#not quite there yet but its heading that way

[xo100]

Hi there!! Could I ask Lando with a singer or a dancer reader?? They are already dating, but haven’t made it officially yet to the public. Lando surprises the reader by attending to the readers tour and fans are going feral about him being there, because it’s a “duo” they didn’t knew they needed. After the show he comes backstage to the reader and they make the relationship public with the pictures of them being backstage or something. Just really sweet and fluffy. Thank you❤️

A surprise in the spotlight - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 781

*:･ﾟ A/N: hey loves! I just wanted to let you know that I have another blog called @norrisxwrites on this blog I will reblog your reblogs. I’ll reblog my posts and other posts! Go check it out if you want posting there soon! Enjoy the fic!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The stadium buzzed with the excitement only a sold-out concert could bring. The energy was palpable, like a living, breathing thing, as fans spilled into their seats with glowing bracelets and homemade signs. This was your tour, the biggest one yet, and it had been months of grueling rehearsals, endless interviews, and nights spent missing the man who’d somehow slipped into your life and turned it upside down.

That man, Lando Norris, Formula 1’s rising star and everyone’s favorite cheeky Brit, was supposed to be halfway across the world, prepping for the next Grand Prix. At least, that’s what he’d told you over FaceTime just two days ago.

But Lando had never been great at following the rules—especially when it came to staying away from you for too long.

-

It wasn’t until the third song of the set that whispers started spreading through the crowd. Something was happening near the back, a ripple of excitement weaving its way forward. The screens overhead briefly panned across the audience, and there he was, seated among the fans in a hoodie and cap pulled low but not low enough to fool anyone.

The stadium erupted.

“Is that Lando Norris?” someone screamed.

“He’s at her concert?” another gasped.

The internet moved faster than the speed of sound. Within moments, Twitter was ablaze with shaky screenshots and wild speculations.

-Are they dating?!- -This is the crossover I didn’t know I needed!- -Lando and Y/N??? MY HEART.-

Onstage, you were mid-chorus, but the sudden roar from the crowd was hard to ignore. Your eyes scanned the sea of people, your heart stuttering when you spotted him. Lando gave a small wave, his smile tugging at the edges of his mouth like he couldn’t quite contain it.

You fought the urge to break character, biting back a grin as you returned your focus to the performance. But your cheeks were warm, and the butterflies in your stomach were undeniable.

-

The show ended with an encore, the crowd’s energy lingering in the air as fans slowly filed out. You darted backstage, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, only to stop short when you saw him leaning casually against the wall near your dressing room.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Lando said, his voice warm and teasing.

You couldn’t help it—you threw yourself into his arms, the scent of his cologne instantly grounding you. He caught you effortlessly, his laughter soft against your hair as he held you close.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your words muffled against his chest.

“Surprising you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Missed you too much. Figured it was time I crashed one of your shows.”

Your heart swelled. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Only for you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your waist. “You were incredible out there. I mean, I knew you were good, but seeing you like this…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You’re amazing, Y/N.”

The sincerity in his voice left you momentarily speechless, your cheeks heating under his gaze. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Norris. Though I think you’ve caused a bit of a stir.”

Lando smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “Oh, I noticed. Your fans are relentless. Think I saw my name trending on Twitter halfway through the third song.”

“Serves you right,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice gave you away.

-

You didn’t plan to go public with your relationship that night, but when your manager walked in, phone in hand, and said, “We’ve got paparazzi swarming the back exit,” you knew it was inevitable.

Lando squeezed your hand, his touch steadying. “If you’re ready, I am.”

“You mean it?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

He kissed your forehead, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The chaos, the cameras, the noise—it all felt distant, insignificant compared to him.

The two of you walked out together, hand in hand, the backstage photographer snapping candid shots that would be on every gossip site by morning. You didn’t care.

Later, in the car, Lando scrolled through the early posts. He turned his phone to you, showing a picture of the two of you backstage, mid-laugh, your fingers laced together.

“‘The duo we didn’t know we needed,’” he read aloud, chuckling. “Not bad, huh?”

You leaned against his shoulder, your smile soft. “Not bad at all.”

And as the city lights blurred past the windows, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! Also hey anon! If you read this, I hope that this is what you had in mind!

*:･ﾟtags; @spookbusters-jr

[maybanksbaby]

summary: the unbelievable has happened, the pogues had rafe powerless and locked down. and some take advantage of it more than others....

warnings: season 4, part 2 spoilers! nothing more i think

⋆౨ৎ ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The cold, dimly lit storage room on the ship was a prison, its walls closing in on Rafe with each rocking motion as the waves tossed the boat. Bound and bruised on the hard metal floor, he couldn’t move beyond a few inches at a time, and each shift sent sharp pain through his wrists, where the rope bit into his skin. His left eye throbbed with a deep bruise, courtesy of JJ’s punch, making it almost painful to see straight. He was seething, helpless and furious, but his anger was the only thing keeping him steady as the floor swayed under him.

Then, suddenly, the door creaked open. Rafe’s gaze snapped up, his scowl fierce and unyielding—until his eyes landed on you. You slipped inside with a plate of food balanced in your hand, the outline of your figure backlit by the light outside, casting a shadow that made his pulse quicken. There was something in your expression—a dangerous, amused glint—that told him you weren’t here for a quiet little peace offering. You were here to enjoy every second of his predicament.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just closed the door behind you and leaned casually against the wall, letting him feel the intensity of your gaze on him. Rafe hated it. Hated the way you were looking down at him, barely hiding the smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. It made him feel…vulnerable. Weak. And the fact that he couldn’t just shove you away or do anything about it gnawed at him like a raw wound.

“Rafe,” you said finally, your voice low and almost syrupy with that taunting sweetness he’d come to know all too well. “How’s the floor? Comfortable enough?”

“Go to hell,” he growled, his voice rough, cutting through the stale air. His bound hands flexed against the rope, the fibers digging into his wrists as he fought against his own helplessness. The last thing he wanted was to be seen like this—especially by you.

You tilted your head, seemingly unaffected by his anger. Instead, you just walked further in, placing the plate on a crate, just out of his reach. He could smell the food—warm bread, some kind of seafood. His stomach twisted, betraying him with a growl. A knowing smile flickered across your face as you heard it, and Rafe’s jaw tightened.

“Oh, I thought you might be hungry,” you said innocently, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “But I wasn’t sure if you’d earned this meal yet. After all…you haven’t exactly been on your best behavior.”

Rafe glared at you, his blue eyes smoldering with frustration as you leaned against the crate, studying him. He hated this—hated being tied up and forced to look up at you, unable to do a damn thing to stop the smug look on your face. His jaw clenched tighter, his muscles taut with anger, but the ropes binding him were unforgiving, and every slight movement only reminded him of how powerless he was.

“Do you get some sort of sick pleasure out of this?” he muttered, his voice filled with venom, though the anger in his words was tinged with something else. Something darker and more desperate.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s sick pleasure,” you replied, taking a slow step closer to him. “But it is nice seeing you…like this.”

Your words lingered in the air, taunting him, filling the silence between you with a tension that felt almost unbearable. You were so close now that he could see every detail of your expression, from the slight curve of your lips to the glint of mischief in your eyes. And as much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. Your presence was suffocating, maddening—and he was starting to feel something he hadn’t expected. Something he couldn’t quite define.

Rafe tried to shift away, but the ropes held him firmly in place, and every movement only served to deepen the ache in his bruised face. “You think this is funny?” he bit out, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “You think this makes you…better than me?”

“Oh, I know it does,” you said, your voice smooth as silk, unruffled by his anger. You leaned down, your face drawing closer to his, until he could feel the warmth of your breath brushing against his skin. “I think you’re cute when you’re all tied up and frustrated. You really don’t like being in this position, do you?”

His breath hitched, and he cursed himself for the slip. He knew you could see the frustration in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered rage simmering just beneath the surface, mixed with something he was fighting hard to keep at bay. You were enjoying every second of this, and he could tell that you knew exactly how much it was getting to him.

Your fingers lifted to his cheek, tracing lightly over the bruise that was forming around his eye. He flinched, the pain sharp and immediate, but he refused to let himself show weakness. Not to you. He held his glare, but his heart was pounding now, a steady, relentless beat that matched the rhythm of the ship’s swaying.

“What’s wrong, Rafe?” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with mocking. “Does it hurt?”

He wanted to tell you to go to hell, to spit some cutting retort that would put you back in your place. But as you leaned in, closer than before, he found himself frozen. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came out. You were too close, your presence too overwhelming, and suddenly, he was acutely aware of how trapped he really was.

Without warning, you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his in a slow, deliberate kiss that was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was firm, taunting, filled with a confidence that left him reeling. Rafe’s body tensed, every muscle taut as you kissed him, the ropes binding his hands the only thing keeping him from reaching up to pull you closer—or push you away. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more.

The kiss deepened, your lips moving against his with a sensual intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He tried to lean in, desperate for more, but the ropes held him in place, the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his heart pounding harder with every second that passed.

Just as he started to lose himself in the kiss, just as he was beginning to forget his frustration, you pulled back. His eyes shot open, and he stared at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger, desperation, and something he couldn’t quite name. His lips parted, as if to say something, but you only smiled, a slow, wicked smile that told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

“What?” he muttered, his voice low, rough, as he struggled to regain his composure. “You’re just going to…leave?”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “Maybe next time, Rafe, you’ll remember that you’re not the one in control here,” you whispered, your voice a soft, dangerous murmur. “And until then…try not to miss me too much.”

