#that took way longer to write than it should have

[scribes-of-valar]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑦

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

A/N: I watched maybe two seasons of this show last year and kind of moved past it. I randomly got a Clark Kent fic on my feed last night and suddenly I have a demon in my brain telling me to write. Anyway, there is a horrendous lack of full fledged, non-smut fics for this man, so, here you go.

Summary: Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

“Have any plans?” You pull your English book from your locker, fingers stilling as you wait for Clark to respond. Silence stretches between you, long enough to make your brows furrow in confusion. Peering around the edge of your locker door with narrowed eyes, you let out a sigh. 

You should have seen this coming. As always, Clark is staring at Lana from across the hall, looking like he walked straight out of a sappy romance movie. 

She’s close, so close, but entirely out of his reach. She laughs, tucking a perfect, shiny strand of hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way Clark pines for her. Always pining. Always looking at her like she’s the only girl in the world. 

You could gag. 

Slamming your locker shut, perhaps harder than necessary, you break Clark out of his trance as he flinches away from the noise. His head snaps toward you, blue eyes narrowed on the irritated scrunch of your face. You smile, forcing the snark out of your expression. 

“Did you say something?” His voice is kind, expression open, as though he’s finally ready to listen. But the bell rings, cutting into the moment. You only have a minute to sprint to the other side of school. 

“No,” you sigh, forcing the stilted smile to stay on your face, “I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers, falling into step beside you. “That way you can tell me what you actually said,” he teases, giving you that familiar boyish grin that never fails to make you unravel. 

You bite your tongue for a moment, mind unraveling as you struggle with telling him the truth or not. This is stupid. He’s Clark, your best friend. Your stupid, oblivious, beautiful best friend. But the way he looks at you, soft and warm as he slows his stride so he can walk together a little longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

No. It will definitely still hurt. 

“Would you want to do something this weekend?” You rush it all out at once and immediately look away from him, terrified by what you might see on his face. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Clark laughs, light and easy. Your stomach twists and your head shoots up, a disbelieving glare on your face. You’d known it would be unlikely that he’d return your feelings, but laughing seems below him. 

“Why’re you being so weird?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “We’ll just do a movie night like always.” He squeezes your shoulder, casual, friendly, a wholly innocent gesture. Nothing more and nothing different. It’s completely platonic to him, as it always is. It takes you a moment to realize that he took what you were saying the wrong way. Or, maybe this is just the gentlest way he knows how to let you down. 

“Right,” you struggle to keep your voice even but it doesn’t matter, the dejection slips through your tone. His smile falters slightly and he looks like he wants to say something when the shrill ring of the bell interrupts you both.

“I’ll see you later,” he offers but he sounds uncertain. Most of your plans have fallen through lately. Either because he was busy with Lana or off disappearing somewhere. You’re not sure, but you know the divide is growing larger between you both and you’re getting scared you’re going to lose him. 

“Sure,” you give him a flat smile and he hovers beside you for a moment, like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how. 

“You’re going to be late,” you startle slightly and glance over your shoulder. Blake, a boy you share your English class with offers you a shy smile as he hovers by the door, holding it open for you to walk through.  

“Thanks,” you walk past them both and into class, not wanting to look at Clark any longer. You miss the sharp look Blake shoots Clark and the way your friend lingers by the door for a minute before rushing off to his own class. 

You slide into your seat, lucky to have gotten in before Mrs. Brown, lord knows she would love to make a spectacle of anyone being tardy. Blake follows not far behind you, slipping into the seat beside you as always. He’s nice enough, quiet, unassuming. You’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but right now all of his attention seems to be on you. 

He whispers your name and you give him a brief glance and smile, mind still wrapped up in Clark. “Um, I was going to ask,” he stutters over his words for a moment, swallowing thickly before finally meeting your eye. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you answer absentmindedly. “I have plans with Clark,” you tell him shortly as Mrs. Brown walks in. You don’t have time to explain that you’ll probably just end up waiting around your house all weekend. Just to get a brief and incomprehensible explanation of why you were all alone on Monday. 

He sinks back in his seat with a sigh just as the teacher begins writing the assignment on the board. You shoot him a slightly concerned look before brushing the interaction off as nothing.

Standing in the line at The Talon has become almost a hobby for you. Not just because Clark drags you here constantly, but because he distracts Lana from actually taking any orders. The wait time seems to triple every time he walks into the shop. You hear people grumbling behind you and finally move toward Clark, breaking the unspoken rule of leaving him and Lana alone. 

“There’s a line, Clark,” you sing-song, warning him. The both of them flush, breaking their hushed conversation and shooting you a sheepish look. 

“I’m sorry,” Lana apologizes and you wave her off. “Do you want anything?” 

You’d been considering getting a muffin, but when you look over and see the lovesick smile Clark is giving her, you find your appetite has disappeared. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

Clark turns toward you with a soft frown and he nearly makes you forget just how much you resent him for dragging you along to see this. “I thought you were hungry.”

You glance back at Lana and find her eyes already on him. God, what’s the point of a breakup if you’re still obsessed with each other? “No, it’s alright.”

You move away from the counter to step outside, expecting him to stay there and continue flirting despite the angry customers behind them. You’re surprised when you hear his voice immediately beside you. 

“Hey,” he moves away from the door, a grin on his face. Face wrinkling in confusion, you nod your head in greeting even though you’d just seen him. Your eyes narrow in on the leather of his jacket and your head tilts in confusion. You swear he was wearing a zip up a moment ago. “What’re you doing?” He asks, tone light as he stands beside you closer than he normally would. 

“Uh,” you’re tempted to glance over your shoulder and make sure he isn’t still standing in The Talon. “Did you hit your head?” He flushes slightly and you laugh. “Just our usual friday endeavors, you moon over Lana and I hold back the mob of angry customers who just want a coffee.” Laughing to ease some of your own tension, it trails off when you see the smile drop from his face. 

His eyes narrow and he glances toward the shop, “Idiot,” he mutters. You shoot him an affronted look and he blanches, quickly correcting himself. “Me, not you.” You want to question him further but he slings an arm over your shoulder and redirects you away from the shop. Mind a blank slate, you feel your brain break slightly at the simple touch. 

When you were younger, before Lana, before either of you even knew what crushes were, something like this would mean nothing to you. As it is, though, your friendship seems to have dwindled to nothing but compulsory hangouts and the occasional conversation in the hallway. Something as simple as his arm around you has turned into everything for you. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” 

“Movies at your place, like usual,” you remind him. He must have slipped and hit his head on the way out of The Talon.  Either that, or he already forgot the plans you made just this morning. Neither would surprise you. 

His face screws up and he shakes his head, “God, that’s lame.” You scoff, shooting him an odd look, not bothering to remind him that it was his idea. “I mean what’s he-” 

Clark cuts himself off, glancing down at you before letting out a short laugh. “How ‘bout the fair?”

You reach up and press the back of your hand to his forehead. He gives you a bewildered laugh, taking your hand in his and grinning. “What are you doing?”

You lean back slightly, breathless at the awestruck way he’s looking at you. You’ve only ever seen him look at…

Lana, you’ve only ever seen a look like this directed at Lana. But now, those deep blue eyes are pulling you in and you feel helpless to fight them. You swallow hard, blinking while you try to remember what you were even going to say. 

“Uh,” licking your lips you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement. “I was seeing if you had a fever. Since when do you want to go out?” 

He laces your fingers together and tugs you forward, “Since now.” 

Usually, you’re not so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. Months, you’ve been praying he treats you with even a semblance of care he throws toward Lana. Now, you finally get it and you can’t help the sick tightening feeling in your stomach telling you this is all wrong.

The fair is less crowded than you had expected. Though, it is nearly the last day it’s in town, you suppose everyone’s already had their fill of it. You have been trying to get Clark to come with you for nearly a week, maybe this is why he had waited so long to join you. Some of the rides you actually got all to yourself. 

“You know these things are rigged,” you tease, watching as he tries and fails at the bottle toss for the third time. The bored teenage girl behind the booth briefly glances up from her book to glare at you both. You shoot her a sardonic smile and she turns to Clark. 

“You can just buy the stuffed animal, ya know?” She drawls. 

“That’s cheating-”

“Where’s the fun in that-”

You and Clark share a grin as you speak over each other. The girl pales at your joined voices and returns quickly to her book, muttering something about annoying couples. 

Your stomach flutters at the idea of you and Clark as a couple but you push it down. “Alright,” Clark chuckles and holds his arm out for you, “let’s get out of here.”

You slip your arm through his easily, smiling up at him. You’ve long since stopped questioning just how touchy he is. Clearly, he’s in a generous mood tonight and you feel like taking advantage of that as much as possible.

“Where to next?” He asks and your eyes crawl across the fairground, struggling to find something you haven’t already done. 

You toss what must be your third lemonade in the closest bin and shoot him a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom before we do any more rides.”

He’s slow to let you go, hand drifting down to hold yours as he steps back. “I’ll wait by the ferris wheel,” he tells you lowly. 

Your cheeks flush, eyes widening slightly as you slip away from him. The ferris wheel is notorious among Smallville students as the place to make a move. Everyone knows it’s just couples that ride up in those rickety old cars. Still, Clark is slightly oblivious to stuff like that. You don’t want to get your hopes up just for it to ultimately be nothing more than a friendly outing. 

Rushing toward the sad group of Port-a-potties you let out an annoyed sigh when you see the long line awaiting you. Your foot bounces against the dirt impatiently as you peer around the girl in front of you just to see there has to be, at least, ten people before you. 

There’s a vibration in your pocket before you hear the shrill ringing of your Nokia. Digging it out of your jeans you answer without checking the contact. “Hello?” The girl in front of you shoots you a dirty look and you take a step back from her. 

“Hey, where’re you?” You frown at the sound of Clark’s voice, glancing around like you might be able to spot him in the crowd. You’d told him where you were going, why would he be calling?

“You know where I am,” you tell him, chuckling. 

There’s a slight huff on the other end and you frown, he almost sounds disappointed. “What are you talking about? We were supposed to watch movies tonight.”

“Okay, Clark, I’m officially concerned. You’ve been acting weird all day. We’re at the fair,” you say slowly, over-enunciating your words like he’s slow. “You said movies were going to be lame.”

There’s a long pause and he utters your name in a concerningly serious tone. “The person you’re with-”

“Alright, do you mind?” The girl in front of you whips around and snaps at you. Blanching, you lower the phone from your ear and she shoots you an incredibly dirty look. 

“Clark, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you whisper into the phone. 

“Wait-” 

You cut him off, hanging up and shoving your phone in your back pocket. She turns back around and rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take long for your Nokia to start ringing again but you figure you’ll just meet Clark by the ferris wheel like he said. 

Low groaning drifts through the noises of the crowd and makes you pause. Tilting your head around the corner of a trailer, the sounds only grow louder. Everything inside you says not to investigate, but the person sounds like they’re genuinely in pain. You can’t just walk away. 

“Hey,” you call out softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you take a hesitant step closer. A scuffed white converse slips from behind the back of the trailer and it looks worryingly similar to Clark’s. “Clark?” You call out, creeping a little further into the dark. 

It’s like a cocoon of silence back here, as though the shadows swallow the voices and loud cheering sounds of the games beyond you. “No,” the small voice croaks out. You see a hand in the dirt and they begin dragging themselves forward. You jump back a step, heart picking up as you watch them get to their feet. 

This was a stupid idea, walking toward a stranger in the dark. Even in Smallville you couldn’t trust everyone. They finally turn and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Blake, hey.”

He gives you a weak grimace, clutching his stomach like he’s in pain. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, taking a step closer to him, trying to get a better look. 

“Fine, fine,” he stutters out, shifting just enough to keep his face half-hidden in the shadows.  Even knowing the person lurking within the shadows, you still feel slightly on edge. Something about the way he moves unsettles you. It’s not as though you know him well, he’s just a classmate. Someone quiet and harmless. Or, you hope he’s harmless, right now there’s something about him that feels wrong.

“Alright, um, if you’re sure,” you take a careful step backward. Your foot’s barely back on the ground when he lunges forward. His hands stretch toward you like he’s about to snatch you into the shadows with him. You’re stuck deciding whether you’re going to scream or bite him when he jerks back like a puppet being yanked on a string.  

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, breathless. “Clark walked by. He- he told me to tell you he was leaving.”

Your stomach twists with panic. Right now you care more about not getting your throat slit in a dark alley than you do about Clark ditching you. Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and run out from between the trailers. You swear you hear footsteps, quick and light, following your path to the cars. 

Sliding into your car, you lock your doors and peel out of the lot. You leave the fair, and whatever just happened, behind, not looking back. The phone in your pocket vibrates again but you ignore it, too freaked out by what just happened to bother answering.  

Someone calls your name and you peer around the edge of your locker door, grimacing when you see Blake walking toward you. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s been fussing with it all morning, and his thick glasses, normally perched precariously on his nose, are nowhere to be seen. His normal polished clothes look like they’re three sizes too big and you frown.  

“Hey,” you drag the word out, trying to sound polite even if his outburst last night left you feeling incredibly unsettled. “Feeling any better?” You hesitate to meet his eyes, and when you do, your annoyance only deepens. 

He’s watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything?” You ask, voice trailing off as you close your locker and take two deliberate steps back. 

Blake’s brows furrow and he almost looks hurt before his expression smooths over into something startling unreadable. “Um, no, I’m sorry,” his gaze drifts past you. The color drains from his face and you barely have a second to process the oddity of this conversation before he turns on his heel and goes barrelling down the hall.

“Hey,” Clark’s familiar voice cuts through your confusion, and you turn to see him striding toward you. Gone is the easy, playful grin he wore last night. He looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, intent on something. “We need to talk,” he tells you, tone grave. 

“I know,” you snipe, not bothering to hide your irritation at just leaving you alone at the fair last night. You aren’t surprised, he’s been doing that for weeks now. What stings is that, for a little while, you had felt like you were actually friends again, only for him to ruin it. 

His brow furrows and he glances around the empty hallway with a frown. “Look, we can’t talk here, but-”

The warning bell rings, cutting him off. “Shit,” you mutter, shoving your books into your bag and turning away from Clark. He calls your name but you wave him off. “Later, Clark, I can’t be late again.” He watches you go with a frown, running a hand through his hair before turning toward his own class. 

Not even ten minutes later you spot him walking past Mrs. Brown’s room. Though, you swear he was wearing a red shirt not a green one. You could be wrong, it’s not as if you had long to take in his outfit.

You figure he’s just passing by and go back to taking your notes. There’s a light hiss from the door and you frown, looking up to see him hovering in the doorway and waving you forward. You glare toward Mrs. Brown’s back and shake your head. No way, you mouth. 

Clark gives you a pleading look, frowning and motioning you forward again. You know that look, you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years now. He’s clearly not going to let go of whatever  he was badgering you about this morning. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You call out, not bothering raising your hand. The old bat’s half-blind, you doubt she’d see it anyway. 

She answers without even bothering to turn around and face you. “If you need to use the restroom, you do so before my class,” her shaky voice calls out with a huff. 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, stuffing your books in it as she turns back to the board. There’s no point in arguing with her, she’s never going to give in. You wait until she drops her eraser. The second she bends over to grab it, you’re bolting toward the door. Clark grabs your arm, dragging you behind him.

He makes a break for the end of the hall, blowing past the geometry class he’s meant to be in. He busts through the school doors and leads you quickly through the courtyard. “Clark,” you hiss, trying to hold back a laugh at the stupid grin on his face. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes alight with mischief, “Come on, you can’t tell me you actually want to listen to her rambling on about Shakespeare for an hour.”

You can’t argue with that, but he hasn’t done a jail bust for you in a while. Especially not during one of the few classes he shares with Lana. “No, I didn’t,” you pause as you realize he’s leading you to your car and not his truck. “Am I driving?”

“Truck didn’t start this morning,” he tells you shortly, not bothering with any further explanation. You swear you saw him drive in this morning but you could be wrong. It’s not like he’s the only kid driving his dad’s old busted truck in this town. “I’ll drive, though, you won’t know where we’re going.”

“Ominous,” you snark as he takes your hand in his, directing you toward the passenger door. Gentle hands push you up against the side of the car and he ducks down, leaning into your space. You crane your neck up, flushing slightly at the proximity. Any closer and you could kiss him. 

“Well?” He questions softly, lips curling up in a half-smile that makes you want to melt. You blink, forgetting what you were doing before you notice his outstretched, open, palm. Swallowing thickly you take your keys out of your bag and place them in his hand. “Thanks,” he ducks down, soft lips pressed against your cheek before rounding the front of the car. 

Your hand drifts toward your cheek, a bewildered smile on your face as you try and regulate your breathing. “What the hell?” You mutter, shaking your head slightly. Turning around, you open the car door and slip into the passenger seat. 

Clark greets you with a grin, scooping your hand up in his as he pulls out of the school parking lot. You don’t want to think about the trouble you’re going to be in tomorrow, all you can focus on is how good Clark’s hand feels in yours. 

“I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting kidnapped,” you joke, head tilting to look out the window. The golden fields stretch endlessly, rolling past in waves as the car gets further from town. Houses become scarce, replaced by sprawling farmland and grazing cattle. The further you go, the more isolated you feel. 

Clark chuckles, but there’s something off about the sound, a slight wheeze, a strain where there wasn’t before. His face crumples and he turns away from you, his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel from his tight grip. 

“Are you okay?” You reach instinctively toward him but he jerks his hand back. You gasp, jumping back when you catch a glimpse of his face. It ripples, the skin shifting unnaturally, as if something beneath it is struggling to break free. 

“Oh no,” Clark groans, voice strained. His entire body spasms and his hands slip from the wheel. The car lurches violently to the side, tires screeching against the pavement. Panic surges through you, hands bracing against the door as you shout his name. 

He curls into himself, muscles seizing, leaving the car veering out of control. The telephone pole ahead rushes toward you, growing larger by the second. You throw yourself forward, grasping at the wheel, desperately trying to steer, but Clark’s foot slams against the gas instead of the brake. 

Everything happens too fast. A blur flashes in front of the windshield. Then, a sudden stop. Your body flies forward, arms bracing against the dashboard as your head whips forward and back, pain rattling through your spine. 

You whine in discomfort, slowly sitting up and trying to take in your surroundings. The passenger door is ripped open. You flinch, recoiling instinctively and sending a shock of pain down your body. Your breath stutters as someone ducks their head inside, a startling familiar pair of blue eyes find yours.  

“Clark?” You whisper, gaze flicking to the seat beside you where Clark still sits, doubled over, his breathing ragged. 

The Clark outside the car reaches in and gently pulls you out. Warm, calloused hands skate carefully over your arms and shoulders. He cups the back of your neck, tilting your head up, thumbs gently smoothing over your jaw as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice is soft, thick with concern. His eyes briefly leave yours to double check you for any injuries he might have missed. 

Your heart pounds. This isn’t possible. You must be concussed. You blink rapidly still struggling to wrap your head around the whole two Clark’s thing when the second one stumbles out of the car. 

He steps are uneven as he rounds the fender, his entire body shaking. Your rescuer moves swiftly, placing himself between you and the other Clark. He shields you, broad shoulders tense, protective to a fault. Must be the real one. Right? You rub your aching head and frown. 

“What were you going to do with her?” The one in front of you barks the question out, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.

“I just,” the other one keels over, cutting himself off with a pained groan and shaking his head. “Wanted to get away,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself straight again. 

“And you had to take her with you?”

“What’s going on?” You jut in, stepping back from both of them. Facing them, you see the same wounded expression reflected on both faces. Whichever is the fake, he’s certainly mastered the puppy dog look. 

Your rescuer tries to take a step forward but you throw your hand up, keeping them both at bay until you know what’s going on. He sighs and glances over at his shoulder at the other one.  “How long have you been able to do this?” 

It's like they start a conversation in the middle and you’re completely lost.  “Last year, I never saw a use for it and it was too much of a pain. But then I realized,” he looks at you, face contorting. “You would never go for a guy like me. You couldn’t. You were too wrapped up in him,” he spits the word out with venom, nodding toward the Clark you know has to be the real one. 

“You love him and that stupid all-American smile.” He chuckles, but it breaks off into a groan as he doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach. He drops to his knees and moans through clenched teeth, clutching at his face as he folds over. The longer black hair shrinks to a dull brown, broad shoulders slimming as the clothes he wears hang loose on him.

The illusion shatters, “Oh, God, Blake?” You gasp out, taking one step toward him. He shakes his head and you stop as Clark grabs your elbow. You glance up at him but he just shoots you a soft look that has you rooted to the spot. 

“I’ve been in love with you since freshman year,” Blake chuckles, still sounding like every word hurts. “If only I figured it out earlier, it’s always going to be him. I never had a chance, did I?” His gaze flickers toward Clark before he collapses to the pavement. 

You both go running toward Blake. Pressing your trembling fingers to his neck, you let out a sigh of relief when you feel his faint heartbeat. 

“We need to get him to a hospital, fast.” You lean back from Blake, looking around for Clark’s truck, confused when you don’t see it. “Dammit, Clark, where's the truck?”

He flushes, shaking his head, “I didn’t bring it.”

You frown, “What’re you talking about?” 

He glances toward Blake, the rise and fall of his chest steadily slowing. When he looks back at you his expression is unreadable, an intensity to it that you’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.”

“Always,” you tell him without missing a beat. He gives you a small smile but it lacks the usual warmth. 

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You glare at him but he just shakes his head. 

“Please,” he looks close to begging and the pulse under your grip is getting weaker. Swallowing down your confusion you close your eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I’ll be back.”

You frown, feeling a rough breeze blow back your hair as your eyes shoot open. But the spot in front of you is empty and the body under your hand has disappeared. Getting to your feet, you spin in one slow circle. There’s nothing out here except golden fields, your totaled car, and you. All alone. 

Clark eventually came back for you. His truck rolling into view after being on your own for half an hour. You hadn’t talked to him the whole ride back to town, too shocked by everything that had happened. 

