#this is my offering of a little light into this world

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[star2fishmeg]

can you please do prompt 12 with quinn hughes!

Thank you for requesting <3 - Merry Christmas!

FLUFF #12 "Just pretend to be my date."

📞 dialling…

She stared at him directly in the eye, blinking like a deer in headlights at Quinn’s pleading face. Quinn Hughes, the man she had known since childhood, stood the closest he ever had before, minty breaths fanning over cheeks, in front of her in his parent’s empty kitchen with his hands clasped over hers. 

“Please, just pretend to be my date. Even if it’s for the next few hours or so, you know they ask every year, and I don’t need her doing that speed dating shit again.” He begged so quiet his voice rumbled in her ears and flushed heat up her neck, heart hammering in his chest hearing his aunt and uncle’s voices announcing their arrival from the other room. “Y/n, I swear I’ll make it up to you-”

“-Okay.” She smiled as his eyes lit up brighter, a familiar pull in her chest that tugged every time she was in the room with him, like two magnets trying to meet. They’d been through this same annual Hughes-l/n Christmas event for years, since they were kids, and every year it was always his nosey aunt who asked him if he had a girlfriend, fiancée or wife yet to which he always awkwardly had to think of some excuse. 

“Quinn! There you are my superstar!” his nosey aunt’s voice rang out into the kitchen. Quinn stood up straight, arm automatically wrapping around y/n’s waist and his hand finding comfort on her hip. Something about the gesture felt alleviating, perfect, natural, y/n responding with her arm winding around his torso, palm soothing over his back for reassurance periodically. “Y/n! Oh my, you look as gorgeous as ever! Look at you both, so grown up.”

“Aha, yeah,” he forced a laugh, feeling her beady eyes flicker between himself and y/n. Y/n leant her head into him, his whole charade starting to feel less like a favour and more real with the longer they held each other. 

His aunt gasped, making them both flinch and his grip tighten. She soaked in the sight, the way that even after all the years, they still fit in each other’s figures and still looked at each other the same way. They were still the kids who would sneak off to Quinn’s room, and on one occasion, had their first kisses there. 

“You two!? How long? Tell me everything, I must know! Has he proposed yet? When’s the wedding? I have to write this down, am I getting a niece or nephew? Oh finally! Y/n, Quinn’s been talking about you for years and the way he looks at you, oh my-” 

“Caroline, relax,” y/n smiled, heart almost stopping when his thumb rubbed her hip gently, “It’s been a year, so we’re still at the start. We’ve only just discussed living together.” 

No other words were spoken, and his heart swelled, Caroline took her dramatic exit to find her husband. Quinn and y/n exhaled, bodies slumping into each other and melting into each other’s embrace, her ear pressed to his chest while her hands gave his back a reassuring rub. 

“So, you’re moving in huh? At least let me take you on a date first, show you what I can offer.” He chuckled softly, pulling away to cup one of her cheeks, her eyes glistening under the bright lights as she leant into his palm and one thousand little fireworks exploded inside her chest at once.

“Talking about me for years, huh? Damn, couldn’t even tell your best friend who you had a crush on,” she joked, catching his genuine smile creep into his face with rosy cheeks, “But a date sounds nice, I’d like that.” 

They basked in a pleasant silence between them, the world pausing in each other’s steady eyes until choruses of surprised voices echoed from the living room. Quickly, he slipped his phone from his pocket, using his free hand to text his brothers the situation before slotting it back, cupping both her cheeks with his hands and puffing his chest out. They had only a few minutes to figure out a story, but in hindsight, they’d been in love with each other for so long, it wouldn’t be that hard.

[moralesluvr]

MORNING SEX | b. eilish.

the soft glow of morning light filters through the curtains, painting your room in hues of gold and peach. the world outside is just beginning to stir, but inside, everything feels still—peaceful.

your eyes flutter open, greeted by the sight of her. billie lies beside you, her black hair messy against the pillow, her face soft with the kind of peace that only sleep can bring. her arm is draped across your waist, her fingers curled loosely against your skin, her nude body tangled beautifully within the sheets.

you take a moment to study her, to let yourself appreciate the rare sight of her like this— completely relaxed, no stress, vulnerable in the warm cocoon of the pure covers of your shared bed.

billie stirs slightly, her nose scrunching up adorably before her blue eyes blink open. when they meet yours, a sleepy smile spreads across her face, and your heart aches with the quiet intimacy of it.

“morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep. she groans out, her hand intertwining with one of yours as she pulled the covers underneath her chin to rest them on, her eyes falling on your own unclothed frame.

“morning,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

you and billie always slept completely nude at night, the skin to skin contact offering you the maximum amount of intact that you desired. it just felt better that way.

billie’s hand shifts, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip, and you feel the warmth of her touch seep into your skin.

god, she looks so good. blue eyes glistening in the sun, messy hair sprawled everywhere, though she still looks perfect, her scent of linen and vanilla— it’s too early for you to be feeling like this. but she just looks so amazing, and—

“you’re staring,”

you bite your lip when she snaps you out of your thoughts, and you give her an embarrassed frown when you feel your cheeks blossom with warmth.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “you’re so pretty, can’t help it.”

she hums softly, her eyes scanning your face, “it’s okay, pretty girl— you always look so beautiful in the morning, can’t help but stare, too.”

her words make your chest tighten, and you lean into her touch as her hand moves to cup your cheek.

her thumb brushes against your skin, her touch light and reverent, and she leans in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s so gentle it makes your heart twist and burn a little bit.

it’s slow and tender, the kiss— perfect reflection of the calm morning itself. billie’s hand slips to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and you let yourself melt into her.

“i don’t want to get up,” she whines needy against your lips, her voice filled with the kind of honesty that mornings tend to bring out of her.

“then don’t,” you reply, your hand finding its way to her hair, tangling gently in the dark strands, “stay with me.”

and she does just that. she stays with you when your tongue is lapping at her wet pussy, her back arching against the sheets as she fights to keep her vibrator steady on her clit.

she stays with you (although it’s hard for her to) when she’s cumming onto your parted lips, loud but soft moans sounding from her throat as you massage her thighs gently, assisting her through her high.

she’s stays with you through all of that. and you find yourself back where you started, tangled in bed sheets, little snores sounding from the both of you as the opiate of sleep undertook you both.

what a great way to start your morning.

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[nlvrr]

SILENT SNOW | jude bellingham

summary: jude and you, his girlfriend, share a cozy first christmas eve together with laughter, gifts, and sweet moments by the fire.

warnings: none

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

a/n: merry christmas eve! a little christmas eve special.

requests are open! ^^

the snow outside fell steadily, a soft blanket of white covering the quiet streets. everything felt still, almost magical, as if the world was holding its breath on christmas eve. inside jude’s living room, the warmth was almost tangible. the fireplace crackled gently, its orange glow lighting up the room alongside the twinkle of fairy lights strung across the walls and tree.

you were in the kitchen, carefully balancing two mugs of hot chocolate, each topped with whipped cream and an obscene amount of mini marshmallows—just the way jude liked it. you walked into the living room, catching sight of him by the fireplace, crouched down as he adjusted the logs. he was dressed in a soft gray sweater that hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, the joggers giving him an approachable, cozy charm that made your heart swell.

he looked up as you entered, a slow, playful grin spreading across his face. “spying on me?” he teased, brushing his hands off as he stood.

“just making sure you don’t burn the house down,” you shot back, holding up the mugs like a peace offering. “thought you might need a break from your firemaster duties.”

his grin deepened as he crossed the room, taking one of the mugs from you. his fingers brushed against yours for just a second too long, sending a warm shiver up your spine. “ah, my favorite,” he said, inspecting the marshmallow mountain you’d crafted. “this is why i keep you around.”

“oh, so it’s not my sparkling personality?” you teased, settling down on the couch.

he took a sip, a little too eagerly, leaving a streak of whipped cream on his upper lip. “well, that too,” he mumbled, clearly not realizing what he’d done.

you bit back a laugh, pointing at him. “jude, you’ve got—” you gestured vaguely to your own face, trying to contain yourself.

he raised an eyebrow. “here?”

“no, here,” you said, leaning in slightly to point, but before you could, he closed the gap, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your cheek and leaving behind a smear of whipped cream.

“jude!” you gasped, bursting into laughter as you wiped at your cheek.

“sharing the holiday spirit,” he said with a wink, his dimples on full display as he flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling a blanket over your legs.

shaking your head but secretly loving his antics, you handed him a small wrapped box you’d hidden behind one of the pillows. “alright, time to see if you’ve been naughty or nice.”

he grinned, taking the box eagerly. “don’t worry, i’m always nice.” his enthusiasm was contagious as he tore through the wrapping paper, revealing the leather wallet you’d picked out for him.

the corners of his mouth lifted in a softer, almost surprised smile when he saw his initials engraved in silver. but what really got him was the polaroid photo tucked into the inside pocket—a candid shot of the two of you from a few weeks ago, arms wrapped around each other, mid-laugh.

his voice came out low, almost reverent. “this is… class,” he murmured, running his fingers over the wallet before pulling out the photo. for a moment, he just stared at it, his thumb brushing lightly over the image.

“i thought you might like something personal,” you said softly, suddenly feeling shy under the warmth of his gaze.

he set the wallet down, reaching for you instead. “come here,” he said, his arms pulling you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “this might be my favorite christmas already.”

“you say that now,” you teased, leaning back just enough to hand him his hot chocolate again. “but i’ve got a feeling you’re just in it for the marshmallows.”

he chuckled, kissing the top of your head before lifting his mug. “you might be right, but this is still the best.”

you stayed curled up like that for what felt like hours, the two of you stealing quiet kisses and laughing over little things. eventually, he nodded toward the stack of presents under the tree. “your turn,” he said, pulling out a small gold-wrapped box.

you unwrapped it slowly, savoring the way jude’s brown eyes stayed locked on you, filled with quiet anticipation. inside the box was a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny snowflake charm that caught the firelight perfectly.

“jude…” your voice trailed off as you ran your fingers over the intricate charm. “this is beautiful.”

his voice softened, his teasing grin fading into something more sincere. “i wanted you to have something to remember this night,” he said quietly, reaching for your wrist. his fingers were steady as he clasped the bracelet, the snowflake charm resting lightly against your skin.

“our first christmas eve together,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

your chest tightened with emotion as you looked at him, at the boy who somehow managed to make even ordinary moments feel extraordinary. “you’re unbelievable, you know that?” you said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

when the clock struck midnight, jude led you to the window. the snow was still falling, soft and silent, blanketing the world in peaceful stillness. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both looked out into the glowing night.

