearly breaks you with how tightly he’s holding you. You melt into him, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. His lips meet yours in a gentle, soft kiss.

“We’re going to be parents!” He exclaims. Your heart melts at his enthusiasm. You’re extremely excited and also extremely relieved.

He presses his forehead against yours. “Why were you afraid to tell me, little love?” His words ghost against your lips.

“I-I didn’t know how you were going to react. I was afraid you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you! That’s ridiculous, my darling. I would never leave you no matter what. Also, you’re a horrible liar. I knew something was up with you the minute I stepped in here.” He laughs.

You beam at him. You look at him and see your future. The father of your child. Your future husband, hopefully. He rubs your belly tenderly. “Well what are we waiting for? We need to prepare for our little one!”

Over the next couple of months, your belly grows and so does your love for Berlin. He’s always been a completely different person when he’s at home, with you. Now he’s an extra different person with the pregnant version of you.

He gets you whatever you want at the drop of a dime. If you mention you are craving something, he will buy you 100 of them. He cooks for you, cleans for you, and watches you like a hawk to make sure you’re safe and healthy. He’s follows you everywhere, you’re his top priority.

He’s so worried about you that it could even be a little overbearing at times, but you know he means well. He doesn’t want anyone even so much as looking at you while you’re pregnant.

“Do you need anything? Do you want anything?” You hear these phrases come out of Berlin’s mouth over a thousand times a day. His tough exterior completely fades when it comes to you and your child. He’s always holding you close by, his arm around you protectively.

He holds your waist, holds your belly, and is constantly giving you kisses and cuddles and reassuring you that you look beautiful, even if you might not feel that way.

The night before your due date rolls around, and Berlin is as excited as ever. His phone rings, but he doesn’t care about anything relating to the heist right now. He just wants to meet your precious angel who he will love forever, along with you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @yxluana , @swtt4hk , @massivecheesecakesmuttss , @miss-conjayniality , @ladiesman21777 , @dilfismz , @vkeyy , @kudiikis , @daeholuvs , @insidekatmind , @sealcowboy , @torasgfreal , @melfresita-ruri , @ellfucksup , @hrh007, @m4nbl00d , @phoebecatesl0vr , @meadowfics

[sunflowersonatas]

marry you: drabble

bsf!james potter x f!reader / fluff

summary: heat of the moment proposal— somehow, it doesn’t feel that strange to accept.

a/n: my heart hurts. i think about this a lot.

wc: 425

i usually imagine james, and i think the typical fanon agrees, as a very cheesy, extra-romantic, over-the-top kinda partner. always wants to give you the most and spoil you, because you truly deserve it, for putting up with him.

i’d love to imagine some fancy elegant proposal, you two on the beach at sunset, just the soothing waves and his gentle voice proclaiming his love. huge rock.

but let’s be real. seventh year, war was looming, the world was a scary place. and this man was not playing around. you guys weren’t even dating yet, just best friends, but he always knew.

“i think we should get married,” he’d said to you one night on the couch. it was a joke, or it started as one.

“right, that would solve all my problems,” you countered effortlessly. you were just friends at this point, complaining to each other over your respective love lives, or lack thereof. 

you laughed, so did he. 

but then when you turn to him, he’s not laughing anymore.

“marry me,” he says again, a whisper this time, with bated breath. the air shifts. 

“james—”

“say yes.”

you should really think about it. you should consider this carefully— it’s a goddamn proposal, major life event, hello. weigh the pros and cons, unbiased, considering the war, the uncertainty, the sheer insanity of what he’s just asked you to do.

and you do consider it, for one singular second.

and in that second you realize you can’t think of one good reason to say no.

the past seven years you’ve been saying yes to him. yes, i’ll copy my notes down for you. yes, i’ll sneak out with you. yes, i’ll always be here.

and this just feels like another yes, simple as that. you shrug, feeling too composed for the moment. maybe it’s shock.

“alright,” you answer. like he just asked you to pass the fudge flies.

“alright?” he echoes, jaw suddenly gone slack. like he misheard, or like he was expecting some hesitation, some pushback. normally you’d sit there and list all the reasons why his idea was incredibly foolish and irresponsible, but you weren’t doing any of that.

you shrug again. “yes, james, i’ll marry you.” can’t make it any clearer than that.

he nearly tackles you in a crushing hug, sharing the weight and lightness of the moment at once with you. his fingers clutch at you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip from them.

“you’re serious?” he queries, breathless. 

“no, you’re thinking of the other one.” you answer smugly.

he groans. “i’m gonna kiss you now.”

♡

☀️🌻

[novaursa]

Lost in the Moment

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Prince Aegon’s second nameday, Tyland attempts to deliver his report to the king. Unfortunately for him, you are there too.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's sister. So, this could be considered extra/prelude chapter of To Win A Princess. Or it can simply be a standalone one-shot.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @melsunshine @idenyimimdenial

The royal pavilion was a place of endless movement, where politics and pleasure intertwined beneath the black banners of House Targaryen. Servants flitted about, pouring goblets of wine and setting out platters of roasted fowl and honeyed bread. The scent of morning fires lingered in the air, mingling with the remnants of last night’s festivities. Lords gathered in quiet clusters, speaking in hushed tones of alliances, trade, and the latest whispers from across the realm.

Tyland Lannister had spent countless hours in such settings, his role as a member of the Small Council demanding his constant vigilance. And yet, this morning, he found his focus… strained.

He was seated across from King Viserys himself, the King’s presence as imposing as ever despite the creeping exhaustion that lined his face. Viserys held a goblet in one hand, his fingers idly tracing the rim as he listened to Tyland’s report. Beside him, ever watchful, stood Otto Hightower, his expression neutral, unreadable.

Tyland cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “Your Grace, I wished to bring to your attention the increasing instability in the Stepstones. Reports indicate that the Triarchy has been… ah… regrouping, and their forces…” He hesitated, his words trailing off as his gaze flickered—against his better judgment—to the far end of the pavilion.

There you were.

Draped in silks the color of deep wine, speaking with Lady Redwyne, your expression alight with laughter. But it was not your conversation that had his attention—it was the way your eyes met his from across the space, the way your lips curled ever so slightly as you tilted your goblet to your lips, your fingers tracing the rim of the cup in a way that sent a slow, knowing heat curling in his stomach.

His breath hitched slightly, his thoughts scattering, and he forced himself to look back at Viserys, determined to keep his composure.

“…Their forces,” he repeated, grasping for the thread of his report. “They, ah… seem to be, that is to say… the movements indicate a—”

His eyes flicked back to you.

You weren’t listening to Lady Redwyne anymore. Not truly. No, your attention was on him, the slightest tilt of your head, the teasing arch of your brow making it clear that you knew exactly what you were doing.

Tyland swallowed thickly, his grip tightening around the scroll in his hands. His mouth felt dry, his usually sharp mind an absolute mess of incoherent thoughts.

Viserys shifted in his seat, his brows knitting together as he glanced at Otto, who finally looked up from his own parchment to observe the struggling Lannister lord.

“…My lord?” Viserys prompted, his tone edged with curiosity.

Tyland blinked, his throat working as he tried to recall what in the seven hells he had just been saying. “…Yes, Your Grace?”

Viserys exhaled, his fingers rubbing against the bridge of his nose. “You were speaking of the Stepstones.”

Otto frowned slightly, his stern eyes narrowing. “But now you are speaking in circles.”

Tyland exhaled, adjusting his posture. “Ah—yes. Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “The Stepstones. As I was saying… the threat remains—”

His gaze shifted again.

You had taken a slow sip of your wine, your pale lashes low, your lips curving slightly against the rim of your goblet before you dragged your thumb lazily along the stem of the cup. Your other hand, draped lightly over the table, tapped a single finger in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if toying with his patience, daring him to lose himself further.

Tyland felt warmth creep up his collar, his frustration mounting—not at you, but at himself. At the ridiculous, humiliating effect you had on him.

“…And… they will… likely continue to—”

He trailed off again, his thoughts slipping through his grasp like sand.

Viserys furrowed his brows. “Lannister.”

Tyland snapped his gaze back to the King, his body going rigid.

Viserys studied him for a long moment before his expression shifted from confusion to something closer to amusement. He raised a brow, his lips quirking at the corners.

“…Have you been drinking?”

Otto hummed quietly beside him, setting down his parchment with mild interest. “It would seem so, Your Grace.”

Tyland bristled, his composure nearly fracturing entirely. “I—No! I most certainly have not.”

Viserys huffed a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Gods, Tyland, I have never heard you stumble over your words like a green boy at court.”

Otto sighed, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully. “Perhaps a late night, my lord?”

Tyland swallowed hard, his ears burning, his mind scrambling for a proper response that did not involve admitting the truth. That he had, indeed, spent the night tangled in silk sheets and sin. That he had left your tent not an hour before the sun had risen, your name still lingering on his lips.

Instead, he straightened his shoulders, his expression hardening with whatever dignity he could salvage. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am perfectly capable of performing my duties.”

Viserys chuckled again, waving a hand. “I should hope so. You’re usually one of the more competent men at this table. Try to sound like it.”

Otto, however, had not yet looked away. His calculating eyes lingered on Tyland a moment longer before, finally, he returned to his scrolls, his fingers idly tracing the parchment.

Tyland exhaled, attempting to steady himself, attempting to regain what little composure he had left.

But when he glanced back to where you sat, your expression was utterly victorious, your lips barely concealing your amusement as you raised your goblet once more—

A silent toast.

To his failure.

Tyland clenched his jaw.

He was going to kill you for this.

The glow of the late afternoon sun bathed the encampment in warm light, stretching long shadows across the dirt paths that wound between the royal pavilions. The sounds of the court still hummed in the distance—laughter, the clinking of goblets, the occasional bark of a lord commanding his squire—but here, on the quieter edges of the camp, the world felt slower. More deliberate.

Tyland led your horse with measured steps, his expression taut with restrained irritation. His grip on the reins was perhaps a touch too firm, his thoughts still clouded with the humiliating spectacle you had forced upon him that morning. He had spent the rest of the day trying—unsuccessfully—to scrub it from his mind, but the way you had watched him from across the pavilion, the way your lips had curled just so, the way your fingers had traced the rim of your goblet in that slow, knowing way—

It had been infuriating.

You, of course, looked utterly unbothered, seated gracefully on a fallen log beneath the shade of a towering oak, your posture relaxed, your violet eyes glinting with amusement as he approached. You had been waiting for him.

Of course you had.

He stopped a few paces away, his fingers tightening around the reins before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to release the tension in his grip.

"You think yourself terribly amusing, don’t you?" he said, his voice low, controlled.

You arched a delicate brow, your fingers idly smoothing the fabric of your skirts. "Whatever do you mean, my lord?"

Tyland scoffed, stepping closer. "You know precisely what I mean," he muttered, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the slight smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. "Your little game in the pavilion. The way you—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "You damn near made me look a fool before the King."

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head as if in contemplation. "I simply spoke with Lady Redwyne."

Tyland gave you a flat look.

You smiled.

He exhaled through his nose, his irritation mounting. "You were taunting me," he accused, stepping forward until he was close enough to see the flicker of amusement in your eyes.

"I?" you asked, feigning innocence. "I did nothing but sit, drink, and listen to Lady Redwyne complain about the quality of her wine. If you were distracted, my lord, then perhaps that is something you should examine within yourself."

Tyland let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You are infuriating."

"You," you mused, tilting your chin up ever so slightly, "came to me."

The air between you shifted. The breeze carried the scent of grass and horses, but beneath it, something else simmered—something unspoken, something inevitable.

Tyland stared at you, his irritation warring with something deeper, something darker. "You cannot keep doing this," he murmured, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

You looked up at him, your lashes low. "Doing what?"

"Playing these games," he ground out, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Toying with me in public, making me—"

You stood abruptly, cutting off the rest of his words as you stepped into his space, so close that he could feel the warmth of you, could hear the soft inhale of your breath.

