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fr0stf4ll · 2 days ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 9k (long ass chapter lol)

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hello my loves <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR woohooo!!! Sorry for not posting these last few days, but they’ve been looong with all the celebrations. Plus, I had to travel back to my place, and it took forever. So today, you’ll not only get part 6, but also part 7 ;) (it should be up in the next few minutes). This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write because I had doubts about where to take the story or if I should give more or fewer clues about Y/N’s background. Either way, don’t hesitate to comment because even if I don’t reply to all of you, I definitely read them, and I loveeee getting those notifications. Well, see you in a few minutes for part 7 lol <3

Link; Part 5 or Part 7

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Late afternoon shadows stretched across Velaris as you and Cassian stepped off the bridge leading into the quieter district near the clinic. Both of you were weary—three days in Illyria had taxed your energy, even if the journey home was less fraught than the work you’d done in the camps. Your cloak felt heavier than usual, boots scuffing softly on the cobblestones as you approached the modest building that housed the clinic’s entrance and your apartment above it.

Cassian’s shoulders slumped a little, wings drooping as he glanced at you. “We made it,” he said, voice carrying a note of relief. “Another successful adventure survived.” His smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine.

You managed a small chuckle, rolling your stiff shoulders. “A success, I hope,” you answered quietly. “At least some of them seemed open to new methods.”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “They’ll never admit it, but they’ll use what you taught them. You left an impression, Y/N.”

The simple honesty in his tone warmed you. The clinic door beckoned, safety and rest just inside. You paused at the threshold, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming with me,” you said softly. “I know you had other duties, but I’m grateful you lent your presence—and, frankly, your muscle—to ensure no one gave me too hard a time.”

Cassian shrugged, easy humor returning for a moment. “Any excuse to keep the Illyrians in line.” He sobered a fraction, studying you with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable but weighted with the fatigue of the journey. At length, Cassian cleared his throat, as if remembering something. “Oh, right,” he said, seeming almost amused by whatever he’d forgotten. “Before I go—Rhys asked me to pass along an invitation. He’d like you to join him, Feyre, and a few others for dinner tomorrow night at their townhouse in Velaris. It’s a sort of… well, I guess a welcome dinner now that you’re truly back in the Night Court.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a spark of gratitude lit behind them. “Dinner?” you repeated, a bit taken aback. “That’s… an honor. I—” You hesitated, a hundred questions floating to your mind. You weren’t sure what one normally did when invited to the High Lord’s home for a meal. “Should I bring anything?” you asked, half-wondering if a gift or some rare herbs might be customary.

Cassian’s grin turned playful. “Bring yourself,” he said simply. “That’s all they’ll want. Trust me, Rhys and Feyre don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Consider it an evening to relax, maybe talk about what’s next.” His gaze flicked over the clinic’s door, then back to you, voice softening. “You deserve a good meal and a bit of comfort after the work you’ve done.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “All right,” you agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” He exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Now, I’d better let you rest. I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Absolutely,” you said, resting a hand on the door’s latch. “Sleep well, Cassian.”

He gave you a salute that was half-mocking, half-genuine, wings fluttering as he turned away and headed down the street. You watched him go for a moment, then slipped inside the clinic, fatigue tugging at your limbs. Tomorrow, you would face the High Lord’s table, and perhaps some quieter conversations that might shape the next phase of your return.

For now, rest called, and you followed it gratefully up the stairs to your apartment, thoughts drifting between memories of Illyria’s harsh mountains and the warm promise of dinner among unlikely allies.

Back inside the familiar confines of the clinic, you paused just inside the door, drawing in the scents of linen and dried herbs that always lingered in the halls. Your joints ached a bit from the journey, but routine called, and you answered it. Before heading upstairs to your apartment, you moved through the quiet corridors to the records room. A low lamp flickered there, its glow soft against the shelves.

You ran your fingertips along the ledgers, pulling out the records from the past three days. Your eyes skimmed the entries, scanning notes that Elira and the other healers had left. No major emergencies, you read with relief—only a few minor wounds, a mild fever, the usual aches and pains. The neat handwriting confirmed that Elira had continued training the younger healers as planned. She’d even left a brief note: All went well. The younger ones are picking up the new bandaging technique quickly.

A small smile touched your lips. Good. Progress, even in your absence.

Satisfied that the clinic had fared well without you, you tucked the ledger back into place and turned toward the stairs. The promise of rest beckoned, and you ascended quietly, passing familiar sconces that flickered in the gentle air currents. Upstairs, your apartment welcomed you with its calm silence. You shrugged off your cloak, letting it fall over a chair, and considered the state of your legs and back. A warm bath—yes, that would be perfect.

You crossed to the small bathroom, lighting a few candles along the way. The soft glow gilded the tiled walls and the simple, claw-footed tub. Setting the faucet, you allowed steaming water to pour in, scenting it with a bit of lavender oil you kept for moments like these. As the tub filled and steam rose, you breathed deeply, letting the tension roll off your shoulders.

So much had happened—Illyria, the uncertain dynamics in the Night Court’s inner circle, and tomorrow, a dinner invitation from the High Lord himself. But for now, here, in this private sanctuary, you could let all that fade. Stripping out of your travel-stained clothes, you sank into the bath, the warm water cradling your tired muscles. The quiet of the evening settled over you, and the lavender-soaked steam eased the lingering edges of worry.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges and discoveries. Tonight, you granted yourself peace.

—————

When evening arrived, you found yourself walking through Velaris’s softly lit streets, a bundle of carefully chosen flowers nestled in the crook of your arm. You’d spent much of the day working at the clinic as usual, but your mind had drifted often to the upcoming dinner. Now, wearing a simple but neat outfit—something presentable without being ostentatious—you followed the directions Cassian had given you, making your way toward the High Lord and High Lady’s townhouse.

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It wasn’t as if you were heading into battle, but meeting them on such personal terms, in their private home, was a new threshold. You hadn’t seen Azriel since returning from Illyria, and though he might be present, you tried not to focus on that too much. This evening wasn’t about your confused feelings or the golden thread that tugged quietly at your awareness. It was about respect, camaraderie, and, hopefully, laughter over good food.

Rounding a corner, you came upon the district where the townhouse stood. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated quiet lanes, and music drifted faintly from some distant party. Ahead, you spotted the house described to you—a graceful building of warm-colored stone and gently sloping roofs. It was large enough to accommodate their inner circle and guests, yet it didn’t loom or flaunt opulence. Instead, it exuded a gentle, welcoming aura.

Plants climbed trellises along the exterior, flowering vines weaving patterns around balconies and window frames. You caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingling with roses and citrus blossoms, an elegant tapestry of nature’s perfume draped over the home. It felt alive, this house—a place nurtured by caring hands. A place of growth and warmth.

Approaching the door, you paused to straighten your posture and smooth your clothes. The flowers you carried were modest and cheerful—nothing exotic or rare, just a vibrant mix of blooms from a local florist. You’d considered bringing wine, but after a moment’s reflection, you realized that whatever bottle you could afford would be outshone by the contents of their likely well-stocked cellar. Flowers, though, offered color, scent, and sincerity. That, you hoped, would be appreciated.

Exhaling slowly, you stepped forward, footfalls muffled by the ivy-softened walkway. The door’s brass knocker gleamed in the lamplight. You raised your free hand and knocked gently, heart fluttering once more. Perhaps it was silly to be nervous. You’d healed impossible wounds, steered conversations with stubborn Lords, and confronted your own uncertainties. You could handle a dinner invitation.

As you waited for someone to answer, you let your gaze drift along the eaves and sills. Lanterns dangled from hooks, their glass panels casting soft patterns of light and shadow across the entryway. Everything felt harmonious and attentive to detail—a reflection, perhaps, of the people who lived inside.

In a moment, you would be ushered in, welcomed as a friend or colleague rather than a mere visitor. The thought steadied you. The flowers shifted in your arms, and their gentle fragrance rose to meet you, a reminder that some gestures spoke volumes without words.

You were here, and you would face whatever the evening brought with an open heart.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, her hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders, a gentle smile illuminating her features. She wore something elegant but not showy, a simple gown that played up her natural grace. When she saw you, her eyes lit even brighter, and she reached out, enfolding you in a warm, unexpected hug. It eased a little of the tension that had coiled in your chest.

“You’re here,” she said, voice calm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come.”

You offered her the bouquet, a mix of vivid blooms you’d chosen with care. Her eyes widened slightly, delighted. “They’re beautiful—thank you. I know a perfect spot for these.” She stepped back, holding the flowers with a careful tenderness, as if the gift mattered more than you’d dared hope.

She ushered you inside, and you slipped off your coat. Though it hadn’t snowed that day, a crisp chill still lingered in Velaris’s winter air, and the townhouse’s warmth wrapped around you like a soft cloak. Feyre guided you through a well-lit hallway into the living room, where conversation and laughter wove a gentle tapestry over the hush of the evening.

Rhysand rose from an armchair near the hearth to greet you, his violet eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and sincere. “Please, make yourself at home. You’ve already met Cassian and Azriel, but allow me to introduce the rest.”

Your gaze swept over the room. Cassian stood near the mantel, a glass of wine in hand, and as you glanced at him, he offered a lazy grin. Azriel was positioned a bit to the side, one arm resting along the back of a sofa. His bandages were gone, leaving faint lines of healing scars hidden beneath well-tailored clothing. He inclined his head softly when your eyes met, acknowledging your presence without fuss.

Seated near Azriel was a stunning blonde female—radiant and poised. Her beauty caught your attention immediately. Feyre noticed your look and added with a smile, “This is Mor—Morrigan. She’s family.”

Mor raised her glass in greeting, her hazel eyes warm with easy camaraderie. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said, voice touched with a hint of laughter, as if you’d arrived just in time for something pleasant.

Another figure caught your eye next: a smaller female, perched on the arm of a chair. Her silver eyes were sharp, ancient somehow, set into a refined face and framed by dark hair. This, you guessed, must be Amren. Your heart gave a small jolt of surprise—she was the one you’d heard described as powerful and formidable, yet she merely gave you a faint nod, assessing and cool, but not impolite.

Near Cassian stood another woman, her posture elegant, her features bearing a clear familial resemblance to Feyre. This must be Nesta—Feyre’s sister, the one who you’d heard was mated to Cassian. Her gaze was direct, but not hostile; perhaps curious, as if measuring who you were and why you’d been invited into their circle. You offered her a respectful smile, and she inclined her head in a subtle, regal manner.

The atmosphere was cordial, tinted with curiosity and acceptance. The fire crackled softly behind you, the scent of rich food and spices drifting in from another room. Feyre gestured to a free chair and you sat, the others resuming their conversations, weaving you naturally into their midst.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel shift slightly, watching the interplay of introductions. Morrigan turned to say something to him, drawing his attention away and giving you a moment to breathe, to take in that you were truly here, part of this intimate gathering.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Feyre said, settling beside Rhysand, who’d gently clasped her hand. “Until then, relax. We’ve all been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

With those words and the warmth in the room, you felt some of your lingering tension melt away. You were among allies, in a house so beautifully tended, with plants climbing the windows and laughter in the air. It was easy, in that moment, to let yourself belong just a little more to this court you were slowly making home.

As you settled into a free chair near the hearth, the soft hum of conversation enveloped you. The group arranged themselves in a loose circle of armchairs and sofas, each face illuminated by the gentle firelight and the glow of simple lanterns placed around the room. Feyre had taken a seat beside Rhysand, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, while Cassian lounged near Nesta and Azriel, who remained quietly attentive. Mor perched gracefully on a low ottoman, crossing her long legs with casual elegance, and Amren claimed a small armchair as if it were a throne, her silver eyes keen but not hostile.

Feyre, ever the thoughtful hostess, spoke first. “You’ve just returned from Illyria, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, genuine curiosity shining through. “Cassian told us a bit about your work there. How did it go?”

You drew a steady breath, aware of more eyes turning your way. “It was… challenging,” you admitted with a half-smile. “The healers were skilled but set in their ways. I managed to introduce a few new techniques. Some were skeptical, but I think a few caught on.”

Cassian gave a snort from his spot by the mantel. “Some of them were more than skeptical. Let’s say they were resistant until they saw the results.” His grin flashed, clearly proud of how you’d handled the situation.

Mor tilted her head, golden curls slipping over one shoulder. “Resistance is standard there,” she said, amused. “I’m impressed you made progress so quickly. Usually, it takes a century or two to change an Illyrian’s mind about anything.”

A ripple of light laughter flowed through the room. Even Nesta’s lips curved slightly, though her gaze remained measured. “They can be stubborn,” Nesta agreed quietly. “But if you got them to listen, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle.”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you then, calm and thoughtful. “Any particular technique you introduced that might stand out for them?” he asked softly, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. There was interest, maybe respect, underlying the question.

You smoothed a hand over your knee, considering. “I combined some Dawn Court infusion methods with local herbs to create salves that heal burns and cuts faster. Also taught them how to more efficiently close a wound using layered bandaging, so it breathes and doesn’t trap infection.” Your shoulders relaxed as you spoke, talking shop easing the tension in your chest. “It’s subtle changes that matter over time.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “Subtle changes often pave the way for greater shifts. Even if they don’t appreciate it now, they’ll notice the difference when their warriors recover more swiftly.”

Amren’s silver eyes narrowed with interest. “You sound like someone who doesn’t fear digging into traditions,” she commented. “I suppose traveling the continents taught you that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Exactly,” you said. “Every place I visited had a different approach to healing. By the time I returned, I carried a blend of knowledge. Challenging ingrained habits is never easy, but I believe if we show results, people adapt.”

