#and yet nothing will ever be the same with them

[illyrianbitch]

An Honest Mistake

Pairing: Azriel x Illyrian! Reader

Summary: Lonely and bitter following Gwyn and Balthazar's mating ceremony, you and Azriel sleep together. As it turns out, one night is all it takes to change everything.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, slight angst, talks of insecurity and unrequited love, unprotected sex, both reader and az are intoxicated, pregnancy :o

Word Count: 4.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There’s a slight wind in the air tonight. It itches at your back and stirs up old instincts—makes you want to fly, to sing, to stretch your body open to the cold licking at your skin. But you don’t. You rarely do, anymore.

Laughter floats from the temple below you—grand and carved from obsidian and moonstone, veiled in wisteria and soft, glowing magic. A place of beauty where Gwyn, eyes glassy and glowing, kissed Balthazar in front of the Mother and the stars and everyone who mattered.

Your body scoffs at the sound and you grit your teeth against the tight wave of jealousy that laces your limbs. The flask in your hand trembles slightly before you take another long sip, willing the taste to burn away your bitterness.

You should be better than this. Stronger. You’ve spent centuries trying to be. And yet, you couldn’t even make it through the ceremony. Slipped away like a coward and climbed up to the roof, crouched like some silent, forgotten thing with nothing to show but your envy and a flask of liquor that’s quickly running out.

You thought you’d prepared yourself. For the music. For the speeches. For the look in Gwyn’s eyes when Balthazar promised her forever. But none of it helped. Nothing could have prepared you for how quietly devastating this night would be— how utterly lonely and hollow. 

At first, it was interesting—to see the overlap of worlds. Night Court royalty, Illyrian warbands, Valkyries in training dressed in twilight-toned leathers. To see the high-ranking court members assembled under the same sky. To see the Cursebreaker’s sister cry happy tears as she embraced her newly mated best friend. To see the Illyrians stand beside Balthazar, wings wide, ceremonial blades strapped to their backs.

So similar to Azriel, to Cassian—born of the same mountain—but still so fundamentally different as well. The way they took up space. The way they looked at each other. 

But the novelty wore off quickly. After you hugged Balthazar, there was no one left to drift to. No one waiting for you in the crowd. Just the slow, dawning realization that you were crushingly, humiliatingly in love with a male who had just bonded himself to someone else for eternity.

Being immortal and lonely feels almost humiliating. Years and years of life and still—no connection. You’ve spent centuries rebuilding yourself, crafting new versions from the wreckage of the last— and somehow, the only person you ever truly wanted stumbled upon love without even trying. 

But that isn’t the truth. Not really. You know it’s unfair to keep entertaining the sentiment. Gwyn fought hard to be who she is. And Balthazar… gods, if anyone deserved peace, it was him. You’re happy for them, somewhere deep down. But not now. Not here.

Not when your throat burns from more than just the alcohol, and the shame of being this bitter, this unremarkable, clings to your ribs like smoke.

You drink again. And again. You scold yourself for being dramatic. For being weak. For being pathetic.

There’s a sound behind you—soft footfalls. You turn just as they halt.

Before you, stands Azriel.

Your spine straightens, that old Illyrian instinct curling up tight in your belly. You hate it—that impulse to look more composed in front of a male like him. That ridiculous, buried thread of deference your body still remembers from another life.

He hadn’t expected you. That much is clear from the way his body tenses, his steps halting mid-motion. The shadows curling around him twitch and pull inward, disappearing into the folds of his suit. The night swallows him easily.

“I’m sor—” he stops, adjusting. His shoulders pull back, wings settling higher. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He sounds more polished than he looks—like he tried to summon formality but couldn’t quite finish the spell.

Azriel starts to turn.

And maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the envy in your ribs or the way your loneliness is humming just loud enough to override your shame. But you find yourself saying, “You can stay.”

He pauses. You nod to the space beside you. “I don’t mind.”

Azriel studies you. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your hands, your wings, your form. But it isn’t predatory, not like the others did back at the Camps. It’s not sexual. Not even curious. He isn’t calculating your worth as a female. He’s assessing a threat. Taking stock.

It’s strange, how openly he looks, but there’s something strangely comforting in it. He isn’t trying to hide the scan. Either he’s too tired to care, or he already knows you’re not a threat. 

You’ve met Azriel before. Shared rooms with him during the meetings Balthazar insisted you attend—when he filled in as Rhysand’s liaison to the more distant Illyrian camps. You’d crossed paths in training, too, when you’d said yes to Gwyn’s offer, relayed through Balthazar, to practice with the Valkyries. Make our stories count, Emerie had told you, glancing once at your wings—still intact, still stiff where they locked into your spine from disuse.

Azriel looks unconvinced, but once again, you feel compelled to make him stay. There's something about the look in his eyes, even from this far, that you feel a certain connection to. You lift your flask in offering. “I also have alcohol.”

You swear you catch the barest edge of a smile.

Azriel steps forward, pulling something from his coat. You flinch on instinct and you’re sure he notices. But all he produces is his own flask.

“Whiskey.” Azriel says.

You give him a small grin. “Gin,” you tell him, gesturing towards your hand. 

He nods, seemingly in approval, and joins you—leaning forward on the railing beside you. 

You stay that way for a while. Two bodies unwinding in the dark. Wordless, you pass flasks back and forth, letting your hands brush occasionally. 

It’s comforting, almost. To stand beside one of the most powerful males you’ve ever met and realize maybe you’re not the most pathetic person in the room. Maybe he’s just as wrecked as you are. Maybe that means there’s nothing wrong with you after all. Or maybe it means there’s something deeply, irreparably wrong with him, too.

But either way—you’re not alone in it. And that counts for something.

“So,” you say, curling into yourself slightly, “I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason I am?”

Azriel takes a sip, keeps his gaze on the view below. “And what reason is that?”

“You’re in love with Gwyn.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he lifts a brow. “You’re in love with Gwyn?”

Your expression flattens instantly. But somewhere under the mortification, there’s a flicker of amusement. You hadn’t expected humor from him. It throws you. Never would you have believed he was capable of teasing. Not genuinely, at least. 

“Smartass,” you mutter. “You know what I meant.”

Something like a smirk flickers across his mouth. It dies quickly. But not before you catch the edge of it. Below, the music swells again. A louder cheer rises with it.

