#we were silly earlier it’s time to be dramatic

[writingsofanomnivore]

Chores on a holiday?!

warnings: fluff. Your dramatic husband needs attention. Many spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. Literally wrote it in 10 mins on my phone i didn't wanna log in on my pc today😭😭

link - inspo

My instagram is full of this content. Gotta take a break from insta or i'll spiral writing so many drabbles.

Wait. Why is there music playing? And this type? You knew he had questionable taste in music but this is a bit too far( and not to mention it's 3 in the afternoon). Softly padding towards the source you catch him looking out the window, a literal pout on his face. What the heck is up with him?

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Mhm. A grumble is heard

"Are you sure?" You walk towards him, taking his face in your hands.

"I said, I'm fine" another annoyed sound at the back of his throat. But his pout still remains, eyes not meeting yours.

So this is how he will play now. Carefully pushing him back so as to straddle both his thighs you stare at him for a moment. His face not betraying any emotion but, knowing your husband of 5 years, you knew every string and play to get him back. Slowly inching towards his face you place a kiss on both his cheeks, then his chin, then his forehead and finally on his nose. His face a bit relaxed, expecting the final kiss on his lips but you had other plans.

You leaned in again, so close to his lips almost touching them when you asked "are you still upset drama queen?"

A noise of protest came from him, "you didn't spend any time with me today" he whined. But still trying to pull you in for a kiss when you pulled back, confusion etched on your face.

"What are you talking about?? We got up at 11, made brunch together, then cleaned the house together ," making quotation marks after every together, "when did we not do stuff together? Now, I'm juwt arranging my closet"

"See!! That was all work! Today is a holiday!" The whining only grew. Before you could say something he pulled you towards him, holding you so tight you thought you were in those compression machines. "Not letting you go now" he makes a childish noise.

"But I need to arrange my-" a kiss to your lips interrupted you. "No more chores" he said eyes narrowed, "this kiss was only payback for teasing me earlier" he took a strand of your hair, curling it, before burrying his face in your neck, "I need at least a 1000 more to consider letting you get up, till then you're stuck with me" he said now peppering kisses to your collarbone.

Tangling your hands in.his hair, you thought, the chores be damned. Now you only have one mission, to kiss this not so little diva silly.

-kuroo tetsuro, atsumu miya, bokuto kotaro, nisinoya yu, tanaka, oikawa toru, maybe sugawara???, tsutomu??, daishou??(never really think of him cause i ship him with mika)

I am a 1000 percent sure i'm missing someone. I have no idea who. I'll edit this tomorrow when I'm back from my exam :/ i haven't even added all the tags or else i'll fail mynexam if i waste mlre time. See you tomorrow😭

[cubfan-montblanc]

skizz can be a little yandere… as a treat

[ghostfacd]

KISS AND MAKE UP ; CORIOLANUS SNOW

summary: when coriolanus and you argue over the sudden closeness between him and lucy gray, all hell breaks loose. but he’s reminded that in the end, it’s you who he chooses, and it’s you that will stay.

warnings: reader and coryo have a toxic relationship (are we surprised?), mentions of cheating (no actual cheating involved), fighting and yelling, some ooc!coryo, descriptions may be inaccurate ‘cause i read the book like 2 years ago 😭

“I hate you!” You scream, thrashing in Coriolanus’s threshold. “Let go! Let go!”

“Oh stop making a scene, will you?” He growls out, not appreciating your lack of awareness of the eyes that were currently watching. “She’s fine, she’s fine.” He reassures the staring orbs of eyes, “stop it now, Y/N.”

His tone makes you shiver, and you stop trying to kick yourself out of his grip. He smiles contently at this, finally letting you go, but not before shoving his hands into yours. “See, wasn’t that easy?”

“Oh fuck you.” You say, but both you and Coriolanus know that you’ll be back at square one by tonight, kissing and telling him that you love him.

“Thought I'd have to drag you away and shut you up." He mutters, clearly unimpressed with the way you acted earlier. “Maybe get your shit together, L/N.”

“I would if you’d just act like a decent boyfriend for once!” You say, throwing your arms out in the air. “You know what? I don’t care; I don’t care what you do—go get close to your tribute! Go fuck up our relationship for all I care!”

You yank your arm away from his, stomping inside of the Academy with a scowl plastered on your face. Sejanus is only a few steps behind the two of you, and was going to open his mouth to say something when Coriolanus places his index finger in front of him.

“Don’t.” The boy says. “She’s just being dramatic.” He fixes his uniform, a lavish shade of red, as it was crinkled from the way you had tried to escape his hold earlier.

The next time he sees Lucy Gray, he thinks of your little upset pout and face, your yelling ringing in his ear.

Go fuck up our relationship for all I care!

“Are you alright?” Lucy Gray was cautious around Coriolanus, he was unpredictable, and scarily cunning. She had no idea what was even one of the million thoughts that ran through his mind

“I’m.. fine.” Coriolanus says, giving her a meek smile that almost makes her feel sick. Although she had to admit he was fairly handsome and she had somewhat fell for his charm and face, he still scared her regardless.

“Coryo.” Your voice makes Lucy Gray and Coriolanus both look up. You look like a looming dark figure compared to her, towering over. “We should talk later.”

And Lucy Gray watches as Coriolanus’s once emotionless face turns into a sly grin. He nods, not saying much, which was something Lucy Gray had came to learned these past few days after he had first met and given her a rose.

“Snow always falls on top.” Coriolanus whispers underneath his breath, and Lucy Gray doesn’t question it, only continuing what they had been doing earlier.

When the two of you were walking out of the Academy, you placed your hand in Coriolanus’s. It had gotten colder than it had in the morning, and you were freezing under your uniform.

He carefully caresses your hand, looking up to watch as snow slowly fell from the sky.

“So, you’re gonna tell me what you wanted to earlier?” He asks, still looking at the sky.

“I’m sorry Coryo,” you reply meekly, feeling small under his frame. “For causing a scene earlier. I was upset.”

“Upset at me getting close to Lucy Gray?” He questions, now finally glancing down at you.

“Yes! But you can’t blame me Coryo, you don’t see me getting close with my tribute.”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes, the blue orbs bore into yours. “What did I tell you? I would never cheat on you, silly girl. I’m not a monster.”

If only he knew.

You look down, embarrassed that you two were even having this conversation in the first place.

“I know you wouldn’t, which is why I’m apologizing in the first place.”

The two of you stop abruptly, your eyes reaching his despite the obvious height difference.

“I love you, okay?” Coriolanus breathes out, you can even see his breath, the temperature dropping even lower than it was before.

And although you don’t know the extent to which exactly the words coming out of his mouth are even true, you still go on your tippy toes, shivering as you give your boyfriend a kiss on the lips.

“There’s my smiling girl,” he says as he watches your eyes twinkle. “Now let’s go, I have some ideas of ways to warm you up.”

That night, snow truly, did fall on top.

[latin5mamii]

Jude Bellingham Comfort fluff??? Maybe reader is on her period and she suffers from endometriosis 🙏🫶🫶🫶

Silly comfort -Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: fluff and cute

|AUTHOR'S NOTE: loved writing this!If you have any other idea let me know girlie!

|SUMMARY:Your boyfriend is the only solution to your pain...

You were curled up on the couch, clutching a hot water bottle to your abdomen. The familiar, excruciating pain of your endometriosis had flared up again, and this time it seemed worse than ever. The cramps were relentless, and no amount of painkillers seemed to help.

The front door opened, and you heard Jude’s footsteps as he walked in. You had texted him earlier, letting him know you weren't feeling well, but you hadn’t expected him to come over so soon.

“Hey, love,” Jude said softly as he entered the living room. His eyes immediately filled with concern when he saw you. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” you admitted, your voice weak. “The cramps are really bad today.”

He frowned, coming over to sit beside you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shook your head, wincing as another wave of pain washed over you. Jude reached out and gently took the hot water bottle from you, placing it on the coffee table. He then carefully gathered you into his arms, holding you close.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just try to relax.”

You nestled against his chest, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was comforting, and despite the pain, you felt a little better just being close to him.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, stroking your hair.

“No, I don’t really have an appetite,” you replied.

“How about some tea? It might help a bit,” he suggested.

You nodded, and Jude gently laid you back against the cushions before heading to the kitchen. You could hear him moving around, the sound of the kettle boiling, and soon he returned with a steaming mug of chamomile tea.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you. “Drink it slowly.”

You took a sip, the warmth of the tea soothing your throat. Jude sat beside you again, his arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into him.

“Anything for you,” he replied, rubbing your arm gently. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence. Despite the pain, having Jude there made everything a little more bearable.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked. “Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, managing a small smile.

Jude picked up the remote and turned on the TV, scrolling through the options until you found your favorite cringy-romantic movie. As the movie started, he settled back, making sure you were comfortable against him.

“Do you remember the first time we watched this?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You laughed so hard you snorted soda out of your nose.”

You chuckled, the memory brightening your mood a little. “Yeah, I remember. You teased me about it for days.”

“I still have the video,” he said, grinning. “Want to see it?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” you warned, but you couldn’t help laughing as he pulled out his phone and started playing the video. Seeing your younger self, doubled over with laughter, did make you smile despite the pain.

“You were so adorable,” Jude said, kissing your temple. “Still are.”

As the movie played on, Jude started to get even sillier. He mimicked the characters’ voices, exaggerating their accents and making you laugh. He made funny faces, did little dances, and even tried to do some of the more ridiculous scenes from the movie.

“Jude, stop,” you giggled, holding your side. “You’re going to make the cramps worse!”

“But laughter is the best medicine!” he declared dramatically, making you laugh even more.

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but feel lighter. Jude’s antics were working, and for a little while, you forgot about the discomfort.

After the movie, Jude turned to you with a serious look on his face. “I have one more trick up my sleeve,” he said.

“What’s that?” you asked, curious.

“Tickle attack!” he shouted, and before you could react, he was gently tickling your sides. You squealed, trying to squirm away, but he was relentless.

“Jude, stop! I surrender!” you laughed, breathless.

He finally relented, pulling you into a tight hug. “I just want to see you smile,” he said softly. “Even when things are tough.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love. “Thank you, Jude. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anything for you,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Now, how about we order some comfort food and watch another movie?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed, snuggling closer to him. With Jude by your side, you knew you could get through anything.

[henneseyhoe]

Just One More. | 2

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: short, no smut! (surprisingly), just fluffy shit for father’s day <44 😘

SUMMARY: Congratulations! You had the twins! time to deal with lewis and his new dad antics (again), but first, here’s two cute moments.

|1|2|3|4|

✮✮✮✮

“You happy now?”

You stare at your husband through tired and teary eyes, watching him cradle your daughter in his arms. You had just gone through twenty hours of labor, spending half of those hours at home and in pain and the other half in the hospital. When you got there you could barely walk, every contraction you felt striking your belly and back which made your knees weak. You swore hours earlier it was just braxton hicks, but your twins soon proved you wrong. Very, very wrong.

When you heard both their cries erupt in the room, you smiled in victory as you were finally done with the most crucial part.

“You did so good, love”

Lewis praised you with stray tears he could no longer hold in trailing down his cheeks, a sweet kiss being placed on your forehead before he did the same to the twins. The boy who was born first, with no surprise, looked exactly like Lewis. He was a spitting imagine of your other set of twins when they were babies, but that daughter of yours? All you. Exactly three minutes apart, when she arrived the nurses were starting to wonder if Lewis was in the room at all when she was conceived.

You looked at the two newborns, just as proud of your work as god himself was.

“You know, I was gonna lose it if she was a boy” You spoke while gently brushing your fingers through your son’s soft hair. Lewis chuckles and lays besides you in the hospital bed, his eyes switching attention from baby to baby, but never letting go of his babygirl. You smile and let him have his moment. You knew the hogging was mostly because of him being in shock that he actually got his girl, He’d be all over your son also come morning time.

“I’m in awe how much she looks like you. Usually they don’t look like anyone right away but wow…she’s all you, Y/N” Lewis expresses, a finger caressing her blushed cheek. You just nod in agreement, laughing at how her hair stuck up in the front like spikes while everything else laid down. Lewis was too busy gushing over both of them to point out how silly either of them looked.

✮✮✮✮

When you two took the babies home, it was hard to keep the twins away from them. Your boys were there peeking over your shoulder at every feeding, every burping, every changing, even every bath. They had started to ask when they’d be big enough to play with, a toy in both of their hands as they waited for your answer. Before you could speak, Lewis was already speaking, serving them with the facts while simultaneously burping the baby in his arms.

“They won’t be able to play with you two for a while. They’re too small right now and they don’t do much but sleep and eat”

Your boys pouted, one rolling his eyes back dramatically. “Well, that’s boring! They’re boring!” Silas, the older one huffed, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Both you and Lewis cackled, but the boys found nothing funny. “Yes, babies are boring for the first few months”

“Why’d you go and get two more then?” Silas’s face scrunched as he asked and you tried helplessly not to laugh so loud at the poor baby that the infant in your arms would jump out of her sleep.

“Yeah, Lewis…Why did we ‘get’ two more?” Egging it on, you look back at your husband for another answer, your face riddled with amusement as he completely curves the question. “Any questions other than that? Saint?”

“So they can’t throw a ball? or catch it?” Saint inquired as he went back to the previous topic, sitting next to his brother. You shake your head ‘no’ and they both sigh.

“And they can’t talk either?” Silas asks, earning another laugh from you and Lewis. You two thought the constant questions would stop at three, but your boys were a curious pair. You’d only hope the next set were a bit more tame but with how the universe humbled you the last time...

“If you hear them talking before they hit nine months then please inform daddy so he can call Guinness world records”

✮✮✮✮

💌: again, superior trope, dad!lewis for the win, muah!💋

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “MORNING” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.8k ᯽ suggestive — mentions of last night’s activities. nothing explicit. established relationship. domestic sleepy flirting ﾉ rewritten ᯽ FLUFF CONTENT ᯽

The morning sun seeps through the linen curtains, the entire room illuminated in the pink glow of the upcoming day. But it’s still too early for you. Not when your whole body aches from the nightly pleasures, rendering you soppy and melted under the bedsheets, with only your thigh peeking from under covers in the most comfortable position to nap through the remaining hour or two.