“make a wish,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

you closed your eyes briefly, though you already knew there was nothing more you could ask for. when you opened them, you turned to see jude already looking at you, his expression so full of love it made your chest ache.

“what did you wish for?” you asked quietly, barely above the sound of the fire crackling behind you.

he smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “nothing,” he murmured against your lips. “i’ve already got everything i could ever want.”

[darksturnz]

A LITTLE LIGHT

i hope everyone who celebrates is having a great Christmas eve! it honestly doesn’t even feel like it’s christmas tho :,) anyways here’s a sappy holiday blurb!

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Star stood on her porch, the gift she’d spent hours wrapping cradled in her arms. Across the lot, Chris’s trailer glowed faintly with the light of a single window. It was beat up, like all the trailers here, but tonight it seemed more inviting than usual. Maybe it was the thought of Evelyn being home, or Lila’s enthusiasm for the holidays, but something about it pulled her in.

Evelyn had opened the door before Star even had the chance to knock.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Evelyn greeted her with a warm smile, her voice carrying the faint rasp of someone who had been through more than her share of battles. But tonight, there was a brightness in her that matched the twinkle in her eye. “Come in, come in—it’s cold out there!”

Star smiled, stepping inside and kicking off her boots at the door. The trailer smelled like cinnamon and pine, and for a moment, she felt as though she had stepped into a scene from one of those holiday movies Madison was always trying to get her to watch.

“Ma, you’re supposed to be resting,” came Chris’s voice from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His hair was slightly messy, as though he’d been running his hands through it while working. His eyes landed on Star, softening just a fraction.

“Chris, I’ve been resting for weeks, I’m not dead yet,” Evelyn shot back, already making her way to a box of ornaments sitting by the couch. She moved carefully, but there was a stubborn determination in her every step. “If I don’t help decorate this tree, who’s going to stop Lila from putting all the ornaments in one spot?”

Chris let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Star, his expression softening even further. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Star replied, feeling a flutter in her chest she still wasn’t used to.

“Chris, help me with the lights!” Lila’s voice rang out from somewhere near the couch. The six-year-old was already untangling a mess of string lights, her curls bouncing as she pulled on the strands with the determination of someone three times her age.

Chris glanced at Star, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Guess you’re on ornament duty.”

The next hour was a flurry of activity. Lila darted around the room, her excitement infectious as she insisted on showing Star every ornament she pulled from the box.

“This one’s my favorite,” Lila said, holding up a glittery snowflake with a missing point. “I made it when I was little.”

“You were��so much littler, huh?” Star teased, helping Lila hang the snowflake on a low branch where she could reach.

Chris worked silently but efficiently, stringing the lights around the tree with a practiced ease. Star couldn’t help but watch him from time to time, her heart softening at the sight of him crouching to adjust the lights at Lila’s height or standing back to admire his work with a faint nod of approval.

Evelyn refused to sit still. She was everywhere at once, hanging garlands, offering decorating tips, and reminiscing about Christmases past.

“Chris used to hate Christmas when he was Lila’s age,” Evelyn said with a laugh, hanging a wreath near the window. “He’d complain about the cold and the noise, but the second the gifts came out, he’d be the happiest kid in the world.”

“Ma,” Chris groaned, his ears turning pink.

Star bit back a laugh. “Sounds like he’s always been a little grinchy.”

“Not always,” Evelyn said, giving Chris a fond look. “He used to draw me Christmas cards every year—these beautiful little sketches of trees and snow. I still have them in a box somewhere.”

Chris looked away, busying himself with adjusting a strand of lights.

“Did he ever make you anything, Lila?” Star asked, smiling at the girl.

“He drew me a princess last christmas,” Lila said proudly. “But she had armor, ‘cause Chris said princesses don’t need saving.”

Star glanced at Chris, who was still pretending not to hear. She couldn’t help but smile.

As they worked, Evelyn turned to Star. “What about you, sweetheart? What does your family do for the holidays?”

Star hesitated, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling a little too close. She hadn’t expected the question, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

“My mom passed away a while ago,” she said finally, keeping her voice steady. “And my dad’s… away for the holidays. On a trip.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the weight of the words hung in the air.

Evelyn’s face softened, her hand resting lightly on Star’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey. That must be hard.”

“It’s fine,” Star said quickly, forcing a small smile. 

For a moment, the room grew quiet, the cheerful buzz of activity paused. Then, Lila broke the silence.

“s’okay, Star,” she said brightly, tugging on her hand. “You can come over with us for Christmas!”

Star blinked, the sudden warmth in her chest catching her off guard. “Oh, I—”

“She’s right,” Evelyn said gently. “We’d love to have you.”

Lila leaned closer, cupping her hand to Star’s ear and whispering loudly, “Chris already got you a present anyway.”

“Bug.” Chris turned, his voice half-annoyed, half-embarrassed.

“What? It’s true!” Lila said, grinning innocently.

Star glanced at Chris, who was now very focused on untangling a nonexistent knot in the lights.

“Can’t wait to see what it is,” Star teased, her smile softening as Chris muttered something under his breath.

The trailer had transformed by the time they were done. The little tree sparkled with mismatched ornaments, glittering lights, and Lila’s signature touches—a cluster of candy canes in one spot and a crooked star on top. Garland draped over the windows, and a few candles flickered on the kitchen counter, their glow soft and warm.

Evelyn sat on the recliner, a satisfied smile on her face. “This is the best it’s looked in years,” she said, looking around the room. “You kids did good.”

Chris shook his head, pretending to brush off the compliment, but Star caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It looks perfect,” Star said, standing beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and he didn’t move away this time.

“Yeah,” he said softly, glancing down at her. “It does.”

Evelyn watched them with a knowing look, but for once, she didn’t say anything.

They all settled down on the couch and recliner with mugs of cocoa. Lila climbed into Star’s lap, chattering away about how she’d convinced Chris to let her pick out the tree (“He said no at first, but then I looked at him like this—” she demonstrated with wide, pleading eyes—“and he said fine!”).

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, sipping his cocoa quietly.

“I remember the year Chris tried to make eggnog” Evelyn said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Ma, don’t,” Chris said, groaning.

“Oh, I’m telling this one,” Evelyn said with a grin. She turned to Star. “He was about thirteen, and he decided he wanted to make Christmas special. So, he found this recipe for eggnog—except he didn’t have half the ingredients, so he just improvised.”

“It was fine,” Chris muttered.

“It was terrible,” Evelyn corrected. “It curdled! And the kitchen smelled like spoiled milk for days. But he was so proud of it, and he made me drink an entire glass.”

Star couldn’t hold back her laugh, and even Chris, despite his embarrassment, let out a low chuckle.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Chris said, shaking his head. “She told me it was the best eggnog she’d ever had.”

“I couldn’t crush your little spirit,” Evelyn said with a mock-serious tone.

The sound of their laughter filled the room, blending with the warm glow of the lights. For a moment, Star forgot about everything else—the cold, her empty trailer, the ache of her father’s absence. Here, in this small space, surrounded by this messy, imperfect family, she felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

Lila’s energy finally waned, and she fell asleep curled up on the couch. Chris carried her to her room, tucking her in with the kind of care that always surprised Star. He didn’t speak, but the way he smoothed her curls and pulled the blanket up to her chin said everything.

When he returned, Evelyn was already making her way to her room.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” she said, but not before stopping to kiss Chris on the cheek. “Thank you for making this a good night.”

Chris looked embarrassed, but his smile lingered even after Evelyn turned to Star.

“You’re always welcome here, sweetheart,” Evelyn said softly, squeezing Star’s hand. “Don’t be a stranger.”

As Evelyn disappeared into her room, Star made her way to the door, Chris following behind her. She turned to say goodbye, but the words caught in her throat when Evelyn’s voice rang out from down the hall.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Evelyn said, peeking her head out of her bedroom with a cheeky grin. She pointed upward. “Mistletoe!”

Star blinked, her eyes darting to the doorway. Sure enough, there it was—a tiny, fake ornament hanging crookedly above the doorframe.

Chris groaned, his hand running through his hair. “Ma,” he muttered, his ears turning pink.

Evelyn only laughed, retreating into her room. “Goodnight, you two!”

Star turned back to Chris, her heart pounding. He looked down at her, his usual guarded expression faltering into something softer.

“Well,” Star said, trying to sound casual even as her voice wavered, “it’d be sorta rude not to follow tradition huh?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching at his side as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

The kiss was soft—gentle in a way that made Star’s chest ache. Chris’s hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. It was different from the first time—less tentative, more certain.

When they finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his eyes half-closed. “She’s gonna give me hell for this,” he muttered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

Star laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “Worth it.”

Star stepped out into the cold night air, her cheeks still flushed. She made her way across the lot, the glow of Chris’s trailer fading behind her.

“Star!”

She stopped, turning just in time to see Chris jogging toward her. His breath curled in the air, and before she could ask what he was doing, he was there, pulling her close and kissing her again.

It was rougher this time—more urgent, as though he was afraid the moment might slip away. When he pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady.

“Don’t ever think you’re not part of something,” he said, his hand lingering on her waist. “Not anymore.”

Star stared at him, her heart pounding.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his lips quirking into a faint smile before he turned and walked back to the trailer.

Star stood there for a moment, her breath visible in the cold night air. Then, with a small, dazed smile, she turned and went inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: did you catch what i did there or… ;3

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @slut4brunettes

[sillyuin]

Late night date with hhu

Genre: fluff.

Pairing: hhu x reader.

Warnings: Mingyu gets a little mad?? idk

Yuin's note: Part (1/2). This is my carat secret santa gift for @hearts4hansol. Hope you like it, merry Christmas and happy holidays sweetie! 🦭❤️

Seungcheol: Going outside for a drive.

After a long day of responsibilities all you want to do is sleep in your cozy blankets, but Seungcheol has better plans so he calls you in the middle of the night saying he’s coming to your home. Going out with your bf wasn’t in your plans, but it’s not a bad idea at all: There’s nothing like being passenger princess and spending some quality time with your favorite person in the world.

What is more important, sleeping or having the chance to see Seungcheol after a tiring week where your schedules could never meet? One single call was enough as you jumped into his car, and went through the city streets for a ride.

Your head tilted slightly to one side, and your eyes would squint every now and then, until you shook your head to wake yourself up and let out a big yawn that you covered with both hands.

“Do you want a coffee to shake off the sleep?” Cheol asked with a playful tone.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a grimace, his eyes were fixed on the road. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have coffee after eleven at night.”

“True, but I know a place that serves the best hot cocoa in town.”

“Sounds good, but… Where are we going?”.

Seungcheol parked in a square, the view was simply beautiful and captured all your attention. The lights conveyed an inexplicable sense of tranquility, the decorated and sparsely trafficked streets were calm and beautiful.