"You talk too much, Tyland," you whispered.

And then, you kissed him.

It was not a chaste thing, not a simple brush of lips meant to silence him. No, this was something else entirely—deliberate, heated, a searing press of mouths that sent his pulse hammering in his throat.

Tyland stiffened for only a fraction of a second before his hands found your waist, fingers gripping tightly as he pulled you flush against him, the last of his resolve shattering.

He should have resisted. He should have scolded you, reprimanded you for your reckless teasing, for the way you had driven him to the edge of madness in front of the most powerful men in the realm—your father.

But all he could think about was the way you melted against him, the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, the way you sighed softly into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his grip tightening as if anchoring himself to you.

He lost himself in it, in you, in the taste of your lips and the fire burning beneath your skin.

When you finally pulled back, your breathing uneven, your eyes bright with something dangerously close to triumph, Tyland exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

"I'm trying to be a better man," he muttered.

You laughed, low and breathless. "I want you to be at least a little bad."

Tyland groaned, dragging a hand through his hair before gripping the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss, his restraint slipping further.

Gods help him, but he was lost.

[kleptokure]

Warm Embrace ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

White Lily Cookie x GN!Reader

A/N: a request from anon <3 I've wrote rules down so you don't have to be left wondering what I will and will not write. And I will get to your SMC request, as I believe it's an adorable idea!

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

Solitude. That is how White Lily Cookie would describe her life. Living in solitude, away from her friends in order to avoid becoming a bother after what she caused.

Nonetheless, a secret longing, a hidden desire, haunts White Lily Cookie whenever her mind goes across the thought. The notion of what she desperately craves, the loving touch from another cookie.

Though White Lily Cookie finds it hard to believe that she could ever be deserving of a beloved companion. After all, she deems Golden Cheese Cookie's prior afflictions to be her fault. How could she trouble her childhood friend? Is she truly worthy of a relationship so tender?

If not, she could always keep Pure Vanilla Cookie close, along with the children that played a part in her rescue.

But she fails to see much reason in carrying that out. Her friends feel so distant, even though forgiveness has been expressed on their part many, many times.

No matter the reassurance Pure Vanilla offers, White Lily cannot come to excuse herself for her past doings. White Lily Cookie dedicates endless effort to overcoming evil. Perhaps then she could be forgiven, but for the time being, she will keep to herself.

Though solitude comes to naught this time around. You, also a friend in her earlier days, came to reunite with her. Of course, White Lily Cookie did not forget you. Your warmth, that some might consider overbearing, was simply too strong of a memory to rid of.

In spite of that, she could not blame you if you fell silent at her reappearance. White Lily would halt her judgement if you went to the same lengths of distance that Golden Cheese has, since she believes such would only be deserved.

Going against her assumptions, you welcomed her with the brightest smile she claims to have seen. You were so giddy to see White Lily Cookie after her lengthy rest, an emotion she failed to foresee.

A reunion that she smiles when thinking of, you rushed to engulf her in a hug. Your arms wrapped around her figure, White Lily Cookie was far too incredulous to return your affection, which she deplores now. White Lily now remembers to reciprocate your fondness each time.

The moment could have brought her to tears, yet a nostalgic smile was laced upon her face instead. She denied ruining the moment with her tears.

White Lily Cookie will forever be thankful for your forgiveness, as without it, she is certain her cookie would be much more frail.

Ever since that day, you have remained at her side, stuck together like glue. The faeries have gotten used to you, considering it abnormal to see you two apart. White Lily would not prefer it any other way, since you have a way of brightening her day like no other.

Might it be a walk through the flowerbeds, tending to the chirpy blue birds, or merely gazing upon the stars when it comes dark out, each occurance is engraved into her mind. When it comes to you, she finds herself wanting more and more of your bubbly personality.

And you are more than happy to give, offering a snug embrace every morning. At dawn, inside of her abode, you tend to braid her hair for her. The feeling of your hands brushing through her hair provide her comfort, and she can only wish to give the same to you.

You insist that all is well, that she deserves to relax for once. With such a genuine expression, you give her sincere compliments for all she has managed to accomplish. Not to mention the consoling touch you hold on her hand. The mass of admiration you maintain for her causes her face to feel hotter, and White Lily is well aware of why.

This time, White Lily Cookie takes the initiative to hug you. It catches you by surprised, but you accept it all the same.

While hugging is always a joy with you, she only gave one to hide her flustered face.

After her discovery, White Lily Cookie has acted a bit shyer, straying from her soft-spoken self. You've noticed, but she denies any accusations you point her way. Avoiding your eyes, along with keeping a foot or two between you both, all while you have not done anything out of order. You fumble to remember the last instance where White Lily has behaved so hesitant.

Mecurial Knight Cookie, always the watchful eye, questions if something is wrong. In spite of what one might think, you settle his worries. You have accompanied White Lily Cookie long enough to be aware of when she is upset in truth, and now, she is not. An emotion more peculiar lies beneath.

Finishing up her nightly duties, White Lily Cookie bumps into you on her trail, which was intended on your side. To make matters worse, the moonlight shines especially nice on your dough tonight. Oh, how difficult you make it to keep a steady face.

"White Lily Cookie," you spoke her name so nicely, it makes her want to crumble. "I know something's wrong. Please, you can tell me." A plead coming from you, how can she refuse? It pains her to realize the worry she has made you experience.

Stepping away from the butterfly arch, you near close to her. This time, she falters to increase distance, allowing your hand to cup her cheek.

Even when she acts out, you continue to save kindness for her, she notes. White Lily releases a shaky sigh, unable to divert her gaze to the pale trees as she wishes. Your eyes are far too captivating.

"[Name] Cookie, I apologize. It's just that..." White Lily Cookie trails off, leaving you brimmed with anticipation. You disapprove of rushing her. Rather, you wait, allowing her to gather her thoughts.

"I’m in love with you, [Name] Cookie," she blurts out, regretting it within the second. To worsen matters, you stare at her with widened eyes. Is it disgust, or mere shock? Her anxious mind makes her believe the former sets as the truth.

Before her subconscious could do anything rash, you embrace her into a hug. White Lily Cookie finds that she fits quite well into your arms, your small cuddle holding tighter than usual.

You whisper, just for her to hear, an acception to her confession. She believes she must have heard wrong. As knowledgeable as she is, White Lily Cookie considers this moment to be a dream, one that she would not mind living in forever.

Returning to reality, White Lily Cookie allows her flower staff to fall, a thump heard when it hits the ground.

Using her now free hands to reciprocate your embrace, White Lily could almost whine. Going nearly a day without your touch is more sufferable than she thought. A mental note is made: to be upfront with her feelings. She deprived herself of love because of her bashfulness, which will be a one time occurance.

Might this be the beginning of a caring relationship, one that she has been yearning for? Maybe being honest with her feelings from the start would not have been so bad.

White Lily Cookie can tell you'll be more insistent to tag along on her checks around the kingdom, which she usually declines since you should be at rest. Though the thought of it does not sound so dreadful, since you will be deemed her partner now. She looks forward to spending even more time with you.

Nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, White Lily Cookie finds the future of her life to seem additionally pleasing with you present.

Now her solitude will stay shared with another. Please, will you stay for eternity? White Lily is afraid you have turned her greedy. It is now your duty to fill the need you've made her hungry for, which she is certain you'll have no trouble doing. After all, you fullfil the requirement without being asked. What's a bit more to provide?

[mostlymarvelgirl]

A Winchester Kind Of Love

Pairing: Sam Winchester X AU!Reader

Summary: You never expected to wake up in the Supernatural universe. But after inexplicably appearing in the bunker, surrounded by the very people you once watched on screen, you have no choice but to adapt. While searching for a way back home, you form unexpected bonds—especially with Sam. But when emotions start to blur and reality becomes harder to face, you begin to wonder… do you truly belong here? And what happens when the lines between fiction and reality are no longer so clear?

Words: 3000 words smth (sorry)

Reader's Personality: The reader's personality is deeply introspective, independent, and emotionally guarded.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, Themes of identity and belonging, Mild language, Slow-burn romance with mutual pining, Heartbreak but with maybe a hopeful ending.

The first time you saw Sam Winchester in real life, you thought you were hallucinating.

Or maybe, you were dead.

Because there was no way in hell you were standing inside the Men of Letters bunker, wearing the same clothes you went to bed in, while Sam Winchester—fictional, TV character Sam Winchester—stared at you like you were the world’s weirdest case.

The reactions were immediate.

Dean had burst into the room, gun drawn, shouting, “Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you get in here?”

You had barely been able to stammer out a response before Castiel appeared, blue eyes narrowing as he scanned you with his grace. “She is… human,” he said slowly. “But… she does not belong to this world.”

Dean had scoffed. “Yeah? No kidding. You don’t just *pop* into a locked-down bunker unless you’re packing some serious mojo.”

Sam had been quieter, more calculating. “Who are you?”

It took hours, a mild panic attack, and a lot of rapid questioning from both sides before you finally admitted the truth:

Back home, the Supernatural universe was nothing more than a TV show.

A stupid, heartbreaking, addictive TV show that you knew inside and out.

And now? Now, you were here. In it.

Dean had been the first to react. “Oh, great. Another alternate universe. Because that never goes wrong.”

Cas had tilted his head. “This is… highly unusual.”

And Sam? Sam had just stared at you, trying to figure out if you were real—or if the universe had just played its cruelest trick yet.

.

.

.

Months Later…

You were still here.

You helped with hunts (you were shocked that you even could). You researched cases with Sam, argued with Dean, even got on Castiel’s good side.

And yet… you still felt like an outsider.

You weren’t real here.

And Sam—God, Sam—was getting too close.

It started small. The way his eyes lingered a little longer when you laughed. How he always seemed to check in on you first after a hunt. The late-night talks over books and whiskey, where he’d tell you things he never told anyone else.

At first, it was fine because there was still a plan. Sam had been researching, looking for a way to send you back. He had promised, back in the beginning, that they’d find a way. You had clung to that—because it was easier than considering the alternative.

But then, the updates stopped coming. Every time you asked, Sam’s face would tighten, and he’d mumble something about dead ends and cosmic deadlocks.

And so, you stopped asking.

But the feeling in your gut told you the truth: Sam wasn’t looking anymore.

Not really.

.

.

.

It wasn’t supposed to come out. Not like this.

The motel room was quiet except for the scratching of Sam’s pen against his journal and the occasional rustling of paper. You sat on the bed, knees pulled up, carefully rubbing moisturizer into your skin. A small, mundane moment after a long day of chasing down leads.

Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “This case is a mess.”

You hummed in agreement, your attention half on your reflection in the motel mirror. “When is it not?”

He huffed a soft laugh, but when you glanced at him, he was already watching you again. That look. The one that made your stomach twist. You knew very well what that look meant.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could shove the words back where they belonged, you blurted it out.

“You don’t actually love me, you know.”

Silence.

Sam’s head tilted slightly, brow furrowing. “What?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly wishing you could take it back. But the words were already hanging in the air, so you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You think you’re falling for me, but you’re not.” Your voice was softer now, but the weight of the words was just as heavy. “You just feel… safe with me. Because I know everything about you. And that’s not real.”

His face twisted, hurt flashing across it like a wound you’d just opened. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” You turned back to the mirror, fiddling with the lotion bottle, unable to face him. “I don’t belong here. And you deserve better than someone who—who doesn’t even belong in your world.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Why do you keep saying that?”

You exhaled sharply. “Because it’s true! Because—” You hesitated, throat tightening. “Because you stopped looking, Sam.”

The room went dead silent.

You saw it in his face, the way his expression faltered for just a second. And that was all you needed.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You stopped looking.”

Sam looked away, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t—” He sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t find anything.”

“That’s a lie.” Your voice cracked. “You just… didn’t want to find anything.”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

.

.

.

Dean found out about Sam stopping his search before he found you outside the bunker.

