#there are some fanfics i still get feels over

[lambilegs]

your best friends older sister!sevika fanfic had me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. love the way you write her as a mean teasing flirt ☺️ may i suggest roommate!sevika who does everything she can to get reader worked up such as bringing home girls to purposefully fuck them loud as fuck to make reader jealous 🙂‍↕️ hehe

roommate!sevika headcanons

note to anon: OMGGGG thank you so much bae!! and right? I feel like if she found someone who got on her nerves, she'd enjoy being the rudest flirt alive, hehe. ALSO, YES, I LOVE THIS IDEA SOOOO MUCH. took me a while to write it out, but I hope you enjoy!! <33 contains: sfw and nsfw content (minors + ageless blogs dni), reader receiving oral and strap, porn-watching, kinda voyeuristic (reader gets horny from sevika having sex with other girls), throat-grabbing, smoking, reader's body is referred to with the terms "pussy," "g-spot" and "clit"

roommate!sevika who doesn't really bother talking to you at first, just keeping to herself. she's not a fan of sharing her living space with people, but money's tight, and this is what she can afford right now. she's not interested in friendship, or some sort of everlasting bond to form between the two of you. she just wants to live in amicable peace, and have her space to herself.

and so, the two of you barely talk. you try, at first, but it becomes clear three days in that she's utterly uninterested. which, you can't lie, is a pretty huge disappointment, considering that the prospect of living with an incredibly hot and stoic butch was one that had you thrilled initially. but, unfortunately, she seems anything but truly interested in any sort of connection with you.

roommate!sevika who remains in her bedroom most of the time, working on one contraption or the other, or watching videos on her laptop.

or gaming. because, yes, she games, and she does try her best to keep quiet, she really does. but, the idiots she plays with have her occasionally shouting, cursing loudly as they cause her team to lose yet again.

every now and then, she'll hang out in the living room, watching TV, but that's usually reserved to when you're not home, or locked up in your own bedroom. when you come out to cook in the kitchen, or sit on the love seat so that you can fold laundry, she'll usually linger for a few minutes, carefully observing, before standing up to head back to her bedroom.

it's not like she hates you or anything. you're pretty okay -- nice to her and not sloppy and disgusting like some of the other roommates she's had before. you even share the food you cook with her, and have always been cooperative about splitting chores with her. so, in sevika's books, you're not a person who she's keen on disliking, and she actually feels pretty damn lucky for having found your ad.

roommate!sevika who does nothing to quell the sexual frustration you've had for months due to the serious dry spell that's been plaguing you. walls are thin, and you can hear the loud ass girl she's brought home, moaning and whining as sevika's bed frame rocks against the wall. every now and then, her noises are met with sevika's hushed grunts and filthy words of, "tell me, who's a good girl?"

you twist and turn in bed, rolling over to glare at your phone. it's 2:03AM -- how does she still have the energy to be fucking at this time? you're exhausted, irritated, and insanely horny from what you're hearing. because horribly enough, this girl doesn't sound like she's faking -- no, she's truly enjoying herself. sevika is just that good of a lay, it seems. and that piece of knowledge has your pussy beginning to dampen, soaking through your panties.

if you shut your eyes, and drift into the hazy world of dream land, you can pretend that it's you and her making those noises. that she's the one fucking you right now. god, just the thought of that notion has your clit aching.

but, it also has you feeling a strike of insecurity. because the truth is, that probably won't be you and sevika anytime soon. she doesn't even give you the time of day. you don't know what it is you've done to her, but she avoids you like the plague, never returning any of your offers of kindness or bonding. and it's beginning to sting really bad. if she can canoodle with a stranger (and, yeah, you're painfully aware it's a stranger, since her text said, "Hey. I met a girl at the bar tonight, is it okay if I bring her over?") well enough to have sex with her that very night, why can she barely spare you attention as her roommate?

the thought is a cold wash over your horniness, and all it leaves is a bitter taste on your tongue.

roommate!sevika who's giving you the most bewildered stare as you shake the soaked thong of the girl she brought home last night, yelling about how you're convinced that said girl stole one of your underwear after this one got ruined.

"how would you even know that?" sevika snickers, eyeing you in disbelief. "are you that anal?"

"my drawer was half open, sevika! and I never leave it like that because I'd knock into it on my way in otherwise!" you snap, your eyes wide and glossy with anger. sevika's honestly a bit unnerved by the sight -- she's never seen you this pissed, but jesus, she thought it'd take more than a singular, flimsy piece of fabric to get you to this state.

"it's just one pair," she deadpans. "I'm sorry serena -- or, selena, I don't know -- took it, but it's not that big of a big deal."

"maybe not for you, but it is for me! listen, I don't care if you don't know the names of the girls you bring here, or anything about them -- but, just make sure they're not a thieving dumbass, okay? is that enough for you?"

sevika's jaw shifts, irritation beginning to sizzle in her from the condescension layering your words. you're talking to her like she's a fucking child, tone taking on a faux sense of guidance.

"okay, listen, I'm sorry she took your underwear, okay? I'll buy you a new pair if you're that bent out of shape over it. but, you don't need to be such a piss baby about it."

your head flinches back, eyes sharpening in clear anger. sevika feels a twinge of guilt. she knows she fucked up, since ensuring the girl from last night didn't do anything out of line was her responsibility. but, your anger has her own defenses kicking in automatically, and she's equal measures embarrassed and angered at being spoken to this way.

"I have every right to be pissed if you're gonna be stupid about the people you bring in our apartment."

well, that manages to snap her out of it. "because I could just magically anticipate that she'd steal your shit? I get it, she did something shitty, but I couldn't have known that. I've got lots of skills, but that's not one of them."

you scoff, the noise loud and unabashed. "oh, trust me, you made a great display of your skills last night. not that you seem to fucking spare any of that attention to someone unless you're gonna get a good lay out of it."

sevika immediately freezes at that, her brain running into overdrive. your tone has shifted into something biting, but lowered with what seems like -- frustration? frustration not just at that girl, but at sevika herself. and if you're frustrated about sevika possessing an attentiveness that she spares only to certain people, then that must mean--

sevika snickers softly. oh, yeah, you've definitely given her an opening in this argument. "what, you jealous?"

immediately, you're spluttering, broken words and half-gasps flinging from your mouth, sentences barely strung together. it only heightens sevika's newfound delight in having found something to hold above your head.

"you are, aren't you? what, haven't had a good fuck lately? need me to get one of my boys to come over and take care of you?"

sevika can see the way you work your teeth behind your pursed lips, and it only causes her flame of amusement to burn brighter.

"first of all, I'm not fucking pitiful, okay? I can handle getting fucked. second of all, I'm not into guys, something you'd know if you even spoke to me for two fucking seconds."

sevika's eyes widen at that. this interaction definitely had her suspecting it, but to hear you confirm it only sends another wave of satisfaction, mingled with surprise, through her. so, you're gay and bitter over having no attention, and specifically not hers? you're making it too easy.

"so, what, you're into me?" she asks, her voice twisted with snark. "been wanting me this whole time? mad I'm not giving you attention?"

she knows it's risky to be goading her own roommate like this, flirting and teasing. but, she can't help it -- not when your mouth is finally shut and she knows she has something on you.

she stalks up to you slowly, using her height to her advantage as she dips her head down, staring at you with a piercing smirk. "well?"

your eyes are wide, blinking rapidly like a pretty little butterfly. they flicker down to her mouth, and sevika feels something stir in her gut at the sight. she's always been neutral about you, but there's something undeniably attractive about seeing you like this -- seething, wanting, in need of someone to take care of you. as her gaze roves over your features, she finds herself struck for the first time that you're, frankly, pretty good-looking.

but, then, you draw in a sharp breath, and sevika reels back in surprise when you hiss, "no."

she's left baffled as you whirl on your heel, stomping to your room, muttering out, "perverted jackass."

sevika chuckles at that. perverted jackass, huh?

roommate!sevika whose noises are so bothersome that you cover your ears, gritting your teeth at the rattling-headboard noises that are running through the apartment for the fifth fucking time in these past two weeks. how sevika manages to get this many girls in her bed is beyond your human capabilities. all you know is that it was never this often in the past. no, this -- this is fucking personal. you can feel it in the way she shoots you a haughty smirk the next morning, and how she encourages the people she's with to moan louder, move back faster. it's gotten to the point where you can even hear the fucking skin smacks.

it makes you utterly enraged. and impossibly soaked. but, for your own sense of justice and determination, you refuse to get off to the noises. in fact, everytime she continues her habit of asking you politely if she can bring someone over, you ensure to respond in as chipper a tone as possible. you don't want her thinking she's having an impact on you. you want to convey the self-image of being unbothered, unfazed and completely okay with every little dig she's attempting with you.

what makes you snap is when you're on your way to work one morning, and from where she's seated on the couch, lip bitten in frustration as she does a crossword puzzle like a fucking nerd, she says, "enjoyed the show last night? I can pick someone else up tonight. thought I'd ask in case you need to charge your vibrator in advance."

stay calm. stay calm. don't attack her. don't sit on her face.

"well," you drawl with a forced smile, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? so, your next girl can steal it for herself."

she immediately bursts into a loud round of laughter, her gap revealing itself unabashedly. your eyes linger on it, struck with a sudden bolt of fondness. it's one part of her that is unarguably adorable.

you turn away before she can catch you, heading to the kettle to pour the boiling water into your tumblr.

"wait, no," sevika calls out from the couch, eyes still fixed on the newspaper. "the counter."

your eyes curiously travel to the wooden surface, gulping in surprise when you see a fresh pot already made. you know sevika always drinks coffee before her shift at the mechanic's, but that's usually just a single cup. never an entire pot like this. "did you, uh, make this for me?"

"don't flatter yourself. just take some."

her voice is a grunt and no-nonsense, not allowing for her meaning to be minced whatsoever. she wants you taking the coffee, and that's that.

with a bitten smile, you pour it into your tumblr, the pleasant scent of it wafting through your nostrils. it's the brand you always use, the one you've offered to sevika before that she's never actually taken you up on. at least until now.

she's at least half-redeemed to you until she says, "just needed some energy after last night, you know? wait, what am I saying? you were listening, won't you?"

your skin stretches over your knuckles as you tightly grip the doorknob.

jackass.

roommate!sevika who you try to get back at by watching obscenely loud porn. sometimes, you touch yourself to it, while other times, you just let it play in the background while folding your laundry, or wiping the dust from your furniture. you know it's immature as fuck, and will probably never equate to the personal touch of her being the one to incite those noises when trying to piss you off. but, hey, if it keeps her up at night and pisses her off, you're more than content. and judging from the glares she silently shoots you in the morning, you can tell you're succeeding.

at least, until one day, she leans in from behind when you're making eggs, her mouth lowered to your ear, and mutters, "c'mon, you're easy on the eyes. can't be so hard to find someone that you resort to porn, right?"

your nostrils flare, nearly slamming down the pan on the stove. "oh, fuck off."

"don't you mean 'fuck me'?"

your mouth cracks into an almost-smile. it's one thing to wanna fuck sevika, it's a whole other thing to have your stomach tighten up from how funny she is. makes it all the harder to deal with your current predicament. "no, I mean 'fuck you,' actually -- thanks for helping with that clarification."

"anytime," she huffs in amusement, lightly smacking your shoulder, which sends you nearly tumbling from her strength.

you glare at her back as she leaves. god, it's a good back. you hate that she has a good back.

roommate!sevika who's almost... thankful for this situation? because paying more attention to you, being in your way more often, ends up revealing to her that she was, admittedly, a damn fool for not having taken notice of you earlier.

because you're smart. like, wicked smart. what she suspects is mostly out of spite, you've started leaning over her shoulder, your scent flooding her senses as you spoil the answers to her crossword puzzles. at first, she rolled her eyes, grumbling that she would've gotten it without your help. but, now, she anticipates your stupid antics before you can even think about disrupting her mood with it. that translates to her raising the newspaper to you right as you meet her in the kitchen, an action which you first met with a disapproving glare.

but, in a matter of days, you're sitting right next to her, a pencil in hand, the two of you debating over answers together and groaning in frustration whenever you get something wrong.

when you bump her arm, whining, "c'mon, I told you it was wrong!" she can feel her face heat up like some fucking teenager.

and when you roll your eyes when her answer ends up being the right on, it only eggs her on, the motion usually followed with her murmuring, "sorry, what was that again?"

whenever you two finish, she always says, "thanks for ruining it," to which you singsong, "anytime, sevika."

and she hates to admit it, but you're funny, too. there've been several times where she's actually been rendered silent from just how good a comeback of yours was, or where you said something that caught her so off guard she nearly laughed in a moment where she was just annoyed.

and fuck her, you're so fine. so goddamn fine.

a notion that seizes at her when you come out of your bedroom one evening, dressed from head to toe in clothes she certainly has never seen you in before. clothes you'd surely never wear to work or when lounging at home.

she licks her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry. "what-- where are you--?"