You felt as if your worries and responsibilities were fading away; only the here and now mattered. You sighed in relief, and when you turned to look at the driver’s seat, the first thing your eyes saw was a mug with a hot drink that emitted a very tempting aroma.

“Is this for me?” you asked curiously, your cheeks flushing lightly as you accepted it.

Cheol smiled, his dimples showing up. “As I said, I’ll take you to the place that serves the best hot cocoa.”

“Did you really drive through the city at night and do all this, just for me?” your voice sounded almost like a whisper, a bit embarrassed but with a very noticeable hint of happiness.

“Who else would I do it for?” Seungcheol asked rhetorically as he poured himself a cup as well. “I still have more in the thermos, if you’d like.”

“Do you know what would be good right now?” you took a sip of your drink and looked at him with mischievous eyes.

He returned the same look, and without saying anything more, he stretched out his hand and brought over a bag that was on the back seat, right behind you. “Did you think I would forget the butter cookies?”

You both laughed as one, clinking your cups to cheer and spent some quality time there, enjoying a pleasant moment filled with laughter and anecdotes. Then Seungcheol gave you a little tour to appreciate the beautiful Christmas decorations on the city streets.

Tomorrow would be another day where you could go to bed early.

Wonwoo: Going for a walk and taking pictures.

Passionate about filming, photography and also you. He’s always willing to spend moments together and keep evidence of those happy memories. So don’t be surprised if he calls you close midnight time just to hang out, talking about your stuff and taking pictures with the precious Christmas decoration in downtown.

After a long day filled with work and stress, the last thing you wanted was to put on a complicated outfit and do your makeup to go out. When Wonwoo called past ten to come pick you up, you felt tempted to refuse and tell him to just stay at your apartment, but he insisted so enough to make you accept his offer.

You walked together through the city streets, admiring the beautiful decorations on the lampposts and in the shop windows; during the festive season, everything changed completely, feeling more cheerful and pretty. Your gaze wandered when Wonwoo touched one of your cheeks to get your attention.

“Enjoying the walk?” he asked while intertwining his hand with yours and smiled.

You nodded slowly. “I’m sorry if I seem distracted,” and you immediately yawned, covering your mouth with your free hand. “Today was one of those days.”

“I can tell,” Wonwoo chuckled as you looked at him with a furrowed brow, then he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming, I really wanted to see you.”

You paused for a moment to lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek; the night was perfect and you thought nothing could go wrong. But then again, Wonwoo poked your cheeks again with one of his fingers.

“Can you go over there?” he asked while pointing to a small tree by the street, which had been adorned with minimalist details. “I’d like to take some pictures of you.”

“Wonu, I'm not exactly looking my best,” you joked, pointing to your outfit; you were wearing loose clothes perfect for the cold, but not for a photo session.

“What are you talking about? You look beautiful,” Wonwoo gently pinched one of your cheeks, convincing you with his adorable smile. “Now go on, I'll just take a few photos.”

You felt a little shy and posed awkwardly, but Wonwoo had a new collection of photos on his phone from another beautiful night with you, and that was more important than getting the perfect shot.

Sometimes the best photos are taken with just simple clothes, a little of makeup, and the person you love behind the lens.

Mingyu: Baking sweets.

He’s not that good at baking and neither you are, but that’s not important as long as you are doing this together. It might turn out good or bad, but there’s one thing clear: baking a fruit cake at late-night hours never was so fun (and messy).

“I think we have everything,” Mingyu said, checking the recipe on his phone, then he glanced at the kitchen counter where all the ingredients were. “We have eggs, flour, sugar… What are you doing!?”

You shrugged when you heard his voice rising above the normal. You raised your gaze to meet his and immediately dropped what you had in your hands, almost throwing it onto the counter.

“I bought you chocolates yesterday; why do you have to eat the ones that are for the cake?” Mingyu complained.

“There was no need to raise your voice,” you defended yourself quietly, crossing your arms.

Mingyu sighed deeply, standing in front of you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you” He patted your hair and gave you a warm smile, that gesture was enough for you to soften your expression. “Shall we start baking?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you rolled up the sleeves of your sweater, just above the elbows. “What’s the first thing we need to do?”

“I was making sure we had everything ready,” he looked back at his phone. “Did you buy the raisins like I told you?”

“I was supposed to buy… raisins?” you asked with a distracted look.

Mingyu watched you from the corner of his eye, lowkey irritated, and after realizing you were playing dumb, he overlooked as he made sure that no other ingredients were missing.

“Okay, it’s all here,” Mingyu smiled to himself. “Just tell me what the recipe says, and pass me the ingredients.”

The night went as you both worked together. Mingyu did the heavier tasks while you diligently dictated the instructions just as they were written; a slightly tense atmosphere developed, but it was also filled with jokes, laughters and the promise of a delicious fruitcake that you would share the next day, during Christmas dinner.

Once everything was ready and the cake was in the oven, that’s when you both realized the great mess the kitchen was in. There was flour scattered on the counter and on both of your clothes, leftover ingredients were thrown in a corner, and a tower of dirty dishes on the counter.

“I’m tired, shall we clean up when the cake is ready?” you suggested, scratching your head.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Mingyu said as he moved towards the sink. “Take a shower, I’ll go once you’re done.”

Without thinking twice, you thanked him and disappeared from the kitchen right to your room. After a while, the cake was ready, and everything was clean and picked up. Mingyu was surprised that you hadn’t appeared during all that time, so he went to check the bathroom, thinking something may happened.

He gently knocked on your bedroom door, and when you didn’t respond, he entered to find you lying on the bed in your pajamas, phone in hand, and deeply immersed in sleep. He chuckled softly and approached to cover you with the blankets, gazing at you tenderly.

“Merry first Christmas, my love” he caressed your cheek and placed a tender goodnight kiss on your forehead, before glancing at you once again.

Vernon: Watching bad movies for the laughs.

For someone who loves watching movies, Vernon has a long list of movies he has watched. He usually watches with you the ones he loves, but one night Vernon comes to home with snacks, drinks and a some of the worst Christmas movies he has watched. This is going to be a trip full of cringe but also filled with memories you both will remember for a long time.

You had to pause to catch your breath and avoid choking on the snacks. Vernon moved a little closer to you and made sure you were okay, though he himself couldn’t contain his frantic laughter.

“Are you okay?” his hand gently stroked your back.

“Yeah, I think so,” you took a deep breath while wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. “I didn't know such horrible movies existed.”

“I told you it was the worst movie I've ever seen,” Vernon admitted between laughs. “I couldn’t keep it all to myself!”

You gave him a sideways glance with a more serious expression as if you were going to scold him, but then you burst out laughing again and he followed your lead. After a few minutes of unending laughter, you took a breath.

“We should probably stop,” you leaned over to the table to take a sip from the glass of soda you had poured for yourself. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Yes, and?” Vernon raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “It’s Christmas eve.”

“Yeah, but it’s the third movie we’ve watched today,” you replied between yawns. “I’d like to sleep.”

But he wasn’t willing to back down. “Come on, I promise it’ll be the last one.”

Vernon looked at you with his tender eyes and a pouty face, gently pinching one of your cheeks. You were really having a good time and didn’t want the night to end at any cost, but on the other hand, you were an early bird, being awake to such late hours was really difficult.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you snuggled up to him, hugging his arm against your chest.

“This one and then we go to sleep, okay?” you asked in a very soft voice. “Now, hit play.”

“Sure, honey,” he said, kissing the top of your head, letting the movie continue on the TV.

As the movie went on, you felt your eyes closing every so often, with Vernon’s laughter being the only thing that could wake you for a few moments. However, when the credits rolled, the only sound was your soft snoring.

Vernon gently touched your nose to wake you. “Wake up, sweetie. It’s daytime.”

“What? How?” You quickly lifted your head and blinked several times before realizing that you were still in the living room of your apartment. You looked at Vernon with a frown and patted his arm. “C’mon, don’t be so mean!”

You immediately fell back asleep on his lap, resting your head on the pillow that was laying across his thighs.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep here,” he whispered sweetly, “let’s go to the bedroom.”

“It’s fine, I’m comfortable,” you replied in sleepy voice, barely audible. “Good night.”

Vernon giggled and just let you be, he was tired as well. Taking the pillow that was beside him, he placed it behind his head and rested his hand on your shoulder, slowly stroking you with his thumb. He looked at you one last time, a lovestruck smile barely appearing on his face.

“Thanks for joining me” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Good night for you too, honey”.

[rmview]

relationship dynamic with you, SVT.

featuring — seventeen vocalists x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of what the seventeen rap boys are like when they're in a relationship with you! ( rapper ver. )

contents — fluff, no warnings.

jeong ♡ han

jeonghan’s relationship with you is a perfect blend of playful teasing and unwavering affection. known for his cleverness, he loves keeping things fun and unpredictable, always coming up with ways to make you laugh or blush. he has a knack for pushing your buttons just enough to elicit a reaction, but it is never mean-spirited. beneath his mischievous exterior, jeonghan is deeply in tune with your emotions. he can sense when something is bothering you, even when you try to hide it, and he makes it his mission to lift your spirits.

“you’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?” he’d tease after pulling a harmless prank, a sly smile on his lips. but when the moment called for it, jeonghan’s sincerity would shine through. “i’ll always be here for you,” he’d say softly, his tone shedding all its playfulness as he held your hand.

dok ♡ yeom

dk’s relationship with you is a constant source of light and laughter. his energy is infectious, and he has an innate ability to turn even the gloomiest days around. being with him feels like standing in the sun — warm, bright, and full of life. dk is your biggest supporter, always cheering you on and reminding you of your worth, even on days when you doubt yourself. his love language is words of affirmation, and he makes sure you never go a day without hearing how much you mean to him. dk may not be just about fun and positivity; he is also deeply thoughtful and attentive. his gestures aren’t grand, but they are always heartfelt.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he’d say with a grin, before adding, “and I’m not just saying that because you made me coffee this morning!” yet in quieter moments, dk’s love ran deeper than words. “i mean it,” he’d whisper, his voice steady and eyes filled with emotion. “you’re my everything.”

ming ♡ hao

the8’s relationship with you is defined by quiet understanding and mutual respect. as someone who values introspection and personal growth, minghao encourages you to explore your passions and find balance in your life. he isn’t one for grand displays of affection, but his love shows in the little things. minghao’s calm and thoughtful nature brings a sense of peace to your relationship. his artistic soul shines through in the way he loves you, whether it is painting a picture inspired by you or writing down the little things he admires about you in a journal.

