#so my green ring dreams are still possible

[clingylilhoneybee]

I need to be put down

[thinkinonsense]

DESIRE ୨୧

logan howlett x mutant!reader

cw: flirty, slightly nsfw

a/n: this was heavily inspired by that scene in the first suicide squad movie where they introduce harley quinn.

"we should all split up before someone finds us." storm tells her team mates as the break into the building.

inside were mutants of all kinds, being hidden and tested on. it was charles plan for the team to get as many as possible and bring them back to the mansion before they can cause any damage.

on the surface, it seemed simple enough. they have done this mission a million times. little did they know that an unspeakable danger awaited them in the basement of the old building.

everyone split up, storm went to the west wing while scott and jean went to the east. logan found his way downstairs, assuming that maybe he could find whoever was running the show here.

beyond the high security metal doors, he can hear the faint sound of an old record playing. the closer he got, the clearer it sounded. nancy sinatra? maybe? logan wasn't quite sure but he figured it was a trap so, he prepared himself for whatever was on the other side.

Way down along the stream

How sweet it will seem

Once more just to dream

In the moonlight

My honey, I know (I know) with the dawn

That you will be gone

But tonight

You belong to me

revealed on the other side is a large metal cage fit for a wild animal. inside was a girl swinging upside down from a line of tied material with her body in an obscene position.

"i've told you before, david..." your voice was angelic to logan's ears. light as a feather. "i don't like to be disturbed after 7."

"i'm not david, princess." logan said, stepping out of the shadows right as your eyes open.

logan's eyes scan over your scandalous appearance. tiny dirty white shorts and matching tight tank top, apparently whoever runs this prison doesn't allow bras either. you twirl down from near the top of the cage until your face to face with the man on the other side.

"who are you, then?" you ask, looking up at him as you hold onto the bars.

"i'm here to get you out of this cage." he says, unleashing his claws, ready to cut through the bars.

"hold it, baby." you purr, reaching out to touch his sharp claws. "don't you wanna play with me?"

"no, we need to leave."

"why should i leave with you? how do i know that you won't put me in another cage?"

even with a slightly dirty face, rings of lavender circles under your eyes, and dried blood on the corner of your bottom lip, logan still thought you were gorgeous. slightly intimidated by your fearlessness to reach out and touch his claws. he imagines that you had seen worse than this.

"tryin' to save you" he grunts.

"i wouldn't picture you as the prince charming type." you giggle, running your fingers up his hairy, veiny, strong arm over the black latex suit.

"i'm not."

logan glares down at you in a way that makes you want to jump his bones. what? it gets lonely being trapped in a cage all by yourself. plus it's not everyday that a handsome stranger wants to help you escape.

suddenly, you grab logan's palm, circling it as your eyes roll back to a dark green shade.

"tell me what you want to do with me." you demand.

this was the moment logan understood why you were held in a cage down in the basement. suddenly, logan's mind feels as if it's being bended and twisting, forcing every ounce of truth out of him.

"we are here to take the mutants to charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters." his voice sounded robotic under your spell.

"charles xavier?"

in a rush of excitement, you release logan from your threshold. he wants to bark at you for invading his mind but seeing you smile made him reconsider.

"so, you've heard of him?" logan raises a brow at you, watching as you hold his hand sweetly.

"of course i have." you answer tracing shapes on the back of his palm. "i've seen him in my visions. been waitin' on him."

visions? what kind of mutant are you? logan asked himself as you spoke.

"too bad i didn't see you in them, though." you sigh, batting your long lashes at him. "wish i had. could've bought us some time to... well, you know."

the teasing flirty tone made logan's cock stir under the tight latex. he felt this overwhelming desire for you fill his head.

"hm... we should focus on getting you out of here first, huh, princess?" he tilts his head to the side, amused by you. "step back."

you obey, walking backwards near your rope. in the blink of an eye, logan cuts through the bars and bends them out enough for him to help you get out. loud flashing sirens go off, slightly startling the two of you.

"guards." you warn him. "they're coming."

logan turns around, claws bare to anyone coming towards the two of you. he steps in front of you, ready to protect like a guard dog. it was quite cute of him, you think. the moment the guards burst in, logan starts attacking, stabbing them ruthlessly.

you allow him to take out a few one by one but as more poured in, you stepped in. your eyes roll back into the same shade of green as a hand raises, some of them fall to their hand and knees, shifting into dogs others were being strangled until they looked blue in the face.

logan couldn't believe it. the only mutant that he thought could rivaled your powers was jean. the room fell quiet except for the record echoing as it replayed.

"it's my favorite song, you know?" you grin as if nothing happened.

"old soul, huh?" logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

"witches are timeless, sugar." you wink, extending your hand for him to take.

logan hesitates but knows he has to get the two of you out of here alive. one look into your starry eyes and he's a goner. logan takes your hand and leads you to the jet, knowing he will never hear the end of it from his teammates.

[leona-hawthorne]

GREEN TIE / mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: you and mattheo attend the yule ball separately after breaking up (we’re pretending the yule ball happens every year <3)

warnings: exes to lovers, angst (if you squint), SMUT, face sitting/riding, piv, unprotected sex, mirror sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise and degradation, creampie, nipple play (? like for one sentence), dom!mattheo, profanity, use of y/n, i think thats it but let me know if you notice anything else <3

words: 4.6k

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

“Find your partners and follow my lead,” McGonnagall’s voice rings through the room. You groan internally. Who the hell are you supposed to dance with?

At the dancing lessons for the Yule Ball throughout the past few weeks, you and your perfect boyfriend, Mattheo, had practiced together. The two of you had gone together last year as well, and the night was quite literally magical. It’s safe to say that last year’s experience really set your expectations as high as possible. The idea of experiencing that same magic again made your heart flutter with excitement. You couldn’t wait.

That was until Mattheo Riddle crushed those dreams.

Yeah, he broke up with you last week. Completely crushed your spirit. Now you have to go to the ball alone.

He’s not even here right now. Merlin knows how the hell he got out of dance practices, but he’s not here and to be honest, you’re grateful because if he was, you’d have to dance with him and that just would have been awkward.

Adrien Pucey takes notice of your lonely presence from across the room and quickly approaches, somehow oblivious to the clear grimace on your face. What choice do you have? Everyone else already has a partner.

So, you give in and try your best to keep up a polite front, taking his hand and stepping to the music, despite the burning sensation on your skin every time he touches you. It’s not a good burn like when Mattheo touched you. It doesn’t make you want to ignite the rest of your body with those flames. It makes you want to drown yourself in the Black Lake just to get away from this guy. Dancing with anyone but Mattheo feels inherently wrong. Mattheo’s hands were always cold. Pucey’s hands are warm and it’s nauseating.

You’d never really spoken to Adrien too much before but from this single dance, you’d learned one thing about him: he never stops talking.

Practically beaming with relief once it’s over, your feet carry you away before you can even realize where you’re walking, ears unconsciously tuning out the sound of Adrien yelling after you.

When you and Mattheo were dating, the whole school knew that you were off limits, Mattheo had made that abundantly clear. Boys were nervous to even think about you in the wrong way, afraid that Mattheo would somehow sneak into their minds and find out. Once the news that you two broke up spread, people were practically throwing themselves at the two of you. You could only hope that Mattheo wasn’t interested in those girls the same way you still weren’t interested in other boys.

“Get me out of here,” you whine as you grab Astoria’s wrist tightly in your hand, dragging her out of the crowded room.

After dinner in the Great Hall, you’re speed walking down the corridors back to your dorm. This was actually a great feat. For days on end, you’d been so wrecked that you could hardly get out of bed, much less leave your dorm for anything other than classes with your red eyes and messy haired state. Astoria and Pansy had been bringing you your meals. So the fact that you finally went to the Great Hall today is an accomplishment.

“Y/n! Wait!” You freeze in your tracks. God, please no. Please tell me that’s not his voice.

“Slow down. I need to talk to you, dove.” Shit, it is him.

Wait, how dare he call you that? He knows how much that nickname makes your heart melt. He can’t just go around calling you that after breaking your heart. It’s not fair.

“Do not call me that. What do you want?” You say, careful to keep your voice cold as you turn around to face him.

“Don’t be like that, dove.” Oh, screw him. “I just… I heard you’re not doing well. Hardly eating, barely sleeping, you never leave your dorm. I didn’t mean to—”

“Well, you did. That’s kind of what happens when you get dumped with no explanation.” You snap and he flinches.

“I did give you an explanation.” He counters and you feel like your head is going to explode. “Did you? My bad, it felt like a dumb excuse to get away from me. Maybe I just heard it wrong,” The sarcasm in your voice is unmistakable.

“We were toxic and you know it. I’m toxic. You deserve better.” He says softly, giving you the same shitty excuse again.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. If you’re bored of me, just say that. Don’t make up some idiotic excuse about how you’re not good enough for me because if it was really that way, you’d love me enough to be better for me.”

He looks like a kicked puppy. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are soft and vulnerable and he has the cutest frown on his face that you just want to kiss away. But you can’t. He sighs, gathering the strength to speak again.

“Take proper care of yourself, please. If not for yourself, then for me.” And with that, he leaves. You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your hand over your heart that seems to be aching harder than it was before.

The ball is tonight. Mattheo has a date, you heard. Hardly 2 weeks after the breakup and he’s already got another girl hanging off his arm.

Your mind refuses to process the information. He dated you for a year. He still seems to be concerned about your well being. So how did he move on so easily? It’s not fair that you’re hurting while he’s enjoying his time with some other girl.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of these thoughts. Your beautifully styled hair cascades over your shoulders, emerald green dress flowing around you. You’d considered not going to the ball at all, but eventually decided against it, your girls telling you that you couldn’t miss out on this just because of your ex.

“You look beautiful as ever, Y/n/n.” For someone who can’t go 10 seconds without being sarcastic, Astoria sounds uncharacteristically genuine right now. You give her a soft smile. “Thank you, Tori. You look beautiful too.”

“Come on, we’re gonna be late!” Pansy ushers the three of you out of the room.

By the time you get down to the ballroom, Mattheo’s already there with his date. You’d tried your hardest not to search for him in the crowd, knowing it’d only hurt, but of course, you gave into temptation. The girl was completely unfamiliar. You’d never seen her before. Could he really not have found anyone less irrelevant?

Still, your face falls and Pansy follows your line of sight, falling on Mattheo who has his arm around some girl in a red dress. You’d worn a red dress to the ball last year and you can’t help but wonder if he remembers.

Pansy steps in front of you, blocking your view. “You look better than her.” This makes you giggle. You know it’s wrong to say things like that, but in this moment of insecurity, the reassurance feels nice.

“Don’t let it get to your head. He’s not worth it.” She takes your hand and leads you to your table, but not before you take one last glance in Mattheo’s direction. This time, you notice something that makes your heart stop.

He’s wearing a green tie.

His date is in a red dress. He’s wearing a green tie. And you… you are in a green dress.

Oh my God?

Before you’d broken up, you’d planned out your outfits for the ball and obviously, his tie had to match your dress. But you didn’t expect him to still wear it after he dumped you.

Maybe you’re reading too far into it. Maybe he just couldn’t find a red tie? Maybe he couldn't find any other tie at all? No, it can’t be. He had to have done it on purpose.

You tear your eyes away from him and walk away. Mattheo, meanwhile, is dying on the inside. The second he stepped into the ballroom, his mind was flooded with memories.

Memories of last year at the Yule Ball with Y/n, his Y/n. Her long red dress with the slit on the side and the off the shoulder sleeves and the sparkles at the top. He remembered every detail of that dress. She was always gorgeous, but he was sure she'd never looked more beautiful than she did that night, and it wasn’t only because she was all done up. It was because she had this excitement that night, this dazzling smile on her face. He was hypnotized.

No other girl compared to her. Every other dress looked like a damn dishrag in his mind compared to you. All night, the only question in his mind was, “How did I get this lucky?”

He remembered dancing with you that night. It was early in your relationship, you hadn’t even had your first kiss together yet. It was still easy for him to make you blush. You giggled at every stupid word, every corny pick up line he whispered in your ear.

“That dress looks uncomfortable. You should let me take it off of you.” He’d whispered with a wink as you waltzed and you’d blessed him with the angelic sound of your laugh, shushing him. He kept stepping on the ends of your expensive dress, but it was even because you kept stepping on his shoes with your heels. You blushed in embarrassment every time and he’d have to pry your hands away from your shy face.

You’d bumped into people while dancing but you were too wrapped up in each other to be embarrassed or to even notice. Mattheo flipped off anyone who stared or gave you weird looks for laughing too loud.

“Don’t mess up my makeup. I spent an hour on it.” You’d told him, to which he’d smiled mischievously and ended up kissing your cheek. It was only at that end of the night, after he’d walked you back to your dorm whilst carrying your heels, that he’d kissed you for the first time with his hands on the soft, supple skin of your face. The way you’d stared at him with your cute doe eyes, full of wonder and joy, after he’d pulled away is forever engraved in his brain. Your eyes were wide and your cheeks were red and in Mattheo’s opinion, you’d never looked more adorable. He remembered looking down at you and seeing the glow of your makeup in the dimly lit dorm halls. God, you had him mesmerized.

But that was over now. He has a different girl on his arm now. He should at least try to enjoy his night, right?

He looks at the girl only to find her already staring at him and as guilty as he feels for it, all he can think is that she can’t hold a candle to Y/n. Not to her beauty, her wit, her humor, her soft voice, her captivating eyes, her radiant smile. Nothing.

His eyes mindlessly wander around the room and land on Y/n for the first time and suddenly he’s floored. He’s frozen, butterflies flying from his stomach and up his throat.

He hadn’t seen you in your dress before. He thought that you in your red dress at last year’s ball was the most beautiful you’d ever looked. Oh, how wrong he was.

