#sorry i made the entire room glow to reflect the happiness inside me

[wordfather]

oh sorry. my magic is bound to my emotions and when you kissed me i accidentally made cute little magic fireworks go off in the room. sorry

#sorry i made the entire room glow to reflect the happiness inside me #i love magic

[luveline]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve harrington is your boyfriend now. your boyfriend. and having a boyfriend means doing lots of new things, like dinner dates and movies, cuddling on the couch and kissing — lots of kissing. but there’s one thing you guys haven’t done yet, and steve’s just asked you to spend the night. [17.3k words]

warnings SMUT 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff heavy, new established relationship, first time, an overload of intimacy and affection, p in v sex, pet names, steve being the most loving dork on the entire planet and r being equally infatuated, mentioned that r has stretch marks, proofread not perfect

this is a companion to have you seen her? you don’t have to read it to understand, but if you want to it’s here <3

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Inside a sea of flowers lies a girl. Her skin glows with colour, the reflection of pigments. Sunspots of darkest red buffeted by buttery orange, indigo stretching into magenta, whites; endless whites ranging from creamy ivory to the violet shine of snow in the nighttime.

It's as if the flowers themselves bloom over your skin. Steve blinks and everything settles, your skin returns to skin, the reflections fade from focus. You stretch your leg out absentmindedly and lean forward to follow the book resting against the top of your thigh, entirely distracted.

The room smells as bright and fresh as the florist's itself. The flowers he'd given you, more than he could ever name, permeate everything. Most remain in good condition two weeks later, where some wilt despite your dedicated care.

Your fingertips are pin-pricked by the thorns of a rose's stem, injuries sustained in the hours you've spent preening each bouquet. You bring one such fingertip to your lips and suck lightly for a moment like it'll draw the small pain from your skin.

He leans against the doorway and takes in your appearance indulgently. Plaid pyjama bottoms hug your thighs. Your socked feet wiggle along to the sounds of your Walkman, music loud enough that you've missed his entrance.

He doesn't want to scare you into flinching and ruin the content little bubble you're in but he's certainly not about to turn around and leave after waiting all day to see you, no matter how selfish it might be to disturb you. I'm only human, he thinks.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. You don't hear him.

Steve bends at the waist to unlace his shoes before stepping onto the plush carpeting of your room. He weaves between vases and skinny buckets, repurposed cookware and every mug you own, worried that one wrong move will domino your intricate arrangements and spill flowers everywhere.

You catch sight of him before he's made it to your side. You flinch as he suspected you would, only a small jump but a jump nonetheless.

Steve's face creases in sympathy as you pull off your headphones, orange foam padding around your neck. "I'm sorry," he says, expecting you to be at least a little peeved at his sneaking. "I knocked, I swear."

You abandon your book carelessly and are only slightly kinder to your Walkman as you tug the headphones from your neck.

"Steve," you say, smiling.

"That's me. Hey."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, white sheets rumpled in your wake as you scramble to your feet. Steve doesn't know who does what first but he opens his arms and you've opened yours and you fit into the circle of his embrace like you were made to.

"Sorry to scare you," he says.

You're not as confident as he is. Where Steve throws his arms over your shoulders, quick to press his mouth to the skin of your forehead, your hands draw tentative lines up his back.

To be touched so carefully is numbing in the best way. Steve wonders how his affection for you can continue to grow, more when you laugh half-breathless into his chest and look up, pinning him with your bright gaze.

"That's okay," you say, your happiness to see him palpable. It makes his chest hurt.

Steve puts some space between you to hold you at arm's length, one hand clasping your shoulder and the other following the curve of your neck.

He feels almost too happy to speak, like the words won't come out right. You seem to feel similarly, smiling wide, your lips pressed together tightly.

"I missed you," he says finally. Your reaction emboldens him; your eyes crease with pleasure and he has to duck down for a kiss.

Just one, pressed chastely to the skin left of your cupid's bow. You lift your chin in reaction, your hands searching up towards his shoulder blades.

"I missed you too," you say.

He decides to push his luck and kiss you properly. Your lips are warm under his and your cheek is aflame under his hand as he cradles your face.

"Haven't been lying out in the sun again, have you?" he asks as he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open.

"Huh? No, I've been reading inside all day."

"Good. You'll get sick, you sunbathe so much," he chides with no real heat.

He squeezes your face mildly and you steal another quick kiss. Steve would let you steal as many as you want to no matter the duration, but you stick to just one.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. You don't wait for an answer, skirting around him.

His hands miss your skin as soon as you're out of reach. He follows you to the kitchen like a lost dog hungry for scraps – scraps of your voice in the shadow of your exhale, any small flash of your skin, the back of your wrist as you pull open the refrigerator door. Steve situates himself by the sink so he can see your face. Your arms quickly grow heavy with fresh vegetables and a precarious china dish, a familiar carafe slipping in your fingers.

"Here," he mutters, reaching for the glass carafe with both hands.

"Thank you," you say, giggling. "Thought I was gonna drop it."

You set everything down on the clean counter. The sun kisses your skin where it shines golden-orange through the window. A bouquet of tulips sits in the sill, thin petals translucent and bright like the bulbs are made up of sweet maraschino cherries.

"I would've caught it."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Super fast reflexes. LaRusso style," he says, putting down your carafe. Fruit slices and rose petals bob on the water's surface.

"The Karate Kid?" you ask, pushing up your sleeves.

He smiles as you walk towards him. "Exactly. You like that movie?"

You turn on the faucet and wash your hands without looking, your eyes drawn to his face. "I loved that movie. I've only seen it twice, though. Once at the movies, once with Dustin."

"You watched it with Dustin?" he asks.

Your eyes flit between the sink and his face as you turn off the faucet and shake your wet hands over the basin. "Yeah, and his mom. She's really nice, you know?"

"She's a real treasure. It's her kid I'm not too sure about."

You laugh and he loves it, less when you flick your still-wet hands at him and pattern him in tap water.

"Stop, idiot," he protests, leaning away from you.

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather."

"Sure."

You grin over your shoulder and flounce to the counter where your wooden chopping board resides. He's desperate to be close to you but doesn't want to look it.

It's too early to show her how much of a total loser I am, he thinks, turning to the sink and washing his hands so he can help you make dinner and steal some closeness.

"Did you have a crush on him?" he asks.

"Dustin?" you ask, horrified.

Steve laughs and rubs the slippery bar of soap between his palms. "No, weirdo, Daniel LaRusso. The Karate Kid."

"Nah, Mister Miyagi was more my type."

Steve drops the bar of soap into the basin and struggles to pick it back up, only pausing in his panic when he hears your self-satisfied giggling. It's infectious.

"That's so sick. Dude was ninety years old," he says, rinsing the suds off.

"I'm kidding!"

You're still laughing to yourself when he joins you. You've already chopped the inedible tops off of three long carrots and peeled them. You start to cut them into uniform batons, your quick peeling and knife work both impressive and daunting to Steve, who's only just weaned himself off of a steady high school diet of TV dinners and chips.

He shakes his hands at you. Flecks of water hit you and shine on your skin like the fine mist of morning dew, a dampened flower. You smell like one, though Steve supposes that's inevitable when you're sleeping surrounded by a crush of petals every night.

"Can I help?" he asks.

You blow a raspberry. "I should kick you out."

He flicks more water at you and you hide your face in your shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek pulled cruelly.

"Don't hide."

"Stop flicking me."

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather," he says dryly.

Finely spritzed, you open your eyes just enough to see him through your lashes, smiling like you wish you weren't. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, mostly because they're dry enough now that any flickage is negligent, and because you're much too pretty to be hiding away. The sun has begun to set, its descent marked by a gaussian blur spreading across the countertops and cabinets, your arms blanketed in a glow. Steve finds your face practically dietific to begin with – the light makes you something else entirely.

He wants to say something too heartfelt, say, Fuck, you're so pretty.

He's not that brave.

"You want a drink?" he asks.

"Yes please. You know where the cups are?"

He grabs two glass cups from the cabinet othweise pillaged for makeshift vases to your left and you cut the celery, a small lull in conversation filled only by the crisp crunch of your preparations and the slosh of Steve's pouring. The flower petals have bled their pigments into the carafe's cold water and turned it a transparent vermillion, something so quietly inordinate that he can't not mention it.

"The water's purple, babe," he says.

"Huh?" you ask. You hold the cutting board aloft, your knife guiding chopped vegetables into a shiny metal colander.

"The water," he says, punctuating his claim with a sharp click as he puts your glass down in front of you.

You discard your knife distractedly. "Oh. It must've been the rose petals."

"Can we still drink it?"

"Sure we can. Rosewater is really good for you. Though I'm not sure if this counts as rosewater, actually, I think you have to steep the petals in hot water first."

You shrug your shoulders and bring your glass to your mouth.

Steve frowns. "Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. He doesn't want you to get sick, especially from flowers he brought you.

You get a crease between your eyebrows, lips pursed quizzically. "I'm sure. You worry too much, Stevie," you say.

It's like being struck. You've never called him that before.

The nickname had sounded easy as breathing for you to say and had felt easier, felt right, like you'd used it a hundred times before.

He laughs, says, "Fine, but if you turn purple don't say I didn't warn you," and proceeds to work himself into a poorly contained frenzy.

He takes the colander to the sink and washes the carrot and celery sticks more thoroughly than he needs to whilst he composes himself. He listens with ears made keen by his racing heart as you turn on the stove. The fan hums. There's a loud crackling as you peel back the aluminum foil covering a medium sized casserole dish.

"I forgot to ask you, you like buffalo wings, right?"

He turns off the faucet and almost misses your question, too busy thinking So she called you Stevie, are you twelve? Get a hold of yourself, you-

"What?"

"I can make something else, if you don't."

Steve shakes the colander to drain any excess water as he reassures you. "No, that's okay. That's perfect. I love wings, and I'll love them double if you're the one making them." After all, you make a mean BLT.

The oven door swings open and he turns in time to watch you bend at the waist and insert the dish of chicken wings, your eyes narrowed. Adorable.

You straighten up and dust your hands off, bumping the door closed with your hip. "Awesome. Here, let me-" You take the colander from his hand like you're going to whiz away and then evidently change your mind, stuttering to a jolting stop. "Thank you," you tell him earnestly.

"You're welcome. You did all the hard work," he says, caught off guard.

"Super hard work, cutting up some carrot sticks," you say, mock-agreeably.

Steve reaches out to pinch your side. "Just because you made it look easy doesn't mean it is. It would've taken me double the time to make something, and it would've been, like, a grease fest," he says. "You already made the chicken, too, so that's more hard work you're not thinking about."

"The chicken marinades itself," you admonish lightly. You step on toes to kiss the high point of his cheek. "But thank you."

You turn to tip your veggie sticks into a bowl with a quarter inch of water at the bottom. Steve prods your kiss mark unthinkingly, the skin tingling from a combination of your gifted kiss and the affectionate tone you'd used.

"I got all kinds of dip. Hummus, artichoke and spinach, tahini, ranch. Do you like those?" you ask hopefully.

If he didn't he'd try and find a way. "Who doesn't like ranch?"

"I'll make fries too, okay?"

He really, really likes you.

-

Steve still looks kind of silly eating at your small kitchen table. You're in the seat that's crammed against the refrigerator and he's in the opposite. You're so close that your calves keep touching, often enough that you both forgo apologies in favour of sending the other a small smile. Less of an 'I'm sorry,' and more of a 'We touched again,' a confirmation that he's real and you're real and you're eating a home cooked meal that you made together.

He's so handsome, so ridiculously lovely, and the food is good but not good enough to keep your attention. Not when Steve takes a sip of water and his arm moves, the muscle beneath his skin shifts, pulls taut, and his shirt tightens around his bicep and you're just as hopeless as you were the very first time you'd invited him in.

He's saying something and it must be pretty funny because he's laughing, a chesty, giggling thing that sounds boyishly happy, like he just can't help it. You're not sure what he's laughing at but it's enough to set you off, infectious as it is.

"So Robin's in the back pretending to search for this movie that doesn't exist, and I'm thinking, shit, maybe I should call the police. Because he's got both hands in his pockets and, whaddya know, one pocket is like bulging out."

"Steve?" you ask, trying to sound forceful, befuddled that he's laughing at all. "Someone came into the store with a gun?"

His laugh peters off. "No," he says reassuringly. "Klondike bar."

He chews through a big mouthful of celery and you dissolve into giggles.

Cleaning up with Steve ends up being just as fun as cooking. He stands at your side with a hand towel wiping off dishes as you wash them, hip to hip.

"I can wash them," he says.

"That's okay."

You pass him a wet plate. He wipes it dry and sets it to the side. It could only be five minutes of this before you're done. Weirdly, you wish it had taken a little longer.

It's nice to spend time with him.

"I was thinking you could come over to my place tomorrow, if you wanted to."

Your heart flutters and you're hit with the realisation that you might get to do dishes with him tomorrow, and again, that today isn't a one off. That Steve likes you enough to kiss you and buy you flowers and invite you over.

"I've never been to your house," you say.

"I know. It's supposed to be really hot out tomorrow until seven. I thought you could sunbathe for an hour and I could keep an eye on you, you know. We can get takeout, listen to music," he continues, his voice soft, a melodic cadence to his suggestions.

Why is he trying to sell you on it? You hand him the last plate and twist, holding your dripping hands in the basin.

"I'd love to," you say, smiling. "Though I resent the idea that I need to be supervised."

"I just don't want all those brains to turn to mush." He puts the plate down on top of the others and reaches for your hands without saying anything, eyes on your face as he dries off your fingers gently. "Though you were super adorable when you had heat stroke. All clingy and giggly," he teases.

"Heat exhaustion," you correct. You feel like there's water in your ears.

"Mh-hm."

When your hands are to his satisfaction he swings the towel over his shoulder and takes them into his own, your fingers hooked gently over his. He rubs the fingernail of your index finger and then moves up, smoothing a path over your knuckles. He arrives at your pinky finger and wraps his index finger around it, massaging the length of it with the pad of his thumb.

"Are they still hurting?" he asks, hushed.

"A little bit. Not really, though. It's like after a splinter."

He holds your hand open, palm bared, his thumb pressed to the bottom of your last three fingers as he bends to look at your fingertips. Every touch, every detail, every movement he makes feels urgent to you, your heart racing fast as a mouse's.

"Poor girl," he mumbles to himself. He looks up and sees what must look similar to panic on your face. "Are you sure they're not hurting you? They look sore."

You're gonna say Yes, I'm sure, but he straightens up and brings your hand to his lips before you can muster the strength. He kisses your smattering of tiny injuries and grins when he's done, your entire body awash with a dizzying pleasure.

His hair is falling in his face. You take your kiss-warmed hand from his grip to tuck the longer strands behind his ear. Your heartbeat plays loud. You worry he can hear it.

You stall with your index finger shaking over his skin. Steve covers your hand with his, the look in his eyes unreadable, and you know he's going to kiss you.

You shut your eyes. His breath warms your lips as he closes in, his nose sliding against yours slowly. Your anticipation is a hand closing around your throat, at first a welcome touch and then dizzying breathlessness, an aching for the brush of his lips. He squeezes your hand where it cradles his cheek.

"Breathe," he whispers in bemusement. "Breathe, baby."

You suck in a breath and lift your chin as Steve knocks your nose with his and crosses the distance, his lips parted just slightly. Your head moves back under his kiss, your eyes screwed too tight. Steve takes your hand from his face and guides it over the slope of his shoulder until you're cupping his neck, his fingertips trailing down the length of your arm and moving under, palm to your shoulder blade. He pulls you in, makes the softest little sound against your lips that tickles madly and has a warmth like the setting sun filling your chest.

He kisses slow and sweet, his lips a softness against yours. You can feel as he starts to smile, as he takes your face into his hand, almost pulling at your skin in efforts to be impossibly nearer.

He laughs first, a huff that fans over your twin smile. You can't help but join in as you search up, ardent and excited, laughing into his open mouth until every kiss is a struggle.

"Y/N," he says. It doesn't even sound like your name. He could've said babe or baby or sweetheart and it would've burned the same.

"Do you have to go home?" you ask knowingly, reluctantly opening your eyes.

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

It's getting late, a warm Thursday evening becoming night. The street lamps outside burn yellow-white in the darkening sky and the flowers on the sill have lost their shine. Steve is the brightest thing in the room.

He checks his watch and frowns. "I probably should."

"But I'll see you tomorrow?" you check.

"Did you wanna stay the night? I'm not working Saturday."

You have the first thought that most girls your age might have at a new love asking that question: sex. For a moment, a split second of a moment, Did you wanna stay the night? becomes Do you wanna have sex with me?

You give him a guilty smile and he mistakes it for something else. He says, "You don't have to, I can drive you home. And uh, you know, I would…" You bring your hand back to his face. "We wouldn't do anything you don't wanna do."

"I know," you say quickly. "Yeah, I wanna stay the night." Which is scary to admit. Scary to want.

Whether anything happens or it doesn't, you want to go.

You walk Steve out and he kisses you goodnight chastely. You watch him all the way to his car and wave as he drives away, standing in the doorway until his tail lights are a mere suggestion of white in the distance, small and bright as a pearly star.

-

Robin shrieks as her chair reclines back as far as it can. "Shit, why does it go back this far?"

Steve is more than tired from a full day of work and while he loves Robin to the point of dying for her, he can't handle stupid questions. His short fuse is further shortened by missing you, and he groans.

"You fucking reclined it all the way?"

Steve watches in the rear view as she raises her eyebrows and hugs herself with both arms. "It went down too easy, is all I'm saying."

"That's all?" he asks.

He knows exactly what she's implying and he refuses to feed into it, even when she hums to herself happily. Her happiness lasts for only a few seconds before she's springing up and giving herself whiplash.

"You haven't actually fucked in this seat, right?"

"Christ, Robin."

Her nose wrinkles. "Have you?"

"No! No, I haven't done anything in here… in a while. And me and Y/N haven't-" He bites his tongue.

"You haven't?" she asks. There's no teasing to be detected in her voice, only curiosity.

He keeps his eyes on the road but his thoughts travel elsewhere. You're so close he convinces himself for a second that he can smell your sweet floral scent, a hundred different flowers clinging to your skin. He lets himself sink further, imagining the feeling of your cheek under his hand and the softness of your skin and fine hairs, the shape of your eyes as he leans in.

"Loverboy?" Robin asks expectantly.

Steve clears his throat. "What?"

"Ew, you're being disgusting."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to," she says, and then laughs. "In deep, huh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! I'm serious, you like her. And it's nice," she draws the word out hesitantly, "to see you happy. I guess. After I broke your heart, and all."

He doesn't blush like he might have before. Steve had liked Robin, a lot, and it was easy to understand why: she's the first real friend he's ever had. He's more than over his crush now, platonic (with a capital 'P') suits them well.

"Thanks, Robs," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"You're welcome." She whistles. "So, you haven't fucked?"

Steve turns his face. "Don't you think that's, like, a private thing?"

"I'm your best friend."

"Y/N is an entire other person who isn't your best friend."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody."

Steve knows that. He sighs to himself, conflicted. He doesn't wanna kiss and tell but he does need advice. "She's staying over tonight."

"Ah, huzzah!" Robin cheers. Steve worries his eyes might get stuck inside his head from all the rolling. "And you're gonna…"

He chews his lip. "I don't think so. I think I scared the shit out of her when I asked her to spend the night."

"I doubt that, she still said yes. But, you know. Not all of us lose our V-card when we're in junior year."

He hadn't even thought about that. "Shit. Having a girlfriend is terrifying."

Robin laughs and throws the seat back up. "If she's scared, it might not even be about hooking up. You've been together for, what, a week?"

"Two weeks today."

Robin nods thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Forget about sex and everything and just have fun."

"I'm not a nympho." He isn't. He doesn't care if you want to hook up or not (though care might be indelicate – he won't lie and say he hasn't thought about it).

"I know. I'm just saying, there's no point worrying about if you will or won't."

He takes the turn onto Robin's street. Her house comes into view, and he suddenly realises, "I wasn't worried until you brought it up!"

"Then forget I said anything!" she shouts back, laughing.

Steve laughs too as he pulls up at the curb outside of Robin's house.

"It's fine," he says decidedly. He's still worrying about it because if you do want to hook up he's not exactly in practice right now, but underneath it is that building anticipation, an excitement. "Fuck, she's so fucking pretty, Robin."

"Sure is, idiot," Robin agrees, unbuckling and kicking open the door. "Wear a rubber or your kids will be pretty, too."

She closes the door with a smug smile.

"You're awful!" he calls at her retreating figure. She waves over her shoulder and doesn't look back.

Steve drops his head into the wheel and startles himself when it beeps.

By the time he's pulling up outside of his house he's forgotten all his sex-related nerves, any anxiety occluded by a want to see you. He rushes to clean up the huge mess he's made over the week in the kitchen and the smaller mess in the living room, soda cans and take out and all the gross things he'd rather die than have you see.