And he was furious.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?” Dean had shouted, pacing the library while Sam sat, head in his hands. “You kept her trapped here? Lied to her? Jesus, man, she’s been alone this whole time—thinking she had no way home.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “The spell. The one Cas found. What happened to it?”

Sam let out a slow breath, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “I—burned it.”

The air in the room shifted.

Dean lunged, shoving Sam back. “You son of a—”

Before things could go further, Castiel stepped between them, voice calm but firm. “That’s enough.”

.

.

.

The hunt had been brutal.

You and Sam barely spoke as you drove back to the motel, exhaustion hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The weight of everything—of hunts, of lies, of feelings neither of you had the courage to name—pressed down between you both.

The motel room was small, the kind of run-down place you were used to by now. Sam immediately sat at the desk, flipping open his laptop, while you silently grabbed your toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom.

When you stepped out, wrapped in a robe, you caught Sam staring.

Not just looking—staring—like you were something fragile, something slipping through his fingers.

.

.

.

A week later, you finally sat across from Sam, the weight of everything between you impossible to ignore. You exhaled shakily before finally voicing what had been gnawing at you for months. “You know… I do love you, Sam.”

His eyes widened slightly, but you weren’t done. “I just… I’m not sure I’m good enough for you.” Your voice wavered as you admitted, “I’m not built for relationships. I forget little things, I zone out, I’m moody. I’d probably mess this up somehow, and you—” You swallowed. “You’re perfect.”

Sam watched you, his expression soft but serious. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out, cradling your face in his large hands. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheekbones, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re not perfect,” he said, voice low. “And neither am I.” He hesitated before adding, “But I see you. Every part of you. And I still want this.”

Your eyes burned, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest.

And when he kissed you—slow, tender, filled with everything neither of you had been able to say—you realized, for the first time, that maybe… just maybe… you belonged here after all.

.

.

.

THE END.

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A/N: I don't really write. I just wrote this because idk I just got motivated for a really realistic version of me entering spn universe and how it would go. Closest possible thing. Feel free to give criticism cause I honestly don't really like this and I want to improve a lot. Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate it.

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EXTRA: ;)

Sam Winchester was the perfect boyfriend. And it was almost annoying.

He brought you (your favorite drink) just the way you liked it. He noticed your favorite songs and hummed them under his breath. He rubbed circles into your back when you were exhausted, memorized your quirks, and never once made you feel like you didn’t belong.

One night, as you lay curled up against his chest, you grinned and murmured, “You know, I was actually more of a Dean girl.”

Sam’s whole body tensed. “Excuse me?”

You giggled. “I used to write fanfics and everything.”

He groaned. “Oh, you are never living this down.”

You just laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Because for once, you were exactly where you belonged.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[aventurineswife]

Hello!! I'm here to talk about the longest request I've ever made, which is about the gardener reader! (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

Technically it's long because I had to put the meaning of each of the flowers, I must also clarify that the meaning is not 100% reliable for two reasons, first I made that request in the early morning so ┐⁠(⁠´⁠д⁠`⁠)⁠┌

Second, I looked for the meaning on different pages, so I'm sorry for putting a meaning that wasn't there. Now we start talking about the "Dream Declaration" store! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

1. | —This reader unlike other readers of my requests. This reader is somewhat quiet and polite, that's why he made a silent declaration to Aventurine because Aventurine was quite attractive and he thought she wouldn't notice someone like them.

2. | —The "Dream Declaration" store, is a play on words, this is done on purpose because "Dream" is used to dream, while Declaration is used to declare a person or something in a general way, if you put meaning to the word it says: "Declaración de en sueño"

3. | —A detail, which is not mentioned but easy to conclude is that the reader has a notebook about flowers, explaining their meaning, how to take care of them and their respective drawing. Also, he has marked the pages that contain the flowers that are related to love.

For now, those are them, since I didn't have much imagination with the reader who owns a garden.

I consider that this reader is like me, a person Introverted and somewhat insecure about romantic feelings, due to his insecurities that Aventurine was the opposite of him, he decided it was best to silently declare his love when Aventurine came to make her usual visit.

-💤🩵 anon

Unspoken Serenade

Summary: In the quiet sanctuary of your garden, you’ve silently declared your feelings for Aventurine, who seems far beyond your reach. Through the language of flowers, you’ve woven a message into each bloom, hoping he might understand what you’re too shy to voice. When Aventurine visits your garden, his sharp gaze and intuitive nature begin to unravel your hidden emotions, leading to a quiet but profound moment of understanding between the two of you.

Tags: Aventurine x Gardener!Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Silent Confessions, Flower Language, Introverted Reader, Mutual Pining, Subtle Romance, Emotional Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mild emotional tension, References to insecurity and self-doubt, Mentions of past trauma (Aventurine’s backstory).

The sun had barely begun to dip beneath the horizon when Aventurine made his way to the garden. His steps, fluid and purposeful, were masked by the softness of the evening breeze, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of blooming flowers. There was a subtle elegance to everything he did, his every gesture calculated and deliberate. But as he approached the garden, his usual demeanor shifted to something more akin to curiosity. The garden had always been a place of tranquility, one that he had come to associate with moments of quiet reflection—though he rarely allowed himself to truly reflect.

You, the gardener, stood near the edge of the garden, tending to a patch of roses, your delicate fingers brushing against the petals as if you were in a silent conversation with them. You had noticed his arrival, but you hadn’t looked up. It was not because you were unaware of his presence—how could you not be? Aventurine was impossible to ignore. But you were not one for grand declarations or dramatic gestures. The idea of speaking your feelings aloud was something that made you shrink back in quiet embarrassment. And so, you had chosen a different path—a quieter one. You had made a silent declaration to him, one he would never hear unless he looked carefully enough to understand the meaning behind your every movement.

Your eyes flickered momentarily toward him, only to quickly return to the flowers in your hands. The “Dream Declaration” was more than just a name for your shop. It was your way of slowly revealing something you couldn’t say out loud. Each flower you cultivated, each arrangement you carefully crafted, held its own secret meaning. And today, you had chosen carefully.

The roses you were tending to were white—a symbol of purity, but also the start of something deeper. To some, it might be a quiet whisper of admiration. To you, it was a declaration of your own silent longing, a longing you were too shy to voice. Your hands trembled slightly as you traced the outline of the petals, your mind running with thoughts of what you’d never say aloud to him. How could you? He, the brilliant strategist, the charming, larger-than-life figure, who could see through the motives of even the most skilled con artists. What would someone like him ever see in you, the quiet, introverted gardener, lost in the language of flowers?

Aventurine, noticing the subtle tremor in your hands, took a slow step closer, his keen eyes studying the way you interacted with the flowers. His usual smile, the one that danced in his eyes and tilted the corners of his mouth, was absent, replaced by a thoughtful gaze. He watched you carefully, sensing there was more to you than just your quiet demeanor. He had seen the book you kept close to you—the one filled with notes and sketches of flowers, each annotated with their meanings. He had seen the pages where certain flowers were marked with delicate precision. The ones related to love. It was hard not to wonder what kind of message you were silently sending, especially when he’d noticed you hadn’t looked up at him once since he arrived.

"You know," Aventurine spoke, his voice smooth like velvet, but tinged with a note of curiosity, "these roses are rather beautiful. But I can’t help but wonder... are you telling them something that I’m not hearing?"

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You couldn’t meet his gaze, too afraid that the vulnerability in your heart would be exposed. Your hand moved instinctively to cover the pages of your book, the ones where the flowers of love were delicately marked, as though you could hide your feelings as easily as you had hidden your heart.

"You… you’re probably imagining things," you stammered, avoiding his eyes.

Aventurine’s smile remained, though his eyes sharpened with the kind of subtle understanding he reserved for his most calculated moves. He took a small step forward, lowering his gaze to the roses you had been tending to. His fingers brushed the edges of a particularly delicate flower, the soft petals quivering at his touch.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice carrying a layer of gentle amusement, "but I’ve learned that when someone tends to something with care, there’s usually more to it than meets the eye."

The weight of his words hung between you, an unspoken tension that neither of you acknowledged out loud. Your heart thudded in your chest as you realized that, somehow, in his quiet way, he had seen through the facade you had so carefully built. He had read you, not with the sharp, analytical mind that made him one of the Ten Stonehearts, but with the quiet, intuitive understanding that he seemed to possess when it came to people.

You remained silent, but in your mind, you wondered if you could really hide the feelings you had nurtured so carefully in the garden. Did he see through the petals and leaves? Could he truly read the message you had woven into each bloom?

"I suppose…" Aventurine mused, his tone light but carrying an undertone of something more sincere, "that sometimes the best declarations are the ones that remain unsaid."

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes met his. The hues of his gaze seemed to pierce through you, and for a moment, you saw something other than the confident, calculating strategist that everyone else saw. There was a softness in his eyes, a hint of something buried beneath the surface, something perhaps even more vulnerable than what you were too afraid to admit.

Aventurine’s smile returned, but it was different this time—gentler, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. "But I think I understand what you’re saying," he continued, his voice quiet and sincere.

Your breath caught in your throat as the weight of his words sank in. He wasn’t just commenting on the roses, was he? No, Aventurine was acknowledging something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.

"You’ll find," he added with a knowing smile, "that in this game, it’s not always about making a grand declaration. Sometimes, the most powerful ones are the quietest."

And in that moment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, your silent declaration was not lost after all.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE PAST PRESENTS. [PART FOUR]

tangerine x fem!reader

wc. 1689 summary. a couple short weeks after the events of ALWAYS BEEN THE FAVOURITE you and your boss find yourselves on your first official date. his past presents itself in front of his future, and he's keen to keep them separate. boss x secretary. warnings. slight angst? miscommunication but tan's quick to intercept it bc he's a darling sweetheart

SERIES MASTERLIST

⎯ ☆ ⎯

“Is this okay for you?”

You peer up from the menu to lock eyes with Tangerine sat across from you, his expression apprehensive — seeming to be conflicted with his restaurant decision. You smile sweetly and nod, trying to assure him through your concentrated silence that there’s no such thing to worry about. You were far too focused on choosing something to eat to even consider picking apart the setting of your first date. 

His thought and consideration of the reserved seating was evident, his care forever apparent with everything he does — the candle-lit booth in the far end of the restaurant a reflection of that. 

“It’s lovely,” you reinforce with another nod. “It’s perfect.”

His eyes momentarily fall to his menu, his gaze becoming bashful from the appreciation. Your appreciation. He slides a hand towards you over the tablecloth, reaching for your fingers and begins to slowly interlock his with yours. Your look down to your hand in his, watching the tender act play out without any sense of public shame interfering. 

He deviates from your focus and towards the bar, something —someone— seeming to grasp his attention. You twist slightly to follow his eye line after picking up on his stiffened, wary features, eager to see what’s suddenly got him so tense. 

He notices your suspicions and coughs faintly in his fist, pulling your attention back to him. “What’d you fancy?” he asks, distracting you.

Your eyes drift to the bar off to the side, seeing a small group of men huddled together nursing their drinks. 

“Do you know them?” you ask, gaze flickering between the guys and your uneasy looking date. 

“No,” he shakes his head, squeezing your hand.

“Well it seems they know you.”

The men move from their position and Tangerine mumbles something under his breath, watching them get close. He swipes his thumb over the back of your hand before he stands. 

“Be right back, okay?” he says, cupping the side of your face briefly.

You nod slowly, not quite understanding what’s happening but going along with it anyway. Your eyes follow after him as he walks towards the men, watching them exchange handshakes and pleasantries — appearing to be friendly despite the prior refusal. 

You felt confused watching them chat, seeming to catch up like old friends without any need or suggestion of introducing you to them. It made you question whether the public shame you no longer felt had transferred onto him. Made you believe that he now felt the embarrassment.

Watching him chat with those men had almost ripped open an old wound you thought you’d healed. The negative feelings associated with your quiet, solitary life making itself known — the realisation that the only person you truly have in your life is Tangerine. Your boss.