“They looked good together,” you say.

It’s a cruel thing to admit, but it’s true. A part of you hopes it stings him, just a little, so he’s hurting like you, too.

Azriel exhales through his nose. “They did.”

You nod slowly. Let the shame settle deeper into your chest.

“I hated it.”

That gets his attention. You feel it, even without looking—his gaze snapping back to you, the movement of shadows quickening at the corner of your vision. You don’t meet his eyes. You watch the stars instead.

“I hated all of it,” you add. “And I should’ve never come.”

“Why did you?”

“There’s only one thing worse than being a lonely immortal.” You glance at him. “Being a lonely and bitter one.”

Azriel is quiet for a long moment. He’s staring out ahead again. You think he won’t answer. But then he says—low, clipped, almost matter-of-fact:

“Bitterness is honest.”

You huff, almost amused. “Then I’ve been painfully honest my whole life.” A beat.  “Are you? Honest?”

His eyes meet yours. “Incredibly.”

Something stirs in you—something slow and sharp and dangerous. It coils low, sparked by the flicker of something darker that moves through his expression. A glint of hunger, maybe. A recognition. Or maybe just the memory that you are still something someone could want.

“How honest are you feeling tonight?” you ask.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lifts. He takes in your form again, eyes lingering on your wings, pulled taut against your shoulder blades. You tilt your chin up, just slightly.

“They’ll be dancing,” Azriel says, turning away again. His voice is even. Distant. “Probably until sunrise.”

Cold embarrassment crashes through you like a wave. You feel stupid. Pathetic. You’ve just bared something small and raw and fragile and been dismissed by the Night Court’s infamous spymaster. Of course.

You push yourself upright.

“Then I’ll do myself a favor and end my misery now,” you mutter. “Go home. Drink in peace.”

Azriel doesn’t move. “That’s how you want to spend your night?” 

You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “You got a better offer?”

A long pause. “I do.”

You blink. He turns to face you fully. “Would you like someone to walk you home?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His mouth is on yours the second your front door shuts.

You stumble through the dark, limbs bumping into half-unpacked boxes and furniture that doesn’t belong to you. The apartment is mostly empty—somewhere Balthazar helped you find, helped you settle into. It’s minutes from him. From Gwyn. From all the things you didn’t want to be near and somehow ended up close to, anyways.

Azriel kicks the door shut behind him without looking. His shadows slither forward before he does—like they’re checking the space for him, brushing over your arms, your ribs, curious and cold. His hands follow just behind them, warmer, rougher, pressing beneath your dress as you push blindly toward the bedroom.

You drag him with you by the front of his jacket, breathless, your wings twitching with every step, the sensitive membranes catching the edges of doorframes and walls. His wings flare slightly when you back him into the hallway, knocking a box over with your foot, but neither of you bothers to look.

He drags his mouth down your throat and you tilt your head without thinking. Your dress slips off in a single motion—he pulls, you let it go. He loses the jacket first, then the shirt, and you press your mouth to his collarbone just to see what it tastes like.

His breath stutters.

Then he crowds you again. His hands slide under your thighs and lift you up immediately. You don’t even think—you just wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you the rest of the way, letting out a noise when your back hits the edge of the bed.

You reach for him instinctively, dragging him down with you.

Your wings drag behind you on the sheets, too sensitive from how worked up you are—already twitching. One of his shadows curls low and drags across the arch of your wing like it’s exploring. You shudder.

It’s… strange. Intimate. The cool ghost of a touch that isn’t quite physical. Something alive—sentient — that shares a mind with the male above you. At least, that’s how you’ve always assumed it worked. You’d never really put much thought into how his abilities translated into the bedroom. There was never any reason to.

Until now.

Azriel’s bigger than the male you long for. Stronger. He feels different. Moves different. His hand dips between your thighs and your hips jerk instinctively. It’s been a while. Longer than you want to admit. And his fingers are—

"Fuck," you whisper, hips rolling up into his hand as he strokes through your folds.

Azriel hums against your collarbone, lips dragging along your skin. “You’re soaked,” he says, voice ragged, like it surprises him.

You press your lips together, half-humiliated, half aching for more. You try to think of a response, something clever or dismissive—but it isn’t needed. Azriel kisses you again, hungrier now, and parts your folds with two fingers, coating them in your slick. 

"Azriel—"

“Yeah?” His voice—fuck, his voice. “This what you need?”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders before you even register the movement. You whisper his name again—softer this time—as he moves lower, kissing his way down your body, past your ribs.

You can’t think.

You should be thinking.

But you’re not.

And when he slides two fingers inside you—slow, curling them deep—you make a sound you’ve never made before. Your whole body jumps. Your face flushes hot. Your eyes flutter shut as your thighs threaten to close around his hand.

He’s got you pinned. One hand fucking into you, the other spread wide over your thigh, holding you open. You turn your face into the side, press your forearm over your eyes. You don’t mean to hide, not really, but it’s instinct.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs, charmed. “Tell me what you want.”

You shake your head, wordless, cheeks burning. 

“Have you never had someone talk to you like this?” His voice is soft with his conclusion, but his fingers thrust harder now, faster and filthy. “Someone to tell you how good you feel while they touch you?”

You shake your head, moaning. He’s right— he knows he is. You’ve never had someone this vocal. 

“No,” he says, darkly pleased. “That’s alright.” A kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I can fix that.”

He works you fast now — fingers pumping, thumb circling your clit — until you’re trembling, gasping, barely upright. You whimper and he groans.

“I liked that pretty sound,” he says. “Right there?”

There's heat licking up your spine, some roaring thing inside of you.

“Think you can take one more?” 

You nod, too far gone to speak, and his third finger circles your dripping cunt. His shadows tighten their hold. One strokes between your breasts, another curls beneath your knee, easing it higher. Opening you wider.

His thumb swipes over your clit, and you’re coming — hard — your body locking around his fingers as his shadows slither along your stomach, wrap around your thighs, coaxing the orgasm out of you like they’re worshiping you for unraveling under his touch.

You fall apart—body shaking, thighs clenching, mouth open in a silent cry—and Azriel holds you through it, fingers still working you gently through the aftershocks. He pulls out once you’ve stilled, drags his fingers along your thigh, and then licks them clean.

