#might not directly answer but i will read and take it to heart

[solargeist]

would it b weird to ask for art criticism, i'm curious... i'm nosy....... i need an outsiders eye with no filter to guide my way........ grade my paperrrrr..........

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓑𝓮𝓷𝓮 𝓖𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓽

Request: „Lady Margot is sent to Giedi Prime to seduce Feyd Rautha, yet na-Baron doesn't give in to temptation, showing how much he loves his wife and how far his obsession with her truly goes.‟

A/N: Request from @hskskdk , the request itself was slightly rephrased by myself but the context remained the same. Nevertheless, I hope you will all like it and you'll enjoy reading it.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

Work contains smut , minors do not interact.

The Bene Gesserit was a female order constituting one of the most important pillars of the Empire. They were devious , cold and remarkably exalted. They struck fear as much as they did awe.

Yet in the eyes of young na-Baron, they were nothing more than witches manipulating the weak minds of even weaker men.

But that changed. She changed it.

She was one of them. She was just as manipulative, just as devious. Yet one look from her was enough to make Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen bend to her will.

She became his wife, his lover, his goddess. He was willing to kill for her, to cause suffering to those who were against her.

When lady Margot Fenring tried to break him the same way , make him hers , she failed. Because she wasn't her. She never could've been.

And with her failure came the raw rage of her sister.

-First you enter my house uninvited and then you have the audacity to try seduce my husband when my eyes are not focused on him- she said in a cold and harsh tone , looking at the older woman.

-I am not obliged to explain my actions to you Y/n - she replied, looking directly into the eyes of her younger sister -Because you know that the actions of our order have a greater purpose.

-And yet here you are - na-Baroness remarked.

-I'm here because you failed my dear sister - Lady Fenring said , her face still remained stoned and unmoved- In the place of the male heir there are three daughters. To have one child like that is a mistake but to have three is an insult.

Feyd Rautha's wife looked at her with composure , but her blood was boiling like wildfire , ready to burn everything in its path.

-Bene Gesserit needed me to give birth to a son. But my husband wanted daughters - Y/n proclaimed , walking slowly towards the blonde-haired woman - I gave them to him and I plan to give him as many daughters as he wants because it is my husband who has control over me. Only him.

-Even if this is what you allow yourself to believe , don't you think that eventually the need for a male offspring will occur? - she asked her - Feyd Rautha is still a man , a man who is the heir of the Harkonnen House. His love for you will fade away.

-His love for me is dangerous - Y/n declared - But it is not dangerous for me. It is dangerous for others - she whispered , standing in front of her sister - He is ready to kill for me , he is ready to destroy everything my heart desire - she confessed, looking into her blue eyes - He has already done it…and he will do it again, all it takes is a mere word from my lips. His love will not fade away…it will only grow.

-Are you threatening me? - asked Lady Fenring , looking closely into the eyes of the na-Baroness.

-I warning you - she answered, measuring her with a disdainful look - I suggest you go to your chambers dear sister. Do not continue to tempt the creatures in the shadows who are watching you.

Her words were not commanding, but their hidden meaning made the woman walk away, leaving Y/n Harkonnen with her husband, who had been watching her in the darkness since the beginning of the conversation, following her like a hunter follows his prey.

-Do you wish me to kill her , my darling? - he asked , approaching her slowly , watching her intensely.

-You cannot - she replied , closing her eyes when his large palms rested on her body.

-She disrespected you , she insulted your children and tried to seduce your husband - he whispered , kissing her neck -You have every right to kill her. I will do it for you , just say the word my beloved- he said , capturing her face so she would leveled gazes with him.

She looked at the male for a long time , having a silent discussion with him, but no matter how much she tried to deny it ,her decision was made long ago , even before her husband had spoken.

-I want the life to escape from her eyes - she demanded - But I want her to wait, I want her mind to be filled with nothing but the awareness that she won't live to see the next morning - she said, sliding her hand along na-Baron's torso - And I want her to hear exactly how great your love for me is and what she can never have - she whispered sensually into his mouth - I want you to make love to me - she announced quietly, kissing his pale, full lips.

Feyd pulled her into his arms. His possessive grip left marks on her that she never wanted to get rid of.

He took her to their chambers. His hungry mouth could not refrain from tasting her soft flesh , marking it with blue marks. The woman in response tilted her head , exposing her neck , so that his teeth and tongue could have fuller access to her. He attacked the exposed patch of her skin almost immediately, relishing in the taste of his beloved , trapped in his embrace.

His wife allowed herself to close her eyes , giving herself over to the arms of pleasure. His kisses made everything inside her cease to exist , only raw hunger remained.

When the man moved away from her body , and her back met the cool satin sheets , her gaze rested on him , and her brow furrowed.

She wanted him close , she needed him close.

Grabbing his neck with her hand, she pulled him towards her , bringing their lips together again. Their tongues moved in a passionate dance , as their teeth rubbed against each other , and saliva lazily ran down their jaws.

His hands destroyed the clothes between them , as his teeth marked each new piece of her skin with his teeth . Her legs wrapped around his waist , feeling his thick, veiny shaft rubbing against her wet and trembling womanhood , and as he entered her , assaulting her insides , she drove her long nails into him ,scratching them across his pale back , leaving an angry red trail behind.

Feyd bit down hard on her neck , savoring her sweet blood. In response , she grabbed his hand, bringing it closer to her throat , needing to feel more of the pain which mixed so deliciously with pleasure. And the man immediately knew what the woman wanted from him.

He squeezed the skin of her neck , restraining the access of air to her lungs , smiling sinisterly as he felt her body tighten , and her climax approaching drastically fast. Her eyes rolled back , and the image before her became blurry as her body was flooded with rough pleasure , that only her husband could give. Moaning loudly ,she felt his hot cum fill her , running lazily down her thighs , staining them black.

Na-Baron kissed the red , soft lips of his lover , tasting her with extraordinary tenderness as well as possessiveness.

-My knives are yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my riches, all these belong to you - he vowed to her ear , kissing its lobe - You have bewitched my body and soul and there is no one who can take me away from you.

The woman smiled gently , stroking his jaw with her fingertips.

-I believe you my husband - she stated , looking deeply into his blue eyes.

-Rest now my wife- he muttered at the hollow of her neck where he placed a single kiss - Rest because when you wake up I will make sure that you leave the chambers with another daughter under your heart.

She obediently followed his command , allowing sleep to envelop her exhausted body. And when she finally awoke , she was met with the sight of her husband.

He was covered in blood , kneeling in front of her lying figure , holding in his hands the head of Lady Margot Fenring.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au

word count: 4.7k

summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them

a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx

special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞

It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now. 

There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you. 

So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . . 

G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.

Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile. 

“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.” 

“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” 

Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away. 

Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean. 

“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?” 

Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe. 

“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?” 

“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now— 

“I know.” 

Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?” 

“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.” 

“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.” 

“Sure.” 

Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?” 

The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” 

“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling. 

“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.” 

Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze. 

“You ready to go, little rabbit?” 

All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.” 

You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes. 

“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?” 

The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want? 

“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

You bet he has the most skillful tongue—

“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.” 

“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.” 

“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.” 

“Most guys buy me dinner first.” 

“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?” 

“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.” 

“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?” 

“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?” 

“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.” 

“Never had any complaints before.” 

Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking. 

“Will it hurt?” you mumble. 

“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.” 

“How much?” 

“Depends, really.” 

Your shoulders drop. 

“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said. 

“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?” 

“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.” 

“Can. . . Can I see?” 

“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed. 

Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.

“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?” 

His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.” 

Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before— 

Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos. 

You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.” 

“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.” 

You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.” 

“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.” 

He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts. 

You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples. 

“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a’right?” 

You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good. 

Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says. 

You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell. 

“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?” 

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months? 

“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.” 

“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?” 

His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.” 

“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.” 

You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time. 

What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin. 

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat. 

His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?” 

“Yes.” 

And he continues to devour you. 

Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink. 

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them. 

“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.” 

Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes. 

You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?” 

A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him. 

He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed. 

You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.” 

Fuck, it is. 

Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt. 

“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.” 

His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now. 

The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos. 

“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them. 

You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin. 

His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite. 

“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.” 

This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue. 

His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”

Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.” 

Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure. 

“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.” 

“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance. 

Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst. 

Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass. 

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.” 

He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .” 

Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless. 

When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.” 

“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly. 

Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your lips part. 

You have a strong feeling that he’s right. 

With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.

He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately. 

Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent. 

He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop. 

“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously. 

“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.” 

“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .” 

“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.” 

“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.” 

He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.” 

“Touché.” 

Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear. 

He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” 

With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale. 

After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.

Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.

“Aaand done, tell me what you think.” 

You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face. 

“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy. 

“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!” 

“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.” 

“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?” 

“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.” 

“Well, at least they look good.” 

He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.” 

“That nickname is still ridiculous.” 

“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?” 

“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.” 

“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.” 

“My hero.” 

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Guns N' Thugs (mafia bucky x reader)

gif sent in by @buckys-wintersoldier a little while ago and the fic itself was an idea coming from this ask between myself and @nana1000night back in 2022.

Summary: Bucky protects a woman from being harassed after he recognises the perpetrators as his enemy's goons.

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: harassment, catcalling, gunfire

Read on Ao3!

--

The streets of Brooklyn had an edge tonight. The autumn air was crisp, the bite of the wind sharp enough to sting your cheeks as you quickened your pace down the dimly lit sidewalk. The sound of distant laughter and blaring car horns echoed around you, but it was the footsteps behind you that held your attention.

They had been following you for a few blocks now, growing bolder with each step. You could hear the low murmurs, the crude comments thrown in your direction, and despite your best efforts to ignore them, your heart raced with every word.

"Hey, sweetheart, where you off to in such a hurry?" one of the men called out, his voice dripping with mockery.

You kept walking, tightening your grip on your bag, praying that they would lose interest. But they didn’t.

The group of them — four, maybe five — started closing in, surrounding you with their leering grins and foul remarks. You could feel their eyes on you, like vultures circling prey. Your stomach twisted in fear as one of them stepped directly into your path, forcing you to stop.

“C’mon, don’t be shy, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading wider. He reached out as if to touch you, but before his hand could make contact, a voice rang out.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I was looking everywhere for you; got caught up in the shops.”

The voice was deep, smooth, with a commanding presence that seemed to stop the world around you. You blinked, your body stiff with tension as you turned towards the source.

Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers about him — about the mobster who controlled most of the city’s underworld with an iron grip. He was feared by everyone, respected by those who knew better, and completely untouchable. His name alone sent shivers down most people’s spines, but the way he approached now, so casually, so effortlessly, it was like the situation was already under his control before he even spoke.

Bucky’s steely blue eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something softer behind them as he played along with the act. He reached for your hand, gently tugging you toward him as though you’d been waiting for him all along.

The men around you hesitated, confusion flickering across their faces as they sized him up. They might not have known who he was yet, but something about him — the way he carried himself, the dangerous glint in his eyes — put them on edge.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men sneered, stepping forward as if challenging Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even blink, his arm sliding around your shoulders protectively. He didn’t need to answer. The way he looked at the man, with an amused smirk tugging at his lips, said everything.

From across the street, Bucky’s most trusted men — Sam and Steve — lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. Sam, always quick to react, saw the way the situation was escalating. Without hesitation, he stalked over, his hand slipping inside his coat to grip the gun hidden within.

Sam approached one of the men from behind, pressing the cold steel of the gun to his back, careful to keep it hidden beneath his sleeve so as not to alarm you. His face was hard, his eyes locked on Bucky, waiting for the signal.

He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question clear. Do we take them out?

Bucky glanced down at you, still holding you close to his side. His fingers brushed lightly over your arm, a silent reassurance that you were safe with him. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he gave Sam the permission he needed.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said softly to you, guiding you a few meters away from the group, towards the safety of your car parked just down the street.

You followed him, your mind still racing, trying to process what had just happened. Who was this man? Why was he helping you? Your heart was still pounding, but something about his calm demeanor, the way he seemed completely unfazed by the danger, made you trust him, even if you didn’t fully understand why.

Bucky’s voice was low and soothing as he opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on your back for just a moment before he pulled away.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the street behind him. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As you slid into the driver's seat, the sound of a gunshot cracked through the night air. You gasped, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as your pulse skyrocketed.

Bucky was already moving, his expression hardening as he turned back toward the scene. He didn’t need to look to know what had happened — Sam had done exactly what was necessary.

When Bucky returned to where Sam stood, the man who had dared to challenge him was sprawled out on the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped for breath. The others — the rest of the gang — were already gone, running in fear for their lives, disappearing into the shadows.

Sam stood over the dying man, his gun still drawn, though it was tucked discreetly into his coat sleeve. He didn’t need to say anything; the message had been sent loud and clear.

“I have her safe,” Bucky said, his voice cold now, all traces of the charm he’d shown you earlier gone. He nodded toward Steve, who had come up to stand beside Sam. “You and Steve find them. They looked like new recruits from Zemo’s gang of misfits.”

Steve’s jaw tightened at the mention of Zemo. It wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths with his gang, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sharp nod, Steve and Sam set off in pursuit of the remaining thugs, their figures disappearing into the night like shadows.