"putting myself out there." you shrug, idly stroking a palm along your head, smoothing your hair. "I mean, it always works for you. and, you're right, porn can only do so much. I think it's time for me to, you know, actually try to get with someone."

sevika's jaw clenches. like the fuck you will. "no."

"what do you mean 'no'?" you scoff, swinging your bag over your shoulder. "I can do whatever I want."

"well, I'm not letting you do this," she snaps, standing from her seat on the couch and rushing to block you from the door.

"why not?"

"because I--" she cuts herself off, teeth pressing in together as her mind is shaken with an influx of thoughts. because what can she even say? it's not just about wanting to fuck, not anymore. she's actually interested now. so interested that it's been weeks since she last brought a girl over. no point in doing so if her mind is filled with thoughts of you touching yourself to the noises, anyways.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "yes?"

she leans in closer, propping a hand next to where your shoulders rest along the door. there's an inexplicable urge tugging her forwards to you, and she doesn't have it in her to resist it. "because I," she rasps, her voice low and scratchy, "I want you safe."

jesus, is she an idiot?

your face is deadpan, not a twitch of expression in sight. "you do it all the time. besides, how will I learn unless I'm out there, doing it?" after a beat skips between you two, you add, "unless you wanna come with?"

sevika snorts. "you really think I'm gonna watch you fuck about with some other people who don't deserve you?"

you brace your head against the plane of the door, eyes tracing over her face, making sevika's skin tingle in response. "then, who does?" you mutter quietly.

your tone is no longer flat. it's raised in pitch a bit, almost sounding hopeful. sevika swallows hard, her own body beginning to tense in anticipation. she latches onto that audible sign, using it to propel her forward until her lips are ghosting yours.

"me, you idiot."

and with that, she cups your face, drawing you into a soft kiss, your chapstick-smeared lips thick and slippery against hers.

roommate!sevika who makes you come so many times that night that you lose track. first with her head between your thighs, mouthing at your clit, fingers pumping into your hole as she spreads you loose and open. her lips wrap around the stiffened bud, drawing it in in tight, sharp sucks, the pressure of the movements making your legs tremble around her head, pressing into her ears without relent.

"damn, you trying to suffocate me?" she murmurs against your clit, the vibrations of her words making you whimper.

"it's what you deserve," you chuckle once the fog has cleared a bit, the noise dissolving into a whine when her tongue darts out, flapping over your clit with hard presses up and down, up and down.

"you're right," she hums, pressing a soft kiss to the spot just as her fingers curl up and begin stroking your g-spot, making streams of pleasure pulse from your pussy into your tummy, which tightens in anticipation. "I've been a dick to you, huh? I'll make it up to you tonight."

and make it up she does, her strap plunging into you and stretching your hole into a dull ache as her strong fingers hook onto her headboard, raising herself over you as your hips smack together. the mix of lube and your juices send filthy little squelches flowing through the room, and the noise only adds to the whirlwind of pleasure she's throwing you into without pause.

when she kisses you hard, making you whine as her fingers wrap around your throat and her tongue shoves into you, you can't resist quipping through your moans, "gotta say -- those girls had a point."

she chuckles against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "and I was going easy on them. just wait till I'm done with you."

roommate!sevika who wraps her arm around you when smoking her cigarette afterwards. after lying together with nothing but some faded music playing in the background for a few minutes, she presses a tentative, slow kiss to your head, muttering, "I wish I had started talking to you earlier on."

you blink in surprise from the words, the tenderness of the moment sending a flood of emotions through you. you don't want to sound needy, but now that the topic has been brought up, a part of you aches for reassurance, wishing for the hollow part of you her initial avoidance had bore to be filled. "was it because I seemed uninteresting, or...?"

"no, no," she immediately cuts in, her voice hard. "I just wasn't interested in bonding with any roommate. never have been." her nails gently skim along your arm, and her voice lowers before confessing, "I thought you were sweet, though."

that sends satisfaction pumping through you, and you need to purse your lips together to halt a wide smile from breaking over your face. "yeah?"

"yeah, until you started being a little fucking menace," she whispers with a grin, her hand snaking down to squeeze your ass, a motion which nearly sends you moaning.

"hey, you started it with your panty-stealing girl."

"my panty-stealing girl?" she asks incredulously, her chin pointing down to shoot you a wide-eyed look. "you think I'm gonna call anyone mine except you now?"

feeling suddenly bashful from the bold declaration, you nuzzle into her neck, your face heating up. "I don't know."

"huh, you know, you're cute like this. docile, quiet--"

"oh, fuck off."

she laughs, lightly pinching your arm, which sends you squealing. "eh, I knew it only could've lasted so long."

"like you'd have it any other way."

she takes a drag, the corner of her lips curling up. "got a point there."

no sentences and/or parts of my writing are allowed to be reposted or reused without explicit permission or credits given.

[salemrph]

Sleepy morning with Sylus

A/N: While I was reading some other posts yesterday, I came across a user asking what it would be like to wake up next to Sylus. My imagination jumped on it right away! I would say this is more of a headcanon than a fanfic. I focused more how he would experience it. Short write, just because I'm working on other stuff.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 1,430 | Reading Time: 5 min

Background music

Your laughter echoes through his bedroom as you try to break free from his grip, his breath tickling your skin. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, pressing himself against your naked body. You smell incredible, so intoxicatingly good that waking up next to you must be heaven on earth.

You squirm and kick, already in tears from laughing so hard. He can't get enough of that sound, of the way you smile, the way you close your eyes and lean your head back. Your presence is like a flowerbed in full bloom, vibrant and breathtaking. Blooming in its full splendor.

Whenever he can, he admires you. When you sleep, he counts the moles on your body, tracing them with his fingertips. He caresses the scars you've earned as a fierce Hunter, kissing every natural fold of your skin. His touch follows the curve of your back, the delicate shape of your ass, down to your legs. The same legs that always wrap around him in the intensity of passion.

He loves you, more than he could ever show to you. It wouldn't be enough, ever.

"Sylus—"  you gasp between laughs, struggling against him as your muscles start to cramp.

"You have so much energy, kitten" you keep laughing, you are so ticklish this morning. His nose brushes against your neck before he nips at your skin, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You squirm even more, still breathless from laughter. "I will pee myself... Stop!"

He hums against your skin, only tightening his hold. He isn't really awake, he wants to keep sleeping, enjoying the peaceful morning with you. Sylus has worked hard to clear his schedule, to be with you like this. To adapt to your routine, make breakfast, and simply enjoy a normal day at your side.

"Then pee..."  he teases. 

"Gross! Let go." You protest, thoroughly disgusted by his suggestion.

"Not even in dreams, sweetie" he chuckles while still kissing your shoulder.

"Sy..." you whine. That tone, the way you try to get your way putting that face, that tone in your voice. The one that makes his heart melt no matter how much he tries to resist. He growls, reluctant to release you completely. His grip tightening for a moment before he finally exhales and relaxes.

"Go. You have 2 minutes to come back". 

You waste no time jumping out of bed, only to earn a slap on your ass.

"Hey!" You spin around, shooting him a glare. Sylus only smirks.

"I like how it wiggles"

You disappear in the bathroom. Sylus shifts onto his back, crossing both arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a rare sense of peace. Yeah… he could get used to this. No, he wants to get used to this. The wealth he possesses and everything he has done has been nothing more than a way to ensure your safety. The years he spent searching for you taught him that he had to be prepared for anything. Losing you again was not in his plans. And if the day ever comes when you no longer love him, it won’t change a thing. He would still protect you, even from the shadows.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you sneaking back into bed. Carefully, you inch closer, suppressing a grin as you reach out to poke his cheek. But before you can even make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

"Feeling playful this morning, my love?"

"Just a bit" you smirk. Sylus laughed.

"What do you want to play?" You tilt your head, pausing deliberately as your eyes drift over his bare chest, trailing down to his toned abs. The sheets rest low on his hips, and the way you’re looking at him doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows that look.

With effortless ease, he shifts, pulling you toward him until you land on top of his body.

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. The color of your lips is already beautiful, but he loves it even more when they darken after passionate kisses. His lips part slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, mesmerized by the infinite depth of your shining eyes.

You lean in, pressing tender kisses across his face before finally finding his lips. Your entire body relaxes, melting into him. Savoring the slow movement of your mouth. Heat growing in your body. Between you two. The kiss deepens bit by bit, his tongue tracing your lips, later moving beyond, slipping inside, tasting you. You sigh into him, already lost in the spreading feelings of longing.

His hand has already trapped you. One sitting on your back, the other on your ass, keeping you close. He is getting harder by the second. His need for you is growing. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips grounding you in the moment. There is no rush, no urgency. You have the complete morning and day to melt in each other.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is warm against your lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he exhales deeply. This is a dream, he thinks. A damn good dream. And he has no intention of waking up.

One hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. He doesn’t need to speak; everything he feels is in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious. You cover his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. A faint smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again.

Sylus takes his time, enjoying how your body reacts to him, the quiet gasps, the way your fingers tangle in his hair. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper. He watches you with a quiet intensity, taking in the way you melt under his touch. The space between you disappears, lost in the unhurried way he moves. Once more, your worlds merge, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understand.

That's how you start the morning: with him, with you, with nothing beyond these four walls mattering. Just the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of your hearts, and the love that neither of you needs to put into words.

[frogsandfries]

I was introduced to the concept of zines in college, because of a partnered creative project. The first zine I ever contributed to was about social media. It did cost a fortune to print because it was done at the school's favored print shop, in full color.

I don't know how prevalent small bookshops selling zines used to be before the age of the internet, but I think I've only been to one bookshop that sold zines. Which is a real loss, imo. I wish there were more small bookshops and that I had more opportunities to explore zines. I think it's kind of inevitable that the internet caused things to change. Chicken wings and ribs used to be poor people food until they got gentrified. Printing on paper used to be the only way to access and disperse information. Now that we have the internet, it's unfortunately not surprising that zine making has been gentrified.

Plus, I'm sure a lot of people who would like to make zines wouldn't know what to put in one that they'd actually like to share with people. Furthermore, it can be hard to swallow the concept of "if I spend five dollars, I can share this with (let's say three people, for example)" when I can hit reblog or forward or send or submit.......for free.

And then there is the cliche of turning your hobby into a grind. If I can spend five dollars, make three zines, sell them for three dollars apiece, etc etc, maybe I don't need enough money to sell a hundred zines, I just need money to make fifty and I can use the rest of that money for groceries or rent and still keep making fifty zines every time I want to make a new one.

Oh, let's not forget that a lot of USians don't carry cash often if ever, anymore, so now I have to factor in the cost of card transactions, into the cost of my zines. Most people aren't going to find themselves in an avant garde bookshop. Most people may not even find my zines on Etsy or Shopify. This kind of forces an (optional) evolution: if I make a fifty page basically a proper magazine, but because it's full of (idk messages about the best places for poor people to eat in LA), I 'can' call it a zine, I can sell it on like, Amazon, or use a Kickstarter and distribute it nearly infinitely.

I can't look at zines through a pre-internet perspective. I don't have that perspective. I understand that zines should be accessible to those who have very little if any money left over after Life. It can feel tempting to make the flashiest, full color zine. It can feel necessary to print your twenty page zine in full color. It can feel necessary to do the entire thing on the computer. It can feel necessary to make it as professional as possible. It can start to feel like making an "old school" black and white, no computer, xeroxed zine is going to get your zine looked over because it's not flashy enough and nobody likes plain ole boring black and white. Or if I add a cardstock cover, maybe my zine will look a little more professional.

I think a lot of us don't come into zines with any kind of mentor to guide us and regulate the culture, and us younger folks come into it with a mindset that we have to have in the rest of our lives: one upsmanship. If the last guy or the first zine we ever saw had a really professional looking cover, we need one full color page. If that guy used a black and white cardstock cover, we need a color accented cardstock cover, we need a glossy full color cover.

Anyway, all this to say, personally, I don't think zines are the right medium for my creative endeavors. I don't think I say this as like, begging for someone to prove me wrong. I say this as a person who cannot tell a short story. I don't need to rely on zines to get my fanfic (although, even if AO3 did not exist and a monthly zine was the only way to get my Spirk fix, personally, I still wouldn't know where to get some sweet sweet Spirk zines; but that's a me problem).

I feel like I'm about twenty-five years too late to the zine scene.

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

It was the weekend.  

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.  

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.  

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.  

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.  

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.  