Well. Balthazar, for all his glory, had never done that. 

A second later, Azriel’s back above you, lips swollen, eyes dark and trained directly on you. You’re possessed to pull him into a messy kiss, hints of your taste still on his tongue.

You shift beneath him, needing more, and he pulls away just long enough to free himself. You watch through your lashes, biting the inside of your cheek. Gods.

Azriel is beautiful. It hits you in a sudden, painful way—like seeing something in too-bright light. The sight alone makes something in your chest twist. And you hate it. You hate that it makes you feel something at all. That this—him wanting you—makes you feel not just good, but alive.

Because if he wants you, if the infamous, untouchable Spymaster is here, looking at you like this, then maybe you’re not just something people pass over. If he needs you—desperate, hungry, barely holding it together—then maybe you’re worth needing.

It’s a self-indulgent thought. Pathetic, even. But you cling to it.

It’s only an added benefit that his cock is nearly as pretty as the rest of him. Thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. Your cunt clenches just looking at it.

“You okay?”

You nod, breathless. He lines himself up, rubbing against you, teasing.

“Say it. Please.”

“Yes," you whisper. "I want you. I want you.”

Your words ease the tension between his brows and he thrusts into you in one smooth stroke. Your head falls back with a cry.

“Fuck,” Azriel groans. “That’s it.”

The stretch knocks the air from your lungs—your body forced open, filled in a way you forgot was possible. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. You just feel.

Azriel doesn’t move right away. His hands curl around your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin, and he lowers his head to watch himself inside you. Watch the way you pulse around him.

“You feel—fuck. You feel good,” he murmurs. The tone of his voice is almost reverent.

You clench around him in response, hips lifting without permission. Azriel groans again, deeper this time, and pulls out slow—agonizingly slow—before slamming back into you, harder now.

Your breath catches. Your nails drag down his back, circle around the base of his wings.

“Please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for. “Please.”

Azriel looks at you, pupils blown and mouth slightly open in pleasure, and nods. He seems to understand exactly what you're asking: Use me, fix me, make me feel good. Make me forget.

He fucks you hard, every grind of his hips dragging you closer to that fraying edge. The sound of it—the wet slap of skin, the obscene, slick noise of him pounding into you—is enough to make your cheeks burn.

Gods, it feels good. Unreasonably good. Too good. His hips grind down, slow and deep, and your body responds like it’s been waiting for him—like it knows him. Your chest rises sharply as the coil in your stomach tightens.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and you do. His fingers cradle your jaw, turning your face to his. Your chest rises fast beneath his weight and you wrap your arms around his neck—bring him into another hungry kiss, all teeth and desire and desperation.

You part from him slightly, lips slipping from his, and when you open your eyes—when you finally look at him, really look—something deep inside you breaks a little.

Azriel is beautiful. Devastatingly so. 

But he is not Balthazar.

His eyes are lighter—greener, almost like forest moss, and none of the quiet, familiar warmth you used to find there. What looks back at you now is hunger. Raw and unsentimental. That look has never once belonged to Balthazar. Not for you.

Not Balthazar.

There’s a flicker in Azriel’s face. A stutter in the rhythm of his breath. Like something inside him caught up. Like he just realized who he’s looking at, too.

“Turn me around,” you murmur, desperate,  into his mouth as you bring him in for a kiss. You separate and Azriel blinks once. Then nods, helping you flip over.

He slides back into you with one smooth thrust and you moan, helpless and wrecked. One of his hands is pressing deep on your lower back, the other gripping your hip like he owns you.

For a brief moment, you’re tempted to say that he does, if only for the feeling of being wanted. Of belonging somewhere. Of being something more than alone. To be devoured, held down, seen. To be someone’s—even if it’s temporary. 

You think, briefly, that Azriel might feel the same way. 

He leans forward, one palm bracing beside your head, the other sliding between your wings—touching them gently, reverently. Something in you goes slack and electric at the same time, the feeling blooming in a place that isn’t your body. Some deeper, stranger part of you.

You wonder when the last time was that he touched someone like this.

Talented hands, skilled mouth, pretty cock. It makes you wonder how the Shadowsinger picks his lovers—what earns you a night in his bed, what makes him touch them like this, slow and attentive and knowing.

You hate that your mind starts pulling up names. Pictures. Gwyn.

The image flashes before you can stop it—her laughing, that soft smile, and the look you’ve caught in Azriel’s eyes in passing. That tenderness. That aching, reserved sort of love that’s always held just out of reach. The sort of love you’ve reserved for Balthazar. 

Your brain wants to torture you with it. To layer grief on top of lust. To ruin even this escape. 

You shove it all away. Cram it into the corner with the rest of the shit that’s rising up—Balthazar, and how angry you still are, and how fucked it all feels.

With his chest to your back, Azriel slides a hand under to cup your throat. He fucks you slow, deep—dragging it out while he whispers against your neck. Gods. Doing so good for me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You gasp—and he starts to fuck you even harder, rougher, the pace building with each thrust. The slap of skin fills the room. Every stroke pushes you forward on the sheets, and his arm wraps tight around your waist, dragging you back into him again.

You choke on a moan and his shadows join the chaos of sensation.

Cool and sinfully curious, they slither around your thighs, over your stomach. One coils teasingly around your breast, circling your nipple—while another brushes lower, between your legs, flickering right over your clit with a ghost of pressure.

You jolt. Arch. The moan that rips from your throat is nothing short of primal.

“That’s it,” Azriel murmurs against your ear. “Taking us so good. So greedy for it.”

Your thighs are shaking. Your hands fist in the sheets. You try to speak—but nothing comes. Only a broken sound, a desperate nod.  Your mind goes silent. Balthazar is gone. The memory, the shape, the guilt of him—all gone.

And all that's left is Azriel, groaning behind you. 

“Oh gods,” you gasp. “Azriel—fuck—please—”

You’re already gone, bent over and panting, when you come for him—shaking violently, lights bursting behind your eyes. He follows with a rough groan, hips snapping against you once, twice, before he presses you flush against him and lets go.

You’re still catching your breath when he sinks to his knees behind you. When his mouth finds you—tongue dragging through the mess of your release and his.  You jolt, overstimulated, and whimper at the way he feasts on you.

It's filthy. You come again like it’s nothing.

And again. And again. 

