#that these years that you had worked towards were just a little idk... empty

[greyedian]

Pentiment soundtrack my beloved <3

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Just got this idea and it made me cry ok so for 141+König where the reader suddenly walks up to him and just kisses and holds him while crying cause they love him so much and they panicked at the thought of losing him maybe sth happened and they got scared or maybe they were just thinking about it idk FUCK I love them so much can't bear the thought of anything happening to them 😭💔

141 + Königs Reactions To You Crying For/Over Them

Warnings: swearing, crying, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, angst

Simon Ghost Riley-

You hadn’t been able to find Simon all day. You chalked it up to the both of you being busy on base, but usually you’d always caught a glimpse of him throughout the day.

You had a gnawing feeling at your chest, but weren’t able to act upon it until later that night. You found Simon on the rooftop of base, staring up at the night sky as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“I thought you quit smoking.” You teased, slowly walking up to him.

When Simon didn’t give his usual witty remark in reply, you knew something was wrong. His eyes remained glued to the stars, and you could see that his eyes were red.

“Simon, are you okay?” You asked, your hand resting on top of his in a comforting gesture. “Talk to me.”

Simon tore his eyes away from the sky, and flicked his cigarette over the railing. “It’s the anniversary today.”

“Anniversary?” You asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“It’s been 6 years since they died.” Simon said, his voice hoarse from crying.

“Your family?” You asked, giving his hand another squeeze. In the years you’d been together, Simon had only talked about his family a few times, and you were never one to press the subject. Simon was a reserved man, and you’d don’t want to push your luck with that.

But Simon told you everything that night. Every little detail of his life when he was a child. The kind of man his father was. How his family was murdered and that the only thing he could do for them was to get revenge. No detail was spared, and once he was done speaking, Simon found a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d finally let someone in.

He took a breath, and looked up at you to find you sobbing. You didn’t know what to do, other than throw yourself into Simon’s arms, gripping around his waist at tight as you possibly could.

“Simon, I am so, so sorry you’ve gone through that. I don’t know.. I don’t know what to say other than I’m here for you. I will always be here for you.” You cried into his chest. “I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I know, kid.” He said, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. “I know.”

John MacTavish-

You awoke in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly as you blinked away hot tears. You’d just had the worst nightmare. You were out on a mission, when Johnny was killed right in front of you. The dream felt so real, and your heart was aching at the very real possibility that you could lose him on a mission.

You looked next to you, and found Johnny’s side of the bed cold and empty. It was clear he hadn’t been in bed for some time.

You threw the covers off of you, throwing one of Johnny’s hoodies on before making your way toward the gym- somewhere you knew he would be at this hour.

You breathed a shaky sigh of relief as you laid eyes on Johnny. He’d worked up quite the sweat, and it was clear he’d been here for some time.

Your legs reacted before your brain could catch up, and you found yourself grabbing Johnny by the collar of his shirt and roughly placing your lips on his.

You pulled back, breathless as you looked up as Johnny with tears in your eyes. He immediately frowned, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart. Are you alright?” His hands rubbed at your arms soothingly.

“I- I had a dream. You were gone and there was nothing I could do.” You sobbed, rubbing away at your tears as your eyes drifted to the floor. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Johnny pulled you close to him, his arms holding you tight against his chest as he pressed kisses along your temple. “I’m here, Bonnie. It was just a dream. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It felt so real.” You said, pulling away. “I.. I don’t know what I’d ever do if I lost you. I just.. I can’t even comprehend it.”

“Then don’t. Because I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep coming back to you, okay?” Johnny asked, lifting your chin up so that your eyes met his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffled in return, rubbing your teary eyes against his shirt causing Johnny to chuckle softly. “Let us get back to bed, yeah?”

“I’m not even tired anymore.” You mumbled, not pulling your face from Johnnys chest.

“Well, it’s a good thing a beds good for more than just sleeping, eh?” Johnny threw you a cheeky smile, before lifting you in his arms. “Gotta show my babe I’m not going anywhere.”

John Price-

Everything happened so fast. One minute, John was by your side as a hail of bullets rained down on the two of you in the field. The next, John was halfway across the field, oblivious to the enemy behind him. It was a blur, the man raised his gun, and proceeded to shoot John in the chest.

“John!” You shrieked, watching as the man you love fell to the ground. Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest as your brain started to malfunction. Nothing else around you in that moment mattered. He couldn’t die, not like this. He couldn’t leave you.

You sprinted across the field, ignoring the shouts of the other soilders around you, your eyes welling with tears as John’s frame came into view.

You skidded to your knees, your hands immediately reaching for John’s face.

“John!” You whimpered, your eyes skimming down the length of his body.

“Baby, hey. It’s okay. The vest caught it. It just knocked the wind out of me.” John reached out to grab your hands, trying to calm you down, to no avail.

Your hands continued to frantically pull at his vest, you needed to see he was truly unharmed with your own eyes. “No! No you got shot!”

John grasped your hands in his gently, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You blinked away tears, your bottom lip wobbling as you threw your arms around him in a tight embrace. “I thought I lost you.”

“I hope you know it’s going to take a lot more than a stray bullet to keep me from you.” John said, before capturing your lips in his. “I promise you I’m okay, alright?”

You nodded, pulling away to help John to his feet. With one final firm kiss, the two of you finished out the mission, neither one of you straying too far from the other.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You twiddled your thumbs anxiously, your eyes darting back to the front door of the base every few minutes, praying Kyle would walk through the door.

141 was expected back three days ago, and according to Laswell they’d gone radio silent the day they were supposed to come back.

You choked back a sob, burying your face into your arms. You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if Kyle never came back. He was your everything.

You slowed your breathing, trying to regain your composure when the click of the front door caught your attention. Your head jumped up, your heart immediately skipping a beat as Kyle and the rest of the 141 walked through the front door, looking a little worse for wear.

Without a second of hesitation, your legs moved faster than they ever had in your life as you slammed yourself into Kyle, your arms encompassing his waist in a firm grip.

Your relationship wasn’t common knowledge, so Kyle was quite surprised when you made such a public display of affection, but it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest. His squeezed you in return, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here, babe. It’s okay.”

“They kept saying you weren’t coming back. That you were all dead.” You cried softly, burying your face in your boyfriend’s chest. “I was so scared.”

“I know, I’m so sorry. Everything’s going to be okay.” He promised, holding you tighter. “I’ve got you.”

The two of you remained inseparable for the remainder of the day, neither one of you taking your eyes off each other.

König-

It was no secret that König wasn’t the most popular person on base. Between his height, the frightening mask he wore, and his timid nature, he wasn’t known for making many friends.

It’d come as a shock to the majority of the people on base when it was announced that you and König were a couple.

You’d heard the whispers of course, just as König did. The rude comments thrown about him behind his back, unbeknownst to you, had König’s self esteem plummeting.

You didn’t find out until late one night when you found your boyfriend alone in the weapons locker, looking the most upset you’d ever seen him.

“Babe? You weren’t at dinner, is everything okay?” You asked, pausing a few paces in front of him. You’d never seen him like this and you were unsure of how to react.

“I’m a freak, Maus.” König spoke, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him. “No matter what I do, no matter how good I am out on the field, no matter how well I follow orders… I’ll always be the outcast.”

Your heart shattered at his words, hot tears forming in your eyes as you stepped closer to him. “König, that’s not true.”

König finally looked up at you, a solemn expression on his face- something you never wanted to see on your lover again. “It is. I know you’ve heard what they say. I’m a monster. I’m weird. I look more like the villain than the hero. It’s all things I’ve told myself before.”

“Look at me.” You said, crouching before him. You quickly wiped away the stray tears that began to fall as you spoke. “You are not any of those things. Those people are fools. They haven’t gotten to know the man underneath the mask. On the field, you’re the battering ram. A powerhouse. The perfect weapon. But off the field? You’re the best fucking person I know.”

You pulled him into a tight hug, holding him close to you as you rubbed his back soothingly. “I love you so much König. If I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you how great of a person you are.”

“I don’t deserve you Maus.” He murmured, squeezing you tighter. “But I thank god every day you’re in my life.”

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

A/N: ahh not super happy with this turned out- I’m not sure if I captured this request the best🥺

Excited to keep putting out the next few requests. Thank you again everyone for all your support❤��

[puckstories]

Stuck With Me | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Cursing, established relationship, kissing, idk what else. Only edited once.

Summary; Based on this request: "could you do a fic of reader feeling jealous and quinn being reassuring 💕tyy"

Word Count; 4.0k

Author’s note; This is not my best work at all, I'd probably rate it a 4/10 just because I didn't really flesh out the jealousy + the pacing is kind of rushed, but I'm tired of looking at it frankly. Possibly in the future I will go back and edit it and make it better. Thank you to the anon who requested this though, I hope you liked it at least a little bit. Also, it's not really mentioned, but Quinn is not drunk and is okay to drive home + Josh is Josh Norris, and Kaylee is just a character I made up, no one IRL. -Honey.

“You’re staring,” Josh comments, nonchalant as he leans closer to nudge your arm.

Startled, you tear your gaze away and take a long sip of your drink, using the glass as a shield. “I was not,” you mumble, trying to sound casual as you glance sideways at him.

Josh chuckles, the sound resonating just slightly over the music playing. “Sure,” he says, dragging out the word with a smirk that makes it clear he’s not buying your denial for a second.

You roll your eyes, letting out a sigh as you lean back against the cushioned booth. No matter how hard you try, your gaze betrays you, drifting back toward the pool table across the room. Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass as you watch Quinn and Kaylee, their heads tilted close as they laugh about something you can’t hear.

You met Kaylee earlier, when you and Quinn first arrived at the bar. She’d come over almost immediately, her tall frame poised with an effortless grace that made you feel small and slightly disheveled in comparison. She was gorgeous—model-gorgeous—with sleek, fiery red hair that fell perfectly over her shoulders and striking green eyes that seemed to gleam in the dim lighting.

And Quinn had lit up when he saw her.

“She’s just an old friend,” he’d said casually, his hand brushing your lower back as he introduced you. They’d gone to college together, apparently, and while she’d been nothing but kind and polite to you, there was something about the way she made him laugh that stuck with you. It was freer, lighter somehow, as if she knew a version of him you didn’t.

She did, actually.

You knew it was irrational. You knew that Quinn loved you, that he hadn’t seen her in years and that they were just catching up. But the jealousy crept in anyway, an unwelcome guest settling in your chest. It festered beneath your skin, bubbling hotter and more insistent with every glance and every laugh they shared over the pool table.

“You’re doing it again,” Josh observes, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Your head swivels back toward him, a guilty heat rushing to your face. “Doing what?” you ask defensively, though the slight waver in your voice betrays you.

Josh arches a brow, leaning back in his seat as he folds his arms. “Staring. Sulking. Probably plotting Kaylee’s downfall, if I had to guess.” His tone is teasing, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he studies you.

You groan, setting your empty glass down on the table with a soft thud. “I’m not sulking.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, clearly unconvinced.

“And I'm not plotting anyone's downfall!” you insist, but your gaze betrays you once again, flicking back toward Quinn and Kaylee. She’s leaning over the pool table now, lining up a shot, and Quinn is watching her with an amused grin, his arms crossed as he leans casually against the edge.

Your chest tightens. You know it’s nothing. You know Quinn is yours, that he’s coming home with you tonight, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind refuses to let it go.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You don’t wait for Josh’s response, sliding out of the booth with your glass in hand. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter surround you as you weave through the crowded bar, bodies shifting just enough to let you pass. Your pulse feels louder in your ears than the bass thumping faintly from the overhead speakers.

When you reach the bar, you set your empty glass down with a quiet clink and take a seat on one of the worn barstools. The polished wood is sticky beneath your palms, and the faint scent of spilled beer and citrus lingers in the air.

You glance up, taking in the bartender, a guy with a mullet that somehow works on him, tattoos winding up his arms like intricate stories inked into his skin. He’s busy, sliding a tray of colorful cocktails across the counter to a group of friends celebrating a bachelorette party. You lean on the counter, your gaze drifting to the mirrored shelves behind him, rows of liquor bottles glinting in the dim light like a kaleidoscope of temptation.

After a minute or two, he finally makes his way over to you, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his waistband. “What can I get you?” he asks, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.

“I’ll just get a Jack and Coke, thanks,” you say, offering the bartender a polite smile. As he reaches for a glass, you lean slightly over the counter, your voice carrying just enough over the ambient noise of the bar. “And my boyfriend has a tab. Last name’s Hughes—put it on there, please.”

The bartender pauses for a moment, giving you a quick once-over before nodding. “Got it,” he says, turning toward the shelves with practiced ease.

You settle back onto the stool, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the sticky wood of the countertop as you glance around. Behind the bar, the bartender moves quickly, grabbing a tumbler and dropping in a few cubes of ice before reaching for the Jack Daniel’s. His movements are efficient, the kind that come from muscle memory, and within moments, the golden liquid pours into the glass, followed by a splash of Coke.

It’s a simple drink, nothing fancy or fussy, but that’s what you like about it—consistent, reliable, no surprises.

He sets the drink in front of you with a small napkin, the condensation already starting to bead on the sides of the glass. “There you go,” he says, glancing briefly in your direction before moving on to the next customer.

“Thanks,” you reply, wrapping your fingers around the cool glass.

Taking a sip, the familiar blend of sweet Coke and smoky whiskey slides down smoothly, the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s exactly what you need—not too strong, not too complicated. Just enough to ground you as you try to push away the nagging thoughts that have been buzzing at the back of your mind all evening.

Sliding off the barstool, you clutch your drink in one hand and begin making your way back to the booth you’d claimed earlier, until your body collides with something—someone—firm and unyielding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you stumble back, your drink sloshing out of the glass and soaking into your white top. The cold liquid clings to your skin, staining the fabric a disgusting, murky brown.

“Shit, sorry,” the guy mutters immediately, his voice filled with genuine regret. He moves quickly, grabbing a handful of napkins from the bar behind you. “Here, let me—”

He leans forward, attempting to dab at your shirt with the wad of napkins. His well-meaning gesture only amplifies your frustration, the awkwardness of the situation making your cheeks flush. You set your now-empty glass on the nearest surface with a loud clink and grab the napkins from him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice clipped as you step back. “Thanks, I got it.”

You don’t wait for a response, brushing past him and heading toward the bathrooms. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a mix of embarrassment and irritation settling in your chest.

Pushing the door open, you’re relieved to find the women’s bathroom empty. The faint hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence as you approach the sink. With a deep sigh, you wet the bottom of your shirt under the cold stream of water, scrubbing at the stain with a dollop of foamy soap from the dispenser.