He checked his phone. No messages from you.  

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.  

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.  

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”  

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”  

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”  

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”  

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.  

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.  

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.  

Pedro knocked.  

Nothing.  

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”  

Still nothing.  

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—  

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.  

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.  

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.  

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.  

Snoring.  

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.  

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.  

God, you were adorable.  

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.  

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.  

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.  

He’d give you another hour.  

Maybe two.  

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING  

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.  

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.  

The problem?  

You were not a morning person.  

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.  

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”  

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”  

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”  

“No.”  

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”  

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”  

He smirked. There we go.  

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”  

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”  

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”  

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.  

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.  

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.  

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.  

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.  

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."  

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."  

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.  

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.  

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.  

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"  

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."  

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."  

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"  

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."  

Your stomach twisted at that.  

He had noticed.  

Of course, he had.  

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.  

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"  

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."  

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"  

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."  

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."  

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."  

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.  

Damn it.  

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"  

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON 

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.  

For one, he had somehow procured a car.  

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.  

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”  

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”  

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”  

“Would I lie to you?”  

You didn’t dignify that with a response.  

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.  

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”  

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.  

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.  

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.  

And then—  

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.  

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”  

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”  

“No, you don’t.”  

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.  

Okay. Fine.  

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.  

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.  

Your brows furrowed.  

“Wait a minute—"  

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.  

Not just any bookstore.  

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.  

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”  

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.  

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”  

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.  

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.  

It was perfect.  

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.  

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”  

He smirked. “No catch.”  

You narrowed your eyes.  

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”  

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”  

Your jaw dropped.  

“Excuse me?”  

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”  

The words were simple.  

Too simple.  

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.  

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.  

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.  

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”  

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON  

You took your time browsing.  

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.  

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.  

It made your skin warm.  

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.  

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.  

Because this was Pedro Pascal.  

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—  

Oh god, were you on a date?  

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.  

No. Not a date.  

Just… Pedro being Pedro.  

Right?  

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.  

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.  

“That one, huh?”  

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.  

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”  

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”  

You blinked. “Do what?”  

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”  

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”  

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”  

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”  

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”  

Your stomach flipped.  

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?  

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.  

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.  

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”  

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”  

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.  

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.  

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.  

You nearly choked.  

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”  

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”  

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.  

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”  

You exhaled, nodding.  

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.  

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”  

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”  

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”  

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”  

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.  

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”  

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”  

You looked up.  

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”  

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.  

He made it sound so simple.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”  

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.  

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.  

Just Pedro. Just this.  

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.  

And maybe it did.  

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."  

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."  

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"  

You blinked at him. "Little me?"  

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"  

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."  

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."  

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."  

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."  

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."  

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"  

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"  

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."  

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."  

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."  

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."  

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.  

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"  

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.  

You snorted. "Of course you were."  

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."  

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."  

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."  

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.  

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.  

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"  

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."  

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.  

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."  

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.  

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."  

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"  

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.  

You glanced up.  

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."  

Your stomach flipped.  

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."  

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."  

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"  

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."  

You groaned. "Oh my god."  

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.  

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.  

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.  

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”  

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”  

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”  

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.  

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”  

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”  

The camera counted down—three, two, one.  

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.  

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.  

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.  

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.  

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.  

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.  

The flash went off.  

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.  

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.  

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.  

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.  

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”  

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”  

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”  

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.  

For a beat, neither of you moved.  

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”  

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”  

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”  

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”  

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”  

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.  

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.  

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.  

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.  

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.  

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.  

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.  

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”  

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”  

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”  

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”  

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”  

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”  

You couldn’t argue with that.  

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.  

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.  

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”  

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”  

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.  

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”  

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.  

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.  

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.  

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.  

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.  

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.  

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”  

Your breath hitched for a split second.  

Right. The room.  

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.  

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”  

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.  

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”  

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”  

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”  

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.  

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”  

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.  

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.  

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”  

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”  

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”  

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”  

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.  

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”  

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”  

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.  

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”  

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”  

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.  

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.  

But tonight?  

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.  

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”  

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.  

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.  

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”  

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”  

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”  

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”  

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”  

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”  

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.  

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.  

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”  

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”  

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.  

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.  

But tonight?  

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further. 

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

[thewavesofmel]

The Voicemail

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Hello! I have read some Bucky Barnes fanfics over the years and have written some other fanfiction on AO3 myself, but never felt brave enough to write anything like this. So this is my first try writing a Bucky Barnes X Reader fanfic and wrote something today on the spur of the moment and felt brave enough to post it. Depending on how I feel, I may post this on AO3 too. Apologies in advance for any errors!  Additionally, this is my own writing, and I do no consent to it being posted as original content by any other individuals other than myself.

Summary: Bucky gets a voicemail from you after two months of not seeing each other. 

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, Minors DNI. Smut. With some plot. Friends with benefits. Dirty Talk. Mutual Masturbation. Phone sex (kinda). Voicemail. 

************************************************************************

It’s been two months. Two months of texts almost sent and a finger hovering over your name in his contacts. Two months without your voice, your smile…your touch..your kiss…your moans...and your body. Two months without you. The decision was mutual. You both decided it was for the best. But he couldn't stop thinking about you. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was when you both were together. No one made him feel as good as you did. No one knew their way around his body like you did. You knew exactly what made him feel good and how to get him off. You respected his limits and were always eager to try new things. You both have the philosophy of pleasing your lover as much as possible and at least three orgasms before the next round. At first, you both were amazing for each other. You both were each other's confidant and stress relief. You were each other's solace, both when life got hard or when you just needed to feel someone else's body on yours. And somewhere it just all fell apart and got too messy and too intense. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good you feel. He couldn’t help but miss the sound you make when you cum and how sweet you tasted when his tongue was deep inside you.  He went through the motions, he went on missions, spent time with the team, went to his therapist, but the thought of you was constantly in the back of his head. The decision to not speak to each other after the break-up wasn’t agreed on or even said, it just happened. He longed to speak to you. God, he wanted to do so much more than just talk. He wanted to fuck you slow and deep just like you liked. Until you begged him to go faster and deeper making you scream out his name. But if he couldn’t have that, he at least wanted to at least just hear your voice. But at the same time, he didn’t even know what to say. So he just didn’t say anything, it was just easier. He thought you would do the same. Until he was proven wrong. 

That night he just got back to his apartment after a week-long mission. It was tedious and intense. As soon as he got home he just wanted to shower and sleep. And if sleep wouldn’t come, he just wanted to fucking lay down for more than 10 minutes. He pushes his still wet hair out of his face as he walks from the bathroom to the bed in comfortable sweatpants. He plops himself on the bed to lay down and sighs deeply with the urge to just roll over and shut his eyes. He decided to check his phone before he wrestles with his sleep and what he sees makes him sit straight up. 

It’s a voicemail. He must have had his phone on silent, he didn’t even hear it ring. Only a few people would call him at this time of the night, usually for a mission. But it wasn’t any of them, it was you. 

Maybe he shouldn’t listen to it. Maybe not hearing from each other if for the best. But all he could think about was hearing your voice. He couldn’t open the message fast enough and pressed play. 

“Hey, it's me.” your voice starts and his breath catches as he hears you.  

“I wanted to... I don't know, I just wanted to... I shouldn't even be calling you, should I? We hadn’t really said we should stop talking to each other. But it’s just… you know.” you stop to sigh and he sighs in agreement.

“But we did make an agreement to stop seeing each other. And I know we said it wasn't a good idea, but I just... I just can't stop thinking about you” you say softly and he feels his heart start to pound. You missed him too and it felt so good to hear you say it. He almost played that part over just to hear you say it again but he wanted to hear what else you had to say. 

“I just wanted to call you and hear your voice. I miss you. I really do. I miss... I miss talking to you. I miss... being around you. I... I miss your touch. I miss kissing you. God damn it, I miss fucking you. Um... I know that... us being... in the same room is difficult and I think that's why we are avoiding each other but I just….I don't want you to…I want you to be close to me because when you're close to me…fuck, so many things happen.” you breathe out, sounding lost in thought. And he breathes with you, his body starting to react to your words. The same tingle he gets in his body starts to make him heat up and he bites his lip.

“I… I... well... First of all, I get out of breath like how I feel out of breath now. Um, I, uh... My heart starts pumping fast. And, um... My body, it feels tingly. All over. And, um... And... And I start to get... So freaking... wet. Just your voice makes me so wet.” you slightly moan. 

“Fuck baby” he whispers in response and he can’t help but let out a small whimper. His cock grows hard at hearing how wet he makes you and the effect he has on you.

“And I... I don't want to let that go, honestly. The way you touch me and how you caress me. The way you know that I like it when you bite my ear. And you trail your tongue from my chest to my neck. Just the right spots to kiss and bite. And the way you kiss all over my body…. how you touch…the way you know how to touch my breasts…and pinch my nipples just right…and how you look into my eyes when you suck on them… fuck you know how wet that makes me.” you continue on in that same tone you use when his fingers are deep inside of you. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. He takes his free hand and starts to rub on his cock through his sweatpants. Hearing that sweet voice filled with need turns him on so much and it’s been so long without you. 

“And fuck… your hands…both of them are perfect…the way your fingers are so…justt so fucking good…. and the way you know to finger me, not too fast, not too slow, but just right…how you curl your fingers right up into my G spot…and rub my clit…makes me cum so hard on those fingers” you whimper. By now he picks up on the rustling and wet sounds along with your words. You are touching yourself while you talk and you aren’t trying to hide it. And by now, he fully has his cock out and can’t help but stroke himself right along with you, desperate to hear more. 

“And then the way that you... damn the way that you fuck me. You know just how to fuck me. Having you inside of me…it feels so fucking good. The way that you start slow, and you keep going…going so deep ... .it's amazing. Mmmm fuck so amazing, fuck baby.” you start to struggle with your words and the sounds of you rubbing and fingering yourself intensify. He fucking loves when you struggle with your words like that when you are feeling good. It spurs him to start to stroke himself faster.  

“Fuck princess, you sound so so fucking good” he moans out as he strokes and continues to listen.

“But then…when I say I need more…you just… fuck…you just pound right into me… so fucking fast and deep…you pound into me so good until I can’t feel my fucking legs… and you fill me up so good… and the way you rub my clit when you pound into my pussy…your moans when you are deep inside of me…and how you tell me what a good girl I am, and tell me how I feel so good, and tell me how close you are and how you want to feel me squeeze your cock as I am about to cum…and then you go even deeper…and fuckkkkkk….baby it makes me cum so fucking hard. I want that…fuck baby, fuck I want you baby I-” you suddenly stop talking cry out his name and as soon as he hears you cry out he cums. He cums hard all over his hand and throws his head back as he moans out your name. He hasn’t cum with you in so long and it feels so fucking good. He takes a moment to catch his breath as he listens to you do the same. 

“I…I miss that so much. I miss you so much. The way you take care of me after….how you lay me on your chest and kiss me gently and... hold me in your arms. I miss that. I…want it back. I know it's a lot and I know that we shouldn't… but fuck… I don't think I can do without it. I miss that. I miss you.” you whisper to him and the message ends. 

He sits and stares at his phone as his body reacts. Reacts to the desire and desperation he hears in your voice. Your need for him. You need him. You want him. And fuck, he wanted you. Before he could realize what he was doing, he was cleaning himself up, putting on a fresh shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket with his black boots. He grabbed his keys, locked up, and was out the door. You wanted him. You needed him. And he wouldn’t keep you waiting a minute longer.  

[sturniololuvz]

could you do the triplets sister going through something and she ends up getting drunk and just saying everything to the triplets and they comfort her (yes i’m dealing with trauma through fanfic)

yesss!

“A Drunken Heart-to-Heart”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : drunk , crying

The front door swung open with a loud thud as 17-year-old Y/N stumbled inside, her face flushed and her steps wobbly. She barely managed to kick her shoes off before tripping over the rug in the entryway.

“Whoa—what the—?” Nick was the first to look up from the couch, his eyes widening.

Chris and Matt turned their heads at the same time, immediately catching sight of their little sister, who was clearly not sober.

“Y/N?” Matt said, standing up. “Are you—are you drunk?”

Y/N giggled, hiccupped, then nodded dramatically. “Maaaaybeeee.”

Chris blinked. “Oh, this is weird.”

“Very weird,” Nick added, watching as Y/N practically melted onto the couch next to him.

“I love you guys soooo much,” she suddenly blurted, looking between them with glossy eyes.

“Okay, yeah, she’s definitely drunk,” Chris muttered, still in shock. Y/N was never this talkative.

“How much did you drink?” Matt asked, crossing his arms.

Y/N shrugged. “Like… a little. Or a lot. Who knows?”

