#let him be single in peace. they are terrible to him together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cvnt4him · 6 months ago

Note

hurt/comfort with vigilante! izuku where he reunites with his s/o has been plaguing my thoughts 😭

Let me relieve you my darling<33

You were in your room staring up at the ceiling, something you found yourself doing time and time again these past months. Insomnia was a bitch and it seemed to have taken over you as a whole, engulfing you in its dreadful misery, making you stay up despite feeling tired. You were stuck, all because of him.

Thinking about how your oh so selfless and caring boyfriend left you... and your friends of course. He held you close, incredibly close the night before he departed. He spoke such sas words with such huge meanings, yet you were so tired and in such peace in his arms, you hadn't even noticed he was saying goodbye. He knew what he was going to do and told you goodbye. It made you feel so guilty waking up the next morning to see everyone standing in the middle of the lounge with saddened expressions slathered across their faces.

They held pieces of paper that you didn't have. They explained to you what it said in a long story short and it broke your heart. Then was when you finally pieces together what he was saying to you the night before. it broke you terribly so.

Thinking about that horrible day made you turn over in your bed and cry. You cried and cried and cried into your pillow silently. Sniffling and hiccuping as far tears rolled down your cheeks, your eyes reddening from how hard you were crying. You were crying so much it hurt, your throat was aching and your head was pounding. You had cried for the rest of the night.

The day completely flew by in a blur, you didn't take down any notes during class, hardly interacted with anyone at all, didn't eat during lunch. You were completely heartbroken for so long and it's affected your daily necessities. Once you'd read online how a broken heart can kill, sometimes during the night when you're crying you think about that and it leads to a panic attack. Your nights are restless and cruel. How you hated them, but you didn't hate them more than you did the day. They were long and tiring and so so so draining.

You found yourself once again, lying restless in your bed. Thinking about your oh so cruel and selfless boyfriend once again. One thing that kept crossing your mind was if he still thinks about you. Or at all in that fact, you wondered if he still considered you his girlfriend despite the two of you not being near each other for about 2 months.

You sigh at the thought, feeling the annoying and painful tinge of tears filling at your waterline. Just before you could turn over and do your routine all over again you hear a knock at your window. You jumped, startled at the sound that erupted from the balcony.

You gulped and wiped what little tears you needed to and got up, legs wobbly and you stumbled your way to your balcony opening it and walking outside and looking out in the distance. You seen a night sky and a crescent moon, no stars but some clouds present. The trees leafs billowing in the wind, you take a deep breath in and let the crisp night breeze fan your face. Closing your eyes you exhale and suddenly feel extremely relaxed. Like this is what you needed.

You hum, a small smile trickling to your face, tugging at the corners of your lips. Basking in this moment you're suddenly taken by surprise, whole body being grasped and flown into the air, you nearly scream but couldn't get a sound out as something, a hand wrapped around your mouth. You continued to try and scream through the hand covering your mouth before you hear a shushing sound. The person behind you shushing you as they held you close to their chest.

"shh.., it's okay. calm down. It's alright, I've got you.."

The voice, despite being muffled and somewhat deepened and groggy, sounded vaguely familiar. Scratch that, completely familiar, a voice you prayed you hear again. Every single night you prayed and prayed and prayed silently that he would come back to you, that he would come and get you. At least let you know he was okay.

Tears spilled from your eyes uncontrollably, you hiccupped and tried to catch your breath before you were swiftly turned around and your face was buried into his filthy chest. He reeked, he smelled so bad yet you couldn't begin to care. This proved it, he had thought about you. He cared about you. He..

" I love you..."

You couldn't muster words, choking on air as he rubbed circles into your back. You sniffed and wailed into his chest loudly. He brought you to the roof and sat you both down, holding you tightly.

"izu.. izuku.. how could- could you leave like that?! It- you—"

When you finally looked up to him you seen his dingy and dirty mask, it was ripped and kind of overed in muck and debris. Your wailing stopped as you looked at him, his face turning away. You pulled him back by his mask before trying to lift it slightly before he pulled it back down.

"izuku..."

You tried again, a lot slower and gentler this time in hopes he'd let you see his face, it had been 2 months after all. To your surprise, he let you. You took his mask off lifting it over his head, once it was finally off his eyes were slightly squinted, it'd been a while since he took off that mask. Seeing through a dark mask all the time might have a bad effect on your eyes.

You sighed at his face, all sad and tired the bags under his eyes were worse than yours. He looked dead, pale, completely ghost like. It was startling. Your rat of sunshine who brightened everyone's day was dimmer, he was completely burned out. It hurt you to see him this way.

"y/n... I can't comeback.. not yet."

"wait what?! no no no no you- you have too! you-"

Izuku bit his lip trying to hold back his tears before he kissed you, his soft yet dried lips capturing yours and holding them there. He breathed in through his nose and held his breath trying to stay in this moment with you for as long as possible before it broke.

He placed his forehead to yours and his breath was wavery, shaking. He sniffed having a hard time holding back his tears. He wrapped his arms around you in a sweet embrace and snuggled his face in your neck.

"I'm sorry."

AN: ah, a shitty ending to a shitty story. As much as I enjoyed creating this I feel like it's lacking a huge hint of flavour, alas I am too lazy to change it around. So enjoy!

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bbydeathclaw · 1 year ago

Text

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you.

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway.

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him.

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead.

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval.

“I��m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size.

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.”

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten.

“Whatcha doin’?”

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey.

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?”

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought.

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark.

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in.

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers.

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully.

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back.

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin.

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you.

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet.

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-”

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.”

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers.

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika.

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?”

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him.

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own.

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively. “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?”

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy.

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.”

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him.

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.”

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state.

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.”

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Mmm, point taken.”

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper.

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you.

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans.

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,” His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva.

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps.

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly.

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.”

#silco #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fanfic #silco fanfiction #bratty reader #simp silco #mdni

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sugarplumkneecaps · 20 days ago

Text

Memories (Shadow x Reader)

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader (gender neutral) → Can be read as platonic or romantic Word Count: 3.4k T/W: loss, mentions of death (previous to story) Summary: It's New Year's Eve and life has been quite peaceful for the last few months following Dr. Eggman's defeat (again). You work up the courage to invite Shadow over, but he seems to be a bit distracted...

SQUEEE- the marker squealed as another day was crossed off the paper calendar hung on the wall in the hallway. The end of the year had come much sooner than Shadow expected. It felt as though most of his days blurred together, the mundane routine turning his concept of time on its head. At one point in his life, he had longed for the same sense of normalcy that Rouge had mentioned long ago. But this? This was torturous. He replaced the cap of the pen and hung it back up with the calendar before moving into the kitchen of his apartment with a great deal of reluctance. He had yet to go grocery shopping, making his usual routine of finding breakfast somewhat more adventurous than he had the energy for this morning.

Rouge had urged for him to rent the apartment and get his current job following their efforts to put a stop to Robotnik’s world ending plans. “I think you are long overdue for a taste of normal life Shadow,” Rouge had cooed at him.

He scoffed at the memory, taking in the view of his living space as he exited the kitchen with a sad bagel topped with cream cheese (making a mental note to stop by the corner store to grab something to fill him up a bit). His apartment wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything grand either. His living room could fit a single, plush couch across from a TV, record player, and his plant. The walls were lined with records that were regularly rotated out every week. He had direct access to his small breakfast nook and kitchen due to the open layout, which he enjoyed. It allowed for him to sit and enjoy his music as he ate or cooked. The hallway led to his room, office, and bathroom, all neat and tidy in their own respective manners. It was comfortable for him, mostly due to never expecting any real company over.

The size of it also meant that rent was cheap, which was good as all of his paycheck from the cafe only had to go towards every day living expenses (at the behest of a certain bat, once again, advising him to save his payout from their more intensive work). Shadow couldn’t deny the merit of her words; the higher paying work had slowed down significantly. Preventing world domination for the upteenth time seemed to discourage others from another attempt too soon.

Shadow finished his breakfast and headed toward the front door, slipping on his shoes before starting his commute to work which was only a short walk from his place. He let out a long sigh as he locked the front door behind him, nearly running into you as he turned toward the stairwell.

“Oh! Uh- Sorry, Shadow. I didn’t see you there,” you stuttered, embarrassment dripping from each word. You had been neighbors for a few months now, excited and yet intimidated by the proximity you had with him. It was simply chance that you two had even met in the first place, what with Infinite sparing you and the events that followed; you had somehow become an integral part of Sonic and his cohorts’ plan to bring Dr. Eggman to a halt. But the fact that Shadow not only worked with you at the local cafe but had also moved in next door to you so soon after felt too good to be true.

“All good. See you at work,” his voice somewhat hushed and low before he continued on his way. Burying his hands in his pockets, his steps covered an impressive distance in only a few minutes, Shadow’s mind wandering. He had also taken note of you - your impressive feats to aid them in their world saving efforts all the way down to your also somewhat mundane ritualistic activities. You both worked behind the counter at the cafe; him focusing more on brewing orders while you handled customers. He was always curious how you managed it with a smile on your face most days; the idea of switching spots with you was enough to make him shudder, shaking his head in effort to rid himself of the idea.

“Oh Shadow, people aren’t all bad!” Maria’s voice echoed. Shadow stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden flashback startling him. Why would he remember that now, of all times and places?

You weren’t too far behind Shadow, but you swore he glided to work effortlessly even without his air shoes. It wasn’t until he paused that you were able to catch up with him, letting out a small chuckle as you bumped shoulders with him lightly. This seemed to pull him out of his daze.

“C’mon, spacey, we don’t want to be late. I still owe you a breakfast sandwich for yesterday!”

“Wait- what? What are you talking about?”

You turned to look at the dark hedgehog, a smile creeping on your lips, “you saved me from that older gentleman, remember? He was making all sorts of comments-“

Shadow let out a “tch-“ sound before furrowing his eyebrows further, “Oh. You don’t owe me anything for that. You seemed uncomfortable.” His pace picked up a bit, causing you to need to start into a light jog to keep pace with him.

“I mean- yeah. He was being a bit creepy.” You huffed out a breath, once again embarrassed only this time by how winded keeping up with Shadow made you. “Hey, could you slow down a bit? We aren’t running that late or anything.”

Shadow eyed you from the side, smirking slightly before slowing his pace, “well, lucky for you, we’re here.” He motioned toward the building in front of you both, windows lining the outside to reveal the dark seating area of the cafe. You let out an exaggerated huff in an effort to make light of your winded state before digging in your bag for the keys to the front door. After wrestling with the key for a moment, you were able to unlock the building and begin setting up to open.

“Hey Shadow, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you like your coffee?”

Shadow paused for a moment while he removed the chairs from atop their respective tables, pushing them in and moving on to the next methodically, “black, which I’m sure you probably could’ve guessed.”

“Ah- right. My bad. That does seem too fitting to not be obvious, huh?” you laughed shyly, starting the brew and selecting a breakfast sandwich to heat up for your counterpart. Man, you’re really going 3 for 3 this morning, huh? Your head hung low before rolling your shoulders back. This is your last chance to invite him, don’t screw it up!

The oven chimed as an indicator that Shadow’s sandwich was done, encouraging you to work up a bit of courage to not only present the seemingly unnecessary gesture but to also address him. You plated the sandwich and placed it on the table Shadow had just cleared off.

“Your breakfast, my good sir!” you bowed dramatically, getting a strained chuckle in response from Shadow. Clearing your throat, you figured now was as good a time as any, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Shadow sat in the chair in front of the sandwich, thankful that he wouldn’t have to resort to the corner store option, “hmm?”

You waited a moment to see if his gaze would meet yours, only to realize after a few bites in that your gesture maybe wasn’t as unwanted as he made it seem. “Well, see, I am going to be having a few people over later tonight to celebrate New Years. Rouge, Silver, maybe a few others, and uhm-“ you gulped, your mouth dry as your original, short invitation started to take a turn for the worse. “And... you? If you’d like to come?” Your ears drooped a tiny bit, your body subconsciously preparing for the inevitable rejection you were sure you would face.

Much to your surprise though, Shadow paused his chewing to look at you, “Yeah. I could stop by.” He continued to eat, completely unfazed by your shock at his response.

“Really?? That’s great! I mean- that’s, uhm, yeah! The party starts at 8PM!”

Shadow said nothing, which you took in stride, practically twirling as you went to grab him a coffee.

The work day somehow dragged on and yet also was over before either of you knew it. Shadow was appreciative of the routine of brewing the coffee, cleaning the machine, collecting dishware, and starting over as it allowed him to shut his brain off. It seemed to be determined to pull the rug out from under him today considering his flashback earlier. Memories of Maria weren’t unwelcome by any means, but Shadow recognized his emotional responses to them weren’t necessarily appropriate at work. He could have contemplated the reason behind their resurgence, but he simply chalked it up to his recent living situation changes, unwilling to dig deeper than that. Although, he might not have been too far off.

Rouge wasn’t the only one Shadow had heard speak of normalcy longingly; Maria’s illness was better managed whilst in the care of her grandfather, but that didn’t mean she got to experience much of a normal childhood as other kids her age did. She was at the mercy of her grandfather’s schedule and her small living quarters. “I know it seems silly,” she would say softly, “but sometimes I miss going to school. I miss riding the bus. I miss running through flower fields and my parents yelling for me when the street lights came on.” These concepts had meant very little to Shadow at the time, but as life had settled around him, he couldn’t help but wish he could show Maria that he was trying to live each day with her in mind.

The New Year creeping up on him was maybe too much of a reminder that he hadn’t done that great of a job to really appreciate the peace he had recently found. All he could hope for is that the party tonight would not be something he would regret agreeing to. I’ll make a promise to Maria that I will do better in the coming year.

You stared at your reflection for far too long. Clothes were strewn about your bed, all rejected options for tonight’s celebration. “You don’t need to overdo it!” you said to yourself, gripping the jeans in your hands. “Just wear the stupid jeans and find a comfy sweater. This isn’t meant to be some crazy thing.”

A knock on your door indicated that you didn’t have time to continue to bemoan over your lackluster wardrobe any longer. Throwing on the clothes in hand and quickly fluffing your hair, you made your way to the front door to greet your first guest. To your surprise, Shadow greeted you with a bottle of champaign.

“Hope this is okay,” he said, looking you over subtly. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and a nice blazer. You could feel the dread set in once again before mentally shaking yourself out of it, “yes! This is fine! Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring anything.” You welcomed him inside and placed the champaign on the kitchen counter before turning to pull refreshments from the pantry and fridge.

Shadow stood next to the door as he watched you move about your apartment, removing his blazer and placing it in the crook of his arm. Your own apartment wasn’t much different than his, the layout the same, but flipped. It seemed much more suitable to host guests than his own, he noted, as he moved across the living room to where you were at in the kitchen. He hung his blazer along the back of one of the dining room chairs before holding his hands out to you. By this point, you were struggling to move the punch bowl, having filled it prematurely and realizing you would have to move the full thing to its proper place. Shadow’s outstretched arms took you by surprise but you did not refuse the help. You gingerly placed the bowl into Shadow’s arms, “thanks- uhm, you can set it on the bar counter next to the cups.”

He nodded and placed the bowl with ease, something you were quite jealous of. His otherworldly strength was quite useful while you two worked together, as he did a majority of the heavy lifting when food shipments arrived. Of course the simple task of moving the punch bowl would be easy for him. You laughed at yourself quietly at the thought and quickly turned away to continue setup.

It did not take long for the other fantastic mobians to join you both, the space of your apartment quickly filling with sounds of chatter and laughter. As the festivities kicked off, you began to notice that Shadow wasn’t really interacting with anyone (except for Rouge every now and again when she would seek him out). You had made a mental note to check in with him, but were quickly swept away to host.