The dark blotch stubbornly clings to the fabric, refusing to disappear entirely. You scrub harder, the rough texture of the paper towels adding to your frustration. After a few minutes, the stain fades slightly, the color no longer as glaring as before.

You toss the soggy paper towels into the trash with a sigh of defeat, inspecting the faint brown shadow that still mars your top. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, resigning yourself to your less-than-pristine appearance. Moving to the hand dryer, you press the button and hold your shirt away from your body, letting the warm blast of air dry the damp fabric.

You let the hand dryer hum for another minute, the hot air doing its best to dry the wet fabric of your shirt. It’s still slightly damp when you decide to give up and leave the bathroom. The faint shadow of the stain remains, but you’ve done all you can. With a sigh, you smooth the fabric down and push the door open, exiting into the social minefield.

As you make your way back to the booth, the familiar knot of unease tightens in your stomach. It’s not just Josh at the booth anymore. The entire group is back now, including Quinn—and Kaylee, of course. They’re sitting next to each other, laughing softly at something, their heads tilted just close enough to make your chest tighten uncomfortably. Because of course they’re next to each other. Of course.

The frustration you’ve been trying to tamp down flares up again, prickling hot under your skin. You glance away, your eyes threatening to roll before you can stop them. But it’s as if Quinn has some sixth sense for your mood, because the second you look back, his gaze locks onto yours.

He smiles at first, the kind of warm, easy smile that usually makes your heart flutter. But then his eyes drop to your shirt, the faint stain still visible against the white fabric, and his expression shifts to one of confusion.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asks, his voice cutting through the chatter as he abandons his conversation. He slides a little further into the booth, making room for you to take your usual seat on the end.

You approach the table, sitting down a little harder than you intended. The irritation bubbling beneath the surface sharpens your tone, and when you finally respond, it comes out rougher than you’d meant. “What do you think happened?”

Quinn blinks, visibly taken aback by the edge in your voice. His eyebrows shoot up briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. The silence that follows feels heavy, the casual buzz of the bar suddenly too loud in contrast.

Quinn leans slightly closer, his voice softer now, careful, his breath hitting against your ear. "Are you okay?"

You exhale a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on you as you lean into his side. The familiar warmth of his presence wraps around you, grounding you in a way that words can’t. “I’m fine,” you murmur softly. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate, his arm slipping casually over your shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses a kiss against your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a brief moment.

“It’s okay,” he replies, his voice low, just for you to hear.

For the next little while, you sit in the booth, letting the conversation flow around you. Quinn dives back into catching up with his friends, his laughter easy and unguarded as he shares stories and memories you’re only half-listening to.

You chime in occasionally when someone calls your name, offering a small smile or a quick reply. But mostly, you let yourself fade into the background, content to simply exist beside Quinn. His arm remains draped over your shoulder, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your arm.

“…double date, right?”

You only catch the tail end of the sentence, your mind still drifting when you feel Quinn give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. The touch pulls you back to the moment, your eyes blinking as you try to focus.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, glancing around the table.

The group erupts into light laughter, the kind that feels good-natured rather than mocking. Quinn leans in slightly, his smile soft but amused as he repeats himself. “A double date. You’d be down for that, right?”

“Oh, uh… sure,” you reply, nodding quickly before the words have fully sunk in. Your gaze shifts between the faces at the table, suddenly feeling as though you’ve missed an important detail. “With who?”

Quinn’s smile widens, and there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Kaylee,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mouth falls open slightly, caught completely off guard by the response. You blink, turning your attention to Kaylee, who’s sipping her drink with an easy grace. “You… have a boyfriend?” you manage to ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Kaylee lets out a light, melodic giggle, setting her glass down on the table. “Soon-to-be fiancé,” she corrects, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “At least, once he grows a pair and actually proposes.” She laughs again, shaking her head. “He’s working late tonight, so he couldn’t make it.”

Her words hit you like a freight train. Fiancé? Working late? You feel your stomach drop as the realization sinks in. All of your jealousy is baseless. Kaylee wasn’t flirting with Quinn; she wasn’t even remotely interested in him that way.

She had a boyfriend. Soon to be fiancé.

Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, the embarrassment washing over you like a tidal wave. You manage a small smile, but inwardly, you’re cringing so hard you wish the ground would swallow you whole. "Yeah, that'd be fun, for sure."

The next couple of hours fly by in a blur, and before you know it, everyone is saying their goodbyes, exchanging hugs and promises to meet up again soon. The warm glow of the bar’s lights spills out onto the sidewalk as you and Quinn step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

It’s dark now, and a light drizzle begins to fall, the raindrops cool and soft as they dot your clothes. You glance at each other and break into a jog toward the car. By the time you reach it, the rain has picked up, turning from a drizzle into a steady downpour. You barely make it inside before the skies seem to open up, the sound of rain pelting against the roof filling the silence as Quinn starts the engine.

“Well, that was close,” he mutters with a small laugh, brushing the dampness from his sleeves before backing out of the parking spot.

The car is warm, the faint scent of Quinn’s cologne lingering in the air as he drives through the quiet streets. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windshield almost hypnotic.

Then, his voice cuts through the quiet. “What was up tonight? You were quieter than usual.”

The question catches you off guard, but you quickly shake your head, hoping to dismiss it. “Nothing,” you say.

Quinn glances at you briefly, his expression skeptical even as he keeps his focus on the road. “I know you,” he says evenly. “And I know it’s not nothing, so just tell me.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to look out the window. The rain blurs the city lights into streaks of gold and white, a beautiful distraction from the conversation you’d rather not have. “Quinn, I’m serious. It’s nothing,” you insist, your voice firmer this time.

He presses his lips together, his jaw tightening slightly. “Was it something I did?” he asks after a moment, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

“No,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

“Then what is it?” he presses again, his tone patient but persistent.

Your chest tightens, the question hanging in the air between you. It’s not that you don’t want to tell him—it’s just that you don’t even know how to put your feelings into words. The jealousy, the self-doubt, the small spiral you’d gone through earlier tonight—it all feels so petty now, so insignificant in hindsight. And yet, the weight of it still lingers, sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You sigh, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. "Just drop it."

At your words, Quinn pulls the car onto a quiet side street, the tires crunching over loose gravel before coming to a halt. He shifts the gear into park with a resolute click, his jaw tightening.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?” you demand, your voice edged with confusion.

He leans back in his seat, shrugging nonchalantly, though his eyes betray his concern. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Quinn, I told you—it’s nothing,” you snap, the irritation bubbling to the surface. Your arms cross tightly over your chest, a defensive shield against his relentless prodding.

He shakes his head, undeterred. “And I know you’re lying.”

A frustrated sigh escapes you, sharp and heavy. “You know what? Fine.” You unbuckle your seatbelt with a jerky motion, the click echoing in the small space. “I’ll walk home.”

Before Quinn can respond, you fling the door open and step into the storm. The frigid rain pelts down, soaking through your clothes almost instantly. The dirt road beneath your feet churns into sticky mud, clinging to your shoes as you march away, your defiance burning hotter than the cold seeping into your skin.

“Y/N!” Quinn shouts from the car, his voice cutting through the rain like a lifeline you refuse to grab. When you don’t stop, he curses under his breath. You hear the unmistakable sound of his seatbelt unclicking and the slam of his door.

The rain muffles his footsteps, but you know he’s chasing after you. “Y/N, wait!” he calls, urgency threading through his voice. You don’t slow, your pace quickening despite the mud threatening to pull you down.

“Y/N!” Quinn’s voice grows closer, and you finally halt, spinning around with enough force to startle him. He skids to a stop, but momentum carries him forward, and he stumbles into you. His hands instinctively reach out, gripping your arms to steady you both.

“You want to know what’s wrong, Quinn?” you snap, your voice trembling with more than just the chill. Rain streaks down your face, mingling with the tears you can no longer hide. “I’m embarrassed, okay?”

His hands drop, and for a moment, he just looks at you, water dripping from his lashes and the ends of his messy hair. “Embarrassed?” he repeats, his voice soft, almost incredulous.

You wipe at your eyes with a trembling hand, though the rain makes the gesture futile. “Yeah, embarrassed,” you admit, your voice barely audible over the steady drumming of rain. You look down, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought Kaylee had a thing for you.”

Quinn blinks, clearly taken aback. “I—you what?” he stammers, his brows knitting together in confusion.

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold rain. “I thought she liked you,” you repeat, more firmly this time, though the words still sting as they leave your mouth. “But she has a boyfriend, so obviously she doesn’t.”

“She’s just a friend from college,” Quinn says, his voice steady, as if the explanation should settle everything.

You nod, but it feels hollow. “I know.”

“And even if she was single,” he continues, stepping closer, “I’m not.”

His words make you glance up despite yourself. The weight in his gaze pins you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

“I have a girlfriend,” he says, his tone softening but no less resolute. “A girlfriend who makes me chase after her in a rainstorm in the middle of the night.”

The corners of his lips tug upward into a faint smile, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. Your heart twists at the realization—you’d been so caught up in your own doubts that you hadn’t stopped to consider how much he’d already chosen you.

The rain pours around you, but the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

“Quinn—” Your voice falters. You search for the right thing to say, something that can express the tangle of emotions inside you. Embarrassment. Relief. Gratitude. "I usually never get jealous like this. I'm sorry."

Quinn’s expression softens as he reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The rain pelts in a steady, rhythmic drizzle around you, the droplets catching the light from the streetlamp above, creating a soft halo that bathes you both in a muted glow. He smiles, not in the least bit fazed, his eyes warm and reassuring.

"It's okay," he says simply, as if it's no big deal, his tone so calm, so easy, that it almost makes you feel like your jealousy was nothing at all.

"Quinn, I'm serious," you say, your brows knitting together as you try to convey just how sorry you truly were.

"Baby, it’s okay," he repeats, his voice low and full of understanding. "We all get jealous sometimes," he continues, his fingers now gently brushing your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin as if he’s trying to soothe away the tension. "I just ask that next time, you talk to me about it, okay? I want to know how you're feeling."

His words are earnest, leaving no room for doubt. He’s not upset, just asking for honesty—asking for you to trust him with those feelings. And that, more than anything, makes your heart soften.

You nod, the weight of your earlier emotions starting to ease. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s smile deepens, a mixture of relief and affection in his eyes as he gazes down at you. He reaches out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your damp cheeks, wiping away the raindrops that have begun to cling to your skin. Then, without another word, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

The world around you seems to fade as his mouth moves against yours, slow and passionate, his lips warm and soft despite the chill of the rain. The kiss is intense, full of emotion, as if he’s pouring everything he feels into it—the reassurance, the love, the unspoken promise that he’s here for you, and only you. Your arms find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, and in that moment, the jealousy, the embarrassment—it all melts away, washed clean by the feeling of his lips on yours.

The rain continues to fall, droplets dancing off the pavement, but all you can feel is him—the solid warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his hands cradling your face. The streetlight above flickers softly, casting the two of you in a golden glow, making the moment feel like something out of a dream, something ethereal and untouchable.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, and for a moment, you just stand there, catching your breath, your hearts beating in sync.

Quinn looks into your eyes, his gaze steady and full of love. "And for the record," he says, his voice low and serious but with a teasing lilt at the end, "I don’t want anyone else. You’re stuck with me, okay? Deal with it."

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, the tension fully gone now, replaced by warmth and affection. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, so confident—makes your heart swell. You shake your head, smiling as you look up at him, the rain continuing to fall around you both, but in this moment, you’re completely lost in each other.

"I love you," you whisper, your fingers threading through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, this one softer but just as full of meaning.

[aishi-toru]

YOU'RE MY WISHLIST! ♡

⟡ synopsis ─ gojo satoru's the man who seems to be everywhere you go, whether it be within the comfort of your own home or miles away from the place. well, guess what happens when you show up looking a little too fine at your college's annual christmas eve party?

꣑ৎ content ─ MDNI, brother'sbsf!satoru / collegesenior!satoru x afab!reader, reader is suguru's younger sister, no use of y/n, reader can't escape him, suggestive content, reader is in love w/ gojo (and vice versa), intentional use of lowercase, usage of pet names e.g baby, pretty, good girl, etc., smut in the form of fingering, and probably more idk

◖word count — 2.6k

☆ credits ─ live laugh love @anitalenia 4 the gorgeous divider <3 no specific inspiration for this fic, just felt like writing one fueled by my christmas spirit (i have never celebrated christmas in my life, so if u caught me lacking, no u didn't!)

꩜ author's note ─ first fic ever & ofc it's ft. my man !! i'm not v satisfied with this work and it was really rushed towards the end, so feedback is much appreciated :3 merry xmas to all those celebrating and happy holidays ♡ title's from "a nonsense christmas" by sabrina carpenter :3

when you left home for college, you were certain you’d outrun the real-life horrors of your past— your parents' scoldings, the shitty food served at your school's cafeteria, the fake people you were surrounded by, and most importantly, your brother's best friend, gojo satoru, who just seemed to get finer with every single passing day.

the man was, for some reason, genetically white-haired all over. yeah, he had albinism, but god, the sight of him was no less than breath-taking. his sparkling, cerulean orbs, which glowed mesmerizingly both under the moonlight and the sun, seemed more and more enchanting with each passing moment. as the years went by with him by your brother's side, you told yourself to look away, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that flickered inside whenever you saw him. you did whatever you could to let go of them— tried to distract yourself with the shittiest of boyfriends, avoided him at school, locked yourself up in your room whenever he came over to hang out with your brother, you name it.

however, it seemed that luck hated, no, despised your embrace no matter how much you yearned for it, considering how the menace was always hovering around, inserting himself into your life at the most inconvenient moments. you're rehearsing for a school play in an empty classroom? the next thing you know, he has an arm propped around your shoulder and smiling at you in the most stupidly handsome way ever with a lollipop in his mouth as he asks you to just... practice with him around. oh, you're trying to get him off of you now? he'll steal your script before you can escape him and raise his hand up as high in the air as possible so you can't reach it. "hey, give it back!" you exclaim, only to be met by a smug smirk on his face and the most annoying "nuh-uh." he completely refuses unless you promise to not kick him out until the practice session is over.

you're walking back home with your brother, suguru? oops, gojo is there too! he's ruffling your hair no matter how pissed you get and yell at him; he only finds joy and pleasure in seeing you in this enraged state. whether he was a sadist, masochist, or simply insane, you did not know.

so, starting college felt like stepping into freedom. no more conversations centered around satoru, no more being so pissed you lose your voice from screaming, and no more late-night sob sessions everytime he got a new girlfriend.

however, it seemed that you'd forgotten that the stars didn't quite align for you, and the universe had decided to remind you of that very fact by ensuring that satoru received enough distinctions to be able to transfer universities. oh, and of course, the one he'd chosen just had to be the one you'd decided to spend the next 4 years of your life in. it wasn't until after you’d moved into your dorm and started your classes that you found out.

