#or. you can take your life in to your hands occasionally

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

Present Morning

christmas mornings are always beautiful, especially when your husband starts the day by eating you out in the comfort of your warm bed.

and that was exactly what was happening right now.

“toji… ughhh!!” your husband had your legs pulled up to your chest, one arm firmly holding them in place, while his tongue was busy lapping up your slick walls.

toji fushiguro knew exactly how to worship you. to him (alongside his son), you were the most precious thing in the world. you were the unattainable, flawless, utterly divine queen he could only dream of serving. and he, your loyal servant, devoted to you every hour, every minute, every second of his life.

his tongue moved along your dripping, slippery walls with practiced precision, pulling out moans from your throat. his deep, masculine groans vibrated against your core, intensifying the pleasure to the point where you pressed your face deeper into the soft pillow beneath you.

your husband kissed your folds wetly, sucking on them with fervor before releasing them with a sloppy pop. his free hand moved to trail his fingers along your sensitive entrance.

“such a mess… every time my tongue touches your swollen walls, it’s always the same.” his rough voice rumbled against your skin, his fingers teasing your entrance while your restrained moans filled his ears. the cool touch of his wedding band occasionally brushing against your core sent shivers down your spine. but when his thick middle and ring fingers pushed inside, you let out a loud cry.

“fuck, babe. your pussy is so warm and eager, just like always. fuck―fuck.” his fingers moved inside you with a steady rhythm, unhurried but purposeful, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. each time he found your g-spot, his fingers curled just right, coaxing even more intense waves of sensation. the calloused tips of his fingers brushing against your soft, sensitive spot created a delicious friction you couldn’t get enough of.

“love… y-your fingers are too… big oh god—” they always felt like too much for you. toji was a big man, and his 8.4-inch hands were just one reminder of his size.

of course, his hands weren’t the only large part of him.

the slick, obscene sounds of your wetness filled the dimly lit room, faintly illuminated by the morning sun peeking through the curtains. you caught a glimpse of the smirk curling his lips. toji never played humble when you brought up his size—he knew exactly how much of a man he was.

“huh, is that so? but you love it, don’t you, wife?” his fingers stopped their slow rhythm and began to move faster. one of your hands flew up to muffle your cries as he teased you further, his tone dripping with mockery. “i know how much you love my fingers. the way you take them so greedily every damn day, the way you suck them clean after you cum, and how you clench around them when i spank your ass while i’m fucking you. fuckkkk—every little thing about them drives you insane.”

“yes, yes, i love them more than—more than anything, toji,” you gasped, your words soft but clear enough for him to hear.

his fingers thrust faster into you, and as his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, your hands gripped the headboard tightly. his warm, wet mouth sucked on the throbbing bundle of nerves while his tongue drew circles around it. every movement of his fingers inside you was deliberate, precise, and unrelenting, matching the intensity of his mouth on your clit.

he would never give his queen anything less than perfection.

“are you close, ma? because i can feel it—you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” his deep voice resonated against your core, pushing you closer to the edge.

“uh-huh. mmph—please, love, i want to cum, please, please—UGHHH TOJI!” with your legs still pinned to your chest, his fingers pressed hard against your g-spot, coaxing you over the edge.

your back arched as waves of pleasure wracked your body, your hand muffling the loud cry threatening to escape. your climax washed over you, soaking his fingers as he held your trembling legs firmly in place.

as your husband finally released your legs, they fell limp onto the bed, completely spent. he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips, slipping them into your mouth while he lowered his head to lap up the juices spilling from your entrance.

you sucked on his thick fingers eagerly, your tongue swirling around them as his head lifted. with a grin, he leaned down to kiss you deeply, his lips tasting of you.

“ready for my cock, ma?” he asked as he pulled away, his lips glistening with saliva. but just as his hand reached for his cock, a loud crashing sound from the living room made him freeze.

“what the fuck was that?” he growled, instantly getting out of bed and throwing on the nearest piece of clothing. you scrambled to do the same, your heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and fear as you both rushed toward the sound.

your mind immediately went to the worst possibilities. had something happened to megumi? was this one of the disgusting traps laid by toji’s awful family?

but when you reached the living room, the sight before you revealed the culprit—your six-year-old son, standing amidst the chaos of a toppled christmas tree, clutching a red, gift-wrapped present with his name on it. his wide, fearful eyes darted between you and toji.

while you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, your husband muttered under his breath just loud enough for you to hear, "this kid is doing everything he can to make sure we don't give him a sibling." that was all it took for you to burst into laughter.

megumi still looked terrified, clearly expecting a scolding. but you walked over, scooped him up in your arms, and peppered his cheeks with kisses. “looks like it’s time to open our christmas presents,” you said, smiling warmly at him, thankful the only chaos this morning was caused by your mischievous little boy.

a little note: i hope there aren't any mistakes. i couldn't do proof reading because i'm sick :(

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[enhaeil]

UNDERNEATH THE TREE ! ✩ ₊˚ 엔하이픈

"i just wanna let him unwrap me like ooh

get on top of him by the fireplace ooh"

santa tell me (naughty ver) - ariana grande

christmas with enha ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

c/w: suggestive in heeseungs, hoons, and jungwons, otherwise fluff.

heeseung ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

you wait for your husband heeseung to return from work as you hang up some last minute xmas decorations. christmas was tomorrow, but you decided you wanted to get the party started tonight.

you stood in front of the tree in your skimpiest santa outfit and red heels to match as you wait for the doorknob to twist. after what feels like forever you finally hear some keys jingle.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!!" you yell as he barely has one foot in the door.

his once tired face was now wide awake looking at the love of his life all pretty for him. "baby, what's all this?" he says, his bambi eyes lighting up at the sight.

"since you've worked hard all week, i wanted to celebrate early." you say innocently, although you looked far from it. "don't you like it?"

"like it? i'm gonna get you pregnant."

jay ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

you and jay decide to go out christmas eve night to celebrate the holidays. you guys spend the night downtown. he takes you to a fancy restaurant, a few stores and finally takes you to see the Christmas lights.

you guys both sit on a bench, snuggled against each other for warmth as y'all watch the the glowing lights.

"wow, jay. these are so beautiful." you say mesmerized.

"not as beautiful as you," he says with his usual smirk.

you hit him on the chest, bursting into laughter. 'thank you, jay, but that was so corny!" you giggle at him.

he pretends to be offended before laughing with you. "oh yeah? i can get cornier." he says, turning his whole body towards you and taking your hand in his.

"i have been in love with you since the day i met you. no matter how long we've been together, i could never get tired of seeing your face. hearing you laugh. even hearing you yell at me. these christmas lights are nowhere near enough to express my love for you." before you can get a word out, he's down on one knee.

"will you marry me?"

jake ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

you and jake decided to bake cookies for the holiday, prancing around the kitchen to the old christmas music and exchanging loving looks occasionally.

jake decides to come by and boop frosting onto your nose. two can play at that game. you then wipe frosting onto his cheek. frosting on the cheek turns into cookie dough in hair, cookie dough turns into sprinkles on the floor, and that all turns into a full-on food fight.

you guys finally stop, catching your breath as you take in the mess you've made. you take a few moments to look at each other in disbelief.

"race you to the shower?"

sunghoon ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

sunghoon has never been the most festive person, despite being called the "ice prince." however, he ended up dating a girl who gets down about holidays, especially christmas. you come out of the room with a reindeer antler headband on and your ugliest sweater.

"hoonie, why aren't you dressed for jakes party?" you say with a pout.

"i was just gonna stay here tonight, babe." he says casually.

"uh, no, you're gonna come to this party with me. you said you would!" you say walking up to him to grab his hand.

"y/n, i don't want to go, and that's final.

you roll your eyes stomp towards the door, grabbing your jacket. "fine. guess you won't be getting your gift tonight."

sunghoon's ears perk up. "gift?"

"oh, yeah. you didn't think i made a trip to Victoria's Secret for nothing, did you? but if you're not going—"

"i'll be ready in five."

sunoo ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

you came home to sunoo decorating the living room, humming to the christmas tunes playing.

you sneak up behind him for a back hug and kiss his shoulder. "it looks so pretty in here, noo!" you say rubbing his back.

"thank you, i tried my best! i even decorated our room. you should go look!!" he says, smiling back at you as he hangs his last ornament.

you nod and make your way upstairs, excited to see what your loving boyfriend did with the room.

you walk in and it almost looks like a winter wonderland. it was going to be hell to take down but you're greatful nonetheless.

you continue to walk around the room until you spot something in the corner of your eye.

"sunoo.." you call for him from upstairs.

"yes my love?"

"why is there a mistletoe above our bed ?"

jungwon ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

as jungwon kissed you goodbye before he left for practice, you got a brilliant idea. he always talks about how he "doesn't need any gifts because you're enough." so how about you put that theory to the test?

that evening, you open your closet to find the leftover wrapping paper you had and began to strip. you make a wrapping paper dress around yourself and even wrap yourself some heels, too.

you lay yourself underneath the tree and wait for him to return.

he finally comes home and immediately bursts into laughter. you give him a puzzled look before he finally catches his breath.

"b-baby" wheeze "what're you doing down there?"

you stand up, dusting yourself off. "i was trying to suprise you. i'm your present!" you say with a small pout. all he does is burst into another fit of giggles.

"jungwon!! your girlfriend is standing in the middle of the living room wearing nothing but wrapping paper, and all you can do is laugh?" you say getting annoyed.

he continues to laugh as he steps closer, holding your waist.

"just laughing, baby? i'm turned on."

niki ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

niki is mad as hell. why ? his lovely girlfriend made him wrap himself in wrapping paper and even added pretty 'princess' bows on him.

"y/n, can i take this off now?" he says with pleading eyes

"NO!" you tell at him as if a mom was scolding her child. "let me take some pictures first!"

he stomps the ground and rolls his eyes like a kid before he stares at the camera.

"smile like you love your life."

"baby i don't wanna do th-"

"SMILE!"

a/n: this is cute but its doodoo

[bluzebub19]

hello! can i request viktor or jayce with a reader who has autism and doesnt speak but is good at science?

Writer's note: Hello! Thanks so much for your request! This is like the first request I got and I already started on it. Hope you like it! Any tips with writing are very much appreciated!

Warnings: None, just fluffy stuff. Not proofread.

Pairing/s: Viktor x GN! reader who's autistic and nonverbal but loves science

Platonic Headcanons

● As a mentor or colleague, Viktor respects you a lot. He encourages your work and never underestimates your capabilities, treating you as an equal in every sense.

● He enjoys the calmness you bring to the lab, and he appreciates the efficiency and focus you put into your work

● Viktor is protective in his own way. If anyone tries to belittle or patronize you, he’s quick to step in. He may not be a physical one, but his words are sharp.

● “You mistake silence for weakness. A grave error, I assure you.”

● He takes the time to understand how you prefer to communicate. Whether it’s through notes, gestures, or subtle expressions, he adapts because he doesn't want you to feel self-conscious. A feeling he's very familiar with when he views his body, his disease as a weakness.

● Viktor occasionally shares personal anecdotes from his own life, hoping to make you feel more comfortable around him.

●To him, he finds it refreshing to work with someone who sees the world as he does. You make him feel understood in a way that's rare for him.