He fucks you through the second round with his fingers, the third with his cock, the fourth with his tongue and shadows working in tandem. By the time you’re too sore to move, too spent to even speak, the sun has already begun to rise behind the curtains.

And when your eyes finally close—limp and boneless and flushed beneath your sheets—Azriel slips away without a word.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Velaris is nice. Much nicer, much safer, much softer than the places you’ve called home before.

And still—you don’t feel at peace. Maybe it’s too much to expect, to feel settled already. But that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping in. You pick at it the way some people pick at scabs. Little mental chastisements you cycle through like a list. You should be grateful. You should feel lucky. 

But as you walk through the streets, you’re painfully aware of how different you are. Despite Velaris being home to lesser and high fae alike, you stand out. Your wings—still tightly folded against your back—make that obvious. You catch the lingering glances as you move through the city. 

You thought the citizens would be used to seeing Illyrians—after all, their High Lord and two of the highest-ranking members are Illyrian. But maybe it’s different seeing it on a stranger. A female, no less. You don’t have their grace. You’re the breed without the glamour.

It makes you weirdly homesick. No one would understand if you told them that, if you admitted that yes, you missed Illyria.

You missed your home, your mountains, the sound of your heritage. Your camp is gone now, but you know the homesickness would fade the moment you set foot back on that familiar land. You’d be reminded why you were lucky to escape, why you should be grateful for this chance.

It’s strange—to want to go back to the roots you spent so long trying to break free from. Your wings ache at the thought. 

You wish you could see Balthazar.

Your stomach tightens again, reminding you of your real reason for being out. The apothecary. You need medicine for the sickness that’s been dragging you down all week—the nausea, the constant discomfort. You figure it’s just your body adjusting to the new life here. Maybe your stomach is shocked by all the delicacies you’re finally allowed to eat.

You reach the apothecary and the scent of herbs greets you. A young fae behind the counter listens as you describe your symptoms, her brow furrowing. She disappears to the back. After a moment, another fae emerges—a healer, she says. The first is still learning, so she’s here to help find the right concoction.

She lays out options, explaining everything carefully. Then she points to a small vial. “This one’s best for morning sickness.”

You blink. “Oh no, I’m not— I’m not pregnant.”

She freezes for a moment. You feel something dark slip in—terror, cold and fast. She blinks, recovers quickly. “My mistake,” she says, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

But the damage is done. Your mind is starting to spiral. 

Your breath shortens for a moment, and you have to fight the sudden, irrational panic bubbling beneath the surface. It makes no sense.  You know it can’t be true. You’ve been careful—too careful. But the thought settles anyway, cold and unwelcome, and everything feels off balance. 

Suddenly you’re buying every bottle she pushes your way without really hearing what they do.

You leave the shop, clutching the small bags, your thoughts a mess of “not possible” and “why would she think that?” racing under your skin.

You’re barely halfway down the street when you almost run into her.

Elain Archeron. 

You don’t know much about her, but she’s impossible to miss— still as quietly beautiful as the first time you saw her, like she’s made of soft light and calm. She’s alone, without her mate, who you assume is off fulfilling the duties as the Day Court’s only heir—the recent, powerful news about him had even reached your old camp.

Her eyes widen when she sees you, caught just as off guard. Recognition flickers across her face. She knows you—and if you weren’t panicking, you’d feel almost honored that she remembered you.

For a moment, you want to say something. Anything. A simple hello. But your throat tightens, your stomach knots in that familiar way, and the words get stuck halfway out.

Her face changes. The warmth draining away as she blinks— for a second, she looks... gone. Hollow. Like she vanished into thin air.

It unsettles you.

Then, almost too fast, her gaze drops. You swear you see her eyes flick down to your midriff—the way they pause there, just long enough to make your skin crawl.

“Are you alright?” She asks. Her voice is soft, almost cautious, and her usual warmth quickly rolls over her once more. 

You force a nod, forcing down the rush of panic curling in your chest. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just—running late for something.”

You bid her a quick goodbye and all but run to your empty, awaiting apartment. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

A week and one healer’s visit later, your world flips inside out in less than an hour.

You’re sitting on your cold floor, back pressed against an empty wall, eyes fixed somewhere that isn’t really there. The healer’s soft, steady voice keeps looping in your mind—reassurances, warnings, instructions—but it all blurs together.

You don’t know if you want to cry, laugh, or just get up and run. You don’t even know what decision you’re supposed to make.

Gods, you wish you had someone to talk to.

But who is there, really?

You have one friend and he’s caught up in his own life, celebrating his mating ceremony, wrapped up in a happiness you can’t touch.

The silence presses in and you feel the sting of tears building. 

Then, a knock. A soft rap on the door, pulling you back.

You hesitate. Then stand. For the second time in a week, you come face to face with Elain Archeron.

Only this time, her eyes are wide, brows drawn tight with something fierce and urgent. 

“You’re pregnant.”  And then, after a beat, “Why do I know that you’re pregnant?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: oh my god...hey.... where did this come from?? idk!!! i spun a wheel and it gave me unplanned pregnancy trope + az!!! (i also have one with eris... who said that...)

but its out here and im not mad at the idea of a slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, babydaddy!az and two illyrians trying to come to terms with their culture kinda love story. also i KNOW this motherfucker has a breeding and a pregnancy kink thatll surface once he gets over the absolute dread of his new father status

maybe ill make this a lil universe and open up requests to ease back into writing <3 would yall be interested or want a taglist 😲😲

permanent tag list below🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[eye4katz]

I Think I Love You || Megan Skiendiel

Pairing: Megan Skiendiel x Female!Reader

Genre: fluff, high school au, grumpy!reader x sunshine!megan

Content Warning: mild language, sodani, marz (slight heh), hmm... nothing much. just fluff!!×*#**×#*!

Word Count: 3.2k

Synopsis: Following precise measurements, recipes, and rules has always been Y/N’s way of life. Love—specifically the romantic kind—is the last ingredient she wants in her already chaotic kitchen. But when someone throws a whole lot of sugar into her bowl, will she cover it up with something bitter to balance the taste? Or will she finally take a bite… and taste a cherry pie?

"Y/N! Thank you for bailing me out of the jail booth!" Sophia, the school's student body president, exclaimed as she stepped out of the booth.