You had never quite pulled something like this off, and the constant interaction was quickly draining your own social battery. Chaos, if I’m feeling this way I can only imagine how Shadow is doing. The thought prompted a quick scan of the apartment, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Your brows creased with concern, hoping he hadn’t left without saying anything. However, your search would need to wait as you felt an intense need to step outside for a bit of fresh air. You checked in with Tails, asking for him to keep an eye on things while you stepped out, to which he smiled at you and told you not to worry.

One of your favorite parts about this apartment was access to a private balcony. It wasn’t anything impressive but it made for a nice getaway when you needed it. You pulled on the door, struggling as it stuck to the doorway before prying it open and prompting Shadow to turn around to face you.

“Oh- sorry! I didn’t mean to, uhm-“ you gulped, startled by his presence. Why was talking to him always so nerve-wracking? “I just needed some fresh air.”

You watched as Shadow shifted over to allow some space to join him, “be my guest.”

Struggling again to close the door behind you, you moved next to him to rest your arms on the railing. Your eyes gravitated toward the sky, catching sporadic flashes of light from fireworks far off in the distance. The cool night air was a refreshing contrast from the sudden stuffiness in your small apartment and almost immediately your body relaxed. It was only at that point that you were able to take a deep breath and really released the subconscious tension you held in your shoulders since everyone arrived.

“Quite the turnout, huh?” you offered, shifting your gaze to Shadow.

He stood unmoving, his eyes now fixated on the sky above him. The stars lit up their dark backdrop, competing only with the bursts of fireworks every now and again. Shadow hadn’t seen the night sky like this in what felt like a lifetime. He had his own balcony but rarely ever used it, having forgotten it was there for the most part. In his solitude, he had very little reason to occupy the space.

The silence between you two and his unbroken focus on the sky brought you to look up again. This moment was not unwelcome nor awkward like you feared it might be. You felt a wave of comfort wash over you as you listened to the muffled sounds of your friends indoors alongside the chirping of crickets and popping of fireworks.

Shadow finally acknowledged his lack of a response to you, shifting slightly and clearing his throat, “I wonder if Maria had gotten to experience a New Years like this.” Taken aback by this vulnerability, you turned to Shadow again.

Maria. That was a familiar name in regards to the dark hedgehog. You knew she was the only friend he had before he was captured by GUN, having suffered a horrendous fate at the organization’s hand. You contemplated if she was the reason for his more prominent standoffish behavior tonight.

“This place reminds you of her, doesn’t it?” The words came out as hardly anything more than whisper, your effort to come across as tender shining through.

You watched as Shadow winced, moving his hands to interlock his fingers. “Not just this place.” He took a deep breath, as if calculating how much he wanted to divulge to you. “Everything and everywhere does...”

His voice was low and barely audible in comparison to the world around you. Shadow had been carrying the weight of Maria’s death with him through life, a feeling you could only imagine. His ears drooped slightly as his gaze shifted downward to his hands. He studied their shape, taking note of his inhibitor rings and the creases along his fingers, trying to remember what Maria’s felt like. With another small breath, he continued, “memories of her are in everything.”

To say you were stunned would be the understatement of the century. You took in the scene of Shadow, arms resting on the railing in front of him, the fingers of one of his hands tracing the other, his demeanor sad and sincere. You placed your hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. His eyes lifted to meet your own, his gaze years away as tears pooled and fell along his cheek. You smiled at him, pulling him gently toward you.

He hesitated at first before accepting your embrace. You held each other there for a moment, searching for the right words to say in response to his. Everything seemed to come up short, in your mind, sounding way too cheesy and cliche to truly convey your desire to comfort Shadow. Against your better judgment, you pulled away to look at him.

“I think... that’s how you help keep their memory alive. You carry them with you in some capacity. You associate certain things in life to them, and you cherish those things more than you would have otherwise.”

You paused, searching his expression in an effort to ensure you weren’t overstepping. He stared back at you, his usual scowl nowhere to be seen, his expression softer than you had seen before.

“Maybe it also helps us live life to the fullest and not take things for granted.”

He nodded slowly, your words sinking in as he stepped out of your arms to look at the sky again.

“She would have wanted me to enjoy life,” he said thoughtfully. Shadow took a deep breath before looking at you once again, a timid smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.”

You returned his smile in kind, imprinting this moment to memory for you to cherish always. After a brief pause, you offered your hand to him, “what do you say we go back in?”

He looked down at your hand and nodded, wiping the tears from his face and giving the night sky another glance. Shadow would have to remember to spruce up his own balcony to enjoy the stars.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you started to head back inside; the backdoor being of no issue for Shadow (of course) to pull open and close shut with ease. He let go of your hand after giving it a light squeeze and moved through the group to find Rouge of his own accord, smiling back at you. Sonic approached you, taking note of the interaction, “wow, never thought that guy could actually smile! You sure we don’t have a SUPER faker among us?”

Your elbow jabbed into Sonic’s arm playfully as you laughed and shook your head.

As midnight approached, you all gathered around the TV in the living room and counted down the New Year. Shadow closed his eyes, allowing Rouge to shake him as she joined the others in celebrating. His eyes opened and rested their gaze on you, watching as you cheered alongside everyone. It was then that he decided; he was going to make sure he did everything he could to appreciate his newfound friends and peaceful existence, just the way he hoped Maria would have wanted him to.

#tried to write smut #all i have to offer is fluff #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #wholesome #✧*̥˚ my fics *̥˚✧

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motherlvr · 2 years ago

Note

hi:D can you do miles!42 with a reader who doesn't really like getting told "watch who ur talking to" or smth bc most fics abt miles!42 is like that and nooo i won't ever let a man say that to me😭 and they like, know how to defend themself so they're pretty independent if thats alr ofc!

ngl i loved writing this, tysm for the req!

wc: 2.1k

pairing: E-42 Miles Morales x Strong, Independent! f! reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of rivalry tbh, cursing, Miles is mean in this one, but gets character development, reader knows how to fight, baddie ong, reader doesn't take miles' bs

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"You gotta be shitting me." Mumbling under your breath, your eye involuntarily twitched. You glared at Miles like it was his fault for putting you in this situation.

Your glare was reciprocated as he said, "I ain't happy about it either, princesa." You hated when he called you that. It rolled off his tongue with such distaste. "Yeah? Glad we got that in common then." You snipped, irritated.

Miles Gonzalo Morales was a dick. To put it kindly.

He was a stuck-up, close-minded dick. It's like his sole purpose in life was to irk you. The two of you have never been on good terms. He tested your patience every waking moment.

But unfortunately for both of you, your Spanish teacher paired you up as partners for a major project. It would count for a good portion of your grade, so not doing it wasn't an option for you. You had less than two weeks to finish the project, and you weren't going to waste it.

You'd much prefer to do the project alone. One thing you've learned is: if you want something done correctly, do it yourself. And to never put it solely in the hands of a man. But the project was a requirement for the class, so you had no place to argue about it.

Thankfully, today was just a planning day. So it wouldn't be as painful, you hoped.

You showed him a plan you had thought about within only a few minutes and asked, "Thoughts?" He took a short glance at it and told you, "That's trash." A vein almost popped out of your head. You snapped, "You got any better ideas then?"

"Yea, anythin' other than that." He told you mindlessly. You had half a mind to make his braided head become real familiar with the cold surface of his desk. Around ten minutes later, he had finally come up with something. It wasn't that great, but at least he was semi-cooperative. You took one look at his plan and decided to turn the tables on him. You said, "You couldn't have come up with anything better? Shit's worse than my idea."

You could see him grip his pencil just a bit tighter, no doubt irritated by now. "Nah, watch your mouth." He told you, and you were unsure of how serious he was being. "Watch my mouth? You needa watch how when you turn around, one of your precious braids will be gone." You said as you made a snipping motion with your fingers. He protectively grabbed onto his braids, "Yo chill, ma."

As Spanish class progressed, everything only went downhill from there. He always seemed to hate every idea you had or had something to say. He groaned, "Woman, I swear. Your ideas are shit." Your former hopes of a peaceful partnership were long gone.

His choice of words alone irked you as you replied, "See, that's what you're not gonna call me. And if we're gonna be partners, you need to act decent for once. Get it together, Morales." You set clear boundaries as you pointed a finger at him. Surprisingly, he obliged. He looked like he made a revelation as he shook his head. "Nah, you right. That was outta line." The moment was oddly tranquil until he opened his mouth again. "I meant: I swear, your ideas are fucking terrible."

From that point further, the hopes of having a normal, mature, conversation were fleeting. The majority of the class was spent bickering rather than working on the task at hand.

You were one of the very few people that tested him. You gave him a challenge, while most people wouldn't utter a single complaint.

Eventually, at the end of the class, the two of you finally landed on an idea to carry out. A true miracle.

The next week in Spanish class passed and the days were cutting it closer and closer to the deadline. But there was still much work to be done. So, begrudgingly, you both had to work on it out of school. After Spanish, you were packing up your things when you asked him, "My place or yours?" His response was immediate. "My place. I'll give you my address. Come over after school, 'ight?" He said, writing down his address and handing it to you.

You accepted it and said, "Alright. Are your parents good with me coming over?" You questioned if he even had the decency to check first. Although you couldn't stand him most of the time, you didn't want to intrude on his family. He shrugged it off, "Yeah my ma's good with it. Already told her."

He wasn't about to tell you that his mother demanded the project was done at his house so she could keep a keen eye on the both of you.

You were dreading the final bell of the day. Spending more time than legally required with Miles wasn't your ideal image of fun. As the school day ended, you walked over to Miles' house.

Knocking on the door, it was soon opened by no one other than Miles' mother. She was expecting you, as a smile adorned her face. You greeted her, "¡Hola, Señora Morales! Gracias por invitarme a tu casa." (Hi, Mrs. Morales! Thank you for inviting me to your house.)

She widened her eyes at you, "¡Claro! ¿Cómo estás?" (of course, how are you?) She asked you with a sweet smile. You replied and reciprocated a smile, "Bien, ¿usted?" (good, you?) To which she responded, "Muy bien, gracias." (very good, thank you) As you put down your things, you noticed Miles was standing only a few feet away. His mother pulled Miles to the side and whispered, "She speaks Spanish, I like her." Not wanting to give away that she was a loud whisperer, you concealed a small laugh. It's a wonder how Miles turned out like that. His mother's wonderful. You knew she raised him better.

After his mother was done speaking to him, Miles led you to his room. His mother called out, "¡Deja la puerta abierta!" (leave the door open!) "Si, mami." He said back in an unusually nice tone.

You previously believed Miles Morales was a universal dick. But you soon realized you were somewhat wrong. He was a dick. To everyone except his mother, it seemed.

As you both settled down to start working on the project, you grinned at him like you had just found out a Federal-level secret. "You're such a momma's boy." You said.

His head whipped to you like you knew something you shouldn't. "No one would believe you." He said. You teased, "Oh, everyone would. Trust."

This was the most civil conversation the both of you have ever held within your whole history of knowing Miles. The afternoon was sprinkled with light-hearted jokes here and there, and it wasn't as painful as you initially believed. Needless to say, being forcibly confined in a space with Miles went much smoother than you could've ever anticipated. The project was progressing for once. And so was your relationship with Miles.

A few days later, you were in a better mood than regular. Within the past few days, Miles has been more tolerable. Maybe even likable. Apparently, you were in too good of a mood. You must've appeared too approachable today.

As you were walking in the hallways of school to your next class, a guy you didn't recognize slung an arm around your shoulders and said, "Hey, what's good jit?" You immediately pushed his arm off. He reeked of an excessive usage of cologne. You winced at his stench. "Don't call me that." You assertively said. But he only took it as a challenge. He said with a wink, "You tryna play hard to get? Alright, I'll play along."

"I'm not 'playing hard to get'," You mocked with air quotations. Dumbing it down, you continued, "I don't want you." Could a girl make it any more obvious?

Your words went straight over his oversized head. He said with a disgusting smirk, "I can change your mind." Your face visibly grimaced at his desperate attempt, "Not even baby Jesus could change my mind."

He was starting to get agitated at this point, "Nah, why you trippin', girl?" he said. You immediately retorted, "Why can't you take a damn hint?"

"C'mon, I know you want me. Gimme a chance." He said. You were sick and tired of this interaction, so you just decided to walk away. Turning your back, you tried to escape this conversation. But he grabbed your hand to prevent you from leaving. "Aye, where you goin'?"

You tried to be patient. And where did patience get you? Nowhere. In your mind, this guy was way too testosterone-deficient to be talking tough to you. There was nothing worse than a teenage boy. More importantly, a boy that didn't know what 'no' means.

And in an instant, the sound of a slap resounded throughout the hallway.

He looked like he was about to start crying. Holding his cheek in pain, he sneered, "Fuck you, bitch. You ain't shit anyway. I ain't even want you." But as you tried to walk away once again, he placed a tight grip on your shoulder to prevent you from escaping.

Miles was skipping class and wandering in the hallways when he saw you. From your body language, he could tell you were uncomfortable. His eyes glanced toward the guy's grip on your shoulder, and Miles suddenly understood the situation. He could see where this was heading. Or at least, he believed he did. Miles was about to intervene when within the blink of an eye, you had flipped the guy on his back and onto the floor.

You told the boy on the floor, "Don't try that shit again. With me or any other woman, got it?" Groaning in agony, the guy whimpered in response, and you took it as a 'yes'.

The guy was no André the Giant, but it impressed the hell out of Miles nonetheless. Since when could you do that? He questioned himself. Miles had to prevent his jaw from dropping. He was suddenly glad he never pushed you that far. You walked away unbothered as if nothing had happened. He gained a newfound respect for you. But that would have to stay unspoken.

Once Spanish class rolled around, you realized it was the second to last day you had to finish the project, so you were working extra diligently in Spanish class. You told Miles, "Alright, I finished decorating it. What do you think?" showing him the project. Not that you cared what he thought, but it would make this whole process much easier if he wouldn't shit on your every move. You've had your daily dose of asshole for the day. Almost an overdose, really.

A few moments passed by where he stared at the project, and then back to you. Fully expecting Miles to be his usual asshole self, you said, "Spit it out. What is it?" You waved your hand in front of his face. He swatted your hand away and replied, "I ain't gonna hold you, it's a pretty solid project so far."

You raised a brow at him, and suspiciously asked, "Really?" This was the first time he didn't have any retort to say. "Yeah, I think you're great, ma." He said. You cheekily grinned at him as he tried to correct himself, "I meant, great at the project. Yeah. The project." He almost stumbled on his words. He never did that. He was always collected. What was up with him? It was definitely a sudden change, but you weren't complaining.

There was only a small portion of the project left to do by the end of the class, so Miles suggested finishing it at his house.

This time after school, the both of you walked together to his house. As you worked on the project in his room, you noticed he wasn't getting much done. It seemed like he was in his head, whatever goes on in there. As you glanced up, he locked eyes with you. You hadn't a clue what he was thinking.

You originally would've preferred to do the project yourself, but if you had to have a partner, you believed the work should be divided equally. You weren't going to carry the whole project on your back.

"Why're you slacking, Miles? Our time is limited, y'know." "Ion know. Mind's elsewhere." He shrugged. It was subtle, but you noticed his glance travel to your lips. You grinned and took the opportunity to tease, "What, you want a kiss or somethin'?" You said it mainly as a joke. Sure, maybe you liked the way he gave you a challenge everyday. You wouldn't blatantly admit it, but it was refreshing to be with someone that actually cared about their work. But much to your surprise, he ran his hand over the back of his braids and said. "Shi, maybe it would motivate me. You feel me?"