Veritas, on the other hand, feels like his routine cannot be interrupted no matter the circumstances, no matter how long he kept you both awake and active the evening before — this, however, he still finds extremely pleasurable and worth the little cost of a shorter sleep.

And so, with his mind refreshed from the quick trip to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, he starts to stretch softly to wake his body, too.

Watching him through the half-closed eyes has become your favourite part of the morning. Once woken up for the first time after falling asleep on your belly, you raise your head only slightly to watch the man doing his exercises in absolutely nothing that could cover his bulging chest muscles, hands crossed above his head as he breathes steadily with each inhale and exhale. It’s fascinating to observe his toned stomach flexing each time, muscles rippling under the creamy skin sensitive to the sun’s warmth.

It was so much to look at, but today you decide to just admire quietly without disturbing Veritas’ routine, even if he already notices your satisfied gaze peeking from the side. With one last move of raising both arms up while taking a deep breath, he puts them down slowly to rest, looking at you with an amused smirk.

“You’re staring,” he points out gently.

“Sorry,” you reply with a light yawn, rolling over to lay on your back. “I really enjoy watching you do this stuff in the morning. Maybe I should start getting up earlier too.”

Veritas scoffs playfully, coming closer to kneel above your legs as he reaches out his hand to place it right behind your nape to push you gently against the sheets. “We both know there’s no way you’ll get up on time. Don’t be silly now.”

His face hovers above yours for a moment as you swallow hard. So handsome and so close to you.

“Don’t put those kinds of ideas in my head!” You protest in return, more worried about your thoughts getting less pure with each moment, brushing your nose against his in a flirty manner before adding. “My body aches all over. I need another day in bed… or two, at least.”

He blinks, hearing you out silently. Then he closes his eyes and laughs wholeheartedly, retreating from your embrace only to straighten his back while sitting above your thighs still, yet this time lifting both arms to rest behind his head, purposefully making it too dramatic for a normal relaxing after the exercise. It was the perfect view — showing off each muscle beautifully and without any shame whatsoever, although his sharp golden sight never stops studying you curiously, reading into every microexpression on your face.

And you were burning.

With a fierce blush blossoming on your cheeks as you let out a soft exhale, raise both of your hands to place them against his hard stomach, unable to not touch him any longer. He is still hot after the workout, fresh sweat dripping down his hairless skin, but it just made him more attractive, rather than disgusting, if someone had to ask you.

It was your little guilty pleasure.

“You’re doing it on purpose now…” you mutter while feeling his abdominal muscles twitching under your fingertips with each move and breath. Your gaze traces up slowly as you look at Veritas again. “I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t say anything to keep you from getting a bigger ego.”

With an amused huff, he finally relaxes his arms, stretching them both out on each of your sides as if he wanted to hug you, leaning towards you.

“But you haven’t said anything untrue so far,” he replies simply, lips pressing a tender kiss against your jawline, his voice lower as he murmurs into your skin. “Am I distracting you with this? More than the last night?”

Your throat goes dry, and your breath is held in for a second. Before you can answer, utterly dumbfounded, he slides off the bed, only to go right to his fresh clothes laid out neatly on the chair by the small table on the other side of the room.

Veritas could read you like a book and loved to tease you even more. He just enjoys how your gaze follows after him with a pout forming on your lips, not so pleased about being left alone, until he disappears behind the bathroom door to clean himself up and get ready for another day full of work and studies.

[vixstarria]

"Where my nice, simple plan fell apart"

This is my take on how Astarion’s romance might have progressed with a silly, chaotic energy bard Tav, who doesn’t really fall for his initial manipulation but rather humours it, throughout Act 1.  