the first time you saw him around campus, you were freaked the fuck out. nevertheless, you simply assumed he was visiting a friend or relative and dismissed the sight.

however, much to your dismay, you discovered that he was, in fact, a senior at your college—a 2nd year, to be exact. it wouldn't be an understatement to assume you nearly had a heart attack when you found out, considering how this was the same guy who used to have a 2.6 gpa back in high school. when did he even start taking his studies seriously and lock in hard enough to meet the criteria and eligibility for your university, one of the most prestigious in the entire country? instead of rooting for you, fate just had to be your biggest hater.

every single time you saw him around, gojo would come up to you to exchange greetings and obviously, tease you about the most embarrassing things from your past while his obnoxious fangirls stared you the fuck down, wondering why he's so close to you even though you're just a freshman who should have nothing to do with him.

what surprised you more, however, was that you sometimes shared the same sentiment as them because you were definitely never this close with satoru. not in all the years your brother used to hang out with him, or all the times you'd seen each other on family dinners. sure, he'd teased you plenty, but he had no real concern or curiosity towards you. you found him walking you to classes, treating you to coffee and meals, buying you all the snacks you could ever need during exam preparations and so much more that you could never even list down.

and worst of all, the feelings you'd so desperately pushed away in the past had now creeped their way back into your heart and embedded every inch of your soul even deeper.

it struck you then—satoru’s actions might not be out of pure obligation. that would’ve been far too simple, too detached for someone like satoru. maybe, just maybe, there was something more to it, something unspoken lingering beneath it all. you couldn’t say for sure if it was intentional or not, but whatever it was, it felt personal, like you mattered in a way that went beyond the promises he'd made to your elder brother and family.

but still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just in your head. satoru’s actions, the way he treated you—it didn’t necessarily mean what you thought it did. it could be nothing—satoru’s actions didn’t have to mean anything. maybe you were just fooling yourself, letting your feelings cloud your judgment. so, you buried them as deep as you could, pushing them aside, telling yourself that letting go was the only way to protect yourself from the uncertainty. it was easier to convince yourself that you were just being delusional instead of facing what could be very real.

although, you do seriously question your latter supposition at your annual college christmas eve party when satoru, dressed in the sexiest 3-piece navy blue pinstripe suit with a black tie, has you pinned against the door of the nearest bathroom. if haven't had the opportunity to pay enough attention to his luminous, cerulean eyes up until now, you do at this very moment when he's staring at you like a predator would at it's prey.

"satoru," you let out a breath you weren't aware of holding, "what are you doing?" gojo, whose gaze had shifted down to your lips, let out a chuckle. "oh, so it's satoru now," he murmured, his hand pushing your hair behind your ear. "fine, 'toru..," you pronounce, going back to the nickname you'd started calling him during the while you'd spent with him. "that's more like it." his eyes meet yours again, conveying the desire and thirst that stirred within him— for how long, nobody knows.

the air around you two was thicker than usual, laced with tension as well as something… else. "you still haven't answered my question." upon your words, the white-haired man's face broke out into a cupid-induced smile, the most beautiful you'd ever seen. "well," his right thumb traced the outline of your lips so light as if you'd break from further pressure, "i thought you looked beautiful." what he says renders you speechless, your throat gone dry and your cheeks turning the prettiest shade of rose (in his eyes, at least.) "you always do, but even more so today." and if you weren't already a flustered mess, you would most certainly be now.

your reaction only draws a smirk on his face, and he decides to tease you a little more. "so, on that note, what do you think i'm doing?," his voice lowers as his hand traces its way down to your neck. "i... uh- i don't know... you tell me." satoru grins, only wanting to push you further.

"yeah? how about i show you instead?" and a mere instant later, his lips come crashing down on yours— you couldn't say you hadn't been expecting or anticipating it, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the way his warm and impossibly soft lips felt against yours. initially, you froze, and you came to realise that all the possibilities you'd once ignored were now very much real.

it wasn't a bad thing— no, nowhere near it, maybe even one of the best that could ever happen to you. however, it did feel like too much of a development to be able to process in a matter of seconds.

upon the realisation that you hadn't responded to his advances, satoru pulled back from the kiss, seeming rather puzzled. "was i wrong?" he inquires, voice lower and deeper than it normally would be.

the melodic sound of his voice is what breaks your trance and serves as your call back to reality. you wanted to say no, reach for his collar, get on your tip-toes and lean in to kiss him, but you were stuck in place. you couldn't find your voice or your words, and it felt like your heels were superglued to the tiles of the bathroom floor.

if it hadn't already been obvious, you'd been yearning for this moment for god knows how long, and now that it was handed to you on a sliver platter, you couldn't simply pass up on it. being well aware of the fact that this encounter could change your and satoru's relationship for either the better or the worse, you took a deep breath, cupped the sides of his face, and tilted your head just enough to be able to kiss the man. your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, if that was possible.

being the way he is, satoru smiled into the kiss and lowered his hands to your hips. he could tell you were pouring each and every emotion from both the past and the present, and of course, he was doing the same.

it was inevitable, really— now that you could feel his skin against yours, it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together and figure out that this was all bound to happen, already having been inked into the wondrous book of fate.

and so, for the first time in all the years you'd spent alongside satoru, you could say that the universe was, in fact, rooting for you. the way gojo's lips moved against yours, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world when he pulled away, the way the both of you heavily panted but still chased each other's warmth again barely seconds later, are more than enough confirmation.

"no, you weren't," you reply, feeling giddier than you ever had. "i wasn't what?" his hands caress your cheek with a carefulness that was almost unlike him, and your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest (in the best way possible.) "you weren't wrong."

"and i'm still not wrong if i do this?" his large hand reached under your clothes and wandered up to your waist, resting over the skin of the region. "or this?" his mouth had reached your neck, leaving kisses-turned-bites all over, which were sure to transform into hickeys.

"no... no, you're not," you let out breathlessly, unable to escape the fire coursing through your veins at the slightest touch. you wanted more, so much more, and satoru was the only one who could fulfil your needs— not that you would have it any other way.

"you sure, pretty?" the corner of his mouth went up, resulting in a lopsided grin— he was obviously teasing you, that was just the way he was and always had been.

"uh-huh," you nod to reaffirm your statement. "good girl," he breathes out, only contributing to the echoes in the parts of your body which ached for him so badly.

his long fingers played and toyed with the hem of your dress, as if to test the waters. when you didn't resist, his hand sneaked up your thigh, gently fondling the skin.

despite the confidence in his actions, he observed every expression on your face cautiously, ensuring that nothing he did hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. when you show no signs on unease but instead only desire, he goes on to satisfy and soothe your needs.

his fingers traced their way up your inner thighs and lurked over the already soaked fabric of your underwear, bringing about a chuckle from satoru. "so needy for me already, hm?" he remarks, as if his own pants weren't tightening upon the observation.

"shut up, 'toru..." you're trying to regain your composure and keep up an attitude, but to no avail. the fact that he has you exactly where he wants you isn't helping, either. you're even trying to avoid his gaze, but the way you can feel his presence everywhere makes it impossible to do so— besides, he's making you face him again using his index finger and thumb to hold your chin in between, as he whispers out a "look at me, baby."

and when you do, you have to let out a gasp at the sight of him— his disheveled hair which was perfectly tamed at the start of the night, his half-lidded eyes as he looks at you like you're his entire world and his lips that are now slightly bruised and swollen from the kisses you've shared. it was beyond enough to get you all the more hot and bothered.

oh, but that's not the only factor contributing to the sounds you're making— it's also the way he's pulled your panties to the side and is currently tracing your slit ever so slowly. "want more, princess?" nearly mocking tone.

you hardly even manage to let out a hum before his slender fingers are running over the most sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a moan from you. your eyes roll all the way back when one of his digits slides inside you just a moment later— you'd never been this sensitive, but it seems that was going to be entirely different with satoru.

he added one after the other, and now, three of his freakishly large fingers were pumping in and out of you relentlessly— he was so good with them, you could practically taste your orgasm about to wash over you.

"'m close, satoru," you whimper out almost pathetically, and his fingers are going even deeper now, hitting the spots you'd never even dreamt of reaching on your own. "yeah? is my princess gonna cum for me?" his voice is rough and he's groaning as if he's the one receiving the pleasure.

you can only nod as your arousal overwhelms you, white ropes of cum spurting out from your throbbing hole with one final thrust of his fingers. his entire hand was covered in your fluids, which he brought up to his mouth to be able to savor the sweetness of your juices on his tongue. god, he was an obsessed freak when it came to you.

"ew, satoru! why would you do that?" you hold back a giggle, expressing faux disgust at his actions. he only kisses you in response instead of using his words, making sure you get to taste what he'd drawn out of you as well.

"you think suguru's gonna be mad?" he asks, obviously amused at the idea of your brother enraged when he finds out what you and satoru have done. "oh yeah, definitely." he sweetly presses yet another kiss to your lips.

"if it's at the expense of me getting everything i wished for, i don't care, babe."

@cuntphoric :33

[imreidswifey]

A New Year's Kiss

Summary: On New Year's Eve, Y/n impulsively kisses Spencer Reid, and in the aftermath of the unexpected moment, they both realize it marks the beginning of something deeper between them.

A/n : This I my first ever post and fan fiction I am SO open to requests so feel free to message and I really hope u enjoy Also idk how to work this app so if anyone wants to help me with creating stores def reach out. 💕

Warning: Teeth rotting fluff, Kissing, Counting (Numbers scare me too)

———————————————————————————

The clock on the wall in the BAU bullpen ticked down the final hours of the year, but Y/n found herself in no rush to leave. The office was mostly empty—just a few stragglers finishing up last-minute reports, waiting for the festivities to start. The rest of the team had scattered, heading to various parties or spending the evening with family, but Y/n hadn’t made any big plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend time with her friends; she did, very much so. But there was something about tonight that made her feel a little... disconnected. Maybe it was the cold January air pressing against the windows, or maybe it was just the weight of another year spent chasing after killers. But as the night deepened and the office grew quieter, Y/n found herself wondering if this year was going to be any different.

She glanced over at the corner where Spencer Reid sat, lost in a file, his brow furrowed as his eyes moved rapidly across the pages. She’d always admired Spencer—his brilliant mind, his quiet charm, his unwavering kindness—but lately, there had been something else there. A spark in the way he looked at her when their paths crossed in the hallway, a smile that lingered just a little longer than usual. She wasn’t sure if it was just her imagining things, or if there was more to it, but every time their eyes met, her heart skipped a beat.

It was silly, she told herself. Spencer was awkward, shy, and almost painfully self-aware. He was a genius, sure, but the idea of him being interested in someone like her seemed impossible. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was something between them.

As the clock inched closer to midnight, Y/n decided to join the rest of the team. She grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and walked toward the conference room where the TV was already showing the countdown.

The room was a little more crowded than she expected—Morgan, Derek, Emily, and JJ were gathered near the TV, laughing and joking around. Spencer was standing at the back, slightly apart from the group, holding a cup of cider in his hands. When he saw her enter, he offered a soft, shy smile that sent a flutter through her chest.

"Hey," Y/n greeted softly, moving toward him.

"Hey, Y/n," Spencer replied, his voice a little quieter than usual. His eyes lingered on her for just a moment longer than she expected, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he, too, was feeling the strange tension in the air.

“Happy New Year,” JJ called over her shoulder, raising her glass.

“Not yet,” Morgan teased, glancing at the clock. “But we’re getting close.”

Y/n smiled, but the truth was, she was far more interested in the man standing next to her. There was something magnetic about Spencer tonight—something that made her feel like they were the only two people in the room. The others might be joking around, but she felt completely focused on him.

"Are you sure you're ready for the year to end?" Y/n asked, her voice a little softer now, almost tentative.

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward her, and she could see the slight hesitation in his expression. He looked down at his cider for a moment before meeting her gaze again, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“I think I am,” he said, his voice just a little hoarse, as if he wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was going. “It’s been… a long year.” He paused, his fingers tapping nervously on his glass. "But I guess there’s always the possibility that the next one might be... better."

Y/n smiled, her heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. “I think the next one will be great, Spence.”

The seconds on the clock ticked down: 10... 9... 8. Y/n could feel the anticipation rising in her chest, not just for the new year, but for something she hadn’t fully understood until this very moment—an almost magnetic pull toward Spencer, an urge to close the space between them.

For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room, the others’ laughter and chatter fading into the background. The closer the countdown got to midnight, the more her nerves tangled with excitement.

"Five... four... three..." The TV announcer’s voice cut through the air, and Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. Without thinking, her heart was racing in anticipation of something that she couldn’t explain, something that had been building inside her for weeks. She didn’t know what she was going to do next—didn’t know if she had the courage to follow through—but something inside her told her that this was the moment.

Spencer was standing right next to her, his arm lightly brushing hers. Their eyes met again—intense, lingering, as if they both realized they were teetering on the edge of something big. Something neither of them had ever allowed themselves to feel before.

Before she could stop herself, Y/n reached up and gently placed her hand on his chest. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and his breath hitched.

"Y/n?" His voice was a whisper, uncertain, yet somehow eager. He looked down at her hand on his chest and then back to her face, his expression searching. “What are you—?”

But before he could finish the sentence, the countdown reached zero.

"Happy New Year!" The room erupted in cheers, but Y/n barely heard any of it. The sound of the TV seemed miles away as she leaned up on her tiptoes, her heart pounding in her chest.

In the blur of movement, Spencer’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, she kissed him.

Her lips brushed against his in the softest, most tentative touch at first. But then, as if some hidden force was pulling her in, she kissed him again, this time with more confidence, more intent. Spencer’s breath caught, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to still.

The world outside the room, the countdown, the cheers of the team, all of it faded into nothing. There was only Spencer—warm, close, and real—and the press of his lips against hers.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss; it was soft, tentative, full of the question both of them had been avoiding. Was this what they wanted? Was this where they were meant to be?

But as Spencer’s hand gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing the curve of her jaw, Y/n felt something shift. A quiet understanding passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgment that this was just the beginning.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Spencer’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and searching, but there was no awkwardness. No regret. Just a quiet, shared moment.

“Y/n, I—” Spencer began, but she gently placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Just... just let it be.”

The room around them was still buzzing with laughter and cheers, but Y/n didn’t care about any of that. The only thing that mattered was Spencer, standing before her with a soft smile that made her heart swell.

He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I didn’t expect this,” he said softly, almost shyly.

“I didn’t either,” she admitted, her voice just as soft. “But I think I’m glad it happened.”

Spencer’s smile deepened, and for the first time that night, Y/n saw the warmth in his eyes that told her this wasn’t just a New Year’s kiss. It was something more.