Nick sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, well, you need to sleep this off, so—”

But before he could finish, Y/N’s face twisted, and suddenly, her bottom lip trembled. “Guys…” Her voice cracked.

The room went silent.

“Uh… Y/N?” Chris asked cautiously.

And then—she broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” she sobbed.

Matt, Chris, and Nick all exchanged panicked glances.

“Oh—oh, no,” Matt mumbled.

“Is she crying?!” Chris whisper-shouted. “What do we do?!”

Nick, despite his usual sarcastic nature, was the first to move. He slid closer to Y/N, hesitating for only a second before pulling her into a hug. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Y/N sniffled, gripping onto his hoodie like it was her lifeline. “Everything,” she whispered. “I feel like—I feel like I’m drowning, and no one even notices. I try so hard to act fine, but I’m not fine, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

Matt immediately softened. “Y/N…”

Chris, now fully out of his confusion, sat on her other side. “Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling like this?” His voice was quieter than usual.

Y/N wiped at her face, still hiccupping. “Because—I don’t know. I didn’t want to bother you guys.”

Nick’s grip on her tightened. “You’re never a bother, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, dude, you could literally scream at me at 3 a.m. about anything, and I’d still listen.”

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’re your brothers, Y/N. No matter what, we’re here for you.”

Y/N looked between them, her face still wet with tears, but something about their words made her breathing slow. She was drunk, exhausted, and emotionally drained—but for the first time in a while, she felt safe.

Nick squeezed her shoulder. “Now, how about we get you some water and let you sleep this off? And tomorrow, we’ll talk about this when you’re sober, yeah?”

Y/N nodded, sniffling. “Okay.”

Chris stood up. “I’ll get the water.”

Matt grabbed a blanket. “And I’ll make sure she doesn’t roll off the couch in her sleep.”

Nick chuckled. “And I’ll keep holding her so she doesn’t start crying again.”

Y/N let out a small laugh between her sniffles. “Thanks, guys.”

Matt smiled softly. “Always.”

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty Three)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirty Three: Cillian and Y/N prepare to tell his sons and ex-wife about their pregnancy. It both goes better and worse than Y/N had anticipated. [Angst/Anxiety]

@borntodiemp3 @strangeions @watermeezer @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

NOT PROOFREAD - APOLOGIES FOR THE TYPOS

--------

“Cill?” You yell, crouched before the washing machine as it gushes water around your bare feet. “Cill! Fucking help me!” You call out louder, craning your neck around the laundry room door frame. You spot him walking towards you, finally, and feel a little bad as you realise he must have been upstairs. “Love, help…” you moan comically. “There's water pissing out of the door, and I can't get it open.” 

“Ah, jays…” Cillian stops at the door, grimacing as his socked feet splash into the warm soapy water, and he looks at you with a horrified expression. “What am I, a plumber?” He tuts. “Was there something stuck in the door?” 

“I don't know,” you groan as you attempt once again to pull the door open. Sighing, you look back up at him again. “I think it's fucked. What do we do?” 

He smirks, “Call someone who knows what to do.” He shrugs. “I'll get on Google, see if I can find someone local. Leave it for now, I'll get some towels down and we'll just see if anyone can sort it “ he leans in the door as he pulls off his wet socks and then throws them into the laundry box. “Hold on til I get the towels.” He turns and disappears, and you hear him jog up the stairs as you slowly rise up off your toes to stand straight. 

You step over the door, and shake the drips off your foot before you place it down in the kitchen, then repeat the same with the other foot. You're still wet, obviously, but at least the floor is drier in the kitchen. You turn your head over your shoulder as Cillian returns with his arms loaded with bath towels. He isn't strategic at all as he drops the entire pile down before the washing machine and nods, proud of his work. “At least you could have laid them out better, you knob.” You shake your head, but the grin he gives you makes you laugh. “Your navy jumper is in there,” you tell him. “It's going to end up ruined.” 

“Ah, it'll get sorted,” he says, calm about the entire disaster. He turns to you and pulls you in against him, arms wrapped around your back. He rests his cheek on your head and grumbles softly. Of course this had to happen today, with Yvonne and the boys due in a couple of hours and your anxiety already over the hilt. “Relax,” he whispers, as if sensing your internal discord. “It's just water. It's a lot of water, but it's just water.” 

“At least I know what face you'll pull if my waters break on your feet.” You tease, and he laughs cheerfully at the joke. 

He shifts his arms and cups both hands around your face. Holding you tightly, he kisses the tip of your nose and then your lips softly. “It's just fucking water.” He says, raising his eyebrows and looking squarely into your eyes. He kisses you again, and you wrap your arms around his back, kneading your hands against the material of his black zip-through hoodie. You apply pressure to the kiss, and love that he gives it back immediately. But as much as this immediately sparks pleasurable throbbing between your legs, you can't bring yourself to insist on shagging on the counter tops with the impending arrivals of his ex wife and sons. 

You pull your face back and smirk at the groan he gives. “We're supposed to be making dinner for everyone.” 

“Just a quickie…” he raises his eyebrows. 

You shake your head. “Later.”

He scoffs, “I don't think I'll get the horn for a month after this conversation.” He sighs and runs his hands up and down your sides. 

“Do we know if Aran said anything after we talked before?” You ask, nervous for the answer. 

Cillian shook his head, “Ah no, I'm sure I'd have had calls and texts if that happened.” He raises his eyebrows. “I'm just getting second thoughts about doing this here. Not the boys, like, but Yvonne. She's bound to be…reactive.” He says diplomatically. 

“The boys will react too,” you say softly. “We have to let them.” 

He scoffs a little, “Why?” Then laughs. You sympathise - you're so anxious you're sure you're vibrating - but you know it has to happen. He kisses you softly again then taps his hands against you before he lets his arms drop down. “Let me try and get someone for this fucking washer, and we'll sort the dinner.” 

You pull open the front door and try your best not to look like you've just retched yourself inside out over the kitchen sink. “Hi guys,” you push a smile quickly into your cheeks. “Come in, come in.” You step back, “It's freezing.” Malachy steps through with a cheerful hello, followed by Aran, with Yvonne smiling politely behind him. “Cill's in the kitchen, finishing off dinner.” You say as you close the door, then gesture with your left hand as they all strip off their coats. “Here,” you hold out your hand to Yvonne for her coat. “I'll pop it under the stairs.” 

“Thanks,” Yvonne gives another polite smile. 

“Kitchen, yeah?” Malachy asks, walking on. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” You call back as you hang Yvonne's coat up. When you turn around, the three of them are already gone. You catch up behind them to choruses of hellos and small greetings. You linger awkwardly beside the kettle as the boys and Yvonne take stools at the island. There's an atmosphere of unease, of course, but Cillian split immediately into comfortable chat with the boys, and surprisingly with Yvonne too. 

“I was half expecting Adam,” Cillian says, his back to them as he pokes at the saucepan on the cooker before he turns back to face them. “He'd have been welcome.” He says. You wonder how true that is. 

“He had to work over in Drogheda so he won't be back until tomorrow.” Yvonne explains. “So you're back now indefinitely?” She asks him. 

“Til I've the next job,” he nods with a smile. “I've a few obligations here in the new year anyway, so I don't think I'll be going too far.” He looks at you briefly and you smile. Both Yvonne and Aran, in their seats, have their backs to you. You know it is purely down to seating, but your anxiety has a field day over that being intentional. “And you've a week left at school now before Christmas?” He asks Aran. 

Aran nods his head. “Then exams out my ears.”

“And you're finished already?” He grins at Malachy. 

“Yeah - picking up more hours at work, seeing Aoife. I'm keeping busy.” He smirks and Cillian laughs. 

“Drink, anyone?” You offer, and you wonder why your voice has come out sounding so strangled. 

Yvonne turns on the stool, “Tea would be good. Green tea if you have it?* 

Your stomach drops and you can see Cillian both want to laugh and stifle cringe. You can't even bear the smell of it in the house right now. “Oh, sorry, Cill had the last teabag this morning.” You lie as coolly as you can. “We have peppermint, or camomile.” You offer. “Or just straight tea.” You smile nervously. 

“Camomile is great, thanks.” Yvonne smiles politely once again. She's trying, you notice, to not make this unusual visit awkward. You need to try to - at least until the news is broken. 

“Yeah, no problem. Boys?” You call out, turning to flip the switch on the kettle. “Those waters and all are in the fridge, or there's a couple of beers. Or Coke.” You reel off. 

“Dad?” Malachy jumps down from his stool, “We getting you so pissed you can't take your…slippers off, or so that you sleep on them?” He teases as he opens the fridge door. 

“We are in your arse!” Cillian laughs, his back once again turned to them as he tends to the last few parts of dinner. 

It's clear Yvonne doesn't get the joke, despite everyone else laughing, when you hand her her mug of tea. You feel for her a little - you're fairly sure she has plenty of inside jokes with the boys and Cillian that she could share and leave you on the outside. But you don't say anything to include her. You take a seat at the end of the island, planting yourself essentially between Yvonne and Malachy, but you can see clearly where Cillian is moving around and that line of sight makes you feel a little calmer. The room falls quiet, but for Cillian's tipping about, and you look around you nervously. The silence is worse than the awkward chatter, and you're desperate for Cillian to say something. 

“What's your first exam, Aran?” You ask suddenly, and you feel ridiculously embarrassed when you find yourself almost shouting the question. 

But Aran looks up and shrugs, “Erm…I have a list. I don't remember.”

You nod your head and stare up at Cillian's back, begging him to turn around and speak. “Nervous about them?” You ask, looking back at the young man. 

He shrugs again, “Dunno.” there's an edge to his tone that you're sure you're picking up on, but you blame your anxiety for feeling it. But when Cillian turns around, his face is a little stern, and you feel a little validated for your feelings. 

“Aran,” Cillian says quietly and walks towards the island. “Dinner’s done, why don't you go into the dining room?” He nods ahead of him. Yvonne and the boys stand in almost perfect unison, and you smile gently at Malachy as he passes behind you, tapping his hand on your shoulder as he goes. 

You look at Cillian and while you know you can't be too vocal, you make a face that you hope he understands: I'm absolutely shitting myself and this feels awful. His eyes are soft as he sighs and walks towards you. He wraps his arms around you as you get off the stool and sighs heavily. “He still hates me,” you whisper. 

“He doesn't.” Cillian says quietly. “He's probably just picking up that there's something going on. And knowing Aran he's probably fucking worked it out.” He releases you and kisses your forehead gently. “C'mon, let's plate up. You alright?” 

You nod, “Yeah - so far it doesn't smell bad.” You laugh lightly. 

“G'on,” he jerks his head, “Grab out the plates there and we'll face the music.” 

The lightness of the meal surprises you, as Aran and Malachy tease their Dad, and Yvonne actually seems interested about your work. You realise you've never had any conversation beyond polite chatter before, and you feel a rush of conflict over what you know you have coming for her and the boys. You don't want to hurt them, of course you don't, but you're having a baby and you want to be happy with Cillian - and for that to happen, they need to know and they need to accept it. Only when everyone had laid down their cutlery did you and Cillian exchange knowing looks. You raise your eyebrows, and he gives a tiny, brief nod. 

“Right,” he says, and clears his throat. “I know the three of youse probably thought it was off, getting youse all in for dinner.” 

“Just assumed one of you is dying,” Malachy jokes, and you can't help smirking as he throws back his head - just like his Dad - and giggles loudly. 

“Malachy, stop…” Yvonne tuts and shakes her head. 

“I'm only messing,” he rolls his eyes, and you can see he's relieved to see you still smiling at his joke. Cillian, though, looks a little more pressured. 

“Thanks for that, Mal.” Cillian says, but he does look amused I'm his torture. “No, neither of us is dying that we know of.” 

“Dad…?” Aran raises his eyebrows, and you can see he's wondering if you're sharing the secrets he'd discovered as he sits across from you. 

“Eh,” Cillian begins to stammer over his words. “Y/N and me talked to the two of you there a few weeks back and, eh, we cleared up some concerns or-or…misconstrued information. Yeah?” 

Malachy looks at you, then at his Dad. “You're having a fucking kid?” He fixes his eyes on Cillian and you're not sure what his expression means. 

Yvonne, on the other hand, is instantly readable. She looks shocked, as she looks at you and Cillian in turn, and you want the ground to open up and suck you in. “What?” Yvonne's eyebrows shoot quickly up her forehead. 

Cillian sighs and he runs his tongue across his lips nervously. “Yeah,” he nods slowly. “Yeah, Y/N is pregnant.” He sighs again. “When we told you that wasn't the case, we were not lying. It's only early, and there's a scan booked there for January, but there were some pictures and an article and…I wanted it to come from us.” 