“did you notice the moon tonight?” he’d ask, his voice soft as he pointed to the sky, pulling you into his world of thoughtful observation. and when he opened up, his words were like poetry. “loving you feels like breathing,” he’d say earnestly, his sincerity shining through every syllable.

josh ♡ ua

joshua’s relationship with you is a haven of calm and stability. as someone with a naturally gentle and considerate nature, he has a way of making you feel safe and cherished. joshua is a master of small but meaningful gestures — like bringing you your favorite flowers just because or singing you a soft lullaby when you can’t sleep. his love isn’t loud or showy, but its steadfast and reliable, grounding you in a way few people could. with joshua, communication comes easily. he is a patient listener, always ready to talk. joshua is always by your side, offering quiet encouragement and unwavering support.

“i hope you know how much i adore you,” he’d say, his voice warm and soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. and when he looked at you, it felt like you were the only person in the world. “you’re my heart, you know that?”

jun ♡ hui

jun is the kind of partner who keeps you on your toes, always finding ways to make life more exciting. his quirky humor and unpredictable nature are a constant source of joy, and he loves seeing you laugh, often going to great lengths to put a smile on your face. but while jun thrives on fun and spontaneity, his affection for you is anything but fleeting. he adores showering you with attention, whether it is sneaking up behind you for a surprise hug or serenading you with a random song he made up on the spot. despite his playful demeanor, jun has a deeply romantic side. his love is expressed in the way he looks at you, his eyes full of wonder and admiration, as if he can’t believe someone as amazing as you had chosen him.

“life’s too short not to have fun,” he’d say with a wink before whisking you away for an impromptu date. but when the moment called for seriousness, jun’s words carried weight. “i might be a little crazy sometimes,” he’d confess, his tone softening, “but i promise my love for you is the one thing i’ll always be serious about.”

woo ♡ zi

woozi’s relationship with you is built on quiet devotion and an unspoken understanding. though not the most outwardly expressive, his actions speak louder than words. he has a way of making you feel loved in the simplest yet most meaningful ways — like brewing you a cup of tea when you are stressed or staying up late to help you with a project, even when he is exhausted himself. being a perfectionist, woozi often struggles to balance his work with his personal life, but he makes a conscious effort to prioritize you. and despite his reserved nature, there are times when his emotions break through, revealing just how much he cared for you.

“i’m not great with words,” he’d admit, scratching the back of his neck, “but i hope you can feel how much you mean to me.” and when he let his guard down, his words were simple yet profound. “you’re the best part of my life,” he’d say, his voice steady and filled with sincerity.

seung ♡ kwan

seungkwan’s relationship with you was vibrant, emotional, and full of life. as someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t shy about showing his love for you. he adored talking with you, whether it was sharing his latest dramatic story or having deep, meaningful conversations late into the night. his ability to make you laugh was unmatched, and he took great pride in being the one to lift your spirits when you were down. but seungkwan wasn’t just about fun and laughter. he is fiercely protective of you, ready to defend you against anyone or anything that threatened your happiness. his love is loud and unapologetic, and he made sure you never felt taken for granted.

“do you even realize how amazing you are?” he’d ask, exasperated but affectionate, after you doubted yourself. and when things got serious, seungkwan’s emotional depth came to the forefront. “i joke a lot,” he’d say, holding your hand, “but never about how much i love you. you’re my person, always.”

notes: i love these boys sm <3

[gumims]

hidden behind lines | christmas special

the jujutsu tech common room is an explosion of christmas chaos—strings of colorful lights are draped across furniture, a half-decorated tree stands proudly in the corner, and nobara is arguing with yuuji about the “proper” way to hang ornaments.

“yuuji, if you hang one more ornament on that branch, it’s going to snap,” she snaps, hands on her hips.

“it’s sturdy! look, it’s totally fine!”

crack.

the ornament falls to the floor with a small thud, and yuuji scratches his head sheepishly as nobara yells about how he’s “ruining the vibe.”

you stifle a laugh, adjusting a string of lights around the tree, when toge slips beside you, his scarf tugged loose and a mischievous look in his eyes.

“salmon,” he says, handing you a candy cane.

“thanks, inumaki,” you say, taking it from him. “having fun watching everyone bicker?”

he nods, typing on his phone before showing you the screen:

i’m waiting for nobara to throw something at yuuji.

you snort, glancing over at your friends. sure enough, nobara picks up a stray ornament and launches it at yuuji’s head.

the evening is filled with the sounds of christmas carols, the smell of cookies baking (maki surprisingly offered to help), and a ridiculous amount of laughter. at one point, yuuji tries to start a snowball fight indoors, which earns him a scolding from shoko, who’s visiting for the holidays.

“alright, picture time!” nobara announces, pulling out her phone.

you’re barely prepared before she’s shoving everyone onto the couch, forcing toge to sit next to you while she adjusts the camera.

“okay, smile! and yuuji, stop making that face!”

you lean slightly toward toge, who takes the opportunity to pull his scarf up to hide his grin.

suddenly, he brings up a miniature mistletoe, leaning down and giving you a small peck on the lips and running off, leaving you a blushed mess.

later, as the night winds down, toge quietly pulls you aside, away from the noise and into the hallway. he hands you a small gift box, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“what’s this?” you ask, tilting your head.

“kelp,” he says softly.

you open it to find a delicate snowflake charm bracelet inside. it’s simple but beautiful, and your heart swells as you look up at him.

“thank you, toge,” you say, slipping it on.

he pulls down his scarf just enough to mouth, “merry christmas,” before gently taking your hand and leading you back to the common room.

and for the first time all night, it’s quiet—just you and him in your little moment, surrounded by the warm glow of christmas lights.

a/n: merry christmas from toge!!

taglist: @aestheticallyvini @mizuislesscringe @satoryaa @jammofsammichflip @brideads @genxnarumi i @sad-darksoul @runfrme @c4ttheart @vexis-world @vorfreudevortex @kiss-my-asscheeks @diorrxluvskz @mayyhaps @twiishaa @pxppetmxster @ch3rry-lips s @walllflowerrrsss @veevei @tomikixd @fushiguruuzzzz @pinxeajin @beaniesayshi @unofficialsapphire @sirenla @a-phan-of-youtube @pandabiene5115 @azharyy @cloudxox @iluv-ace @starrysho @tibibibi123 @definitelynotanalien @breadfrenchsandwich @spookypeacesandwich @kuniz-darlingg @urnightstalker @mammoanlmao @s4toruz @diorzs @malyaerzu @thebestsetter

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 1: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Summary: After the death of her husband, Aurelia must make a decision to either die or marry the new ruler of Rome.

Warnings: 18+, talks of execution, talks of murder, Rome is in chaos, Lucius being Lucius, nothing too crazy right now

A/N: Hello! I decided to name the OC but honestly, you can replace her name with your name if you want to be a reader insert. It doesn't matter. Art is flexible. Anyway, this is for fun, not historically accurate. Also not bet read or proofread but I write for fun. Hope you enjoy! Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Aurelia had been standing on the balcony of her chambers in the imperial palace, her thoughts consumed by the heavy, oppressive silence that had fallen over Rome. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, but she didn’t notice the beauty. She hadn’t noticed much of anything for days. The death of Geta—her husband—had shattered her world. The sudden violence, the brutal murder of both Geta and Caracalla, had left her numb.

The door to her chambers had crashed open, and there they were—storming in, their swords drawn. Aurelia's body had gone cold at the sight of them.

She had tried to flee the guards. Tried to run. Tried to make it out of the palace before they could seize her, but the soldiers were fast, their hands grasping her wrists and dragging her back as if she were a criminal.

There had been no mercy for the widow of an emperor.

The next thing she knew, she had been thrown into the cold, damp cell, the iron bars of the tiny window casting a faint shadow on the stone floor. She had fought them, of course, her pride burning like fire in her veins. She had called out for help, for someone—anyone—to come to her aid but no one had come. No one would come.  Not even the guards at the door, who she had once known, now looked at her with suspicion and fear, as if her very blood made her guilty by association.

She had spent days in that cell. Alone. Hungry. The flickering light from the torch outside the bars offered little comfort, and the cold stone walls pressed against her, making it hard to breathe. There was a part of her that wanted to give in to despair, to let herself curl into the shadows and forget everything—forget who she was, forget what had happened. But she wouldn’t. She couldn't.

The door to the cell creaked open, and Aurelia’s sharp, ice-blue eyes snapped up. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, but then the figure stepped inside. A man in a dark toga, his face unreadable, his eyes cold. Aurelia’s stomach churned. The new emperor, Lucius Verus, stood before her now.

He wasn’t what she had expected. Lucius, the gladiator, the son of Lucilla, now the ruler of Rome. She had heard whispers in the halls—how he had killed Macrinus, how he had taken the throne in the wake of the murders. She had never imagined he would come for her, never imagined he would see her so low, so utterly powerless.

He surveyed her silently, his piercing blue eyes studying her as though she were an object of curiosity, something to be analyzed.

“You’re still alive,” he said finally, his voice low but commanding. “I had thought the guards would’ve killed you by now.”

Aurelia remained seated on the cold stone floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. She didn’t answer him immediately, just glared at him with defiance, her back straight despite the pain in her muscles.

“You were married to Geta,” he continued, the faintest hint of disgust flickering in his gaze. “It seems the Senate is unsure what to do with you. You’ve been a widow for only a few days and already they want to… settle this matter.”

Her lip curled in a bitter smile. "Settle what matter?" she spat, her voice hoarse but sharp. "You think this is about some matter? The Senate will decide my fate like I'm some common criminal, won't they? Just like Macrinus decided my husband's fate. My brother-in-law's fate."

Lucius gave a slight nod, though he didn’t look sympathetic. “The Senate is divided. Some say you should be put to death, to cleanse the last remnants of the old regime. Others suggest you may have been complicit in your husband’s death. After all, it was your family’s legacy that fell with Geta.”

She scoffed. “Complicit? You think I had a hand in killing my own husband?”

“I don’t know,” Lucius said quietly. “But that’s not my decision to make.”

He paused, and Aurelia could feel his gaze on her like a weight pressing down on her chest.

“I have come to offer you a choice,” Lucius continued, his tone cold, detached. “You will be tried in front of the Senate, but I’ve decided to intervene. You’re… valuable, despite the chaos surrounding you. You are the widow of an emperor. You have connections to the old regime and some factions within the Senate believe your marriage to me would solidify Rome’s future.”

Aurelia’s eyes narrowed. Her pulse quickened, the confusion and bitterness swirling in her chest. “Marriage to you?” She laughed, though the sound was bitter. “So now you want to use me too? Use my name, my blood, my title? Is that it, Lucius? Is that how you plan to secure your throne?”

Lucius stepped closer, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the cell. His eyes were as cold as the stone walls surrounding them.