He carried the conversation for the both of you, offering a brief explanation that only confused you more. Blake had apparently been one of the meteor freaks, somehow being exposed to it when it had left a crater in your town. 

But Clark didn’t tell you how he made it across the highway and to the hospital in under five minutes with no car. He didn’t tell you anything that actually mattered. So, you told him to drop you off at home and you haven’t seen him in a week. 

Chloe had called you once during your self-induced isolation, just to tell you that she’d driven by Blake’s house. Apparently the entire place looked like it had been cleaned out. No sign of him or his parents anywhere. You wish you could say you care, but you don’t. You’re almost grateful he’s gone. Not only did he reveal your long held secret infatuation to Clark, he’d clearly had ill intentions as he tried to take you out of town. 

Your Nokia nearly buzzes itself off your nightstand as you set your book to the side and look at the all-too familiar contact.

Clarkie

The stupid nickname you’d given him in middle school lights up the small screen and you let out a rough sigh, watching as it rings and rings before finally quieting. The screen goes dark before lighting up once more as his ringtone fills the silence of your room. He doesn’t give up easily, you have to give him that. 

You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face him. Not now that he knows about your feelings for him. There’s no hiding what Blake so plainly laid out for him. You sink into the comforts of the pillows on your bed and wonder if you could just live here forever. 

Something knocks against your window and you ignore it as nothing more than a branch from the tree. It’s not much longer before it happens again and you rip your hands off your face and are forced to sit up. Your phone rings once more and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that you know exactly who waits outside your window. 

“You can’t hide forever,” comes an annoying cheerful voice from outside. You force yourself off your bed and slink toward your window. Sure enough, Clark waits below it, a boyish grin poised on his face as he looks up at you. As much as you’re avoiding him, it’s plain cruel to just leave him outside. 

Reluctantly, you open your window and he’s quick to climb your tree. You back up as he slots his broad frame through and into your room. He lets out a short huff of breath and straightens up, giving you a sheepish smile. 

Taking a seat on your bed, you find it a tad difficult to look at him. Clark sucks in a deep breath and grabs your desk chair. He straddles it, resting on the back of it and staring at you until you feel like he’s going to burn holes into the side of your face. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You hum and shrug, tucking a loose wave behind your ear. “I’ve been sick,” you lie, briefly looking up. The intense way he’s looking at you leaves you breathless and you have to take in a slow breath so your heart doesn’t kick up too much.  

“I want to tell you something.” Your head shoots up, concern lacing through you at the grave tone of his words. He looks away from you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I want to ask you something first. Is, uh,” he chuckles a little and licks his lips, a nervous tick he’s never been able to kick. “Is all that stuff that Blake said true?”

Your stomach drops, burying your face in your hands, you let out a low groan. “Oh, god,” you suck in a sharp breath, unable to look at him as heat flushes through you. 

Lying is always an option. It’s a poor option, but it’s there. Maybe, if you just lied straight through your teeth he would drop it and leave you alone. But you’ve been hiding this for so long, tucked so tightly to your chest, it would be a relief to finally be unburdened of the truth. 

“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to face the truth of his rejection. Clark has been your best friend since you could walk, losing him over this stupid crush would destroy you. 

The silence drags on for too long and you feel the anxiety calling its way around you. Warmth envelops your hands and calloused palms draw them away from your face. 

You peek one eye open to find Clark kneeling before you, a soft smile on his face. “You better not be laughing at me, Kent.”

A small chuckle slips through his lips and you slap at his shoulder. He catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not, I promise. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why? So I could ruin our friendship faster?” You snark. 

“No, so I could do this,” he darts forward, soft lips capturing yours. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

There’s a brief moment of shock where you’re completely frozen. But then you feel the way his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. And you find yourself melting into the feeling of his embrace, eyes closing as you slowly open up to him. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the soft waves of his hair. 

The kiss itself is gentle, chaste almost. But it warms you from the inside out, makes you feel like you’re going to be nothing but a puddle of goo the longer he holds you. When he pulls back, he drags it out, lips lingering as long as they can. 

You’re slow to recover, eyes glazed over as you stare at him. He seems just as shocked, like he hadn’t expected to do that. Of course, you say the first thing that comes to mind instead of just shutting up and enjoying the moment. “What about Lana?” You blurt out, wincing the second it leaves your mouth. 

He frowns at you and shrugs, “What about her?”

“You’ve been blowing me off for months for her. We go to her shop every day just so you can stare at her. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly discovered feelings for me. I won’t be your backup, Clark.”

He shakes his head vehemently, looking almost offended by the idea. “What? No. Of course you’re not,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you before sinking back on his heels with a huff. “Look, I wasn’t ditching you for her, I can explain all that,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “later.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and he reaches up, taking your hands in his. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. But the most important thing is that I am completely over Lana.”

“Really?” You question, tone harsh but bordering almost on teasing. “You look at all your friends like that?”

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “just you,” he adds with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking away from him. “Whatever you thought you saw between us, it was only on her end. I swear, it’s been you for a long time.”  

You look away, but he’s not accepting that, tilting your chin to face him once more. “It’s always been you,” he murmurs, voice steady, certain.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe this is real. Maybe it’s been you that’s been the oblivious idiot. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then prove it.”

His smile is slow, confident, and this time when he leans in you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[writingwithfolklore]

I Cut Out Social Media for 30 Days and It Changed My Life

Okay hefty title, but I mean every word of it.

Over January I followed a book called Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport. I'm sure you've already been lectured to death about how bad technology and social media is for you, so I won't repeat the statistics here. What I will say is that Newport suggests that there are also positives to technology and that abandoning it altogether is not realistic. Instead, he proposes that we define our values, and then use technology to attain them--rather than allowing technology to define what values we should hold.

To do this, Newport suggests a complete "detox" of non-essential technologies for 30 days. That means abstaining from social media, netflix and other streaming services, videogames, etc. But of course still being able to phone loved ones, email for work, and use google maps if you're going somewhere new, etc. In doing this detox, he proposes that we will be able to better understand what values we hold as people, not just as consumers of technology.

He was right.

At first I found it really hard. Right away I noticed that any activity other than doomscrolling and watching endless hours of Youtube took a lot more brain power. I started doing puzzles, reading, writing (a lot!), cooking and baking, and taking many walks with my dog. By the end of the day I'd be fuzzy and exhausted, and all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch my favourite shows. I didn't, but I wanted to.

But then I started to notice my "brain stamina" (I'm sure there's a better term for it but oh well) started to improve. Instead of writing for two hours before getting fuzzy, I could write for four. And then six. And then eight. Slowly, I found myself being able to do more in a day, to focus for longer on one task, and I didn't feel as drained by the end of it. I had a clearer mind, I could remember things a lot better, I was no longer struggling to find really easy words--they just came to me.

This all also resulted in me spending so much more time with my friends and family. I realized that I really valued this time--and that it wasn't something I could replace by hitting 'like' on an instagram post from them. I rediscovered community, passion, and in many ways, humanity.

It was like I was looking at the world in a new way. I started to notice more, be curious about more. I kind of remember being this way as a kid, and I couldn't believe how I had ever let that go. Now, the idea of sitting on my couch and watching hours and hours of Youtube in every moment of my free time feels inconceivable.

However, my 30 days are up, and so Newport suggests setting some rules to reintroduce what technology I believe supports my values. I've decided not to return to Instagram, but that I do value keeping up to date with the gaming community and pop culture, which I do on Youtube. Now, Youtube is something that I watch for a couple hours on weekends, instead of eating up every bit of free time I have. I also value interacting with other writers and the writing community, so I've created a couple hours in my schedule to check Tumblr and my Discord and keep up to date with you guys here.

But now most of my free time is spent reading or writing, or being with my family and friends, and I value that most of all. To demonstrate how much has changed, in the months before my detox, I wrote maybe 2500 words. Since my detox, I've written 40 000. Last year, I read about four books. In just one month during my detox, I read 10.

If this sounds like something you'd be interested in trying for yourself, feel free to reach out to me! I'd love to talk more about my experience and things that worked or didn't work for me. I'd also really recommend the book, it was incredibly helpful in determining what rules were healthy to set and how to get out of technology and then back in with success.

Back to usual content soon :-)

[julietsf1]

Home Again - Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: eight years, one city, and a thousand unspoken words—will a chance encounter in London bring closure, or is there more in store for Monaco's golden boy and the one who got away? (4.5k words)

content: reunion, slight angst, unresolved feelings, childhood friends

AN: another Charles one! I felt like these tropes really suited his vibe, I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________

London always felt like a city of paradoxes - chaotic yet calming, detached yet full of life. As I sipped my cappuccino at a small café tucked away in Soho, I let my mind wander. The same questions had lingered in my mind over the years, growing louder the longer I avoided them. Was it a mistake to leave? Should I have fought harder to keep in touch with him? With Charles?

I shook my head. No, leaving Monaco had been necessary. It was beautiful, yes, but it was like living inside a postcard, picture-perfect on the outside but so painfully hollow within. Everyone was constantly posturing, trying to outdo the next person in opulence, charm, or connections. It was exhausting.

And Charles… he was Monte Carlo personified in so many ways. Stunning, magnetic, the kind of person who made you feel alive just by being in his orbit. But there was something raw and real beneath that glossy exterior, something I’d always seen, even when no one else seemed to. I loved him for it. And maybe, in a way, I hated him too - for thriving in a place that felt like it would suffocate me.

The faint chime of the café door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting some trendy Londoner or a tourist fumbling with their map. But instead, my eyes landed on a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Arthur Leclerc.

“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as he stopped mid-step. He looked exactly the same, just a bit taller, a bit sharper around the edges. Still the same boy I remembered from childhood, though, with that mischievous glint in his eye.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. “Arthur?”

He grinned, practically bounding over to my table. “Mon dieu, it is you! I wasn’t sure at first, but… wow, what are you doing in London?”

I gestured to my half-empty coffee cup. “Living here. What about you? I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in Monaco or racing somewhere glamorous.”

Arthur slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, his grin widening. “I was here for a sim session, actually. But you, London? I thought you’d be in Paris or some other philosophy capital, writing about Socrates or something.”

I laughed softly. “Close enough. I came here for university, and I never left.”

“Eight years.” His tone was lighter, but his words carried weight. “It’s been eight years, Y/N. Do you ever go back?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “No,” I admitted. “Not since… well, not since I left.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though confusion lingered in his eyes. “You just… left,” he said gently. “No one really understood why. Charles especially.”

I looked down at my coffee, the words caught in my throat. How could I explain the weight of feeling like an outsider in a world I was supposed to call home?

“I just needed to go,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about anyone else.”

Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I never really got it, but… if it’s what you needed, then fine.” He paused before leaning forward with a small smile. “Come back. Just for the weekend, for the Grand Prix. I think it’d mean a lot to everyone. To Charles.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I’d thought about going back a hundred times. But every time, I chickened out. Monaco felt like a ghost town to me now, haunted by memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Arthur said simply. He pulled out his phone and started typing something before I could protest. “There. I signed you up as my guest. No backing out now.”

I stared at him, equal parts annoyed and touched by his insistence. “What if I had plans already?”

“Cancel them,” he shot back with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s time. Come back. Just for a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I sighed, knowing I’d already lost this battle. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.

…

Monaco hadn’t changed. Not really.

The same sunlit streets curved around the cliffs, the same pastel buildings clung to the coastline, their colors soft and warm under the Mediterranean sun. The harbor was still crowded with yachts that gleamed like polished jewels, reflecting the light off the water’s surface. It was all exactly as I remembered—beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel small and insignificant.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe cracks in the pristine perfection, signs that time had weathered the place the same way it had weathered me. But Monaco, ever the picture perfect place, refused to bend to time.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t resent it for that. The beauty I had once thought insincere now felt strangely comforting, like being greeted by an old friend who hadn’t forgotten you, even if you had drifted apart.

“Here we are, mademoiselle,” the taxi driver said, pulling up to the paddock entrance.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. The familiar hum of Grand Prix weekend surrounded me immediately - the roar of engines revving in the distance, the buzz of chatter from fans and team members, the faint tang of fuel in the air. It was overwhelming, yes, but also exhilarating. Nostalgia wrapped around me, equal parts warm and suffocating.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rang out, pulling me back to the present. He was waiting just inside the paddock entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved me over.

I smiled despite myself and walked toward him. “Arthur,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re not old enough to be drinking espresso yet.”

He laughed, pulling me into a hug that was warmer than I expected. “Eight years and you still won’t give me a break. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he led me into the paddock, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

“Everywhere,” he said simply. “It’s been years. You’ve missed so much.”

Arthur guided me through the maze of the paddock, pointing out everything with a mix of pride and excitement, as though I hadn’t grown up watching all of this unfold. But I let him have his moment, nodding along and laughing at his commentary.

“You look different,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “In a good way, I mean. More… I don’t know, serious. Like you’ve seen things. Learned things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I look old, Arthur.”

“No, really,” he insisted, his expression earnest. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself.”

The comment was unexpected, but it warmed me. “Thanks,” I said softly. “You’ve grown up too. A little.”

He grinned. “Don’t let Charles hear you say that. He still treats me like a kid.”

At the mention of Charles, my stomach twisted, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. Arthur must have noticed something, because his tone shifted, gentler now. “I know it’s probably weird, being back here,” he said. “But I think it’s good you came. I think… I think Charles will be happy to see you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong I thought he was. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me deeper into the paddock.

…

The paddock was chaos, as always. Media rushing everywhere, team members darting back and forth. But Charles couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she was here.

He had only seen her for a brief moment, just a glimpse of her stepping out of a taxi and into the paddock. But it was enough to bring back everything; every memory, every laugh, every ache of missing her. She looked exactly like she did before, only prettier. 

It had been eight years. Eight years since she left without a goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong, if he had somehow driven her away. And now she was back, as though she had never been gone.

“Arthur,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. His hand shook slightly as he dialed.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Charles? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Charles hissed, keeping his voice low as he stepped out of the chaos and into a quiet corner. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

There was a pause, then a sheepish laugh. “Ah. You’ve seen her already.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her!” Charles snapped, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the nervous energy bubbling beneath. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly casual. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s been years, Charles. Don’t you want to see her?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “Of course I want to see her. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “You’ll figure it out. You always did with her.”

…

Arthur had been called away to a meeting, leaving me to wander the place on my own. I found a quiet spot near the Ferrari hospitality area, nursing a coffee and trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions in my chest.

Being back here was surreal, like stepping into a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the comfort of it - the familiar sounds, the smell of the sea air mixed with fuel, the vibrant energy of race weekend.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned instinctively, my breath catching as I locked eyes with him.

Charles.

He stopped in his tracks, his expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t place, something that made my chest tighten. For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of eight years of silence hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

Before I could say anything, he turned abruptly and walked away.

…

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else. I stood on the hospitality terrace, surrounded by fans who were shouting encouragement in a chorus of excitement. The energy was contagious, a reminder of why I had always loved race weekends, even when the rest of Monaco felt stifling.

Arthur had left me to sit with some of his friends, but I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me a chance to take it all in—the track, the sea of red Ferrari merchandise, the sun reflecting off the sleek cars. My eyes kept drifting to one in particular, the red number 16 that seemed to glide through every corner as though the circuit were made for it.

Charles.

I hadn’t seen him since he walked away from me in the paddock earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised me; after all, what could we have possibly said to each other in that moment? But it still stung, the abruptness of it, the way he looked at me like I was a ghost he wasn’t ready to confront.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about being here, about reconnecting with a part of my life I had left behind.

But as the race unfolded, I couldn’t stop my gaze from following him. Every lap, every overtaking move, every moment of brilliance - it was impossible not to be drawn in. Charles had always been talented, but seeing him now, so focused and in control, was something else entirely. It was breathtaking.

The crowd around me erupted as Charles crossed the finish line, taking the victory in a masterful final lap. People were cheering, waving flags, hugging strangers in celebration. I found myself smiling, caught up in the infectious energy of the moment.

But my smile faltered as I saw him step out of the car. The joy on his face was undeniable, but there was something else—something in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, as though he were looking for someone.

For a split second, I thought he might be looking for me. But then I shook my head, brushing the thought away. Charles had the whole world celebrating him right now. Why would he waste a second of it on someone who had been gone for so long?

Still, as he climbed onto the podium and lifted the trophy, I couldn’t help but feel that same strange pull I had always felt with him. It wasn’t just admiration or pride; it was I only felt with him.

As the celebrations spilled into the paddock, where the Ferrari garage was alive with champagne showers, laughter, I kept my distance, lingering near the back of the crowd as the team surrounded Charles, congratulating him.

Arthur spotted me and made his way over, a grin plastered across his face. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said, motioning toward the scene.

I nodded. “He’s… he’s amazing,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Arthur gave me a look, something between knowing and sympathetic. “You should come to the afterparty,” he said. “We’re all heading to Rimaldi later. It’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, the thought of being in a room full of people who knew Charles, who had been part of his world all these years, making my stomach twist. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t overthink it,” Arthur said, cutting me off. “It’s just a party. No pressure.”

I forced a smile, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease. “We’ll see,” I said, knowing full well I wasn’t going to go.

***

The party at Rimaldi was everything Charles had come to expect from these celebrations—loud music, overflowing champagne, and a sea of people he barely recognized. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere had been transformed into a chaotic celebration, with glasses clinking and laughter filling every corner. Fans and acquaintances congratulated him as though they were old friends, slapping him on the back and offering toasts in his honor.

Normally, this was his element. He was good at this—the smiling, the handshakes, the polite small talk that came with being the center of attention. On any other night, he would have been content to let the noise and the crowd carry him, to let it fill the empty spaces he so often ignored. But tonight was different.

Tonight, no matter how many times he raised his glass or laughed along with a joke, he couldn’t shake the gnawing restlessness that had been with him all day. His mind kept drifting, pulled away from the party and back to the one place he couldn’t seem to avoid—her.

She’d looked the same and yet completely different. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others, but it was still her. Y/N, the person who had once been his closest friend, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. He thought he had moved on from wondering why she left, why she cut him off, but seeing her again brought it all back in a rush.

He barely touched his drink, the glass sweating in his hand as he leaned against the edge of the bar. Across the room, Arthur caught his eye, a knowing grin on his face as he raised his own drink in a silent toast. Charles frowned and turned away, pretending not to notice.

“Charles! Congratulations!” A voice pulled him back to the moment. A well-dressed man, someone he vaguely recognized as a sponsor, clapped him on the shoulder. Charles offered a tight smile, exchanging a few polite words before excusing himself.

The truth was, he wasn’t really here. Not mentally. The louder the party grew, the more it grated on him, every laugh and cheer feeling like static in his ears. His thoughts kept circling back to the paddock, to the way her eyes had met his for that brief, electric moment. She had looked surprised, hesitant, but not angry. That was something, at least.

But then she had disappeared, and he hadn’t been able to stop replaying it in his mind—the way she stood there, so poised and composed, and then was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter and music blurred into background noise as he stood, shaking his head at someone offering him another drink. He muttered something about needing rest and slipped out through the side door, ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrows as he left. His brother didn’t stop him, though, and Charles suspected Arthur knew exactly where he was going.

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city’s energy winding down after the race. Charles drove aimlessly at first, his hands tight around the steering wheel. The roads he knew so well blurred together as his thoughts raced faster than his car ever could.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know if she would want to see him. But none of that mattered, because the one thing he did know, the one thought that consumed him, was this:

He needed to see her.

***

The knock at the door startled me.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—12:27 a.m. I had been lying on the hotel bed for the past hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the day. Arthur’s invitation, the race, seeing Charles for the first time in years—all of it felt like too much, like I had stepped back into a world I didn’t belong to anymore.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe it was Arthur, coming to drag me to the afterparty. Or worse, maybe it was a staff member telling me something had gone wrong with my reservation. My stomach twisted as I padded across the room, hesitating before unlocking the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Arthur or hotel staff standing there.

It was Charles.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted jacket that hinted at his frame—but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. They flickered between me and the floor, restless, as though he were trying to piece together why he was even here.

“Hi,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.

I stared at him, too stunned to respond at first. “Charles,” I managed after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Can we go for a drive?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone firmer this time, though not unkind. “I need to talk to you. And I can’t do it here.”

I hesitated, glancing back into the room like it held the answer. But there was no answer waiting for me, no excuse strong enough to keep me from following him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab my coat.”

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city winding down after the race. Charles drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearstick. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

I kept stealing glances at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it was unreadable. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t calm either. It was something in between—a tension I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he turned onto a small road overlooking the harbor and parked. He shut off the engine but didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder.

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap. “I didn’t know how to stay,” I said quietly. “Monaco… it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. It felt fake, like I was living in a place where everything was about appearances and nothing was real. I couldn’t breathe there.”

He turned then, his gaze sharp and searching. “So you left without a word? Without even telling me?”

I met his eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Y/N, you were my best friend. I would have done anything for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said softly. “But I had to go. For me.”

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how many times I thought about calling you? About flying to London to find you? But I didn’t, because I told myself that if you wanted to talk to me, you would.”

I clenched my hands together, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I thought about telling you,” I said softly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. And I had to leave, Charles. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I would have let you go if that is what you wanted. I just wish I had known.” He said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Even a text or a quick call would have made the difference, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You blame me for no contact, but you never reached out either.”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t leave a door open, Y/N. Not for me, not for anyone.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

We fell into silence, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady. I looked out at the harbor, the city lights shimmering like distant stars, and took a deep breath.

“Explain it to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Because I don’t understand, Y/N. I’ve spent eight years not understanding.”

My chest felt tight, the weight of everything we had been avoiding pressing down on me.