Not expecting him to agree, you said, "I mean, alright. If you get off your ass, maybe I'll give you one." You tried to say as casually as you could. But you couldn't deny the fact that you were growing fond of him. You were internally conflicted as you wanted to hate him, but couldn't. In reality, it was far from hate.

Miles couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment his detest for you faded away and was replaced with something different. An emotion he rarely felt. Seeing you singlehandedly take on a guy was only fueling it for him. He quickly started working harder on his part. You mentally praised yourself. After a few silent moments, he spoke up, "Yo, I'm basically finished."

He was bullshitting, and you knew it. As you looked at his part of the project, he still had a good chunk to finish. But you caved and moved closer to him. Holding a hand to his face, you peppered a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely avoiding his mouth.

As usual, he had something to say, "Don't play, mami." He resisted the urge to press his lips to yours until they were numb. You simply smiled at him and replied, "Yeah? Keep workin' and you'll earn a real one."

Immediately, Miles got right back to working on his part of the project without another complaint. You've never seen him work so studiously.

Pleased to say, with your motivation, Miles was more productive that day than all the other days combined.

------------

taglist! please lmk if u want to be added 🫶

@l5byrinth @iamspooderman

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novaursa · 4 months ago

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Hi there,

Is that possible to have a Jace x twin sister.

Where contrary to him she had the Targaryen look 100%. Because of that the green kinda accept her and even engaged her to Aemond?

After Aemond looses his eyes, she stayed at king’s landing but when Luc died, Jace can left her there, and had to take what is his back. thank u

A Flight For Freedom

Requests are closed!

- Summary: The Greens chained your fate to Aemond, but after your brother's death, your twin comes to take you back.

- Pairing: twin!reader/Jacaerys Targaryen

- Note: Some things are left unmentioned in the story to smooth out the plot. I hope you don't mind.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The air is thick with tension as you stand on the balcony of your chambers, the flickering flames of torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. The wind blows cold from the bay, chilling your skin, but it does little to compare with the cold that has settled into your bones since the death of Luke. Since that terrible night at Storm’s End, you’ve felt trapped in this castle, in the life they’ve forced upon you—a prisoner in a golden cage.

Your betrothal to Aemond, once a promise to secure peace, now feels like a death sentence. The man who took Luke’s life now claims you as his. You’ve barely seen him since that night, the anomasity between you and your one-eyed fiancé unbearable, but the walls of King’s Landing close around you, just as surely as his shadow looms.

You rest your hands on the cold stone of the balcony railing, staring out into the night, when a sound catches your ear. A low, distant rumble. At first, you think it’s a storm—King’s Landing has always been subject to the whims of the elements—but no, this is different. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You know this sound.

It’s the beating of wings.

Suddenly, the night sky is filled with the powerful silhouette of a dragon. Vermax. And on his back, Jace.

Your heart leaps into your throat as the dragon descends, latching onto the side of the Red Keep with a ferocious strength, its claws scraping against stone, sending tremors through the entire castle. Vermax clings to the side of the tower, his massive form blocking out the stars, his yellow eyes glowing like molten gold as they lock onto you.

And then there is Jacaerys. His face is a storm of rage and sorrow, a fury you’ve never seen before. His dark eyes burn as they meet your violet ones, his expression one of pure determination. You feel your breath catch in your chest, the weight of everything between you—the distance, the grief, the love—colliding in this single, charged moment.

“Y/N!” His voice calls out to you, rough and desperate.

You don’t need to be told twice. Without hesitation, you rush to the edge of the balcony, your hand clutching the railing as you look down at him. He’s so close, yet so far, and for a moment, you feel like that’s been the story of your lives. Always together, yet pulled apart by the very world around you.

Jace stretches out his hand, eyes locked on yours. “Come with me. Now.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You hesitate, glancing over your shoulder at the Red Keep, at the life you’ve been forced into, the chains that bind you to this place. And then you look back at Jace—your twin, your love, the only person who has ever truly understood you.

“I... I can’t—” you begin, but the words feel hollow, weak.

“You can,” Jace cuts you off, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You don’t belong here, with them. You’re mine. You always have been. I won’t let them take you, not after everything they’ve done.”

The truth of his words hits you harder than you expect. You’ve always been his. In every way that mattered, Jacaerys has been your other half, the one constant in your life. You’re no longer the girl they took from Dragonstone, from your family. You’re not the future bride of Aemond Targaryen, the Greens’ perfect pawn. You are Y/N Velaryon, sister to the true heir, and your heart has always belonged to Jacaerys.

Without another thought, you climb up onto the railing, your bare feet precarious on the stone ledge. Your fingers tremble as you reach out for Jace’s hand, your breath catching as his fingers intertwine with yours. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of relief through you, grounding you in this moment, in this choice.

As Jace pulls you up onto Vermax’s back, you feel the dragon shift beneath you, his powerful muscles coiling with the promise of flight. You cling to Jace, your arms wrapping around his waist as Vermax lets out a mighty roar, the sound reverberating through your very bones.

“Hold on,” Jace whispers, his voice low and thick with emotion. “We’re leaving this place behind. Forever.”

You nod against his back, pressing your cheek against the rough leather of his armor. You can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface, but there’s also something else—a fierce protectiveness, a promise that he will never let anyone take you from him again.

Vermax launches himself from the tower with a powerful beat of his wings, the air rushing around you as you rise higher and higher above the Red Keep, above King’s Landing. You glance down at the city below, the fires burning in the streets, the small figures of soldiers running, shouting, as they realize too late what has happened.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel free.

Jace’s hand tightens over yours as Vermax cuts through the night sky, flying northward, away from the Green’s grasp, away from the nightmare you’ve been living. You press yourself closer to him, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, knowing that this is only the beginning of the battle to come.

But whatever lies ahead, you know one thing for certain: you’re with him now. Your twin. Your love. Your Jace.

“I’ll never let you go again,” Jace says softly, his voice barely audible over the wind. You can hear the raw emotion in his words, the pain of losing Luke, the anger that burns in him like wildfire, but also the love—the love that has always been there, no matter how far apart you’ve been.

“I’m yours,” you whisper back, your voice full of a quiet, unwavering truth.

Together, you soar into the night, leaving the chains of King’s Landing far behind

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jace velaryon #jacerys x reader #jacerys targaryen #jacerys x you

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milswrites · 10 months ago

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I'll Crawl Home to You

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: After barely escaping his last mission, Azriel realizes he has one regret in life. Not telling you about the undying love which he held for you. His brush with death allowing him to realize that he can't live another day without you by his side, Azriel wastes no time in telling you exactly how he feels.

Warnings: Angst. Talks of death and injuries. Nice cute ending though :)

Azriel had always assumed that when the time came for death to greet him, he would welcome them like an old friend.

Gladly taking the specter's hand and allowing them to guide him to the afterlife, satisfied with the centuries of a blessed life he had been gifted by the Mother.

Azriel had never feared death. Instead he imagined that when the sweet embrace of darkness finally surrounded him, he would be able to rest at last. A mercy that he could finally be at peace, no worries crossing his mind as he knew that one day his brothers would also join him in whatever afterlife he was sent to.

Which is why he couldn't understand why he was panicking now as death's black cloak began to wrap around him. Rather than the warming comfort he had always imagined it would hold, the incoming blackness felt bitterly cold. Like his body had begun to freeze over like a lake in winter, the last dregs of his life being sucked from him.

Azriel found himself fighting back. His weak hand outstretched as he attempted to push away the approaching claws of death which were slowly advancing. Teeth grit together with effort as he tried to ward them off.

"No" the desperation in his hoarse voice was palpable, words catching in his throat as he flinched away from the foreboding figure of darkness. A painful spasm tearing through his body, originating from the wound on his chest where an unwelcome dagger had found its home.

"No i'm not ready yet please. Please don't take me . . . No please!"

His speech was slurred, vision dotted with masses of growing black spots. Yet Azriel didn't allow his hold on reality to slip for a single second. Not if it meant dying.

Not if it meant never seeing you again.

And so he resisted death's sweet siren song, too stubborn to allow himself to give in.

"I will not die today."

Azriel hissed the words through his pain. His fierce amber eyes meeting the cool sharp gaze of death's.

A gaze so intense that Azriel was sure it was enough to drive anyone to insanity. The well of darkness which swirled in death's icy orbs was never-ending. Azriel allowed himself to swim in them deeper and deeper, searching for a way to escape from their clutches. Following the glistening golden rope which shimmered enticingly, as though begging Azriel to take hold of it, promising that life would be at the other end of it.

It was agony. Sharp spikes of pain coursing through him as his limbs grew heaver and heavier the deeper he dived, skin beginning to burn and blister as a feverish sweat settled on his uncomfortable skin.

But Azriel didn't let up. Never lessening his grip on the golden rope. Allowing his memory of you to give him strength in the face of his adversity.

He never let go. Not even when death itself began to fight back.

Terrible visions of the horrors of his past appeared before him as he swam. Bubbles which contained the callous faces of his half-brothers floated by his face. Sinister smiles upon their lips as they stared at Azriel, deaths alluring voice slipping from their lips, "Come now Azriel, don't fight it. The rope leads to nothing. Let go. Close your eyes, I've got you. You can rest now."

Yet Azriel didn't look to the floating forms of his cruel brothers. He kept his stern gaze ahead, chasing after the end of the rope. Chasing after you.

It was almost as if you were there. If he squinted hard enough he could see your ethereal form at the end of the tunnel, a gentle hand held out for him to take.

It wasn't death. He knew that much. Your glowing figure radiated life, the promise of a future.

There at the end of the golden rope was you. Patiently waiting for him to greet you so you could return him to the land of the living. You were his salvation. You had come for him.

He allowed himself to become deaf to the enticing whispers of death. Continuing his pursuit forwards, towards you, leaving the dark memories of his past behind as he turned his full attention to swimming towards his future.

His scarred hand reaching out towards yours, the tips of his fingers brushing against your soft palm as he connected your hands. Entwining your fingers as he used the warmth you radiated as an anchor.

And then instead of darkness, there was only light.

~~~~~

Soft whispers stirred Azriel from his slumber. Through his closed eyelids, Azriel could see the sweet familiar orange glow of sunlight. The heat of which warmed his skin, energy flowing through his body as though the sun was replenishing his source. Enabling him to slowly flutter his eyes open, sight focusing on the blurred figure in the chair next to him.

Azriel rushed to sit up, Cassian's steady hands shooting out to stop his erratic movement, hushing the shadowsinger as he helped to rest him up against the pillows on the bed.

"Careful," Cassian grinned, pleased to see his brother awake, yet his smile did nothing to hide the concern which failed to leave his eyes, "you had us all worried for a moment there Az. We thought-" Cassian's voice broke as he swallowed back a cry, ". . . We thought we'd lot you."

"How did I get. . .? Y/N. She found me!"

Azriel struggled to put together the pieces of what happened after he was stabbed.

There was darkness, an impending sense of doom, and then a sudden burst of light. But there, somewhere in between his jumbled memories, Azriel had seen you. He was sure of it.

"Y/N?" Cassian questioned, brows furrowing in confusion as his concerned gaze swelled deeper, "They weren't there Az. You travelled here with your shadows. Gave me a fright, you appeared right in front of me covered in blood and barely breathing."

"No. . ." Azriel murmured, that couldn't have been right. He saw you. He was sure of it.

"They came to visit you a few times once Madja had you stable. Maybe you're thinking of that?" Cassian reasoned, trying to reassure himself more than Azriel, preying to the cauldron that his brother hadn't gone senile.

"Yeah" Azriel lied, flashing his brother a crooked smile to soothe his worries, "Yeah you're probably right."

No amount of convincing from his brother would allow Azriel to believe anything else other than the fact that you were there to save his life. To bring him home.

But if Cassian was somehow right . . . If you really hadn't been there. Then that meant Azriel had dreamt about you. This wasn't a new occurrence, there were many nights where Azriel welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep so only to see your smiling face in his dreams. Yet his mind, in what could have been his final moments alive, thought only of you.

Of your beauty and grace. Of your welcoming nature and the sense that in finding you, Azriel was home, even when death had came to claim his soul in the wilderness of Illyria.

He liked that. The knowledge that his home wasn't a place, but a person. That wherever he was, he need only to think of you and he can allow himself to be happy.

Though despite this realization, Azriel found that he couldn't be happy. Not when he had felt this strongly about you for years and had just almost died without confessing this to you.

Nausea crawled up his throat at the prospect that he had almost left this world without knowing if you felt the same way about him as he did you. Angry at himself for pining after you for so long and making no move to show you his the true nature of his emotions.

He had been a silent admirer. Yet Azriel found himself wanting to be silent no longer.

"Did you say they were here?" he rushed the words out, the intensity of his question causing the General to sit back in shock, "where are they now?"

"Uh, I think they went to their room for a bit. I told them I'd watch over you for a bit."

Azriel wasted no time in jumping up from underneath the covers. Having learnt firsthand how precious his time really was, he wouldn't allow himself to wait another second without telling you of his devotion.

So he ran, blind to the flash of pain which coursed from his still tender wound. Unable to feel the uncomfortable twinge in his chest due to the heavy pounding of his heart.

Azriel felt no nerves nor anxiety. He was driven by his need to speak to you. A confidence settling in his heart that this was right - that everything was happening the way it was supposed to.

Every step closer to your bedroom was a step closer to his home.

So consumed by his desire to see you, Azriel neglected to knock as he entered your room. Wild eyes searching your chambers until they finally landed on your shocked expression.

~~~~~

"Oh cauldron Az, you're alright!"

A cry of relief tore from your mouth, as you closed the distance between you and the male, gently throwing your arms around him, careful not to embrace him too tightly for fear of upsetting his wound.

But Azriel didn't care. Not when he had you in his arms. So he pulled you tighter and tighter to his chest, until he could feel the gentle beat of your heart alongside his own. Needing reassurance that you were real. That he really was alive.

Once you had basked in each other's presence for long enough you pulled away, hands clasping his biceps as you moved him back to allow yourself to cast your eyes over him, ensuring that the male was actually ok.

"Should you even be out of bed? Az you need to rest!"

You made to pull him towards your own bed so he could lie down, but Azriel stopped you, holding your hand tightly to prevent you from moving from where you were stood.

"I've rested long enough" he stated with a shake of his head, consuming gaze meeting your own.

"Azriel you almost died" you argued, amazed that the male was even standing.

"I think I did die" Azriel replied, his words being enough to silence you, silvery tears lining your eyes at the thought of you almost loosing the shadowsinger.

"I think" he repeated not wanting to confirm the words which he knew out of fear of upsetting you, "I saw them. Death. They wanted to take me but . . . I couldn't let them. So I fought back. I fought and fought until I saw you. You saved me Y/N."

"Me?" you gasped in disbelief. You had heard the tales of warriors who had narrowly escaped death, swearing that they had seen the gracious form of the Mother as they were brought back to life. Yet none of them ever claimed to see a person who was real.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you" he concluded. If it weren't for your captivating presence drawing him towards you Azriel would have drowned in the inky orbs of death.

"I couldn't" tears had now began to fall from Azriel's own eyes, silver pearls trailing down his cheeks, "I couldn't leave. Not without seeing you again. Not without saying goodbye. It's all I could think about."

A sob broke from your lips, amazed that Azriel's last thoughts before death were only of you.

"I didn't care how badly wounded I was" he spoke truthfully, hands still clinging onto yours as if they were a lifeline, "They could have stolen my wings. Taken my sanity. Broken my spirt. But none of that would have made a difference. None of that would stop me from crawling home to you. No amount of ropes and chains could hold me back, not when it meant seeing you on the other side."

It was impossible not to feel an overwhelming surge of love at the sincerity of his words. At the desperation which flooded in his eyes, begging you to believe him. Pleading for you to feel the same way.