He throws open every window and heads out to the back yard to make sure the pool is actually swimmable. The sun is high but falling. The day's most punishing heat is over. Perfectly safe for sunbathing.

He doesn't have anything fancy but he fills a jug with water and tops it with badly cut orange slices to cool in the fridge while he waits for you.

Steve stretches, smells himself, realises he smells like sweat and checks his watch in alarm. Your visit is fast approaching but if he does it quickly he can shower before you get here.

He's not right. He's still in the shower when you knock the door. Steve almost kills himself as he scrambles over wet tiles. He's still basically soaking as he drags his clean clothes on, hair sopping and quickly saturating the neck of his shirt.

You smile when he opens the door, though your smile quickly fades. "I'm sorry, were you showering? I know I'm early, I just wanted to see you."

You look like you always do – pretty, so pretty, your hair a little messy, your shirt crinkled at the bottom, the slit in your skirt showing a tantalising stripe of your thigh. A breezy, thin outfit for the hot weather.

Steve couldn't say why but he needs to kiss you badly. He takes your shoulder into his hand to hold you in place and kisses the corner of your smile, your cheek, the small stripe under your earlobe. He lingers there for longer than the others, feeling the ever-present heat of your skin beneath his lips. He presses a second kiss over the first and then pulls away.

"Don't be sorry," he says. He pats your face. "I'm glad you're early. I wanted to see you more, I swear."

"You make everything a competition," you grumble, though your eyes evidence your bliss.

Steve leads you into the living room and you drop your backpack onto the couch. The sight of it makes him fawn, because you really are staying the night and you look cute and you'd wanted to see him. It's enough to make him ecstatic. It likely shows on his face.

You turn on your heels, taking it all in. "You have a really nice house, Steve."

"I'd say thank you, but it's all my parents'."

"Where are they?" you ask.

Where are they usually? He doesn't really know. "Chicago, I think? My dad's on business and mom always goes with him, so…"

You turn your eyes from the open patio door and back to Steve where he stands in the middle of the room towel drying his hair. "Lucky me, I get you all to myself," you murmur.

"Do you wanna take your shoes off?" he asks. "There's water in the fridge. Are you hungry?"

You peek up at home where you've bent down to unstrap your sandals and smile. "I'm good, Stevie," you say softly.

When you've stepped out of both sandals you hold them by the straps and they dangle from your hand, swaying with your steps as you walk towards him.

You look up at him and tilt your head to one side. Always charming, Steve's fondness for sky rockets.

"Are you okay?" you ask, a murmur, raising your hand to his bicep. Your fingers slip under his sleeve. "You seem frazzled. Long day?"

It felt endless, knowing that you'd be waiting for him.

"I'm fine. I'm good. I'm great, actually. Got a whole night with my girl."

"And tomorrow, too," you say, sounding as happy as he feels.

"What are we gonna do with it all?" he says teasingly.

Again, a flash of that nervous smile. He hadn't meant to insinuate anything at all. He's about to clarify when you bring your hand to his collar and kiss him.

Steve really likes your hands, he's fascinated by them, the way you move them and the way they feel, their tentative but tender touch as you feel along the ridge of his collar bone. You come to a stuttering pause as he kisses you harder, the wet of your tongue addictive as he opens you up.

He takes your face into both hands and pushes your face to one side so he can move in closer, thumbs careless where they press into your cheeks. You taste like something sweet and the sound you make is sweeter as he dedicates himself to your top lip, a quivering breath as he slows.

He tries not to feel smug at the lost glaze in your eyes when they blink open.

Your bottom lip shines. He wipes it clean with his thumb. "You wanna go sunbathe now?" he asks mildly.

You nod like he thought you would, slow, but then there's a sudden clarity on your face. "I brought you something."

You move out of his reach and he follows. You're only stepping towards the couch where your backpack rests, unzipping it and in no rush as you pull your pajamas out and lay them on the cushion. He tries very hard to pretend he hasn't noticed your underwear, a pair of pink lacy panties, but he thinks maybe you can tell as you turn to him with a tupperware of cookies in your hands.

"More flower shortbread?" he asks happily. "You spoil me."

"I think you're someone who deserves to be spoiled."

Steve's mouth goes dry. He holds his hands out for the tupperware and hugs it to his chest, throwing a hand around your shoulders to tug you close. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome."

He takes your hand and pulls you out into the backyard. You beam, your head tilting back to take in the warmth of the fading sun.

Steve drags two sun loungers close together and you waste no time in stretching out on one.

You bloom.

There's no other word for it. You unfurl like the petals on your beloved flowers. Your body relaxes completely. Steve reaches across the gap to take your hand again and they hang between your languid bodies.

You're smiling as you balance your red shiny Walkman across your chest and click play, adjusting the volume until the feminine scratch of Cyndi Lauper echoes over the concrete space of his backyard. You close your eyes soon after, and Steve knows he might not get as much conversation out of you as he craves but it's worth it to see you like this, to hold your hand.

He struggles to open your tupperware with one hand but doesn't consider letting you go, eyebrows furrowing at the stubborn lid.

When it clicks it's loud and he inhales fast, worried the entire thing is gonna topple off of his chest and your perfect shortbread biscuits will be destroyed. Flower petals adorn the top. Steve picks them off while you're not looking – they're beautiful, of course, and don't taste like much, but the texture is super weird.

"How was work?" you ask.

He takes a big bite of shortbread. "It was fine. I mean, it was fucking boring as hell. We watched Back to the Future again."

"I've never seen that movie."

"Never?"

"No. Is it good?"

He squeezes your fingers and pushes the rest of the shortbread into his mouth. It's not too sweet. You've dusted the tops with fine sugar that melts in his mouth and the crumbly texture is awesome, better than any store bought cookies he's ever tried.

He swallows and lets his head fall back, greedy enough to pick up a second one. "Wanna hear a story?"

You turn your head towards him and your eyes crack open. "A good one?"

"Depends on your politics."

You close your eyes. "Tell me."

"The first time I saw Back to the Future was at the Starcourt mall with Robin. We were high out of our minds, total whitey's. And I had a concussion, so I was… worse."

Your eyes open fast. Your one shoulder lifts, like you might have to protect him from something. "What?" you ask, frowning.

He pulls your hand towards him, a tug, not to come closer but more in an everything is okay, kind of way.

"It's fine. Anyways, we laughed our asses off and left before the end. The first time we watched it sober I thought it was the wrong movie."

"Why did you have a concussion?"

He shakes the tupperware at you until you take one. Only when you've bitten into it does he answer, though he's not entirely truthful, "It was like, you know how there was a fire?" he asks. You nod. "Well, everything in starcourt was fucking janky, and we went down this one elevator shaft and- concussion." He explains without explaining. He doesn't lie.

No way is he ready to tell you about all the weird shit he's had to deal with. Not yet. He doesn't wanna scare you off or scare you at all, and the upside down shit is fucking terrifying.

You take his explanation without any suspicion and he feels a little guilty.

"You should get workers comp," you say, brows pinched.

He chuckles and rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. Being cared about like this is so weird, he thinks. How mad and worried you are over something that happened before you knew him makes him feel hot, something electric and melting on top of his chest.

"You wanna be my lawyer?" he asks, grinning.

You reach for another shortbread. "I wouldn't know the first thing about it."

"You'd look cute in a suit, though."

"Shush," you mumble. You roll your thumb over your shortbread until the flower petals fall off. "They're so pretty but they feel so weird. Maybe I shouldn't put them on there."

He looks at the scattered flower petals on the floor to his left where you can't see them. "Nah, I like 'em."

You glow. "If you like them I guess I'll leave them on there."

"That's generous. You'd never be a good lawyer."

"Lawyers can be generous! They do stuff for free, right? Pro-bono. Like that one movie last year, with the guy who kills his wife, but he doesn't kill his wife, but he totally does, um…"

"Jagged Edge."

"Jagged Edge! Exactly."

"Was she pro bono?" he asks sceptically.

"Maybe not," you say, and laugh. "That movie sucked."

"Better than Back to the Future."

You choke on a laugh and pull your hand out of his to dust yourself off. He misses your touch but doesn't complain, clicking the lid back onto your tupperware and hiding them under the lounger from the heat. The sunshine is amazing, not too suffocating but definitely warm enough to melt him into jelly. He'd been a little worried about wearing shorts rather than jeans but you hadn't mentioned anything.

He combs his hair out of his face and wonders if it looks awful. It probably does. Only the strands closest to his neck feel chilly with damp, half dried by the sunshine.

"Steve," you say shyly.

He turns back to you and you're sitting up, one leg off the lounger.

"What?"

"Can I… you don't mind if I take off my shirt, do you?" you ask.

He's quick to assure you. "No way, beautiful. Throw it off."

You huff a laugh and cross your arms. Steve's fascinated by the way you take off your shirt, how you've dragged the front over your face where he would've grabbed the back and pulled indelicately. Your back arches and your chest moves up as it comes off.

You're wearing some sort of animal print bikini top underneath, a cheetah or a panther or something. Steve watches the curves of your breasts rise as you breathe in and then snaps his gaze to your face, guilty. You aren't looking at him, busy fiddling with the Walkman in your lap.

"Do you have anything you wanna listen to?" you ask him offhandedly. "I brought this and A Night at the Opera, but if there's something else you wanted to-"

"Night at the Opera?"

"Queen?" you ask.

"Like Hammer to Fall?" he asks.

You turn to face him entirely, skirt ruffled by a gentle breeze. "That's their new one. Night at The Opera is from, like, '76? '75? It has that really long one. And there was," you start giggling, your words all jumpy and honeyed, "there's one called 'I'm in Love with my Car.'"

"Sounds like an album for me. I'll go get it."

You spring up, something he can't read on your face. You look fucking insane shirtless, all soft and shiny, the lightest sheen of sweat illuminating the hills and dips, the slope of your shoulder, the lengths of your arms. "No, I'll do it. I'll get the water at the same time."

He watches you pass back into the house from over his shoulder. "It's in the fridge!" he calls.

"I guessed!"

He wonders for a second why you'd sounded nervous before remembering your underwear. His cheeks go a similar colour as he tries not to think about it, only he can't not think about it. They had not constituted a great deal of fabric, and then he's wondering how much the current ones are made up of and feeling guilty for that too.

She's my girlfriend, he thinks. I can think about these things. Not, like, obsessively. But in passing. God, she's fucking beautiful. He descends into a panicked reasoning.

Steve scrubs his face with his hand and looks out over the pool. It's been a while since they used it. He can't say he wants to use it after last time, and he definitely wouldn't consider any night time swimming but if you want to splash around in there in the daylight hours he's not gonna stop you.

You flounce back onto the patio with the cold jug in your hands and two glasses hugged to your chest, the cassette in the other. "Here, Stevie, can you-"

"Yeah." He stands up. He takes the cassette and jug from you and you manoeuvre the glasses into your hands. "Swap?" he asks.

You swap one glass for the cassette and the two of you sit down in tandem. Steve pours water for you both as you take Cyndi Lauper out, the cold a blessing. He holds his glass to his face and sighs.

"It's still hot even though it's late," you say knowingly.

"Endless Indiana summer." You're struggling with the cassette, your lips puckered in confusion. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I think I jammed it."

He watches you struggle with the lip that doesn't wanna open. "Pass it over?" he offers.

You pass it as soon as he asks, moving to sit by his side. He's very gentle with the small machine that you've once or twice affectionately monikered your 'baby'. He doesn't know a lot about tech and doesn't know why he offered. It had felt automatic. You had a problem and he just wanted to fix it.

The button that usually opens the door is pressed down, but the door is closed. He digs his fingernail under the button and pulls it up until it pops back into place and tests the play button.

The cassette starts to spin.

"Sticky button," he says easily.

Your thigh presses into his. "You're a genius, Harrington."

"That's Steve to you, babe."

You laugh and shift ever closer, until your arm is pressed to his arm, both perspiring lightly and too warm to really be touching like this. He should pull away, or you should. One of you should.

"Whatever you say…Harrington," you murmur through the corner of your mouth, smiling so nicely that he can't be bothered to argue.

He tucks his hand between your arm and your naked chest and pulls it toward him. You drop your head against his shoulder and turn the Walkman in your hand.

"How's your brain? Jello?" he asks lightly, flexing his fingers against the crook of your elbow and resting his head on top of yours carefully

"Jello pudding pops," you say wistfully. "You remember those? I haven't had one of those in years. Think they still make 'em?"

Your question is out of the blue. Enough to worry him some more.

He brings the arm furthest from you to your head and brushes his pinky finger up from your eyebrows to your hairline. "You feel warm."

"I'm perfectly fine, nelly."

"I'm allowed to be nervous. You were kind of out of it last time."

"We've barely been out here for thirty minutes," you argue with barely any heat.

His hand smooths down to your neck and then back up. He pulls your cheek back with his thumb and then drops his hand. "Just tell me if you feel sick, okay?"

"I promise I'm fine."

"Jeez," he groans, his lips barely parted. A fond annoyance. "Think a guy was asking the world."

You let your weight lean on him, the hand of the arm he's hugging moving around his back until you've found his side. You move it up and down sluggishly.

Like this, Steve has a perfect view of your lovely shoulder. One hidden behind, the other bared.

"You're beautiful," he says.

You tense up and he hates it, bringing his hand to your coveted shoulder. He rubs a line up the soft slope, the curve of your neck and then down again until you've relaxed.

"You… can't even see my face," you murmur. Your breath is a small hot patch into his sleeve.

"I don't need to see your face," he says, feigning a frustration he doesn't feel. "Think I haven't stared at you enough to know? And I was talking about your shoulders."

You laugh and drag your face up. "My shoulders?"

"Well I can only see one. But I assume the second is just as nice."

"You're weird," you say.

There's a certain weakness to it. He thinks maybe you need to hear him say it again. He doesn't hesitate.

"You have nice shoulders."

You shake your head almost imperceptibly. Steve takes the player from your lap and turns it down by half, putting it on the floor with the water jug.

Your legs poke into his as he encourages you towards him.

"Come on," he says, "I don't bite, babe. 'Less you ask me to."

"You'd like that, you sicko."

He laughs and really bundles you up, a too warm hug where your face presses to his shoulder and his hovers above yours. He squeezes and drags his hand down your arm, rough but not cruel.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Shh, I'm busy."

You've wrapped your arms around his waist loosely. Steve tugs your thigh over his until your legs are overlapped, as close as you can be while sitting side by side like this. He'd pull you completely into his lap if he thought you'd let him.

He can feel your smile.

His hand soothes a kinder path over your arm before he gives in. Shyly at first, Steve drops his mouth to your shoulder and leaves it there, barely a kiss.

Don't be a loser, he thinks.

Cautious but sincere kisses. He drops them in a uniform line down your arm, your sunned skin hot under his lips. Kisses not meant to be anything but kisses, little worships, a scattering of affection. Indiscriminately. His mouth passes over blemishes, beauty marks, the fine hairs at the top of your arm. You curl tighter around his waist.

He kisses back up the hill of your shoulder and his lips part. He sucks very, very gently, kissing the same spot until he's adorned your skin with shiny crescent moons. He doesn't know how long he kisses you for. He doesn't want to stop, or pause, or do anything but this.

His hands have moved to your back. One toys with the tie of your bikini top unthinkingly, the other rubbing your shoulder. You're limp in his arms.

He rubs his nose against your shoulder for long, quiet minutes. Perfumed by a thousand flowers and yet you still smell like yourself underneath it, your skin an indescribable scent and secret, something he selfishly doesn't ever want to share. Steve can't make himself move from you and you don't seem inclined either.

He groans. "Alright, you hungry?" he asks.

Your fingers stretch across his back. "Maybe."

"I'll call Mazzio's. What do you want?"

"Anything."

Steve pulls back to give you a fierce look. "Just tell me. I gotta know your favourite toppings. S'like, a boyfriend thing."

"A boyfriend thing?" you repeat, smiling wide.

You tell him what you like and he squeezes your shoulder, disappearing into the house to call the pizza place. When he returns you've laid out in his lounger, your eyes closed like you're sleeping. The worst of the heat has fallen away and cloud cover threatens to give you the chills.

"Come inside?" he asks from the doorway.

"No… come and give me another hug. It was nice."

"I bet it was," he mutters, a feigned irritation that's completely overturned by how quickly he does what you tell him to.

The lounger isn't big enough for both of you. Steve's already laughing as he climbs on top of you, careful but not really as he crushes the fabric of your skirt with his knees and thighs and wraps his arms tightly around your neck, rubbing your foreheads together roughly.

"This what you meant?" he asks through a grin.

"No."

-

Steve's bed smells of him unequivocally. You're trying to withhold from lying down and sniffing, wondering curiously if that's something you're 1) allowed to do, and 2) supposed to want to do. Is it odd to like the way he smells as much as you do? That familiar bergamot, the almost smokey undertone of lavender, cedar. It makes you feel doped up. Your happiness has you heavy-limbed.

"You head up, okay? I'm just gonna lock the door," he'd said.

So here you are, backpack at your feet. After greasy takeout and an entire movie holding hands you think you're probably as content as it's possible to be in this body and in this life.

You hear Steve's footsteps up the stairs and lie down flat against his pillows, turning your face to sniff indulgently, the fabric cold under your cheek.

He walks in and he's all rumpled clothes and smiles, his hair in total disarray like you've never seen. As soon as he's crossed the threshold he's pulling off his polo and you think Oh fuck, that was quicker than I imagined this happening. Your heart feels fit to explode but he's barely looking at you, his sights set on the huge oak dresser at the end of the room.

You watch his arms as he walks past, your heart a hummingbird as Steve says, "Did you pick a movie?"

You gawp at what you can see of his naked chest, the side of a pec. You've never seen him undressed like this. Your distraction leaves you quiet, and Steve turns to you with a soft looking t-shirt in hand.

"Baby?"

"I didn't," you say, your voice scratchy. "Uh, sorry. I just laid down and…forgot."

He bends forward a little before he puts the shirt on and his entire chest moves. You can't help but look at it. Steve has… Steve has pecs. Pillowy-

"Y/N?"

"Sorry," you say, blinking hard.

"Are you tired or something?" He turns back to the dresser and opens a different drawer and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. "Don't look," he says teasingly.

You avert your eyes.

"Do you wanna change?" he asks when he's done, leaning back against the dresser with his arms crossed.

You don't know what Steve wants, if he wants to hook up or if he doesn't, and you don't mind either way. (A bad lie – you really, really want to.) (But it's cool if he doesn't want to.)

You won't be upset if he doesn't make a move, but if he does you'd prefer to be less sweaty.

"Can I shower? Not to wash my hair, just…"

"Sure you can."

Steve holds out his hand and you take it, grabbing your backpack as he pulls you off of the bed and into the bathroom. He drops your hand as fast as he'd taken it to open the cabinet under the sink. "Listen, the shower doesn't work. Well, it does, but the hot water only gets lukewarm and I don't know how to fix it. But the bath works fine. Uh…" He pulls a basket of girly toiletries out. "You can use whatever you want, my stuff or my mom's, whatever."

You stand by the tub. "She won't mind?"

"It's fine. I'll have to get you stuff next time you stay over." He moves you to the side with his hand on your hip and you look up as he moves down, turning the faucet. He holds his hand under the stream and messes with the temperature until he's satisfied. "Sorry. I should've thought about all of this before I asked you to spend the night."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I didn't think about any of that stuff either. It's like I said, I- I just wanted to see you. Wasn't thinking about shower gel."

You laugh awkwardly. It ebbs when he grabs your shoulder and gives you a little shake. "Half as much as I wanted to see you."

He ends the shake with a good rub of his thumb.

"Want me to get in with you?" he asks with a smirk.

You laugh and start shoving at his chest playfully. "Get out," you whine.

He puts his hands up in surrender and you close the door between you, unsurprised when his voice rings out against it. "You come here often?" he asks.

"Do you?" you ask. Your voice sounds loud.

You strip off your clothes and your bikini top and slip into the water.

"Every morning for the last twenty years."

"What do you recommend?"

"The three in one."

You gawp and giggle, horrified at his suggestion. You know he's lying, his hair's too nice to use something like that. There's a few seconds of silence where you shudder at the new heat and rub yourself down.

"Which shower gel is yours?" you ask, looking between bottles unsure.

"Just use whatever you want. What movie d'you wanna watch?"

"Can't you choose?" you ask, bringing each gel to your nose until you find the one that smells like him. You lather the soap between your palms and run it over your body.

"I picked the last one."

"And you're good at it!" You reason, laughing loudly at your own joke. Steve's reluctant chuckles echo from the other side of the door.

You go to ask, Why are you still standing there, dork? But you're afraid that asking will make him move, and you like him too much to want that to happen.

"You were half asleep, how do you know it was good?"

"You were rubbing my hand!" you argue.

"You liked that?" he asks. His tone is honest.

You cup water in both hands to wash off your shoulders. You don't want to answer and give yourself away. Of course you'd fucking liked it, is he kidding? Boys. No, you think, not boys. Steve.