There will be more – I want to flesh this out and write more ‘behind the scenes’ moments, and continue this into Acts 2 and 3 (I’m still only at the beginning of Act 2 as I write this!) 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, cuddling, humour, no spoilers, non-explicit, light angst 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

~~~~~

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all this madness.” 

“Astarion, you insufferable trollop, what piece of cheap pulp did you fish that line from?!” you squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, wait, let me guess... Madame Scarlett?” 

You watched his face turn from indignation to irritation, to finally settle in a resigned amusement, in a rapid succession.  

“My, a fellow connoisseur of the vulgar arts? The Madame’s been dead and out of print for over a century. But yes.” 

“A professional interest – a bard must be able to entertain all kinds of audiences, with all kinds of material” 

“And would you indulge me with your expertise tonight? But I do much prefer show to tell...”.  

This was the beginning. You did end up sleeping with him that night, despite his initial soppy attempt at seduction. And then it happened again another night. And then it kept happening... 

You tried to be discreet about it at first, but of course it wasn’t long before the other members of your party noticed your nightly disappearances, and there was no point trying to conceal it.  

You were vexed by their reactions – just about everyone found it necessary to at one point pull you aside and express their concerns about the vampire, asking you to be careful. This was, perhaps, justifiable – Astarion was admittedly quite stab-happy and had an inclination for bloodthirst (literally and figuratively). But he was on your side! And damned if you needed anyone’s approval for your choices in whom to bed! 

By that point you and Astarion had turned the cliched language of poorly written erotica novels into an inside joke. Casually addressing each other in increasingly mawkish and over-elaborate terms had turned into a game. Once the secret of your escapades was out, you weaponised this game, turning it to deliberately exasperate everyone around you with your antics. 

With your shared penchant for dramatic flair the two of you became utterly insufferable.  

You would shout corny names at each other across camp: 

“Oh precious, it’s your turn to set up the campfire! And no, I don’t care that you won’t be eating with us” you called out as the group stopped for the day to set up camp, but no answer followed. “My silver lynx..? Starry?? Snickerdoodle??” 

“Your snickerdoodle wandered off to slaughter another bear!” came an exasperated shout from Wyll. 

Strangers weren’t safe from your hijinks either:  

“My sun, my beating heart, flame of my loins, ache of my head. All my riches, at your feet”, he declaimed to you in front of a confused and embarrassed vendor, as he rummaged through and shook out his pockets and sleeves, spilling an assortment of semi-precious gems, silver cutlery and somehow even an entire silver tray, pilfered from an abandoned manor you came across earlier. 

Just to make the others uncomfortable, you would unceremoniously plop into Astarion’s lap at any given opportunity, including in your morning meetings to establish your itinerary for the day.  

One evening, as you all sat around the campfire to enjoy a shared meal, Astarion (who would ordinarily stay away during this time, or sit nearby with a book) sank down next to you, lifted your hand towards his mouth, and nonchalantly sank his fangs into your wrist and began to suck, slurping.  

“Oh, so I can’t enjoy a nice meal with everyone else, and have to be excluded? Bigots, the lot of you!” he chided, your blood dripping from his lips, to the sound of everyone’s shouts of shocked revulsion. Surprisingly, this was the closest you’d ever seen Lae’zel come to laughing.  

(You and Astarion had arranged this prior, of course. Ever the gentleman, he always asked before he bit.) 

Another night, as you were having a quiet chat with Shadowheart at her tent, while everyone else lounged at the fire, she asked: “So what is it like with him, really..? How is he?” 

Suddenly finding yourself abashed by this genuinely intimate question, you covered it up with pomp and bravado. Winking at Shadowheart, you stood up, threw your head back and began to orate, making sure your thundering voice would be heard by the fire, which you had been separated from by a distance and some bushes: 

“HIS MAGESTIC MANHOOD, WHEN UNSHEATHED, IS AN OBELISC OF MASCULINITY AND GLORY. IT IS A WONDER BIRDS DON’T CRASH INTO IT WHEN IT IS FULLY E- Ow! Who threw that?!” 

A projectile salami from your camp supplies came flying from behind the bushes, and slammed into the side of your face.  

All hell was breaking loose back at the campfire, as Wyll, Gale and a smug Astarion convulsed and shouted through poorly concealed laughter, blaming each other for the missile, as Karlach shook in hysterics and Lae’zel complimented the mystery thrower’s accuracy.  

Gale did look more sheepish than the rest once you started to develop a black eye from the impact, promptly healed by Shadowheart.  

What was it like with him? 

Despite the flowery epithets and exaggerated displays of affection you awarded each other in public, in private you had a mutual understanding that it was all frivolous, no strings play. You had a parasite that could turn you into a mind flayer at any given moment, twisting in your brain. Every day bore violent encounters. Since the nautiloid crash, you hadn’t gone a single day without something trying to murder you. You didn’t want to have to worry about anything other than survival, and you took life day by day. Distractions were welcome, but actual romantic attachment would be a burden, you told yourself. 

You thought of it as being friends with extended benefits.  

You let him feed (well, snack, really) on you, of course. It wasn’t sexual, not since the first night. He used your wrist, so as not to be overwhelmed by the blood flow. He ended the sessions by healing you himself, assisted by a magical trinket he’d picked up somewhere on your journey. You made sure not to let Gale get his hands on that one.  

In battles his arrows always picked off foes in your immediate vicinity, before they were directed to other targets. You’ve yelled at him for this, saying you were more than capable of holding your own, whilst you’d lost count of the revivify scrolls you’ve spent on Gale.  

“Yes, well, the way the man goes on about his ‘natural talents’ and ‘mastery of the weave’, you’d think he’d put that big wise brain of his to developing a strategy for not getting stabbed so often” - Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m just encouraging him to improve, really. And besides”, his eyes narrowed, “only I’m allowed to spill your blood, darling”. You frowned at that last bit, as he flashed you a sweet and almost innocent smile, and stalked off.   

As for the other ‘benefits’ - the sex was intricate, if somewhat mechanic, almost too skillful on his behalf. Wanting more passion than efficiency, you eventually asked him to talk dirty to you. That made it nearly too intense for you to handle, and seemed to keep him more... personally engaged. During daytime you had to force yourself not to get caught up in flashbacks of his red eyes watching you writhe as he described what he was doing to you, what he was going to do to you, or how you looked while he worked your body. 

The night that you, wanting to reciprocate, asked him exactly how he wanted to be pleasured and what he liked was a fiasco. You didn’t understand why. First he said something about being able to please you being his greatest reward and satisfaction (which you immediately shut down). Then he grew flustered and irritated, becoming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. You tried to divert the conversation, but the mood was unsalvageably ruined.  

There was one takeaway from that debacle, however. After abandoning the idea of sex for the night, you laid next to each other, talking about nothing in particular: Baldur’s Gate, places you were both familiar with, comforts you were looking forward to having again. At one point he looked at his jacket, which you’d been lying on, and lamented that he couldn’t find any gold thread to fix the embroidery. You laughed and rolled over to give him a hug, and simply never let go. He wordlessly pulled you closer once it was clear you had no intention of leaving. That was the first time that you fell asleep and slept through the night in his arms. 

This became somewhat of a ritual, or another game with unspoken rules. Once you were done with each other, you’d pretend to quickly fall asleep with your face nested in the crook of his neck, or to otherwise be too exhausted to get up and make way to your own tent or bedroll. He pretended not to notice the regularity with which this was happening. You pretended not to notice the soft kisses he started leaving on your neck or forehead once he thought you were really asleep. It seemed... important, somehow, that you both pointedly refused to acknowledge any of it. You sensed that otherwise a certain line would be crossed. 

Last night, you were too exhausted to even think of anything but sleep by the time everyone started turning in for the night. Yet rest wasn’t even on the horizon for you – you remembered that you’d neglected to clean your weapons and carry out the well overdue maintenance on your equipment, which you did not allow anyone else to touch even when offered. You were planning to venture into the shadow-cursed lands the following day. You couldn’t afford to be sloppy. You begrudgingly set about your tasks. Astarion was as tired as everyone else, you figured it was needless to say you’d spend the night apart. And yet...  

“I guess I finally get my bedroll all to myself tonight, how delightful” you heard behind you. “No one to wrap themselves around me, no one nuzzling into my neck... Only free, undisturbed personal space” You heard a hint of dejection beneath the sarcasm, and something in your stomach flipped, giving you pause.  

“I’ll come back for a cuddle if you say please” you murmured over your shoulder. 

“Never!” he rasped in a perfect imitation of Lae’zel when you asked the same of her before freeing her from a tiefling cage, and disappeared into his tent. 

Over an hour later, as you collapsed into your own bedroll, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from across the camp, tent flap ajar. You held Astarion’s gaze.  

“Please”, he mouthed soundlessly, smiling as he lifted the edge of his blanket.  

Within moments, you slipped into his embrace, pressing your lips against his. But his kisses were gentle and feather light, lacking the usual persistent neediness.  

You pulled away from him, locking eyes as he softly ran his hand down your cheek, brushing your lower lip with his thumb. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful” he breathed. 

That night he fell asleep with his head against your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat.  

Your breath caught in a silent sob as you were overwhelmed by a bittersweet realization of how much you really stood to lose if you failed in the journey still ahead of you. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier or more miserable before in your life, as you hugged him tighter. 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[strwbrychffoncke]

"make it last forever ,never let it go,, 1.6k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: xavier could spend eternity in these little nights spent with you contains: fluff! lnds xavier x mc!reader (no prns used) ,night time date ,snack run ,xavier knows a place ,silly conversation ,lots of bantering ,kissing ,cuddling ,u steal from xav ,he lays on you ,mention to his lore if u squint ,i think thats it tldr cute late night date w xavi note: (mostly edited!) finally some calm fluff after the smut fest

-

late night snack runs weren't unusual for you anymore.

after the countless times of being invited out by xavier, the man always knowing when you were awake somehow (or maybe it was just that much of a bad habit at this point?) and you could never pass up the opportunity, no matter how many sites claimed eating late was bad for you.

tonight was a little different, however. in the early evening, xavier invited you to the arcade, wanting to try out a two-player game with you, and you quickly agreed, having nothing else planned for the evening.

after spending more time than you thought you would at the arcade, you were the one who suggested going for a snack run (mostly to extend the time you had with the hunter) and while momentarily taken aback, he quickly nodded, commenting about how he did "happen to be running low on a few of his favorites thanks to a certain someone."

(at the not-so-subtle jab, you only laughed, nudging him with your arm as you claimed it couldn't have been you, and that its thanks to you both having similar tastes).

after raiding the convenience store, you both shared the sentiment of not wishing to simply return home. thats when xavier suggested taking you to a "secret hangout spot" of his that happened to be nearby with a lovely view of watching the stars.

you playfully narrowed your eyes, questioning him about his secret spot of his. he'd only said "wait till we get there," do your curious inquiries, intertwining his free hand with yours as he led you there.

the night was calm, soft breeze flowing past you both moving in sync, the walk shrouded in comfortable silence as your star and the light from the moon guided you both to a clear field, flowers blooming sporadically around the area. he led you to the center before letting you sit first, taking a seat after.

as you sifted through your bags for your snacks, conversation began to flow again.

"i still can't believe you beat me earlier," you pout, pulling out a bag of chips from your bag.

"after you were so confident, i kind of felt bad."

"you're just way too good at video games!"

"but you're good at card games. i almost never win kitty cards against you."

a little grin and giggle.

"what can i say? the kitties just love me~"

"or maybe its because a certain hunter likes to.. mess around with my kitties when im caught off guard," he shoots a pointed, teasing look your way.

you gasp dramatically, hand coming up to cover your heart.

"its called a strategy, my dear xavier. and besides, what else am i supposed to do when you doze off playing cards?"

you quickly boop his nose, retracting your hand to open the chip bag.

"though if you're bored, i could always ask someone else to—"

"no!"

your head snaps up from the bag in your hands to your lover. a sheepish expression quickly takes over his features as he looks down, popping the tab of his soda to open it.

"i mean... ill play with you whenever, even when im tired. so, don't ask anyone else."

even though his gaze is still averted, you smile fondly at him.

"sure, i only have one partner, right?"

he peeks up at you, a small satisfied grin crawling up his lips as he nods at your words.

"right. i'm your one and only partner. you can count on me for anything."

a small silence envelops the space as you pop a few chips into your mouth, feeling the comfortable breeze surrounding you both. there's a rustling from xavier's bag as he pulls out his own snack before speaking up again.

"but what you said before.. its not difficult; to love you, i mean."

his fond gaze is on you as he pops his own piece of his snack into his mouth. you tilt your head at him, smiling.

"i feel the same about you, but it seems the kitties feel differently."

you empty your hands, quickly cleaning your hands with a napkin before suddenly cupping his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks in circles. caught off guard, his eyes are wide as they stare back into yours.

"but why? isnt this face to die for? and you were a kitty for awhile, too!"

a blush colors his cheeks as he huffs out a breath through his nose. he averts his gaze from yours, his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop your movements, but he lets your touch linger.

your eyes drift to the top of his head.

"i really do miss your kitty ears sometimes," you sigh, hands rubbing through his soft tresses.

a small giggle escapes him as his eyes slowly drift back to your pleased expression as you play with his locks.

"will you take responsibility for messing up my hair?"

"no matter how much i mess with it, it still looks fine. xavier, spill your secrets!"

you squish one cheek between your thumb and index finger while your other hand continues sifting through the soft silver.

"ow.. theres no secret. i just use regular shampoo and conditioner from the local convenience store..."

"then its natural?" you lean closer, both hands holding his face again as you inspect him closely. he nods, gaze locked with yours.

"perfect skin and perfect hair... theres no way someone's this lucky. were you blessed when you were born or something?"

a hearty laugh reverberates through his chest this time, hands coming up to cover yours and nuzzling into your touch.

"even if thats true, if we're talking about 'luck...'"

his eyes peer into yours, swirling with complete and utter fondness.

"the luckiest thing thats happened to me is meeting you," he whispers.

'again,' he wants to add, but stops himself.

even without this one little word, your eyes glimmer with joy, reflecting the stars from the sky back to him, and thats enough for him.

to be with you like this, spending his time with you, being held and being able to hold you in return—

that was enough for him.

"xavier shen, you are the best thing that's happened to me: a shining star that i can call my very own."

his ears tinge a dark red, smile bright as the lights twinkling in the sky and heart full, beat quickening in his chest.

"this star has and always will be yours."

one of his hands cups your cheek as he leans forward, eyes fluttering as he tilts his head to capture your lips in a loving kiss.

you pull back for a moment to look at him once again before peppering his face with the same affections.

he giggles again but lets you do as you please, always satisfied to grant you whatever you desire.

while he's distracted, your eyes drop down to his open snack bag sitting beside him. a mischievous idea crosses your mind and before you can think twice, you decide to go for it.

you lean forward, capturing his lips in a soft kiss again. he quickly melts into it, hands holding your sides. while he's distracted, you sneak a hand into his bag and grab the first thing your hand touches— a lollipop— and pull it back, hiding it in your sleeve before breaking the kiss and pulling back.

you sit back, satisfied at getting away with stealing when xavier pulls you back towards him, causing you to fall over his lap.

"..!?"

he raises an eyebrow, shooting you a knowing look.

"it seems like someone was feeling a little naughty there," he muses, grabbing your wrists again.

you gasp, watching as he slips two fingers into your sleeve, pulling the lollipop from it.

"and whats this?"

"a lollipop?"

he shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips before being replaced by a faux serious one.

"shouldn't a hunter know better than anyone that stealing is wrong?"

"didn't you give an inspection before gathering evidence that i stole? now whos in the wrong?"

"you only need to gather evidence if you need to prove something, but i already knew it was you."

"but how??!"

he points at you using the lollipop.

"i heard the bag rustle beside me."

"you..!"

he giggles, amused at your expression.

"you thought you could get away, but you need to be stealthier."

"teach me, then!"

he hums in thought.

"alright," he nods.

"but not before a punishment is set in place. you did steal, after all."

"what kind of punishment?"