As the conversation in the living room flowed around you, your attention drifted to Azriel, who’d been listening quietly while the others exchanged stories. Under the soft glow of the lamps, he seemed more at ease than the last time you’d seen him—no bandages, no pained tension in his posture. But you knew better than to assume all was perfect.

Leaning forward slightly, you caught his eye. “Azriel,” you began, your voice low enough that the others, caught up in their chatter, wouldn’t be distracted. “How are your injuries feeling now?”

He blinked, as if brought out of private thoughts. The edge of his mouth curved in a faint but genuine smile. “Much better,” he replied softly, voice smooth and controlled. “Your treatments worked wonders.”

A small surge of satisfaction warmed you. “I’m glad. I worried about scarring, especially on the wings, but it seems my methods held.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows shifting imperceptibly at his shoulders. “They did. I owe you more gratitude than I can put into words.”

You waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly. “No need for grand thanks. It’s what I do.” After a brief moment, you continued, “If you find yourself running low on ointment or salve—anything for lingering aches—you’re welcome to stop by the clinic. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

His eyes flickered slightly, a hint of something unreadable passing there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice still gentle. “Though I think it’s my turn to follow the rules this time. I won’t risk mixing anything that’s not from your hands.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. “Good,” you said, pleased to note even the faintest humor there. “I’d prefer no more surprise remedies.”

He almost smiled fully at that, and you found yourself relieved—relieved that he’d healed, relieved that you could speak amicably, and relieved that, even amidst lingering complexities, you could offer him help without awkwardness.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his attention shifting fully to you. “Your skill with Illyrian wings is… notable,” he said, voice calm and curious. “It’s not often we see someone outside these mountains who can treat wing injuries with such precision. Where did you learn that?”

You swallowed, noticing how everyone’s gaze had angled your way. Azriel’s dark eyes were steady, Cassian��s brows lifted with mild interest, and Mor sipped her wine, listening quietly. “I owe much to Madja,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound offhanded. “In my youth, under her tutelage, I spent time observing healings of various kinds. When I traveled to the Dawn Court, I worked extensively with peregryns. Between the two experiences, I pieced together techniques that transfer well.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, and you sensed approval rather than suspicion. Feyre offered a gentle smile, as if pleased to understand more about your background. Azriel only gave the faintest tilt of his head, acknowledging your explanation.

Before anyone could delve deeper, the door opened softly, and you all turned. Elain stepped into the room, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The atmosphere shifted; the hush that followed her appearance was softer, lighter. She carried a baby—a tiny figure swaddled in soft linens. At the sight of you, Elain’s eyes went wide, a brief flicker of something like panic crossing her face. She managed a stiff, silent nod in your direction, acknowledging your presence.

She crossed the floor and carefully handed the baby to Feyre before moving to sit next to Azriel. The subtle tension that flared in the air didn’t go unnoticed by you. Seeing her choose a seat near Azriel struck a chord, stirring a quiet ache in your chest. The memory of misunderstandings and the complexities of their relationship hovered in your mind.

Feyre, noticing the moment, turned toward you with a warm, bright smile and the infant cradled securely in her arms. “This is Nyx,” she said softly, pride and love coloring every syllable. She stepped closer, letting you see the baby’s tiny, delicate features, the soft tufts of dark hair. “Our son.”

Your heart softened at the sight, and you drew a careful breath. “He’s beautiful,” you murmured, the tension easing slightly at the simple purity of this introduction. “Congratulations.”

Feyre’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said, rocking Nyx gently. After a moment, she glanced toward Elain and then back to you. “I should also introduce you to my sister, Elain. But I believe you’ve already met?”

Your eyes darted to Elain, who offered another small, tense smile. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly. “We’ve met.” The memory of the morning with Azriel’s injury still flickered in the back of your mind. Elain’s panic that day, her attempt to help gone wrong.

The baby cooed softly, wriggling a tiny arm free from the swaddle, and Feyre adjusted him tenderly. The simple, gentle act redirected your focus to something simpler and kinder. In that moment, held in Feyre’s arms, Nyx represented a softness and hope that contrasted sharply against the intricate bonds and tensions that wove this inner circle together.

You lifted your gaze, meeting Elain’s eyes briefly. She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly, before focusing on Azriel and the room’s gentle chatter. A hush of understanding passed—whatever had happened before still lingered, unspoken and unresolved, but for tonight, perhaps it could remain beneath the surface, overshadowed by the presence of family and the simple joy of a new life in their midst.

You blinked, noting the tiny, budding wings peeking out from Nyx’s swaddle. It took a moment for the sight to register—Feyre and Rhysand’s child had wings. The world narrowed briefly to that small detail, a realization that sent a pulse of concern through your chest. Memories stirred of the quiet horrors you’d learned about: how some winged births could end tragically if the mother’s body wasn’t prepared.

“Oh,” you said softly, voice hushed. “He has wings.” The words escaped before you could smooth your tone. You turned your gaze to Feyre, eyes wide with a hint of shock. “Are—are you all right?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. You knew how risky such births could be, how many mothers—non-winged mothers—lost their lives or their children. The knowledge spilled out in your startled tone, too raw and honest.

As soon as the question left your lips, you caught yourself. This was personal, deeply so, and it might not be your place to ask. A flush warmed your cheeks, and you cleared your throat softly. “I’m sorry,” you murmured quickly, lowering your eyes. “That was intrusive. I didn’t mean—”

Feyre’s smile was gentle, understanding. She shifted Nyx slightly, rocking him in a way that spoke of deep maternal comfort. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, voice kind and steady. “I know it can be dangerous. It was. But I’m fine now—truly.”

She exhaled softly, sharing a glance with Rhysand who offered a reassuring nod. “We had a lot of support, the best healers, and… let’s just say there were extraordinary circumstances that helped.” Feyre’s tone carried quiet resilience, as if acknowledging a trial endured and overcome.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief and admiration washed over you. “I’m glad,” you said simply, heartfelt. The image of the tiny, safe baby cradled in Feyre’s arms, half winged and wholly loved, took the sting out of your earlier alarm.

Nyx stirred, letting out a small, contented noise, as if confirming that all was indeed well. And so, in that moment, you allowed yourself to trust in their strength and the healing they had found—together, in this extraordinary court.

The dining table was set with care and elegance, an array of dishes spread like a tapestry of flavors and colors. Feyre had returned after settling Nyx down for the night, and now she sat beside Rhysand, her eyes brighter, freer, as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. You were seated between Amren and Mor, with Azriel directly across from you. The air hummed with conversation, the gentle clink of silverware, and the faint glow of faelight sconces casting a warm gleam over crystal and china.

The food was beyond anything you’d tasted in recent memory—roasted vegetables drizzled with spiced oils, tender meats seasoned to perfection, a fresh salad of night-blooming flowers and herbs that tasted of moonlit gardens. Between bites, you couldn’t help small hums of appreciation. Mor grinned at your delighted expression, whispering that Feyre and Rhys knew how to choose their cooks wisely. Amren, on your left, merely arched an eyebrow, as if such quality was the norm in this household.

Across the table, Rhysand and Feyre spoke quietly with Azriel about the latest developments with Koshiev’s faction. They didn’t hide the topic, but neither did they elaborate on grim details unnecessarily. Still, the tension was palpable.

Cassian, seated beside Nesta, seemed to pick up on the unease radiating from her. He leaned closer, murmuring something low that drew a reluctant smirk from her lips—a rare crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

The conversation shifted, soft murmurs filling the dining room as everyone seemed to settle into their own thoughts. But your gaze lingered, drawn to the quiet interactions between Azriel and Elain.

They weren’t doing anything outright inappropriate, of course. Yet the way Azriel leaned slightly toward her, his shadows curling faintly around her seat as though they couldn’t help themselves—it was subtle, but unmistakable. And Elain, for all her delicate, quiet nature, didn’t seem to shy away from him. If anything, the small glances she cast in his direction, the way her hand lingered near his on the table, spoke volumes.

Something was going on between those two. That much you were sure of.

But didn’t she have a mate?

The thought gnawed at you. From what you’d learned during your short time with this group, the bond between mates was supposed to be unbreakable, undeniable. A rare gift—or curse, depending on how one saw it. Yet here was Elain, sitting close to Azriel, her mate nowhere to be found.

You couldn’t help but recall the low, tense conversation you’d overheard between Rhysand and Azriel days ago. Their voices had been hushed, but you’d caught enough to piece together fragments. It had been about Elain, about Azriel’s feelings for her—and about how complicated the whole situation was.

Even tonight, the tension was palpable. Rhysand and Feyre avoided looking too long in Azriel and Elain’s direction, as if their mere proximity might ignite something. Cassian’s joviality had dimmed slightly, and even Mor seemed unusually reserved.

You shifted in your seat, the unease settling in your chest like a stone. Whatever was unfolding here felt like a precarious balancing act, one wrong move away from shattering entirely.

It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself firmly—because at the end of the day, you barely knew him. Whatever flicker of connection you’d felt when you first crossed paths with Azriel had been just that: a flicker.

Still, you couldn’t entirely ignore the truth you’d kept to yourself. That he was your mate.

You hadn’t planned to speak of it, not now, perhaps not ever. What would be the point? He didn’t seem to know, and you weren’t about to disrupt the fragile balance of this group—or his life—by bringing it up.

But watching him now, seeing the way his gaze softened for Elain, the way his shadows seemed drawn to her as if they couldn’t help themselves... it unsettled you.

You reached for your glass of wine, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem. It wasn’t your place to interfere, nor did you want to. And yet, the sight stirred something uncomfortable in you—an ache you couldn’t quite place, an unease that whispered of things better left buried.

For now, you resolved, you would tread carefully. Whatever this was, it wasn’t your story to tell.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, you caught snippets of Mor and Feyre discussing the upcoming Solstice celebrations. Their voices carried a mix of excitement and warmth, and even those not directly involved in the planning seemed to lean in slightly, drawn by the festive air.

“Everything’s nearly set,” Mor said with a grin, her golden eyes glimmering. “But I still think we need more lights. You can never have too many.”

Feyre laughed softly, shaking her head. “We’re already bordering on blinding half the Sidra with what we’ve got planned.”

“Exactly,” Mor countered. “Bordering. Not quite there yet.”

The exchange drew a small chuckle from the others, and soon the table was animated with chatter about the Solstice—decorations, food, gifts, the music for the evening. You found yourself listening quietly, a faint smile on your lips as their excitement filled the room.

Then Cassian turned to you, curiosity lighting his hazel eyes. “What about you, Y/N? What are you planning for the Solstice?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Working,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Cassian stared at you, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly unimpressed. “You’re working?” he repeated, as though the concept was completely foreign to him.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. “I gave the night and the day after to the other healers,” you explained matter-of-factly. “They have families to spend it with.”

His blunt stare didn’t waver. “And you don’t?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long. You didn’t flinch, though. Instead, you gave him a small, wry smile. “Not in the traditional sense,” you replied. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road. Holidays are just... nights like any other to me.”

Mor frowned slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but Feyre beat her to it. “You could spend it with us,” she offered warmly, her eyes soft and kind. “If you’re free after your shift, of course.”

You hesitated, glancing around the table at the faces watching you. “That’s kind of you,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I’ll see how the night goes, but I wouldn’t count on me. Those nights tend to be pretty busy.”

Cassian still didn’t look entirely pleased, but he let the topic drop, turning to Azriel to mutter something under his breath. Across from you, Feyre and Mor resumed their discussion about the preparations, but you noticed the glances they shot your way from time to time.

The Solstice was supposed to be a time of joy, of togetherness. And yet, for you, it had always been a reminder of the distances you’d kept—between yourself and others, between your past and your present. Maybe this year would be different. But you weren’t ready to hope for that just yet.

Nesta, her tone gentle yet curious, asked, “Don’t you have family here in Velaris? Since it’s where you’re from?”

Cassian’s head turned sharply to her, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked like he was about to respond, but you stopped him with a soft smile, silently telling him it was okay.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but quieter now, the words laced with a faint melancholy. “My parents passed away when I was still a child. And... it wasn’t exactly a union their families approved of. My father was a High Fae, and my mother was Illyrian.”

The table fell silent, the weight of your admission settling over the group.

Feyre’s expression softened, her brows knitting together as if piecing together what your childhood must have been like. Even Amren’s usually sharp gaze seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of understanding.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and thoughtful. “A High Fae and an Illyrian,” he mused, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a knowing look. “That couldn’t have been easy for them—or for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t. My mother’s family saw her as a traitor for leaving the war-camps. And my father’s family... well, let’s just say they weren’t thrilled about him choosing someone they considered beneath him. They tried to make it work, but the rejection on both sides was... hard.”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile tinged with something more—perhaps a trace of his own memories. “My parents were mates,” he said softly. “But even that bond didn’t shield my mother from what she endured because she was Illyrian. My father’s court viewed her as an outsider, no matter that she was his equal in every way.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his willingness to share the parallel. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Then I suppose you understand better than most.”

He inclined his head. “More than you might think. My mother bore the burdens of being Illyrian with grace, but I saw the way it chipped away at her. The way others refused to see her worth simply because of where she came from.”

The room was quiet for a beat longer, the group absorbing the weight of your shared experiences.

“Did they stay in Velaris?” Nesta asked gently, her voice curious but kind.

“They tried,” you said, your voice softening even more. “Velaris was my mother’s dream. She wanted a place where their love could thrive without the judgment of others. But it wasn’t that simple. My father’s family refused to acknowledge me, and my mother’s kin wanted nothing to do with either of us. They both passed when I was young, so... it’s just been me for a long time.”