With that, you straightened, stepping back and moving toward the door. Rafe’s eyes followed you, a dark intensity in his gaze as he watched you reach for the handle. His whole body was tense, every muscle coiled with frustration and unfulfilled desire, and he wanted nothing more than to tear through those ropes, to demand that you finish what you’d started.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction. You just looked over your shoulder one last time, your smile full of mischief. “Enjoy the food, Rafe,” you said, your tone light, almost sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure out how to eat it. Eventually.”

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you, leaving him alone in the silence, the taste of your kiss lingering on his lips and the ache in his chest sharper than any pain the ropes could cause. He sat there, breathing hard, his hands still bound, his mind racing as he tried to process what had just happened.

The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else now—something dark and undeniable, something that only made the frustration burn hotter. He didn’t know how long he’d be stuck here, but one thing was certain: when he got out, he would find you.

[dissapointu]

hey! :D

Can I have headcanons or a short drabble (whatever you prefer) about Ekko with a s/o who's not used to being touched/touch others, or to affection in general?

Thank you for writing for us and being so dedicated! ily ♡

-🫧

Of course! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing! Here’s a drabble with Ekko and an S/O who’s not used to being touched or showing affection.

Ekko x S/O (not used to touch/affection)

———————————————————————-

Ekko had always been patient, but he had never quite encountered someone like you before. You were kind, thoughtful, and so gentle, but there was an air of wariness around physical contact that he could never quite figure out. You never pushed him away, but he could tell you weren’t used to touch.

One evening, after a long day of working on tech and catching up on the latest plans with the Firelights, Ekko found you sitting on the edge of the platform overlooking the city. The sun was setting, the sky a gradient of oranges and pinks, and you were quiet—always so quiet in these moments. He liked sitting with you like this, just being in each other’s company without the pressure of conversation. But there was always that tension he couldn’t shake when his hand was near yours or his arm brushed against you.

“Hey,” Ekko murmured softly, sitting down beside you, careful to keep some distance at first. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to offer comfort. But he knew you weren’t quite there yet.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to glance at him. “Hey,” you replied, a little hesitant but still looking at him like you trusted him. That meant a lot to Ekko.

After a pause, Ekko nudged closer, just enough to be in your space without crowding you. “You okay?”

You nodded, but he could tell there was something on your mind. It was rare for you to be so quiet around him. Ekko had learned that you preferred to work through your thoughts alone, but he still wished you would lean on him more.

“Can I…?” Ekko hesitated. He’d noticed how touch made you tense, even the simplest brushes of skin or small gestures.

You caught his gaze, and though you didn’t say anything, there was an unspoken agreement between you two—Ekko always respected your boundaries, and you knew he’d never push you. But, tonight, he wanted to try something different.

He slowly reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder. His fingers brushed lightly against the fabric of your jacket, just enough to let you know his intent. His touch was soft, and his hand stayed there, waiting for any sign from you.

For a long moment, you didn’t react. Ekko felt the silence stretch, his heart beating a little faster, but he didn’t pull back.

Then, very slowly, you relaxed. You shifted slightly, just enough for your shoulder to lean into his touch, your body responding in its own quiet way. You didn’t reach for him, but you didn’t shy away either.

Ekko’s smile was small, but it was full of understanding. He didn’t need to rush things. Just being here with you, letting you set the pace, was enough.

“You’re doing good,” Ekko murmured, his voice warm. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. And I’ll be here for as long as it takes.”

You didn’t need to say anything in response. You just let the moment settle between you, knowing that for the first time, maybe, you felt safe enough to let someone else in.

[madaqueue]

EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT

satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.

themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)

a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3

“You know I trust you, but don’t you think the ropes are a bit much?” Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.

“I know you trust me - it’s you I’m worried about, ‘Toru.”

“What, worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.

“No. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself.”

Pink lips draw into a pout. “Aw c’mon, you know I’ll be good! I’m the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?”

You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.

“And yet, you were so willing to break the rules.”

It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to, I know, I just couldn’t wait-” he had babbled.

“It’s okay,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “But you knew the deal, remember? I’m the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry-”

“And how close you were to cumming, too.”

“I wasn’t going to, I swear-”

You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. “You know it’s not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?”

“I wasn’t going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-”

He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.

“It’s okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you something.”

His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.

And now, he’s tied up like one, too.

“I wasn’t even going to break the rules,” he whines impatiently.

Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.

“That’s certainly not what it looked like to me.”

“I-”

“Because to me, it looked like you couldn’t handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.”

He pouts. “I’m not little,” he huffs.

A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.

“And besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-”

Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. “What, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, ‘The Strongest,’ couldn’t even follow the rules of a bet he made?”

Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. He’s soft like them, too.

A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.

“H-hah, see?” His mouth hangs open between the words. “Told you I could handle it.”

It’s gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, he’s still wrapping his throat around whimpers.

“Aw baby, I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, he’ll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.

The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.

When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesn’t have to say it - he’s close.

Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.

There’s a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.

A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. “Because you’re not supposed to finish, remember, silly? I’m just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.”

A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.

“C’mon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?”

“I know,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “Fine, fine, do whatever you want.”

You smile.

(You would have anyways)

Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.

It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.

It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.

You squeeze.

“F-fuck,” he groans, hips lifting off the bed.

There’s a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.

Harder.

Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldn’t have controlled if he tried.

Already, he’s beginning to tremble in your palm - it’s getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.

Again, you pull your hand away.

Again, he whines.

“Noooo,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.

“What’s wrong baby? You want me to stop?” It’s more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. “You know you-”

“No.” It's more breath than sound. “No, please. Keep going.”

And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.

Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.

“Remember, you can give up whenever you want,” you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.

But Satoru doesn’t dare taste, doesn’t dare step inside - he knows better.

(Right?)

“I’m not - fuck - giving up.” He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.

Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way he’s beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - it’s nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You haven’t even really begun, not yet.

When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.

He’s getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.

There’s barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.

“I know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.”

The words don’t ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. He’ll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.

Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. It’ll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.

Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll make the leap any less tempting.

Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of “I know,” or “there, there,” dance from your throat, and he writhes.

Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps it’s a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldn’t feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.

But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.

This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.

“Please.”

It’s so quiet, it’s almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.

“Please, I wanna cum. Please.”

The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.

“I know you want to, but-”

“I lose.” He’s panting, gasping through the plea. “I lose, I give up, I don’t care, just, please.”

Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.

“Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows you’ll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.

Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.

Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.

The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.

Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.

“Well, you certainly lost this time,” you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. “But there’s always next year, right?”

[sagesturns]

Snowy Affections

Summary: You build a snowman in the snow while Matt watches, then the two of you share a playful snowball fight, laughing in the winter chill.

contains: fluffy fluff fluff!

Soft and densely packed, snowflakes fall from the sky blanketing the entire earth in white color. The atmosphere is comforting and refreshing; the kind that makes one on someone’s breath foggy and even turns the end of their nose red. You are all smiles and excitement, almost jumping in the snow, your hands in the air scooping newly fallen snow and packing it into a ball with remarkable precision that is hard to ignore. 

“Matt!” you exclaim cheerily, like a kid who has just found a hidden treasure “Come help me with the snowman!” A few steps back, Matt regards you, quite amused, his smile dancing on his lips. He is wearing a heavy coat, his hair wind-swept, his hands deep in his pockets, looking at your artistry.

Determined and focused you are, presenting the best snowman possible. Grasping the last cylindrical piece of snow rolled across the backyard. 

The thing is already taking shape—lopsided but full of personality, with twigs for arms, a scarf wrapped haphazardly around the middle, and your trademark grin plastered on its round, snowy face.

You catch Matt staring, a soft, fond look in his eyes as he observes you, watching the way your hands move as you build. The snowman may not be perfect, but you are—at least in Matt’s eyes.

There is a short break where he gets rid of the thought of helping you at all. He loses himself in the picture of you, beaming with a glow on your red cheeks that he could only imagine thanks to the winter and your messy hair strands which are settled around your face. He appreciates the way your nose wrinkles each time you laugh, and how very handsome his smile is, whilst quite a cold winter surrounds them and yet it is so warm within the bubble that is surrounding the cold. 

“Matt?” you call out again after a small pause though this time a tad more desperately. “What the hell are you doing over there? Come and help me lift my snowball’s head!”

He came back to his senses, blinking, thankful that he was forced to take in the sight for not that long.

“Right! Head,” he says, shaking himself from his thoughts. He takes a few hurried steps toward you, scooping up some snow and quickly starting to form the snowman’s head.

But before he gets all that far, he pauses again, watching you in that quiet way that makes your heart flutter. You're so free, your laughter ringing out like the jingle of bells, and he can't look away.

His movements slow down, and before he realizes it, Matt walks over to you where you're kneeling by the snowman. In complete silence, he slides his hands around your waist, pulling you toward him. You freeze for a moment, in pure surprise, but then the warmth of his touch makes any hesitation melt away, and you find yourself pressed against his chest, face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the soft blush creeping up your cheeks as his eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, “you look really cute when you’re all wrapped up in snowman-building mode.”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you blink up at him, feeling your cheeks warm even more. “I—uh, I’m not that cute,” you stammer, suddenly self-conscious.

Matt just smiles, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek, wiping away a stray snowflake. “You are,” he says softly, “more than you even know.”