"My love for you knows no bounds. Life or death, you are always with me, and I will never fail to find you" he promised. Certain that if he could conquer death with only the desire to be at your side, he would be able to fight anything.

"You did it Az" you beamed, hands dropping his only to come and rest on his dampened cheeks, "You came home to me. Our love transcends all worlds. Heaven, hell, purgatory, we'll find each other in every single one of them I promise. Because I am never letting you go again."

You couldn't. Not when you had already almost lost him. You would never lose Azriel again. Yet you could be happy with the thought, that if the situation were to ever happen again, that you could be his guiding beacon. Leading Azriel back to you. Leading him back home.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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DAD HARRY: PART ONE

— just harry being a doting dad & husband 🍓

——

Saturday nights haven't been this peaceful in a while. Harry and your daughter left home about an hour ago to attend a father-daughter dinner organized by a group of parents at the daycare, so you're left by your lonesome to enjoy a relaxing time without your child's newly developed and daily tantrums. She's two-and-a-half years old, meaning it's out with the newborn bliss and in with the "Terrible Twos" phase every mom has warned you about.

She was always an easy baby; she never cried for too long or was fussy too often. There's no doubt that she's still the sweetest little thing, but some days, it can be a nightmare to deal with her. You're thankful for her otherwise reserved nature, but even then, a toddler will do anything to get what they want, and your daughter is no exception.

Nonetheless, you and Harry handle it as a team. Both of you choose to deal with her sudden outbursts by using a calm and understanding approach. She listens most of the time. If she got one trait from her father, it's the ability to be an annoyingly good listener and hang on to every word you speak. With Harry, it's always complete eye contact, well-placed affirmations, and asking all the right questions. You suppose it's because of his job, but he claims he was just naturally born with it.

Having been together for six years, you and Harry have lived a beautifully intimate life on the coast of southern California, consisting of no neighbors, a secluded beach, and your little family of three. Harry works as a sous chef at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. He used to be the head chef before your daughter came into the world, but the wearisome hours he worked then would have never worked out with being a new father. He still hasn't accepted his old title back, much to your secret dismay. When he decided to demote himself, he suffered from a salary decrease and disappointed comments from co-workers. He didn't care, though. He told you that if it meant he had more time to spend with you and the baby, he would selflessly accept the consequences.

During your postpartum days, he promised never to have a shift that had him arriving home after five in the evening unless necessary. It was a promise to always be with you for dinner, to watch the sun dip down the horizon, and to fall asleep next to you. He sometimes comes home in a palpable mood of frustration after a hectic shift, but as soon as he walks through the door and sees his girls, it's like magic the way his visibly tense shoulders sag with relief.

There are instances when both of you need an independent getaway, but most of the time, it's the three of you together in your domestic bubble of love. You've never known a man quite like Harry. Nothing compares to his heart or drive to be the best possible husband, dad, and son. Also, you appreciate how he's so attentive and gentle with every part of your lives and how he'd go against that gentleness if needed to fight tooth and nail for his family. You've built a life worth living with him. He's yours entirely.

And yes, his daughter has stolen some of that love, but each night before you fall asleep, it's like he can transfer every ounce of love in his precious heart to you with a simple touch. Or a single glance topped off with the softest kiss.

As you sit alone by the blazing fire, you realize that nights spent by yourself no longer appeal to you. You want your family next to you all the time. You want your daughter to ask a million questions, mostly incomprehensible blabbering, but it melts your heart anyway. You want to watch Harry cook dinner, always putting on his actual chef coat and reading a recipe in a terrible French accent, just to make your daughter laugh. You want to watch him put a spaghetti noodle below his nose to act as a mustache, or watch him keep your daughter on his hip while letting her add an ingredient to a dish. Then, when she does, he looks at her with faux surprise and tells her she's better at his job than he is.

Yet when your chef husband isn't home to make delicious food, you're stuck making frozen pizza. You considered having a glass of wine with it but decided not to because waking up on a Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a cranky toddler at the breakfast table is not something you want to deal with.

With a reminiscent glint in your eyes, you finish the last slice and think about what they could be doing now. It's a little after seven, so you assume they're done eating dinner and socializing with the other dads and kids. Harry had said the restaurant was connected to a botanical garden, so they might be walking through it. Your daughter is probably exhausted. She woke up at five this morning and has been hyper all day, asking if she could go to dinner now, even if it wasn't lunchtime.

You decide to text him and ask if he could take some pictures in the garden. Your and Harry's camera roles are filled with images of your daughter.

I hope you guys are having fun! Please take some pictures of you both at the botanical garden. Miss and love you. Get home safe.

You shut your phone off and stare at the moonlit water, waiting for your favorite people to come home.

——

Harry is waiting for the check when he gets your text message. His phone screen lights up, displaying his lock screen, which is a photo of him and his baby girl on a hotel bed in Italy. They're both wearing fluffy white robes and are passed out from a long day of swimming under the sun and eating a boatload of food.

That family vacation was six months ago. It was her second birthday, so he wanted to go somewhere special. Let's just say that being a chef at a nice restaurant has its perks. He had saved a lot of money after he started working more hours. Then, one day, he secretly bought three plane tickets to the Amalfi Coast.

Harry wants to go back more than anything. He has never felt more content and full of love (and carbs) anywhere else except for Italy. He swears he gained ten pounds from that trip alone, and he blames it on his daughter, who begged for raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread every chance she got. He had wanted to go back to the gym to lose weight, but you changed his mind when you told him on the last day in Italy that you found his new body attractive. You had also whispered in his ear that his thighs were thickening, and it was making you hot in the face.

So, naturally, he took you into the shower, had you ride his thigh, and then made you come twice in twenty minutes.

But that's beside the point.

Harry reads your text, smiles, and then types out a response. Of course, love. We'll be home soon. We're full of spaghetti and love you very much.

It's getting late, so he settles on taking the little rascal for a stroll through the gardens before she zonks out. He untucks his black shirt from his trousers, leans back against the chair, and rubs his hands over his stomach. It was a spaghetti dinner with seemingly endless garlic bread, so they are both now feeling the after-effects.

Harry lets out a dramatic sigh that catches his daughter's attention. "Are you full?"

She mimics his position while nodding with a pout on her face. He laughs and starts folding his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, which he wore before it started getting dark out. He pushes their dirty dishes toward the middle of the table to make things easier for the busser. He then leaves a fifty-dollar bill as a tip.

Reclaiming his credit card from the checkbook and putting it between his teeth, he grabs the coloring sheet the restaurant supplied and tucks it under his arm. He knows she'll want it on the fridge.

He returns his credit card to his wallet and asks, "Ready to see the pretty flowers before we leave?" She hums a yes, and he can't help but reach across the table to pinch her cheek fondly before standing. "Let's go, sleepy girl."

She lifts her arms in a request to be carried, and Harry picks her up with a groan. He's only thirty, so he really shouldn't be struggling to carry his daughter, who weighs the same as a sack of potatoes. He supposes that working in a kitchen and hunching over counters all day for the past decade might have something to do with it.

He hikes her up on his hip while she snakes her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. She'll be asleep in a matter of minutes.

After he pushes their chairs in, he waves goodbye to the other daycare fathers before making a beeline for the commercial kitchen to bid adieu to the staff. He's friendly with some of them since he's a local chef himself, and he always tries to show his appreciation to chefs. He knows firsthand the hard work and stress of successfully running a restaurant behind the scenes.

Harry pushes the door open using his elbow and quickly catches the gaze of the head chef, whom he has talked to a few times at past culinary conventions and events. He takes his free hand and covers his daughter's exposed ear since it's noisy in the kitchen, with metal clanging and orders being shouted.

"Hi," he says, smiling politely at the head chef. "We're heading home, so I just wanted to give my thanks. The food and service were excellent."

"Harry, it was good seeing you!" he replies cheerfully, reaching under a stainless steel countertop. "Stop by again soon. We love having your family here."

"Will do, man. I'll bring my missus next time."

Harry plans date nights every other week, usually finding restaurants he's never visited in the SoCal region. You've told him he gets endearingly talkative when explaining certain establishments' different cuisines and recipes. The restaurant he's at tonight has always been a favorite because he's taken you there a handful of times when the both of you were still in the early stages of dating. He even worked there as an assistant chef for two years.

On the third date he took you on, if he remembers correctly, he may or may not have convinced his boss at the time to let him take you back to the kitchen so he could show you how to make chocolate-covered strawberries. You'd told him you had made them before, and he blushed while mentally facepalming himself; he thought he was being clever. That didn't stop him, though, because he ended up pulling something out of thin air. Turn up his charm, so to speak, by saying that his version of the classic recipe was extra special.

Well, he had lied.

They were just regular chocolate-covered strawberries, but he pushed up his sleeves (metaphorically and literally) and used fancy chef jargon to try to impress you. It worked—at least he thought so. Later, you admitted that you were actually just ogling his biceps every time he dipped the fruit into the melted chocolate.

Once the strawberries were finished, Harry wrapped them up nicely and drove you home from the date. He fed you one before you got out of his beat-up Subaru, the only thing he could afford as a broke assistant chef. He will never forget you walking to your front door, half the strawberry still in hand, and then seeing you suddenly turn around to return to his window to feed him the last half. He had taken it in his mouth, chewing after taking a strangely erotic bite. He smirked at you and glanced down at your lips, which were stained a glistening red from the tart juices.

"You're something else," he'd said sincerely, his voice raspy from work.

"And you just scored another date with me."

From that moment on, he was gone for you.

After shaking hands with the other chefs, Harry leaves the restaurant and walks to his Bentley. He rationally decides to skip out on the botanical garden tonight because he wants her to be fully awake to see the blossoming flowers.

He unlocks the back door and gently straps her in, tucking her favorite blankie under her chin as she sleepily blinks at him. His heart melts into a puddle. "Let's go home to Mama, okay?" he murmurs, brushing her wispy hair back with a delicate sweep of his fingers. "I had such a fun time with you tonight."

She yawns as ferociously as a toddler physically can, then lunges her arms forward for a hug. Harry hugs her the best he can with her in the car seat. He inhales her apple-scented shampoo while pressing kisses to the side of her head and then pulls away, poking her button nose with his thumb.

"I love you this big," he says, spreading his arms as wide as possible.

She giggles and copies his gesture. "Love big too," she replies brokenly with her sweet voice.

Harry puckers his lips and kisses the air before sliding into the driver's seat. He takes out his phone to send you a quick update: She's in a spaghetti coma, so we're coming home now. We can go to the garden as a family next weekend.

Pressing send, he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot and drives along the coastal highway with slightly cracked windows. He listens to his daughter's soft snores and thinks of you the entire way home with a dreamy smile.

——

You're still sitting by the fire, its flames dying with flickering embers, when you hear the garage door grinding open. You grin, immediately feeling warmer now that they're back home.

You had briefly gone inside to get a juice pouch for your daughter, just in case she came back awake. You also spontaneously decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries since you felt sentimental while reminiscing about the honeymoon phase of your relationship with Harry.

The sound of footsteps sifting through the sand makes you turn your head. You find your husband with a sleeping angel clung to his side, his shirt untucked, and no shoes or socks on; he probably didn't want sand in his loafers. The shadow of scruff on his face is more noticeable, and the orange light from the campfire dances off his features. He looks at you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he carefully treads through the beach grass to reach you.

"I've got a delivery," he whispers, sitting next to you on the blanket you spread out. "She's unconscious and full of spaghetti, so I don't think she'll be useful to you."

You laugh quietly and stare at your baby, who is sleeping peacefully. Your knuckles stroke her round cheeks as you ask, "How was it?"

"Good. I ate my weight in pasta and bread, but it was worth it. We had fun."

You sling your arm around his waist and pat his stomach. "I'm glad you guys spent some time together."

He hums thoughtfully, unbuttoning his trousers to release the strain. "I need to start watching what I eat and cut down on the carbs. Otherwise, I'll look like Santa in five years."

He says it like he's joking, but you know he's been insecure about his weight since you were pregnant. He naturally put on sympathy weight during the nine months you carried the baby, and then afterward, it simply reached a point where he never had time to work out, whether being too busy working or spending his free time with you and the baby. He ate healthily, but some nights, he caved and ate carbs like there was no tomorrow. Plus, he's a chef, so you can't necessarily blame him for enjoying food.

When you met him seven years ago, he was twenty-four and had skinny legs and a slim torso. But if one thing hasn't changed about his body, it's his strong arms. They've held you through several situations — hugging you whenever you needed a companion, feeling the natural warmth radiating from him. Or holding your baby girl for the first time, his black tattoos beautifully contrasting the precious pink blanket that swaddled her. He could easily cradle her in one arm, fitting perfectly in the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She still does.

Or, arguably, your favorite, which is when he holds your body up, your back pressed against his chest, as he fucks you like no one else can. His bicep across your collarbones, his hand gripping your shoulder like he's physically claiming you, and his other hand gripping your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach...

You're getting carried away.

The point is that his body is lovely. He still has abs from being generally fit and strong thighs that can chase after your daughter during playtime. His back muscles are masterfully sculpted from the physical exertion that goes into being a chef. His flawless face, too, but that goes without saying.

"I love your body," you say, wanting him to feel good about himself. "No matter the changes it's gone through, I adore all of your soft parts."

He looks at you, trying to hold back a smirk. Of course, his mind immediately went to a dirty place.

"I'm being serious. You're allowed to have insecurities. Remember when you felt bad eating all those carbs in Italy? What did I tell you?"

Harry gazes at the ocean tide. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. When I saw my lock screen, I thought about that trip." He sighs and adds, "I don't know why I'm insecure when you're the only one I try to impress."

You stare at him with nothing but adoration swimming in your eyes. "Are you feeling these insecurities because of the dinner? With all the dads there?"

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Why are you so fuckin' smart? I swear you're too good for me," he says with a breathtaking smile.

"I just want you to talk through these things," you explain, touching his neck. "I know how miserable it can be to keep those thoughts bottled up until the bottle breaks."

Your thumb strokes along his jaw as you continue, "You're thirty-one. It's never too late to realize those insecurities and either come to peace with them or work on them. You know I'll always help you with whatever you decide."

Harry exhales through his nose and settles his forehead on your shoulder. "Never stop talking to me," he says sincerely, kissing your skin tenderly.

You pinch his chin with your thumb and pointer finger. He moves his head to gently nip the pad of your thumb before kissing it. "I love you."

"I know it," he whispers. "I just compare myself to rich, douchebag dads that own literal corporations and would probably ask me to be their personal chef in their ridiculous mansions if they knew what I did for a living."

You offer him a sympathetic smile. He shouldn't look down on his career. It pays well, but it's nothing compared to the So-Cal dads who own Lamborghinis and have a million different job titles.

"Harry, don't make me use my mom voice," "you say in a scolding tone.

He grins delightedly. "I don't mind."

"I've been with you for seven years. I was your girlfriend, married you, and pushed out a baby because I wanted a family with you. Your job doesn't matter to me in the way you're thinking. I love that you're a chef. When you first told me, I told my friends how hot I thought it was. I still find it hot."

He's full-on blushing now. You continue, "You come home and are in such a good mood most days. Do you know why? Because you love what you do. You love the people, the food you make, and the environment, which matters most. Not money or how many cars you own. Without hesitation, you made the difficult decision to step down from being in charge so we could start a family together. You have no idea how much that meant to me. Now you have a daughter who watches you cook her favorite meals and loves you insanely. That's what you should be proud of. And that's what all those other dads should be jealous of."

Harry's gaze flicks between your eyes before he kisses you with so much passion that you feel dizzy. You kiss him back, and he inhales like he's breathing you in. Your daughter is still asleep, so you pull away before it escalates.