Cassian shifted, his hand tightening briefly around his glass. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body told you all you needed to know—he hated the thought of you enduring that kind of isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, her voice warm with empathy.

You offered her a small smile, the sting of the memory softened by time. “It’s all right. I’ve built my life on my own terms since then. And Velaris... it’s still home.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze steady. “Velaris is the City of Starlight. But it’s also a sanctuary for those who need it. And no matter what, you’ll always have a place here.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and something you couldn’t quite name.

The laughter faded into a comfortable hum, and Rhysand glanced at you again, his tone turning slightly more serious. “Speaking of important matters, are the preparations for your trip to the Dawn Court coming along?”

You nodded, resting your hands on the edge of the table. “It’s going well,” you said. “I’m not rushing, though. The meeting isn’t for a few weeks, so there’s time to finalize everything.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes slightly. “What meeting?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The head healers of all the courts are gathering to discuss the rising tensions in the world. It’s not something we do often—every ten or twenty years, if that. But given everything that’s been happening lately, it was decided that now’s the time to meet.”

Feyre leaned forward, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Even though you’ve only recently taken over from Madja, isn’t that going to be... challenging for you?”

Her question was genuine, not unkind, and you offered her a soft smile. “Not as much as you might think,” you replied. “I already know all of them. Either they trained me, or I’ve trained them at some point.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, look at you. The prodigy of Prythian’s healers.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly. It’s more about connections and trust. It’s easier to work with people when you’ve already built a rapport.”

“True enough,” Rhysand said, his voice thoughtful. “But there’s still a lot of weight in those meetings. Decisions made there could affect countless lives.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m aware. That’s why it’s important we all come together now. We have to be prepared for what might come next, no matter where it starts.”

Cassian broke the tension with a grin. “Still betting it’ll be less of a disaster than a High Lords’ meeting?”

Laughter rippled around the table again, and you shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’d say so. We’re less inclined to argue over who’s the most powerful and more focused on practical solutions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Amren muttered dryly. “I’d argue just for fun.”

The table erupted into laughter, the light-heartedness returning as the conversation shifted to lighter topics once more.

Dinner naturally came to an end, and the group shifted to the living room. The atmosphere turned even more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Cups of tea were passed around for some, while others nursed glasses of wine or stronger spirits. The crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy backdrop to the low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.

You found yourself sinking into a plush armchair, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The soft glow of the firelight played across the room, highlighting the easy camaraderie between everyone. This wasn’t just a group of warriors and leaders—they were a family. Even in their teasing, you could sense the unshakable bonds that connected them, forged by shared history and unwavering loyalty.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the sight of them. Feyre and Rhysand were curled up together on a loveseat, Cassian sprawled across a large sofa with Mor perched at the other end, her laughter ringing out as he recounted some likely exaggerated tale. Nesta sat nearby, a book in hand, though her attention occasionally drifted to the conversation.

But as your gaze wandered, you noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. Neither Elain nor Azriel was present. The realization sent a small, unwanted pang through your chest, one you quickly buried. Whatever their reasons for leaving, it wasn’t your concern. It couldn’t be.

When your tea was finished, you placed the empty cup delicately on the table before rising to your feet. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “But I should head back. There’s still some work I need to wrap up before the night’s over.”

Cassian glanced up from his drink, his grin playful as always. “You’re leaving already? And here I thought Azriel was the workaholic around here, but you might actually be worse.”

His words, though light-hearted, made something twist in your stomach. You tried to brush it off, but then he glanced around the room and added, “Speaking of which... where is Az? Slacking off for once?”

“Leave it, Cassian,” Rhysand interjected smoothly. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his violet gaze betrayed a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps understanding—as his eyes darted to you. He didn’t press the issue, but the weight of his brief look lingered all the same.

Feyre stood and approached you, her steps fluid and graceful. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms firm but gentle. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “It was nice having you here. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

You returned the embrace, her kindness settling some of the unease lingering in your chest. “I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Cassian’s voice broke through the moment as Feyre stepped back. “You know, if you’re working this late, you might actually give Az a run for his money,” he teased. Then, with a mock thoughtful look, he added, “Though I guess he’s not here to defend his title. Convenient.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe he’s finally taking a well-deserved break,” you said, keeping your tone light as you glanced toward the door.

Rhysand’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing. The slight quirk of his lips suggested he’d noticed something, but whatever it was, he chose to keep it to himself—for now.

With a final round of goodnights, you stepped out into the cool night air. They were a family, and while you didn’t quite feel like part of it yet, the warmth they’d shown you was undeniable.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, the crisp night air nipping at your skin, your gaze lifted instinctively to the sky. The stars above were breathtaking—countless pinpricks of light scattered across an endless expanse of velvet black. They seemed so serene, so untouched by the weight of the world below. For a moment, you let yourself be lost in their beauty, your steps slowing as if the universe itself was urging you to pause.

You didn’t notice the tears until a cold droplet slid down your cheek, and then another. Startled, you reached up to brush your fingers against your face, finding your skin wet. Confusion prickled at the edges of your thoughts as you stared at the small drops clinging to your fingertips. You weren’t sad. At least, you didn’t think you were. The evening had been lovely—warm and full of laughter. Yet here you were, crying under the stars.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you continued walking, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound in the stillness. You barely knew Azriel. That thought circled your mind like an unrelenting shadow. For all the moments you’d spent stealing glances at him, observing the way he carried himself with quiet strength and grace, there was still so much you didn’t know. So much you might never know.

And then there was the bond. The invisible thread you could feel humming at the edge of your awareness, a constant reminder of something greater, something unasked for. You’d kept it to yourself, not because of secrecy, but because the mere thought of saying it aloud made your stomach twist with apprehension. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to you.

Forcing a bond on him, on anyone, was the last thing you wanted. Azriel deserved the freedom to choose, the freedom to love without the weight of a bond dictating his path. But even as you told yourself that, a cruel voice in your mind whispered that the bond wasn’t something he would celebrate—not with you as his mate.

What did you have to offer him? Compared to Elain’s gentle beauty and kindness, you felt like a storm—chaotic and unyielding. You’d spent centuries honing your skills, fighting battles, making sacrifices. Vulnerability wasn’t something you knew how to share.

A sharp breath escaped you, your hands curling into fists as your pace quickened. The tears came faster now, silent but persistent, blurring the cobblestones underfoot. It wasn’t sadness, you told yourself again. It was confusion, frustration, maybe even fear.

You weren’t sure when the walls you’d built around yourself had started to crack, but tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Inner Circle, you’d felt something shift. It wasn’t just about Azriel. It was about family, connection, belonging—things you’d never let yourself hope for, let alone believe you could have.

But as much as you’d enjoyed the night, as much as you’d appreciated their kindness, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider looking in. They cared for each other deeply, their bonds unbreakable. And you? You were just passing through, a healer with a tangled past and an uncertain future.

The stars blurred as fresh tears welled up, and you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head back to let the cool night air soothe your burning cheeks. You didn’t know what you were crying for—what you were mourning. Maybe it was for the family you’d lost long ago, or the life you might have had if things had been different. Maybe it was for the bond you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

Or maybe, it was for the fragile hope buried deep within you—the hope that one day, you might find a place where you truly belonged.

——

Azriel’s POV

Azriel exhaled a quiet breath as he stepped into the crisp night air, the faint sounds of the dinner fading behind him. The garden of the townhouse was peaceful, blanketed in a soft glow from the moon above. Elain walked beside him, her delicate frame tucked into a thick coat, her hands gripping the fabric tightly against the chill.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first. But as they wandered further down the winding paths, Elain drew closer, her arm brushing his. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the faint pink on her cheeks—not from the cold, but something else.

It was when they reached the edge of the garden, where the view of Velaris spread wide and glittering below, that she finally spoke.

"Azriel," she said softly, her voice hesitant.

He turned to face her, noting the awkward expression on her face, the way her hands twisted nervously in front of her. “What is it?” he asked, his tone calm, though a flicker of concern stirred in his chest.

Elain hesitated, her gaze darting away before meeting his again. “Are you sure...we can trust Y/N?”

Azriel blinked, her question catching him off guard. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, this hadn’t been one of them. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s just...the way she talks, the way she carries herself. There’s something...off about her.”

Azriel tilted his head, studying her closely. He hadn’t missed Y/N’s sharp tongue during the meeting at the House of Wind, but her words had been purposeful, her actions deliberate. If Elain was referring to that, it didn’t make sense for her to hold it against Y/N.

“She was doing her job,” Azriel said carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “If this is about what happened at the House of Wind—”

“It’s not just that,” Elain interrupted, her voice rising slightly before softening again. She looked at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “You don’t realize the way she spoke to me. The way she...looked at me. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Azriel’s frown deepened. He couldn’t recall Y/N being anything but professional, but Elain’s tone suggested she felt otherwise. Still, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without evidence.

“Elain,” he said gently, “what exactly are you saying? Is there something specific that’s made you doubt her?”

She hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, after a moment, she said, “I just...feel like she’s hiding something. A lot of things. And it’s not just her past—it’s her power, Azriel. It’s unsettling. What if she’s here for something else? What if she’s working for Koschei?To attack us from the inside?”

Her voice grew more frantic as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of worry.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression calm. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Elain,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re overthinking this.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertainty flickering there.

“She’s not here to harm anyone,” Azriel continued. “If she were, we would’ve seen signs by now. And even if there were any truth to your fears, I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt as he added, “Nothing bad will happen while I’m around. I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Elain simply looked at him, her expression softening at his words. She nodded slowly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“I trust you, Azriel,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave her a faint nod, his gaze steady. But as they turned to head back toward the townhouse, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind—not about Y/N, but about the seeds of mistrust Elain had tried to plant.

Elain bid Azriel a soft goodnight, her steps retreating up the stairs until they faded entirely. Azriel lingered in the quiet of the garden for a moment longer, the chill of the night seeping into his skin as he let his mind turn over her words. Doubt, no matter how unwarranted, was a dangerous thing to sow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he made his way back to the living room. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, their laughter and conversations long gone. Only Rhysand and Cassian remained, seated comfortably with drinks in hand.

“There he is,” Cassian said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Thought you’d vanished into the shadows for good this time.”

Azriel ignored the jab, heading straight for the sideboard. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and crossed the room to join them. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, cradling the glass in his hand before taking a long sip.

“You missed the part where we solved all the world’s problems,” Cassian quipped, but there was a lightness to his tone.

Azriel shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Rhysand, his expression thoughtful. “Did you know about Y/N being half Illyrian and half High Fae?”

Rhysand raised a brow, leaning back in his seat. “Madja mentioned it to me when I first spoke with her about Y/N, but beyond that, no. Y/N hasn’t shared much about her personal life—at least not with me.”

Azriel frowned slightly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “She’s been...secretive.”

“That’s not surprising,” Rhysand said, his voice calm. “She’s lived a long life, Azriel. People who’ve endured as much as she likely has aren’t quick to share their scars.”

Cassian shrugged, setting his empty glass on the table with a faint clink. “It’s not uncommon, though, is it? Half Illyrians without wings? The camps might not like to talk about it, but it happens more often than they’d admit.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, his gaze distant. “It’s not just that. She’s...different. There’s a weight to her that’s hard to ignore.”

Rhysand regarded him carefully, his violet eyes sharp. “What are you trying to say, Az?”

Azriel hesitated, the words forming slowly. “She doesn’t seem like someone who’s just here to replace Madja or take up the work of healing. There’s more to her, something she’s not saying.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a healer, yes, but she’s also a warrior. And from what I’ve gathered, she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal to those she chooses to protect. That doesn’t mean she owes us every detail of her life.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like we’ve shared all our dirty laundry with her either. Hell, Az, you’ve been watching her like a hawk since she got here, and she hasn’t so much as flinched. If she were hiding something dangerous, don’t you think she’d have slipped up by now?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows whispering quietly in his ears. He took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat.

“I’m not saying she’s a threat,” he said finally. “But there’s something...unsettling about not knowing where she stands. Especially now, with everything happening in Prythian.”

Rhysand sighed, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong to be cautious, Az. But until she gives us a reason to doubt her, we owe her the benefit of the doubt. She’s earned that much through her work alone.”

“Relax, brother,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “Not everyone is out to stab us in the back. Besides, if she wanted to, she’s had plenty of chances.”

The conversation lulled, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Azriel leaned back in his chair, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. Despite Cassian’s teasing and Rhysand’s reassurances, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

He’d keep watching. Just in case.

Rhysand shifted in his seat, his sharp gaze settling on Azriel. His expression was calm, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe it’s time for you to look elsewhere, brother. To seek someone who could truly bring you peace.”

Azriel sighed heavily, the sound filled with equal parts exhaustion and frustration. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if the whiskey held answers he couldn’t find.

Cassian, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “You know, Az, Rhys might actually have a point for once. The world won’t end if you let yourself—”

Azriel’s sharp glare cut him off, but it was Rhysand who pressed on, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, brother, I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or whom to care for. But Lucien is coming back to Velaris for the Solstice, and I don’t want you to—”

Azriel’s head snapped up, and his voice was cold and clipped as he interrupted. “You didn’t have to invite him.”

Rhysand’s brows rose slightly, but his voice remained steady. “He is her mate, Azriel. Whether we like it or not, that bond exists. Ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling more protectively around him. “I’m well aware of that, Rhys. But you didn’t need to bring him here. Solstice is for family.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, holding up a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and we don’t need to—”

“I don’t need your advice,” Azriel snapped, cutting him off as well. His voice was calm but laced with a quiet, simmering anger. He stood, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m grown enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need either of you meddling in my personal life.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes followed Azriel carefully, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. But he didn’t press further, simply nodding once.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Well, that went well.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his shadows coiling around him as he turned and left the room. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t look back.