Bucky remained where he was for a moment, his eyes locked on the body at his feet. The man coughed, choking on his own blood as he tried to speak, but Bucky didn’t care to listen. He was already done with him.

Turning on his heel, Bucky headed back to your car. You were still inside, wide-eyed and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He opened the door once again, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze.

“Go home,” he said softly, though the steel in his voice was unmistakable. “You won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your mind still reeling, but you nodded. Something about the way he spoke — the authority in his tone, the way he seemed so sure of himself — made you believe him.

Bucky stepped back, watching as you started the engine and pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the distance. He stood there for a while, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he gazed down the empty street.

It was just another night in Brooklyn. Just another problem handled.

But something about the way you had looked at him, the way you had clung to his side without knowing who he was, had stirred something in him. Something unfamiliar.

With a low sigh, Bucky turned and headed into the darkness, his mind already back on the job at hand.

Tomorrow, the streets would belong to him once again.

[koiiiji]

windbreaker characters & their possible love trope (part 2)

warnings : smut part with wooin but i tried to make it more sensual then sexy, prob fluffiest stuff i ever wrote, as usual it might be ooc, not proofed read on your own risk!!)🧣💞🦢

thank you all guys for 287 followers!!(i wrote when it was 260!!) i hope my works makes your day a lil bit better and set some mood. i really appreciate all likes, reposts and especially!! comments and replies, in love with @sugardollie-907 @hjunsjoy @cozyunderworld @dialoguestetatet and wildylisa but idk why i can’t tag((( and so so many other people who comment (but i swear this holy five lives rent free in my comment section and it such a blessing🙏🏻)

thank you to every-everyone who supporting me, my works, it’s so gratifying to come here and see all notifications about your feedbacks!! also want to say thanks to all wb authors who ever posted and posting!! another source of motivation and inspiration🫵🏻😌💋💯🎀

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

vinny - a friend’s sister. you were definetely dom's or jay's sister, and vinny was so annoyed by you in the first place. not because of your personality or you annoyed him directly, but you were that "genious" in your sport, and vinny unitentionally compared you to jay jo, who were gifted with talent from birth. he was angry or annoyed to the point of goosebumps, he didn't even understand exactly what he was feeling, but he understood that this was a very strong storm of emotions and he was fixated on you. honestly? when your brother watches your competitions or casually tells about your successes, Vinny records it in his memory and will congratulate you later(dom as an older brother will 100% hype you up, fight me. he would show his phone to hummingbird crew with tearing puppy eyes “look, my lil gremlin winning those competition of hers”🥹🥹)Vinny would rather die by biting his neck than admit his feelings to someone, so it happens accidentally, maybe your chat went further than congratulating each other on winning competitions or your calls to him to find out where your brother is hanging around today. but because you were tired after the competition, you fell asleep leaving the chat open and not responding to his messages, leaving him on read. not to say that Vinny was offended by you, he just snapped at you for 3 days in a row, refusing to respond to messages. you had to take the situation into your own hands and hold his hand after another training and talk. “ta hell you want?” he said, frowning down at you. “just to talk and clearly” - you explained the situation to him and told him why you didn't answer, but since Vinny didn't know how to apologize and he had certain trust issues, it turned into another skirmish. it was evening and it was unnoticeable how the clouds thickened and the rain began to fall, but it didn't seem to bother two of you much because you were standing and yelling at each other for a reason you both didn't understand. Vinny's patience had always been zero, but now it seemed as if he was on the verge of reaching another stage of rabies. while you were shouting at him that you didn't understand why he started this quarrel at all, he just exhaled irritably and unknowingly blurted out “FUCK! because i was worried about you!!” as the argument reached its peak, Vinny's frustration peaked, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and apprehension. yet, amidst the chaos of their exchange, a surge of emotion overcame him, compelling him to act on the impulse he'd long suppressed. with a sudden surge of courage, Vinny closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. eyes met, mirroring the intensity of emotions, as Vinny leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. the rain continued to fall, its gentle rhythm enveloping both of you in a cocoon of intimacy as you melted into each other's embrace. Vinny’s body pressed to yours, rain-soaked and trembling, as the warmth of the spring evening mingled with the cool touch of the rain. in that moment, amidst the soft glow of the night lights and the soothing patter of raindrops, time seemed to stand still. the world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only the two bodies locked in a passionate embrace. as your lips parted, a sense of relief washed over, breaths mingling with the cool night air as you savored the sweetness of the moment. in the gentle caress of the rain and the warmth of each other's touch, you found solace, knowing that despite the storm raging around two of you, they were anchored in the calm of their love. as you kissed beneath the spring evening sky, a sense of peace washed over them, the tension of their argument melting away with each tender caress. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the comforting glow of city lights, they found solace in each other's arms, their love renewed and strengthened by the storm they weathered together.

wooin - fake relationship. he commited it in the first place. since his work wasn’t permanent and he was constantly on the move, hanging here and there, Wooin thought it would be nice to have something permanent in his life. he needed excuse to tell his family why he can’t visit them on weekends - his girlfriend doesn’t feel well. them asking him all this “start a family” questions? sorry, y/n isn’t ready yet. some unforeseen situations? oh, y/n can be his trusted person. something didn't go according to plan? he can rely on y/n, if it isn’t something too difficult or dangerous. as a substitute he will gift you something, or will took you somewhere, thanking you for being his backup. genuinely it wasn’t something like friends with benefits, no, you two clearly share a bond, but it was something on the edge, as everybody thought you were dating. and in fact all this acts, you being his backup, him giving you small gifts, taking you on dates, sharing a bed - it all feels more like a relationship. but you never had this conversation, after another hot sex you could fall asleep together, for sure, but in the morning one of you definitely woke up in an empty bed. of course, it also happened that you woke up together, but in the morning Wooin was simply unbearable, and more often it ended with too caustic jokes. and it was always on the edge, you weren't in a relationship, you weren't friends, you weren't strangers, you were all together at once. at some point, it started to get exhausting. you noticed it first, but Wooin started talking about it first... well not actually talk, but mutter in the crook of your neck… today’s sex was different, the encounter was filled with a blend of sensuality and intensity, both of you asserting your desires while maintaining a balance of power. you bite each other, when it feels like too much, but immediately kissing and licking bite place, each of you tried to get leading role while another didn’t let it happen. today, Wooin's approach was different - not sloppy, fast and erratically, but slower, more deliberate, his touch gentle yet his thrusts firm. you were suffocating in his arms, and it seemed to him that he was drowning in the smell of your hair, your moans, how you trembled slightly from his hands on your chest, hips and neck. Wooin burrowed his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and sniffing your scent. it was intoxicating, that feeling when you were next to him, when his hands slid over your body, your soft sobs, how the emotions on your pretty face changed depending on his pace. now, with his whole body pressed against you from behind, one hand holding your hip, and the other between your head and the pillow, his palm rested on your collarbones. while he was slowly sinking into you, and you were smiling and almost purring with pleasure, he caught himself thinking that he liked your smile. he likes to spend time with you, he likes to use an excuse in front of his parents and call you his girlfriend. his. Wooin liked the idea of you being his. he liked you. along with these thoughts, his pace increased, now he was digging his fingers into your thigh, and the other hand slid to your breast, squeezing it a little harder. you were both lost in your pleasure as you moaned louder and louder, he pressed his nose harder into your neck, whispering something that you couldn't make out. at one moment, he lifted his head, biting your earlobe, and pulling it slightly towards him, in a burst of emotion, he whispered "i like you"*

kwon - stranger to lovers/soulmetes - for the first time it seemed like someone corsed you. you moved to new flat in different district of Seul and now it was time to transport your stuff from old flat. everything started when you recieved message from a men who drove the car with your stuff, saying that he is stuck on a street because there are some stupid cycling competition and usual road is closed. amazing, you already were so stressed and here some cycling competition, but thankfully in the evening you finally recieved your stuff, mostly some boxes, small and big. when you were about to pick another heavy box you felt that it seemed strangely light. when you rise your eyes you saw a young man around your age. you thanked him for helping and he turned out to be almost your neighbor, one floor above and to the left of your neighbor's wall. next time you saw Kwon Hyeok in evelator…and you two were stuck there…for 3 hours…you were about to meet with your friends and, as you learned later, he was about to pick something to eat in nearest market. week later you met him in random cafe, where you decided to have a dinner alone, the owner of the cafe came up to you, saying that all the seats are occupied, but since you are alone, there was an empty place, behind the bar, just next to a guy your age (the old man grinned and has obviously already married you two in his head) so when you sat down carefully and apologized for the intrusion, you recognized that it was Kwon. you ordered your food and few drinks, and had a nice time together. and after a month of such unexpected encounters, you began to suspect 2 things - either fate brings you together, or he is a stalker. thankfully when you ran into each other again in the same cafe and drank a lot more this time, you admitted that you suspected him, and he, in turn, thought the same - that you were weird stalker girl who followed him around, and in that evening you laughed together from many things. when it was time to leave he understood that you were so drunk that you couldn’t even stand straight, so he took you by the elbow, hugged you with his free hand a little bit higher than your waist and led you home. along the way, of course, you mumbled something about how you like one handsome boy and he seemed like not paying attention to you and probably not even interested and why you're still alone…and then, under the soft glow of streetlights, amidst the hushed whispers of the night, it happened. in a moment that felt both inevitable and surreal, your lips met in a tender kiss, sealing the bond that had been silently growing between you. in that stolen moment, amid the chaos of the city, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that fate had finally brought you together as more than just strangers in passing.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

* i’m sorry, i don’t really know how to finish this part with wooin, as it already feels too ooc, it was more self inserted, like i was inspired by my latest situationship, bc i was in fucking same situation(it didn’t end well) , and it’s still kinda my roman empire, so i leave space for your imagination… if u don’t mind of course…🥹

[trustmypoison]

Ateez being vulnerable with a partner

Requested? Yes! Request: ‘ateez members being vulnerable with their partner’

Hongjoong Ah, the burden of being a leader. I’m sure he feels like he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes. Members or management might ask how he’s doing, and he’ll probably always say, “I’m good!” But if you ask after a long day, he might finally let his overwhelm show. Be gentle, because he really just needs to vent sometimes. When he’s done venting, he’ll just want to lay in bed and let you hold him.

Seonghwa As the oldest, he’s used to taking care of everyone else’s needs. I feel he’d probably not easily accept others taking care of him though. So he might be a little resistant when you do things to make his life easier, insisting that he’s thankful but you really don’t need to do anything for him. But if you catch him on a particularly bad day, he might just fold and let you take care of something for him. Like if he comes home from a brutal practice and you put a warm meal in front of him, he might become a little emotional. Please keep insisting on doing these things so he’ll get used to it.

Yunho He’s a mood maker of the group, which is great! Except that he always has to be in a good mood or everyone suffers. So, I can picture that he might become frustrated with something and have to stifle that reaction to keep the peace. He’ll probably stifle that reaction around you as well out of habit. But when he crawls into bed late at night and you ask how his day was sweetly, he might explode. You should let him, gently rubbing his back while he lets it all out. Even if you don’t have any advice for him, the fact that you listen makes him feel lighter.

Yeosang This one might be a little unique, but I think there’s something particularly vulnerable about letting someone know that you’re upset with them. It could be something small, but those little things accumulate over time and become overwhelming. You notice that he might not be happy with little things you do - he reorganizes the dishwasher after you’ve loaded it, or he refolds his clothes that you just folding. Small stuff that he bites his tongue about to keep the peace. When you ask him to tell you about those little things so you can fix them, he hesitates. But he’ll eventually come to you and say, “Can you please do it this way next time?” He might need some reassurance that you aren’t mad that he asked, but progress is progress.

San I have a hunch that he’s probably pretty vulnerable with a partner to begin with. Where I think an issue might come in is when he feels like him being vulnerable with you all the time is a burden. He doesn’t like to come home and unload all of his stresses onto you, especially when you might have also had a hard day. You’ll have to be pretty direct that it’s okay to be vulnerable with you because he also creates a safe space for you to be vulnerable.

Mingi Sometimes, certain things are hard to say. So he often doesn’t say them. You’ll find a page or two of notebook paper with some of those little vulnerable thoughts written down. At first, you thought he left it out accidentally and you apologized for reading his private thoughts. He insisted he left it out for you, and it’s a regular habit now. It lets you know when he needs a little bit of extra love, even if he’s uncomfortable directly asking for it.

Wooyoung This man is so confident 99.9% of the time. But in those .1% times, he might turn to you and ask some crazy vulnerable questions. ‘Am I attractive?’ ‘Is this hair color bad?’ ‘Do you love me?’ ‘Why do you stay with me?’ It just might break your heart to hear it, but answer kindly. May also need some physical comfort when he’s feeling like this, so baby him for a bit until he’s back to his usual confident self.

Jongho He strikes me as someone who is not as physically affectionate as others. Not that he hates it, it’s just that he likes to show his love in other ways. But you’ll know something is up when he comes home and all but collapses on top of you. It’s so unlike him that you’ll ask if he’s okay. Will not admit that he needs the physical affection to soothe whatever he’s dealing with, but you rubbing his back and running a hand through his hair will make him forget whatever he was feeling bad about.