You look unreal tonight. He can’t help but wonder if you even came from this planet. Is it possible for a human being to be so perfect?

The only thing missing is that radiant smile you showed off last year, the one he was so used to seeing grace your pretty face every time he walked into a room with you in it.

Now, you just look… bored. Empty, even. And he wishes he could put back the smile that he stole from you. You look incomplete without it.

His own stupid self-sabotaging tendencies are the reason why he’s not dancing with you right now and he hates himself for it. He knows he’s nowhere near good enough for you, but is it so wrong to be selfish? He is just a man, after all.

The night goes by miserably for the both of you. You, sitting alone at your table, occasionally walking over to get some punch, and Mattheo, dancing with a girl who he guiltily pretends is you.

Occasionally, you’d make eye contact and you wouldn’t even bother to hide the pain in your eyes, looking from him to the girl beside him. You hope he feels bad.

He does.

Picking at your freshly done nails, you huff in boredom. Glancing up, you notice something strange. Pansy’s talking to Theodore in the corner of the room? Well, it’s not too strange, I guess, but it’s interesting. Pansy stopped talking to Theo as a sign of loyalty to you, since Theo was Mattheo’s best friend. So what could they possibly be talking about?

The night is filled with tension filled staring and lingering glances with Mattheo and suddenly, you’ve had enough of sitting around, informing Pansy that you’re leaving. She frowns in disappointment.

“Hold on, just one more dance. Please?” She gives you her puppy dog eyes and you sigh, giving in. Pansy drags you to the dance floor where the two of you move together to the upbeat music, when suddenly, a slow song starts playing. You sigh, turning to leave when Pansy grabs your hand. “Nuh uh, just dance with me.” She tells you, putting her hands on your waist.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion but don’t object.

Her smile turns from gleeful to apologetic within a second. “Hey, I’m really sorry.” She winks at you and now you’re more confused than ever. “What?” You ask but before you can get a response, you’re being shoved away. You stumble over your dress and your back crashes into some guy's chest, his hands instantly finding your shoulders to steady you.

“I’m so sorry, I—” You start but cut yourself off when you recognize the scent of the cologne behind you. You turn around to find your ex-boyfriend who seems to be glaring at Pansy behind you. You weren’t supposed to push her that damn hard, He thinks.

“Sorry,” You repeat bluntly before trying to walk away but he catches your arm. “Don’t walk away.” He tells you, his voice firm but you can hear an underlying sense of… desperation?

“Having fun with your date?” You ask bitterly, a petty smile on your face. It seems you couldn’t care less that you were on the dance floor in the middle of a bunch of people. You were ready to argue right here, right now. His jaw clenches in frustration. “No.” He answers simply.

“No? Seemed like you were enjoying yourself to me.” You tell him. You know that’s not true, even you could admit that he looked miserable all night, but you were caught up in jealousy. What could you do?

“Y/n, she’s nothing to me.”

You just scoff. “Yeah, right. You know, I actually don’t doubt that. Clearly you have a way of getting girls to believe they mean something to you only for you to drop them like they’re nothing.” You practically rip your arm out of his grasp and walk away, leaving the ballroom. He follows you outside into the courtyard.

“Dove, please. Listen to me,” he begs.

You don’t reply as you just keep walking.

“I love you!” He shouts in a desperate attempt to get you to stop running from him.

And you stop in your tracks. You can’t move. Your limbs are frozen. Why can’t you move? Move!

Taking advantage of your solid state, he walks to you and stands in front of you, taking your face in his hands. Suddenly, you’re teary eyed.

“I love you.” He reiterates in a whisper. “I still do.”

You swallow hard. Why is your chest burning? Is it hope or is it anger?

“Let me explain, okay? I wanted to be here with you tonight. That girl… She’s just a distraction. I thought… I thought that if I came with someone else, maybe I’d get you out of my head, but it only made it worse, baby.” He says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Your stomach flips at the pet name.

“I hate that I took that beautiful smile off of your face. You look fucking stunning, dove. But you don’t look right without your pretty smile… I’m so fucking sorry I broke your heart. I thought I was doing it for your own good but you’re hurting now and that hurts me. Look, baby, I’m not good enough for you. I know that. But for once in my goddamn life, I’m gonna let myself be selfish. Please come back to me.”

You’re left in silence, stunned, lips parted to say something but you can’t fucking speak.

“My arms feel empty without you in them.” He whispers. “Say something, please. Don’t let me get my hopes up.” He sounds so sad but his eyes are so big and hopeful.

Fuck. Did you ever really believe you stood a chance against his charm? Of course, you’d give in.

You lean up and place the softest, most tender kiss possible on his cheek and his eyes widen. The most beautiful smile graces his lips and he kisses you as if he’s never done it before, like he’d never get the chance to do it again.

You kiss him back feverishly, hands running through his tousled curls and his hands squeeze your hips. The kiss quickly becomes hungry, passionate, desperate, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck. When you pull away, it’s only because you need air. Breathless, you rest your forehead against his.

“Baby… Let me show you just how much I love this dress on you. Let me show you how beautiful you are.” His voice is husky and raw and you can’t help the heat that rushes between your legs.

You nod vigorously and he takes your hand, walking you towards his dorm but your heels are slowing you down far too much for his impatient self. Without warning, he picks you up bridal style and takes you to his dorm, holding your heels in his other hand.

He lets you down and locks the door the second you get in before walking you over to the floor length mirror by his bed, standing behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder as you stare at yourselves in the mirror. His hands run up and down your body, running over the silk material of your dress.

“How did I survive two weeks without touching you?” He murmurs in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. “You see how fuckin’ beautiful you look? You couldn’t expect me to control myself all night.”

His hand goes to the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulder before undoing the back and letting the dress fall down, the green silk pooling around your ankles.

“Two weeks without this sight… Why did I do that to myself?” You’re sure he’s practically talking to himself at this point, but you don’t mind, enjoying the feeling and the sight of his fingers grazing over your hardening nipples in the mirror.

“I’m gonna fuck you right in front of this mirror so you can see how perfect you are… So you can see that no other girl, especially not my little date that you were so jealous of, could ever compare to you…” Standing behind you, his chest pressed against your now bare back, he placed kisses on your neck and down to your shoulder before shedding off his jacket and button up.

His index and middle finger travel to your jaw, turning your head to the side so he can kiss your perfect lips. His tongue grazes over your bottom lip while his hand squeezes your tit, eliciting a gasp from you and he slides his tongue in between your lips, exploring your mouth.

He kisses you as if to make up for the time that he couldn’t, as if those two weeks were an eternity of being away from you. To him, that’s what it felt like.

His mouth trails down from your lips to your jaw and to your neck, lightly sucking and leaving wet kisses. One hand stays firmly placed on your breast while the other wanders down your belly, to between your legs. You gasp, watching in the mirror. His fingers push your panties to the side and run over your soaked folds, teasing and stroking lightly but never entering you.

“Mattheo…” You murmur, staring at his biceps in the mirror, your eyes wandering down to the bulge in his pants, making it obvious that you want him naked too.

“Shh, baby. We’re gonna take it slow this time, okay? I’m gonna show you just how much I missed you.” He kisses your temple before laying down on the bed, flat on his back.

“You know what to do, dove.” He murmurs and your breath hitches. You quickly strip off your panties and move to straddle his face between your legs. You hover over him hesitantly and he senses your uncertainty.

“Relax, baby. I’ve got you.” He encourages you, rubbing his hands on your thighs soothingly. “Sit.” He demands, his voice gentle but firm.

You give in, slowly sinking down and his hands are instantly on your ass, urging you closer to him. He groans appreciatively as he feels the full weight of your pussy against his face. His tongue flicks against your clit before licking a long stripe up your slit, exploring deeper. His hands move to your inner thighs, kneading the muscle gently as he continues to worship your womanhood. You stare at yourself in the mirror as you ride his face.

“Fuck, Matt,” You lose yourself in pleasure, grinding against his face and he moans into your pussy, the vibrations driving you wild. His tongue circles your entrance and you let out a soft gasp.

His ministrations never falter, it seems like he could never get tired of tasting you. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of it in the mirror and you feel like you could cum just looking at it.

His tongue darts in and out of your pussy bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He sucks on your clit, sending waves of ecstasy through your body, your moans and cries of delight only encouraging him to continue his sensual assault on your cunt. Your breathing turns shallow, struggling to hold yourself back as he fucks you with his tongue.

“ ’m gonna cum, Matty,” You mumble, too dazed to think straight. Mattheo’s mouth waters as he feels your juices drip down his chin while he continues to feast on your cunt. His hands squeeze your ass tight, encouraging you to ride his face harder, savoring the taste of his work. “Cum for me, baby.” He whispers sweetly, hot breath against your cunt.

You let go and come all over his mouth while he works to swallow every drop. You pant, finally looking away from the mirror as you get off of him. He smiles at you from below before sitting up and kissing you deeply, making sure you can taste yourself on his lips.

“You taste like heaven, dove.” He tells you, stroking your cheek gently as he watches your pretty face in its post-orgasmic grace.

“Need your cock, Matty.” You mumble.

“Oh, do you, now? Two weeks and you’re this desperate to be fucked? You really are my little cockslut, aren’t you?” He coos at you and you look away, embarrassed knowing that he’s right.

While he strips off his dress pants, you get on all fours, ready for him to take you from behind, facing the headboard. His hand finds purchase on your hip and flips you over to the other side of the bed so you’re facing the mirror.

“Know just what to do, don't you? Such a good girl. But, now I want you to watch me as I fuck you so hard, you can’t see straight.” He tells you, positioning himself behind you. His hand presses down on your lower back, urging you to arch.

“You ready?” He asks, running his tip over your folds and teasing you. You nod desperately. “Words, baby.” He commands.

“I’m ready, just please fuck me, Matty.” You whine desperately. He gives a dark chuckle before sliding in without warning, watching carefully in the mirror as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

He leans down to place a tender kiss on your head as his thrusts speed up. You feel a shift in motion as Mattheo starts to move faster inside you, his hips slamming against your ass. Your head falls forward as you feel your brain turning to mush in mind-numbing pleasure. His hand grasps you by the hair and pulls your head up so you’re forced to watch him fuck you from behind in the mirror. His other hand slides down to your chest, rolling and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefingers.

“You see how fuckin’ pretty you look like this?” He asks, his voice soft yet hoarse as he stares you in the eyes. “Couldn’t ever live without this.” He groans.

“Talk to me, princess. Tell me how it feels.” He says it like he absolutely needs to hear it from you. “So good… Y’fuck me so good, Mattheo.” Your words come out in incoherent babbles and he smiles, loving how dumb he can make you.

His hand travels down your body, finding its way between your legs and rubbing at your clit while each movement of his thrusts push him deeper inside you.

“I’m close.” You warn him. “I know. I can feel your pussy fucking squeezing me.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s holding back.

He lets go of your hair to bring his hand down to your stomach, just below your navel, pressing down on the bulge in your stomach made by his dick. “You feel me, baby?” He pants, his voice husky.

You nod, a few tears streaming down your face, makeup ruined. “Feels so good, Matty.” You whimper.

”Who does this tight little cunt belong to?” He asks.

“You!” You moan, his length stroking your walls. You can feel his head brushing your cervix repeatedly.

”And who does this cock belong to?” he asks. You’re so cockdrunk that you can hardly think straight but you know you have to answer his question if you want him to let you cum.

“Me. It belongs to me.” You tell him. He smiles, watching as your eyes roll back in your head.

“Let go for me, baby.” He tells you and you immediately do, cumming all over his cock. He keeps fucking you, working towards his own orgasm and soon enough, he shoots his load deep inside of you before pulling out and peppering soft kisses all over your bare back.

“I missed you, Matty.” You mumble, letting yourself collapse forward on the bed, to which he chuckles, gently running his fingers down your back. His eyes are trained on your pussy and he uses his fingers to stuff his cum back inside you before it can leak out, your body jolting at the sensation.

“Not as much as I missed you, baby.” He kisses your cheek, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

Your eyes fall on his discarded green tie on the floor next to your green dress. You smile.

He never stopped being yours.

first fic! i lowkey hate it and this is my first time writing smut so i apologize if its a bit awkward or confusing 😕💔 thank you sm for reading !! 💘

[23fallencomets]

Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist!! Here all my works will be listed and updated as soon as possible.

Model!AU

Part 0 - Beginning of the AU-the basic format being laid out

Part 1: Creatures in Heaven

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

AU ideas

Band!AU

FICS

(have to cut it here bc fic list is too long sorry~)

Featherstone

-1.6k words

"Two years after a disastrous 2025 season, Logan had stepped away from racing. Now, in 2027, a certain team is desperate and in the face of his dreams, Logan is a weak man."

I Just Wanted You To Know (That This Is Me Trying)

-2.6k words

“In a shocking twist of events, Logan Sargeant confirms his termination with Williams at the end of the 2024 season. Rumors have been circulating about the American’s position with wide speculation that Carlos Sainz is to take over his seat for the 2025 season after being offered a multi-year contract. Others say that Logan has been picked up as a reserve driver for the American team, Haas.

Alternatively,

Logan says fuck you and proves everyone wrong.”

Lover of Mine

-1.0k words

"It’s ridiculous really how deep and inherent his love for Logan runs. How at every step of his life, he wants Logan there, by his side, living in his apartment, taking up the space next to him in his bed, to come home together and just exist. How he wants Logan’s clothes in his closet, his sweaters thrown over the back of his horribly expensive couch, his shoes next to Arthur’s.

Alternatively, how Logan and Arthur come together."

Love You by Myself

-5.4k words

“He’s unfairly beautiful, long limbs stretched out on the white bedding like he belongs there. Ever-changing eyes—blue in the sun, grey on overcast days and green when the sun hits him just right, during sunrises and sunsets—half-lidded, hazy and sleepy. Skin tanned by the Floridian sun he lives under, soft hands, warm and heavy.