Romantic Headcanons

• The platonic headcanons, of course, still applies here.

• Viktor truly admires your dedication and love to science, and he often finds himself fascinated by the way you approach and solve problems. He's intrigued as well by your ability to notice patterns and details others overlook. Your perspective makes him think differently, which is why he values your opinion.

• Viktor is patient and observant. He never pushes you to speak, respecting your methods of communication. Instead, he learns to read your body language, small gestures, or the notes you scribble down to express yourself. Even so, he’s comfortable with your silence and finds it peaceful rather than awkward.

• Viktor’s subtle affection shows in little things: placing a blanket over your shoulders when you were too focused on work and fell asleep on your desk, or saving the last of your favorite snacks for you.

• When he realizes his feelings for you, it’s a quiet epiphany. He isn't one to confess dramatically, he shows his affection through mostly his actions. A touch on your hand, a gentle smile when you accomplish something—he hopes you notice. Though, that's not to say his words aren't beautiful to hear when it rolls of his tongue. He manages to sound like a poet with how he describes his feelings without even saying "I love you." Because to him, those words are an understatement.

• If you reciprocate, Viktor treasures your love like it’s the most precious discovery he’s ever made. He cherishes every small moment with you and continues to support you in every way he can.

[thedemises]

——— COLD HANDS。 ★ sunday.

note; I don't think I wrote my boy sunday good enough to the canon..... anyways I took inspiration from the fact that my hands r always cold so why not 😈 (I totally didn't take a week to finish this hahahahah this turned out a lot longer than I expected,,,, over 2k.... 😦)

tagging; @aventurineswife :3

you could've barely noticed it at first, but the tips of your fingers were slowly growing numb as time passes, likely due to the cold humidity in the room. however, you hardly care, letting yourself sink into the serene stillness in the party car of the astral express.

it had always been a normal occurrence for your hands to feel much colder than anyone else's, and it was a bother at times when you would unintentionally graze your own hand against a part of your body — however, you managed to find a small advantage in it; often pressing your icy fingers against your friends' necks as a small, playful prank.

you can remember the priceless expressions on your fellow express members' faces whenever you pull such an act on them without their awareness and the thought of it barely makes you chuckle to yourself on any occasion. heh, the corner of your lips quirk up into a sly smirk without your intentions.

though you wouldn't recommend doing that to the conductor of the train...

pointer fingers lightly tap on each other with hands clasped together, you stay seated with legs crossed as your eyes occasionally scan the room carefully for a potential candidate to interact with. member or guest, you just want to talk to pass the time. (shush isn't really fun to converse with, in your opinion; other than those jokes, he's a gentleman but not quite interesting enough in your eyes. though you're curious about shush's creator; the one who made the mixologist).

the top of your shoe taps against the polished floor, in a steady rhythm made up by your mind — or coming from a song you had in your mind for a while now — while you eventually spot your victim possible conversationist.

a young man standing at the farthest corner of the cart, in a bicolored tailcoat and small wings behind his ears which are of similar tone to his muted blue hair as a golden halo floats behind the head. they flap and twitch from time to time and he is merely unbothered by the silence in the area (besides the sound of glass cups clinking from shush cleaning them and that lady in a purple veil looking over some tarot cards floating in her hands), the halovian simply stares about at the space outside the cabin with a sort of... longing look in his eyes.

...

ah, sunday — former head of the oak family and older brother of the interastral famous idol; robin. honestly; you weren't really involved in the whole penacony catastrophe since you, alongside dan heng, decided to stay behind in the express until you made the decision to go and went along with the archivist (and a certain galaxy ranger who was practically hijacking the parlor car, and with a gun pointed at the reserved train guardian no less) and then assisting the others in taking down that damned giant mechanical monstrosity and that damned giant mechanical monstrosity's sea angel-looking things.

and now with that event taken care of and calming down, it's a bit of a surprise when the guy who tried to basically kill the other astral express members aboards the same train that railed him over a couple times and is now trying to redeem himself from the goal where he tried to turn everyone's dream into a complacent bliss by taking everyone's free will & future in the process.

instead of the one who (though, unintentionally) almost ascended to aeonhood, sunday is reduced to a mere passenger on the express train you too aboard on. what a life turning of events.

and with the idea of spooking him as well settles at the top of your mind.

the mischievous thought solidifies, and your eyes gleam with a subtle spark of excitement. sunday seems like the perfect target — a mix of composed and distant, a far cry from the usual express members who might anticipate your pranks by now; considering how long it has been since you've been a member.

your cold fingers itch with anticipation, the chill now feels like an asset rather than a hindrance — and it feels like the oh-so perfect moment to do so.

you rise from your seat slowly, careful not to make a sound that would alert him to your approach, as your steps are light, muffled by the carpeted floor of the party car. the young halovian seems deeply engrossed in the view beyond the window, the distant in his gaze making you almost reconsider — just for half a second. however, the faint smirk creeping up onto your lips reminds you of your current goal.

and who are you to shy away so quickly from an itching opportunity to fill your satisfaction?

as you inch closer behind with the quietest of steps, his ear wings twitch slightly, making you pause your movements. they’re... quite delicate up close than you realized, the translucent blue edges of each pale feather shimmering faintly and you were almost distracted by them. almost.

why yes, you were curious about his halovian features but now's not the time to ponder, you...

with deft fingers, you gently brush aside a curtain of his muted blue hair, exposing the nape of his neck. it's quite warmer than you expected — soft, almost inviting — and while at the back of your mind you were a bit baffled how sunday barely even noticed what you were doing, it takes every ounce of self-control not to giggle at the thought of what’s about to happen.

“ah, what’s the point of hesitation now?” you mutter under your breath before plunging your frozen-like fingers onto the bare skin of his neck—

—the reaction you got was instantaneous. sunday’s breath hitches audibly and a low, startled gasp escapes his lips as his entire body jolts from the sudden, icy shock at the nape of his neck; his posture was rigid as if struck by lightning as his ear wings snap open instinctively, flaring out like a startled bird's — the sharp motion sends a soft, fleeting breeze through the air, ruffling your hair slightly.

“by the stars—!” he gasps, eyes wide and glimmering like fractured glass as a hand flies up to cover the assaulted area as if to guard it from another ambush from your shenanigans. his intriguing golden halo hovering behind his head wavers slightly, tilting as though reflecting his momentary loss of composure, and his cheeks flushed a light peachy red from the heat of surprise.

the young man spins around after a small beat of silence with a sharp intake of breath, his expression a mix of shock and confusion, the serene mask he wore moments ago completely shattered.

your hands had already retracted when sunday covered the back of his own neck, and you can't help the laughter that spills out of you; unrestrained and shameless.

“wo—ow!” you manage between bouts of mirth, a hand barely covers your mouth to partially drown out half the noise you were making within the usually quiet cart. “that... that was... absolutely priceless, sunday...!” your voice wavers and slightly cracks at the end of your sentence, still carried by the remnants of your laughter; the amusement from the entire situation clearly written all over your face.

for a moment, he just stares at you, caught between the bewilderment and indignation of your little prank... then, his brows knit together in a way that’s almost endearing, and his lips press into a tight line. “what… was that for?” his careful voice carries the faintest tremor, as though he’s still recovering from the shock of the chill.

eventually, you've recovered from your little laughing fit enough to answer sunday properly this time, as a hand of yours reached up to wipe off a small tear from your eyes. “oh, come on,” you lightly tease, leaning against a nearby chair with a smug grin. “you were just.. idly standing over there, looking all broody and mysterious; I couldn’t resist.”

sunday exhales sharply, visibly trying to collect himself. his wings fold back into place with a soft rustle, and his hand lingers protectively over his neck before letting it hang by his side.

“I was merely... thinking.”

“hm? about what?” asked you while tilting your head.

the halovian hesitates as the faint blush lingering on his cheeks gradually fades, leaving his complexion noticeably paler. “nothing that concerns you.”

“huh, is that so?” you drawl, tapping your chin as if in deep thought. “perhaps I have just found a new mystery to solve — cracking sunday’s enigmatic shell.”

“i— don’t even think about it,” he mutters, though there’s a flicker of something in his tone — a hint of amusement, perhaps? the left wing behind his ear twitches subtly before steadying behind him, but the slight folding of both ear wings toward his face betrays his embarrassment.

amused by his actions, you chuckle to yourself again and fold your arms over your chest. “you’ll have to lighten up eventually, y’know sunny. can’t stay all reserved and quiet forever.”

“don't—” sunday abruptly stops himself, then he sighs in exasperation of your antics. “you’re insufferable. but please refrain from calling me that in the future.”

“and you’re fun to mess with.” you flash him a cheeky smirk, already contemplating your next move. after all, what’s life aboard the astral express without a little bit of mischief?

“also, why not? but, however, if that's what you want...”

as sunday just turns away to the side just a bit, you straighten up your posture, still all smiley and smirking whatnot. you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment; breaking through the usually quiet halovian's composure felt like a minor victory in itself. the quiet hum of the astral express fills the air again as the moment between you fades into the serene stillness of the party car.

still, something about the faint blush lingering on sunday’s cheeks keeps tugging at your thoughts. veneath the cool exterior and formal demeanor lies a person who, much like everyone else aboard this train, carries their own scars and stories. you might be good at teasing and poking a bit here and there, but you’re not oblivious to the weight he seems to bear — especially with what happened in the recent events.

the mood shifts slightly as you observe him quietly — he has resumed gazing out the window, though his expression is much softer now, his wings no longer bristling but relaxed. the golden halo behind him stabilizes, the light coming from the lights inside the party cart casting a faint glow that makes him look almost ethereal.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence. sunday still gazes into the galaxy beyond the window but he secretly listens to whatever you're about to say. “I’m not always about pranks — however, if you ever feel like talking about whatever’s on your mind, I can lend you an ear too.”

the young man turns his head toward you, his brows raise up a little in mild surprise. for a moment, he seems to study you, as if trying to gauge your sincerity — finally, he exhales, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

the response is brief but carries a surprising warmth that wasn’t there before. you nod in response, satisfied, and let the quietness stretch out again. maybe there’s more to sunday than meets the eye, and perhaps, in time, he’ll let you see a little more of what lies beneath his enigmatic exterior in the near future of trailblazing expeditions.

the sliding doors to the party car slide open suddenly, and ever-so bubbly march 7th bounces in as her ever-cheerful energy fills the space of the previous serene atmosphere. “hey! what’s going on in here? did I miss something fun?”

you almost can’t resist glancing at sunday with a small mischievous glint in your eye, the latter in question softly groans and shakes his head to himself.

“oh, really nothing much. I was merely giving our newest passenger a warm welcome.”

the bubblegum-haired girl glances between the two of you, a bit curious what the two of you were doing a bit earlier. “huh.. really though? because it looks like you were up to no good again.”

“awh— wait, me? never,” you tilt your head slightly as your voice takes on an exaggerated tone of mock-innocence. behind you, sunday exhales sharply and his eyes narrow as he pinches the bridge of his nose. march 7th crosses her arms, arching a brow before both of them briefly exchange a shared look — one that speaks volumes about their exasperation.

as the conversation shifts to lighter topics, the laughter and camaraderie in the room slowly build, filling the once-quiet space with warmth and life. even the young halovian seems to ease into the dynamic, his reserved nature softening just a bit as he listens to the banter around him.

in this moment, you realize that life aboard the astral express isn’t just about the journeys or the destinations — it’s about the people you share them with, the stories you create, and the bonds you forge along the way.

and as the stars continue to streak past outside into the milky way, you can’t help but feel that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

© thedemises 2024. all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, copy, or feed my written works to ai.