As he stepped into the cool night air, the weight of their words still lingered. His chest felt tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

----

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callsign-rogueone · 2 days ago

Text

bruised, but not broken

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 2.0k 🏷: pt5 for sawyer and peach, very mild iron flame spoilers, mild descriptions of injury, soft sleepy sawyer <3 (he's concussed and needs to be held, okay), second squad makes another appearance, peach has a mouth on her, peach getting distracted by his muscles, more will-they-won't-they (they will eventually, I promise), two updates in two days! that's a record for me. ok byeee

Tomorrow comes and goes with no sight of Sawyer or his friends.

He wouldn’t have forgotten about you, especially not after all that ordeal yesterday with that piece of parchment that’s still burning a hole in your bookbag. Maybe they’re just busy training.

Yeah. Extra flight time, or something. Or they’re out in the woods again. But wouldn’t they have a healer with them, then? None of the third years are unaccounted for. Maybe the second time they send them without a healer, to make it more difficult — not that you really did anything for them when you were there, besides figure out that the two maps were different.

You probably weren’t supposed to do that, but after passing by the same tree four times, it became abundantly clear to you that most of these city kids had never spent any time in the woods, and you just couldn’t help yourself.

You bring a hand up to hold the little flower charm between your fingers, taking a breath. He’s fine. He has to be fine. Just crack your knuckles and say a prayer, and he’ll be fine.

The infirmary being full really isn’t helping you relax right now, either. Not when half of the patients are infantry cadets who have just returned from four days of camping in the woods, and James and his twin idiots could walk in at any time. You’ve had it up to here with one of them in particular, who has been mouthing off about how long he’s been waiting to be checked out for a tiny cut on his arm that would need one stitch, if any.

“They’ll get to you when they get to you, but keep whining like that and I will personally make sure you’re the last one to be seen today.” He starts to protest, but you cut him off. “Do I make myself clear?” you ask more firmly. He nods, looking sufficiently embarrassed. “Good. Now sit your ass down, and treat me and my classmates with some respect.”

The squad exchanges a look. “Has she always been like that?” Ridoc asks in a whisper.

“Only when I did something really stupid,” Sawyer replies, his eyes not leaving you. “I haven't seen her that mad since I pretended to drown in the river when we were sixteen.”

“That wasn’t funny then and it still isn’t now,” you chide, turning to face them. Your jaw drops at the sight of the two boys — and Rhiannon, too — all looking battered and bruised.

“It’s worse than it looks,” Ridoc reassures, giving you a smile that stretches the purpling bruise on his left cheek.

“He means that it looks worse than it is,” Violet corrects from his side. She appears unscathed, but looks exhausted to the bone.

“Isn’t that what I said?”

You point down the hallway. “All of you, exam room, now.” The infantry cadet opens his mouth, but you silence him with your stare. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word out of you, kid.”

You exhale deeply as soon as the door is closed behind the five of you. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”

“All good,” Ridoc supplies.

“Her first,” both of the boys say in unison, looking at Rhiannon. She doesn’t protest, sitting down in front of you and stripping off her flight jacket so you can take a proper look.

The first thing you notice is that both of her wrists are circled with patches of raw, irritated skin. “What did they do to you, tie you up?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Handcuffs.”

“For what purpose?”

“Top secret rider stuff,” Ridoc answers around a yawn, and you see an identical mark on him as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth. “Torture training. But we broke ourselves out, ‘cause we’re the best.”

“Gods above,” you swear. “I don’t know how half of what they do to you guys is legal.”

“It really isn’t,” Violet answers tiredly, “but we signed up for it.”

It still doesn’t sit right with you, but you can’t do anything to change it. All you can do is keep patching them up the best you can.

“Ridoc, can you…”

“Gotcha.” He takes the small bowl from you, holding it under the tap, and the flow of water turns into several small chunks of ice.

“Thanks.”

He hums in response, taking one for himself and holding it to the split on his cheekbone.

“What’s your date of birth?” Violet asks quietly, pen in hand. She’d managed to swipe a handful of intake sheets off the counter without you noticing, and is sitting in the corner, dutifully filling them in for you. Scribe habits die hard, you suppose. Nobody will care as long as it’s your signature at the bottom certifying everything, especially when you’re so short-handed and the leadership has a dozen more important things to do than check it.

Ridoc looks deeply offended. “Ow, dude. You don’t know my birthday?”

“April 23rd,” Sawyer answers for him, not looking up. He’s definitely got some sort of concussion — the unfocused look in his eyes and his unusually quiet, slow-blinking demeanor give it away.

“See? Somebody knows.”

“Only because you made a ginormous deal about it.”

“Excuse me for wanting to celebrate still being alive!”

The room falls silent. You’ve only heard a few things about their squadmates that had passed, but it’s obvious that they were all deeply affected by the losses.

“I didn't mean…”

“We know,” Violet says gently, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

There’s another moment of quiet before you pull back, assessing your work. “I think that’s about all I can do.”

“Thank you. It feels a lot better already.”

The squad sits quietly, not saying anything as you patch up Ridoc, then turn to Sawyer. “You guys can head back without me,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitation from the others, but they exchange a look and silently decide it’s okay.

“For the road,” you say, handing them each a tin of bruise salve and a small bottle of pain tonic — and some more stretchy bandages for Violet. “Get some rest if you can.”

They take their leave quietly, thanking you, and shut the door behind them, leaving just you, Sawyer, half a bowl of ice, and the pile of neatly written paperwork. He slowly gets up, moving to sit on the edge of the table — almost at eye level with you now. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Hi.” He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, blinking at you slowly.

You cradle his jaw in one hand, tilting his head up so you can look at his pupils — they’re equal and reactive, with no signs of permanent damage. The few days worth of stubble covering his jaw tickles your palm as he leans into your touch, closing his eyes. “M’ sorry for bailing on you,” he murmurs. “I really was going to come get you, I promise.”

“I know, sweet boy,” you soothe. “Don’t worry about it.”

He reaches out, pulling you closer and resting his head over your heart — and whining like a sad puppy when you don’t return the hug.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say gently.

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles. “C’mere.”

You wrap your arms around him loosely, resting a hand on his back and stroking up and down gently while you work the other into the hair at the back of his neck, gently massaging away some of the tension. He hums in contentment, settling against you and closing his eyes.

You’ve only seen him like this once, this clingy and sleepy, when he’d caught the world’s worst cold during harvest season and you were tasked with taking care of him while everyone else was out working. Of course you’d gotten the same cold from him, and then the roles were reversed. He would actually have made a decent healer. If only he were safe here with you all the time instead of risking his life every day doing gods-know-what in the name of preparing for war.

“I worry about you, y’know. All of you,” you admit.

“Don’t. We managed to escape a literal dungeon together.”

“I wish you hadn’t been there in the first place.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

You feel your stress slowly start to drain away, replaced with the reassuring steadiness of his breathing and the soft tick of the clock. You can finally stop worrying about his name being on the death roll tomorrow.

He pulls back, looking up at you. “Can you check if one of my ribs is broken?”

Your eyes widen. “You really just let me — asked me to hug you, when you thought you had a broken rib?” He winces at your volume, and you apologize immediately. “Sorry, sorry. Take your jacket off?”

He complies, setting it on the table, then tugs his shirt over his head, and your jaw drops — both at the yellow-purple bruises across his chest and ribs, and the definition there. He’s always been lean, but the last year has really toned him. All the muscles you had to memorize the names of are on clear display. You pick them out one by one as your eyes rake over the exposed skin.

“Is it that bad?” he asks after a moment.

Busted. “No,” you stammer. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen. Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

You lay your palm against his side, feeling for an obvious point of discomfort. His skin is warm to the touch, and the muscle has just the right amount of give to it. He’d be nice to cuddle with, among other things.

He inhales sharply, distracting you from your thoughts. “There?” you ask, prodding gently. “I think it’s just bruised. There’s no swelling or evidence of displacement.”

“Ah. And the other side?” he asks hoarsely, his cheeks flushed pink.

There’s no bruises or cuts on his other side, but you humor him anyway, moving your hand down his ribs. Five… six, seven, eight… nine, ten… “Turn a bit?” you prompt.

You’re very grateful that he can’t see your face right now. You’d admired his chest, but his back… the expanse of his shoulders and the relic stretched across them, the thick lines of muscle there… Focus. Stop being a creep. He’s injured, for Amari's sake.

You smooth your hand over his side, finding the floating ribs… there. Eleven, twelve. “Nothing broken,” you manage. “Anything else to report?”

He shakes his head no. “Just sore.” He pulls his shirt back on, and it takes you every ounce of self control not to look disappointed as his skin is covered in the tattered black fabric. He looks you over like he’s assessing you for injury. “How are you doing? Any creepiness I missed out on when I was chained up?”

You wince at the mental image, but shake your head no. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. Are you going to be okay to get back on your own?”

“I thought I told you to stop worrying about me.”

“You did,” you answer. “But I’m not going to stop.”

He sighs. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”

“I should probably get back out there, but if you want to lay down for a while, I can keep the door locked.”

He shakes his head, standing. “I’m gonna go shower, n’ probably sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Why are goodbyes with him always so awkward? You never know what to do, where you stand. You definitely aren’t in kiss territory. Maybe a cheek kiss, but that’s pushing it. You’ve settled for long hugs a few times, never knowing if it would be the last one you ever get.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For patching me up.”

“Always,” you answer softly, looking up at him. “I’ll always be here for you. Just keep coming back to me, okay?”

“Always.”

#sawyer and peach #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine #sawyer henrick

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starlitsprout · 3 days ago

Text

Shared Walls (Peter Parker x Reader) (I)

_________________________________________________

Summary:

Finding a roommate in New York City is like searching for water in the middle of the desert- or your case, a decent person who isn’t a creep and who can afford to pay rent on time. Just when you were about to call it quits, you stumbled upon a post created by Peter Parker. After doing some digging around, making sure this guy wasn’t an axe-swinging murderer, you find out that he’s a quiet, nerdy college student, who looks like he won’t chop you up to bits. You message him, and after some talking back and forth, you agree to be roommates.

At first, living with Peter Parker was great! Peter is polite, cleans up after himself, pays his half of the rent on time, and is usually too occupied with school or work to cause any drama. Perfect roommate right? But after a year and a half of living together, things turn strange, when your “perfect” roommate turns up with strange mysterious bruises and gets home at odd hours of the night. What could he be up to?

Word count: 2.5K

_________________________________________________

*THUD*

A muffled thud coming from the room next to yours jolts you awake, dragging you from your dreams. For a moment, you lay still, blinking into the darkness of your room, heart thumping. You try to take in some deep breaths in an attempt to lull yourself back to sleep and prevent a heart attack. You know it's probably just Peter, coming back late, for the fifth time this week, from what you guess is either work or another late-night study session with Ned and MJ.

Just as you’re about to fall back to sleep, the sound of something–or someone–stumbling into furniture, followed by loud hushed cursing, wakes you right up again. You sit up in your bed, annoyed, and rub your eyes in frustration, your eyes then dart to the glowing red numbers of your alarm clock.

3:25 AM.

You let out a loud sign, and run your hand through your hair.

What on earth was Peter doing this time?

Pushing back your covers, you sat up, maybe a bit too quickly as you felt a bit light-headed, or maybe that was just the sleep deprivation finally kicking in. No matter what the reason was, you stumble out of your room, towards Peter’s.

As you approach his room, you hear the sounds of heavy footsteps, the scrape of something hard against the floor, and… a quiet groan?

Curiosity and concern wash away your sleepiness as you raise your hand to knock on the door. You silently pray to yourself that you’re not about to interrupt your roommate during a…private moment, but being the slightly noisy and curious person that you are you decide to stay true to yourself and knock anyway.

Knocking on his door softly, you whisper, “Peter? Is everything alright?”

The shuffling abruptly stops, and for a few moments, the only thing you can hear is the sound of your breathing.

Then Peter’s voice cut through the silence, high-pitched and filled with anxiety. “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m Fine. Totally Fine! No reason to not be! I uh… just dropped something! Sorry!”

You furrow your eyebrows, hand hovering over the doorknob. “At three in the morning?”

Another pause fills the air, and then Peter responds, “You know me! Night Owl! Haha!”

On any other night, you would've just brushed off Peter’s weird behavior, but after five nights of waking up at 3 in the morning due to whatever the hell your roommate was up to that night, finally got to you. This time you were going to figure out what was going on, and seeing that you weren’t going to get a straight answer without asking him face-to-face, you crack the door open. With your mind racing with paranoid thoughts, that only you could come up with in the dead of night. Maybe Peter got drunk and wandered in clumsily or maybe your thoughts of him secretly being a drug dealer were true and he was getting high off his own suppl–

And then you saw him.

With the door now fully open, Peter was sitting in his desk chair, with only the dim light of his small desk lamp to illuminate his figure. His face was bruised and streaked with dirt and blood and his lip was swollen with a cut at the corner of his mouth. His appearance just screamed, “Hey I just got beaten up by an angry mob” and “I’m definitely not okay no matter what I say!” It was overall concerning.

But what was most concerning, was that even with the cuts and bruises, he was… kind of hot.

You blinked, trying to focus, but either you were losing your mind over the fact it was way past your bedtime or there was something truly captivating about the way his messy brown curls framed his face, or how cute he looked in his oversized longsleeved t-shirt decorated with the world’s most cringy science pun, which was so Peter. Along with some dark gray sweatpants that seemed to fit him just right.