The idea of the booth for the Valentine’s event actually came from Sophia herself, yet somehow, she ended up getting victimized by her own activity.

A jail booth is part of the Valentine's Day special held by the SBG—or Student Body Government—where you bring two people and "jail" them together until someone bails them out.

Sounds cute to be jailed with someone on the 14th of February, right?

Well, for Y/N, one of the senators… it wasn’t.

Y/N genuinely hated Valentine’s Day, mostly because of all the couples who made everything romantic. Hugging here, kissing there, was just wasn’t for her.

She’d never experienced being loved by someone, except by her friends and family, and she was sure she never would, not by some random stranger she met on a random ass day. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

She prioritized facts and logical explanations over feelings and emotions.

What can you say? She’s top of the class, after all.

"Bro, come on. You got trapped in your own booth." She scolded Sophia as she handed $2 to YoonChae, their junior senator, for the bail.

Sophia just laughed, holding up her wrist still cuffed from the activity. A shit-eating grin was plastered on her face like the love-drunk puppy she was.

"Come on, it was sooo worth it! Me and my crush got cuffed together for like 20 minutes!"

Y/N, the ever-bitter (and, well… logical) one, scowled. "Oh, you mean the Latina who never actually notices you in any of the activities you organize? Damn, right."

"Well, she noticed me just now." Sophia rolled her eyes, but she was clearly too giddy to care.

Y/N sighed, knowing she wouldn’t win this argument. Sophia was a debater, after all. No wonder.

"Call me if something happens again. If someone puts you in the jail booth—even if it’s with Avanzini—just tell them you’re the one organizing it, so you can’t."

Sophia murmured something, but Y/N was too drained from her job, which involved delivering love letters all over campus to even bother rebutting any further.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Later, as the students ate lunch, Y/N and Sophia went to the student council lounge to take a break along with some other officer.

They sat at the long table—the same one where late-night meetings, prop-making sessions, and fueled debates had happened.

"It’s great to see Y/N participating in Cupid’s Day, no?" Manon, one of the senators, teased as she sipped on her lemonade.

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. "Please. I’m just here to help y’all." She plopped down beside the Swiss girl, pulling out her bento box.

"Let’s not tease her about it. She might go lovesick again," Sophia added while sliding into the seat beside Y/N.

Now Y/N was trapped between two yappers.

"Lovesick isn’t even a thing! You can’t get sick from friendship and stuff!" Y/N shot back, her voice tinged with playful annoyance.

That earned a good laugh from Sophia and Manon. Y/N’s face twisted into a playful scowl as her friends kept teasing her.

She huffed, trying to defend her point. "It’s not even a disease! What’s the diagnosis then—?"

"Bruh, come on!"

"Girl, you don’t need to be scientific about everything!"

Knowing Y/N, she got easily triggered by stuff that wasn’t logically correct. "Oh, whatever. Believe your delulu stuff, but don’t force me to listen to your yap."

Sophia and Manon just grinned. They both knew Y/N didn’t like nonsense talk, especially not from the Swiss senator who was overly talkative. But they also knew Y/N had a soft spot for them, so she was stuck listening anyway.

Before Y/N could prepare her next attack, Lara, another yapper of the governmen. stormed in. She left the door slightly ajar.

"Job done, bitches!" she announced, slamming down the tip box filled with cash from the Valentine’s booth.

Y/N sighed. Her patience was being tested, but she still loved these people anyway.

"Oh, by the way, I brought two people with me," Lara added casually.

Two heads peeked from behind the door. Two girls, shy and hesitant to come in.

Y/N’s brows furrowed, and Sophia and Manon exchanged confused looks. Their lounge was supposed to be exclusive for the student government officers.

"Why would you do that?" Y/N asked, her annoyance already stacking up.

"Well, I couldn’t just leave them alone!" Lara shrugged.

Poor Lara. She just couldn’t leave the girls—who, by the way, she’d only just met at the booth.

The Indian senator gestured for them to come in and get comfortable in the lounge.

"You can’t just let random students go in he—" Y/N started, but she was cut off by Sophia, who had just noticed her crush among the random students peeking inside.

"Hey! Come on, you can eat with us!" the president beamed, her shit-eating grin back in full force.

A curly-haired girl and a ginger stepped into the lounge, still adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings as they looked around.

Y/N scoffed at the unprofessional invitation, which only made the other senators snicker.

"The president already invited them. No more arguments can be used." Manon shrugged, flashing a grin.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, annoyed by the broken rules. She was so triggered she couldn’t even look at the two girls invading her so-called sanctuary.

She hated rule-breakers.

Lara helped the girls find seats. The blonde sat across from Sophia, the ginger across from Y/N, and Lara herself sat across from Manon.

They all started settling their lunches onto the table.

Sophia introduced herself to the girls, as if she wasn’t already campus-famous.

"I’m Sophia!" she said, reaching out her hand, well, specifically to Daniela.

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed, as she looked away. "Girl... she already knows you," she muttered under her breath, already getting an allergic reaction to how Sophia acted like a puppy around the fierce Latina.

Daniela side-eyed Sophia but reluctantly shook her hand. "Hey, I’m Daniela Avanzini."

Even if Daniela’s face looked like she wanted to bite someone, Sophia could still see the dimples poking out as their hands met.

That just made the Filipina smile even more cheesily.

The ginger finally spoke out, waving both of her hands to the senators and the president.

"Hi! I'm Megan Skiendiel!"

Her smile came with whisker dimples that just added to her charm.

Manon and Megan continued to converse with each other, while Sophia was still busy admiring her favorite student—which, by the way, was Daniela. (simp alert!)

Y/N didn’t know what came over her, but she finally decided to look up at Megan as soon as she heard her voice. She could feel the ginger's energy radiating just by sitting across from her. Y/N’s thoughts ran a million miles away from the room, seeing things she shouldn’t, or mustn't, see.

What?

Vegan? Oh! Megan.

She… has whisker dimples.

This feels weird. It's irritating.

Ugh!

Maybe I feel this way 'cause she has bad energy.

Right, bad energ—

Y/N’s attention snapped back to reality when Manon clapped in front of her face.

"Stop intimidating Megan, you bitter bitch!" she exclaimed.

Megan, who was watching the whole interaction, chuckled to herself; though she couldn’t help but admit she was a little intimidated by the sudden glare, zone-out, or whatever Y/N just did.