“So you're telling us because someone else was going to?” Aran said, his eyes fixed firmly on his father.

Yvonne turns to her youngest, “Aran, you can't talk to your Dad like that.” 

“Aran, I'm sorry. We would have been telling youse after the scan, but we didn't want you to get it from somewhere other than us. Other than me.” Cillian defends himself quickly, but you can see he has no comebacks to Aran's quip. “When we talked and I said we weren't expecting a baby, it wasn't a lie. This…it wasn't planned, but it's happening. And I wanted it to be me telling the three of you, not some random internet search throwing it out.” 

“Keeping it?” Aran asks, and you shoot your eyes to Cillian. 

“Of course,” Cillian replies and you can see his eyes silently begging his son not to do this. 

“No choice, or…?” Aran turns down the corners of his mouth. 

“Aran!” Yvonne scolds, but you can see the shock is still there on her face, and there's something else that you're sure is contempt. 

“Aran, please,” Cillian holds out his hand, he's commanding of respect without raising his voice. You're not sure if he'll get said respect, but he's trying. “Didn't we talk about the fact that there has to be a point when I stop making my decisions based on you and Mal alone? Y/N is pregnant and I know it's a shock, it is for us, but it's happening. I want you to be able to talk to me about it, I care about how it affects you, but I need you both to be aware that this is happening regardless. There'll be a baby, and ye pair will need to be prepared for that.” 

You feel panicked and shaken, and you want to run but you know you can't. You realise Malachy has been particularly quiet after being the one to work it all out. “Malachy?” You say gently, “Are you alright?” 

You watch the young man shift in his seat. “I mean, I'm gonna be what? Twenty years older than my little brother or sister? And my Dad's nearly fifty and having another baby.” He sighs and you hear Cillian sigh loudly. “But it's your two’s life, not mine.” You can tell he's conflicted, but you hugely appreciate his words. “I mean, good luck and all I suppose.” Cillian looked at you with such a look of pride that you actually think you love him more, but it's twisted up with his concern over Aran's response, too. 

“We didn't plan this, we'd almost certainly decided it wouldn't happen at all, but it has. We've been coming to terms with it ourselves and we know you have to, too. But like I said, it's happening. We're gonna have a baby, and it's not gonna be an easy change. Not for any of us.” Cillian speaks diplomatically and you hear the fears you know he has, those fears he talked about before. “But we wanted to talk to you ourselves. You too, Yvonne. Like, I owed you all that - it coming from us, and just you, before we told anyone else.” He sits quietly for a moment and you want to hold his hand but you don't move. “Aran, will you talk to me?” He says after a few moments. “I want you to think about it, and like I'll be here if you want to talk about it, but at the same time, pal, it's happening despite what you're feeling. I don't want you feeling badly, not at all, and I don't want youse thinking this is a replacement or a fucking…I don't know, like I'm starting over and forgetting about youse. It's not like that. But this is our family, Y/N and me and this baby, and you're part of it.” 

Aran shrugs his shoulders and you feel bad that all eyes are on the boy. “And say what?” He asks. 

Cillian turns down the corners of his mouth, “Well, how do you feel about it?” 

“That you lied.” Aran says bluntly. “Again.” Your stomach drops. 

“Aran, I…” Cillian falters. 

“Suppose it's a bit better this time, though, isn't it?” Aran continues. “You told before you were found out.” 

Yvonne's face warns you of her impending question before it's uttered. “What is he on about?” Cillian's mouth bobs open, and you can see the sheer panic on his face. Your stomach is turning over and you're sure his is, too. 

“Smoking,” you say, suddenly. “He's been so worried over talking with you, and working, and I've been sick with it all… he's been smoking again. Aran had caught him with a cheeky cigarette on a video call.” You don't know if you'll regret the lie, but you're prepared to accept the consequences. You look across at Aran, and you hate yourself for pulling him into the deception. You know he has harsh feelings towards you anyway, so what's another? But to your relief - though you suspect only for his father - he accepts your silent begging of compliance. 

“Yeah… he knows I wasn't happy about the smoking.” Aran says quietly. 

“Oh, Cillian,” Yvonne rolls her eyes. 

You can't work out Cillian's expression - you're not sure if he feels ‘saved by the bell’, or if he's going to rip you a new one for deflecting and lying. “Yeah, I know,” he says and runs his tongue around his mouth awkwardly. “Look,” he shifts in the chair. “The important thing here is that you two,” he gestures at each of his sons, “know that you can come and talk to me about this. It does matter to me what you're feeling here. But I also need you both to be grown up enough to accept that we're going to be having this wee one and that won't change.” 

“We get it, Dad.” Malachy says quietly. “I'm not gonna throw you a party, but like I said, it's your life not mine.” 

Aran sniffs, “Yeah. Same.” he sighs heavily. 

“Well,” Yvonne clears her throat. “Congratulations then.” She says, matter of fact and clipped. She looks around her awkwardly, and you wonder if the ground opened for you if she might jump in, too. 

“I'm sorry,” Cillian says after it falls silent. You frown - why's he sorry? “I know you're sitting here hurting now, and I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry that this baby is coming. I'm not.” You swallow awkwardly around a painful swelling in your throat. “Y/N and me have been together nearly four years, and we're happy. Sure, if you told me you and Adam were getting married or having a child, I'd be shocked too but like I'd be happy for you. And I know things fell apart, and people were hurt, and the two of ye have been in the middle. I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry that we're happy.” 

“I get it, Dad.” Malachy repeats his earlier words, but he sounds softer, sad perhaps, and he nods his head slowly at his Dad. “Congratulations.” 

You can see the flash of emotion across Cillian's face and it makes your eyes water. “Thanks, Malachy.” 

“We really aren't trying to hurt you, Aran.” You say calmly, though your insides are anything but calm. He hates you entirely now, you're sure. 

Aran raises his eyebrows at you and nods his head, “Yeah, maybe not. But…” 

“But you're hurt anyway,” you say and he looks back at you without much reaction. “I know. I'm sorry. We knew when I found out that, after telling you I wasn't pregnant, it was going to look really bad.” 

“It was something she was really worried about, Aran. One of her first fucking concerns was how it'd make you two feel.” Cillian says. “It was for both of us.” 

Aran sighs noisily through his nose and you watch his share a look with his mother. “Okay.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “So I'm not gonna be the youngest anymore.” 

Cillian laughs, but it's awkward and self conscious. “No,” he sighs, smirking. “I suppose you're not.” 

“God, he's gonna be a middle child.” Malachy groans, comedically, and you're so thankful for this boy it's unreal. Cillian laughs again, and it's forced and just as awkward, but the smile he lands on you after is small but genuine. 

“Does anyone have anything to say?” Cillian asks, looking at everyone in turn.

Yvonne takes a deep breath, “I'm thankful you did it this way. And that you included me in it. Both of you.” Your heart beats wildly. You're not sure if you have just missed the fact that she's a reasonable person all of this time, or if she's just become resigned to the lives you all have now. You'd expected more, something harsher, and it overwhelms you that it doesn't come. “I hope you'll be really happy with the baby.” 

You feel your eyes heating up as tears fill them. “Thank you.” You mumble, and get slowly to your feet. You won't cry here. “I'll, um, I'll start clearing the table…” you say, and grab yours and Cillian's plates as you walk away. You need to breathe, you need to think, and you feel so overwhelmed by the contrast of reception being both worse and better than you'd expected that you have no idea how to process it all. You know Cillian will want to follow, and you want him to, but you also know that right now it isn't about you. 

[darklove9314-blog]

Sorry is the Hardest Word: A Nessian Fanfic

Welcome to day 3 of SJM romance week, prompt: First “I Love you”.

Synopsis: This story contains spoilers for HOFAS: proceed with caution. After the events of HOFAS, Cassian gives Nesta an explanation for his anger.

Nesta shoveled the food that Cassian had made them for dinner on her plate, her appetite near nonexistent as the silence and tension could be felt between her and Cassian. The feel of it damn near sufficienting as he concentrated on his own plate, his jaw still clenched in that anger from the discussion she, Rhys, Feyre and himself had had. Where even he had snapped at her about her reckless discussion. Feyre had been the only one to fight for her and the only one to get Rhys to back off until they were back at The House of Wind.

Ember and Randall exchanged a brief glance with one another, a silent conversation playing out between the two of them as Ember rose from her chair, gathering her and Randall’s empty dishes as Cassian’s eyes flickered up to her in response.

"I think we'll turn in for the night. Thank you for dinner." She said to Cassian as Ember squeezed Nesta's shoulder in reassurance before slipping her hand into Randall's making their way to wash their dishes before retrieving to the guest room Nesta had set up for them earlier.

She watched Ember go, taking a deep breath and gathering her courage as she turned back to Cassian, his focus still on his own plate as she straightened slightly. That was it, she was tired of this silence between them. If he was mad at her, fine, but she refused to let this argument fester between them any longer instead of talking about it.

"Go ahead." She finally said to him making Cassian's head lift in response, his eyes still flared with the fire she had seen in them earlier that day. she refused to back down from it.

"What do you want me to say Nesta? That I'm upset? You know I am, but somehow I doubt you care.”

"What was it about my decision that made you so angry? Even Feyre knew why i did it."

"I'm not Fyere, Nesta."

"Neither am i." Nesta argued, her hand clenching the table, "And yet when i make a decision that Feyre herself would have made, I'm punished and reprimanded for it. Why is that?"

Cassian gave her a leveled look, crossing his arms over his chest as he answered,

"I've been mad at Feyre plenty of times for throwing not just herself, but all of us in danger. You should have seen how angry I was when she decided not to tell any of us that she was High lady and decided to go with Tamlin to the Spring Court."

She briefly remembered that time, had remembered some of his anger, but mostly during that time, she had remembered him doing everything to keep her sane. Even if it meant provoking her anger in the process so she had something else to focus on then her own reality.

"Stop trying to change the subject, you owe me an explanation. I know why Rhys was mad, he's the High lord of these lands, Nyx is barely four months old and I already know he detest me, but I still can't figure out why my mate, the person who's supposed to understand me the most is angrier at me than my own brother in law is."

Cassian stood abruptly as Nesta stood up to meet him, crossing her arms over her chest. there was no way in hell that she would let him avoid this conversation. No matter how unpleasant it made both of them feel. She was tired of whatever the hell was happening between the two.

"You want to know why I'm pissed at you, why I'm furious that you gave it to that-that female." Cassian spewed out stepping closer to her so there was no space between them.

"I'm here waiting for an explanation aren't I?" She pressed.

"You are the most infuriating female I have ever met, you know that?"

She gave a low laugh at that,

"In that way we're evenly matched."

She expected lot of things, for him to yell at her some more or for him to walk away, she did not expect him to pull her in, whined his hands in her hair, and press his lips to hers.

She met his furious kisses, stroke for stroke, taking her own fury at him out in her kiss as they battled for dominance. He pulled away, leaving her breathless but still tilted her face up to meet that fire in his eyes as he breathed out,

"I'm angry, because that female had the audacity to ask my mate for a favor after she had already put your life in danger. I'm angry because the woman I love, put her life and safety at risk to help save others who would not do the same for her. I'm angry because-"

"Did you just say that you love me?" Nesta questioned, his declaration catching her off guard as he breathed pausing in his expiation blinking in confusion.

"Of course I did. You're my mate, why wouldn't I-"

He paused considering, contemplating their time together. the words he had uttered to her in their love making, she knew he loved her, had felt it in his kiss, in the fierceness of how he showed it to her, but she had never heard him utter it out loud, not until this very moment.

"I'm an asshole." He finally admitted, sorrow and regret in his eyes and a hint of shame. "I'm a selfish, cowardice, asshole, and some days I do not deserve you."

She closed the very narrow distance between them, standing on tip toes to press her lips to his, her hands gently caressing his face as he kissed her back with the desire of a thousand universes.

"I love you too." She whispered, losing herself in his strong embrace, her lover, her best friend, her mate.

"I should have said it sooner." He whispered to her in between their urgent kisses.

"The past is the past, Cassian. I'd rather live in the here and the now, for however long the Mother and The universe gives us, I want you by my side."

He grasped her hand, intertwining their fingers as he said,

"I wouldn't want it any other way, Nesta Archeron."

She smiled, capturing his lips once more as she mused,

"We should take this to the bedroom that way you can show me how much you love me."

She felt his smile between their kiss as he lifted her up in his arms, a giggle escaping her as he grinned,

"I thought you'd never ask."