And before you can respond, before you can even gather your thoughts, he leans down, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is tender and delicate; it stays on for a brief while like someone is trying to remember the moment, remember you. He concludes the kiss, and pressing both foreheads together, you both try to catch a breath. In the outside world, all is still, the soft and airy flakes of snow falling down, but at that instance, all that can be heard is the warmth of his hands on your lower body, the gentleness of his hands and the hidden love in his eyes. 

You part your lips most probably to tease him, or to let him know exactly how sweet that was, but just before you speak, he grins most unexpectedly. “Let’s have a snow fight!” he exclaims with a mischievous grin and without wasting any time, fills his palms with snow and aims it at you with a quick movement. “Matt!” you shout with laughter as the ball of snow collides with your clothed shoulder. 

You step backward struggling to keep from falling in the snow, your eyes round in playful anger. “You—!” But Matt is already retreating, laughing and putting his hands up in defeat. “Aww, you look so adorable when you’re angry!” he said looking teasingly. You can't stop yourself from laughing more, looking at him with a very derogatory look. “Im gonna get back revenge I swear to you Matthew Sturniolo!,” yelling as he runs further away while you're softly giggling, already preparing the snow for the counterattack.

But Matt, ever the playful troublemaker, is already a step ahead. He takes off running, dodging your next snowball with a laugh that fills the air like music. You chase him again and the crunching sound of the snow beneath your feet makes you run around, jesting and dodging snowballs in a blissful white mess. 

While you both carry on with the snow play, an realization strikes you: It really doesn’t matter how high the snow is around you and how many snowballs are being thrown at you, there are such moments — eager, warm and filled with Matt’s love — that are going to stay with you forever.

word count: 1k (1,099)

tags: @sweetshuga

a/n: first Matt fic and it's a fluff! Lowkey it's ass LMAO. Im gonna try to write a couple more stories before making my masterlist! Thank you soso much for all the love on my recent fic. I aprecciate and love you all!

@sagesturns

[edwinspaynes]

GHOSTS IN THE SNOW

I spent a lot of the day thinking I WILL SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST IF I DO NOT SEE A PAYNELAND SNOW KISS RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, I could not find one to look upon, so I decided to write one. Here you are! You can also read it on Ao3.

Edwin did not like to admit it, but he barely remembered what it meant to feel cold.

Charles did - considering the manner in which he died, it was no surprise. And yet all Edwin could recall was heat, not only from the fires of Hell but also from running, and running, and running. As he strolled along the peaceful nighttime streets of London, Charles's hand in his, he contemplated what it might be like to feel the light snowfall on his face. To have his cheeks wind-whipped and numb, to catch the large, fluffy falling snowflakes in his mouth and taste them.

Edwin did not frequently yearn for life, but in that moment, he felt something like nostalgia for it.

"What're you thinking about, mate?" Charles's voice cut through the still darkness. The world was quiet here, away from London's main roads at three in the morning, but Charles's voice was bold and brave. "You've got that look on your face, the one you get when you're really engrossed in some book or puzzle."

"And what sort of look is that?" Edwin's voice was light.

Charles scrunched up his face and narrowed his eyes rather adorably.

Edwin chuckled. "You are being ridiculous," he admonished. "I have never looked like that. You once told me that my contemplative expression is quite clever; I shall choose to believe that rather than your insulting impression."

Charles smiled slightly. "Are you saying I didn't look clever like that? Well, that's rude, isn't it, when I tried so hard."

"You shall have to make a better effort next time." Edwin waved the hand that was not holding Charles's in the air, and Charles squeezed his hand. They continued to stroll along, and Edwin watched the flurries swirl under the light-posts. Electric lighting had been new back in his day, and it was not nearly as bright as this, so bright as to illuminate the snowfall and -

"Oi," Charles said. "You're doing it again." He did not release Edwin's hand, but brought the other one up to poke him on the shoulder. He poked far too many times, far too quickly. Edwin would not have had Charles any other way. "Come on, Edwin," he continued, "what's going on in that big brain of yours, huh?"

Edwin rolled his eyes and huffed. "I am simply contemplating what it might be like to feel... cold," he said. "I do not remember it."

"Oh." Charles stopped walking, and Edwin with him. His hand went slack, and they pulled apart as Charles continued. "That's... I guess... I don't really remember normal cold either, do I? Just like, the perils of terminal hypothermia or whatever."

"Very uplifting," Edwin murmured, and Charles nudged him.

"But. But." Charles tilted his head at Edwin. "I bet it's, like, the opposite of warm, yeah? Like, when you hold my hand, that's warm. Cold would be... the other thing, yeah?"

"Have you never thought it odd that humans always wish to sort things into arbitrary binaries? As much as I enjoy organized thought processes..."

"Hot/cold doesn't feel that arbitrary," Charles argued.

"I shall have to conduct further study." Edwin steepled his hands before himself, an unconscious habit that he knew made him appear confident.

But Charles grinned again. "I mean, if you want something else warm so you can better understand what its opposite might be..."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Charles reached out. He clasped Edwin's hands in his own, breaking his folded hands apart and squeezing his fingers. Then, still smiling, Charles took a step closer to Edwin and placed his hands on either side of his face. Edwin smiled at the last moment before their lips met, and Charles's mouth was as gentle as the snowflakes blowing lightly through the sky.

And warm. Of course, he was warm.

When Charles pulled away, large, uniquely-shaped snowflakes were stark against his black hair. Edwin wondered whether he was in such a state, too, and whether Charles liked the contrast as much as he did. But he did not have to wonder for long. Charles laughed quietly and reached upward to smooth down Edwin's hair, his expression so woefully fond that Edwin had to fight the urge to look away. "Love you, mate," he said casually, and Edwin could not help but smile.

Edwin's heart melted, but his eyes narrowed. "Wait," he said. "What on Earth did that have to do with our previous conversation? How am I meant to better understand the nature of cold due to that?"

"You're not," Charles said without a hint of shame. "I just made up an excuse to kiss you, didn't I. And it worked."

Edwin pivoted toward Charles. "You are trickier than I gave you credit for," he said, smirking.

"And you love me," Charles said, smiling as he trailed after Edwin.

Edwin reached out behind him, and Charles took his hand. "I suppose I do," Edwin mused.

He did not see the way that Charles smiled down at his boots.

dbda taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed):

@tiredandoptimistic @thevagabondexpress @stormkitty97 @innocentmapleleaf

@honorarypines @tragedy-machine @pisces-swirlix @authoricdemon @many-gay-magpies

@edwardianedwin @babyseraphim @stephen0118 @ingridmatthews

[myokk]

WIP Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @okeydokeylackey !!!! I LOVED YOUR SNIPPET & everyone should DEFINITELY check out your art/writing (I know I always love seeing it on my dash🥹🫶)

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you’re currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

***DISCLAIMER THESE ARE ALL TYPED UP STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND UNEDITED BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH***

Oneshot:

A beetle slowly makes its way across Sebastian Sallow’s desk.

The classroom is silent - save for the scratching of quills furiously calculating the Arithmatic probability of who will be the next Minister and the quiet murmur of his professor as she helps Hobhouse (how did he even get into the N.E.W.T. level?) - and Sebastian is going absolutely mad.

He counts how many seconds it takes for the beetle to reach his abandoned quill (fifteen). But, when it takes its seventh step after making it over the quill (an auspicious sign), Sebastian slams his hand down on top of it.

The loud noise echoes through the silent classroom and Sebastian hears her snickering coming from behind him as the whole class turns to see what has happened. His ears turn red, he wishes he could jinx her somehow, and yet he is terribly curious to see what she has sent him this time. Sebastian hopes that everyone has gone back to their equations and stops staring at him, because now that it’s in his hands, his fingers are itching to open it. His hands eagerly - shamefully eager, if you ask him - unravel the note he’s crumpled up in his hands - almost a shame that he destroyed the beetle, it was one of her better creations - and Sebastian soon curses his haste.

His ears would be an even deeper shade of red were his blood not currently draining to a different part of his body. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he continues reading the note, his eyes flying across the tiny note once, twice, three times before he crumples it up and adds it to the graveyard of the other notes she has been sending him all day. The words fuck my soaking cunt flash up at him and he adjusts his schoolbag so that if anyone walks past and looks into it, they won’t suspect a thing.

You see, this has been going on all day. Sebastian knew that when his seventh year started, it was going to the culmination of their academic rivalry, but he never expected this. That witch has made taunting him her personal vendetta, and it’s working.

Sebastian can’t get her out of his mind.

FIC - CHAPTER 25: (honestly I might delete this scene or save it for later)

She wanted him to hate her.

Hatred wasn’t what she saw in his eyes now, though.

Almost as if she were watching herself from afar, not in control of her body, Eloise came to a stop in front of Sebastian and looked down at him. The green light was highlighting his face and he looked ethereal, otherworldly. She watched her hand reach out and touch his cheek - hesitant, unsure - and when he didn’t jerk his head away as she expected - as she deserved - she moved to sit down next to him in the tiny space. Her knees bumped into his just like their noses bumped against each other as she moved her face towards his. Still, he didn’t move away.

She felt his warm breath fan across her lips. Maybe they stayed like that, lips not-quite-touching, for an eternity; maybe it was only a second. Eloise was only aware of Sebastian’s intoxicating presence, of the way his breath hitched when she finally bridged the gap between them, of the way her heart surrendered itself to him. This kiss was nothing like what they had shared before. It was hesitant, soft, sweet. His hands came up to her face, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss.