[mischiefinbloom]

୧ ‧₊˚ caramel mornings

₊⊹ summary:  james potter, a barista in a quiet café, is used to the routine of early mornings and regulars. that is, until you start coming in every day. as he perfects your caramel latte, the connection between you both deepens—slowly, sweetly, and with a few unspoken thoughts lingering between the conversations. in the simplicity of coffee and shared moments, james begins to realize that what started as a casual encounter might turn into something much more.

₊⊹ pairing: james potter x reader (no use of y/n)

₊⊹ warnings: coffee shop au, nothing just pure fluff! that's my first fic ever, let me know what you think!

james potter hadn’t expected to spend this chapter of his life as a barista. it was supposed to be a temporary gig, something to keep him busy while he figured out his next steps. but after a while, the warm smell of coffee beans and the familiar hum of the shop became a strange kind of comfort, anchoring him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

there was a rhythm to the job: the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of costumers chatting over their drinks, and the occasional chaos of a long line of orders that kept him on his toes. james liked it more than he thought he would, though he’d never admit it to his friends.

and then you walked in, shattering the monotony of his carefully structured days.

the first time he saw you, it was raining. not the light, misty kind of rain that made everything look cinematic, but the kind that came down in sheets, soaking anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside. you stumbled into the shop, water dripping from your coat and hair, and james’s first thought was that you looked completely out of place in the best possible way.

“hi,” you said, breathless and a little flustered, “can I—uh—just get a coffee, please? whatever you recommend.”

james had blinked at you, his usual confidence momentarily short-circuited. “sure,” he managed, fumbling for a cup. “you trust me with that decision?”

your smile was soft, almost teasing. “why wouldn't I? you look like you know your coffee.”

james grinned despite himself, and as he made your drink—something sweet, with just enough espresso to cut through the rain-induced gloom—he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the cup.

when he handed it to you, your fingers brushed his for a brief moment. “thanks,” you said, meeting his ocean-colored eyes.

james wanted to say something clever, something to keep you at the counter a little longer, but you’d already turned away, heading for a corner table by the window.

it was only after you left, your empty cup abandoned on the table, that james realized he’d forgotten to ask for your name.

you became a regular after that.

every morning, without fail, you came in at the same time, your arrival as reliable as the sun breaking through the clouds. it didn’t take long for james to memorize your order—a caramel latte, extra foam, with the occasional cinnamon scone if you were feeling indulgent.

at first, you’d linger just long enough to grab your drink before disappearing into the bustle of the day. but over time, you started staying longer, settling into the corner seat that had quickly become your own. you brought books, a notebook, sometimes even a laptop, and james couldn’t help but wonder what you were working on so intently.

“still caramel today?” james asked one morning, flashing you his signature grin.

you glanced up from the menu you were pretending to read, the corners of your mouth quirking upward. “what can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

james chuckled as he turned to make your drink, his movements fluid and practiced. “I’ll have to come up with something new to tempt you. change things up a bit.”

“oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “think you can outdo my usual?”

james slid the cup across the counter with a flourish, a foam heart swirling in the center. “try me.”

you laughed softly, your eyes crinkling at the edges as you took a sip. “hmm. not bad. I might have to start trusting you more.”

james felt a surge of pride, even as he tried to play it cool. “high praise. I’ll take it.”

the days blurred into weeks, and before james knew it, you were as much a part of the shop as the mismatched chairs and the ever-changing chalkboard menu.

he looked forward to seeing you, even on the busiest mornings when the line stretched out the door. he found himself saving the best pastries for you, making sure your latte was always just right, even if it meant starting over three times.

but for every moment of warmth, there was an undercurrent of doubt.

james didn’t know much about you, beyond the small snippets of conversation you shared. he didn’t know what brought you to the shop every day or why your smile sometimes seemed a little forced, like you were carrying more than you let on.

one day, he worked up the nerve to ask.

“rough day?” he asked softly as he handed you your drink.

you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “something like that...”

james wanted to press, to ask what was bothering you, but he didn’t. instead, he watched as you retreated to your corner table, your shoulders hunched slightly as you opened a book.

he hated seeing you like that, and the helplessness gnawed at him for the rest of the day.

james’ friends loved to tease him about you.

"she’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate,” one of them, sirius black, more specifically, said one evening as they closed up the shop.

james rolled his eyes, but his flushed cheeks gave him away. “it’s not like that.”

“right,” sirius drawled, smirking. “that’s why you’ve been drawing hearts in her lattes.”

james groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut it, t’s not a big deal."

but it was.

he’d never felt like this before—this nervous, this unsure of himself. he wanted to get to know you, to make you laugh, to be the reason your eyes lit up when you walked through the door.

but what if he wasn’t enough?

the rain was relentless that evening, pounding against the windows in a steady rhythm. the shop was quiet, most of the usual crowd having opted to stay home.

you were the only customer left, your book open on the table as you sipped your latte. james had been stealing glances at you all day, his chest tightening with every passing minute. finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

he grabbed a fresh cup and started on another latte, pouring the foam with extra care. when it was done, he hesitated for a moment before carrying it over to your table.

“for you,” he said, setting it down gently.

you looked up, startled. “what’s this?”

“call it a… thank you,” james said, scratching the back of his neck. “for being the best part of my mornings.”

your eyes widened slightly, and james felt his pulse quicken. for a moment, neither of you said anything, the sound of rain filling the silence.

“james,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he braced himself, his stomach twisting with nerves.

“would you like to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

james blinked, caught off guard. “yeah. yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

he slid into the seat, his heart pounding as he met your gaze. and for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t imagining things.

james sat across from you, fidgeting slightly, uncharacteristically nervous. the rain outside drummed against the windows, a comforting backdrop to the tension building between you.

“thanks... for the coffee,” you said, breaking the silence. you traced a finger along the edge of the cup, your expression thoughtful. “you didn’t have to do that.”

james smiled, a little lopsided, and shrugged. “I wanted to. you’ve been keeping this place interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow. “interesting? is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“good,” james said quickly, then laughed at himself. “definitely good. I just mean… it’s nice, seeing you here every day. feels like I’ve got something to look forward to.”

your cheeks flushed, and james couldn’t help but notice the way you looked away, shyly smiling. it was a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you before, and it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted softly, your voice almost drowned out by the rain.

james blinked, his heart stuttering. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes. “you’ve made my mornings a little brighter, James.”

he grinned, the boyish charm that always seemed so effortless now lighting up his face. “well, now I feel like I’ve got to up my game. can’t have you thinking I’m getting complacent.”

you laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and james realized he could get used to this—the easy rhythm of being around you, the way you seemed to make the world feel a little less heavy.

the shop closed earlier than usual that night, the storm outside growing too fierce to keep customers lingering. james finished wiping down the counters while you gathered your things, your umbrella still dripping onto the floor.

“let me walk you out,” he said, grabbing his coat.

you hesitated, looking out at the downpour. “you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” james said, holding the door open for you. “but I’d like to.”

you smiled, and james thought he’d do just about anything to see that look on your face again.

the two of you stepped into the rain, your umbrella doing little to shield you from the relentless drops. james stayed close, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked.

“thank you, james...” you said after a while, your voice quiet.

“for what?”

“for caring,” you said simply.

james stopped walking, turning to look at you. “of course I care,” he said, his voice softer now. “I—”

he paused, the words catching in his throat. he wanted to tell you everything—that you were the best part of his day, that he thought about you more than he should, that he’d been falling for you since the moment you walked into his shop. but he didn’t know how to say any of it.

instead, he reached out, his hand brushing yours. “I’m glad you came in that day,” he said finally.

you smiled, your fingers curling around his. “yeah... me too.”

[scarletwinterxx]

won't let these little things slip out of my mouth - jeon wonwoo imagine

i have a confession... i cried while writing this. now i'm sad no one will ever propose to me this way, why oh why did i even write this BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH🥺🥺🥺🥺

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The cold winter air nips at your cheeks as you walk beside Wonwoo, his camera slung over his shoulder as always. The streets are adorned with twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and the hum of Christmas carols drifting from nearby speakers. Despite the chill, you feel warm. Maybe it’s the cozy scarf he insisted you wear or the way his hand occasionally brushes yours as you walk.

He’s been unusually quiet tonight, though. You steal a glance at him, noting the slight curve of his lips as he stares ahead, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s up to something. You just know it.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you say, breaking the silence, “what’s with the secrecy? You’ve been grinning like a kid who knows something I don’t.”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Patience,” he teases, his tone as smooth as always. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He leads you to a quaint little gallery tucked away on a quieter street. The windows are frosted, but you can see the soft glow of light inside, illuminating what looks like an intimate exhibit. Your curiosity piques as he holds the door open for you, the bell above jingling softly.

The gallery smells of wood and faintly of pine, and the atmosphere is calm, almost reverent. Wonwoo leads you through the first room, where a variety of black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They’re beautiful, sure, but they don’t hold your attention for long. Not when you can feel Wonwoo’s excitement radiating beside you.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently toward a smaller, dimly lit room at the back. “This is the part I wanted you to see.”

The moment you step inside, your breath catches. The walls are lined with photographs, but these aren’t just any pictures. They’re familiar. Too familiar.

“That’s... Wait, that’s from our trip to Jeju!” you exclaim, pointing to a shot of you laughing on the beach. Another photo catches your eye—a candid of you staring in awe at cherry blossoms during spring. And then another, of you holding an umbrella, your face lit up with laughter as the rain poured down.

You turn to Wonwoo, your heart racing. “What is this?”

He’s smiling, that soft, shy smile that always makes your knees a little weak. “Keep going,” he says, nodding toward the other wall.

You walk further into the room, and your chest tightens as you take in rows and rows of photos. All of you. Every angle, every expression, every moment he managed to capture. There’s one of you napping on a park bench, another of you squinting at a map, and one where you’re mid-bite into an enormous burger, ketchup smeared on your cheek.

You burst out laughing, tears pricking your eyes. “You didn’t!”

The walls of the gallery feel like they’re closing in as you walk further into the room, your gaze darting from photo to photo.

Each one is a piece of your life together—your smiles, your laughter, even your messy moments. You pause at a picture of you trying to eat an ice cream cone that’s melting faster than you can keep up with it. You remember that day vividly, how Wonwoo kept laughing and snapping pictures while you tried (and failed) to salvage the cone.

“Wonwoo,” you say softly, your voice trembling as the weight of it all settles over you. “You’ve been collecting these... all this time?”

“Every moment I could,” he says from behind you, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness of the room.

You move to the next photo. And then the next. They’re all you, and it’s overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

Then your eyes catch something different.

The very last photo on the wall.

It’s simple—a close-up shot of a ring nestled in a velvet box. The light glints off the delicate band, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost magical. Your breath catches in your throat as you take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Is that—” you start, but the words die on your lips when you turn around.