Peter shifted anxiously under your gaze, with his shirt shifting just enough for you to see the fabric underneath– a smooth, almost sleek blue and red material that didn’t look like it belonged with the rest of his outfit.

“Uh… Peter? Are you okay?” Your voice came out a little too loud in comparison to the stillness of the night. Peter looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, and tugging his shirt down with the other.

“Oh, hey I’m good. Sorry for waking you up Y/N. I didn’t mean to,” He said quickly, flashing a sheepish smile that was a little too strained to convince you that he was alright.

You stepped further into the room, eyes still locked onto Peter’s disheveled appearance. Your brain, which was still waking up, was trying to process the scene around you. But you just couldn’t make sense of it. Why was Peter up this late? What was he wearing? You didn’t know.

What you did know was that you were a little too aware of how good your roommate was looking at the moment.

You mentally slapped yourself. Focus Y/N, focus. This was Peter! You're kind of awkward, socially inept, and constantly rambling on when he’s a nervous roommate! Not one of those guys from the soap operas you're always watching when you should be studying for your nursing exams.

But as you stood there, trying to ignore how the dim light casted a soft glow over his bruised face, or how his jawline was looking especially sharp, you subconsciously closed the distance between the two of you, standing in front of him, slightly grazing your right hand against his face, barely touching his bruised skin.

You can feel Peter staring at you in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from analyzing his beaten-up features. “Peter,” your gaze shifts as you meet his eyes, “what happened to you?”

He winces slightly as you accidentally make too much contact with his bruised face, causing you to draw your hand quickly and whisper a small “Sorry.”

Once again Peter attempts to put on a convincing smile. “It’s alright, a-and I’m fine really, just got a little banged up. It’s nothing, just might need a bandage or two,” e said as if those words could convince you he wasn’t in pain.

You frown at him and quickly walk out leaving Peter in confusion, staring at where you once stood in his room. Only moments later you return with a first-aid kit and start tending to his wounds, his softy groans in pain as the ointment touches his cuts. “You don’t have to do this Y/N, I’ll be okay. You need to go back to sleep, I’ve already kept you up,” he tells you.

You ignore his wishes and continue patching him up as best as possible. “I just need a bandage or two my ass. You look like you got hit by a bus. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep now, not when I know you’re hurt.” Peter smiles at you and quietly thanks you as you continue your work, the time now being 4 in the morning.

As you work, carefully wiping off dirt and applying antiseptic to his cuts, Peter winces with every touch, although he tries to hide behind it with small smiles and a bit of small talk. His eyes are glassy, not from the pain, but from something deeper–something that he’s not sharing with you. As you’re about to question him once again about the situation, you notice blood starting to leak and spread through his shirt and whatever weird compression shirt he’s wearing beneath it. “Woah, Peter. This is worse than I thought your chest is bleeding, I’m going to need you to lift your shirt so I can see what’s going on.” You say as your face reddens a bit at the thought of seeing your roommate of almost two years possibly shirtless.

He hesitates for a moment, and you watch him, studying his movements. The way he shifts once again in his seat, avoiding your gaze. He lets out a frustrated sigh and looks back at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispers nervously. “But… could you turn around for a sec, I’ll.. I’ll take off my shirt, but I- just please,” he says quickly.

You nod your head quickly, turning your back to him. Your heartbeat quickens for reasons you rather not explore, you know you shouldn’t lose focus again. You just need to help Peter.

You hear the soft shuffle of fabric behind you, followed by the faint sound of something–maybe his shirt— being pulled off and falling to the ground. The air shifts as he moves, and you mentally slap yourself as you realize how awkward this situation must be for him. Your future career is going to be as a nurse, and yet you can’t help but feel a bit shy and nervous.

But you have no choice but to push your emotions away, you know you need to help out no matter how red your face seems to get.

You hear him settle back into the chair, and you take that as your cue to turn around.

Once again you are in shock.

Peter is sitting there, upper body exposed, with his sweat pants loosely hanging off his hips, and his chest exposed with more cuts and bruises than you expected along with his–

Wait. Abs?

You blink, not quite believing your eyes. Since when did Peter Parker, the Star Wars nerd, and the “brain over brawn” type guy have abs like this? Tonight is just full of surprises.

The muscles adoring his torse are defined in a way that is, to be completely honest mouth-watering. You try to shake it off, but the sight is almost overwhelming. He’s got this toned, sculpted six-pack that you’re pretty sure wasn’t there the last time you saw him shirtless, which, granted, has been never.

FOCUS! You mentally yell at yourself. Remember Peter is your roommate, your friend, the guy who rants to you for hours about what he does in his chem labs every Friday. He’s injured, and you’re here to patch him up–- not ogle at how good he looks.

Trying to keep your composure, you start to grab items out of your first-aid kit and get back to work patching him up. Peter was clearly aware of your lingering gaze but chose not to say anything about it, instead choosing to fidget around in his chair.

As you finally wrap up, you give him one last look over, checking for anything else that needs attention. His eyes meet yours, for what feels like the millionth time this night, but for a moment, there’s an intensity lingering within the silence. You almost feel like you should try to say something again, but you choose not to, knowing that Peter will give you the run-around…again.

Peter swallows hard, breaking the tension. “Thanks for this Y/N. Seriously. I…I owe you one.”

You give him a soft smile in return, still trying to push down the bizarre mix of emotions roiling inside you. “Don’t mention it,” you tell him, as you quickly pack up your stuff. “You should be all good, just don’t do anything too intensive or straining, doctor’s orders” you lightheartedly joke as you get ready to leave his room.

As you begin to walk toward the door, you hear Peter’s quiet, almost hesitant voice behind you.”

“Y/N..”

He slowly and carefully stands up from his chair, carefully to not ruin the work you did caring for his wounds, walking up to you. You turn to look at him, your hand on the doorknob.

“I…,” he continues, his voice shaky. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, for everything. I mean, I woke you up and you still helped me. You are a wonderful roommate and an even better friend, and I wish I could explain to you what’s going on–,” he pauses letting out a deep breath.

You stand there, unsure how to handle the growing tension. But the raw sincerity in his words keeps you there, standing at the door. Peter’s eyes are wide with gratitude, his chest still bare, the remnants of your first aid work still visible along his skin.

“I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this. It’s..It’s not what I wanted, and it's not what you signed up for as my roommate. I promise I’ll be more careful next time, that way you won’t have to fix me up again.” His gaze on you is intense, searching like there’s something else he wants to say. You know there's more weight to his words, he not just apologizing for interrupting your much-needed sleep with his late-night antics, he’s apologizing for not being the friend he knows he should be.

Something inside you shifts, as you let go of the doorknob and take a step closer to him. You’ve spent the last year and a half sharing this space, sharing your life with Peter, to late-night study sessions, countless Star Wars marathons, and game nights with MJ and Ned. You’ve known from the beginning that Peter kept a lot of aspects of his life to himself, telling you enough so you could get to know him but never enough to let you in. Through all of that, you’d never imagined this side of Peter.

“Peter…I need you to be safe. I get that you don’t want to tell me where you go every night and I guess I can live with that but I need you to be safe,” you say as you fiddle with your hands. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again…I care about you too much.”

The room seems to get quiet, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, realizing what you just said and if you should have said it at all.

Peter looks at you for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then almost as if the tension finally snapped, he reaches out for you.

Without any time to react, Peter grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. Before you can get any words out of your mouth, Peter captures your lips with his own.

The kiss is soft, but needy at the same time as if Peter is trying to convey everything he was hesitant to say in your conversation. His hands move gently towards your waist, and you instinctively respond by wrapping your arms around his neck.

It was a shock and unplanned, but at the same time, it felt right as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When you both finally pull away, breathless, you’re left staring at each other lost in a daze.

Peter’s face flushed red, “I’m sorry, I just–I needed to show you how much I appreciate you and care about you. I understand that it was uncalled for and if I made you uncomfortabl–.” He rambles on but you quickly cut him off.

“It's okay,” you whisper, feeling a warmth spread through you.

You both stay there for a bit longer, enjoying the sweetness of the moment. There’s definitely no going back now.

_________________________________________________

( Authors Note: Yay!!! That's the end of the first part!! I hope y’all enjoy my first fic, it's my first time writing in five years, so please forgive me for my rusty skills, I’m still getting back into the groove of writing. I’m hoping to make this fic a series, where Peter, Ned, and MJ get to go to MIT and everyone is happy and alive. I just wanted to make something that isn’t too intense for my first fic back and a bit easier for me to maintain! Anyway hope you enjoyed!)

#peter parker #spiderman #mcu #marvel #x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #tom holland spiderman x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #marvel x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you

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lmaowhatt · 2 days ago

Text

utterly obsessed? - five

summary: actress y/n I/n has recently skyrocketed into stardom after her breakout film 'castaways' alongside sarah cameron, kevin hart, chris evans and chris hemsworth. weeks after the movies premiere, she drops her debut single, further cementing her place in the spotlight. as millions of people around the world begin to idolize her, and as she struggles with her own demons, she catches the attention of rafe cameron, who doesnt shy away from becoming utterly obsessed in what seems to be the cutest way possible.

main masterlist

four - five - six

hellraisermovie

liked by youruser, rafecameron, jbr and 827k others

hellraisermovie out now! thank you to everyone who contributed on this project including our amazing directors @/davidbruckner and @/jbr. and a big thank you to the amazing actors who brought our vision to life.

youruser YAY!

rafecameron im so hot.

➯ user hes so self aware

➯ user some would call it cocky

brandonflynn BOW BOW BOW

user they fadiddled?!?!

➯ user using common sense isnt a thing apparently

user SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

adamfaison WHOO.

user shes so 😍😍😍

➯ user RIGHT? like fuck rafe shes so 🤤

msjamieclayton thanks for this opportunity!

user that entire scene had me like 😧🫣🫨

➯ user real

rafecameron

liked by youruser, sarahcam and 1.0 million others

rafecameron hellraiser out now!

sarahcam ur so gross ew.

➯ rafecameron puhlease im obviously the better sibling🙄

➯ jbr i beg to differ

user seriously somebody sedate me

user i js know its rough

jbr why are you always bald

➯ rafecameron thats it, where are my clippers

popeh you're getting it tn

➯ cleopatty im right here.

➯ rafecameron so?

user raw, next question.

user guys.. i fear that 'i love you' maybe didnt sound scripted

➯ user she had a line after.. it was scripted 💀

user body so tea, both of them

➯ user seriously unfair 😔

user some ppl need to be put down😧

youruser

liked by rafecameron, sarahcam, jjmay and 928k others

youruser hellraiser, out now! hope you guys enjoy!

sarahcam YES HAWT MAMA marry me

➯ jbr i object.

➯ youruser overruled.

jjmay WOOHOO.

*liked by creator*

user dont sedate me just put me down.

kiekie yo.. forget my man i want YOU

➯ jjmay something tells me he would not approve nor be ok with this. a hunch

➯ user hmm...

jbr love you!

cleopatty someone check my vitals

user the rafe likes are getting too frequent and i fw it.

popeh no cs this ate i fear.

➯ youruser you fear it ate? im appalled.

➯ popeh you can spell appalled? IM appalled.

your phone

two days into the new year, and you were navigating through the bustling airport in los angeles. you'd just returned from a brief trip to england, and while part of you was relieved to be back in your city, surrounded by your friends and the familiar chaos, another part of you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to stay longer. you had initially planned for an extra week, but life had a way of pulling you back. dressed in a matching grey tracksuit with the hoodie pulled low over your head, you gripped your phone, pressing it to your ear as it rang, waiting for jj to pick up.

"you here yet?" the mans voice was heard from the other side of the phone. you nodded, fumbling around with something in your bag before you answered. "yeah, landed about a half hour ago," you spoke, weaving through the small crowds of people as you tried to venture toward the airport entrance. "im almost there just hang tight, a'ight?" you hummed, muttering a quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

you continued to weave through the tight airport crowds, muttering small apologies when you bumped your shoulder or elbow into someone else. as you rounded a corner into a different hall, you harshly bumped into a younger girl who looked to be around sixteen years old. "oh my- honey im so sorry. are you okay?" you quickly muttered out as you held her hand to pull her back up. however, she didnt seem phased in the slightest, her eyes widening once she realized who you were.

"holy shit. y- youre y/n, right?" she stumbled on her words, smiling even brighter as you nodded your head with a sheepish chuckle. "uhm, sorry. c-can i get a picture, please?" she asked you nervously, constantly glancing between you and her phone as she fumbled around with it. "yeah sure," you smiled, watching as she excitedly passed her phone to her mom who was stood a few feet away, mumbling something about taking a picture.

after taking around three to four pictures, you turned to her again. "you sure you okay?" with concern etched on your face, a small smile still managed to make its way onto your face as you watched her nod profusely. "y-yeah. im okay. uhm, thank you." she smiled at your beofre muttering a quick goodbye, ruhshing away to grab her phone back from her moms grip.

you smiled to yourself, gathering your things once more as you felt your phone vibrate from its place on your backpack. "yeah?" you pressed the phone up to your ear, supporting it with your shoulder as you continued your walk towards the entrance. "im here," jj called through the phone, "lucky for you, its too busy i think you can just come out normally." you let out a small sigh, nodding gratefully. "ill be right out," you stated before hanging up.

jjmay

liked by youruser, kiekie and 1.1 million others

jjmay mi vida

jbr im offended. the only pic im in and its blurred.