“It’s not my plan,” he said, his voice low. “It’s Rome’s plan. I am offering you a way out, Aurelia. A chance to live. To keep your dignity intact.”

“Dignity?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. “Do you think I care about dignity? Death would preserve my dignity more than marrying you to secure your throne, to put another puppet on the imperial seat? To sit beside you like some obedient wife?”

Aurelia stood, her body trembling with rage, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I never wanted this!” she shouted, her voice rising. “I never wanted to be a pawn. My marriage to Geta was a nightmare and now you want me to marry another emperor?”

Lucius regarded her quietly, as if studying her fury with the detachment of a strategist. “The Senate does not care about your wants or needs, Aurelia. They care about power. They care about stability. If you do not marry me, they will find another way to dispose of you. If you do not marry me, you will be executed.”

She swallowed, her throat tight, her pulse roaring in her ears. He was right, of course.

Lucius watched her carefully, his gaze unwavering. “You may not like it. You may not want it. But you have one choice: death… or marriage to me.”

Aurelia's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on her with crushing force. She looked at him, then looked down at the cold stone floor beneath her feet. The choice before her was cruel, stark, and suffocating.

She could die. Die with her dignity intact, die with her pride as the last remnant of her old life.

Or she could marry him.

Marry a man who had come to power through bloodshed and violence. Marry a man who didn’t love her, who would never love her.

The silence between them stretched, long and heavy. 

"I'll think about it," she said finally, her voice low, almost broken. It was all she could say. Because the choice wasn’t hers to make. Not really.

Lucius inclined his head, his face unreadable. "Take your time. The Senate expects an answer soon."

And with that, he turned and left the cell, leaving Aurelia alone in the darkness, the weight of her decision already pressing down on her like the chains of fate.

The grand hall of the Senate was filled with the murmurs of Roman senators, their voices a low hum of power and fear. The marble columns stretched high, reaching up into the vast ceiling, echoing the weight of centuries of rule. The Senate chamber, once a place of noble discourse and decision, now felt cold and suffocating to Aurelia. It had always been a room of intrigue, but today, it was a room of judgment.

Aurelia stood at the center of the chamber, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Her heart beat loudly in her chest, a sharp drum in the silence. She could feel the eyes of the entire Senate on her, watching, scrutinizing, waiting.

She had been brought here under guard, her wrists bound in chains, but even now, they were nothing more than a symbol. She was a prisoner. A prisoner of Rome, of the Senate, of her own fate.

Behind her, the throne was empty.

The throne her late husband had sat in.

 Lucius Venus had not arrived yet.

The murmurs grew louder as the senators took their seats, each one wearing their finely crafted tunics, their faces a mixture of indifference, curiosity, and judgment. The men of the Senate had always been ruthless in their pursuit of power and the death of Caracalla and Geta had left the empire vulnerable. Macrinus and his plot had sent Rome into chaos. 

For the Senate,  it was not about justice—it was about control. Aurelia was a relic of the old regime, an obstacle, and now she was to be disposed of. But in what way? In what way could they control her? 

The doors to the Senate chamber opened with a heavy thud, silencing the room instantly. Lucius Venus, now Emperor of Rome, entered. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, his expression unreadable as he moved to the center of the floor. His presence was undeniable. The senators, who had once ruled Rome, now watched him with a mixture of respect and fear. The gladiator turned emperor was an anomaly, a force to be reckoned with.

Lucius ascended to the platform, standing beside the podium where Aurelia was forced to kneel. The contrast between them was stark. He stood tall, composed, his posture regal despite his origins. Aurelia, on the other hand, knelt on the cold marble floor in silence, her eyes still lowered.

A low, deliberate murmur passed through the Senate as Lucius raised his hand to silence them.

"Senators of Rome," Lucius’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “We are gathered here today not to deliberate on the future of this empire, but to settle a matter that will define the future of Rome itself. The widow of the late Emperor Geta, Aurelia Carina Cassia, stands before you today as both a symbol and a question. A symbol of the old Rome, the old blood, and a question of loyalty. The question of whether we allow the remnants of the past to threaten our future.”

Aurelia felt her pulse quicken at his words, her mind racing. A question of loyalty? She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked to be married off to Lucius, nor had she asked to be placed in the center of this political struggle. But here she was, forced into this trial, caught between the old regime and the new one.

Lucius turned his gaze toward her, and for a moment, their eyes met. His gaze was cool and distant, but there was something more beneath it—something she couldn’t quite grasp. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw a trace of sympathy in his eyes, but it vanished almost immediately.

“You stand accused of complicity in the deaths of Emperor Geta and his brother, Caracalla,” Lucius continued, his voice echoing through the chamber. “It is said that you, as the wife of Geta, played a part in the conspiracy that led to their deaths. Do you deny this, Aurelia?”

Her voice was steady, though it trembled with the weight of the question. “I deny it. It was Macrinus. I saw it…”

There was a murmur in the room at her response, some senators exchanging glances, others looking down at their scrolls in preparation for the next statement. Lucius didn’t seem surprised. His expression remained impassive as he looked back at the senators.

“The Senate will now deliberate,” Lucius said, gesturing for the first speaker to approach.

An older senator, his face lined with the marks of years of manipulation and power, stood and addressed the assembly with a voice that held no softness.

"Empress Aurelia, you have been a figurehead of the old regime. Whether or not you directly plotted the deaths of Geta and Caracalla is immaterial. You were Geta’s wife. You were complicit in their actions, and you knew the risks of such alliances." His words were harsh, accusatory, but there was no fury in them—just a cold, calculated desire to secure his place in the new order.

“You are a widow. We understand the grief of losing a husband, but you should know better than anyone that this is not a matter of emotion. This is a matter of stability for Rome. Your presence here is a threat. Your family’s bloodline is a reminder of a Rome that no longer serves its purpose.”

Aurelia’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The senator’s words hit her like a blow, and yet, she held her ground. Stability for Rome? What was the point of Rome without love, without people who truly cared for the well-being of its citizens?

“Empress, the Senate proposes that you be executed for your role in this treason,” the senator continued. “For the good of the empire.”

Her heart pounded, but she did not flinch. This was not about her. This was about politics. This was about control. They would say anything to justify their thirst for power.

Another senator rose, younger than the first, with a look of thinly veiled disdain on his face. He glanced at Aurelia with a slight sneer.

“Though I do not fully support the accusations of complicity, the death of two emperors and the subsequent collapse of their line cannot be ignored,” he said. “Her very existence challenges the new order of the empire. If she is not put to death, then what is to prevent others from following her path? I suggest we put the question to the emperor: If not death, then marriage. Let her be a bride to the new emperor, a tool to bring the people of Rome together, to prevent further dissent. What better way to silence any rumors of betrayal than to unite her with Emperor Lucius?”

The words struck Aurelia like a blow to the chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her knees tremble slightly as the full weight of the situation pressed down on her.

Lucius stood silently beside her, his gaze fixed ahead. She could feel him watching her, his presence a constant reminder that, even in this moment of supposed judgment, he was the one who held the final say. He had given her the choice before, but now it seemed to be a cruel trap—a way to dispose of her without the bloodshed that would come with execution. A way to use her as a pawn, to bind her to him, to secure his claim to the throne.

Aurelia’s voice, though barely a whisper, broke through the growing tension in the room. “You think marriage to him will erase everything?” she spat, her eyes now blazing with anger. “You think that will make me a loyal subject of Rome, after everything you’ve done?”

Lucius’s gaze turned toward her, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, but the weight of his presence seemed to fill the room. His silence spoke volumes. Aurelia knew that, in the end, her fate would be decided by him.

The senators shifted uneasily, waiting for his verdict.

Finally, Lucius raised his hand, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm. “The Senate has spoken. I offer Aurelia the choice of her fate: death, or marriage to me. If she chooses to live, she will be bound to me, not only as my wife but as the symbol of the stability I will bring to Rome. And if she chooses death…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he turned away. “So be it.”

Aurelia looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and sorrow. This was it. This was the end of everything. Her heart, which had once been full of hope and love, now felt empty, hollow.

Her life would never be her own again.

The Senate waited. The room held its breath.

And Aurelia was forced to make a choice.

“Give me an hour and I will give my answer to Emperor Lucius myself,” Aurelia says. “You’ll have your answer no later or no earlier than that.”

Aurelia stood before the great marble columns of the Imperial Palace, the cold stone pressing against her back as if it could steady her trembling bones. Her mind raced, her heart a fluttering bird caught in a cage. Everything that had happened in the last few days felt like a blur—a dream, perhaps, or a nightmare. The death of Geta and Caracalla. The rise of Macrinus and his ultimate betrayal. And now, the demand to marry Lucius Verus.

The Senate had spoken. The Emperors had been murdered, and the city of Rome was in turmoil. But it was Lucius, not the Senate, who now held power. He was the son of Lucilla, and by blood, he had the right to rule. And yet… he was not the one who had killed Geta and Caracalla. The murder had been orchestrated by Macrinus, but now, the world had spun into chaos, and Rome needed stability.

And so, the question had been asked.

Would she marry Lucius Verus to solidify his claim to the throne? Or would she die just because she was the wife of the previous emperor? 

Was she lucky to even had the choice?

The air in the room was thick with expectation. The door behind her creaked as it opened, and Aurelia didn’t need to turn to know who stood there. She could feel his presence as if it were a tangible thing, heavy like the weight of the empire itself.

Lucius Verus.

The man who was now the Emperor of Rome, not by his own doing, but by circumstance. The gladiator who had risen from the sands of the arena, who had fought for his freedom only to be forced into the throne by the whims of a crumbling empire.

“Do you know why I am here, Aurelia?” His voice was deep, steady, but there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps a sense of duty. Or perhaps… uncertainty.

She didn’t turn to face him immediately, though she could hear the soft echo of his footsteps as he crossed the room. It felt almost like a finality. She could already hear the whispers of the Senate, the people, the court.

It was already decided.

Turning slowly, she met his gaze, her eyes steady. He stood confident with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to always know more than they should. Today, however, there was something else in them, something that perhaps even he didn’t understand: a flicker of vulnerability.

“I know why you are here, Lucius,” Aurelia replied, her voice cold, controlled. “You want your answer. I promised you that in the senate this morning.”

She didn’t let her anger spill over, though it burned at the edges of her words. Instead, she forced herself to focus, to look at him as though this were just another political arrangement, another moment where she could maintain control. She was used to power plays—she had been married to Geta, after all. But this… this felt different.

Lucius’s expression softened, as if her words had stung, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he took another step closer, lowering his voice.

“No one is forcing you, Aurelia,” he said. “You still have a choice. I won’t have you marrying me out of fear. It’s not just your life at stake now. The future of Rome is as well.”