And after the stunt he'd pulled in the back yard, too. The nerve.

Warm water laps at your naked stomach. You think about his lips running over your shoulder and how tenderly he'd held you. Suddenly the water feels scorching, and you climb out over the lip as Steve says, "How much longer?"

"Stop stalking me."

"You're taking forever."

It's barely been five minutes. You go dizzy with pleasure at the idea that he might miss you so badly, the implication that he likes you that much.

You wrap a towel around yourself and squat down to sort through the contents of your bag for your pajamas and underwear.

"I'm getting dressed," you inform him, putting your clothes on the counter so you can dry off.

"I've never been any good at that," he says.

You pull your underwear over damp thighs and laugh under your breath so he can't hear it and get spurred on. "At getting dressed?"

"Right. Just awful. You should see me in the mornings, it's like, what limb does this go on?"

You stop scrubbing the towel over yourself to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm trying. You're dodging the punchline."

"Wouldn't you want me to teach you how to take them off, rather than on?"

"How presumptuous!" You can hear his smirk.

"What was the punchline?" you ask, eager to draw the attention back to his bad joke rather than your suggestion.

You pull your shirt over your head and step into your pyjamas pants, tying the strings into a neat bow.

"Well, because you're so ridiculously nice I thought you'd offer to teach me how to do it, and then I'd get to say something like, 'Baby, I'm a visual learner.'"

"That's awful," you mumble, bent at the waist as you hop into your socks.

He hears it anyways. "Say it to my face."

You look yourself over in the mirror. Fresh faced, shirt sticking to your damp chest, pajama trousers high on your hips. You tug your shirt over the waistband. An entirely normal outfit for a normal night.

You open the door and Steve falls onto his back into the bathroom, looking up as you look down. He must've been sitting with his legs hiked, too much weight on the door to fall in readily. You laugh guiltily.

"Are you okay?"

He blinks. His eyes look impossibly wide.

"Steve?" You tilt your head to the side.

"You look killer," he says.

You mime like a slasher over his prone body and try to do the sound effects. Steve giggles and you decide it's your new favourite sound. He covers his face with his hands, one shoulder lifting from the floor with the force of it. You've never heard him laugh like this, all high pitched and gasping.

You can't decide whether you want to kneel down and kiss him or kneel down and pretend to stab him to death. You think the latter will make him laugh some more and you'll do anything for that next hit, falling to your knees with a threatening hand poised above you.

When Steve laughs really hard his mouth opens in a big smile, all his top teeth on display and shining.

You drop your hand to his chest, having lost all steam. The need to tell him how handsome he is, pretty, lovely, beautiful, all of it, is maddeningly high. You don't want to ruin the moment and you won't, spreading your palm flat over his chest and leaning down.

"I'm gonna kill you," you murmur, lips barely parted as you look between both of his eyes, memorising their flush of dark lashes. You drag your hand down his torso. "Why are you laughing?"

"I mean, if I'm gonna die-" He blows a big puff of air up his face and his hair moves like sea grass. "I'm okay with it being you who kills me."

"You'd let me kill you, baby?" you ask, still quiet, bemused and endeared and on the precipice of something big.

"I'd let you do a lot worse," he says.

You brush the hair out of his face. "I don't wanna do any of that stuff."

"Good. I was getting nervous. Here, give me-" he lifts up off of the ground to kiss you once. A chaste peck that leaves you a smiling mess.

You climb off of him before he has to ask and put your hand out to help him up. He takes it but doesn't need it, surprisingly lithe as he stands and pushes you back into his room. You laugh when he encourages you none too gently into his bed again. He flips on the TV, swaps the VHS out for one you can't see and then joins you at the top, lying down with a suffering sigh.

He stretches and groans. You ogle him.

"What's the movie?"

"Don't laugh?" he asks.

"No, I won't."

He shifts so you're two halves of a heart curved towards each other. "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." You nibble the inside of your lip. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"Am I laughing, Steve?"

"Just about," he grumbles.

You don't know why but it feels more than natural to curl up towards him. Any insecurity is fixed quickly when he pulls you close, one arm behind your head and propping him up tall, the other coming over your waist loosely, his wrist to your hip but his fingers not touching you.

You have to turn your neck to see the TV across the room. After a few minutes it aches and you consider moving, then Steve manoeuvres to press his lips to your head and you forget all about it.

His shirt's ridden up. His stomach is soft from the way he's on his side, and you can see the dark trail of hair leading from his navel that disappears into the plaid of his pants.

You reach out to slip your fingers under the hem and wrap your arm around him, feeling the croft of silky hair at the small of his back. You trail up, your finger bumping over the smoothed ridges of horizontal stretch marks.

"Can you feel that?" you ask.

Steve slowly moves his elbow. His face level with yours, he asks, "Can you feel this?" He scratches his fingers lightly over your hip.

You giggle with your mouth closed. "Yeah, I guess it was a stupid question."

Steve moves back and you turn to look at him. You're very close. You're in bed.

"Wasn't stupid," he says quietly.

You raise your brows and incline your head to his until he's laughing.

"It was misguided," he allows.

"I don't know why- I mean, I have enough stretch marks. I know they're not-" you laugh, a bubble of sound that warms his lips, "not dead."

"Maybe yours are special," he teases.

"Wanna find out?"

He laughs and kisses you. Pressure that slowly builds, a chaste pressing of his lips to yours. It's miraculous how quickly your breathing syncs, how you're inhaling at every parting, how your mouths open at the same time. He takes in a big sigh that lights you up and pulls you in like it's nothing.

He dedicates himself to your top lip. There's urgency there that wasn't before, and you're feeling it too. His mouth a crescent of heat, he takes your lip between his and sucks gently. You gasp and your hand twists in his shirt.

"Shit, sorry," he says, "I haven't done this in-"

"It's okay. It's okay, I liked it."

"Yeah?"

You huff against his lips. He's smiling as he does it again. You shudder at the feeling of his teeth, his careless nipping, your hands searching for comfort.

Everything goes slow. He kisses slow, he touches slow. His hands move over your back, slip under your shirt and climb up. Not looking for anything, just looking.

Your hand climbs over his chest. You brush your fingers through the ends of his carefully before pushing up, weaving into the soft strands at the back of his neck. You rub his thumb over his skin in time with your kisses.

Steve encourages you onto your back. You feel a heat growing in your chest, somewhere lower, as he hovers over you, his lips pushing you down into a space that doesn't exist. Your fingers are busy learning the back of his head, fingertips moving over his scalp, scratching lightly as you trail back down to hold him in place.

You kiss up. Steve's hand knocks your shirt up your chest as he squeezes the skin just below your breasts, breathing hard.

He hesitates. His fingers pinch your shirt as if he's going to pull it back down.

"Steve," you murmur. "It's okay."

He kisses your cheek without looking at you, his eyes on your naked skin. "You sure?"

You bring your knees up until they brush his hip and push them away from him, petting the hair out of his face. "Yeah," you say, smiling.

More kissing. Steve ducks down and holds your face steady in one hand, giving you short-lived, wet kisses as his fingers approach your chest. He pauses, watching your face as his fingertips bump into the swell of your breast. "Okay?" he asks.

You lift your chin. "It's fine, Harrington."

"Steve," he corrects steadily, the pads of his fingers ghosting under your nipple to caress the side. His thumb rubs a quarter circle just underneath and you feel the soft skin perk up.

"Steve," you utter.

From there you endure some of the worst kisses of your life – worst as in, life changing, as in sticky, as in everything you've ever wondered about and more. You know you're hopeless. You feel yourself melt into nothing as he massages your peaking nipple, laughing into his mouth when he squeezes and hitching when he squeezes harder.

He pushes the small nub between his index and middle finger and his teasing stutters. He holds you like this and kisses you and you don't know how much time passes. With him, time feels implausible. Like a guideline you ignore.

When you think you might be more him than yourself he pulls away, leaving your lips hot and bruising.

"Can I take this off?" he asks, pulling the hem of your shirt over his finger. His eyes are so brown. You can't believe how brown they are.

"Please."

"Don't- You don't have to say please with me. Not with this, okay?" He rubs his hand over your breast and presses it deep into your heart. "Not with anything."

"You'll regret that," you say, heat like nothing you've ever felt in your chest and the tips of your ears.

"I don't think I will."

He kisses you again like he just can't help it and sits up enough to work your t-shirt from under your back. The excitement gets mixed up with enough insecurity then to make you nauseous.

Steve drops your shirt onto the floor and plants his hands on either side of you. "Oh, you're fucking pretty."

His eyes take you in. It surprises you when he spends half the time staring at your face, entirely too much of it at your eyes. "You know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me enough, Stevie," you mumble, aflame.

"Wanna hear it again?"

You don't say anything. His eyes bore into yours. His lashes kiss.

His grin is practically dietific as his lips curve up. "You're beautiful. 'So fine and pretty,'" he says, almost but not quite singing.

"You're just as handsome," you say, bringing your hands to his defined cheeks. You smooth your hands over his face and ears and hair, holding it all away from him. "You're…" You drop your hands to the curve of his neck and follow over his trap muscle. "You're amazing."

"Stop," he says. You take it for 'keep going'.

"Handsome sounds too formal," you mutter, almost to yourself, "but it's true. You're handsome. More than handsome, you're- you're funny and kind and-" You shake your head. "I think you're the first person I've ever wanted like this."

You don't mean to get emotional. 'This' comes out so rough it burns, and you swallow it all down, blinking fast.

"Like 'this'?" he asks.

He brings a hand to your face, holding your cheek like you're made of solid silver, like you might bend under his touch.

"Like this," you say again. "If you want to."

"I want to," he says, nodding happily. "Of course I do."

You laugh and he laughs. There's a gap where you're both thinking, Oh, we're doing this.

And then Steve's in motion.

He pulls his shirt over the back of his head and you're starstruck. His hair's a dark mess, the ends cast light by the TV. You reach up to smooth them down and it's too late, Steve's ducking down for a smattering of heavy kisses across your lips, one corner to the other. His nose taps into yours and you turn your face to accommodate him, his tongue a wet heat as he pushes it into yours. You reciprocate as best you can, eyes closed tight and hands all over the place. You start at his collar. One hand runs over the twisting of chest hair over his pecs and the other holds his face to yours. He curls his fingers around your wrist, the other paying some much needed attention to your neglected breast. He plays until both nipples are aching and then some.

He spreads your legs and your heart skips as he puts his knee between your thighs, lips starting a ruinous journey downward. He sets kisses like tiny sparks of heat against your jaw and under it, nose dragging down your neck as he turns. You cup the back of his head as his lips part, as he takes your flesh between his teeth and sucks tenderly.

"You smell like flowers," he says, kissing his half-hearted hickey.

"Some idiot bought me a florists," you tease.

His hand slides under your back. His knee presses to the bump of your cunt. "Best decision that idiot ever made," he says, words soaking into your neck, smothered.

You roll your hips shyly against his knee, a negligible friction as he rubs your back and scandalises your neck.

You lift your hips high and he gets the idea very quickly, fingers pinching at fabric until your thighs are out. He tries to move away and you hold him there, dazed by his ravenous attentions.

He laughs and strokes your arm. "I'm gonna take them off, okay?"

You drop your hands from his hair sheepishly and he moves back onto his knees.

"Pretty panties," he says. You don't think he's teasing.

"I thought you might like them," you tell him honestly.

"I do. They're dainty," he says, sliding your pajama pants off of your ankles. "Almost don't wanna take 'em off."

You feel a little bit nervous and decide to direct your attention to his own pants. There's a noticeable bulge at the seat of them. Your cunt twinges at the sight.

Steve's hands worship at your ankles. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

"This is the first time you're seeing me like this. I'm just nervous."

He pulls your foot onto his thighs and fiddles with the elastic of your sock. "If you could see what I'm seeing, I don't think you would be."

You try to imagine yourself as he sees you. Mostly naked and kiss mussed after a day of sun and fun and his affection, the dopey, slightly shy smile, with one arm crossed under your breasts and the other picking nervously at the lace of your underwear.

"You're fucking killer." He mimes a stabbing motion and you giggle. "I don't have to let you kill me, seeing you like this might just do it."

You let him keep your ankle in his lap but bring the other leg up, folding it across your thigh to hide your cunt from view. His eyes dip to the twin globes of your ass and he groans. Your ears strain to hear it.

"Are you gonna take them off?" you ask, eyes on the curve of his dick, eyebrows raised cheekily.

"You don't wanna take them off for me?" he asks. Your startled expression makes him giggle as he slides off of the bed and hooks his thumbs in the waistband.

He kicks them off, his boxers tighter than you'd pictured. You hike up on your elbows and bring your knees together, biting the inside of your lip as his hand drops to his cock. He readjusts the sizable length and a hiss of breath escapes him as he does.

"Fuck," he groans. "Shit, you're fucking- you're fucking everything."

You rub your thighs together coquettishly. "Come back and kiss me?" you ask. He takes a step forward. You tilt your head towards your shoulder. "Are you gonna take those off too?"

You had your suspicions, but the real thing makes your heart stop.

Steve kicks out of his boxers and holds his hands out. You spread your legs and he climbs on top of you, hands braced above your shoulders until he's negotiated himself into the gap. You feel the curve of his cock press into your stomach as he kisses you.

You try your best to be casual and let him kiss you, but you're curious and excited and you can't not think about it now that it's happening.

You stroke your hands down his back and leave them loose at his waist. "Steve," you whisper, breaking the kiss early.

"You wanna touch me?"

"Please?" you whisper.

"What did I say about please?" he murmurs. He doesn't sound very scolding.

"That I don't have to say it."

He leans back on his haunches. "So don't."

You sit up, hands between your laps and wringing. "Uh," you reach out. "Tell me if I do something wrong?"

He softens. "Sure, baby."

You lean in and Steve pulls you closer by the calves. Your hand trembles as you take his cock into your hands. He's thick. Fat. Girthier than you'd thought he would be and twice as hairy, though trimmed neatly at the outskirts, you slide your hand down to the underside of his shaft and pause.

When you align your hand, bottom of your palm to the very start of his shaft, the tip of your index finger misses the tip by two whole inches. You encircle him curiously.

"Spit in your hand," he says gently.

"Oh."

You spit into your hand and press it back into his cock, spreading it with loose strokes over veined ridges. The curls of his pubes brush your hand as you reach the bottom. The entire length of him jumps.

You're honestly dazzled. You laugh out of the corner of his mouth and look up at him with a happy smile. "You're packing a lot of heat here, Harrington."

He looks relieved. "Do you know how fucking scary it is when your girl has your dick in her hand and gets the giggles? I started second-guessing everything I thought about myself."

"I can see why you're popular with the ladies," you murmur, eyes bright with mirth as you dip down and kiss the tip where a dot of precum wells.

"Oh, don't, baby."

"Huh?" You sit up tall. "Do you wanna stop?"

"The opposite. I don't know how long I'll last, especially," he pulls you by the chin to his lips, "in this pretty mouth."

More giggles. He swallows them in their entirety, hand wrapped around your wrist to pull your fingers from his length. Your hands go limp, languid under his gentle kisses and featherlight touching.

You pull away from each other but fight to kiss anyways, cheeks aching with a smile as he steals one, another, a handful of sweet, catching pecks.

You pout as he pulls away.

"D'you wanna lie back?" he asks, hand behind his neck. He rakes his fingers through his hair.

You lie down with his pillows under your head.

Steve smooths his thumbs against the waistband of your panties.

"It's okay," you say, wiggling your hips from left to right encouragingly.

He drags them down. Over the slopes of your thighs and the hills of your knees, he slides them down to your calves. He pulls them off one ankle and they hang off of the other. You lift your leg and let the dampened pink fabric fall onto his rumpled sheets.

He crawls forward, hands hooking under your knee. "Lemme see you, babe."

You bring your legs up and spread your thighs, feet between his knees.

He takes his cock into his hand and tugs. "Fuck," he says, eyes heavy, "fuck, are you wet?"

"You've been kissing me for hours," you say bashfully.

"I'd kiss you longer if you're gonna let me. Can I touch you?"

You push your palm down to your cunt and spread yourself just slightly, more to get used to it than to tease him. "Yes, please."

Steve crawls until you're close and you settle your legs either side of him. He does as you'd done, pushing his thumb to the small well of slick at your entrance and spreading you open with his fingers. "Fuck," he says again. "Shit, baby. Look at you…"

He pushes his slick-wet thumb into the waiting bead of your clit. "There?" he asks.

You remember to breathe. "Yeah," you say, eyes drifting closed as he familiarises himself. You drop your head into his pillows, neck aching. "Right there."

"Aww," he says sympathetically, free hand pressed flat to the inside of your thigh, holding you open. "You have the cutest fucking pussy ever. Shit, i'so wet, you must have such a crush on me."

You smile to yourself and hide your face in a pillow that smells like him. "A huge one. It's kind of embarrassing."

"I bet it is."

His fingers probe your clit. It pulses under his touch, swollen and sensitive to every brush of skin.

"Can you come kiss me some more?"

He looks like he wants to argue.

"Please, Stevie."

Steve reaches over your chest and pulls open his nightstand, procuring a new box of rubbers. You flick his chest. "Is that a new box?"

"Maybe."

You kiss his shoulder and he rips one open with his teeth. "How many's in there?"

"Enough, you minx." He rolls it on.

Kissing. His weight pressed over you, his cock against your mess of slick. You whine as he grinds down into you hard, his tangle of dark curls a blessed friction.

His hips jerk back and the tip of his dick hits into your clit.

"Are you gonna tease me all night?" you ask.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, dropping his head next to yours, his arm wrapping around your neck. You turn your face to his. His eyes are closed and his smile is nearly peaceful, though the crinkle between his brows speaks to his growing desperation. It's as casual as any cuddle with him before. "I could."

"But you won't."

"No, I won't."

Steve gives you one last kiss and situates himself between your legs at full height, pushing your legs back until the tops of your thighs kiss the bump of your stomach. He takes his cock into his hand and guides the tip down the length of your crease. His head bumps your entrance.

You let one leg fall to the side, arm crossed under your rising chest, looking at Steve with bright, adoring eyes. He's beautiful above you, pumping his cock with one hand. The other plays at your weeping hole, fingertips dipping inside two at a time.

You clench around his fingers as they ease in.

"Shit, you're tight. You okay?"

You nod voraciously.

He spreads his fingers wide, his eyes rolling back showfully. "Fuck, babe… Gonna spread you wide open, yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Want you inside."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows are furrowed, a certain stress to his voice.

"Are you gonna make me say please?"

He takes your thighs into both hands and lines up. His grin is both salacious and adorable, a familiar mischief adorning his pretty features. "Never."

The stretch is a lot but he takes it slow. Really slow, his hands on your skin and constantly measuring your reaction. Which must be a super ego trip for him, because your face goes slack with pleasure and you have to focus a lot of energy on smiling rather than frowning; there's somethingwonderful about being this close to him. His cock pushes into you and you gasp with every gentle intrusion, every half inch of space he takes until he's halfway inside and staying there.

He bends over you and takes your face into his hand. You hadn't realised before you met Steve how often your face could be held by someone, and how safe it could make you feel. How the brush of someone's fingertips over your cheek could tickle and somehow you never want to move away. He pulls his hips back, rolls in, and your eyes crease with pleasure, lashes touching as you squint.

He smells like everything you're used to. He must be thinking the same thing as you, because he smiles, and says, "You might as well be a flower for how much you smell like one."

Bergamot. He touches something sensitive, gummy walls stretched around him. You whine under your breath.

Lavender. "Make that sound again?" he asks.

Cedarwood. The murmur of the TV fades away entirely. The only things you can hear are you and Steve. You; your panting, the high warping of every breath as his thick cock works you open. Steve; a panting all his own, a scratchy roughness. You try not to make too much noise in efforts to hear him.

The slightest hint of citrus. An impression. Maybe his breath, something lingering from the orange-infused water you'd sipped on earlier. His breath fans out over your collar as he bottoms out, a sound like a hiccup ripped from him.

You wrap your hands around his back. "Oh my god, Stevie."

"How's that feel? That okay?" He stays very still. "Pretty baby, taking all of me right now." He starts to move his hips in leisurely circles.

You pull him down for a kiss, a world away from being able to answer intelligibly. You're so full it aches, so full – the blunt tip of his cock pushes into your sweet spot and you have to break the kiss to gasp for air.

"Feels so good," you whisper, rubbing his back unhurried.

A shiver courses down your spine as he pulls out to push in again. The sound is filthy, an erotic slapping as his thighs hit into yours and he moans. He fucking moans.

"Fuck, Steve. Can you go faster?"

Steve forces his forearms under your shoulder blades and his forehead presses to your collar, lips sluggish as they kiss your chest. He pulls your nipple into his mouth as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically, sucking and nibbling and twisting, his ministrations sending little bolts of pleasure down to your throbbing cunt.