Y/N just shook her head, looking away almost immediately.

She swore she saw pink swirls around Megan!

Pink swirls = bad energy. She mentally noted.

After a few chit-chats here and there, they finally finished their food. Thank the school for making lunch last until 2:00 PM.

"Bae, where’s the cherry pie you always bring?" Lara asked Y/N.

It’s a cute inside joke the officers had together—to tease the bitter senator who secretly had a sweet tooth for cherries.

Y/N’s cheeks matched the color of the cherries she always brought with her.

She was known within the student government for always bringing cherry pies, and she was too shy for that information to be revealed in front of the students who trusted her to be in a senatorial position.

Megan noticed her fuming cheeks, making her chuckle softly as she watched the senator reach for her lunch bag, glaring at Lara for even bringing that matter up.

"I apologize for the current action you’re seeing with our senator here," Sophia added, making Manon snicker.

Her glare shifted to Sophia as she placed the pie in the center of the table. This just made the five of them laugh.

The girls also found it funny how Y/N's walls were so high that no one could ever reach or jump over them. Well... maybe her co-senators could, but Y/N won’t admit that!

Thank goodness the two outsiders were there.

If they weren’t, Y/N would’ve scolded Lara and Sophia, and her voice would’ve been the only thing heard in the room except for the cackles of her co-officers.

Manon tried to make Y/N feel a little better.

"Just so you guys know, Y/N is actually a good baker. Her favorite is cherry pie, that’s why she always shares it with us."

Y/N sighed, finally feeling secure.

"I love cherry pies too," Megan unexpectedly replied.

The girl in front of her was still bitter that the rules were bent just for them (maybe because she also saw pink swirls around the ginger), so she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath,

"I didn’t ask."

Sophia, the observant one, couldn’t help but hear Y/N’s mumble. She pinched Y/N’s inner thigh tightly like an Asian mom would.

The girl being pinched let out a yelp, slapping Sophia’s hand away.

"Ouch!!! Stop it!!"

"Then better behave!"

Megan watched their interactions as the other girls reached out for the cherry pie.

It was so amusing how Y/N could behave with a single pinch from her Filipina mom.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Lunch break was finally over, so that meant Y/N went back to her awesome and exciting job.

Yay….!!!!!

Y/N went to the DIY mailbox the officers had made weeks before Valentine’s Day to get the newly inserted letters.

Hours passed by, and there were only two left in her messenger bag. She looked down, checking who the next letter was for.

To: Senator Y/N

Her eyebrows furrowed, confused by the unexpected letter that had landed in her bag. She gathered enough courage to open it, only to be greeted by a message that said:

"cherry pies are the best, aren’t they? -🍒"

Y/N was taken aback by that.

She looked around, paranoid that other people—besides her co-officers and the two strangers she met—might know her sweet tooth secret.

As an overthinker, she was scared that this info would be used against her.

Petty, right?

So instead of stressing over it, Y/N just brushed it off.

Y/N, of course, found these letters written on sticky notes weird since she always got them after class or after hanging out with the gang.

Eventually, she soon found these things cute—not because she thought the sender was some desperate puppy going after their loml—but because it was the effort and the thought that counted.

She still hates romantic shit, btw!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After the 14th of February, the two new girls always hung out with the four senators for the following weeks.

Dani and Sophia might be a thing.

Lara and Manon miiiight also be a thing.

Y/N still hated Megan’s guts.

And YoonChae... was still YoonChae.

Y/N would always glare at Megan whenever they made eye contact during functions.

She just hated how mesmerizing her fucking smile was!!

She always wanted the ginger to feel not included, always moving away whenever the other one came near.

Megan was an introvert, yet a talkative one.

She fits right in with the gang, always opening up topics about her niche interests and random stuff.

But when Y/N kept pushing her away, it made the ginger feel disappointed.

The bitter senator still received random sweet messages from ‘🍒’.

The sender was consistent, giving the notes at the same time: every morning at 8 AM, before class at 1 PM, and after school at 5 PM.

Some examples of the letters she received were:

don’t forget to smile, miss maem. -🍒

do u like ginger kitties? cuz i have one -🍒

i think u would rock your bangs when they’re dyed pink -🍒

Another event was being held by the student government on campus, and it was a busy day for the officers. They needed to make sure the fair went well and also give people some relief from their midterm break.

This was just another exhausting day for the officers—especially for Y/N. But not until she realized that she hadn’t received her morning note yet.

It’s not like she was expecting it… right?

She wasn’t into romantic stuff in the first place.

Maybe she was just annoyed because of the change.

She despised change.

The sun continued to do its daily cycle, leaving the officers even busier.

And well… Y/N got more frustrated—about the note? Perhaps.

Second note: still none.

It was already past 1 PM.

This made Y/N moodier than usual, especially because of the exhaustion from organizing the event and the sudden break in her routine.

Things were already getting inside her head. Each complaint or order from her schoolmates made her more irritated.

Is the letter the main cause of her irritation, though?

Y/N couldn’t handle it anymore.

She didn’t want to just burst out and walk away from her tasks just because her feelings got in the way.

Instead, she finished all of her responsibilities first before subtly disappearing from the world—maybe trying to run away from the agitation.

She dragged her feet to the nearest, peaceful, and quiet bathroom.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat on the closed toilet, her head pressed into her hands.

She didn’t even know why she felt heavy and suddenly so emotional.

Ahh. Typical Y/N.

Her disappearance wouldn’t even be noticed by people around her since she was the quiet and reserved one, well, at least that’s what she thought.

A knock suddenly echoed on her bathroom stall door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Y/N…?"

The senator’s ears perked up. Maybe it was just a random student asking about the event or some shit.

She cleared her throat before replying,

"Yeah? This stall is taken."

The person on the other side hummed, waiting for Y/N to get out.

Y/N hated when people waited for her. Being a people pleaser was kind of her thing.

She quickly wiped any visible tears from her eyes. She already had an excuse prepared if they noticed the redness.

Allergies, Y/N thought.

The stall door swung open, revealing a tall ginger woman leaning her back against the sink.

Y/N never expected that, out of all people, Megan would be the one asking questions about the damn event.

"What do you want." She said flatly, as if she hadn’t just spent minutes crying.