[meracyn]

⁀➷ cherish !

synopsis shuichi fits right in as a perfect boyfriend—well, aside from his inexperience and shyness, that is. warnings none author’s notes I JUST WANNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONY 🐬🐬🐬‼️‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥 / sorry guys i tried to be professional but i always end up doing jokes..

a total gentleman; respects your privacy and space, won’t be all over you, startle you or anything— just tell him you want to be alone for a while and shuichi won’t press further

shy though, shuichi is like those boyfriends who do their best to treat their partner the way they deserve but are somewhat clumsy too

like he would pull a chair for you, open and close the car doors, but if you’re both about to enter a mall for example, shuichi would push a pull door and pull one that says push.. its out of his nervousness though please comfort this guy he needs it

helps you with your homework if you ask, even if you meant it as a joke shuichi would take it seriously and go over to where you are, begin reading + explain the best he can

the type to not give you the answers directly...he wants you to try and do it yourself but will give you hints/examples of his for you to have an idea of knowing what to do

insecure, has a lot to do with his trauma. shuichi feels inferior you could say, feels as if he isn’t enough and weak, doesn’t voice it out loud though, worries you might think less of him if he talks about it

gets embarrassed easily when it comes to physical contact, even a slight brushing of your hands already has this boy blushing and heart pounding against his chest

the longer you two date, shuichi will get more comfortable. in terms of holding hands, cuddling, kissing too; in the start there will just be small pecks here and there at times, has a habit of hiding his face under his hat after a kiss

when shuichi is anxious, holding hands or just placing your hand above his calms him down a lot, if you give him a kiss it will make him snap out of it, especially if you do it out of nowhere

dating shuichi means being around kaito and kaede constantly, but not to a point where it’s suffocating and you both never have a moment alone, the two are aware of it so it’s more like some hangouts on most days while others are just you and shuichi chilling together

probably researches about stuff like ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ and asks his friends about it—mostly to kaito—who tells him things such as, “you gotta be more manly!” or “if you want to have a lasting relationship you need to work on those muscles, i’ll be your leader”

gives you gifts, could be a bouquet of your favorite flowers to a book/game you wanted or a snack you like, shuichi doesn’t want you to think he’s bad at expressing his love for you so he spends time reading about relationships if he has free time and you aren’t near him

kinda dry with his texts...but not in a bad way, shuichi is still learning after all so he will still be clueless at times

by dry, i mean like “BABYYYYY LOOK AT THIS LMAOOO ITS SO FUNNY AHAHAHAJ” – you

“lol” – him 😭

it’s okay though he’s still trying his best to be a good boyfriend

is so in love with you <3

[kunikuyu]

"A reward for someone so good." Hashira Series!

Part 1, 3, 4, 5, 6

Tomioka Giyuu x Male! Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, NSFW, read as afab reader, calm sex, dom! Reader x virgin! Tomioka, Slight mentions of symptoms of depression, Tokito was replaced by Tomioka, since Tokito is underage.

Summary: Pillar training has begun, much to your delight. Of course, as a hard-working and strong person, you can handle any challenge. Even if it's fighting a hashira. And in a way, they all see some value in you, and want to reward you for it.

The next day, it's impossible not to wake up with a hangover. You've had too much to drink with Tengen, and you can barely feel your legs now. Even though your body clearly didn't want it, you had to go to the next pillar training.

"Take care of yourself there. And be careful on the way, you look like you're about to fall over from being so tired. Didn't you sleep last night?" He says, pretending nothing happened. It was clear he remembered, he just wanted to play with you. "...I'll pretend I didn't even hear it."

He laughs. Patting you on the back, he says goodbye to you and wishes you good luck with Tokito. But, your plans didn't involve training with the mist hashira.

......

Your crow guided the direction you should follow, flying in the skies. Little by little, you can see Tomioka's mansion. The place was calm and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of a wooden sword hitting a massive straw training dummy. It was Tomioka, training completely alone.

You knock on his gate, but he doesn't answer or open it. He even stops making noise, trying to pretend he wasn't there. "Giyuu-san, you could be more receptive to your visits." You say, and you hear low, slow footsteps, as if Tomioka wanted to open, but was reluctant.

You were trained by the same master, Urokodaki. You, Tomioka and Sabito were an inseparable trio, before Sabito died in the final selection and Tomioka reserved himself like never before.

You ended up being alone, without your best friends and an indescribable void in your heart. Tomioka walked away from you for a few reasons: He didn't want to feel the pain of seeing you go if you died before him; I didn’t want you to suffer if he died; I didn't want you to find out that he was always in love with you.

It might be a silly reason, but his passion was old and he didn't want to be rejected. You didn't seem like a guy who would be attracted to him. Maybe Giyuu's inferiority complex would never let him be happy at any point in his life.

.....

As you remain lost in your thoughts, the other man finally opens the gate for you. Tomioka's crow will directly greet you, he seemed to like you and you liked that crow who was already old. Tomioka walks away after letting you in, he didn't seem to want to talk to you, or at least he was too nervous to do so.

"Aren't you even going to greet me, Giyuu?" You say, holding his arm to stop him from continuing to move away from you. He doesn't turn to face you, though. He still loved you, very much. But it's hard to deal with that when you're afraid of happiness.

Seeing that your friend wouldn't talk to you, you decide to take control of the situation. "Well, since you don't want to talk to me, let's train then." You grab a nearby wooden sword and get into position, surprising Giyuu. He thought that after not talking to you, you would go away and leave him alone, but that wasn't the case.

....

It turns out that you were still on the same level, nothing had changed. As kids, you could never beat each other, it always ended in a draw. And now, you are both sitting on Giyuu's garden. You could enjoy the sunset in complete silence while you both regained your energy.

"You shouldn't be here, should you? Pillar training isn't over yet." He says softly, but you can still hear it. His voice was as calm as ever. "I was supposed to be at Tokito-san's training. But I wanted to see you."

He doesn't say anything else after that, just looks away and goes back to the sky. You could feel his nervousness, even though normally his temperament was almost stoic all the time.

It really bothers you.

You hated seeing Giyuu, who was so smiley in the past, go into a shell and keep himself away from the rest of the world. If there was something bothering him, he would normally speak up before all this happened.

"Giyuu, I need to talk to you." "Hm?-" Before he can even ask or even answer, you pull him into his house. He looked dazed, his eyes were slightly wide and his mouth slightly opened in surprise.

When you arrive in his room, you pin him against the wall and look deep into the other man's eyes. You were the same height, so it wasn't a problem. Tomioka looks at you with even wider eyes, and his cheekbones seem redder than ever.

"I really understand what you went through, I also lost my best friend that day. But you need to stop blaming yourself, you need to stop sinking into this emptiness. I know I'm not the best person to help you, but please. I don't want to lose the person I trust and admire most again." And he just looks at you, doesn't say a word. But you could see his eyes already filling with tears and his hands starting to shake. It's even worse when you hug him. He couldn't help but cry this time.

You were never good with words, but damn, how you wanted to comfort him, hug him and tell him it's okay. "I..." That's all he can say to you, as he feels your face sink into his neck. "... That's unfair." He whispers softly, but you can hear it. You move away from the hashira's neck, but keep your arms around his waist. You couldn't understand what he meant by that. "Hm...? What do you mean by that, Giyuu?" And he just looks away while blushing.

And then, you realize.

"Oh."

You don't say anything else. You just realized why he's blushing, shaking, and looking away. It makes you blush too. You were so stupid, how did you not realize that Giyuu liked you, or at least had a certain crush?

"How long?" "Since we were kids."

And this was his turn to be wide-eyed. The difference is that you had a smile on your face. Reciprocal feelings are rare, but very beautiful. You had to let your instincts act, and placed a kiss on the water hashira.

...

"You're a virgin, right?"

"W-Why do you ask such embarrassing questions?"

You are very fast. It didn't take long for Tomioka to be completely naked in front of you. He was lying down, while you were sitting on top of him. Giyuu looked nervous and embarrassed, especially because it was his first time and because he was completely naked in front of you. Your actions didn't make it easier for him either.

"Sorry, Giyuu-san. Now, just relax okay?"

He nods and rests his head on the futon. You insert the other man's member into you, making him let out a soft, sweet moan. Tomioka never thought he would do something like this to you, it seemed like an impossible dream coming true for him.

....

You were holding each other as you rode him. It was a perfect feeling to hear his moans. His sweet moans were calm, sly and sounded like a song to your ears. His face was red, beads of sweat from the heat dripped from his forehead, and small bites were deposited on Giyuu's neck.

Your pace slowed until you stopped. It was as if it was fate, both of you had climaxed together. You let out a low chuckle when you see Giyuu's condition; eyes watering with pleasure, cheeks red and chest heaving up and down frantically.

"I have a sneaky feeling you liked it." You say, with a smile on your face. What surprised you was the smile he showed you, after so many years. "... T-Thank you, for that... ah..." You couldn't help but blush at that smile, it was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen and you wanted to see it more often.

"For the record, I like you- No, I love you." "You know... The feeling is mutual..."

You both smile and lock your lips again. Giyuu may feel like he's not ready for a relationship yet, and maybe that's true. But you'll end up together. It's destiny.

Bonus lines!

"I came inside you... It's okay...?"

"Jeez... Hehe..." You say, while laughing nervously.

[stevesgother]

Savior Complex - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.9k

Warnings - Blood. Mention of vomit. Partial nudity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors note - This is my first fic...ever. Constructive criticism always welcome but pls be nice. Takes place directly after the events of S3. Hurt/comfort, angst, acknowledging Steve’s trauma bc damn.

Summary: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending but not a lot of resolution, friends to ? lovers? idk its up to you!

Inspired by my favorite poem of all time, that has always reminded me a little bit of Steve.

“In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch”

The air inside Steve’s car was heavy with tension and the thick July heat.

You sat parked in his driveway, the rest of The Party having dispersed to their own homes; their parents waiting for them with open arms and misty eyes. 

Not you. 

And Certainly not Steve Harrington.

You and Steve weren’t what you would call “close”. Until now, that is. Shared trauma tends to have that effect. He knew you had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize his parents weren’t in the picture. Barely in Indiana, let alone spending anything close to quality time with their only son.

The idea of spending the last few hours of this nightmarishly long day in his big, empty house was sounding lovelier by the minute. On the grounds that it ‘wasn’t safe to be alone right now’. You didn’t read too much into it; he was right, after all. Part of you wonders if he just didn’t want to be alone. Sluggish, and noticeably more bloodied than you, Steve made his way to the front door with you in tow. His house was silent; eerily so. Everything pristine and well manicured, as if no one lived there at all. 

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, and a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Towels in the cabinet next to the shower.” He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. You try not to feel like you’re burdening him, blaming his avoidance on the exhaustion and not the unwelcome presence of you in his home.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He finally meets your gaze. The shiner he sports on his left eye is still swollen, but less so. The front of his sailor suit you once thought so endearing, is now stained with blood and vomit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly. “You have -” you wince, “- open wounds on your face Steve. Probably a concussion too and that’s if we’re being modest.”

He wears a tight-lipped expression you can’t quite read. You can tell he’s frustrated, and his exhaustion is bone deep. It nags at your heart. Maybe that’s why you don’t just drop it when he answers you.

“Not my first rodeo, I’ll be fine just-” He pauses, “go shower, and get some rest. God knows this shit won’t just be over come tomorrow.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Please just…just let me help. I can disinfect the cuts around your eye. I was a girl scout! Though in hindsight I realize how useless that sounds and-” you’re rambling now; nervous.

“Stop.” You’re taken aback slightly by his tone, you haven’t known Steve to act hostile. Not in a long time. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not ‘pity’ Steve! Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might want to help you?” You take a step forward from where you stand a few feet from him. You reach up to touch his forehead with the hope of better assessing his injuries.

‘Enough!” He swats your hand away, “God, I should’ve never offered for you to stay here. You think you’re some type of savior, but you’re not.”

His words feel like a knife to the chest. You knew what he was trying to do, you knew he didn’t really mean the things he said. Not when he’s like this. For the first time since you arrived tonight, you thought of how many times he’s had to come back to this empty, soulless house all alone. Damaged, emotionally and physically. Wounds he’s had to patch alone. No gentle caress of another’s hands. Just the stinging of antiseptic in his nostrils, and the heaviness of everyone he’s ever loved abandoning him.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, shaking your head in a disbelieving way.

He laughs, humorless, “Yes I do. I really, really do.” A bitter sharpness to his words. It burns like liquor washing down your throat. “Go.” 

“No!” Now you’re the one raising your voice. “Being stubborn is for when someone is haggling you at a flea market. Not when someone is trying to love you.”

Love. You realize what you’ve said a beat too late, but you stand defiant despite it. You do love Steve. This fact, collecting cobwebs in the back of your brain for months, being spat out onto the floor in front of you both is what compels you to what you do next.

Steve, who was previously standing with this index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, is now staring at you like a deer in headlights. Before either of you can blink, you’re closing the gap between the two of you, sure of yourself. You wrap him in a suffocating embrace and he struggles against your grip.