Wonwoo is there, down on one knee in the middle of the gallery, holding that same velvet box in his hand. The air leaves your lungs as your gaze locks onto his, the vulnerability and love in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“It’s just us,” he says softly, as if he’s answering a question you didn’t ask. “No distractions, no one else. Just you and me.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’ve spent so much of our time together trying to capture every moment, every expression, every laugh, because I never want to forget a single second with you. But the truth is, none of these photos come close to how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—through my lens and in my life.”

He opens the box, revealing the ring that you’d just seen immortalized in the photo. It sparkles under the soft lights of the gallery, but nothing shines brighter than the love in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“I want this to be my last photo project,” he says with a small, shaky laugh. “Because after this, I just want to live the moments with you. Will you marry me?”

The world tilts and rights itself again as you nod furiously, your tears spilling over. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

Wonwoo grins—one of those rare, wide grins that you know he reserves for the moments when he can’t contain his joy. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and sure, before standing and pulling you into his arms.

The silence of the gallery wraps around you both like a warm blanket. It’s just the two of you, the faint glow of the photos on the walls casting soft shadows.

You lean back to look at him, laughter bubbling up through your tears.

“You seriously used a picture of the ring for the big reveal?” you tease, your voice trembling with joy. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s a story, isn’t it? And now it has the perfect ending.”

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Not an ending,” you whisper. “The perfect beginning.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the story of your love etched in photographs, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[occasionalsnippets]

I like to know more about Damian and Talia's relationship with fd au reader

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream

Talia keeps tabs on her beloved so obviously, she's well aware of when Bruce takes in a new Robin. And with that Robin comes an unexpected variable, his blood sister.

You do not catch her eye, not at first. Not until she finds Jason Todd and dunks him in a Lazarus pit. Not until she finds you being Robin while your little brother rests within the walls of Wayne manor. Not until you become the CEO of the failing Drake Industries.

The first thing of note, Jason Todd recognizes you and your brother. The pits are unpredictable in their effects and even she was uncertain of about much Jason Todd would remember after being taken out. Yet he knew of you. The feelings are vague, ambiguous at best but never malevolent. It is enough to curb some of his anger at being replaced.

It gives him enough stability that she introduces him to Damian.

The one thing that is blatantly obvious is that you care deeply for your brother, for Timothy Drake. The two of you are more affectionate than any other pair of siblings she has seen and certainly closer than she is with any of her own siblings.

The best indicator that you are Robin and not your brother is that you play. Not in some childish innocent way but rather sharply and precisely. You dance around the points you want to make but the meaning is clear nevertheless. She has been very careful to conceal Damian's existence from her beloved but he has not escaped your notice. Yet, you haven’t told Bruce. How curious.

Perhaps it is that curiosity that drives her to meet you as yourself and not as Robin. Her father takes an interest in your brother. She takes an interest in you.

Talia finds herself waiting in your office at Drake Industries on a weekday afternoon. There’s a pleasantly soft melody being played on a CD somewhere. When you enter, there is no surprise, only a slightest trace of amusement.

Without the mask, you are still every bit as sharp and cold as her favourite blades. It's a delight to have a conversation with you.

A thought arises. You would make a lovely sibling for her Damian.

She is under no delusion that Damian will settle nicely with Bruce at first but with you there to ease the transition, it just might work out better than anticipated. She may even introduce him sooner than she had originally planned.

You, on the other hand, have no idea why Talia Al Ghul of all people keeps showing up at your office. You guys don't really do much other than gossip (and occasionally, you fight off the assassins she sends) but it's become something of a routine. It's weird. You take it in stride.

As for Damian, there were several things his mother had told him before she left him on his father's doorstep. The first of which was that you were to become his sister.

There is no reason to doubt his mother's words. You spend most nights at the manor, you attend family dinners and you are very involved with the family's night life. In addition, you hold great influence over the household, enough to block his attempts at claiming his rightful role as Robin.

You are endlessly helpful in integrating him into the family. He is... reluctantly grateful for your assistance. The others are uncertain of what to do with him. Grayson and father coddle him. Todd does not remain within the manor often. Cain and Drake are distrustful. You remain steadfast and steady.

He can see why mother is fond of you. You are an acceptable sibling. Strong willed. Successful. Far better than the other riff raff father keeps around.

Eventually he does come around to everyone else, though he remains jealous of Tim who clearly holds your affection and the position of Robin. You tell him that it’s Tim’s decision whether he’ll pass on the title or not so he does end up somewhat playing nice with him.

You remain near the center of his life. He continues to go to you for advice, he hands you his marked tests and preens when you praise him, you allow him into the Batcave and teach him about the comms system, and so on.

And then, he finds out you do not consider yourself to be family. You call yourself Tim’s sister but not his. Damian’s first emotion is anger, then betrayal, then jealousy.

Are you simply dense? Have the others done something to make you believe you are unworthy? If so, it must be rectified. Immediately.

His mother had said that you were to be his sister and Damian Al Ghul-Wayne won’t accept anything less than what he is due.

[aventurineswife]

Heyyy! I would like to request something for Christmas!

baking christmas cookies together and then eating them all at once (this happened to me😔 I couldn't even give a few of them to my dad) you can choose whoever you want for this rq but pls include my glorious king Dr ratio 😋

I hope this rq is good enough for you 🥲 I feel like it's kinda blant

english is not my first language sry if I used the wrong grammar

stay safe and I hope aventurine shows up on your doorstep 🤭

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Summary: When the holidays roll around, you and Ratio find yourselves in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies together. What starts as a simple festive activity quickly turns into a blend of precision, intellect, and unexpected warmth. Amid the laughter, perfect frosting designs, and plenty of taste-testing, the two of you share a cozy winter evening, discovering that even the greatest minds can appreciate life’s sweetest moments.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Winter Special, Baking Together, Established Relationship, Cozy Winter Vibes, Intellectual Banter, Christmas Cookies.

A/N: nooo ☹️, maybe this year you could give your dad some cookies! Don't worry, you wrote it perfectly and thank you 🤭🫂🫶💖 i hope he does too🙈(love your Simeon pfp🤭)

The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla filled the air as snowflakes gently drifted down from the sky, coating the ground in a soft, silvery layer. The world outside the windows was quiet, a peaceful hush broken only by the occasional soft thud of a snowflake landing. Inside, the warmth of a cozy kitchen surrounded you and Ratio.

You looked over at him, standing at the kitchen counter with his usual assured expression, his wavy hair falling messily around his face as he concentrated on the task at hand. The kitchen was bustling with ingredients—flour, butter, sugar, and a few mismatched cookie cutters scattered across the counter. The smell of Christmas had already begun to permeate the space, though it wasn’t quite the holiday yet. Still, there was something about Ratio’s presence, even in a moment like this, that made everything feel just a bit more special.

“You know,” you said as you carefully sifted the flour into the mixing bowl, “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about baking cookies. I thought you’d be more inclined to read or teach me a new theory on knowledge.”

Ratio’s eyes, glowing with a tinge of yellow in the low light of the kitchen, shifted to you, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “A fair assumption. However, knowledge comes in many forms. Understanding the delicate balance of flour, sugar, and butter—there’s something to be said for that too.” He paused, glancing at the rolling pin in your hands. “Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be quite the worthy student when it comes to recipes. I shall not let you dominate this culinary field without my… intellectual guidance.”

His tone was as confident as ever, but there was a slight playful edge to it, something you didn’t see often in the rigid, self-assured intellect he normally wore like armor. You chuckled, nodding as you grabbed the eggs.

“Alright, Dr. Ratio. What’s the next step, then?”

He examined the mixture carefully, and with a swipe of his hand, reached for the butter. "The butter must be at the perfect temperature," he began, his voice rich with the authority of someone who knew every microscopic detail. "If it’s too cold, the dough will be too stiff. Too warm, and the cookies won’t rise properly. I’ll handle the butter, as my delicate touch will ensure the right consistency."

You couldn’t help but grin, knowing that his precision was about to take over. But that was part of his charm—his pursuit of perfection, even in something as seemingly simple as baking cookies. As you worked together, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the warmth of the oven mingling with the warmth between you, a quiet moment of happiness amid the hustle of your usual lives.

An hour later, the cookies were ready to be decorated. You’d created a wide assortment—stars, bells, snowflakes—and now the most difficult part was upon you: the frosting. You’d hoped for a simple, orderly approach, but Ratio’s enthusiasm for intricate details soon led to a cascade of brilliantly intricate designs. Swirling, layered, and meticulously placed, every cookie was an academic masterpiece. They were works of art, the frosting patterns forming symbols and equations that only Ratio could translate.

“Well, this is certainly… thorough.” you said, admiring the beautiful cookies before glancing at him.

He met your gaze, eyes alight with pride. “Only the best for this holiday season.” His voice was smug, but there was a soft warmth in his expression that betrayed his usual aloofness. “Shall we taste our creations now?”

Before you could answer, he took one of the cookies and, with a flourish, handed it to you. “After all, one must taste what they create. It’s a vital part of the learning process.”

You took the cookie, biting into it. The frosting was rich, the cookie perfectly baked—soft with just the right amount of crispness. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This is incredible. I might’ve underestimated you, Dr. Ratio.”

His grin widened, the usual intensity in his eyes flickering with something more genuine—a flicker of amusement.

“You underestimate me far too often,” he said, before he too grabbed a cookie and took a bite. “I must say, my intellect, as always, has produced a perfect result.”

You both laughed, and then, without warning, you found yourselves nibbling on one cookie after another, laughing and sharing the warm, comforting moment together. The kitchen, now filled with an assortment of delightful cookie designs, began to empty as the two of you devoured them all, not a single one left behind.

After a while, the once neatly arranged cookies were gone, and the two of you sat contentedly on the couch, a blanket over your legs, sipping hot cocoa.

“Next year,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder, “maybe we should try making gingerbread houses.”

Ratio looked at you, his thoughtful expression returning. “We could. But only if we can ensure that the structural integrity of the gingerbread walls is upheld by an intellectual design that matches my standards.”

You smiled, already knowing what you were in for next Christmas.

“Well, we’ve got a year to figure it out.” you said, taking another sip of your cocoa.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but feel that, in this quiet, simple moment, you’d found something far more valuable than the cookies themselves.

[syneilesis]

[fic] Impossible Fictions

Impossible Fictions

Love and Deepspace | Sylus (Qin Che) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 1.7k words | ao3 link

Five snapshots of memories that never happened.

Content tags: Major character death, angst, non-linear narrative, hurt no comfort, canon AU, canon compliant, spoilers for Sylus's myths story

A/N: Uh, my entry to the game's Where Drakeshadows Fall Fan Art Contest. This one is ... I'm not even sure if this fic passes muster lol. Oh well.

Read Sylus's story. Screamed, cried, threw up. Wrote this fic as a catharsis. I'm sorry. Except I swear this isn't complete angst! There's a happy ending in there somewhere! Please give this one a chance! Lol

[one]

On a calm winter night, snowfall glimpsed between slits of velvet curtains, the orchestral crescendo of a violin concerto flowing from the speakers and into the dimly lit room, you gently take the glass of wine away from Sylus's hand and tip his chin so he can meet your joyous face. His expression morphs into a challenge, but underneath it – curiosity. His eyebrow lifts as your hands trace the bones of his cheeks and then cradle him.

“Sylus,” you say, and you kiss him in the wintry air, crystalline, long and tender and apologetic, and Sylus kisses you back.