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of disbelief and bitterness. “And you think I care about Rome’s future? Rome’s future died with my husband. And my brother-in-law.” Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained control.

Lucius watched her silently, his jaw clenched. He could see the weight of grief in her eyes, the anger—familiar, raw, the same kind of anger that had been in his own heart when he first stepped into the Senate after the deaths of Caracalla and Geta. He had learned to control it, to channel it into something else. For Aurelia, that was still a battle she hadn’t won.

“You’re angry,” Lucius said softly, almost as though he were stating a fact. “I understand that. But if you don’t marry me, Rome will spiral into chaos. This empire needs unity. It needs strength. I can give that to it, if you help me.”

“And you think you can just take this position, Lucius?” Aurelia snapped, stepping forward, her hand gripping the edge of the table in front of her. “This is not something you can simply inherit. This marriage is a farce. You think Rome will rally behind the son of Lucilla? A man who was raised in Numidia, a gladiator, forced into the games, used as nothing more than a pawn?”

His gaze flickered, but he didn’t move. “I am not a pawn and neither are you, Aurelia.”

She scoffed bitterly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Aren’t I? Tell me—what happens to me if I refuse? Do you execute me in front of the Senate? Do you have me dragged through the streets like a common criminal? Because that is all I am, isn’t it? A widow with no place in this empire.”

Lucius’s expression darkened for a moment. There was no cruelty in his eyes—no harshness—but there was a kind of desperation there, buried just beneath the surface. His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it now, an urgency she hadn’t expected.

“I will not kill you,” he said. “However if you don’t marry me, the Senate will see you as a threat. You know that as well as I do. They’ll find a way to dispose of you. If not through execution, then through a thousand other means. I’m trying to protect you and Rome.”

Her eyes narrowed, studying him carefully. She had always been good at reading people—good at seeing through their facades, their masks. But Lucius was different. His words, his actions, his very presence were all so… contradictory. There was something about him that felt real. Something that felt honest. He wasn’t just playing a role. He was truly trying to protect her—and Rome—but at what cost?

And that was the question she had to answer now.

Aurelia looked down at her hands, fingers trembling slightly as she worked to control her emotions. There was no real choice, was there? Either she married him, or she died. Either she helped Lucius rule Rome or die, erased from history.

There was something else in her mind. A flicker of realization. If she married Lucius, she would remain at his side—able to influence his decisions, to perhaps steer him away from the path that had already been carved out for him. If she married him, she could still be somebody in this empire. She could still matter.

“Why me?” she asked, her voice quiet now, softer than she intended. “Why not someone else? Someone who truly loves you, who wants to share this life with you?”

Lucius hesitated, his gaze steady, and for a moment, Aurelia could have sworn she saw a flicker of something deeper, something more intimate.

“Because you are the empress of Rome,” he said simply. “And despite everything that has happened, you have strength. More than anyone else in this empire. I need that strength by my side.”

The words hit her like a stone. Strength. Not love. Not affection. But strength.

And yet, in that moment, Aurelia knew what she had to do. There was no escape. No retreat. She could fight it all she wanted, but the only path forward was through him.

“Fine,” she said, her voice flat. “I will marry you. But don’t think for a second that I will ever love you. Not like I loved Geta. And not like you want me to.”

Lucius’s expression softened, but there was no joy in it, no relief. He merely nodded, as if he had expected her answer, but it did not lessen the weight of it.

As he stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder—an uncertain gesture—Aurelia stood still, rigid, her eyes hard, her heart closed off.

Rome had taken everything from her.

And now it had taken her heart, too.

[daryltwdixon]

Know It's For the Better

Was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Waiting Room today and my heart hurt thinking of Daryl pining, longing, and angsty while critical of himself. Never letting himself have you.

There are moments when he thinks it’d be easier to walk away, to stop feeling like this, but the idea of losing even the smallest piece of you feels like a wound he’d never come back from.

The door swings shut behind Daryl with barely a sound—he’d oiled the hinges last week after they started squealing loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight, he steps out onto the porch, pausing when he catches sight of you sitting on the steps, your figure framed by the soft glow of moonlight.

For a second, he hesitates, unsure whether to join you or leave you to the quiet. But his feet don’t carry him back inside. Instead, he leans against the porch railing, his shoulders pressing into the rough wood, watching you from the shadows. He’s always been good at staying silent when he needs to, moving like a ghost, unnoticed until he wants to be seen.

You don’t look up, your attention on the blade of grass you’re twirling between your fingers. Your body is relaxed, at ease in the stillness of the night. There’s something easy about the way you sit there, your body relaxed, your hair catching the faint silver light of the moon. You look at home in this quiet, the same way you do when you’re laughing with the others or tearing through walkers like it’s second nature. He doesn’t know which version of you hits him harder—the one who smiles without hesitation, or the one who stares a little too long at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

He likes both. That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you at this point—too long, probably. Long enough that every inch of you is burned into his memory, like some kind of cruel brand he’s too far gone to scrape off. And not just tonight, in the moonlight that floods the neighborhood. But always. He's always watching you. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, keeping you safe, and that is true... But there's more. He knows he'd be lying if he said that was all it was. When it comes to you, he can't stop...watching, looking--admiring.

You shift slightly, leaning back on your hands, your face turned up to the stars like you’re trying to soak them in. It’s so damn effortless—the way you exist, the way you look at the world like it might still have something left to offer you. He wonders what it feels like, that kind of quiet hope. Wonders what it would feel like if you ever looked at him that way.

He’s too old, too broken. Too rough around the edges to be anything you could want. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he had the chance. Wouldn’t know how to hold you let alone touch you. And definitely, most definitely, wouldn’t know how to tell you just how much space you’ve taken up in his head without scaring you off.

“Something on your mind?” you ask suddenly, not looking back. Your voice is light, teasing, like you already know the answer.

Shit, of course you knew he was there. It was hard to sneak around you, he should've known by now. Daryl clears his throat, pushing the words back down where they belong. “Nah,” he mutters, glancing at the dark horizon instead of you.

You hum softly, like you don’t believe him, and lean back on your hands. The way your shoulders tilt, your neck arching just slightly, still turned to him with your eyes closed, the curve of your cheek catching the moonlight.--it sends an ache through him. The urge to reach out...to feel, to caress, to just touch you.

He wonders if you can feel it too—that pull between you, like some invisible thread tying him to you no matter how far he tries to stay. He wonders if you’ve ever noticed the way his hands shake when you’re close, or the way he looks at you like you’re something he doesn’t know how to hold but can’t bring himself to let go of.

But he’d never tell you. Not ever. He’s too messed up, too worn down and rough from this world and the one before it. It’s better this way—better to stay at a distance, close enough to watch over you but far enough to keep from ruining whatever this is.

Know it’s for the better, he tells himself, over and over, the words circling his mind like a chant, praying one day he'd believe them.

It’s for the better—because you deserve someone who could give you more than silence and scars.

It’s for the better—because he doesn’t know how to hold you without feeling like his hands might break something delicate, like he’s never been made for soft things.

It’s for the better—because every part of him is rough-edged and jagged, and you? You’re all the things he’s spent his life convincing himself he doesn’t deserve.

It’s for the better—because letting himself think otherwise, even for a second, feels like the kind of hope that’d split him wide open.

“You ever think about it?” you ask, breaking his spiraling thoughts, your eyes on him. He's not sure how long since you opened them and had been staring at him, “What life would’ve been like if this hadn’t happened?”

It’s not a sad question, not the way you ask it. Just curious, like you’re thinking about what you’d do with a world full of empty possibilities.

Daryl shrugs, “Ain’t much to think about.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to imagine what life would’ve been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell. Because then he wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have found you. And even if he can’t let himself have you, he can’t picture his life without you in it.

You stare up at the sky again then, “No dreams? No big plans?”

He huffs out a breath almost like a laugh, looking down at the worn wood under his boots. “Don’t think I’d be much different. Probably still out there somewhere, bein' a screw up.”

You don't laugh, don't reply right away, and yet when he looks up the look in your eyes still makes his skin rise with goosebumps.

“You really don't see how good you are, do you?” you say casually, like it’s a fact you’d bet your life on.

He freezes, his throat tightening, because how the hell are you supposed to say something like that and then just go back to looking at the stars like it didn’t knock the world off its axis? He shifts his weight, the words crawling up the back of his throat before he can stop them.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he means for it to be. His fingers tighten around the edge of the railing like it might keep him steady.

Despite his dismissiveness, you don’t look away, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you, the soft rustle of the wind, the faint hum of crickets in the distance.

“You should too,” you say softly, finally standing and brushing the dust off your hands.

As you turn toward him, you hesitate, like you’re weighing something in your mind. Then you close the small distance between you, stepping up onto the porch until you’re standing in front of him.

Daryl straightens instinctively, unsure what you’re about to do, his hand still gripping the railing. You tilt your head, your gaze searching his face, and then your hand moves. Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering just a moment too long against his temple.

His breath hitches, and he feels rooted to the spot, like one wrong move might break whatever quiet spell you’ve cast.

"You didn't answer my question." you say softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He swallows hard, the words tangling in his throat. You’re looking at him expectantly but with a kindness so soft it hurts, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning into your touch.

"I uh--" Daryl clears his throat, "I dunno,"

For a moment, your fingers linger on his face before you let your hand fall, the warmth of your touch still ghosting across his skin. You smile then, small and quiet, but it’s enough to make the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” you murmur, your voice soft as you step back.

But you don’t leave right away. Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, your expression open, unguarded, like you’re waiting for him to say something—do something.

He doesn’t. He can’t. It's for the better.

“Night,” he rasps finally, the word uneven and raw, but it’s enough to make you smile one last time before you turn and disappear inside.

Know it's for the better, he chants in his head again. But damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s been left out here with half of himself locked on the other side of that door.

[zevrra]

could u write a jayce x female or gn reader fic or blurb where the reader has major baby fever or just wants a child in general? I feel like Jayce would make such a good girl dad. idk..this request is pretty stupid but i’ve just been craving Jayce as a dad.

I LUV UR WRITING BTW!! PLS NEVER STOP POSTING! 🤍

a/n: AAAAH this was such a cute idea i couldn’t resist KSHDKH. jayce 100% is a girl dad, you can’t change my mind and i also like to think he’d want a HUGE family too. 😭 thank you so much for the request and im sorry it’s a lil shorter but i hope it makes you giggle and kick your feet at the thought of dad!jayce bc i did KSHSKH i love jayce so much omg

jayce is definitely someone who wants to have a giant family one day. wants to have as many kids, in anyway possible, as his partner will let him. he’d be so sweet talking about how one day he hopes he can show off his kids and give them everything they could ever dream about. his heart is so big and it’s just so cute.

the two of you had been together for a very long time and seeing every child recently made you yearn for your own. so when you mention over dinner one day, wanting to start a family; he’s ecstatic. he’s so happy, staring at you with wide eyes as his face lights up with that stupidly charming smile of his.