He finishes with a big kiss on your cheek, then rests his cheek against yours. "I love you so much," he whispers into your ear for only you to hear. "I'm pretty sure you just gave me a love boner."

You laugh, feeling his dimple form against your cheek. He leans back to look at you and shakes his head. "No joke," he says, infectious laughter crawling up his throat. "You just made me hard by telling me how much you love me."

You roll your eyes playfully before standing and stretching your back. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get her to bed."

Harry stands and hikes up your daughter a little. With a frown, he glances down at his pants when he realizes they're still unbuttoned. He obviously can't button them with one arm preoccupied with sleeping beauty, so you help him. You lift his shirt an inch to kiss his soft stomach first, then rest your chin on it and look up at him with a smile. After admiring his handsome face for a moment, you button his pants.

Your daughter is carefully passed from his arms to yours for a brief cuddle session before she has to be tucked into bed. Harry throws an arm around your shoulders and guides you inside the house. His steps falter when he retrieves a coloring sheet and gives it to you. It's a simple one that restaurants provide, and this particular one has a scene of two bunnies frolicking in the grass. It is what it is for a toddler with no concept of artistry, and you smile proudly when you take it from him. You'll hang it on the fridge with her other scribbled creations.

Harry opens the porch door and lets you inside first before locking it. He turns on the lamp in the living room. Then, as if reading your mind, he grabs tape from the junk drawer and attaches the drawing to the fridge. While he tidies the kitchen, you head in the opposite direction toward her bedroom.

After a few minutes, you see Harry in your peripheral vision and pat the floor in invitation. He kneels beside you, his knees cracking. He dramatically lets out a fake cry of pain, and you silently laugh while flicking his chest. He opens his mouth in offense, acting as if you just insulted him, to which you just shake your head and gesture zipping his mouth shut. He slyly smacks your ass, and you give him a warning glare before standing and kissing your daughter goodnight.

Before you leave the room, you get revenge by tickling Harry's sides from behind and then quickly running out of the room. You know how much he hates being tickled, but you were feeling the mutual playfulness that always trickles around bedtime. You reach the bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps down the hallway. He pokes his head past the doorway to the master bedroom. You look at him with wide eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his next move.

Harry saunters through the doorway while looking around and nonchalantly whistling a tune with his arms behind his back. He walks to the connected master bathroom, your eyes trained on him the entire time. He turns around to close the sliding door just enough so that you still have a partial view of him.

"What?" he asks innocently, catching your eyes in the bathroom mirror. He's messing with you. And making you sweat.

"What are you doing?" you retort, crossing your legs partly to act unaffected and to ease the ache between your legs.

He casually leans against the jamb. "Let's see... someone left me with quite a problem, so I thought I'd take care of it before bedtime like the gentleman I am," he says smugly, maintaining a stellar poker face.

"What do you suppose I do while I wait?" you reply, confident enough to play his game.

He deeply hums while standing straight and removing his trousers. With his thighs on display, you admire the tattoos there—a tiger on one and your name on the other. "I suppose you could get some sleep. Perhaps read. Whatever you'd like, darling, I'm not picky." He now stands in black boxers and a loose T-shirt. So cocky.

"And what will you be doing if I decide to sleep or read?" you challenge, sliding up on the bed to lean against the headboard.

Harry lets a smirk take over his face as he says, "What would you like me to do, honey?"

"I'd like you to not be in there alone."

"Will you be a good girl while I take care of the little problem you gave me?"

"Of course, baby. You know I always am."

One side of his mouth tugs up as he slowly nods, seemingly agreeing with you. "Always so good," he whispers, just loud enough to hear. He inhales deeply before turning around frustratingly slowly, finally pulling his shirt and boxers off. He's tan from the daily sunshine, and his back muscles flex with each subtle movement. Your mouth quickly goes dry.

He disappears to turn the shower on but leaves the door open, which you know is an invitation. You had already changed into your silk pajama shorts and a tank top while he was in the kitchen, so you shut your bedroom door before entering the bathroom.

Oh.

The sight has your breath hitching. Harry's silhouette is behind the steamed, see-through shower door. One hand on the wall, the other... well, he didn't even wait for you. He has already started. You hear his quiet groans being stifled by his mouth buried in his arm, causing hot and bothered tingles to prickle your skin.

You don't think he sees you yet, so you take your pajamas off and quietly close the bathroom door. For some reason, you suddenly remember you have chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. You leave him to his fun and quickly grab a towel to wrap around you before walking to the kitchen. You open the refrigerator, grab two strawberries, and then shuffle back into the bathroom. As you drop the towel, you realize he's still going. You didn't think you got him worked up that much just by talking about how good of a person he is. Each to their own.

After hastily eating one of the strawberries, you gently knock on the glass. Harry stops abruptly and rests his face on his arm. He slightly cracks open the door to see and hear you. It takes everything in you to not look down.

"Hi," you say quietly. "I'm here."

He's breathing heavily, water dripping down his slick body. Wet strands of hair fall over his forehead as his eyes bore into yours. "You are, aren't you?"

You subtly glance down at the problem you gave him; it's throbbing and needs assistance. You're sure he will disapprove of you interrupting his session with a dessert offering.

With your eyes focused on the floor, you absentmindedly draw a heart in the steam evaporating on the glass shower door and say, "I made dessert when you guys were gone." When spoken out loud, your sentimental baking idea seems stupid. "I almost forgot about them and then remembered they were in the fridge, so I brought you one. I was reminiscing about when we started dating and thought about the strawberries. Anyway..."

You're rambling too much. He was pleasing himself, and here you come, waltzing in with dessert while stumbling over words like you just met him. You need to get it together.

Harry is still looking at you with his chest heaving, his left arm taut, and his large hand pressed against the shower wall, while his other hand still grips his cock. His piercing eyes have become darker, and they peer down at your hand holding the strawberry. The chocolate at the tip is gradually melting. His eyes travel even further down to your bare legs, then to the heart you drew. His lips twitch.

When his gaze meets yours again, his tongue presses into his cheek before he straightens his posture. He steps toward the crack in the door and leans slanted against the shower wall, his naked body shamelessly in full view.

You wait for him to interact with the Strawberry of Nostalgia, but he just looks at you smugly. Jutting your hand further, you indicate that he should take it again. It feels like he's secretly judging you. He's barely said anything, and now he's gazing at you like he wants to eat you for dessert.

"The chocolate might melt off since it's pretty steamy in here," you mention with a nervous and breathy giggle.

Harry regards the strawberry again before moving his head toward you. "Yeah?" he says with a wicked smirk.

"Yeah," you reply, refusing to look into his eyes. "They haven't been in the fridge for very long."

He laughs huskily, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm waiting right here, darling. I'm not a huge fan of melted and mushy chocolate-covered strawberries."

So, he wants you to feed it to him. Like you did all those years ago when you first realized you were so gone for him. Good lord.

The steam in the bathroom is not helping your feverish body temperature. You take a few deep breaths before touching Harry's swollen lips, which you assume he's been biting on to suppress his noises. He maintains intense eye contact with you as he slightly opens his mouth. You guide the strawberry into it, and he bares his teeth while sensually biting the fleshy fruit.

Once half of it is in his mouth, he tilts his head and chews slowly. He groans, his eyes rolling back. "So fuckin' good."

You eat the other half to move the tension along, then throw the leafy stem on the ground. On trembling legs, you step away and admire the water droplets on Harry's lips that turn pink from the juices.

His thumb and pointer finger wipe the creases near his mouth. He then reaches through the door's crack and brushes his slick thumb across yours before sucking on it. In desperate need of relief, you clench your thighs and shakily exhale.

"I'll be good," you plead, utilizing your angelic eyes to get him to give in. "I won't touch you, but please let me watch."

Harry tuts. "Are you sure you'll just watch? Or are you going to be a brat like you were with that little stunt you pulled earlier?"

It's no surprise he's still hung up on the tickling. His ego can't take what he dishes out. God forbid he teases you because you know his precious pride will be crushed as soon as you do it back.

You bite your tongue and promise yourself to be good for him. "I'm sorry for doing that. I didn't mean to be a brat. I swear I'll behave this time."

He beckons you by curling his fingers inward. "Come here, then."

You slide open the door further until you can squeeze through, then shut it tightly before standing across from him. The shower is spacious with a built-in bench--both of you have done your fair share of indecent activities on it.

"Hey," Harry says lowly. "Be my good girl and sit. No talking or touching, okay? Watch me until I finish."

Nodding, you obediently sit on the bench and cross your legs to relieve the subtle pressure growing between them. You glance at Harry with innocent eyes that you know will weaken him. He gives in for a split second when he leans down and places his hands on either side of your thighs, nudging his nose against your cheek before kissing it roughly. You try not to smile at his momentary infirmity.

"Stay put, or I'll walk out of here and go straight to bed," he warns, resuming the position you walked in on, except this time he's right in front of you. His palm on the shower wall is closest to you, with his other hand gripping his cock.

This is going to be torture.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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koishua · 7 months ago

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i feel like this is going to turn into a mini series, but i can't stop thinking about being on video calls with yeonjun, your closest companion and most beloved person. no matter what kind of relationship, be it platonic or romantic, i just feel like having yeonjun in your life would make it a whole lot more bearable. finding those moments in your day to ring him up and update him on your latest endeavour... he'd shoo his members away and make the time to specifically spend time with you even if he's far away or you're off somewhere else :( it would be so special. at times, you'd refer to him as "healing" and he'd melt and he's just happy to be that person for you :(( no matter what happens in life, he's your priority and he makes sure that you know that you're his priority as well :((

don't want to get too angsty all the damn time, so i'll keep it mellow and nice, but my point is he's just a ball of comfort you can snuggle up against to escape from reality's often harsh reminders. his energy is infectious, frequently bringing life back to you. even on lagging calls, you'd somehow feel replenished and ready to take on the day/night hehe. once, he was forced to rest because of an injury and he'd called you in shambles, feeling the guilt eating him up and he'd sought after your presence next to him, but you were out of country and it was honestly a terribly emotional day for you and him :( so you'd opened a movie and shared your screen to watch it face to face and when the members were back at the dorm, they found him knocked out on his bed with his laptop screen on full brightness haha and they wanted to put it away to let him properly sleep and they saw you doing what seemed like important work on camera, keeping a dozing yeonjun company, so they waved you a hello and left the laptop back in its original place ahahhaha they were so cute like they were struggling not to make any noise bc it's not often they'd get to see you without having a mad yeonjun chasing them away bc how dare they take away your precious time together dhdhdhhs im smitten. this idea rots my brain and comforts me on a daily basis. or should i say nightly.

yeonjun would notice the slightest frown and softest sniffle and the moment he asks what's wrong, you'd break down and all your walls would crumble because it's just him. it's just yeonjun. your healing. your piece of peace. he'd be able to pick up on all of your minute and miniscule cues, letting you know that he's here should you ever need him. not everyone is as lucky as you. you found your soulmate in the body of someone named yeonjun. even in silence, your hearts would converse. knowing that he's there is what keeps you motivated to do your best in life, because he works his absolute hardest every single day as well :(((

#txt fluff #txt x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun fluff #txt headcanons #txt imagines #txt yeonjun scenarios #choi yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun angst #yeonjun comfort #txt comfort

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charmed-quill · 8 days ago

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Burrow Bound// B.W x reader Chapter 10

authors note at end.

slight content warning for suggestive smut at the end. (nothing explicit)

originally requested by @littlegreenteacup

summary: Y/N, an American half-blood witch newly arrived in Muggle London, stumbles into the warmth of the Weasley brothers after a serendipitous meeting in Diagon Alley. Drawn into their world, she finds herself at the Burrow more often than not. Meanwhile, Bill Weasley is learning to navigate life as a single father, relying on his mother’s help to care for Victoire. Though their worlds orbit each other, Y/N and Bill’s paths never seem to align—until one evening when fate finally draws them together. Will it be the start of a love story, or will they be left with nothing but heartache?

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word count: 5.5k (Oops?)

Y/N stood in front of her mirror, her hands frozen in the act of pinning her hair up for the third time that evening. The flat was quiet save for the faint hum of music drifting from her wireless speaker, but inside her head, it was anything but peaceful.

“This looks too formal,” she muttered, tugging the pins out and letting her hair fall back down around her shoulders. “Or maybe not formal enough. What even is the vibe for a dinner date with your friend’s brother?”

The word date made her stomach flip, and she groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. She glanced back at the bed, where three rejected outfits were draped over the covers like discarded plans. One was too casual, another felt like she was trying too hard, and the third—well, the third just didn’t feel like her.

“This is ridiculous,” she said to no one, turning back to the mirror. “It’s just dinner. With Bill. The same Bill I’ve seen countless times at the Burrow. No big deal.”

But the words rang hollow, and she knew why. This wasn’t just dinner. This was something more, something that felt weighty in a way she couldn’t quite explain. It was the first time in a long time that someone had asked her out, and not just someone—Bill Weasley. Steady, kind, strong, intimidatingly handsome Bill Weasley.

“What if this is a mistake?” she whispered to her reflection, biting her lip. “What if I’m reading too much into this? Or worse, what if he is?”

Her mind raced, conjuring every possible scenario, each one more awkward than the last. What if the conversation faltered and they were left with nothing but the sound of clinking cutlery? What if he decided halfway through that this had been a bad idea? What if she spilled something on him and made a complete fool of herself?

She crossed to the wardrobe, pulling out yet another dress and holding it up to herself. It was simple, soft green, and comfortable enough to feel like herself, but she hesitated. “Is this too plain?” she murmured, frowning. “Should I wear something more exciting?”

Her reflection offered no answers, only the same overthinking woman staring back at her. She sighed, draping the dress over her arm and flopping down onto the bed. Her cat, a small gray tabby, jumped up beside her, curling into a ball as if to remind her that at least he wasn’t worried about her appearance.

“This shouldn’t be this hard,” she told him, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “It’s just one evening. If it’s terrible, I never have to do it again.”

But even as she said it, she knew that wasn’t what she wanted. Deep down, she wanted it to go well. She wanted to sit across from Bill and feel the same easy connection she’d felt when they were setting up Victoire’s party. She wanted to laugh with him, to see that soft smile that made his whole face light up.

Her mind drifted to the way he’d looked at her as she left the Burrow the week before, his quiet sincerity and the way he’d hesitated, as if she might slip away before he could finish asking her out. That moment had stuck with her all week, a small, stubborn thread of hope that mayb, this could be something good.

Shaking off the thought, she stood and grabbed the green dress. “Alright,” she said aloud, as if summoning courage. “No more overthinking. Just get dressed and go. What’s the worst that can happen?”

But as she slipped into the dress and smoothed the fabric over her hips, her heart continued to race, and the questions refused to quiet. What if this changes everything?

—

Bill crouched down to Victoire’s level in the cozy living room of Shell Cottage, her wide blue eyes locked on his as she clutched her ever-present dragon toy. She tilted her head, curls bouncing, her expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.

“Why do I have to stay at Grandma’s tonight?” she asked, her tone edging toward a pout.

Bill sighed softly, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Because Daddy has plans tonight,” he said gently, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

Victoire’s brow furrowed. “What kind of plans?”

Bill hesitated, searching for the simplest way to explain. “Well, I’m going out to dinner,” he said carefully, straightening her jumper as he spoke.

“With Grandma and Grandpa?” she asked, brightening.

“No,” Bill said with a small chuckle. “Not with Grandma and Grandpa.”

Victoire’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion returning. “Then who are you going with?”

Bill exhaled through his nose, realizing there was no way around it. “I’m going to dinner with Y/N.”

Victoire’s face lit up. “Y/N? Really?” She clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels. “Is she coming here? Can I stay and play with her? Please?”