He kisses hickey after hickey into your chest. You're too busy getting fucked out to notice, lavished by his mouth and numbed by his cock. Every thrust starts to hit deep, and every thrust pulls an unintelligible sound from you. Panting turns to moaning, moans turn to mewls.

"Hear how wet you are? Do you hear that?" Steve asks as he pulls away. He flicks at your bruising nipples and pouts when you jump. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Not my fault you have the cutest rack ever."

"Steve!" you cry, flushing with an embarrassed heat.

"What? It's fucking true." He takes your hips into his hands and hits in hard, cock prodding your spongey g-spot unapologetically. "Cutest pussy, too."

He brings his hand down to your cunt and slows his pace, thrusts shallow and eyes wide as he spreads you open. You can feel your hole shaping around him, the stretch as he opens you up. His thick fingers press into the bead of your clit and he starts to draw, tight messy circles in time with his thrusts.

"Taking me so well, babygirl."

You cup your aching tits and feel them sway with every thrust, every hit of his thighs into yours. A sticky mess grows between you that leaves your clit wet with slick. Steve fights to find purchase as he spreads your lips, thumb coming up to pinch at it.

He moans and looks up at the ceiling, his throat bared as he rolls his hips and pulls you onto his cock. "Fuck…" he groans, beggy and out of breath.

You stare at him, unabashed in your rabid attraction.

"Fuck, Steve," you say between hitching breaths, "I'm lucky you're mine."

His gaze jumps to yours. He snaps his hips and you squeal happily. "Say that again."

"I'm lucky you're mine," you say without missing a beat. It's true.

He holds your hips in an iron grip and ruts into you, deep-seated and unrelenting. He's barely a half-inch back when he's rubbing back in, moulding you to the shape of his cock. Dark curls press into your clit as he leans forward.

"You wouldn't believe how perfect you look on my dick." He grinds down, pulls out and thuds back in.

Your face screws up.

"You like that, baby? You want me to do it again?"

You nod and open your arms. Steve falls into them, letting you wrap him up in a grip so tight you can feel the suggestion of his ribs, his chest hair scratching your chest as he repeats the motion. You squeeze your eyes closed and whimper into the top of his head, hands pulling at his back as he rocks in again and again and again.

"Y'making such a mess on me."

You're not surprised. Every thrust into your sopping heat sounds loud in the quiet of his room, and your slick is everywhere. Wetting the thatch of pubes around his cock, the insides of your soft thighs.

"Steve, can you- can you-"

He presses his fingers back to your clit. "This? Sorry, you're just gripping me tight, I had to hold onto something," he apologises, sounding a short fall from reverential. "I got you."

Your sticky thighs start to shake as he fucks into you, the quick rub of his fingers against your clit tightening the coil inside you until it's snapping hard. You can't even warn him, chasing the circles he's making with your hips as you force your face into his pillow and fall apart.

You want to hate the sound that you make. It's an embarrassing combination of a squeal and a breathless gasp, only partially muffled by the fabric under your lips. You find yourself unable when Steve chokes on his words, stuttering, "F-fuck, oh fuck, sweetheart, you sound like- like heaven. You fucking feel like it, clamping down on me."

Steve fucks into that extra snugness and you can see on his face that he's close.

You blink out of the haze of your climax and cover Steve's hand where it teases your overstimulated clit, pulling it up and around your neck. You slide your arms around him and scratch up his back lightly, his hips staggering into yours as you say, "You gonna cum too, baby? Please?"

"Fuck," he groans through gritted teeth.

You clench your walls down around him and the drag is insane, better when he gets his final burst of energy and fucks into you with big, rough thrusts, your knees clamped around his hips. His teeth close around your shoulder and he bites you, maybe harder than he means to, a white hot pain that lasts a split-second, his hitching breaths hot in your skin. His hips slow and his entire weight falls into your tummy, wrought with post-orgasm aching.

You rub his back, damp with perspiration.

He kisses an apology over his cruel hickey.

"Fuck," he whispers.

His kisses move up and he moves too. You both hiss – disturbed, sweaty, blood still pumping fast. He's only adjusting for the height advantage, his mouth at your ear.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You have a lot more to say, but you need a second.

Steve makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. "Can I go get a towel? I'll be right back."

"Yeah, Stevie. Whatever you wanna do," you say lightly, rubbing his back and hoping each pass of your palm implies the depth of your fondness.

Steve is cautious as he climbs off of you. You close your eyes and bring your hands to your sweaty face, fingers over your eyes before pushing them to either side of your forehead to stare at his ceiling, entirely blissed and in disbelief.

Steve climbs over you with a towel in hand. You can feel the warmth coming off of its wet corner.

He drops it onto your stomach and you go to pick it up. He grabs your hands in both of his and holds them, joined, against your shoulders. "I'll do it, but just-" He ducks his face to yours. "Let me kiss you."

You smile happily and close your eyes, fingers flexing in his grip as he brushes his lips against yours, at first gently and then with an enthusiastic pressure. You're worn out from everything and can't respond how you want to, but if Steve minds he doesn't say anything, hands squeezing your hands and his lips all lazy and curled up against yours.

Your chest hurts.

Steve keeps a hold of one hand as he breaks the kiss in favour of cleaning you up though quickly drops it to take your shaky thigh into his hand. Spread wide, he wipes every trace of slick he can find, especially kind to your centre.

He's already discarded the condom and wiped himself down. You reach out to stroke the start of his damp snail trail as he throws the towel on the floor next to your discarded clothes. Pulling the sheets where they'd fallen to the bottom of the bed over your naked bodies, Steve slouches onto his side.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his chest with infinite tenderness.

You turn into his hold and ram your face into his skin, hand searching for the tempting curve of his bicep.

He drops a kiss into your temple and then another. You feel surprisingly awake, his body a hot and heavy thing beside you.

"Do you feel like talking?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," you say, giggling. "Yeah, sorry. God, Steve."

He bends at the waist to cuddle you like he's shielding you. "I know."

You lie there in his embrace and you can't stop thinking about it. That was perfect. That was fucking perfect. Right? You want to ask him. You'd never felt that pretty or pleased before in your life.

"God, that was fucking perfect," Steve says.

You rub your nose against his chest and giggle, an overabundance of joy bubbling messy at the surface. "I was just thinking that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh my god."

"I'm kind of pissed off. Like, if that's the standard, how am I gonna live up to this every time?"

Every time, you think.

"Maybe we just got really lucky. We're never gonna have sex that good ever again," you theorise.

He starts laughing, big, contagious chuckles that boom from the centre of his chest and catch you by surprise. He sounds as happy as you feel.

"Don't jinx it." He rubs his hand over your shoulder blades.

You kiss his chest lazily and he slinks down under the sheets with you, dragging you up until your face is eye-level with his. His eyes are closed and you close your own, moaning as he crushes you to his chest and starts to pat your back.

It's an immense domestic pleasure. You couldn't explain why, but the continuous, steady rhythm of his firm patting makes it easier to calm your racing heart.

"You look really beautiful," he says.

"Your eyes are closed."

"So? You looked beautiful when I closed them. I just want you to know. And your sounds… God, I'm gonna be touching you all the time if that's what you sound like."

"I love how you sounded too." You rub his chest with your knuckle. "I love that you sounded like that for me."

"Because of you."

"I meant what I said. I'm really lucky."

Steve pushes his hand behind your ear and draws your face from his. You open your eyes and find him already looking at you, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for telling me?"

"Shut up! You know what I mean. I'm lucky to have you."

"If you're lucky I'm fucking blessed."

"I've never heard you swear that much."

"And it's entirely your fault," he jokes.

You're okay with that.

You tuck yourself into Steve's neck and trace the lines of his body. The small roundness of his Adam's apple and the ridges of his collarbones, the small dip between his chest muscles and the line underneath his pec. You go to just below his ribs before needing your hand between his torso and his arm, hugging him like he's hugging you.

The hickey he'd given you on your shoulder twinges, reminding you of his maltreatment. You place your lips against his throat and mouth lazy kisses until he sighs in content. When you know you've lulled him into a false sense of security, you take his skin between your teeth and nip.

"What's that for?" he asks in bemusement.

"You tried to take a chunk of me."

"Shit," he says.

You kitten lick the tiny welt you've bitten into his pale skin and he tenses. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, wondering if he likes that, and deign to give him a smattering of wet, sloppy hickeys to find out.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, fingers brushing over the small embeddings of his teeth in your shoulder.

"Not really," you say, mouthing up until your nose is to his cheek. You close your eyes as he turns his head. You can feel his breath against your lips. "No, I like it, anyway."

Your arms slide over his back as he pulls back to take you in. You stare at each other, not sure how to say anything that hasn't already been said or anything that hasn't been felt. He looks pretty and ragged, perfect hair mussed and dainty brown lashes in damp triangles. The dim lighting shadows his face, the lightest brightness under the well of his eye.

"I wish I was one of the old masters."

He smiles. "What's that?"

"Like, the great artists. Painters, masters of their craft. Like the guy who painted The Girl with a Pearl Earring."

Steve starts to shift onto his back. You lay your arm across his chest and hold your weight off of him. He doesn't like that very much, pulling you in with one arm crossed over the small of your back, the other held high but loose. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, fingernails sliding over your skin. "Is painting something you like to do?"

Your heart melts at his genuine interest and his willingness to listen to something seemingly tangential. "I wish I could paint like they could. I would paint you."

"Yeah?" he asks, clarity brightening his face. His eyes are lined with pleasure.

"I would. The," you raise your hand to his face and start to trace each feature as you go, "bridge of your nose. The slopes here," his brow, the dip underneath, careful of his eye, "your cheekbones. Your lips. This line here, and this one. This one, too."

"Are you trying to tell me I have wrinkles?" he jokes.

"Only this one." You smooth the pad of your thumb between his eyebrows. "Though I think it's inevitable."

"Oh you do, do you?" he asks, abruptly loud. You're startled into giggling, dropping your hand over one of his eyes in your shock. He kisses your palm.

You fall silent. You take your hand to his jaw and press the invisible remains of his kiss to his cheek as you lean in.

"I think… I think I'd want to paint you. Just so people know," you murmur, touching your forehead to his, "that you were this handsome."

You wait for him to laugh and he doesn't. Like the trepidation of a sneeze that doesn't come, you feel off-kilter.

"Steve?"

He shushes you and kisses you for the hundredth time tonight. You could happily take another hundred, eyebrows pinching up at his silence.

He kisses you until you forget what you'd been saying, until the aching in your abdomen can't be ignored.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you announce regretfully.

"Yeah, okay. Want me to come with you?"

You laugh and climb off of him. His hand reaches for you as you go, his fingers catching yours until you pull away. You grab the damp towel and your sleep shirt off of the floor, slipping it on as you walk away. Steve acts like he's been grievously injured.

In the bathroom you clean up properly and pull on the spare underwear you'd had the foresight to bring. You stretch until you moan.

"You okay?" Steve calls.

"Stop listening to me in the bathroom, perv."

You can hear him stand. His footsteps in the bedroom. You shiver in the cool bathroom and smile at yourself really hard in the mirror.

When you return he's done the same as you, changed into new boxers. You stare at his thighs unabashed as he steps into his pyjama bottoms, yours rescued and folded on the end of the bed. Steve holds his hands out at your approach and tugs you towards him, not hugging but close. He pushes your shirt up to your ribs and you struggle to see what he's doing, craning your neck.

"What?" you ask.

He follows the impression of a stretch mark down your skin. "Did you feel that?" he asks genuinely.

You'd more than felt it. He pulls up the waistband of your panties thoughtlessly and traces another stretch mark. "You're pretty," he murmurs.

You hug him hard enough that he has to take a step back to avoid falling over. His hands stop their studying, braced at your waist and walking you backwards toward the bed. He pushes you down and you fall onto your back, clinging to him as he tries to pull away.

"Come on," he says, laughing, "I'm gonna get you something to drink. Let go."

"Whatever," you grumble.

Steve disappears downstairs and you sit up, eyes bright like you're seeing his room for the first time all over again. Fast Times at Ridgemont High looks to be nearing its end. You switch off the TV with a triumphant smile and move your attention to his dresser, where the cassette player you'd 'loaned' him sits. You're half hoping Van Halen II will be inside but it must still be in his car. Your disappointment ebbs quickly when you see what's really inside.

Steve has the good graces to blush when he returns. You've clicked play and sit with the tape deck in your lap, beaming. "American Pie?" you ask knowingly.

"It's a good album."

He presses a cold glass of water into your hands and you sip feverishly, best pleased when he sits beside you, thigh to your naked thigh.

"Softie."

He dips his fingers into his glass and flicks you. It feels good and you move back encouragingly. He indulges you, flicking cold water over your face and neck until you're finely misted as a flower in the morning dew.

The best part of American Pie starts to play. You gasp as Steve pulls the glass from your hand and sets them heavily on the dresser, hands wet with condensation as he sews your fingers together and pulls you up.

"What are you doing?" you ask curiously.

His shoulders move back. "Dancing?"

"You wanna dance?" you ask. Your legs are tired – his must be double.

"You're old enough," he says, encouraging your hands from side to side.

You were gonna give him what he wanted anyways, but that small smile toying over his pretty pink mouth spurs you on. You jump on toes and follow his lead.

-

Steve digs a short fingernail into the deep orange skin of what he thinks is a tangerine and watches as citrus spritzes into the air. It leaps from the fruit with every slice of rind he pulls away, and his hands quickly smell of it.

You lay in the grass with his sunglasses perched over your nose. Steve worries you might be sleeping, your smile demure and your arms still where they've crossed over your chest. Your cotton dress blankets the grass around your thighs, the hem waved as the thin edge of a peony petal.

"You better not be sleeping, Y/N," he warns.

You'd definitely been dozing. You hide it well, your hand hardly trembling as you stretch it across the grass towards him. "I wasn't."

"You know what happened last time."

"You're here to protect me."

He can't argue with that. Orange juice stains his fingers as he splits the segments apart, pulling white pith from the flesh until each slice is clean. He drops two into your hand. "For you."

"Thank you," you say, sounding genuinely excited. You sit up slow and your dress falls down enough to expose the top of your breast where Steve had hickied at a risk of excess the night before.

He moves across the grass until your knees knock together and presses his hand to your forehead. You're definitely hotter than you should be but not about to burst into flames. Steve ushers more tangerine into your hand and reaches for the grocery bag to grab your drink and put it in your lap. You gasp at the sudden cold and gasp again when he pulls the strap of your dress up your shoulder. There’s no hiding the worst one at the meeting of your neck and shoulder. Every time he looks at it, he blushes.

"Was I flashing?" you ask worriedly through a mouthful of fruit.

"Not really? But, uh, you know. Hickey."

"Ohhh," you say knowingly. "Well, that's your fault."

"Did I say otherwise? Have some water. We're gonna have to go soon, it's too hot."

"Steve."

"I'm serious."

"Let's just go buy one of those little hand crank fans."

"So I can crank it all day? No way."

"You'll dictate-"

"Dictate!"

"-my sunbathing but won't crank a little fan for me? What kind of relationship even is this?"

"Stop it," he says concisely.

Your lips pull into a self satisfied smile and you drink your drink like he'd asked you to. "What are we gonna do after?"

You'd woken Steve up early, before the sun had really come out, a vision and perfect and everything he'd known you would be in the mornings. Hands on his shoulders, you'd kissed him until he'd stirred, skipping kisses over his neck and chest.

"Ba-by," you'd whispered, dragging the last syllable, your voice croaky with tiredness, "let's go get breakfast."

Breakfast at a sticky diner that consisted of pancakes with too much syrup and whipped cream on strawberries. You'd dragged him into the fancy grocery store across the street and filled a basket with fancy drinks, pretzels, lip balm and a net of tangerines.

Now, hours later, sweaty from the outpour of ultra-hot sunlight and your company, Steve doesn't know what's left to do that could be any better than this.

He spread his legs and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind his ear. "What do you wanna do?"

You twist the cap back onto your drink and push onto your knees, grass crushed. "I don't know. Anything. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, so you can keep me as late as you want."

He doesn't feel bad when he says, "Could I keep your for the night again?"

You hesitate. He doubles down.

"I'll take you to your place and you can get some more clothes. And I'll make you something better than takeout, if you want," he promises, thinking of your home-cooked meals, the evident love poured into each one.

"No, it's not-" You smile at him, your eyes soft. "Of course you can keep me. But I'm not staying up to dance with you again." You yawn to drive the point home.

He breaks grass between his fingers. "Fine, no dancing."

You nod in agreement and take his shoulder into your hand, throwing your leg over his to straddle his thigh. You look comfortable despite the 'w' shape you're in, settling down with a harrumph of breath.

Steve tries not to think about the silk of your underwear against his leg, but of course he does. The pink colouring his cheeks isn't from the sun.

You look shy but happy as he grabs your hands, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. "We can make something cool for the weather," you suggest lightly, the skirt of your dress ruffled by the breeze. "Sanwhiches. And something sweet for dessert 'cos we didn't have any yesterday."

"I don't know about you, but I think I had more than my fair share of dessert."

You drop the top of your head into his chest. "Sicko."

"A little. When it comes to you."

You start to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, humming something very quietly. The Waterboys or something like that, your lips pressed together tightly. You lashes flutter and you rub your cheek with your shoulder.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm just really happy," you confess.

What's he supposed to do? Not kiss you silly? He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you in.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut

[ggukkiedae]

For miya I would like Jack in the box listing party and Miya giving jungkook a tour of Australia in more depth.

hi bub! this took quite a while, but i'm back to writing again and slowly filling out requests! for now, here's the jitb listening party, but you can look forward to the australia tour with jungkookie soon! hope you enjoy this for now~

dialogue written in italics are spoken in english!

The sounds of the music blasting reached her ears before the elevator doors could even open.

“God,” Yoonmi muttered to herself, “I can’t believe that uni made me late for a work event for the first time ever.”

She carefully smoothed out the front of her leather romper over her black button down, an outfit Jungkook had dramatically insisted on because he helped Hoseok pick the romper out for her, and stepped out of the elevator doors right before they closed once again.

Almost immediately, her eyes spotted her members all gathered together in the photo booth, seemingly scanning the room for her. Right, she had sent them her location so they could see when she arrived.

People laughed at her rushed greetings and made way for her as soon as they could hear the heels of her boots coming in their direction. Everyone knew where she was headed, and no one would be stopping her even if they wanted to.

A set of sunglasses-covered eyes met hers, but even the tinted lenses couldn’t hide the way they lit up.

“Makdungie!” Hoseok yelled out, opening his arms for a hug. “You’re here! How was traffic?”

A laugh slipped through her lips as she walked forward to give Hoseok a hug, trying to pour everything she wanted to say into the tight squeeze. You look nice. I missed you. The listening party is doing great. Sorry I missed the actual listening part of the listening party. You’re working so hard. I’m proud of you. All these thoughts, yet only some words came out. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was okay, but my professor held me back.”

He pushed her sunglasses up her head and did the same to his own. “What matters is you’re here. Come on, it’s your turn to take pictures with me.”

Hoseok swung an arm around her shoulders, squishing their cheeks together for their first photo. The audible ranting of Taehyung from the side about Hoseok’s audacity to steal her before she could say hi to any of the other members made the smile on her face grow even wider out of amusement. After a few changes of poses, all of them gathered together into the frame, taking a photo altogether and being sure to send a soft copy to Yoongi immediately.

It was after the photo when the entire situation sunk in. There were so many people in the room with her, and the sheer thought of having to start up conversations began to overwhelm her. It was a long day at university, fixing up certain documents she needed for the following semester.

“Stick with me,” Jungkook handed her a champagne flute and offered his arm for her to take, “and drink this. Something to warm you from the inside might help you loosen up.”

A grateful sigh came out of her, “Thanks. Can we go close to the stage? I think Hobi oppa’s dancer friends are about to pop off.”

“Say no more.”

The two maknaes excitedly walked over to the center, pleased to find dancers taking over the floor. Pretty soon, they found themselves grooving along with their motions, Taehyung and Namjoon even joining them for a bit.

A glass of beer made its way into her hand, followed by a knowing wink from Jimin. She laughed and quickly downed its contents, settling on the floor of the stage, looking directly at Hoseok as he interacted with his guests as well as danced for a while.

She noticed a glow emanating from him. No, it wasn’t a reflection of the spotlight or the other flashing lights surrounding them. Hoseok just seemed to be glowing, whether it be in satisfaction, happiness, growth, or all of the above, she wasn’t sure. It was just a nice glow that she was happy to see given how stressed out he was in the past month specifically.

Her stares didn’t go unnoticed as the object of her thoughts turned towards her, a confused look crossing his face before he smiled and sat next to her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You’re absolutely glowing,” there was no hesitation in her voice, “and it’s an amazing look on you, oppa.”

He bumped her shoulder, “Thanks, Yoonmi. And thanks for coming by even though today drained you.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she smiled at him, pleased to see his smile change to the one she only saw him use around family.