“are you serious?” he asks; as if this might be a dream and that you’re lying to him.

“no jayce, i said it just to tease you.” you respond sarcastically. laughing with a shake of your head. you manage a shy glance in his direction as your fingers play with the utensils on the table. “i’ve just been thinking about it recently. seeing all the cute babies around the city during the holidays is just making me…want to start a family.” you add with a smile towards your lover.

who still sits and stares at you with wide eyes. his mouth slightly agape, fangs flashing as his lips curl up in a warm smile. he reaches across the table to grab your hand, his pretty hazel eyes full of love as he brings your hand up to his lips; placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“it’s your call, my love but i would be honored to start a family with you.” jayce hums sweetly. he plants another kiss against your knuckles before his thumb rubs across the top of your hand, soothingly touching you as he practically looks like he’s on the verge of tears. as if he’s waited for this moment for forever.

always so dramatic and you loved him for it.

“i think you’d make a great dad.” you state in a matter of fact tone, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back.

and truly, jayce would in fact make the best dad. you didn’t have to say it out loud to know it was true either; since he was already the perfect partner. you could easily imagine him with a little girl, protecting her from any harm, playing dress up, pretending to drink tea when he’s offered a plastic cup. he’s so sweet and deserves everything good in the world and you wanted nothing more than to start that next chapter in his and your own life.

[ikkyfics]

Forever Yours

Alexei Vronsky x reader

Summary: Alexei Vronsky, with his intensity, lives love in every gesture as a husband and father

Warnings: none

A/N: anon, hope you like it <33

Masterlist

• Alexei would be an intense husband, someone who loves with fiery, absolute devotion, but who can also lose himself in his own desires and emotions. He watches you as if every moment by his side is a performance to be admired. You often catch him looking at you with a sideways smile, almost as though he’s admiring a living piece of art.

• He’s the type who loves extravagant surprises. One day, he comes home with an expensive piece of jewelry he saw in a shop window and simply thought it was perfect for you. On another day, he decides to take you on an impromptu picnic in the middle of a blooming field, not caring about logistics or details.

• He’s fascinated by how your children reflect traits of both of you. “Look at this,” he whispers, watching how the baby holds your finger. “So small, but already so perfect. How can this be real?”

• He insists on having the children educated at home by prestigious tutors, but always makes sure to be present for their first lessons in anything important, even if only to watch them with a childlike pride. He loves hearing the first words they learn in French or seeing them draw imperfect shapes as they attempt to master their handwriting.

• In the afternoons, he likes to sit in his favorite chair while the children play on the rug nearby. He watches them with such intensity that you know, in that moment, his whole world is there—with you and the children.

• Alexei has the habit of carrying the children even when they’re too big for it. He lifts them as though they’re as light as feathers, spinning them around until laughter echoes through the house. He says he wants to savor every moment before they grow up and have to deal with the world’s problems.

• When you argue, Alexei can’t stay distant for long. He gently knocks on your bedroom door, his expression dejected. “I can’t stand this,” he says in a quiet voice. “I hate it when we’re like this.” And even when he’s wrong, he always finds a way to make amends.

• He loves the sound of your laughter. When you laugh, he stops whatever he’s doing just to admire it. “You know you’re ruining me, don’t you?” he teases, though his tone is entirely sincere.

• Alexei is particularly affectionate at night when the world seems quieter. He enjoys lying next to you, talking about anything that worries or fascinates him, always with his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin.

• He has the habit of writing little notes for you, even when there’s no need. Small letters left on your vanity or tucked between the pages of a book he knows you’re reading. The words are simple, but full of emotion: “My dear, today, as always, I thought about you more times than I can count.”

• When you walk together, whether in the gardens or through the streets, he always offers his arm or holds your hand, as if wanting to remind everyone—and himself—that you are his companion.

• Every night, before bed, Alexei makes sure to stop by the children’s room. He whispers promises about the future, as if needing to reassure himself that he will always be there for them.

• During the harsh winters, he enjoys sitting by the fireplace with the family. He reads to the children while you embroider or simply watch, feeling enveloped by the warmth of the moment.

• He is meticulous when planning family events, like birthdays. He enjoys surprising you and the children, whether with a sophisticated banquet or a carefully chosen small gift. Alexei has the habit of kissing your hand every morning before he gets out of bed. He does this almost reverently, as if it were a ritual of devotion. “It’s still a miracle that you’re mine,” he murmurs, even after years of marriage.

• At night, he reads to you while you brush your hair. His voice is deep and calm, turning even the most ordinary texts into melodies for your ears. It’s in these moments that he seems most vulnerable, setting aside all pretenses to show you a more serene side.

• Alexei loves dancing with you. Even without music, he pulls you into his arms in the middle of a conversation or while you’re distracted. With bare feet on the wooden floor, he leads the steps with a smile that carries the intensity of someone who sees love as an eternal performance.

• On the rare days he can spend the entire morning at home, he insists on bringing fresh flowers to your room, filling the space with the sweet scent and vibrant light that match your presence.

• Despite all his flaws, Alexei loves you with a nearly desperate devotion. He’s the type of man who would do anything to protect his family, even if it meant sacrificing something important to him.

• He’s a father who, though imperfect, learns from his own mistakes. When you confront him about his absences or actions, he listens—sometimes with stubbornness, but always with the intention to improve.

• Alexei is afraid of disappointing you. This fear makes him vulnerable and sometimes leads him to impulsive decisions, but his intention is always to put you first.

• He is deeply grateful for you, even if he doesn’t say it every day. In quiet moments, he enjoys holding your hand and simply looking at you, as if reminding himself that he’s found everything he’s ever wanted.

• Alexei completely melts when the children run to him as soon as he comes home. No matter how tired he is, he kneels with open arms to welcome them. These moments make him forget all the pressures and responsibilities.

• Alexei is fascinated by the children from the moment they’re born. He holds the baby with almost reverent care, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and admiration. For him, every small movement or sound the baby makes is a source of wonder.

• He’s subtly possessive. Not that he doesn’t trust you, but the idea that you could choose someone else over him is something that torments him. He doesn’t express it openly, but you notice it in small gestures: like the way he gets close when you’re in public, touching your hand or waist, as if to show the world that you belong to him.

[berberriescorner]

Beneath the Fairy Lights🎄♥️

Character: Husband!Rio x Black!Reader.

Word Count: 500+.

"A Season of Love Christmas Series 🎄♥️"

It was still dark when you felt the warmth of Rio’s hand gently trailing up your arm, his touch soft and deliberate, pulling you from the depths of sleep.

“C’mon, mama,” his low, velvet voice whispered against your ear. “Time to get up.”

Your groggy protest came out as little more than a grumble, but Rio wasn’t deterred. Your husband laid a kiss upon your temple, his lips lingering. Rio’s scent was a mix of cologne paired with woodsiness and spice—filling your senses.

“It’s Christmas, darlin’,” he murmured. “And I got somethin’ for you.”

That aroused your interest. You cracked one eye open, meeting his soft brown gaze, full of mischief and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Can’t it wait ‘til sunrise?” you teased, voice still husky from sleep.

Rio chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “Nah. This can’t wait.”

He offered his hand, and you let him pull you out of bed. His warmth instantly enveloped you as he grabbed a nearby blanket to drape around your shoulders. His fingers laced with yours as he led you down the hallway. His pace was deliberate, his steps careful not to wake the kids who were still fast asleep in their rooms.

When you reached the living room, you gasped. The soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the tree illuminated the space. Yet it was Rio's transformation that stole your breath.

A trail of rose petals started at the doorway, winding toward the couch, which was now covered in a plush throw and pillows. A table sat beside it, adorned with a spread of your favorite breakfast foods—croissants, fresh fruit, and even the special coffee blend you loved.

“Rio…” You turned to him, eyes wide, your voice barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t done yet. He pulled out a small box from his pocket, his thumb brushing over the lid before handing it to you.

“Merry Christmas, mama,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious.

You opened the box to find a delicate gold bracelet, tiny charms dangling from it—each a meaningful symbol of your life together. A small house for the home you’d built, a baby carriage for your kids, a heart with your initials entwined.

Your breath hitched, and when you looked up at him, he was already watching you, his expression unguarded.

“I know I don’t always say it the way you deserve to hear it,” he started, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But you’re everything, yeah? My partner, my peace, my wifey, my reason. I wanted you to wake up today and feel all that. Feel how much you mean to me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He held you tightly, his hands, splayed against your back, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to say it, Rio,” you whispered against his chest. “I feel it. Every day.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Good. But I’m still gonna say it.”

And he did, over and over again, as you both sank onto the couch, wrapped in the quiet magic of Christmas morning, the world outside forgotten in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, my babies! MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄♥️!!

Tagging some lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @1andonlytashae

@novaniskye @sunshine-flower @olyvoyl @starrynite7114

@ravennaortiz @rio-reid-whoreee @prettyyybrownroundd

@percosim

[luvhaos]

on a winter's night | xmh

pairing: xu minghao x reader genre: gn! reader, black widow! minghao, scarlet witch! reader content/warnings: mild violence and a fight scene word count: 866 summary: your first meeting with xu minghao is as unique as they come. 

author’s note: (i lowkey want to to continue this) happy holidays to everyone!

The streets are pitch black when you follow Xu Minghao out of the bar. His steps are quick and silent despite the layer of snow and ice on the ground from yesterday’s snowfall, leaving no imprint behind. It reminds you why Seungcheol sent you after him.

He turns a corner, and when you do the same only a few steps back, you see nothing but an empty street, lit by dim streetlights. You curse in your head, pulling out your radar to check where the tracker you attached to his jacket is when the world turns upside down and you’re on your back in an alley. 

Minghao is on top of you, one hand around your throat and the other holding a sleek switchblade just above. His expression is neutral but you can see the venom behind his eyes. “Who are you and why are you following me?” he asks, and you feel the frigid steel against your already-cold skin.

Your fingers twitch to use your magic — you could easily move him off you — but you have to keep it low profile. Instead, you reply, “An interested party.”

His eyes narrow and he scoffs, breath puffing in the air. “I’ll pass.”

“Sorry, you misunderstand me. I’m interested in what you can do, Minghao.” You offer him a teasing smile and say, “I’ll explain more if you let me up.”

He just applies more pressure to your windpipe and you cough a little. “Do you think I’m stupid? Who sent you?”

“My—” You pause to consider the wording, “—boss. Your work caught his eye and he’s interested in your skillset.”