Logan slowly props himself up on his elbows, “Are you going to kiss me or will I have to wait another six months.”

alternatively,

All-American model Logan Sargeant and F1 Driver, Oscar ‘The Promised One’ Piastri fall in love.”

I Love You, I’m Sorry

-8.9k words, 5/5 chapters

Logan stares at him, blue eyes glassy with tears. His hands are shaking from where they’re pressed into his side. He was so confused, the hurt still coming as Oscar breaks up their eight-year long relationship at one in the morning. The engagement ring digs into his skin, the smooth metal of it feeling so impossibly heavy that it feels like his whole hand weighs down with it.

Alternatively,

The end and beginning of them

Cradle the Flame (and burn the world down)

-3.5k words

He got hungry, he wanted more and more. He knew he wasn’t going to get it in Indy, or WEC, or in any other racing series. He wanted to win, his hunger, his desire was to win in Formula One, to return to where it started and ended. He had something to prove, to show what he was made of.

Alternatively, Logan and Mick return to Formula One

Stuck Like Folk Flowers

-4.4k words, 1/3 chapters

Yuki is in panicked hysteric, laughing while apologizing as Oscar stared at him, pretty brown eyes wide in surprise. Logan finds himself transfixed, eyes trailing over the smattering of freckles and moles, the gentle pink of his lips and the growing blush on the apples of his cheeks.

Shit, is all Logan can think, shit, fuck, motherfucker.

Alternatively, Logan, Oscar and the consequences of their actions.

Kneeled at The Alter of You 🔒

-1.5k words, sargebon

They never last long when they get like this, desperate and needy, Alex’s name a prayer with the way it slips from Logan; mindless and reverent. Alex presses his lips to whatever inch of skin that he can reach, the side of Logan’s knee over his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck, the one spot that makes Logan whine.

alternatively, Logan and Alex.

Needs and Wants (want you, need you, what's the difference?)🔒

-2.9k words, sargebon

Alex isn’t possessive, not really. He enjoys having his partners’ attention, but knows he can’t have them all the time. Yet, here he is, sitting across the living room, watching Kyle fucking Kirkwood drape himself over Logan; the Floridans seem to melt into each, unfiltered happiness creasing Logan’s eyes as his friend rants about something.

Alex’s foot gets knocked against something, causing him to blink rapidly. He meets Oscar’s unimpressed gaze, hand limply holding a glass of something. It makes him remember that they’re not alone, in this odd bubble he had made for him, Logan and Kyle. Fred is sitting next to Oscar, shoulders pressed against the Australian, an amused look on his face.

Alex vaguely feels like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Alternatively, Alex and his wants and needs regarding Logan

Goodbye Chicago 🔒

-3.5k words, sargebon

Alex crowds him, realizes in half a beat that he hasn’t kissed Logan, Logan who makes dinner for them and lunch for Alex to take to work, who buys Horsey toys and stays near Alex just because. Logan, who left America because of his shitty home life and made a new home in Alex’s cold and isolated apartment, leaving behind fragments of his own warmth; his sweaters, his knickknacks, his growing movie collection because Alex still owns a dvd player.

Logan had made a place in Alex’s heart before Alex can react, or put up a fight. He had planted his roots next to Alex’s withering ones, slowly and surely coaxing him back to life

R U Mine?

-2.0k words, sargebon

Alex pulls back the blanket, his grip tightening on it when he sees that Logan is wearing one of his sweaters. It’s a big, soft thing that Alex has owned for years and Logan is wearing it. He shoves away the soft gooey feeling that slips through his veins as he crouches down, gently caressing Logan’s cheek.

Dark blue eyes blink blearily at him, lips now turned down into a frown. Logan presses into Alex’s hands, eyes shutting as he nuzzles into Alex. The Thai-Brit fights the endeared smile, pulling his hands away much to the protest of Logan.

Alternatively, Sargebon being roomates

White Ferrari

-8.5k words

Are you nervous?” It takes Logan a second to realize Charles is speaking to him, the Italian rolling off of his tongue as if he was born speaking it.

Logan shrugs, drags the confidence he had as a kid and begs it to stay; the Italian rolls off easier, smoother, “The car is good, feels better than at the beginning.”

Charles nods, angles his body towards Logan’s. Logan stares back because while he’s never been the most confrontational person, looking away means giving up, rolling over soft belly exposed and for the taking. He’s done enough rolling over.

“We might be able to turn this seasons over.” Charles muses as he looks away, shuffling over until their elbows brush. Logan nods, lets himself breathe before they’re ushered into the car.

Alternatively,

Sometimes you just need a good team behind you.

[eliashirsch]

God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (4/3)

More Top Gun fic recs:)) Different pairings ahead.

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

4. Honorary Mentions (4/3)

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!!

Honorary Mentions

gold rush by gamerring @asimmutableasgravity

All his life, Jake Seresin has wanted to live his life as loud as possible. So that when he dies, people can place flowers on his casket. When the light hits him, sunbaked and smiling and grinning. He's whole and happy and everything he could ever want. He bites down on his teeth. Later, he hunches over the porcelain, petals falling out of his mouth, and is already one step in his grave. - Flowers, fighter pilots and the true fatality of your feelings spilling out.

Jake angst:)) And here’s another one from gamerring:

it's nice to have a friend by gamerring

"Will you marry me?" Ice is on his knees. His posture screams military, but his face is genuine. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry and a hesitant smile plays at his lips. The ring sits in a green velvet box. The band is gold and shiny, with a diamond inlaid in the middle. The rock seems to glow under the sunset, and Maverick's heart starts beating against his chest. This- it's spectacular. It's breathtaking. It's not for him. He bites his cheek for a microsecond, and then forces a smile."That's great. She can't say no to that." And a traitorous part of his soul hopes she does. - Three times Maverick should have said something, and the one time he did.

Just read the summary:) (This is canon.)

Lessons in pushing boundaries by will_thewisp

Maverick never needed lessons in pushing boundaries. Not if those boundaries are about going faster, further or screwing up on an ever increasing scale, because he'd run off the edge of the world before he'd let a thought that scared him shitless take root in his mind. It was enough that it was already in his heart. Or Maverick crashes the Darkstar and needs a very long time to learn that there's things that can and should be fixed. And that he's always had the tools to do it.

Don’t forget a tissue when reading this!

Amen by demiclar @demiclar

"What do you want done with your body when you die?" Pete Mitchell grieves his best friend.

Can you tell I love Mav angst?:)

Vanilla Milk by Specter_Ross

After the mission, Rooster is struggling to sleep so Maverick pulls some old methods out from when Bradley was a kid, in hopes of helping him.

I never get tired of reading MavDad and Bradley:)

A Perch Built for Two by chase_acow @cowsalot

Rooster is well known for keeping his own company, but between Maverick's reemergence and the suicide mission, Hangman manages to weasel his way into Bradley's attention. He's never let an alpha so close to him before, but Hangman might be the best choice - experienced and unlikely to ask for more than Bradley was willing to give. Unfortunately for him, it's Bradley who wants more, and he has no idea how to ask for it.

Another win for Hangster!

A Little Unconventional by McDanno50

Maverick didn’t know how he ended up here a month after the mission – on his back with his legs spread for not one, but two, hungry alphas. These alphas wanted Maverick so much that they no longer fought but worked together all in the name of mutual pleasure. It felt too good to be true, like a fevered dream conjured up by a broken mind. But even if he couldn’t believe his eyes, he had four other senses to rely on. A self-indulgent fic in which Omega!Maverick gets fucked by Alpha!Bradley and Alpha!Jake. That's literally it.

Mav/Bradley/Jake:)))))

Not Clamorous For Pardon by Arsenic @arsenicjade33

Okay, but what if the Navy didn't outlaw flogging as a punishment in 1896? Asking for a friend.

Another one of my favorite tropes: Mav being bullied by the Navy:(

still dangerous by cygnettine

Where was he? Jake was to his right, Bradley in front of him, the girls between their dads. Someone was missing. He was missing. Why was he missing? He was supposed to be there; that was a family dinner and he was family, he was his whole soul, why wasn’t he there? *** Maverick loses himself and wanders helplessly in his own mind until someone finally comes to his rescue.

Mav has Alzheimer's Disease:(

take a chance on the edge of life by Lacerta

It was a suicide mission. Of course they didn't succeed on their first try. - When Maverick dies, he loops back to the morning before.

An Edge of Tomorrow AU. Love this one. 

you've got the win in your bag by discosleaze @paulmezcal

“I’m going to go in and get something pierced, and if you’re a good boy, it’ll be my nipple. If you’re not, it’ll be my tongue.” Speaking of tongues, Bradley just about swallows his. “Why would that be a bad thing?” he croaks out, not enjoying how amused Jake is, mocking, even. “Well, Bradshaw, because I wouldn’t be able to blow you for weeks afterwards.” Jake contemplates a second piercing, Bradley contemplates nothing.

asdfghfghjkjhgfdsadfg. This one’s too hot for me.

How Big? by thenofutureshoe

"Most people would have had to give themselves a pep-talk, most people would have been nervous or unsure of the whole thing, Maverick Mitchell was not most people. He was a fucking power bottom and proud of it. This was not his first rodeo, pun intended. And he always got his man." Once Maverick hears the story behind Slider's callsign, it sounds more like a challenge than anything else.

This one… I never thought their difference in size could be this hot…

a dream of crashing by thefireplanet

Maverick buys a plane. Somehow, this becomes Iceman’s problem.

THIS ONE’S NOT COMPLETED! But it’s still so fun to read and the characterization is spot on!

and the bunny goes 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅 by Meadow_Wanderer

Contrary to expectation, he rarely measures time by the number of years he's lived without his father. Instead, he appraises in happenings. Every birthday, school graduation, and precious firsts; every milestone passing as the memory of his father becomes fainter and fainter until finally he reaches the last occasion where the end and the beginning meet, the son and the sire a breath's width apart, like reaching to touch one's reflection in the mirror. The very same one he'll face in just shy of a few hours.

Weird and fun!

you are not alone (i watch over you) by redwithlove

“Bradley, do you remember the time when you were eight and you wouldn't let me near your Pops for two days?” “What, really? Why?” “Yeah, for two whole days, can you believe it? And it all started over a can of Pringles.” Or—Bradley with Ice and Maverick over the years.

Mav and Ice and Bradley being family:) My favorite genre of topgun fics:))

PHEW! That's all the fics I've got! Thanks for reading until the end! Don't forget to leave a comment on these fics if you enjoyed them!

Here's my google doc for all four categories! >> God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions: A Masterlist

[arsenal-womens-1]

Until the end of time

As you walked around the corner, you can see Leah. She's breathtaking. Her hair is down, she's got very light makeup, and her suit is a beautiful emerald green color with black high heels. You're three rows away from her when she starts crying. You can feel yourself about to cry, and you get to just before her when your dad stops. He hugs Leah. You can see him say something, then he turns to you, hugging you. "You will forever be my little girl. Go marry your princess," letting a few tears fall when he says the last part. As a kid, you were adamant you were going to marry a princess, not a prince, no matter what anyone said. Younger you was right. You were going to marry a princess, and not a prince. You and Leah hug quickly before taking your places. The ceremony begins.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of these two women, Leah Catherine Williamson and Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, in marriage. They have chosen to write their own vows, a testament to their love and commitment to each other. Today, surrounded by loved ones, they embark on a journey together, promising to support and cherish each other for all the days of their lives. Let us witness and honor this beautiful moment as they pledge their love and devotion to one another."

You pull a piece of paper out of a pocket in your dress.

"Leah, when I was young, I always said I was going to marry a princess, not a prince. I guess younger me was right. In 2015, my life changed for the better. I sometimes wonder if I had never switched channels or if they hadn’t broadcast that match, would we have still met? Then I look at you, and I know we would have, because when I see you, I see my soulmate. I see the person I will always love. We met for the first time in 2016, and I waited two days before texting you back because I was so nervous. If my friend hadn’t found out, I might have just ignored you. I’m so glad I didn’t. We have spent countless nights planning this day and planning the rest of our lives together. So when death comes and takes my hand, I promise you that I will hold you with the other, and I will find you in every single lifetime. No matter what, I will always love you."

By the end of them, Leah was crying. You had placed the ring on her finger. She pulls a piece of paper out of one of her pockets.

"Y/N, from the moment I spotted you in the stands, I knew I wanted to know you, and I do. Now I want to know you for the rest of our lives, through the ups and the downs. I promise I will love you and I will love our kids. I’ve watched you chase your dream for the past 5 years. As we stand here today, surrounded by our loved ones, I pledge to support you, to cherish you, and to build a future together that's filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities. And I promise to love you even when you want to go on walks at 2 am or want ice cream. I love you, Y/N. I will always and forever."

You had started to cry the second she started to speak. She places the ring on your finger. The man starts to speak again.

"I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride!"

You do one of the big kisses, the over-the-top ones. You walk down the aisle hand in hand, wife and wife. You had done it. You had married your princess.

[vivantesopvles]

Once again he thinks about the stranger in the dream; his slight build, his soft furious mouth, the way he felt so familiar, held down and fever-hot beneath Tom.

Harry. (The stranger’s name is easily summoned to mind, though from where it cannot be known.)

It’s not the first time Tom has dreamed of him, in dreams real as a scene on the street, broken yet oddly coherent. And always, always, ending in death: the same flash of green light; the vague sense of loss that follows him into the waking.

For a while that’s all there is to it. Tom goes to work, goes to bed, he still feels normal – if not terribly underachieved – in his little hamster wheel of safety.

Until Harry follows him too from the realm of dreams into daylight.