➯ jjmay blame @/youruser photography skills

➯ popeh im his fav. i look hot in mine

user HELLO?? hardlaunch???

➯ jjmay oops?

youruser jj?? inspirational?? like i didnt send you that pic?

kiekie would just like to say jj was no help in winning the pool game!

user everyone SHUT UP. jj posted!

cleopatty boy knows two words in spanish and ran with it

sarahcam the shirley temples ate down tbh i wonder who made them..

➯ jjmay girl–

➯ youruser this one has a lil sass to it

➯ kiekie lets keep it

➯ jjmay im sorry, IT?

➯ jbr did they stutter?

user i love their friendship

user chat did anyone peep rage..

➯ user real like.. i didnt think they were close with him

➯ user rafe is literallly sarah's brother??

your phone

taglist: @xoxo-ada

psa: anyone else who wants to be added to the taglist, let me know!

a/n: so sorry for the very vey late upload but i slacked off 😔 its ok tho!!

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myownwholewildworld · 4 hours ago

Text

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

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simpingforbots · 1 day ago

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Stargazing 2

Panic settling in to his system, Ironhide had no idea what to do in this situation. He was so desperate to keep this little secret to him self, to keep you out of harms way, only thinking about the human and the annoying agent Galloway that he completely forgot about his teammates, mainly Prime, who was looking down at him with quite the disappointment. His blue opticks shifted just a bit before Prime rubbed his forehead with a groan.

“Ironhide, how long has this been going on?”

“For some time.” Ironhide could not lie to him. At all. “Prime, can we keep this between us?”

“I am sorry, old friend, but I can not do such thing. You know well how Nest will react to the information of civilian finding out about this, especialy after all the effort they put in to keeping it peaceful and without civilians involvement” Prime grumble out, staring at Ironhide, knowing well that Galloway will go on rant “What you did is against agreement we had with human government.”

“I know, I know” Ironhide shook his hands, trying to deescalate the issue to make it seem like it was no big deal “I just had no other choice. They were kidnapped by a decepticon punk and I had to step in to save them. And after this it just got out of hand, I just making sure they won’t tell anyone about it”

“And you taken them to stargaze is one of those method to keep them quite I presume?” Prime cocked his eyebrow with disagreement “Ironhide, you will have to bring them in and inform Galloway about this first thing tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Yes Prime” Ironhide sighed heavily and long, wathign Prime nod and turn around, heading in to his room for the rest of the night, leaving Ironhide alone with his thought. Well there goes the little getaway he had. Grumbling under his “breath” Ironhide headed to his quarters, climbing n his berth to recharge, trying to think of some sort of way to get you out of this mess without your freedome being taken away. You already had enough of troubles on your shoulder, and he really did not wanted this peace to be taken away from him, no matter how selfish it sounded. Then an idea popped in to his mind – Bumblebee is given sort of free range with Sam, right? He is allowed to stay with Witwicky’s residence and they were even given some kind of benefits for staying quite, like this year the boy will be heading in to the “college” a luxury few could afford and because of his “connection” he got in to a good one. Maybe he can try and scratch Galloways ego in to tricking him in to giving the same treatment to you. You could use some new place, especialy if he will be placed as your “guardian”. He just hopped that Galloway is this egotistical as to make him self believe it was his choice. The next morning Ironhide was one of the first one to wake up and using the moment of being the first, and not wanting for Prime to question his action before he can commit them, Ironhide quickly left the base, saying that he was going for a drive and will be back soon. In this situation and for his plan to work, he needs you to be here. Even if you might not want it.

Who ever was ringing your phone like crazy at five in the morning must be crazy, or not have a life at all. Grumbling, you covered your head with pillow, reaching over for your phone and refusing the call over and over, before giving up and answering the phone, bringing the bright screen to your side of the face, mumbling a half asleep “huh?”

“Morning there, sleeping beauty” Ironhide. You hummed in protest, mumbling something out you did not understood your self, but seemed like your alien 22 feet robot understood perfectly fine “Yeah, I know you love your recharge on this days, but its very important that you will be ready when I’ll be there. You thingk you can do this?” you hummed in sleepy agreement, mentally cursing at your self for being such a people pleaser and not knowing how to say no to him. Well you could say no, you just did not wanted to explain t your landlord, again, why the window was broken. “Alright then, I will see you soon” and with that he hung up. Mumbling, you climbed out of your bed and looked aorund for something simple to put on, not wanting to deal with how you will look in such early hour, which ended up being a sweatpants made to look like jeans and a cyan hoody with some word you could not bother to read now. Still asleep, you shovelled towards kitchen, putting on a kettle of water for coffee, not ready to meet the day without some energy. It did not take to long for the water to boil, pouring yourself a cup of instant coffee, blowing on it to take a sip, scavenging for something to take a bite off, managing to find some rice cakes. Munching on them, you heard a loud beeping, non stop, immideatly followed by angry yelling of someone about them being loud in 5 in the morning, which served as a sign that he was here, quickly finishing your coffee with help of cold water and shoving the cracker in your mouth, you put on pink sneakers and left your apartment. Ironhide seamed more impatient then ever, his door opening quickly and almost with impatient slammed it as soon as you got in, scaring you in to sort of waking up.

“What is going on?” you felt panic building up, the memory of the day you were kidnaped by a decepticon flooding back in to your mind.

“Just... Just have to clear some things up and let’s say we will meat with my team” Ironhide explained as he drove though streets, with you quickly buckling up as he past an intersection, barely missing red light. “Sort of meting and stuff. As well as “legal” things and stuff”

“Ah” you calmed down a bit, though still were worried about such meeting being arranged so suddenly. It did not take to long for you to arrive to a strange base, with soldier looking very confused upon seeing you in self driving car, as if they knew who Ironhide was, letting him pass and drive in to huge hangar, filled with other huge metal robots, all different in form and size, colour and posture, loking a bit shocked at your sight. There was no warning or time to get out as the metal around you creaked, bent and parted, things quickly moving in your vision, blurring in movement and you felt your self move as well, your stomch doing barrel rolls and your coffee dangerously close to being expelled. Thankfully the motion stopped, with you ending up in tight yet gentle grip of Ironhide, showing you off to other bots, who seemed shocked, quickly surrounding him and talking in their language. One with wheels for feet rolled over and reached out to pat your head, his three fingers messing up your bed hair even more, chippering something before Ironhide pulled yo away, huffing with what yo can think was a possessive jealousy. You were finally let down, though still surrounded by bots, the yellow one looked very displeased, with two smaller bots, green and orange, who looked like typical red necks, were quite fascinated with you, shoving each other and dangerously close. You panicked and quickly ran behind Ironhide foot, who shifted a bit, moving it slightly all while other bott seamed to coo at such “cute” reaction. Though Ironhide then gently nudged you forward to them, saying something about how he will be back, leaving you in the mercy of new bots. You slowly raised your hand, waving a shy hello to new bots.

Knowing that you will be okay, Ironhide went looking for “human weasel”, walking around the base trying to find him before Prime could get a word of your sudden arrival. It did not take to long though as he quckly caught Galloways scent and it lead him to the main hangar, where thin man in suite and glasses was giving Lenox a new one about some mission, rumbling about property damadge and other stuff. It was stupid that they were still stuck with this idiot, especialy after the whole “fallen” and now the whole world knowing about them, even helping to deal with human “politics” and other scrap. Walking up, he waited for Lenox to storm away after Galloway was done, taking a step back to give his “co-worker” some space, getting him self ready to speak with natinal security adviser as well.

“What do YOU want” the disgust was clear in adviser’s voice, dripping like venom towards him. It was no secret that he did not like him and his kind, nor did Ironhide, but swallowing his pride, weapon specialist spoke up.

Twins seemed to be quite a lively bunch, to lively for your own safety though as they started fighting over something that you did not quite catch, decking each other in face and throwing each other around. You screamed, trying to get out of the path of their destruction, with the robot on wheels grabing you and lifting out of harms way as the spot you were got crushed under two bots, decking it out right there and right here, exchanging one punch after another, all while yelling something at each other and being yelled at by other bots. It seamed like the yellow one, who from what you can sort of realise was their only medick, Ratchet, had enough, grabbing them by their neck and tossing out of the hangar, with their metal bodies hitting the pavement yet they still continued fighting. You let a sigh of relief while still in hands of new grey bot, asking to be let down, but it seamed the new bot had other ideas, changing the grip and you find your self hanging down by your leg, dangling above ground while he continued examining you. From this position you heard another footstep and seemed every one chose to behave and you were let go. As the foot step grew louder and closer, you though your head up and froze with wide eyes, staring at the biggest robobt you’ve seen so far, red and blue, staring down at you with what you could only assume was confusion before looking at the others for explanation. You could only guess what summoned him so suddenly here. He seamed no to pleased though with your sudden appearance, looking aorund for the only bot missing here.

“Where is Ironhide” knowing well who this human might be, Optimus wanted to hear it from the bot him self, looking around the hangar, a bit surprised that you were easily handed to other.

“He said something about talking with Galloway, Prime” Ratchet answered, moving closer and looking down at you, who seemed to sink in them self. “I did not expected him to bring civilian here at all. Any ideas why?”

“Let just say we will learn soon” Optimus replied and it did not take to long for a voice to come though, asking for Prime and a “visitor” to meet at the main hangar for a talk with Agent about the mess Ironhide had created. Letting a heavy sigh, Prime reached down, scooping you up and walking out, leaving other autobots to figure things out. You hang on to dear life, clinging to flat digits, letting some panic whimpers while being carried in to main hangar, joining along for a surprise ride in hands of leaders of autobots, who seamed not to shocked about your existence and being here. you were relieved to see Ironhide in the same hangar you’ve been carried in to, but your relief quickly dwindling when you were placed on the platform next to a strange man, who was not to happy to see you, asking for other men to take you away. With Ironhide grumbling something about you being take away, you were lead down the platform in to other room, scared, confused and wondering just what this day will bring now.

#transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers #ironhide #ironhide x reader #bayverse #transformers bayverse

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twst-aceofhearts · 24 hours ago

Text

Chocolate

a/n: the bonus fic I was talking abt in my post - more as an apology for not posting a fic in so long - do i realize that the ratio of words in ace fics to other characters' is significantly more? yes. will i make it equal and tone down my ace fics? absolutely not. ;)

I TOTALLY DON'T HAVE AN IMPENDING HYPERFIXATION ON ACE PSHHH WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

slow burn(?)

@ai-kan1 peace offering plz accept me TT

not proofread sorry

tw: very cheesy and very cringe-worthy kissing scenes

pairing: Ace x Fem!Yuu (has a nut allergy and gets motion sickness for the sake of plot)

words: 6234 (hoo boy..)

taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @ai-kan1

“You’re pretty popular these days, huh,” Ace says, his words lacking the teasing lilt he’d hoped to achieve upon seeing the piles of chocolates on Yuu’s table that morning.

Though—he inspects the stacks of cheap gifts he could easily discern were from Sam’s Shop. Do these people really think they can win Yuu over with shallow and thoughtless offerings like these? Did they even try?

Now, he’s no critic, but if Ace was given the chance to take part in this annual wooing fest, he’d go out of his way to take Yuu to an amusement park (everyone loves those) and impress her by winning all those crappy games for you (he’s street-smart, he’d know what he’s doing). Not only would Yuu end up utterly smitten with him, he’d also earn brownie points he can show off to Deuce. It’s an entirely win-win situation…or something. He wouldn’t know. It’s not like Ace spends his time thinking about this in minute detail. Haha, nope. Yuu was his best friend, and best friends don’t do that to each other.

…Probably.

“I guess,” Yuu hummed, rummaging through the mountain of chocolates, hoping for at least one decent piece without nuts.

“You guess?” Ace echoed in what almost sounded like a scoff. He leaned over her, arms crossed on the tabletop so that he could glance at the boxes in Yuu’s hands. “I counted twenty-three boxes. That’s basically the whole of the first years and half the second years at this school. What’s with all these chocolates for you, huh?”

With an amused smirk, he snatched a box out of her hands, inspecting the package.

“That’s some great hyperbole use, Ace. I didn’t realize your range of grammar was so wide,” Yuu deadpanned, “I’d appreciate it if you gave that back. It’s the only one without nuts and I want to satisfy my sweet tooth.”

“My grammar is amazing, you know. I’m the whole package,” Ace teased, tossing the box between his hands. His smirk was only growing bigger, seeming thoroughly entertained by her irritation. “But you didn’t answer the question: Why are you getting so many chocolates, hm?”

“Zero times a number is still zero,” Yuu countered back with a small smirk of her own. “And how would I know why so many people like me that way?”

“Ouch,” he deadpanned back in response. He put a hand to his chest in mock-despair. “Your cold words wound me. Here, a poor boy was just trying to give you a hard time, and you go ahead and say that.”

Ace was clearly just messing around with you, having the cheekiest damn smile on his face to show it.

“And you should have some idea, right? People like you because you’re cute. That’s it. Pretty simple reasoning.”

“You and your theatrics,” Yuu lightly shook her head. “But, I wasn’t expecting you to admit that. Are you one of the many people that like me or something?”

“Huh- hey, I do not have theatrics!” Ace protested with a huff. Although there was a hint of indignance in his voice, it quickly faded away to his usual carefree tone. He chose to ignore the second part of her question, but he couldn’t quite stop the flush that began to bloom over his cheeks. “I’m just being sarcastic with you! You ought to know that I’m just giving you a hard time, since I always give you a hard time.”

“Theater boy,” Yuu smiled, teasing him. She stood up, suddenly taking the box of chocolates back.