he hums again, feigning an expression of being deep in thought before he adjusts your positions to be half-laying down, slumping his weight against you.

"you get to act as my pillow."

"is this really a punishment?" you muse, hands automatically brushing through his silver tresses once again.

"maybe not, but..."

he nuzzles close to your heart, listening to the steady thump of it against his ear.

"i plan to sleep here tonight."

"what?? no way, i can't carry you back to your apartment like this!"

"hmm, you should have thought about that," he teases.

"so this is what happens when you steal..."

xavier's laugh rings through your ears, up into the open area surrounding just the two of you and up to the stars, watching the resting lovers continue in idle conversation as they gaze towards the sky.

despite everything the star on land had gone through to get here, he would do it all again in a heartbeat, unwilling to have it any other way, for here, with you, was where he belonged.

-

a/n: a late night date staring up at the stars sigh what a dream

-

[riddlesb1tch]

The Perfect Date

Azriel x reader

summary: after a long, exhausting week of working, Azriel has the perfect date planned for both of you.

warnings: none

a/n: as always, feedback is always appreciated!

"Bye," you waved to the last customer in your apothecary before you were done for the day. Your clock struck 5 p.m. and the clock tower down at the rainbow chimed five times.

Time to go home! you thought excitedly. It had not been a bad day or even a bad week. However, it was Friday and after a whole week of working, you wanted to just go home and relax.

When you were picking up your stuff, a shadow loomed outside the door. You internally groaned at the thought of another customer walking in but when you turned towards the door, you saw the beloved general of the night court standing outside. He had a silly grin on his face as he stood with his hands behind his back.

You smiled when you saw him but furrowed your brows in confusion when he didn't come into the store. Picking up your belongings, you exited the store, greeting Cassian with a hug.

"Why didn't you come in?" you asked.

He dramatically swept a gallant bow and held his hand out for you. "Because m'lady, tonight, I am simply here to escort you to the perfect evening," he said gallantly, ending his statement with a wink.

You tilted your head in confusion while laughing at the theatrics.

"Sent by who?" you asked.

"A certain azure male who I've been told you have been waiting for for over a week," Cassian replied.

You nearly dropped your items at the shock before a beaming smile spread over your face.

"He’s home?" you shrieked with excitement.

Cassian laughed out loud at your excitement, standing up to full height and nodding in confirmation. He offered you his hand once more.

"Shall we?"

Without wasting a second, you grabbed his hand and let him take off into the skies.

Cassian landed on the balcony of the House of Wind. From the huge windows opening out onto the balcony, you could see Azriel standing inside in a similar stance to his brother earlier in the evening with his hands behind his back and an easy smile resting on his face.

You screamed in delight at the first sight of Azriel, running away from Cassian before he even landed. Without looking, you handed your things to Cassian who laughed at the sheer excitement in your eyes at seeing his brother.

Running inside, you threw your arms around Azriel's neck, holding onto him tightly. Azriel reciprocated the excitement, a genuine laugh coming from him as he caught you. He lifted you off your feet, spinning in circles while holding onto you.

After he set you down, you unwound your arms from around his neck and rested them on his biceps as you looked at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" you asked with a big, excited grin.

"Because then I wouldn't get to see this smile," he responded.

You crinkled your nose in mock disgust. "You're so cheesy," you said and lightly hit his arm.

"Well," Azriel contemplated. "You already knew that about me when you agreed to go on a date so it's really on you," he responded.

"Touche," you smiled.

A beat of silence passed as you took each other in. Then, Azriel broke the silence.

"I have a very special evening planned for us."

You raised your brows in question and anticipation. "Yeah?"

He backed away from you, gesturing down the hall.

"After you," he bowed.

You laughed but moved along into the hallway. Azriel was right behind you, hands on your arms, guiding you as you navigated your way through the house. You stopped right outside the room you'd spent countless nights together in. The room was ajar and the wonderful aroma of lavender hit your nose.

You looked back at Azriel in surprise he smiled, urging you to enter the room. As soon as your eyes saw what was inside, your love for Azriel grew ten times.

The bed was laid with cosy, comfortable blankets and tons of fluffy pillows, a cart sat next to the bed holding all your favourite snacks, and two steaming cups of tea sat on the the side table. That was what was giving off the aroma of lavender. Azriel’s secret brew of the most exquisite and calming tea you have ever tasted. It never failed to lull you into the most comfortable and peaceful slumber within minutes. 

Azriel wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Like it?" he whispered.

You were speechless for a second, not knowing how to comprehend this emotion.

"I love it," you finally said. turning around, you wrapped your arms around Azriel’s torso, resting your head on his chest. Azriel hugged you back, swaying side to side.

"Thank you so much for this," you said as you looked up at him.

Azriel leaned down to kiss your lips. "It's no problem at all."

"Let's go?" Azriel asked and you grinned once more with excitement.

You and Azriel took off the tight work clothes and slipped into t-shirts and sweatpants. Having the uncomfortable clothing that confined your body all day long was already a big relief, but that was nothing compared to the sight of Azriel lying on the bed while the chilly night air entered the room from the open window, slightly blowing at his hair that always looked artistically messy. He was surrounded by cosy blankets and fluffy pillows, looking like an angel sitting on a cloud. He sat with blankets up to his waist and his arms extended and so welcoming. The sight seemed so welcoming and comfortable your eyes started drooping as you walked over.

You plopped down on top of Azriel, cuddling closer to his chest and wrapping your arms around him. After a long week of working, you could not imagine a better way to unwind than a nap date. 

Masterlist

[highladyandromeda]

The Stolen Pen

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel inadvertently steals a pen from Y/n, his crush. His covert operations to rectify the situation spirals into a comedy of errors…will Azriel be able to return the pen and admit his feelings, or will he forever be labeled as a thief? 

Warnings: None, just fluff with stupid decisions, a sprinkle of jealousy, silly mistakes, and perhaps too many details about pens. 

A/N: So I was supposed to be writing my other fic, but I was a bit stumped on where to take that…So I started this with the intention of it being a cute, short, one-shot or blurb…but here we are…7k words later….this is a fluffy mess. 

“Ohhh there come the lover boy”, Cassian whisper-yells, as Azriel silently slides into the chair next to Nesta in their shared criminal justice elective. His attempt at stealth, however, is foiled by that not-so-subtle announcement. With a scowl aimed at Cassian, Azriel attempts to shrink further into his chair, hoping that their professor remains engrossed in her lecture and oblivious to his tardiness.

“Shhhhhh” Nesta whispered, smacking the back of Cass’s head, giving Azriel some support before she smirked, “He’s not lover boy yet. Have you even been able to say something beyond hello and goodbye?

The question hits Azriel with the force of a freight train, his cheeks burning with a flush that he prays is hidden by the shadow of his hoodie. He's saved from having to voice his defeat by the TA, who chooses that moment to distribute study guides for their impending exam. Grateful for the distraction, Azriel takes out his pen, only to catch the curious—and amused—gazes of Nesta and Cassian directed not at him, but at his hand.

Always self-conscious about his scars, he hunches further into his hoodie, but as he follows their stares back to his paper, Azriel's heart sinks. In his hand lies a distinctly feminine, pink pen adorned with a star or flower emblem at its tip, an object so glaringly out of place in his grip that it screams for attention. The realization hits him like a wave, leaving him momentarily speechless. Oh. Oh. 

“Please tell me that's whose I think it is," Nesta teases, barely containing her laughter as she observes Azriel's stunned silence.

At Azriel’s complete silence, Nesta waved a hand in front of his face, glancing at Cassian and mouthing did he stop functioning? To which she got a shoulder shrug in response.

Her attempts to elicit a response from him were futile; Azriel was lost in a haze of embarrassment, fixated on the damning piece of evidence in his hand. Nesta's playful pokes did nothing to snap him out of his daze, and in a moment of sheer mortification, Azriel let his forehead meet the desk with a thud loud enough to turn heads. If he thought he was invisible before, he's anything but now.

Azriel was mortified.

He was utterly and completely mortified. Azriel felt like he was living in a nightmare, one where embarrassment was the main theme, and there was no waking up. He wished for anything—a magic trapdoor beneath his feet, or maybe a sudden, convenient superpower to teleport himself out of this situation. But no, the reality was far less accommodating, especially since he was holding onto something that wasn't his. A pen. Not just any pen, but one that belonged to you, given in a moment of desperation.

Azriel let out a groan, which Cassian tried to cover with a cough that was more like a shout, and Nesta with the dramatic slam of her books. Their attempts were valiant but futile against the tidal wave of Azriel's mortification.

He thought back to earlier in the day, in the calculus class he shared with you, the one in which he always sat in the back corner and one day you came in late, and sat next to him. Somehow, since then, you kept coming back to that spot, and though he replied each time to your good mornings and goodbyes, he wanted to speak up. Maybe ask if you were new because he would've noticed you in the previous math classes. Or maybe inquire if you had transferred, under the guise of offering a tour of the campus. Yet, whenever he caught sight of your ebony hair and the spark in your eyes, words fled from him, leaving silence in their wake.

Just like today, where for once he was there after you…he had made it a bit of a habit to be early to that one class, mainly because it was a class that was important to his major. Of course, he couldn’t finish his computer science degree if he failed multivariable calculus, and the…added benefit of watching you walk into the building from the windows and then up the stairs, always giving him a smile before sitting down, was just that…a benefit. 

But yes, today he slept through his alarm, got trapped in a conversation with his elderly neighbor, the one he didn’t know how to escape without Cass or Rhys, was almost run over twice on his motorcycle, and arrived as a verifiable mess to class. After jumping into his seat, he patted himself down so rigorously and nearly up-ended his entire bag trying to find a pen, needing to copy down the partial derivatives he knew the professor would showcase on their next exam. 

His frantic search for a writing instrument ended when you noticed his plight and offered yours with a simple, "Do you need a pen?" Frozen, Azriel could only nod, accepting the lifeline you offered but cursing his inability to say anything more–Oh, caldron boil and fry me…

“You stole her pen?” 

“I–I didn’t steal her pen, Nesta”

“You stole her pen.”

“Her mount blank pen”, added Cassian, smiling cheekily behind his phone.

“Whose what–Cass, don’t smile at me with fries sticking out of your mouth.” Feyre joins them in their usual diner, sliding into the booth next to Az. 

“He stole his crush’s pen,” Cass continues, swallowing his food this time, after Nesta pinched his thigh.

“I didn’t steal her pen!”

“You stole someone’s pen?” Rhys joins, sliding next to Feyre and setting down a tray of milkshakes. 

Azriel's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, if that was even possible, under the relentless teasing of his friends. "I didn't steal it. She lent it to me," he mumbled, his voice barely rising over the din of the diner.

"Ah, but you've yet to return it," Rhys pointed out, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took a sip of his milkshake. "Sounds like a classic case of pen-napping to me."

"It's not like that," Azriel protested, but the laughter from his friends suggested they weren't buying his defense. He glanced down at the pen in question, its sleek design and the way it perfectly balanced in his hand making it all the more precious now that it was a symbol of his hapless affection.

Feyre, having quietly observed the exchange with a gentle smile, finally chimed in. "Maybe it's fate, Azriel. That pen could be your excuse to finally talk to her."

Azriel's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Talk to you. Use words this time instead of just nodding like a lovestruck fool. It sounded so simple when Feyre said it, but the mere idea sent his pulse racing.

His thoughts were interrupted by Feyre's voice again, pulling him back to the present. "Wait, Az, can I see it?" Her curiosity piqued, she leaned sideways, her gaze fixed on the pen he held so carefully.

With a hesitant motion, Azriel passed the pen to her, but before she could comment, Rhys's whistle sliced through the din of the diner.

"I take that back, this is definitely a case of pen thieving," he declared, an unusual seriousness lacing his tone that drew the eyes of the entire table.

Rhys sighed, muttering under his breath about uncultured friends, a comment cut short by Nesta's sharp look. "Azriel, that’s a Mont Blanc Pen."

"That’s what I said! A mount blank pen!" Cassian echoed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and amusement.

Sitting up straight, a sense of urgency overtaking him, Azriel looked from one friend to another, their faces a blend of jest and genuine surprise. Rhys continued, "What that means is it’s quite an expensive pen, Az...I’m sure whoever you borrowed it from will want it back."

The words hit Azriel like a cold wave, his anxiety spiking anew. The fear that you might see him as a thief, as someone who took advantage of a moment of kindness, gnawed at him. 

Azriel's mind went back to this morning, the moment of leaving the classroom flashed vividly before his eyes—your parting words, something about the pen, but all he had managed in response was a series of nods, mesmerized by your smile. The possibility that you might have asked for it back, only for him to unwittingly refuse, twisted in his gut. Did your smile mask pity, or was it simply to avoid the brief intimacy of touch?

"Oh, cauldron, I am a thief. I did steal her pen," he muttered, the realization settling in with a weight that was hard to bear. The joke had turned into a confession, the humor of the situation evaporating as the reality of his inadvertent theft dawned on him. He had to make it right, to return the pen and clear the air, hoping beyond hope that you wouldn’t think less of him for this misunderstanding.

“Oh Az, I’m sure it’s not that bad” Feyre hands it back to him, trying to provide words of comfort. “It’ll be fine as long as you see her again.” 

This must have been the sixth stare Azriel received, as he shuffled in front of the large windows in the building’s hallway. He supposed he cut quite a figure, dressed entirely in black, complete with a mask and his hoodie covering his entire head. But he was here on a mission, no matter the next group of students he saw from the corner of his eye, whispering and pointing at him. He needed to keep watch and see when you would be walking up to the building. He could only think about your pen for the past 2 days, cursing whatever entity who’d assigned this calculus class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He needed to give it to you today because he wasn’t sure if he could handle the anxiety all weekend. 

At first, he just wanted to leave it on your regular seat and skip class today. Maybe leaving behind a cute note with the pen, asking to treat you to coffee in return for his unintentional theft. But, then he spiraled, what if you no longer went to the seat next to him, thinking of him as some ungrateful and lying douchebag. He couldn’t just leave it there for someone else to pick up, especially after Rhys mentioned its exclusivity. He didn’t want to accidentally lose your pen and ruin all chances of ever getting to talk to you. 

But as the minutes ticked by, the usual stream of students thinned…and the bell that marked the start of class echoed hollowly in the emptying hallway. You didn't appear. Confusion, then concern, wound its way through Azriel's thoughts. You didn’t appear. Confusion, then concern wound its way through Azriel’s thoughts. Had something happened? Or had you simply decided to skip class? The latter was a possibility that he simply hadn’t considered, having seen you in every class since the start of the semester last month. 

With a heavy heart, Azriel made his way to class, the pen still in his possession. The seat next to him, your seat, remained empty, a silent testament to the day's ruined intentions. As the lecture on derivatives and integrals droned on, Azriel couldn't help but feel the gap next to him acutely, an empty space filled with missed connections and unspoken words.

The clatter and chatter of the diner wrapped around Azriel like a familiar blanket as he sank further into the booth, an attempt to escape the scrutiny he knew was coming. The weekly Saturday breakfast with Rhys and Cassian was usually a highlight, a chance to decompress and share laughs over greasy food. Today, however, Azriel felt the weight of his unresolved dilemma like a lead apron around his chest.

Rhys slid into the booth, arching an eyebrow as he took in Azriel's disheveled appearance. "Looks like someone hasn't slept in days," he commented, his voice laced with concern and a hint of amusement.

Azriel could only groan in response, the word "sleep" feeling foreign and elusive. Cassian's next words did nothing to improve his mood. "He's still a thief," he joked, nudging Azriel with his elbow.

Rhys's surprise was evident. "You still haven't returned the pen?" He shook his head, disbelief and curiosity mingling in his expression.

Cassian leaned back, sipping his coffee. "He hasn’t been able to find her. She skipped class."

The conversation paused as a waiter delivered their usual array of milkshakes and waffles, a temporary distraction from the topic at hand. Rhys, ever the problem solver, wasted no time in offering a solution. "I can see if I can pull some strings, and find her contact information. Or at least her email."

Silence descended upon the table, thick and heavy. Both Cassian and Rhys turned to Azriel, expecting confirmation or at least a nod of approval. Instead, they were met with a profound silence that spoke volumes. The shock on their faces was almost comical.

Rhys was the first to break the silence, disbelief coloring his tone. "Don’t tell me…"

Cassian's eyes widened. "You don’t know her name??"

"Not even her first name???" Rhys added, his voice an octave higher in astonishment.