Into Tom’s corner on Knockturn.

Into the front parlour of Borgin and Burkes.

Fear grips Tom’s heart at the sight of him, standing so casually before the till. An omen of destruction. A figment, and yet indistinguishable from reality.

Wands whipped out, trained on one another. Within seconds they come to a stalemate. But then –

‘Voldemort,’ Harry calls him softly. The name Tom does not deserve to be called yet.

He wills his hands not to shake. ‘How …?’

‘We’ve met,’ Harry says. ‘Do you not remember?’

Oh, but he does. Day and night, he seems to be able to do little else but remember. Harry’s body, Harry’s voice. He keeps remembering.

‘You have cursed me,’ Tom accuses, pulling anger around himself like a protego. ‘You have infested my mind with visions. Strange, obscene things that –’ he breaks off, aware of the heat that is rising up his neck.

Harry glances up at him. ‘Those aren’t just meaningless flashes of visions,’ he says calmly. ‘More likely, a bunch of memories pulled from several possible futures.’ He lowers his wand, absently rubbing a scar on his forehead. ‘From one of them I came back to you.’

Tom’s ears are ringing. Pure madness, he thinks.

‘But I’ve never – I’m not a Seer.’

Harry just shrugs. ‘As I said, they’re memories. It’s probably got nothing to do with your prophetic powers. Or a lack thereof.’

Tom wants to hex him. He runs through his mental rolodex of painful curses, imagining the absolute joy it would bring to inflict them on people who saunter into his shop, bringing annoyance and trouble. But then it suddenly registers, what Harry is implying and – and it can’t be.

‘What are you to me?’ Tom demands, his eyes widening in horror. ‘Are we …?’

Harry wets his lips. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says; suspiciously, a little shy. ‘If you choose to let it happen, then so it will.’

[flightfoot]

Miraculous Enemies AU fanfic recs

So I was just thinking about one of my favorite Miraculous tropes, enemies au. Whether it's Marinette getting the wrong idea about Adrien from the beginning of school, or Chat being cajoled into working for his father, I adore most fics with these tropes, and I'm betting that a lot of other people do as well, so here's a list of some good ones for people to peruse!

Note: I am only listing fics that are currently completed, so you don't have to fear any of these being abandoned. They are in no particular order (or rather, they're in the order in which I was able to track them down in for this list).

cruel youth by @anyxnka

Two teenagers are chosen to wield miraculouses. Only one becomes a superhero. Weeks later, Ladybug’s lucky charm won’t stop spitting out cats.

---

i have found someone (like a nomad finds a home) by @hanaasbananas

After Stoneheart, Gabriel figured out who Chat Noir was, and forced him to work for him, rather than with Ladybug. Years later, Adrien is miserable until one night, he meets Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

---

Unstuck by @ominousunflower

Chat Noir, notorious supervillain of Paris, experiences a wardrobe malfunction in the best and worst possible place: Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony. Heart pounding, Chat pins Marinette’s wrists to the balcony. She stares up at him, her blue eyes kaleidoscopic from the lights hanging overhead, her features twisted into a scowl. “Why are you trying to take my Miraculous?” Chat hisses. “Because—you—I—” Marinette splutters, her eyes dipping down below Chat’s face. “Why is your suit unzipped?” “I—well…” Chat sighs. “My zipper got stuck.”

---

one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every Miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace. Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most. Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

---

with this ring by @thelibraryloser

She thought “you and me against the world” had sounded like lopsided odds before, when she hadn’t even dreamed “you against me” was a possibility. Or maybe she had dreamed it, but at least in those dreams he’d had cold blue eyes and a stark white mask. The villain she’d fought today had looked at her through her partner’s own bright green eyes. It wasn’t meant to be this way.

---

Nothing Else Matters by LiquefiedStars

Marinette couldn’t figure out Chat Noir. He was supposed to be her partner, but instead ended up working for Hawk Moth. Still, her heart betrayed her and when a strong connection forms between them, Ladybug goes to Chat looking for answers, finding out more than she bargained for.

---

home is where the fight is by @rosie-b

Nadja Chamack’s voice greeted Adrien as he sat up straight, wiping his clammy hands on his pants and ignoring the black kwami floating by his shoulder. “—shocked to see our heroine fall in battle today, taking a direct hit from the akuma just as she detransformed. Parisians are torn between blaming Hawk Moth and Cat Walker for their roles in this tragedy, which ultimately revealed the civilian identity of Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Adrien turned off the TV and lowered his head as his vision blurred. Written for Ladrien June Day 7: Injured

---

The Great War by icebelle24

'And maybe it’s the past that’s talking, screaming from a crypt Telling me to punish you for things you never did So I justified it' The unthinkable happens, and suddenly, Chat Noir’s allegiances change. Now Ladybug stands on the opposite side of the battlefield from the boy who was once her partner, left alone to make sense of an impossible situation. At least she still has Adrien to give her hope. Or maybe this war is not entirely what it seems.

---

Miss Dial by @mysticraven20

Adrien Agreste has always considered Marinette Dupain-Cheng entertaining. Whether it was the endless back and forth of their banter, the clumsiness he found so cute or the fact her anger levels could go from 1-100 in a mere millisecond; he always found there was something about her... if only he could get to know her better. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always considered Adrien Agreste a pompous, arrogant asshole. From his constant teasing of her, to the obnoxious laugh at her discomfort and the way he could anger her quicker than any other human being; she knew she hated Adrien Agreste with all she was worth. But what happens when Adrien accidentally sends the wrong text to the wrong person and a new friendship blossoms - a friendship deeper than either have ever known? Will Marinette choose to stay faithful to the budding relationship with the boy on the other side of the phone? Or will a new job with an old foe fill the loneliness in her heart?

---

call it even by @anna-scribbles and @sha-nwa

After a year of dating, there is one thing Marinette knows for certain: it's her and Adrien against the world. Through it all, Adrien is kind, patient, and endlessly understanding—even as she tries her best to keep her secret superhero identity hidden from him along with the rest of the world. Nothing could ruin it, not even the supervillains of Paris: Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. (adrinette dating // ladynoir enemies au)

---

oh, look, there you go with hope again by @ladyofthenoodle

After the defeat of Hawkmoth and his accomplice, Chat Noir, Marinette is ready to return to her normal life, but she can't escape Adrien Agreste, who was sentenced to a fate many consider worse than prison: public school. Specifically, her public school. Still, that doesn't mean she has to interact with him, does it? Except, if she doesn't... who will?

---

Redemption by JamieHasCatEyes

Papillon has been defeated and imprisoned, but his accomplice, Chat Noir, was given a second chance. Marinette's time as Ladybug may be over, but she still has work to do if she wants to help Adrien reintegrate back into society.

---

The Son Of My Enemy by Saccha

Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him. A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.

---

metamorphosis by @peachcitt

“I was thinking about that time you hated me.” “Why?” "I don’t know." “I didn’t.” “I know.” or three years after hawkmoth's defeat, marinette is still trying to figure out her version of normal. there's also sleepovers.

---

Stealing Freedom by @rosie-b

Adrien Agreste was a good person. Marinette knew this to be true, of course; she wouldn’t be marrying him if he were some irredeemable villain. No, her fiancé was practically the opposite of evil. He cooed over babies and kittens, literally stopped to smell the roses, and always brought large bouquets of them to dates. He had trouble killing spiders and bugs, begging his partner to take on the task whenever she was around to save him. Adrien was the sweetest person Marinette knew, the most kindhearted, the most forgiving; he was almost too perfect for her sometimes. But now, Marinette knew that the same Adrien who still blushed when his fiancée kissed him was also the well-known terror of Paris, Cat Walker.

[happyhauntt]

keep my hand in yours — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: nikolai sees anya all dressed up for the first time since they were children. he doesn't handle it well.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: fluff fluff fluff, references to other oneshots in this series but can be read as standalone, fluff, pre-established relationship, i've made anyalai suffer enough and i needed to throw them a bone with a fluffy adorable oneshot so here we are. title from 'everywhere everything' by noah kahan (aka anyalai anthem tbh)

─── word count: 2.4k.

     As a child, they teach you that staring at the sun for too long will make you go blind. Nikolai always was a reckless child, and Anya has certainly been the centre of his universe for so long now, he can hardly remember a time when she wasn't.

     Nikolai knows he is in love with Anya Kamenev. He knows it like he knows blood is red, like he knows the feeling of a rifle in his hands and the salty sea wind on his face. He knows it like he knows his heart must still be beating, because if it had stopped, he would be dead.

     And yet now, as she emerges from the dressing room, he fears that everything he'd been so sure of is false. Blood is green and the sky is pink and his heart must have stopped beating entirely, at least for a moment, this moment. He wonders if this is heaven. He wonders if this is a dream, if he died on the battlefield. He wonders how he ever got this lucky.

     "You're staring, Nik." Anya's voice is flat, eerily calm, even as she smooths her hands down the front of her dress, nervously seeking nonexistent creases. Her shoulders are squared, chin held high as she meets his eyes. She's already wearing her confidence like armour. A soldier preparing for battle. This night will be spent fending off thinly-veiled barbs and passive-aggressive insults from Ravka's elite. Everyone who thinks she isn't good enough to be queen. Everyone who thinks this is a mistake.

     Anya's knee gives an indignant twinge. She already knows that the heels she picked out will be giving her grief this evening, but she'd insisted on them. She didn't want to be seen as weak. Anya has been smiling through the pain for years now, and an evening spent dancing and mingling in heels won't make her old injury any worse.

     She hopes.

     It takes him a moment to find his words. “How can I possibly look away?” He manages a raspy, strangled murmur as his eyes trail over her figure. Any further capacity for speech fails him completely. How can he possibly form a coherent thought when she looks like that? Watching him with narrowed eyes, and that defiant tilt of her chin, and the way the neckline of her dress is high and modest, allowing him the tiniest glimpse of her collarbone.

     His mouth goes dry. He feels like a parched man, condemned to wander the desert for eternity, only to stumble upon a lush green oasis. He is utterly ruined by her, and Saints, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

     Anya huffs, casting her eyes to the ceiling before she trudges over to the floor-length mirror, surveying her own reflection with a critical eye. She's always been pretty, that was never the issue: peaches-and-cream complexion, rosy cheeks and wavy blonde hair, she was lauded for her looks even as a little girl. That one will be a beauty, they’d whisper to her mother, who’d respond with a demure smile to mask the frightened glint in her eye.

     There are scars, now, littered over her skin. Little white slashes over her collarbone, her arms, almost silvery in the candlelight. The dress Genya chose for her is emerald green satin with the hem trailing on the floor. The Lantsov emerald rests on her ring finger, while diamonds glisten at her throat and a small kokoshnik tiara rests in her hair.

     She still feels pretty. That was never the problem. But her eyes are weathered now, older and wiser and yet, somehow, altogether more foolish for agreeing to this. She still looks like a soldier. She still feels like— well. She doesn't know anymore. Maybe that's the point.

     Nikolai wrests himself from his stupor and joins her at the mirror. He stands behind her, rests his hands on either side of her waist. He's taller than her, even with the heels on, and he leans down so his mouth hovers near her ear.

     "It turns out that I'm marrying a Saint after all." His breath is warm and so are his hands. She can feel the heat of them through her bodice.

     Anya clicks her tongue, feigning irritation. When her gaze meets his in the mirror, his lips tug into a playful grin.

     "You are an insufferable flirt," she says, but she leans back against him all the same, allowing herself to sink into his embrace for a few moments.

     Nikolai's grip on her waist tightens. He drops featherlight kisses behind her ear and down her neck. "And yet you agreed to marry this insufferable flirt."

     "This is only the engagement party," she reminds him. "There's still time to change my mind."

     "And would you?"

     He thinks of that a lot. The idea of losing her sends a bolt of fear through him. He'd sooner face a thousand bloodthirsty pirates with nothing but his bare hands. He'd meet the Darkling in the Fold and spend the rest of his days living as that winged monster again, and it would scare him less than losing her.

     It took a long time for her to agree to marry him. He's been proposing, in some form or another, since they were seventeen years old. When she kissed him for the first time in a medik's tent, when he left for his apprenticeship and promised he'd come back for her, when they'd lain together in his cabin aboard the Volkvolny for the hundredth time and he'd known there would never be peace in his soul if she wasn't his.

     But she hadn't been his. Not really.

     He would risk it all for the country that abandoned her, and for a long time, that had been a crack between the two of them that could not be repaired. Like the Shadow Fold splitting his ravaged country in two, they had been at odds, stuck on separate sides of a great divide. He would always be a prince. He would always love Ravka.

     She would always love him, but Ravka had lost her loyalty when she rotted in that cell.

     Things are different now. He is the King, the Fold is gone, and there is hope, finally, for some real change in their country. Anya might have been betrayed by Ravka, but she loved him. She loved him. And under Nikolai's rule, things would change. Things would heal.

     Anya could heal, too.

     When she finally agreed to marry him, he'd wept. He’d held his breath for days and waited for the penny to drop, for another inexplicable thing to keep them apart. One of them was always leaving. And to rule over a country she'd once despised, where the nobility hated her...

     He wouldn't blame her for running. He just wishes he'd be able to run with her.

     His gaze is wide open, searching. Her own features soften as she looks at him, and she shakes her head slowly.

     "No," she says. "I wouldn't."

     He tilts her chin up and kisses her like he’s drowning, like she is the first breath of air he's ever had. His grip on her waist tightens as she sways a little, and a golden warmth slips through her strong enough to make her knees feel weak.

     When she pulls herself away from him, he tries to follow her. A frustrated groan sounds low in his throat.

     "Careful," Anya says with a teasing smile. "If you ruin my hair, Genya really might kill you."