“Sylus,” you say, and his right eye burns with knowing, with hunger.

“Sylus,” you say. “Sylus, I finally remember.”

[two]

The moment the greatsword plunges into his chest, the image of you flashes across his mind – a wispy, delicate thing. A flowerstalk with limbs. He can easily snap you in half with his claws.

He doesn't know your name, but he knows your role in his wretched fate. It's almost a pity – to find out that you are his Archnemesis, with your abject stare, horror clinging to your features, hands drenched in blood.

Your bloodied hands.

Your bloody, delicate hands.

In the midst of fury and pain, Sylus feels an inconsolable desire to possess, claws raging to grasp at your pretty neck, push you down the molten ground, and devour you.

To possess you, after all, is to possess his fate. And what could be the most desirable thing for a beast that feasts on desires?

[three]

There's a room at the end of the hallway that you've been exploring in Sylus's base – a spacious, empty room that you've guessed to be for storage. At the far end of it, silhouetted by the nightlights streaming through the windows, is a grand piano, marble-white, thinly coated in dust, but nonetheless pristine and holding signs of the occasional maintenance.

Nothing else is stored in this room, except for the piano. You wonder if Sylus, with his penchant for collecting music, plans on expanding his inventory – this time it's for musical instruments.

Your footsteps reverberate in the room, clicking and clacking on the tiled floor as you approach the piano. Something about its solitary quietude draws you in, like a dazed but curious artist arrested by a beautiful sight.

Having arranged yourself on the bench, you place your fingers on the keys. You weren't taught to play the piano during your childhood; you mostly spent time frolicking around the neighborhood with Caleb and dragging him to help Grandma with chores. But your hands move as if they've been playing for a long time.

The notes come to life one by one, strained, tentative at first, melody unidentifiable until the tempo settles, and you remember Sylus playing it that one time at a chapel, you eventually joining him as an addition to the harmony. At the time, you had been bewildered by how you could play the piece, and how Sylus looked at you and a shadow of wistfulness flickered across his expression. It tugged at your chest, a memory that didn't exist stubbornly making itself known.

The music sounds a little different when played with a grand piano, stripped of its pomp, its ceremonial circumstance. The barebones underneath invites a more vulnerable emotion, one that's a little sadder, more a secret sorrow.

At the height of its melody, your hands stop, like a puppet cut of its strings, and the music ceases, faint echoes of its notes still ringing throughout the room. It's as far as you can go, a piece abruptly ending, without its resolution.

Along with the lingering notes: your tears.

“Hm?”

One hand sweeps across your cheek and comes away wet, and you pause, surprised, heart suddenly dark and heavy, its beats too strong to ignore.

You must have been more affected by the music than you thought. How odd.

Diving into this strange feeling, you play the piece again.

At the other side of the door, without your knowledge, Sylus stands, eyes shut, listening, the outline of his body still as barren lands.

[four]

This moonlit night, as you gaze at the star-speckled sky, you hear Sylus's measured steps from inside the cavern. They get louder and louder, until a couple of wingflaps relay his arrival next to you, the sound of his movements indicating that he has sat down, just inches away from your side.

Something gleams at your periphery, and you finally turn to see his open palm, a ring at the center of it.

Tonight, it seems, this is his gift. Sleek and thin, gold plating the entire band, with inlaid rubies as red as his eyes. Complicated engravings decorate around the gems.

Under the lunar glow it glistens like a dream. You long to touch it, feel your index finger slide over its shape.

“Where did you get this?” you whisper.

He shifts, but his hand doesn't. Your eyes do not leave the ring.

“Why does that matter?” he says, and his voice sounds inquisitive, somehow.

“Is this part of your treasure? I've never seen it, but I guess it's too small for me to find it easily.”

Sylus hums, and pushes his hand towards you.

The heat of his body lingers on the jewelry. You play with it between your fingers, mesmerized.

“It's beautiful,” you say. “You know, in some cultures far away, they say that a ring symbolizes union and commitment. A couple would wear matching rings on their annulary as an everlasting promise to each other.”

It's a knowledge that you've encountered outside the Sanctuary in one of your rare moments of rebelliousness, sneaking out to explore the town. Once, you entered a bookstore, and the smell of old paper assaulted your nose. Nevertheless, you devoured as many books as you could, before time went up and you had to go back to that cold, white room, with your black dragon as the only company, the only comfort.

Sylus says nothing, and when you lift your head the moonlight is molten silver on his visage. It makes his narrowed gaze all the more stark, his rubescent eyes full of things you have no courage to decipher.

Then his lips quirk, and then part, and then: “A ring as a promise, huh.”

And then: slowly, carefully, he takes the ring from you and studies it as if he's laid his eyes on it for the first time.

From where you sit the sharpness that defines his profile is blunted: angles corrode into curves, smoothened by the honey-thick silver illumination that's almost cloying. But from it he's haloed beneath a galaxied sky, and within you, a thought – He's beautiful, oh, how he's beautiful.

A finger taps your left hand, and Sylus smirks briefly.

“Let me.”

And you do. His clawed hand wraps around yours, gentle, and raises it between you. His body moves closer, head bowed, and his tail surrounds you both, like a barrier against the outside world. And inside: just you and him and the golden ring that he's sliding onto your finger. The look on his face is achingly tender, and you swallow all the words down your throat and focus on your hand instead. The ring fits perfectly, like an oath.

“I suspect this is the part where you promise something,” he says – whispers – and the words embed themselves warmly on your skin.

“A commitment is a promise,” you begin, stumbling over each word in hesitation. “But, for us, it can be a curse, one that will follow us to our last breath.” A deep exhale. “I don't know where I'm going with this. Don't put me on the spot.”

That elicits a chuckle from him. Sylus tilts his head just a fraction, and you glimpse a fond smile cracking his expression.

“A curse befits us better,” he agrees, a sardonic lilt to his mouth. “Vengeful, and will chase us beyond our last breath. It is stronger than a promise. It's perfect – I like it.”

The hand on yours tightens, its own promise, its own curse.

“We don't truly need a physical object to remind us of our bond, but ...”

He gets up, and for a painfully fleeting moment Sylus looks more human than a fiend, all tenderness and mortality, brittle but burning.

When he turns around, he is a fiend again.

“I'll forge a matching one for me. Until then, come up with a better speech.”

[five]

There is no beauty in evil. In the mural of The Fiend-Slaying God, the dragon is depicted as a wicked, wretched thing. Wrathful, ugly in its savagery. Only the good is beautiful, triumphant. The villains always lose. It is a rule that has become an unequivocal fact.

Amidst the field of withering daturas, Sylus gasps in your arms, eyes already unfocused. Impending death catalyzes into crystals the color of soot. On his body they seem like charcoal bones escaping from beneath his flesh.

To a normal human, he may look monstrous, ugly, a beast in decay.

To a normal human, this is the triumph of good over evil. Of beauty over the grotesque.

And yet –

And yet.

To you, he is still the most beautiful creature you have ever laid your eyes on.

He is fading right before you, wisps of crumbling matter taken by the winds like ashes. Your arms tighten their embrace of him, refusing to let him go, as if this could reverse everything, as if this could prevent him from succumbing to oblivion.

“Sylus,” you whisper. “Sylus.”

He doesn’t hear, and you bow your head, forehead touching his, your unceasing tears falling over his cheeks. You call his name over and over. It is a futile effort.

But then, you feel it: fingers, leather-rough, ghosting down your face, and you lift your head to find Sylus gazing at you, eyes miraculously clear and lucid, the edges of his mouth twitching upwards.

For a heart-stopping moment, you taste a sliver of hope.

“Sylus!” you cry out, your hand grabbing his, fingers entwining. You press your wet cheeks against his hand, shutting your eyes and fervently praying. “Don’t die, please.”

He doesn’t answer, and you look at him again and bite back a sob.

He’s still smiling when the remaining parts of him disappear. And as the last of himself becomes nothing, he opens his mouth and tells you –

“I love you.”

Sylus takes with him all sound and color and beauty.

In the withered field of what was once daturas, you put your head in your hands and cry.

[narcjsistx]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part ten

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 1.9k (1967)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in a part eleven! I also realized that maybe I write shorter chapters better, so abandon the 2.5/3k word chapters

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!. you can find the other parts of the story by searching in the section dedicated to bllk

Since the parade had taken place you had completely returned to the path you were on, as if the hatred that so many had directed at you had dematerialized: on the one hand you appreciated this thing, but on the other it still made you so angry when you remembered how they had treated you. Many agencies, both German and foreign, had asked you to collaborate, but you had decided that for the moment you would only stay with TraumLaufsteg, which still had many answers to give you; you still wanted to understand what kind of relationship there was between Ursula and Gabriel, and how he was one of the founders. These were questions that tormented you at night, but for some time now you have been spending them more peacefully in Kaiser's arms, where you felt good

The media had begun to suspect the alleged relationship between you and the German prodigy, but beyond speculation there was obviously nothing confirmed. You and Michael were careful to keep things low profile, as complicated as it was for both of you. No one had yet understood that you had moved back in with him, and no one should have understood that now hugs weren't the only thing you exchanged

Michael had been on tour in the Berlin border areas for a week now, and for convenience he didn't come home, as much as he wanted to. You missed him, but he would be back in less than a few days, so you were happy. Life with Kaiser was going great, and that made you fall in love with him even more. The only problem was that Gabriel had suddenly started managing the company's models, including you: this meant being in contact with him more than necessary, and as much as I didn't want to, it was work

"Okay, one last time, whole runway" says the man sitting in his comfortable chair, while you and the other seven models return to the starting position. You had been doing the exact same thing since this morning only with different clothes, and if it hadn't been for the presence of your ex you would surely have been happier. You take a deep breath, taking the first position as the top model. You start walking, gaze fixed and movements flowing, swinging the wide skirt you had to wear as a test. You walk the entire length, reaching the tip where you put a hand on your hip, looking at the imaginary audience and then walking back, always with the same grace. The other models repeat the gesture taking their time, but you always feel Gabriel's gaze on you

He always looks at you, as if it were something that would make him breathe. Even when the attention should be on the other models, his gaze doesn't move from your figure, and you can't do much more than glare at him. Since he started working with you again, he has this toxic habit, which always makes you feel bad even though you haven't done anything. It gets worse when Ursula is with him, who occasionally attends the rehearsals next to the man: it makes you laugh a little how she tries to get his attention, failing miserably... and yet on the day of the show they seemed like best friends. Ursula doesn't talk much with her models, much less with you, so you don't know much about this woman who, in your opinion, knows a lot about you

"Okay ladies. Monica, more movement, you're modeling, not going shopping... and Iseut, more expressions, you have a cute face, use it. Also for our top model..." says the man, waking you up from your thoughts and noticing that everyone has modeled "Nothing to say, we all know she's a professional" he says giggling slightly, and while the others nod you want to do nothing more than go to him and strangle him. You hate his behavior, you hate everything about him and how he tries to flatter you every time. You'd be tempted to intentionally screw up everything to see his reaction, but at the same time it's not like you to ruin your always impeccable work for someone like that, unworthy of so much fame