The feelings catch up to you as your mind races with futile doubts, finding yourself getting hurt by the contents of your own brain. Was he really that ashamed to be seen with you? 

And in that moment, what should be joyous had become everything but, and you feel your eyes prickle, that lump forming in the back of your throat. You feel those few sets of eyes land on you every so often, that thought spiral of shame making itself more apparent. You couldn’t sit comfortably in a feeling so opposite. 

You pull your bag into your lap and begin rifling through the overcrowded contents for a pen that actually works, instead stumbling upon squished granola bars and crumpled papers and hair clips. You pull out a lip liner from the bottom of the bag and scribble a quick apology onto a torn off corner of paper, placing it on the table before you stand.

Quickly making your way across the restaurant floor, you head towards the door, ducking out and onto the busy night street. You weren’t sure what to do next, you didn’t quite plan that far ahead. You couldn’t leave, but you also couldn’t go back in there.

So instead you sit on the bench by the door, waiting to decide what to do next. 

And not even five seconds later, you feel a hasty presence rush past you and onto the street where you stood a few short seconds ago. It was Tangerine. 

He’s pulling out his phone, panicked thumbs halting and delaying making contact with you. 

“Excuse me, have you seen my girlfriend? She’s about this tall,” he gestures with his hand, describing you to a stranger walking past only to be met with a harsh shake of the head. “Oh, you cunt.”

He moves onto another stranger as he finally makes it past the lock screen on his phone. “My girlfriend was just out here, she’s uh— she’s wearing this purple dress, got flowers on it and shit. She—”

“I’m here,” you call out to him, unable to watch the evident panic any longer.

His head cocks to follow your voice, his eyes locking on you on the bench, an immediate wash of relief replaces the worry on his face. Tangerine places a hand over his heart while he breathes heavily, his movements rushed as he paces towards you.

“That’s not funny, I thought I lost you,” he says, words soft as he sits beside you — turning inwards to face you. “What you doing out here?” he questions, placing a comforting hand on your knee. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, eyes cast down as you speak to the floor, staring at your docs.

“For what? What’s happened? Why are you sorry?” he asks, head peering around to force you to look at him. 

But you decline, closing your eyes instead. 

“My love, I can’t help if I don’t know what happened,” he coos, trying to coax a response from you.

“Why didn’t you want me to meet your friends?” you speak quietly, hoping the question was too soft to be heard.

“They’re not my friends,” he shakes his head, the hand on your knee finding itself worming into your hand. 

You scoff faintly, turning to meet him — your expression unamused. “Yeah, okay,” you shake your head. “Are you ashamed of me or something?” you ask, this time really hoping the question wasn’t heard.

He’s quiet. Far too quiet and it's almost chilling. His features still, like he’s using your doubt as a moment to analyse you. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you look away bashfully. 

“You did,” he softly nods, squeezing your hand — countering your worries with comfort and understanding. 

“I did,” you utter.

There's a moment of silence between the pair of you, like each of you were trying to find a way out of the situation you found yourselves in without a further mess being created.

You coo his real name to break the silence, briefly glancing over his face. “You’re the only person I have in my life,” you finally speak. “There’s only you. You’re the only one I have… I don’t make friends easily… and watching you with yours brought back memories, I guess,” you admit rather quietly, resuming the stared focus on your feet.

He nods and inhales raggedly. “Remember when I told you about my old job?” 

You recall the discussion of your past lives, the memory of a late night chat in your bed some weeks ago arises. You recollect him sharing details of his past career, explaining the gruesome details to you as if it were anything but — your awareness of his past known to you within the first few days at his company. 

“Yeah,” you nod.

“They’re from my past, and they belong there,” he picks up your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the back of it. “They’re not good people and I don’t want to bring something so good and beautiful into something so bad and ugly… if I—” he pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t feel deserving of your love as it is. And I don't want the reminder.”

You bring your held hands to your lips this time, pressing a kiss into his knuckles like you too were trying to offer a moment of comfort. You stroke over his fingers as a smile slowly spreads across your lips, an ever so faint giggle accompanying it.

His head tilts at you, eyes softening. “What?”

“You uhm—” you shake your head, smile still bright. “You called me your girlfriend.”

“Did I?” he responds coyly, playing with you.

You hum and glance down to your hands, watching the mindless, soothing fidgeting of your entwined fingers. “I quite liked it,” you admit. “And… how would you feel if I called you my boyfriend?” 

His eyes remain fixed on you despite your downwards gaze, taking in every little detail of your face as if it were to help curate the memory for future recallment.

“I’d quite like it,” he copies your response, a just as sincere smile mirroring yours. “We’d have to sign some things on monday,” he starts, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. He parts and pulls away to look into your eyes, making sure you hear what he has to say. “But other than that, we’re all good.”

“We are,” you nod, repeating after him.

“Yeah,” he hums and pulses your hand, turning to look into the restaurant — spotting old acquaintances sitting in the reserved booth. “I’d rather take you somewhere else,” he suggests as he stands, taking your hand as if you should follow suit. 

“I can’t walk too far,” you wince as you stand, looking down to your uncomfortably new shoes. “They’re not broken in yet.”

He twists you slightly, holding his arm up as he nods to the bench, silently instructing you. You step up onto the seat with the help of his stability, your arms moving to rest over his shoulders, hands connecting in front of him. He weaves his arms through your legs to carry you, the weight of you handled seamlessly within his hold as he begins to walk away from the restaurant's entrance — joining a flow of people on the street. 

“Let’s get you some plasters for those poor feet of yours, hm?”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: As the Archeron sisters grow older you take in as your mission to make things right for your cousins, even if the secrets you keep of where you are from and who you are might one day collapse. You never wanted to go back to that life, but something is calling you, and it might be your only way back home.

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, too many secrets, not 100% book following, Rhys is not here yet 😔

Chapter 1: Everything I Wanted

The forest had become a place of ghosts and silence, a land where winter crept in long before the first frost. Snow had yet to fall, but the air carried its promise—cold, biting, and unforgiving. Feyre adjusted her grip on the bow, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The cold gnawed at her fingers, even through the worn leather of her gloves, but she kept her grip steady on the bow. She had been hunting for hours, and her stomach twisted with the knowledge that she had nothing to show for it.

Somewhere, you had already returned home, your satchel surely filled with more food that everyone could eat in a day, likely three times the amount Feyre could ever hope to bring back. It had always been that way. You, her cousin, swift and ruthless in the woods, moving like a phantom, never missing a shot. You had taught Feyre how to hunt, how to read the silence of the forest, how to track when even the footprints had faded. But unlike Feyre, you preferred to hunt alone, deserving of the dark silence that stretched during hunts.

Feyre crouched behind a thick tree, her eyes locking on a deer grazing in the clearing ahead. It was thin, its ribs stark beneath its winter coat. Not ideal, but enough to give your family a proper meal or two. She pulled the bowstring taut, inhaling slowly—

A branch snapped behind her. Too loud. Too intentional.

Feyre stiffened, her heart pounding as she turned. And there, stepping between the trees as if the forest itself had parted for you, your presence filling in the space left for what was only for the cold.

Tall, poised, your shining eyes unreadable, you were considered beautiful in a way that felt unnatural for the ones in the village, almost too perfect, as if the world had crafted you to stand apart from the rest of your family. No one knew where you had come from, not truly. You had arrived when Feyre’s father had lost everything, slipping into their lives like a shadow, seamlessly fitting into their broken household. Nesta and Elain never questioned your presence, never made too many questions while you still fed their stomachs. Even the girls’ father, sunken and defeated, looked at you with something bordering on fear, if he knew... you couldn't tell, and didn’t care.

Your gaze flicked toward the deer, then back to Feyre. “It’s too weak,” you murmured. “We won’t get much from it.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. “I don’t have another hunt today.”

You sighed, reaching to your belt and pulling free a rabbit, already cleaned and ready to be cooked. You held it out. “Take it.”

Feyre glared at you, resentment prickling at her skin. “I can get my own food, you know.”

Your expression didn’t change, sometimes it was hard to explain where you took all the food from, while Feyre could barely get a dying deer sometimes… so you didn't. “Take it, Feyre.” There was a fraction of warmth in your voice, mixed with quiet insistence. A command, whether Feyre wanted to admit it or not.

Jaw tight, Feyre snatched the rabbit from your hand, shoving it into her empty satchel. Without another word, you turned and melted into the trees, your steps so light they barely disturbed the fallen leaves, another thing of you that your cousin never understood, as she listened to every step of hers making some kind of sound that almost disrespected the emptiness of the forest.

Feyre remained there for a moment, watching the empty space where her cousin had disappeared. The same unease settled in her chest—the same feeling she had ignored for years.

Who were you, really? Beside the loving and confident mysterious cousin. Nesta kept telling her to not make questions, instead, be thankful you showed up into their lives before it was too late and they died of hunger. And why did it feel like you were always longing for something?

By the time Feyre pushed open the door to the cottage, the fire inside had already been lit, filling the small home with the scent of burning wood. Elain looked up from her sewing, offering Feyre a relieved smile, while Nesta barely spared her a glance from her place by the fire. You stood at the worn wooden table, pouring water into a pot as if you had always belonged there.

Feyre tossed the rabbit onto the table. “That’s all I got.”

Nesta’s sharp gaze flicked to the rabbit, then to you. “You helped her get that one. You always skin the rabbit differently.”

You didn’t look up from the bread dough tou were making. “And?”

Nesta pressed her lips together, but said nothing. She never argued with you in front of the others.

Feyre sank into the chair near the fire, stretching out her aching legs. She could feel your eyes watching her, though, always shining with something Feyre couldn't exactly explain, your eyes went back to the dough, as if nothing truly bothered you. And, not for the first time, Feyre wondered if maybe you knew something the rest of them didn’t.

☆

The night was sharp and still when Feyre spotted the wolf.

She had been tracking a doe for nearly an hour, her fingers stiff from the cold as she clutched her bow. But before she could line up the shot, the wolf appeared—massive, its fur thick and glistening under the pale light. Too large for an ordinary beast. Too intelligent in the way it moved.

Maybe… a faerie.

Your voice echoed in her mind. “Not all fae are as they seem. And not all deserve to die. Don't believe in your father's stories, he's just an old man trying to find something else to blame for his cowardice.”

Feyre swallowed. The promise she had made to herself—to kill any faerie she encountered, to protect her family from their kind—burned in her chest. If this wolf was indeed fae, it would die just the same.

She knocked the ash arrow, held her breath, and let it fly. The wolf didn’t make a sound as it collapsed, blood staining the snow. Feyre lowered her bow, her pulse thudding in her ears. It was done.

But deep in her bones, she knew—this wasn’t over. Not when you looked at her with pity, not when you turned your face when Feyre put the wolf on the table. Not when you refused to eat that night.

☆

The next day, the cottage door shattered.

The beast filled the doorway, golden fur bristling, power radiating from its hulking form. The air seemed to tremble around it as if the very world feared its presence. Nesta screamed. Elain backed against the wall. Feyre reached for her knife—

But you were already moving, stepping between them and the beast, face unreadable.

"One of you killed one of my sentries," the creature growled, its voice rippling through the room like a storm. "Under the Treaty, you owe a life for a life."

Feyre’s heart pounded. She had known the risks. She had done it anyway.

"I’ll go," she said before fear could take hold. "Just don’t hurt them."

But you turned to the beast, your eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You're lying."

The creature stiffened. Even Nesta and Elain stared at you in shock.

"What?" Feyre hissed.

But you didn’t take your eyes off him. "The Treaty doesn’t say anything like this. You're using it as an excuse to take her. What do you really want?"

The beast hesitated—a flicker of something passing through its massive form before it growled, "It’s not of your concern. The Treaty changed."

You exhaled sharply, then looked at Feyre. "You don’t have to go. This is a trap."