     She turns back to the mirror, inspecting her appearance once more before reaching up to straighten her kokoshnik. Nikolai holds her tightly from behind, both arms tangled around her middle, chest flush against her back. His chin rests lightly on her shoulder.

     A tremor ripples through her and he knows, without knowing, that her knee is bothering her. He shifts himself to take more of her weight, just for a moment, and her grateful sigh is like a balm on every wound he’s ever had.

     His moss-and-honey eyes lock with hers in the mirror once again. An adoring smile tugs at his mouth. "You wouldn't protect me?"

     Anya laughs. "I sat for hours as she tortured me until I looked perfect. I'd help her."

     "My vicious girl." He says it like a prayer. A moment of silence passes before a crease forms between his brows. "Do you remember that last birthday of yours, before we enlisted?"

     Anya hums distractedly, fiddling with her sleeves. "My sixteenth, yes. My parents threw a massive ball and invited— well, more people than I've ever met in my life. They were hoping to secure a match for me, I think. Or at least start sniffing out potential suitors. Why?"

     "I think I fell in love with you that night."

     Anya raises an eyebrow at him. "No, you didn't."

     Nikolai presses a kiss to her shoulder, just above one of those tiny silver scars. They'd barely known each other, then; childhood acquaintances turned into almost-strangers. Her parents had kept her sequestered to their estate as she grew older, to hide that she was Grisha. By her sixteenth birthday, he'd seen her perhaps three times in as many years, and whatever friendship they'd been able to muster up as youngsters had died.

     But he remembers that night. Almost like it was yesterday, the memory of it dances through his mind with startling clarity. "You entered the ballroom, and you must have been nervous but you couldn't tell. You held yourself with all the grace and dignity of a queen, even then."

     "A decade of governesses bullying manners into me might've had something to do with that," Anya grumbles.

     "Hush," Nikolai says with a huff of laughter. "I don't think I'd ever seen anyone so beautiful. All that time growing up at court, all those noble ladies in their pretty dresses and furs, but I'd never felt this way before. It was like watching a sunrise for the first time."

     Anya sniffs. "Nikolai." Her voice is a stern, if slightly wobbly, warning. "If you make me cry before we even make it out of this room, I will make sure Tamar tells her most embarrassing story about you as a toast."

     "And it would be completely worth it, Nastya." His smile grows ever wider. "And then I had to watch you have the first dance with Vasily. I'd never been so jealous in my life."

     His older brother might have been a swine, but Nikolai cannot help the odd fondness he has for Vasily's memory. Had he lived, Nikolai isn't sure whether that affection would still exist, but there is little point in despising a ghost. There's not much more damage they can do.

     Even so, the memory of his lecherous hand lingering a little too low on Anya's hip makes him feel like a viper has curled up in his belly.

     Anya gives up on fiddling with her appearance and sighs, leaning her head back to rest against Nikolai's chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a comfort. "My parents insisted. He was the Crown Prince, I could hardly refuse!" Anya shudders a little as she recalls his touch, the way he'd leaned in close and whispered compliments in her ear that had left her feeling slimy.

     "It was torture. Pure torture." With a gentle push, he spins her in his arms until they're nose-to-nose. Anya's hands curl around his neck. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I didn't know, then, what it meant. I was so alarmed by those feelings. I didn't understand what you would mean to me. But I fell in love with you that night. I'm sure of it now. One look at you and I was doomed forever."

     "Oh, how charming!" Even as she teases him, Anya's heart does somersaults in her chest. "You did dance with me that night, you know. You stepped on the hem of my dress."

     "I was so worried you could hear my heartbeat."

     "You couldn't tell. You were your usual charming self, all suave and unbearable, flirting with all the girls." Anya smiles, all soft at the edges.

     "What can I say? I was a foolish boy," he says.

     Anya laughs. "Was?"

     Nikolai growls low in his throat and picks her up by the waist, spinning her in a slow circle. "Alright, alright," he murmurs. "But I like to think I learned my lesson in the end."

     She runs her finger along his jawline and says softly, "And I learned mine."

     They might have stayed there forever, bodies pressed tight together, his gaze so intent and earnest that the world around Anya falls away. The warmth of him swallows her whole, and she thinks she wouldn't mind a forever just like this. Just the two of them, and a quiet room, and his heartbeat thudding beneath her palm.

     An insistent knock on the door drags them back to reality, followed by Zoya's sharp-tongued demand that they hurry up, or they're going to be late.

     Nikolai doesn't look away from Anya as he settles her gently back on the ground. His hands still linger at her waist. A slow, lazy smile pulls at his lips. "I suppose it's rude to be late to your own engagement party. Should I be concerned that your speech will flatter me terribly? Is it filled with praise and adoration about my dashing good looks and genius?"

     Anya almost snorts, pulling herself out of his grip. "I'd say it's filled with my exasperation at your recklessness, your daring, your inability to keep your hands to yourself—"

     "—and my dashing good looks." He reaches for her again but she dodges his outstretched hand. "Can't a man kiss his future wife?"

     "That man won't make it to his wedding day if he keeps testing Zoya's patience." She shoots him a warning glance, though the effectiveness of it is ruined by the brightness of her smile. Once, not so long ago, he feared he'd never seen her shine like this again. "I promise to include your handsomeness in my vows if you get a move on."

     With a chuckle, he joins her at the door, their fingers threading together. She kisses the corner of his mouth as a reward, and then the pair of them stumble out of their room and into the rest of their lives.

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my March 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Sunshine, Baby! by staybeautiful / @harruandlou (106k)

Louis was the first one down the row for their group. If he hadn’t been they would have never met.

He was turned around, walking backwards and saying to Liam, “No, I’ll get you to a real footie match next,” when he bumped into someone.

“Oops,” Louis laughed, tripping over his own feet. A hand curled around his upper arm as he nearly fell over the seat in front of him. “Sorry about that, mate.”

He turned around, still teetering in his vans, to apologize again, but the words dried in his throat. Another hand gripped his other elbow, steadying him, but all Louis could see were green eyes and dimples.

“Hi,” the man laughed, a bright, bubbling sound. “Are you okay?”

Or Louis is in his first year of law school, Harry is a junior on the swim team dreaming of the Olympics, and they both agree that they don't have time for anything more than friends with benefits... right?

Follow Your Arrow by Anonymous (78k)

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one. 

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

Where We Landed by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (70k)

The leaves were green the last time Harry stepped foot in Holmes Chapel, a stark contrast to the candy apple, butterscotch painting them now, years later. Harry first notices them on the train, gazing out the window with a downturned mouth. A warm something floods his stomach–memories, Harry imagines, of him as a boy, longing for the days when he’d live elsewhere and have to take this very train home for the holidays. He wonders how it’s possible to have once felt eager and euphoric at the sight of changing leaves yet now to feel nothing but tired. He sighs softly, turning away from the trees to look at his daughter, half-curled in his lap, asleep.

or: harry returns to his hometown with his sick daughter and more reminders than he bargained for of the boy he once loved when he left a handful of years ago

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home by styleandsin / @styleandsin (43k)

Now, as he’s standing in the doorway, he’s trying not to get choked up. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this: the smell of his mother’s baking, the sounds of each of his family members, the sight of some of his old toys scattered about the foyer where his littlest siblings had presumably left them. All these things scream home, and he hadn’t felt at home since he left this house eight years ago.

 Louis needs a break from everything, from acting and the constant pressure of life in LA. He decides to move back home for a bit, some time with his family is exactly what can lift his spirits. What he doesn't expect is to fall in love. Both with the town he hated so much so that he couldn't wait to leave it years ago and with a curly haired florist that was the complete opposite of the guys he'd often meet in LA.

Something About Liminal Spaces by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (34k)

Searching for inspiration for his latest book, and hoping distance will help heal his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson heads to the village of Piha on the west coast of New Zealand’s north island.

There he meets Harry Styles.

Fifteen years older than Harry, Louis tries to keep his distance, but Harry is impossible to avoid and harder to ignore.

At Risk, I Fold by clare328 / @bearmustard (15k)

2015 is a stream of hotel rooms and whisky on the rocks, tired glances and touching hands under tables. It’s the bears and the bees under a rainbow sky, and Harry and Louis have to figure out how to grow up together, instead of apart.

Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me by lousmoonshine / @lousmoonshine (14k)

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding

Some Kind of Night Into Your Darkness (Colors Your Eyes With What's Not There) by larryismylifesource (5k)

Harry’s body buzzes with heat, like a current underneath his skin, because it’s been too long and his husband is right here and for once they have no obligations other than each other and he just wants.

“Lou.”

And Louis must sense it, the way the atmosphere shifts against him, the way Harry’s eyes get all big and dark with need, because he meets Harry’s gaze and then yanks him down for another kiss.

or, the boys get a day off in the middle of tour and harry and louis use it to their advantage

[uncleclam]

Ken x gn!reader / he wants to marry you so bad

Word count: 728

Rating: sfw

This stupid doll…

CAN'T STOP PROPOSING

Whatever is going on in his tiny little plastic brain, you never expect THIS to happen. He must have been watching way too much Netflix, you know cause when you check the watch history, he basically clicked all romance drama possible, ALL. This is concerning, a drop of sweat formed on your forehead as you see he also watched all princess movies on Disney plus, too. Is this why he keeps bringing that up? That he believed in ‘happily ever after’? Because that sounds like something ‘the Mattel dictionary’ totally would have.

It wasn’t you’re not ready, well, a part of you is definitely not ready, or something anti-marriage of you, because you have definitely thought about it, dreamed of it even, but the reality of having a lifelong commitment is something chased you away—-

Not in a bad way, but definitely not in KEN’s way.

Ken is your cute, clumsy, curious, sometimes annoying roommate. He is still learning about the real world, everything is new to him and he’s so eager to try all of them. You tried to provide the best for him, he’s your favorite doll after all, he has been there with you since you can remember(In a toy form, naked)! You treat him almost like a pet now, you love him of course! Just not in that way…

I want to live with you forever! I want to be your forever partner!

His voice echoes in your brain, it was so innocent and charming actually, his big blue eyes were like shining diamonds, begging you the same way he begged for an ice-cream, you almost said yes out of instinct. Time felt frozen to you, your eyes widened, lungs stopped working. Ken blinked and waited for your response.

‘What did you just say, Ken?’ You asked, wanting to reconfirm.

‘I want to marry you!’

‘Uhh…’ You paused, looking away slightly.

‘Can i?’ He sounded so enthusiastic, like always.

‘I'm afraid we cannot…’ You finally gathered the sentence and spoke it out, sighed, and petted Ken’s hand that had been on your shoulder.

‘Is it something expensive again? Like a double decker bus or a horse?’ Ken tilted his head, he was genuinely asking. He had asked you so many prices on different stuff, especially the stuff he wanted.

‘Not exactly, but-‘ you shuttered.

‘Then why can’t we get married?’ He asked again.

‘Because it needs promises, and promises are not easy.’ You explained, felt like describing the concept of algebra to a toddler. Ken actually paused and started thinking for a while.

———

For the first few days, he seemed upset and confused after you rejected him. The concept of marriage he googled is simply not that easy, you tried to explain to him but he didn’t say anything. You heard him sobbing on the sofa that night. After a week, he’s back to normal classic Ken again, but whenever he opens his mouth, it’s about marrying you.

‘What do you want for lunch?’

‘A wedding dress on you!’

Or

‘Ken, will you pass me the sugar?’

‘I, Ken, take you to be my forever lover, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.’

A dramatic pause

‘I do.’ He vowed as he passed the sugar.

———

This has been 3 weeks now, about the marrying you thing, and he has no signs of giving that up. You wished you were a barbie so you wouldn’t have to care so much—- He even bought two of those Ring Pop where you can suck the candy while it stays on your finger. The candy itself is comically big. A red, cherry flavored for you, and a green, lime flavored for himself. He jogged his way to you, gently held your right hand up and pushed the ring down to the base of your third finger.

‘This doesn’t mean we are officially married—‘

‘I know.’ He looked up and smiled, putting on his own ring and licked on the sweetened crystal. Then He jogged away to look at other stuff while humming the wedding theme song.

He hasn’t taken off the finished plastic ring ever since, and so do you too.

[jay-anxiety]

Loki x Fem! Reader

“My Hero”

Warnings and notes: probably ooc but I have an obsession with soft Loki; emotional vulnerability; possible part 2

———————————————————————————

Loki has been in this hellish cell for far too long. Day by day he’s questioned and accused and brought to his knees by these so called “Avengers.” He doesn’t even know how long he’s been there, what day it is. And every time he lies awake during the night, a bit more hope slips from him. He is angry and exhausted and waiting for an opportunity, any opportunity to get out.

Then, he hears footsteps. Gentle, soft footsteps that he is not used to. He wonders if they have sent someone new to torment him and he squeezes his eye shut, expecting the worst.

“Hello, darling.” A voice rings out into the air, a voice he recognizes. He shoots up and his eyes blow open as he sees you.

Beautiful you. Soft layered robes hitting the floor around you, you look weightless as you smile at him. He loses his voice as he sees you, eyes begging to know if you’re real or just a trick of his own mind.

“Don’t you remember me?” You say, silky sweet voice reaching his ears as he looks at you, finally hopeful.

“I do..” he says and hopes that you won’t disappear. His voice is weak and desperate and his body almost follows suit.

You smile. “Good,” and step through the barrier that Loki has spent god knows how long trying to break like nothing. You step close to him and extend a kind hand. “Come with me?”

Loki’s breath catches in his throat and he nearly cries. He looks at your hand for only a moment before standing and grabbing it like a lifeline, ready to follow you anywhere. “Are you sure?” He says like he’s scared of the possible disappointment of getting left behind again. Tears form in his eyes.

“Of course, my love.” You reply, voice so soft and reassuring. He doesn’t know what he feels, comfort? Relief? A tear slips from his water line as he feels your comforting hand come up to stroke his cheek and wipe away his tears. A shaky breath escapes him as he feels the warmth you enter him and course through his veins.