“I was scared,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d lose myself. Scared that if I saw you again, I’d lose the courage to leave. And then… after your dad…” I trailed off, the memory too painful to finish. “I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Charles’s expression softened, the anger fading into something more vulnerable. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You should have come to me.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “And what would I have said? ‘Sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most’? I couldn’t face that, Charles. I couldn’t face you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady, as though years of bottled-up feelings had burst open all at once, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I turned my gaze toward the harbor, the city lights shimmering like scattered stars on the water, their soft glow blurring slightly as tears pricked at my eyes. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside me.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft but resolute, as though he’d been holding these words back for far too long. “It shouldn’t have been Arthur who invited you back,” he said, his tone laced with frustration and regret. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to call you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned to him, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The years apart had been a chasm between us, filled with missed chances and unspoken words, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like a bittersweet relief. My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice.

“I know,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “But you didn’t call me. And… neither did I call you. We both let it happen.”

Charles’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I didn’t know how to. After you left, I was confused. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. And then it just… felt easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipping free. “The second I got back to Monaco, all I did was look for you,” I admitted, my words coming out in a rush, like I had been holding them in for years. “Everywhere I went, I looked for you. You were everywhere - your face in the streets, your name in conversations, your memory in everything I saw. And yet… you were nowhere.”

I heard Charles inhale sharply, and when I turned back, his eyes were locked on mine, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch. Green and piercing, they were searching for something, some part of me I wasn’t sure I still had to give. Vulnerability. Hope. Regret. I saw all of it reflected in his gaze, and it was almost too much.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if I could. But now that you’re here…” He shook his head, his expression softening into something raw and earnest. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine letting you go again.”

The space between us seemed to disappear in an instant. Charles reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that was both tender and desperate. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was afraid I might pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then, before I could say anything, his lips met mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like we were both testing the waters of something so fragile it might shatter under the weight of our emotions. But it deepened quickly, carrying years of longing, frustration, and unspoken love. It was messy and imperfect, tears mingling with laughter, but it felt like home in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

When we finally pulled apart, Charles didn’t move far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though grounding himself in the closeness between us, before murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever.”

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the promise in his words. I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, before whispering back, “You won’t.”

In that moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving something lighter in its place. We weren’t perfect, and neither was this, but it was enough. It was us.

[softtdaisy]

injury prompt 16 and 22 for reid perhaps... :D Love your writing btw <3

make my heart beat again / spencer reid

summary. spencer was sad. spencer was miserable. he thought he could handle it until he couldn't anymore. he thought he could deal with it alone until he couldn't.

words count. 2 249

prompt. “Why won’t you let me help you?” “…because I don’t deserve it.” / “You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?” from here

what to expect. very angsty, spencer is so sad i want to hug him, i chose the mentally injured more than physically, mention of murder very quickly

a/n. ok first thank you so much for requesting it sweetie!! and i'm sorry, i wish i posted it sooner but i started it again to make it shorter and...it's not shorter, but it's here and i hope you will love it (and now i can work on your other request) 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You weren’t quite sure how everything started again with Spencer.

One day he was a memory of the past, one of your biggest regrets. The next time he was back in your place, like he always belonged there.

You went on a couple of dates a few years ago, and it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t fall for that boy. Sweet, gentle, the nicest man you’ve ever met. And so beautiful with his always so messy hair, his gorgeous brown eyes that always seemed to look at you like you were one of the seven wonders of the world, and that perfectly shaped mouth that you loved to kiss.

You were sure things could have worked out with Spencer if a) his work didn’t take him that much time—and more. b) You didn’t have other issues in your life you had to deal with before thinking about love.

So you ended your relationship, or whatever it was at that time, before it could be more serious. And you spent way too many nights missing Spencer Reid. 

The way he would start every date with a fact that could either last a minute or ten and how you could notice the change in his eyes when he noticed you were truly interested in what he was saying. How he was blushing at any physical contact you were initiating, even in bed after he made love to you. Or even how you never said you loved each other, yet the way his lips would stay longer on your shoulder when you were falling asleep was speaking for your feelings.

You never thought Spencer would miss you just as much.

But he spent months contemplating the idea of seeing you again and trying to convince you this could be good. That he could be good for you. But months turned into a year. And when he celebrated his whole single year on the other side of the country, Spencer read into it that maybe he had glorified love. In all its aspects.

And this conclusion haunted him for years.

To the point Spencer stopped meeting new people and was barely trying to stay in touch with those in his life. He wasn’t seeing his mom much; his colleagues noticed the distance he was building between them, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he saw his “friends.”

Because at some point, the fear of losing people turned into a feeling of not being good enough to people’s lives and made him a loner. A sad loner.

That was something you immediately noticed the first time you saw Spencer in years.

Your life has barely changed from your last date. Still the same job, but at a higher place. Still the same apartment, but with a different setting. Still the same person, but more mature.

It wasn’t hard for Spencer to find you. And if he spent a whole year contemplating going back to your place before putting that thought away, the day he truly needed it, it took him a minute to decide it was time.

You didn’t question his presence here when you opened the door. Maybe he should have. But when Spencer grabbed your face after you simply said his name with confusion, nothing seemed to matter. 

Not his hair longer than before, not him looking more shaped yet more fragile, not the circle under his eyes being way darker than the last time you saw him. Not that he was eagerly kissing you, something he never did.

You remember Spencer being gentle, taking his time to appreciate every second with you.

No, he was hungry, like each second could be the last with you. For him.

“What are you doing here, Spence?” you finally asked him. You were both lying on the rug in your living room. His eyes were locked on the roof, like he was disconnecting from reality. His arm around your back, holding you against him, was brushing your skin slowly, but he seemed to do that mindlessly. 

And Spencer didn’t turn his head to look at you when you, you couldn’t stop looking at him. “I needed that.” Not you. You put away the pain hearing that and tried to see the good in this, that you were the one he went to. 

But still, something was different with Spencer.

It would take you a few nights to realize he wasn’t blushing anymore when you touched him. Or that he didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about.

Actually, Spencer wasn’t talking much anymore. 

For weeks, Spencer would come to your place at night. Either after a day at the office or when he came back from a case. Usually, when it was the latter, he would even stay the following day to fully decompress from what happened.

You tried to question him once or twice. But Spencer always had the same answer: going down on you to keep you quiet with your question.

It was a win-win situation. 

He was giving you pleasure and making you think about something else.

He was concentrating on something else, and your moans were filling his head with other thoughts.

Until one night, the sex wasn’t enough to put his problem away.

You didn’t expect Spencer to come. Two days ago, he told you he had to leave for a case and it would probably last a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it gave you the time to think about him and where this was going.

Yet, your bell rang at 10 p.m. Let’s say that dating an FBI agent taught you to not open your door to anybody. You almost played dead and ignored it. But your gut told you to look at who it might be. 

You didn’t expect to see Spencer through your spyhole.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him cry on the other side of your door.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” you said, opening your door and immediately bringing him inside. The saddest part was that he let you do it. He didn’t stop you when you took him in your arms. Neither when you brought him to the sofa and sat him on it while you kneeled in front of him.

He was shaking; his face looked red from the tears and the scratching he did with his fingers, trying to take the pain away. But it didn’t work. And hurt him even more.

You grabbed one of his hands to take it away from his face. You tried to ease his joints with a soft caress. You even tried to make eye contact, but it was a lost cause with the way he was closing his eyes hardly, probably hurting himself like that. “Talk to me, Spence,” you whispered, putting your chin on his knee. “Open to me.”

You hated how he pinched his lips together before talking, like he was trying so hard to not break down. “I can’t,” he sobbed. He repeated that multiple times, sounding more angry with himself each time.

But the fact he wasn’t letting go of your hand made you believe that maybe a part of him, maybe just a very little one, wanted to have you. He still came to you tonight, right?

“Why won’t you let me help you?” 

This was a genuine question. One that grew over the last weeks. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night wondering which signs you might have missed when he was here. What did he try to hide from you with kisses and attention that you weren’t asking for? And if maybe you weren’t an accomplice of his troubles by accepting all his treats, knowing it was an excuse to keep everything from himself.

And during these moments, you imagined what Spencer might have answered. That he didn’t want his burden to impact your relationship, that he didn’t want to talk to you specifically. 

But you never considered what was coming as an answer.

“…because I don’t deserve it.” 

The world went silent. 

Except for your heart that just fell on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

Except for Spencer’s sorrow being louder than ever in your small living room.

It was obvious that Spencer wasn’t doing ok. But you couldn’t imagine how broken he really was.

You couldn’t force him to look at you and make him see he wasn’t alone at all. So you put your forehead against his, his sweaty hair sticking against your skin. Your arms wrapped against Spencer so you could hold him against him. You couldn’t believe that this grown-up man, in his thirty, could be a broken kid inside. You tried to hold back the tears.

You stayed like that for minutes; you don’t even know how long. This could last an hour or two if he needed to. You probably could have stayed all night if it meant calming Spencer down.

Little by little, you felt his shaking stop and even one of his hands land on your arm. The pressure of his fingers on your skin wasn’t harder, almost like he didn’t have any strength anymore. It was more like a delicate touch. One that reminded you of the old days, when Spencer was too shy to touch you.

Once you felt he was ready to hear this, maybe not listen yet but at least be able to understand what you were saying, you stopped hugging him so you could grab his face in your hands. “You deserve to be helped. I—who told you this?”

You met the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen at this moment. Couple with his sad smile. Oh, how you wished you could just kiss the pain away for once.

“I just…” he started, with a grazed, hoarse voice. “Every person in my life ends up sad or hurt or dead. I’m a problem. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve someone to take the time to help me, be there for me. I can’t risk someone, you, taking the time to make me feel better if it means losing you at some point. I can’t, I can’t do that again.” You heard the sob in his voice at the end. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Spencer gave you the look, one he strangely never gave to you but that you understood immediately, meaning that he still had a lot to say. And deep down, you were happy to shut it if it meant he was finally opening up.

“I was taking care of a kid these days. We knew he might be in danger, so I was supposed to make sure he would be fine while working the case.” Spencer took a moment to continue, but you could only focus on the tear running down his cheek. “He got killed. Because I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has something bad happening to them. Even in my job. How can I be such a bad person?” 

You started brushing away the tears with your thumb, but Spencer cuddled against your hand. There was something even sadder with this man feeling like he didn’t deserve to have someone yet still craving every attention he could get.

“You’re not a burden, Spencer,” you whispered, and he closed his eyes again. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to go through all these moments by yourself. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be from living such difficult times over and over again. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone by your side.”

He didn’t answer. You weren’t sure this was the best decision, but you sat on his knees, trying to be closer to him so you could make him feel less alone. 

You thought that if he didn’t want that, he would push you away. But the way Spencer's hands ended up on your back so quickly made you think that maybe he needed that too.

“I can’t and won’t force myself into your life, Spencer, never,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “But if you’re ready to try, I can be by your side and help you consider that you deserve to be a supporter. Not only by me but by all the people that love you.”

Again, your words working on him, Spencer opened his eyes slowly. This time, even if the sorrow was still present, there was the smallest and almost slightest light in them. “Because people love you, Spencer Reid.”

As an answer, the only one he could give you, Spencer brought you against him and hugged you as hard as he could. It wasn’t the tightest hug he ever gave, but it was the best he could do. And it was enough. Enough to know that you opened a door in his mind. 

You offered your bed to Spencer that night, but he insisted on you staying by your side. He refused to let you know it was due to the fear of the nightmares he had for months now. Nightmares that always had different stories but ended the same way: with him losing someone and being alone.

All he needed was you, and you were willing to give yourself entirely to help him get better.

You didn’t know if you imagined it, but you were sure that when he was falling asleep, holding you against him like an antistress comforter, Spencer thanked you.

[heliosunny]

Hello! I have read your fyodor writing and it is amazing! I was wondering if you could write fyodor and a reader that work side by side and fyodor starts growing an admiration for them.BUTTT they both have like a backstory on when they first met,like she was a international student in Russia, until they met him

Yandere!Fyodor x Fem!Reader

The library was quiet that afternoon, the air thick with the scent of old books and dust motes swirling in the pale light filtering through tall windows. You had been here for hours, buried in your notes, brow furrowed in concentration as you struggled to decipher a particularly dense passage of Russian literature.

It was then that you noticed him.

A man stood a few shelves away, his presence almost ghostlike—tall, with dark hair falling over sharp, intelligent eyes. His gaze flickered over the spines of books, fingers tracing the worn edges as though in silent reverence. There was something unnervingly composed about him, something almost scholarly.

Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, or the fact that he looked utterly at home amidst the endless rows of books, but you made an assumption.

“Excuse me!” you called out in hesitant Russian, clutching your notebook to your chest as you approached. “Are you a professor?”

The question lingered in the space between you, and for a second, there was only silence. Then, he smiled—slow and amused.

“A professor?” he repeated, his voice smooth, laced with something unreadable. “That’s an interesting mistake.”

Heat crept up your neck. “I-I just thought… you seem like you belong here. Like someone who teaches.”

His smile deepened. “How flattering. And you—are a student, I presume?”

You nodded. “An international one. I’ve been trying to improve my Russian, but this text is... difficult.” You hesitated, then, feeling bold, you held out the book. “Would you mind helping?”

Interesting

“Of course” he murmured, taking the book from your hands. Your fingers brushed, and though you barely noticed, he did.

That was the first moment Fyodor Dostoevsky truly took notice of you.

-----

Graduation had come faster than you expected. The weight of textbooks was replaced by the weight of uncertainty, of what came next. Your time as an international student in Russia had been a whirlwind of study, language struggles, and fleeting connections, but one encounter lingered in your mind more than the others.

The mysterious man from the library.

You never learned much about him beyond his name, but he had helped you that day—and a few more after that. His explanations had been sharp, precise, and almost hypnotic, as if he enjoyed weaving words together just to watch you untangle them. He never revealed much about himself, and yet… his presence had been unforgettable.

And now, years later, you saw him again.

The world had changed. You were no longer a student buried in books, you had stepped into the real world, carving out a career. You had long since left the dusty halls of academia behind.

But fate had a strange way of bringing back ghosts.

"How unexpected" came a voice you hadn't heard in years—low, smooth, and still carrying that air of quiet amusement.

You turned, your breath catching as you met his gaze.

Fyodor stood just as he had back then, calm, composed, and unreadable. The dim lighting of the café softened his features, but it did little to mask the sharpness in his violet eyes.

“You...” you murmured, half in disbelief.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling at the edges. “You remember me. How delightful.”

Of course, you remembered. But what was he doing here?

“What a coincidence.” you said cautiously. “I didn’t expect to run into you again.”

He chuckled, the sound almost melodic. “Is it truly coincidence?”

You should have known then—this was no chance encounter.

Fyodor Dostoevsky had been waiting for you.

-----

It started with a conversation over coffee.

At first, it had seemed like an idle exchange, catching up, reminiscing about that odd first meeting in the library. But Fyodor had a way of steering discussions, of making simple words feel deliberate, as if he were leading you down a carefully paved path.

And before you knew it, he had offered you an opportunity.

The details were vague at first. Consulting work, he called it. A role that required a sharp mind, adaptability, and discretion. His words were elegant, calculated which made it feel less like an offer and more like inevitability.

You told yourself you accepted because of the challenge. Because Fyodor Dostoevsky, enigmatic as he was, recognized your intelligence.

That was how it began.

Working with Fyodor was unlike anything you had experienced before. He wasn’t a man of rigid schedules or predictable tasks. He would send for you at strange hours, his messages brief yet somehow demanding.

Come by my office when you’re free. Bring that keen mind of yours.

There’s something I want your thoughts on.

The work itself was intellectually thrilling, analyzing patterns, decoding encrypted messages, piecing together fragments of information like a puzzle. Fyodor rarely gave direct instructions, he preferred to let you figure things out on your own, watching from the shadows as you unraveled the complexities he placed before you.

And when you succeeded, his approval was quiet but undeniable.

“Impressive” he would murmur, a gloved hand resting against his chin as he studied your work. “I expected you to struggle with this one, but you continue to exceed my expectations.”

It was always like that. Subtle praise. Measured words. A gaze that lingered just long enough to make you wonder what he was thinking.

At first, you thought he merely saw you as useful.

But then, small moments made you question.

A cup of tea, waiting on your desk before you even arrived. A casual mention of something you had told him in passing weeks ago, your preferred books, the way you took your coffee, the kind of music that helped you focus.

-----

It began subtly, like most things with Fyodor. A casual mention of someone. A passing reference to a meeting. He never explicitly told you where he was leading you, only guided you forward until you found yourself standing at the edge of something much larger than you anticipated.

You had gained his trust.

One evening, after an especially long day of work, Fyodor leaned back in his chair and regarded you with an expression of quiet amusement. His office was dimly lit, a single lamp casting long shadows across the desk where scattered documents lay between you.

“You’ve done well” he said, tapping his fingers against the polished wood.

You arched a brow at him. “You keep saying that. I’m starting to think you underestimated me.”

His lips curved slightly. “On the contrary, I’ve been testing you.”

You frowned. “Testing me?”

Fyodor tilted his head, studying you the way one might observe a particularly interesting specimen. “You have a sharp mind. More capable than most. But intelligence alone is not enough in this line of work. There is loyalty, discretion… the ability to maneuver in the spaces between truth and deception.”

You folded your arms. “And have I passed your tests?”

He chuckled. “Oh, I decided that long ago.”

Before you could question him further, he rose from his chair in a slow, deliberate motion, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Come with me.”

You hesitated. “Where?”

His smile was unreadable. “There are people I’d like you to meet.”

Something in his tone made your stomach tighten. Fyodor was not a man who made careless introductions. If he was bringing you deeper into his world, it meant one thing—he had decided you belonged there.

The place he took you was not what you expected. A quiet, secluded café tucked into the heart of the city, unremarkable at first glance. But as you stepped inside, you immediately noticed the way the air shifted—low murmurs, sharp glances, a tension beneath the surface.

At a corner table sat two men. One was tall and broad-shouldered, an easy smirk playing on his lips as he twirled a fork between his fingers. The other had long hair that stretched to his waist, an eerie calm to him as he sipped from a steaming cup of tea.

Fyodor approached without hesitation, gesturing for you to follow. “This is them.”

You had heard of them before—fragments of names and roles pieced together over time, always spoken with a certain weight. They were not merely associates. They were his closest circle.

The white-haired man was the first to acknowledge you, his smirk widening as he leaned forward. “So, you’re the one he’s been keeping to himself.” His voice was smooth, teasing. “I was starting to think you were a myth.”

You glanced at Fyodor, but his expression remained neutral. Instead, it was the lilac and white hair who spoke next.

“Nikolai, don’t scare her.” he said, setting his cup down. His gaze shifted to you—piercing, assessing. “I’m Sigma. And the loud one over there is Nikolai.”

Nikolai placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Loud? You wound me.”

You let out a breath, offering a polite nod. “It’s… nice to meet you both.”

Fyodor’s voice cut through the exchange, smooth as always. “She has proven herself quite capable.” His eyes flickered to you, something unspoken lingering in his gaze. “She’s earned her place here.”

Earned

The weight of that word settled over you. This wasn’t just a casual meeting. It was a declaration. A sign that you had crossed an invisible threshold, one you couldn’t step back from.

Nikolai grinned. “Well, if you’ve got Dostoy’s approval, I suppose that means we should play nice.” He extended a hand, his grin turning sly. “Welcome to the madness.”

You hesitated for only a second before shaking it.

Across the table, Fyodor watched with quiet satisfaction.

You had taken another step into his world.

And he would make sure you never left it.

-----

Fyodor had always prided himself on being an observer, a man who noticed the details others overlooked. And in you, he found a curiosity that refused to be ignored.

Perhaps it was the way you immersed yourself so wholly in your work, the way your fingers would tighten around a pen as you deciphered complex codes, or how you leaned closer to your screen when deep in thought, completely unaware of how much time had passed.

Perhaps it was how you always stayed later than you should, refusing to step away even as exhaustion settled into your frame.

Perhaps it was simply you.

And Fyodor found himself watching.

“You’re still here.”

You barely looked up from your papers, exhaustion evident in the way your shoulders remained tense.

“Just finishing up” you murmured, flipping a page. “There were some inconsistencies in the last report, and I didn’t want to leave them for tomorrow.”

Fyodor tilted his head, his gaze trailing over the dark circles beginning to form beneath your eyes. He had noticed it before—your tendency to push yourself beyond reason, to prioritize efficiency over rest.

“You say that every night” he mused, stepping closer.

You huffed lightly, finally meeting his gaze. “I could say the same about you.”

A low chuckle escaped him. He leaned against the edge of your desk, his fingers drumming idly against the wood. “But I wonder… are you truly working, or merely avoiding rest?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fyodor hummed, considering you. “You overwork yourself. Even when there is no urgency, you find something to bury yourself in.” His lips curled slightly. “A habit formed out of necessity… or avoidance?”

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Because he wasn’t wrong.

You had always been like this, pushing, striving, moving forward without stopping to consider why.

Fyodor’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “You will not be useful to me if you collapse from exhaustion.”

It was a pragmatic statement, but there was something else beneath it.

Concern.

He reached for the cup of tea sitting on your desk, long since gone cold, and replaced it with a fresh one from a tray he had brought with him.

“Go home” he said simply. “Or at least drink this before you drown in paperwork.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Are you actually worried about me?”

Fyodor smiled, but didn’t answer.

And yet, as you took the cup from his hands, warmth spreading through your fingertips, you realized that maybe he didn’t need to.

-----

The first time Fyodor saw you outside of work, it was purely coincidence.

Or so he told himself.

It was late evening, the city alive with the hum of passing cars and distant conversation. Fyodor had no particular destination, he often wandered, preferring movement over stagnation when lost in thought.

And then he saw you.

Sitting at the far end of a small café, a book in hand, absentmindedly stirring a drink you had yet to sip from. The sight of you outside of work, out of the structured environment he had placed you in, was strangely disarming.

You looked… softer.

More human.

It was one thing to admire your intelligence, your sharp mind and unwavering dedication. But here, without the weight of responsibility pressing against you, he saw something else entirely.

Something that made his interest shift, deepen.

He watched as you pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your brow furrowing slightly as you read. Your focus was the same as when you worked, but there was a quiet contentment to it.