You are about to leave the room to go to your dressing room and finally call your boyfriend, when you hear the doors of the rehearsal room open, and two video cameras enter followed by Ursula herself. You are surprised by this, because from what you knew from the other models in the agency access to the video cameras is prohibited

The cameras are roaming around the room, as you and the other models stare at them. You hear someone muttering something confused about this, and you don't know how to react even though you've been used to being in the spotlight for years now. You don't know why, but it stinks

Ursula stands next to Gabriel, and from the knowing smile they exchange you understand that the bomb you were waiting for is probably about to explode right now. The stylist's snake-like gaze looks you over, and a cold shiver runs down your spine as you watch the cameras finally settle in front of the two buddies, who are now scenographically side by side. You need to leave now, because the situation is feeling stranger by the second, and you don't like

"Welcome to the agency! Gabriel and I are very honored to be able to give you the opportunity to document life in the TraumLaufsteg, which for a long time has not given such a chance to anyone. Feel free to ask me and our models anything you have in mind" says Ursula in front of the first camera, while Gabriel nods "You have entered at the end of the shift of the models who will participate in the next fashion show, I was just taking care of that" he says charismatically, and the woman nods. One of the two video cameras is put down, while the man holding it comes in front of the screen, probably taking the place of the interviewer "Could you tell us more about the next show?" says the man "You can ask our models, they are ready to answer" says Gabriel, and the object moves towards you, catching you off guard. You and all the others know how to handle the situation, it is a quality that you have to acquire if you do this job, but it is still strange

The interviewer approaches, taking the girl at your side "Could you tell me how a normal shift goes?" he asks, and the woman shows off her best smile while improvising some cool answers, but in truth you don't listen to. Gabriel's oppressive gaze, now a few meters away from you, continues to stare at you with an almost maniacal smile, the same one that Ursula gives you. You gulp down a lump of saliva as you fix your hair, trying to ignore the situation. "How does it feel to walk with an internationally famous model?" the interviewer suddenly asks, and the woman remains silent for a few seconds, honestly not knowing how to respond. They all know who the man is referring to, and you can't help but smile at the camera filming you, one that actually hides a bit of anxiety and perplexity underneath

The woman remains silent, smiling nervously. The interviewer now turns to you, the microphone pointed at your mouth. “This would be the first interview you’ve had since the break” he says, and you nod. “It would have come sooner or later. You’ve obviously had more luck than the others” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as usual. The man nods “You’re probably right. How does it feel to be back on the catwalk?” he asks “Oh, it feels great. I’ve missed doing the usual things, and going back to the catwalk was like getting some fresh air after keeping my face under water for too long” you say. The microphone shakes a bit "And why choose an agency right here in Germany? And then, such a small one" he says, and you understand why Gabriel was smiling before. You suspect that they are ready-made questions, that they are aimed at putting you in difficulty and make you look like an idiot

"Well, I moved to Germany a while ago, and starting again with an Italian agency would have been uncomfortable because of the country difference. I chose TraumLaufsteg because I saw potential, and I would say I made the right choice when I see the results of the last show" you say, using all the trump cards you can give. It's a smooth answer, but it doesn't reveal anything wrong, or at least that's what you think

"How coincidental, however, to choose TraumLaufsteg, which is precisely the agency where Gabriel is the founder. Is there something in between this choice? After all, there has been a lot of chaos between your boyfriend and you in the last few weeks" says the man, and finally you understand that it is all a trap from the beginning, designed only to advance the main topic, that is, you and Gabriel. You see an immense satisfaction in the man, and you can't help but want to kill him

"There is absolutely no correlation between my choice and the situation you are talking about, since my ex and I are no longer together. I saw potential in the TraumLaufsteg without asking myself too many questions about who the founders were" you say in a serious tone, one that has the aim of not letting anything but your disgust transpire. The interviewer looks surprised, as does Gabriel who leaves Ursula's side, taking steps towards you. You watch him approach, feeling yourself suffocated with each step that brings you closer. He comes to your side, making his way through the models, putting his arm around your waist. Your eyes widen, moving to step aside, but his firm grip doesn't let you move. He smiles at the camera, as if nothing's wrong. If he wants to play like a jerk he's doing it perfectly

"My Y/n is just kidding, we all know in the industry how her humor can almost seem truthful. I don't know what's going on in her head, I just know that we are definitely not exes" he says playfully in front of the camera, which frames the two of you while you are doing everything you can to keep him away. You look at him disgusted, like you have never looked at anyone before. He wants to change the story every time to suit his own convenience, first calling you a traitor and now again calling you his girlfriend

It only takes a second for you to feel his lips crush yours. Your blood runs cold as you feel the sickening sensation you had forgotten and that had comforted you for so many years. He lingers on your lips, feeling them as he always has. You move to pull away, but it's no use because of his firm grip. You would like to cry, slap him, push him as far away from you as possible, but you can't do anything but remain perplexed by the gesture, appearing in front of the camera like a dead person. Now that you've gotten used to only Kaiser's lips, why do you feel those who have only spoken badly of you?

"See? Couple as always" says Gabriel, joking with the interviewer. You watch it disgusted, and everyone on television could tell that you were clearly not comfortable. Because yes, unbeknownst to you this was live nationally

And a certain blond German soccer player was watching the scene in his cold hotel room

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 ; @bungoustraydogsno1fan (if you want to be tagged tell me!)

[ajmasch]

@here4hualian kissmas day 23: kissing under...

Unfortunately, there was too much to do once Hua Cheng returned from his year-long absence for him and Xie Lian to celebrate the way they wanted. The heavenly capital had to be completely rebuilt and restructured, not to mention the increased ghost activity with the recent opening of Mount Tonglu and release of several prisoners by Jun Wu. Perhaps some of it could have been mitigated through the intervention of a supreme, but with Hua Cheng and Yin Yu both gone, control of Ghost City was relying almost entirely on He Xuan for a year, and he was barely managing that, much less helping to control ghosts elsewhere.

So, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng ended up being too busy to really focus on themselves and their relationship at first. Which is why, once things had settled down enough, they decided to take some time to themselves. Xie Lian left heaven to the newly established council, Hua Cheng left Ghost City to the recently reinstated Waning Moon Officer, and they went to travel, giving instructions that they were only to be contacted in the case of a serious emergency.

They had both been to so many places in their lives, but had mostly been alone. Now, they shared the experience with another. They traveled the mortal way, walking or occasionally catching rides on passing carts, and they talked. They shared memories, both happy and sad, eager to learn everything about the time they had spent apart.

Then, one day, they were walking through a forest when it started to rain. Hua Cheng immediately pulled out his umbrella, stepping close to Xie Lian to shelter him from the storm. Their hands instinctively reached for each other once they were close, red strings resting against each other as their fingers intertwined.

Xie Lian laughed once he noticed their position. “It’s just like the night we re-met!”

Hua Cheng grinned at him. “Not quite.” He glanced at Xie Lian’s outfit to emphasize his meaning. “Gege made a beautiful bride.”

“San Lang made a handsome bridegroom, come to steal me away,” Xie Lian replied.

“Oh?” Hua Cheng leaned in. “Was Gege admiring this one?”

“Hm, maybe a little,” Xie Lian admitted, leaning in as well to nudge Hua Cheng with his shoulder. “San Lang was so powerful, so composed–”

Hua Cheng snorted. “Composed? Gege, I was losing my mind. To have finally found you after all those years and you were wearing bridal robes? It was like every wild fantasy was coming true at once! Honestly, it’s lucky Gege tried to capture me when he did, or I would have done something absolutely ridiculous like propose on the spot…”

“Really.” Xie Lian suddenly wrapped his arms around Hua Cheng and lifted him over a puddle in the road. He set him down on the other side, but remained face to face, relishing in the stunned expression caused by the sudden display of strength. Now that Hua Cheng was caught off guard, he continued, “Would San Lang have passed that one off as a joke as well?”

“Ge–” Hua Cheng’s voice came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Gege…”

Xie Lian kept going. “You know, if San Lang had waited a little bit longer then, I would have said yes.”

“You–” Hua Cheng swallowed. “You would?”

Xie Lian nodded. “Ever since you walked back into my life, you’ve made it so easy to be happy. Even on the rainiest days,” he gestured to their surroundings, “when I’m with you, none of it can touch me. No matter the state of me or the state of you, you’ve stayed by my side and given me your everything. I want to do the same for you. Hong’er, Wuming, Hua Cheng, San Lang… I want to be your husband. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, so, will you marry me?”

Hua Cheng was speechless. Tears had begun to fall down his face halfway through Xie Lian’s speech, and it was only the need to keep holding the umbrella above his head that was keeping him from shaking and falling to his knees. Overcome with emotion, he couldn’t do anything except surge forward and pull Xie Lian into a needy, desperate kiss. Everything he couldn’t put into words, every intense feeling, he pushed them into his beloved’s lips.

The kiss could have lasted for hours as long as either of them was aware, lost to each other in the protective bubble of the umbrella. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless and smiling widely.

“So? Is that a yes?” Xie Lian asked.

“Gege. My prince, my god, my beloved. Xie Lian. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

The rain slowly came to a stop. The clouds parted, and the sun began to shine, but the couple under the umbrella didn’t notice. Rain or sun, it didn’t matter. As long as they were together, it was perfect.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

Let's get this one off the ground! I'm very excited for some Christmas angst!

You get the first Eddie POV sneak peak!

102 for 🐓:

---

It’s not all bad. He has to look at it that way. It’s not all bad. At least he’s able to be here, close to his son. At least things aren’t worse. 

He didn’t end up buying a new place down here, before he moved. He didn’t want to miss Christmas. So he rented. Has a six month, short-term lease on a two bedroom apartment. First floor, for Chris. He did manage to sell the house back in Los Angeles. So he’s not hurting financially. He starts his new job with the El Paso Fire Department in January. 

It’s all fine. He’s lucky. He’s near his son again.

Not that that’s all smooth sailing either. If anything, it’s been mostly choppy weather, with the occasional let up. Something that Eddie wishes wasn’t so discouraging for him. But he’ll admit it. He’s fucking discouraged. 

At first, Chris had been happy to see him. Which felt amazing. He smiled and hugged him and told him he missed him, and for a moment, it just felt like Eddie had been gone on a long trip and was now home. Like maybe time really did heal all wounds and Chris was ready to be a family again.

Then Eddie told him he wasn’t leaving. 

It hurts a little. Eddie really was honest and raw with him. Fair, he thought. 

“I’m not expecting things to be changed overnight, I’m not expecting anything to be fixed,” he’d told Chris. “But I can’t continue to be where you aren’t. You’re my son. Home is where you are.”

“So you moved to El Paso? And got an apartment?” Chris had replied, face tight. 

“I did. Yeah. At least now we’re close, and we can-”

“Why would you do that?” Chris had demanded. 

“Why would I want to be in the same city, let alone the same state, as you?” Eddie replied, feeling frustration rising in his chest. 

Christopher’s face had gone bright red. Like Eddie had said something to embarrass him. He hadn’t.

“I don’t want you to be in El Paso. I don’t want to spend time at your stupid, sad apartment. I don’t want to talk to you!” Chris had shouted in response. 

And he hadn’t, for a bit, after that. Complete silent treatment, just like back in May and June, during the worst of it. Eddie panicked. Spiralled. Felt that he made things worse, all the while ruining what had still been good in his life. But after a brief pity party, Eddie remembered why he came here. To do whatever it takes to make sure the gap between himself and Christopher doesn’t get wider. So whatever. Chris can be mad. He can be silent. But Eddie is here. 