“You promise?” He asks, almost feeling pathetic as he searches for the reassurance. His hand tightening on yours.

“I swear it.” You say and squeeze his hand, your own eyes fighting emotion as his vulnerability courses through you. “Come on, darling. Let’s go, I’m going to take you home with me.”

You grip his hand and lead him, phasing the both of you through the cell and out of the door. You put a protective barrier around you both, guards and hero’s trying and failing to stop you as you hold him close and lead him out of the building. You tug him aboard your ship be give your pilot a nod. He starts the ship and within a few seconds, you are coasting away from Earth.

His body relaxes as the ship leaves Earth. Breath still shaking, scared he may wake up and find out it’s all a dream. He looks at you. And you smile at him.

“We’ll be at my home soon, darling, I promise.” You say as you hold his face in your hands, grounding him. You lead him to your large bedroom, a full window beside your bed and a luxurious bathroom attached. Like royal quarters in space. You lead him into the bathroom and begin to run the bath, grabbing spare robes from the closet. “You need to relax, I’ll leave you to take a bath and rest. You tell me if there is anything you need and I’ll get it for you.”

He looks around and then to the bathe, watching you leave with a warm smile on both your faces. He spends a long while soaking the dirt, sweat, and stress off of himself. Once he finally gets out, he puts on the soft robes of excellent quality that you had obviously brought just for him. Different shades of green threads woven together with gold, but still soft as clouds. He spends a few moments feeling the soft fabric between his fingers with a smile.

When he finally exits the bathroom, he finds you sitting peacefully on the couch near the window, looking at the stars. When you hear his footsteps, you perk up and turn to him with a smile, standing to tug him over to look out into the vast beauty of the galaxy.

“My darling I’ve missed you so much. They will never get to you again, I swear it.” You bring your hands up to hold his face, looking at him with so much love he thinks his cold heart may as well come out of his chest. “Anything in the universe you want, you’ll have it. As long as you’re with me, all you have to do is say the word. I’d give you galaxies, my love.”

He looks back at you, your words sinking into him and making his body temperature rise. He sees the sincerity in your eyes and knows you mean your words. “Anything?” He asks, unsure of himself.

“Anything.” You say with conviction, confident in the fact that you’d tear down civilizations, burn worlds, harness stars for him.

“I want you.” He says, so quietly you barely hear him. But you do and you smile, heart full. “Just you, that’s all I need now.” He brings his hands up to your face as your hands drop to his chest as he steps so close you can feel his desperate breath fanning your face.

“You have me, for however long you want.” You say, looking at him as if he’s hung the stars as you smile, full of love.

To Loki, at that moment, you are the stars. You created the galaxies, you shaped the planets with soft, gentle hands, and you blew your stardust on moons. He stares at you, drinking you in like the finest of Asgaurdian wines.

As much as you wish to let him gaze at you that way forever, his words and his touches and his eyes have lit a burning fire in you. You grow impatient, wanting to be content in letting him do as he pleases, but needing the sweet taste of his lips on yours. Lean into him, chests breathing with one another as you gently place your lips on his.

He breaths out a sigh he doesn’t know he’s been holding as he feels your soft, delicate lips on his soft ones. He groans and becomes hyperaware of everywhere you are. In that moment, he is entirely consumed by you. He feels like his heart is soaring and his mind is drowning in you, and he is more than happy to let himself sink. His body keens to yours as he caresses your face in that desperation to succumb to you.

His desperation to feel you, to have you, is palpable as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, falling with him into the blissful feeling of each other. You can feel his hands on your face and you can feel his breath and it’s all so overwhelming in the best way it ever could be.

The two of you break away from one another, still holding each other as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you open your eyes, content with the feeling of mutual longing for touch.

Loki whispers, “Thank you,” as he brings strong arms to hold you around your waist, gripping you with the hold of a man who has everything to lose.

———————————————————————————

Aaaaand I did it, my first fic. I would love any feedback or constructive criticism if anyone that sees this has any 💕💕💕💕

[0blobthefish0]

Inevitable

severus snape masterlist | main masterlist

Severus Snape x Female Reader 576 words

The winner of this vote - I was surprised honestly, I thought Johanna was sure to win. I forget how big the harry potter fandom is 😅

Severus stops dead in his tracks. His heart drops to his stomach, the acid burning at its flesh and it contracts painfully - trying to disappear. Trying to make itself as small as possible. This can't be real. He's dreaming; it's just another one of his nightmares. He feels ill. 

You're bleeding. A jagged gash cuts across the smooth skin of your left cheek, he would know, he can't count the countless times he's rubbed over your cheek with the pad of his thumb. It feels like a jab at him - you; sitting there. His fault. It was all his fault. His girl. His Y/n. The ring on your finger the only proof of that fact. But he knows that can't be true, the more logical part anyway, nobody knows, not a single soul, except for the two of you. 

It's hard to breathe, his chest can't expand properly and his throat begins the seize up. He wants to leave. He wants to go back home, to where you're reading a book on the sofa with your favourite socks on, the fire crackling and dinner's still cooking on the stove. He's trying to remember, he knows it's coming, you both do.

"Tell us!" Bellatrix hisses and you flinch away. His heart aches for you and he wills for it to be all over soon. You stay silent, and he's proud of you. He can tell by your slumped figure and the way that you're unable to hold your head up, that you've been here a while. Being tortured, all the while that he was none the wiser. 

Bellatrix's jaw clenches and her nails curl into a fist, cutting into her skin. She raises her wand sharply as she storms toward you.

"Stop." 

Severus' eyes widen, before he realises that he hadn't opened his mouth. The Dark Lord raises from his seat, the snake at his feet as Bellatrix hangs her head low and hastily retraces her steps. Fear. That's all Severus can see as he scans the room. And you look so small. So fragile. 

"Severus." All eyes turn to him and they all take a step back, creating a circle around him. His gaze turns to the Dark Lord.

"Yes, my Lord?" You're looking at him now, you've mustered up the strength. And his heart breaks. He can see it in your eyes. 

"Kill her." And Severus wants to rip out his throat, he sounds so bored. He nods his head, lightly, and turns to you. He knows he has to. He knew he had to as soon as he saw you. 

He raises his wand steadily. It looks more deadly now than it has in a while.

"Severus.." You whisper and he dies right there and then. To everyone else you sound as if you're pleading him to spare you - to him, you've just told him goodbye, and that you love him. 

He squeezes his left fist before a green flash strikes you. And you're dead. Just like that, here one second and gone the next. Gods, you didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve you. 

Severus stares at your limp form, your fingers bare, but no one else is paying attention to that. 

He squeezes his left palm once again, the ring pushing into his calloused skin. He wants the imprint to bruise, he wants to feel something for this moment because he knows that he won't feel your death until it's too late.

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #24)

FEB24: Gift Giving

Christmas morning came early. John had woken you up with his kisses and his warmth, and begged you to come sit under the tree with him. You giggled, groggy and exhausted, yawning in your robe, still half-asleep. 

“John,” you sighed, “I thought we said no presents this year?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, “Is that why there are nearly ten boxes down here with my name across them?”

You blushed, shaking your head, 

“I’m sure you already know what those are. Besides, one of them is socks!”

“Sit, missus. Santa insists.”

You followed him to the floor, snuggling against him, 

“Alright, Mr. Claus. What is so urgent?”

He lifted a small box from the low branches of the tree, careful not to disturb the glittering glass ornaments, and handed it to you. It was light, but there was something sturdy about the structure of the container. You eyed him carefully,

“What did you do?”

He smiled, petting you lovingly along your back and shoulders,

“Heard your wish, and I made it come true.”

You ripped off the wrapping and cracked open the box to reveal a shining gold key. There was a green paper tag on the ring that read: 2323 Birdsong Street.

Suddenly, you realized what he had done. 

Ever since he had come home, you and John had been pitching the idea about officially moving into a house together just outside of Bethesda. You’d shared homes back and forth on all the realty apps, and you’d even looked at a few apartments, just in case the housing situation fell through. But, you’d fallen in love with one that was decidedly outside of your price range. 

You shouldn’t have even been looking at it. John had told you bits and pieces about his finances, but you were shocked when he sent you this one as a recommendation, thinking no one would have enough money for it — not even a decorated military captain. There was no way you could afford a five bedroom that sat on two acres along the Potomac. It was insane to even consider it.

2323 Birdsong was a remodeled Colonial, but other than updating the necessities and fixing what was broken, the owners had done an incredible job of keeping it as original as possible. The dark woodwork and crown molding made each room feel cozy and homey, and you could just imagine spending the holidays there with John and all of your friends. He opined about fishing in the river, and you fantasized about all of the fun you might have together in front of the fireplace. It was just a dream.

And now, it was yours. 

“John! We can’t… I know I told you that I loved the house, but I can’t afford it. I don’t know how…”

He grabbed your neck gently in his big, warm hand and put your forehead on his. Then, he kissed you, keeping your words from pouring out. He whispered softly, 

“Got it for you, love. You don’t owe me anything. I’ve decided to hang up my hat for good, and now that I’m retired, I’m yours to command. Proper house husband, ready for his honey-do lists.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you gasped, reeling from the shock. 

He chuckled, kissing you again,

“Wanna go see it? Maybe we can give the bedroom a test run.”

You laughed, nodding your head, nearly racing to get dressed. You weren’t sure if you were looking forward to the house, or to John’s idea of a test run, but you were eager for both to be yours.

AO3 Link

[azzysmate]

Back From the Dead - Part 3

Azriel x RhysSister Fanfic

Summary: Rhaen, sister of Rhysand, was supposedly dead for centuries, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was only trapped by something no one ever dreamed of being so dangerous? And what will happen when she appears at the border of the Spring Court and human lands barely alive?

1st Person POV - Rhaen

It’s been a particularly harsh day for everyone here today. We’ve been walking nonstop through the entirety of the sun being up. I’m not sure what crawled up Malik’s ass, but apparently ripping my Night Court ring right off of my hand wasn’t satisfactory enough to fill his cruelty quota for the week. He had to wear us all down as a punishment for my sharp tongue. I’m not sure what he expected when he propositioned me to warm his bed this evening, seeing as though he’s been holding me captive for last two hundred years, but with a quick bat of my eyelashes and sweet smile, I lured him into my proximity only to give his balls a firm crushing, making him tumble over and a few of his men to not so subtly bite back their laughter. And then I proceeded to tell him good luck finding anyone to make that feel any better.

We were instructed to walk up and down the mountain until our feet bled, even the humans, and although I’m sure they were all doing so in their heads, none of the others even had the energy to curse me for being so irresponsible.

Settling into the shared cave after a well-earned dip in the stream was the only thing I wanted.

Until the softest little voice calls out to me, “Rhaen?”

I smile in spite of my exhaustion, “What is it, my little flower? Come out of the dark and talk to me. You know you don’t have to hide from me.”

Within a second, she emerges from the shadows with a downtrodden expression. She had both hands hidden behind her tiny body, and it’s clear by the sheen on her cheeks that she’s been crying.

“Dahlia,” I rasp out as I hastily sit up, “What happened?”

Her whole face pinches together in a sob, and she throws her arms around my neck saying, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” I sooth, “It’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I stole something.”

When I pull back to get a better look at her, I tuck a stray hair behind her pointed ear. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she begins to bring her arms back.

“I stole this…” She holds her hands up in front of me, and I try to make out what it is.

It shimmers a bit in what little moonlight shines in the cavernous space. It’s metallic, I realize, but it’s coated in something wet that I can’t really see. I reach for it, but Dahlia snatches it back quickly.

“No!” she yells, tears flowing faster sown her face, “Don’t touch it, you can’t! It will hurt you, Rhaen.”

“Hurt me?” I repeat, my brows wrinkling together, “Dahlia… Are you hurt?”

Big, green eyes look to mine in worry, so round, so reflective with the wetness gathered there, and the closer I look, the more they appear bloodshot.

“Tell me,” I demand desperately, and I grip her upper arms, shaking her lightly, “Dahlia, tell me what happened.”

She sniffles a bit, but she explains, “The mean man took your pretty ring, so I snuck into his tent and took something that looked pretty from him.”

No… No, no, no.

I pull her hands toward me and stand, dragging her outside, so I can properly look at what she holds.

My heart drops into my stomach like a rock when I take in the sight before me. Not only is she holding an arrowhead that is surely laced with faebane, but her hands are completely raw, sliced open painfully.

The glaze I noticed before, it was her blood.

“Come with me, quickly,” I take hold of her wrist as gently as possible and lead her down the side of the mountainous terrain in a rush.

Once we reach the base, I start screaming out for the treacherous men holding us captive. I’m still moving amongst them when the leader lifts the opening of his shelter, weapon already drawn.

“Hey!” he screams, pointing his sword at me, “Hold there!”

“You have to help her!” I shout back, holding up Dahlia’s hand.

His eyes widen at her injury, maybe what one could even consider a concerned wince if they hadn’t been trapped by Captain Dickhead for centuries. But not me. That look that passed through his dark features was not worry or the slightest bit of care. It was disgust at the bleeding little fae girl before him.

“What’s going on out here?” Sam appears from her tent.

She’s the only female anywhere near our camps that isn’t being forced to be here. She is what they refer to as a nurse to these evil men, the human equivalent of a healer. No magic, only what she calls medicine, but if anyone can help Dahlia, it’s her.

“Please,” I beg her, “You have to help her, Sam, she’s just a kid. She’s innocent, she doesn’t deserve to die…”

Sam draws nearer to us and takes the hand of Dahlia’s that I don’t keep hold on to examine her.

The shiny piece of weaponry glints at her, and she says, “Where did you get that arrowhead, child?”