For the first time in a long while, Fyodor hesitated.

Would you notice him if he approached? Would you welcome his presence outside of the boundaries of your professional relationship?

And more importantly… Why did he care?

For a man who prided himself on control, this was unfamiliar territory.

A rare moment of uncertainty.

And yet, he found himself lingering for a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing over the edge of his coat, before finally stepping away.

He would not approach. Not tonight.

-----

You were too deep in thought to notice him.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, barely moving. The glow of your monitor cast soft shadows over your face, but your mind was elsewhere—buried in numbers, codes, patterns that refused to align the way they should.

Time had lost meaning.

It was quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint rustling of papers beside you. The world had shrunk to just you and the problem at hand.

Then, a slow, deliberate warmth pressed against your back.

You froze.

The sensation of hands, light but undeniably there, settling on your shoulders, fingers ghosting along the fabric of your shirt before tracing down, down to your arms.

Your breath caught as a weight leaned into you, something- or someone—coiling around you like a shadow.

Fyodor

His presence was unmistakable, his scent a mix of faint ink and something darker, something uniquely him. His voice, when it came, was quiet.

“I wonder” he mused, his breath fanning against your ear, “just how long you planned to ignore me.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized he was there.

Your hands, now utterly still, rested atop your desk, but his covered them soon after- elegant fingers curling over your wrists in a touch that was neither forceful nor fleeting.

“I wasn’t ignoring you” you murmured, voice steadier than you felt.

A low chuckle. “Mm. Perhaps.” His fingers brushed against your pulse. “But you do have a tendency to forget the world when you work.”

You swallowed. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No” he murmured. “It simply means I must remind you I exist.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs. “Fyodor—”

“Shh.” His voice dipped lower, turning something close to intimate.

Then, as if to prove his point, he did something you didn’t expect.

He rested his chin on your shoulder.

The shift was subtle, slow, he barely applied any pressure, but the action was enough to send a jolt of awareness down your spine.

Trapped. Not in the physical sense, if you truly wanted to move, you could. And yet, you knew in the quiet space between you that wasn’t the game he was playing.

He wasn’t holding you down.

He was enveloping you.

And then he whispered “You do realize, don’t you?”

You swallowed. “Realize what?”

His grip on your wrists tightened, just for a second.

“That no matter where you go, no matter how much you work, how much you think… I will always be here.”

Something in his tone sent a shiver through you.

“Fyodor” you started, a warning, but he only exhaled a soft laugh.

“You cannot rid yourself of me, my dear” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”

His words dripped with quiet amusement, but beneath them, beneath the silken charm, there was something else.

Something inescapable.

And though you knew you should move, pull away, demand an explanation, you didn't.

And Fyodor, still curled around you, still smiling against your skin, knew it too.

[benz12313]

Delirium Part 2/3 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: ‼️(MDNI) 18+ explicit content‼️, smut, oral female receiving, p in v, smut with feelings, swearing, fem!reader, drunkenness, unprotected sex, angst? if you squint?

Part 1/3 - Part 3/3

Authors Note: This took me waaaay too long to write but goddamn was it worth it in the end. Can't wait for the final part to wrap things up and deliver a happy ending for you all. :)

Word Count: 2,847

It took us longer than it really should have to make it back to Basgiath, but two make-out sessions in particularly dark hallways, one particularly hard staircase to conquer (ironically one of the few with railings), and about fifteen minutes worth of giggling together drunkenly and we’d somehow made it to Ridoc’s room. It took him three tries to lock the door in place, but he was finally able to channel enough that we both heard the locks click in place. And then he was consuming me.

His delicious mouth on mine, pushing and pulling, but ever in control as I wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his curly brown locks. Gods how did he get them this fucking soft. I whined as he slipped his tongue in my mouth, and then let out a surprised squeal when I was suddenly being hoisted into the air, his hands firmly on my ass. I wrapped my legs around him and he squeezed his hands, groaning into my mouth as he hastily turned us, pinning me deliciously between him and his door. 

“Gods,” I whined when he moved from my mouth to my jaw, nipping and biting, then smoothing over the marks with his tongue. Keeping me hovering between pleasure and pain in such a maddening way. 

“Ridoc is fine.” He said, voice husky and strained. And then he was biting down on the juncture where my neck met my collarbone, making my vision blur and my body arch. My core rubbing over his stiff cock through our clothes, Ridoc’s hands digging into my ass so hard I knew he’d leave bruises, holding me against him. 

“Fuck! Ridoc!” I yelped, glad for the standard sound shields on the rooms, because any restraint I’d ever possessed was long gone. 

He pulled back, and my heart ached. Gods, he looks so fucking handsome. Plump, kiss-swollen lips coated with saliva, lightly panting as he stared down at my neck. Eyes so dilated that his normal chocolate brown eyes were nearly fucking black, and scanning over my neck so possessively that it made my thighs tighten around him. He was flushed, whether from alcohol or exertion I wasn’t quite sure. 

“That should be good enough.” He muttered to himself, even going as far as to nod, before his eyes met mine again. I didn’t even have time to ask what that was about before he started speaking. “How do you want this to go Princess? Quick? Slow? Painful? Sweet? As long as it involves you, me, and my furniture I’m down. Ask and you shall receive.”

“I want you Ridoc.” The confession comes out a lot more raw than I mean it to, but I don’t have time to think about that, not when he’s begun to smirk again, like I’ve said exactly what he wanted to hear. A smirk that makes me way wetter than it really should. 

“You’ve got me Y/N.” He said, but then we’re turning, and in the next moment I’m on my back, his arms on either side of me exactly how they’d been behind the tavern. Except this time he was grinding into me, making my head spin as I desperately tried to calculate how big he was, because the absolute monster in his pants had to be smaller than I was thinking. It must be drunk calculations right? There’s no way he was as big as he felt. 

He tilted his head down at me, thinking, before sitting up, leaving me gasping and wanting. He chuckled, hand flying out and pressing my chest down, back into the bed when I’d started to chase after him. He clicked his tongue, “Tsk. Don’t worry now. I’m not going anywhere. Not when I’ve finally got you exactly where I’ve been wanting you, looking so fucked out and pretty in my bed. I wish you could see yourself right now Y/N.” He took his shirt off then, and I was wholly distracted. A thin layer of sweat glistened over his ripped muscles. Over the past year and a half I’d watched him go from lean and barely muscled, to the absolute powerhouse straddling me right now. The man over me could overpower, could dominate, could kill, easily,and the thought only turned me on more.

“How about I turn that pretty little head of yours to mush, yeah?” He was back down in my space, lips ghosting over my own as one of his hands laced through my hair and the other sliding under my shirt by my waist. “You’ve had such a rough week Princess, how about I use my fingers or tongue to ease your worries?”

“Oh,” I panted, “Is that tongue useful for anything other than making smart ass remarks? I wasn’t aware-EEK” I screeched, then tumbled into giggles as he bit down on the top of my cleavage before shooting a mischievous grin up at me. 

His eyes danced with emotion, and I couldn’t help but push back the curls getting in his eyes, as my chest warmed. “Let me get your clothes off and I can show you exactly what this tongue can do.” He teased, pecking me on the lips a few times before letting his tongue loll playfully, causing me to giggle. “Quit being so cute,” he muttered into my jaw, “It’s gonna make this hard when you try to run away in the morning.”

Before I could even process his words his hand had left my hair, joining his other on my waist, and pushing my shirt up slowly, kissing every inch of skin that he’d newly exposed and effectively wiping my brain. “You’re so soft. How the fuck-“ He groaned as his mouth met my ribs and my breathing faltered. His mouth feels so fucking good. He pulled my shirt up over my head, tossing it behind him. I arched to let him unclasp my bra, and that quickly joined my shirt. Then his mouth was on my chest, taking one breast in his mouth like a man starved, his other hand grabbing the free one and squeezing, rolling and pinching so expertly I could barely track the movement through the waves of pleasure. 

“Fuck! Ridoc pleassse.” I whined, begged, and writhed, all while holding him to my body, wanting him closer, as close as he could get. “I need you.” The words were broken, begging. “Stop teasing, I need you.” It was a downright plea, and his eyes met mine. Flickering over my face, assessing, and whatever he found there made him took pity on me because he sighed, resting his chin in the valley between my tits, eyes fond and warm. 

“Still want my tongue first?” He asked and I nodded, maybe too eagerly, because he let out a depraved chuckle, “Course you do. Bet you’ve been imagining my head between your thighs more than you’d like to admit.” I flushed bright red, because of course he was right, he’d starred way too many of my fantasies. His fingers hooked under the waist of my leathers, and in seconds he’d tugged them off. Expertly one might say. 

That’s all it took for me to be bare beneath him, quivering with excitement, or pleasure, or nerves? Maybe all three at this point. I bit my lip as his mouth moved down my body, sucking, nipping, licking any spot that he deemed worthy, which felt like all of me. Anticipation built, until I was ready to shove him down where I wanted him myself, sick of waiting as he took his sweet ass time. 

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so fucking wet for me,” He hissed, eyes drinking in my soaked pussy, “Thank you Loial.” He grunted before diving into my heat like it was a damn buffet. 

Then my entire world crashed around me because Ridoc, fucking, Gamlyn finally put his mouth to good work. My body was flame, ironic enough as a palpable chill had consumed the air in the room. I thanked the gods that my signet wasn’t one of fire, because Ridoc’s bed would have surely caught flame. Every flick of his tongue over my clit sent shudders through me, pleasure coiling again in my gut, but with much more intensity than it had when I’d fucked his thigh. 

All I could comprehend was him, as one hand held my waist down to keep from squirming away from him and the other sunk one of his long fingers into my dripping hole. Gods, he felt so good. I’d had plenty of good sex, at least I thought I had, but no one had ever used their tongue and a single finger so skillfully on me before. Sloppy yet precise, curling and coaxing until I was a mewling mess, eyes shut and clutching at his sheets and pillows like they could keep me from floating into absolute weightless bliss. 

He added another finger, sucked harshly on my clit and then I snapped. Not even the headboard grounded me as I flung my eyes open, only to see that delicious white light as my body arched and thighs clenched around his head. Pleasure blinding me as he continued, never even pausing as I drenched him in my release. Only letting out a moan, and adding another finger, overstimulation clouding my thoughts, but I didn’t dare stop him. Not when everything he was doing felt so good. 

“Look at you Princess. And those pretty moans. You like my tongue like this? Making you feel good?” He was babbling, so obviously pussydrunk already, making me moan and clench on his fingers as they curved deliciously hitting that spongy spot that made me see stars. He dove in again, moaning, groaning, and rubbing his hips into the mattress. Trying to seek the pleasure he was giving me. 

“Ridoc,” I whimpered and he groaned, shaking his head, and I let out another string of moans, “P-p-please Ridoc, I need you in me.”

“O-one more, Princess.” He grunted, barely meeting my gaze, “One more and then I’ll fuck you until the only word you know is my name. Just one more. Please. Just…fuck…eyes on me Y/N.” He dove in again and I did as ordered, locking eyes with him as he let loose once again. It was different this time though, his eyes soft and coaxing, as he shattered me completely, making me squirt all over his face as my climax hit me hard, vision going black. 

I came to with Ridoc gently kissing my neck, whimpers getting his attention as his eyes quickly found mine again. “You back Y/N?” He asked, thumb so gently running over my cheekbone, his other arm propping him up, keeping him from pressing his weight on me. 

“Was I gone?” I whispered, voice cracking, which surprised me. Had I screamed?

“For a minute there? Yeah.” He smiled cheekily. “Kinda an ego boost if I’m being honest.” 

“As if you need anything more to inflate your ego.” I breathed out and he laughed, making my heart swell. 

“Still want more? Or are you done for tonight?” He checked in, eyes hopeful, but I knew he wouldn’t push if I was. Gods, he could be so sweet sometimes it made my chest ache. 

“I still want you Ridoc.” It was true, I felt so heartbreakingly empty now that his fingers were gone. “I need you.”

He smiled, kissing me and then eagerly reaching down, kicking off his leathers in seconds. An expert maneuver that surely had taken time to master and had me staring in surprise. Then he was reaching down, and my eyes curiously followed his hand’s movement. My eyes widened in shock. He was fucking huge. I thought it was bluster. Jokes. Maybe a bit of cockiness. But it definitely wasn’t, and honestly? I wasn’t even sure that it could fit.

“Scared Princess?” I nodded, still frozen in shock as he pumped it once, twice, three times, and drool dripped down my chin as his cock weeped out the tip. His cock head deep red and begging for attention. “Damn Y/N,” his voice was absolutely dripping with male satisfaction, “Really working hard to inflate that ego of mine, huh?”

“Can I taste it?” The words tumbled out before I knew what I was saying and he laughed, lighthearted, but definitely still teasing. 

“Fuck baby, you’re not even listening anymore are you? Whip out my cock and all you can think about is wrapping your pretty little lips around it, huh?” My face reddened as my eyes snapped back to his. He was grinning from ear to ear, “How bout this? You let me stuff it in that tight little pussy of yours tonight, and then if you feel up to it, you can suck it whenever you’d like any other day?” 

I was nodding, not caring what I was agreeing to, just knowing that if I did, I’d get to taste him eventually. I could wait right? No matter how delicious he looked?

He pushed my thighs open, staring back down at my soaked pussy before his eyes found my own again. Soft, inviting, and way too fucking sentimental. “Ready?” He whispered, bending over me, to place a sweet kiss on my stomach. 

“Please,” I whimpered, resigned to beg more if I had to, but he had mercy on me. He ran his thick length along my entrance, thoroughly coating himself in my slick before he lined it up, and pushed in, in one hard thrust. 

“Fuck! Ridoc!” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes at the sensation of the delicious sting. I was so full, so wonderfully whole, now that his cock was within me, taking up space within me like no other had before. The alcohol in my veins had nothing on the high that his dick was giving me, just from filling me. 

“It’s okay Princess-“ He groaned and dropped his head to my shoulder panting as his hands flew to my hips, gripping so tight I knew I’d find bruises tomorrow. “Godsdamnit, you’re squeezing me so fucking good Y/N.” He nuzzled into my neck, peppering it with kisses. “You’re so wet and warm for me-fuck-“ He groaned as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him close as I gripped his shoulders for support. He started moving then, groans tumbling out as he started up a punishing rhythm, losing himself in the feel of me. 

I wasn’t much better though, in fact, the moment he started moving, all thoughts had ceased to exist. Everything beyond this bed faded, and suddenly all that mattered in this world was Ridoc Gamlyn.  

Ridoc. The way he smelt of sex, pine, and something else distinctly male. Ridoc, and the way his rough hands tugged and pulled at me, yet worshipped me with every touch. Ridoc, and his mouth, curses, praises, and just pussydrunk babble tumbling from his tongue that I couldn’t understand, because I was just as cockdrunk. Ridoc, and the way he held me, cradling me like I was made of fucking glass while he relentlessly pounded into me. Ridoc Gamlyn, making me fucking love him with every thrust into me. Every touch. Every whisper and groan and half-formed joke as we both chased our highs together. 

“R-ridoc.” I stuttered, unable to get anything else out through the delirium. My pleasure rose, until I was teetering on the fucking edge again. Gods, if he kept it up at this pace it wouldn’t be long-

“Cum for me, I’m right here, I got you.” He assured, hand flying down to rub quick circles on my clit. “Let it go.”

Three circles and I was screaming again. His name I think. Honestly too gone to know for sure, but I clamped down hard, as he fucked me through it and slammed his mouth to mine, swallowing my cry. His hips were stuttering, and then one orgasm crashed right into the next one as warmth filled me. He’d found his own release in mine. His hands swept up my body to cradle me, pull me into his body as he let his body collapse onto my own. 

He lazily thrusted a few more times, kisses dwindling into mere touches, before we stilled completely. Panting, sticky, and completely wrapped around each other. Ridoc. My mouth couldn’t find words, which was probably best, because everything I wanted to say felt like too much and not enough at the same time. 

He groaned and snuggled closer, before gently maneuvering us so I was laying on his chest, and we were still connected. His dick was soft but still nestled within me, and it didn’t seem like Ridoc had any plans to remove it as he wrapped his blanket around us both, taking care to make sure I was extra comfy, before he buried his face in my hair. 

Exhaustion pulled at me, and Ridoc sighed. “Just stay tonight at least, please?”

“Mhm.” It was all I could muster, before I could no longer fight my drooping eyes, and I succumbed to sleep.

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie

[yourlovelywriter]

Bewitched by you? (Pt 4)

Welp guys… this is my last one.. I was brutally assaulted by an anon.. ✋

I’m just kidding I’ll keep going despite my heart being shattered.

—————————————————

I woke to the scent of coffee and the quiet shuffle of movement.

For a few seconds, I wasn’t sure where I was. The hotel room was still cloaked in early morning dimness, the golden light of sunrise spilling through the half-drawn curtains. The bed beneath me was softer than mine at home, the sheets tangled around my legs. Then, the memory of yesterday settled into place—the long drive, the late-night check-in, the single bed.

And Lilia.

She stood by the window, coffee cup in hand, gazing out at the street below. Loose waves of dark hair tumbled over her shoulder, the soft light tracing the delicate lines of her face. She looked at ease here—so much so that I had the ridiculous thought that maybe this town belonged to her, that maybe every place she walked simply bent itself around her presence.

I stretched, my muscles protesting the early morning. “What time is it?”

Lilia turned, her gaze sweeping over me like she had already been waiting for me to wake up. “Later than you’d think.”

I groaned, rubbing my face. “You could’ve woken me.”

She smirked, sipping her coffee. “I could have.”

I blinked sleepily at her, trying to shake the drowsiness from my limbs. “So… do we have time to grab something to eat before the reading?”

A pause.

Then, as effortlessly as if she had expected the question, Lilia said, “My client wants to wait until tonight.”

I frowned, sitting up. “I thought you said she wanted us to come out here as soon as possible?”

“She did.” Lilia set her cup down and grabbed her coat from the chair. “But she changed her mind. Said it’s better to do the reading after dark.”

I hesitated. “Is that a thing?”

She shot me a knowing look. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Baby.”

I wanted to press further, but the way she spoke—smooth, unbothered, as if nothing about this was unusual—made me pause. It wasn’t like I had any real reason to doubt her. If Lilia said the woman wanted to wait, then that was the plan.

“Fine,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “What do we do until then?”

Lilia tossed me a set of keys. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

The town was quiet, the kind of place where time seemed to stretch longer than it should. Cobblestone streets wound through clusters of brick buildings, their windows decorated with flower boxes and wrought-iron lanterns. Every so often, we passed a café with tiny round tables set outside, steam rising from cups as the morning crowd sipped their coffee in silence.

Lilia moved through it all with effortless familiarity, leading me down winding streets and tucked-away alleys.

“This place is beautiful,” I admitted as we passed an old bookshop with a deep green awning.

Lilia hummed in agreement. “It has its charm.”

There was something strange about the way she said it, like she had known this place long before today.

“How do you know your client?” I asked, glancing over at her.

Lilia barely hesitated. “A referral.”

“From someone in town?”

“Something like that.”

I frowned slightly at her vague answer but let it go. Lilia was always like this—only giving away what she wanted to, never more.

We walked for a while longer before she led me to a bridge overlooking the river. The water shimmered under the sunlight, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a passing bird. Along the railing, dozens of colorful ribbons were tied, fluttering gently in the breeze.

I ran my fingers over one. “What are these?”

“A tradition.” Lilia leaned against the railing, watching me with quiet amusement. “People write wishes on them. Tie them to the bridge, let the river decide if they come true.”

I glanced over at her. “Do you believe in that?”

She smirked. “I believe in many things.”

The day slipped by in a haze of quiet moments.

Lilia took me to a café tucked into a hidden courtyard, where we sat outside, drinking coffee as she pointed out the small details of the town—a weathered statue in the square that no one really knew the origin of, a door painted deep blue that supposedly never faded no matter how many years passed.

At one point, we found ourselves in a small garden, tucked away behind a crumbling stone wall. The scent of lavender and jasmine clung to the air, and the sun filtered through the trees in golden patches.

I watched as Lilia ran her fingers lightly over a row of rosemary plants, a small, thoughtful smile playing at her lips. It was strange, seeing her like this—unhurried. There was always something untouchable about her back at the shop, but here, she seemed more present. Like this was where she had meant to be all along.

“You like it here,” I murmured, half a statement, half a question.

Lilia’s fingers stilled on the rosemary for only a second before she turned to me. “I do.”

Something about the way she said it made me feel like there was more to her answer. Maybe I should ask?

But before I could, she stepped closer, brushing a stray leaf from my sleeve. “You’re enjoying yourself,” she noted.

I scoffed. “You sound surprised.”

She tilted her head. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to slow down long enough to appreciate it.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked, stepping back. “Only that you have a habit of thinking your way through things instead of feeling them.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth of it settled too quickly in my chest.

Before I could come up with a retort, Lilia glanced up at the sky. The sun had begun to dip lower, the shadows stretching longer across the cobblestones.

“We should head back soon,” she said. “The reading’s in a few hours.”

Right. The reading.

Somehow, I’d almost forgotten why we were here.

I exhaled, shaking my head as I followed her back toward the main square.

Something about this town felt different now—less like a simple stop on a trip and more like a place meant to be remembered.

And something about Lilia felt different too.

———————————————————————

[hellodarling1357]

More Than A Moment: Part 1 - Cassian x Reader (AU!)

What? A post? A whole new fic? After months of broken promises (rip me)?

I sporadically got the inspo to write today and this idea just flowed on out and all but wrote itself!

Is this a stand alone? A multi-part (I hope so)?

Who knows!

Either way, I hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: After a drunken night between friends, just friends, nothing more, Y/N and Cassian’s lives end up changing forever. But maybe not in the way they had originally expected.

Word Count: 1.5k

“Cassian!” You shout through the door, one fist pounding on the wooden frame as the other, hidden away in your coat pocket, held tightly to what had felt like a lifeline since you had raced to the store just over an hour ago.