Feyre’s hands shook. She wanted to believe you. But you had always acted differently, always too secretive, always knowing things you shouldn’t and not sharing the whole picture. And the beast—whoever he was—was waiting.

Finally, Feyre lifted her chin. "If I don’t go, he’ll kill us all."

Your mouth tightened, the argument far too correct for your liking. You could kill the beast, attack him first. But the consequences would be too risky to deal with. So you just let a breath out and agreed. And then, to Feyre’s horror, you turned back to the beast and said, "Then I go too."

The beast hesitated. "Take it or leave it," you said, voice sharp as a blade.

And though he said nothing, though he gave no outward agreement, he turned his back and left the cottage, waiting outside while both of you gave your final goodbyes.

☆

The three of you rode in silence.

Feyre barely understood what had happened, her mind spinning as the beast led them through the woods on a horse, his golden fur catching the moonlight. You rode beside her, your expression as unreadable as ever.

"You shouldn’t have come," Feyre muttered.

You only glanced at your younger cousin. "Neither should you. You should've let me solve this by myself."

Before Feyre could argue, a sudden need for sleep washed over her, a feeling of tiredness that wasn't there before, and made her close her eyes and incline on the horse. The beast slowed, checking on both of you, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you perfectly awake and in control of your senses. You barely spared him a side eye as you felt the magic trying to penetrate your skin.

“You better keep walking, High Lord. We won't get to your court if you try to make questions I won't answer.” The beast hesitated a second before walking ahead, the horses following his lead easily.

You didn't say another word to him again and pretended you weren't seeing the looks he kept giving you during the path. You only kept checking on Feyre from time to time to make sure she was fine on her horse. It didn't took much longer for your cousin to wake up when you were all getting close to getting out of the forest, and before you, bathed in golden light, stood a sprawling estate - far grander than anything Feyre had ever seen, a usual vision of exatamente your own life looked like before everything went wrong.

In front of you rested the Spring Court. And waiting at the steps, watching you with sharp, amused eyes, was a red-haired fae. Curiously, a vision of your past. Lucien.

☆

From the moment you entered the estate, you did not trust Tamlin. Maybe that unsettling feeling came from a past you didn't want to revisit and the High Lord didn't seem to remember. Feyre could feel it in the way you stood, the way your sharp eyes never left him, the way you responded to his carefully measured words with nothing but silence. You hated it here, so Feyre would do her best to match your feelings.

Tamlin seemed equally wary of you, though, as if you were a constant thought he couldn't seem to shake off. He didn’t meet your gaze often during the few meals you shared together, but when he did, there was something almost… uneasy in the way he regarded you.

Lucien, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

"I have to say," he drawled one evening at dinner, swirling his wine, "I expected one human to be foolish enough to take Tamlin's deal, but two?" His russet eye gleamed with amusement, raising an eyebrow when the word human left his mouth "Either you’re very brave or very stupid."

"Or," You countered, mirroring his lazy smirk, "your High Lord is just not as clever as he thinks."

Feyre nearly choked on her drink. Lucien blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, I get it."

Tamlin, however, did not look amused. "Y/N" he said, voice heavy with warning.

You merely tilted your head. "Yes, High Lord?"

And there it was. The way your voice dropped lower, the weird accent that rolled off your tongue every time you got mad. The accent that didn't belong to any of the human lands, when you made your “r” thicker and changed the rhythm of your phrases, almost as if you were singing a song instead of talking. Tamlin seemed to notice the subtle change too, as his eyes, behind the mask, widened a bit.

“You would do me a great favor if you respect me in my own court. I am the one keeping you and your cousin safe, it would do you great to remember this” your breathing stilled at his words, anger easily burning and slowing inside of you.

“And you would be a great guy if remember you were the one who bring us here”

“You killed my guard”

“You sent him over The Wall even though you are not supposed to” Your voice cut sharply, getting more irritated by the second, the “t” in the phrase al“What made you send him there, hm? What are you running away from?”

“Dinner is over. You should all go to your rooms” Tamlin commands, Feyre’s body obeying her before she could think much of it. But her eyes were still in your lazy movements, as if you were unaffected by his words.

Feyre didn’t know why, but she had the distinct feeling that you already knew the answer to your own question. That you had known since before you set foot in this place. Maybe even before you met her and her family in that cabin.

You were playing a game only you understood.

☆

The Spring Court was beautiful. Feyre could admit that much. Rolling green fields stretched beyond the manor, endless and sun-drenched. The scent of wildflowers clung to the warm breeze, and the days passed in golden hues, filled with feasts and quiet moments beneath the willows. Tamlin was kind to her. Gentle. He showed her the beauty of his lands, the wonders of his power, the parts of himself that seemed carefully carved for her to see.

And yet—

“Why can't you look at what’s in front of you?” Your voice was sharp as you paced the balcony of Feyre’s painting room, your eyes blazing in the sunlight.

Feyre glared at you. “I am looking. And I don't think that what I see is as bad as you seem to think.”

“No,” You snapped. “You’re seeing what he wants you to see. Fae cannot lie but they for sure can get around the truth. I told you this years ago, why can't you listen now?”

Feyre clenched her fists. “And what is it that I’m missing, exactly?”

You exhaled hard, gripping the railing. “The way everyone here acts, the way they watch us, the way they fear Tamlin.” You turned, leveling Feyre with a look. “Doesn’t it seem odd that a High Lord would need to drag you here himself? That in this ridiculously big manor Tamlin has… what… ten faes in his staff? It doesn't make any sense” Your eyes wander to the side of the door, where a female was hidden behind the magic spell Tamlin casted, she quickly averted her eyes from you, scared you had seen her.

Feyre shifted uncomfortably, looking to where you were watching and seeing anything. “He’s protecting us.”

You scoffed. “Right. Protecting.”

The words settled between you, thick and heavy. Feyre crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “You don’t even know him.”

Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Neither do you.”

Feyre’s eyes darkened with something close to disappointment. “And stop talking like that”.

You raised your eyebrows, confusion taking the place of anger. “Like what?”

“Like that.” She forced the “T” in the word, your accent sounding foreign in her tongue. “It’s weird. No one speaks like this.” Feyre shifted her attention back to the painting, while you just scoffed.

“You honestly don't know a thing, do you?”

“So tell me! What is it that I'm missing? Why do you always keep everything a secret?” Your eyes darted to her hands, dirty with paint, to her pants, little flowers painted in the material.

“I can't.” Defeat was obvious in your tone, tiredness already consuming your being. “If I tell you all of this would be for nothing.” You didn’t let her say anything else, running out of the room.

☆

The afternoon light filtered through the trees as Feyre followed Tamlin along a winding garden path. She wasn’t sure where he was leading her, but she found that, for once, she didn’t mind. Tamlin had been… attentive. Thoughtful. In the last few days he showed her beauty she had never known, took her on rides through the hills, played music for her in the evenings when the court was quiet. He made her feel seen in a way no one had before. So why did her cousin's voice still linger in her mind?

Tamlin stopped at the edge of a clearing, turning to her. “I wanted to show you something.” Feyre stepped closer—and gasped.

A small pond stretched before them, glowing as though lit from within. The water shimmered with silver and gold, tiny glowing fish flickering beneath the surface. It was breathtaking, like something out of a dream.

Tamlin studied her, a small smile on his lips. “I used to come here when I was younger,” he admitted. “It was one of the only places where I could be alone.”

Feyre looked at him then, truly looked. Beneath the power, the strength, the carefully measured control… there was something else. Loneliness.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” she murmured. Tamlin hesitated, his golden eyes searching hers. Slowly, he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her jaw. Feyre’s breath caught.

“Feyre…” His voice was quiet, raw.

Her pulse raced. But before she could say anything, a sharp voice sliced through the stillness.

“Feyre.” She turned. But there was no one around. Your voice has been so clear in her head, as if you were glued to her side.

Tamlin stiffened beside her. “What happened?”

Feyre swallowed hard, looking between the trees to see where your voice came from. Tamlin’s gaze had darkened, his jaw tight.

Tamlin met Feyre’s stare as she said, quietly, “Something is wrong, I think. I heard Y/N's voice.”

Tamlin's mouth pressed into a thin line. Without another word, he turned and got out of the lake. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what your cousin is looking for, or what she is trying to tell you, but she won’t get it.”

Feyre wanted to believe him. But your voice settled in her chest, heavy and cold.

☆

The library was one of the few places in the Spring Court where silence reigned in your mind. Dusty books lined the shelves, the scent of old parchment heavy in the air. You sat curled in one of the worn velvet armchairs by the window, the faint light of the afternoon sun casting warm streaks across the wooden floor. A book lay open in your lap, while you tried to make sense of the last years of changes in Prythian.

You sensed him before he spoke, the steady footsteps, the familiar pull of his presence. Lucien slid into the chair beside you, not asking for permission — as if he had always belonged there, as if no time had passed.

His voice was soft, but there was a tension beneath it. “Where were you?”

You didn't look at him, eyes fixed on the delicate handwriting in the book. “In my home, Lucien. What are you talking about?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound too sharp for this quiet place. “Don't lie to me now, Y/N. Stop pretending you don't know me."

That made your heart clench — the familiarity in his voice, the plea hidden beneath the sarcasm. You finally glanced at him, meeting those russet eyes that always saw too much. “You should stop talking about things you don't know.”

His jaw tightened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “What happened to you? You disappeared after—"

“I know what happened,” you cut him off, voice colder than you intended. “And I know what made me leave. Later I found my cousins, and now they're my family. It's enough.”

Lucien's golden eye flickered, scanning your face as if searching for the truth beneath the lie. “That's how you're playing this now?”

You clenched your fingers around the edges of the book, the paper threatening to tear beneath your grip. “I'm not playing anything. This is my life. This is me. Stop talking about the past since you know so much about it.”

The hurt that flashed across his face was gone as quickly as it came. “The problem is that I don't know anything.” His voice dropped lower, the sharp edge softening. “You disappeared one day and left everyone that cared about you with no news. And all of this for what? For you to play pretend with a long-lost family? For you to fake an accent that is not yours? Wear clothes that are not your style?”

Your heart stammered in your chest — he had noticed. Of course he had. Lucien was too clever, too perceptive. You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Again, you don't know what I went through.”

A long silence stretched between you — the kind only shared by two people who once knew each other too well. He leaned back in his chair, one hand running through his copper hair.

“Right.” His voice was quieter now, more tired. “I can see I don't... Last time I saw you, your ears weren't slightly round.”

Your breath caught. Your hand instinctively brushed the strand of hair falling over your ear, trying to hide what you had been so careful to get used to. He had seen that too.

“Last time I saw you,” you murmured, gaze fixed on the book in your lap, “you were still in the Autumn Court praying your father would grow a heart.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Nothing went how any of us planned, I see.”

You looked at him then — really looked at him — and saw how much had changed. The scar across his eye. The weight of thr mask in his features. The shadows beneath the sharp smirk.

“Your High Lord will find you.” A chill ran down your spine at his words.

“He doesn't know he's my High Lord.” Your voice barely above a whisper. “I don't even know if that court is still my home.”

Lucien's gaze softened, the sharp edges of him melting for a brief moment. “You were one of the only people in the world who made me want to see that place, based on how well you spoke about it.” His fingers tapped on the arm of the chair. “You love your home, Y/N. And even if you want to lie and say we don't know each other... I'll be your friend, okay? You're not alone.”

The words hit harder than you expected — like a knife slipped between ribs. You clenched your teeth, blinking quickly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I've never been lonelier in my life, Lucien.” The confession slipped out before you could stop it.

For a second, neither of you moved — the silence stretching heavy and fragile between you. His hand shifted slightly on the armrest, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn't know if he should. But then Tamlin's voice echoed down the hall, sharp and impatient. Lucien sighed, pushing to his feet.

“If you ever want to talk... really talk...” He hesitated, then added, “You know where to find me.”