@sjmromanceweek

[nausikaaa]

Far More Than Six Sentences Monday

thanks for tagging me @roomwithanopenfire @confused-bi-queer @meanjeansjeans @orange-peony @artsyunderstudy @thewholelemon @prettygoododds and @run-for-chamo-miles!

for once, i actually have some fanfic to share, rather than original work. if i get it finished on time, and that's a big if, i'm hoping to post something for EGF. but don't hold me to anything, it's still only a quarter or so written.

but anyway, here are six slightly nsfw sentences from that:

As the warm water cascades over me, I feel like I’m fifteen again. Fighting with Simon just to feel something, then wanking my frustrations out in the shower. It’s pathetic, and that just makes me angrier.

What is even my plan here? Piss Simon off so much he’ll no longer want to propose to me? Great plan, Baz, just drive your boyfriend away entirely! You can’t fear commitment if there’s nobody committed to you!

and totally throwing the rules to the wind, since people seemed to like my OCs (more on them here) earlier this week, here's some more of them! more angsty this time, though. and i couldn't pick just six sentences, so here's just... a whole section.

This close, I can see every detail of Aeden's face- each separate eyelash, the almost imperceptibly light freckles scattered across their nose and cheeks. Following their trail, my eyes catch on something else- pale scars. I know the type from playing with fire too many times as a teenager- burn scars.

But there’s a uniform shape to them that makes my blood run cold. They’re all little circles, about the same size, and when I look closer, I can see shapes in them. Runes- some I recognise, some I don’t. Over and over again, I can spot the Othala rune, the same symbol on my ring. I lift my hand and compare them. The same exact size and shape.

“It was my mother’s.” I remember Aeden saying. “The rune means legacy, family, heirlooms. I think that’s why she left it behind for me.”

“I can’t accept it.” Trying to hand it to them.

The wary step back. “It’s fine. I can’t wear it anyway, I’m allergic.”

“Allergic?”

“Cold iron.” A rueful smile. "Fae bullshit."

Why would a mother wear a ring that burns her child? Why are ring marks burned into their face, over and over again?

I feel bile rise in my throat as my breaths start coming sharp and fast, and Aeden shifts in their sleep, frowning.

is there much point in tagging this late? not really. will i do it anyway, just to say hi? why of course!

@forabeatofadrum @cutestkilla @bookish-bogwitch @youarenevertooold @that-disabled-princess @noblecorgi @larkral @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @martsonmars @leithillustration @j-trow-95 and @blackberrysummerblog

[just1cefor4ll]

—Our summer with the exchange student

Tyler Hernández x exchange student!reader

A/n. hey heyyy the long awaited sbg fanfic :3 this was pretty fun to write so i MIGHT accept requests but im still thinking about that. anyways, for now enjoy!

“Y/N L/N, please come to the office now.”

The voice crackled over the school intercom, earning you a few curious glances from classmates as you stood up. You had no idea why you were being called, but you tried to ignore the nervous twist in your stomach as you made your way down the hall.

When you stepped inside, the principal was waiting with a stack of papers. “You’ve been selected for the summer exchange program,” they said, sliding the packet toward you. “You’ll be staying in Alto, Georgia, with a host family for a few months.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“It’s a great opportunity. You’ll get to improve your English, experience a different culture.. I’d think about it if I were you.”

Your fingers brushed over the papers, the weight of the decision settling in. A summer in the U.S.? You weren’t sure if it was terrifying or exciting. Maybe both.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n usa here i come >:D RAHHH 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

liked by itssaraaa, zeyynep20, alexr0cks and 27 others

2 commented

zeyynep20 STAY SAFEEE WERE SO HAPPY FOR U GIRL!!!

truly.y/n replied UGH ILL MISS YOU GUYS SM :(((

The heat in Georgia was overwhelming, thick and heavy like it wanted to press you into the ground. You adjusted your grip on your suitcase, scanning the small airport until you spotted a handwritten sign with your name on it. The people holding it—your host family, the Banners—waved as you approached.

Emma Banner, the mother, was the first to speak. “Y/N, right?” She pulled you into a quick hug before you had time to react. “It’s so nice to meet you. You must be exhausted.”

Mike, the father, clapped you on the back. “Long flight, huh? Hope you’re ready for a real Southern summer.”

And then there was Ashlyn. She stood slightly behind them, hands in her pockets, her expression neutral. “Hey,” she said simply.

“Hi,” you answered, unsure what else to say.

The car ride to their house was filled with easy conversation. Emma asked if you were hungry, Mike joked about how you might regret coming once you felt the humidity, and Ashlyn, while quieter, occasionally added to the conversation. It wasn’t as awkward as you’d feared. They were making an effort to make you feel welcome, and you appreciated that.

When you finally arrived at their house, Ashlyn led you to your room—well, your shared room. That was something you’d have to get used to.

“It’s not much,” she said, sitting on her bed while you placed your suitcase down. “But you’ll get used to it.”

You glanced around. The walls were covered in faded band posters, books were stacked on the nightstand, and there was a messiness to the space that felt lived-in. It wasn’t home, but it wasn’t bad.

Ashlyn watched as you sat on your bed. “You ever been to the States before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded like she expected that answer. “It’s probably not what you’re used to.”

“Definitely not.”

She smirked slightly. “Well, at least you won’t be bored.”

A few days later, Ashlyn took you to the school bus graveyard, which, as you quickly learned, wasn’t just a graveyard for buses—it was where everyone in their friend group hung out.

The group was already there when you arrived. “Guys this is Y/N, she’ll be staying for the summer just like I told you so don’t be annoying.” She introduced you and went inside a bus, grabbing some spray cans to most likely paint the buses with.

Aiden was the first to greet you, easygoing and friendly. Taylor smiled warmly, Ben gave a small nod, Logan seemed a bit shy. And then there was Tyler.

He scoffed as you looked his way, giving you an unwelcoming look.

"Don’t mind him," Taylor said with a soft chuckle, elbowing her brother. "He's just like that."

Tyler rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, glaring at you for a moment longer before muttering in Spanish. "¿Por qué tengo que saludarla si ni siquiera quiero estar aquí?" (Why do I have to greet her if I don’t even want to be here?)

Taylor raised an eyebrow and shot her brother a look. "Ty, no seas grosero. Deja de ser tan pesado." (Ty, don’t be rude. Stop being so difficult.)

Tyler huffed, glancing away, clearly unimpressed. "No soy grosero, solo no me apetece hablar con alguien que no conozco." (I’m not being rude, I just don’t feel like talking to someone I don’t know.)

Taylor sighed, a little exasperated. "¿De verdad? Estamos todos aquí juntos. No es tan difícil." (Really? We're all here together. It’s not that hard.)

"Bueno, ojalá el verano fuera más corto," Tyler muttered, rolling his eyes again. (Well, I wish summer was shorter.)

Aiden chuckled softly, clearly amused by the sibling banter, while Ben gave a friendly wave in your direction. Logan was still quiet, giving you a small smile.

Tyler let out a dramatic sigh. After a brief silence, he finally looked at you again and reluctantly said in English, "Fine, I’ll behave. For now." He shot an almost defiant look at Taylor, as if giving in to her persistence.

That first night, you mostly just observed. The group moved so naturally together, like they had their own rhythm. They talked over each other, argued about stupid things, and laughed in a way that made you a little jealous. You weren’t sure if you fit into that yet. But you wanted to.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n settling in pretty well so far! love my host sister <33 tagged: ashlynbann3rr

liked by ashlynbann3r, tayy.hernandez, reekidaiden, b.clark and 19 others

4 commented

ashlynban3r happy to have u here

reekidaiden WHAT ABOUT USSSSSS

truly.y/n replied i love you guys too!!

tayy.hernandez OOOO BODY TEAAA

As the summer passed, you started settling in. Mornings were slow, spent at the Banners’ house or helping with small community events you were demanded to do as part of your program during the exchange. Evenings were for the group, gathering at the bus graveyard or sneaking into the lake for late-night swims.

The summer air was thick and warm as you sat with the group on the hood of an old bus, the metal still holding some of the day’s heat. The night was filled with the usual chatter, but at some point, the conversation turned to you.

“So,” Taylor started, shifting to face you. “What’s home like for you?” You hesitated, rolling a loose rock between your fingers. “It’s.. very different.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Tyler scoffed. “Be more specific.”

Taylor elbowed him. “Shut up and let her talk.”

You thought for a moment. “I’d say it’s a lot quieter. Americans are.. a bit loud—not you specifically, but the people I met during community service and all that. It startled me a bit at first. And everything here looks almost the same—the neighborhoods, I mean. Back in my town, they all looked different from each other. It was more unique, I guess?” you rambled.

Aiden nodded. “Sounds neat.”

You shrugged. “People also act differently. Like, here, strangers say hi to each other all the time. Back home, that’d be weird.”

“That’s so wild to me,” Taylor said. “You just ignore people?”

“I wouldn’t say ignore,” you corrected. “It’s just.. people keep to themselves more. You don’t stop and make small talk with a random person on the street.”

Logan, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “So, do you miss it?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But it’s nice here, too.”

Tyler, who had been unusually quiet, glanced at you. “You ever think about staying?”

You looked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“If you had the chance,” he said, kicking at the dirt, “would you stay here?”

The group fell silent, waiting for your answer.

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I think.. no matter where you are, there’s always something you’ll miss about the other place.”

Tyler stared at you for a second, then looked away. “Yeah. I get that.”

The conversation shifted after that, but something about the way he looked at you stayed in your mind.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n just give me the citizenship atp LMAOO

liked by reekidaiden, tayy.hernandez, loganfields97, zeyynep20 and 31 others

3 commented

zeyynep20 oh no shes already changing citizenships (its over guys we’ve lost her)

reekidaiden replied yuh shes ours now LLLL

zeyynep20 replied [cusses him out in your language]

The next week, the group ended up at the lake, as they often did on hot afternoons. Someone had the idea to race to the other side, which ended with half the group exhausted and floating on their backs.

You swam to shore, wringing the water from your clothes when you heard Tyler behind you.

“Not bad,” he said, plopping down onto the grass. “You almost beat me.”

“I did beat you,” you corrected, smirking.

He scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

You sat down next to him, both of you still catching your breath. The others were still in the water, their laughter distant.

Tyler pulled at a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “So.. what’s up with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He turned his head to face you. “You hated me at first. I’d be lying if you didn’t annoy me but I feel like you’re slowly warming up to me.”

“Yeah you were pretty annoying.”

He faked being hurt, playfully hitting you in the shoulder. “You hurt me princesa.” You chuckled, bringing your legs closer to your body as the summer heat slowly faded into a cold, dark night.

There was a beat of silence. Then, quieter, he asked, “But you don’t hate me anymore? Do you?”

You swallowed, your heart picking up speed. “No. I don’t.”

His gaze flickered down to your lips for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again. You barely had time to think before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

His lips were warm, slightly chapped from the sun, and the kiss was hesitant at first—like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. But you didn’t.

When you finally parted, he let out a small breath. “Okay,” he muttered, almost like he was processing what just happened.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

From the lake, someone shouted, “Are you two making out over there?”

Tyler groaned. “God, I hate them.”

You just laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. “So, what does this make us? Pretty sure sworn enemies don’t kiss.” You tease, earning a chuckle out of him. “Don’t know, whatever you want us to be.” You thought about it, but then the image of you leaving at the end of summer pressed into your mind. “Hm..”

ashlynbann3r

ashlynbann3r 📍Lake Rabun

liked by truly.y/n, emmabanner79, t.hernandez, tayy.hernandez and 17 others

2 commented

emmabanner79 happy you kids are having fun :)

truly.y/n replied ❤️❤️

t.hernandez

t.hernandez maybe I don’t want summer to be shorter anymore

liked by tayy.hernandez, b.clark, loganfields97, truly.y/n and 47 others

3 commented

tayy.hernandez te lo dijeee ;))

reekidaiden tyler and y/n sitting in a tree HEHEHE

t.hernandez replied fuck you aiden

The weeks slipped by faster than you wanted them to. The group had become your second home, the nights spent at the bus graveyard or the lake turning into some of your favorite memories.

But time didn’t slow down, no matter how much you wished it would.

Two weeks before summer ended the group brought you to a diner.. a very american one at that to be fair. They said they had the day planned for you and you couldn’t ask any questions, and so you didn’t.

As Aiden shoved some random food he ordered your way, you tasted it with a raised brow wondering why everyone was staring at you with such funny looks but then the spice kicked in. “Damn that’s—“ You coughed a bit and everyone started laughing, filling the atmosphere with positive energy which warmed your heart— literally.

Tyler smirked. “I told you it wasn’t for the weak, hermosa,” he teased, leaning back in his seat and throwing his arm over your shoulders.

You waved your hand, trying to play it cool despite the heat in your mouth. "It's fine," you said, though your face probably gave you away.