Her sweet, pain-filled face looks to me before she looks back and answers, “I found it near the stream.”

“Bullshit,” Malik mutters from behind me, snatching the point-tipped metal from her and taking a closer look, “This is one of ours.”

“Malik,” Sam hisses at him, straightening out her stance, “Where would she have found our weapons?”

His seething gaze finds mine. “Where did the girl get this? And don’t you dare spout off some lie about how you were the one to retrieve it. If that were true, you’d be in the same shape as her.”

I stare down at Dahlia again. Her condition is worsening by the second. She’s getting paler, she’s shaking in a cold-sweat, and I know she doesn’t have much longer.

My eyes shut tightly, and my voice shutters, “Sam… Please help her.”

“I-” she begins to reply, but Malik cuts her off.

“She’s not who you should beg, Princess,” his voice full of amusement. I want to throw up at the condescending use of my title.

But I suck it up. For my little flower.

My eyes flash to his in an instant, and I stand to face him. “Let her save her. Please, I beg of you, Malik.”

“Tell me where she got this.”

“She told you, she found it down by the water-”

A crack sounds through the air, and I’m suddenly spinning. At first, it doesn’t register that it came from the contact of him slapping me across my cheek, but I gasp at the sting as it settles in. It’s the only thing I allow to come out of my gritted teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my pained whimpers.

“Rhaen!” Dahlia cries out, kneeling by my side.

Of course, I didn’t notice that I had landed on the ground either. The force of his hit sent me tumbling. However, it wasn’t out of his own strength, any bit of that he possessed as a human could never hurt me. It was that cursed ring on his middle finger, wherever it came from, and it had been the thing keeping me and the other fae from overpowering them all this time, so it was no surprise that it could hurt me physically like this. I was used to it by now.

I spit out some of the blood filling the side of my mouth and look up to Dahlia dizzily. “It’s okay…”

“Stop it!” she wails, “I took it, okay? I stole it from your tent after you went to water your horse this morning…”

“No…” I croak out, “She’s innocent, Malik, please.”

Slowly, he walks to the spot across from her looking over me, bending at his knees to hover there. “Seems your little friend is thief, Princess. To me, her punishment for touching what doesn’t belong to her is fitting.”

“Sam…” I choke on more blood and spit again, and her weary gaze bounces between the three of us.

“I’m sorry, Rhaen,” she speaks, genuinely sorrowful, “I don’t have a cure for faebane. I’m only here to help the men.”

“I have a cure of sorts,” Malik says cheerfully, “Won’t keep her from dying, I’m afraid, but it will surely put her out of her misery.”

“Don’t!” I scramble to my feet, but I’m too late.

With one swift movement, Malik flicks his arm out above me, making contact with Dahlia, a thick, squishing noise resounds in result.

“NO!” I roar, “Dahlia!”

Her body lands on the dirt in front of me with a thump at the same time her head does, but it rolls away, severed from the rest of her. It’s looking directly at me though, mouth and eyes wide open. Full of fear as they stare at me, just as they did in the cave.

Hands shaking, I reach for her head and bring it back to where it should be attached to her neck. I smooth her hair back, force her jaw shut, and then I run my fingers along her eyelids to close them as well.

I swallow before I finally stand, a numbness washing over me as I do. Then I let the hatred take root in my core, peering back at Malik. His figure is blurred by my tears and tinged with a shade of violet. The quicker I breathe, the more vivid the color grows.

For the first time in two hundred years, I see the fear in his face that I’ve been craving, and I bask in it.

I let out a blood curdling screech and hold my palms up towards him before a loud crash pulls me out of my nightmare. Immediately, my surroundings change into comforting items. The colors of home, soft, plush pillows around my head, twinkling starlight coming through the open curtains. I force myself to cling to the dark comforter cocooning me to ground my mind back into the present.

Someone groans from across the room, and I shoot up to my feet to find the intruder.

Azriel lies crumbled up against the wall next to broken vase, and I gasp.

“Shit,” I breathe out, racing towards him and bending down in front of him, “Are you okay?”

He rubs the back of his head with a barely noticeable wince as he meets my terrified gaze. Slowly, he blinks, trying to shake off the blow, and then he pushes off the drywall to reveal a crack behind him. I groan miserably at it.

“I can’t say this is the first time you’ve ever kicked my ass,” he tries to lighten the mood, “You’ve done worse damage in the past though, so I’ll live.”

“I did this?” I ask incredulously.

He nods once, eyes softening up a bit. “I think you were having a bad dream. It’s alright though, Princess, just got the wind knocked out of me. Like I said, I’ve taken harder hits from you.”

“I’m so sorry…” the apology flies out despite his insisting.

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. As for the decor…”

His gaze falls to the shattered ceramic at the floor, and his shadows make quick work of sweeping it into a pile further away from us.

“You don’t have to do that, let me,” I protest and start to stand.

“Rhaen,” he grabs my wrist to stop me, “It’s okay. Let them do it, so you don’t accidentally cut your hands.”

I flinch at his choice of words, visions of Dahlia’s bloodied palms still fresh in my mind.

“Hey,” he whispers, focusing on me intently while brushing my dark curtain of hair away from my face and pressing the tips of his fingers to my cheek, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I back out of his touch, and that’s when I fully register his appearance. “Um… why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

His lean but defined chest is on full display, giving me a completely unveiled view of his ribbed abdomen and tongue tempting nipples.

It’s strange to me, how much he’s changed and yet stayed the same. He’s filled out his adolescent attractiveness and turned into a full on mouthwatering male. All man. But when he looks at me like he is right now, I still see that scared little boy my brother asked our Mother to take in all those years ago…

His lips twitch in the most subtle hint of amusement. Which might as well be considered an over dramatic belly laugh in Az’s case.

“I’ll let you change the subject, Princess,” he says, “This time anyway. You should know that you’re still terrible at it though.”

He lays his hands on the floor, and all the muscles in his torso tense and ripple under his ink and scar covered skin, making me dizzy for a moment.

All man, indeed.

Once he’s standing, he reaches out to help me. I take it as he talks again.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” he tells me softly, like he was worried I’d have a breakdown if he’d said it any firmer, “I came straight in here from my room. I don’t wear a shirt to bed.”

“Oh…” I reply lamely, trying and failing not to picture him shirtless in his quarters now, “I’m sorry.”

He guides me to sit on the bed in front of him and glowers down at me. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“I only mean that to say I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know, and whatever you saw was out of your control; therefore, you shouldn’t apologize for it. Simple as that, Princess.”

He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt my head back, signaling to meet his eyes. I don’t fight it. In fact, I delight in the unease at my dismay. It almost makes his whiskey hued irises seem brighter.

“Alright,” I concede, “but that means you also shouldn’t apologize for whatever happened between you and Elain.”

His hand drops, and he closes his eyes on a sigh. “Perhaps you have gotten better at evading conversations.”

He moves to sit next to me as I continue, “Seriously, Az, I don’t know why you looked so tortured at dinner. You don’t owe me any answers if you don’t want to tell me. I don’t think any less of you, so long as you learned from it and moved on.”

“It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” he breathes out, “It was more like… a convenient inconvenience.” I squint up at him, confused. “I latched onto the idea of having three sisters be mated to three brothers. I enjoyed Elain’s company, she didn’t want to be around Lucien, and you know it isn’t easy for me to find someone I actually want to be around. While I won’t say there weren’t any inappropriate moments, nothing physical ever went on between us.”

My heart clenches. “I remember how hard it used to be for you to be comfortable with someone, but part of me was hoping that had changed without me…” We both turn our heads away from each other, and instead of dwelling on the time we spent apart, I let the relief of his confession seep in. “So it was more of a flirtation than a true affair?”

I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yes. I regret it, too. I tried to force something to be there that wasn’t meant to be, and she did the same. Now, Lucien and I, we have a… tumultuous peace agreement.”

I nod as well. Unsure of what else I could say.

On the one hand, I won’t be dishonest by saying I’m not pleased, but I can’t tell him that. I’ve been home for all of a day, and I clearly have my own shit to work through. Adding irrational jealousy or any kind of romance would be catastrophic to my mental state.

Although, that line has always been blurred when it came to Azriel and I. It’s never been how it is with me and Rhys or even me and Cassian. There was a silent hope inside of me growing up that it would become more, but I knew he would never overlook the fact that I was his “brother’s” little sister. I’ve always believed that to be why he’s different around me because he’d never have to worry about our relationship being more than a safety net. And I will never turn away from what bits and pieces he’s willing to dole out to me.

After all, his face was the one I pictured every night while I drifted to sleep at the camps. His barely visible emotions, ones only I could decipher most days. His beautiful face and watchful eyes. His playful shadows that opposed his stoicism in my presence. His strong hands that he would never see as anything but weakness after what his brothers did to them. Those thoughts held me together all this time. Azriel kept me from breaking. My best friend. My something more.

My knight in shadow armor.

“Rhaen?” his voice pulls me out of my thoughts, “Do you want to tell me what scared you so badly that you threw me across your bedroom?”

I let out a humorlessly laugh. “Do I want to? No. The important question is, are you going to let it go because I obviously don’t want to?”

He let’s out a puff of air similarly to how I just did. “For now, Princess,” he relents, “But eventually, you’re going to need to talk about it with someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It just needs to happen before you lose control of your power and blow down the mountains.” He’s silent for a moment, letting the seriousness of his statement sink in before adding a joke to take the edge off, “They’ve been holding on by a thread ever since Rhys and Cassian found their mates.”

Real laughter pours out of me with a groan, “Gross, Az! Did not need to hear about my brothers’ frenzies, thank you very much.”

A low rumble echoes in his chest. “Well, it’s true.”

I shift backwards on my bed, still laughing lightly. I settle back under the covers again, and when I ask him to stay, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the armchair on the other side of the room and relax in it by my side.

I know he’ll be gone when I wake up, exactly like when we were young, but at least I know he’ll be here to chase away any lingering terror in my system. I’ll be able to sleep soundly for the first time in two centuries with his addictive and calming scent flooding my senses in its place.

So!! That was a doozy, and it took me a while to get it out. I’m so sorry! I live in Texas, so hurricane Beryl was not kind to me. Not to mention, my birthday was on Thursday, and it was pretty much put on hold because we didn’t have any kind of power at home or work. So, I finally made time to come to a Barnes and Noble nearby and chill in the cafe for a few hours!!! Thank you guys for being so patient. Hopefully everything will get fixed soon, and I’ll be able to get out more updates.

Again, you guys rock, and I love you so much!! Comment below to be added to the tag list! 🤍

@projectcampbell @acourtofsmutandstarlight @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @anainkandpaper @evergreenlark @bobbyisbored

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (pt. 7)

maybe getting himself involved in a marriage of convenience wasn't a bad choice, after all...

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC wc: 3.7k tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only but there's none for this particular chapter (hooray!) note: this got to be the longest chapter for this series so far but i had my better days a while ago so here we are (?) hopefully this fits you all, dear mason x serena gang! but as usual, i wrote this around dawn so ofc not beta-read yet. tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @808heartz @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @missgaygurl (let me know if you want to be added too!) part 6 here - part 8 here sweetest devotion masterlist

“I see you’re taking a liking towards going home early,”

while the rest of mason’s team actually paid attention to the young footballer’s recent change of habit, to actually make césar azpilicueta comment on it was another and completely different thing. the captain was well-known to be an observant most of the time, only commenting on and when necessary.

the result of his observation, though, managed to put a small smile on mason’s face.

it was rather understandable for mason to clock out earliest possible because serena was still under the doctor’s watch and jasmine, being a fellow pregnant lady, was unable to stay over for a long time. but the habit apparently didn’t undergo a drastic change, even after serena was given the green light to be released from the hospital. mason even pulled out a small trick to come home with a bouquet of different flowers every two days, in a (faux) lieu of “so the kitchen doesn’t smell bad when you’re done cooking.”

mason didn’t realise it, at first. but before the spaniard’s comment, ben chilwell actually managed to call him out first when he was ending his call with serena, asking if she needed anything else to be bought for dinner—and it took mason a long while, as he sat in his car after ben’s remark, to digest that it was indeed no longer a guilt eating him alive.

he thought of feeling guilty whenever he saw serena lying peacefully on her hospital bed, he even thought of any other possible emotion that could mirror guilt whenever he thought about serena and their child. but with elena now being legally processed for a trial, and mason kind of always made time for a dinner together with serena, the soon-to-be father realised that he wanted to come home as soon as possible.

“is your wife treating you well?”

“more than well,” mason could no longer hide his smile, albeit still smaller than the one the defender was throwing him. “I kind of understand why you guys get married.”

“good,” the senior player patted mason by the shoulder. “I like this version of you better. I hope you’re always happy with your wife.”

“me, too, césar,” and not an ounce of deceit was included in mason’s response. “me too.”

if someone had said to him marriage indulged how nice it would be to have someone waiting for you by the door as you stepped into the house, how stress-relieving it would be to see your wife’s cooking and ready to be pounced on at the end of every exhausting day… mason would’ve considered skipping countless parties till dawn peaks out from the horizon and followed declan’s footsteps of settling down early instead.

but probably, mason would’ve been tied down to the wrong person if he did that. god knows, maybe mason would’ve ended up behind the bars too, following the footsteps of his ex, if he did.

mason shuddered at the thought, pressing his eyes tightly when the red light came into view, in hope he could shed the once-wonderful dream of his to marry elena. he only opened them back when a ring broke the lonely ride home.

speaking of the devil… “mason?”

it was always funny to mason how serena would always start a phone conversation with a clarificatory question as such. “serena, I was about to call you.”

lies, because mason would always call her five minutes earlier than now whenever it was grocery days.

“are you done training?”