Something real.

“Well, then,” Spencer said, his voice steady and full of promise, “maybe we should make this New Year the start of something new.”

Y/n nodded, her heart fluttering. “I think I’d like that.”

And in that moment, with the new year stretching out before them, full of endless possibilities, Y/n knew that whatever came next—whatever the future held—she wasn’t afraid anymore. Not with Spencer by her side.

Hope you enjoyed!!

[thepixelelf]

one night romance chan x reader x frat president seungcheol warnings: coarse language, alcohol, possessive (derogatory) cheol. tmnt references. idk how frats work. wc: 868

love triangle au requests (this one is for @hey-blondie <3)

[what's holding you back?] "Seungkwan!" Chan calls out, rushing into the recently-tidied kitchen area of the frat house he's finally dared to step foot in. "Seungkwan Seungkwan Seungkwan Seungkwan Seungkwan!"

Said man's eyes widen as Chan slips directly into him as a result of all the spilled alcohol and dignity on the tile flooring. Seungkwan catches him, barely. "Oof. Shit, Chan-- What?"

Righting himself, Chan beams, his bright smile making Seungkwan's face twist in confusion. Chan's skipped out on just about every party he's ever been invited to since first year, and he'd been complaining about smell of the place just ten minutes ago. Seungkwan couldn't refute that, of course. A house full of twenty-somethings, and mostly frat guys at that? Not exactly ideal. Still, more than a couple of Seungkwan's (and by association, Chan's) friends are part of this fraternity, and the parties are extremely preferred to academic readings, in his opinion.

As Chan catches his breath, Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "You look like a madman."

"They're here!"

Seungkwan connects zero dots. "Who's here?"

"Donatello!"

Zero. "Who?"

"Seungkwan." Chan put both his hands on Seungkwan's shoulders. "My soulmate."

Two. His eyes widen. "The person from your cousin's weddimmfh--?!"

Chan slaps his hand over Seungkwan's mouth, frantically looking toward the common area before meeting eyes again and hushing out, "Shhh-- Yes! They're literally right over there on the couch! What are the odds!"

Seungkwan grabs Chan's hand and shoves it away. "Wasn't that wedding in another country? How the hell...?"

Something dangerously sparkly shines in Chan's eyes. "It's fate."

"Are you sure it's them?"

"You think I'd forget what the love of my life looks like?"

Seungkwan crosses his arms. "Chan, the love of your life left you in an empty hotel room."

"They had an early flight," Chan defends not for the first time, just as adamant as every other time he's told his friends about his whirlwind one-night romance.

"And they didn't leave you their number, or any social media."

Chan shrugs. "We were talking about life, not the internet." He smiles at the memories that must be flashing by in his mind. "And then we weren't talking."

"Don't even start there, dude." Seungkwan's heard more than enough in that department. "They didn't tell you their name."

"I--" The corners of Chan's mouth turn downward, and something like disappointment flashes over his face. "Yeah."

Seungkwan meant to bring Chan a bit closer to reality, but it wasn't his intention to totally bum the guy out. He takes a breath. "Why do you call them Donatello, again?"

Chan's eyes brighten. "They wore a purple blindfold for the pinata."

"Right. A pinata at a wedding."

"There were a bunch of kids!" He stares toward the common area again. "They were so cute with the kids..."

"Okay, okay, Splinter," Seungkwan says, putting a hand on Chan's shoulder and walking them both a little closer to the border between the kitchen and the packed common area. "Before you go imagining a whole nuclear family and white picket fence with this person, let me at least meet them. Where are they?"

Chan doesn't answer, just smiling into the crowd, and Seungkwan sighs. Lovestruck. That's what this is. He follows Chan's eyes to a couch all the way across the room, where someone kind of close to Chan's mystery Donatello's description is sitting, a strong arm slung over the cushion directly behind their shoulders.

An arm belonging to--

"Wait." Seungkwan grips Chan's arm stopping him from just waltzing right over. "Wait, Chan. It's not" --he points a shaky hand at you-- "them, is it?"

It's like Chan barely hears the question. He just lets out a dreamy (borderline creepy) sigh like a cartoon princess. "Perfect, right?"

"Chan, listen to me." Seungkwan spins Chan to face him and puts both his hands on his shoulders. "You cannot pursue this person. Absolutely not. They're off limits."

Snapping out of it, Chan frowns. "Off limits?"

"Entirely. They're Seungcheol's."

"Who?"

Seungkwan glances across the room again, where you laugh at something someone says, and the man in question -- with his arm not technically around you but pretty damn close -- looks at you with such a wide smile that his eyes become delighted crescents.

"Choi Seungcheol," Seungkwan explains, keeping his voice low even though no one in the immediate vicinity gives a shit what they're talking about. "He's the president here."

Chan looks over at you, sounding defeated when he asks, "They're dating?"

"Well..." Seungkwan hesitates, and Chan whips his head back.

"They're not dating?"

Grimacing, Seungkwan shakes his head, unsure of how to explain the mess that is you and Choi Seungcheol and this whole stupid fraternity. "They're-- No, they're not dating. I think. They're friends. I think. No one's really said it explicitly... but everyone knows not to make a move on Donatello because Seungcheol has, like..."

Chan frowns. "Dibs?"

"Ew, dude. They're a person."

Crossing his arms, Chan shrugs Seungkwan's hands off his shoulders. "I know. You're the one making it sound like that guy is treating them like they're not. So?"

"So?" Seungkwan echoes, confused.

"They're not dating, and this Choi Seungcheol person sounds like a piece of shit. So what am I still doing here?"

Blinking, Seungkwan just stares at Chan.

He thinks about it.

And after thinking for not very long, he nods and says, "Go. I've got your back."

=

part 2

[ddodol]

good boy — j.sc

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, himbo pt!sungchan, fem!reader, oral (m.), subby sungchan!, dry humping, overstimulation. word count⭑.ᐟ 1.8k+

a/n; idk i love subby sungchan.. this is also my 1000th post so <3

sungchan was, for the lack of a better word, a bit dull.

your hot personal trainer was one-track minded and he was down to help you with whatever you needed, though you have to preface it as something that would help with your health goals.

asking him out for lunch? you just needed him to pick out food for you, that’s all. acting like you had no idea how to use certain equipment even though you’ve had a gym membership for years? sungchan didn’t have to know about that.

nonetheless, you could notice how you were slowly affecting him little by little. his grasp on you would linger for longer, or how his eyes would wander around your curves. though that doesn’t mean sungchan does anything to ease himself around you, always on guard and acting professionally.

you knew it was only a matter of days before you had him wrapped around your fingers, wanting to speed it up by dressing up scantily and spraying a bit of perfume before heading out to the gym.

sungchan asked for today’s session to be done in the evening. whatever his reason was, it worked out in your favor because it meant you had the entire gym for yourselves.

the moment you stepped in, you could’ve sworn sungchan visibly froze. he had his eyes on your figure, breath getting caught in his throat and lips parted open as he looked at you.

”y/n?” he called out softly, shivers running down his spine when you smiled at him. sungchan shifted uncomfortably, taking a few minutes to compose himself. “um, y-you look nice,” he cleared his throat, glancing away awkwardly.

you chuckle, laying down your bag on the side as you walked closer to him. he subconsciously took a step back, neck and ears turning red as his heart pounded against his ears.

sungchan wasn’t actually that stupid; he could tell you were attractive and how you were attracted to him as well. he never took your little hints because he always thought you were just kind enough to consider him whenever you asked him to eat outside or innocent enough to not know how to use gym equipment even though he knew about your gym membership.

sungchan thought you were a bit cute, finding your assertive personality admirable. although he never expected something like this from you— not when he’s been having wet dreams of you every night. last night’s dream was a bit more vivid than usual, and seeing you like this felt like a cruel reminder of his sinful thoughts.

your session went normally, much to your dismay, though you could feel sungchan’s hesitation and the electricity that would run through your body whenever his hands would brush against your sweaty body. sungchan was restless— constantly fixing up his pants as he focused on his breathing.

he was fighting for his life with every small whimper and moan that escaped your lips, the empty gym amplifying your voice and filling his ears even more. sungchan could’ve sworn those were the exact same noises you were making in his dreams, flushing up even more as he watched over you tirelessly.

you sat back up, groaning as you massaged your sore shoulders. sungchan moved towards you, concern etched in his soft features, “y/n, you good? pulled something?” he asked quickly, mindlessly caressing your affected shoulder.

the soft sighs that escaped your lips made sungchan freeze, heart pounding against his chest as his eyes roamed over your sweaty body. “sungchan?” you called out softly, brows furrowing when he stopped massaging the knots in your shoulder.

“sungchan, is something wrong?”

he swallowed thickly, staring right into your eyes, “is this on purpose too, y/n?” sungchan asked shakily, cheeks flushing up when you met his eyes.

your eyes wandered down to the very obvious bulge that’s been calling out to you, chewing on your bottom lip as you traced over the thick outline against his grey sweatpants. your mouth dropped open, eyes going wide as your eyes flicked up to his blushing face.

”is that for me?” sungchan’s breath hitched in his throat, nodding obediently at your question. you chuckle, turning around to face him properly. he looked over your body, a whimper escaping his lips as he took in every curve, your flushed skin glowing under the gym’s bright lights.

you stood up to push him down a nearby bench, smiling as he stared up at you with huge eyes. “tell me what you need me to do, sungchan,” you whispered in a sultry voice.

sungchan’s eyes trembled, breathing heavily as your hands snaked over his lap. he shuddered against your touch, body growing weak at the teasing. he let out a shaky breath, biting his lower lip.

”talk to me, sungchan.” his eyes were glossy, breathing more quickly when you kneeled down in between his legs. “do you want it like this?” sungchan nods eagerly, eliciting a giggle from you. “m’kay, just leave it to me,” you smiled at him, keeping eye contact as you pulled his sweatpants down.

you marveled at the sight of his erect length, watching it twitch desperately against the air. your eyes flicked up to look at his face, slowly inching closer to his leaking tip. you pressed a soft kiss on his sensitive underside, smiling when his cock throbbed in your hands.

“you like that, sungchan? you’re leaking so much already,” you sighed softly, brows furrowing as you looked up at him.

”y/n, y/n— fuck, y/n,” sungchan moaned, thighs trembling and hips jerking up reflexively. he was starting to feel impatient, head starting to spin at how close your lips were from his cock. you chuckled in disbelief at how needy he was, cooing at him as you ran your hands up and down his thighs in an attempt to help him relax.

”i got you, baby,” you smiled at him, wrapping your lips around his tip, slowly taking in his thick length. you gagged a little, face warping as you brushed hair away from your face. he was huge, too huge that your jaw already felt slack. you tried to hold on for longer, breathing raggedly through your nose before taking more of him in.

sungchan moaned shakily, repeating curses under his breath as he watched you take him all the way down to the base. he gasped sharply, throwing his head back at your warmth. “fuck, y/n. y/n, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, reaching down to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear so that he could see you clearly.

you kept your eyes on him, corners of your lips curling up into a small smile when you noticed how flushed his body had gotten. you didn’t have to do much, tongue swirling around his tip as your cheeks hollowed out from sucking on his cock. sungchan was moving his hips for you, moaning desperately as he chased after his high.

”fuck, fuck, fuck,” drawn out moans left his lips, throwing his head back from the pleasure. “y/n, you’re so good— so fucking good. ah, fuck,” sungchan mumbled without much thought, hips stuttering as his cock throbbed inside your mouth.

you hummed, sending pleasurable vibrations through his cock. he let out a whine, eyes almost tearing up as he came in your mouth in no time. you winced a little at the warmth, a mix of his cum and your spit stringing as you pulled away.

sungchan hurriedly pulled you in his arms, breathing heavily against your neck. “need you, need you so bad,” he whined, rocking his hips against your plush thighs. your body felt soft and warm in his arms and sungchan wanted nothing more than than to bury his throbbing cock deep inside you.

”please, y/n,” he whimpered, hands trembling as he held your waist. you smiled sweetly, cooing at him. you cupped his face, gently rolling your hips against his still erect length. sungchan moaned, pretty face contorting sensitively. “y/n,” he whines, “i need you.”

you shake your head, “and i need you to get a hint, sungchan.” you clicked your tongue, running your hands down his muscular arm, appreciating how it bulged whenever you’d grind down on his cock.

”go out with me.” you laughed at his pathetic attempt, still moving your hips against his cock. “y/n, please— please let me fuck you, i’m so fucking close,” he cried out, voice cracking as tears filled his huge eyes. you knew just one word from you would be enough to drive him insane, amused with how you had him wrapped around your little finger.

”show me,” you hummed, cupping his face to make him look at you. “show me how good you’ll fuck me.”

sungchan nods eagerly, panting as he rubbed his bare, leaking cock against your clothed heat. you bit back your moans, wanting to hear each and every whimper that left his lips. he was completely focused, moaning your name out mindlessly.

”y/n. please tell me it feels good for you too, y/n,” he whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck. sungchan continued to moan and move his hips, hands trembling as he tightened his hold on you.

you chuckle softly, moving your hips along with his to draw out even more high pitched moans from him. “mm, i can’t tell. there’s something in the way,” you teased, fighting back the whimpers that were threatening to spill from your lips. “i’m gonna need more than this.”

sungchan’s pretty face contorted, focusing all his attention on you. he panted softly, staring up at you as he pushed your heat against his cock. you let out a small moan, mouth dropping open when you felt him right against your clothed entrance. he continued to push, the fabric of your shorts stretching out, tip attempting to poke right through. you shuddered, unprepared for the sudden stretch you were about to experience.

you knew he was close, moving your hips to help him cum just so you could get out of the physical toll it would give you if you took him inside you in this state, your body still completely sore from the earlier workout.

sungchan groaned, sinking into your arms as he came. relieved, you stare down at him, gently patting his head. “good boy,” you hummed, also trying to catch your breath.

”you didn’t cum yet,” he whispered, shuddering slightly before pulling away to look at you. there was something in his gaze— a mix of lust and determination, feeling a shiver run down your spine.

”i’m fine—” before you could even speak, sungchan lifted you up in his arms, pressing your body against the nearest wall. your heartbeat began to speed up, head spinning at the dazed expression on his usually adorable and docile face.

“s-sungchan?” he smiled at you, holding your hand and rubbing his cheek against your palm.

“warm-up’s over. let’s do the real thing now, okay?”