Hoseok got up, dusting his hand on his pants and offering her the drink in his hand. “Come on. If you’re up for it, I’m pretty sure Jessi nuna and Eunwoo were looking for you. Jack-Coke, by the way.”

She laughed at his choice of drink matching his album, thankfully taking the drink and placing her free hand on his outstretched one. “I think I’ve got a bit of energy left as long as you guys stay with me.”

“Always.”

She definitely had more energy than she thought. Needless to say multiple videos of her vibing surfaced the internet, being a topic of conversation for a while.

taglist: @sunflower-0180 @seaoffangirling @yourwonderbelle @1-800-enhypennabi @kamiiyou @strwberrydinosaur @uraveragefangirlsposts @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @toriluvsfics @billboard-singer @stopeatread (taglist/s open! just drop an ask or a dm <3)

#yoonmi.request #yoonmi.drabble #yoonmi.homi #bts 8th member #bts female member #bts female addition #miya #yoonmi #kim yoonmi

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offense, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their overreactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

#tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #yandere ranboo x reader #mcyt x reader #yandere mcyt x reader #mcyt #ranboolive #ranboo #tubbo #dream smp #dsmp #ranboo dsmp #ranboo dreamsmp #tubbo dsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #tubbo mcyt #ranboo mcyt

[jackrrabbit]

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #osamu #osamu miya

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOURTEEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: mentions of sexual content, feelings, cigarettes Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: HI EVERYONE! I’m sorry I’m so inconsistent lately. I promise that the next chaptered fic I write, I’ll only start posting it when I’m done writing it. I hope you like this chapter - its incredibly sappy because I’m on my period lol

As always, big thanks to my beta, @lantern-inthenight​ <3

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack​  @dharma-divine​

MASTERPOST

“Remind me again why you want to ride separately from your brother?” You looked pointedly over at Josh, who was smiling as he ran a soapy rag over the plate you’d just finished eating off of. 

“I already have to spend my whole winter break with my family, no need to rob myself of alone time with you,” he explained like it was obvious. 

A huff escaped your lips. You pushed away from where you had been leaning against the counter and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. You laid your head in between his shoulder blades, feeling him turn to nuzzle his nose against your arm as it laid on his shoulder.  

“We spend so much time together - like every day - which I’m obviously grateful for,” you said, half-muffled by the material of his sweater. “But don’t you think it just makes more sense to carpool?” 

You couldn’t see his hands, but the movements you could feel told you he was wiping the extra water off of them before turning around and pressing your chests together. His lips lightly brushed your temple as he spoke. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, though you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t about to just relent. “It does make more sense - I just don’t want to.”

You let out a breath, frowning as you tried to figure out if you should say what you were thinking. After a moment of working up the courage, you cupped his jaw with your right hand, knowing full well that the sweet gesture would help him swallow the discomfort your words would cause. 

“Josh,” Your voice was low and quiet, but as you met his eyes, you chickened out. They were so honest, looking at you like your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded - like if you left, he’d just cease to exist. You made a mental note to have a talk with him about that at some point, but you decided it would have to be after you’d returned from Christmas break. 

“Hm?” You must have been contemplating too long, prompting his features into a look of concern. You couldn’t bear it. 

“Jake is going to ride with us,” you said decidedly. “I already told him he could.”

That was a bit of a lie - he had mentioned it a few days ago and you had said you’d run it by Josh, but you had just made up his mind for him.

He huffed a laugh as he rolled his eyes playfully at you. “Sounds like you’re already communicating better with my family than I have in months.”

“Well,” you started, giving him a pointed look - the kind you only give when you feel confident that you’re right. “I think that would mean communicating with them at all. Honestly, Josh, I know you-”

You were abruptly silenced as he placed his forefinger across your open lips, a half-smirk on his face. 

“It’s okay,” he assured simply. “He can ride with us.”

A smile spread across your face underneath his finger. “Good. Have you started packing?” Your words were muffled under his touch.

“Eh,” he replied with a noncommittal shrug, lowering his hand to brush his thumb across your chin. 

“Do you want help with that?” you inquired cheekily. “Because, you know, we leave in two days.” 

He appeared to consider it for a moment before nodding. “Actually, yeah, that sounds nice. You can sit on my bed and watch while I pack really inappropriate clothes for the occasion.”

You half-snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes because you knew that’s the reaction he was aiming for. “How about I just pack for you?”

+++

For the first time since knowing him, you saw Jake Kiszka wearing a jacket. It was long and dramatic and nearly brushed the top of the snow as he made his way out to your car with a leather duffle bag in his left hand.

He opened the rear, passenger-side door and tossed his bag in next to yours and Josh’s before sliding in next to it. 

You greeted him cheerily, to which he shot you back a smile as a reply.

“You’re actually wearing a coat,” you noted as he pulled the seatbelt over his form and buckled in.

He hummed amusedly, reaching into his pocket and popping a stick of gum in his mouth. 

“I’ve found that he doesn’t usually dress like a slut to go home,” Josh replied instead as he turned a lighter around in his palm, absent of the task. 

“And if I didn’t wear a coat home, I’d never hear the end of it.” 

Josh nodded in agreement, and then you watched a shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “I’m kinda surprised Kate isn’t coming with us today, to be honest. Are you waiting until Easter just to make sure?”

You were busy pulling out onto the road, so you didn’t see it, but you could imagine Jake deeply rolling his eyes at the question. 

“I would bring Kate home - it would make me truly happy to physically see Mom die a little inside when she starts trying to talk about amphibious breeding cycles at length during dinner,” he mused, voice clear of any kind of sorrow. He finished simply and with a smile, “But she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, it seemed a little sus when I showed up at her house in the morning and you were already there, chillin’ with her dog,” you replied in a sing-song voice. 

“I wasn’t already there, I was still there.” You felt him place a hand on your shoulder, and slap his other one against Josh’s. “Not all of us have the luxury of just being able to pop down the hall.”

“Fair enough,” you relented, feeling your face flush warm. 

“Or the shower. Or the kitchen that one time,” Josh added unhelpfully, making your eyes immediately pop open. 

“Josh,” you scolded and quickly considered reaching over and slapping him, but decided it was unsafe to drive and strike a passenger at the same time. 

“No, this is good,” Jake assured through a smirk you could hear. “Let him get it all out before we get there.”

Josh snickered back, “You’re such a prick.”

+++

The Kiszka homestead was almost impossibly cozy. There was a basket of blankets by the big sofa (much nicer and fluffier than the blankets at your apartment, which had been flattened and matted to the point of complete defeat) and the furniture was centered around a glowing, stone fireplace. Josh’s mom had hugged him for a long moment upon your arrival - a gesture that made your throat feel tight as you watched her fingers flex in the material at the back of his shirt. 

She was sunny and kind to the point that you could clearly see Josh’s mannerisms reflected in hers, and the dinner she laid out on the dining room table seemed impossibly large to you, having come from a home with just three people in it. 

When she asked you how you liked Midwestern cooking, you gushed about it for - what was undeniably - too long. You’d never say, but you weren’t positive that part of it wasn’t just not having had a real home-cooked meal in months. 

You had come to decipher that Josh had told his family that you were just a roommate that didn’t have a place to go for winter break, but you were pretty sure you’d be able to tell the nature of your relationship if you were on the outside looking in - you seemed to be magnetically drawn to wherever Josh was these days. 

Everyone cleared out of the living room pretty quickly after dinner and conversation, and you finally got the chance to ask the question that had been on your mind all day. 

“Do I sleep out here?” 

You were posted up on the couch, your legs crossed one over the other with Josh staying a few inches farther away from you than you were used to.

“No,” he replied. “You can take my room and I’ll sleep out here.”

You had asked mostly as a formality - you hadn’t figured that you’d actually have to sleep separately. Through a slight frown, you said, “Oh, man. It’s been a while since I’ve had to sleep alone. What if I freeze to death?” 

He flashed you a smile. “I thought ahead and laid a heated blanket out on the bed for you.”

“Heated blanket? This whole time heated blankets were an option?” you whispered harshly.

“Okay, in my defense, by the time I remembered that they existed, we were already sleeping in the same bed every night.”

The suspicious way you stared at him for a few moments had him biting back a laugh - one of those unguarded ones that seemed to be reserved for people he was really comfortable around. Which seemed to just be you most of the time. 

“Will you at least come get ready for bed with me?” you asked, subtly looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Of course - no puppy eyes necessary,” he assured with a snicker.

This room was decidedly different than the one back in Ann Arbor. Josh’s space back in the apartment was mostly made up of Earth tones - either picked by choice or having just dulled over time. There were little pops of color scattered around the room, like the golden yellow rug that spread across almost all of the wooden floor, or the string of flags that spanned the entire wall above his bed. 

This room was different. You could tell that his parents had tried to clean it up since Josh had moved out, but there was still evidence of spots where posters were hung on the maroon red walls. A stack of comics laid on the dresser - the surface of which was covered in residue and paper where he had placed stickers and then tried to peel them off. 

You eyed a well-used keyboard placed along the far wall, and what appeared to be milk crates full of sheet music and the idea of him sitting in front of it and practicing for hours brought a smile to your lips. 

He hauled both of your bags up onto the bed and you both picked through them for the sleep apparel you’d packed. You watched him change into a short-sleeved tee and a pair of loose flannel pants through the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth across the hall, and when he caught your eyes, he gave you a smirk. 

You’d been half expecting him to change his mind and just crawl into bed with you, but instead, he helped you clamber under the covers and pulled the comforter up to your chest. 

“Wow, full service tuck-in and everything,” you teased, but quickly shut up when his thumb brushed over your lips. 

“Well,” he mused, voice low. “Not the full service.”

You gave him a sour grin as he backed up to the door and flicked the light off. 

“Good night, Joshua.”

+++

The next couple of days came and went easily. You were starting to get actually acquainted with his family - chatting with his mother and sister over morning coffee, and getting pinned between his brothers on the sofa while Christmas movies played in the background.

You really hadn’t realized how much you missed being around family until it hit you at dinner one night. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Josh unscrewed the lid on the salt under the lip of the table and then asked Sam if he wanted any. 

Josh was just about to slide it across the beat-up wooden surface when you snatched it out of his hand, pointedly tightened the lid, and then slid it over. 

When you peeked over at him, Josh was glaring at you, but he wasn’t able to stop the mischievous smirk that his mouth took the shape of. 

Sam huffed a laugh that sounded more like a scoff, having figured out the plot quickly after seeing the look on Josh’s face.  

“Samuel, do me a favor and dump the whole shaker of salt on your potatoes,” Josh requested in a faux-sweet voice. “Please and thank you.” 

“Piss off.” Sam’s reply came through a mouth-full of food, but somehow, he still managed to look lovely while saying it. However, that didn’t save him from his mom’s scolding look - though whether that was in response to the harsh language or speaking with a full mouth was anyone’s guess. You guessed that a person never got to grow out of being “the baby”. 

It was then - that simple moment - that you realized how oddly welcomed you felt in this setting. It hadn’t been awkward or uncomfortable even once. You’d never felt out of place despite how different it was from your own home experience. 

After you were settled into bed that night, you laid awake thinking about nothing and everything. You didn’t feel particularly tired, but you had decided to turn in when Josh started dozing off on the couch while you were watching the tv on low volume. 

You had no clue what time it was, as your phone was charging across the room, but at some point you heard the distinct sound of a door creaking open. It was just down the hall - that you could distinguish -  but you weren’t positive which room specifically. The person made their way down the hall, and then up a creaky set of steps, though you could tell that they were trying to move quietly when they got to the next floor and the cadence of their steps changed to something lighter. 

You thought about it for a moment before pushing the covers off of you, crawling out of the warmth of the nest you’d made, and slipping your feet into a pair of Josh’s fuzzy slippers that were just barely peeking out under the bed frame. Trying to be as quiet as the last person had been, you crept up the stairs in the low light, having to strain to see the steps in the unfamiliar space, lest you lose your footing. 

The room at the top of the steps was a study, and on the other side of it was a large, sliding glass door. And on the other side of that, was Jake, sat out on a covered patio with a cigarette in his hand. 

You crossed the room, grabbing a blanket off of the worn leather sofa and wrapping it around yourself as you moved. 

He barely turned his head to look at you as you slid the glass open and stepped out onto the porch. The brisk air hit you hard enough to nearly knock the breath from your lungs, so you pulled the blanket up your body until only your head was showing. 

“Sorry if I scared you.” The volume of your words were just above a whisper as you bent to sit next to him on the cold wood. “Or if I’m intruding.”

He hummed around his cigarette before ashing it into a Coke can. “You didn’t, and you aren’t.” He looked you over for the first time then and frowned deeply at you. “You are going to freeze to death though. Where the hell is your coat?”

“I’m fine, I’ve got the blanket, see?” you assured, though you had to admit that the cold cut right through the thick material. 

He ran his eyes up and down it, rolling them affectionately at you. “Okay,” he replied, though it sounded nothing like he believed you. After a few silent moments, he spoke again. 

“How are you liking it here?”

A genuine smile spread out over your lips. “Michigan is lovely, if that’s what you mean. Cold to the point where I’m not sure why anyone would want to live here, but. Lovely, all the same.” 

He smiled back at you, oddly warm in nature for him. “And what about the family? Do you find all of us lovely too?” 

“Absolutely,” you agreed, pulling your knees up to your chest like you were in a cocoon. Another few long moments ticked by as you watched the snow fall. The night was so still that you swore you could hear the flakes as they settled on whatever surface they happened to land on. 

“Can I ask you something?” You flicked your eyes over at him to assess his expression. You knew your brows were threaded close together in worry, which he seemed to take into account before he answered.

He nodded as he took another drag. “Sure,” he replied, smoke and steam glowing with the light of the cherry on the end of his cigarette as he exhaled. 

You were silently trying to figure out how to word it for long enough that he looked over at you expectantly. 

“Do you think Josh would have come home for Christmas if I...weren’t around?” 

He met your eyes and huffed a humorless laugh. “I think that he would have spent a week or two anxiously deciding whether he could handle it and then, ultimately, he would feel too guilty to say no. And from there, I think it would have been a repeat of last year - he would have come home here, found it exhausting, and then screened everyone's’ calls for a couple of months again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just stared at his face, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip until you could feel they’d left an indent as you ran your tongue over it. 

“But it’s weird, right?” he continued, biting back a smirk that made you a little uneasy about what he was going to say next. “He seems to be almost blissfully happy this year.”

You held your breath for a moment as you tried to organize your emotions, and then exhaled in a rush once it became uncomfortable. “Look, I. He’s obviously a lot of things to me. A best friend, a room mate, a...romantic partner?”

Jake shot you a disbelieving but highly amused look at your wording.

“But I’m worried that he’s tying himself to me too tightly.” With your eyes, you tried to portray the emotions that that thought evoked in you - how compressed it made you feel. 

He seemed to chew it over as he stubbed out his cigarette on the damp wood and then - near instantly - materialized another from behind his ear like a magic trick.  

“I love seeing him happy, but I’m scared that I’m the only thing making him happy,” you finished, voice admittedly a little shaky. You didn’t ask first - though you should have - but you slid closer to him until your shoulders were touching, and despite not knowing him all that well yet, it still managed to make you feel more grounded. “It’s not that I expect this to end - whatever we have - but what if it does?”

Jake’s eyes flitted around your features like he was trying to map your face as you anxiously waited for him to tell you everything would be alright. 

“You know,” he started, voice low. “When we moved away for school, he was the one that decided we wouldn’t room together. I mean, I didn’t blame him or anything, but I always just assumed we would. He used to be so outgoing. I mean, he never missed a party. People would trip over themselves to be next to him. He used to take his ex out any time he could - it didn’t really matter where, because he’s always had a way of making even the most monotonous task seem fun.”

You didn’t try to suppress a smile as it found your lips. 

“So, his ex broke it off with him. I don’t know what happened really - only what I’ve been able to pry out of him - but it fucked him up pretty good. And then as he was just starting to get over it, his roommate had some kind of mental break and just moved out one weekend while Josh was gone. It’s not like they were best friends or anything, but they got along.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, resting your head on Jake’s shoulder and not caring whether or not it was polite to do so anymore. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, simply. The tone of his voice was something very somber - the kind you’d use if you were giving a eulogy. “I tried to help. I offered to move in with him. I showed up at his apartment all the time, but he got pretty effective at dodging me. Not just me, actually, but everyone. Worried the fuck out of our mom.” 

“What then?” You were not-so-secretly hoping that Jake was going to find a way to make you feel better, and the pitch of your voice reflected it. The core of your body felt like it was stuffed full of stones, weighted and heavy. “What happened?”

Jake hummed. “Well, he started to level out a bit. After a good couple months he started at least answering the door when I came to see him. Sometimes he’d text me back after a day or two. That went on like that for a while.”

He titled his head to look over at you then for the first time in a while. You felt oddly vulnerable after hearing all of that, but you tried not to duck away from his eyes. 

“But then, suddenly, you were there. He didn’t tell me a thing about you, or even that he was getting a new roommate until well after you were already moved in.”

You huffed a laugh. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t tell me anything about you either really. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and you were a twin. Uncanny valley territory.” 

“I think he learned how to compartmentalize the people in his life. Seems like it’s easier to manage relationships that way when you’re an extremely guarded person like he had suddenly become.”

He took a pause to take a long drag, simultaneously running a hand through his silky hair. 

“But to answer your question - I don’t think you’re the only thing making him happy,” he continued, meeting your eyes with an intensity that you understood to your core. “I think you’re just reminding him that there are things to be happy about.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, but you were suddenly choking back tears and a tight, hot feeling in your throat.  

“You’ve just got to give him time to remember what it’s like.”

When you opened your mouth to reply, you realized you’d been holding your breath for a moment too long, causing you to suck in a shaky breath. “I intend to give him all the time he needs,” you promised. 

Jake offered you back a smile as he moved to stand, stretching out his muscles and then extending a hand for you to take. He helped you clamber up off the floor before tucking his lighter back into the pocket of his fleece sleep-pants. 

“Good to hear.” 

#brightest blue fic #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #josh kiszka #josh fic #josh kiszka fic #josh x reader #writing

[zealoushound]

Where I Belong

Summary: Your and Mike's son has a bad dream. He wants his father to comfort him. While comforting his little boy he reflects back on his past.

Pairing: Mike/Reader, Mike with his son

Word Count: 1,275

Warnings: none. All fluff. Sweetheart Mikey being a sweetheart dad.

A/N: I really wanted to see Mikey as a father, then suddenly inspiration struck. Mike deserved better so we’re out here giving it to him!

Disclaimer: I do not own Mike, Hellrasier, or Henry Cavill, much to my dismay. Only the kids and the wife are my original creation.

Do not copy any part of my material to use as your own. Do not repost my work, or any portions of my work on any site and claim it as your own. Like all my other fics, this was written on my phone and not beta’d.

***

This work of art right here came from the lovely @luna-aestas Thank you so much for such a beautiful piece!

***

It was 2:13 am according to the alarm clock on your bedside table. Your home was peacefully quiet. Then from the darkness of your bedroom came a small voice. “Daddy?” The voice was very soft, very timid. “Daddy?” The little voice was scared.

You were sleeping peacefully, unaware of the meek little voice calling out for his father. A shaky little hand reached out for his fathers shoulder. Giving him a light shake, he spoke a bit louder this time, with fresh tears falling from his eyes, “Daddy?”

Mike woke from a dream of his own. His reality went from losing his swimming trunks at the water park he used to frequent in his childhood, to the familiar darkness of his current bedroom that he shared with his wife of five years. There was a dim nightlight by the door, and one in the hallway for your son to be able to see his way around if needed, but otherwise nothing except the orange glow of the street light down below between the slits in the blinds of your window by the bathroom.

“Daddy?” Mike took in a sharp inhale of breath through his nose, letting his eyes adjust.

“Adam? What’s the matter buddy?” Mike sat up somewhat confused, putting his legs over the edge of the bed, and picked up his son. Holding him close as he started to cry harder. “Come on buddy, let’s go to your room so we don’t wake mama.” You were seven months pregnant, and he knew just how precious sleep was to you right now.

Standing up, holding Adam, he threw one arm back to stretch then walked the nervous toddler back to his bedroom. Adam clutching his fathers bare shoulder the entire way. “Tell me what’s wrong buddy.” Mike said, going into Adam's room.

“I have bad dream.” Mike's face fell a bit. He sat Adam down on the bed. Sitting down beside him he watched as the four year old wiped his face with the sleeve of his pajamas.

“I’m sorry kiddo. Wanna tell me what it was about?” Mike brushed his son's unruly curls out of his face.

Adam sniffled. Begrudgingly he began telling his father his nightmare. “There was a bear in my room. Him was a bad bear, daddy.” He looked around like he was looking for the beastly bear to come back. “Him bit me! And him was gonna eat me!”