“Cassian! I swear to god if you don’t open the door right now…” You took a step back as your fist met the air, the words dying in your throat as a girl with sleep mussed hair, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that you knew belonged to Cassian, stared back at you with a look of distaste.

“What?” The girl asked, stifling a yawn as her eyes blatantly looked you up and down, a smirk spreading across her lips as she took in your frazzled appearance. “We’re a little busy here, so…”

You blinked at her before pushing past and making your way inside the small apartment, ignoring the girl’s protest as you beelined for Cassian’s room, stopping momentarily as the door opened before you could reach it.

“Y/N. Hey,” the man in question was straightening out a tight black t-shirt, having clearly put on the closest items of clothing he could reach. “I didn’t expect to see you today, especially not at 8 am on a Sunday morning…”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay, alright. Could this not have waited until a more reasonable time?”

“Cass, please…”

Clearly picking up on the slight plea in your voice, he nodded, a slight furrow to his brow as he studied you a moment longer before turning to the girl who remained bristling by the front door.

“Hey,” he started, beckoning the girl towards him, you cringed as you took a seat on the couch, not wanting to be a part of the scene that was about to unfold. “So last night was fun, yeah? But I think there’s a few things I need to deal with here so we should probably wrap this up for now?”

“Oh? So you want me to leave?” You rolled your eyes as she clung to him, battering her lashes in hopes of changing his mind as he led her back into his room to help her collect her things, not missing the daggers she sent your way when Cassian’s back was turned.

“It’s not that I want you to leave… But I’ll call you. Soon, alright?”

“You better.”

Barely managing to conceal your scoff you busied yourself with your phone as she pulled him down into a lingering kiss.

“Alright, well get home safe and thanks again for last night…” Cassian trailed off and your attention flickered over in disbelief as he clearly tried to scramble for the poor girl’s name.

“Rebecca. My name’s Rebecca.” Her icy tone was a stark contrast as she moved out of his grasp.

“Of course, I know your name. How could I forget? I was just deciding whether I wanted to start calling you babe or baby.”

You didn’t attempt to hide the disgust at your friend as he shot the girl a charming smile that had her swooning as she said her goodbyes - all iciness melting into a flirtatiously shy smile as she stared up at him from under heavy lashes.

“You really can be a pig sometimes, you do realise that?” You said without looking up from your phone once Cassian had shut the door behind the girl.

“What?” He asked, voice laced in indignation as he slumped onto the couch beside you.

“Oh I dunno, do I call you babe or baby? Of course I remember your name, random-girl-I’ll-never-actually-call.” You lowered your voice into a mockery of his own before being met with a pillow to your face as Cassian got up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Hey, I just got rid of a perfectly nice girl for you. No need for the disrespect. What’s so important anyway? You know I love to see you and all that, but usually not at this time.” He leant against the bathroom door, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he stared at you waiting for an answer.

Right.

You had almost forgotten that you were here for a reason other than witnessing one of your closest friends be a complete dick to a girl he’d spent the previous night with.

“Oh… Um yeah it’s all good. Get dressed or whatever then we can chat.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment longer before shrugging and returning to the bathroom. You slumped back as soon as you were out of sight, squashing the pillow Cassian had previously whacked you with against your face as your thoughts raced through your head. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

By the time Cassian was ready, you had had enough time to work yourself into a somewhat frantic state as you paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to even bring up the reason why you had almost knocked down his door on a seemingly normal Sunday.

“Jesus, what’s up with you this morning?” Your head whipped around to face Cassian, freezing mid-pace to stare at him like a deer in headlights. When the only reply you could muster was the very unsubtle opening and closing of your mouth, Cassian let out a sigh as he reached for his shoes. “Well, seeing that you appear to have a whole heap of pent up energy, we’re walking to the cafe down the street. Your shout for waking me up and prematurely ending what was sure to be a very satisfying Sunday morning.”

You scrunched your nose but nodded all the same as you silently headed towards the door, missing the concerned look on Cassian’s face as his eyes trailed your retreating figure before he jumped up to follow you out.

——

The ten minute walk was silent except for the slight crunch of autumn leaves under foot as the pair of you narrowly avoided the early risers who were jogging past along the footpath and manoeuvred around the copious stream of families with young children enjoying the crisp morning air; your heart rate soared as you tried to control your breathing

Cassian managed to score a secluded table tucked away by the window, thanking the waiter for the menus and water as you stared past him in a daze, your mind reeled of how to approach telling him what had happened, what had resulted from…

A large hand waving in front of your face had you blinking in surprise.

“Y/N?”

“Yep. Hi.”

Cassian gave you another quizzical look but was halted from saying anything else as the waiter returned, asking about coffee and food orders.

“Just a long black for me, thanks.”

You could hear your heartbeat and wouldn’t be surprised if everyone around you could as well.

“Y/N?” Cassian gave you a soft kick under the table, pulling your attention to the waiter who was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, um… Just a latte. Thank you,” Shit. Could you even have coffee now? “Wait. I mean, no. Just a tea. Peppermint, please. If you have it. Sorry.” Your voice trailed after the waiter as he nodded and walked off with a shake of his head. So far, this was not going well.

“Alright, what has gotten into you?” The immediate retort of ‘um you?’ was held back by a bite of your tongue. “You better not be here confessing your love for me. I mean we spoke about this, right? It was just a one off, drunken night between two friends who both happen to be very attractive.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders as you offered a small smile in appreciation of Cassian’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“You’re not actually in love with me are you?” You rolled your eyes at the slight panic in his expression, deciding not to take it as an insult. “I mean, I love you, but, you know, as a friend. Because we’re friends. We’re all friends; me, you, Rhys, Az, Feyre, Mor…”

“Cassian,” you let the smile grow a bit as he prattled on. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh, thank god. No offence.” He offered you a guilty looking smile which softened as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue.

“But I did want to talk about that night…” You trailed off, trying to gauge Cassian’s response as he quirked his head to the side and furrowed his brows in confusion. Well, here it goes. Taking in a deep breath, you reached into your pocked and placed the pregnancy test on the table.

“Cass, I’m pregnant.”

----------

I have so many ideas for this and how I want to continue it but would love to hear your thoughts!!

[stuckinmymind22]

playlists | stay/is it over now? + better man

Chapter 1

pair: portgas d. ace x afab reader (she/her)

modern au | multimedia | musician ace | more info on story

tags: fluff fluff and more fluff, cursing, group chat alert, luffy cameo, goofy ace, also they’re both fucking stupid lowkey (she said like she didn’t write them that way) lowkey imply ace and reader are sluts (good for you!!)

mdni: please - look i can't tell you how to live your life but this isn't for you pls avoid thx

wc: 7.7k (i said it would be shorter and it's the same fucking length 😭)

excerpt:

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -” You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability.  Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

a/n: AHHHHHHH sorry it took so long i want to say it wont happen again but i am not predictable. also it turns out i really like the word mischief (thank you thesaurus)

we're working really hard on not second guessing every single thing i write, but i am in the trenches lol somethings might be cringe but that's part of the process idfk

important: theres a lot of text messages (well i feels like a lot) and i did my best to add in alt text so i hope that works if anyone needs it. lowkey starts off a bit choppy bc there's a lot of texts but it'll get longer i promise (this'll also happen again though)

song(s): there's a lot of songs in this chapter, so i made a list but they'll still be linked when used.

just a note that the songs don't necessarily reflect what happens in the chapter

stay - post malone is it over now? - taylor swift better man - 5 seconds of summer

here's the playlist for everything

He remembered, that’s the first thing you think when you hear the line. It’s a question about last night’s show. Because you told him how you were dreading it. Not only did he remember, he cared enough to ask. 

Holy shit.

A confusing feeling blossoms in your chest when you figure it out. You don’t want to not read into it too much, but there’s a portion of your mind that is running wild. You're unsure of the exact intention behind it but it’s got you hook line and sinker – not that you are going to admit that to anyone, not even yourself. 

Truth be told it is something you never would’ve thought of doing, talking with lyrics like this. Ace found a love language that you didn't know existed, much less one that you’re already fluent in. The platonic kind, you hastily tact on to the thought.

Knowing he’s already near his phone (judging by his quick response time) you’re calling him before you even notice you’re doing it. To your surprise, Ace picks up before the second ring, leaving you no time to second guess your actions. “You know you could’ve just asked me to call you, or call me yourself,” you tease, forgoing a greeting. Once he answered, talking to him came naturally, despite your initial nerves.

“Well hello to you too,” Ace laughs. His voice sounds even better than you remember, somehow. “And I know, but this is more fun,” the mischievous twinge in his voice has you wishing you could see his face in more than your mind’s eye. “So are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess,” he teases.

“I don't know, maybe you should ask,” you push back. Ace sighs exaggeratedly but relents. “I’m so glad you asked,” you giggle. You go on to tell him about the night before, which, luckily, went better than you expected.

Unaware, or uncaring, of the passage of time the two of you talk for nearly an hour before the call comes to an end. Your heart’s racing, you need to tell someone about this.

note: i completely forgot about kaya until i was adding the alt text to this and i dont wanna redo it, so please forgive me

Despite Ace making an effort to show up early, when he arrives at the cafe you agreed to meet at he finds you waiting there for him. You spot him quickly and wave him over wearing a big smile. He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say playfully, bumping his shoulder as he stands next to you entering the line.

“It’s a small world,” Ace shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets, “Whatcha gonna get?” 

“Why? You wanna copy me, Cowboy?” you tease, eyes flickering to his hat. 

“Cowboy?” he questions, amused. “It suits you,” you shrug. Ace can’t help but recognize how this mirrors one of your first interactions when he called you doll for the first time. 

The banter between the two of you flows freely, until you sit down at a table in the back corner of the cafe and your demeanor starts to shift.  Ace watches you as you stare at the table and play with your hands. He can’t help but wonder what’s on your mind, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen you nervous like this before. Whatever inner turmoil you were experiencing seems to disappear and you look back at him with a disarming smile.

“I don’t think I asked this, but how long have you been performing? I mean seeing you play - it’s clear you’re a seasoned vet when it comes to crowd work cause that kind of skill doesn’t appear overnight,�� your singing of his praises has Ace becoming flustered. He’s never been good with compliments.

It isn’t hard to see that he isn’t as confident in his abilities as he pretends to be. Logically, he knows that what you’re saying is true, but something in his brain refuses to believe it. Either way his cheeks flare up and he avoids your eyes until the red in his face has died down. 

“I started playing shows a few years ago, in my late teens. Playing really wherever I could and I did that for a couple of years,” it’s at this point he looks at you again, “I had to quit for a few months but other than that it’s been nonstop since I started.”

“Was that when you joined the navy?” you ask. Ace is a little taken aback by your question, he didn’t expect you to remember something he told you in passing the first time you met. This time, Ace is able to hide the blush he felt creeping up his neck. He can’t help but feel ridiculous, he isn’t like this with other people. Besides, you’re friends, just friends.

“Yeah, I got pretty big over there,” he admits. “I even had a few labels approach me, but I wasn’t interested in working with them. One of them’s super persistent though. Like annoyingly persistent. I said I wasn’t interested and they didn’t let go. They’re a big one too, so not even me moving across the country stopped them from knocking at my door.” 

“They’re still bothering you?” you raise an eyebrow. Shit, he was not supposed to tell you that. “If they’re that interested in you, you probably could get a good deal.”

“I’m working on it,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can think about them. Shit. He really wasn’t supposed to say that. Why did he tell you that? You barely know each other. 

But then again, he’s always been a pretty good judge of character and for some reason he trusts you. Now that the cat’s out of the bag there’s no point in trying to hide it, plus he’s been dying to talk to someone about it.

Ace leans in, scanning your surroundings before whispering, “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so you gotta swear yourself to secrecy.” Wearing an endearing, goofy grin he extends his finger. A pinky promise.

Donning a faux seriousness you nod in agreement.  You’re barely able to contain your amusement as you swear yourself to secrecy. Something in Ace’s stomach flutters at you playing along with the bit, but he simply chalks it up to sharing information he’s not supposed to.

After the promise is made Ace tells you that “for some reason” this big label is dead set on signing him. You know the reason they would do that, you think it’s blatantly obvious too. You aren’t sure if he’s being coy saying that or if he doesn’t see how talented he actually is (it’s both). Because of their interest he has been given the upper hand in negotiations, which for an unsigned, relatively unknown artist, is practically unheard of.

He knows he probably shouldn’t go into the details but you look so cute intently listening to him like this. Plus you did pinky promise. “It is still in talks, so nothing is set in stone yet, but I’m not supposed to be discussing it,” he clarifies, you nod in understanding and he continues, “To be honest, I’m not even sure I’ll take the deal, even if they give me everything I want. I really like to be independent and not having to answer to anyone.

“However,” Ace’s tone turns mischievous and his eyes light up, “it is fun to see how far they’ll go.”

“So you’re trolling them,” you question, clearly amused by his antics. “Basically,” he confirms with sparkling eyes and a shit-eating grin. “But who knows? I might take them up on the offer” he feigns sincerity, pausing for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, knowing more is coming. “...Eventually, probably not though.” There it is, the roguish smile slips back onto his face. You shake your head but fail to hold back your laugh.

“‘s kinda annoying that they don’t leave me alone. And I’m doing fine without ‘em. I’m nearly halfway through my first album, just gotta get back in the studio – it’s been a while,” Ace chuckles.

“I don’t think I’ve been in a studio in years,” you confess. 

“You make music?” he questions, a little surprised you didn’t bring that up earlier, although you haven’t known each other too long he supposes.

“You make music?” Ace asks. He’s a little surprised you’ve never brought it up.

“I mean kinda?” you say more as a question. “I really enjoy production, I actually went to school for it.” 

“For real?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm, “that’s where I met Luffy and Usopp actually. We took a class together and Usopp’s the one who got me my job.”

“You should come into the studio with me sometime. Maybe you can show me the ropes or something,” Ace says so casually with a charming smile that it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, I’m definitely out of practice,” you confide.

“So?” he questioned, “I’m sure it’ll be easy to pick back up.”

“We’ll see,” you smile, leaving it open ended.

Your conversation wanders and by the time it dies down your drinks are long gone and so is your reason to stay, but neither of you truly want to leave each other’s company. A rare semi-awkward silence envelopes the table as the two of you independently rack your brain for some way to prolong your time together, neither of you aware that the other is doing the same.

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -”

You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability. 

Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

~~~~~~

It isn’t until you are both standing in front of his door that the nerves really hit Ace. He doesn’t usually bring girls home, especially not just to hang out. Now that he’s thinking about it he has never brought a girl here since he moved in a few months ago. You’re kind of uncharted waters to him, he admits to himself. But there’s no going back now, besides, he wanted this– he wants this.

You can see the tension build in his shoulders as thoughts race through his mind. Ace opens the door, moving to the side to let you in first. You’re curious what’s got him stressed but you decide not to question it, instead you direct your attention to the interior.

The apartment is pretty standard for a single man in his twenties. It has all the necessities, a couch, a lamp, a TV (with its own dedicated stand, so that’s impressive), and a small coffee table. If anything it was above average out of the many similar places you’ve been to. The only things out of place were the guitar precariously perched against the couch and a litany of notebooks. Evidence of his songwriting. He moves the notebooks and guitars out of the way with great care.

“Um, what game do you want to play?” Ace questions, consciously trying not to be awkward. 

You rack your brain for a game, it doesn't take you long to settle on one. It's a popular one that you're quite good at - there's the added bonus that it's competitive and you and Ace have a score to settle (not that this compares to drinking but it is a competition so it still counts in your mind). 

“You’re in luck,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Little do you know that you picked the one he wants to play; it’s one of his favorites too. As he is pulling up the game he tosses you a controller. “I should warn you that I am pretty good at this one,” he teases, “But don’t worry, I’ll let you warm up. Give you a fighting chance and all.”

You scrunch your nose in mock offence. “I’m not worried,” you assert, holding your head high, “I don’t even need a warm up, I’m ready to kick your ass right now.”

“I like the confidence,” Ace responds, “but I haven’t played for a while so please.” He isn’t exactly lying, he hasn’t played the game in a while, but he isn’t exactly telling the truth either – he does genuinely want you to have a fighting chance and he knows that this way your pride won’t get in the way. Your eyes soften and you relent to his request.

After choosing characters and picking one of the easier maps you start playing. Despite being the one who claimed he needed a refresher, Ace is very talkative. The things he’s bringing up aren’t even related to the game, still you entertain him and answer his questions, finding it amusing that he’s unable to keep his mouth shut.

Somehow, you don’t notice how Ace keeps stealing looks at you – he can’t help it though. You’re sitting cross legged next to him, your knee just barely brushing against him, drawing his attention with every slight move you make. It doesn’t help that you look so pretty focused like this, your tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. Once again, you’re confusing him. 

He tries talking to take his mind off of it but not only did that not work, it also made him awful at the game. In the first practice round you absolutely annihilate him. There is no other way around it. You tease him for it too, asking if he needs more time to warm up. Ace has no shame in taking you up on that offer, this time stepping up his game. He’s doing pretty well, your skill levels start to seem pretty evenly matched. Feeling more confident he risks a glance at you, and yet again his performance falters. This time he snaps out of it quicker, making a comeback and even winning the round.

“You ready to play for real, Dollface?” Ace challenges.

“You ready for your ego to get bruised,” you retort with a playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t see that happening, Doll,” he teases back. “You never know,” you say. Ace laughs, shaking his head.

“Best two out of three?” he questions. “Sure,” you agree, “but it won’t matter either way, I’m gonna crush you.” You know you’re not that good at the game but it’s fun to talk shit idk.

 It doesn’t take long for the competition to heat up, both of your competitive natures coming to light. Playful smack talk becomes the backdrop of the rounds with both of you occasionally bumping the other to psych them out. Round three things start to get really tense, you’re tied and so the winner takes all.

Ace manages to take the lead by a rather significant margin, “Looks like I’m winning this one,” Ace beams, his victory seeming imminent. 

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” you push back. The comment takes him by surprise, throwing him off of his game. His brain pauses, did you just admit that you also find him attractive? 

“Oh so I’m hot stuff now?” he teases. He watches you freeze as embarrassment takes over. “I kinda liked Cowboy,” he continues, with a fake pout.

“It’s not like it’s a lie though,” you say, making momentary eye contact, “might even be more fitting.” Okay now you doubled down on it. Ace is definitely reading into it now. Even after he recovers from the initial shock he doesn’t refocus on the game, his attention now centered on you. You (unknowingly) take advantage of his distraction and manage to pull ahead and win the round. 

Going to rub your victory in his face you notice that he is out of it.  You realize that he was playing half heartedly and demand a rematch. You want to win fair and square. Ace complies and he wins the next one. You try to walk back the rematch claiming the victory was valid, but (predictably) he fights back. Best two out of three turns into best three out of five to best five out of seven. Eventually, you stop keeping score at all.

Laughter echoes throughout the room, both of your antics and tactics for winning getting more and more ridiculous. You can’t recall the last time you laughed this hard. You really like being around Ace, and that might become a real problem, but for now you push that to the back of your mind. It’s an issue for later, for now you want to concentrate on the present and enjoy his company.

Although you’d started at a respectable distance, that gap’s been closing slowly without your awareness. Following another win you turn to gloat and you realize exactly how close you are. Ace’s freckles are much more visible from here. Automatically, your brain starts painting constellations on his cheeks finding patterns in the dots speckling his face.

Your eyes fall down to his lips and stop their journey. It is clear that something has shifted. There is an unknown gravity that is pulling you in. You’re so close now, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. If you lean in just a little bit more –

The sound of the front door slamming open brings you back to reality. Eyes grow wide in joint surprise. Luffy’s greeting rings out through the room. Before he can suspect anything you move away from Ace, trying to bury your disappointment.

Ace, whose back is towards the door, shakes his head, muttering a curse at his brother before turning around. “Luffy, what did I tell you about slamming the door,” Ace shouts, chastising his brother. “Sorry,” Luffy laughs, kicking his shoes off.

You take the moment of refuge to process what just happened, well what almost just happened. It’s good that this happened actually, you reason with yourself. It would only complicate things in the long run. Imagine if things go south and you were forced to see him at work, no thank you. 

Ace gives up on scolding Luffy for his repeated unannounced visits as the younger boy walks away into the kitchen. Hold on, why is Luffy here? “Sorry about him, he has keys to the place, which I regret giving him, and likes to show up and raid the fridge,” Ace makes a point to say the last parts louder, clearly intending for his brother to hear. Luffy’s boisterous laugh echoes from the kitchen.

Luffy must’ve caught onto the fact that Ace had company over because he exits the kitchen with curious eyes. Actively eating out of an open tupperware of leftovers, he scans the room catching sight of you on the couch. In classic Luffy fashion, he greets you excitedly – mouth full of food. Then he looks puzzled. “Why are you here?” he asks point blank. His abrasive questions are nothing new to you so you don’t take it personally.

“She’s –” Ace starts off, not getting far before Luffy cuts him off. “Oooo, video games! I wanna play!” Luffy exclaims. He quickly annihilates whatever it is he’s eating before returning the dishes to the kitchen.

Ace knows that Luffy isn’t the best at recognizing social cues and it isn’t even his fault. However, that doesn’t stop Ace from being annoyed. He is ready to throw him out by the scruff of his neck when Luffy reemerges. Luffy, still full of excitement, stands nearby seemingly waiting for permission to join.

Realizing Luffy would be a good buffer and help prevent whatever the hell nearly happened, you readily accept his involvement, but ultimately leave the decision up to Ace. Ace wants to say no, he really wants to say no, but you expressing your willingness for him to join and Luffy’s fucking puppydog eyes (Ace always has been a sucker for them, especially knowing that they are earnest everytime) has him caving really quick.

“Yay!” Luffy exclaims, running over to grab a controller. Luffy, for his part, is pumped to be hanging out with both of you guys. You’re two of his favorite people in the whole wide world, why wouldn’t he want to hang out with you together. He plops down between the two of you eager to play. You can’t help but chuckle at his extreme joy.

At first Luffy doesn’t play the game seriously, choosing to goof off. At one point he gets up in the middle of a match to go get (steal) more food, walking right past Ace who yells at him prompting Luffy to laugh. During his absence you and Ace focused on fighting each other, ignoring Luffy’s character – turns out that was a mistake. Luffy comes back, mouthful of food and manages to beat you both. And not by a little bit he destroys you both, claiming victory for the first time that night. In hindsight it was slightly suspicious that he was losing so badly when you remember him being somewhat decent at the game (as in he doesn’t die in 30 seconds, not that he wins).

After that the gloves are off, it turns out that Luffy is now good at the game, like really good. He goes on a winning streak. You’re rotating who is picking the map for the rounds and no matter what is chosen it’s like Luffy has the home game advantage. You and Ace grow increasingly more exacerbated, accusing him of cheating despite none of you knowing how one could even cheat at this game. He keeps laughing at the incredulous looks on your faces. 

Luffy bags nearly half a dozen rounds before you start to do something about it. When it is Luffy’s turn to pick the map, Ace catches your eyes. Somehow you two have become masters at silent communications. Immediately you know that he wants to form an alliance to take his brother down. With your joint effort you manage to take him out. Both of you cheer in victory, seemingly forgetting that the match wasn’t over until Luffy brings it up. And the game is back on.

Luffy doesn't win a single round after your joint effort to take him out, but he laughs at how competitive you and Ace are. You end up going back down to a two player game while Luffy watches, periodically leaving for more food (you’ve stopped questioning how he does it at this point). Luffy eventually announces his departure – citing his hunger as the reason, which Ace knows means that he cleaned them out again.

And just like that, you and Ace are back to being alone.

Some of the tension from earlier bubbles its way back up to the surface, and it’s clear that the both of you feel it too. Even after forcing the energy to go away it still lingers; it’s background radiation now. Despite your feelings, both of you are pretending that you’re “just friends.”

Ace is the first to break the silence, offering you something to drink (scolding himself for forgetting to do so earlier). Luffy might eat all their food but he knows better than to drink all their alcohol/but at least he leaves the booze alone. You gratefully accept his offer.

However, you were not prepared for what watching him use a bottle opener would do for you/would awaken in you. Why the fuck is that sexy when he does it? You feel insane. It is not normal to have that reaction and it is definitely not normal to feel that way about a friend. The problem is worse than you thought, you have to nip it in the bud. Have you seen his arms? Dear lord. Even your thoughts betray you. Annoyingly, you can’t stop imagining the feeling of his lips.

The worst part is he’s none the wiser for it, but you intend to keep it that way. You beat the horny demon back with a stick (insert bonk meme). With some effort you are finally able to force the thoughts away at least for the time being. Once you return to normal, you realize he’s talking to you.

“-- I don’t know how he did it. He used to suck at that game and whine every time he lost, I can’t believe he wiped the floor with us.” You’re quick to catch onto the fact that he’s talking about Luffy’s insane winning streak

“I wasn’t expecting it either. Last time we played this at game night he was pretty bad at it. It’s crazy how fast he turned that around,” you say, slipping into the conversation as if you were attentive the whole time.