“No, sweetheart,” Bill said, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “It’s just going to be me and Y/N tonight.”

Victoire frowned, confusion knitting her small brows. “Why? Don’t you want me there?”

“Of course I want you there,” Bill said quickly, his voice warm and reassuring. “But this is... well, it’s different. It’s called a date.”

“A date?” Victoire repeated, tilting her head. “What’s a date?”

Bill rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to find the right words. “A date is when two grown-ups spend time together to get to know each other better,” he explained. “It’s kind of like... a special kind of dinner.”

Victoire considered this for a moment, her dragon pressed tightly to her chest. “But you already know Y/N,” she said matter-of-factly. “She comes to Grandma’s all the time.”

Bill smiled faintly. “That’s true,” he admitted. “But this is different. Tonight, it’s just the two of us.”

Victoire’s frown deepened. “Why can’t I come too?”

“Because sometimes grown-ups need time to talk without little dragons around,” Bill teased, tapping her dragon lightly on the nose.

Victoire huffed, crossing her arms. “But I’m not a dragon. I’m a princess.”

Bill grinned, leaning in closer. “Exactly, and princesses need their beauty sleep. Grandma’s going to make sure you have the best night ever.”

Victoire pouted, clearly not entirely convinced. “Will Y/N come back after the date?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Bill said honestly. “But I’ll tell her you said hello.”

That seemed to appease her slightly. She uncrossed her arms and leaned in closer. “Do you like her?” she asked in a whisper, as if sharing a secret.

Bill blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “I think she’s very nice,” he said cautiously.

Victoire tilted her head, studying him intently. “I think you like her a lot,” she said decisively, as if she’d solved a great mystery.

Bill chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll see, princess,” he said, his voice gentle. “Now, go grab your bag. Grandma’s waiting for her favorite little dragon tamer.”

Victoire giggled, running off toward her room, her dragon flopping in her hand. Bill watched her go, his smile softening as he straightened up.

Bill arrived at the Burrow with Victoire in tow, her little hand clutching his tightly as she skipped along the familiar path to the front door. Her excitement about spending the night at her grandparents’ house had returned during the short walk, and she was already chattering about all the games she planned to play with Grandma.

As they stepped inside, the warm, familiar scent of Molly’s cooking wrapped around them like a comforting hug. Molly appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, her face lighting up at the sight of her granddaughter.

“There’s my favorite girl!” she exclaimed, kneeling down to welcome Victoire with open arms.

“Grandma!” Victoire squealed, running into Molly’s embrace. Her curls bounced as she hugged her tightly, her dragon tucked under one arm.

Molly stood, holding Victoire’s hand and smiling warmly at Bill. “Everything set for tonight?” she asked, her voice carrying just enough of a knowing lilt to make Bill tense.

“Everything’s fine,” Bill replied, his tone carefully neutral. “I just need to head back soon.”

Molly’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she guided Victoire toward the living room. “Off to meet Y/N, are you?”

Bill exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself for the inevitable conversation. “It’s just dinner, Mum.”

“Dinner,” Molly repeated, her tone so light it was practically floating. She shot him a pointed glance as she handed Victoire a plate of biscuits from the coffee table. “Just a casual dinner with a lovely woman who adores your daughter and fits right in with the family.”

“It’s not serious,” Bill said firmly, crossing his arms. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

Molly tilted her head, her expression softening with that particular mix of affection and exasperation she reserved for her children. “Bill, love, I know you think you’re fooling me, but you’re not. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

He frowned, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Mum, I’ve been on one date with her—well, I’m about to. That’s hardly—”

“She makes you smile,” Molly interrupted gently, folding her arms across her apron. “And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like that.”

Bill pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening. “I’m not ready for anything serious,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

Molly stepped closer, her gaze soft but unwavering. “It’s okay to be cautious, Bill. No one’s saying you have to make any grand declarations. But don’t close yourself off just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

“I’m not scared,” he countered, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

Molly raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “I just want you to be happy,” she said softly. “That’s all.”

Bill sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked toward the living room where Victoire was happily arranging her dragon and biscuits into a pretend tea party. “Victoire’s my priority,” he said quietly. “She always will be.”

“And Y/N understands that,” Molly replied. “She’s not here to replace anyone, Bill. She’s here because she cares—about Victoire and, if you let her, maybe about you too.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. The idea of opening himself up, of letting someone into the carefully built walls around his life with Victoire, felt both terrifying and tantalizing.

Molly gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Go on, then. You’ve got a date to get to.”

Bill nodded slowly, finally meeting her eyes. “Thanks, Mum.”

—

Y/N stood in front of her full-length mirror, biting her lip as she scrutinised her reflection for what felt like the hundredth time. The soft hum of music played in the background, but it did little to settle her nerves. She adjusted her top, a flowy, deep emerald green blouse that she’d picked specifically because it complemented her eyes, before smoothing down the black skirt that hit just above her knees. The outfit felt simple yet elegant, but now, under the harsh light of her flat, she was second-guessing everything.

“Too much?” she muttered to herself, turning slightly to check her profile. “Or not enough?”

Her hair was styled in loose waves, though a few strands were already beginning to rebel, falling across her face in a way she hoped looked charmingly effortless rather than frazzled. She reached for her wand, trying to tame the rogue strands, but her hand wavered.

“I’m acting like a teenager,” she muttered, setting the wand down with a sigh. Her heart was beating faster than it had any right to, and she couldn’t seem to stop the anxious thoughts swirling in her mind.

What if he thought this was a mistake? What if she said something stupid? What if the chemistry they seemed to share disappeared the moment they were alone together?

Y/N paced across her living room, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until Bill was supposed to arrive. Ten minutes to pull herself together.

She sank onto the edge of her couch, her hands gripping her knees as she tried to breathe through the nervous energy bubbling up inside her. This wasn’t her first date, not by a long shot, but something about Bill felt different. The stakes felt higher, and that terrified her.

“He’s just a man,” she whispered to herself, trying to inject some logic into her spiraling thoughts. “A ridiculously handsome man, but still just a man.”

Her attempt at calming herself only made her stomach flip more. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. Why did she feel so unsteady, like she was teetering on the edge of something monumental?

A knock at the door broke through her frantic thoughts. Her head shot up, her heart immediately leaping into her throat.

“Lord have mercy,” she muttered, smoothing her skirt one last time as she stood. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and walked to the door, her palms damp against the doorknob.

When she opened it, Bill stood there, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt that was rolled at the sleeves and dark dress pants that made him look effortlessly polished. His hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, glinted under the soft light from the hallway. He was holding a small bouquet of wildflowers, their bright colours clashing slightly but endearingly with his rugged demeanor.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bill’s eyes swept over her, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“You look, wow,” he said finally, his voice warm but slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure the words were enough.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you. You look great too.”

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I, uh, brought these for you. Victoire picked them out yesterday. Said they’d make you smile.”

Y/N took the flowers, her heart softening instantly. “They’re perfect. Please tell her thank you for me.”

“I will,” Bill replied, his smile widening slightly. “Ready to go?”

Y/N nodded, placing the flowers carefully on her kitchen counter before grabbing her small bag. As she locked the door behind her, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered even harder.

The warm golden light of the restaurant was inviting, but it did little to soothe the jittery nerves that seemed to hover between Bill and Y/N like an uninvited guest. As the hostess led them to their table, Y/N focused on putting one foot in front of the other, clutching her bag tightly against her side. Bill, walking just behind her, seemed equally tense, his gaze darting around the cozy room as if looking for an anchor.

They reached their table—a quaint little spot near the back, away from the bustle of the main dining area. Bill hesitated slightly before pulling out her chair, a gesture that made Y/N’s heart lurch unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft as she slid into the seat.

Bill nodded and took his place across from her, unfolding his napkin and setting it meticulously on his lap. The quiet between them lingered, filled only by the ambient clink of glasses and the hum of other conversations. Both reached for their menus almost in unison, burying their noses in the pages as if the neatly printed words held the key to dispelling the awkward tension.

Y/N peeked over her menu, watching Bill as he scanned the options with the intensity of someone defusing a magical bomb. The sight of him so focused, his jaw slightly tight, was enough to make her want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She was a grown woman, sitting across from a man she liked—a very kind, attractive man, no less—and yet she felt like a nervous teenager on her first date.

Unable to take it anymore, she dropped her menu onto the table with a soft thud and blurted, “Okay, I have to say it—I’m sweating like a whore in church.”

Bill froze mid-page turn, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, and Y/N felt her cheeks flush with immediate regret. Then, he blinked, and a slow, incredulous grin spread across his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my God. That sounded so much better in my head.”

“No, no, please don’t stop,” Bill said, setting his menu aside and leaning forward slightly, his grin growing. “Did you just say you’re sweating like a whore in church?”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers, equal parts mortified and amused by his reaction. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice muffled. “It’s a Southern thing. We have... colourful ways of saying things.”

Bill laughed then, a full, warm laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’ve never heard that one before,” he admitted, shaking his head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m nervous,” Y/N said, dropping her hands and gesturing animatedly as she tried to explain. “Like, really nervous. And when you’re nervous, you... sweat? And I guess if you’re a, uh, ‘woman of questionable repute,’ sitting in a church might make you extra nervous. Hence the sweating.”

Bill leaned back in his chair, his grin turning into a chuckle as he shook his head again. “You Southerners have a way with words, I’ll give you that.”

“You have no idea,” Y/N said with a self-deprecating laugh, her nerves starting to settle now that the tension had been punctured by humor. “There’s a saying for everything. ‘Sweating like a sinner in Sunday school,’ ‘nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,’ stuff like that.”

Bill raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “So... should I be worried that you’re planning on teaching Victoire any of these gems?”

Y/N grinned, leaning forward slightly. “I make no promises. But hey, it might give her an edge in magical linguistics.”

“I’ll consider it,” Bill said, still smiling. “Though I think I’ll need a full guide to Southern slang before I sign off.”

“Deal,” Y/N said, relaxing fully for the first time since they’d arrived.

The laughter that followed felt easy, like the final piece of ice melting in the warmth of the restaurant. As they returned to their menus, Y/N’s nerves ebbed, replaced by a sense of comfort that felt almost surprising. Bill’s grin lingered as he glanced back at her, his expression softening.

The initial awkwardness that had lingered like an unwelcome third wheel had melted away, replaced by the natural rhythm of conversation.

“So,” Bill said, leaning forward slightly with a faint smile, “tell me more about this compass you’ve been working on. The one that spins like mad when someone lies?”

Y/N perked up at the mention of her work, her hands coming to life as she spoke. “It’s fascinating. The enchantment is so old, it predates most of the magical artifacts I’ve worked with. But the charm isn’t just tied to deceit—it seems to react to intent, like if someone’s even thinking about lying, the needle starts to twitch. It’s brilliant and infuriating all at once.”

Bill chuckled, his eyes fixed on her as she gestured animatedly. “Sounds like the kind of artifact that would drive curse breakers insane in the field. Too unpredictable.”

“Exactly!” Y/N exclaimed, her grin widening. “And I’ve been trying to stabilize it without stripping it of its original charm, but every solution I think of feels like it’s going to compromise the integrity of the piece.”

“That’s the challenge with older magic,” Bill said, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s layered. Every spell builds on what came before, like threads in a tapestry. You tug one, and the whole thing shifts.”

Y/N paused, her fork hovering over her plate, and tilted her head at him. “That’s exactly it. How do you even explain that to someone who hasn’t worked with magic like this? You’d think I was trying to unweave the fabric of the universe.”

Bill laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sometimes, that’s exactly what it feels like. The curse-breaking work I did in Egypt? There were days I swore I was one misstep away from turning an entire tomb into a pile of sand.”

Y/N leaned in, her eyes bright with interest. “You’ve got to tell me about one of those days. What’s the worst curse you’ve ever dealt with?”

Bill hesitated, his lips quirking in thought. “Worst as in dangerous, or worst as in humiliating?”

“Both,” Y/N said quickly, her smile mischievous.

“Well,” Bill began, his tone taking on a story-like quality, “there was one time I was working on a tomb near Giza. Seemed straightforward—a few standard traps, protective wards, nothing out of the ordinary. But then I triggered a curse that was... let’s just say creatively unpleasant. Every time I tried to cast a counter-curse, my hair turned a different shade of pink.”

Y/N clapped a hand over her mouth, her laughter spilling out despite her best efforts. “Pink? Oh, please tell me there’s a photo of this somewhere.”

Bill grinned, his ears tinged red. “If there is, it’s buried deeper than the tomb itself. But I spent a solid week as a walking sunset. My team wouldn’t let me live it down.”

“I can’t decide if that’s genius or cruel,” Y/N said, still laughing. “Whoever set that trap clearly had a sense of humor.”

Bill chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched her. “They definitely did. It’s part of what I loved about the job—figuring out the people behind the magic. Why they did what they did, what they were trying to protect or hide. It’s like getting to know someone through the spells they left behind.”

Y/N nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s a bit like that with the artifacts I work with, too. Every piece has a story, even if we only ever get fragments of it. There’s something magical about uncovering those pieces, even when it’s frustrating.”

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, the conversation paused. There was a warmth between them, an unspoken understanding that seemed to settle in the space they shared.

“You’re good at this,” Bill said suddenly, his voice quiet but sincere.

Y/N blinked, startled by the shift in tone. “Good at what?”

“At finding the magic in the small things,” Bill replied, his smile faint but genuine. “It’s easy to focus on the danger or the frustration, but you... you look for the story. The connection. That’s rare.”

Y/N felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and she ducked her head slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Not at all,” Bill said, his tone firm but kind. “It’s a gift.”

The moment lingered, stretching just long enough to make Y/N’s heart flutter in her chest. She reached for her glass of water, hoping the coolness would steady her nerves.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice lighter now, “if I ever find another cursed compass, I’ll be sure to send it your way. Maybe you can turn it pink.”

Bill laughed, the sound rich and warm, and the tension that had built between them melted back into easy camaraderie.

The dinner passed in a blur of warm conversation and shared laughter, the initial awkwardness melting away as they navigated through the courses with ease. By the time the check was settled, both Bill and Y/N felt the kind of lightness that only comes from unexpectedly good company.

As they stepped outside into the cool London evening, Bill glanced at Y/N. The streets were alive with soft light from streetlamps and the murmur of passing conversations. He hesitated, not quite ready for the night to end.

“Do you fancy a walk?” he asked, his voice careful, almost shy.

Y/N smiled up at him, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. “I’d like that.”

They began to walk, their pace slow and easy as they meandered through the cobblestone streets. The crisp air carried the faint smell of rain, and the quiet energy of the city felt intimate, like it belonged only to them.

“So,” Y/N said after a few minutes, her voice soft in the stillness, “what made you want to be a curse breaker?”

Bill chuckled lightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s going to sound cliché, but I think it was the adventure. The idea of traveling the world, uncovering secrets, solving puzzles, it was too exciting to pass up.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “Did it live up to the dream?”

“In some ways,” Bill admitted, his tone contemplative. “It’s dangerous, sure, but also fascinating. There’s nothing like walking into an ancient tomb and knowing you’re the first person in centuries to see it. But…” He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward her. “It’s not as glamorous as people think. A lot of it is just hard work and a bit of luck.”

“That still sounds pretty amazing,” Y/N said, her smile soft. “It’s not every day you meet someone who can say they’ve disarmed a cursed artifact.”

He grinned, his expression lighter now. “And it’s not every day you meet someone who can make ancient magical artifacts safe for a Muggle museum. I think we’re both in niche careers.”

Y/N laughed, her breath visible in the cool air. “Touché. I guess we’re both a little crazy for what we do.”

“Maybe,” Bill said, his voice quieter. “But I think it takes a bit of crazy to do something you love.”