“Stop! Please I don’t need you-” He all but shouts. Still, you sense a dent in the armor.  A crack in the wall he’s spent so long building to keep you out; to keep everyone out.

Eventually, he stops struggling. His knees give out from underneath him as the trauma and the pain and the events of today catch up to him. But not just today; a year ago when his girlfriend broke his heart at Tina’s stupid party. When Michael Harrington cut him off on the grounds of him being a disgrace to the family name. Everything flooding back to him all at once. Everything he’s spent his youth avoiding.

You sink to the ground with him, still holding him tight. He stops making an effort to hide his sobs, but instead clings to you like you’re the only tangible thing keeping him here. You sit beside him, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and your free hand cradling his head to his chest so he can hear your heartbeat. A heart that finally beats for him.

“I know.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The hair you’re gently stroking, which is usually so voluminous and perfectly styled, is now dampened with blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, “I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.” 

He cries harder at that. Shoulders shaking and breath shallow, he looks at you. You cradle his sweet, bruised face in your hands. You think, like a pomegranate, Steve Harrington is beautiful, and worth the mess. Wiping his tears with your thumbs and careful to avoid the cuts and swelling that decorate his face, you give him a smile. Shy, but earnest.

“Can you take me to bed?” He asks you, eyes bleary.

–

Neither of you speak as you turn on the faucet and watch the porcelain tub fill with scalding hot water; still not hot enough to wash away the memories this day has tainted you both with forever. Tentatively, you lift your shirt over your head, and slip your shorts down your scraped legs, revealing your mismatched bra and underwear. A pang of guilt washes over you when you look down and realize Steve took the brunt of the Russian soldiers. He was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met.

You give him a look that asks “is this okay?” as your fingertips brush the cotton of his ruined Scoops uniform. You aren’t sure what the boundaries are anymore. Momentarily Steve worries this will irreparably change things between you two. He nods anyway. You lift the shirt over his head, catching a glimpse at the real extent of his injuries. His ribs were badly bruised, and he had clotting cuts all over his abdomen. Something swirls in your stomach at the sight of his chest hair. You wish the circumstances of this moment were different.

He pulls his own pants and socks down with a hiss, eyes screwed shut, leaving you both in just your undergarments. He steps into the tub and slowly sinks beneath the hot water. You step in behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a look of confusion contorting his features. You don’t bother to explain, for the fear that speaking would break the trance you both seemingly were under. You had built a space here for each other, one you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Sitting behind him now, you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him flush to you. You rest your chin in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and close your eyes. You can feel how he tries to match his breathing to yours; slow and rhythmic.

You reach up to the hanging shelf on the wall above your head, and grab the cedar and sandalwood body wash. The second you open the bottle, your senses are flooded with him. Only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get to smell his scent in any way other than passing. A slight brush of shoulders in the hallway; a friendly hug when you’d gotten back from a month long vacation.

With a dollop of body wash on a washcloth you found on the edge of the tub, you gently start to scrub the blood and grime off his freckled skin. Like this, you can see every birthmark, every scar, the way the hair at the nape of his neck curls up around his ears in the damp bathroom air.

Steve rests his calloused hand on your knee and squeezes. A silent reassurance that what you’re doing is okay, that he’s okay, that he’s here. Everything feels overwhelmingly intimate as your hands explore his body. You lather his thick, brown locks with the shampoo you found next to the soap. With a heavy sigh, Steve allows his head to fall back into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t tell you, but this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in the tub together, but at some point he turns to face you, cupping your jaw in his larger hand. The look he gives you is so tender, you think you might cry. His caramel eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes, so fast you would’ve missed it if your senses weren’t dialed up to 11.

With the delicacy of someone touching a flower petal, he closes the gap and presses his cut lips to your soft ones. Hesitant at first, giving you the option to pull away. He fears he may have misread the moment when you separate from him, a look in your eyes that he can’t read. His worry dissipates as you take his face into both of your hands and kiss him deep and slow. You only break when the air feels too stiff to continue, the water droplets accumulating in the air and Steve's kiss making it difficult to catch your breath. His hands slide from where they were grasping your hair, and down to your neck where they stay.

“I love you, too.”

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Nine

A/N: Hello! I did not expect this chapter to be as long as it is, but there was just too much to squeeze into this one! Only one more chapter left! I want to thank you all again for your likes, comments, and reblogs! It means the world to me and I hope you stick around for more Jace fics after this one is over. Like before, please see tag list in the comments.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 5.2k Synopsis: Finally, all matters are put to bed as Jace meets with Baela, the reader meets with Rhaenyra, and Lord Blacktyde is dealt with.

Warnings: violence, blood, death

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace walks directly out of your chambers and heads for Baela’s. It is too early an hour to be visiting, but he cannot wait any longer. In this current situation, he needs to ensure your safety. Besides, he has put off this conversation with Baela for far too long.

He gathers his courage as he knocks on her door. To his surprise, Baela answers the door herself.

“Jace,” she says with a sigh, looking him up and down. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sorry it’s so early. I—” he pauses, taking a breath, slowing down, “Can I come in?”

She doesn't respond, but holds the door open. As he walks in, his thoughts are of you, your smile, your hand in his, and it gives him the strength to finally face her. To finally tell her the truth. When he does, she’s already looking at him with a sad smile.

“I know, you know,” she says softly.

“Baela, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out from anyone else but me. You're my closest friend, and--"

“I mean,” she says, walking into the room, sitting down on a couch, motioning for him to do the same. “I knew, I think even before I knew. Your feelings for her . . .” she sighs, “It’s the kind everyone wishes they’ll find.” She is still smiling, but there is a hurt behind her eyes, too. When she meets his gaze, she laughs.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Jacaerys. I’m glad that you’ve found love with Y/N. You deserve happiness.”

“So do you."

“I know,” she says with a laugh. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way Rhaena talks about her budding relationship with Lord Corwyn. I want the same for myself.” She sighs. “I used to think I might find that with you.”

“I love you, Baela. It’s just—”

“I know,” she says, smiling gently at him. “I don't feel that way either. I love you, too, just . . ."

"Yeah," he says softly. She is quiet for a moment, studying her hands.

“If I break our betrothal, I don’t want Driftmark," she says. Jace's heart leaps once. He meets her eyes, seeing a determined glaze in them.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“King’s Landing is my home, I don’t want to leave it.”

“Baela,” he says with a smile, “I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. During the war, you were my confidant, my advisor, I need you here.”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “I’d like to be Hand.” A grin spreads across Jace's face.

“Done.”

When Rhaenyra invites you to her quarters, a horrible dread fills your bones. You think of the only other time you were summoned by her, when Lord Blacktyde arrived. There is little doubt in your mind that this meeting has to do with him.

You think she'll probably have Barun and his ship waiting for her command, waiting to send you off to the Iron Islands, never to see this family you have grown to love again.

At your arrival, a guard leads you into the queen's chambers. The room is warm, like Jace's tends to be, a trait that must run in the family. Rhaenyra is standing over her desk, her brow furrowed as she reads the scroll in her hand.

"Your Grace," the guard says, drawing her eyes up.

"Y/N," Rhaenyra says.

"Your Grace," you say, curtseying.

"You may leave us," she says, dismissing the guard. Once the door closes behind him, she gives you a small smile.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Baela has agreed to end her betrothal to Jace," she says, making your heart leap. "I asked my son to hold off on telling you until I could speak with you myself.

"I have seen the way you look at Jace, and how he looks at you. I know there is love there," she says, a soft look on her face. "He deserves love."

"Yes," you say quietly, reflexively.

"But he also deserves a long life, an easier one than the one he has lived thus far. The arrival of Lord Blacktyde has made me reconsider my initial approval." She meets your eyes. "Tell me why you should marry my son."

"My Queen," you say, taking a deep breath to hopefully squash the growing panic within you. "I don't know why I should marry Jacaerys. I know there are more advantageous matches out there for him. I have no titles, no relationship to offer your family that you don't already possess.

"But I do know that I love your son, more than anything in this world. And I know he loves me," you say, your voice cracking with swelling emotion, "It is an honor I do not take lightly. For so long, I tried to fight my feelings, because I know I'm not good enough for him, because of my past. But your son has shown me that the love between us, the admiration and trust, it is not commonplace. It deserves to be treasured.

"I don't know why I should marry him. I probably shouldn't. But if you grant us leave, please know that I will do everything in my power to make sure he lives a long, happy life."

She studies you for a long moment. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, waiting for some sign of her approval.

"What of Lord Blacktyde?" she asks. "If you are to reject him, he will turn his anger upon my family."

"I know," you say, dropping your head. "If it comes down to it, I would leave with him, if it meant keeping your family safe." She raises an eyebrow at you.

"That means a lot." She is quiet for another agonizing minute.

"I want to see more of Lord Blacktyde, to understand for myself the kind of man he is. Already, he has sullied his reputation after barging in here, making demands for you. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to lose his allyship. He is already ostracized in the Islands." That spark of hope leaps up into your throat.

"Your Grace?"

"If you would give up your happiness, your life, for my son, if you could walk away from your feelings, I can think of no stronger quality in a wife, and queen."

Jeyne is pacing in your quarters when you arrive back. The moment she spots you, she gasps, moving to your side.

"What did the queen say?" she asks. The tears that were threatening to fall during your meeting finally spill over.

"She said yes," you say, "Baela agreed to end their betrothal."

"And Barun?" Jeyne asks, her face flushing with excitement.

"I think she'll try to make some kind of agreement with him, she's inviting him to supper tonight to feel him out. Although, its my understanding that she wouldn't care either if the relationship falls through."

"Oh, Y/N," she says, wrapping you into a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Me too," you say with a laugh, wiping at your tears.

"Have you seen Jace yet?" she asks.

"Not since last night. I'm sure he knows, but I want to see him. To celebrate with him."

"Well, you'll see him tonight."

"Barun will be there, too," you say, "I won't be able to get close to him, to even let him know."

"The prince is clever," Jeyne says, "I think he found a way around Barun."

When you slip on the dress Jace sent, you are in awe. Jeyne always made sure you had beautiful, elegant dresses, but this one was of its own caliber. The beading made it sparkle in the light. The fabric clung to you favorably, the slightly lower neckline surely Jace's idea.

You feel absolutely beautiful, and stronger somehow. Clad in your future family's color, you feel some of their bravado embracing in you.

"If your father could see you now," Jeyne says, walking back into the room, also dressed in her finest.

"What would he think?" you ask.

"That he was a damn fool," Jeyne says, wrapping her arms around you. "He wanted the Vale, wanted its legacy to pass to your husband and sons. Look at you now," she says with a smile, "You're going to be queen."

You take in a breath. In your excitement, your love for Jace had overshadowed the fear of becoming queen. It's years away, but already, you worry what the people will think of you. Jeyne seems to notice your attitude change.

"It won't happen for a long time. You'll have time to prepare," she says, "But you'll be perfect."

"Thank you," you say, "For everything."

On the walk down to the dining hall, Jeyne tells you of her morning meeting with Barun. His terms hadn't changed from five years ago. He promised aid to the Vale in exchange for your hand. Jeyne had politely told him she needed to consider, and went on her way.

"How did he appear?" you ask.

"He cannot hide his emotions. He said all the correct things, but his face and voice held only frustration."

"I will be relieved when he is long gone," you say with a sigh, stopping in front of the doors to the dining hall.

"That day is near," she says. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The heavy oak doors open to reveal Jace and his family. He is joking with Aegon, but upon your arrival, he looks up. A smile immediately breaks across his face. He bids his brother goodbye and comes to your side. You can tell he wants to do more, but he only takes your hand and kisses it softly.

"You are beautiful," he says, warm eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," you say. He transfers your hand to his arm and guides you into the room. "I had no idea you had such an eye for gowns."

"I don't," he says with a smile, "But this one was as easy find, once I pictured you in it." His eyes flick down to your chest. It dawns on you then, just how long it has been since you slept together. Was it really only a few days ago? It feels like longer now.

"I've missed you," you say lowly, "I--"

The heavy doors open again, this time revealing Lord Blacktyde. He stumbles almost instantly, and you realize he is already drunk. Jace must notice the way your body tenses, because he tightens his hold on your hand, just as you break away from him.

"Y/N," Jace says sternly, quiet enough for only you to hear. "He's going to find out eventually."

"Not here," you say, watching as Jeyne greets the lord. "Please," you say, glancing back to him. "For tonight, let's just pretend."

"Pretend that I'm not the happiest I've ever been?" he asks, making you smile.

"Yes. Just for this dinner. Tomorrow, we will figure out how to tell him."

"Very well," he says with a sigh. "Let me escort you to your seat, then." His mirth has vanished, and you hate that you can't celebrate this victory with him. For so long, you two have longed for this very moment.

As he guides you to your seat, you cross him and whisper, so only he hears, "I love you." He keeps his composure, but the look in his eyes conveys his response.

"Y/N," Joffrey says, sat to your right. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank--"

"Evening, Your Highness," Barun says, startling you as he sits in the seat to your left, the one Jace was about to claim.

"Lord Blacktyde," Jace says through clenched teeth. You exchange a look, but Jace is too smart to start an argument now. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table. Her eyes meets Jace's and she inclines her head to her left, the unoccupied chair there.