Mike’s eyes widened in pretend shock, he gasped, “No way! Quick! Let me look at you!” Mike rolled up his son's sleeves, lifted his shirt over his head, tilting him back and forth, inspecting his stomach and back. He rolled up the legs of Adam’s pajamas. Adam was giggling at his fathers reaction. “Phew, no bear bites! Looks like that bear let you go! Musta been scared off cause of these stinky feet!” He crossed his eyes, sticking out his tongue and played dead, flopping back onto the mattress.

“Daddy!” Adam’s laughter filled the room. He laid down with his dad. Mike shifted into a more comfortable position knowing he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Tell me a story daddy.”

Mike recanted the age-old story that his grandmother used to tell him about the three bears, but gave it a more happy ending, and made Goldielocks a little boy named Sam. Telling him in the end that the bears all befriended the little boy. He was even invited inside to eat dinner after having help fix the things that he had broken.

“Daddy?” Mike could tell Adam was getting sleepy again.

“Yeah, kiddo?” He was softly running his fingers through his son's hair.

“Do you ever have bad dreams?” Such an innocent question. One that could bring back such dark memories if he were to allow it. Not tonight.

Mike inhaled sharply, remembering the sounds of the shovels digging into the earth to free him; the scraping of metal against wood. “Yeah buddy, sometimes.” Adam looked up into his eyes as he continued. “Your mom saved me from those dreams though. She made them stop. But when I do have them I just wake her, and she holds me until the monsters go away.” Mike smiled fondly talking about his wife. The mother of the children he never imagined he’d have.

Adam yawned, and smiled. “Close your eyes little guy. That bear ain’t coming back. If he does just feed him some porridge. That’ll make him happy.” Adam closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes.

Mike stayed awake a little bit longer thinking about his family. Thinking what would have happened had that officer not realized what was going on at that house that night. He had never thought he’d be so grateful to see the inside of an ambulance. That was the night he met you.

You weren’t even supposed to be working that evening. You had pulled a double because someone was sick. You were the second person he saw that night. When they opened the casket an officer called for help. “We got a live one! Need some help over here!” You were the one to answer that call. You helped pull him from the earth.

Mike fell asleep thinking about seeing your beautiful face for the first time that night. Thinking about the way you gently shushed him, putting the oxygen mask over his mouth and held him to you in the back of that ambulance because he refused to lie down, terrified that if he did he’d end up back in that box. The way your fingers brushed his curls back away from his face.

You woke up that morning around 7:30 reaching for your husband but found only his pillow. You got up slowly, wanting to take care of nature’s business then go looking for him. After washing your hands you walked down the hall to check on your son. The sight that greeted you made you smile wide.

There was no denying Adam was Mikey’s son. They were both on their backs, their right arms were both up and over their heads, the left draped over their stomachs. They were both snoring, both mouths wide open. There were curls everywhere! You went, and grabbed your phone to snap a picture.

“I love you my boys.” You quietly say rubbing your bump. “Little girl these boys are going to be wrapped around your finger I just know it.” You went downstairs to cook breakfast.

Mike joined you in the kitchen not long afterward. Kissing the back of your neck he mumbled a good morning. “Say, do you remember what the first thing I ever said to you was?”

You laughed, “How could I forget?!” You turned away from what you were doing to look at him. “‘Hey sweet cheeks, you always look this good saving lives?’” Mike laughed at you when you tilted your head like he did when he flirted. “To which I responded, ‘normally no, but you making me roll around in all this dirt gave me a more natural look.’”

You touched his face as his hands caressed your full abdomen. His little girl. “I’m so glad I worked that double. I was so pissed I had to take that shift. Who knew three hours later I’d meet my soulmate.”

Mike hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes in bliss. Some would say it was divine intervention, some would say fate, or it just wasn’t his time, but if anyone asked Mike, he would tell them he didn’t know, and didn’t care all he knew was that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

***

Tag list: (As always if you want on or off please let me know!)

@foodieforthoughts @wendimydarling @hope-to-hell @littlefreya @nuggsmum @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @summersong69 @oddduckthatgirl @christhickevans @winter2112rose @ladycavillry @mary-ann84 @twhstuckylover @cavills-little-princess @luclittlepond

#zealoushound writes #where i belong #mikey hellraiser #mike x reader #mike fan fiction #henry cavill fanfic #soft mikey #comfort fic #dad mike

[icarushasfallenfromthestars]

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!Tubbo

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

-

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'Manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'Manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offence, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar-free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their over reactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

#tubbo x reader #yandere tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #yandere ranboo x reader #mcyt x reader #yandere mcyt x reader #mcyt #ranboolive #ranboo #tubbo #dream smp #dsmp #ranboo dsmp #ranboo dreamsmp #tubbo dsmp #tubbo dreamsmp #tubbo mcyt #ranboo mcyt

[lokimostly]

How would Loki react to an unplanned pregnancy?

Secrets

Loki x Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 1,829

Warnings: fluff :3

A/N: I got like, 6 requests for this exact scenario. Y’all REALLY hungry for dad!Loki huh 

“Oh, come now,” Volstagg thundered from across the table, a goblet of mead in his hand. “You sorcerers read minds all the time, I know it!”

“It’s not true!” You insisted, laughing. The midsummer banquet had long since ended, but Thor’s group of close friends – yourself included – had simply elected to move the party to his wing of the palace, where you could continue to revel and drink uninterrupted. “Seidr allows us to influence minds only.”

“I don’t believe it,” the red-bearded warrior decided. Finding your answer dissatisfactory, he turned to the more knowledgeable of the two sorcerers at the long table. 

Loki regarded his gaze with the faintest of smiles. “Yes, Volstagg?”

“Can you read minds, Silvertongue?”

Loki took a sip of his drink, which he had undoubtedly magicked into a finer, more sophisticated liquor besides mead, and raised one dark eyebrow, keeping the table in suspense before shaking his head. “No, I can’t read minds.” 

The group erupted. You and Loki shared a mutual smirk amidst the clamor, and you subtly leaned closer to him, speaking in his ear. “A good thing, too, or we would have no secrets between us.”

“Secrets?” He repeated, a confused smirk lighting his poet’s mouth as he lowered his goblet and met your eyes. “What have you yet to tell me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and you forced them down with a nonchalant shake of your head and a light kiss to his cheek. 

“Nothing,” You lied, covering genuine anxiety with a coy and playful tone that, hopefully, he wouldn’t see past.

You hadn’t figured out a way to tell Loki yet.

The only things keeping him in the dark were the medicines you had concocted for morning sickness, your own personal resolve, and time. Sooner or later, one of the three would fail. In retrospect, you had no idea how two intelligent sorcerers could make such a thoughtless error: both magic and herbal contraceptives were commonplace on Asgard, and yet neither had been used. You had no clue how Loki would respond to the news of a child; the two of you had never discussed it before. 

You were drawn out of your thoughts by Thor’s rich, deep voice declaring across the room: “maybe not read minds, brother, but you can search them all the same.”

The party began to argue, and Loki held out a hand, quieting them. “Searching someone’s mind and reading it are two different ideologies,” he clarified. “To break and enter someone’s consciousness is a crime, and incredibly difficult besides. But opening a two-way connection? That would be something else entirely.”

“Read your fair lady’s mind, then,” Sif suggested, smirking wolfishly and setting her cup down on the golden table. “She trusts you. Tell us her thoughts.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and looked sideways at you, and you stalled. You were in no position to refuse. Reluctantly, you set down your goblet of cider and pulled away to face him, straightening your back. Your heart was pounding, but you hid it well, and gave him an easy nod.

The table discussion turned to a murmur as Loki inhaled deeply, stilling himself and narrowing his focus. His green eyes shimmered with seidr and you felt the push of his consciousness when it met yours, like a gust of wind. You shivered.Loki pried gently into your mind with a tangible gentleness, surveying the thoughts that came and went. You tried to think of anything but your secret and keep his attention on more mundane trains of thought: the events of the party, the growing discomfort of your dress, how unbelievably handsome he looked in your eyes. 

Loki’s focus snagged this last thought and shook his head, his cheeks tinging with a light blush. “Don’t try and distract me,” he warned lowly, with a graveling tone that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

“What is she thinking?” Volstagg demanded.

Loki shrugged. “Mostly flattery.” He narrowed his eyes and his eyes glowed faintly as he delved deeper. You felt it, and instinctively closed the door of your mind to block him from discovering your secret – he sensed it shut, and unease flickered behind his eyes. What were you hiding from him? 

He veiled his confusion with a light scoff. “She’s evading me.”

Fandral tutted at you as he raised his goblet. “Come now, don’t you trust your lover?”

Loki’s eyes reflected the same question. 

You met his gaze with your hands clasped tight enough to make your knuckles whiten. Your stomach turned over with nausea. You swallowed. The doubt and apprehension in Loki’s expression was as clear and visible to you as if he had expressed it aloud; you didn’t need to read his mind to see that. It was visible in the tension of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his thigh.

If you didn’t tell him now, when would you? 

You took a breath and smiled briefly, reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his wrist to stop the anxious tapping. “I do,” you affirmed, and after a moment, removed the door inside your mind.

You watched him fall right through it like a fox into a rabbit hole.

Loki’s face paled. A beat of silence passed. 

Then another. 

“What is it?” Fandral asked, expressing the thoughts of the table aloud. “Well? What is she thinking?”

“Silver tongue turned to lead?” Volstagg joked.

Loki blinked, and swallowed. “Excuse me,” he said, standing abruptly and taking you by the arm. A half-spoken apology left your lips before he dragged you out and into the dark hallway outside the banquet room, the heavy doors clanging shut behind you.

The night wind was warm and heavy with the scents of midsummer, carrying the faint voices and music of the city below, lights twinkling in the dark. Your heart was in your throat when Loki cupped your face in his hands, elegant fingers tucking your hair back out of familiar habit. You shied from his touch, expecting rejection and refusing to meet his gaze.

His eyes searched your face, not daring to ask, but knowing he must. “Is it true? Are you–” his voice stalled, and his eyes dropped to your stomach before coming back up again. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded as anxious tears pricked at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you began, and your voice broke. “I- I would have told you some other way, but–” 

Loki silenced you with a kiss, the taste of sweet wine lingering on his lips. The glass floor of anxiety broke beneath your feet and you leaned into him, cupping his jaw in your shaking hands. A meteor streaked across the dark sky as the two of you stood there, dark silhouettes a backdrop of golden lights. 

He pulled away. His hands slid down your arms, holding you there. “How long?”

“Two months,” you quavered. Your tears spilled over, and you reached up hastily to wipe them with your palm. “You’re– you’re not upset?”

Loki’s mouth opened in surprise. His expression spoke volumes and he exhaled quickly, shaking his head and pulling you to his chest. 

“Upset?” He repeated, laughing in disbelief. He cradled your head beneath his chin, fingers gently tangled in your hair. “Ohh, my love. I’m only sorry that you bore it alone for so long.” You let out a muffled sob of relief against his chest and he held you a bit tighter, running his hand up and down your back.

You stayed there together, holding each other until your tears subsided. You pulled away, wiping your face once more. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, pushing your hair back and sighing. “It’s supposed to be a happy night.”

“It is,” he insisted, leaning down to wipe the remnants of your tears and pressing kisses to your cheeks. He took your hands in his and squeezed them gently. “And if I recall correctly, we didn’t get a chance to dance. There may yet be some fires still burning.”

You chuckled, still a little teary, and nodded. “I’d like that.” You linked your arm through his, leaning your head against his shoulder as you began walking. The night air was warm and sweet, carrying the promise of a good harvest on the gentle breeze. Midsummer on Asgard has always been one of your favorite holidays: it was both a reassurance of the present and a promise of the future. Each one had been memorable. You had a feeling this one would be, too.

Loki’s thoughts were running rampant through his head loudly enough for you to notice, distracting you from enjoying the breeze, and you poked him in the side. “What is it?’

Loki made a surprised noise before looking down at you. “How in all the realms did you manage to hide it from me for so long? What about the sickness?”

You laughed then, raising your eyebrow. “Your mother may have helped me with a remedy,” you admitted, averting your eyes in a feigned expression of innocence. 

As you expected, Loki’s jaw dropped, and he made an indignant noise. “She knew?”

“Of course she did, she knows everything.” 

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together to try and hide the smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “She does know everything. I should have guessed.”

“Well, you know now.”

“That I do,” He agreed. “And I have half a mind to wed you for your treachery.”

“Treachery?” You repeated incredulously, though that wasn’t the word that had caught your attention. The mention of marriage made your face flush and your stomach flip. Out of all the reactions you had envisioned when it came to sharing this secret, a proposal wasn’t one you’d expected. Loki, your husband; you could get used to calling him that. 

You sighed dramatically and tried to quell the butterflies inside your ribs, squeezing his arm. “Well, I accept. The punishment is fitting.” Loki looked down at you and the two of you shared a mutual smirk – you could tell he was excited, too, in the way his green eyes twinkled and his breath caught when you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The sounds of music and jubilee coming from the lower city promised a long night of dancing and revelry despite the late hour. The two of you snuck your way down through the crowded alleyways, walking beneath lantern light and watching the silhouettes of people dancing in rings around the fires. The night wind was thick with the scents of wood smoke and summer fruit. Loki reeled you in and held your hand as you joined one of the rings, laughing and stepping your feet with all the rest. 