[superpowereddonut]

Sirius Black x Reader

This came to me in a dream and I had to write it down! I've never posted any of my own works anywhere, but figured it's a short little one-shot that I may as well put out there even if no one ever reads it! If I feel inspired I might turn this into a proper fic, but idk yet.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader (No use of Y/N)

A/N: set at Hogwarts, fake dating trope

Warnings: Swearing, Sirius isn't gay (even though Wolfstar is obviously canon lol)

Word count: 1401

*****

Barely catching her breath enough to mutter the password, the Gryffindor girl rushed into the common room, all windswept hair, flushed cheeks and wide eyes. She spotted the Marauders all lounging by the fire (except Peter - he was always off snogging Dorcus in a closet these days) and made a beeline straight for them. Remus was squashed awkwardly in an armchair, a book open against his long legs where they were draped over one arm and his back resting against the other. James was sitting up on one end of the adjacent couch, his transfiguration homework in his lap, with Sirius sprawled at the other end, legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back and eyes closed, listening to the music emanating from the record player nearby.

She felt a twinge of regret when the cosy atmosphere broke as she stormed over, her gaze flicking over each of them before settling on Sirius, who had cracked an eye open to look at her, now standing on the carpet in front of the fire.

“Black, I need you to be my boyfriend.”

James and Remus both snapped their heads up at that, and Sirius’ eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Lucas Davis just asked me out again!” The three boys in front of her seemed to let out a simultaneous groan. They were almost as sick as she was of Davis, the irritating Gryffindor two years above them who had been hellbent on wooing her for almost four months now. Unlike James, who had been smitten with Lily since they were eleven and asked her out at least once a week, Davis was aggressive - cornering her in half-empty hallways only to speak over her, invading her personal space whenever he got the chance, and making creepy sexual innuendos anytime a teacher was out of ear-shot. At this point it didn’t even seem to be about her. He just liked the chase and enjoyed making girls squirm. Even girls who hated his guts.

“Just tell him to piss off”, James suggested with a shrug

“Oh jeez, thanks James! Why didn’t I think of that?” She rolled her eyes, “I’ve told him to piss off a hundred times, in a hundred different ways! But he’s relentless- convinced I’m playing ‘hard to get’ or some bullshit like that. The only thing I think would actually get the misogynistic bastard to leave me alone is if he thinks I’m already seeing someone. So,” she said, turning again to Sirius, “can you just pretend to be my boyfriend, Black?”

“Why me? Ask Remus - you two already spend all your time together, surely dating isn’t that much of a stretch!” She shook her head impatiently, “He’s gayer than Bowie and everyone knows it!”. The boy in question huffed a laugh, “Cheers, love.” She ignored him.

“Get James to do it then!” Sirius exclaimed, and the messy-haired boy next to him opened his mouth, sitting up straighter. He probably would do it, she thought, because he would do just about anything for his friends. The noble idiot.  “Oh please, you think anyone would believe that this lovesick fool has moved on from Lily?” She retorted, making a vague gesture towards James, who just grinned ruefully and relaxed back into his seat, nodding his head in agreement.

“And you think anyone would believe we are a couple?” She paused for a second, unsure of how to answer. Although she and Sirius had always been… sort of… friends, it was largely only because of her friendship with the other Marauders - mainly studying with Remus and playing quidditch with James. While they inevitably spent a lot of time together due to their mutual friends, it was true that they were at each other’s throats more often than not, she supposed. Remus was complaining just last week about their constant bickering and their incessant need to outcompete each other in every little thing. 

She was saved from answering by James. “Actually, a Ravenclaw in our charms class - you know, Macmillan? - asked me if you two were dating a couple of weeks ago.” 

They both turned to look at him, shocked, and he just shrugged, “he said he wanted to ask you to Hogsmeade but wanted to make sure nothing was going on between you and Sirius”. Before she could unscramble her thoughts enough to answer, Remus piped up from his armchair. “A girl in the year below asked me something similar recently. Thought she might have a shot with Sirius, but wasn’t sure. She said something about you two having ‘chemistry’ at that party after the last quidditch match.” She fought the blush that spread across her cheeks at the memory. They’d thrashed Slytherin last month and she’d gotten pretty drunk at the party in Gryffindor tower afterwards. She always got a bit flirty when she drank, and Sirius was a shameless flirt even when he was stone cold sober. They’d traded a few harmless remarks early in the night, and later, though she couldn’t really remember how it happened, she ended up dancing to some ABBA songs with her back pressed against Sirius' chest, his arms around her waist and his hot breath on her neck. It hadn’t led anywhere - in fact she had been pretending it never happened - but she still felt a burning pit in her stomach whenever she thought about the way he had felt pressed against her, or the way he had grinned and licked his lips when she turned around and they danced chest to chest.

She shook herself slightly and forced herself to look at Sirius, who was frowning at Remus. “Plus,” she said bitingly, “you’ve established a pretty solid reputation for fucking anything that moves”. Sirius scowled at her before roughly shoving himself up from the couch and strolling past her to the record player that was now sitting idle, the last track having finished. She watched his tense shoulders as he carefully selected a new record and switched them over. She softened her tone, “I’m sure Davis will move on and start pestering some other poor girl before long. I just need you to play the overprotective boyfriend role until he backs off.” She shared a glance with Remus and James when he still didn’t respond. “Please,” she finally relented. When Black still didn’t answer, now decidedly fiddling with the tuning knobs on the record player, she sighed. She’d have to find another way to deter Davis and it’d have to be soon - she didn’t know how many more times she could hear his sleazy “hiya sweetheart”, before she’d resort to hexing him. And that would probably just make him re-double his efforts.

She barely noted the sound of the gryffindor portrait opening to let someone into the common room, but then- “There ya are sweetheart! Bin lookin’ all over for ya!” She gritted her teeth, turning around to see Lucas Davis stalking towards her, that stupid fucking smirk on his face. “Can’t think why, given that you saw me an hour ago and I told you to ‘leave me the fuck alone’”, she snapped. She could see both Remus and James tense in her peripherals, probably preparing to tell Davis to ‘fuck off’ themselves, but Sirius remained silent behind her. Davis either didn’t notice the two boys glaring at him, or didn’t care, and he only smiled wider, “aw come on princess, don’ be like that!” He whined, “I think you just need-” 

But she never found out what he thought she needed, as Sirius suddenly stepped up to her side, casually slung an arm around her shoulder and drawled, “You heard my girl, fuck off and leave her alone.” Davis visibly recoiled, and she might have laughed at his shocked expression had she not been entirely preoccupied by Sirius' comforting warmth as he leant against her. “Your girl?” He sputtered. 

“My girl.” Sirius repeated, and she could hear the mocking smile in his voice, “Girlfriend, paramour, lover, whatever. The point is: fuck. off.” Even Remus seemed to be hiding a grin as Davis stood there, dumbstruck, his eyes darting between her and Sirius as though stupefied. She relaxed into Sirius embrace and intertwined her fingers with his where they hung over her shoulder. “Bye Davis”, she crooned, with a smug smile. He seemed to struggle for another moment before turning on his heel and striding out the door without another word.

[mrsmikaelsxn]

What Did You Do

masterlist

pairing: tom riddle x female reader, voldemort x female reader

warnings: angst, tiny bit of fluff

summary: throughout your years at hogwarts, you and tom were inseparable, now as a professor you see what happened to him at the battle of hogwarts - requested by anon

a/n: i'm going to age down voldemort and the reader (meaning because mcgonagall is a little younger than voldemort, the reader would be so old lmao. so i'm just imagining the reader is like remus' age, it wont affect the time line, idk if that makes sense sorry)

song: the night we met - lord huron

Tom was brilliant, so were you. You were both the top of your classes since your first year at Hogwarts.

That's how you two started talking. You would be partnered with each other in most of your classes, you made an excellent pair.

Throughout the years there, you two had grown a bond. Eventually, you both had feelings for each other.

You knew of your affections towards him, you didn't tell him because you didn't want to ruin your close friendship. But Tom had been in a sort of denial, seeing as how he was conceived under a love potion, he didn't think it was possible.

Around your sixth year, he had come to terms with how he felt. You two had confessed to each other after one of Slughorns dinner parties, he had attended as your date.

It came as a shock to most students when the news of you getting together spread.

They had know he had a soft spot for you, but he had never shown any romantic feelings towards anyone before.

It was seventh year and Tom had confessed to you of his plans and becoming Lord Voldemort.

He asked you to join him and be his partner but you couldn't. It was wrong and you knew it, he knew it deep down too.

You figured this was caused by his horrible childhood at the orphanage, he told you all about how he was treated.

He asked you one final time to join or he would have to continue without you.

You stood there in front of him with tears streaming down your face as you shook your head.

He wanted to wipe the tears from your beautiful face, but he knew it would make him tempted to give up the plans he worked so hard for.

So he turned his back on you and left you behind while you cried and begged him to stop what he was doing.

After that night, you hadn't seen him again.

"Harry!" you call your student, a student who was like a son to you.

You knew of how he got his scar, as did everyone else. It broke your heart each time you thought of what had caused it.

"Harry, be safe, I'll be right behind you," you kiss his head. He goes and runs off to find Voldemort as students and staff start to fill the courtyard and go into a circle.

You quickly walked through the empty halls of Hogwarts, making sure there were no student that needed help.

You finally went outside and saw Harry and Voldemort in a duel.

You gasp at how he looks, this wasn't your Tom. You hadn't seen how he looked since that night so long ago.

You rush over ignoring the calls of people to stop.

"Tom! Stop this!" you yell with angry tears forming in your eyes.

Voldemort blocks Harry's spell and sends one to knock him out for a little while he drops his arm to look at you.

People watching were frozen in their places as they took in the scene in front of them. There were very few people who were aware of your past relationship with Tom.

"Y/n."

"What did you do," you cry. He almost winces at the pain in your voice.

He slowly walks over to you and stops about three feet from you.

"I got the power I've always desired," he explains in a monotone voice.

"Tom... we could have had a future together, look what you've become," you whisper.

"You didn't wish to join me, you didn't expect me to drop everything I've worked for, did you?"

"Yes, I did, because you could have and I would have done the same for you," you try your best to keep your voice from cracking.

He knows you're right. He couldn't look you in your eyes. He looks around at the faces watching as he tries to not think about how beautiful you still are.

You had grown into a stunning woman, and well, he felt embarrassed by what he had come to.

"Stop!" Voldemort shouts, annoyed at his now conflicted emotions.

He feels tempted to stop and apparate you and him somewhere to stay, like how you always dreamed of.

He couldn't, not now. He decided an apology was the only thing he could do, as he went to apologize to you, he suddenly felt pain all over.

He turned his head to see Harry with his wand pointed at him. It was then you both realized he was truly gone.

As he starts to turn to stone, he uses all the energy left in him to look at you, in the eyes this time.

He watches as so many emotions flash through your eyes. He memorized your features in the few seconds he has.

You look at Voldemort on his knees, almost all stone. You see him mouth something, it looks like 'I'm sorry', but you can't be sure.

You watch as he looks you dead in the eye, finally turning completely to stone and dissolving into nothing.

People around you start cheering and hugging as they all celebrate.

Harry turns to you and sees the devastated look on your face.

"I'm sorry that you lost him," Harry says as he hugs you, "not Voldemort, but Tom," he continues.

"I'm sorry too, but you're safe, along with everyone else," you sigh, "that's all that matters," you kiss his forehead and hug him back.

It took you a while to finally accept that Tom- Voldemort, was gone.

Things slowly got back to normal. Hogwarts was rebuilt and repaired. You continued your teaching career there.

You were sat in your room, in a cottage where you and Tom were supposed to be living.

You decided that if he couldn't be there to live life, you would do it for the both of you.

You pick up some letters he would send you when you were dating, you had saved them all. You look at the box and see one that hasn't been opened. Your eyebrows furrow as you open it. Then, a tear slides down your face as you read it.

My y/n,

If you are reading this, that means I have become Lord Voldemort, and am likely dead now.

I need you to understand that I am not the Tom you once knew. I also need you to understand that I have regretted walking away from you each and every day since I did so.

You were my family, my love, my everything.

I'm sorry I threw that away for power. I know now that it is far too late to go back.

I wish I could though, and spend life with you in that place you always use to tell me about. Unfortunately, it isn't possible. But know that if it was, I would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

Stay true to yourself, don't turn your back on the people you love, I regrettably made that mistake.

You are a beautiful person, my love, I hope you accomplish all of the things you use to rant to me about.

Please forgive me.

Yours always,

Tom Riddle

[faithisyours]

Something to Tell

Azriel x Ace Fem!reader

Summary: You and Azriel are recently mated. You decide to take things slow, but you have something personal to tell Az.

Warnings: coming out, fluff

Word Count: 965

A/N: Sup y’all. Sorry I’ve been absent, a lot of shit happened. Anyways, I really just wrote this one for me. I think the topic of asexuality is really left out of this book series and fandom, understandably so, but I think it would be an interesting subject to discuss, so I’m here to fulfill my own wishes. Given the lore and rules around mates, I don't even know if this could be considered a thing, but I’m gonna try my hardest to make it a thing for my ace baddies out there. IDK if I’m gonna make this a series or not (probably won’t), but maybe see how people like it before making decisions. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to tell me. As always, minors gtfo. Adults, you enjoy!

You’re just finishing up bottling an allergy tonic for your neighbor’s son when the door to your apothecary opens, the bell above ringing out. You know exactly who it is, and you are simultaneously filled with dread and relief. Azriel, your freshly bonded mate, walks into the back room where you are working, his big Illarian boots creaking the floorboards wherever he steps. When you look up to greet him he gives you a soft smile, a smile you return.

You’ve known Azriel for a little over a year now, ever since Mor begged him to come pick up her sleeping tonic from you because she had been busy. But the bond haden’t snapped for either of you until roughly a month ago, when you were out drinking at Rita’s with the inner circle, per Nesta’s invite. Over the years you had grown close with the inner circle, specifically Mor and Nesta. What had started out as small talk when they came to pick up a tonic had blossomed into a beautiful friendship.

But the last thing in the world you had wanted to happen was to form a bond with someone, especially someone as good and sweet and caring as Azriel. Sure, he is beautiful, you of all people can see that, but the physical attraction stops there, like it always does. Emotionally you two are very compatible, sharing similar interests in books, music, and dancing. After the bond had snapped you both decided to take things slowly, moreso for your sake than his. Every day you grow more and more in love with him; you’re just terrified to see the disappointment and confusion in his eyes after you tell him you’re ace.

“Almost ready to go, Love?” Azriel asks, his eyes following the skilled movements of your hands.

“Almost done,” you respond, screwing the cap and writing the label onto the bottle quickly. You buss your wok table, putting away ingredients and empty bottles. You look over everything twice more, checking for anything out of place, but also as a means to stall. You are dreading this conversation.

“Looks good, Love. Want me to grab your coat?” You turn to him, a small smile on your lips, and grab his hand, gently cradling it in yours.