So Eddie had kept seeing him anyway. Fought with his parents about, and came to the resolution that Eddie gets two evenings with him a week, minimum. More if Chris wants, which… Well, maybe he’ll start wanting. Hasn’t yet, but at least he’s no longer silent. Quiet and grumbly. But not silent.

Each dinner or forced quality time activity seems to be slowly making a difference. Like crack by crack Eddie is getting through to him. But he honestly doesn’t quite understand why he has to. They’d been doing so much better. Why is Eddie’s proximity such a problem? Maybe… Maybe Chris really doesn’t want him around. Maybe he was calling Eddie or answering Eddie’s calls out of obligation, but really, he was done. Maybe he’s happier the farther Eddie is from him. Maybe all Eddie is to his son is a source of pain.

So being near Chris again makes him happy. But… But it’s not an uncomplicated happiness. It’s tainted. Tainted with the knowledge he might just be being selfish. That he might not be the best thing for Christopher, after all. 

And that is a sort of agony. 

All this to say, Eddie spends five of seven days a week alone. And even the days he does see Chris, it’s not the full day. It’s a handful of hours at most. Sure, he manages to spend a lot of time visiting Abuela when he can. But other than that, he’s on his own. It’ll be better when he starts working, he thinks. He’ll have a team again. They won’t be the 118 - no one ever could be. But maybe they’ll at least care about him. Right now, other than Abuela - who  is aging and doesn’t need Eddie’s stress - no one here really gives a shit about him. His parents have made that much clear. 

As Christmas draws nearer and nearer, Eddie struggles with the loneliness. He knows, in his core, that he’s miserable. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. Can’t call Buck or Bobby or anyone to admit it. That he’s done the wrong thing for himself. Again. It’s too… It’s too shameful. He’s always filled with so much shame. 

And honestly, maybe he could call Bobby. Bobby who is patient and full of grace and understands that shame better than anyone. Maybe he could even find a way to call Father Brian. He certainly can’t talk to the priests at his family’s church. He knows that from a childhood of bullshit. But… He really can’t call Buck. Not about this. Eddie knows Buck took him leaving hard, even if he tried not to show it. And now he sort of hardly communicates with Eddie at all.

[morningsharksworld]

Okay so Hazard get paired up with reader who's obvi smaller than him and he's like "I'll try and not hurt ya too much." Only to get his ass handed to him and reader smiles innocently "Did I hurt you?" Ngl I can see Hazard being a guy who loves a partner that could rock his shit.

Ass owned

Hazard x Reader [REQUEST]

A/N: Oh, abso-fucking-lutely! Hazard seems like the type to thrive on that kind of dynamic, but secretly loving the thrill of someone who can keep him on his toes. Like you’re cute AND can beat my ass? the dude is on his knees wondering what he did to get this blessing. The scenario you painted is chef’s kiss. (I might make a part 2 of this)

Summary: Just beat the dude’s ass

Hazard stood in the center of the training room, cracking his knuckles with a grin that could only be described as cocky—the kind of grin that made you want to punch it right off his face. “Alright, short stuff” he drawled, rolling his shoulders like he was about to do you the biggest favor of your life. “I’ll try not tae hurt ye too much. Wouldnae want tae send ye home wi' a bruised ego… or body.”

You raised an eyebrow at his theatrics, hiding a smirk behind an innocent smile. “That’s so sweet of you, Hazard. I’ll try not to embarrass you in front of… oh, well, no one.” You gestured dramatically to the empty room.

His grin faltered for a split second before coming back twice as wide. “Oh, yer feisty. Ah like that.”

You rolled your shoulders and stepped onto the mat. “Let’s see if you still like it in a few minutes.”

The match began with Hazard moving like a predator, circling you with his towering frame and throwing out the occasional jab to test your reflexes. You dodged each one with an ease that clearly surprised him, but he covered it up with more bravado.

“No' bad” he said, feinting a punch before attempting to sweep your legs. “Yer quick fer someone so… wee.”

You jumped over his leg with a flourish and twirled behind him, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Tag. You’re it.”

That got him. He spun around, eyes narrowing as he took you more seriously. “Alright, nae mair games” he muttered, lunging forward with what he must have thought was a surefire takedown move.

Unfortunately for him, you’d already anticipated it. Ducking under his arms, you slid behind him and swept his legs out from under him. Hazard hit the mat with a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

He blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. “Whit the hell just happened?”

You crouched down next to him, your face the picture of innocence as you tilted your head. “Oh no, Hazard! Did I hurt you?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. “Whit the…” His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he winced. “Where’d ye learn tae move like that?”

You shrugged, standing and offering him a hand. “I watch a lot of action movies.”

Hazard stared at your hand for a second before taking it and letting you help him up. As he stood, he looked at you with an expression that was somewhere between amazement and… something else. Something softer.

“Aye, sure” he muttered, brushing himself off. “And Ah’m the King o' England.”

“King of getting your ass handed to you, maybe.”

His head snapped toward you, and for a moment, you thought you’d gone too far. But then his lips twitched, and he let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay. Ye got me” he admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But dinnae think this means ye’ve won the war. This was just a battle.”

“Sure” you said with a knowing smile. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hazard shook his head, still chuckling as he walked off the mat. But as he passed you, he leaned down, his voice low and teasing. “Dinnae get too comfortable, champ. Ah’ll get ye next time.”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, smirking. “Looking forward to it, big guy.”

But as he walked away, something in him shifted. His grin faded into something thoughtful, and his eyes lingered on you, replaying the fight in his mind. For the first time in years, he’d been completely outclassed, and instead of frustration, all he could feel was admiration—and a tug at his heart he hadn’t expected.

Hazard’s heart thumped louder in his chest as a sheepish smile crossed his face. “Bloody hell” he muttered under his breath, stealing one last glance at you as you stretched. “Ah think Ah just fell fer them.”

And just like that, Hazard had a new favorite sparring partner—not just because you could best him, but because you’d shown him strength and confidence in a way that made his heart race. It wasn’t just respect; it was something far deeper. And he couldn’t wait for the next match.

[strngegirl]

a/n: an intermission for the other thing im working on (my first request giggles) because it'll take a while with how hectic my life is rn <\3 // just trying to get my head back in the writing game so this isn't too stimulating (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

cw: gn!reader x choso, angst i think, mildly suggestive (mentions of sex), reader cheats on husband with choso, choso doesn't care, choso really loves reader, reader doesn't love him like that, choso is pathetic and a little sad, choso pov.

wc: somewhere around and a little over 1k i think?

❝Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace.❞ ——— THE MARÍAS, 'NO ONE NOTICED'.

Winter, the coldest season all year round. A season where snow falls, children get giddy about the fact that Santa will break into their house and gift them their dream presents for being a 'good kid' this year, people get ready for the epilogue of yet another year. Basically, it's a season that's celebrating the end of the year, and the start of a new one.

But Choso finds that he feels rather empty, despite all the activities he's doing with his brothers.

He doesn't wanna blame you, but... He's acutely aware the reason why he's feeling so down is because of you.

After Yuki told Choso to go live as a human, you were the first human connection he made. He went to a bar to try out alcohol, and then you slid into the seat next to his, introducing yourself. Conversation with you flew smoothly like silk, and even with his lack of understanding of everything in general, you were so patient with him. You didn't ridicule him, you didn't mock him, you taught him. What Choso didn't know, you explained. He liked that you treated him as an equal that just has a lot of questions, and you didn't look at him weirdly nor belittle him like some other people he's interacted with prior.

That's also one of the reasons why he followed you home, so enamored with you he hardly notices the framed pictures of you and a man together hanging in the corridors of your home, or the shiny ring on your finger even as you used that same hand to undress him. All he can focus on is your gentle voice telling him what to do, and your soothing touches that gives him the most pleasure he has ever felt. He let you take his first, let you see him so vulnerably in all his naked glory because he thinks he might be in love. It's foolish, he knows; he doesn't even understand what love is, but with his understanding of it, he knows he feels something for you. Choso doesn't care about the fact you guys just met, he cared about the pleasant scorching sensation you make him feel.

He kept in contact with you, never got mad even when you ghosted him occasionally, although it does make him feel vaguely sick, he doesn't mind. Because it's you. And he gets to share a bed with you when you reply to him sometimes; be it for sex, an ear to listen to or just some company, he'd be there. Anything for you.

And it stays that way even when he finds out that you have a husband. It should make him back off, really, but the thought that even when you're bound to another, you still wanted him made him feel so special. After knowing, he listens to you ranting to him about how your husband goes away for long periods of time and hardly ever pays you the attention you need, and from what you've told him some other times, he doesn't think your husband deserves you. If anything, he thinks he can find a better ring for you, replace the one currently locked around your ring finger like a leech.

But you always avoided any topic involving taking your relationship any further.

Choso tried to take you on a date, of course. Multiple times, actually. His pleas for you to accept always goes on deaf ears, or you just shut it down with a detached "I'll have to take a rain check". He hates it. He wants to go out with you, hold hands with you and do all the things he sees couples do. But you refused to leave your husband, and you don't want to be caught cheating which is terribly ironic because you shamelessly invite him over almost three times each week. It's okay though, he'll listen to you if it means he can stay. Even if it hurts him inside.

It's been approximately four months since he first met you and began this repeated song and dance, and right now he's back in your bed all over again. Both of you lie there underneath the covers on your marital bed, basking in the post coital bliss he's been addicted to ever since the start. The hum of the heater inside your room being the only noise filling the silence that has fallen between you two.

Choso has his head on your chest, his ears pressed against your warm, sticky skin as he listens to the thud of your calming heartbeat. It's music to his ears, one he can listen to for eternity if you'd allow him to.

And as always, he's the one breaking the silence. Because you wouldn't.

"[Name]?" He asks quietly, wide eyes looking up to your face he finds himself loving.

You hum in acknowledgment, fingers meandering through his hair.

"Can we attend the Christmas festival together?" Choso asks you on a date. Again. Despite knowing the answer—

"No, I'm sorry. You know I can't."

—he'd still ask. He still holds onto that sliver of hope, that one in a million chance where you'd say yes to him.

He deflates at the response he had expected, his face slowly turning down to hide into your chest again. And again, it's fine. He doesn't mind.

"I love you." He whispers those three words for the first time ever. He wasn't sure if it'd make you mad or... Or happy. He wishes it would make you happy. Because he knows if you said that to him, he'd be very happy.

Choso feels you tense the moment he utters those words, and as he waits with bated breath for you to reciprocate his words—nothing.

It's okay. As long as you continue to keep him around, he'll be content with you turning him down every time he tries to show you how in love he is with you.

Because you make him feel human.