~~~~~~

“You’ve never seen it?” Ace questions, eyes wide. After getting some food delivered, the two of you had gotten onto the topic of your favorite movies and you have never seen his favorite. You confirm again that you don’t know the movie. He shakes his head, “That ain’t right, we gotta fix this.” A chuckle leaves your lips, but you don’t protest. Ace is already pulling the film up when he pauses and checks the time, “Ah shit, it’s getting late. D’ya think you have time for a movie?” he questions with a hopeful gaze.

Checking your phone, you determine you have at least a couple more hours before you’d get uncomfortable walking home. “I got the time,” you say and watch as a faint smile blossoms on his lips – the very lips you were staring at earlier, dying to kiss. 

Calm down, you scold yourself.

“Okay, wait right there,” he says before dashing away sporting a childish grin. God, he is not helping your cause. He runs into the kitchen and moments later you hear the hum of a microwave. First you were horny and now you’re acting like you’re in high school. You need to pull yourself together. His footsteps pad off to somewhere else but you are no longer paying attention to him, at least you’re trying really hard not to. 

The description of the movie starts to look real interesting, you read and reread it until you can think straight. By the time that happens, Ace is already on his way back with a big bowl of popcorn and a comforter, shutting off lights as he goes.

After setting down the popcorn on the table, Ace plops onto the couch. “Come closer, I don’t bite,” he teases, lifting up the edge of the thick blanket. “Unless you want me to,” he winks, it could just be the lighting but his eyes seem darker than before. Your breath catches momentarily at the insinuation before a chuckle runs through you and you scoot over to join him underneath the blanket. 

Now satisfied that you’re all settled he presses play and promises you a cinematic masterpiece. It's hard for you to focus on it at first (or anything really), especially when you realize how close you are to him. In reality, you’re not much closer than you were playing video games, but under a blanket it somehow felt different.

It doesn’t take long before the story draws you in, pulling you away from your confusing thought processes. Ace, however, did not account for how distracting you would be. Oftentimes he found himself watching your reactions to what was happening more than the movie itself. He wants to think that it’s because he knows it so well he doesn’t need to look to know what’s happening, but that’s not true. 

Not too long after the film started you catch Ace looking at you. “What?” you question with a laugh. He silently dismisses your question with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. Shrugging it off you do the same. 

Forcing himself to look at the TV instead of you turns out to be a good idea. This way you can no longer distract him. Ace falls back into the familiar storyline, getting absorbed by it. 

A little bit past the halfway mark of the film you start to grow sleepy. At some point you got even closer together, now you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids are getting heavy. His smell is oddly comforting, between his blanket and the source the scent envelopes you. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open so much that you don’t even notice when you give in to the exhaustion.

A weight falls on Ace’s shoulder out of nowhere. It doesn’t take him long to realize what it is or rather who it is. He’s ready to tease you about it too but his heart melts hearing your soft rhythmic breaths and seeing the peaceful look on your face. He isn’t sure what to do, but he is pretty sure that it follows the cat rule; he is now stuck there until you wake up.

Ace tries to go back to the movie, but he is hyper aware of your head on his shoulder. With nowhere to go and no way to escape you he is forced to face how he feels about you.

In all honesty, you confuse him (to put it bluntly). 

You’re friends, he knows that. Yet he wants more - at least he thinks he does. This doesn’t feel like it’s strictly platonic, there’s too much chemistry for that. Shit, he nearly kissed you not even three full hours ago. Troubling enough, he still wants to, and he has for a while now.

 Ace tries to figure out what you are to him - what he wants you to be to him – but he can’t quite make sense of it. He’s never really wanted someone like this before and that scares him. Your dynamic is something right outside of his familiarity, he understands most of it but there’s some parts that are confusing.

He knows that he thinks you’re hot, and if earlier meant anything he’s pretty sure you find him attractive too. That part he understands. He also gets the whole friendship thing. What he doesn’t understand is why you using him as a pillow makes him so happy. Why did his heart race when you sent him back songs asking him to coffee? And most of all what the hell possessed him to tell you about his family?

Back at the cafe you had gotten to talking about your childhoods, which prompted you to ask him about his family. The question was innocent enough, it was clear that you just wanted to get to know him, but it came with baggage you couldn't have possibly known about. He normally doesn’t like talking about it but he felt comfortable with you for some reason. Some information about it he felt comfortable enough to share with you freely. He told you about his mother, the neighbor who had offered him refuge when he needed it. Hell, he even touched on Dadan and his life before his brothers. Then you asked about his dad. Once again you had no idea of how the topic of the man leaves a bitter taste in Ace’s mouth. As soon as you noticed how uncomfortable he was, you completely switched the subject. You did it naturally too, like you were trying to cover up the fact that you were giving him an out. You were so quick to bail him out of a conversation he wasn’t comfortable with. It made him like you more, trust you more too, enough that he was willing to circle back to the topic.  He has been pushing the boundaries of what he’s comfortable with sharing already, so what’s a little bit more he reasoned to himself. Also, with how well the two of you get along, you were probably going to find out about it eventually. “I don’t talk to my father,” Ace stated emotionlessly, jumping head first into it during a lull in your conversation. You were clearly surprised by him bringing it back up, but you let him talk. “I’ve actually never met the man and never want to. I could if I did, I know where he is and how to reach him, but I have no desire to have anything to do with him,” a hint of bitterness seeps into his tone, contradicting the indifference he exhibited earlier. “Why?” your voice was small, the question seemed to have slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, when you registered you had said it you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Ummm,” Ace hesitated, “he’s in prison, like famously so,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer keeping eye contact. You could tell that he was debating whether he wanted to continue or not and you reminded him that he doesn’t have to tell you anything. That only strengthened his resolve. “I took my mom’s last name to not be associated with him. It’s funny that I’ve never had any contact with him and he still managed to fuck up my life,” he said with a half hearted laugh. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had the courage to tell you his name, but he ripped that bandaid off regardless, “His name’s Gol D. Roger.”  Your eyes widened in surprise. Of course you knew the name, he braced himself for impact, or questions at least, but it never came. Instead, he got a look of confusion from you, “You didn’t do any of it so I don’t really care who he is.” Your reaction reminded him a lot of Luffy’s when they were kids, maybe that’s why he felt safe telling you. “Sorry about not having a dad though,” you said, catching him off guard. He snorted, but in the way that coffee ended up going down the wrong pipe and in his nose. “Oh my god, are you okay,” you laughed. Ace responded with a weak thumbs up and you pat him on the back until he got his breathing back under control. 

Ace tries to think back on the day as a whole, but he keeps coming back to that moment. He couldn’t figure out what that moment alone means, let alone all of the other things too.

He has virtually no experience with romantic relationships, in fact they are so foreign to him that the thought of one doesn’t even cross his mind. He’s racking his brain to try and come up with an answer. The closest thing he can come up with is a friends with benefits situation. He’s done it before and it has worked (granted it has also failed miserably), but is it even worth the risk?

While he knows he’d be down for it, Ace has no clue if that is something you’d even consider. For all he knows you could be in a relationship. Fuck, what if you’re already seeing someone. He’s never asked, he’s never even thought to. This idea could be dead in the water already. Plus you’re probably not interested in him anyways.

Even if there is something between you two, Ace knows better than to make a move on you (despite how much he kinda wants to). You’re too entwined in his life at the moment for that to be a good idea. For starters you work at the place he now will have regular gigs at. And not simply work there but you are on the production team meaning you’d have regular contact. Not only that, but you’re one of Luffy’s good friends. He heard all about you before he even knew he was gonna meet you (Luffy called Ace a LOT while he was away, keeping him updated on his life in almost excruciating detail). If things were to get messy his brother would be stuck in the middle of it all, and Ace doesn’t want to do that to him. On the other hand, because you are so entwined in his life, will he even be able to hold himself back?