As everyone takes their seats, Jeyne, Rhaena, and Baela across from you, the younger boys further down the table, soft chatter breaks out. For the first time since you revealed yourself to her, Rhaena meets your eyes and gives you a soft smile.

"How is Morning?" you ask carefully, hoping a neutral topic might mend the gap.

"She's good," Rhaena says, "I should be able to fly with her soon, finally."

"Really?"

"Dragons grow quickly," she says with a shrug. "You should . . . come see her soon." A strange expression passes over her face.

"I'd like that," you say, with a smile. She cuts into her food, and you assume she's done speaking to you, until she looks back up once more.

"Red suits you," she says. It's as much acceptance as you'll get from her, but it means the world.

"Thank you."

"So," Joffrey says, pulling your attention to him. "Remember in the library, when you swore nothing had changed with you and my brother?"

"Yes," you say, glancing up the table to Jace. The prince meets your eyes with a smile.

"Care to make any amends to that statement?" he asks when you look back at him.

"No," you say, smirking.

"Even now, you won't trust me with your secrets?" Joffrey asks, a frown on his face.

"Today we are pretending," you say, "Ask me again tomorrow."

As the next course is served, you feel you must relieve Jeyne from entertaining Barun. Thus far, she has been one of the few to speak with him, save for a few remarks from Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"Are you eager to return to the Iron Islands, My Lord?" you ask.

"Yes," he says gruffly, his breath reeking of ale, "I can't stand the heat here."

"It's not so bad, one you get used to it," you say.

"I don't intend to. You shouldn't either."

"May I remind you, Lord Blacktyde, I have not agreed to any terms with you," Jeyne remind him.

"Yet."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't agreed to any terms, yet," he says firmly. Jeyne doesn't break eye contact.

"Of course," she says. She glares him down as she reaches for her glass of wine. He looks away before she takes a sip.

"What is it you find so desirable about the Iron Islands?" Daemon asks, drawing your attention down the table again. For a quick moment, your eyes meet Jace. He isn't looking at you, though, because his sole focus is on Barun. His fist is clenched tightly atop the table.

"Is it the never ending damp? The sunless sky? Or are the stories true, that the Islanders fuck the creatures of the sea?" Daemon asks. The room is quiet. Barun's face grows redder by the second. But before the tension can break, one of the younger boys laughs. Whoever starts it gets the other one going, too, and soon everyone starts laughing, too. The only one who doesn't even try to fake one is Jace.

"Say what you will about our customs, your Targaryen ones are much stranger," Barun says. Your laughter dies in your throat.

"And which customs would those be?" Rhaenyra asks.

"You forget yourself," you say quietly, hoping only for Barun to hear it. He turns to glare at you, his eyes bloodshot.

"You'll do well to learn to hold your tongue," he says. "As I was saying," he continues loudly, "Such strange customs. You married your uncle after all, Your Grace." Jace's knuckles have gone white.

"That must be why you've had such trouble finding a husband," he says, turning his full, horrid attention to you.

"How is that?" you ask.

"Because you're not related to them!" he says, punching the last few words as if he's a jester.

"Lord Blacktyde."

"If only you had just been a little blonder," he chortles. "Although, that rules doesn't apply to these two." He motions to Joffrey, then to Jace. Your prince's face is white with rage.

"Need I remind you who you are dining with?" you ask. Barun rolls his eyes. He seems closer now, as he looks at you. You can smell the alcohol and see the beads of sweat at his brow. You move closer to Joffrey.

"When we get home to the Islands, this back talk will not be permitted."

"I believe my cousin already told you nothing has been decided." You reach for your win glass, casually, needing to pretend all is well.

"King's Landing," he says under his breath. "Leave it to them to teach a woman such disrespect." You exchange a glance with Jeyne, both of you knowing you learned that trait well before King's Landing.

"And what is it exactly that you find so lacking in King's Landing, My Lord?" you ask.

“People claim the Iron Islands are barbaric, but when brother argues with sister, we don’t put the burden on the whole of the realm.”

“Would you call usurping our queen’s throne ‘arguing?’” you ask, your eyes flitting to the end of the table where Jace, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all stare coolly at Barun.

“I just believe that if things had been handled more rationally, I wouldn’t have lost so many good men.”

“People were lost on all sides,” you say, your wine glass nearly shaking in your hand. Tension tightens along the table. All side conversations have ceased.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says to you. “You need to come to the Iron Islands. It’s not safe in King’s Landing.” He seems oblivious to the shifting mood of the dragon riders around him. Rhaenyra has a firm grip on Daemon’s arm, but the King Consort shares the same expression as Jacaerys. Barun leans in even closer, until your back is pressed into Joffrey’s arm, trying to put as much space between you as possible.

He continues, unbothered. “I mean, they couldn’t even protect their own children, how could—”

The glass in your hand shatters in your grip, jostling the rest of the table. Both Jace and Joffrey are on their feet with you, the latter of whom reaches for your hand. You pull it back, your focus solely on Barun. You aren’t alone in this, the entire family looks at him with cold-blooded anger.

“Apologize,” you say firmly. He laughs as he looks up at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize,” you say. The glare he gives you is one that could kill. But before he can say anything more, he finally looks at the people around him.

“My apologies, I meant no insult,” he says with a forced smile.

“Of course,” Daemon replies, an equally vicious smile on his own lips.

You sit down, begging Jace to do so, too. His jaw is clenched so hard, you aren’t sure he’s actually breathing. You give him a look that says please, and finally he sits.

“Y/N,” Joffrey exclaims, reaching for your hand. Jutting from your palm is a large shard of glass. Blood drips between the two of you. “You need to see the maester.”

“I—”

“She’s fine,” Barun grunts, taking your hand from Joffrey. He drags the chunk of glass down your hand, lengthening the cut before pulling it out. You clench your other fist, and take in a quivering breath, but that is the only reaction you’ll give him.

“See? All better.”

“She’s bleeding,” Jace says plainly, looking at Barun in disgust.

“Haven’t you been told, boy? Girls always bleed.”

“I think I’ll escort Y/N to the maester," Jeyne says, standing quickly. You look nervously between Jace and Barun. You don't want to leave, fearful of where this anger might lead. “Y/N” Jeyne urges.

“Coming,” you say, standing up. Joffrey places his napkin in your bleeding hand softly. “Thank you.”

As you move out from between them, Barun looks as if he wants to stop you. His attention moves to the end of the table, and whatever he finds on Jace’s face stops him. As Jeyne leads you out of the room, you look back once, unsettled by what has happened, and usure of what is to come.

The maester has just finished stitching your hand when Jace walks into the room, Rhaenyra and Daemn following close behind. He doesn’t seem to care that Jeyne, his parents, and Maester Orwyle are there. The moment he is in front of you, he grabs your face and kisses you.

“I’m fine,” you say when he pulls away. He doesn’t respond, just takes your bandaged hand in his. He studies it for a moment, then kisses the back of your hand.

“Jace,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes. His hard exterior drops then, and he sits down next to you.

"How is your hand?" he asks.

"The maester says I'm lucky," you say, "I could have lost my grip if it had been deeper. He says it will only leave a scar." Jace looks livid.

“Did anything else happen after dinner?” you ask, hoping to change the subject as Jace’s hand holds your uninjured one.

“No, Barun shut up once you left," Daemon says.

“He’s revolting,” Jace says, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He is,” Jeyne says, joining your small group. “And I’m afraid he’ll only get worse, when Y/N rejects him.”

“He’s one man,” Jace say firmly. His thumb traces over your skin, both to soothe you and to remind himself that you’re there. “He is disgusting, but he is not invincible. We’ll arrange to tell him in a group and then send him back to the Iron Islands.”

“And if he threatens the Vale?” Rhaenyra asks. "Or dares to threaten us?"

“Then I will fly there myself and defend my future wife’s home,” he says proudly. "And ours." You meet his eyes and give him a gentle smile.

"We will meet with him tomorrow morning," Rhaenyra says. "Tell him firmly that Y/N rejects his suit, and that if he leaves willingly, the Iron Islands will be rewarded. Hopefully, that will be enough."

The plan is set. The next day, Barun will be informed by Jeyne, in front of Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Jacaerys, and a slew of Kingsguard, that she rejects his suit. It is Jeyne’s idea that you stay out of sight, and you don't fight her on it. Barun is possessive. If you were there, you aren’t sure what he would do.

But the waiting is agony. When the time comes for them to go down to the throne room, you are confined to your chambers. You can’t help but pace, worrying what might be happening.

It’s an hour before a knock comes from your door. Eagerly, you run towards it and whip it open, having dismissed your lady’s maid half an hour earlier, because her worrying was just as bad as yours.

Panic surges through you, though, as you open the door and find not Jace or Jeyne, but Barun. He stands outside your door, a menacing look on his face, his nostrils flared. On the ground next to him, is the guard assigned to your chambers.

“Lor-Lord Blacktyde,” you stutter, backing up as he presses into your room.

“Now you’ll see me,” he says. His face is red, his tread heavy. He radiates an anger so great you haven't seen before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Why not? Expecting whatever lousy lordling you’ve been seeing behind my back?” he asks, still stalking towards you. Step for step, you back up, too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells as your back hits the post of your bed. Quickly, you jump aside, putting some more distance between you.

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” you say shakily.

“I forget myself?” he asks with a laugh. “You were betrothed to me, but coming here made you forget your oath.”

“You married another,” you say, “How was I to know you’d kill her and come crawling back for me?” Anger flares in his eyes as he moves towards you. His hands reach for your arms, but you step back just in time. Barun catches his knee on the edge of a sofa, growling at the pain.

“This behavior will not be acceptable when I bring you to the Islands. You will be my wife and you will obey me."

“I’m not leaving with you," you say icily.

“The hell you aren’t."

“Let me remind you, that Prince Jacaerys promised war upon your doorstep, should you put up any fuss at my refusal.”

“The prince,” he says with a scoff.

“Should you comply, he will see that the Iron Islands are rewarded,” you say. Barun is silent for a long moment, considering. You think his anger might have abated, but when he looks up again, there is no life behind his eyes. They are dark like you know him to be, and you truly fear for your life then.

“The prince,” he says again. “The prince.”

“My lord, I really think you should leave now,” you say, moving towards your door slowly. As you take a few steps, Barun lets out a huff, his eyes locked on your movements. You stay still, waiting for your opportunity to react, when a pounding comes from the door.

“Y/N!”

“Jace!” you call back, immediate relief seeping through you at his voice. There might be more commotion in the hallway, but you can’t decipher any of it but his voice.

“You whore,” Barun mutters, drawing your attention back to him. “You fucking whore!”

“Please, let’s just end this peacefully,” you say, again stepping towards the door.

“The prince is going to save you?” Barun asks with a laugh. “Not only are you a whore, you’re stupid, too. He’s not getting close to you. And if he does, I’ll rip—” While he was rambling, you positioned yourself enough that while he is distracted, you shove an end table at him, catching him in the stomach. He hunches over as you run for the door.

The lock won’t turn, your hands are shaking so badly. You hear Barun approaching, and as you finally throw open the door, Barun’s hands grab your arms, pulling you back.

“Not so fast,” he mutters. You fall to your knees, trying to break away from him, but his grip only tightens, this time in your hair, as he drags you across the room. Jace runs in with Joffrey in tow.

“Let her go, Blacktyde!” Joffrey yells, his face paling when he sees you. Barun stops moving and lets go of your hair when he sees them.

“Oh, Y/N, look who it is,” he says. In response, you kick his leg, knocking him to his knees. You make to move from him, but he grabs your ankle in the last second. Jace and Joffrey run at him, pulling him back, but not before you get a kick to his face.

Barun punches Joffrey hard, knocking him against the far wall. As Jace continues to hit him, taking his fair share of punches, you struggle to stand up. As you do, you see Barun reach for the knife at his side.

“No!” you scream, running towards them. You grab the back of Barun’s shirt, pulling him back as hard as you can, until the knife falls from his hand.

“Stupid bitch!” he bellows, turning around quickly, his hand outstretched. Pain erupts across your face as his back-handed slap hits. For a moment, you cannot see anything. But when your vision clears, you see Barun, his hands wrapped around Jace’s neck, and in that moment, you know it’s one or the other. He is never going to stop. There is no deal to be made where he will be happy enough to let you go.

As you get to your feet, the knife on the floor glitters in the light. You take it in your hand, trying not to hear the sounds of Jace’s struggle, Joffrey's grunts of pain as he tries to stand. All your focus is on the move Jace taught you, so many months back, on the sparring grounds. The knife is much shorter than the sword you had practiced on, but the movement is the same. Your aim is the same.

Centering yourself, you get a tight grip on the knife. It is Jace or Barun, you remind yourself. Jace or Barun.

You lunge.

For a moment, looking at the knife wedged into Barun’s lower back, you think you’ve must have missed, angled incorrectly. But then, red starts to seep across his back. You step back as Barun drops Jace, who gasps for breath on the floor. Barun looks back at you, shock and betrayal etched on his face.