Eloise didn’t know what had gotten into her - she was supposed to be avoiding Sebastian, hating him, and yet she couldn’t pull herself out of his embrace. She was melting into his touch, his thumbs brushing themselves down her cheeks, her neck, fingers going through her hair, over and over as if to reassure himself of her presence, his lips moving languidly against hers. Eloise sighed into his mouth, almost-smiling but not-quite: she was nervous, as complicit as he was in this kiss, maybe even more, considering she had been the one to reach out first. But then -

Sebastian pulled away from her, puzzled, his hands moving back to cup Eloise’s face. He was saying something, rough thumbs gently brushing away the thick tears rolling down her cheeks. When had she started crying?

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @holdmymallowsweet @writing-intheundercroft @morelikeravenbore @sav-less @gothic-lottie @kay9leo @celestial--sapphic @libellule-ao3 @anomalyaly AND ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO IT IM SERIOUS !!!!!!!!! I CAN NEVER THINK OF WHO TO TAG & I WOULD LOVE TO SEE LITTLE EXCERPTS OF YOUR WRITING🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

[daisymbin]

Hi belle can I request 22. "you were my first love—you still are." Of second chance romance with Joshua. I feel like reading second chances are like a tales that always end in a happy ending ❤️.

hi lovely!!! of course you can! & yes... but honestly I think I'm addicted to thrill at the start of a second chance romance because its always exhilarating yet terrifying 😬

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // shua's m.list

second chance prompt #22: "you were my first love—you still are."

it was supposed to be a fun night. a few drinks, some dinner, the three of you just laughing and letting loose. chan, mingyu, and you had been out for a while now, but as the night wore on, the fun started to fade.

you hadn’t realized how much you were drinking at first, but as the alcohol hit you, it blurred your thoughts and made your heart ache.

your mind wouldn’t stop going back to joshua—joshua, joshua, joshua. the love you had for him. the love you still had for him.

the way he smiled at you. the way he’d look at you like you were the only one in the room.

you missed him.

“hey, you okay?” mingyu asked, his voice cutting through the fog in your head.

you blinked at him, not quite able to focus. your eyes were heavy, your chest tight. “i miss him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone.

chan and mingyu exchanged a worried glance, both of them knowing exactly who you were talking about. they had been trying to keep you distracted all night, but it was clear you were spiraling.

“come on,” chan said softly, trying to get your attention. “let’s get you home, okay?”

but you just shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “no… i can’t go home. not without him.”

mingyu, despite his large frame, was surprisingly gentle. he leaned down to help you up, but you flinched away from him, your body swaying.

“come on,” mingyu coaxed, his deep voice comforting. “we need to get you home.”

but you weren’t having it. you shook your head stubbornly. “no, i need him,” you slurred, clutching at your chest as if it would ease the ache there. “only joshua.”

chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this isn’t going anywhere. i’m calling him.”

the moment chan dialed joshua’s number, you stiffened, your gaze sharpening, even though you were beyond tipsy.

“joshua…” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding.

it didn’t take long for joshua to pick up.

“hello?” his voice came through, the usual warmth in his tone immediately replaced by concern when he heard the situation.

“hyung, can you come?” mingyu said, his voice surprisingly tense for someone usually so laid-back. “(y/n)’s a mess. she won’t let us take her home.”

there was a long pause on the other end of the line. “what happened?”

“she’s drunk off her ass and crying over you,” chan explained. “we can’t get her to leave until she sees you. we’re at that bar near the corner. please, hurry.”

joshua didn’t waste another second. “i’m on my way.”

when joshua arrived, he found you, a sobbing mess, crumpled against the bar counter. mingyu and chan had both tried to console you, but you were inconsolable.

the moment you saw joshua walk through the door, your eyes widened. for a second, it felt like a dream.

your face, already flushed from crying, broke into a small, relieved smile. “shua…” you whispered, your voice raw and barely audible over the sounds of the bar.

you wobbled to your feet, and despite your blurry vision, you flung yourself into his arms.

joshua caught you instantly, his arms wrapping around you tightly, feeling the weight of your sadness. his heart broke as he felt how fragile you were in his embrace, how lost you looked.

“you’re finally here,” you mumbled, barely coherent, your voice trembling as you clung to him. “i waited for you…”

joshua’s heart ached at your words. you didn’t mean for him to hear, but he did. and it tore him apart.

“hey, hey, i’m here now,” joshua whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his hands soft against your skin. “it’s okay. i’m here, sweetheart.”

but before he could say anything else, your body went limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you passed out in his arms.

“sweetheart?” joshua called softly, but you were already passed out.

“oh boy,” mingyu muttered under his breath.

joshua face set with determination, “get the car ready. i’ll carry her.”

as he carefully scooped you up in his arms, joshua couldn’t help but scold chan and mingyu. “i can’t believe you two let her drink this much. she’s been sobbing all night, and you didn’t stop her?”

mingyu looked guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. “we tried, but—”

“don’t,” joshua cut him off, shaking his head. “just get the car.”

when joshua reached your apartment, he carried you inside, his heart still heavy with everything you had said. he laid you gently on your bed, tucking you under the covers.

but you stirred, a soft, drowsy whimper escaping you as you reached for him. you clung to his sweatshirt, your fingers weak but desperate.

“shua,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

"you can let go sweetheart, you're home now." he says as he patted your head softly.

“if i let go… you’ll leave me, right? forever?”

joshua felt a tightness in his chest as he watched you, your tear-streaked face filled with so much pain, so much fear of losing him.

he sat down next to you, gently brushing your hair away from your face. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m not leaving you,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much tenderness.

“promise?” you asked, your eyes barely open, looking up at him with hope.

joshua’s heart broke at how vulnerable you were, how badly you needed reassurance. how badly you needed his reassurance.

he didn’t say “yes.” instead, he spoke the words he had been holding back for so long.

“you were my first love,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “you still are. i would do anything for you.”

your breath hitched at his words, and for the first time that night, you finally felt a weight lift from your chest.

joshua stayed by your side, his hand gently stroking your hair as you drifted into a peaceful sleep. and now you're finally home, you're safe. he is here, and he isn't going anywhere.

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

010 ┆road to ***** (0.7k words)

You knocked on the door of classroom 126—the photography class. It was only 3:16 PM, there was no way the teacher had left so quickly, right?

“Hey!” She greeted you once the door was fully opened.

“Hello, sorry to bother you! I was just wondering if I could borrow a camera for the Yearbook club? Just for now.” You explained as she thought for a moment.

“If I’m being honest, we do use these cameras in class… Will it be back by tomorrow morning?”

“Of course! I have my own camera at home, I just forgot to bring it today and these pictures are urgent. I’ll leave it in my club room and bring it back first thing in the morning.” You said.

“Does 8:20 AM sound nice?”

She nodded at your words as a wave of relief washed over you.

“Thank you!” You said as she excused herself and went back into the class to grab the said camera.

“Why are you cheesing right now? You look stupid.”

You turned around in search of the voice and were met with Jungwon.

“First off, be quiet. Second off, what does cheesing even mean?”

“Of course you wouldn’t know.” He insulted as you furrowed your brows.

“Whatever.” You muttered and awaited Ms. A’s return.

Jungwon leaned on the lockers nearby and whipped out his phone. He had to communicate with his teammates to see how long they would take to get there.

“By the way, do you have your schedule for this week and next week yet?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t argue with you.

“Only this week, so far. Didn’t you see in the yearbook group chat? I mentioned when I would get my schedules.” He replied with a raised brow.

“Okay, good for you! I don’t care.”

“But you just asked?”

You inhaled deeply and exhaled deeply. You couldn’t lose your mind over him—as if you don’t already—but not in front of a teacher’s classroom.

You never knew when she would come out.

“I’ll text you my schedule for practice and games from now on then.” He said while going back onto his phone.

You were glad he worked with you, but he didn’t deserve a thank you. Not at all.

“Here you go.” Ms. A said as the door swung open.

“Thank you, I’ll return it tomorrow morning, I promise.” You said and smiled at her, in which she returned.

“Let’s go.” You said sternly, your smile dropping as you turned around.

Jungwon pushed himself off of the locker he leaned on and followed you. However, he left quite a gap between you two.

He couldn’t be caught lacking.

You turned on the camera and began to adjust its settings. This photo process was supposed to be quick and easy—no complications.

“They should be at the gym by now. Hurry up.” He said from behind you.

“You’re the one falling behind!”

“I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“Neither do I.” You rolled your eyes and opened the doors of the gymnasium.

The sound of volleyballs hitting the ground around you as you continued fixing the settings of the camera.

It was way different than the one you had at home.

“Are you blind?!” Jungwon shouted, now directly behind you with his arm stretched out.

The volleyball that made its way to you was then slapped away by Jungwon’s hand.

“Sorry! I yelled heads but I don’t think you heard me.” Riki said while running up to you.

“Seriously, I’m sorry.” Riki apologized again.

“It’s okay, I didn’t get hit anyways.” You said with a smile.

“Thanks to Jungwon—”

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed.

“Yeah, I only did that for the camera. If she breaks it, the photography teacher won’t trust her ever again. Hell, she might even make her pay for it.”

“Shut up, would you?! It would be both of us, not just me.”

“I wasn’t the one who asked for the camera. I wasn’t even near you guys at the time either.”

“Yes, you were?”