He left without another word, leaving you alone in the library — the ghosts of the past pressing heavy against your chest. You sat there long after he was gone, the book forgotten in your lap. Trying to remember how to breathe.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌙 Ramadan Mubarak - Books by and About Muslims

🦇 Good morning, my beautiful bookish bats. To celebrate this Islamic holy month, here are a FEW books featuring Muslim characters. I hope you consider adding a few to your TBR.

❓What was the last book you read that taught you something new OR what's at the top of your TBR?

🌙 A Woman is No Man - Etaf Rum 🌙 Amal Unbound - Aisha Saeed 🌙 Love From A to Z - S.K. Ali 🌙 Hana Khan Carries On - Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 Yes No Maybe So - Becky Albertalli and Aisha Saeed 🌙 Evil Eye - Etaf Rum 🌙 I Am Malala - Malala Yousafzai 🌙 Exit West - Mohsin Hamid 🌙 Written in the Stars - Aisha Saeed 🌙 The Night Diary - Veera Hiranandani 🌙 Much Ado About Nada - Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 The Eid Gift - S.K. Ali 🌙 More Than Just a Pretty Face - Syed M. Masood 🌙 Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero - Saadia Faruqi 🌙 If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan 🌙 Snow - Orhan Pamuk 🌙 Sofia Khan Is Not Obliged - Ayisha Malik 🌙 The Proudest Blue by Ibtihaj Muhammad 🌙 And I Darken - Kiersten White 🌙 The Last White Man - Mohsin Hamid

🌙 Hijab Butch Blues - Lamya H 🌙 The Bad Muslim Discount - Syed M. Masood 🌙 Ms. Marvel - G. Willow Wilson 🌙 Love from Mecca to Medina - S.K. Ali 🌙 The City of Brass - S.A. Chakraborty 🌙 The Love Match by Priyanka Taslim 🌙 A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar 🌙 A Very Large Expanse of Sea by Tahereh Mafi 🌙 An Emotion of Great Delight by Tahereh Mafi 🌙 The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali by Sabina Khan 🌙 The Moor’s Account - Laila Lalami 🌙 Only This Beautiful Moment by Abdi Nazemian 🌙 Salt Houses by Hala Alyan 🌙 When a Brown Girl Flees by Aamna Quershi 🌙 Jasmine Falling by Shereen Malherbe 🌙 Between Two Moons by Aisha Abdel Gawad 🌙 Sea Prayer by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini 🌙 Unmarriageable by Soniah Kamal

🌙 Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie 🌙 All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir 🌙 The Bohemians by Jasmin Darznik 🌙 Ayesha at Last by Uzma Jalaluddin 🌙 A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Mohammed Hanif 🌙 Chronicle of a Last Summer by Yasmine El Rashidi 🌙 A Girl Like That by Tanaz Bhathena 🌙 Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga 🌙 The Mismatch by Sara Jafari 🌙 Does My Head Look Big In This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah 🌙 You Truly Assumed by Laila Sabreen 🌙 Saints and Misfits by S.K. Ali 🌙 Once Upon an Eid - S.K. Ali and Aisha Saeed 🌙 Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel by Sara Farizan 🌙 Alif the Unseen by G. Willow Wilson 🌙 The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar 🌙 A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan 🌙 Nayra and the Djinn by Michael Berry 🌙 All-American Muslim Girl by Lucinda Dyer 🌙 It All Comes Back to You by Farah Naz Rishi

🌙 The Marvelous Mirza Girls by Sheba Karim 🌙 Salaam, with Love by Sara Sharaf Beg 🌙 Queen of the Tiles by Hanna Alkaf 🌙 How It All Blew Up by Arvin Ahmadi 🌙 Zara Hossain Is Here by Sabina Khan 🌙 Punching the Air by Ibi Zoboi & Yusef Salaam 🌙 She Wore Red Trainers by Na'ima B. Robert 🌙 Hollow Fires by Lucinda Dyer 🌙 Internment by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Against the Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa 🌙 Love in a Headscarf - Shelina Zahra Janmohamed 🌙 Courting Samira by Amal Awad 🌙 The Other Half of Happiness by Ayisha Malik 🌙 Huda F Are You? by Huda Fahmy 🌙 Love, Hate & Other Filters by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know by Samira Ahmed 🌙 Muslim Girls Rise - Saira Mir and Aaliya Jaleel 🌙 Amira & Hamza - Samira Ahmed 🌙 The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf 🌙 Nura and the Immortal Palace by M.T. Khan

🌙 As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow by Zoulfa Katouh 🌙 Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan 🌙 Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor by Xiran Jay Zhao 🌙 The Yard - Aliyyah Eniath 🌙 When We Were Sisters by Fatimah Asghar 🌙 The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty 🌙 Maya's Laws of Love by Alina Khawaja 🌙 The Chai Factor by Farah Heron 🌙 The Beauty of Your Face - Sahar Mustafah 🌙 Hope Ablaze by Sarah Mughal Rana

[anyasathenaeum]

Partner (Eriks!Vash x Reader)

A/N: Howdy, everybody. Sorry for having disappeared off the face of the Earth for a while without a word. I ended up getting injured, worsened the injury and now I'm recuperating. Anyways, have this. I highly recommend listening to this song while reading since it's the song that randomly inspired me to write this. I imagined the dancing in this fic as being kind of like Regency Era dancing (think of the dancing in Pride and Prejudice (2005) or Anna Karenina (2012)). Also, see if you can find the reference to one of my other fics in this piece. Also also, thank you to all of you who still like and reblog my writings - I see each and every one of you and I'm grateful to you all. ❤️❤️ Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, tearful reunions, Wolfwood being a big brother, a menace and a terrible dancer (not a warning, this is a fact) Word Count: 5.7k

One year.

It had already been one year since the destruction of Julai city, killing 90% of the population as a result.

The man looking back at Vash in the mirror wasn't somebody he recognized - this man was haggard, tired-looking and radiated a sadness that could almost be physically felt. This man, with his gaunt face, his scruffy jaw, chin and cheeks, his messy, long blonde hair, his dull and lifeless blue eyes, looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and all the suffering that came with it. This wasn't Vash.

This man was Eriks. The wanderer that was found a year ago by Grandma Sheryl and her young granddaughter, Lina, after... after...

'Don't.'

The little voice in Vash's head warned him, but the pain burned through him regardless the moment he remembered all he had lost that day a year ago.

His brother.

His freedom.

You.

And just like that, your face, so vivid and full of life with a smile as vibrant as the sun, popped into Vash's mind before he could truly stop it. The pain from before exploded into sheer agony, and Vash found himself squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to will away the image of you in his mind, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the washbasin in an attempt to ground himself.

To remember you was too painful. Too heartbreaking. Especially when the reason you had been lost was him and him alone.

The last time Vash had seen you, you'd been pulled away from him by Wolfwood as Vash fought with his twin brother, Nai. He could still hear your voice, screaming his name, trying so desperately to get to him despite Wolfwood's grip on you.

Soon after that, the city had imploded around Vash when he fell back down to the ground, and as he struggled to escape the carnage left behind, he caught no glimpse of you, saw no proof of your survival. And so, Vash was left to accept the only conclusion that remained - that he had killed you, his best friend of so many years, just as he had 90% of the residents of Julai city.

'Stop. Just stop it.'

The little voice in Vash's mind scolded him as it so often did, and when he reopened his eyes and looked into the mirror, somehow, the man looking back at him looked even more exhausted, lifeless and sadder than usual. In an attempt to distract himself and pull himself back together, Vash splashed some tepid water on his face before drying himself rather roughly.

"Eriks?" came a soft call through the door of his bedroom, accompanied by a gentle knocking. Grandma Sheryl.

Quickly pulling himself together as best as he could, Vash stood up straight and took a deep breath before walking over to the door to his room and opening it. Sure enough, there stood Grandma Sheryl, her wizened old face filled with concern and a gentle, motherly warmth, a bundle of cloth in her arms.

"Hey," Vash answered, forcing as best a smile on his face as he could manage with the lingering pain he was still feeling. "What's up, Grandma?"

Grandma Sheryl relaxed a bit, but the concern never disappeared from her face as she took in the man she considered her adoptive grandson, "Sorry to disturb you, dear. I had a favour to ask of you, and I'll be honest, it's a bit of a big favour."

"No such thing, Grandma," Vash replied immediately, waving away her concerns with gentle reassurance. "What can I help you with?"

"Well..." Grandma Sheryl trailed off, shaking her head a bit before sighing, "It's Lina. Apparently, there's some kind of dance happening tonight at the saloon in town and she's dead set on going. And you know how stubborn that girl is when she's decided on something."

This drew a small, genuine chuckle from Vash as he knew exactly what Sheryl meant - Lina was well known for her spunk, her boldness and her stubbornness despite only being all of 12 years old. "Don't we all?"

"Well, the issue is that chaperoning Lina at a dance is much harder for me now as I'm getting older. I'm afraid it's getting to be beyond my abilities to do such a thing, but I don't want her going alone. Would you be willing to go with her and keep an eye on her tonight?" Grandma Sheryl asked, her lips twisted in a frown.

Vash almost let a tired sigh slip, but he restrained himself. It was obvious that Sheryl felt bad asking this of him, as she knew he was struggling. She wasn't blind, but it was evident that she really had no other choice with this.

"Sure," Vash found himself answering before he could really think about it. "I'll go with her."

The surprise on Grandma Sheryl's face was clear, but it was quickly followed by relief, "Thank you, Eriks. I can't tell you how big a help that is. I promise, I'll find some way to repay you. In the meantime, please take these. You can wear them tonight."

Grandma Sheryl held out the bundle of cloth she'd been holding for Vash to take, and once he did, it immediately became evident to him that what she'd offered him were dress clothes, made of much finer material than his typical homespun shirts and pants.

"I hope they fit you. I borrowed one of your shirts and one pair of your pants so I could get you something that's close to your size," Sheryl admitted sheepishly, her face turning a gentle shade of pink. "I'm sorry, Eriks."

The admission pulled another small laugh from Vash as he looked down at the old woman in front of him, "You're forgiven. It was kind of you to think of me being prepared for tonight."

Vash glanced over at his bedside table, taking note of the time - it was already getting into the early evening, "Speaking of tonight, it looks like I ought to get ready."

"Right! Of course," Sheryl replied immediately. "I'll leave you to it. Lina's getting ready, too. I'll tell her to wait for you in the living room."

"Thank you, Sheryl."

Vash's reply was gentle, his voice surprisingly quiet. Deep down, he knew that his thanks was much more profound than simply for the clothes Sheryl had gifted him. It was for everything she had done for him since the first time he had crossed the threshold into her home a year ago, a mess and even worse a wreck than he was now.

With a soft, warm smile and without a single word, Grandma Sheryl simply approached him and reached up, patting his stubbled cheek with her hand gently. It seemed she understood what he had truly meant. After that moment of quiet, maternal tenderness, Sheryl turned on her heel and left him be, giving him time to get ready for the night ahead.

Vash closed the door with his hip before walking over to his bed and getting changed into the dress clothes Sheryl had bought him. The fabric felt smoother and almost silky against his skin, his numerous scars particularly sensitive to the feeling of the fabric. As he tucked in his shirt and brushed off the pants, he returned to the mirror at his washbasin to take a look at himself.

The dress shirt was a simple white button-down, but it was much classier-looking than his usual attire, with gloves to complete the upper half of his look. His pants were black and sleek and seemed to fit him perfectly. Suddenly, the man in front of him seemed to transform from haggard to rugged. Almost... handsome. Though, something was definitely missing.

After studying his reflection for much longer than was probably necessary, Vash finally figured out what it was that was missing - he had to do something with his hair. It was far too long and messy to be left down for such an event, so he did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed an elastic band from his washbasin shelf and tied his hair up in a bun. A few strands that were too short to be pulled back remained, framing his face and his glasses.

'There. Much better.'

The little voice in his head gave its approval at the sight in front of him. Tying his hair back had done just the trick.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Stampede, look at you! You clean up nicely."