Taylor, sitting beside you, laughed. "No worries, you’ll get used to it. Aiden thinks spicy food is a challenge." Aiden grinned. "It is a challenge. But it’s also delicious." He pointed at Tyler. "You should try it, Ty."

Tyler shook his head, sipping his soda. “No thanks. I don’t want to die over something so dumb.”

The whole group laughed, and even Tyler couldn't help but smile as he watched you handle the spice. It was a fun, relaxed atmosphere, and you felt more and more at ease with the group.

After dinner, they all piled into the cars and headed for the bowling alley. You weren’t great at bowling, but everyone was in high spirits, joking around and making ridiculous poses. Tyler, usually serious, couldn’t resist joining in. He lined up his shot carefully, only for the ball to go straight into the gutter.

“That was pathetic!” Taylor teased, elbowing him.

Tyler grumbled, “I was doing it on purpose.”

“Yeah, sure,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sibling banter— the night going on and even Tyler loosened up, joking along with everyone.

You all headed back to the graveyard once the night came, everyone whispering about something they didn’t let you in on.

When you arrived, they lead you to the buses, some excitedly running ahead while Tyler and Ashlyn stayed behind with you. “Since you became such a special addition to the group during these past few months.,” Ashlyn said, putting a hand on your back.

“We wanted to do something special before you leave,” Aiden added. “A little memory to take with you.”

You walked behind a bus and there it was.

The buses were covered in soft lights, blankets and tents ready around cozy campfire which illuminated the scene even better. Snacks littered the ground with a polaroid camera ready to be used for creating memories you wanted to keep in a physical form.

Tyler walked over, giving you a shy smile. “I know I wasn’t the nicest when we first met, but I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been the same summer without you, princesa.”

Taylor, ever the tease, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that a compliment?” she joked, making everyone laugh.

You felt a lump form in your throat. You’d grown so close to everyone, and leaving was harder than you’d expected.

“I’m going to miss you all,” you said softly.

Aiden grinned. “You better. We’ll come visit. Or at least, we’ll make you wish we did.”

Ben, who had been quiet, nodded with a smile. “Yeah, don’t forget about us.”

Tyler stood off to the side, looking at the fire. “It’s been a good summer, amor. Don’t forget us.” He said, walking over and hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

The fire crackled, and the stars above twinkled as you all sat together, talking and laughing well into the night. It was the perfect way to say goodbye, surrounded by friends who had become family.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n ugh i’ll miss these guys ;(

liked by t.hernandez, ashlynbann3r, loganfields97, b.clark, tayy.hernandez and 42 others

2 commented

tayy.hernandez STOPP WE’LL MISS YOU TOO :((((

reekidaiden bro thinks she’s getting rid of us that easy LOLLL (we’ll miss you)

tayy.hernandez

tayy.hernandez can’t believe summer went by so fast 💔

liked by truly.y/n, t.hernandez, ashlynbann3r and 23 others

At the airport, the group stood together, unusually quiet.

Ashlyn, never one for long goodbyes, was the first to speak. “This place is gonna be weird without you.”

Taylor nodded. “You better text us.”

Aiden clapped you on the back. “Or come back next summer.”

You laughed softly, but it was forced.

When you turned to Tyler, he was staring at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

Finally, he looked up. “So that’s it?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I guess so.”

His jaw tensed. “You gonna forget about us?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

A long pause. Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “Good.” He pulled you into a hug, soft sobs escaping his lips as tears stained your— his hoodie that he gave you. He picked you up and spun you around, earning a small yelp from you once he set you down.

You wanted to say something else, but the announcement for your flight echoed through the terminal.

Everyone gave you one last hug and the parting gifts they had brought along. And then? You left.

You turned back for one last glance and saw them waving—tears already streaming down Taylor’s cheeks, with a few barely noticeable ones in Ashlyn’s eyes. “Shit…” you mumbled before abandoning your suitcase and sprinting back toward them. You pulled Ashlyn and Taylor into a tight hug, the others quickly joining in.

“What am I gonna do without you?” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Shut up. It’s not like we’re saying goodbye forever,” Ashlyn said, pulling away just enough to look at you. “We’ll come visit, I swear.”

“Now go! You’ll miss your flight,” Logan added, patting your back before nudging you toward the gate.

And so you did—without looking back this time.

truly.y/n

truly.y/n thank u sm for this amazing opportunity.. i’ll see u soon guys ❤️‍🩹

liked by zeyynep20, t.hernandez reekidaiden, ashlynbann3r, emmabanner79 and 39 others

7 commented

ashlynbann3r already miss you sis

emmabanner79 we were happy to have you sweetheart, our doors are open for whenever you decide to visit again ❤️

t.hernandez love you princesa, i’ll miss you so so much <3

reekidaiden replied simp (miss you y/n!!)

tayy.hernandez IM CRYING WE MISS YOU SO MUCHHH :(( </3

loganfields97 come back soon y/n :( we miss you!

b.clark have a safe trip, we miss you a lot

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (18) - A BG3 G/t Fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 | Previous chapter| Series master list

Summary: Gale gives Ria a small lesson on harnessing the Weave while Astarion finds himself utterly blood-drunk and stricken with jealousy.

Pairing: Astarion x f!borrower!oc (Tav/oc) (slow-burn)

Warnings: Blood mention, vampire things.

Word count: 3.4k

Taglist: @whatthisfemsheplikes @alexcutecolly @rose7420 @empressxmachina @taters169 @feral-sins @smolgloves @smolkuriboh27 @junipers-teacup (if you want to be removed or added to the taglist, feel free to let me know!)

Much to Lae’zel’s dismay, the githyanki creche proved to be a complete bust and none of the tadpoles were removed. In fact, quite the opposite had happened – the gith had turned against the entire group, and they had even angered Vlaakith herself, the imperious queen of the githyanki. Through this, they learned the truth of Vlaakith’s tyranny through another gith, Kith’rak Voss, explaining that Vlaakith was a false queen and not the true heir to the githyanki throne. Lae’zel refused to believe this new information, and since Kith’rak Voss had come to their camp that one night, she had gone deathly quiet. She wouldn’t even train with Ria and said that she needed time to think this over by herself. 

Now that the creche had failed to remove the tadpoles, Halsin reminded them that they should traverse through the Underdark to reach Moonrise Towers, as it was the safer route according to the druid. They returned to what was left of the Goblin Camp and found the secret entrance to the Underdark through a series of puzzles that Gale had no trouble solving. 

The group then descended into the Underdark, a fascinating place that had giant glowing mushrooms and was completely void of any natural sunlight. After exploring through the Underdark for some time, the group eventually decided to set up camp for the night. Astarion was growing hungry again and had swiftly left to go hunt. Now that left her alone with the rest of her giant companions. 

Since the event with Gandrel, Astarion had, oddly enough, become more friendly towards her. He still had his usual biting remarks, but now he was even offering to carry her as they went about their journey and they talked frequently. Ria wasn’t sure what to make of this, combined with her complicated feelings towards him, she didn’t know what to do about it. For now, though, she needed to get hold on her magic. 

Perhaps now is a good time to ask Gale for that magic lesson.

The wizard was at his tent, flicking through a very thick tome and occasionally releasing a ‘hmm’ and ‘ahh’ sound as he turned each page. Ria softly walked towards his tent, wondering if now was a good time to ask him about teaching her how to control her magic. 

If I don’t ask now, it’ll never happen. 

“Gale?”

Gale blinked, snapping his tome shut, and his warm brown eyes immediately darted towards the ground where she was standing. A gentle smile soon lit up across his features and he crouched down. 

“Ria! What can I do for you this fine evening?” 

“I want you to give me a magic lesson.” She cleared her throat. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Upon hearing the words ‘magic’ leave her lips, his face brightened even more, his smile almost reaching his ears. 

“Oh, that is simply marvellous! I would be delighted to give you a lesson. There are no records that state borrowers can tap into the Weave, but what better way to find out?”

“Oh, I can use magic,” she replied quietly. “I’ve…erm…done it before.”

Gale’s eyes turned as big as saucers and his jaw slacked slightly. 

“By Mystra! This is…well…this is remarkable!” he exclaimed, offering his open palm for her to climb onto. “I do have to ask if you will stand on my table, my knees are absolutely killing me right now.” 

A small smile crept onto her face as she eagerly climbed onto his hand, grasping onto his thumb as she made herself comfortable on his palm. Very carefully Gale stood up to his full height and brought her to a small table that sat outside his tent next to his telescope. While she still had to crane her neck upwards to look at him, this was still significantly better than talking to him from her position on the ground. 

Gale clapped his hands together with delight. The sheer joy on his face resembled that of a young child receiving a large portion of sweets for the first time. Ria could tell he was truly in his element and was ecstatic about the whole scenario.

“When did this happen?” Gale questioned, his eyes bright and shimmering in the dim light.

“Well, I’ve only been able to use it when I’ve been in dangerous situations…I used it on Minthara and G-” she paused, clearing her throat, before continuing. “Uh, just Minthara, yeah. That was the only time.”

Gale scratched his chin, deep in thought. “I see. And what sort of magic were you able to conjure?”

“So far, only lightning,” she answered. “And…I was able to teleport and fly. Although, I’m not sure how I was able to do that.”

“This is positively jubilant!” Gale rubbed his hands together excitedly, his face practically beaming. “Ria, do you understand what this means?”

She stared at him, somewhat befuddled. 

“Uh…that I can do magic?”

“Well, yes, obviously,” he said. “But you can tap into the Weave! A borrower, such as yourself, is blessed by Mystra. Mystra did mention she was fond of pixies, but she never mentioned borrowers during my time with her. This is incredible!” 

Mystra.

The name did resonate with her, and she had heard Gale exclaim the name a few times during their travels, but she didn’t know exactly who Mystra was.

“Uh,” she said awkwardly, biting her bottom lip. “Who, exactly, is Mystra?”

Judging from Gale’s facial expression, it would’ve been easy to believe that Ria had just told him that one of his family members had just died. His face was of utter shock and disbelief, and it almost looked as if his entire facial features were melting right off his skin. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she quickly said, alarmed by Gale’s dreadful expression. “I didn’t mean to offend or anything, I have heard you mention her many times, it’s just I don’t know-”

“No, no, forgive my overreaction,” Gale interjected, composing himself. “Mystra is the goddess of all magic, the Weave itself, so to hear someone who has never heard of her before is…quite a shock, to say the least. Especially when I’ve practically spent my entire life studying the Weave and…well…other aspects of Mystra.” 

Ria breathed a small sigh of relief. “Y-yeah, that’s what happens when you’ve lived underneath floorboards. My parents didn’t exactly teach me a lot about the gods. They always said that the gods didn’t care about little people like borrowers.” 

“Ah.” Gale’s expression changed from shock to sympathy almost in an instant. “That does make sense. I once again apologise for my overreaction. That was rude of me to assume.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” she answered, and raised one eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘other aspects of Mystra,’ exactly? Is this related to the orb in your chest?” 

“Ah, indeed it is,” Gale answered. “I suppose I didn’t tell you all the details when I first brought up my condition with all the others. I’m what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. This, undoubtedly, attracted the attention of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra. She became my teacher, and in time, my muse. And then later, even my lover.”

Both of Ria’s eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise. “You did…that with a goddess?”

 A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips upon seeing her reaction. “Oh, absolutely. We mostly indulged purely in abstract and incorporeal interactions, as she preferred it that way. It was most invigorating.” 

“O-oh.” Ria’s eyes widened as she struggled to think of what else she could say to that, but she failed to find the right words. “How interesting.”

“Interesting doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he went on, his smile growing ever wider. “But enough about me. You wanted a magic lesson, correct? And I am more than happy to offer that to you.”

Gale extended both of his arms, one facing the sky and another towards the ground, and clapped his hands together. A glowing purple orb emitted from his hands and flew off to the other side of the camp before it vanished into thin air. 

Ria watched with amazement, her mouth slightly parted, and she wondered where to even begin replicating what Gale had just done. 

“Now you try.” His warm brown eyes flitted over her frame. “Don’t worry if you don’t get it at first, just replicate the movement and see if you feel anything.”

Ria copied Gale’s movements as best she could, but she was met with nothing. Not even one ounce of light appeared from her fingertips and she looked up at him with worry. 

“Don’t look so distraught,” he said with encouragement. “Just keep trying. What emotions did you feel when you first used magic?”

“Rage, anger, fury,” she replied. “And fear.” 

“Channel those emotions.” Gale pointed an index finger to the air as if he was some conductor. “If that is what allowed you to tap into the Weave the first time, then you need to replicate those feelings as best you can.”

“R-right.” She wasn’t exactly thrilled about relieving those memories. Memories that she would rather keep to the back of her mind and never think about again. But, if that is what was needed for her to harness her magic, then she’d have to do it.