“Only at the end when she gave it to you.” He said and walked over to the group of boys, dragging Riki with him.

“Don’t talk to her, she’s going to put a spell on you.” Jungwon whispered—or so he thought.

“I can hear you.” You said in annoyance.

“Good for you. Take my words with a grain of salt.”

“Just get into position. Shortest in the front, tallest in the back.” You instructed and followed them from behind.

Seriously, you hated him so much.

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @samyria @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya

© JUYEOZ

[aurossaga]

You Turn my Shield on Me

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: i don't know i just write. no more questions

Word count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a battle, weaponry

Summary:

He always asked if you'd protect him on your excursions. Turns out, he never needed to be protected after all.

The setting sun is doing little to warm you as you push yourself up from the cold, muddy ground. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, chasing that rush of adrenaline as the sound of battle stills. Your weapon, dropped a distance away from you in the fray, glimmers mockingly at you as the light catches it. You had stumbled and fallen, but… that hardly matters right now. No, there are much more pressing matters at hand.

You look up at the man standing in front of you. His back still turned your way, an arm reaching out ready to draw another arrow at a moment’s notice. His moves are careful and practiced, practically perfectly honed. You’ve only ever seen aristocrats fight with such elegance and precision before…

Which is why this makes no sense.

“You’ll promise to protect me, right?”

It’s what he always says when you two go out exploring together. Or, rather when you go exploring and he tags along out of boredom. And you had always assured him that you’d never let harm befall him, always promised that you’d be his shield. After all, he was a novice at archery, he claimed. A bow was a difficult weapon to defend oneself with in the heat of battle without exceptional mastery of it.

Arrows still surging with Anemo energy litter the now desolate grounds turned battlefields. Each and every one of them had hit its target. Clean, lethal blows. As you finally catch your breath, remembering to breathe properly amidst your confusion, you see him turn to cautiously check on you.

“Are you alright…?”

…

There are so many things you want to say. So many things you want to ask. Your jaw drops open a few times over, you sputter and stutter and mumble out half-baked words and jumbled sentences until you give up, closing your mouth, and give him a slow, cautious nod. You are unharmed. And it was no thanks to yourself.

Venti watches you for another long moment. His eyes, much more focused than usual, scan you for injuries regardless of your insisting that you are fine. He knows you well. Quickly, that look is replaced by the familiar one you are so accustomed to. One you now doubt the sincerity of, just  a little bit. His shoulders relax and he exhales in relief for a moment before his posture straightens back up, his bow lowering to his side.

“Well, that’s a relief… We sure were lucky these monsters were on the easier side!”

Those words sting a lot more than you expected, though you can’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s not quite true. Perhaps It’s because you know those enemies hit hard. Fast. Ruthlessly.

And they certainly don’t stall for long enough for an inexperienced archer to pluck them off one by one like that.

And yet…

“You were incredible back there.” The words slip out before you can think to stop them. You’re not quite sure if it’s words of praise or an accusation. His mastery of the bow, the precision in his strikes… You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He said he wasn’t capable of that. That he needed your protection.

He blinks, and for a moment, his eyes shy away from yours, his lips pressed together a bit firmer than usual. Maybe this is what guilt looks like on him. But then he smirks, the easygoing, almost careless expression you’ve grown so accustomed to returning as if it had never left in the first place.

“Really, now? Praise from my most dearest muse, is it? I must fetch my pen at once, lest I mistake it for a dream!”

You’re not sure what comes over you. His words were nothing out of the ordinary from him, he’d tease and poke fun all the time. But… For him to act so casually, so normal after a display like that…

It irritates you.

“You said you were a novice,” you practically snap. “That it was just a hobby.”

“And you don’t believe me?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something guarded in his eyes. He steps closer, offering a hand to help you up. You hesitate for just a moment, but you take his hand, only now realizing that those delicate hands that pen the most beautiful prose you’ve ever read are firmer, sturdier than you could recall. Or perhaps you were only noticing now that you knew to look for it. He pulls you up to your feet with ease.

“I… No! Why should I?” you demand, brushing dirt from your roughed up clothes. “I’ve never seen you fight like that before..! Or, at all, for that matter! What was all that?” You gesture to the field littered with arrows and fallen enemies, your eyes never leaving his.

He tilts his head innocently to the side, his smirk fading slightly.

“Does it… matter that much?”

“Yes, it matters!!!” you exclaim, the words spilling out before you have the time or restraint to stop them. “It matters because I trusted you to rely on me! And now I find out you didn’t need me at all?”

There it is. The heart of your frustrations, the reason your chest aches as much as your bruised body. You’ve always been the protector, the shield, someone you wanted him to rely on. To feel safe with. And he’d let you believe he needed you, too. But now that picture in your mind breaks into a thousand pieces, and you both know very well you won’t be able to put it back together, no matter how much you try. You were too smart to believe his words, his deflections.

You hang your head, your gaze falling down to the muddy grounds beneath you. Though you can’t see his face, you can practically hear his emotions in the tone of his voice. It’s… raw. A bit more intimate than you think he intended.

“I never said I didn’t need you,” he whispers, his voice low and even as he takes a step closer. “I just don’t want to stand in the way of your talent…”

He seems almost unsatisfied with his own choice of words. Slowly, his hand reaches out, searching for yours, taking hold of and wrapping around your fingers so delicately as if he’s asking permission.

“...My warrior, you would have had this in the box, regardless if I stepped in or not. I just… didn’t want to see you hurt. You don’t need my protection, but… you have it.”

It’s not quite an answer, and it certainly doesn’t answer as many questions as you would have liked. But, there’s an honesty in his tender voice that makes your heart hammer again. Your lips part, intending by all means to press him further, to demand answers about his skills, his lies…but the words die on your lips as your shoulders sag to match the dejected feeling of reluctant acceptance. You knew better than anyone how avoidant Venti could be when faced with such a direct accusation. You knew better than to press further to achieve nothing.

“...Okay. Let’s go home.”

His grip on your hand tightens, bringing your attention back to the moment. And as you walk home, he doesn’t let go of you even once. His grip is gentle, apologetic, begging for understanding and time to explain what happened today. And, albeit reluctantly, you grant him that grace as your fingers interlace with his.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ kinda like a rom-com! ]❜

ft. scott summers x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ watching a horror movie is the perfect set-up for romance, but unfortunately for the xmen, scott’s a bit of a dumbass┊1.4k words

contains: ooc scott probably, he’s the biggest dumbass ever, i thought this was cute, anyways, fluff, the entire x mansion ships it, descriptions of horror movies, the title & ending probably doesn’t make sense because i don’t actually watch rom-coms but i think it fits because it’s romantic comedy shortened, written before october started

➤ author's note: do people even want scott content?

it’s adorable, really, how a mutant who has faced countless dangers throughout your entire life and bravely battled adversaries head-on was now cowering by his side and covering your eyes with your hands, fingers slightly parted to still allow you to peer at the screen to satiate your curiosity of what would happen next.

“i didn’t think you would be this terrified,” he chuckles.

“i didn’t think we would be watching a horror movie tonight!” you hissed in return. “we usually watch superhero movies, why are we suddenly putting on supernatural stuff when october hasn’t even started yet?”

movie nights were pretty commonplace in the mansion, one of many activities hosted to encourage bonding between the inhabitants just in case being mutants on its own wasn’t enough to do the trick. scott loved these nights, because not only was it a nice break from being a professor who would have just spent this night grading papers, it also let him grow closer to you as you always find yourself in his company one way or another whether it was simply sitting next to each other or happening to hide in the same spot to catch a break from all the screaming children with unpredictable powers. 

little did you know that all of these coincidences were a result of careful planning by your co-workers in hopes that a confession would bring itself closer to the present. from ororo making it rain on the way home to force the two of you to share an umbrella, to jean nudging him during the best times to talk to you after reading your mind and helping him pick out personalized gifts you would love— hell, even logan let him steal two bottles of beers so that he could help comfort you after a bad day (although, it might have just been because he wouldn’t stop begging and shut up until he handed some of his stash over. he brings it up every time they bicker to get a leg up on him).

it seemed everyone aside from you knew about this, like an inside joke you missed out on because even the students had the tendency to giggle when seeing you two interact. the only reason scott hasn’t confessed first was simply due to your obliviousness to your own feelings which would likely end in a rejection. it’s not in vanity where he believes this, but in fact when the redhead telepath informed him that you just hadn’t realized what you felt for him wasn’t platonic. realization was inevitable and bound to hit you like a ton of bricks, and after some squealing from embarrassment in your room, it would only be a matter of time before you sought him out to confess. except, no one has the patience to wait for you to do so organically, hence the constant match-matching that has become so common that they don’t even think before doing so sometimes. everyone plays the part of wingman except for charles who thinks they should wait until you’re ready, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find it highly amusing. 

it was actually the wolverine who suggested picking out a scary movie for tonight as he claimed it was “one of the best ways to get a girl all over ya.” scott didn’t quite believe him at first because it sounded too much like something straight out of a cheesy teen drama, but he now realizes that he shouldn’t question the two-hundred-year-old guy who has more experience with such things than he could imagine.

you tightly gripped on his bicep, not even realizing that your nails were starting to dig into his skin, staring wide-eyed at the projector image as another character died in a rather gruesome way. really, these movies always overdid the blood and gore, but criticizing it was the last thing on his mind because you were currently holding onto him with a vice and he needed to plot his next move.

his eyes began to wander around the dark room to find nearly everyone focused on the film playing in front of them and a couple of students asleep, turning his head subtly to look around behind his red-lensed glasses until he spotted the white-haired weather manipulator doing the same thing because she was bored out of her mind. (isn’t it funny how some people were so uninterested in the movie that they are falling asleep or counting how many heads are in the room while you’re unable to tear your eyes away despite looking like you’re about to cry? you’re so damn cute.)

she mouthed something to him while tilting her head in your general direction, completely inaudible in order not to attract attention. unfortunately for her, scott was an idiot who didn’t know how to read lips even though everyone around him assumes that he’s blind and most of the time he might as well be. she rolled her eyes in frustration, wrapping her arm around jean’s waist (who was understandably a bit confused at first but then did the same) and highlighting the action with a simple motion of her hand— signaling to him that he should do the same.

it looked like a fucking lightbulb went off in his head or something when he mutter a silent “oh” before following her example and pulling you close, resting your head on the side of his chest as if to soothe your fears. it worked like a charm, you buried your face into him and held on for dear life as you braced yourself for another jumpscare, trying to focus on his hand patting your back instead of trembling like crazy. 