“You cun—” he coughs, dropping to his knees. He reaches around for the knife, but he can’t reach. Blood begins to pool from his mouth and it’s clear his strength is fading rapidly. While you still have the sense to do so, you move to Jace’s side, helping him sit up. Red marks mar his neck, but he is alive. You wrap an arm around him, and he does the same, both of you watching as Barun takes his final breaths.

For a moment, you just sit there in silent horror, watching the life fade from his eyes. The blood quickly pools around him, at the same time that your breathing quickens. Your adrenaline has cooled quickly. Tears now fall from your face.

Jace notices immediately, tucking you into his arms. He shushes you quietly as Joffrey comes to your side. He quietly checks in with him, noticing the blood dripping from his nose.

“You had to, Y/N,” Joffrey says quietly. The fact only makes your tears come more violently.

"He's right," Jace says, "You had to. He would have killed all of us.”

That night, you stay in Jace’s room. Neither of you want to leave each other’s side. Besides, your room is covered in Barun’s blood.

Jace leaves you alone only long enough to speak with his mother, but even that time isn't long. He is back minutes later, and the look of relief when he sees you again is unmistakable.

Jace holds you tightly when the two of you get into bed. Your arms wrap around him the same, but sleep avails you. Every time you close your eyes, you see Barun’s black ones. Every shift of the castle sounds like his pounding fist. Too often, you look up at Jace, the bruising on his neck, making sure he’s real, that he’s still there. Each time you do, he is already looking at you, too.

“Y/N,” he says softly, brushing your hair back with a gentle hand. “We need to get some sleep.”

“I know,” you say, snuggling closer to his chest. For a while, you are both silent.

“You saved my life, you know,” he says, whisper soft.

“Jace.”

“You did,” he says, the intensity in his voice bringing your eyes to his. “I can never repay yo—”

“Oh shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I told you, you saved me first, when you promised I could come here. And every moment after. Don’t forget you came to my rescue.”

“Y/N,” he says, hand on your chin, “I’m trying to say thank you.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling gently. “I’d do it again if I had to, for you.”

“I pray you never do."

“I love you, Jace,” you say, He smiles as he brings your lips to his.

“I love you, Y/N.”

[soiwj]

Has anyone imagine Arlecchino with a s/o who's emotionally detached, someone who's cold, indifferent, and rude to anyone they meet. They won't go out of their way to be mean but they make it clear that they don't like people. Then they're dense so anything and everything goes over their head that has to do with romantic interests.

Loosens up after they accept someone to be on friendly terms with them but is still inadvertently an ass, simply because that's their natural self. (The only thing that gets a positive response is Kitties)

I find it funny imagining someone trying to court them and they simply don't notice.

Arlecchino: *gives them flowers*

S/o: *staring at the flowers blankly* "who are these for exactly?"

Arlecchino: *this the 30th time she has tried to catch their attention* "You."

S/o: *Confused* "oh, thank you. I'm not a big fan of flowers but I guess I'll keep them"

-----------

Arlecchino(a few days later): "We're Dating."

S/o: "what?"

Arlecchino: *dragging them to a restaurant by the back of their shirt* "we're dating." *She ran out of patience and took the initiative to make her actions clear*

S/o: "do I have a choice?"

Arlecchino: "No."

S/o: "ok...?"

Arlecchino: "Good"

Omg this is adorable hold on lemme cook

Im sorry this is so late!!!

Esteemed Guest

Arlecchino x detached!GN!reader

Synopsis: reader works at a restaurant where arlecchino takes an interest in them.

It was a peaceful day at the restaurant. Well, more peaceful for the customers than for you. You're known at your job and around town for being quite indifferent to everyone. You can't count how many times you've been told to smile more. It's exhausting.

You go through your usual routine of taking orders, serving food and answering questions about allergens when your manager calls you aside for a second. "Hey, there's a special guest coming in a few minutes. Could you take out the trash before they arrive?"

You nod your head yes as you walk to the back of the restaurant, having picked up the plastic bags on your way. You set them down as you look around at the street. A cute kitten catches your attention as it's wandering towards the trash bags. You run inside looking for some spare tuna from one of the dishes. You sneak out of the kitchen, tuna in hand, to feed the kitten.

Arlecchino has never been a slacker. Better yet, she is the exact opposite. Structured and cautious. That's why she's never late to anything. Just like right now, she's a few minutes early. As she walks around the restaurant, looking at the building from all possible angles, she sees you. Crouched down, holding some fish out towards a small cat. The genuine smile on your face sparks a slight flame in her heart. She finds the sight quite endearing. As she sees you going back inside, she walks back to the front of the restaurant, greeting the owner.

You see a black and white haired figure being led to the VIP area. You catch her gaze as she sends you a slight smirk. How strange. You just stare at her in confusion as she walks by.

Not even 5 minutes after your cowerker was supposed to serve them, your manager calls out to you. "Our esteemed guest has asked for you to serve them during their meal." Your brows furrow as you look at him, confused. "Why me?" Your lifeless tone as indifferent as ever. "I'll give you a bonus?" You sigh as you start walking to the VIP lounge.

The dim lighting and gold ornate decorations are starting to give you a headache. You enter the room, looking the black and white-haired woman directly in the eyes. Usually, people tend to be scared of Arlecchino off the bat. It might be because of her eyes or her demeanor. But you're not. Your blank face stares at her as you hand her the menu, muttering a quiet 'here'. She looks intrigued as she opens the menu, reading through the options quite quickly.

"Are you on the menu?" She winks. "Uh, no, not really. There's not many restaurants here or anywhere that condone cannibalism?" Your face is painted with a semi concerned experssion at her taboo request. She giggles, finding your obliviousness quite entertaining. "I'll have a bourbon. No, actually make that two." You furrow your brows at her again. "Is someone else joining your table?" She nods, her smirk still very present. You walk back to the bar, giving the order to the bartender. She quickly finishes pouring the drink as you walk back to the client.

You set the glasses down as you realize the clients' guest is still not here. "When is your guest going to arrive? The drinks will get warm if you wait too long." You state. "Oh don't worry dear, she has just arrived." She's gazing at you like a predator would their pray.

"I don't see anyone -" you say as you look towards the entrance. Before you can finish your sentence, you get pulled down onto the couch seat next to the woman. She sets the bourbon glass in front of you as she throws back hers. "It's against restaurant policy to drink on the job." You say, looking her straight in the eye. Unbothered by your cold behavior, she throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

She sighs as she contemplates your words. "How about this then, do you work tomorrow?" Her eyes start wandering as she waits for you to answer the question. "No, it's my off day." A sly smirk appears on her face at the words. She gets closer to your face as she observes your lips. Looking down at you, she says, "You and me, dinner tomorrow, here." Confusion settles on your face at the suggestion. "Why would I come in on my off day?" She laughs softly at your confusion. Realizing that you misunderstood her. "No, I meant as my date."

You're confused as to why she would invite you, a mere server, to be her dinner guest. Nonetheless, you don't have anything to do tomorrow so you might as well see where the dinner leads you. "Alright, well, I can't really pay. My wage isn't that big." She looks at you amused. "Don't you worry about that, Doll."

The next few days have been quite exciting compared to your monotone life. Although you're still as cold as ever, you're starting to warm up to Arlecchino.

You often wake up to flowers in your mailbox and deliveries of expensive goods at your door. You appreciate her gifts but you just don't understand why Arlecchino is doing all of this. Until now.

"We're dating." What? The candles on the table are lit. Your living room's currebt dim lighting sending shivers up your spine. The fumes of the spaghetti lay in front of you, filling your senses as you try to make sense of what's happening. You look up at her, confused as always. "I said what I said. Any objections?" You're flustered, but you can't seem to deny how enticing that relationship status sounds to you. Especially because it's with Arlecchino. She stands up from the table, swiftly moving to you as she holds your chin, tilting it up. "You're mine." She puts her lips on yours, "forever."

Wow that took me a while but i did it!!!

[leggerefiore]

prompt: gifting a present your s\o secretly really wanted? 🥺

cw: fluff, gift giving

characters: Ingo, Emmet, Cyrus, Lear

read this as to the characters also

▲Ingo▼

● The Subway Boss was not a difficult person to gift shop for – Ingo would take any gift with genuine appreciation, simply due to his sentimental nature. You could hand him something he hated, but, as long as you clearly seemed like you were trying to make him happy, he would clap his hands and give you one of his characteristic “bravo's.” But, it was hard to see things that he might truly love. Yes, anything train adjacent would assuredly suffice and overjoy him, yet it was always a concern of whether or not he already had such a thing in his personal collection. Other things held strong appeal to him, too, such as anything related to his pokemon. Still, you had the full intention to obtain something that the twin truly wanted. It was through prodding of his brother that you managed to obtain your answer – Something that he had not mentioned to you directly.

● You had caught Ingo as he rested on the couch after getting in from work. He had his tie half down with the top of his shirt unbuttoned. Behind you was the gift that you had worked so hard to make for him. He tilted his head as you approached him, giving one of his smiles where his lips barely pulled up. His hand came up to pull you down to his sitting level for a kiss, but you caught him off-guard by pulling out the gift. The Litwick wrapping paper made him blink a few times as he took it from you. Then, he tore it away to reveal what was hidden underneath. A scrapbook of various photos that you had taken together with him since being in your relationship was what you had decided on. He carefully flipped through it, eyes becoming softer with each flip of the page. A true smile broke his lips as he sat it in his lap and looked up at you. “… Thank you, dearest,” he spoke in a low-tone, “This is truly something wonderful. I will treasure it.” You felt your heart swell with feeling that you had finally managed to get something that he truly desired.

▽Emmet△

○ The Subway Boss in white was a particularly easy person to gift shop for. He would plainly tell you what he liked and disliked if asked and would do the same for gifts when given. This may have earned him quite a few glares from his older twin, but he simply argued that the truth of the matter was the most important. Yet, his interests were plain for anyone to see and understand. He loved his job and, therefore, trains, and he loved his pokemon. Battling was his favourite, too. It was easy, but you wanted to get him something that would both surprise and overjoy him. That was not easy. He would truly be happy with anything of the previous diaspora, but you wanted to do something above and beyond for him. It was difficult, but you considered him closely and found yourself asking both his brother and friends a bit for answers.

○ When you found it, you asked him to come home after his shift with a little delay. He was true to his answer and showed up as soon as he could, smiling and waving when he got in the door. You found yourself in a tight hug as he questioned why you wanted him home as soon as he could. You slipped off his uniform cap and picked up your gift from the kitchen counter. He held it in his hands for a moment, just smiling at the train print paper you had wrapped it up in. Then, he pulled it away carefully to reveal what you had got him inside. He gasped at what you had custom ordered. A conductor's cap with a Joltik print on it. Putting it on his head, he struck one of his many poses and grinned brightly. “This is verrry good,” he nodded, “I love it! Thank you, darling!” Emmet soon caught you in another suffocating hug as you felt relief that it had worked.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Cyrus quite often proved someone difficult to shop for. His usual response of indifference made getting gifts next to impossible. Whether he enjoyed them or not was also up in the air. While this would likely discourage most and make them wish to pull away from it, you found yourself rather invigorated by it and wishing to find something that would truly break that stoic streak of his. His interests were mostly obvious – He loved machines more than anything else, yet that was not something you could easily provide. Not to mention, he already got his fill with his job and hobby. No, you had to attack from another angle. One, you knew no one else would be so easily aware of.

☄️ Catching him before his disappeared in his home office, you dragged him back into the living room and made him stand while you pulled out his gift from where you had hidden it. He watched you with mild curiosity. Pulling out a gift wrapped in a galaxy print paper, you held it out to him. Carefully, he took it from you and began to unwrap the gift. Cyrus was eerily quiet, as observed it. You felt your heart drop. The Rotom figurine perhaps was really not something to his tastes in the end, after all. But, before you could apologise for wasting his time, he met your gaze. “… This is truly quite nice,” his voice was low, “I appreciate you thinking of me.” While you still felt insecure in your choice at that time, you later knew he truly enjoyed it when you saw it sitting on his desk.

👑Lear💎

🪙 How does one get a gift for a man who could buy anything that he possibly ever wanted on a whim? The prince was truly something else to shop for. You were personally acquainted with his large collection and knew that it would be impossible to ever get him something that would impress him in the slightest. While you doubted he would ever say anything intentionally cruel to your face (unintentionally notwithstanding), it still hurt when you attempted to think of things to get for him. Asking his retainers and closest friends did not get you any closer to the goal you had in mind. It hurt, but you try not to feel so discouraged. A remark from him about the most precious things not having a price tag echoed in your mind. There simply had to be something out there that you could get him.

🪙 You held the gift box in your hand as you finally had a chance to be alone with him. He had just finished all his duties for the day and had crashed onto one of the couches in his quarters. His sunglasses laid on a nearby end table while his coat was shed and folded nearby. You felt yourself tense up a bit when he stared at you from across the room. There was a silent question in his gaze about what you were holding. Coming up to him, you watched as he sat up and took the offering from you. The wrapping paper's print was covered in Gimmighoul coins. He tore it away without any hesitation and scrutinised the gift inside. You felt defeated. He probably would not enjoy it. Why would he care for something like a framed photo of you both at a gala event he held? Before you could deflate, he sat the picture down on the end table. “… I had been meaning to have the prints processed myself,” his voice was low, likely strained from speaking all day, “Thank you. I'm truly glad to have this finally.” You could tell with his glance back that he truly adored it.