“If you two know so much about me, then you should know I don’t do that anymore,” he hisses. “But I won’t hesitate here and now.” He pushes down harder and you feel your airflow thin. 

Above you, the clouds shift, the gray blanket opening up to reveal the moon. In the silvery light, you can see Minghao’s face more clearly — all his sharp angles and surprisingly soft features. His glare is a perfect replica of the one in the photo attached to the dossier Seungcheol handed you three days ago but the tiny photo did not do justice to just how attractive he is in front of you. Black dots pepper your vision and you wheeze out: “Not even for the chance to end the Red Room?”

He freezes above you and in that split second, he lets up just enough for you to buck him off, your lungs greedily accepting all the air you inhale. Your throat is throbbing in pain as Minghao falls but regains his balance easily, getting to his feet with a frightening speed and lunging for you, blade at the ready. You barely dodge him, aiming a kick at his chest. With one smooth motion, he is flipping over you, graceful as an acrobat. He hooks your neck with the crook of his elbow, twisting and dragging your body against his. Even underneath his thick wool coat, you feel lean muscle.

 You see his switchblade coming toward you again. With a flick of your fingers, you send him pin him against the wall, tendrils of red smoke curling around his wrists. His eyes widen and he scowls at you as you approach. “Now you use this? Where was this before?”

“I always like an element of surprise,” you say with a wink. He looks wildly unimpressed.

“So you just let me choke you? Are you a masochist or something?” 

“Or something,” you answer. “But as you can see, we’re more alike than you think — not normal at all. And neither is my boss, which is why he’s interested. He’s different in his own way and is assembling a group of people like us to take down places like the Red Room. He wants to know if you’re interested.”

Minghao is silent as he watches you carefully, eyes flickering around, and you know he’s assessing exit strategies. You sigh, “I’ll let you down if you promise not to kill me.”

“Seems unlikely that I’d be able to with all this.” He nods at the misty bindings. 

You wave your fingers and he lands easily, crossing his arms. He studies you for a moment, eyes roving your face. “You’re not lying, I know that much.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t know,” he says, voice distant. Although he faces you, you know he’s looking past you and your heart aches in sympathy. It’s not hard to discern what he’s thinking about — you’re all too familiar with what it’s like to be a living weapon. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to make any decision right now,” you tell him, reaching into your coat pocket and holding out the card Seungcheol gave you He takes it from your hand, reading the words on it. “But just… think about it.”

He’s still, unmoving and as you turn to leave, you say your name. His eyes meet yours, questioning, and you say, “You asked me who I was.”

He repeats it, syllables fading into fog in wintery night air. You hold his gaze and offer a small smile before you turn out of the alleyway and disappear into the night.

[dibidibidismynameisleeknow]

Twelve Days of Mingyu 🎄 12/12

Day 12 - Dinner and Gift Exchange

It's over! Oh no. If you just got here or don't want to let go. Click ✨here✨

The instructions for the night’s date were to wear the fanciest thing in your closet and to doll yourself up. Mingyu did tell you that the two of you were going out for dinner but never specified where, just to keep the romance alive. The time seemed to drag on while you waited for Mingyu, not that he had run late, he was always very punctual, you were just looking forward to the evening. 

Sure, the date itself wasn’t necessarily festive, but the length Mingyu went to plan everything meant the world. There’s no doubt that he would do it again a thousand times over. 

The restaurant was elegant, with soft lighting and menus filled with ingredients and words you didn’t know. Mingyu watched as you tried to pronounce the name of the dishes to yourself, and failed miserably at it. You graciously accepted his offer to order for you.

“I’ll give you my answer about visiting your family after we exchange gifts. But I owe you an explanation about why I never go back home.”

“I just get sad at the thought of you being alone. If you’re uncomfortable sharing, I respect that boundary. The person you are now and the person you’ll become are what matters the most to me.”

“I was never really close with my family, then it slowly got worse.” The restaurant was quite spacious which was definitely useful since you were about to tell Mingyu your whole back story.

“There was a lot of pressure on me to work at my parents’ law firm. There are no words to describe how mad they were at me when I told them it wasn’t something I had the slightest interest in. In their eyes, me becoming a software developer was a waste of time and I was a failure. So, I told them I was leaving and they didn’t believe me. They were convinced I would end up unemployed and homeless then I’d come crawling back. I haven’t spoken to them since.”

“That’s…rough. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Thank you. Honestly though, I’m okay. I’ve never been happier.”

Not wanting to kill the mood for the evening you suggested the gift exchange, just to put each other's attention on something a little more positive. You did warn Mingyu that his Christmas gift was quite heavy but the expression in his face told you that he severely underestimated the gift’s weight. There was also slight concern etched on his face as he racked his brain to come up with some ideas of what it might be, any ideas really. 

Mingyu’s gift to you was beautifully wrapped in snowman designed paper and a bow that he had made himself.

“It’s so pretty, Mingyu. I don’t want to ruin it.” As delicate as you could possibly manage you cautiously unwrapped the gift to avoid ripping the paper.

“It’s fine, just tear into it.” Mingyu was beyond excited with the gift he threw together for you. As he should be. “That’s what I had to pick up from the post office the day you came over to paint.”

Inside the beautifully wrapped package was a customized scrapbook in your favourite colour. The front of the book had a little plastic slot that held a photo of the two of you from when you went to get your picture taken with Santa. 

“If I open this I’m going to cry.” The pages contained memories from the past twelve dates; Mingyu’s letter to Santa, a cutout from the box of gingerbread cookies you decorated among many other memories.  “This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I love it.”

“Before I open the gift you got me. I have something important to say.” Mingyu moved the gift you got him to the side to lean in as close as he could to you and repeated some very familiar words;

“There are not enough words to express the feelings I have for you. You are quite literally the best thing that has ever happened to me. I have fallen so deeply in love with you and I hope we fall in love in every life after this one.”

At a loss for words, your jaw dropped. “How did- That’s what-”

“I love you.”

It took a moment for you to process what was said. “That’s what I wrote on the back of the canvas I painted you.”

“You weren’t so subtle when you tried to hide the back of it.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear it from a canvas instead of me.”

“I loved it, it was so sweet. Now I can keep that memory forever.”

The moment you received your gift you knew tears would be shed, there was nothing that could have been done to stop them, so you just embraced them. Mingyu was too busy focusing on you that you had to remind him to open the gift, and to stop trying to guess what it was.

“Books? Textbooks!” Mingyu's jaw dropped as he examined the books, amazed. “You bought me books for school! That’s so helpful. Thank you so much.” Even Mingyu couldn’t hold back his own tears. “You believe in me so much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just wait until you see what’s at the back of the first book.”

“What did you do?” Concerned but yet intrigued, Mingyu followed your instructions, and there sat the answer he had been waiting for all evening. “Oh, thank you so much for buying my train ticket. I’m going to miss you.”

“Tickets,” you corrected. “Plural, there’s two there.”

“You’re coming with me? You’re coming with me! You’re going to meet my family! We are going to have so much fun, they’re going to love you. This is so exciting.”

“Oh, one more thing.”

He hummed in reply, still excited that you would be joining him and his family for the holidays.

“I love you too, Mingyu.”

[luvvictoria]

I’m yours

( ♡ ) pairing : Yuji Itadori x fem!girlfriend!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, age gap , idk bro

Yuji Itadori never thought much about love. His life, filled with fighting curses and the weight of his own destiny, left little room for romance. But then you came into his life —the girl who seemed to bring light wherever she went.

You were 15, with [lenght] , flowing [color] hair, your [color] skin glowing in the sunlight. You had soft, delicate features and a warm, gentle aura that drew people in. Your [color] eyes sparkled with kindness. You treated everyone around you with care, a rare quality that made you stand out in a world filled with chaos.

The first time Yuji saw you, you were helping another student pick up their books in the hallway, your soft voice offering comfort. Yuji watched from a distance, struck by how effortlessly kind you were. It wasn’t the grand gesture that caught his attention, but the way she made the small moments feel significant.

Days went by, and Yuji found himself drawn to you, watching you from afar, hoping for a chance to speak to you. His friends teased him about his obvious crush, but Yuji, always so brave on the battlefield, couldn’t seem to muster the same courage when it came to you.

It was a rainy afternoon when Yuji finally got his chance. He was heading home after a particularly grueling day of exorcising curses when he saw Victoria standing under a bus stop shelter, her umbrella broken, completely drenched.

Without thinking, Yuji rushed over, pulling his own umbrella over her head.

“Hey! You’re soaked,” he said, his concern obvious.

Victoria looked up, her eyes meeting his for the first time. Despite being cold and wet, she smiled, her dimples appearing as if the rain didn’t bother her at all.

“Thanks,” she said softly, “I didn’t expect the storm to hit so fast.”

Yuji laughed nervously, his heart racing. “Let me walk you home.”

Victoria hesitated for a moment but saw the sincerity in his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

As they walked side by side under the umbrella, Yuji felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. They talked about everything—her love for books, his dream to protect people, their shared favorite foods. It was easy with her. The world outside seemed to blur, the rain a soft soundtrack to their blossoming connection.

From that day on, Yuji and you spent more and more time together. You weren't a sorcerer, didn’t fight curses, but you brought peace into his chaotic life in a way no one else could. You would meet him after school, and you’d sit together, talking or just enjoying each other’s company. For you, Yuji was the most genuine person you had ever met. His smile, his kindness—it was impossible not to feel safe and cherished around him.

Yuji felt the same way. You made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the madness of his life. When you were with him, the weight of his responsibilities didn’t feel so heavy. It wasn’t just your beauty that captivated him, but your heart—your ability to see the good in everyone, including him.

"I'm Yours"

One evening, under the glow of the setting sun, you and Yuji sat together on a park bench, watching the colors bleed into the sky. The world felt peaceful for once, and Yuji couldn’t hold back his feelings any longer. He turned to you, his voice soft but steady.

“I know my life is… complicated. But I want you to know, no matter what happens, I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the same way for a while but hadn’t known how to say it. Your heart swelled with emotion as you looked into his honest eyes, full of both strength and vulnerability. You reached out, gently touching his hand.

“I’m yours too, Yuji,” you whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

In that moment, everything else faded away. The curses, the dangers, the uncertainty of the future—it all seemed small compared to what you felt for each other. You didn’t need grand declarations or promises you couldn’t keep. What you had was simple, pure, and undeniable.

Yuji squeezed your hand, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time. He knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. And for you, Yuji wasn’t just a hero who fought curses. He was the boy who had given you his umbrella in the rain, who made you laugh, who looked at you like she was the only person in the world.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you sat together, hands intertwined, knowing that whatever came next, you would face it together.

Because in the end, they belonged to each other.