“it’s not even that scary, chill out—”

“no! don’t say that!”

scott stopped mid-statement, trying to figure out what the fuck that was until he realized it was jean’s voice in his head. “how did you even hear me from where you’re sitting?”

she ignored his question, so he wasn’t sure if he was just being too loud or if she was already reading his mind to make sure he didn’t fuck up. “don’t finish that sentence, she’ll think you’re making fun of her for being more sensitive towards these things. the poor thing is petrified, how about you take her up to her room instead? i don’t think she’ll be able to stomach the ending of this movie.”

he hummed and nodded in agreement, remembering that everyone dies at the end, pulling on your arm to grab your attention and whispering, “come on, let’s get you out of here.”

you nodded weakly and swallowed, not letting go of him for even a moment as he escorted you out of the living room and up the stairs. “thanks, i didn��t think that the movie would be that terrifying… and we’re showing that to kids?”

“just the older kids, all the younger ones are already in bed.”

“and i’m about to join them,” you shuddered, opening the door of your dark room and cringing at the sound of the hinges squeaking. you lingered at the doorway before turning to look at scott, “could you come hang out in my room with me for a bit?”

“what, you want me to check for monsters under your bed?” he laughed.

“s-shut up! i’ll just go look for logan then!”

“no-no-no, don’t do that, i’ll go with you! i’m much better company than that old man— we can watch some rom-coms until you fall asleep and forget about that stupid movie.”

“i didn’t know you were a fan of rom-coms,” you said, turning on the lights and looking noticeably less afraid as the shadows disappeared. 

“well, i think my life right now is kinda like a rom-com…” he slipped, admiring how your bed had so many stuffed animals meticulously stacked so that none of them would fall off. your room was just like you— cute.

“really? how?”

“i’ll, uh, tell you eventually… it’s a… whole thing, i don’t feel like getting into it tonight— anyway,” he quickly diverted the conversation, digging through your stack of dvds before picking one out. “i haven’t seen this one yet— ‘someone like you’— i’ve heard good things about it— the male lead kinda looks like logan if he took care of himself.”

he’ll tell you soon when he finally hears your confession, or if he goes crazy before then because he has to spend one more day without being able to call you “his.” whichever comes first.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

I have to ask, what would the situation/requirements be that would actually result in Chase and First first kissing or anything more than that?

Hehehe~ gosh its so hard to decide~ just thinking about it sends me giggling, twirling my hair and kicking my feet~

But to be honest I've always kinda saw it happen in a heat of a fight (cause DUH hot martial artists) for the main Separate Ways timeline. Like imagine: they've been clashing in fights for months (years?), and at some point, while no less important, the deadly severity of them grew less, to the point that it feels less like battle for Ninja to join Chase, and more like having a spar between opponents, a conversation between equals even - just more with their fists than just words. But of course words are exchanged too, and maybe this time the words invoke something neither of them quite expected, and suddenly emotions get involved and before they know it the next attack ends up with them locked in a fierce embrace, tasting each other's blood on their lips, as their bodies clash in a battle of another kind. And its a conversation too, a conversation they just wouldn't be able to have with their words yet, but they could have with their bodies.

Though, the aftermath of it neither of them would be able to accept filly yet. Ninja will smother it down in reasons, in denial, and ignore what happened (but how successfuly? when the fire in his body and soul has been lit brighter than he ever expected was possible), while Chase would redouble his efforts to make the other join him, because now he has another avenue of manipulation to exploit (but is it manipulation, if its just him hungering for another taste of something he didnt actually expect to get?). So, despite it happening, both of them will continue the same game they played before (maybe with a little bit more flirting ;3).

...

On a complete side not: there are a few AUs in my head, where their first kiss happen when one of them is about to die, so I guess that is also a possibility. xD

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Pretty

A/N: Track 4 in my Everybody Else is Doing It, So Why Can't We? fics. I recognize that I skipped track 3, my bad. I accidentally forgot the order. Track 3 will be the next one. Listen to the track here

Warnings: none, PG-13 level making out

Words: 1k

Your breathing came quickly, short ragged breaths one after the other. The rain came down more quickly. Rough and unrelenting, it obscured nearly everything around you. The streets were nearly empty. Dim lights of the business around you, the only glow around you. 

Matt’s hand clasped yours as you navigate your way to his apartment. It was nearly half past ten, still early for you both. Matt always kept odd hours at night, you’d learned to adapt to it. 

“Puddle to your left,” you said offhandedly, pulling him gently to the side. You both were nearly there. A shiver worked its way up your spine. It was only getting colder. The only warmth you felt was Matt’s hand in yours. 

You could think of worse ways this date could have gone. The restaurant had turned out to be horrible. A long wait followed by bland food had you both calling it quits early. Then the rain started coming down in buckets. 

Normally, you would be replaying all the horrible and annoying events of the evening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not when you were with Matt. The only clear thought you could focus on was the feeling of his warm hand in yours. 

It had been a while since either of you had had the time to go out on a real date. You were either busy with work or he was. Matt seemed to be more and more preoccupied with something. He’d have yet to tell you, and whenever you tried to ask Foggy, you had never been able to get a clear answer. You’d mentally filed it away for another time. 

Walking into his apartment building, you both made your way inside of the elevator. You quietly pushed the button, both of you enjoying the shelter from the rain. 

Your breathing was still ragged, goosebumps littering your skin. You leaned back against the elevator, your eyes keenly focused on Matt. He was pressed next to you, one hand holding yours, the other holding onto his cane. Absentmindedly, his thumb drew circles along your hand. 

You turned your head to the side, admiring him fully. His dress shirt clung to him, his muscles outlined clearly in the now see through white button down. His fingers slightly flexing as he loosened the knot of his tie. 

You could feel yourself grow flush, heart rising as your eyes raked over his body. He swallowed thickly, a smirk clear on his face. 

You opened your mouth to question his expression, but the elevator dinged. You both took a step forward walking in the direction of his apartment. 

Matt released your hand to dig into his pocket for his keys. Effortlessly, he opened the door, waiting for you to walk in before he followed. Closing the door behind him, he pressed a hand against your back leading you into the living room. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” Matt left you. Another shiver worked through you. You’d been to Matt’s apartment before. The glow of the neon sign had become rather comforting after a while. The purplish glow offers a warm ambiance to the dark city streets outside. 

Matt came back, sweatpants and a NYPD shirt in one hand, a towel in the other. 

“Unfortunately, this is the best I can do,” he smiled at you. That warm teasing grin etched freely across his face. It had been a while since you’d seen it. He’d been so wrapped up in this new case with Foggy and Karen, you were sure he’d get a permanent crease between his eyebrows. 

Your eyes took in his appearance. He was still wearing the wet clothes. He had managed to get rid of the wet coat and glasses. You quirk an eyebrow, “Aren’t you going to change?” 

“I wanted to make sure you got warm first, you’ve been shivering for the last half hour.” He let out a breathy laugh. 

“I have not been,” you tried to argue, but Matt just shook his head. He set down the clothes on the couch beside you. He reached out to your arm, his hand slowly tracing along your warm before he cradled your face. You couldn’t fight the next shiver that worked through you. 

“You were saying?” He argued, the smirk only growing on his face. Matt’s thumb pressed along your neck, your pulse thrumming underneath this thumb. His face is drawing nearer to your face. 

“You’re not fighting fair,” you whispered breathlessly. Matt’s hands toyed with the hem of your shirt, his fingers feather light against your skin. 

“I don’t make it a habit to fight fair.” Matt’s lips were mere centimeters from your own now, all it would take is one small tilt of the head and - 

His body pulled away from yours as he handed you the towel. In a near daze, you simply looked at him. 

“I would change if I were you, wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“No, we wouldn’t want that would we?” You undressed and changed into the clothes. You watched Matt carefully. You knew fully well that he couldn’t see you, yet, his breathing grew more ragged. His head titled ever so slightly as if he was trying to take you all in. 

You let out a breathy laugh, “I can be just as insolent as you, Matt. I -” 

He cut you off by pulling you in close. He kissed you fiercely, hungrily, as if he’d been trying to restrain himself all night and he’d finally given up. He backed you into the couch, his hands working their way under your shirt. 

“Matty,” you gasped, he kissed along your neck. “Matt?” 

He leaned his forehead against yours. He took so languid breaths. 