The voice was so clear in Vash's mind that he believed for a moment that he had truly heard it, going to far as to look around the room for the source of it. But even as he looked, he knew it was futile - the voice he'd imagined had been yours. It was what you might've said if you'd been standing next to him, looking at his reflection with him. He could picture you standing there with him, grinning brightly at the man in the mirror, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Another hot, piercing bolt of pure agony jolted through Vash, making him flinch. In that moment, all the willpower he had had to go through with this evening left him. What had he been thinking? He couldn't do this. Not now.

How could he possibly go out, be around other people, keep an eye on Lina and pretend to be alright when it was the last thing in the world he was? How could he possibly partake in dancing, something you had loved so dearly, something the two of you had done together countless times over the years, whether it were on dance floors or sandsteamer decks? How could he face all that he had lost when his partner wasn't there to face it with him anymore?

'But you have to,' the little voice chided. 'You promised Sheryl. You owe her and Lina this much.'

Taking a slow, deep, steadying breath, Vash collected himself as best as he could, willing away his sorrow and his grief as best as he could before heading downstairs to where Lina was waiting for him. The young girl was wearing her own dress clothes, a few clips in her hair and an excited smile on her face, which only widened when she caught sight of him.

"Woah! Eriks, you look so nice!" Lina exclaimed, taking in the sight of Vash in his dress clothes.

"So do you," Vash replied, a soft smile on his face and a hint of teasing in his tone. "Turns out that you clean up nicely, you little rascal."

"Hey!" Lina retorted immediately, pouting at him. "Don't you start with me."

Raising his hands up in the air in surrender, Vash laughed, "Yes, ma'am. My apologies. Shall we get going?"

"Yes, we shall," Lina replied with a huff, but the girl couldn't fully suppress her smile as she took Vash's arm.

"Be careful, you two. And have fun!" Sheryl called from the kitchen, poking her head out to smile at her family.

"Thanks, Grandma! We will!" Lina called back for the both of them, smiling at her grandmother and waving. "Love you!"

"Love you, too!"

The walk to town was filled with banter and teasing, jokes and sass, as conversations between Lina and Vash typically were. The young girl's excitement about the dance seemed to be contagious, as Vash found himself feeling more relaxed and excited than he had in a very long time. By the time they got to the saloon, they could see and hear how busy it had already gotten - laughter, talking, music and sounds of glasses clinking and chairs being moved could be heard from outside the saloon itself.

"Dang, looks like the whole town was excited for this," Vash chuckled, more to himself than to Lina, but the young girl answered him anyways, "Yeah! All the kids in my class were talking about it since the start of the week!"

Sure enough, when they got inside, the saloon was more alive than Vash had ever remembered seeing it. Decorations dangled from the second-story balcony, and the entire town seemed to have joined the party, with people sitting and standing wherever they possibly could. The only place that had some open space was the dance floor, so dance partners could dance without trampling each other.

"Oh, look! There are my friends!" Lina shouted abruptly over the volume of all the talking and laughing, drinking and eating around them. She waved to a group of kids her age, all of whom waved back to her excitedly before beckoning her over.

"Go on. Have fun. I'll be by the bar if you need me, okay?" Vash encouraged her with a soft smile.

"Thanks, Eriks," Lina replied, giving him a big hug with her small arms wrapped around his waist and her face pressed against his chest before heading off to join her friends, who eagerly greeted her.

True to his word, Vash made his way through the crowd towards the bar, only stopping briefly to exchange some small talk with townsfolk who knew him. As he spoke with them, however, he suddenly caught a familiar scent that stopped him mid-sentence - your scent. It wasn't a perfumey or cologney smell, but your scent, the scent of your skin, the same scent Vash often caught and secretly cherished whenever the two of you had shared a bed and slept side by side, more often than not ending up with your limbs entangled together by morning.

He looked around frantically, trying desperately to see if he might catch sight of you in this tightly-packed crowd. His heart began to race faster than it had in the past year, and the sounds of the saloon became muffled as he focused, searching for any sign of you. That scent... there was no way that, too, had been a figment of his imagination. It had been faint, but it was definitely real.

Vash searched and searched the endless sea of faces, his heart beginning to ache from how fast it was beating against his ribs. It felt as though his heart would burst out of his chest and lead him straight to you. It was calling to you, calling to its other half, begging you to answer him, to be here with him, to soothe him, hold him, love him and comfort him after all he had been through.

For the past year, he had believed you were as good as dead, but he had never gotten any true confirmation of that. It had been too painful to even think of you, let alone take action.

So maybe... just maybe...

Yet, the longer he searched, the quicker his hope began to die. There was no sign of you anywhere. But just as Vash began to give up his search for you, something caught his eye in an opposite corner of the saloon from where he was standing - a giant cross, wrapped in cloth and bound by a strap, leaned unassumingly against a wall.

The Punisher.

There was no way Vash could ever mistake it. He knew that gun well, and he knew its owner even better. And standing there, leaned against the wall next to his gun, was Wolfwood himself. The undertaker looked tired and even gently annoyed as he studied the crowd carefully, but Vash watched as the man's eyes softened as he caught sight of something. Or rather, someone.

A figure approached the undertaker, holding two glasses. The figure offered one glass to Wolfwood, keeping the other for themselves and taking a sip before turning to face the crowd.

As he caught sight of your eyes, your face, Vash felt his heart stop.

You were here.

You were here and you were alive.

Vash felt his breath hitch as he took you in from where he stood, all the way on the other side of the saloon. In that moment, the world seemed to fall away - there was nobody else in the room except for you and him.

'You're here. You're alive,' the little voice in Vash's mind repeated the same thought, over and over again, on an endless loop.

You looked much the same as the last time Vash had seen you in Julai. But one thing that caught his attention was just how tired you seemed. Your posture, the way you held yourself, with your shoulders curled forward, made it seem like you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your expression wasn't the calm or happy one he remembered. Instead, your face was a mask filled with sadness, your eyes dull as they flitted aimlessly across the crowd. You almost seemed... unwell, somehow.

Something about you, even like this, felt eerily familiar to Vash. And then, it hit him; you looked the same way his reflection had looked earlier today.

The ache in Vash's heart at that realization was enough to make his eyes sting. It was clear that you were hurting just as much as he had been all this time. Of course you were hurting; you'd lost him just as he'd lost you. How could you not be hurting?

Before he could stop himself, Vash found himself moving, pushing through the crowd in a desperate attempt to get to you. He had to get to you. His life, his very existence, depended on him getting to you as soon as he possibly could. He didn't care about anything else, he couldn't care about anything else, not when you were here in the same saloon as him after a year of being apart. After a year of believing he had lost you for good.

But before he could make it to you, the music for another round of dancing started up, and the crowd shifted as eager dancers took to the floor, rushing in front of Vash and blocking his path to you. It made him want to scream, to yell at every person who kept him from you for even a second longer. He wanted, no, needed to reach you, to confirm you were really here, to hold you, to cry in your arms and beg your forgiveness for all the pain and grief he had brought you, to thank every deity in existence for your survival. He needed you.

As Vash struggled to find his way through the crowd to you, though, the tune that was playing caught his attention. He recognized the song as being the tune for a popular dance well-known across No Man's Land, a dance shared typically by lovers. You and him had danced together many a time to this song, you both knew the dance through and through and could dance it even without the music guiding you. In fact, you had done just so on many a sleepless night, with nothing but the desert wind as your orchestra.

So much had been up in the air between the two of you back then. Nothing was straightforward or particularly clear, the lines between you and Vash blurred. Neither of you really ever knew what the relationship you shared was. Were you just friends? Were you more? The two of you were certainly much closer than just friends should be, knew more of one another than friends would, but... neither of you acted on it. Neither of you took the leap to ask the question that would clarify it all. And so, the two of you remained stuck in that strange world of the in-between, not really just friends, but not really lovers, either.

But now, as Vash fought to get to you, to be reunited with you after grieving you for a year, there was no doubting it anymore - you were his everything. You were his life, his better half, and he loved you more than anything and he had to tell you that.

Vash could see Wolfwood saying something to you, gesturing to the dancefloor, his expression softer than Vash had ever seen it. Wolfwood seemed to be encouraging you, and given his gestures, it seemed like he was trying to get you to dance with him. But the sheer pain and sadness in your eyes and on your face as you looked back at Wolfwood made it plain how you felt about dancing. It hurt Vash's heart to see you refusing to do something you had so dearly loved, but deep down, he also found himself feeling weirdly comforted that it was likely due to how much it (and by extension, he) had meant to you.

Wolfwood was persistent, though, and after a little while of talking to you, Vash could see your expression becoming more open as you became more receptive to his encouragement. Then, Vash watched you let out a deep breath before putting down your glass on a nearby table, Wolfwood doing the same before he took your hand and almost dragged you to the dancefloor.

Within seconds, it was evident that Wolfwood had no idea what he was doing. He wasn't a dancer, despite being a good fighter, and he very clearly didn't know the dance, his attempts clumsy at best. But still, admirably, Wolfwood persisted, doing his best to dance with you and make you happy. In any other situation, Vash might've laughed at the scene, but right now, all he was focused on was getting to you.

Then, with a sudden flash of inspiration, he knew exactly how to get to you. There would be a moment in this dance where you and Wolfwood would step away from each other as part of the steps, and given that Wolfwood would come towards where Vash was standing, he could easily step in and take Wolfwood's place. He had only mere seconds to get into position on the edge of the dance floor as he knew that dance step was coming shortly based on the music.

As the music flourished, you and Wolfwood went your separate ways on the dance floor as anticipated, with Wolfwood approaching the edge of the dance floor where Vash was standing while you went the opposite way.

The world seemed to slow as Vash stepped forward onto the dance floor, swiftly stepping in and taking Wolfwood's place with practiced precision.

This was it.

As you returned to where you and Wolfwood would rejoin for the rest of the dance, you were instead met by a man you hadn't seen before.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by your new dance partner. You could see Wolfwood standing by the edge of the dance floor, looking equal parts confused and relieved not to be dancing with you anymore as he watched you and the man who had taken his place.

The man was a much better dancer than Wolfwood, and within seconds, it was evident that he knew the steps as well as a professional dancer did. The way he spun you, held you, walked with you in time to the music, all of it felt so easy, so natural, so... right. As if you had done this dance with this man a thousand times before.

You couldn't help but stare at your new partner, trying to figure out why the hell he'd stepped in and decided that you, out of all the people on the dancefloor, were to be his partner. The man was rugged and extremely handsome, but something about the way he held you, the way he guided you and touched his hand to yours as you danced together spoke to a profound tenderness. His eyes, such a beautiful shade of blue, never left your face, studying you with such intensity that it almost made you uncomfortable. It might've, if his gaze hadn't felt so familiar.

You took in every detail of this man - his hair, his body type, his eyes, his nose, his lips, the stubble on his chin, the glasses on his face, the way one of his hands felt cold and hard while the other was soft and warm through his gloves as they pressed against yours. Something inside you was screaming, your heart aching every time you shared a touch with him or looked at him, but for the life of you, you couldn't figure out why.

What was it about this man that was making you feel like this? Why did it feel like you'd known this man for ages? Why did your body and his seem to move in such perfect synchronization, as though the two of you had practiced this dance together?

Who was this man?

The endless questions that swirled around torrentially in your mind all vanished the moment your eyes once again met his.

He was crying.

This beautiful man, with his hand still pressed to yours, was crying openly before you, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as his gaze remained trained on you. He didn't seem to care if others saw.

It felt so wrong, seeing tears in those beautiful eyes of his. They didn't belong there. It felt as though you'd been punched in the stomach, all the air in your lungs leaving you in a second at the sight of him crying. All you wanted was to reach out and wipe those tears away, comfort this mysterious dance partner of yours.

Then, in a way you've only ever seen one man do before, the beautiful man smiled at you through his tears.