[1980shorrorfilm]

can you hold me together?

click!!!

pairing…skye riley x gn!reader

in which…skye had picked paul hudson over you, and now has to deal with the aftermath once she’s recovered and sober.

before you read…no demon au. angst with comfort. ur basically gemma. kinda short lmk how we feel about skye fics skye riley nation

“hey.” “hi.”

skye and you study each other, as if seeing each other for the first time again. it feels brand new, scary and exciting. she appears significantly less angry than the last time you were together. her eye bags weren’t as deepened or dark, tan skin insanely smooth, glowing, and beautiful. she is so beautiful.

even like this, at midnight, dressed in sweats. she could be wearing a garbage bag and still appear to be the stunning star that she is; something you had honestly told her.

she also looks very fucking stunned.

skye hadn’t expected you to come here, to be standing outside her door, in her presence. yeah, she had messaged you, asking you to, but she never thought that you would actually oblige.

you hadn’t been over in a very long time, the woman attempting to check in on you every so often, hoping that the day would come when your name would be in her notifications.

that day never came.

she couldn’t blame you, she had led your…friendship, down this road. the harsh and pointless arguments, the shutting you out when all you wanted was to be in her life, just to be replaced by someone else, someone she pretended to love.

sometimes you thought that was her punishment for you. you weren’t sure what for, but it had felt like it. seeing her and him dazzling on red carpets, all so fake.

maybe that’s why she made it a goal to ignore you, you saw through her. through everything that she tried to keep buried, you knew her too much. you had loved her too much, and at the time, skye had thought of it as suffocation.

caring too much for her when she was inevitably going to fuck up. she already carried the weight of the world on her shoulders from everyone else in her life, she did not want that with the person she had loved most.

so she made sure that wouldn’t happen. she got rid of you.

and like a stray animal in a storm, you’re at her door, both of you with weak smiles as if the last conversation held between you didn’t end with you two sobbing.

“do you want to…?” she asks the dumb question nervously, stepping aside to let you in.

you thank her, welcoming yourself into her calmly lit place, a sense of dread in your stomach despite the endless fond memories you had experienced here.

sitting beside her as she plays her piano, watching her delicate fingers drift over the keys, occasionally meeting her brown eyes. you always found peace when she was only singing to you, it seemed more personal. especially with the love songs that she kept for your ears and your ears only.

holding her on the cool tile of her kitchen floor, allowing her to cry in the safety of your arms from whatever was troubling her that day. you’d last in that position for hours, body going numb but you never complained. you welcomed it, if anything.

on top of her on her bed, listening to the sweet sighs leave her lips like the melody of her songs. sometimes skye needed you as close to her as possible, tasting you and relishing in it. it leaves a bad taste in your mouth now, worried those precious moments will never be replicated.

not with skye, and not with anyone that attempts to fill the skye-shaped void in your life.

“so…how are you?” skye speaks, gently shutting the door behind her. she doesn’t approach you, still eyeing you like an object that randomly spawned in her home.

you’re still studying her living space, but when you do turn to her, she takes notice of the cardboard box in your hands, resting against your stomach. blocking her from engulfing you tightly.

“good…yeah…fine. and you?”

“me too…i mean i’m also good.”

awkward. this is awkward, and both of you should have been prepared for this. skye did envision how this would go, the right things to say, but now all those planned words have died on her tongue. she gulps.

“i, uh…i wanted to apologize…for like…everything.”

“skye–” “the way i treated you after…after he showed up…i regret it. a lot,” she laughs nervously, one hand playing in her hair while the other is shoved in her pocket, “and you’re like, all i think about, so it’s been really fucking hard, you know? wondering where you are…if you’re okay…if you found someone new.” someone that wasn’t her, she thinks.

”and i just,” skye continues, approaching you, “i miss you…i have since…”

she lets her words linger, unable to say the hard part to your face. since she decided to leave you behind. when you stand before her, with the face she absolutely adores, it feels like hell to imagine she had made the same face cry. the same kind eyes pour like a rainstorm.

“i’m…i’m so sorry. i know that means probably nothing but i mean it...” skye honestly tells you, immediately anxious for whatever words were to leave your lips.

worried you wouldn't feel the weight of her words and how much she truly meant the things she had said. that the damage had been done, and she had lost the person that mattered to her most. for good, this time. a year of physical separation and endless stalking of social media already felt like torture to her.

for you, it’s almost overwhelming. you almost didn’t come here, you needed a motivation other than to simply see her. you wouldn’t know where that would lead you, showing up completely vulnerable. that’s what the box in your hands is for, why you’re here. why her words hurt you just as much as they heal you.

you feel the bubble in your throat begins to grow.

“i brought some stuff you never picked up from my place,” you say almost robotically, trying to not show any of the emotion pouring over you. you ignored her completely, skye’s brows furrowing in a blend of confusion and disappointment.

“w-what? i–” she stutters, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “are you not going to acknowledge anything i just said?”

you take a step toward her, her arms suddenly occupied when you shove the box into them.

“it’s mostly clothes—”

“stop,” skye interrupts, eyes widening when you’re already walking away from her. towards the door. you hear a thud, the box now on her floor. then you feel her hand on your wrist, a tight grip to hold you in place.

“i d-don’t want my clothes, i want…” skye stops herself, pleading eyes doing all the talking for her. her heart is pounding, afraid all of her words were for nothing, that you’re done with her. for good. the worst possible scenario, that almost makes her want to breakdown and cry.

“i don’t know what you want me to say, skye.”

“fucking anything,” she laughs humorously, the uncomfortable hold she had on you loosening, but not completely. “y-you can even say you hate me— just anything.”

“i don’t…hate you.”

“you don’t?” she sounds…almost shocked. and that really hurts. you would never want skye to even think that was ever a possibility, and you wonder how long that idea has been in her head. “i figured after everything…”

after everything i still love you, is what you want to say. you don’t allow yourself to, not ready to put your heart on a platter and serve it to her, so instead you do the second best thing. you hug her. tightly, like someone is trying to take her away from you; a nightmare.

she embraces you just the same, if not tighter if that is possible without suffocating you.

“i’ve…missed you too,” you admit, “seeing your face everywhere doesn’t help.”

she groans as if she can relate, which in a way she can. she also sees your face everywhere, just not on the covers on magazines and billboards. in her head, before she sleeps, and when she wakes up.

“sorry about that.”

“don’t be…i’m proud of you. like, really proud of you skye,” you tell her, something you should’ve already said. “watching you get better…seeing you happy….that’s all i wanted.”

her heart flutters your name in morse code, your simple yet reassuring words feeling like the sun was beaming on her; as warm as your body is pressed against hers.

you hesitate, “you…are happy, right?”

“yes— yeah,” skye answers near immediately, “have almost everything i want.”

almost. the embrace comes to an end, her soft brown eyes meeting yours. you open your mouth, then shut it, because you don’t know what to say to her insinuation. you didn’t come here for this. you didn’t. and yet the barrier you placed between your heart and hers is crumbling.

“skye…” “i just want you back…in my life…that’s it…” she tells you, not wanting you to feel pressured romantically and scare you away. simply to have you within her grasp, to feel your love once more, is all she longed for. that is something that you have in common, so you nod.

“…okay.”

“okay?”

“okay, skye.”

she wears a bright smile, one of relief, of hope. hoping to mend your relationship, to make you feel comfortable enough again to have a genuine relationship. a pure one, not tainted by the person she used during the dark days of her past. to fix everything she had let go wrong.

a second chance. with the person she loves the most.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.19

Hii guyss, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 18, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

Charles arrived not long after your call, his worried expression softening as soon as he saw you. He stepped inside your apartment and pulled you into a warm embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield from the storm of emotions you were feeling.

“I’m here,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.”

His reassurance brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them back, not wanting to fall apart. “I’m sorry, Charles,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for things to get so messy.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face. “None of this is your fault,” he said firmly. “Arthur is upset, but he’ll come around. And even if it takes time, I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, his words easing some of the tension in your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into his touch.

Charles smiled and kissed your forehead before stepping back. “How about I cook us dinner? Something simple. We could both use a distraction.”

“You cook?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can manage pasta, at least.”

The two of you ended up preparing the meal together, laughing as you navigated the cramped space of your kitchen. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a bowl of spaghetti with a quick sauce—but it felt perfect. For a while, the weight of the situation with Arthur lifted, replaced by the warmth of Charles’ presence and the comfort of his laughter.

As you ate, Charles kept the mood light, regaling you with stories from the paddock and his travels. You couldn’t help but smile, even as a small part of your mind lingered on Arthur and the tension still unresolved.

“I wish I could freeze this moment,” you said quietly as the meal wound down.

Charles reached across the table to take your hand. “We’ll have more moments like this,” he promised. “Just us.”

You nodded, holding onto his words like a lifeline.

After the meal, as the dishes sat forgotten in the sink, you and Charles found yourselves curled up on the couch. The soft glow of the lamp bathed the room in a warm light, and outside, the world seemed to quiet down, leaving only the sound of his steady breathing and the occasional murmur of the wind.

Charles had pulled you closer, your head resting against his chest as his fingers absentmindedly played with a strand of your hair. You felt his heartbeat under your cheek, a steady, reassuring rhythm that made the weight of the world feel a little lighter.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment, his voice low and soothing.

“I’m just… thinking,” you replied, tilting your head to look up at him.

He smiled softly, his green eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “About?”

“Everything,” you admitted. “About us. About Arthur. About how this feels like a dream, but at the same time, it’s scary because it’s real.”

Charles’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “It is real,” he said, his voice steady. “And I know it’s not easy right now, but I promise, we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his touch. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

His brows furrowed slightly, and he shook his head. “Don’t say that. You deserve everything, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, not wanting to break the tender moment. Instead, you shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He responded immediately, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you close as the kiss deepened.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“I should probably let you sleep,” he said, though the reluctance in his voice was clear.

“Stay,” you said softly, almost shyly.

He smiled, that boyish grin that made your heart flutter, and nodded. “Okay.”

You both got ready for bed, the mundane tasks somehow more intimate with him there. By the time you slid under the covers, the earlier worries seemed distant, replaced by the warmth of his presence.

Charles pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist as you nestled against him. “Bonne nuit, mon cœur,” he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

“Good night, Charles,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before settling against him.

With his heartbeat in your ear and his arms around you, the world outside faded away, leaving only the comfort and promise of his love.

The next morning came too quickly. Charles had to leave early, his schedule as demanding as ever. You walked him down to his car, the chill morning air biting at your skin as you hugged him goodbye.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Be safe,” you replied, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Charles smiled and opened the door of his Ferrari, but the moment he stepped closer, his expression darkened. He crouched down to inspect the car, and your stomach dropped as you followed his gaze.

Two of the tires were completely slashed, the jagged cuts a clear act of vandalism.

“What the—” Charles muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the damage. “Who would do something like this?” you asked, though the answer loomed heavily in your mind.

Charles straightened and turned to you, his jaw tight. “I don’t know,” he said, though his tone betrayed his suspicion.

The weight of the situation pressed down on you, guilt and worry mixing into a nauseating cocktail. “Charles…” you began, unsure of what to say.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression softening despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Hey,” he said gently. “This isn’t your fault, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, but the anxiety gnawed at you. If Arthur was behind this, things were worse than you thought. And as much as you wanted to believe it wasn’t him, the lingering tension from your conversation the day before left you with little doubt.

“I’ll call a tow truck and get this sorted,” Charles said, pulling out his phone. “Go back inside. I don’t want you standing out here in the cold.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into a small smile despite the situation. “I’ll handle this. You don’t have to worry.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and headed back inside, though the worry stayed with you. As you watched Charles from the window, talking to someone on his phone, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

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