You put your hand underneath his chin, tilting his head to meet yours. 

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” 

He let out a loud laugh, burying his head along your shoulder. 

“Matty?” you prompted. 

“Yes,” he hummed. His head lifting from your shoulder to give you his full attention. 

“I don’t make it a habit of fighting fair either.” 

“Noted,” he breathed out, kissing you once more. The sound of the rain growing dimmer as your focus only grew on each other.

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

Taglist:

@thecutealien

[niallerspayno]

Rock Me (frat boy Niall x reader) - Fic Request

Request for @keenpenguintidalwave: Hello, could you do something with an era fratboy Niall where the reader is the 6th member of one direction and they give an escape to each other's room during the night something quite obscene.

Tags: smut!

The hotel room feels like a world of its own, the air heavy with unspoken tension. You’re sitting by the window, staring at the London skyline, your thoughts a chaotic mess. The quiet of the room has been comforting, but also deafening. Then there’s a knock at the door—a soft, deliberate sound that pulls you from your thoughts.

When you open it, no one is there. Confused, you start to close it, but a movement behind you catches your eye. You spin around, and there he is, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk that never fails to make your heart race.

“Didn’t want to wake up the whole floor,” Niall says casually, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His movements are easy, confident, as if he belongs here. As if he belongs with you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmur, though your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his grin widening as he approaches. “You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you? Admit it.”

Before you can respond, he’s in front of you, his hands brushing against your arms. His touch is warm, electric, and you feel your resolve melting under the intensity of his gaze.

“Niall…” you start, but he cuts you off, his fingers tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, his voice a soft command. “We both know how this ends.”

And then his lips are on yours, claiming you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. It’s not gentle—it’s fiery, demanding, and it pulls every ounce of resistance out of you. His hands slide down your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the strength of his desire in every movement, every touch.

You gasp against his lips, your hands gripping his shoulders as if you might fall without him holding you up. He takes the sound as encouragement, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that leaves you dizzy.

When he finally pulls back, you’re left panting, your body trembling under his touch. “I knew you wanted this,” he says, his grin cocky and irresistible.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “I do. I want you.”

Niall’s smirk softens into something more intense, more certain. “Good,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up to tangle in your hair. “Because I’ve wanted you for a long time, love. And tonight, you’re mine.”

His lips trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you shiver under the heat of his touch. Your hands find their way under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the taut muscles of his chest. You tug it off quickly, needing to feel more of him. He groans softly at your touch, his confidence spurring you on.

Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the taut muscles beneath. You can feel his heart racing, matching yours. He’s completely in control, and yet, there's an underlying tenderness to the way he touches you—like he’s not just taking, but giving everything he has.

"You want me as much as I want you," he breathes between kisses, his words a promise—a challenge. "So stop pretending like you're in control, love. You’ll be begging me for more by the time I’m done."

He grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it off with ease, “I want to see all of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Then, with a swift motion, he lowers you onto the bed, his body following you with a predatory grace. His lips are back on yours immediately, and this time, it’s more than just passion—it’s possessive, hungry. As if he’s marking his territory, staking his claim on you.

Your voice wavers as you surrender to him completely. “I’m yours,” you say, the words feeling like a release, a confession that you’ve been holding back for too long.

His eyes darken at your words, a growl of approval rumbling in his chest as he lowers himself over you, his lips brushing against yours once more. The kiss is slow, unhurried, but it ignites something inside you, something wild and untamed. He responds, matching the pace, his hands now working with expertise, undoing the rest of your clothing with a sense of urgency that sends your pulse racing.

With a burst of confidence, you grab the waistband of his pants and underwear. Pulling them off in one swift motion, allowing his length to spring free and he groans against you.

And suddenly there's nothing separating you.

He pauses, his face inches from yours, his breathing shallow. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, and there’s no teasing in it—just pure, raw sincerity.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him, knowing exactly what this moment means. “I’m sure,” you say, the words coming out with a confidence you didn’t know you had.

With that, he moves slowly, carefully, filling the space between you with both passion and tenderness. Every inch of him, every moment feels like an eternity as he pulls you closer, making sure that you feel every part of him, every movement. You surrender to him completely, your body responding to his in a way that makes you forget everything except the way you feel with him.

The rhythm of your bodies becomes more frantic, more urgent, as the tension between you builds, until finally, when the moment breaks, it’s overwhelming. You cry out his name, a mix of pleasure and release, and Niall follows, his breath ragged as he collapses next to you, holding you close.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You’re both breathing heavily, the silence between you filled with the weight of what just happened. Niall’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice still rough with desire.

You nod, turning your head to look at him, and you can’t help but smile—a smile full of contentment, of wonder, of something more. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper, your heart still racing in the afterglow.

Niall grins, his cocky charm back in full force, but there’s something different in the way he looks at you now—something that makes you feel like you’re the only one in his world. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “Because this… this is just the beginning.”

...

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth—Niall’s arm draped over your waist, his body pressed against yours, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the sheets. For a moment, you lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of last night. Your heart races as you remember his confidence, his hands, his lips, and how easily you’d given in to him.

The second thing you notice is the sound of muffled laughter.

Your eyes snap open fully, panic seizing you as you realise the laughter isn’t coming from your dreams—it’s coming from the door. Before you can even move, the door swings open, and there they are: Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Liam.

“Well, well, well,” Louis says, his voice dripping with amusement. He crosses his arms, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “Looks like someone had a very good night.”

You bolt upright, clutching the blanket to your chest as if it can shield you from their prying eyes. “What are you doing here?” you stammer, your face burning hotter than the sun.

Harry leans casually against the doorframe, his dimples on full display as he smirks. “We were wondering where Niall disappeared to last night,” he says, his voice teasing. “Didn’t expect to find him here, though. Half-naked, might I add.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. This cannot be happening.

“Finally,” Zayn mutters from the back, his tone low but laced with amusement. “Took you two long enough.”

“Exactly,” Louis chimes in, gesturing dramatically toward you and Niall. “It’s been like watching a slow-burn rom-com where the leads are painfully oblivious.”

Niall, to your utter disbelief, doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. If anything, he looks entirely too pleased with himself. He sits up, running a hand through his messy blond hair, his smirk practically glowing with satisfaction.

“Morning, lads,” he says lazily, stretching as if this is the most normal thing in the world. He glances down at you, his grin widening. “Sleep alright, love?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You’re too mortified to respond, your cheeks burning as you glare at him. “Niall,” you hiss under your breath, hoping he’ll take the hint and show a shred of shame.

But of course, he doesn’t. He just leans back against the headboard, one arm still draped around your waist, looking entirely too pleased. “What?” he says, shooting you a playful wink. “No point hiding it now, is there?”

Liam, ever the peacekeeper, steps forward, holding up his hands in a mock attempt to restore order. “Alright, alright,” he says, though even he’s struggling to keep a straight face. “Let’s not traumatise them too much. They’ve clearly had a… productive night.”

Louis snorts. “Productive? That’s one way to put it.” He steps closer, pointing between you and Niall. “But seriously, we’ve been rooting for this to happen for months. I mean, look at you two. It was inevitable.”

Zayn nods in agreement, his smirk subtle but still noticeable. “Yeah. The only surprising part is how long it took.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect Niall to be the bold one. Good on you, mate.”

“Cheers,” Niall says with a grin, completely unfazed by their teasing. He squeezes your waist gently, his thumb brushing your side in a way that sends your heart racing all over again. “Knew I’d win her over eventually.”

You groan again, sinking lower into the sheets, wishing you could disappear. “Can we not do this right now?” you mutter, your voice muffled by the blanket.

But Louis, of course, doesn’t let up. “Oh, we’re definitely doing this right now,” he says, practically bouncing with excitement. “This is big news. I mean, Niall! Out of all of us, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate,” Niall says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though his grin doesn’t falter.

Harry chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I guess we should leave you two lovebirds alone.” He winks at you. “Don’t let us interrupt… whatever this is.”

With that, they finally shuffle out of the room, laughing and throwing more teasing comments over their shoulders as they go.

When the door closes behind them, you let out a long, exasperated sigh, collapsing back against the pillows. “I’m never leaving this room again,” you mutter, staring at the ceiling.

Niall chuckles, his hand finding yours under the blankets. “Ah, come on, love. They’re just having a bit of fun.” He turns to you, his grin softening into something warmer, more genuine. “Besides, they’re right, you know. About us. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

You glance at him, your embarrassment fading just a little under the weight of his gaze. “You’re impossible,” you mumble, but there’s no heat in your words.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, his grin returning in full force.

And as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right.

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And YOU will feel healed of the last 15

... when you read this fic. That is, as long as you suffered from an abandonement wound like i did.

Ello lovelies, i have another wonderful fanfic-rec for you! 🤓

But you are an ocean by @ineffably-good

Coverart by @ineffableclassics

What it is about:

After Aziraphale's defection, Crowley tries to figure out how to live life for himself.

Notes:

Ok so, the end of season two broke me. Figured I was maybe done writing stories about these two after that. And yet, several hours later, a sentence appeared in my head, and then this happened. Guessing at chapter totals… I'm finding I like the idea of Crowley going off in a different direction than what I'd initially expect. Not just raging, not sleeping for a century, but actually trying to move on. And why the hell shouldn't he just move to the South Downs by himself? So here we are.