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 1 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Number of words : 2 029

Chapter 1

When they had entered the luxurious home of Feyre and her sisters, Tamlin and Lucien made themselves invisible with their power and were surprised to find that Rhysand and his two brothers did the same. They hid in the shadows of the great hall to avoid worrying Feyre's two sisters.

Nesta was at the top of the stairs and Elain was facing Feyre, but Feyre was just looking for the one person she really came for. The one person who always really loved her : Luxiana.

“She's not here,” says Nesta bitterly. 

The older sister knew she'd done nothing to deserve Feyre's affection, but to see her enter her home, unannounced, just to look for Luxiana, made her angry. 

“Where is she?” asked a worried Feyre.

Tamlin put an invisible hand on the young Archeron's shoulder to remind her of his presence and to show her his affection. He was there for her and he understood how much Feyre cared for Luxiana. All she did was talk about her, to the great despair of Tamlin, who hated the blonde who is his wife's best friend. 

This girl had managed to get through all the magical defenses of his court to infiltrate his palace. She was only a human, yet she'd been smarter than Tamlin the day she'd come for her best friend. If Feyre had followed her then, the curse might never have been broken and Tamlin and her court would still have that cursed mask on their faces.

Feyre had no time to receive a reply from anyone before the front door of the Archerons' manor, behind the fae, opened.

All eyes turned to see a blonde woman with hair so light it was almost white, rushing into the great hall.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel, so far bored by the scene unfolding before them, froze. Their breaths caught in their chests and their eyes widened. In front of them, closing the door, stood the most beautiful woman they'd ever met of any species. Before them stood their soulmate. 

They were sure of it. Rhys had to use all his calm and control not to release his power and reveal himself at the risk of frightening everyone. Cassian trembled and had to take a step back. Azriel was petrified, his heart frozen and his breathing stopped. 

For the three Illyrians, it was as clear as the starry night sky in their court. They never thought they'd be sure at first glance that they'd met their soulmate, but they were. It was their instincts that drew them to her, their bodies that burned with the desire to touch her, their magics that boiled and exploded in her presence and their thoughts that screamed that she was their soulmate.

A bond was forged between them four. A golden thread perceptible only in their minds and magics. A link that connected them directly to this woman. A link that connected the three of them to a human. 

Suddenly, they realized. A feeling, a certainty assured  it to them.  As if it had been obvious all along, as if they always had the answer at their fingertips without ever really knowing it. Fate brought them together, made them best friends and brothers to give them the same soulmate.  Everything they ever experienced, their relationship and their unbreakable bond with their brothers went far beyond simple affection. They were simply destined to be together and to be brothers, for her. For this woman. Everything had led them to this moment. To her. 

She was their mate. 

She held her pale pink petticoats in her hands and her breathing was jerky as if she'd just been running. Her arms were bare and her corset of the same pattern as those petticoats was the only layer of clothing she wore on her back. Her long hair was gathered in a roughly undone braid and her breath was visible. She must have gone out unprotected in this freezing cold, and her flushed cheeks under the light freckles that paced her nose and cheekbones only confirmed their assumptions. 

The young woman was shaking all over her body, and if Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel hadn't been so petrified by the shock, they would have thrown themselves on her to warm her up. 

Despite her obvious coldness, the girl raised an electric blue gaze at Feyre, finally noticing the presence of someone in front of her. Her eyes weren't even directed at them, yet Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel felt as if they were electrocuted. These blue circles enchanted them and they only wanted her to look at them with it.

The young woman's arms released her petticoats and fell limply down her body. Her eyelids widened and her mouth opened. Tears began to bead at the corners of her eyes, which shone with a thousand sparkles.

“Feyre,” she breathed with a rush.

“Luxiana,” cried Feyre, taking a step towards her best friend.

“Luxiana.” The name echoed in the minds of the three brothers like an enchanting spell, filling them with a bunch of new feelings. She seemed to be the answer to all their questions. Luxiana. Luxiana. Luxiana. They wanted to touch her, feel her, talk to her, make her laugh, possess her and love her. 

Luxiana lunged at Feyre, jumping on her and taking her in her arms. Feyre grabbed her best friend and spun her around. Their laughter rose up in the hall and quickly filled the space, bouncing off the walls.

But it was in the bodies and souls of Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel that Luxiana's laughter resonated the most. The sound vibrated them from side to side. They were almost on their knees before this girl when she hadn't even spoken to them yet. 

Luxiana put her foot down and moved far enough away from Feyre to admire her face. Feyre was slightly taller, as Luxiana first noticed. She frowned for a moment in incomprehension, but nothing could dampen her joy at seeing the best friend she'd never thought she'd find again. Her heart felt like it had found its other half.

“You're here.” Luxiana sobbed. “You're okay.” 

Big tears dripped down the blonde's flushed cheeks, and the same were streaming down Feyre's face. Luxiana took Feyre's head in her hands to touch it, to make sure her best friend was really there, in front of her. The hood that almost completely covered Feyre's face fell back. Luxiana didn't notice her best friend's changed face right away, too focused on trying to verify that it wasn't a dream, but Luxiana's fingers met Feyre's pointed ears. 

Luxiana petrified. She lost her smile almost instantly as she stepped back sharply. Surprise and fear distorted her face as she stared at what she thought was a stranger with the same features as her best friend.

“Who are you?” asked Luxiana with a gleam of panic in her eyes.

It was a fae standing in front of her, and she took on her best friend's features to fool her. 

Elain's exclamation of surprise, forcing her to take a step back and clamp her hand over her mouth, Nesta's wide eyes and then her grimace of disgust, as well as Luxiana's fear, tore Feyre's heart apart. 

Nesta hurried down a few steps, but stopped when she saw Luxiana cross the room in a blink to position herself in front of Elain to protect her. 

At the sight of this gesture, Feyre's sobs accentuated and she cried loudly. She would never hurt her three sisters, and it killed her that her new form made them think otherwise.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel could only admire the bravery of this young human woman who had just noticed a fae in her home and had stepped in to protect one of the girls. 

“It's me, your best friend. I swear,” Feyre implored. 

She slowly reached out a hand to her three sisters facing her.

“Please,” she begged.

Luxiana relaxed a little. The pain she could see in this fae’s eyes was far too real to be fake, and she couldn't understand why a fae would pretend to be her best friend as a fae and not as a human.

“Prove it,” ordered Luxiana, lifting her chin and looking at the fae suspiciously. “What did we do on June fifth, two years ago, that only Feyre and I can know about?”

Despite her tears, Feyre laughed.

“What happened in that barn must stay in that barn,” she laughed, her eyes shining.

Luxiana took a deep breath. That fae was her best friend. She started to cry again, this time from sadness. What could have happened to her little Feyre for her to turn into a fae? She must have suffered so much.

“Feyre,” cried the blonde, throwing herself back into her arms. “What's happened to you?”

“I'll explain everything,” promised Feyre, pulling her hood back over her head. 

Luxiana took her by the hand and led her into the living room, where she seated Feyre on the sofa and settled down beside her, never breaking contact. Her two sisters followed at a distance, and finally sat down at the opposite of them, on the other side of the small living-room table, still looking at her with shock and suspicion.

Out of the corner of her eye, Feyre saw the door open discreetly, indicating that Tamlin and the others had disappeared to leave them the privacy of their reunion. Feyre felt relieved for a moment; she didn't want to have to talk about what she'd been through under the mountain in front of the lord of the night court, whom she didn't like very much.

Feyre explained everything that had happened to her in great detail. Her imprisonment, the murders, Rhysand, her death, her resurrection... everything.  She forced herself to fight back the feelings of anguish and sadness that compressed her stomach at the memories that flooded her mind as she talked about the events.

Nesta remained impassive throughout, but a glimmer of pity lingered in her eyes. Elain was still surprised, but her eyebrows were furrowed with sadness. That said, it was Luxiana's reaction that tore Feyre's heart. She had placed her hand over her mouth and although she hadn't interrupted her throughout, silent tears had never stopped flowing down her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and pure guilt reigned in there.

Luxiana felt guilty. If she'd listened to herself, if she'd followed her, she could have joined her under the mountain, she could have saved her. Luxiana had promised herself she would always protect the people she loved, and she failed with Feyre. 

Luxiana threw herself into Feyre's arms and apologized, crying her eyes out. The hearts of the two best friends felt as if they were being torn apart with such force that a real pain in their chests almost made them fold in two. 

Feyre refused her apology, stipulating that she had no regrets and that everything was better now. When the two had calmed down and stopped crying, Feyre asked for their help. 

Nesta initially refused to receive the queens and other immortals in her home, stipulating that it would destroy their reputation and a marriage between Elain and a man. Feyre might have been concerned, but she knew that Luxiana would never have let her sister marry an evil man.

“Nesta,” scolded Luxiana with a stern face. “We've got to help Feyre, there will be no wedding or anyone to celebrate it if this king manages to destroy the wall!”

Feyre had noticed that Luxiana no longer looked at her sisters with the same animosity as before, and although she was relieved by this realization, a part of her that told herself that the three of them had grown closer in her absence was jealous. Jealous that Luxiana had managed to be loved by her sisters more than she had. Jealous that her sisters were stealing her best friend.

“Lux is right,” Elain whispered to her big sister. “Feyre has helped us all these years, now it's up to us to return the favor.”

Nesta huffed, then agreed. They even agreed to meet the fae who had accompanied Feyre for further details. 

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 23, Undressed - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions: of drug use, drug dealing, stripping, prostitution, drug overdose, seizures, organized crime.

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: After using your quick wit and computer skills to get you both out of a sticky situation, Tony offered you a job, and a beautiful friendship was born.

A/N: And we are ON THE MISSION! Welcome to Atlantic City, besties!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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The Wiggle Room was nothing like Beantown Burlesque, of that you were certain. For a stripclub, Beantown had still managed to cater to a relatively upscale clientele, demanding exorbitant cover charges, selling overpriced drinks, and charging a premium for lap and private dances– hell, Tony Stark had gone there. And they never, ever, encouraged you to take on any ‘extra’ services for customers. Sure, clients asked, but girls were fired for accepting, and if a client wouldn’t take your ‘no’ for an answer, Beantown’s bouncers were more than happy to send them flying out the door on their asses.

You quickly learned that The Wiggle Room played by an entirely different set of rules when a customer asked if he could snort a line of coke off of your ass during your first shift. Everyone, it seemed, was high on some kind of drug, customers and coquettes alike. It made it surprisingly easy to get information out of people without rousing too much suspicion onto yourself.

Within the first two weeks, you and Sam were able to uncover that most, if not all, of the missing women you were investigating had either been, or tried out to be, dancers, bought drugs, or prostituted themselves out of the club. You were definitely in the epicenter of the disappearances. You positively had the where, but you were still far from discovering the why and the who.

You and Sam had set up a temporary caseboard in the dining nook of the apartment you were using as your safehouse. The two of you had already been good friends, but playing a couple at the club and sharing tight accommodations had intensified the power of your bond, and as you sat in front of the caseboard eating your Chinese takeout together, you couldn’t help but rib one another.

“Lavender definitely has a thing for you,” you pointed your chopsticks at him, referring to one of the club’s older dancers, who, at 45, had taken a shine to the Falcon from the moment he’d taken his position as member of the club’s security team.

“Well, can you blame her?” Sam said, slurping up the noodles of his lo mein. “Hard to resist a good piece of dark chocolate, and Ole Sammy’s a fine box of Godiva.”

You wrinkled up your face. “Okkkay,” you said, “ignoring the fact that there’s so much gross in that statement that I don’t even know where to begin, should I give her your number, then?”

Sam nearly choked on his food. “Absolutely not!” he coughed. “She’s got six kids!”

“Wow, Samuel,” you said, pretending to be offended on Lavender’s behalf, “I didn’t realize you were prejudiced against single moms. Does Sarah, know that fascinating tidbit about you?”

“Nuh-uh, Baby Girl. Don’t you go tryin’ to put words in my mouth. I got nothin’ against single moms– they’re the backbone of this country– but Lavender’s also got six baby daddies she doesn’t know how to quit. I ain’t lookin’ for that kinda drama in my love life, thank you very much.”

You took a bite of your chicken & broccoli. “Fair point,” you conceded. “I’ll allow it.” Sam tipped his head to you in his thanks. 

You let your attention drift back to the board. In addition to photos of the missing women, you’d also managed to populate it with a combination of ID photos and mugshots of the club’s employees and management. As you’d learned the identities of your coworkers, you’d been able to piece the hierarchy of the organization together, but you only got as far as the club’s owner, Vladimir Kozlov. When you’d sent his name and some covert photos back to the Tower, you hadn’t been surprised to receive word back from Natasha that Kozlov had, at one point, been a low-level thug in the Russian mob. What you hadn’t yet been able to decipher, however, was how he kept the club afloat. According to your research, the Wiggle Room was hemorrhaging money, its expenses far surpassing its recorded income, yet Kozlov dressed himself in the finest European suits and drove a seemingly never-ending rotation of sports cars that would rival Tony’s. 