“I’m turning left to our block as we speak,” damn it, it would be quite a hassle if serena decided he should head for the nearest supermarket. all because he’d forgotten to call her before he started his engine, and all because he’d been thinking about her. “do you need something?”

“ah, okay then.”

but the disappointment that laced serena’s voice was indispensable. “what’s wrong?”

“no, I just—I forgot to cook today.”

mason really couldn’t help but let out a cackle over the phone as he pulled up in his garage. “seriously?”

“yes…? why are you laughing?”

“serena,” serena had opened the door and was now standing by the door as mason unfastened the seatbelt. from his point of view, serena was visibly upset. “you know we can always order in, right?”

mason didn’t leave a space for serena to reply him as he hung up the call and stepped out his car.

“but I want to cook for you,” the pout remained and mason had the sudden urge to kiss away that pout. damn it. “what kind of wife am I?”

“the best, of course,” mason grinned wider as serena turned into a shade similar to a beetroot. “definitely better if you give me a hug right now.”

mason would’ve laughed at anyone who put a bet on him falling for serena an eon ago. but now, it was rather something he looked forward to the moment he stepped in the house.

it might not be much, but it was still a start for them both, considering the beginning of their relationship looked like. it was still something for mason too because he was sure, in other circumstances, he would not dare himself to ask such thing to a stranger.

but serena was no longer a stranger, right? not when she’d seen him in desperate need of comforting embrace after chelsea’s loss against another big 6 club. right?

“come here,” and mason didn’t hesitate to take the invitation. anyone who knew the nature of their relationship—an arranged marriage, mind you—would be surprised how fluid mason could fit himself to serena’s every crook and nook. “did you have a good day?”

mason breathed in the lingering scent on serena’s shirt, a mixture of jasmine and comfort similar to the linen sheet. mason breathed in deeply because with the question and the fragrance combined, he couldn’t help but think of all things he never got to have with elena, despite being in a romantic relationship longer than the time he spent getting to know serena so far.

mason breathed in his reality.

but it seemed that his wife thought he wasn’t having the best of a day. “do you wish to talk about it?”

“I’m fine, actually,” mason grumbled against the fabric. “I just wish you’d stop being stubborn and let me hire a chef for us.”

serena pushed away mason lightly, her eyes lit up in mirth. “we’ve talked about this, mason…”

and indeed they had, mason laughed along with her at the brief reminiscent about several days after her discharge, which meant several days watching her juggling to do chores on her own after sam’s dismissal for the day. “we have enough third persons in this house, don’t you think?” mason remembered her saying nothing but the truth, but a slight pang to his chest was inevitable, nonetheless. “besides, I’d like to make myself useful in this household.”

“serena,” mason remembered thinking her last comment was so ridiculous that he had to grasp her by the shoulders, before grazing her now-slightly bulging belly when she’d stayed in place. “you’re the most useful person in this household.”

this woman went back and forth, from hell and back, for him and their child. this woman, beside her status of a princess, was everything elena could never have and could never be. how could she possibly think such thing?

“alright, you win,” mason ended the futile debate he’d always been since that day, complete with the small smile and a finger tucking in a strand of her hair behind her ear. “but I think I’ve eaten too much today. is it okay if I skip dinner tonight?”

“I forgot to cook tonight because I was actually making an apple pie this afternoon…”

“I hope you left some for me,” mason was still chuckling at serena’s demeanour shifting into a sheepish one. how could someone so calm and collected and regal in the eyes of the public, be this cute and endearing behind the curtain? “but let’s call it a night, okay? good night, princess.”

serena was certainly more than glad mason called it that way because she couldn’t afford him to see her blushing at the moniker he called her with.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

and good sleep indeed it was.

serena couldn’t even recall the last time she slept so soundly since she moved into this house she got to call home at least until after the baby was born. there’d always be endless train of thoughts, rushing in a lighting speed even, that kept her up most of the nights.

on sundays, especially. there was a time where she couldn’t find sleep because she knew elena would be coming to the house, barging in like a truck going mad on the highway.

now that the particular problem was out of the way and more like into her way to jail, serena went even as far as oversleep last night. she woke up with a jolt when her eyes zeroed down to the number 9:00 AM flashing across her screen.

crap, she hadn’t prepared anything for mason this morning! did he leave already—“mason?”

despite her growing stomach, serena was glad she still retained her ballerina balance on her feet. if not, she would’ve stumbled upon a lying mason, right in front of her door, with a Parenting for Dummies hugged tightly to his chest.

cramped in a rather awkward position and messy locks sprawled across the carpeted floor—now-carpeted floor because mason thought it’d do good to pregnant feet than cold flooring—serena would be lying if she didn’t think the sight was endearing for her standard. “mason?”

the footballer groaned when called, bringing the parenting book closer to his chest. as if it was his plush toy. for god’s sake, he was soon to be a father, he shouldn’t be allowed to be this cute.

“mason,” serena crouched down beside her husband, shaking his body as ferocious as her frail body could because she didn’t want him to wake up with a sore body. “mason, wake up. you’re late to training.”

he hummed as a response, but it seemed that the last sentence was working well because suddenly his eyes shot open. serena stepped back and laughed at his comical reaction, to which mason responded with a whining groan. “why didn’t you wake me up?”

“excuse me, am I not waking you up now?” serena’s eyebrows furrowed accusingly but her smile was anything but. the glint in her eyes was close to a mirth, too, and mason decided he could now truck through the gaffer’s upcoming long speech on his tardiness. or any other berating session, if it meant being granted by this same sight every morning. “but mason, what are you doing here?”

mason scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I fell asleep here.”

“no, I mean, why are you sleeping here?”

“I’m making sure no one barges into the house and attack you again,” the regret lacing mason’s eyes deeply radiated down serena. the woman would very much like to envelope him in a warm embrace if she was given the chance. “I don’t think I can live through the pain again.”

“mason…”

“I mean it when I said I’m truly sorry, serena,” the princess had to hold back her gasp when she noticed the shift in his eyes, glazing regret to determination in a split second. “I know you said you forgive me and all that jazz, but I know when I said to tell me how I can make it all up to you.”

serena had to remind herself to breathe, as she was unable to look away from the intense wave of emotion mason was showcasing. the reminder resulted in a shaky intake of air, depicting perfectly what she was feeling inside.

serena wanted to put the entire blame to her pregnancy hormones but she knew better. she needed mason to be acting nonchalantly towards her existence if she wanted to survive this marriage unscathed—no physical scars, no emotional damage inflicted, and certainly no broken heart to mend.

“how about you give me a ride to the hospital today, hm?” serena lightly cough to cover her nervousness as she tried to lift herself to stand. “least you won’t lie about dropping me off first.”

unfortunately, one cannot change overnight and therefore she had mason on his feet first so he could help her stand up, lifting serena by the waist as if she didn’t resemble a whale at this point. “how about I skip practice for the day and come with you wherever you want to go instead?”

while his arm was around her waist and his hand was grasping her hand tightly so she wouldn’t fall, serena glanced up in disbelief. is he joking? I hope he is because the last time he came with me, he left me stranded…

the rare slip of emotion—going from disbelief to disappointment—on the princess’ ever-composed face didn’t escape the corner of mason’s eyes, and he knew immediately what she was thinking of. a little smile, pressed by the guilt of having mistreated her, shadowed against his demeanour.

“I have an overdue visit to see my little man, don’t you think?”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“there he is!” the doctor proclaimed rather excitedly—gone was her frightening exterior the last time mason and serena met her shortly after elena’s mess. “I see he’s rather happy inside there, look at that smile!”

while serena and the doctor shared some laughter between them, mason could only stand there, frozen like a fridge in the wrong place, sore like a misplaced nail. he couldn’t believe his eyes—flashed before him was the black and white, 3D picture of his son. for the first time, mason got to see the lid of his eyes, the sharp nose, his pouty lips. the footballer could even see the weird combination of him and serena, despite the lack of colour and shape from the photo.

for the first time, mason could finally put down the literal meaning of his flesh and blood, his ultimate treasure,and it was nothing short of an incredible feeling.

it was a rather pleasant feeling, wonderful like mason could now burst in the sky happily… yet he also had to overcome this protective urge inside of him so no one could put his mini-me in danger. he’d never wanted to even punch himself for all the things he’d put the little guy and his mother through.

why didn’t he come to see this sooner?

mason had to press his lips tightly, in order to keep his emotions in check. he couldn’t cry—he shouldn’t—not when he was the one who’d once put the both of them in a game of death with god. not when he hadn’t earned his forgiveness, not when he knew he had a thousand pile of work to do to ensure both serena and his son lived without having to go through another ounce of pain in their lives.

“you’ve done well too so far, you’re doing so well,” mason whispered gently to serena’s stomach, the way he’d been doing every chance he got and every chance he was allowed to, when it was back to the two—or three—of them in the room. “we’re nearing the end, my boy. please hang in there because I can’t wait to see you,”

serena would be lying if the sight before her didn’t send warmth all over her body.

“thank you, serena,” mason whispered to her this time, his eyes met hers while he was crouching down, as he wiped off the ultrasound gel from her protruding belly. now that he got a closer look, he could point out some bulges showing up here and there momentarily and he smiled wider—despite the initial pursed lips—because that’s some strong kick, my boy. “thank you for everything you’ve done for our little guy.”

from the look mason casted to her, serena could pick out the fact he was being earnest and as genuine as his actions post the incident with elena. at that moment, despite whatever would happen between the two of them, serena concluded that she was glad mason mount was the father to her baby and pleased that she got to share her first pregnancy with someone that truly put her needs above anything else, someone who actually understood the job a father entailed, and not just merely words promised.

despite whatever was going to happen later on, serena was filled with warmth and happiness because she knew, mason would never let her fight alone, at least for things concerning their son.

“mrs. mount—I’m sorry, I’ll be back later!”

the nurse’s sudden entrance snapped the intricate moment, and serena was rather relieved because of it. god knows what would happen if the silent continued and allowed her to think of things she would rather forbid herself from pondering, considering their contractual relationship and all…

she shouldn’t be thinking about the extent of mason’s outmost care. it definitely didn’t include her, and she agreed herself that he was a wonderful father. of course it was only limited and directed for their son.

“no, no need,” serena instantly tried to sit herself up but mason—fortunately not being the one carrying the baby—beat her to it, and before she could do it her own, mason had already stood close by behind her, steadying her body as serena slowly gained her balance in sitting. “is there anything I forgot?”

“just want to remind you that your counselling session’s in 15.”

both mason and serena halted their movements. serena from the realisation that she had indeed forgot there was another place she had to visit—being around mason lately kind of put such urgent matters aside because he was almost everything she could ask for—and mason from the shock that serena submitted herself to seek a professional help, something he didn’t know of.

what kind of husband, especially the father-to-be, that didn’t know his own wife’s health record?

what kind of husband, especially the father-to-be, put his own wife to a condition that required her to seek help?

a terrible one, for sure.

and he vowed to change that.

it was the very least mason could do, after all things serena had gone through due to his recklessness. mason should make her life easier—if he couldn’t do that by far, he should do it for the remaining of the pregnancy. he should buy her the best stuffs, he should make her the best meals, he should take her to the best places…for the sake of the baby’s prenatal environment, mason replayed the sentence all over again like a broken mantra.

but of course, we knew better.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“what do you think of the bridge?”

it was another dinner shared over the countertop of their kitchen but considering mason had a home game tomorrow and therefore forbade mason from consuming nothing else than his strict diet, the footballer took control of the wheel. so instead of serena cooking from behind the corner, mason could be found channelling his inner masterchef self.

“I’d rather not say anything that can offend you, being a childhood fan and all,” serena put her chin on top of her palm, resulting her cheeks to be squished due to the friction against two surfaces of her skin, and mason wondered if a pregnant lady could be this endearing. “because I’ve never been.”

mason’s face contorted to all ways in utter shock. “never? at all?”

serena laughed at his comical response, as she always does. mason was effortlessly funny in her standard.

“okay then, it’s settled,” mason decided firmly when serena shook her head to answer his question. “you’re so watching me tomorrow. would you be comfortable going out?”

serena’s mind went blank for a couple of seconds. while her trauma of seeing people she didn’t know was now growing less and less each day, she doubted her ears. mason despised the idea of being in a public place with her in tow unless it was an official event occurred by the palace.

but she couldn’t shake off the giddiness inside of her because she would be going out, after all. mason being more protective since the incident with elena surely should be cut off a bit, or serena would go crazy being confined in the mansion alone for far too long.

and that mason also knew she’d always watch his matches from home. now that he was offering her to watch live, up-close and personal, serena couldn’t also shrug off the niggling feeling in her stomach…

is he being kind because he now knows I’m under a psychological watch or something?

“do you not want to go?” it was serena that had all these sort of uncontrollable thoughts and yet mason still ensured she was on board with his idea. it was getting harder each day to believe what mason said about trying to be a good father when he already projected himself as one. “if so, that’s also fine.”

“I—I—I do want to go,” serena tried to gather herself as quick as possible. if the palace found out about it, she’d definitely be enrolled again to the public appearance etiquette class. “but do you really want me to be there?”

mason tilted his head in confusion, not seeing where the problem was. “I wouldn’t be asking if I don’t want you there.”

“why would you want us to be there?”

“why wouldn’t I want my wife and child to be there?”

mason might be shrugging as he went back to cook the simple, healthy meal for the both of them, as if his answer was to be expected, but serena had to swallow the bitter bile down her throat. mason might be shrugging, as if it was the most natural thing for them, as if they were real, as if he just didn’t stir something inside of serena—of what, she didn’t know.

and frankly she didn’t want to know, for she was afraid it might not be as what she hoped it was.

next chapter contains:

what if i tell you we're no longer far apart? serena's heart skipped a beat. what the hell was that supposed to mean? look around. and there he was, dapper and dashing as if the look didn't obliterate her poor heart.