Inhaling a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pulled her mind back to her fateful encounter with Minthara. She remembered how the drow had her in her grasp, almost suffocating the life out of her. How she had thrown her into a cage as if she was nothing. She remembered Gandrel, and how he had almost ended Astarion’s life, his bow ready and poised to take the shot that would’ve put an end to everything. 

The emotions began to flicker across her brain, reminding her of the pain and anger she had felt. Her jaw clenched as those memories played through her mind, igniting a burning rage in her belly. These feelings began to almost manifest as sparks began to crackle at her fingertips. Her anger, her rage, her fear, was almost like fuel to the fire for the wild energy that coursed through her veins.

And it needed to be released. 

“Excellent!” Gale exclaimed, positively delighted as he watched the scene unfold before him. “Now see if you can expel that energy.”

Not even a second after the words had left his lips, a bolt of electricity shot out from her hands, aimed directly at the wizard’s face.

“Ah!” 

Gale seemed to be prepared for this, and simply deflected the magic with a counterspell. The bolt of lightning seemed to almost bounce off the wizard and shoot upwards into the air, fortunately not hitting anything.

With her eyes now open, Ria quickly grew mortified over what had just happened. 

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry!” she spluttered, her eyes wide with worry and concern. “I should’ve been more careful, that was so stupid of me, I could’ve hurt you!”

Gale simply shook his head, completely unbothered by the whole thing. “It’s fine. I had a feeling this might happen and had a counterspell at the ready. Please do not stress about it.”

“B-but I could’ve-”

“Did anyone die?”

“Uh, n-no, nobody died, but-”

“Then it’s fine. A small shock of lightning wouldn’t have done much even if it had hit me, given our size differences. Perhaps it may have frazzled my beard a little, which would’ve had me a bit upset, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing.”

Ria opened and closed her mouth, wanting to protest this, but she said nothing. After a moment, she took a deep sigh, and nodded. 

“Okay, I suppose you’re right.”

“And we’re not even talking about the best part. You harnessed the Weave!” He clapped his hands together in delight like an excited child. Ria thought he would start jumping with glee with how happy he was, but the wizard remained grounded. 

“I suppose I did,” she said quietly, the beginnings of a smile starting to show on her face. 

“You absolutely did,” Gale beamed. “Now, shall we carry on?”

***

Astarion was completely and utterly stuffed. 

The Underdark itself had provided him with a completely new array of different creatures to feast on. They tasted different, too, and he found the blood more filling than the other beasts he had fed on in the past. Tonight, however, had given him something so delightfully delicious he couldn’t even walk in a straight line anymore after completely draining the poor thing. He was almost certain it had been a bear; the creature had been incredibly large and had bits of brown fur that had annoyingly got caught in some of his teeth. It had put up a tremendous fight, too, but the creature didn’t have much of a chance once Astarion had dropped down onto it from an oversized mushroom. Although, the more he thought about it, the beast had seemed far too large to have been a bear. 

It had brown fuzzy fur, surely it must’ve been a bear? Hmm…I can’t even remember…

He had managed to spit the fur out of his teeth as he staggered back to camp, clutching his rather swollen stomach. He couldn’t remember anytime where he had been so well fed that had resulted in him having a pronounced belly. Cazador had ensured that he and the rest of his spawn siblings had remained practically starved during his 200 years of enslavement. He was used to not feeling full, so this was certainly different, but not bad in the slightest. Although, he had perhaps drunk a little too much, so much in fact that he struggled to walk in a straight line. But, for the first time in a long time, he felt…happy. And that was worth the drunken movements and airy thoughts he was feeling. 

Blood still smeared on his lips and chin, he entered the camp on clumsy footsteps, not even bothering to greet the rest of his companions as he came through. He was feeling particularly chatty tonight and he wanted to talk to Ria about the little adventurous meal he had just dined on. He quickly stopped in his tracks as some bright purple lights coming from near Gale’s tent caught his eye. 

The wizard is showing off his magic again…how predictable.

Huffing through his nose, he turned to carry on his way, but he froze when he saw Ria situated on a small table in front of Gale. The wizard was practically glowing in front of her, casting dazzling magic projections in front of her, and she was trying to mimic his movements. It appeared that he was giving her a magic lesson of sorts. 

His stomach twisted into knots as he continued to watch the two of them and his jaw clenched. Why would Ria want to spend time with the wizard of all people? Astarion found Gale positively boring outside of his looks and he had a habit of talking his ear off for no good reason. 

Well, perhaps it makes sense that she would seek him to help harness her magic, he thought bitterly, huffing through his nose. Gale was a wizard prodigy after all, so it made perfect sense that he would be the best person to teach her. Despite this, he still couldn’t stop a burning feeling that refused to leave his chest as he watched Ria interact with Gale. Whatever this feeling was, he despised it, and he wanted nothing to do with it. 

Forcefully pushing the festering feeling away, he attempted to clear his head. He’d just wait until her little magic lesson with Gale was over, the wizard couldn’t keep her the entire night to himself after all. They’d be finished soon enough. 

“Having troubling thoughts, Astarion?”

Being both a rogue and a vampire spawn, not many things managed to sneak up on Astarion, let alone startle him. But, in that moment, he nearly jumped out of his skin as the archdruid suddenly appeared behind him. 

“N-no, whatever made you think that!” he snapped, smoothing the ruffled fabric on his shirt. 

Halsin smiled as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “You can’t hide it, Astarion. It’s as obvious as a bear seeking out honey.”

Astarion angrily folded his arms across his chest, avoiding eye contact with the taller elf. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Making those clothes for her was a very thoughtful gesture,” Halsin continued, pretending to ignore Astarion’s previous statement. “It seems the two of you are close. It’s nice to see.” 

“I did not make those for her!” he quickly said, lying through his teeth. “Shadowheart made those, not me.”

“Hmm. And all those pieces of fabric you looted off the bandits we’ve fought over the past few weeks, that was because you just liked the fabric? Not because you were making some borrower-sized clothing?”

Astarion huffed through his nose, but didn’t say anything. 

“Are you sure you don’t want my advice?”

Why couldn’t that bear be him so he can shut up. 

If he wasn’t so blood drunk, Astarion would not have hesitated to deliver several acts of violence against the archdruid during that moment. But, of course, that was not going to happen. Exhaling deeply, Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned to face Halsin directly.

“Fine. Tell me your Oakfatherly advice, hmm?” Astarion frantically scanned the camp, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be eavesdropping. “But do keep it down, I do not want anyone else to hear this.” 

“Of course.” Halsin smiled softly and leaned in closer to where Astarion was standing. “For borrowers, and other smaller folk, it is incredibly important that you don’t make them feel small.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes and almost scoffed. “Well, how do you suppose I do that when she must look up to everyone? She’s tiny.”

“Precisely my point.” Halsin cleared his throat. “You have started to get better at this, but every now and again I notice that you still leer down at her, almost mockingly so. That certainly wouldn’t make her feel very good.”

“And your solution is?”

“Always kneel down when you’re talking to her,” Halsin answered. “Or offer her an open palm, if she is open to standing on your hand. It is important to always get down to their level, as we are giants in their eyes.”

“That seemed like an obvious one,” Astarion muttered under his breath.

“Perhaps don’t always flash your fangs so obviously in her direction,” Halsin continued, his face growing serious. “I notice you tend to do that, especially with her. Not a good look considering you tried to eat her when you first met.”

Astarion faltered upon hearing this. He didn’t have anything snappy to retort with, as he knew deep down that Halsin was right. 

“Anything else?” Astarion said dryly. 

“My other advice might be too…explicit for casual campfire discussions,” Halsin said slowly, a small grin crawling up the side of his face. “Perhaps that can wait until things really start to get serious between you two.”

Astarion’s jaw nearly hit the ground. For the first time in his long, undead life, he was almost speechless. Mouth opening and closing for a few seconds, some words finally found his lips. 

“Excuse me! I do not need help with that sort of thing. Not to mention there is no way that would ever happen to begin with!”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Halsin gestured towards Gale’s tent. “It looks like Ria has finished her lesson with Gale.”

Sure enough, Gale had placed Ria back onto the ground and she gave him a small wave as the wizard retreated into his tent for the evening. Seeing this, Astarion immediately stumbled away from the archdruid, still clutching his rather swollen stomach. There was no way in the Nine Hells that he wanted to hear Halsin’s explicit advice on wooing a borrower. Not like he needed any help with that anyways, he had spent the last 200 years perfecting his craft.  Not like I’ve been very successful in seducing anyone in the group, he thought sourly, pressing his lips together in a thin line. But that didn’t matter at that moment. Right now, all he wanted to do was to see Ria, and he couldn’t stop the smile lighting up his bloodstained face as he wobbled towards her.

[backtothedrawingboard]

Nap Time

Aroace!Jax x Aroace!Reader

Summary: You escaped a new adventure and chose to relax for the day. To your surprise, Jax decided to join you.

CW: None

TW: None

AN: This is just a silly little self-indulgent fic. Life is hard, but fanfic makes it a little better :)

Ever since you and Jax discovered that you're both aroace, your friendship has grown. He had grown the habit of playfully teasing you rather than straight bullying you. While he may have formerly placed snakes in your room or stole the key to your room, he now did things like gently pulling your hair or smacking the back of your head.

The main thing you noticed about him was how touchy he was. His more obnoxious touching from before was just frustrating, but something about his new form of touch was...somewhat comforting. The hair pulls and head slaps were startling at times, but he also frequently slung an arm over your shoulder casually. You didn't mind. You actually enjoyed the feeling. You were touch starved as hell and just the feeling of his arm over your shoulder was...nice.

You hopped on one of the couches in the common room. You got out of an adventure! Caine did not seem happy about it, but since he always let Zooble get away with it, it was only fair for you to as well. They barely even acknowledged you before heading to their room. You layed down on the couch for a nap. The world around you turned peaceful. Everything was ok...

Your deep sleep was interrupted by a weight pressing down on you. Your eyes fluttered open and your blurry vision slowly focused on the ceiling. You yawned and rubbed your eyes before looking down at the weight. Jax was flopped on top of you with his chin rested on your belly and one of his arms dangled over the side of the couch. His eyes were closed and he had a content smile on his face. You blinked in confusion. "Jax?"

"Mmr?" he mumbled.

"What're you doing?"

"Yer comfy." He yawned and stretched a little before nuzzling his face back to where it was. You hesitated before resting your hand on his head.

"Is the adventure already over?" you asked.

"Mmno. It was some stipud scavenger hunt. I just finished it first."

"Any idea for when the others will be back?" You gently scratched the base of his ears, causing him to sigh in contentment.

"Who knows. I hid the objects better than they were before," he muttered. You rolled your eyes. Of course he did that. Average Jax.

"Soooo..." you started. "You just rushed through it, and now you're here to...?"

"I just want a nap. I'm tired," he mumbled. He wrapped his arms around your waist and settled his face against your belly. You couldn't help but chuckle.

"That's it? No mischief?" you teased.

"No mischief." His voice already sounded thick with exhaustion. Your smirk softened to an affectionate smile and you scratched the base of his ears more. He sighed and leaned into your touch a bit.

"You doing ok...? You aren't usually so touchy," you said softly. He nodded.

"Yeah. I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well last night." You squinted at him a bit.

"Are you sure? I'm a little concerned why you're being so friendly..." As you continued petting Jax's head and ears, he tilted his head to think.

"I just feel...content, I suppose. I haven't had time to relax in I don't know how long." He sounded more relaxed than you've heard in a while. You couldn't help but smile and adjust a bit so you could hug him closer.

"Good...You deserve a break from everything," you muttered quietly. He hugged you back and nuzzled his face against your chest.

"Thank you...Can you sing? I like it when you sing..." He sounded so vulnerable. You couldn't bring yourself to say no.

"Of course I can," you whispered. His big eyes watched you a moment as you started singing quietly. After a moment, his eyelids drooped a bit and his ears folded down on his shoulders. You scratched rubbed his back gently and continued singing until he drifted off to sleep.

You stopped singing after a moment and yawned, still rubbing his back. With a final nuzzle to his shoulder, your eyes closed and you welcomed sleep.

[theperplexednavigator]

Greetings, Encanto Fandom!

I think my Encanto hyperfixation is attempting to return. All because I had a dream about Bruno.

[j-crow]

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[ceramicbeetle]

sonic and snufkin actually kind of feel like very similar characters to me. holding hands over “my personal sense of freedom and dedication to making decisions based on what I think is right is what matters most, and if you’ve built some idealized version of me in your head then that’s none of my business and it’s not my responsibility if the reality of who i am lets you down in some way”. also the deep connection to nature and all.