You and Sam had both come to the shared conclusion that Kozlov didn’t have the brain cells to run a successful, let alone lucrative, criminal operation on his own, and therefore, there must be silent partners involved in the club that you’d not yet been able to identify. The drugs that were sold out of the club could account for some of its income, but not nearly enough. 

“I’ve got an idea,” you said, turning back to Sam.

“Why do I feel like someone just walked over my grave when you said that?” he asked you with an exaggerated shiver.

You cocked your head. “Probably because it’s a terrible one.” Nibbling on your lower lip, you debated whether or not to tell him. He was going to hate it, but you couldn’t think of a better way to get closer to Kozlov’s inner circle. “I think I should start buying drugs from Kozlov’s men.”

The look Sam gave you was withering. “Pocket,” he warned, “that’s an actual crime.”

“I’m not going to do them, Sam!” You put down your carton of rice. “I just need to make them think I am. Kozlov keeps the girls that buy from him close– he likes how they come to rely on him. I think it gets his rocks off to have them be dependent on him. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he lets things slip in front of them because they’re too strung out to pay attention.”

Sam seemed to consider your proposal. “I don’t like it, Baby Girl,” he said. “It sounds dangerous. What if he tries to take advantage of you?”

You held up the silver bangle that served as your distress signal. “Then I call for the calvary,” you said. “I won’t actually be high, so I’ll still have my wits about me.”

“So, you think you know enough about gettin’ high to fake it in front of a bunch of drug dealers?” Sam asked, clearly thinking you were overestimating your acting abilities. 

You puffed a breath out of the corner of your mouth. “Yeeeeah. So, here’s the thing… I might have spent a good chunk of my teen years on a variety of illegal substances.”

Sam’s eyebrows went comically high. “Come again for Dark Chocolate?”

How to be truthful yet maintain your sense of dignity here? “Everyone at the Tower knows how my childhood was rough, yeah? That my parents were shit? And that’s the reason I don’t have anything to do with them?” Sam nodded. This much of your past, at least, was common knowledge, and you were more or less keen to leave it that way. “Alright, so, part of that shit was that my mom and her boyfriend were drug addicts. Mom preferred meth and booze, but the boyfriend was less discriminate. He’d do anything if it got him high enough. When he needed me to… let’s say ‘behave,’ he’d give me something, whatever he had on hand. Weed, MDMA, coke, benzos, Special K, opiates. Really didn’t matter to him. The drugs made me easier to control. So, I know how to act like I’m high, because I’ve been high. A lot.”

The look in Sam’s eyes morphed from disappointment at your idea to horror at your revelation. “Fuck. Baby Girl, I had no idea.” You couldn’t meet his gaze; unlike your past as a stripper, this was something you were deeply ashamed of.

“It’s fine, Sam,” you told him, picking your food carton up again just to give you something to focus on. “It was a long time ago.

“What made you stop?” he asked, no judgment, just genuine sincerity in his question.

“Same thing that saved the rest of my sorry ass,” you shrugged, playing with the flaps of the paper carton. “Tony. By that point, though, it was mostly just Adderall to focus on school work and so I could stay awake to take more shifts at the club, and weed for when the Adderall wouldn’t let me sleep.”

“One time, I took too much Adderall to cram for a final, and I had a seizure. Tony had to take me to the hospital, and he was furious– I’ve honestly never seen him so mad. Trust me when I say it made his fight with Cap look like a playground spat. I thought for sure he was going to wash his hands of me. I wouldn't have blamed him.”

The memory of it played through your mind, the sheer disappointment in Tony’s eyes as the doctors told him what they’d found in your system. 

“But, the thing was, Tony blamed himself, said he’d put too much pressure on me. Kept saying he was turning into his father, and he couldn’t have that. So, instead of tossing me out on my ass like he should have, he got me help.”

Sam’s mouth hung open. “I’m sorry, but I think we know two different Tony Starks. This altruism does not jive with the man I work with.”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders again. “Not my fault he likes me better than you, Samuel. I am a lot cuter.”

“Debatable,” Sam replied before taking a swig of his beer. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “If you don’t think it’s gonna be too much of a temptation for you,” he said after a pause, “I think the drug-buying might work. We can give it a shot, at least.”

You sipped your iced tea. “Won’t be a problem, Sammy. The girl who constantly did that stuff is gone, and she’s not coming back.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[lsargeantsgirl]

Who Is Your Best Friend?

pairing: Logan Sargeant x Williams driver reader

word count: 1.9k (whew)

warning: james vowles; angst; y/n used

character sorta based off of me

“y/n, the media team needs you by the end of the day,” James (ewww) said as you left his office from a meeting. 

“Okay. Bye,”

After you did the simulator a couple of times, setting your record, you went to the media room. The media intern saw you and waved you to the filming room. You sat down as she started the camera and she gave you the mini mic. 

“Ok, welcome, we are going to rapid-fire questions, then edit it with Logan’s answers.”

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” you said giddily.

“You ready,” you nodded, “ok, first one, what's your name.”

“y/n l/n,”

���Number?”

“78,”

“Birthday?”

“(your birthday)” “Favorite singer,”

“Taylor Swift”

“What’s Logan’s favorite singer?”

“I don’t know”

“Favorite Taylor song,”

“Hits different,”

“Logan’s”

“You belong with me,”

“Hometown”

“(your hometown)”

“Best friend”

“Logan,” you briefly thought of how much your friendship with Logan meant to you.

“Favorite hobby”

“Arts and crafts”

“Ok that’s it,” she says, stopping the camera.

“Noice, that was fun, I like that game.”

“Thank you, see you tomorrow, bye,” she said walking out of the room with you. As you rounded the corner into the hallway, you ran directly into Logan. 

“Hey, did you just do the media thing they wanted us for?”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t take you too long,” you informed him.

“Ok, nice, have a good day, see you tomorrow,” he said, smiling gently at you before walking away.

Your heart was beating out of your throat. Logan always made your thoughts go crazy. His accent always made you smile. He always, to you, more than your friend, you. You had issues with trusting people when you were a kid so when you met Logan you emotionally bonded to him. You hoped that Logan thought of you as highly as you did him.

A couple of weeks later when you were scrolling on your social medias, you saw the video of the rapid-fire questions. You watched, laughing at yourself and Logan. When the best friend question came up, your heart sank as you saw Logan answer without a beat Oscar. You thought he would be different because he was your best friend. It turns out he was just another one you thought was your friend but he didn’t reciprocate. 

Later that day, your high school friend came over to your apartment. You were gossiping and catching up on life when she brought up Logan. Your mood soured; she noticed.

“What’s with that face? Are you and Logan no longer friends?” she asked hesitantly.

“No, No, we are, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought he was my best friend, but he without any hesitation said Oscar. And I know he’s known Oscar for way longer than me but I feel like we’re closer than them. I don’t know what to do because if I stay acting like nothing happened then I will feel bad and sad but if I ignore him then he might feel bad,” you said fast.

“Oh ok, I thought something unforgivable happened between you two. But maybe you should just talk to him,” you shot her a glare, “or let him bring it up when you ignore him.”

“I think I’ll just try to forget and try not to get closer to him. But if he brings it up then I’ll talk about it.”

Turns out you didn’t do very well at trying to forget about it. You thought about it every single time you saw Logan. It was like a nagging guiltiness you felt when he would talk to you with his cute American accent and his radiant smile. He made you feel guilty without actually doing anything.

“Y/n, the media team wants us to make a video. I think we should go bother the people interviewing down there.”

“Ok, you can do it if you want,” you said flippantly. You were distracted by a text your friend had sent you. Logan snatched your phone from your hands and started reading the texts. 

“Oooh, y/n has a crush, on whooo,” he says with a schoolboy tone. You tried taking your phone back but Logan kept holding it over his head. You were shorter than him so it wasn’t easy trying your phone back. 

“Logan, give me my phone back,” you said.

“Tell me who your crush is first.”

“Logan, no.”

“Tell me.”

He kept holding your phone higher than you could reach. The only way you could get your phone back was risky and very inappropriate to do because it's what needs to be done. You ‘lowered’ your defenses. You nut-tapped him and when he bent down in reflex. When his defenses were lowered, you took back your phone and walked away. 

TIME SKIP

The door to the room you were in opened, and Logan came into your driver's room after a while. “Sooo, are you gonna tell me who you were texting about,” he said after flopping onto your couch.

“No, why are you here?” you said while working on some homework because you were a college student while being an F1 driver. Yes, it was hard but you were so close to graduation. 

“Media still wants that video.”

“Do you want to make a TikTok or what?” you ask.

“Ehh, I don’t know, we should post the video of you physically harassing me.” You slowly turn around and if looks could kill you would be in jail for murder.

“Logan, if you post that, I will personally push you off the track and then hit you again. I would not care if James kills me but I will kill you,” You said while Logan just sat smiling at you. 

“You look if you were my type, hot mad,” Logan said, now he was lying fully across the couch with his hands behind his head. He had that grin that always made you guilty. 

You stood up and walked over to Logan. You bent down to his level and your eyes bore into his. Unbeknownst to Logan, your heart rate was so high it would put anyone into a heart attack. You gripped his chin as his smile faded.

“Logan Hunter Sargeant, I will kill you if you post that even in a conversation with your bestie Oscar. If you continue to ask me who that was, I will do things you don’t want to know to you.” 

Logan grabbed you and pulled you into himself, laughing. “Baby, you don’t scare me.” He had you on his chest. “Seems like I scare you.” He could feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“The only reason I would be scared of you is because of your stupidity. It takes a special kind of stupid,” you said pushing up on his chest with your knee between his legs. You moved it a bit higher so you were essentially kneeing him in the nuts. You could see when he started to be in pain. “, to think you scare me.  But Americans are known to be stupid.”

You got off Logan and went back to doing your homework. You didn’t see when Logan slipped out but you felt his eyes on you before he left.

TIME SKIP

You were standing on the balcony in the paddock in Singapore. You were breathing in the fresh air. You had been overwhelmed with the end of the season. You were glad to end it but you were also sad your second season was over. 

Logan joined you on the patio to tell you that the media still wanted that video. Unbeknownst to you he was already in the making of that video. 

“It is so peaceful out here. It would be a shame if something disrupted the peacefulness.”

“Logan, you already ruined it by coming out here.”

“Oh, really, I thought I was helping you enjoy the view and the experience.”

“Well, you weren’t. You just made me so much anxious. Thanks for that.”

Logan pulled something out of his pocket. He messed with it for a second raised his arm and threw whatever it was. He ducked below the edge of the balcony. The people below were in the middle of an interview when the, now apparent to you, paper airplane hit them.

They all turned their heads to you. You were a deer caught in the headlights. Frozen in fear, they turned the camera towards you. You turned to Logan who was crouched down beside you and kicked him. 

“Logan, you idiot. Why did you throw that at them.”

“To them, I didn’t throw it.”

You kicked him again, turned, and stormed into your driver's room. When you opened your computer you saw an email from James. The only line in the email was ‘Get into my office now.’ You knew what he was going to say. You prepared yourself for what he was going to say. 

You slipped into his office. James looked up from his computer.

“Y/n, why did you throw a paper airplane at the Haas people in the interview?” he said, angered.

“I didn’t do that. If ask your favorite little American driver, he’ll say I threw it but I didn’t.”

“I’m not punishing you but if you do it again, I will,” he threatened.

“I didn’t do it in the first place but I won’t let Logan do it again.”

He nodded, dismissing you. You walked to Logan’s driver's room.

You went into his room without knocking. “Logan, I swear to God, go tell James that you threw that paper airplane at them and it wasn’t me.”

“Hello to you,”

“Logan,” you said walking closer to him, not realizing he was shirtless.

“This is the first time you have talked to me without me starting the conversation in like two months. I like it when other people start conversations with me and I don’t start it.”

“Logan, you weren’t worth my time,” you professed.

“Worth your time?”

“Have you ever had someone who you thought was your best friend say that they don’t think that you are their best friend? No, you probably haven’t because no one would want to be your friend,” you said raising your voice.

“Is that why you ignored me for all this time? I didn’t say you when they asked who my best friend was?”

“Yes, I thought you were my best friend. But obviously, you don’t think the same.”

“Yeah, you aren’t my best friend, because I don’t see you as a friend,” the color drained from your face as you lowered your head.

“Okay, never mind. Let’s forget this ever happened,” you said as your voice was shaking. Slowly turning around to leave.

He walks behind you to the door. You open the door and he reaches over your shoulder to close it. He forcibly turned you around, pushing you against the door. “I don’t see you as a friend. I see you as a woman who I hope is attracted to me as much as I am to her.” 

He stares into your eyes, “what?” you ask.

“I like you, maybe even love you,” he said with adoration. 

“Logan,” you said breathlessly confused, “what, you like like me?”

“Yeah, if we were in elementary school,” he cracked a smile which you reflected, “then, yeah, I like like you.” 

“I like like you too,” you whispered.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, if you say I’m your best friend.”

“You are my best friend,” He said giggly as he kissed you.

Author's Note

Thank you to everyone who liked my other posts. love you