Vash.

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt.

This man, with the same blue eyes, the same beauty mark by his eye, the same smile, and same colour hair, the same build, the same practiced ease in dancing, was-

"Oh, my God."

The words left you in a breathless whisper, and you couldn't help but stop dancing, too shocked to remember what steps came next. Not that it truly mattered, since the dance was ending, anyways.

You stood there, eyes wide, heart pounding frantically in your chest as you stared at the man before you - the very same man you had spent most of the last year searching for. The same man you had prayed to whatever deity existed to find each and every night. The same man whose loss you'd grieved and cried over countless times.

"(Y/N)."

His whispered call of your name broke you from your thoughts, only for you to realize that now, you too were crying openly before him.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, but your body seemed to move before your mind could. You stepped forward and all but flung your arms around Vash, hugging him tightly and burying your face into his chest, trying not to start sobbing hysterically while still on the dancefloor. You felt Vash's arms immediately wrapping around you in return, hugging you to him tightly and holding you close as the two of you simply stood there, the dance coming to an end around you.

As the other dancers began moving off the floor, you found yourself being led away yourself by Vash, with him guiding the pair of you towards the stairs to the second floor balcony.

The upstairs of the saloon was much quieter than the first floor, with only a handful of people lingering around, most of them too drunk to be paying any attention to the two of you. When there was enough privacy, peace and quiet, Vash pulled you into his arms once more, allowing himself to sob against you the way he wanted to from the moment he saw you again.

"(Y/N), oh, (Y/N). I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Vash's cries were muffled by your hair as he held you against him, his tears staining your skin as he wept and begged for your forgiveness. He wasn't even really sure what he was apologizing for in particular - he had so many sins that he had committed against you that he couldn't even begin to think of choosing which one he was apologizing for. Despite the guilt, despite the pain, all that Vash could really feel was overwhelming relief and happiness to have you back in his arms once more.

While Vash's heart had broken when he saw the tears coursing down your cheeks, he couldn't remember ever feeling more relieved than the moment when he saw the recognition in your eyes, when you pieced together who he was. It was all he possibly could've hoped for, to have you back, alive and here with him. It felt as though he were getting a second chance; a chance to take better care of you, to love you properly and protect you and keep you by his side. A second chance at life.

"Vash! Oh, Vash, it's you! You're here," you sobbed into his chest, clutching onto him as though he would disappear the moment you let him go. "You're here!"

Was it possible that this was really happening? That this wasn't just some dream of yours, a dream sent by your mind when life had become too difficult? The feeling of Vash pressed against you, of his arms wrapped tightly around you, of his tears against your skin and his scent surrounding you made you believe so. There was no way this could ever be a dream.

The two of you simply sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, crying in each other's arms as you both realized that this was real. You had somehow found each other again after a year of pure hell, and now, the two of you were reunited once more. Neither of you were sure of how long you'd spent crying, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was that right now, neither of you let go of the other.

Then, Vash was pulling away from you just enough to be able to cup your face, that same tenderness you remembered so well ever present. Following his gentle touch, you felt something soft pressing against your lips. Your eyes flew open as you realized what was happening - he was kissing you.

Your heart stopped for a second, unable to process what was happening, before beginning to race faster than you'd ever felt it do in your life.

Vash was kissing you. He was kissing you.

You could've screamed from the overwhelming joy you were feeling, but instead, you opted to melt into the kiss, your eyes closing as you returned it with equal fervour.

Vash relaxed significantly as he felt you return the kiss, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head, holding you close to him as he tried to convey everything he felt for you through this single gesture. He wanted you to know how much he loved you, how much you meant to him, how happy he was that you were alive and here with him.

When he pulled away, the words spilled from his lips before he could stop himself, "I love you. I love you, (Y/N)."

You let out a tearful laugh, unable to believe what you were hearing. This man, the man you'd loved so deeply for so long, loved you, too.

"I love you, too, Vash."

How good it felt to finally get those words out into the world, to finally tell Vash the truth of how you felt about him. After the agony of past year, you knew you had to tell him. He had to know the truth. And now, he did.

Vash let out his own tearful laugh as you confessed your love for him in return before pulling you back into his arms, holding you tightly to him. This moment felt like one out of a fairytale, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except the fact that you were here and that you loved him as much as he loved you.

"Thank God. About damn time."

A sudden voice startled the both of you, and you and Vash looked over to see Wolfwood leaned against the wall next to the both of you, smirking like a cat who'd had cream for its supper. If looks could've killed, Wolfwood would've died instantly from the way both you and Vash were glaring at him.

Wolfwood clearly got the message that you both wanted to be left alone, because he raised his hands up in surrender and exclaimed immediately, "Woah, woah, woah. Okay, okay, I get it. I'm leaving. Damn. I'll be downstairs by the bar."

As he turned to leave, though, Wolfwood glanced back over his shoulder and gave a small grin, "Good to see you again, Spikey." before heading back downstairs.

After a few moments of silence between the two of you, you let out a deep sigh, "One of these days, I'm swear I'm going to kill him."

"Not if I kill him first," Vash answered gruffly, shaking his head in slight annoyance and amusement. "Good to see he hasn't changed one bit."

"You have, though."

Your voice was soft and filled with worry as you looked up at him, studying him once more from top to bottom. It's true that Vash had changed significantly from when you'd seen him last, but behind it all, you could still clearly see the man you loved. He was still here, waiting for you, loving you, hoping you'd return to him after all this time.

After a few seconds of simply taking in Vash's appearance, you couldn't help chuckle, "You look very rugged, Mr. Stampede. This look suits you." You reached up, tugging lightly on one of the strands of blonde hair framing his face.

"You think?" Vash chuckled quietly at your gesture, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face.

"I do," you answered simply, but then, your voice fell, becoming quieter and much more serious. "You look so tired."

"I am tired." Vash knew better than trying to lie to you. He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek tenderly, "But I have a feeling that things are about to get a lot better."

You couldn't help but smile, your heart feeling warm and fuzzy as you leaned your face into his touch, "I think so, too. We have a lot to talk about, you and I."

Vash nodded his head, a warmth flooding through him as he gazed down at you, a loving smile on his face, "We certainly do. But for now, I just want to hold the one I love most in the world, if it's all the same to you. And maybe dance with them again, too."

Your smile couldn't have been bigger.

"I couldn't ask for a better partner than you."

[deceitfulcharmer]

⚔—;; The tips of Megatron’s claws tapped rhythmically between Starscream’s wings, rolling from pinky to index finger and then over again. The soft noise was scarcely audible over the sound of the Seeker’s vents, but he knew he’d be able to feel it well enough.

“Pity.” He let out a long vent, slowly moving his servo back down the length of that thigh, towards the knee, but didn’t let up on his hold. He wanted Starscream to feel his teasing caress as he mused aloud: “That may have been interesting…”

A laugh escaped him once more, though harsher this time, as though he could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

“Gentle? What about me requires a gentle touch, Starscream? I did not rise from the pits of Kaon to be coddled.”

Still, there was the nagging thought at the back of his mind that the touches they had exchanged until this point hadn’t been unpleasant. How long had it been since his frame—built to take severe punishment—had been touched like this? He could still feel the phantom grasp of long claws around his forearm, feel them splayed across his broad chassis, framing the symbol that united them.

Trust…

When had been the last time he had truly trusted Starscream? Had he ever? Perhaps there was some sense in the Seeker’s ramblings. They worked well together when they moved towards the same end, and it brought him untold frustration that it wasn’t their default state.

“You speak of me putting trust in you, yet you do not trust the very hands on your frame, do you? Should this not go both ways?” He met Starscream’s gaze with a familiar intensity, boring deep as though he could see into the Seeker’s very spark like this.

Finally, he lifted his servo from Starscream’s thigh, only to capture his wrist and bring his hand over the centre of his chest, where the pulse of his spark could be felt. Something burned in his sensor net, a desire to continue these touches.

“I’ve seen you end many lives with these claws, and I have allowed you to touch me without reproach thus far.” He paused for a moment, considering his next move. “Perhaps this could be a mutual exercise in trust in itself; proof that we can both be ‘gentle’, when the situation calls.”

Mischief teased at his good conscious. The opportunity was ripe, them being so close, Megatron within reach for anything the Seeker could imagine. Though such passions were short-lived once a single servo gripped the entirety of a skinny thigh, respectfully reminding him that any fearless act of disobedience may as well cost him his life.

There was a prolonged pause, ruby optics focused on the contact between them, and a processor slowly picking apart the sort of disastrous situation he placed himself in. It was then he felt the foreign heat of the missing servo slotted nicely between all the wings, the appendages tapping lightly over that broad forearm. Even his frame expression stalled; totally and utterly trapped.

" Oh nononono, no, it ISN'T what you think !! " The servos lifted off of the one they beheld, hovered, then promptly returned to squeeze into the side of his palm once more.

What did he want Megatron to think?

He was fighting his better nature here. Starscream did not want to appear weak, especially after all that talk — not that there was anything to be weak about. His gaze refused to be anywhere else but locked onto his lordship's in a final stab of self-assuredness. There existed no true peril other than the total embarrassment the Seeker felt at being so loose with his reactions; him being his own enemy at the end of it all.

" I just— " He swears his processor skips a track, derailing all clever thoughts he could have had, " I'm just proving you can— trust me to be... "

" Gentle with you. "

Actually, worry not, Megatron, he will take himself out with his own servos.

" That is something no one else can give you, " it must be his imagination, but he swears he hears a bell tolling, " —and it is exceedingly scarce to... have... such a thing. Especially from someone you can learn to trust. " A tight smile, a soft brush over the back of Megatron's servo.

' Primus, if you can hear me— '

[tharett]

Some WIPs 😸‼️

These are like some out of context interactions that most likely won't be in a crossover (mini)comic I'm making 😼 and while I know that this Phil isn't technically "another Sonic", I just thought it would be silly if Sonic just sped off and expected Phil to follow, only to realize our guy is just straggling behind and not even close to catching up 😭

The wonders of my mind ig 🤷‍♂️

The thumbnails are taking a bit long to make but hhhhhh patienceeeeee, I gotta get the motivation and patience to make the one-shot plot coherent to meeeeeee and othersssss to enjooyyyyyyy eeeeeeeee

(I have another WIP sitting on the bench, I just need to compose my super rad speech to introduce it idk I gave up 💔)

(Alt text shows what's written on each page)

_

[ESP]

Unos trabajos en proceso 😸‼️

Estas son como algunas interacciones fuera de contexto que probablemente no estarán en un (mini)cómic crossover que estoy haciendo 😼 y aunque sé que este Phil técnicamente no sea "otro Sonic", pensé que sería algo gracioso si Sonic se vaya corriendo con la expectativa de que Phil lo siguiera, solo para darse cuenta de que nuestro viejito preferido se está quedando atrás y ni siquiera está cerca de alcanzarlo 😭

Las maravillas de mi cerebro, yo diría 🤷‍♂️

Las miniaturas (bocetos) están tardando un poco en hacer, pero hhhhhh pacienciaaaaaaa, necesito conseguir la motivación y la paciencia para hacer que la historia sea coherente para que yooooo y los demás la disfrutemoooossss eeeeeeeeeekk

(Tengo otro TeP sentado en el asiento de atrás de mi coche, solo necesito organizar unas pocas palabras para presentarlo, no lo sé quien sabe ya me rendí💔)

[Traducción de Diálogo]

Primera Imagen (Izquierda):

[Sonic]: "-y así es como te encontramos en Angel Island-"

[Philza]: "dónde está tu ropa"

[Sonic]: "-... disculpa?"

_

Segunda Imagen (Derecha):

[Sonic]: "perdón Phil! Pensé que tú también podías... (ya que eres como otro yo...)"

[Philza]: "no te precupes amigo! No lo sabias jaja (tú estás bien)"

[merverelli]

"you just feel yourself let go."

still thinking about this episode. man. 💪💥