What i like about it:

🩷This fic doesn´t jump in on pushing the story - their story - forward. Instead it goes a totally different path. A quite big part of it is dedicated to Crowley mending the pieces of his broken heart. It´s endearing, it´s breathtaking and it will have you cry. Not only for Crowley but for every single person who ever had to endure heartbreak.

🩷Fun fact no.1: in real life I am a relationship-coach specialised in toxic relationships and heartbreak. And the way Crowley´s heartbreak is described couldn´t be any more accurate. Every thought, every pain, every action he takes, the strength it costs him, the weight of it all - its written absolutely to the point. I could have copied several pages for the "most beloved quote".

🩷So Crowley tries to build a life for himself. Not just living without the angel and rotting in a pit, but really trying to carve out a nice little existence for himself. He is doing his work, he is healing and you can follow along with him, as he learns to build at least new "friendships" - though he would never call it that himself, thanks a lot.

🩷This healing-journey takes quite some time and somewhere in the middle of it i started to think - he could do it. He COULD heal his hurt, mourn the loss and still somehow at least live a life on his own. Maybe feeling the missing part of himself for the rest of his existence, but not being miserable about it the whole time. And that is a thought - a wish - i would have for my dark angel.

I could see him living that life and at one point i almost thought - i would love to see how that would´ve played out for him. A life without Aziraphale. What connections would Crowley have made? How would he have coped with the loss of those humanly connections lifespan after lifespan? Would he have relocated each century? Would he have moved to Australia and learned surfing at one time? Would he have become a timelord and travelled - i mean seriously, Crowley could do that probably?

But you, my dear, are an ocean.

And oceans are ancient

And can survive everything,

Even the wrath of weather and planets.

-- Nikita Gill

SPOILERS AHEAD - if you don´t want to know the plot, stop reading here.

Stop reading if you dont want spoilers!

Ok - you´ve been warned! Here we go: 🤗

🩷Fun fact no.2: I actually downloaded this fic some time ago but had another fic in mind i wanted to start next. So after i finished the last one (also really brilliant, i wrote a rec on it too), i started my e-reader the next day, THIS fic was already open instead on page 1. Huh?

I have absolutely no idea how this is possible, but i DO believe in hints-of-the-universe. Or little demonic miracles on their own. Because i needed this fic.

🩷Because of course - this is a Good Omens fanfic and eventually the other angel arrives. And without giving away to much: Aziraphale has to fight for Crowley. A long long time. He has to be steadfast and consistent and earn the trust of his has-been-companion-for-millenia. Nothing is a given any more.

And i am NOT saying that this is what Aziraphale needs to do or that he was wrong in any way. (The fic doesnt say that either by the way.) But what cracked ME personally about the last 15 was my own abandonement-wound which got triggered massively. I felt retraumatised even.

So reading and feeling that Crowley does not jump on the next best possibility to be back with the angel was a big thing. Having the Angel slowly earning his trust and simply showing up again and again - I needed that. I needed Crowley to take his time, not be the sick lovefool he is often proclaimed to be. For him to have doubts, to feel conflicted, to feel love and the need to self-preserve at the same time.

All these ambiguities we all have. And to take the steps with him. Watch the turning point, when the fear of losing Aziraphale again becomes less and less and the fear of wasting time gets stronger. Taking one step at a time, sometimes even backwards. All those things, typical for a healing process, which is never straight forward but most of the time a rollercoaster instead. I loved this. I needed this. I could sit back, breathe and watch my own heart grow. Just. Wow.

Most beloved quote:

So if you feel like maybe you need a fic in which Aziraphale really shows up and cares while Crowley really takes his time to learn to trust again... And not because one of them has been an idiot, but to experience them both learning and growing together ... and that might be something for your own healing journey, this might be just THE fic for you. I absolutely loved it and so will you.

Reading is therapy! 🤗

[weptsorrow]

ivan kept his gait slow, adjusting to till's own pace. his attempts at small talk went mostly ignored, so in the end, he simply fell silent... well, almost. “ you know, i can carry you if it's too difficult— ” yet his voice remained light, keeping its playful nature; he knew till would reject him, far too prideful for something like that.

his body tensed up the moment he felt the other stagger and stumble, squeezing hard at his hand and rushing to support him to prevent him from tripping over completely. “ hey, steady... are you okay? ” ivan whispered his concerns, helping till stand upright once again. slowly, carefully. yet he still kept his smile.

just as he kept his eyes on his friend, barely ever straying from him, even after they'd arrived to his room; passing by ivan's own on the way. as he sat till down, he then ran his fingers through silver locks, pushing the hair out of his eyes a bit... his hand lingered then, almost as if checking for till's temperature. in the end, he simply sighed at such a dismissive answer.

he said nothing else as he closed the door behind him, leaving till to some privacy for a little while. ivan headed for the kitchen, a place that the pet humans had eventually been relegated to operate on their own as they matured, for the most part, but he'd still spotted one of the caretakers lounging about there. he simply offered them a polite greeting and went about his way.

ivan wasn't the most skilled when it came to cooking, but he knew a thing or two— mostly dishes that involved rice, as he found them the easiest to prepare. mizi had been the one to help him learn a lot in his early years, and he especially remembered them bonding over preparing sweet treats together, sharing the enjoyment of them.

he chose to make both for till; a hearty bowl of bibimbap, and a small cup of crème brûlée along with a few fruits that he'd grabbed from the fridge, already prepared. had he been too overzealous with this? maybe... he'd been gone for about an hour.

still, he was quite satisfied with the results, taking it all back to till's room. he would've even knocked, were his hands not full, so instead, he resorted to using his voice, “ till! i'm back! ” though he didn't wait for an answer before opening the door with one of his elbows ( his balance and control over his body was quite exquisite ). “ i hope you'll like it, i had to make it from scratch... i'm sorry i took so long. ”

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎all  too  familiar  with  the  dense,  mind-numbing  fogginess  these  sorts  of  medications  cause,  till  quickly  resigned  himself  to  the  helpless  routine  of  being  led  along  a  path  he’d  walked  countless  times.  he  hated  the  lack  of  control  over  his  own  body,  his  legs  dragging  beneath  him  like  weights.  each  step  demanded  more  effort  than  it  should,  his  thoughts  slipping  through  his  grasp  before  he  could  make  sense  of  them.  one  moment,  he’s  thinking  about  the  way  the  fake  sun’s  heat  pressed  uncomfortably  against  his  sticky  skin,  the  next  he’s  glancing  around  the  empty  garden.  the  quiet  unnerving,  but  he  wasn’t  sure  why.  maybe  he’d  expected…  something.  anything.  he  thought  the  next  class  of  children  would  already  be  running  amok  —  after  all,  when  till  first  arrived,  remnants  of  the  forty-ninth  season  were  still  hanging  around.  he  thought  of  their  classmates,  the  ones  he  knew  weren’t  around  anymore.  had  they  finally  gone  home ?  or…  somewhere  else ?  was  it  terrible  that  he  didn’t  feel  bad  for  killing  acorn ?  the  thought  came  sharp  and  unwelcome,  but  it  didn’t  linger  long.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎three  days.  the  words  hit  him  hard  enough  that  he  almost  stumbles.  ivan’s  voice  breaks  the  silence,  deceptively  cheerful,  a  tone  that  grates  against  till’s  nerves.  it  was  as  if  he  hadn’t  spent  almost  half  the  time  they  had  left  unconscious.  till  glances  at  ivan,  his  features  unreadable.  it  wasn’t  like  the  black-haired  man  had  been  the  one  wasting  time...

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the  change  of  scenery  comes  abruptly,  noticed  only  by  the  soft  tickle  of  grass  underfoot  giving  way  to  the  sterile,  biting  chill  of  cold  flooring.  his  room  was  the  furthest,  a  deliberate  choice  from  their  caretakers,  one  that  his  off-balance  walk  was  now  cursing  in  silence.  it’s  easier  when  ivan’s  arm  wraps  around  his  waist,  steadying  his  uneven  gait  as  they  step  into  the  empty  room.  aside  from  a  small  bed  and  a  few  scattered  papers,  till  had  never  tried  to  decorate.  he  didn’t  see  the  point.  hadn’t  even  known  he  was  supposed  to  until  mizi  peeked  her  head  in  a  few  months  before  graduation,  her  expression  caught  between  curiosity  and  disappointment.  mizi.  is  she  okay ?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛  whatever . . .  ❜❜  he  mutters  by  the  time  ivan  is  already  slipping  out  the  door,  teal  eyes  following  him  until  his  figure  disappears.  he  blinks,  hard,  but  the  motion  only  deepens  the  throbbing  in  his  skull,  a  dull  ache  that  feels  as  though  it’s  boring  through  his  thoughts.  after  a  few  more  seconds,  he’s  standing  again,  shuffling  his  pants  off  to  a  heap  on  the  floor,  forgotten.  he  moves  to  the  built-in  drawers,  lazily  throwing  on  a  new  pair  along  with  a  top.  they’re  large,  the  neckline  spilling  over  to  reveal  his  bruised  shoulder.  he  doesn’t  care.  instead,  he  moves  on  to  slowly  stretching.  his  body  protests,  each  limb  extending  with  a  painful  pop,  drawing  a  stifled  groan  from  his  lips.  enough  drugs  to  keep  him  slow  but  nothing  to  stop  the  pain,  a  cruel  balance  that  left  him  suspended  between  sedation  and  suffering,  a  state  till  knew  all  too  well.  at  least  by  the  time  he  sits  back  down,  the  pain  is  enough  to  keep  him  awake.