“Actually… Can I talk to you for a minute before we leave? I need to tell you something.”

“Ya, of course,” he squeezes your hand gently, reassuringly. “What’s up?” You take a deep breath and guide him to sit in one of the chairs at your work table, then pull one towards yourself so you're sitting in front of him. You take both his hands in yours. You don’t make eye contact but instead stare at your hands intertwined.

“There’s something I need to tell you about myself and I need you to listen and let me explain before you say anything,” you look up to see him nodding, a look of concern and confusion on his face. The knot in your stomach is twisting. Your anxiety is through the roof, but you take a deep, albeit shaky, breath to steady yourself.

“Okay. I don’t really know how to go about saying this so I’m just gonna say it. I’m asexual, which means I form little to no sexual attraction, in my case none at all, to anyone. Which means the likelihood of me wanting to have sex with you is basically zero. I know it’s kind of a thing for mates to do it all the time, and so I thought since I am the way I am that I would never form a bond with anyone, but I guess I was wrong. And I know you're probably thinking, “well, didn’t the bond snapping make you feel anything like that?” and the answer would be no. Umm…I guess I just want to add and say that I’m not broken, and that life will be a little different with me, and that I know my boundaries, but I’m also willing to try things with you because I love you and trust you… And this doesn’t mean I don't find you attractive, because I do, I think you're really pretty, but it's more in a ‘I want to paint you’ sort of way instead of an ‘I want to fuck you’ sort of way. And I’m rambling so I’m going to stop now.”

Your leg is bouncing up and down, gaze still glued to your entwined hand. A beat of silence passes, and then he squeezes your hands, which in turn makes you look up at him. His eyes are full of understanding and love, emotions you were not expecting to see. You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling some of your anxiety fade away.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes at him, the last of your anxiety washing away. He stands and pulls you up to do the same. He releases one of your hands, using his to brush a rouge strand of hair behind your ear, then pulls you into a tight embrace. You’re taken off guard, but you melt into him, breathing in his crisp, piny scent.

“Thank you for telling me,” he squeezes you tighter. “And I know you said life will be different with you and I want to let you know I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, and I know we can work through any problems we may face. You are perfect. Cauldron boil me if I ever so much as think to change a single thing about you.”

And with that, he releases you from his embrace, you wipe the few tears that had welled at his words, and you go home.

[bbyblair]

small touches, pink cheeks. 

charles leclerc x f!reader 

pt.2!

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: this is the first fic i’ve ever written so please excuse any mistakes or errors in my writing! Any tips are welcomed and very appreciated. hope you guys enjoy this! let me know if anyone would like a part two. <3

summary: the start of the 2023 season, Bahrain in early march. you'd recently joined the sky team, working as a news reporter and interviewer for your beloved sport.it's your first week and a mix of nerves and anticipation swirl together in your stomach. you're giddy to finally meet who you’d be working with for the next few months… but what happens when an instant connection sparks up between the new girl and Ferrari's golden boy? 

warnings: light cursing, kind of angst? idk. sort of enemies to lovers? reader is annoyed at Charles :(

word count: 1.8k

thursday, march 2nd 2023. 

a small breeze creeps through your window and goosebumps arise on your skin. you can hear your alarm angrily blaring on your phone, but you hadn't woken up yet fully and your brain was still in a haze. suddenly your eyes snap open as you realise what day it is. it's race week and you should be heading off to the airport in around three hours, shit. 

you sigh the same dramatic sigh you had been doing since you were a little girl and roll your eyes. contemplating whether or not to risk another five minutes of blissful sleep. luckily you come to your senses before making that grave mistake. your feet pad lightly across your bedroom floor and into the bathroom, you pause and look around your room realising that from now on you're going to be on the move for a solid 6 months. it's worth it though, this career you had been working toward since you were in high school, and you're proud of yourself to have finally got here. 

the cool shower water finished off the job of waking you up and after spending a little too much time getting ready you were packed and heading off to the airport. 

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

the flight went quickly, considering the ample amounts of work you had to complete before landing, but you managed to get it all done on the plane with a little bit of rushing. you hadn't had time to travel much during your childhood or during college so you were practically squealing with excitement when you emerged from the plane and began your journey to the hotel you were staying in. 

the taxi was stuffy and warm, and your excitement started to be replaced with nerves as you realised that soon you would be in the heat of the paddock, meeting with very important people and drivers. 

you always had a natural ability to make people feel comfortable and this helped you in becoming an interviewer, plus the three years of journalism school you just about survived. It had been a wild ride, but you were finally here, in bahrain, about to be introduced to your new life. 

after getting yourself set up in your hotel and ready for the rest of the afternoon you began making your way over to the race venue. it was huge, but empty due to the fact that the race was in a few days. The only people around were a few race engineers and team members who were discussing strategy for the upcoming race. you were looking for someone in particular, your boss who you'd met before in london. stumbling through the paddock you finally found where the sky hq was situated and after making quick friends with the rest of your interviewing team, some of whom you knew from back home, you all decided to go out for some drinks. 

the night moved fast and before you knew it you were making your way back to the hotel at an unreasonably late time and collapsed onto the bed, tiredness taking over your whole body. 

friday , march 3rd 2023. 

regret washed over your body as you woke up in your hotel room, your alarm blaring at you at a completely unreasonable time. you swiftly began getting ready for the day ahead, your first day. nerves overtake your body again completely during your short walk to the circuit, it was already swarming with fans, ready to watch the free practice after missing their sport for a few months. the staff entrance was hidden away and luckily not too busy, so you managed to sneak in on time. 

you greeted your team who you'd already become quick friends with yesterday and they began briefing you on the timing of the day and when you would be interviewing the drivers. you had been told that this morning you were meant to go over to the ferraris section of the paddock and conduct a fun interview with leclerc and sainz. some silly questionnaire to test their knowledge of one another by asking them some, in your opinion, very personal questions. of course you smiled heartily and agreed, after all this was your job and you were excited to meet all of the drivers, having loved f1 since you were little. 

you made your way over to the ferrari area, and you and the filming crew were kindly greeted by their pr team who directed into a room and informed you that the two drivers would be there shortly. nerves started to bubble up in your stomach, even though you were confident and knew that you were good at your job sometimes meeting new people stressed you out a little more than you liked to admit. 

shuffling and muffled voices were heard outside of the door and the suddenly it opened and you were greeted with two handsome faces, both smiling politely at you and they outstretched their hands for you to take. you quickly grabbed the spaniards hand and shook it. 

“mr sainz, its a pleasure to meet you, im y/n im going to be hosting your interview today.”

his smile grew a little wider and he chuckled, “please call me carlos, and its lovely to meet you too y/n.” you blushed a little at how he said your name in his accent and smiled at him. your eyes then landed on the monegasque next to you, his smile remained on his face but his eyes were unreadable and intimated you a little bit. his eyes raked over your form and then he also outstretched his hand. his grip was much firmer than carlos’ and he began speaking before you. 

“charles, I'm looking forward to working with you y/n.” his eyes then returned to their initial softness and his grip loosed. you were a little taken aback but quickly composed yourself. you just simply nodded your head in response and softly spoke out a small “me too.”

that interaction stumped you, and you were clearly flustered but the rest of the interview went smoothly and you had played the quiz game, the two men laughing throughout and their childish rivalry entertained you more than you liked to admit. but throughout the interview you had felt charles' eyes on you more than once. once you dared to meet his gaze, but as soon as you did he quickly looked ack at his teammate and continued with the game nonchalantly. 

maybe you were just making this up, you didn't know. but no one had ever looked at you the way charles did and it made an odd feeling rise up in your stomach.after the interview ended the two men shook your hand again and began to leave, having to get ready for free practice which was starting in a few hours.

the filming crew packed up and left. you turned your back and let out a sigh at the odd experience. shuffling through your bag for your phone you heard someone clear their throat behind you and your body snapped back and spun around. to your surprise charles was stood their. the same unreadable expression on his face which made your cheeks burn straight away. you looked around awkwardly, silence engulfed the room and you didn't know if you should say something to the driver or stay silent. his voice broke you out of your thoughts. 

“sorry, i didnt mean to scare you.” he chuckled softly and his eyes creased, easing your nerves a little. the hint of his accent poked through his words, it was very attractive you had to admit. 

“no , no its okay, can i help you with anything?” your voice came out harder than you imagined and more agitated than you felt. his expression hardened again and his smile fell, he shook his head. 

“sorry, i just thought i forgot my phone.”

you stood there and looked about the room. you felt the atmosphere in the room change and as you looked at him more closely you could see the outline of his phone in his jean pocket. he didn't know you had noticed, and you were confused as to why he was really here. not wanting to drag on this interaction longer than needed you quickly picked up your bag and began to walk toward the door. 

“I hope you find it.” you mumbled out. 

suddenly his body was blocking the doorway and you stopped a few feet away from him. your face burning red and confused about his behaviour. “you are not going to help me look?” he smiled and a sneakily glint in his eye made your heart skip a beat. was he flirting with you? you were very up to date with the gossip and knew he had a suspected girlfriend so his behaviour was even more shocking to you. 

“oh sorry.” you mumbled dumbly, not knowing what to say. you knew he had his phone and you weren't about to embarrass yourself by crawling all over the floor looking for it. 

“i've got to edit this interview i'm afraid, so if you wouldn't mind letting me pass.” you looked down at the ground as you spoke and mentally cursed yourself at the fact that your voice came out much weaker than you intended. 

“okay.” you could hear the smile in his voice, “i apologise ma douce.” my sweet. you didn't know what he had just called you but the french nickname paired with his voice made your heart sway and even more blush burned on your cheeks. he moved from the doorway with a charming smile and allowed you to pass through. 

your feet felt like jelly underneath you but somehow you carried yourself through the paddock back to your work area, a smile gracing your pretty features at what had just happened. but you couldn't allow anything to happen and you knew that, he had a girlfriend and it was your job to interview him. this is so wrong you told yourself. sliding a hand over your face to try to compose yourself, you began to start editing the interview. 

you paused in shock, watching over the footage you saw how charles gaze almost never left you throughout the whole interview. he was starting at you like an animal and you didn't know why. shock graced your features even more to see how he clearly was checking you out and when you spoke to carlos, his eyes even darkened in a overprotective manner. who was he to get so possessive over you? you had just met? anger started to replace the feelings of shock and you wanted to storm back into ferrari to give him a piece of your mind… 

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

pt2?

[writerlyhabits]

Ration Packs

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: based on this request...

“I’m guessing it’ll be ration packs for dinner?” you added, nodding towards the empty satchel hanging from his hip.  “There wasn’t a market on the way back to the ship,” he almost pleaded, trying to explain his intentions, but you simply gave him a tight-lipped nod in acknowledgment.  “I’ll get the packs started so it's ready by the time you’ve unloaded.” Your voice lacked its usual kindness. This shift in the conversation had you speaking with him as if this were all just… business. Had he pushed you too far? Were you trying to remind him that he had hired you to be here? That he should be keeping things… professional? Fuck. This was why he worked alone.  

Warnings: mild language, miscommunication [but not in a horrible way, don’t worry, I’m better than that], young dumb in love din djarin, mild angst, angst with a happy ending, everything is in Din’s pov because i love his dumbass train of thought, idk it’s pretty soft

AN: oh my god i’m back from the dead! I told you guys i’d be back 😂 This request has been sitting in my inbox for probably about a year… and I have no end of apologies, but i’m finally done and it’s a miracle I don’t hate it 😂 I did change the prompt a little… the idea of them putting Grogu to bed was cute, but I had an idea for a younger Din and just fell in love with it, so i ran with that. I hope you guys enjoy 💖 Thank you @deceiver-of-gods for putting up with me all this time, ily 😘

Din had traveled through the toughest parts of the galaxy without batting an eye. He’d run with a mercenary group and proven himself to have more skills, more hits, more value… and more of a moral compass than anyone else in the group. After fighting his way out of their grip, he had taken out high-level targets with ease to earn his way into the Bounty Hunters guild. Din continued to be not only one of the youngest of their ranks, but also the most highly sought after. And after all of that? 

You were his greatest challenge. 

His Razor crest had taken one too many hits for him to be able to repair on his own, and the costs of repairs on his pre-imperial ship were starting to eat into the funds he usually gave back to his covert. Not providing for them was not an option; the Beroya was supposed to send their spoils back to the covert to provide for those in hiding. This is the way…

So when he landed on a planet with lush, colorful flora, and a generally trusting local people, he least expected you to strike a bargain with him. He needed a mechanic, and you wanted a ticket out. Free boarding and transportation in exchange for a live-in repair crew, he just had to get you the parts. It was his perfect solution. He hired you on the spot and scheduled to ship out as soon as the Crest was back in working order. 

On that first day of travel, Din had only just entered hyper-speed when he became overly critical of his ship. The cold, metal surfaces of the hull were uninviting, full of sharp edges, and devoid of any personality. It didn’t take him much longer to realize that, to an outsider, his armor looked much the same. 

But he’d never seen it that way before. To him, the Mandalorian armor was a sign of home, of belonging. It had been his savior in his childhood, and a beacon of his people as he grew into his own. He had tucked away into coverts where the blank metal lining of their ships and their walls meant protection. 

But you were not Mandalorian. You hadn’t grown up around sharp edges and cold surfaces. The place you called home was filled with warm colors and soft curves, the buildings made to flow with the organic structures of the nature around them, letting in the bright sunlight necessary for its growth. You yourself walked with an elegance Din was unfamiliar with, treading softly on the ground and smiling brightly at him each time your kind eyes met his dark visor. You had shared your warmth with him since the moment he’d met you, despite the coldness he was certain he portrayed, and it surprised him how much he found himself drawn to it. Drawn to you. 

You were everything he wasn’t. But Din would do everything in his power to make sure you never came to regret agreeing to this strange setup, that you never felt isolated or alone because you’d chosen him – a walking wall of cold beskar – as your traveling companion. 

At first, he’d merely wanted to bring you things that reminded him of your home, things he thought might do the same for you. Anytime he was in a market passing through, either on a supply run or with a bounty in tow, he found something colorful to bring back to you. The first few had been small trinkets, things you could keep in the small cupboard you had decided to call your quarters, or delicate pieces of jewelry he would later catch you wearing around the ship. 

The feeling Din got seeing you wear something he gave you made something warm swell inside of him… It made it hard to come back to the ship empty-handed, especially with the promise of your soft smile when he held his hand to you with a new gift. 

On one of his trips, he’d brought back a woven tapestry; the craftsmanship had been beautiful, and the colors matched those of the outfits you wore the most around him. Din was about to launch into an apology when he first gave it to you, not having thought about where you would even be able to put it, but his statement was cut short when you happily grabbed it from him and turned on your heel to find something. 