You just got into his life and he already likes having you around so he wouldn’t want to spoil that either. Friends is probably all it could be – friends who find each other hot, sure, but friends nonetheless. But why doesn’t that sit right with him?

~~~~~~

Not long after you leave, while he’s picking up (mostly after Luffy), Ace hears keys in the door. Sabo’s home. Honestly he didn’t even realize he was gone. 

“Where were you?” Ace asks his brother as he enters their shared apartment. In all honesty his brother’s unusual absence slipped his mind.

“How was your day?” Sabo questions, ignoring him entirely. Ace does not like the way he said that, like he knows something. Nevermind that he rarely asks that in the first place.

“You first,” Ace stands his ground. 

Sabo sighs but gives in, “I got dinner with Luffy then we went to his place.” Knowing he was with Luffy, Ace suddenly understands his tone earlier. There is no way that Luffy didn’t tell him about your presence, the kid isn’t exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. He now knows exactly where this conversation is headed and that there is no escaping it. Ace sighs in defeat, bracing himself for the interrogation. 

“You like her, don’t you?” Sabo smiles, no longer under the pretense of asking about his day. Ace, annoyingly, has to hold back a blush, he just hopes the tips of his ears aren’t betraying him by turning red. 

“I mean, kinda. She’s a friend, y’know,” Ace tries, really just wanting to get out of this. Sabo levels Ace a look, clearly not buying it. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he caves.

“You know you can’t lie to me, why are you trying,” Sabo says. 

“I’m not, she’s just a friend,” Ace insists, he knows full well that he is, he just wishes that it was the truth and that these weird feelings he’s having would go away. At least that would make things a hell of a lot easier. Going for you is a bad idea and he knows it. He just wishes he wasn’t looking for/craving trouble.

Sensing that Sabo didn’t believe him, he gives in, “Fine, I think I like her, I don’t know. It’s weird plus it’s a bad idea. Also no way she goes for me, but still.” Unspeaking, Sabo prompts Ace to continue. Annoyingly, he realizes that talking this through is probably going to help. Ace makes his way to the small dining table they have in the living room with a heavy sigh. When he looks back at his brother, he looks more vulnerable. 

“I fucking told her about my dad, Sabo” Ace confesses, hands running through his hair. Sabo’s eyes widen in surprise, it looks like it’s even more than he (and Koala, his long term girlfriend, who knows all about this) thought. The blond takes the seat next to him waiting for him to continue. Ace is fiddling with his hands. 

“I’m not even sure why I told her,” Ace starts, fiddling with his hands. “She didn’t even care, no comments, no questions, no nothing,” Ace looks Sabo in the eyes, conveying things that he doesn’t even understand yet. Sabo is well aware of how Ace has been treated due to his biological father, he has witnessed it first hand, right away he knows how big of a deal this is to him.

Ace’s tone and body language shift away from the earlier vulnerability, “But nothing’s gonna happen. It’s all platonic. She’s just really easy to talk to.” He isn’t sure who he is trying to convince, Sabo or himself.

Understanding that he wants to drop the dad topic (even if they’re brothers it isn’t something he loves to talk about) Sabo grows mischievous. “And hot too, right?” he teases.

Ace’s head snaps to him, freaked out that he can tell that. How does he know that? The question is implied. Sabo laughs, accomplishing his goal with Ace’s deer in the headlights look, he’d love to leave it there but he chooses to explain further, “After the party, when you got home, you would not shut up about her. Your ass was hovering over the toilet talking about the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I should’ve recorded it, it was embarrassing.”

“Bastard,” Ace scoffs, but his face is inflamed.

“It got pretty graphic too,” Sabo goes on, completely ignoring Ace’s comment in favor of imitating some of the things that he said until Ace’s face was bright red. 

“Shut up!” Ace protests, he is so glad you’re not here to see this, but Sabo continues mocking him.

“I almost left you alone to choke and die,” Sabo laughs, right now Ace is kinda wishing he did.

A notification from Ace’s phone pulls him from the conversation (thankfully). It’s a text from you. Sabo also knows it’s a text from you, he can tell by the way Ace is looking at his phone. This is just proving his point, the one he danced around because, knowing his brother, leading him to a conclusion works so much better than telling him point blank.

There’s not anything more he can do so Sabo leaves for his room. Oh wait, he learned something. “Hey Ace,” Sabo calls out from behind the cover of his door (just in case), successfully getting his attention. “She’s single by the way,” he continues wiggling his brows. 

“Shut up,” the protest from Ace is weak, his attention clearly back on whatever you were saying. 

this one got messed up, pretend those heart hands are at the bottom

BONUS:

they both wingmaning ace independently tbh

we were so close to escaping the y/n curse but then the texts came and i couldn’t figure a way out of it

a/n: so about the bottle opener thing…. i can explain… arms 🤤 ngl i forgot i put that in there until i was "proofreading"

in my headcanon the video game was super smash bros (v silly of me to have a hc about something i wrote)

btw someone needs to stop me there is a slim (large) chance that im gonna make reader have a drunk tattoo (nothing bad probably like doodlebob or a random shape) jus for a joke that isn't really funny

i literally i too much to say i'm making a whole debrief for this 😭

thank you for reading ily 💕

pls like & comment! let me know your thoughts | © stuckinmymind22 | dividers by @enchanthings

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war, drabble 5: the one where he begins to understand you

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica—your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: none!

Author’s Note: hi! i have nothing to say for myself except, i'm trying my best lol. i'm so sorry for the delay, this ended up being so much longer than i expected. i hope you all like this one! i had a lot of fun writing it. next stop (hopefully): wanted dead or alive, chapter 1! assuming i don’t change my mind and premiere the other new fic i’m working on and surprise ya’ll. who knows, right?? suspense is fun lol. anyway, thank you for reading!!

Happy Reading!

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

Regent’s Park, London, 1895

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel arrived at Regent’s Park far earlier than he should have, but he would have otherwise been a fool to risk arriving after Adam Kingston did.

He had to be in control. It was imperative to maintain Lady Y/n’s attention, and he was decently assured that they would both be in attendance today. No one with an exclusive invite would miss an Edward Sutton exhibition—the grossly affluent man picked a new engineering project to sponsor every year. He accepted applications from engineers and funded the fruits of their imagination and labor into reality, oftentimes developing these innovations into businesses. Each year, he’d host these outdoor exhibitions, turning them into social functions to make the most of his publicity.

This time, Ciel supposed Sutton chose some engineer who made an advancement with hot air balloons. Something about changing the burners that fueled them. Ciel didn’t particularly care for engineering—Sebastian suggested he allow Y/n explain it to him, anyway, it made her feel confident—but there was something to be said about annual sponsorship programs. TransAtlantica was nothing without its charitable pursuits, and Lord Richmond and Edward Sutton were old friends. 

Nevertheless, it was another tiring, unfortunate outdoor social gathering that Ciel had to grit his way through. Even worse, this event came just on the heels of that cursed Grand National race a little less than a week ago. He hadn’t seen Lady Y/n since—he’d failed to secure another invitation from her at the end of the race because he’d been so livid. Her face had been overshadowed with something between pity and regret, smoothed over by a smile that would have fooled anyone unacquainted with her. Ciel had to make a quick escape to avoid making an ass of himself.

Kingston’s appearance wasn’t her doing, it seemed to have been at her mother’s hand, Ciel reminded himself. He took a long drink out of his sherry cobbler cocktail, the sour wine undercut by hints of orange. Ciel needed the beverage’s cold reprise before she showed. It was going to be soon, and he needed his mood to improve before that happened. 

Ciel settled next to a high table, one of many near Sutton’s outside bar and banquet table crowded with hors d'oeuvres. It was an open cocktail bar; therefore, bound to get busier as more guests joined, so he thought to request one for Lady Y/n, too. She might appreciate the thought—Sebastian did say she liked fruity wine selections. 

The sun was beating down on the Earl hard, and he was positive his dark hair absorbed the light and made him warmer. At least there was a notable breeze, a strong one that pushed through his heated hair and dried up the beginnings of perspiration on his face. Ciel’s nose wrinkled at the scent of freshly cut grass and the lingering scent of gasoline. Down the field, Sutton’s engineering team fussed with the giant hot air balloon. The massive balloon bobbed, but each person held a rope to tether it into the ground. 

“Everyone is arrivin’ early! Hurry up and secure it already!” One of the workers snapped, hurriedly looking up as more guests entered the field. It was just about time for the prompt noble families to start showing up: in tandem with the exact time printed on their invitation. 

Ciel could handle this. He’d planned and prepared for this event. Adam Kingston was no one but a husk of an entirely prosaic man. It didn’t matter that he was more acquainted with the Y/l/n family than Ciel was. Once Y/n spent longer than a moment or so with Kingston now, she would realize he was no conversationalist. She and Ciel were intellectuals. He was a soldier. A cocky, over confident son of a—

“Lord Phantomhive, good afternoon.” Lady Y/n sounded nervous behind him.

The moment he heard her voice, Ciel urged his scowl to fall from his face. Sebastian had condescendingly coached him about the abrasive expression he wore time and time again. Apparently, Ciel’s frustrated glare and impatient purse of his lips made him appear dour and sanctimonious. So he took a long drink out of his chilled cocktail before he turned around, urging the tension out of his shoulders.

A man Y/n would want to love was patient and understanding. Not dour and sanctimonious. The future chairman of the foremost shipping country in the United Kingdom, and perhaps most of Europe, thought before he acted.

Y/N Y/L/N

Lord Phantomhive was slow to face you, likely occupied with the sight of Edward Sutton’s group of sponsored engineers struggling to re-tether their giant gas balloon to the ground. It was quite a sight, though you hoped the engineers didn’t rush the important process of reliably securing it down.

“My Lady,” Lord Phantomhive answered easily, meeting your gaze confidently in spite of the discourteousness that perspired the week before. He was nursing a cocktail, just as most of the young men at the gathering were. It was hot enough outside to justify it, you supposed. An untouched cocktail stood on the high table next to the Earl. “How do you do?”

“Quite well, thank you,” your answer came out more hurried than you wished. Unladylike. You pursed and released your lips, they slid easily from the light lip rouge on them. Your gloved hand tucked a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, it fell free from the braided bun Daphne twisted your hair into. “I apologize for last week…I—” your breath stalled, unsure how to verbalize that your mother hijacked the outing without your consent. As a young girl, your etiquette master never covered a situation like this.  

Speak with intent. “I was not as informed as I would have liked to have been. And I apologize because…” I should have been.

It was your fourth time meeting the Earl in any official capacity, and yet your mouth still felt dry with unspoken words, embarrassment. He drew such wariness and uncertainty from you—not at all like most eligible men your age. You’d never felt so unsure of yourself in front of someone, but you simply couldn’t know what to make of him. 

“My Lady…” Lord Phantomhive acknowledged your apology, but he didn’t entertain it. He seemed to accept it with a diminutive shake of his head, dismissing your guilt. He offered you the untouched cocktail to his right, and you took it with thanks. Your fingers brushed against Lord Phantomhive’s bare hand in the exchange. The drink was a peace offering and an invitation to talk longer, you hoped, so you stepped forward to stand at his side and watch the engineers secure the balloon. 

He must have thought to request a drink for you. And a tasteful sherry wine selection, at that. You could tell by the smell of its fruity fragrance—you adored sherry wine. 

“Here to see Sutton’s new toy?” Lord Phantomhive asked, a ghost of a smile lifted the side of his mouth. “I certainly am.”

“Of course. My father reviews Mr. Sutton’s applicants with him every cycle,” you answered with a thankful smile, appreciating the way the cold glass felt through your lace gloves. You turned to gesture at your parents engaged in a vibrant conversation with Edward and his wife, Maria. 

“Right,” Lord Phantomhive nodded. “This hot air balloon has an adapted burner or–” he stopped himself, immediately catching the way your eyebrows drew together. Your mouth opened and closed because you wanted to interject, but immediately thought better of it. “You may correct me, please,” he told you with false exhaustion. He took a purposeful drink out of his cocktail, gesturing at you to explain the project’s significance.

You laughed, ice in your drink clattering against your glass as your shoulders bounced. “Come. I can show you,” you guided Lord Phantomhive down the green field. As you walked together, you explained, “Mr. Sutton’s team devised a gas balloon filled with hydrogen. Hot air powered balloons are unreliable because there is no device that can efficiently regulate the heat, which controls the balloon’s altitude. Hydrogen gas, meanwhile, is easily adjustable and eliminates the need to maintain a steady fire.”

“How would they manage to get the hydrogen inside?” the Earl asked you, indicating that he was actively listening. So few truly listened to you…it was considered unladylike for you to jabber on, but he asked! He asked you. He could have asked one of the engineers—they were each answering questions and engaging with other guests—or even Sutton himself...but he waited. For you. With a drink—a selection you liked.

Most of the guests stood around the balloon, a few too many people close to its swaying tethers. You pointed to the balloon’s open bottom, “they fill it with pipes that funnel the hydrogen through—they make the hydrogen with sulphuric acid and iron filaments.”

“Fascinating. The gas inside is lighter than the material outside, so it rises…” Lord Phantomhive mumbled, looking intently at the craftsmanship. The balloon itself was red, blue, and white, the colors of the British flag. 

“Did you know that they used hot air balloons in the Civil War? In the States?” you asked, taking a drink out of your cocktail. Your throat seized uncomfortably when a familiar blond inserted himself between the gas balloon and you and Lord Phantomhive.

“Indeed they did, Lady Y/n. Indeed they did,” Lord Kingston’s voice made you pause.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel’s first mistake was allowing Lady Y/n to relocate them closer to the heart of the event. If Adam Kingston was going to be anywhere, it would be working the room. Or the lavishly decorated field, in this bloody case. 

“Hello, Y/n. You look breathtaking on this fine and flawless day,” Kingston greeted disingenuously, pointedly ignoring Ciel. He seemed to have just stepped out of a conversation with Leonardo Sutton, Edward’s son, and a few other heirs Ciel didn’t care to identify. “I was hoping to see you here. We never got to speak the other day.”

Ciel had just opened his mouth to tell Y/n that no, he hadn’t known that, and the slimy bastard took the opportunity to insert himself in the middle of their conversation. Shameless. Shameless. Instead, Ciel merely watched Adam Kingston, his snake-like green eyes illuminated in the sunlight, the glare making them appear paler. He dressed plainly in a white shirt, brown trousers. A ruby family ring sparkled on his finger and another gold signet ring on his other hand with the number 32, his regiment number from South Africa, or something like that. Sebastian took Ciel through a decent two hours of reconnaissance about the guy.

A man like Kingston will aim to get a rise out of you my Lord. You must not allow him to make you a fool, Sebastian had reminded Ciel when he stepped out of the carriage that afternoon. 

He will not make me into something I am not, Ciel had insisted.

“Thank you, Lord Kingston,” Y/n answered sheepishly, red blooming in her cheeks. Adam’s compliment seemed to land, and Ciel wasn’t blind to the way his gaze risked downwards, certainly not interested in her simple diamond necklace, but most definitely the way her light sage gown looked on her body. The subtle floral print on it was a delicate shade of baby pink. Her neckline dipped slightly down, leading to a small bow towards the bottom of her sternum. The shape of this particular gown hugged the curve of her waist and fell down her legs in ruffles. The wind made her skirts hike up slightly, exposing hints of her matching pink heels and pushing her hair about. She had it arranged in an elegant bun typical of her, but much like the beachy wind on the pier, the gusts on the field pushed strands out. 

She did look good, objectively. 

Y/N Y/L/N

Your etiquette master certainly never covered this type of social crisis—Lord Kingston watching you as if Lord Phantomhive wasn’t even there, and Lord Phantomhive examining you as if Lord Kingston’s comment suddenly gave him something to consider.

Facing each other, they were an artistic sight, too. Lord Phantomhive’s dark and intense look directly contrasted by Lord Kingston’s traditional princely charisma made for such a marvel. Particularly as their gazes met—stern and unforgiving blue against easygoing, mischievous chartreuse. 

Kingston crossed his arms over his chest casually, lifting his chin and staring down his nose. 

Each man was silent too, expecting the other to introduce himself first. They were unwilling to take the introductory step because it was a vulnerable position, and they were of the same peerage rank, Earls. Had one of them been lower, the burden of introduction would have been yours. But judging by the tense silence…it was yours regardless. 

It would be worse to hold two separate conversations concurrently, you decided. You presumed your etiquette book would agree. So you would introduce them.

“Lord Phantomhive, this is Lord Adam Kingston,” you urged yourself to sound calm. Perfectly well—not as if you were wishing to escape. Not as if your throat was threatening to close. “Lord Kingston, this is Lord Ciel Phantomhive,” you said.

“Good to meet you,” Lord Phantomhive said first, extending his free hand to shake Adam’s. He took a slight step forward, but Lord Kingston did not step back as anyone else would have. “You’re the fellow who took the Grand National home, aren’t you? What impeccable luck for a soldier.”

Luck. From the way Lord Kingston’s seafoam eyes hardened, the word and its implications were far from lost on him. His fingers intertwined with Lord Phantomhive's in a single terse shake before releasing. A tad too hasty.

“Guilty,” Kingston said with a dry laugh, one you could tell he didn’t mean. “And you sell children’s toys and confectionery. How delightful,” Lord Kingston simpered. Your eyes immediately darted to Lord Phantomhive’s face. You held your breath, your grip on your glass tightening. 

You were sweating. You wanted to use your panic signal with Daphne, but there was no good that would do. It wasn’t a dangerous situation. It was only…excruciating. 

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

So Adam did his research about Ciel, too. Good to know.

“Quite. Funtom has been rather fortunate to have outperformed in every quarter this year,” he answered seamlessly. Adam Kingston was not going to attack his company and flirt with the woman Ciel was clearly courting right in front of him. For the second time. Over his mutilated, dismembered, corpse.   

“God forbid the little boys and girls go without their stuffies, right?” Adam teased. It would have appeared good natured to anyone else, but Ciel knew better. Lord Kingston was the worst type of man—-too immature to obey proper courtship ordinances and wait his bloody turn. 

He will try to make you look uncaring and aloof. That is his game, Sebastian had insisted. Make him look childish when his jabs fail to land. Remember who you are there for.

Ciel could handle a catty, flirtatious nobody. He was here for himself and his future prospects. TransAtlantica was not an option; it was an inevitability. 

So Ciel, with his own dry laugh…that was also clearly, far from genuine, let Adam’s comment roll off his back. There was no use in another retort. It’d be too inflammatory and juvenile. 

“My Lady, you were saying that the Americans used gas balloons in their Civil War? You were just about to tell me,” Ciel reminded her. He didn’t even cast a glance at Adam. Although he was truly there for himself, everyone else had to believe he was there for her. This was a clever display of partnership. He would help Y/n diffuse the situation and seemingly set his pride aside in doing so.

But, this decision would favor him in the end. She would appreciate it—he could see it in the way her shoulders dropped. 

Y/N Y/L/N

Immediately, your shoulders relaxed. Your next smile was easier to construct because Lord Phantomhive had given you such a seamless transition. Your chest had felt tight from the moment Adam interrupted you. Lord Phantomhive had understood exactly what you needed—just by reading the situation. 

“I was,” you confirmed, attempting to hide the full extent of your relief. You didn’t want your old friend to assume that you didn’t want to talk to him. And you did not have the luxury of speaking without consequence, Leonardo Sutton and that group was not shy about their presence. You could hear Leonardo making some crass joke to his circle somewhere behind your back. This affair, much like most of your outings, was populated with your peers. And those of your parents. 

You couldn’t appear vapid and indecisive. 

Your father dedicated too much time to cultivating your knowledge for polite society to believe you were catty. What would he say to you right now? You had to fight the urge to look back at the tables situated near the bar in search of him. 

 “…Shall we return to our table? I can bore you with facts about reconnaissance and artillery hot air balloons, if you wish, Lord Phantomhive,” you attempted to quip, turning to him. 

The transition was far from subtle, but Adam hadn’t been either in his objectives. And he had stolen your attention at the last outing. You hadn’t been fair to Lord Phantomhive, and you had to repay that. Adam Kingston could not break the standard for proper courtship processes; if he wished to declare his interest in your hand, he needed to do so properly. If you continued like this, the three of you would make a scene.

“That would be delightful,” he answered, meeting your gaze. Understanding was clear in his face, amusement curving his mouth yet again. You took a step back, indicating that you were finished with the interaction. Adam’s face fell and he took another short step closer.  

“Lord Kingston, it has been lovely speaking to you, but we should be going—”

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“To your table? I would love to try one of—whatever it is you’ve got there, they look divine,” Adam interjected, gesturing to his and Y/n’s identical cocktails. “And of course, to hear about the hot air balloons, and all. I forgot how much you like to…read,” he said, the last word flat and disdainful to his ears, but Y/n didn’t seem to notice.

Kingston wasn’t going down without a fight, but it was only to his detriment. He was maddening, but the worse he acted, the more Lady Y/n would wish him away. The gentlemanly action would have been to let them leave; both she and TransAtlantica desired someone diplomatic and rational. Socially adept.   

Ciel could see Lady Y/n’s dissent in the way her eyebrows furrowed together and her mouth pressed into a politely frustrated line for a moment. If Kingston noticed, he made a persuasive effort in acting as if he hadn’t.

“I always have,” she answered as pleasantly as she could manage, observant eyes swiftly gathering that the rest of the party was invested in this exchange. Ciel could feel eyes on them. Craning necks were ever-present in this life of gilded luxury, always. If he could feel the interest of interlopers, so could Lady Y/n.

“Though…” the noblewoman started to say. Her gaze met Ciel’s, somehow asking, fretting, and apologizing all at once. Her resolve crumbled under the scrutiny around them.

The rest of the aristocracy wanted to know if Lady Y/n would truly tell her old friend to leave her be after such a grand gesture last week. Fine. Let her see how he and Kingston compared intellectually, if she wished. Fine!

“They are sherry cobbler cocktails,” Ciel interrupted seamlessly, his voice polite, verging on unctuous. The same subtly impertinent tone Sebastian took with him. From experience, he knew it was enraging. “I chose them from today’s selection. You ought to join us back at our table, Kingston. You may just learn another thing or two,” Ciel challenged as politely as his select words could manage. He made eye contact with Adam, their sight lines meeting. Ciel refused to break eye contact—even if it was to risk a look at Y/n’s reaction. He and Adam were the same height, just about, but their physical similarities seemed to end there. 

Unable to deny Ciel’s confrontation, Adam reflected his chilling smile. He laughed a little, broad shoulders jumping. “With Lady Y/n? I always expect to learn something new. Ever since we were small.”

Ciel fought his urge to roll his eyes. And his urge to bury his face—now beading with sweat from the infernal sun in the damn sky—in his hands. 

Y/N Y/L/N

The exchange was painful, but a surprisingly genuine show of understanding on Lord Phantomhive’s part. The Earl had caught onto your fears and made conclusions based on your microexpressions, a silent language that you’d thought only Daphne would ever know. Was this what it was like to feel the beginnings of the connection you so craved? 

There was something traitorous about the hope you felt. You’d never thought girlish giddiness would feel so scandalous. 

The three of you stood at the same high table. A server brought Adam a drink and with the full utilization of your charisma and social awareness, you managed to hold one terse conversation between the three of you. Lord Phantomhive even helped you navigate it, somehow simultaneously fending off Lord Kingston’s disguised slights without making a scene.

He encouraged you to speak the most, to be the focus of the interaction because the animosity between them would never improve. Everyone knew why that was: they each wanted a chance at your hand. Two of your social class’ most eligible bachelors had their sights set on you. 

Or your family name and business. 

You managed to rebuild your confidence by talking through the intricacies of ballooning, their history, the science. After all, you’d only fostered that knowledge in light of Mr. Sutton’s project. Although you didn’t see every application your father looked at, he did show you some of the standout pitches. Lofty businessmen approached him and TransAtlantica with new ideas nearly every day—you had to know a good idea when you saw one. 

Once you found your stride, you nodded at Daphne. The maid had been sending you increasingly worried faces, but as you settled into a new topic, you knew you had this under control. You would not flail, you would not retreat. 

If you couldn’t do this much, how could you ever hope to have an executive spot in your family business?

Before you knew it, the sun started to set and dinner was served with a champagne toast led by Edward Sutton and your father. 

You knocked your flute of champagne with both Lord Phantomhive and Lord Kingston individually, the three of you taking a drink in tandem. Each nobleman made a point of not knocking his glass with the other. 

“Interesting selection,” Lord Phantomhive commented, taking another curious drink of the champagne. “Vintage?” He asked you, lifting an eyebrow. You couldn’t discern if he was truly curious or bidding to make conversation. 

“It seems so,” you answered with uncertainty, unsure without seeing the specific bottle. The champagne was strong on your tongue. The taste was complex: somewhere between honey, spice, and brioche.

“It’s rich enough to be. Not very acidic and rich on the palette,” Adam said. “I know Mr. Sutton likes 1800 Grande Cognac. He would certainly break it out for a celebration like this. Oh, Leo! Perfect. What selection is this?” He gave a bright smile to Leonardo Sutton as he approached your table, flute of champagne in hand.

The event only had about an hour or two left before it reached its natural conclusion. In theory, there might have been a way for you to complete it without another major social upset.

But unfortunately, that estimation would have required you to overestimate Leonardo Sutton. At least, he had the good sense to leave the rest of his and Adam’s friends back at their table. 

Most of them disliked you, and the feeling was mutual. They’d each struck out on courtship-intended outings with you—particularly Leonardo.

“1800 Grande Cognac, why? We’re liking this selection?” Leonardo grinned at the three of you bumping his flute with Adam and drinking, the latter laughing because his guess was correct. “How are you, Lady Y/n? Lord Phantomhive?” He extended his flute to you and Lord Phantomhive.

“Just lovely, Leonardo,” you replied dismissively. 

“You know I prefer Leo,” the young man smarted, as if you weren’t a noblewoman who outranked him. The Sutton family was not ennobled; they were the start of an fabulously wealthy lineage. If you married a man like Leonardo, you’d never see TransAtlantica’s boardroom ever again, much less a contract or a revenue summary…or…the thought was too horrible to bear. But that was why you would find a suitable man who loved you enough to throw social norms to the wind and honor your and your father’s wishes. The ones he fought such a long, legal battle to secure as a potential reality for you. Most women were never to engage in business or bookkeeping, but if you married a man who was the Chairman in name, you were meticulously trained to handle any of the responsibilities associated with it. 

All you had to do was find a man competent and modest enough to let you. If a man courted you for the business, he would surely ignore you.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

The light in Y/n’s eyes died when Leonardo Sutton invited himself into the conversation. Ciel’s own mood dipped lower than he thought possible, too. Leonardo was not a malicious man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bothersome. Like a troublesome fly buzzing around his head. The man’s voice was irritating enough to equate to that frustrating noise.

Clearing his throat, Leonardo spoke again, disliking the silence that permeated when Lady Y/n refused to engage with his tired nickname quip. He primarily drank and rode comfortably on his father’s coattails; Ciel couldn’t help his amusement at Y/n’s (evident, to him) disdain. 

“They’re letting people go in it, two at a time. Not to ride—it’s too windy today—just to take a closer look inside,” he said, well aware of the implications of his words. He was attempting to imply that Lady Y/n would have to choose between Ciel and Adam, and trying to make another scene. 

Did Adam put his friend up to this stunt? Ciel wouldn’t put it past Adam—not after his cattiness thus far. 