Azriel felt a flush creep up his neck, coloring his cheeks a deep shade of red. The truth of the matter, laid bare amidst the remnants of breakfast, felt absurd even to him. He had spent the week agonizing over a pen, over missed opportunities and unspoken words, without ever knowing your name.

“But you said she’s in your compsci class?” Rhys continued

Azriel shook his head, “No, we're in multivariable calculus together. But she’s definitely new.” 

At Cassian and Rhys's blank stares, Azriel elaborated, “It’s one the hardest math classes, I would have noticed her in the previous levels.”

“Wait Az, pull out the pen again.” Rhys reached his hand over. 

His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, flicking between Azriel and the pen before he floated an invitation his way. "Why don't you take and break and join Feyre and me tonight? We're catching up with my childhood friend—the one who introduced me to Feyre. Actually, Cass, join us and bring Nesta along. We’re meeting at Rita’s as usual so Mor will be there too. 

Azriel, however, wasn't so sure. "I don’t know…" he mumbled, lost in his whirlwind of thoughts, missing the significant glances Rhys shot towards Cassian.

As if on cue, Cassian's boisterous encouragement broke through his reverie. "Oh, come on, Az. It's not like the pen's going to grow legs and run off!"

 And with Rhys adding, "Give us some company, won't you, Azriel? My dear friend will feel left out among the couples." 

With a mix of encouragement and playful ribbing, Azriel found himself agreeing if only to escape the orbit of his own overthinking for a while.

Thus, Azriel found himself stepping into Rita's coffee shop, transformed at night into a cozy jazz club, clad in his finest casual attire. Gone was the hoodie, replaced by a crisp black shirt, his best jeans, and the leather jacket that felt like a second skin. The pen, its significance magnified beyond reason, was securely tucked inside his jacket, close to his heart.

Entering the cafe with Nesta and Cassian, who both looked effortlessly chic, Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement beneath his apprehension. Rita’s transformed at night from a quaint coffee shop into a vibrant jazz club, complete with dance floors and hidden alcoves, a favorite haunt for their group.

Curiosity about this mysterious friend of Rhys and Feyre nibbled at the edges of his thoughts. Described by Rhys as a "childhood companion" and by Feyre with glowing terms of talent and kindness, she seemed almost too good to be true. Feyre’s stories painted her as a guardian angel of the arts, guiding Feyre through her first year with museum visits and personal tutorials in art history, a beacon of support that enabled Feyre to pursue her dreams in Fine Arts.

Azriel couldn't deny the intrigue, a part of him eager to meet the person who had inadvertently brought both his brothers' such happiness and given him such close friends. 

Rita's was a place of warmth and music, where coffee aromas mingled with the sultry notes of jazz, and where the dance floor beckoned the brave. It was here, amidst the casual elegance of his friends, that Azriel hoped to find some semblance of peace.

His heart was already racing from the anticipation of the night, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment he stepped into the semi-circle of his friends and saw her.

The back of a girl, her black tweed jacket adorned with intertwining threads of red and gold, caught his immediate attention. It was a unique piece, one he recognized because it hung over the chair next to him just days ago in calculus. As if on cue, Cassian nudged him forward, breaking his trance and thrusting him into the moment he had been both dreading and longing for.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, each step toward the table feeling like a journey in itself. Then, as Rhys and Feyre stood, pulling the girl up with them, the world snapped back to its rightful pace, but not for Azriel. For him, everything continued in slow motion, the ambient noise fading into a distant buzz, drowned out by the sudden pounding of his heart.

"This is my childhood friend," Rhys began, his voice cutting through the fog in Azriel's mind.

"And my first college friend, Y/n," Feyre added, her smile bright and welcoming. “She just came back from a year abroad, so everyone welcome her well!”

Rhys continued with the introductions, but Azriel heard none of it. His gaze locked with Y/n's, and in that moment, everything else fell away. Her eyes, a captivating mix of curiosity and warmth, seemed to hold him in place, rendering him utterly speechless.

"Oh hi, Azriel!" Y/n's voice, clear and cheerful, attempted to bridge the gap between them. But Azriel remained frozen, caught in the storm of his own emotions, unable to muster even the simplest of greetings.

Then, the silence was shattered by Cassian's laughter. "Sorry about that, Azriel is just too shy, isn't that right?" he joked, clapping Azriel on the back hard enough to jostle him from his stupor. With a friendly push, Cassian maneuvered him into the booth next to Y/n before sliding in next to Rhys and Nesta.

As Feyre drew Y/n back into the conversation, wanting to connect her with Nesta over their love for books, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of the pen in his pocket. It was as if the object, a simple tool for writing, had become a symbol of all his unspoken words, his hidden desires, and his fear of reaching out. It burned against his thigh, a constant reminder of the words he had yet to say.

As the night wore on, and their friends' laughter filled the air, Azriel found his eyes constantly drifting to Y/n’s, wanting to capture every smile, every glance, every subtle expression that danced across her features. The ambient light of the club, dim and forgiving, cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the contours and the genuine joy that seemed to radiate from her. 

When the girls got up to join the dance floor, a tidal wave of reality crashed over Azriel. Rhys and Cassian's sudden attention, their probing questions about his unusual quietness, felt like spotlights on a stage he wasn't prepared to stand on. "I'm just tired," he managed to say, the words feeling like sandpaper against his throat. "And a bit worried, you know." But his attempt to deflect only invited more scrutiny.

Rhys immediately saw through the facade. "She's the girl, isn't she? That's why she said your name before I introduced you." At Azriel's silence, Rhys elaborated further, “She’s also the one I assumed was the owner of that pen, Y/n has an entire collection of Mont Blanc, and she fits into your description, being technically new as she just returned from abroad. 

Azriel’s flush, heavy and telling, confirmed his friends' suspicions without a single word spoken.

“Then this the perfect moment!” Cassian continued. “When she comes back, give the pen and ask to buy her a drink as an apology for the delay”

Rhys perked up as well, hitting Azriel on the shoulder, “Cass is right! I know Y/n, and she’s not one to hold a grudge, especially if you apologize. In fact, get her a tequila daisy, she loves those.”

At his friend’s encouragement, Azriel felt his spirits being lifted. He could do this, he thought, the Mother blessing him with such good luck that he found the girl he was looking today. He should take this as a sign, telling him that this was his time to have courage. As Cass and Rhys shooed him up, spotting the girls returning, Azriel shot back his drink and stood up. With a slightly steadier step, he decided to take a little detour back to their table, positioning himself so he'd see Y/n first. It was a small thing, but it gave him a moment to steel himself, to prepare for her smile, her presence. "Alright, let's do this," he thought, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As Azriel navigated his way back to the table, a sudden wave of nervousness washed over him. The confidence he had just moments ago seemed to evaporate with each step he took. By the time he was close, he found himself unable to meet the gaze of his friends or even Y/n, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, a beacon of his newfound apprehension.

He made a beeline for the chair adorned with the distinctive tweed jacket, so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed Cassian's worried glance. With a heart racing and a mind swirling with rehearsed apologies, Azriel reached out to tap the shoulder of the person he assumed was Y/n, all the while starting his practiced spiel. "Hey, I just wanted to give you this, I--uh--I'm so sorry couldn't before--let me buy you a drink to make it up—"

His words faltered, dying in his throat as he finally mustered the courage to look up, only to find Elain's familiar face smiling back at him. The confusion was immediate, his brain struggling to catch up with the reality in front of him as Elain, seizing the pen from his grasp, chimed, "Oh, Az, my birthday's still a week away...but thank you so much!" The affectionate kiss she planted on his cheek was meant to be a sweet gesture, yet it only served to heighten Azriel's horror as he watched her examine the pen.

“Oh, that’s so preetty Elain! Mor stumbled by, the alcohol clearly catching up to her by now. “But, why do you have a pen right now? Don’t work, come dance with us! She said laughing, grabbing Cassian on her way back. 

Azriel, now left alone with a blushing Elain, had no idea how this happened. One moment he thought he’d finally get to confess to Y/n and the next moment, he’s given perhaps her prized possession, which she lent him, to another girl. It turned out that he was incorrect before, it's clear that the Mother brought up the worst luck he could have.  

He needed to fix this. 

Now. 

And tell Elain that he did have something for her birthday…just not that. Yes, it had to break it to her now. 

“I know you said you’d be busy and couldn’t make it to my birthday, but you didn’t have to get me something, Az! This is just my color though…”

Azriel stood there, his mind racing with a mix of panic and disbelief. How had he managed to entangle himself in such an awkward situation? The irony of it all was that he had known about Elain's soft spot for him, a sentiment that had grown perhaps from the time he had escorted her back from class to keep her away from her troublesome ex. 

He had considered the possibility of returning her feelings, had even tried to envision something more between them, but his heart never quite made the leap. Elain was wonderful, truly, but the spark he was supposed to feel just wasn't there. And deep down, he knew she deserved someone who could put her at the center of their world, something Azriel couldn't do.

Before he could get a word out, the din of laughter and chatter signaled the return of Rhys and Feyre, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion as they noticed Elain holding the pen.

Azriel's eyes pleaded for help, a silent, desperate appeal that Feyre caught instantly. She stepped in, her words a flurry of explanations aimed at untangling the misunderstanding. But the situation took another turn with the arrival of Y/n and Nesta, their approach cutting Feyre's explanations short. In a panic, Feyre grabbed Elain's arm, insisting it was late and they needed to leave, effectively dodging the impending awkwardness but leaving the air charged with unsaid words.

Y/n and Nesta returned to find the table enveloped in an unexpected gloom, Rhys and Azriel's expressions painted with unmistakable dismay. The contrast to their earlier mirth sparked immediate curiosity.

"Where did Feyre run off to?" Nesta inquired, her words slicing through the heavy air just as Y/n, with a mixture of concern and confusion, reached out to Rhys. Her fingers brushed his forehead gently, a silent question in her touch. "Are you sick, why do you look so pale?"

Azriel hated the jealousy that sprung up at her actions, especially after what he had done. He immediately chastised himself for the feeling, fully aware that the concern shown was purely platonic. Yet, he couldn't help but long for a similar connection, a moment of care directed towards him, especially from Y/n.

Nesta couldn't resist a teasing jab, her observation laced with humor yet not entirely devoid of truth. "Lovesick more like it," she scoffed, her comment hanging between them like a challenge, prompting a momentary flicker of amusement to dance across Rhys's otherwise somber features.

Nesta’s words, though teasing, unwittingly mirrored the turmoil swirling within Azriel, a turmoil stemming from his unvoiced feelings for Y/n.

Amid the group's subdued atmosphere, Y/n took the initiative, her concern for her friends sparking into action as she decided to fetch water and some food for the table. Once she was out of earshot, Rhys leaned in, his voice low, "Remember when I said she's very forgiving? Well, Y/n is a bit possessive over letting others use her things." Azriel paled considerably.

Upon returning, Y/n placed the food down with a gentle smile, announcing, "I'll find Mor to say goodbye before I have to leave."

Nesta's questioning gaze prompted Y/n to share a bit more about her plans, revealing her Sunday brunch with her father. It was a tradition, yet one that held mixed feelings for her. Rhys, catching the underlying sentiment, ventured cautiously, "First time since you're back...any welcome presents?"

Y/n's nod was accompanied by an eye roll, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation. "He'll probably gift me a pen, as always." Then, leaning closer to Rhys, she confided in a whisper, "He still thinks I don't know his assistant keeps buying them." Their shared laughter, though tinged with sadness, was a brief respite from the tension of the evening.

As Y/n waved goodbye and made her way through the diner, the weight of what had transpired settled heavily on Azriel's shoulders. Rhys’s earlier statement now mixed with what he had just heard father gets me a pen…hates sharing… 

The pen he had intended to return to Y/n, now in Elain's possession, wasn't just any pen; it was akin to a token of her father's affection…

He was so, so doomed. 

If Azriel thought he was mortified before, well, it couldn’t be compared to now. His current stakeout, crouched in the dense foliage outside Elain and Nesta’s apartment, felt like a scene straight out of a spy movie—only infinitely less glamorous and with higher stakes. 

After searching the entire night for the pen, he realized that you really were Rhys’s friend, the resell prices he found made him want to throw his computer out. But even if he could afford it or request Rhys for help, it seemed that the version you had was sold out. He didn’t even know they made limited-edition pens, let alone ones of this price, were they made of gold? he thought pulling up the product description….set with a pearl…Oh.

Well, that led to his current predicament, knee-deep in the bushes outside Elain and Nesta’s shared apartment. Given that he had borrowed Nesta’s key, which was carelessly strewn on the table of his and Cass’s apartment, he knew she wouldn’t be back for a while. The problem now was getting Elain and it seemed Feyre out…which was why he had texted Rhys an SOS. 

As he waited, hoping that no one noticed him acting like an absolute creep, he finally saw Feyre pulling Elain out, something about a project with Lucien? 

Whatever, that wasn’t important now. His phone buzzed in his pocket with an aggravated all-clear from Rhys. He knew he owed him and Feyre a lot…and technically Elain and Nesta too. The plan was simple: get in, find the pen, get out.

He had been to their apartment before, but always with the company of someone else, usually Cass when he went to pick up or drop off things for Nesta. It felt…eerie being here alone, and he tried to ignore how much of a creep he felt looking through their things. Yet, despite his efforts, the pen remained elusive, a realization that sent a wave of panic crashing over him.

Mother above, where would one keep a pen?? He checked the various surfaces in all the rooms, he checked Elain’s desk, her vanity, and even her bedside table….he looked at the bathroom counters and even scanned through Nesta’s room. As he debated how many more boundaries he’d cross by opening the drawers, his phone buzzed again, with a text from Rhys, feyre said it's with her *crying face emoji* *crying face emoji*...

It’s with her…it’s still with Elain?! The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of frustration and defeat.

Needing to escape the claustrophobia of his failure, Azriel abandoned his search, the apartment, and any pretense of dignity he had left. He found himself wandering aimlessly, feet leading him through the city's streets with no destination in mind. Hours passed, his thoughts a tangled mess, until the financial center's impersonal skyscrapers towered over him, indifferent to his turmoil.

It was there, amidst the steel and concrete, that a familiar voice pierced through his haze of self-reproach. "Azriel?" Y/n called out, her presence like a beacon in the dimming light. 

She emerged from a store, the elegance of her white lace blouse and black slacks contrasted sharply by the vivid red purse she carried. It was the bag she swung from behind, adorned with the same white flower symbol as the pen, that captured his attention, a silent testament to the reason for his current state.

Azriel was at a loss for words, his surprise at seeing her mirrored in the way she regarded him. “I’m surprised to see you here, what are you doing?”

Caught off guard and scrambling for an explanation, Azriel mumbled something about needing a walk, a half-hearted attempt to mask his real reasons for being there. 

Y/n's gaze held his, a hint of curiosity mixed with understanding flickering in her eyes. "A walk that led you all the way here?" she asked, her voice soft but pointed.

Azriel felt the inadequacy of his answer hang between them, an invisible barrier he wished he could dissolve. "Yeah, it's been one of those days," he admitted, his voice trailing off, the truth of his statement more profound than he cared to explore.

Y/n studied him for a moment, her intuitive eyes reading the layers of unsaid words. Then, breaking the tension with a smile that seemed to light up the dimming city around them, she said, "Well, in that case, I could use a bit of company. I was about to grab some coffee. Join me?"

Azriel hesitated, the weight of his earlier mission pressing down on him. Yet, there was something about Y/n's offer, an earnest simplicity, that cut through his reservations. "I...yeah, coffee sounds good," he finally said, not surprised at his own eagerness.

Seated in the cozy enclave of the coffee shop, with bookshelves brimming with tales and plants that whispered of care, Azriel found himself enveloped in a warmth that the stark lines of the financial district rarely offered. The glow of the setting sun, filtered through the tall windows, bathed Y/n in a soft light, casting her in an almost ethereal aura. Her laughter, light and easy, filled the space between them as she caught his look of pleasant surprise.

"This place isn't quite the corporate café you were expecting, is it?" Y/n teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Azriel chuckled, nodding. "I was expecting somewhere... more stiff. This is a nice surprise."

Leaning in, Y/n shared her secret with a whisper, "This café is my little escape. Not many know about it here. But trust me, the coffee’s unmatched, and you have to try the food."

As Azriel began to protest, not wanting her to treat him to even more, his stomach betrayed him with a timely growl. Y/n’s laughter rang out again, full and genuine, just as an older lady approached with their order. "Here you go, dear," she said to Y/n, then turned to Azriel with a warm smile. "First time I've seen her bring someone. You take good care of her, okay?"