Not even a few moments later, you returned with a handful of powerful magnets you’d picked up on a market a few planets back, and he watched as you excitedly hung the artwork from one of the walls in the Crest’s hull, creating a curtain in front of one of the panels on that wall – you must have thought it was as ugly as he did. 

“What do you think?” You had asked him, and he watched self-consciousness start to creep in now that your initial excitement was starting to wear off. 

“It looks good,” he’d replied a little stiffly, still having a hard time finding the courage to speak around you. A bounty hunter, with hundreds of captures under his belt, was still too shy to talk to his mechanic… he at least wasn’t dumb enough to miss the irony in his own predicament, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t his truth. 

Since then, Din had started bringing back more things you could use to decorate the ship with; tapestries, blankets, and cushions accompanied the trinkets and jewelry he brought back with him. He could tell that your favorite of his gifts had been a soft shawl he’d seen hanging at a market in the rural areas of Naboo. The politician’s son he was paid to deliver back home had gone on about the luxury material it was made of, something about ancient processes and unique resources… All he knew was that it brought out your natural beauty when you wrapped it around your shoulders, and he felt his cheeks get warm under his helmet when you did. 

The two of you started to fall into these new routines fairly easily, and with all of your redecorations, it was becoming a welcome change. In the evenings – or at least what you thought was evenings in the darkness of hyperspace – you would prep a set of ration packs for the both of you. It was always two of the same kind so that you could feel like you were “sharing a meal,” a concept he had very little experience with. At least, he hadn’t for a very long time. 

Since eating required removing his helmet, Mandalorians often took their meals in solitude, or within the confines of their family. You, on the other hand, were used to shared meals in dining rooms with someone at every seat, and communal dining halls bustling with people. At first, Din was afraid you might take offense to him leaving during meal times, never quite sure how to phrase his dilemma. 

Luckily, he never had to. 

You caught on pretty quickly to his predicament, handing him a warm ration pack with a smile before turning to let him eat in peace. He always rushed through his meals in order to join you in the hull, to thank you for your silent understanding by coming down to talk with you as you ate yours at a leisurely pace. 

As the weeks went by, Din picked up on some of your silent requests as well, memories of food that didn’t need to be rehydrated before you ate it. He began looking out for other booths at the markets, and fresh ingredients began coming home in place of some of the gifts and trinkets he always brought back with him. Each time he did, a home-cooked meal would follow, and Din always made sure he expressed his gratitude when he came back down to join you for the second half of your meal. 

Your routines continued like this for a while, silently assessing each other’s needs, and wordlessly adjusting to accommodate. And it worked. The Razor Crest felt more and more like a home rather than the metal casing of a ship, small traces of your personal touch nearly everywhere he looked. The food had been better, the companionship had been better, far better than the cold silence he’d had to put up with before you came to him. 

And Din started to catch on to just how much his own feelings revolved around you. 

He craved your warmth at the end of a rough day, he sought to provide your happiness, to get your approval… He tried to be better at actually opening his mouth, being able to express more of his feelings for you outside of your usual, quiet understanding of each other. He tried asking you more questions, wanting to not only hear about the events of your day but to actually get to know you better, showing you how much he genuinely cared. And Din was elated when you started to do the same in return. 

After he came back to the ship from a particularly taxing hunt, he heard your soft footsteps descending the ladder from the cockpit while he secured the unconscious bounty into the corner of the hull you had affectionately deemed “time-out.” The most uncomfortable chair had been secured behind some of your tapestries, acting as a set of curtains that kept the bounties from view. 

When Din emerged from the hanging fabrics, he could feel some of the tension leave his body at the sight of you in your work clothes, a warm smile dancing on your grease-stained cheeks, wiping your hands on the old flight suit you’d brought with you from home. No matter how difficult his hunts had been, being able to debrief with you upon his return always made him smile beneath the helmet. 

“Hey!” you lilted. 

“Hey,” he responded, still a little awkward despite how long you’d been working together. He was getting better, but it could definitely still use improvement. 

“How’d the hunt go?” you asked, gesturing to the closed curtain beside him. “Obviously successful if you’ve got someone in time-out.” Din chuckled under his breath at your quip, mulling over the events of his day before he replied. 

“It was fine.” You looked at him expectantly for a few moments, waiting for him to continue. 

“Just… fine?” you half giggled, one brow raised in question while you donned a crooked grin. It hadn’t really gone bad, he did have the bounty in hand. It could have gone better, but nothing that came to any detriment in the end… 

He nodded. “It… went well. There’s nothing to report,” he shrugged, unsure what else you were looking for in his answer. 

But your face fell. Only for a moment… but enough for him to see it. 

“How are your repairs coming?” He tried, hoping to stir the conversation again, to fix whatever had caused your sudden change in attitude. 

“Fine. There’s nothing to report.” Your answer was short, both in your words and your temper. You usually volunteered the finer details of your projects, explaining with a dramatic flair all of your trials and your victories, stories that Din was always happy to be an audience to. 

Why hadn’t you done so this time?

“I’m guessing it’ll be ration packs for dinner?” you added, nodding towards the empty satchel hanging from his hip. One that usually carried whatever gift he had brought for you. Dank farrik… he already hated coming back empty-handed – something you had never made him feel guilty for – but right now it was only making him feel worse. 

“There wasn’t a market on the way back to the ship,” he almost pleaded, trying to explain his intentions, but you simply gave him a tight-lipped nod in acknowledgment. 

“I’ll get the packs started so it's ready by the time you’ve unloaded.” Your voice lacked its usual kindness. This shift in the conversation had you speaking with him as if this were all just… business. Had he pushed you too far? Were you trying to remind him that he had hired you to be here? That he should be keeping things… professional?

Fuck. This was why he worked alone. 

One of the downsides of having grown up around the Mandalorians was that his concepts of interpersonal relationships were skewed. The two of you were operating on completely different sets of rules, and where you had been able to read each other incredibly well… Now he was left to try and figure out where he’d gone wrong. 

With Mandalorians, he knew where he stood. They spoke with purpose, meaning exactly what they said. Even growing up constantly harassing and sparring with Paz, Din knew where his sentiments came from; competition, comradery, and a deep passion for his people. But outside the covert… Din was still finding his footing when it came to the beings he interacted with. Riding with the mercenary group had at least taught him how to weed through the tangled lies that spewed from their mouths, trusting them only as far as he could throw them – if that. 

But you were nothing like those slimy low lives. He didn’t know how to start friendships, how to engage in small talk… and he had no idea where to start when it came to the way you made his heart rate pick up. You made Din nervous, but you were also a comfort. You were new and familiar all at once, a new adventure as well as a place of rest. 

You meant so much to him… and he’d managed to drive you away just as quickly as he had let you in. 

…

The fog of uncertainty hung around the ship for days, and with it, the cold emptiness he had been so accustomed to in his solitude had returned. But after the warmth you had brought to his Razor Crest, being without it was almost suffocating. Din missed you. 

That was a fact he was trying to wrap his head around, seeing as you still lived with him on the ship… but it wasn’t the same. You stopped humming while you worked on different panels across his ship, blanketing the hull in silence. Any questions Din tried to ask you were met with short, quiet responses. Surprisingly, you still made the effort to prepare a ration pack with yours during meal times, but when he rushed back down from the cockpit in record time to join you, you were nowhere in sight. 

There was nowhere to go inside his ship. That was one of the things he’d liked about it; there was room for him to live on board comfortably without giving his bounties anywhere to hide. And yet, you still managed to avoid him. When he entered the hull, you escaped to your room. When he climbed up the rungs to the cockpit, you would make some quiet excuse and scurry out the door behind him. No matter where he went, what he said, or whatever measures he took to try and catch you off-guard, you were gone before he could even open his mouth. 

He was fucking sick of it. He had made a promise, when you came aboard, that he would make sure you never came to regret choosing this life with him. That you would continue to choose to stay with him, to choose him over the home planet you were so desperate to leave. He made a promise, and he intended to keep it. 

After landing on Nevarro a few days later to return his bounty, Din’s plan began to unfold. He walked out of the run-down cantina Karga liked to meet up at – insisting that he was going to fix it up and make it ‘a place of gathering’ – the spills of his hunt clanking against the mechanical chip he had tucked away in the satchel that sat on his belt. A chip that, if missing, would cause systems in the cockpit to go offline. 

Something his mechanic would find during her daily diagnosis check. 

Din felt a pang of guilt at the thought of you being buried arms deep in the underside of the control panel with no hope of finding the repair, because he was the one to take it from you... But then he thought about the worser fate; what if you figured out what was missing, and had more reason to dislike him than before? His guilt quickly turned into slight panic, making haste to get back to his ship to enact his plan before your clever brain could figure out what he’d done. 

When he returned to the Crest, the harshness of the metal hull was almost overwhelming. You had started taking down your tapestries and decorations, save for everything but the “time-out” corner, and it felt cold. You didn’t come out to greet him or welcome him back, let alone acknowledge him at all. You hadn’t done so since the time your conversation had taken a turn for the worst. He did, however, hear a loud metal clang and your familiar grunt of frustration from exactly where he assumed you would be. He wondered if you had even heard him come on board… 

Din quietly discarded his weapons before stealthily moving to the ladder just below the cockpit, stopping in his tracks when he heard a slew of colorful curses leave your lips. He waited a few moments until the sounds of your hard work continued, none-the-wiser to his oncoming ambush. 

By the time he reached the top of the cockpit, he took a moment to assess the situation and figure out the best approach. You were exactly where he thought you would be, laying on your back just to the side of his pilot’s chair, agile hands fiddling with different cables and boards inside his instrument panel…

And your head snapped up to look at him when he made the door to the cockpit slide closed behind him. 

You stared at Din for a couple moments before you opened your mouth. “Did you… are you cornering me?” When you put it that way, this was not going quite as he’d imagined, despite everything going according to plan. He had to keep going. 

“You’re ignoring me,” he said firmly, his tone reminiscent of one he took with his bounties. 

“Fucking maker, did you hunt me?” You asked with furrowed brows, and your slightly agitated tone made him fairly certain you didn’t actually need his answer. “I live on the same kriffing ship, and you had to treat me like one of your bounties just to say something to me?” 

“I had to talk to you. You wouldn’t let me,” he pressed, keeping his voice steady. You gave a huff of indignation. 

“I don’t have time for this, Mando, I have to fix your ship,” you threw at him before your body thumped dramatically on the ground as you went back to your work. 

“So you are angry at me,” Din stated, sounding more like an observation than a question. He could work with angry. You shot him a glare without moving too much from your position, and he took that as a good enough indicator to continue his interrogation. “Did I do something to upset you?” 

“Mando…” you started, his moniker leaving your lips in an exasperated sigh, not without a flame of annoyance lurking behind it. 

“Don’t make another excuse. I’m tired of avoiding this.” He watched the bluntness of his words hit you, not surprised when you furrowed your brows as you started to slide out from under the console, sitting up to scowl at him properly. 

“Another- what? I didn’t make any fucking excuses, I’m not avoiding anything,” you fired off, your tone indicating the exact opposite of what you were saying. 

“Then why have you stopped talking to me?” Din expected another fiery response, but instead a split-second of realization crossed over your face before it was replaced with one of irritated confusion. It made him — him, the stone-cold Mandalorian bounty hunter — shift on his feet. 

“I stopped talking to you?” You countered, and you waited a moment to let him respond… but he didn’t know what you expected him to say. “Right, because you’ve been super talkative after ‘there’s nothing to report’,” you mumbled, and it caused those same words to ring in his head from the night everything went wrong. You had said them so coldly…

After he had said them to you. 

“I- I meant no offense,” he tried a little lamely, still not understanding where he had gone wrong, but wanting more than anything for you to understand that he was willing to fix it. “I didn’t have anything to say.” You gave another sigh, but this one was softer, like you were about to level with him. It was progress, if nothing else. 

“Nothing? You couldn’t give me the details of your hunt the same way I tell you about the market? I mean, it’s not as exciting as I make it out to be, I just... “ You trailed off and looked away from him without finishing your sentence, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. He was finally getting answers out of you, he was going to get to the bottom of this, and make good on his promise to keep you happy. This was the way. 

He was quick to kneel in front of you, trying to get closer to your level to get away from his interrogation tactic, and communicate that he was willing to listen and receive. “You just what? Help me understand.” 

You scoffed a laugh as you shook your head. “There’s not a lot to understand. I like talking with you, I like when we share stories. I just… I wanted to be close with you.” 

Din wanted to bang his head against the wall. With or without his helmet. This all started because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to talk? He was a bounty hunter, he should have been smarter than that. He should have been able to tell what had caused such a shift, and been able to fix it before the mission could go sideways. 

But, in all fairness, he was a bounty hunter who was used to being alone. 

Before Din had lucked into having you travel the galaxy with him on his hunts, he came back to an empty ship. There was nobody else to talk about the day with. And after living amongst the Mandalorians, a people of few words, he wasn’t exactly in the habit of speaking to himself or others. Before you, everything that surrounded Din was just… quiet. 

“But… this is just professional, I get that now. I’ll stay out of your way, and I won’t pry. It is your ship, after all.” 

And he was about to get himself into even more trouble if he didn’t figure out how to speak right fucking now. 

“No,” he started firmly, desperately catching on to the tail end of your admission, but not entirely sure what was about to come out of his mouth. “This isn’t- I don’t… I’m not good at talking.” Strong start Djarin. 

“What?” You asked softly. If anything, you pretty much justified his statement. He took a breath to try and steady himself, to dig through the chaos inside his head and find a half-way coherent string of words to offer you, to clean up his mess. 

“Mandalorians are quiet. Bounty Hunters keep to themselves. I’m not used to talking,” he reiterated, and he watched your confused expression shift gently into one of intrigue, your sign for him to keep going. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out, I just… didn’t know what else to say. I’m used to sparing people any details that aren’t deemed necessary. Now I know that I shouldn’t do that with you. I’m sorry.” 

Din was pleased to find a small smile growing at the corners of your mouth. “I mean… You don’t have to give me every detail. Just the good stuff,” you smiled, making Din’s heart feel warm. He didn’t realize how much he missed the radiance of your smile until now, feeling like he was finally stepping into the sun after spending so long in the dark. 

“Just the good stuff… So I’ll tell you how much blood there was when I-”

“No, no thanks,” you cut him off quickly, making a fake gagging sound as he laughed under his helmet. “I take it back, let’s go back to no more talking, I’m good. I’ll just stay up here with all my busted circuits, thank you very much.” 

“Please don’t, I can’t go back to quiet,” he said quickly, the smile still plastered on his face as the weight of his words hit both of you.

I can’t go back to quiet.