No one else noticed the two magicians casting dancing shadows of their own on the cobblestone. By the time the next summer solstice came, they would be joined by a third. But for now, it was only you and Loki, dancing in the bonfire light with color in your cheeks and laughter on your lips. Loki’s eyes sparkled and his hands held yours with every assurance of safety and permanence. He loved you. And you didn’t need to read his mind to know that for a fact.

~~~

A/N: thanks for reading! ♡ 

Loki Works Tag list (Open): @cottoncandy1010, @myoxisbroken

All Works Tag List (Open): @neontiiger, @un-consider-it, @jessiejunebug, @nerdypisces160, @lokiisntdeadbitch, @e-wolf-90, @cursedmoonstone-blog, @kikaninchen-2, @bluebellhairpin, @evy-lyn, @midnight-queen-1, @travelingmypassion, @harrybpoetry, @adefectivedetective, @absolutecraziness13, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7, @timetraveler1978, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin, @ornate-ribcage, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @yespolkadotkitty, @befearlesslyauthenticc, @ladybugsfanfics, @nancybenson

#loki #marvel #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #dad!loki #daddy!loki #pregnant #pregnancy #Anonymous #pregnant!reader #asgard #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x oc #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer) 

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight. 

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting. 

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips. 

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.” 

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams. 

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds. 

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second. 

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened. 

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked. 

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.” 

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair. 

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything. 

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?” 

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all. 

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start. 

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch. 

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.  

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.” 

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her. 

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her. 

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill. 

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim. 

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm #elain #elain archeron #elain x azriel #elriel fic #elriel #pro elriel #elriel smut #elriel fluff #elriel angst #post acosf #azriel #azriel x elain #archeron sisters #archeron family #acotar fic #rhysand #rhys #feysand #feyre #rhys x feyre #lucien vanserra #cassian #nesta

[the-kingshound]

ROs reactions to MC becoming a cold and calculated killing machine because of the torture with RO now being their only soft spot?

Ohh, anon, I love this ask and since in game action will have permanent consequences I will make a follow up of this scenario so every RO's MC has been through a different kind of torture. It got a bit long, sorry, I kept writing and writing!

Arthur

When the Knights see you, they bow.

"Your Majesty."

You nod in their direction, signing them to raise. You then unsheathe your sword and stare at them with a pragmatic, focused glance "follow my lead."

You join the battle only after the second wave, attacking from the side and rapidly gaining the upper hand. When no more opponents stand in the field but injured and dying fighters, your chest heaves and your sword drips crimson blood from the tip.

"Your Majesty, a couple dozens of rival soldiers are retreating in the woods."

Your voice betrays nothing but a cold type of control when you answer "get the heavy chivalry to chase them. If possible, we take prisoners."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur will be here shortly, you think just before you start metodically cleaning your sword to sheathe it. Your King, as you predicted, reaches your small group of knights shortly after. He seems to glow like a majestic, regal vision in the bright daylight. You can never get enough.

As you approach his knights, between rigid strides you crouch down briefly to pick up something from the grassy field. You have most of the knights eyes on you as you get near your husband and offer him a daisy.

He takes it with a radiant light in his eyes, you know that the softness there is more than reflected in yours. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek before you retreat.

"For you, my King."

And when Arthur keeps you close at night in your shared bed, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles one by one, you know you you could lose you fingers and your ability to wear his ring, but never his unrestrained, blinding love.

Evaine

Arthur strides through the castle's halls with his usual composed demeanor, exhuding a reflective sense of peace that is only exterior. Inside, he is worried and scared. Ever since the kidnapping, you've been cold and distant. More focused, in a way, calculated when you would have hesitated before. No matter the thin scar that marked your face or the limp that now slowed you down in combat, you were merciless. Arthur just wants you to feel safe again.

He rounds the corner and stops in front of his knight's door. He knocks and recieves no answer, probably because of the sound of more than one voice inside. Slowly, the King opens the door, calling with a soft voice "Evaine?"

The sight that greets him is... unexpected.

Evaine's room is drowning in garments, dresses, robes and cloaks are all over the bed and the large vanity. You're standing in front of the mirror, Evaine is just behind you, their finger ghosting on your skin as they tie a golden neckerchief around your neck.

As soon as Arthur's presence is noted, you clear your throat, molding your expression back in a neutral one, but not quite as closed off as the one you always wear.

"So, how do I look?"

You turn around to let him see the dress in its entirety, the wip scars quite visible on your back. Arthur's pained grimance fades quicky in favour of a soft, sincere smile "you're stunning."

His attention is then on his knight. Evaine is radiant, more relaxed than he's seen them in a very long time. More... present. They've not been well for the past months.

"You wanted to talk to me, my King?"

"Yes," Arthur nods "since I had to reschedule some of today's appointments, your schedule has been rearranged. You have the rest of the afternoon free."

If that's not entirely the truth - Arthur was in need of a Knight for the squire training, but it was also true that it has been too long since he's had fun with the younglings - no one needs to know.

And with a cheeeful "have fun" he's out of the room.

You look at the dress you're currently wearing in the mirror one more time, than turn back and take another robe, soft and tighter fitting, from Evaine's wardrobe.

"How about this?" you ask them.

"Mh," they hum, giving it a very serious assessment "it would compliment your eyes perfectly. And it's not that heavy compared to the previous ones."

You send them a blinding smile, trowing your arms over them in a playful hug, than you let them help you hastly put it on.

Sometimes you forget yourself to the memories and the freezing phantom of a long gone pain, but everytime Evaine is there to bring you back, offering distractions that bring you joy and happiness. That night Evaine tells you you're the most beautiful and bright star in the sky and, for the first time since the kidnapping, you believe them.

Morien

Whispers of the King's hound gone rabid have all but taken hold of the settlements near Kev, the last town to know your uncontained fury as your informants found some dissidents nobles. You made sure not to leave the town unscathed to be of warning for whoever next dared to conspire against the King.

There are frightened voices murmuring of an heartless punisher, what they recount are mostly exaggerated distortions of true events, but they do get right the almost lifeless glint in your eyes as you write down orders.

At this point, even some knights are scared of you, of the seemingly merciless way you stare down at them without ever breathing a word. There is only one person able to get past the coldness that replaced your lost tongue, and it's the court physician.

You are currently in Morien's arms, buried in the familiarity of their scent that is secure and grounding. This feels like a rare privilege for how much Morien usually shyes away contact. With you they have reached a level of comfort, through, that sees you gifted with the warmth of their body whenever you need it and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

"Plans for today?" they ask you a rough but comforting tone of voice.

Frighten the knights, you sign and instantly they let out a humored chuckle.

"Alright, you have my attention. How do you want to proceed?"

Just tell them I want to see them all in the courtyard. They skipped training yesterday and went out drinking to celebrate. you let out a voiceless hum  I'm not really mad but they don't know that.

Morien's laugh is brief but sincere "well, let's go then."

And as you get ready, you tie a red ribbon to your wrist, very alike the ones that sometimes Morien themselves ties to their cane. The physician looks as it and then their eyes are fixed on your face with a mixture of emotion that is both fondness and tender adoration. You shrug, then offer them your arm as you walk in silence through the halls in the courtyard's direction.

Gwyar

The mark has made very difficult for people to meet your eyes and watch you in the face. You don't hold it against them, though, you know you're not an easy sight. The only ones in this room who can actually stomach it are Arthur and Gwyar, and while the King can hardly suppress the guilt, your manservant has managed to push it down in favour of their usual attentive posture.

With a fluent movement they are beside you, refilling your cup of whine and whispering in your ear with a bland tone.

"Lady Deva is under the impression that a necklace has been stolen by the less than reputable Lord Havet."

Your interest piqued, you arch a brow in their direction, only to catch at the corner of your eye the sparkling of jewelry.

Careful to mantain a neutral expression, you subtly extend your arm in their direction with the open palm facing upwards. Gwyar lets the necklace fall in your possession with an effortless movement, then they fall back behind you with the grace of a liquid shadow they've always possessed. No one seems to have noticed the brief exchange.

It does take the meal to finish before finally some action unfolds. You register Lady Deva bringing her fingers to her empty collarbone and instantly her eyes snap to the Lord at her side.

"How dare you" she hisses, low enough not to make a scene but with enough vehemence to make him reel back.

"My Lady, I sincerely don't know what-"

"My necklace."

"What of it?"

By now the altercation has managed to attract most of the other nobles attention. The argument gets heated quickly and as the situation unfolds you fail to contain a wicked grin. Arthur, to your left, is surprised by it ony for a second, then he catches the feral glint in Gwyar's eyes, just behind you, and he has to bring a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh of his own.

Taking pity on them, you clear your throat, your voice steel cold but not unkind "did it have by chance an engraved pendant?"

The scraped sound of your voice, a bit rough from unuse, is enough to snap the entire room to silence and attention. The lady's eyes widen as she watches you extract the necklace out of your robe, her eyes immediately falling off your face as her expression contorts into a mixture of embarassment and fear.

"I found it just outside of the chamber, in the hall."

"Ah, I- I probably lost it" the lady stammers and you have to figh your lips from curling upwards as another wave of hilarity hits you.

That night, Gwyar is so undeniably proud of your performance you can only laugh with them and take them in your arms as you both fall on the bed. They let their gaze wonder on your face and they breathe out a raspy praise. You are motionless as they kiss your mark and you think in that instant that you'd let it happen only with them. Only with them - and the phrase holds a strange type of comfort.

#ask #ROs #Arthur #Evaine #Morien #Gwyar

[hanibalistic]

#758A87 | LEE JENO.

genre | fluff, domestic au, platonic love

word count | 1652

warning | none​

note | i am back to advocate for peeling oranges for each other. also, yes, i may be writing a little nct but don’t count on it.

the way jeno kicked off his shoes and begrudgingly walked past you to go to his room told you that he was rejected.

there was this girl who he has been going on and on about for a while now. he kept it to himself fairly well in the earlier stages of his crush, but you caught on anyway after noticing the cues he dropped here and there—smiling at his phone, mentioning her name in and out of conversations, and mostly jaemin's constant teasing. after he came clean to you about his occupied affection, he fully allowed himself to express how ever-growing his feelings were.

although there were times when you felt an overwhelming urge to shut him up (for someone who talks so little, jeno sure talks a lot in the comfort of your shared apartment), ultimately you were happy to see that he has a reason to be so giddy and happy all the time. she makes him talk like nobody can, she makes him beam and coo, and you were grateful that this unknown girl could bring the best out of your friend.

occasionally, though, when you watch the way his eyes light up in the mention of the girl, you would feel a cold breeze of loneliness for the absence of a companion of your own. you were not in love, and neither was anyone in love with you, and there was a deep hollowness in the absence of affection, whether one-sided or reciprocated, that made you feel an unexplainable desperation to find love without being in need of it.

you turned away from your laptop that you set on the coffee table when you heard footsteps trailing out to the living room. water still dripped past his skin, showing that he didn't bother to dry himself thoroughly after the steaming hot shower he just took. his blue hair dripped wet and the towel around his shoulders was the only thing catching the rainfall from his head.

jeno moved slow and depressed, his eyes not a trace of glow in them and his jaw tightly gritted. he bent down to pick up the shoes he kicked off in a moment of a tantrum when he got home, but his fingers were flailing as if he has no will to do anything but lay on his bed and reflect on his entire love life—how it started, how much he loved the girl who broke his heart, where it went wrong, and what the hell was so bad about him that she didn't love him back?

you pouted slightly in awkwardness when he resulted in placing his shoes near the wall instead.

oh lord, he totally got rejected. that was not the worst thing but the fact that you never knew how to deal with someone heartbroken. you never had to go through it yourself, neither were you ever placed in a situation where someone else needed your comfort.

what could you do? distract him by giving him tasks to do? let him vent his emotions out to you even though he has always been quiet about his negative feelings? be insensitive and remind him there were bigger problems than being dumped?

what if he didn't need it, though? do heartbroken people truly need their hearts to be mended at all? if the heartbreak is the only thing left of whom they used to love, do they truly want to get rid of it?

"jeno."

annoyed but kind, jeno looked up from the cracks of the wall to you. he was upset, but he thought it unfair to take it out on you. your wide eyes glanced back at him when he stood up straight again, and you flashed him a tight smile as you raised your hands to him. he looked at the oranges sitting comfortably on your palms, and internally, he sighed.

"can you peel these oranges for me?" you asked as you usually would, sounding occupied but also free.

jeno really could not be bothered with doing anything. he just got rejected by who he thought was the love of his life; he felt confident this morning, especially after you helped fix up his hair and pick his outfit, as well as jaemin's encouraging words, only to have his expectations crumble with a simple answer. some part of him felt humiliated and stupid for choosing this route, for thinking that he had a chance, and he really cannot be bothered at all.

"[name], i'm sorry but i really don't feel like doing anything right now," he confessed lowly.

he was about to turn to leave when you called him again, much more urgently this time but still with a hint of dragging laziness in your tone.

"ah–jeno, please?" you pleaded in a faint childish whine, squeezing the oranges in your hands. "just one orange? please, jeno?"

he almost rolled his eyes when he turned to face you, but the softness that erupted in his chest at the sight of you sitting on the floor, oranges in your hand, stopped him from letting you see his annoyance. his hammering brain relaxed when he saw you put one orange down and attempted to peel the other one with trouble.

he sighed with unknown but familiar endearment when your thumb tore right through the fruit, sprouting juices over your once clean hands, and a gentle defeat once again rushed over him when you frowned up at him with the failure in your hands and a pleading glint in your eyes.

the softness in his heart—he never thought much about it. much of his affection for you was platonic, he believed, but they were also affection that seemed to trump the ones he felt for the girl he loved whenever they rush to the nape of his neck. the feelings he has for you often seemed to trump all else when he was confronted with them blatantly, such as now, and he could do anything.

he could do anything. he could declare that you are one of his best friends, maybe he could tell you he loves you, but mostly he could brush away his sadness to peel you an orange if you asked.

"jeno..."

"okay, okay," he said as he crouched down next to you and took the untouched orange from the table.

at some point, he lost his balance and he ended up sitting down next to you. he skillfully ripped the skin off the orange, carefully and precisely revealing the tasty fruit inside. meanwhile, you struggled freely with your destroyed orange by taking apart the slices and popping them into your mouth.

"oh, try it, this is good."

jeno looked up briefly when you spoke. he opened his mouth so you could feed him the orange slice, and he raised his brows in approval. you grinned, taking note that you should get more of the same ones next time you go buy groceries to stock up.

there was a moment of silence where you focused on the television and jeno on the last bit of orange slices in his hands. when he was done, he reached over to the coffee table and dumped them on the tissue you laid on top. when he was done, he dusted his hands and hoisted himself off the floor, just before you spoke again.

"you got rejected, didn't you?"

jeno pursed his lips, the sorrow rushing over him once again after having forgotten about it. he nodded. "yeah."

you turned your head to look at him. jeno felt self-conscious under your gaze. he never did so, but it felt like you were accessing what was wrong with the way he looked.

"maybe it's your blue hair," you said, pointing at his head and a playful laugher hanging on your lips. "maybe you reminded her too much of sonic, like the hedgehog, so she said no–"

"you are not funny." he smiled patiently but humorlessly.

"i am trying my best!" you exclaimed, then you leaned back against the edge of the couch and asked to the ceiling, "are you sad?"

"yeah."

"okay then," you muttered, then you laid your head on his shoulder and huffed. "how about now?"

jeno choked on a short laugh, in disbelief yet he was kind of used to your way of comforting people, but his heart beat softly against his chest at both the proximity and your discreet care. if anything, he would have preferred your way than the way of talking and reaching into the cave of his emotions. mainly because the latter does nothing but make him realize how much he missed with just one rejection.

at least with your head on his shoulder, he remembers he has friends, a companion. he has someone he has a soft spot for, someone he can put all his abandoned love for in the meantime as he searched for another lover, someone who can make him bother when he feels like he can't anymore.

"maybe a little less," he whispered, smiling to himself.

"okay..." you reached your hand to him, an orange slice in your hand, "care for an orange?"

jeno laughed, but then he grimaced with a choke of disbelief when he saw the monstrosity in your hands.

"[name]! i said peel the orange not kill it!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide at how sticky and wet your hands have become from just peeling the orange.

"i told you i just can't do it!" you laughed incredulously, shrugging and popping another orange slice into your mouth. "this is why i have you."

jeno rolled his eyes in defeat, but he denies nothing of it. 

you are where he puts his love into for now, you are who holds half of his soul for now. you are who he is willing to peel oranges for, maybe not just for now but for the rest of his life.

#jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #jeno x y/n #lee jeno #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream x you #nct dream x reader #nct dream x y/n #nct dream blurbs #jeno blurbs #lee jeno blurbs #lee jeno imagines #nct x you #nct x gender neutral reader #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct blurbs #nct jeno #lee jeno x reader #lee jeno x you #lee jeno scenarios

[artificialdaydreamer]

How to Say "I Love You"

Emotions are hard to understand, conveying how one feels to the person they love is even harder.

-

Jon had never been good at expressing his emotions. Growing up he mostly absorbed their descriptions from books, how a character was excited for something to happen, how another was jealous of someone else. The feeling he found hardest to comprehend was love. How was it possible to be so completely devoted to another person that it shifted the way you felt about everything? He loved his parents, even now that they were gone. He loved his grandmother, but he got the feeling that the type of love written about in books was different from the emotions he was actually experiencing.

When he started dating Georgie, something he’d entirely misinterpreted when it had first happened, Jon wasn’t sure what the emotions he felt were. Was the yearning to be close to her love? The happiness to have someone he could talk with about inconsequential things? Then again, if what he felt wasn’t love, then what was? Eventually Georgie came to him, told him that while she liked Jon as a friend she didn’t think their relationship was working out. They’d broken up without much fanfare and going from dating to friends didn’t really change how they interacted with each other.

As he watched Martin sleep, his coppery curls catching the light of the rising sun, his face close enough to Jon’s that it was possible to count every freckle, Jon thought he might finally have an answer. He loved Martin, that was the only explanation for why his heart clenched whenever Martin smiled, why his cheeks flushed and his palms started to sweat from the smallest things. This was what people talked about in those books, what they yearned for with such intensity, wasn’t it?

When had he started feeling like this? When had Jon’s feelings for Martin turned to love? Was it when he’d gone into the Lonely? When Martin had started working for Peter Lukas and Jon was no longer able to see him? Earlier? How long had he loved Martin and just not realized it?

Jon lay there, thinking back to their interactions over the years. Next to him Martin started to stir, blue eyes blinking open slowly. “Morning.” Martin said with a smile.

“Good morning.” Jon tried to keep his voice from shaking as his heart pounded in time with his thoughts. I love you, I love you, I love you.

From then on it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by the love, like a wave crashing over him. Jon would be in the middle of a sentence before getting distracted by Martin, how beautiful he was, his laugh. I love you, I love you, I love you. How did people deal with these emotions?

He started to use actions instead of the words he could not say. Making sure they had enough of Martin’s favorite tea in the safehouse. I love you, I love you, I love you. Offering to cook breakfast so Martin could stay in bed a bit longer. I love you, I love you, I love you. Letting his fingers linger a bit longer than was necessary whenever they touched. I love you, I love you, I love you.

They’d decided to take a walk into town, grab some groceries, and stretch their legs, passing the field full of cows Martin stopped and cooed over them. He’d gotten out his phone to take pictures and the moment was so... normal compared to everything they’d been through that Jon started chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Martin had asked, tearing his eyes from the cows to look at Jon in confusion.

“Nothing,” Jon took a breath, trying to burn this moment into his memory. “I just love you so much.”

There was a moment of silence where Martin just stared at him, his freckled face looking even redder thanks to the glow of the setting sun. “Wait... What?”

For a heartbeat Jon wondered if he’d said the wrong thing, although he hadn’t even meant to say it at all. He couldn’t help but question if Martin’s confession of “I really loved you” meant that those feelings were gone. Had he been the only one who worried about just what the emotions flooding through his veins meant? Was he just imagining that Martin felt the same way?

“I- I’m sorry... I didn’t mean-” Jon was floundering now, scrambling for something to say to make the situation right again. “If you don’t- I’m sorry.”

“You... Do you mean that?” Martin’s cheeks were practically scarlet, his phone now dangling precariously in one hand.

“I... Yes?” Despite the fact Jon had already come to terms with his feelings, had already said the words aloud, it felt like an entirely different thing to answer when his thoughts were in such turmoil. He didn’t know how to respond in a way that wouldn’t sound selfish, asking for affection he knew in his heart he didn’t deserve. Even if Martin did still like him there wasn’t anything that Jon could do to atone for the thing’s he had said, the things he had done, the person he’d been to have treated Martin so terribly. It was ironic, that at the time he’d swatted away such affection yet now he craved it as though he were an addict suffering from withdrawal. As though he’d been living underground and now that he’d seen sunlight he couldn’t get enough.

The expression on Martin’s face was hard to understand. Was it sadness? Pity? The books Jon had read as a child had talked about brows furrowing, lips being bitten, eyes not being met, but those individual descriptions could apply to so many emotions and Jon didn’t know what it was Martin might be feeling. It was all Jon could do to not scrunch his eyes up as Martin took a tentative step closer, then another, bridging the gap between them and effectively forcing all the air from Jon’s lungs. Then he’d swept Jon up in his arms, Jon’s face nestling into the crook of his neck. It was so warm and comfortable... It felt like Jon belonged there.

“S-sorry...” Martin gasped as they broke apart, his face still red as he seemed to examine Jon for some sort of reaction. “I should have asked first, but I- Are you okay?”

In all honesty Jon was not okay. His brain was attempting to sort out just what he was feeling, synapses firing and crossing out things like anger and disgust with only his limited knowledge of emotions to go off of. Again, the words and feeling threatened to overwhelm him with the constant pounding of I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Jon?” Martin waved a hand in front of his face and it was a real effort for Jon to pull himself out of his thoughts enough to meet Martin’s gaze. “Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no... I just... I wasn’t expecting- I didn’t know if-”

“Wait... Jon, did you not think I felt the same?” Martin’s eyes were wide, reflecting the setting sun.

“I, I’m not sure.” He’d spent so much time absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t actually thought of what might happen if he confessed. He hadn’t even thought about confessing. Jon realized that he’d somehow become content with just loving Martin and not telling him. He’d convinced himself that Martin was better off without him, and that there wasn’t a point in confessing.

“Jon, I’ve loved you for the past two years.” Martin’s voice was soft, his cheeks still flushed as he stared at Jon.

“What?” Jon squawked, taking a step back in surprise. Martin reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand in his own, it was so warm, so comforting.

“Well, not exactly two years...” Martin ran his free hand through his coppery curls. “Since the thing with Prentiss, when you let me stay in the Archives...”

Jon remembered those long nights they’d spent together after Martin had started living in the document storage room. At first Jon had found Martin’s presence kind of annoying, it was impossible to get some time by himself. Then he’d realized what was going on, although he couldn’t explain just how he’d known.

Martin didn’t want to be alone.

While he’d admitted during his statement that boredom had been the thing that had been the hardest to deal with, Jon suspected loneliness had also plagued him. Cut off from everyone, no internet, no phone, and it wasn’t like he could talk to Jane Prentiss. It certainly explained why Martin felt the need to check on Jon every half hour.

Once he’d realized why Martin was acting like a concerned parent he made an effort to take more breaks so they could talk. At first it had been hard to find topics for discussion, as Jon was as good with small talk as he was with emotions, but bringing up the Admiral had certainly broken the ice. After that Jon found it easier to connect with Martin, it was still somewhat awkward, but he certainly made an effort. Jon had also ended up staying in the Archives overnight a handful of times as well, partially because he had work to do and partially to keep Martin company.

It had been those nights where they’d started to connect, going out to eat so they could both eat a decent meal, talking about random things to pass the time while they struggled to fall asleep. Jon had started to get a sense of who Martin was, underneath the jumpers and tea. He was earnest and always tried his best to do whatever task Jon set for him, no matter how absurd it was. He also had a mischievous side to him and had no problem joining Tim in his pranks, although Martin was much better at keeping the pranks a secret.