Y/n’s protest that they were just friends, and really just classmates, did little to deter the lady's knowing look, leaving her a flustered shade of pink as the lady departed. Y/n then explained to a bewildered Azriel about the café's significance to her, a place discovered during times she'd rather forget waiting in her father's stark office, with the building being down the street. 

As they shared the meal—Y/n insisting Azriel try her favorite sandwich and a tart chosen especially for him—Azriel marveled at her attention to detail, at the fact that she'd noticed his fondness for blueberries. "How did you know?" he asked, his heart aflutter at the realization that she paid him such mind.

With a shy glance away and then back, Y/n admitted, "I noticed you always carrying around blueberry bars. It's the little things, you know?"

Azriel, moved by her attentiveness and kindness, found himself unworthy of her attention. How could he let her remain ignorant about his transgressions, and watch her smile and laugh with him? But he also couldn’t bear to let her go, not when she made him feel things he thought he’d never be able to. Azriel decided then and there that he would admit his faults and then he would beg, he would plead for her to forgive him, or at least continue to talk to him, after he returned the pen from Elain. And if she refused, then he would accept it, but he would grovel as much as she allowed, if only to not lose the smiles that she sent his way. 

"I... I don't deserve your kindness," he confessed, his voice a whisper of turmoil. "Because I'm a thief."

Y/n's eyes widened, confusion and concern mingling in her gaze, "A thief?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly, inviting him to explain.

Azriel's words tumbled out in a frantic cascade, a confession spilling forth about the pen, his failed attempts to return it, not knowing her name and the catastrophic mix-up at Rita's that saw Elain inadvertently receiving what he thought was Y/n's treasured possession. "I know it was a gift from your father... I'll get it back," he assured her, his heart sinking as he prepared for her to walk away, to maybe throw the coffee in his face, for the soft warmth of her smiles to vanish.

But instead of anger or disappointment, laughter bubbled up from Y/n, rich and unrestrained. Azriel lifted his gaze, bewildered, only to find her smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. It was a moment Azriel wished he could freeze and live in forever, were it not for the fear of her next words.

From that dreaded black bag, she produced a sleek box, emblazoned with Mont Blanc, and Azriel's heart sank. This was it, the moment of reckoning. He half-expected her to reveal a price tag that would make his eyes water, a reminder of his foolishness. Instead, Y/n unveiled a pen, its body a dance of blue and white lacquer, sparkling with what he could only guess were jewels.

Y/n shared a piece of her past with him then, her voice soft and nostalgic. She spoke of her younger self, who found more joy in the worlds of books and art than in the dry texts of study. 

"I used to collect colored pens, fancy ones that made writing notes less of a chore," she explained, gentle laughter threading through her words. She revealed how her love for calligraphy had blossomed from there, a passion she had hoped would catch her parents' attention.

The story took a turn Azriel hadn't expected. "For every achievement, every missed event, every return home, I got a pen. I thought it was my father remembering my words, but," she chuckled, shaking the elegant pen in her hand, "it turns out it was his assistant who remembered. My father doesn't even use fountain pens."

She waved the decorative pen with a flourish, proclaiming it beautiful but utterly impractical. "They're more for show than anything else, the nibs aren’t even correct for the type of stylized calligraphy I enjoy. I still keep them, just locked in a drawer at my apartment. But for everyday use, I stick to the rollerballs from Mont Blanc. They're just easier."

Y/n paused, eyeing him with a playful curiosity. "The pen was pink, wasn't it?" At Azriel's nod, she continued, "I swapped that one with a friend. Not really my color, but she wanted to exchange it for a white version that wasn’t available abroad.” 

Azriel nods, still caught in the whirlwind of his own confessions and fears. 

She shrugs lightly, her gaze drifting down to the black box, "Mont Blanc treats me too well and sends me many extras because I’m on their VIP list due to my father’s assistant. I don’t mind, though. It’s nice to know they’re going to someone who appreciates them."

Azriel's mind races as he tries to process this. The pen, the source of so much turmoil, was just one of many to Y/n, an item of little consequence. Yet, feeling a sense of responsibility, he insists, "I’ll get it back for you. It was yours, after all."

Y/n's response is a gentle wave of dismissal. "You don’t need to worry about it, Azriel. You didn’t steal it. I told you to return it whenever you wanted. I just...hoped it would make you think of me." Her voice fades, a note of melancholy creeping in as she turns her face away slightly, hiding the vulnerability in her eyes. "I guess you didn’t, though. Do I bother you, sitting next to you in class?"

The earnestness in her question, the raw hint of insecurity, pierces through Azriel's defenses. He reacts instinctively, his words tumbling out in a rush to bridge the gap his silence had created.

"Bother me? Y/n, you’ve been...I’ve been trying to find the words to talk to you since you first sat next to me. You don’t bother me; you distract me because...because I think you’re beautiful."

The confession hangs in the air between them, a fragile truth that sends a blush creeping up Y/n's cheeks. Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his earnest declaration laying bare his feelings.

"So, friends?" Y/n ventures after a moment, her voice steady but her eyes searching his for an answer.

"Friends," Azriel agrees quickly, too quickly, perhaps, because what he really wants to say is so much more. "But, I'm hoping for more than that," he added under his breath, a vow to himself as much as to her.

Y/n's smile in response is shy but hopeful, a silent agreement to the unspoken question hanging between them. In the quiet of the café, amidst the scattered pens and the remnants of their past misunderstandings, they find a new beginning.

A/N: The pen Y/n received above! So, I have no idea where this story was meant to go. I just had the idea to write about Azriel doing something silly because he was so distracted by a crush, which became him unintentionally stealing a pen. After all, I have an obsession with pens due to the same reason Y/n said...And then this spiraled a little too much into my own uhh grievances with pens, calligraphy…and uhh parents. ANYWAYS, I hope this made you all laugh and fyi Mont Blanc does make great pens, I highly recommend their roller balls and fountain pens, though some are so extravagant I can’t imagine ever using them. 

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ scoops of doubt; 

         aurélien tchouaméni ────── 

     grabbing ice cream after a meal is a cherished tradition for the two of you, but the sweetness fades when a single comment sends your emotions over the edge.

⭑  wordcount : four thousand four hundred sixty-seven.

⭑  notes : not sure if you guys will like this fic as it is more sensitive, but i wanted to write about a topic that everyone struggles with to some extent: body image. everyone’s body is beautiful and comes in different sizes; as for this story i picked a reader on the chubbier end and will be diving into some insecurities that they could face. i tried my best to display this topic in an appropriate manner and and as always, my dms are open if you ever need someone to talk to, though i'm not a professional. <3

warning : body image struggles

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Going out with Aurélien was always special, and tonight was no exception. You both enjoyed taking turns picking places for your date nights, and no matter where you dined, you always ended up at your guy’s favorite ice cream shop afterward. This summer evening, it was his pick—a hidden gem that his teammate, Federico Valverde, had strongly recommended. After just a few bites, it was obvious that the footballer had made the perfect choice.

The night was filled with the usual tender smiles and exchange of dishes. Each of you stealing bites from one another and debating whose choice was the superior one. It was silly, but it made the meal feel more like an adventure in itself.

“Okay, so I definitely picked the best dish this time,” Aurélien grinned, as he leaned over to offer you another bite of his meal. “I knew you’d love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh really? Are we going to keep a tally of who picks the better dish? Because, overall, I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You definitely think you are, don’t you? But you can’t deny that this is a strong contender.”

You pouted, taking the bite he offered. "Fine, you win this round. But next time, I’ll make sure to pick something even better."

He leaned back, giving you a playful, mock-dramatic look. “This is war, then. Prepare for the next round.”

You both laughed, enjoying the easy rhythm of the conversation. The little games you played over shared bites of food made the whole experience feel so much more fun.

“So,” Aurélien started, swirling his wine in his glass. “If I win this little food battle we’ve got going, what do I get as a prize?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, what kind of prize do you think you deserve?”

He leaned in with a teasing smile. “A kiss, obviously.”

“A kiss, huh? ”Your lips curling into a playful smile as you raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you teased, a flirty spark in your eyes.

Aurélien leaned in close, a teasing smirk on his face. “Come on,” he whispered.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, playing along, and your thumb grazed his cheek as you leaned in like you were going to kiss him. But, just before your lips met his, you quickly swiped your thumb across the side of his mouth, wiping off the sauce he’d missed earlier. His eyes widened, and he groaned in disbelief, clearly disappointed. 

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept back on his face. 

A mischievous laugh escaped your lips as you watched him, his mock frustration only making the moment more delightful. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the amused sparkle in his eyes. It was as if you guys were in your own bubble of happiness.

You savored the moment, the rich flavors of the meal dancing on your tongue as you made your way through the courses. Aurélien’s rants about training filled the space between you, his voice blending with the clink of silverware against plates. It felt almost dreamlike—the way the world outside faded away as you both sank deeper into the rhythm of each other’s company. You both finished your plates slowly, savoring the last few mouthfuls, reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy Italian place. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick before we head out.” Your boyfriend stated as he squeezed your hand to signal his departure.

You nodded, watching as Aurélien stood and melted into the crowd, his tall frame effortlessly disappearing toward the restrooms. Left to your own thoughts for a moment, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drift around the warm ambience. As you glanced over the dessert menu, you pondered your options. You knew you’d both end up at the ice cream shop later—it had become a tradition—but maybe you could share something here first. It seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, the idea of a sweet Italian pastry was tempting. A crisp cannoli? Or a velvety tiramisu? You couldn’t decide, so you waved down the waiter, hoping for a little guidance.

“Excuse me, could you help me choose between the cannoli and the tiramisu?” you asked, flashing a smile. “Which one do you recommend?”

“Oh, another order?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Well, the tiramisu is world-class, but after all that, I doubt you’d even fit in your dress anymore.” He chuckled as he answered you.

The words hit you instantly, meant to be playful but coming across with an edge that caught you off guard. You froze, a flush creeping up your neck as the comment sank in. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. 

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and instead of anger, you felt a rush of awkwardness. Was that really necessary? You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Uh, yeah... can I just get the check, actually?" you said, offering a tight smile as you reached for your drink, hoping the awkwardness would pass. 

The waiter nodded, clearly unaware of the effect his words had, and turned to go. You sat back in your chair, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You shook your head slightly, trying to push the feeling aside. You felt silly for letting the situation impact you like this. Nothing had seemed overtly wrong. Just… a bit strange. But then again, it could have just been in your head.

Although the waiter left, it felt like every eye in the room was suddenly fixed on you, each gaze heavy with judgment. Of course, you knew this wasn’t true—logically, you understood no one was staring at you—but that didn’t stop the feeling from washing over you like a cold wave. Your body suddenly uncomfortable in the chair, too much for the space around you. The fabric of your outfit felt suffocating now—clinging to you in ways that highlighted every inch. You wished you could just disappear.

Your stomach twisted, the pressure growing unbearable, the feeling of nausea even crept in. Every breath felt like too much effort, too loud, as if just being alive was drawing in too much attention. Your arms crossed over your torso instinctively, hoping you could somehow hide yourself from the world. But nothing helped, the ache was deeper than anything you could physically conceal. Your thighs pressed against the seat, and you could swear they expanded under the weight of your thoughts, a cruel trick of perception that only fed the panic rising inside you.

The heat clung to you, pressing down on your chest, its weight making each breath feel shallow and strained. It was like being trapped inside the very furnace that had just baked your pizza, the warmth heavy and stifling, consuming everything in its path.

You managed to steady yourself before Aurélien returned, but the floor beneath you betrayed every shift. Each small movement sent a sharp creak reverberating through the silence, an intrusive sound that seemed to echo your every restless gesture.

As Aurélien came back, the waiter dropped the check off. Your boyfriend’s focus immediately shifting to it, his hand instinctively reaching for his wallet. He sat down across from you, as he placed down his card. 

You tried to hide the faint tremor in your hands and the nervous habit of tugging at the hem of your dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was a silly plea when you considered the fact that Aurélien had been trained on the pitch to detect even the smallest shifts in movement—to read the slightest twitch of a muscle or the faintest change in posture. It was second nature to him, a skill honed over years of relentless focus.

So, of course, he noticed.

“You okay, mon amour?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t pushing, just offering you a space to speak.

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mhm, just tired,” you muttered. 

Aurélien didn’t press further, but the eerie quiet between you lingered once he stood up from the table as he thanked the waiter. He reached for your hand as you both moved toward the door, his grip warm and steady, though his fingers tightened slightly, as if sensing something was still off. You followed him outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement.

As you approached the car, Aurélien opened the passenger door for you, his usual confident smile back in place, though there was something in his gaze that seemed to weigh you down even more. You sat down staring out the window, the city passing by like a blur as he drove, you hoped for a reprieve from the heavy feeling in your chest.

With dinner finished, the next step in your routine should have been a trip to the charming little ice cream shop nearby, a tradition that had started on your first date. It was a small, unassuming parlor where, with complete confidence, he had declared he could figure out your favorite flavor just by looking at you. Of course, he was wrong—but his confidence had made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, and in the end, you picked that flavor as your new favorite.

Yet tonight, the thought of ice cream twisted your stomach in a different way.

“Aurélien… I’m not really feeling it tonight,” you said in a hushed voice, trying to sound as neutral as possible. 

Aurélien shot you a glance, brow furrowing. “Not feeling it?” he echoed, as if the words themselves were foreign.

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get any ice cream”

His face fell slightly, a small frown tugging at his lips, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

Instead of heading toward the ice cream shop, he smoothly made a U-turn at the next light.

“Wait, did you not want anything either?” you asked, blinking at him.

He glanced over at you with a half-smile. “It’s okay. Ice cream doesn’t taste nearly as good unless I’m sharing it with you.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “I mean, have you ever tried chocolate chip cookie dough all alone? It’s just... sad."

You let out a soft chuckle, your shoulders relaxing a bit. "You’re ridiculous."

He just shrugged, eyes still on the road. "Hey, I swear the flavor will grow on you one day."

You looked back out the window, resting your head against the cool glass, feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts lighten just a little. 

Then, his hand reached for yours, his grip warm and steady. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a quiet, soothing motion—one that seemed to soothe something deep inside you, though he was unaware of what.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you, opening his mouth as if to say something. But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he could voice his concern.

“I’m gonna go change,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t wait for a response, slipping out of the car and into the house, where the warmth should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.

Aurélien lingered in the entryway, watching you disappear up the stairs, his frown deepening. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t just a passing mood. This was something deeper, something festering just beneath the surface, something eating at you from the inside out. And he knew. He always knew. 

But he also understood you wouldn’t talk until you were ready. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the doorframe, dragging a hand down his face before slowly removing his shoes, giving you the space he knew you thought you needed.

Upstairs, you hurried to the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind you—or so you thought. You barely noticed it remained slightly ajar, too preoccupied, too desperate to strip yourself free from the weight clinging to you.

Your dress pooled at your feet, as if even the fabric was eager to rid itself of you. Shedding you like an old skin—but unfortunately, this was no simple transformation. You didn’t even spare it a second glance before tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Your heart hammered in your chest, beating so fast you could feel it in your throat.