Y/N glanced at him, her smile faltering slightly as she caught the sincerity in his eyes. There was a warmth there, a steadiness that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the city wrapping around them. Y/N broke it first, her tone light but curious. “Do you miss it? Curse breaking, I mean.”

Bill considered the question, his jaw tightening slightly. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to, especially when I hear stories from my old colleagues. But being with Victoire…” His voice softened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “She’s worth it. Every sacrifice, every change, it all feels small compared to her.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the quiet devotion in his voice. “She’s lucky to have you,” she said gently.

Bill glanced at her, his gaze steady. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

The quiet sincerity of his words made Y/N look away, her cheeks warming. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re too good at this, you know.”

“Good at what?” he asked, his brow lifting in amusement.

“At saying things that make me feel like I’m about to float away,” she admitted, her tone half-teasing but mostly honest.

Bill chuckled, his own cheeks tinging pink. “Maybe it’s not a bad thing to let yourself float every now and then.”

They turned a corner, the streets quieter now as they approached a small park. The iron gates were open, and the lamplight inside cast a soft glow over the paths. Without thinking, Bill nudged the gate open and gestured for her to go ahead.

“Why not?” Y/N said with a grin, stepping inside.

They strolled along the gravel path, their footsteps the only sound in the stillness. Y/N tilted her head back, taking in the dark sky and the faint glitter of stars visible above the city. “It’s kind of magical, isn’t it?” she murmured.

Bill glanced at her, his heart catching at the way the light caught her profile. “Yeah,” he said softly, though his gaze didn’t leave her. “It is.”

She looked at him then, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The air between them felt charged, not with awkwardness but with something unspoken, something fragile but undeniable.

“Thank you,” Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence.

“For what?” Bill asked, his voice low.

“For tonight,” she said, her smile small but warm. “For making me feel... I don’t know, like this was exactly where I was meant to be.”

Bill swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. He wanted to say something, to match her honesty with his own, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he let his hand brush against hers, the smallest of gestures that felt monumental.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she let their hands linger together for a moment before quietly lacing her fingers with his. The simple act sent a jolt through Bill, his breath hitching as he glanced down at their joined hands.

They decided to walk back to Y/N’s apartment, and the quiet hum of the city filled the space between them. Bill shifted slightly as he glanced at her. The warmth from the evening lingered, charged with something unspoken and electric.

“This is me,” Y/N said softly, her voice breaking the quiet. She gestured toward the building, a small, nervous smile playing on her lips. “Thanks for tonight, Bill. I had a great time.”

“So did I,” Bill replied, his voice steady but quiet. He studied her face, trying to read the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. He should say goodbye, should let her go, but the way she looked at him, half nervous and half hopeful, made him hesitate.

Y/N hesitated too, reaching for the door handle. “Well—”

“Wait,” Bill said abruptly, leaning forward. She paused, her hand hovering mid-air as she turned back to him. His throat worked as he searched for the right words, his heart hammering in his chest. “I just… I really like spending time with you.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. She turned to face him fully, her gaze softening. “I like spending time with you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with something unsaid. Bill’s hand moved almost on its own, brushing hers gently. “Let me walk you up.”

Y/N nodded, her pulse quickening. The short walk to her door felt endless, the tension between them building with every step. When they reached her stoop, she turned to him, her keys dangling loosely from her fingers.

“Thanks again,” she said softly, her smile warm but shaky. “Really, tonight was perfect.”

Bill’s lips tugged into a small, crooked smile. “It wouldn’t have been without you.”

The air seemed to hum, the pull between them undeniable now. Y/N licked her lips nervously, her hand tightening around her keys. “My flatmate’s out for the night,” she said suddenly, her tone light and almost teasing. “So no pressure to keep your goodnight kiss PG.”

Bill blinked at her words, caught off guard by the playful edge in her voice. But before he could respond, she stepped closer, her gaze dropping to his lips.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

Bill leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly grew hungry. Y/N responded immediately, her hands tangling in the fabric of his coat as she pulled him closer. His hands found her waist, gripping her firmly as the world around them faded away.

Her keys slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground, but neither of them noticed. Y/N’s back pressed against the door, her breath mingling with his as the kiss deepened. She tugged him closer, her fingers threading through his hair, and the low groan he let out sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y/N,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with restraint. “Are you sure—?”

“Yes,” she breathed, cutting him off with another kiss. Her hands slipped to the back of his neck, holding him in place. “I’m sure.”

His resolve crumbled. Bill fumbled for the keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. They stumbled inside, their kisses growing more urgent as the door clicked shut behind them.

The small entryway was dimly lit, and they barely made it a few steps before Y/N tugged him closer, her lips moving fervently against his. Bill’s hands slid to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and the heat between them grew almost unbearable.

“Bedroom?” he asked, his voice rough and barely coherent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she grabbed his hand, leading him further into the flat. The tension in the air was electric, their shared desire burning like wildfire.

tagged: @navs-bhat @neenieweenie @buendiabebeta

a/n: AHHHHHHH im screaming i've been so excited to write this chapter i went a little crazy. i think there's only one more chapter and epilogue left of the series. we will see. also i just cracked 31k words for this series. guys genuiely all my free time has been devoted to this fanfic it brings me so much joy.

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley angst #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley fluff #american reader #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic community #hogwarts fanfiction

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tinytinyblogs · 3 months ago

Text

It��s not how I think it is, right?

Yandere Skz paranoia drives them to ensure, in their own way, that you’ll never leave them.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

It all happened so quickly for you, a sudden shift that felt both surprising and confusing. But for Han, it was different; for him, it stemmed from a deep-seated paranoia. It was as if an irrational thought crept up on him, one he couldn't shake. In an instant, he made a decision—he wouldn’t let you leave the bedroom, holding you close as if he needed to keep you within his sight at all times, watching over you as though his entire world depended on it. At first, you didn’t understand what was driving him. He didn’t explain why he was behaving this way, keeping you so close, clinging as if you’d slip away if he let go even a little. But slowly, his intentions became clearer as he whispered the same words over and over: “Don’t leave me for anyone else. You’re mine, forever.” As you began to piece things together, you tried to reassure him, to find the right words to break through his fears. It wasn’t easy; telling him that you would never do such a thing, that his nightmare would never come true, seemed almost impossible in the face of his unrelenting anxiety. He clung to you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as though he feared even a sliver of distance could make you disappear.

Every time you tried to convince him, to calm him, he only seemed to hold you tighter, his gaze filled with worry, his grip trembling with fear of the imagined loss. He would listen to your words and, for a moment, a tiny sliver of calm would wash over him. But it wouldn’t last long—soon, his worry would resurface, and he’d draw you even closer, needing that constant reassurance. Each time he found a moment of peace, it was fleeting. You could feel him wrestling with his own thoughts, battling the terror of losing you. The cycle would repeat: he’d hold you close, anxiety pulling him back under, but with every gentle reassurance, he’d find a small piece of comfort, inch by inch. He suddenly enveloped you in a tight hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of you as he held you close. “I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice muffled against your shoulder, his face buried as he took in your scent, as if grounding himself in your presence. “I’m sorry for those terrible thoughts,” he whispered, his voice tinged with both regret and vulnerability. “Just… promise me,” he pleaded.

Holding on a little tighter, as though that promise could finally quiet his fears. He paused, his embrace tightening around you, as though he could somehow fuse his very being with yours, make you inseparable. You could feel the intensity of his heartbeat against you, each beat mirroring his quiet desperation. His fingers gently trailed down your back, pulling you even closer as he leaned in, his face nestled by your ear. His voice dropped to a low, almost hypnotic whisper, every word slow and deliberate, each one heavy with meaning, creating a tension that filled the space between you. “That you never…” he began, pausing as if he were gathering the strength to say what he truly felt, his tone both soft and unyielding, carrying a depth of longing that sent a shiver down your spine. “… ever leave me.” The words hung in the air, laced with an intensity that was both tender and possessive. It was as though he was baring his soul in that single request, seeking a promise that could quiet the storm of fear within him, a vow that would anchor him to the certainty of your presence forever.

Felix

That day, Felix seemed different—distracted, almost lost in his thoughts as he wandered around. Every task he normally stayed on top of had been pushed aside, his usual focus replaced by something deeper and more intense. Finally, he found his way to you, his gaze unusually sharp and serious. Before you even had a chance to greet him or ask what was wrong, he reached out, grabbing your phone from your hand with a swift, almost desperate motion. Without a second glance, he tossed it somewhere across the room, not seeming to care about where it landed or if it might break. All he wanted, it seemed, was for the phone to be out of reach—out of sight—so that nothing could pull your attention away from him. Without giving you a moment to process, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close and holding you so tightly you could hardly move. His weight pressed down, caging you beneath him as he looked down, his brows furrowed with frustration and something almost like hurt. “Why are you always on your phone?” he asked, his tone a blend of annoyance and vulnerability. “Am I invisible to you now?” The firmness of his hold surprised you, his grip so unyielding that you found yourself wincing.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling his hands on your arms, and a quiet whimper escaped your lips. “Lixie, it hurts,” you whispered, hoping he’d ease up, but he didn’t seem to notice or maybe just didn’t want to. His hands stayed right where they were, holding you as if he was afraid you might slip away at any second. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark and searching, as if they could read every thought running through your mind. “Are you texting someone?” he murmured finally, the question sounding almost like an accusation. His voice was low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something he was struggling to keep hidden. The rawness in his expression, the tightness in his jaw, made it clear that there was more behind his question than simple curiosity. “No… I’m just scrolling,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady under the weight of his gaze. “I’m not texting anyone.” You repeated the words softly, patiently, even as you felt the tension in the air. For a few moments, he stayed quiet, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something hidden in your expression.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, a hint of relief breaking through the intensity in his gaze. “Alright…” he murmured, the frustration in his voice softening just a little. “Sorry for doubting you.” He pulled you a bit closer, and his grip loosened, though he didn’t let you go. Slowly, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer, as if seeking comfort and reassurance in your presence. A quiet pause settled over you, his arms still wrapped firmly around you, his hold just a bit gentler now. But then he spoke again, his voice lower, with a rough edge that made you shiver. “Just… if I ever find out you’re texting anyone else…” he trailed off, his tone carrying a warning that felt both protective and possessive, a reminder of the intensity behind his actions. He didn’t finish the sentence, but his words hung heavily in the air, leaving you with no doubt about the depth of his feelings and the lengths he’d go to keep you close. The silence that followed felt thick and loaded with everything unspoken between you.

Seungmin

Seungmin was known for his cool-headedness, the way he analyzed every situation with a level-headed logic that kept him grounded. But today, there was an unusual intensity in his eyes, a quiet storm lurking beneath the calm surface. He moved closer to you, his presence steady yet unmistakably firm, as if making his way into your personal space was the only way to calm his own thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice soft but edged with a hint of something deeper. “You’re still talking to that guy, right? The one who’s always acting a bit too friendly with you?” His words were measured, careful, but his eyes gave him away, dark and assessing as he watched you closely, waiting for the smallest flicker of reaction. He wasn’t just asking; he was searching, dissecting every inch of your body language, every twitch, every glance. You shook your head calmly, answering his question with simple honesty, and for a moment, he looked visibly relieved. His shoulders loosened, his jaw unclenched, and he let out a quiet breath. But then he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a subtle possessiveness, as if needing that reassurance to truly settle his mind.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, almost like he was speaking only to himself. “I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.” His eyes met yours, more intense than you’d ever seen them, and there was a hint of vulnerability mixed in with his seriousness. “It’s just… I don’t like the way he looks at you, or how he smiles. It bothers me,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering as if daring you to challenge him. “Stay away from him, alright? I don’t want to be the one who has to remind you who you belong to.” There was a warmth in his expression, a softness even, but beneath it lay something stronger—a quiet yet undeniable warning. His fingers tightened around yours slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know he was serious. And despite the gentleness of his words, there was a finality in them, a reminder that while he trusted you, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind anyone, including you, just how deep his feelings ran. After all, he’d put so much effort into building trust between you two, nurturing it carefully so that you felt secure with him.

He didn’t want to shatter that bond over something as fleeting as jealousy. Ending things over his insecurities was the last thing he wanted. Sure, he could’ve easily put that guy in his place, maybe with a well-placed jab to the nose, but he knew there were better ways to handle it. “Just… let me know when you need to go somewhere,” he said, his expression softening into a smile that was both adorable and a little mischievous. “Then we can go together—I want to spend more time with you.” His tone was casual, but there was an underlying warmth, as though he was trying to make it sound as normal as possible. But maybe it wasn’t just about spending more time together. Maybe he liked the idea of having you close, of keeping you within sight so he could observe everything and keep his mind at ease. Still, his smile, so genuine and bright, made it easy to agree without a second thought, as if his only real desire was to simply be near you.

Jeongin

Jeongin had been acting differently, a little withdrawn and unusually quiet. He kept his distance, his gaze a bit sharper than usual, as if caught in his own thoughts. Days went by, and he hadn’t been his usual bright self—no playful teasing, no warm touches or quick, mischievous glances. Instead, he seemed to be calculating something, perhaps needing time to calm himself down or to plan his next move. It was like he was working hard to find a way to make sure no one else would even think about getting close to you. When you finally asked him what was wrong, he looked up, as if your question had given him permission to speak his mind. His face softened, but a touch of vulnerability lingered in his gaze, his usual confidence tempered by something deeper. “You know,” he began slowly, his tone shy, almost hesitant, “I’ve had something weighing on me lately. It’s silly… but I can’t shake the feeling.” He paused, the faintest blush creeping into his cheeks as he tried to gather his words. “I keep wondering if… maybe someone’s getting close to you, if you’re giving them more of your attention than you give me.” He glanced at you,

his eyes never leaving your face, as though studying every little reaction. “And I keep thinking… maybe you care about them more.” His words hung in the air, and his shyness melted away slowly, shifting into something more resolute, his gaze sharpening as his fingers brushed your hand, grounding himself in that small connection. “But it’s not true, right?” he asked, his voice gaining confidence. “You love me,” he murmured, his tone soft yet insistent, his eyes now intent on yours. “You don’t have a choice either,” he added with a small smile, almost like he was reminding you of a fact he believed was written in stone. “We’re together forever, remember?” That smile widened, creeping across his face, but it wasn’t the innocent, playful one you knew so well. There was a hint of something deeper, a fierceness in it, as though he were stating a claim he would never let go of. “I just need you to stay close to me,” he said, his fingers tracing over yours. “I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they could be important to you.”

There was an intensity in his gaze now, a silent promise, as if he’d already decided he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. His voice softened, almost a whisper. “You’ll always stay with me, won’t you?” His question lingered, more of a quiet declaration than a request, a gentle yet firm reminder of the bond he’d carefully built with you and intended to protect, no matter what. "Why so quiet, hm?" he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice as he slowly inched closer to you. His gaze was locked onto yours, and you could feel a flutter of fear rise within you as your eyes widened under the intensity of his stare. You felt your breath hitch, eyes widening with a flicker of fear under his unbreaking stare. His voice dropped to a soft whisper as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear. The way he spoke made your heart race, and you instinctively leaned back slightly, trying to process the moment. "Come on," he coaxed gently, his words carrying a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. "Say it. Tell me you’ll always be by my side." His eyes searched yours, filled with an intensity that made it difficult to look away.