Megan gulped. She didn’t know what to say or how to act. "Are you okay…? I saw the way you’re more irritated than usual." She blurted out.

Y/N was wrong.

Very wrong.

Someone did notice her disappearance, someone even noticed her mannerisms.

And that person was Megan.

Megan always looked out for Y/N, even if she was being mean (and annoyingly pessimistic) to her.

The senator cleared her throat, trying to shrug off the vulnerability.

"I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine."

"Just allergies. And maybe a migraine. Some stupid people decided to complain about the event, and I’ve been handling shit the whole day."

Y/N yapped consecutively—so unusual of her.

Megan could see right through her. What do you expect from a geek who loves psychology?

She hadn’t even asked yet, but Y/N was already giving excuses. Some might be false, Megan knew.

"I’m actually the one giving you the letters." The ginger suddenly confessed, cutting off Y/N’s rambling. She figured that maybe not giving the notes was the actual root of the senator’s grumpiness.

Well, Y/N was always grumpy.

But today?

She was extra grumpy.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she gently pushed Megan. "The fuck?! The one giving me cheesy stupid letters?!"

She thought it was stupid… but it was also kind of cute. Not that Y/N would admit that.

Megan nodded, nervous that she’d just blurted it out.

Y/N calmed down a bit.

She didn’t want to be rude, not right now. Not in this situation.

"Why… are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought it’s the actual cause of your frustration." It actually was.

"I- wha-" She couldn’t even form coherent words because, well… maybe it was true.

"I stopped giving you letters because I thought you hated it."

Y/N frowned, her usual high walls starting to crumble. "No, I don’t."

Megan’s ears perked up, like a puppy hearing the word walk. "You don’t?"

A grin crept up on the ginger’s face—the sight made Y/N look away as her cheeks betrayed her, turning a soft shade of red.

"Yes, I don’t. Now shut up."

Megan’s giggles echoed in the room, teasing Y/N for her flustered response.

"So… am I actually the reason for your extra grumpiness?"

"Yes." Y/N whispered, walking closer to her.

She finally found the courage to look up into Megan’s eyes.

Tears started to roll down again, seeing how much she could be vulnerable whenever she's with Megan.

The main reason for her frustration was solved, but the burnout and exhaustion were still there.

Megan scooped Y/N’s face in her hands as the girl leaned into her body.

"Let it all out. I’m right here, all ears if you ever want to rant."

The senator let her feelings pour out. Words were too complicated for the exhaustion she always buried.

After a couple of minutes, Y/N finally calmed down. Thanks to Megan—who somehow knew how to tame the brat that was actually so soft inside.

"I never actually meant to be too rude to you."

Y/N confessed, much like how Megan had earlier.

She knew she was direct, maybe even mean sometimes, but she didn’t want to be extra rude to Megan.

"I just… felt an unexplainable pang in my heart when I saw you the first time. It’s inevitable. That’s why I kept pushing you away. I'm... sorry."

Megan understood her side, watching every move and expression she made.

"A ray of sunshine might be too much for a cloud of rain. I understand. You don’t need to apologize for something that’s not your fault." Her voice was tender, making Y/N’s heart soften even more.

It was basically as soft as a pillow now.

She couldn’t think anymore, not with her guard down and her vulnerability resurfacing.

"Fuck it."

Y/N leaned in, pressing her lips against Megan’s. Their lips were soft, moving slowly and gently—speaking the secret language of intimacy. The world fell into silence the moment they kissed.

Minutes later, they finally pulled away.

"I think I love you…"

Y/N muttered, seeing all the pink swirls around Megan all over again.

"I love you too, Y/N." Megan whispered, pressing her forehead against hers.

The ginger spoke again just to tease Y/N, knowing how much the senator was secretly a sucker for her.

"Can you keep a secret? I’m a little shy."

"Mhm… yeah?"

"You taste like cherry pie."

[withwritersblock]

The First Time

~The First Time by Damiano David~

Author's Note: hi so um this is another Ted Mosby inspired Quinn as in I lowkey replicated Ted and Victoria in my own way. But I couldn't stop thinking about them and this song so um here's this Summary: Quinn falls in love at first sight at his cousin's wedding Warnings: swearing, erm idk about anything else Word count: 7,426 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

Quinn was starting to hate weddings. Especially weddings that led to the dreaded question. When’s your wedding, Quinny? As if he knew. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone have a wedding to plan. He was tired of wearing his wedding suit, yes the suit that he wore to every wedding he attended every year. Which seemed to become a longer list the longer he was in the league.

The boys were all getting married at an accelerated rate, which meant a thousand weddings a summer. At least that’s what it feels like. He was getting tired of it. But of course alcohol made that process easier.

Except the reception hasn’t even started yet and he was not allowed to indulge into the open bar until that was done. He was dreading the ceremony. At first, he thought that it was because it was how similar all weddings were and how each ceremony was the same. But something was nagging at him. Maybe it was the fact that he was jealous. 

It was exhausting watching each of his friends tie the knot with the woman they’ve been in love with for years. Quinn hasn’t felt that type of love before. Sure, he’s loved someone. Maybe he was in love at some point. But nothing to the point where he looked like his cousin Jacob right now. His cousin was in the midst of trying not to cry during his vows.

Quinn cannot recall a time, he’s ever loved someone that deeply. It was craving that he couldn’t shake. But it was never a feeling you could steal or alter or pretend. It was genuine, he knew it would happen when it would happen. Dammit was he done waiting.

His gaze scanned the bridal party. Luke was up there in a brown suit, alongside the other groomsmen in the exact attire. Luke and Jacob were instant best friends as they were born weeks apart. There was no doubt that he would be a part of the party. Quinn’s gaze looked toward the bridesmaids and looked over each of their vastly different dresses. They were the same shade of brown. 

Quinn thought that it was a bit of an odd wedding color choice but it wasn’t his wedding so he didn’t linger on that thought very long. His eyes dropped back down towards his lap as he took in a deep breath. He needed the ceremony to be over as his heart was slamming hard against his chest. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he was becoming an alcoholic in training from all these torturous weddings.