It felt strange, getting to know a person through whispered conversations, over tea breaks, or at a cafe. Jon was never good with friendships, never good at telling what people wanted from him, so he’d ended up pushing everyone away. After his encounter with Mr. Spider he only became more withdrawn, survivor’s guilt eating him up inside. Martin wasn’t like the others though. Despite the fact that Jon was horrible at communicating, horrible at deciphering what emotions anyone might be feeling at any given time, Martin didn’t seem to care. He seemed to be genuinely happy to spend time with Jon, which was just as foreign a concept.

Now, despite everything that had happened in the past few years, Martin had stayed with him. An anchor in the churning waves that threatened to wash him away from everything he knew and cared about. Jon loved him for that. “I think that’s when I started to fall for you too. I didn’t- I didn’t realize at the time...”

“Oh, I definitely didn’t realize either.” Martin’s cheeks were slightly less flushed than they had been. “I think I realized it when- this is going to sound crazy...”

“You realized it when, Martin?” Jon couldn’t help but ask, smiling at the flustered look on Martin’s face.

“It... It was when I told you about lying on my CV.” Martin sighed, not daring to meet Jon’s gaze. “You, you were so mad at first but after I told you... You just started laughing and I remember looking at you and thinking ‘really? This is the man I fell in love with?’ Thankfully Tim... Tim was too distracted by everything else going on to pay attention to my hopeless crush.”

“Not so hopeless.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand. “I knew how much I cared about you when I woke up in the hospital after my coma. Georgie was there, and I remember being sad because it was you I wanted to see.” It felt strange to say the words aloud, as though he was only understanding what had happened. He’d been thinking about it so much over the past few weeks, since he’d realized that he loved Martin, but it took saying the words aloud for him to notice. “It was funny, the months that followed, I thought it was a fitting punishment for how I’d treated you. Wanting to be close to someone and yet unable to do so. I knew I loved you a few days after we arrived here.”

“Is that why you were acting so weird?”

“Look, I... I’m not the best with emotions. I don’t get them, I don’t understand how I feel half the time. With other people it’s even harder, trying to piece together how they’re feeling based on their expression or the tone of their voice...” Since he was still holding Martin’s hand Jon couldn’t cross his arms defensively over his chest, so he settled for putting his free hand in his pocket. “This is the first time I’ve ever... I’ve ever felt something so intensely. I didn’t know what to do, how to act, now that I knew I loved you.”

“I get it, emotions are hard. Can I help?” Martin asked, his lips quirked in a small smile.

“Sure? I guess so?”

“How did you feel when I told you that I loved you?”

Jon had to think about it, he’d been so overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotions that he wasn’t sure what any of them had been. “I was... I think I was happy.”

“You think?”

“I was happy, alright?” Jon huffed. “I was also shocked, and confused... Mostly I was happy, because I loved you so much.”

“Alright, that’s good to know.” Martin took a step closer, still smiling. “How would you feel if I kissed you?”

The answer came easier this time. “Happy. I’d feel happy.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Absolutely.” Jon didn’t know what to expect from Martin kissing him. He’d kissed Georgie and while it hadn’t been unpleasant he hadn’t gotten anything from the experience. This time however, Jon could taste the remnants of whatever chapstick Martin had used, strawberry maybe? He felt how warm Martin’s lips were, despite the cold day, their heat bleeding into him. He wrapped his arms around Martin and pulled them closer, trying to memorize everything as it happened. Martin’s scent, the wool of his jumper, how fast both their hearts were beating. In his head Jon was panicking. He didn’t know what to do, or if what he was doing was the right thing to do. He attempted to understand what the emotions he felt were: happiness... amazement... and love. So much love. Was love even an emotion? He didn’t know, but it certainly overwhelmed his senses.

When they broke apart Martin was smiling and, more surprisingly, Jon was smiling back. “Let’s take it one day at a time, alright? We can work out what you might be feeling together.”

“I- I’d like that.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.

The words still rattled around in his mind, but for once they didn’t worry him. Jon might not understand love, or emotions, or why the characters in his books had behaved a certain way, but it didn’t matter. Martin loved him back, and that was more than enough for him.

-

I've been sitting on this fic for a year due to some personal issues, on a related note this is not betaed, I apologize for any mistakes there might be

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #tma fic #my fic

[k-llama-llama]

Donut Date

Stray Kids AU: 9th member

Tori x Stray Kids

Tori’s little outing with Seonghwa

A/N: Please check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive posts you can’t get anywhere else, as well as lots of other cool benefits!

Requests are OPEN and your feedback is still greatly appreciated!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“I’m really starting to think that this is a bad idea.” Tori leaned against the wall outside of the shop. “I should probably cancel.”

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Felix said through the phone. “You can’t cancel now, he’s probably already there.”

Tori glanced down the sidewalk. There was no sign of Seonghwa yet, and every second she waited made her want to bolt.

“This is really weird, right?” She held her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, rummaging through her purse for one of the caramel candies to calm her nerves. “I mean…who goes to a bookstore to hang out?”

“Um, you do?” Felix offered. He was being incredibly supportive. He’d convinced her to finally set up this whole thing, had hung out in her room as she went through seemingly her entire closet while searching for her outfit, and had stayed on the phone with her after she left the house to keep her from backing out.

“You don’t need to worry, Tor.” Felix promised. “It’s super casual. A little bit of shopping and then you’ll get coffee. It’s barely a date.”

“It’s not a date!” She hissed. “It’s just…me paying him back for helping me out.”

“Sure, sure.” Felix didn’t sound convinced. “That’s why it took you two hours to pick out your outfit.”

Tori popped a caramel into her mouth and turned to study her reflection in the window of the bookshop. She’d picked out a tight magenta corduroy dress with a white blouse underneath with slightly puffy sleeves. On her feet she’d gone for white socks and black chunky heels, and she’d curled her black hair and then put a patterned orange scarf in her hair. She looked very seventies, but when she’d left the house, she’d felt amazing about it.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this dress.” She complained.

“Because you look amazing in that dress.” Felix groaned. “Stop freaking out. Just be normal, fun Tori and everything will be fine.”

“Jisung said that I’m annoying and loud.”

“Okay, then be like 85% of normal Tori. Just-“

“Tori?”

“Good luck!” Felix, the traitor, hung up the phone.

Tori tucked her phone into her purse and spun away from the window. The figure coming towards her was wearing a mask, but it wasn’t difficult to recognize Seonghwa.

“Hi.” She gave an awkward little wave. “I’m glad you found the place.”

“Hey.” He stopped in front of her, pulling his mask down below his chin. “I’m sorry if you were waiting I lost track of time when I was getting ready.”

“I just got here.” Tori lied. “Um…do you want to go in?”

“Sure.” He stepped around her to grab the door. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Tori blushed, suddenly very happy that she’d worn that dress. “Have you ever been here before?”

“No,” He stepped inside, blinking at the shift from the outdoors. Every spare space was crammed with bookshelves, and there was a warm orange glow that made their jackets uncomfortable. “This place in incredible.”

“I love it here.” Tori smiled. “I come all of the time. Do you want to go look around?”

“Sure.” Tori let him lead the way. She was technically on a book buying ban, so she was content to just hover around the books and be glad that this wasn’t turning into a complete failure.

“Did you see the new teasers they released for Kingdom?” Seonghwa asked, dragging his finger along the spine of a book.

“Yeah, they looked amazing.” Tori said, trying not to sound too insincere. The teasers were actually amazing and she’d loved them when she first saw them, but the reactions had been less than ideal.

“We’re having a comeback soon, but our fans seem really excited about Kingdom.” Seonghwa turned to look at her. “What about your fans?”

Tori gave a small smile. “I think they’re happy about it.”

He frowned. “Why don’t you look happy about it?”

“What?”

“You were so hyped when we talked about it after MAMA.” He tilted his head. “Why aren’t you excited about it?”

Tori shrugged. “I am excited. I just haven’t had the most positive reaction to my participating. Before our company released a statement, I was considering not going through with it.”

“What do you mean?” He exclaimed. “Stray Kids has to participate!”

“Oh, Stray Kids was going to participate.” She reassured him, moving to rearrange some books that weren’t in alphabetical order. “I was just considering sitting it out.”

“What? That’s crazy.” Seonghwa seemed shocked. “What kind of reactions have you been getting? All I’ve seen is positive stuff.”

“Well…not so much from our fans, but some fans of…the other groups,” She hesitated to name his fans among them. “Haven’t been excited about a girl competing on the show.”

“Why?”

Tori gave a little laugh. “Well, some very nice people said that it wouldn’t be fair to you guys if I was allowed to compete…but most people are saying that I’ll drag down the quality of the show by being there.” It kind of stung to admit that. She’d cried when their manager had called and said that Mnet was releasing a statement justifying her presence on the show.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He looked offended. “How would you drag anything down? You’re an amazing singer, you’re a great dancer, you can rap…I mean, you’re gorgeous so it’s not like it’s a visual thing because, let’s be honest you’ll probably bring more male fans to the show. How could they-“

“You done?” Tori interrupted his rant.

He flushed. “I guess. I just can’t believe you have to put up with that.”

She shrugged again. “I’m used to it. Occupational hazard. The guys have my back, so I try not to worry about it too much.”

“Well, I know that we’re all psyched that you’re on the show.” He coughed. “I mean…Stray Kids…you…being a member of Stray Kids.”

Tori smiled. “Thanks. That really does mean a lot.” She decided to try and lighten the mood. “I’m looking forward to kicking all of your butts every week.”

“I think we’ll be able to hold our own.” He laughed.

Tori bit her lip and looked down, still smiling.

“So…do you want to buy anything, or do you want to go get coffee?” Seonghwa asked.

“Oh,” Tori looked up. “I’m not actually allowed to buy anything. Chan put a limit on my book buying once I started to line my mattress with hardcovers.”

“Seriously?” He laughed. “Ok, then. Let’s go get coffee.”

“Come on.” Tori gestured towards the door. “The coffee place has killer donuts.”

“Coffee is on me.” Seonghwa promised.

“Donuts are on me.”

#kpop #kpop au #au #imagines #imagine #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #ateez #ateez au #ateez imagines #stray kids #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #requests open

[aethwrs]

A broken heart is all that's left

Agatha Harkness x Reader

TW: a bit of violence, character's death (implied)

A/N: I'm sorry this is so short but it was an idea I suddenly had! I'm going to proofread in the morning.

════════════════

You were running between the large number of trees, bushes and giant and moldy rocks that covered the entire surface of the forest making this place a labyrinth in which Agatha and you were lost.

A small flame that floated in front of you lit the way while both of you with your long cloaks and uncomfortable dresses tried to get as far away as possible from the coven that was behind you.

The two of you had read and practiced dark magic, which was not ignored by the coven that was now chasing you to put you through a trial that would not end well at all.

The heavy rain made the dirt road even more dangerous, making you and Agatha slow down, both of you holding hands while dodging the natural obstacles that were in the dark forest in which the only visible light was the one emanating from that flame.

Slipping in a small pool of water, Agatha let out a little cry when she almost fell, being lucky that your hands clung to her waist preventing the fall.

"I got you, darling" you said sweetly, one of your hands caressing her side while the other went to her face, lifting her chin gently and moving a couple of strands of hair out of her face.

Your eyes locked onto each other's, faces reflecting fear as you tried to catch your breath, your hand resting on the cheek of the other young woman while you took a moment to look at her with pure love and adoration as she did the same, trying to cover her expression full of concern and tiredness.

A single tear rolled down your cheek which was quickly wiped away by Agatha's thumb, tears threatening to leak out of her own eyes as she shook her head, refusing to give up.

"We will be fine, we will finally be happy together, y/n" what Agatha said sounded like a mere whisper, the tone of her voice reflecting her doubts and fears while the screams and other noises coming from the coven members felt closer and closer, the flames of their own torches also visible in the distance.

You smiled briefly, you loved her and what you wanted most was to spend your life with her but you knew that there was no way that both of you could get out of this situation unscathed. Not both. Maybe one.

You felt a tug on your hand coming from your girlfriend's hand, she was several steps ahead pointing the way, silently asking you to follow her.

No matter how much both of you wanted to use your magic to the full in order to escape, you knew that if you did, the other witches would be able to locate you easily no matter where you were.

But still, both Agatha and you knew that none of this could end well and that the chances of having your happy ending faded more and more.

While you kept running as fast as you could, a sudden blast of energy came dangerously close behind Agatha's back, which she managed to easily deflect with a single movement of hands and the help of her magic.

"Are you ok, love?" You gasped, frantically analyzing her body from top to bottom looking for any possible injury while her soft and trembling hands rested on yours trying to calm you down. You looked forward, squeezing her hand and standing protectively in front of her when you saw that the other witches were already too close.

"I'm fine, angel" She nodded reassuringly noticing your your face drop at the sight in front of you both. "We have to keep running, come on" Returning on her way, she ran a few steps until she realized that you were not following her, but that you were still in your same place, only now you were turned around, your glassy eyes looking at her with the same love as always and a slight smile adorning your face while your hands glowed blue and you murmured what seemed to be a spell.

"Y/n let's go!" she screamed, feeling more desperate than ever seeing how you didn't move from your spot even when the first witch appeared behind you.

With fury in her eyes and adrenaline rushing through her veins, her hands and eyes glowed pruple as she lifted the witch into the air, slamming her against a nearby tree.

Agatha tried to run back to you but her attempts were useless, an invisible barrier not letting her get closer. Her spell, she thought. Why were you doing this?

"I love you, Atha" You screamed with all your might as tears streamed down your face, a portal opening behind your beloved as you dealt with the attacks of the many witches. "But you need to go" Letting out a cry of pain when a certain attack caught you off guard, you almost whispered that last part.

"I'm not leaving without you!" Agatha screamed as she tried to break down the barrier with her powers, watching you slowly weaken. "No, no no-" She rambled, kicking and hitting the obstacle that separated you when she saw you fall to the ground, the force of your portal pulling her inside little by little as she tried to fight back.

"I love you" Agatha whispered before being sucked into your portal, which closed after she entered. The force of it being enough to knock her unconscious once she reached the other side.

Waking up hours later, Agatha found herself in a small cabin in the least inhabited part of the mountains. Opening her hand she saw a small golden bracelet that belonged to you, seeing it brought tears to her eyes as she remembered what happened.

Surrendering at her own pain, her legs went weak and a thump was heard as she fell to the floor on her knees. Her hands tangled in her hair as she let out a heartbreaking scream, tears streaming freely from her eyes as her magic wreaked havoc throughout the room.

She couldn't feel you.

Your bond was so strong that no matter where you were, you would be able to feel each other.

But now she couldn't. You were gone.

Objects fell from the walls while she clung to the last thing she had left of you, that piece of jewelry that she would never let go of.

She had just lost the only person she had ever loved. No one would be able to fill that empty place in her heart that had only belonged to you.

Perhaps she would not have believed in soulmates, but she knew that you were both destined to love each other.

__________________________________________

"Agnes?" Wanda called her by her 'name', realising that her neighbour seemed to have gone into a trance after hearing her question.

Coming out of the tunnel of her thoughts, Agatha looked at her neighbor and narrowed her eyes, trying to remember that it was the last thing the redhead had said.

"I'm sorry, dear" She put a fake smile on her face while giggling briefly, looking directly at Wanda. "What did you ask me?" She asked calmly, now paying attention.

"I was just saying that perhaps you could try to find a date for the dance" Wanda smiled innocently, pointing through the window at a woman walking the streets. "She's cute"

"I don't think I'm ready for that, maybe not yet" She looked away, a small sad smile appearing on her face as the memories with you hit her mind.

She missed you, more than she could ever say.

#agnes imagines #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #agatha harkness #wandavision x reader #agnes the neighbor

[the-badger-mole]

Can you write a short story with a jealous Zuko?

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. By Azula; by Lu Ten; by Avatar Aang. It still often annoyed him to know that the most he could aim for was second best to someone else, no matter where he was. But he never minded when it came to Katara. Give her enough time, Zuko often told himself, and she could bring the entire world to its knees. She'd saved his life in more ways than he could count. She had saved them all, and there would never be enough people singing her praises as far as Zuko was concerned. She stood out no matter where she was. Even in spaces where the Fire Lord should have been the center of attention, Zuko knew he didn't stand a chance when Master Katara entered the room.

It should have annoyed him, Zuko thought, but it didn't. She was sunshine, for all she was a child of Water, and she drew everyone towards her like plants reaching up for Agni's rays. When she laughed, it filled the room- a bit too loud to be polite, but too infectious to really be upset over. She talked with high-ranking nobles with passion, leaving them stunned at her knowledge and convictions- this woman who was barely not a child anymore. She had earned the grudging respect of Zuko's council, which even he hadn't succeeded in doing. He should be jealous, but he watched Katara make her way around the room with pride. Maybe he wasn't as eloquent or magnetic as Katara, but he was her friend. He knew her in a way few- if any- in that room would ever know her.

Someone- Iroh, Zuko guessed- had signaled for the band to start playing. Business was done for the day. Soon the crowd had reshuffled itself, and couples began making their way to the dance floor while everyone else made their way to the buffet tables lining one end of the hall. Katara met Zuko's eyes across the room, and with a warm smile, made her way over to him. She seemed to glow supernaturally. Zuko cast a surreptitious glance to see if some prankster had aimed a spotlight on her. Was it just Zuko? How was no one else being blinded by the way the light reflected off her smile? Her hair? Her skin? Zuko swallowed hard, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.

Katara's smile widened and she opened her mouth to greet him.

"Excuse...um...p-pardon me." Katara turned in surprise to the young man who had approached her. Zuko recognized him vaguely, and he scrambled to place a name. Katara spared him the ordeal of guessing.

"Lord Jee-Soo," she smiled politely at King Kuei's cousin, though Zuko could see an odd tightness in the corners of Katara's eyes. Jee Soo, however, did not notice. His face was tinged pink and he leaned forward in a stiff, formal bow.

"I-I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said. "I was hoping that...that maybe you...er, that is...would you grant me the honor of a dance."

Zuko froze. A shock went down his spine as if someone had walked across a carpet and touched his skin. Katara gaped at him in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a pretty dusky red. Jee Soo smiled at her, nervous and hopeful. She cast a glance at Zuko, trying to communicate... something.

"Oh!" Katara gasped. "Well... I was just going to..." She cast another look at Zuko before she shrugged and smiled at Jee Soo. "Um... sure, I'd love to."

Zuko watched silently as Jee Soo wrapped a clammy-looking hand around Katara's and led her out to the dance floor. His hand squeezed his punch cup dangerously tight as Jee Soo slid his arm around Katara's waist and pulled her as close as propriety would allow. His breath caught in his throat as the young Earth Kingdom noble said something that caused Katara's nose to crinkle in amusement.

"Take care, Fire Lord Zuko," Iroh sidled up to his nephew, with an affable smile and a knowing gleam in his eye. "Someone might think there's trouble between the Fire Nation and Ba Sing Se the way you're glaring at young Lord Jee Soo."

"I'm not glaring!" Zuko insisted hotly. Still, he turned his scowl on his uncle instead.

"She would have danced with you if you'd asked," Iroh told him. "I'm sure she still would."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zuko grumbled.

"Oh no?" Iroh tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "My mistake. It's been a long time since I was young and in love. Perhaps I don't remember the signs as well as I thought."

"Perhaps not!" Zuko knew he was being peevish, but his uncle was overstepping. Zuko had admitted to having a small crush on Katara years ago, and Iroh had never forgotten, even though Zuko had gotten over her a long time ago. She was dating one of his best friends at the time.

But not anymore.

The traitorous, smug voice in his head sounded annoyingly like his uncle. It was true that Katara had broken up with Aang, but it made no difference. Even if he wasn't over Katara- and he was over her- she and Aang hadn't split on the best of terms. It wouldn't be fair to either of his friends for Zuko to insert himself in the middle of that.

On the dance floor, Jee Soo seemed to have gained some confidence. He twirled and spun Katara with expert ease. If Katara had been hesitant to dance with him before, she seemed happy enough now. Her eyes were bright and her face pink with the exertion of the dance. She was having a good time, and Jee Soo gazed at her as if half in love already.

Zuko could dance. He could dance at least as well as Jee Soo. Others may outshine him in literally every other part of his life, but Zuko's mastery of dance was part of what made the Blue Spirit so deadly. Maybe he could challenge Jee Soo to a friendly competition. Katara could be the judge. Maybe the first prize could be a kiss...

Zuko shook his head. Dangerous territory. She was just coming out of a serious relationship. With one of his best friends. True they had broken up almost a year ago. Also true that Aang hadn't been in close contact with any of them since the breakup. And there was speculation that things had ended because Aang had cheated. But Zuko didn't know that for sure. No one knew for sure except Katara and Aang. Suki probably had more of the story, which Toph probably bullied out of her. And Sokka at least suspected if his coldness towards Aang at the last summit was any indication.

Dangerous territory. Friends don't go after a friend's exes. Even if you happened to have had a thing for said ex before your friend started dating them. Even if that ex was also your best friend.

Jee Soo dipped Katara, causing her to let out a nervous, but giddy laugh. Her hands clutched at Jee Soo tightly, to keep herself steady, but as a result, they were much closer than they started at the beginning of the dance. Jee Soo's face lit up with a grin as he did it again. And again. And again.

Didn't this guy know any other moves? Katara was going to catch on to him, and she would be annoyed. Wouldn't she? Zuko knew she'd been out with a couple of other guys since the breakup. Nothing serious, though, Suki had informed him. No one who lasted more than a month. Still, Zuko wasn't sure what her type was anymore. Jee Soo reminded Zuko a bit of Aang, but just because Katara had dated Aang for three years doesn't mean he was her type. Maybe she was into quieter guys who got way too deep in their own heads and overthought hypothetical situations until they lost entire nights of sleep worrying about problems that didn't actually exist. Yeah...for sure that's what Katara would find attractive.

How long was this song, Zuko wondered. Jee Soo was dipping Katara again, though she seemed to be getting tired of it. Her smile was that polite, tight smile that she'd given him earlier when she wasn't sure she wanted him to interrupt her. Zuko saw her say something to him, probably asking him to keep her upright for a while. Jee Soo laughed and shook his head and said something teasing as he pulled her closer. Katara's smile fell away completely, and Zuko saw she was getting mad. He was halfway across the dance floor before he'd even realized he was going to go over. He was ready to yank Jee Soo away, and if necessary, deck the creep for not respecting Katara's reasonable wish. But before he got to them, Jee Soo had stepped away with a deep, embarrassed blush on his face.

"I'm so sorry," Jee Soo was saying as Zuko got closer. "Honestly, I was just trying to...well, I didn't mean to upset you or offend you."

"It's alright, Jee Soo," Katara said patiently. Her smile was back in place. The song ended, finally, and another one started up.

"Would you...like to dance again?" Jee Soo asked.

"I'm a bit tired," Katara begged off. "But I'll bet Kimiko would love you to ask her. Don't say I told you, but she's been checking you out." That didn't seem to soothe Jee Soo's disappointment, but he accepted the rejection graciously enough.

"Seems like you had fun," Zuko said. Katara sighed tiredly and slipped her arm through his.

"I thought the song would never end!" she groaned. "It was like dancing with Aang. Fun for the first minute, but he was doing way too much. All the dipping gave me vertigo." Zuko heard that with interest.

"I didn't realize you weren't having fun," he tried to keep his voice even as he led them away from the dance floor over to the punch table. "I would have come rescue you if I'd realized. We should come up with some sort of sign when you want me to cut in."

"You never dance at these things," Katara pointed out.

"I'd make an exception for you." Zuko blushed and scrambled to cover. "I mean, I'd do it if it saved you from some over-eager guy who can't take a hint."

"My hero." Katara scrunched her nose up at Zuko and leaned against him. It was adorable! Zuko had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning.

"Actually..." Katara said slowly. "I was coming over to ask you to dance before Jee Soo interrupted."

"Really?" Zuko's voice hit an octave it hadn't hit since he was fourteen and his voice was still dropping. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact that Katara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Yeah," she nodded her head. "I know you don't really like dancing, but maybe you can preemptively cut in for me? Someone told me that Lord Hino's son wanted to ask me for a dance." Zuko grimaced. Lord Hino was one of his most trusted advisors, but his son was a famous klutz with two left feet. No woman left the dance floor without bruised feet when she danced with him.

"You told Jee Soo you were tired," Zuko reminded her. Why, he yelled internally, would he say that? Fortunately, Katara just shrugged and looked up at him coyly from the corner of her eye.

"I'd make an exception for you," she said quietly. Zuko froze midstep. Katara looked up at him in alarm. There was a spectacular blush rising from her neck towards her hairline, and a panicked retraction already on her lips. Zuko turned to her and took her hand. Then in a move that would have pleased every last one of his etiquette tutors and his uncle, if he was watching, Zuko bowed elegantly and brushed a feathery light kiss on Katara's fingertips. He lifted his gaze with an impish grin.

"I would be honored," he said, "to have this dance." Katara nodded speechlessly and allowed Zuko to lead her out to the dance floor again.

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. He wasn't the most powerful bender, or the most charismatic leader. He wasn't the most handsome man or the most eloquent. But there on the dancefloor, with the most beautiful woman in at the ball in his arms, he knew that no one could match him for dancing. Katara seemed to agree because she accepted his request for another dance. And another. And another...

#zutara #atla #zuko is a lil' jelly #katara is a queen #zuko is sprung #ask the badger mole #thanks for the prompt nonny