🩷 @chaoticfaelle

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plutoccult · 11 months ago

Text

POST-WAR!REINER BECOMES A DAD

pairing: reiner braun x female reader

description: super cute headcanons depicting reiner becoming a father for the first time.

author’s note: new theme!! slayyyy 🤭 i wrote these after i rewatched how i met your mother for the fifty billionth time and the scene where barney meets his child for the first time spawned these headcanons. y’all liked dad!jean, so here’s dad!reiner 🤪 it ain’t much, but it’s honest work. i’d love to write more dad content for the aot men in the future, but i hope you enjoy this!

tags: @solefleurs @heavenfilm @cowgirlikets @jeanboyjean @femme-lune @todorokiskitten @0p1umz

taglist form here

— it was no question that reiner always felt like he didn’t deserve to live a happy life.

— but despite all of his sins and feeling like a monster, you were the one to see a loving man underneath, and loved him despite it all.

— once reiner settled into life after years of war and peace negotiations that followed, he was finally able to live the life he always craved, yet didn’t think he deserved.

— the two of you got a little house with hopes of starting a family one day. it was a bit of a fixer upper, but reiner became quite the handyman to create the perfect family home.

— reiner always feared starting a family would mean he’d accidentally create a child just as screwed up as him, but you always soothed those fears, insisting your future child will be brought up with nothing but love, what reiner always wanted in his own childhood.

— of course, there was still some worry, but that was normal for anyone becoming a parent for the first time. reiner just had to remind himself that there wouldn’t be any vicious cycles repeating.

— when you finally became pregnant after months of trying, reiner was ecstatic.

— he wanted to do everything he could to make sure you were both ready. he built the baby’s crib from scratch, using the chopped wood he brought home everyday to craft it himself.

— reiner even tended to your every need, although sometimes you tried to insist he didn’t, reiner didn’t want you have to lift a finger. you were creating new life, after all.

— once it came time for the birth, pre-parental kicked in terribly. every doubt came rushing back so quickly, but reiner had to keep it together for your sake. he couldn’t let you deal with a wreck like him while you were trying to push out a kid.

— but after hours and hours, a baby girl was finally born, and she was one of the greatest things to ever grace this earth.

— when reiner met his baby girl for the very first time, it was like he fell in love all over again. his love for you was always strong, but his love for your child carried just as much strength. every worry he had washed away the second he saw your precious child.

— he held the newborn in his arms, his first words to her; “you are the love of my life… everything i have and everything i am is yours… forever.”

— it was no contest that reiner would dedicate every damn day of his life to you, your child, and whatever future children you may have. there would never be a single doubt.

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mirohlayo · 1 year ago

Text

ALWAYS | CL16

inspired by the song always - daniel caesar

( charles and you broke up 6 months ago. but no matter what, he'll still love you forever. )

warning : sad, angst, heartbreaking (i'm sorry for that 💔)

word count : 1.7k

!! english not my first language !!

it still hurts. time passes but the memories remains. they remain profoundly anchored in his heart, in his head, and every day he hopes these tender and precious memories will never fade away.

maybe he's wrong for thinking like that. maybe he's wrong for losing his head over you.

maybe if time elapses rapidly, maybe if enough time passes, he will see you again. and you both will laugh together, heart fulfills with joy, never forgetting how much you were made for each other.

and he knows deep inside that he can't deny it. that there'll always be, no matter what happens, a place for you by his side, this same place that you sorrowfully left six months ago. this place will always be reserved for you, because he promised it to you, because he finally knows nobody will never occupy it the way you did.

laboriously lying down on his bed, charles closes his eyes. the moon softly shines in the nocturnal sky, skimming his hollow cheekbones. the light dimly illuminates his dark circles under his eyes, as if it had been an eternity since he last tasted a peaceful sleep.

it's night. and for those last six months, he found comfort in nighttime. because there is this quiet atmosphere, not a single noise disturbs him, apart from the unremitting sounds of the cars' motors which turn around his monaco building. he feels alone there, and that perfectly contrasts with this sensation you caused him since your departure. he terribly feels abandoned, lost and alone. like the moon is neglected among the billions of stars behind her.

and he closes his eyes. he wants to sleep. he wants to dream. he wants to dream about her, maybe to forget or maybe to remember. but he definitely doesn't do it on purpose, sometimes he dreams about you. because maybe that's what the night is for : arrange to meet the ones we love.

because he truly loved you. genuinely and profoundly. he fell very hard for you. and that since he first laid eyes on you. his heart rose when he saw you, his cheeks became hot when you smiled to him. his eyes were full of love and affection. it was as if he laid eyes on the most beautiful thing. and it was you.

his heart, his soul never stopped to love you. his body burns of love and desire for you, and all his being beg you to come back to him, to tell him everything will settle. because his poor heart awfully suffers, and every day he dies a little more remembering why you're no longer his anymore.

he loves you infinitely. never no one has ever been able to fill him with so much passion. he knows he truly loves you, from deep inside. he loves you for a thousand and one reasons, but mainly for the one he doesn't understand.

pretty lady. he liked to call you like this, even though sometimes you thought it was silly. but he knew you actually loved this surname, so he never missed an occasion to make you feel special.

so with his pretty lady, he used to walk down the streets. hand in hand, maybe shared earphones, and above all your love for each other. you walked slowly in monaco's streets, until he begged you to let him buy you a gift. buying you anything, as long as you were happy, it was the main thing. even though his bank account was empty afterward. but it was okay.

and he still remembers the fussing, the fighting, the fucking and the lying. most of the time, it was you getting mad at him for buying expensive stuff for your simple person. but sometimes, it was more an underlying and painful reason. but you always ended up reconciled, because neither could stay apart for too long. it was like that.

except last time, there wasn't a reconciliation. you left each other, teared apart and frightfully hurt. none returned to the other. and that haunt charles for way too long now.

maybe he's wrong for thinking like that. maybe he's wrong for losing his head over you.

he's fed up. he opens his eyes, and in just a fraction of a second, he's already dressed in a coat and in a scarf. he needs to get some air, he needs to think about something else.

was it by going to the cafe you always went to that he would really think of something other than you? no, certainly not. but he needs it, it's stronger than him. he pushes the door and immediately orders a warm drink.

and then he takes a sit in a secluded corner. he doesn't want to be seen, but from his spot, he can catch sight of every person present. a waiter comes to bring him his drink. he thanks him with a fragile smile. it's been a long time since he smiled brightly, like he always did with only you.

he takes one sip. two sips. it's warm, and it comforts him. because it reminds him of the soothing warmth you gave him when you used to hold him tight. and it comforts him as much as it grieves him. and the deeper the sorrow digs into his being, the more joy he will be able to contain.

and maybe this joy finally weaves in his heart. this joy which suddenly explodes at the view in front of him. he can't believe it. you push the cafe's door, a silly smile on your lips as a deep laugh echoes in the air. soon, charles' happiness transforms in bitterness and pain.

he knows it. he knows it dawn well. you moved on. you're no longer his anymore. you don't belong with him anymore. but with this new man who seems to fill you with happiness like he did with you before. his heart squeezes when you take the hand of your new boyfriend, dragging him to a table not far from charles' one.

you look so happy. your big smile warms his heart, but it cools down instantly when he remembers your smile isn't meant for him. no, it will never be intended for him again. and it hurts him terribly.

the same waiter brings you your drink, which you obviously had to share with the man that charles already hates with all his being. but on the one hand, he couldn't stop your man being better than him. he must accept his fate, he must accept that this man is the new chapter of your life. and that he only remains as a page that you have difficultly turned.

but he doesn't want. he still wants to have hope. he still wants to hold onto you, because he tells himself maybe one day everything will return to the way it was before. he prays for this day to comes, whatever fate does.

so he just doesn't care. he doesn't care if you're with somebody else. because he'll give you time and space to hopefully bring you back. he still hopes every day, because he wants you to know he's just not a phase. and that he never was one.

so, it's selfish, but he disregards the man who is sitting in front of you and back to him. he has a perfect view on your face. and he imagines only you and him, on a date, face to face. he imagines that the smile glues to your face is addressed to him, that all the sentences that come out of your mouth give him the impression that he is your confidant again. even if it's not the reality.

because one of the hardest battles we fight in life is the fight between the mind that knows the truth and the heart that refuses to accept it.

the more he looks at you, the more you pleasantly disconcert him. the more he closed his eyes, the more he missed you. and it wasn't good. it became suffocating. so he had to leave. leave the café, but not you. even though he knows he'll never have a second chance, he'll continue to hold onto you and to love you.

you had left to the bathroom. so he took the opportunity to leave the place. and leaving something behind for you.

you come back to your table, excusing yourself to your boyfriend for taking too much time. you keep talking with him, but the waiter just now approaches you. he points to a table lost at the back of the cafe, a cup of coffee still left on it and, a gray scarf.

a scarf which you perfectly recognize. gray and soft. made by cotton. a scarf you offered to your first love, the one you loved dearly for one year, the one you haven't seen since six months now.

"the man who was sitting here left. but he said this scarf was for you." the waiter says to you before getting back to the counter. you gently thanks him, and you try to avoid the questioning look of your boyfriend.

you desperately look to see if he's still here, if he's still present in the cafe. or in the street. because either you can't deny it, a piece of your heart still beats for charles. but nothing, nobody's around.

and meanwhile, charles leaves the street corner where the cafe is located. he returns to his apartment, alone again and perhaps even more hurt than before.

he left his scarf - no scratch that - he left you his scarf. maybe he did it on purpose to abandon a part of you, to pass on to you what belongs to you. to start forgetting about you. or just merely for you to remember him for ever, that every time you'll see this scarf his face will appears in your mind, and you'll be able to smell his cologne.

he thinks about you once again. in your pretty coat, your pretty hairstyle, and of course this man by your side. peacefully drinking your hot drink. he curses himself for not being the one to share your hot chocolate. your favorite drink that he knows you ordered tonight.

but it's okay. he knows it, he deny it.

it's all fine, you'll always be his. forever and ever, always.

always, you can count on him sure as the stars in the sky. always, you can count on him as sure that the sun will rise. always, his love for you ain't going nowhere.

always, he will be here.

for you. forever.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #charles leclerc fanfic

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wubbowrites · 3 days ago

Text

i would have liked to know you

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Relationship: Sonic & Maria Robotnik, Sonic/Shadow

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None!

AO3 Link

“I don’t know what he was like back then, but he’s a big fan of brooding these days.”

That got a proper laugh out of Maria. The kind that made someone tilt their head back, made tears well up at the corners of their eyes. Sonic didn’t think it was that funny, but he was glad she did. Her laugh was worth a thousand bad jokes.

—

Sonic has a strange dream.

Sonic had gotten pretty good at the whole lucid dreaming thing. So when he found himself sitting in a field of flowers he didn’t recognize, with a day-lit sky that was just slightly too dark, he knew that he was definitely dreaming.

The environment may have been a bit uncanny valley for his tastes, but it wasn’t terrible. The wind still felt nice against his quills. The grass was still soft. The flowers — whatever they were — smelled nice. Like a sweet, subtle perfume. And there wasn’t a single gray cloud in that strange, deep blue sky.

Sonic’s eyes fluttered shut. He listened closely to the sounds, felt the sensations around him. As he let himself savor the moment, he noticed a rustling behind him. His ears twitched, but he didn’t feel like opening his eyes just yet. Whoever was approaching was doing it slowly, and he sensed no malice. He let them walk up to his back, then plop down beside him.

Finally, he glanced over, and he saw a girl. A human girl, with long blonde hair and a pretty blue dress. Her skin was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes. She was thin. She looked tired. But she smiled at Sonic like he was an old friend of hers.

In a way, maybe she was. Sonic had never met her before, but he remembered enough of what Shadow had let slip in the past to recognize these details. He could put the pieces together.

“Hey,” he greeted casually. “Are you…Maria?”

The girl nodded. “How’d you guess?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, that’s all. And I think I’ve seen your picture at least once.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you too, Sonic the Hedgehog,” Maria said with a giggle.

This surprised Sonic to hear. He tilted his head. “You have?”

“He still visits the ARK Memorial, you know. In Central City Park.” Maria waved her finger in a ‘check’ motion, like she was going through a to-do list. “Every year, on the dot!”

Sonic felt a wave of fondness sweep across his chest. He chuckled. “I should have figured. Though I never pictured him actually talking to you. I always imagined him just crossing his arms and glaring at the stone. I don’t know what he was like back then, but he’s a big fan of brooding these days.”

Once she’d calmed down, Maria flopped down onto her back. She took a deep breath. Sonic watched curiously. After a minute or two, he leaned back too. While Maria laid straight with her hands folded properly against her chest, he tucked his hands behind his head as a cushion, and tucked one leg over the other.

Their styles couldn’t have been more different, but they shared the same blue hues. They enjoyed the same beautiful day.

“I’m sorry if this place isn’t quite right,” Maria finally said.

“What, did you make this?”

“I did. I wanted something comfortable so we could talk properly. But I was off planet for a long time, and there’s a big difference between remembering or studying what Earth looks like and actually seeing it for yourself. I had to guess a little to fill in the gaps.”

Sonic didn’t bother asking more. He just accepted what she said, tried to take it in stride. “Whatever the case, it’s great. I haven’t had a dream this peaceful in awhile!”

“True.”

Sonic’s ears twitched again. But he still didn’t ask why she would know his dreams well enough to say that. Or what she meant when she said she ‘made’ this place. What was the point of making sense of a dream?

But there was one thing he wanted to know. “What did you need to talk about?”

Maria suddenly sat up. She looked down at Sonic with glittering eyes. She looked so fond of him, despite them never interacting.

“I wanted to thank you for taking care of him. For keeping him company since I’ve been gone. I know he can be prickly, but…he really likes you, you know. I wasn’t lying when I said he talks about you. Every time he visits us, I get to hear about a new adventure of yours. You’ve always sounded wonderful, and…and he always sounds like he’s having fun. In his own way, y’know? You make him happy.”

And though all of this was a dream, and Sonic knew logically none of this was real, he still felt in his chest like it was. With that in mind, he smiled warmly back at her. “Of course. He makes me happy too.”

“I’m glad. I’m really glad!” Maria laughed beautifully again. “I think I would have liked to know you, if things had gone differently.”

Sonic nodded. “I think we would’ve gotten along great.”

“I agree!”

Maria laid back down. She scooched closer to Sonic, reached out, and grabbed his hand. He let her squeeze it.

And then suddenly, everything faded away.

—

Sonic woke slowly. Curled up in his favorite hammock, buried in blankets and a black and red hedgehog, he snuggled into its warmth.

He sleepily opened his eyes to see Shadow’s gloveless hand reaching around to hold his. Sonic felt him squeeze it.

“You up?” Sonic whispered.

A grunt. “You were mumbling in your sleep.” Shadow said it in an accusatory tone, like Sonic could have controlled that. It made Sonic giggle.

“Yeah, sorry. I had a weird dream.”

“Mm?”

“I, uh…I think I talked to Maria?”

He felt his rival tense up. With some difficulty (hammocks just weren’t built for two), Sonic rolled over to face Shadow. He didn’t look upset per se…but it was always a difficult topic.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t. I mean…” Shadow cleared his throat. “Don’t…apologize. What did…What did you talk about?”

Sonic hummed. He nuzzled into Shadow’s neck. One of his hands crept up to bury itself in Shadow’s chest fur. Curled up together like this was secretly Sonic’s favorite way to be. He knew Shadow loved it too — that it calmed him down from bad moments.

Sonic didn’t want this to be a bad moment. But he prepared, just in case.

“She thanked me for making you happy,” he said. “And I told her you made me happy too.”

Shadow went quiet again. Just as Sonic would’ve started to worry though, he nuzzled Sonic back. Silently reassuring that he was alright, just thinking.

Eventually, his eyelids fluttered closed, and his breathing started evening out again. Before he could fall back asleep, he said, “I think you two would have gotten along.”

Sonic snorted and closed his eyes too. “That’s exactly what we said.”

#my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #maria robotnik #sonadow #sonic/shadow

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