“Oh, come on!” Ace whined, following Yuu as she moved. “Don’t just take it back after that!”

For a moment, it seemed like he was about to make a grab for the box again, but he quickly aborted the motion with a huff and crossed his arms.

“So you still didn’t answer my question. Why the heck are you getting so many chocolates, anyway? Did you accidetally charm the entirety of our class or something?!”

“Look, I don’t know! This is what happens when you put a girl in an all boys school full of hormonal guys!” Yuu huffed, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

“Oh- that’s why-”

Ace bit back a bark of laughter, instead covering his mouth and muffling his giggles behind his hand. After a moment, he got his amusement relatively under control, clearing his throat and shaking his head.

“Hormonal guys. Yeah, that seems about right. So you’re really not like, secretly flirting with half the school like I thought? I actually have a shot after all?”

Yuu raised an eyebrow. “I’m starting to think you are a part of the guys that like me.”

“Me? You think I like you too?” Ace exclaimed, laughing in a poor, failed attempt to hide the nervous blush that was quickly overtaking his face.

“Well, I mean-” He looked away, suddenly unable to meet her Yuu’s eyes. His voice lowered as he continued. “So what if I… I mean, hypothetically…”

“So you do?” Yuu grinned, playing with the chocolate wrapper.

“Oh come on, don’t sound so smug about it,” Ace mumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets on his uniform pants, hunching his shoulders. He couldn’t manage to look at her, but that didn’t stop him from speaking again in a quiet voice.

“...Maybe I do. Hypothetically. You know, whatever, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

“Uh huh,” Yuu raised her eyebrows, her grin widening.

“Hush, you,” Ace shot back quickly, looking up to glare at her. “Don’t look so— so smug!”

His ears were definitely turning pink; a fact that was only made more obvious with some strands of fiery hair falling over them. “I can’t believe out of the two of us, you’re the one making me feel flustered.”

“Sure, pretty boy,” Yuu chuckled, placing the box of chocolate down.

“You—”

Ace choked on the rest of his sentence as he was called that. Heat flared up his neck into his face, turning his skin absolutely scarlet. How the hell did she say these things so easily?

“God, you’re the worst, you know that?” He turned away, facing the opposite wall and stubbornly refusing to look at Yuu. No one deserved to see how utterly embarrassed he was right now.

Yuu let out a small giggle, standing up and popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Hey, what—”

Ace was in the middle of protesting before the chocolate was suddenly in his mouth. He spluttered for a moment, though finally giving in because hey, free chocolate.

“Damn it- stop giggling like that. You’re enjoying this too much,” he grumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Never. Would you rather me feed it to you mouth to mouth, then?”

Ace sputtered and choked on the piece of chocolate he had in his mouth. He coughed to try and regain his ability to speak, but all he managed to do was turn bright red, sputter some more, and look absolutely flabbergasted.

“Actually—since you’re so judgemental about my mountain of chocolates I can’t even eat, what would you do? What kind of date would you plan? I might actually agree depending on how much I like that idea—who knows.” Yuu grinned, giving him a small wink.

The sheer confidence and sass in her voice stunned Ace all over again. He couldn’t help but just stand there, gaping at Yuu in surprise. Though, eventually he managed to pull himself together, a sly smile overtaking his face.

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart? I’ll have you falling to my feet by the end of that date. Just wait.”

“...sweetheart?” Yuu blinked twice, her smirk completely wiped off. Her turn to be flustered, I guess.

A sense of triumph flared up in Ace’s chest upon seeing her suddenly-dumbfounded expression. “What’s that look for? Got flustered, didn’t you? Didn’t think you’d get all shy.”

A sly smirk was still splayed across his face, taking a step closer to Yuu to admire her face more.

“Shut it. What do you have planned for this date, anyway?” Yuu huffed, scooting back with her chair, trying to change the subject.

“I thought you wanted to know how much you’d like it after I suggested a date, hm?” Ace teased, taking note of how Yuu were suddenly avoiding eye contact, and that sweet, flustered look on her face. He chuckled, resting his hands by her chair, caging Yuu in and effectively keeping her from scooting away.

“...whatever…j-just—tell me what you have planned, Ace.”

He’s got her trapped and flustered. Ace’s smirk widened, reaching out to grab one of her hands.

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” Ace leaned down and lowered his voice into a murmur. “But before I do, can I ask you something?”

“Sure…”

He moved his free hand to gently grab her chin, tilting her head up to look into her eyes. “You’d be willing to go on a date with me, even if it’s going to be really, really cheesy?”

Yuu shrugged. “Why not? Sounds fun.”

Ace studied Yuu’s face for a moment, a fond look in his eyes. Eventually, that smirk returned, releasing your chin. “Alright. I guess I shouldn’t be asking. Of course you’d be up for a sappy cheesy date.”

He stood up straight and let go of her hand in favor of crossing his arms. “My plan? I’m taking you to an amusement park.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace was practically bouncing with excitement by the time the two of them got there. Like a little kid, if anything. As he walked beside Yuu, he pointed at different parts of the park they both passed by.

“I’m gonna win you the biggest plushie they have. Then I’m gonna buy you a bunch of shitty snacks from all the vendors. And to top it all off, I’m gonna make you try all the rides here, even if you’re scared of heights.”

“Ah shit, I knew I forgot something…”

Ace stopped in his tracks, spinning around to give Yuu a questioning look. “Huh? Forgot something? What are you talking about?”

Yuu swallowed. “...my motion sickness medicine.”

Ace stared at her for a moment, a bewildered look on his face. He let out a low groan and facepalmed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re seriously telling me you forgot to take your motion sickness medicine to an amusement park?”

Yuu looked down guiltily, her head hanging low as she fiddled with her thumbs. “...I’m sorry,” she bit her lip, her voice quiet as she murmured an apology.

If it weren’t for the fact that she looked like a pitiful baby animal, he’d be very pissed off right now. Ace was prepared to be annoyed at her forgetfulness, he really was. But the moment he laid eyes on Yuu and saw that dejected, kicked-puppy-like look on her face, all of that annoyance melted away.

“Damn it, why’d you have to look so pathetic? You're making it hard to be made at you, you know that?” He sighed loudly.

“...excuse me?” Yuu looked up, meeting his eyes—her own narrowing.

Ace chuckled nervously. Looks like he had to backtrack after that one.

“Hold on, hold on, that didn’t come out right…” He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I meant ‘pathetic’ in an endearing way. You know, like when a puppy makes a mess and they stare up at you looking all sad and guilty? You’re looking at me just like that.”

“Oh good,” Yuu pushed her hands into her own pockets. “Well…what now?”

Ace paused for a moment, looking pensive as he thought of something through. “Hmm…Well, I guess the question is, how bad is your motion sickness? Like, can you even handle the small rides, or is it like, as soon as you walk into a park it all goes downhill?”

“I mean, I haven’t thrown up yet from the sight of a roller coaster. So, I think I can do small or calm rides.”

Ace nodded and exhaled a small sigh of relief. “Alright, that’s good. That means you can still somewhat enjoy the park.”

He leaned forward to sling an arm around Yuu’s shoulders, drawing her closer. “C’mon, I know what we should do first.”

“Oh?”

Ace flashed Yuu a smile before pulling her along. “First, we win you a plushie. I’m good at these carnival games, so it shouldn’t take too long to win a decent prize.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the two of them approached the first little game area, Ace stopped and pointed up at the hanging prizes.

“Pick which one you want. And don’t say you don’t care, just choose one. I’m gonna win it for you.”

“That one,” Yuu smiled, pointing up at a plush of a mix of some duck-fish hybrid thing. “It looks incredibly stupid, but I want it.”

Ace followed where she was pointing, letting out a laugh at the sight of the plushie she’d chosen. That thing was an absolute abomination.

“You’ve got a weird taste in plushes. But fine. You want the stupid fish-duck? I’ll win it for you.”

She let out a happy squeak, watching Ace pay for a chance to play. He accepted the game equipment from the person running the game, immediately getting to work. From the start, his eyes were laser-focused. He was incredibly determined to win Yuu the ugliest plush the park had, by God.

He worked through the game with impressive skill. His accuracy was excellent, his aim never once deviating far from the intended target. A small crowd even started to form as he continued to play, a few kids gathered around, marveling at how many points he was getting.

As he finally finished and set the equipment aside, he raked in an impressive amount of points. Almost more than any other player. The person running the game smiled and picked up one of the largest prizes, holding it out to him.

“Not bad, kid. You sure you don’t want to pick something bigger?”

Ace shook his head. “Nah, I’ve only got my eye set on one thing,” he replied, holding out his arms in a ‘gimme’ gesture. The person shrugged, handing over the fish-duck plush. It was absolutely hideous, just like Yuu had wanted.

Yuu smiled, squeaking happily as she took the plush when he offered. “Thanks, Ace,” she giggled, hugging the stupid looking plush tightly close to her chest.

Ace’s heart almost melted at the cute sound Yuu made. It was completely unfair that she could be so adorable and not even realize it. He gave an amused huff, smiling down at Yuu as she squeezed that ugly plush.

“You know, I don’t know whether to be upset or just accept that you’ve got a really weird taste.”

Yuu shrugged. “I’m stupid looking and I love it.”

Ace chuckled, shaking his head as he watched her practically coo over the plushie in her arms.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a weird taste,” He reached over to ruffle her hair fondly. “You’re a really strange girl, you know that?”

“Well, you’re the one that took this ‘strange girl’ out on this date in the first place.” Yuu tilted her head, squeezing the duck-fish plush once more.

Ace smirked, crossing his arms and leaning closer. “Hey, I never said I was opposed to it. If I was, we wouldn’t be here,” He flicked the corner of the plush’s wing.

“Though this thing is a testament to your weird taste in stuff. Like seriously, if that’s the most hideous thing you’ve chosen, then there’s no telling how more of your life choices could be just as weird…but I guess that’s part of your charm.” He commented, his gaze softening. That smirk slid into a smile, taking a moment to just look at her.

“Anyway—” Yuu tucked the plush under her arm. “---I wanna go on the ferris wheel.”

Ace had been admiring how she looked while holding her plush just now. Yuu was just way too cute to be legal. At her words, he jerked out of his mini-trance, clearing his throat and putting on another playful smirk.

“Oh, you want the ‘romantic cliche ride’, huh?”

“Well, actually I was going for rides that won’t make me throw up, but that works too.”

Ace barked out a laugh at her response, amused and a little bit incredulous. This girl just didn’t miss a beat, did she?

“I see. So a slow ride that goes in circles is the only thing you can really stand to tolerate. I think that qualifies as ‘boring’.”

“Look, either ‘boring’ or get covered in my own vomit. Pick your poison,” Yuu stuck her tongue out for a moment, giving the head of the duck-fish plush a gentle pat.

“Alright, alright, fine, you win,” Ace rolled his eyes, a fond smirk on his face. This girl never failed to amuse him, that was for sure. “Come on. Let’s go to the ferris wheel.”

He reached out and grabbed Yuu’s free hand, intertwining his fingers with hers as he began walking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace sat next to Yuu, watching the sun gradually set over the horizon. His hand was still holding onto hers, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. This was surprisingly nice. He’d have to admit, going on dates like this usually wasn’t his cup of tea…but he could get used to it when it was with Yuu.

“This is really nice…” Yuu looked down at the park in awe. Seeing people down there, enjoying themselves made her smile.

“Pretty too,” She added, watching the lights of the park turn on, somehow making the place look more picturesque. Yuu squeezed the ugly ass plush, feeling content as they began to descend.

Ace nodded in agreement. The view really was quite pretty up here. He leaned against Yuu a bit, looking down over the railing at the people below. He could just barely make out what they looked like in the growing darkness.

“Yeah. This really isn’t too boring after all.”

He smirked and lifted his free hand to tap the weird plushie under your arm. “See? That thing’s not too bad after all. It makes an excellent armrest.”

Yuu gasped dramatically. “Okay, for one, you were the one calling this duck-fish plush ugly. And two—how dare you use Jeremy as an armrest!”

Ace let out a laugh at her reaction. He couldn’t help it, that was just way too funny.

“‘Jeremy’?!” He repeated, his eyes shining with amusement. “You gave it a name?!”

Yuu failed to hold back a smile. “Of course I did. For the record, his pronouns are he/him, not it. Jeremy is my child now.”

Ace snorted as she started talking like the plush was actually a real creature. He reached out to pat the top of the plush’s head once, more for the humor of it than anything else.

“Alright, alright…I apologize. I’ll make sure to address this little guy properly. He is quite hideous, and is the fruit of your strange tastes.”

Yuu rolled her eyes, but there was no real malice intent to it. “Stop insulting my baby, Ace.”

Ace chuckled, shaking his head and raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, fine, I’ll stop. You’re right, your baby is perfect in every way.”

He reached out to pat the top of the stupid thing’s head again, this time in a more genuine manner. He was doing his best to keep his tone serious, but the corner of his mouth was twitching with the effort of keeping back a smirk.

“Better,” Yuu smiled, kissing Ace’s cheek as a reward for being nicer to the abomination of a plush.

Ace’s face turned a bit red as Yuu kissed his cheek. Now that was just unfair. She’d flustered him in one move. He averted his gaze and cleared his throat, hoping that she didn’t notice. Of all the times to lose his composure, it had to be right now.

“R-right, yeah,” he replied, his response coming out a bit more stilted than usual. He quickly recovered his composure, fixing you with a smirk to cover up his momentary lapse in confidence. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Yuu smiled at the pet name, going back to playing with the stupid duck-fish thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they walked from the ride, Ace watched as Yuu continued playing with her new weird plushie. He was starting to think that thing might get more attention than he did, if this went o n any longer.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, giving Yuu a side-glance. He didn’t even really think about it before the words came out of his mouth. “...Hey, you’re not gonna end up replacing me with that thing, are you?”