Your hands reaching for one of Aurélien’s shirts—the one that always offered solace in ways nothing else could, especially when he was away, swallowed by the distance of football and travel. But just as you were about to pull it fully down on yourself, your gaze flickered to the mirror.

And everything stopped.

The reflection didn’t greet you with kindness. It didn’t soften its edges, didn’t smooth out the harsh truths you spent so long ignoring. 

It stared back, merciless, cruel in its honesty, dragging your eyes down the lines of your body like an artist outlining every flaw with deliberate strokes. As if it’s not just your body that feels burdened, but your mind too.

Your stomach—softer than you wanted, pushing outward when you wished it would vanish instead. The skin stretching slightly, smooth with a few faint lines marking where it met your waistband.

Your chest—felt fuller than before, both physically and emotionally heavy. The discomfort pulling at your spine, making every movement feel strained. 

But worst of all? Your thighs.

You let your shirt slip, falling softly over your figure as your hands instinctively found their way to your thighs. Your fingers pressed into the warm flesh, grasping, as if to test reality. You felt the resistance of how they refused to shrink, to yield, no matter how desperately you willed them to. Each inch of flesh that you grip only deepens the chasm between who you are and who you wish to be. There’s a sense of helplessness in the way your fingers meet the soft curve of your thighs, like you’re at war with your own skin. 

You want to recoil, to pull your hands away, but they stay, as if your own touch has become a punishment. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the reflection in the mirror, but even with your lids shut tight, it’s as though the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids. The feeling doesn’t go away, not even in the dark. It lingers, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome shadow that refuses to leave.

You wanted to sever off the parts that wouldn’t obey. 

Your breath hitched, nausea pooling in your stomach. The mirror made a mockery of you, highlighting every insecurity, every whispered doubt, every cruel thought that lurked beneath the surface. You crossed your arms over yourself, dread curling around your ribs like barbed wire. A sickening thought sank its claws into you:

Why would he want you when you look this way?

The thought struck without warning, a tightening coil cutting off the oxygen to your lungs.

Would he still trace his fingers over your skin with that same reverence? Still hold you, still love you, when you felt like nothing but a burden too heavy to carry? If you couldn't even love yourself, then how could anyone else?

The faint sound of movement drew your attention, and a chill swept through you. You spun, and there he was—Aurélien Tchouaméni, standing in the doorway, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn't quite place. His heart silently shattering as he watched the person he loved more than anything crumble beneath the unbearable weight of their own reflection.

He had seen everything.

Your arms yanking down the shirt, a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from his gaze, but it was too late. His expression was no longer just concern—it was heartbreak. For you. For whatever cruel battle you were fighting inside your own head.

“Mon amour,” his voice was quiet, hesitant, as if afraid to startle you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat had closed up. Embarrassment burned through you, hot and suffocating. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the worst way, like every insecurity you tried to hide had been laid bare for him to see.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I—I’m fine…really I—"

“Amour…” he interrupted gently, stepping inside the room, closing the distance between you both. “Please, don’t try to hide from me.”

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head harder. “Please... just give me a minute. I don’t want you to look at me when I’m like this.”

Aurélien’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as the hurt on his face became undeniable. He reached out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?” he asked, stepping closer, his heart in his eyes. 

“Like this— I’m a mess,” you whispered, gesturing at yourself like your own body was something disgusting, something shameful. “Like—like I take up too much space. Like I’m too much. I—I don’t feel like—"

The footballer sighed, stepping back, running a hand over his head. His jaw clenched, and his whole body tensed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who made you feel like this?” His voice was quiet, his protectiveness beaming through.

“Who?” he asked again, not taking your silence as a response.

You could hear the barely veiled frustration underneath, but not at you—never at you. It was anger at whoever had planted this seed of doubt in your mind, at whatever had made you believe that you were anything less than extraordinary.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Well the waiter,” you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He made some stupid comment, but… it’s not just that.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, his posture stiffening.

You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I wish I was.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If I’d heard it—” he exhaled sharply, reigning in his anger. “I would’ve said something.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But it’s not just about what he said. It’s how I’ve been feeling for a while actually.”

Aurélien exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before stepping closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face. His thumbs caught the next tear before it could fall. "Amour… I love you so much," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just talk to me about it."

The weight of his words unraveled something in you, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free from your throat. Your knees buckled slightly, but Aurélien caught you as you stumbled, his arms scooping you up, strong but delicate. His warmth enveloped you entirely, and for the first time all night, you felt at ease as you laid in bed.

“I hate that you feel like this,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “I hate that someone made you doubt how incredible you are.”

You let out a choked laugh, but it held no humor. “It’s not someone, it’s me,” you admitted, voice trembling. “It’s how I’ve felt for a bit.”

His hold on you tightened, his jaw tensing against your hair. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Still, I wish I could just make it all go away. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. I’ll carry it with you.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. His lips brushed over your skin in the softest, most reverent way. But then his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, kneading them as if committing them to memory. His fingers traced over the softness of your stomach, his grip both possessive and tender.

“Mon amour,” he whispered, voice husky, thick with emotion. “Do you know how perfectly you fit against me?” 

Like you were made to be there, pressed into him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer conviction in his voice, the way his hands never wavered as they caressed you, he was worshiping every inch. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I love being suffocated by your thighs,” he murmured, nipping playfully at your skin, earning a startled laugh from you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

You swatted at his arm, pushing at his chest. “Aurélien!”

He grinned against your skin, placing one last kiss to your temple. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

You sniffled, hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fingers. “I just don’t feel—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted gently, cradling your face again so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were burning with something fierce, something unshakable. “You are enough, mon amour. You always have been. And if you can’t see it right now, that’s okay—I’ll remind you every single day.”

A broken sob escaped your lips, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness alone. 

It was from the overwhelming love, the sheer depth of what this man was offering you. A love so pure, so unwavering, that for the first time, the voice in your head telling you that you “weren’t enough” quieted.

Aurélien exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if we have to stay up all night, but I’m not letting you go until you understand how much I love you.”

You let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “That might take a while.”

His lips quirked up, but his eyes were still serious. “Then I hope you’re comfortable, because I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Another moment of silence passed, your ears pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, then smiled—this time lighter, with something familiar in it.

"You know what we need?" he asked, his voice soft but certain.

You blinked up at him, still sniffling. “What?”

“Ice cream.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I just said I didn’t want any.”

“And I just decided that’s unacceptable,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, but he simply grinned ear to ear. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A small smile broke through your haze of sadness. “Fine. But no more strange flavors!”

-

The drive to the ice cream shop was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of the music playing in the background. Aurelien’s hand never left yours, his touch a steady reassurance, grounding you in the present. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if he were silently reminding you that you weren’t alone.

When you stepped into the familiar little shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, the weight pressing down on your chest lifted just a little. The warm scent of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

Aurélien made a show of examining the menu, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think… I’m going to pick for you, just like our first date.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you challenged him. “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll get it right this time?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I know you, mon amour.”

A few minutes later, Aurélien handed you a cone with a knowing grin. The flavor he picked wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Honey Vanilla Bean.

“You know, I really wanted to go with blueberry,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “But I figured… you deserve something like you. Sweet, comforting, a little bit of warmth when everything feels cold.” He paused, feigning exasperation. “Also, I really didn’t want to get yelled at over an ice cream scoop.”

You shook your head in disbelief, holding back a grin. “Alright, fine. You win.”

His grin was smug as he bumped his shoulder against yours. “So, can I get my prize now?”

With a playful glint in your eye, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled him in, pecking his lips. The moment was brief but full, the sweetness melting between you as his fingers brushed your waist, holding you steady.

Hand in hand, you wandered outside and settled onto the curb, the cool night air wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. Aurélien pulled you closer, his warmth a contrast to the gentle chill. 

Aurélien nudged you with his elbow, holding out his own cone. "Here, try some of my chocolate chip cookie dough. I even got star-shaped sprinkles on it."

Rolling your eyes as you leaned in, ready to taste it, but just as your lips parted, the ice cream dripped on to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as he burst into laughter.

Before it could roll off your body, Aurélien leaned in without hesitation, licking the ice cream off your face before pressing a brief, puckish kiss to your lips.

“There, crisis averted.” He announced smugly, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You shoved him away with a mix of laughter and disbelief. "Eww Aurélien, what is wrong with you?!"

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Oh, plenty, but you still love me."

You rolled your eyes, but as you looked at him—at the man who had spent the last hour trying to hold you together when you felt like you were falling apart—you felt your heart flutter.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into his side.

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely in his arms as his cheek rested against your hair. “Good. Because I love you more. Every single part of you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually believed it.

© gul4bjamoons

[justin-chapmanswers]

AAAA THE SILVER SPOON EXIT IS FANTASTIC!!! You guys always do such a good job with the Exit Interviews. They're super fun videos that also add juuust that little extra amount of characterization that makes them even better to watch.

What inspires you guys to add the little mini-stories in each interview? Do you usually have an idea of what direction you want it to go beforehand, or do specific questions give you inspiration?

Thank you so much!!! Had so much fun working on that one. And looooove the question. Partly cause I'm like "idk if anyone cares that I do this, but it's fun, anyway!"

When writing any Exit Interview (I've been sole-writing or co-writing all from Box's-and-on, but might not for Balloon's?), I always want to be writing with some sort of angle. Sometimes it's a story for the contestant (TK, Cabby #1, Paintbrush, Silver) , sometimes for the interviewer (Box, Clover), sometimes both (Goo). Sometimes it allows us to hit on an angle on a character that we haven't already, sometimes it gives us some time to show off how far a character has come. Sometimes something that affects the whole interview, sometimes something that'll pop up towards the end that we can hint at earlier. But we tend to try for at least a little-something! We like presenting new narratives wherever we can. The tale is never quite done with these pals!

As for how we plan it out, I'll often go into an interview knowing exactly what angle I want to come in with, and how much that angle'll need to weigh on the characters. I knew I wanted to tell a narrative about Paintbrush wrapping up their three-season-journey and expecting a hyper-dramatic interview to express every facet of their emotional experience... only to receive a bunch of nonsense questions that leaves their final wrap-up feeling empty. So I noted to the audience that we'd love silly questions. I knew that for Silver's Exit we were going to explore the anxieties around criticism, so I made sure to write in the question prompt that Silver would love to hear some compliments- so that we could then receive a bunch of complimentary questions for him to appreciate (but not enough to make a deep impact), and inevitably we received some negative too- which I could then use to show how hard one mean comment can hit for the guy.

For Cabby we wanted to prep for her eventual return by sewing in her current troubled state of mind without tying things up to cleanly in a bow. Clover we wanted to flip it around and have her help an interviewer down on his luck. With Bot we needed to let them reflect on what they've been through but also think on some of the elements of their existence that are still feeling complicated. In Yin-Yang's we knew we wanted to make sure we were following through on their tricky feelings regarding their experience Candle, while also demonstrating their growth as a fun lil duo. Etc.

Occasionally I'll need some inspiration, so I'll ask for the questions first and see if that sparks any particular ideas. When we received a bunch of motherly-oriented characters for Tea Kettle I was left to ponder "how would she feel about this?" With Goo's Exit a couple Cheer Factory questions popped up and I started to think about the fun juxtaposition of matching Goo with someone serious who expects Goo to be a legitimate entrepreneur. Since then we've enjoyed leaning into pairing contestants with very different-vibe interviewers when possible.

And the mindset of writing with an angle all stems to working on Inanimate Answers. Not sure how many people have seen that, since the newest ep predates Invitational, but there we had a very very similar format. It's sorta like the unintentional test-run of Exit Interviews, with some personal conflicts for the contestant, and some for Justin. I'd loooove to make more of those, but they were being made at a point in time where I didn't have a non-II full-time job, and II wasn't focused much on episode production. So finding the time has been tough. We did make a mini version for the Inanimate Direct which was fun (although funnily some of my favorite on-camera work I've done for the channel was in that same video but the Patreon-information segment- which no one will ever watch again cause the Patreon no longer exists haha). And I have an old Yin-Yang Inanimate Answers 5 script that would need to be pretty heavily reworked now that season 3 exists for YY, if I were to try at them again. Maybe there's room for IA in the future. Lots to figure out with the channel! But I'm glad we've had Exits to take on the legacy of some bonus viewer-interaction-based-storytelling.

[aquagirl1978]

💐 Harri fluff pretty 🙏 please with strawberry milk on top

(Have you considered that one can probably taste the strawberry milk after kissing harri? *sighs as I stare wistfully into the distance*)

Love <3 V

Thank you @vioisgoinginsane - I had a lot of fun writing this and hope you enjoy it!

To Catch a Thief

A/N: The first fic in my Naughty or Nice event and my second entry for An Invitation to Crown hosted by @judejazza Pairing: Harrison Gray x Reader Prompt: play fighting Word Count: 730 Tags: fluff

“I have a problem and I was hoping you could help me,” Harrison said, plopping into the seat next to you on the couch.

“Good morning to you, too,” you replied, not looking up from the book you were reading.

“Morning,” he muttered as he ran his hair through his hair. He leaned a bit closer to you, dropping his voice. “I’m trying to catch a thief and I could use your help.”

“Oh?” You put your book to the side and stared into his mint green eyes, suddenly intrigued. 

“Yeah,” he continued, “I went to the kitchen just now, looking forward to drinking my strawberry milk. And could you believe it, but there was none left. Someone here drank the last glass, knowing that that was my milk.”

“The nerve of them!” You gasped dramatically at his predicament. “Whatever shall we do?”

“I have a list of suspects.” You raised a brow, curious to know who made the list. “Will loves strawberries, so he would be a prime suspect –”

“Except he’s not here now,” you chimed in.

“Exactly. You’re very observant. Alfons isn’t back yet either, so he’s off the list.”

“What about Jude?” 

“While he’s rude enough to commit such a crime, he’s not a fan of milk. I think we can safely cross him off the list.”

“Victor?”

“Nah, he’s more of a tea and scones guy for breakfast. Elbert probably hasn’t left his room since last night, admiring all his stuff.” Harrison sighed, truly perplexed. “That leaves Roger, Liam and Ellis.”

“Ellis does like sweets.” 

“Another excellent observation. He’s possibly our prime subject right now.”

“I’m glad we were able to sort that out.” You smiled smugly at Harrison, pleased you were able to help him. 

“Yeah, well, there’s another problem. Ellis isn’t here either. Some kind of early morning emergency that Victor assigned to him.”

“So then it has to be Liam or Roger.”

“That would seem to be, but there is one other possibility we haven’t explored.” Your eyes widened when he said your name. 