It was true, he couldn’t. The past few minutes talking with you again, even when you were angry and yelling at him half of the time, had him feeling better than he had in days. 

“Oh yeah?” You offered, and he could tell by your knowing smile that you had come to the same realization that he did. You knew how much he had come to need you. “You don’t want a break from all my rambling?” 

“Never,” he admitted. Din watched your shoulders relax and your soft smile get brighter as his answer left his helmet, and he realized how much you needed him in return. It made a warmth bloom from deep within his chest, warming him all the way out to the very coldest parts of his Beskar armor. “Never stop. I want you to fill this ship with all your stories, real or exaggerated.” 

It caught him by surprise when you leapt up from your spot on the ground to meet his height, flinging your arms around his neck as you held him tight, fitting together perfectly even as you knelt on the floor in front of each other. With only a little hesitation, Din wrapped his gloved hands around you, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush against the plates of his armor, and soaked up everything that was you. 

This is the way. 

Sooner than he would’ve liked, he felt your grip around his neck loosen, and you leaned back to lock you gaze with his dark visor. 

“As much as I’d love to catch up, your ship is driving me crazy and I have got to figure out how to get these control panels back online,” you explained, and Din slowly started to realize he hadn’t thought this part through. 

“Well, I uh…” 

“You’re welcome to stay and chat, if you’re in the talking mood. I’d love to hear about your meeting in town,” you offered playfully, sending him a wink as you began to shuffle yourself back down under the open compartment of his shift. 

Instead, he got down on the ground and laid himself next to you, as if he was going to look at what you were doing with the repairs. Your hands stopped mid-action as you looked at him, and he enjoyed the airy laugh that escaped you at his actions. 

“Or you can watch from here, that’s fine, too.” 

“I was actually going to offer a suggestion,” he started timidly. You turned away from him as you focused on the wires in front of you again. 

“I'll take anything you’ve got. I haven’t seen anything like this in ages… I’ve only got one idea left, but I doubt it’s right. It’s like the reactor chip is missing, but the only way that thing would’ve even budged is if someone-” You stopped in your tracks as Din lifted a gloved hand into your peripheral view, the small reactor chip held between his fingers for you to see. 

You paused a moment before turning your head dangerously towards your companion. He could see the corners of your lips twitching as you did everything you could to avoid a smile, and he remained grateful for his helmet as it hid his beaming face from view. 

You snatched the chip from his hand and looked back to your circuits. “Get out of my cockpit,” you said quietly, the last few words of your threat lost to your laughter. Din couldn’t stop his own laughter from coming through the modulator as he began getting up from the floor to do as he was told. “You’re making the ration packs tonight,” you added, the smile on your cheeks evident in your voice. 

"This is the way."

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

[chaotic-iguana]

Javi p x reader where ummm uhhh he is gone for long trip (post Columbia, where they’re on the ranch and his new job occasionally has to travel) and reader wears his clothes bc they miss him/clothes smell like him and javi comes home early to reader in his clothes and he’s like oh my goddd ur sooo cute and he just scoops reader up and idk it is cute

yes. this is the prompt. thank you anon sending you forehead kisses for life.

Away

Summary: Javier’s gone on a trip, and you just can’t help but miss him. lots of fluff. im a SLAVE for soft javi negl.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Pairing: Javier Peña x female! reader

Warnings: just a lot of domestic fluff and a little angst. some kissing and slightly suggestive language towards the end. also a little bit of swearing too. let me know if this works, anon!

masterlist. ao3.

part 2

————————————————————————

Even the coffee didn’t taste the same when he wasn’t here. Laredo had been perfect, a much required (and welcome) change in pace after Colombia. You’d met Javi working as an assistant of the Ambassador, practically detesting him at first. 

He’d sauntered into your office, batted his lashes at you (no, seriously), complimented your nails, and just oh-so-casually asked you to get him some paperwork he had absolutely no business looking at. So you’d just clicked your pretty nails (his words) in his face and told him to get the fuck out and come back when you’ve got your head out of your ass. 

Two weeks later, he’d just shown up again - sheepish, with proper coffee as a bribe this time - and asked for ten minutes with your boss. Impressed by his newly-discovered manners, you’d gotten him twenty minutes with the guy and helped sway him into authorizing a mission the Ambassador normally wouldn’t even have looked at. 

The next morning, there’d been flowers on your desk with a little note scrawled in chickenscratch. Thank you, hermosa. Sorry for being an ass last time. I like the new nails too, maybe you could show them to me up close sometime? You’d exaggeratedly rolled your eyes and thrown the note in the trash, of course, but you couldn’t quite keep the grin off your face that whole week. Nor the week after that, when he took you out, and you did, in fact, give him a fully immersive tactileexperience of that new set of acrylics you’d gotten before the note. 

Soon, the arrangement evolved from just sex to practically living together. You never spoke about it; Javi just had a closet in your home and his toothbrush in your bathroom. You went out for anniversary dinners without calling them anniversary dinners; flowers and coffee kept mysteriously showing up at your desk; and his informants started getting paid more and fucked less. By the time Javi left the DEA for good, you both had spent too many years by each other’s sides to change the routine. So the apartment was packed up, tickets to Laredo were brought, and you’d just followed him down here. 

It was like just breathing Laredo air was enough to change the man. He’d asked you to marry him practically a week after you met Chucho, who had welcomed you with open arms. Obviously, you said yes, and you lived happily ever. Or as close to it as you could get with his work stealing him away most of the time. It made you laugh, the way you were still waiting on him to come back from his trips - but atleast they weren’t to Bogota anymore; your heart stuck in your throat the whole time he was away because what if he didn’t come back? 

No, now that fear had long-faded - and though it flared up at times - a pathetic yearning took its place. Instead of being worried about Javi, you missed him when he was gone, counting down the days like a kid at summer camp waiting to go home. And in a way, you were waiting for your home too. 

You loved Chucho, and Laredo, and your new job and all the comforts life had given you here, but the apartment just felt cold and empty when Javi wasn’t next to you. Waking you up with slow, languid kisses in the morning, laughing when you grumbled and rolled over - only to tickle you awake, instead. That cocky grin he got when he realised you were too short to reach something, coming up behind you to pull it down and immediately kissing your forehead because of course you were struggling and of course you were too stubborn to ask him for help. The tough poker face he put on before making one of those witty quips that made you laugh until there were tears in your eyes and you couldn’t stop giggling because it was so ridiculous. 

His laugh, his kisses, his smell and his warmth - you missed all of it so fucking much - but you’d never so much as indicate that to him, of course. It was something you’d promised yourself back when the two of you were just a newly-transferred secretary and a DEA agent who might have happened to be in the same bar a few too many times on weekends; you never wanted to make it harder for him to leave, to make him feel like he had to choose between you and his job. 

Today, you felt his lack of presence a bit more than normal; it was a day off and you had nothing to do. You and Javi would have spent half the day lounging on the couch and watching terrible movies, taking turns to put on quirky voices for scathing commentaries, ordered takeout and gotten into bed. To either sleep like the dead or get no sleep at all, depending on the mood. 

You could go out, but you just didn’t want to meet people right now. You’d had dinner with Chucho a few days ago, which meant you couldn’t just show up at the ranch unannounced and say you’re bored, either. Not that he would mind, but he’d spent the day showing you how to make tamales and that had understandably thrown his work schedule off a bit and you didn’t want to make it worse. 

So you showered and pulled out one of Javi’s sleep shirts and boxers, reveling in their comfort before curling up on the bed. You were flicking through the channels, bored out of your mind, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Cariño? It’s me.” The second his voice came from the other side, you were stumbling across the room to unlock the door and wrench it open. Beaming, you barely got to look at him before he was bursting through, throwing his bag down and he’d just scooped you up into his arms with practiced ease. 

Walking you to the bed, he set you down gently before manoevring you both so that you were in his lap. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, his smile widened. “What’s this, hm?” A teasing tone crept into his voice as you flushed and looked away, biting your lip. You didn’t show affection easily, and you’d never worn any of his shirts before - scared of coming off as too needy, too clingy - even when you were married to the man, for god’s sake. 

Watching you blush, Javi tilted your chin to make you look at him as his lips twisted into a smirk, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your face and giving you reprieve only when you squealed, pushing at his chest while giggling uncontrollably. “Did you miss me, honey?” Your shy nod just made him chuckle, gripping your chin to pull you into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re fuckin’ adorable, you know that? Walking around wearing my clothes when I’m not around - refusing to admit you missed me when I heard you trip on your way to the door.” The twinkle in his eye is only getting brighter with each word, and you’re struggling to meet his eye by the end of it. You knew he found it amusing - the fact that your usually foul-mouthed, unyielding nature; the woman who hadclicked her nails in his fucking face the first time they’d met - melted away to become all shy and flustered, just for him. 

“Don’t laugh” you huff, burying your face in his neck to avoid meeting his eye because that was honestly just making your blush deeper. He just snickers again, the asshole, before kissing your forehead and mumbling softly. 

“‘Course not, sweetheart. Hated being away, y’know? ‘N then I got home, and you just looked so cute in my shirt dwarfing you that I jus’ couldn’t help myself.” You leaned back, with a teasing grin of your own. 

“Couldn’t help yourself? Sounds like you’ve gotta make up for laughing at your poor wife now, Mr Peña.” You peered up at him through your lashes, watching him catch on with widened eyes before fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and pulling it over his head, hurling it to the floor next to him. 

“Come on then, wife. Let’s make amends, huh?”

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

[downbadf0rficppl]

let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

Repost

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[redr0sewrites]

HEY!

So, I really liked your two Aaravis fics, and I have an idea/request. You don't have to do it if you don't feel like it of course.

So there is that dark mark on Aaravos's chest. And we know that it became dark after his imprisonment. Now the idea is that the reader either knew Aaravos *before* it lost it's shine, and like, later got trapped in the mirror too and reunited with him, or maybe met him in the mirror and asked about the mark. And like, asks Aaravos why it lost it's shine, and after hearing about the things, instead of looking at him differently, or scared, they see that Aaravos is sad, so they preform a little trick. So they make a little light ball, making it look like they took it out of their heart and then place it on Aaravos's chest (where the dark star is), and saying that "It's okay, you can have my light" or something like that, idk....

Like, the concept is just reader accepting that darkness, and cherishing it and all that cheezy, fluffy stuff. Like I said, you aren't obliged to write this, this is just a random idea my maladaptive daydreamer self came up with. Have a lovely day, take care, and thanks for feeding us Aaravos fans with your lovely work!

AAAA TYSM THIS REQ IS SO GREAT!!! I love this idea, it made me so excited ajsjdj HOPE U ENJOY!

🥀CW: angst (with happy ending), fluffiness, aaravos being insecure, mentions of trauma and suffering/containment

when the news of aaravos' imprisonment reached you, you were shocked. how could he have been discovered, he had been so careful and meticulous in his planning, and all of his motives were for the good of humanity! you, and many other elves who supported him were not only surprised, but also outraged. to trap a startouch elf, to take your lover away from you... you knew you could never rest until you could see him again. years of pulling strings, gaining popularity, playing the puppeteer behind the scenes had led you to this moment. you had fought for centuries, sacrificed so much to see him again, and here you finally were. before you stood aaravos, your star touch lover, in all of his glory. it had been so long, and your heart seemed to sing at the sight of him. and yet, something was different.

when aaravos first saw you, he thought he was in a dream. you had appeared to him on so many nights, only to fade away once the morning came, slipping through his fingers like sand. the memory of you, your face, your voice, your touch, it all felt like a painful distant nightmare that played throughout his head every single time he closed his eyes. he had missed you so, so much, yet he knew he had changed. not only mentally, years of imprisonment had long since broken him, but physically as well. the glowing star on his chest had faded from a shimmering splendor to a cold ember, with nothing of its former glory remaining. he couldnt help but feel ashamed at its bleak emptiness, a disgusting mark of his failure and imprisonment. however, he would not focus on it now. you were here, in front of him, and he was free.

"my star.. is it truly you?" his voice was soft, broken and cracked from the emotions swelling inside him. you didnt dare open your mouth, knowing you would probably begin to sob and nodded, your eyes were already brimming with tears. the both of you rushed forward suddenly, throwing your arms around eachother and weeping with joy. you both stayed like that for a while, entangled in eachother and whispering softly. you werent sure how long you layed there on the floor, however it soon began to grow dark. ever so gently, aaravos layed the two of you onto the floor, his hands shaking as though afraid he would break you. as you stared at him, you couldn't help but ponder a certain change on your lovers skin.

"where did it go?" you ask softly, motioning towards his chest. he looked at you in confusion and you added for clarification, "what happened to the star on your chest? why doesnt it glow anymore?" you couldn't help but feel you made a mistake, as you watched the flicker of shame and disgust cross your lovers face.

"it faded, along with most of my powers, when i, well.. when i fell and was imprisoned" aaravos answered softly. his voice was so fragile, barely a whisper as he spoke. "it is simply a blight upon my skin, a mark of my failure and punishment. a cruel scar. it paints me as nothing but a lightless monster, a burden, and a villain." disdain and self disgust seemed to leak from his voice, and he shuddered as he spoke. pain filled your heart at his words and you reached out to rest a hand on his chest. you wished there was a way to undo all the centuries of pain and trauma the both of you had endured while separated, and you wished you could help him understand his beauty.

"you are none of those things aaravos, that is just what the other dragons and elves want you to believe. however, i know that you are special, beautiful, and so, so strong because of your differences and you have fought and suffered for what you believe in. this star is a mark of your perseverence, and it is nothing to ever be ashamed of." you gently pulled your hand away, and placed it on your own chest. using some simple magic, you made your own hand glow with a soft orb of white light resting on your palm.

"you don't have to bear the weight and darkness of your burdens alone. let me share my light with you, and share your darkness with me." you reached out, pressing the glowing ball against his chest and watched a small, pained smile break through the sadness and doubt that had resided on aaravos' face, and he covered your hand with his.

"thank you my love, thank you for finding me, and for always reminding me of the light and the love that we share." he leaned in, resting his unoccupied hand on your cheek and pressed his forehead against yours lovingly.

"i love you until the end of time, and i believe that our love will last as eternal as the light that we share." his words seemed to touch your very soul, and released a flutter from your heart. for years you had drowned in your own misery, but you felt like you could finally breathe again. he was back, and you two were reunited. nothing would stand in your way every again, and neither of you would ever be separated by anyone or anything.

I HOPE THIS WAS TOO YOUR LIKING, THIS WAS SUCH A COOL REQ THANKS FOR REQUESTING!!! REQS ARE STILL OPEN, FEEL FREE TO REQUEST ANYTIME! this was such an emotional thing to write, and i genuinely really like this lmao tysm for the idea and inspiration!