Yuu raised an eyebrow and titled her head. “Are you jealous of Jeremy?” She chuckled with a small grin.

“I’m not jealous of that hideous thing,” Ace sputtered, his cheeks turning slightly pink. He crossed his arms over his chest, fixing Yuu with a half-hearted glare. “It’s just you’ve been giving it more attention than you’ve been giving me.”

That, and the fact she’d called it her ‘baby’ and given it a name—but he left that part unsaid.

Yuu giggled, using her free hand to reach out and grab one of his, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay, Ace. You’re irreplaceable.”

Ace huffed, but her words and the way she squeezed his hand helped to ease the uneasy feeling in his chest. He grumbled in slight embarrassment as he replied, a bit of a half-hearted pout on his face. “...You’d better remember that. You’re stuck with me,” He grumbled, giving Yuu’s hand a small squeeze back.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ace stopped walking momentarily, making Yuu stop along with him. He used this opportunity to pull her in, wrapping his arms around her waist and trapping her against his chest.

He leaned down to bury his face in the crook of her neck, his voice coming out in a low, somewhat muffled grumble. “You’re mine.”

Ace had zero shame when it came to stuff like this. If he wanted to hold Yuu, he was going to hold her. And if she happened to be standing in the middle of the park, so be it. He just wrapped his arms around her tighter, letting himself get lost in her presence for a moment. He lifted his head up so he could speak, his voice a low murmur. “...promise me you won’t forget that, ‘kay?”

Yuu chuckled, tucking the plush under her arm and hugging him back—just as tightly. “I promise.”

Ace hummed in approval, squeezing you a little bit tighter again—not that he really needed to. At this point, this was just him being clingy, but he couldn’t really help it at this point. He was still feeling a bit…jealous, as ridiculous as it sounded.

“...Good,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the crook of Yuu’s neck again in an attempt to hide his expression from view. He was just being a little bit more clingy than usual tonight, was all. It just couldn’t be helped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace and Yuu stood side by side, watching the fireworks go off in the night sky. He had one arm wrapped around her, his hand lightly holding onto her waist. He was leaning ever so slightly against her, his gaze fixated on the sky. He had a small smile on his face, the colors of the fireworks lighting up his face.

He had to admit, he wasn’t one for sappy, romantic things like these. But tonight, he found himself enjoying these kind of things a bit more than usual.

“...Hey, Ace?” Yuu looked up at him.

Ace shifted his gaze, away from the night sky and over to Yuu. “Yeah? What is it, babe?”

“...I love you.”

Ace’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at her sudden confession. He hadn’t been expecting that. In fact, it almost seemed like his heart had skipped a beat.

For a brief moment, the ever-cocky boy was stunned speechless. He quickly shook himself out of it, wrapping his arms around Yuu. He pulled her flush against his chest, and returned the declaration. “...Yeah, yeah, I love you too, dork.”

“...and, if you’re going to love me, you know who else you have to love?” Yuu snickered, unable to hold back a grin.

Ace blinked, having an odd suspicion about what she was going to say. He shifted his gaze down at the hideous blue thing tucked under her arm, responding with a flat, deadpan tone.

“Please don’t say the plushie.”

“Your new son,” Yuu laughed, holding up the duck-fish plushie.

Ace huffed, a deadpan expression on his face. He was sorely tempted to roll his eyes, but he managed to restrain himself. He let out a small grumble of protest, before replying in a flat tone. “We are not reffering to that hideous, ugly ass thing as my ‘son’.”

“Too bad,” Yuu grinned, patting it on the head.

Ace gumbled again, narrowing his eyes at the ugly plushie that Yuu adored for some odd reason.

“...I hate that thing,” He mumbled, his words carrying equal parts annoyance and jealousy.

Yuu shrugged, leaning her head on his chest and looking back up at the fireworks. “Even if you hate it, I’m glad you won it for me.”

Ace grumbled again, begrudgingly wrapping his arms around you once more. Even if he’d never admit it, he liked having her close to him like this. He buried his face into her hair, continuing to steal the occasional glance at the stupid, hideous plushies that he’d gotten for Yuu. Even if it was ugly as hell, it was the cause of the stupidly happy expression on her face, and that was good enough for him.

“...Whatever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace was walking alongside Yuu, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders. He was taking his time when she suddenly stopped and pointed at a candy shop.

He raised an eyebrow, following the path of her finger to where she was pointing. A candy store. Figures.

“What, do you need even more sugar after all that cotton candy you ate earlier?”

“No, I just want to get quality chocolate. Not the mountain of crappy ones I can’t even eat back at Ramshackle.”

Ace let out a huff, an amused smirk on his face. “Quality chocolate, huh? Are you some kind of expert on it or something?” He teased, giving Yuu a small nudge.

“Shut up. I just want to freely enjoy chocolate that won’t potentially kill me, Ace.”

Ace let out an acknowledging hum, shrugging his shoulders. “Fair enough,” he responded, shifting his gaze to the shop Yuu was pointing at. He gave the place a quick glance, noting with mild surprise that it was a higher-end shop that the usual stores.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ace said, giving Yuu a small nudge towards the shop. He released Yuu from his hold, immediately taking her hand instead, intertwining his fingers with hers as he lead her towards the shop. Even if this was for Yuu, he had no intention of letting her wander off.

The two of them entered the store, immediately surrounded by rich smells of chocolate.

Ace had to admit, this place might be a bit above his price range, but he had a bit of money saved up, and well—he did sort of promise to pay for everything tonight. He didn’t really mind that much.

Yuu got a small, simple bag of chocolates, it being a variety of white, milk and dark—some with caramel, some without.

Ace stood by her side, watching her look through the different kinds of chocolate the store had to offer. He was admittedly surprised at the simplicity of the bag she’d picked out, having thought that she would choose the most expensive ones. But instead, she’d gone with something smaller and a bit more modest. He raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled by her voice.

“That’s it? Just that one?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you to spend too much on me. It makes me feel bad.”

Ace raised an eyebrow once more, huffing and shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Don’t worry about how much stuff costs, I can handle it. I don’t mind spending money on you.”

“You sure?”

Ace rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I just told you not to worry about it, didn’t I?” he responded, his tone a bit more exasperated. Honestly, Yuu worried about this kind of thing way too much…

“If you say so,” Yuu smiled, giving the hideous plushie a squeeze and Ace a peck on the cheek.

He huffed, but a small smile quickly came to his face nonetheless. His cheeks flushed a little when she kissed him, bringing a hand up to his cheek to make sure that wasn’t a permanent mark or something. He then shook his head, muttering as small grumble. “You’re way too troublesome, y’know that?”

“Says you,” Yuu chuckled, bringing the bag of chocolates up to the cashier.

Ace rolled his eyes, refraining from making any retort. He simply watched as Yuu placed the chocolates on the counter

Of course, he couldn’t wait too long before eventually opening his mouth once more, an amused smirk coming to his face as he was paying. “You know, if you wanted something even better than some ordinary chocolates, I could probably give you something better.”

“Oh?” Yuu took her bag of chocolates, thanking the cashier before leaving the store with him.

Ace followed you out of the store, a cheeky grin on his face. “Yeah. I bet my kisses taste way better than chocolates.”

Yuu’s eyes widened for a moment, a faint blush dusting her cheeks before she composed herself, putting on a smile. “I bet.”

Once he saw her initial reaction, a devious smirk quickly spread across Ace’s face. Ah, so he’d caught her of guard for once… He liked seeing those sorts of reactions from her. It was cute.

He leaved in closer, his face close to hers as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “I can prove it, if you want.”

Yuu giggled. “I don’t think I would mind.”

Ace’s smirk turned into a grin, and he chuckled. “Good,” He pulled you close to him, and brought one of his hands up to her cheek. His fingers gently traced over her skin, running his thumb over her lips.

He leaned in closer, his lips a few inches away from hers. For a brief moment, he just studied her eyes and face, admiring the way she looked up at him with such anticipation.

He smirked again, finally closing the gap between them two. His hand moved to the back of Yuu’s head, tilting it slightly as he placed his lips against hers. Ace’s eyes fell shut, beginning to kiss her.

Ace’s kisses were gentle, yet confident and possessive. His hand on her cheek was firm but not rough, and he used that to pull her closer. The world around her seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them.

Yuu pulled away, letting out a content sigh as she did so. “...we should go; it’s getting late. You wouldn’t want Riddle to collar you again, would you?”

Ace rolled his eyes at the mention of Riddle, unable to help but grimace a little at the thought of receiving another of the housewarden’s infamous disciplinary actions.

“Ugh, you’re right,” he muttered. He wasn’t too pleased about ending the night early, though he didn’t want to get collared, either.

“Come on, Jeremy is getting tired,” Yuu grinned, pulling away as she held up her plushie.

Ace grumbled again, giving the plushie another disgusted look. “You need to stop calling that thing ‘Jeremy’,” he replied, his tone flat.

“When pigs fly,” Yuu stuck out her tongue, taking his hand and walking to the exit of the amusement park.

Ace rolled his eyes again, a small grumble of protest escaping from his throat. God, how in the world did that hideous plushie end up winning him over, yet again? He really was a hopeless case…

He didn’t utter another word of protest as Yuu took hold of his hand and lead him out of the park, though. As annoying as that hideous thing was, it made her happy, and that was good enough for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually, the two made it back to Ramshackle. Ace took a quick look at the rundown dorm, wrinkling his nose slightly.

“Man, why does it look even more pathetic at night?” he grimaced, before walking up the steps to the front door.

Yuu rolled her eyes and shook her head, opening the door and stepping inside alongside Ace.

Ace followed close behind Yuu and closed the door behind him. He looked around the familiar yet outdated interior, still not entirely fond of the appearance. Of course, he was grateful that she was at least letting him stay here, so he knew better than to be disrespectful about it.

He let go of her hand and slumped down on the couch, sprawling himself out across it.

Yuu momentarily set her plush down on the counter beside her goodie bag of chocolates. “You want one?” she offered, popping a caramel filled milk chocolate piece into her mouth before getting to work and throwing away the mountain of the crappy, nut-included chocolates from students in her class.

Ace watched her as she tossed the pile of cheap chocolates into the trash, a slightly amused smirk on his face. He shook his head as he let out a small huff of laughter, silently mocking her earlier statement that she didn’t want him spending too much money on her.

“Sure, give me one. Might as well check if they taste as horrible as they look.”

Yuu raised an eyebrow. “I meant the ones you bought me from the amusement park—not these shitty ones. I don’t want you to get food poisoning or something.”

Ace rolled his eyes and scoffed dismissively, though he was inwardly relieved that he didn’t have to sample the cheap chocolates.

“Oh, right,” he responded, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He then shrugged, propping himself up on his elbows. “Well go on. I paid for those, so I should at least get a taste test.”

Yuu chuckled and rolled her eyes, looking inside the bag. “Which one do you want? White, milk or dark?”

Ace thought about it for a moment, before ultimately shrugging. “Doesn’t matter too much to me. As long as it doesn’t taste like dirt,” he replied, then adding, “I’ll take dark. It always tastes the richest.”

Yuu pulled out a dark chocolate piece, unwrapping it while walking over to the couch and feeding it to him.

Ace leaned forward, a bit to accept the chocolate into his mouth, his eyes falling shut briefly once it was fully inside. He began to chew it, unable to help but let out a small satisfied hum.

After swallowing, he looked back up at Yuu and smirked. “Tastes better than the cheap stuff, I’ll give you that.”

Yuu suddenly smirked, a light bulb going off over her head. “You want another?”

Ace’s smirk grew, his eyebrows raising up slightly. He had an inkling of where this was going, but he still played along. “Depends. Are you going to feed me this one, too?”

“Eh, sort of~”

Ace smirked again, his curiosity heightened by her response. He leaned forward a bit more, keeping his eyes on her.

“Care to explain what else you’ve got in mind, then?”

Yuu let out a giggle, unwrapping another piece of chocolate and placinging half of it in her mouth, holding it with her front teeth.

Ace raised an eyebrow in slight confusion, but then it dawned on him what she was getting at. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a small huff of laughter escaping them.

He was going to get a repeat of that kiss from earlier, only this time it had chocolate involved.

He shifted a little closer to Yuu, his eyes fixed on hers. “Is this your attempt at winning me over, with fancy French chocolate kisses?”

Yuu gave a firm nod with a hum, leaning down closer to him.

Ace smirked again and reached out to grab her waist, gently tugging her down on top of him. He settled down on the couch, his back flat against the cushions, his back flat against the cushions and Yuu lying on top of him.

“You’re lucky I like this kind of bribery…” he said, his tone low but playful.

He didn’t give Yuu a chance to response. Instead, he pressed his lips against hers, kissing Yuu eagerly. His fingers gripped her waist, starting to gently guide her so that she was straddling him.

Yuu used this chance to push the piece of chocolate into his mouth with her tongue.

Ace’s eyes were shut at first, focused on only her lips against his. Then he felt the chocolate piece being pushed into his mouth, parting his lips a little more to let it fully in.

He quickly began to chew and swallow it, all the while keeping his lips in constant contact with hers. Then he broke away for a moment, his smirk returning as he spoke. “Tastes even better that way,” he commented, before diving back in, kissing Yuu again.

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

#athena fics #twisted wonderland #twst #twst yuu #ace trappola #twst ace #ace x yuu

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