“That sounds fantastic,” Kingston replied, a terrible actor. His snake eyes cut to Y/n purposefully as she lifted her glass to her lips. “They do seem like they’re...learning quite a lot in there,” he suggested, referring to the guests climbing in and out of the balloon’s wicker basket. The balloon levitated a few feet up in the air, bobbing in its fixed position through its tethers and ballast weights keeping it from floating away.

Adam’s statement was a flailing attempt to appeal to Y/n, Ciel felt. The awkward smile Adam gave to Y/n was just charming enough to make the trying statement seem thoughtful.

When he shifted in his seat at the dinner table—Sutton’s staff converted some of the casual high tables for dining tables—Ciel recalled he had a knife tucked into his trousers. All he honestly needed was ten minutes alone with Kingston, a change of clothing, and a shovel to hide the evidence. 

The Earl’s fingers pressed hard around the stem of his glass, instead, longing to wrap around something much larger, and warmer. Like Kingston’s neck, for instance.

“I’ve already studied the diagrams so much I’ve practically memorized them,” Y/n explained with a short laugh, one that was completely faux to Ciel, but he doubted Adam and Leonardo noticed. 

Knowing her, she was burning to take a look at the real mechanism and compare it to the diagrams from the proposal, but there was no graceful way to choose between Ciel and Adam. “I would hate to take up the time in there when someone could truly learn something,” she explained smartly, reasoning her way out of the affront. 

“I feel that studying the diagrams is entirely different than seeing them up close,” Kingston tried again. 

Before Ciel could help himself, he chimed in. “Some can grasp a new concept faster than others, I reckon, Lady Y/n.”

Y/N Y/L/N

Not even you could conceal the laugh that Lord Phantomhive tore out of you.

You felt a guilty sense of relief when the conversation’s focus shifted from your bemusement to Leonardo’s startling exclamation of worry, the curses that followed it. His brown eyes widened in shock, “No! Secure it, secure it!” Leonardo yelled, causing your head to jerk, looking behind your seat as two attendants struggled to pull the floating gas balloon back towards the ground… with a young boy inside, screaming and crying as the balloon ascended in the orange sky. The attendants around scrambled frantically, crying out for help to pull the balloon down by the ropes. 

“We must help!” Lord Kingston insisted. He, Lord Phantomhive, and Leonardo didn’t wait another moment before charging towards the balloon. Most of the men around you did, whereas you jumped to your feet, hands covering your mouth in worry. 

“This is horrible!’ You exclaimed at Daphne, breath labored as you lifted your skirts to run closer, joining onlookers as young men helped the attendants wrestle with the balloon against the wind. In the front of the crowd, a woman—-presumably the boy’s mother—-sobbed in the arms of another woman you didn’t know. 

“They’re going to get him back down, Elizabeth, they’ve got him. See? Look at all the strong young men,” the woman insisted, her voice thin with worry. 

You wracked your mind for an explanation. The tethering certainly seemed more than stable…the gas balloon had a number of weights on it. The wind was stronger than usual, but certainly not enough to make the balloon break free of its restrictions, surely. None of the ropes seemed to have snapped, either….what happened?

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

There was a silent, stiff understanding between himself and Lord Kingston: neither one of them was interested in fumbling this accident and appearing like halfwits in front of polite society. And Y/n Y/l/n. 

“Kingston, take this! Pull!” Ciel shouted over the overlapping yells around them. He took hold of the last rope without anyone to pull it down. He offered Adam the tail of the rope as he pulled from slightly further up the rope, the rough texture making his palms red and raw. The Earl dug the short heels of his boots into the grass, engaging every bit of his strength in urging the balloon down in one of the world’s most intensive games of tug of war.

“All right, all right,” Kingston said, gaze darting between the rope in Ciel’s hand and meeting his stare, as if he couldn’t believe Ciel would let him help. Not even the Earl of Phantomhive’s ego was large enough to refuse help in saving a child. The notion was nearly offensive.

Behind him, Adam started pulling as well, slightly lessening the resistance Ciel encountered.

“Heave, men, heave!” Edward Sutton grunted, pulling a rope with Leonardo and another engineer. There were six ropes with a few men to each one, gradually tugging the balloon back down to avoid tipping it or scaring the boy even more. 

Ciel gritted his teeth, his arms and the rest of his body shaking with effort. Sweat ran down his neck and the side of his spine. Ridiculous, this was, and he had a decent idea as to why it was happening, too. There was no doubt a smug demon butler in the vicinity watching his master put all of his mental and physical capabilities into romancing a young woman, and using any excuse to challenge him further. 

What is your point, Sebastian? Ciel wanted to yell out.

Y/N Y/L/N

As you watched the assortment between engineers, Sutton’s help, and noblemen work in tandem to re-tether the gas balloon’s restraints, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to watching Lord Phantomhive work. His royal blue eye and raven hair were even more striking against his light grey vest and white undershirt. When the Earl focused, he seemed unstoppable. You held your breath.

You’d never seen him move so dynamically, either, save from when he pulled you out of the way of a moving carriage. 

“My Lady…” Daphne reminded you gently, placing a sisterly hand on your shoulder. “You are starting at the Earl Phantomhive,” she reminded you quietly, close to your ear. The blond gestured to your mother at the front of the crowd, carefully watching your father. 

Flushing, you immediately stared at the blades of grass below you. You squeezed your eyes closed, releasing the breath you were holding. How shameful. There was a child in peril and you were….

Control yourself, Y/n. Mother and father are here.

“Thank you, Daphne,” you sighed. The young woman squeezed your shoulder affectionately and released you. 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the group to gain control of the balloon, the attendants successfully re-tying it down. Lord Kingston helped the young boy down the short ladder and into his mother’s waiting arms. She kneeled in the grass, sobbing with her child close to her chest. “My baby, my baby,” she mumbled into his hair, gentle fingers running through it. Her husband, one of those pulling the ropes, embraced his wife and child on his knees, a scene that made your throat feel tight. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to run down your face. You blinked rapidly to regain control. 

Love. It was love.

“You should tell him he did a lovely job, my Lady,” Daphne suggested, a little more impishly than she’d typically risk. The blonde giggled at you.

You swallowed around your dry throat, nodding twice in agreement so hard that you could feel your teardrop earrings sway. 

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel’s right arm crossed his chest in a deep stretch. He was sweating more than a pig, it was miserable. He was in pain, and he would be for the next couple of days to a week for this strenuous exercise in—

“Lord Phantomhive,” Lady Y/n approached him rather than Adam, who masked his mortification by turning to Leonardo. “That was incredible.”

“It was an effort that required all of our participation,” Ciel answered as diplomatically as he could manage. He immediately dropped his right arm, disinterested in appearing weak or in pain before the noblewoman. Instead, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, certain his hair was disheveled along with the rest of him. The new pair of boots he sported had to be caked in dirt, too. 

“Of course, though it couldn’t have been easy,” Y/n insisted, likely taking in how disorderly and piggish Ciel looked. There was no way his appearance was appealing in any way, and yet, she’d never had such awe in her face when she regarded him before this. Save for perhaps the first few seconds after he pulled her out of the way of that carriage—before he misspoke.

It wasn’t easy. It’s a miracle I’m still in one piece, damn it. 

“I’m simply relieved we managed to help the boy,” Ciel told her, motioning towards the embracing family with his chin. The mother had yet to let go of their child or even stop crying. “And that we were there in time—what a strange accident.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Y/n agreed ponderously. “I cannot understand why the tethers would just…fail so suddenly,” she said, frowning as she looked back at the balloon. Edward Sutton, Lord Y/l/n, and the engineering team asked for the guests to return to the tables to allow them to inspect it for technical faults. 

They wouldn’t find any, Ciel presumed. His butler had to have taken some creative measures to…raise the stakes. Literally. 

“I’m sure they will find the cause and correct the issue,” he lied seamlessly as they started back towards their table. For all intents and purposes, the event was over. Most of the guests were too unsettled and worried to sustain the atmosphere and company. 

“Absolutely,” Lady Y/n agreed. “...Lord Phantomhive? Would you perhaps consider…tea? At my home? This week?”

TAGLIST: @theblueslytherin, @luckyladylottie, @yuzu-ku, @zyrixal, @mylostleftfootsock @nanaloverz

If you would like to join the taglist, feel free to drop a comment or an ask!

[a-book-of-creatures]

One of the notes on the sea serpent post had this to say and I think it’s a very good point!

I’d say it’s all in how you frame it. It’s the age-old question. Like, what is a dragon? Is it “any large mythical reptile”? Or is it “a mythical serpent from European folklore that originated in the Greek drakōn, itself almost certainly an exaggerated description of a python or other large snake”? The first description could include the Chinese long, the North American horned serpent, the South American boiúna, the Australian rainbow serpent… the second, meanwhile, is a lot more restrictive.

So, in this case, what is “the sea serpent”? If the description is “a serpent that lives in the sea”, then yes, Leviathan could indeed be one of the older versions.

However!

The legend of Leviathan is that of the chaos battle, the defeat of an older water or water-adjacent deity to create order out of chaos. This is derived from the likes of Lotan and Tiamat, and there’s a clear degradation of the concept, from chthonic deities gradually being demoted to dragons/serpents of chaos and eventually great beasts that inhabit our world. It’s complicated. Leviathan also sometimes has multiple heads, something which I don’t associate with sea serpents. Tangential but worth mentioning.

Serpents that live in the sea have existed for a long time. Laocoon and his sons were killed by them. Aelian mentions them. Jormungandr is a big serpent that lives in the sea.

But it was the Scandinavian sea serpent that created the modern conception of the sea serpent as a serpent that lives in the sea which exists, and can be seen. It precipitated the whole sea serpent craze. Sober eyewitnesses reported sea serpents from all over the world.

Also it is literally called “sea serpent”. Not Jormundandr or Leviathan or Tiamat or whathaveyou, but “sea serpent”, not a proper name but the name of an animal. The great Scandinavian sea serpent is, indeed, referred to as such (sjøorm).

It was Olaus Magnus’ account that created a mythic landscape in which just about every unfamiliar thing in the sea became a sea serpent, from decomposed whales to long strands of kelp

to large sea life towing marine debris

to skim feeding sei whales

to whale penises

to stranded oarfishes

to whales tangled in debris (or maybe just another whale penis)

So yes, Leviathan (and Jormungandr) precede the sea serpent, and could be considered the origins of the myth, I agree! But for a more restrictive definition, I would say the sea serpent as we know it was born with Olaus Magnus’ account.

[rivilu]

''One night she.. simply walked into the moonlight and never returned''

I've been thinking about my Mahariel's mother a lot lately.

And my personal headcannons about those events in general. Particularly the concept of ''Mahariel is only alive because Marethari as the new keeper used blood magic to heal(?) their mother after she and their father were attacked''.

[I dont put that level of hypocrisy above her. After all, she herself is not above having shady dealings with dangerous powers, despite ousting and ostracizing her own for lesser offenses in that area. And given actions such as 'using the old magic to heal you'.. of the blight? Which you're then sufficiently recovered from until you make it to Ostagar on foot, the phrasing of 'your mother held on to life long enough to give birth to you'.. It presents a rather haunting image even when looking at it through a charitable lens. It's not like Marethari HAS NOT shown a pattern of counting certain lives as more valuable than others. And not wincing at the blood price of 'helping' them.]

In any case, in terms of Mahariel's mother.. the clan failed her. From the very start when no-one stepped in to stop the keeper getting involved with a young woman whose clan disapproved, to the very end when no-one stopped her walking off into the moonlight.

I just have this picture in my mind of her as the lone survivor, questionably alive even, rose tinted glasses shattered and reckoning with the horrors of her situation she hadn't fully recognized until that point.

The differences in age, in power. The reasons why her elders did not approve the match. Yet there's nothing to be done now.

He's dead, she's with child.

She can't go home, but the idea of staying is a nightmare.

No happy ending could ever come of this.

[stardust948]

3 Inch AU

Prequel to this post

Zuko rubbed his aching eyes, praying what he thought just happened didn't. That a bright light did not flash in the middle of his and Azula's spar leaving his body sore and head aching.

He forced himself to open his eyes and found himself in the middle of a strange spirit forest. Great. First the body switch fiasco now this! Why were there so many spirits hanging around the palace?!

"Nice going dum-dum." Azula spat. "You angered the spirits again!"

"Again?! That was your fault! Both times!!!"

"As I recall, no one knows what angered the last one, but you pushed me onto this spirit and now we're 3 inches tall!!!"

"What?!" Zuko shot up.

Azula pushed the vegetation back revealing an oversized throwing star Mai gifted her. The very one Zuko knocked out of her hand when their spar turned into a messy free for all.

Zuko's heart sank.

"Like I said, 3 inches tall. Thanks a lot."

"None of this is my fa-"

A shadow fell over them seconds before a huge bird swooped down. The siblings barely had time to jump out of the way as the bird snatched up the throwing star. The two shared a frightened look. They had to get out of the garden or they'll surely be next.

A brief silent truce was formed as Zuko and Azula began the trek. Thankfully, they were relativity close to the walkway before they were shrunken. After scaling the huge steps, the ground trembled as a massive figure in deep red robes passed by. The siblings gasped.

"DAD! HELP US!"

"WAIT! DOWN HERE!"

They quickly chased after him, but it was no use. Ozai tuned out their now shrunken voices, assuming it was a chorus of summer insects. And there was no possible chance of the siblings catching up to him on foot.

Azula grabbed Zuko's wrist. "Agni's Arrow!"

Zuko skidded to a stop then spun his sister around. Azula produced fire jets from her feet to build momentum. After counting to three, Zuko released her. Azula shot through the air at breakneck speed straight towards her father.

This better work for they were both done for.

~*~

The palace was quiet. Too quiet.

That alone put Ozai on edge. He swore he heard his children out by the garden earlier. It was just another sibling spat but when he decided to check on them, the garden was empty.

A part of Ozai hoped the children settled things on their own and left without a big fuss. The rest of Ozai knew that was wishful thinking. So, he walked the perimeter just to be sure.

Ozai let out an annoyed sigh. The humming bees were a lot louder today. He'll have to talk to the groundskeeper about that least they overrun the whole garden.

Something landed on his shoulder. Ozai tsked and brushed it away. It seemed the infestation already began.

"Dad!!!"

Ozai stopped dead in his tracks.

"Azula?"

It was so faint. Maybe he was hearing things.

"Down here! Hurry!"

A small blue flame shot from his arm. Ozai glanced down and saw his daughter dangling from his sleeve.

"What the-"

Ozai quickly scooped her into his palm before she lost her grip.

"A-Azula?" Ozai gaped at his now tiny daughter trying to get her bearings. "What... how...?"

His eyes widened. If Azula was like this then...

"Where's Zuko?!"

Ozai lifted his feet as horror gripped him. Cool relief washed over him when he spotted a small figure running towards him.

"Dad!"

Ozai knelt down and lowered his hand for Zuko to climb onto. Now that his children were safe, Ozai calmed down enough for his mind to piece together what happened.

"Don't tell me-"

"Spirits." the siblings answered at the same time.

Ozai groaned. "Not again."

[flashnthunder]

baberoe priest kink- hello yes please i need this!!!!

(thank you for taggin me <3)

Willow Boughs and Wanting

(mildly nsfw under the cut)

He’s pushed back into the pew, and he goes without much fight. From his position now, Babe is half looming over him. The light through the windows makes his hair even more red, like a halo of fire consuming him. Babe doesn’t leave him to think for too long, slowly straddling himself over his lap until his knees are on either side of Eugene’s legs. He’s still taller like that, looking down at Eugene’s face when he tips his head back.

“I gotta tell you, Father, you’ve made it a helluva time sitting in on your services,” Babe says, and there’s a hint of a smile there that’s swallowed in something more serious. Babe leans down so close that their lips almost touch. He plays it like a waiting game and Eugene is the one to blink first. He doesn’t know who closes the gap first, but they’re kissing and Babe’s hands are on his shoulders.

If there had been a halo of fire around Babe, it’s going to cover him next, spread its fire like a curious flame licking up around dry wood. It dries the muggy air out of him and brings him closer to something real and solid. They kiss until they’re spending more time pulling away to breathe a shared exhale of the same air.

“It just ain’t right keeping you squirreled away in here all by your lonesome,” Babe murmurs, and Gene doesn’t have time to think about what he means before Babe lets himself settle further down in his lap. Only by sheer will does he keep his hands from grabbing him, either to push him away or drag him down he doesn’t know. Babe looks him in the eye, slow and deliberate in his gaze and grinds down onto his lap. Eugene can’t bite back the noise he makes, something choked off and high that escapes his throat.

“Edward, you can't be doing that,” he means it to sound more of a warning than it does. Instead it comes more like a hurried question.

“What's it gonna take to kill that? Need to know me a little more biblically before you call me the right name?” Babe asks, and the smile from earlier is back. He grinds his hips against Eugene, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. He nudges Eugene’s head back, kissing right above his white collar where his throat dips with each swallow.

“Want me to stop calling you by your first name, maybe? You prefer Father Roe if we're being formal like?” He rocks into him again, pulling back to kiss along his jaw. He can feel the blood in his cheeks, hot and thruming underneath his skin. Babe winds his arms around his neck, his eyes falling closed when he leans his head to the side and hips still moving.

"Edward," he tries again, and his voice has found no more strength the longer he waits. Babe's eyes come open again at that, and just as suddenly as they'd ended up together he pulls back. Eugene feels something akin to fear flush through him, suddenly wanting to pull him back down.

He doesn't go far, Babe sinks to his knees in front of him, slower than should be possible with how fast everything else seems to be happening to him. Eugene can’t get a good enough grip on the pew under his hands him to steady himself. There’s a wicked look Babe gets now, and he runs his hands down the outside of Eugene's legs, catching halfway down his shin and holding.

“Awful hard, like I was saying. Supposed to be listening and you’re up there, looking like all a’this,” Babe’s hands move back up again to catch his hips, squeezing just a little. Eugene digs his nails into the pew, wishing the wood would splinter under his grip. He presses until it hurts, tilting his head up and screwing his eyes closed.

“Figured yous would be used to seeing somebody down on their knees like this,” Babe’s grip tightens. He pulls him forward a little, pushing Eugene to choose between letting go of his grip on the old wood or letting his hips be moved forward till his back is almost arched.

“No, I ain’t, it’s not- I never,” his voice comes out in more of a stutter than he had expected. Babe’s grin grows at that. Just as slowly as he’d sunk to his knees before, he leans forward till his lips hover about an inch away from the dark fabric. Despite the layers, Eugene feels a hot flush run down his neck knowing that if Babe looked he would probably be able to see him getting hard.

“You good and sure about that? Don’t wanna take my confession like this?” Babe asks, and there's not a prayer in the world that comes to him now.

[aurora-313]

FF.net Chapter 6 here

Title: Once more, if only to see you again Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Kaien Shiba, Rukia Kuchiki Description: Fifteen years ago on July 15th, the Kurosaki family was blessed with twin boys. The first was named Ichigo, the First Protector, who carried his mother's strawberry blonde hair and brown eyes. The second son was named Kaien in honour of fallen kin, and wore his father's black hair and dark eyes. How will this drama change with two boys at the centre of fate? [[RE-WRITE]]

[therealnightcity]

Character Study--Ares

Layer 1: The Outside

-Name: Ares Tanner

-Eye Color: Deep brown, 'ganic eyes

-Hair Style/Color: Ares has wavy black hair. She usually keeps it up in a bandana and out of her face while she's working.

-Height: 6'3, 191cm

-Clothing Style: Ares' style leans towards the practical--anything she can get dirty and not worry about it too much. She likes pieces that are well made, and meant to last, sturdy jeans, leather jackets, and hard-wearing nomad tops, and work boots. When she's working she keeps her hair tied up with a bandana and out of her face, and has a pair of goggles hanging around her neck. She keeps buying pairs and losing them, so there's at least 6 different pairs scattered throughout her house. Her preferred colors are earth tones, with flannels mixed in, and comfy, fitted tanktops. She's not afraid to show off her tattoos. They cover her arms and most of her chest, and she likes being able to see them. Most of her clothing is a little worn, a little dusty but she tries to clean up before she goes into the city, even if it's only switching out her jacket for one that doesn't have splotches of oil on it.

-Best Physical Feature: She used to be insecure about it, but over time she's come to love her nose and freckles. It's not the smallest but it has character and she thinks its interesting, and can't imagine herself looking differently. The freckles are little reminders of how much time she spends in the sun, hiking, and exploring and driving--doing the things she enjoys.

Layer 02: The Inside

-Fears: Being alone--it's just her and her dogs and her mechs in the Badlands, and most of the people in her life are temporary presence, and there's the desire to get attached, but the expectation that they'll leave too. It's something she's usually good at ignoring but there's occasionally the fear that she'll never meet anyone, and it'll always just be her.

-Guilty Pleasures: Sleeping in late, campfire coffee (she doesn't like the fancy stuff), and really good melons (she blames Dakota, and her stash of real fruit for that one). She also loves watching the street races in the city--being surrounded by all the cars and people is additctive to her.

-Biggest Pet-peeves: People who try to stiff her out of payment for their cars--happens more than she'd like to admit, especially with a handful of her more unruly clients. It's one of the few ways to genuinely get her mad, and just the absolute disregard that a lot of the people in Night City have for the Nomads--wrinkled noses and passing to the other side of the street. She knows that it's partially a lack of knowing/unfamiliarity, but it doesn't mean it doesn't sting. Or that she's treated differently when she's dressed like someone from the city, as opposed to someone from the Badlands.

-Ambitions for the Future: Ares would like to keep running a garage, but move closer to the border of Night City, and somewhere it's easier to acquire new parts for her job. It's inconvenient to have to keep making trips and they eat through gas like crazy. She wouldn't want to cut ties to the Badlands completely but I can see her settling in the city, or at least nearby if there's enough incentive, and more clients. and she wouldn't be opposed to finding someone to share it with.

Layer 03: Thoughts

-First thought waking up: Five more minutes pleaseeee--and then 10, and then 15, and so on. Her dogs usually get her out of bed, and then her first thoughts are getting them fed and watered and walked before taking care of her/figuring out her plans for the day

-What they think about most: Ares' mind bounces from topic to topic, but she's usually thinking about her cars/work--the hobby and her job tend to blend together, and her work-life balance is dubious at best. And then her dogs--they're basically her children, and you can usually see them hanging around the garage while she works/supervising. She's always planning her next foray into the city, and what places she's going to hit up, or where she's going to hike next--her mind is rarely still.

-What they think about right before bed: Not much, Ares stays up until she's exhausted, and sleeps hard. She has time for couple errant thoughts, usually involving the day she's had or going over earlier conversations before she's asleep.

-What they think their good quality is: Ares is warm, and very engaging. She loves to listen to others talk, and give them a place where they can feel safe doing so, and feel heard. She cares a lot, and this can lead to her wearing her heart on her sleeve a little but it's also a strength of hers too.

Layer 04: Either Or

-Single or group dates: Ares likes either, it depends on whether the mood is more intimate/focused or more adventurous, and the other parties personal preferences. She's always down for exploring the Badlands or Night City, so she'd seldom turn down the opportunity. If it's just her and another person, she prefers to go somewhere more quiet so they can hear each other better, and get the opportunity to know each other more.

-To be loved or respected: Ares would much rather be loved. She knows that's always going to be people that don't respect her, and instead of looking for it in people that she knows she's never going to get it from, she choses to prioritize relationships where it's mutual. She's not someone who wants to have a deal of authority, or be respected in that regard--she'd rather be left to her own devices, than have people she has to manage.

-Beauty or Brains: Ares is fascinated by a good conversation or one that can make her think. It's not to say that she doesn't notice beauty, but it's not the most important thing to her, and her definitions of beautiful have always been a bit skewed anyway, more drawn to gleaming chrome, and danger than what's traditional. And she sees the beauty in being able to understand someone--see how their mind works, hear them reason things out and how the world looks through their eyes.

-Dogs or Cats: Ares is definitely a dog person--she loves how affectionate they are, and loyal, and they're easier for her to travel with than cats. She doesn't have anything against the latter, but prefers dogs. She has two, a pit bull (Luna), and a chihuahua (Jiji).

Layer 05: Do They…

-Lie?: Occasionally--she tries not to, and it's not as if it makes much different because she's not very good at it. She'll tell little white lies to save someone's feelings, or not be rude, but she's not good at coming up with one on the spot, and would rather just be honest. If there's something she doesn't want to talk about, she'll usually talk around it or try to redirect the conversation than outright lie.

-Believe in themselves?: Sometimes. Ares is confident in her physical skills/mostly confident in her appearance, but when in an unfamiliar environment, she's much less confident, and more hesitant. There's a bit of insecurity in who she is as a person, and perceived lack of adequacy--she knows she's not organized, or the most together, and sometimes things slip through the cracks, and it's a source of guilt and worry for her.

-Believe in love?: Yes--she definitely has, Ares loves easily and strongly, and has had her heart broken a couple times. It hasn't swayed her completely, but she tries to keep it more quiet than she had previously, and there's more hesitation

Layer 06: Have They...

-Been on stage?: No, and doesn't have much desire to--Ares doesn't want to be in the spotlight, and would much rather have it focused on someone else.

-Done drugs?: They've never appealed, although this is more from a lack of access than any moral objections to them. They were expensive and hard to obtain, fortunately for her. The Corpo stims and their ability to push productivity would be a little too tempting for her

-Changed who he was to fit in?: She hasn't in the Badlands, but it's something she struggles with more in Night City, and feels awkward and out of place in comparision. The Badlands are what make sense to her, and Night City is so different, with a completely different, unsaid set of rules, that everyone seems to know but her. It's less of an attempt to fit in, and more of one to just avoid trouble, which she seems to have a proclivity for wandering in to

Layer 07: What's their...

-Favorite Color: Earth tones--olive, terra cotta, sage, brick red. She leans towards warmer, more muted colors.

-Favorite Animal: Ares loves dogs, but horses are also another favorite--there's something really fascinating about them to her, even if she'd never own one

-Favorite Book: Ares reads just about anything she can get her hands on--romance, fantasy, fiction or nonfiction, it doesn't really matter to her. Her favorites are romance novels, the trashier the better, and they're definitely a guilty pleasure of hers. She loves poetry too--especially ones about the natural world. Kerouac's particularly resonante with her, and she has a couple verses that she's penned out scattered around her house.

"As I was hiking down the mountain with my pack I turned and knelt on the trail and said 'Thank you, shack.' Then I added 'Blah,' with a little grin, because I knew that shack and that mountain would understand what that meant, and turned and went on down the trail back to this world."

-Favorite Game: Ares likes activities over games, especially because most games necessitate memorizing more rules than she wants to--she'd rather go for a hike or practice her guitar, or read, over playing a board game. She won't say no to an occasional game of cards though, to pass time if someone else offers.

-Day their next birthday will be: March 21st

-How old they will be: 28 (she's the only one out of the three siblings that knows her birthday)

Layer 08: I…

-I Love: Learning, whether it's about people or machines, and figuring out how they work

-I Feel: Curious--my life feels like it's heading in a different direction than I'd expected and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing yet

-I Hide: My fears and worries, that I'll just be alone. I should be grateful to have what I have, and the independence but I wish I could share it with someone

-I Miss: My parents, and feeling that belonging. I couldn't keep moving with the Nomads, but I wish I had a place where it felt like I fit

-I Wish: To find a sense of purpose, something new--I need a change, to unlearn old patterns and discover something else, instead of what's comfortable and safe.