“Was it you?” he asked softly. “I won’t be mad if it was.”

“No,” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. “It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do such a thing to you. You’re my boyfriend. I love and adore you and know just how much you like your strawberry milk.” You flashed him the sweetest smile as you rested your hand on his knee.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t drink my milk,” he replied with an even sweeter smile.

“It wasn’t me,” you repeated.

“Of course, it wasn’t. I was silly to even question you.” He cupped your cheek and caressed your skin softly with his thumb. “I think you deserve a reward for helping me.”

He leaned closer, his lips barely brushing yours. “Is this a suitable reward?” he whispered. Your breath hitched as he covered your mouth with his in a kiss. Running his fingers through your hair, he held you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing your lips. With a soft sigh, your lips parted, inviting his tongue to sweep your mouth.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss, his hand cradling your head. His eyes met yours and he smiled.

“I knew it was you the whole time,” he admitted quietly.

“What? How?”

“I had my suspicions, but you should know better than to lie to a fox.” Your face fell; he saw through your earlier lie. “That and…” He brought his mouth to yours and nipped your lip. “I could taste the strawberry milk.”

“That was evil.” You grabbed a nearby pillow and hit him on the shoulder with it. Gently. 

“It's what you deserve for drinking my milk,” he said, laughing. Grabbing a pillow of his own, he swatted you back. Not so gently. 

Peals of laughter filled the room as you took turns hitting each other with the pillows. That is, until Harrison grabbed your pillow and tossed it to the side, leaving you defenseless. He pressed his body against yours, his lips dangerously close to yours. Your eyes drifted shut as your lips moved closer to his, eager for his kiss. 

His hand ran down your ribs, his fingers brushing against your most ticklish spot. Your eyes flew open. 

“You wouldn’t,” you hissed.

“Well, I am a villain,” he said with a wicked laugh.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @themiscarnival   @coral-relevium @cyberk1ee     @kookie-my-little-sunshine @pathogenic       @ellisgivesmelife013 @ikemen-writer   @nightghoul381 @judejazza @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @lunaaka @ikesenwritings @starlitmanor-network

[mya-valentine]

I’m feeling a little silly, so could we perhaps have a platonic class 1a oneshot where the reader has a demon quirk and they take their boots off for the first time in the dorms and Denki’s like “You have hooves?!” and it turns into the highlight of the evening

please and thank you

Hooves and Laughter: A Night of Surprises in Class 1-A

A/N: If anyone saw the Genshin Impact logo before I changed it, I was running on fumes when I wrote this 😂😂😭

It was a quiet evening in the Class 1-A dorms. Everyone was winding down from a long day of training, scattered about the common area. Denki was showing off a new game on the TV, Mina was chatting with Uraraka about the latest hero news, and Bakugo was glaring at Todoroki for reasons no one really understood. You were quietly sitting off to the side, enjoying the rare peace and quiet, your boots still on from earlier.

You shifted in your seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Your boots, while necessary for battle, were not the most pleasant thing to wear for extended periods of time. As everyone was distracted, you decided it was finally time to free yourself from their confines. You bent down, carefully unzipping one boot, then the other, before setting them aside. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you flexed your feet.

Suddenly, you heard a gasp.

"Wait, hold on!" Denki exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention. His eyes were wide, staring at your feet. "You have hooves?!"

The room went completely silent as everyone turned to look at you. You glanced down at your feet—your hooves, which were an integral part of your demon quirk, but rarely seen by others due to your battle boots. You had always kept them covered for practicality, and, well, because you knew people would react just like this.

"Uh, yeah. Hooves," you said, scratching the back of your head awkwardly.

Mina was the first to break the silence, jumping up from her seat. "That’s so cool!" She rushed over, practically bouncing with excitement. "Why didn’t you tell us sooner?"

"I mean... it’s not something that comes up in casual conversation," you chuckled, but her enthusiasm made you relax a bit.

Denki was already on the floor, examining your hooves with exaggerated fascination. "Can you... walk normally with those? Or is it, like, really different?" he asked, tilting his head as if trying to imagine what it would be like to walk on hooves.

"Yeah, I can walk fine," you said, lifting one foot slightly. "I just wear boots to avoid damaging the floor and to keep from, y'know, causing too much noise."

"Okay, but the boots must be custom, right?" Momo chimed in from her spot on the couch, her curiosity piqued as well. "Do they take a long time to make?"

"A bit, yeah," you nodded. "But I’ve had these for years, so I’m used to them by now."

By this point, nearly everyone in the room had gathered around, intrigued by your hooves. Even Bakugo had glanced over, though he pretended not to care.

Sero, leaning against the back of the couch, grinned. "You must have great balance with those."

"Oh yeah," you smirked. "They come in handy when I’m using my quirk."

Todoroki, in his usual quiet way, tilted his head. "Do they get cold in winter?"

Before you could answer, Denki grinned mischievously. "Can you do that thing goats do when they jump off walls? Like parkour or something?"

"Denki!" Mina laughed, nudging him. "They’re not a goat!"

You chuckled at the comparison. "I guess I could? Haven’t really tried bouncing off walls just for fun."

"This is officially the highlight of the night," Denki declared dramatically, turning back to the others. "I mean, come on, we didn’t know we were living with someone with hooves. That’s amazing."

Kirishima nodded in agreement. "It’s manly as hell."

"Right?" Denki continued, nodding excitedly. "They’ve been hiding this awesomeness under boots this whole time."

"It’s not like it’s a big secret," you said with a shrug, but you couldn’t help smiling. The way everyone was reacting was oddly... endearing. You were used to people being curious, but this was the first time you felt like it was just good-natured fun rather than awkward questions or judgment.

"So, do they help with anything besides balance?" Jiro asked, curious.

"They help with kicks," you said with a grin. "I can deliver a pretty solid strike with these."

"Remind me never to get kicked by you," Denki said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Uraraka giggled. "I think we all learned something new tonight."

As the evening wore on, the conversation gradually shifted, but the light-hearted energy lingered. You found yourself laughing along with everyone else, grateful for the distraction and the easy camaraderie. It felt good to share a piece of yourself with them, even if it was just something as simple as your hooves.

"Alright, alright," you said, standing up and stretching. "If you’re done with the questions, I’m putting my boots back on before Denki asks if I can race a horse."

Denki opened his mouth, then closed it, a mischievous glint still in his eyes. "I wasn’t gonna say that, but now that you mention it…"

You rolled your eyes playfully and slipped your boots back on, but there was a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in a while. Living with Class 1-A might be a bit chaotic, but it was moments like these that reminded you how much of a family they really were.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[fallenandinlovewithhumanity]

Watched 9-1-1 for the first time (and caught up) Here are some unsolicited and unfiltered opinions about our fave gay firefighter show.

Bobby Nash: Must be protected at all costs. Traumatized dad doing his gosh darn best. So happy he is loved by the 118 and that he seems to be accepting that more now.

Athena Grant: There's a post out here somewhere about how people named after gods/goddess embody that deity. And Athena? Yeah she does exactly that. That woman deserves so much respect for the badass she is.

Howie "Chimney" Han: Silly goofy man who needs a hug and appreciation. His storyline with Kevin and every parallel to Albert made my heart hurt.

Evan "Buck" Buckley: Sweet baby boy, the firefighter Dean Winchester of another universe. I LOVE THIS MAN. Seeing him smile on screen is so infectiously amazing and I want to send a strongly worded letter to all the writers who are clearly trying to make sure I stay in the "fix-it" tag of Ao3. He is by far my comfort character in the show and someone needs to tell that man that he is loved.

Eddie Diaz: If I had to describe my type in two words it would be "Eddie Diaz." Holy fucking shit. (<- written by Buck.) But seriously, I've seen some stuff about how he's not the "best" latino representation because he does not have any specific cultural storylines ( I would love to see celebrations or other cultural things too, maybe for 8B and onward) but I for one feel represented plenty by his complicated relationship with expectations coming from his parents, partners (former or otherwise,) and himself.

Hen Wilson: GIVE THIS WOMAN A BREAK. I love her and it seems like she is always hurting when it comes to her family. Please give my queen a goddamn break. Some domestic bliss would do her kindly.

Maddie Buckley Han: When I say that I would die for her to be safe and happy, I mean it. The Buckley siblings have dealt with so much but Maddie, her storylines not only hit something compelling and dramatic but they are also too fucking real.

Christopher Diaz: I love him. Amazing. A fucking king. No Notes. Please come back to your dad(s).

Carla Price: LOVE THIS LOVELY HUMAN.

The Grant-Nash Fam: Harry and May are interesting characters and I really do love seeing them on screen, I understand why we see less of them though. Michael and David were lovely as well.

The Wilsons: Imma repeat what I said earlier, give them an episode where the biggest thing to happen is juice boxes getting left behind. They need a break. And give Karen more damn screen time that isn't just crying and fighting with Hen.

Josh Russo: the pre-Glee/ post Glee explanation was gold.

Captain Vincent Gerrard: Grumpy old man that needed a cozy job. Loved his "taking you under my wing" moment with Buck.

The Bigger Love Interests (Eddie):

Ana: I really liked her character, but saw how much anxiety was embedded into that relationship. She was never sure of her place and he was never sure he was ready.

Marisol: This felt weirdly rushed and like it happened mostly off screen. The nun thing was... catholic guilt intro I guess??

Shannon: Oof. The drama, the need for closure. I enjoyed having her on screen and I cried when she passed.

The Bigger Love Interests (Buck):

Abby: He was much more invested in the relationship and I think part of it was the circumstances but the way she left him was so damaging to his psyche. Not a fan.

Ali and Natalia: They did not leave a lasting impression on me. Though Natalia being interested in Buck because he died did raise some red flags.

Taylor: Listen... I love her fierce independence so much. But she did Buck so dirty. Trust issues and abandonment issues for Buck coming right back up.

Tommy: Narratively speaking, I tried to understand why he happened but I don't. His confusion at the beginning of the relationship just made me think that he just went along with what Buck thought he wanted. As a character, that man felt a bit one dimensional, and when he showed an ounce of personality it was always an interaction with Buck that made him feel lesser than. I feel blessed that man is off my screen.

The Writing/ The Plot:

At this point I am watching for the two idiots sharing a brain cell. But.. the disasters and plots are out of left field and really interesting. It takes a lot for a procedural type show to not fall into formulaic/ average 911 calls and I feel like at least one writer has a subreddit or something pinned to get ideas. I am far too invested in the 118 to leave now.

What do I ship at this point?

Buck and Eddie.

Athena and Bobby.

Maddie and Chim.

Hen and Karen.

Would I recommend this show?

Abso-fucking-lutely... if you enjoy some pain, I swear all these characters go through so much and the tissue boxes are not enough.

Thanks 9-1-1 for bringing me back to Tumblr.

And if anyone has headcanons, I would love to hear them!

[thewritingofspencerrose]

straight from the books | masterlist

It had started with her small comments from the moment they began their friendship at the age of sixteen.

The Hughes had just moved in next door, the two youngest Hughes having been sent on yet another run to the car for boxes when Jack had heard the first one.

"When I have a boyfriend, he's going to hold my hand Han. Not shy away from it like my dad does my mom."

The statement was sadder than he was sure she wanted to be heard by outside ears, but it was the first time he had heard those words.

When I have a boyfriend...

It was a week later when his mom decided fate wasn't on her children's side and that it was time for her and the neighbor she had befriended to unite their children.

He came to learn that the girl he'd heard on the phone was actually his age to the day, a fact the two bonded over while her older brother spent time with his, his younger being sat by her side as if she were his sibling instead.

A month later, he started to jot them down in his phone because "any guy that comes along is not going to know where to start if you never write anything down."

A year later? Jack realized that the idea of another guy being the one she checks against the ever-growing list made him angrier than any cross-check. She should be checking him against the list, he had decided.

Five years later, he still had not made a move on this realization, and the list that was once started as a joke was nearing an absurd amount of requirements.

"Jack, it's just impossible."

"It's not impossible, you just have a lot of requirements," Is the boy's carefully worded response, his head never turning to face me from where he stands at the pingpong table, brother Luke across from him in a battle that has managed to last half an hour.

"Having a lot of requirements is never a bad thing," the younger Hughes is the one to chime. "Isn't that what you've always told me?"

"It is, and I'm glad you've been paying attention Lu."

"How can I not when a beautiful woman offers to teach me the ways of beautiful women?" Is his cheeky response, taking just a second away from his game to wink dramatically.

It's sudden, and unexpected, that the ping pong ball hits Luke straight in the head, the sudden hit making the boy jump back, hand on his forehead as I can't help but laugh, spotting the bright red circle already forming.

"Sorry," Jack's voice calls, although rather than sounding apologetic, his voice is filed with pride, a slight smirk on his face that indicates it was less than an accident.

Luke grumbles something, face lighting a red color as he drops his paddle to the table. "Kay, it's your turn. I'm done being on the other end of this guys wrath. He's nicer to you," Are the youngers final words, taking off to hall and out of the game room.

"Do you want to play?" Jack's eyes are soft, a lot softer than when he was looking at his brother, and it brings me back to something his mom said to me over coffee the other morning.

"Oh don't be silly Kayla, Jack would hang the stars and the moon for you."

But that isn't normal for best friends is it?

But when have we ever simply acted like best friends?

"Sure, as long as you won't be too distracted by my mad game," It's banter, banter we've had since the start. But it's as I rise from the sofa where I had plopped myself earlier, simply in my swim suit from the day and an old Devils tee I stole off Jack his first year in the league, that everything about this room feels different for the first time in seven years.

Jack's response is a mumble, something I hardly hear other than "not that I" and "distracted", the indication of which launching my heart into over drive.

Why must this have been the morning that Ellen decided to mention how different Jack treats me? All through the day it has sat in the back of my head, analyzing every day since Ellen first said, "These are my sons Quinn, Jack and Luke. Your mom and I realized you and Jack have the same birthday, so we have a feeling you two will get along."

She had a smirk that day.

Sixteen year old me should have run.

"Hey, anyone in there?" Oh shit, I'm just standing here.

"Yeah, yeah, just was thinking back to breakfast with your mom," Is the reasoning I give, but his eyes are on me, and I'm finding a hard time continuing with anything closer to a lie.

His chuckle gives me hope that he'll further drop this conversation, but his head is shaking and hair swooping, "You and my mother need to spend less time together."

"Absolutely not! Ellen is my favorite Hughes and that should be well known by now," The comment one I've had to repeat through the years, now warranting a simple smile. "Let's just get this game going before I abandon you for your mother."

His brows rise, skepticism in every wrinkle of his face, "You could never, you love me too much," he's confident of this, of course he is. He is Jack Hughes after all. And I remember this as he starts our volley, bodies setting into a rhythm after years of this game.

But that doesn't change the fact I need to think of a come back.

"Well, as if you could really get rid of me if you tried." Nailed it.

"Who says I ever want to?"

I'm well aware that the ball goes zinging past me, landing somewhere on the floor nearby, but the only thing I can bring myself to care about right now is what has come out of this boys mouth.

"You never want to get rid of me?"

His eyebrows are up again, and a soft but knowing smile is lighting is lips as he leans forward against the pong table, muscles tightening in his upper arm. "I know you talked to my mom this morning."

I can't control the ways my eyes grow slightly, "I always talk to your mom."

"Kayla," Oh no, first name, "I know she pointed out how I feel about you. You don't have to pretend the conversation didn't happen. You've been weird all day."

"I haven't been weird, I've just been quiet. In my head, as some would say," I offer, not entirely admitting to anything.

Blame life on Ellen ✔️

"That's weird for you," He's sure of this as if it's written in stone. "You're a certified yapper, as you love to tell Quinn."

I can't take this. "Jack, please get where you're going. I feel like I do when your boys chirp me."

The smile is washed from his face, hands meeting his hair and running through it as he groans.

"I'm not trying to chirp you Kay, I'm trying to tell you I have feelings for you!" His voice is raised, but theres no aggression there. His eyes are sincere, more sincere than I've ever seen him.

And as a smile slowly comes to my face, his smile grows as well, larger than on his draft day as he starts to round the table.

"I need you to tell me if that's your 'I'm burning the world down' smile or your 'i adore you' smile you use on babies," Jack requests, hands hesitantly reaching for my hips, resting gently as his thumbs rub over the waist of my bottoms.

"I think we can consider this my Jack smile," I return, smiling up at the equally smiling man in front of me. "Have you never noticed? This smiles reserved for you."

"Can I keep it forever?"

"It's always been yours."

How did it take me 7 years to realize the man right in front of me checked every box?