Jack nudged his arm against Quinn. He lifted his gaze, glancing towards his brother who was trying to mouth a few words to him but Quinn couldn’t comprehend anything that he was trying to get across. But Quinn’s gaze lingered on the longing look that Jack’s girlfriend was giving him. Quinn dropped his eyes back towards his lap. He’s never been looked at like that. At least to the extent of his knowledge. He’s never seen love in someone’s else’s eyes. He was craving that feeling in his chest desperately. 

He hated being a hopeless romantic. It really was hopeless.

The ceremony was coming to a close and the guests were beginning to gather towards the reception that was only a building over. The wedding was on the same lot with a neighboring hotel to cater all of the guests.

Quinn wandered into the reception, alone. As the rest of the Hughes family waited for Luke to be done with photos. Quinn desperately needed a drink. The reception was starting to get started as a few of his relatives were on the dance floor and many others were staking claim at a few tables scattered around.

He made his way directly to the bar. Smiling towards the bartender, he met the man’s gaze. “What can I do for you?” he asked Quinn.

Quinn nodded, “A beer is fine, thank you,” he expressed as he pulled his wallet out to tip the bartender. The bartender turned around to retrieve the beer for him as Quinn placed a ten dollar bill onto the bar top. 

He sat down on the barstool as he leaned against the counter. He looked over the reception and admired each group. He admired the way they were laughing and smiling and simply enjoying each other’s time. 

His eyes continued to scan the groups of people when his gaze landed on her. It was as if the rest of the world faded away. Everything around her was blurry and she was as bright as the sun. Quinn’s body froze with his entire body erupting in tingles while admiring her.

She was sitting at a table alone, her gaze staring towards the red drink in her hand. He concluded she was drinking a vodka cranberry. She was spinning the tiny straw as she kept her gaze low. She was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. So beautiful that all of the air in his lungs disappeared as he continued to admire her from afar. 

He took a sharp breath as he reached towards the beer beside him. Nearly knocking it over in the process. Quinn cleared his throat as he brought the beer towards his lips. His eyes still admired her from the distance, forgetting to breathe once again as she lifted her gaze to meet him from across the room. His cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink.

He could barely see her eyes from a distance but he knew he never wanted to look somewhere else. He took a long sip of his beer before he left it onto the counter top half full as he stood up from the barstool. He had every intention of meeting her, he needed to meet her and get her to fall in love with him.

“Hey Quinn,” he heard as a hand slammed against his shoulder. Quinn’s entire body jolted as he looked towards the side to see that Luke and Jack were beside him. He acknowledged that they were there for only a moment before he turned his gaze back towards the woman drinking a vodka cranberry across the way. 

And she was gone, completely disappeared as if she was a figment of his imagination. Maybe she was because she was too out of this world stunning to be real. He let out an exasperated sigh as he forced his gaze back towards his brothers.

“What was that, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Jack teased as he brought his own beer towards his lips. It made him wonder how long the pair of them had been standing there to already have drinks in their hands. Did they watch him practically fall in love with a potential hallucination?

“Nothing,” Quinn muttered as he reached beside him for the beer he nearly abandoned. He brought it back towards his lips as he had one intention for the rest of the night. He needed to find her again. 

Jack and Luke shared suspicious glances before they returned to drinking their beers. “Well, it seems like the Hughes side didn’t take a second to slow down,” Jack joked as he pointed to the dance floor where every one of their relatives were dancing without an ounce of hesitation or care in the world.

“Yeah, it’s not in the genes apparently,” Quinn said half heartedly as he rested the now empty beer onto the counter. “Can I get tequila soda?” he asked the bartender and he nodded as he began to make the drink for him.

“Need something stronger, huh Bud?” Luke teased. Quinn laughed sarcastically as he continued to scan the reception, hoping their eyes would connect once more. Yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

“I’m starting to hate weddings,” Quinn expressed while he looked behind him for his new drink. The bartender was sliding it towards him at that exact moment. Quinn smiled polietly before he brought the short glass towards his lips.

“Yeah me too,” Luke muttered as he took a longer sip of his beer while stifling a laugh.

Quinn kept scanning the crowd, his posture straightened once he caught a glimpse of her in the distance. She was at the table where the beautiful eight tier cake rested. She was reorganzing the cupcakes that surrounded it in such delicate fashion. He took a deep breath as his lips curled upward.

She was very real and very out of this world beautiful. She spun on her heel, maybe knowing that he was looking her way. Their eyes met. The corner of her lips curled upward as she turned back around to continue to rearrange the cupcakes.

Quinn took another deep breath as if her attention on him meant he was finally able to breathe for the first time. Jack and Luke followed Quinn’s gaze towards the girl. Chuckles falling from their lips in the process.

“Now the last five minutes make total sense,” Luke muttered as he took another sip of his beer. 

Quinn rolled his eyes as he finished the tequila soda before he rested it back down ontot he counter. He didn’t acknowledge the boys as he made his way through the sea of people. He made his way towards the table with the cupcakes and the cake. It was a beautiful area of desserts that he couldn’t wait to enjoy. 

He walked beside her, fighting off a wide toothy grin. “Hey,” he let out as he was hoping to catch her attention. She lifted her gaze up, a small smile on her lips. 

“Hi,” she let out as she turned her attention towards him. She delicately crossed her arms over her chest as she met his gaze. 

“So I’m assuming you’re here for the bride?” he asked, cringing at the question himself. She let out a small chuckle. “I mean my cousin Jacob is the groom and so I know all of his side of this whole thing. So you must be here for the bride,” 

“Actually, I made the eight tiered wedding cake with all of the assortment of cupcakes. I’ve been waiting for my delivery team to drop it off. And they placed everything all wrong. My eight tiered cake is not in the center but I am doing my best to fix it,” she explained as she turned her focus back onto the cake and turned the cake holder slightly to the right. 

“You keep saying eight tiered cake, it’s starting to sound like a fake phrase,” he offered jokingly.

“Oh because it’s impressive that I made all of this by myself. And it’s a little sad that you haven’t said that an eight tier cake is impressive because this is impressive,” she said jokingly. 

He grinned widely as he let out a small laugh. “It is a very impressive cake,” he teased. 

“Thank you so much,” she said somewhat sarcastically as she looked back into his eyes. He squinted his eyes slightly while his gaze dipped towards her lips for only a second before he looked back up towards her eyes. 

“I’m–”

“Before you do that, I have to ask you a super important question,” she offered as she took another step towards him. Their eyes remained connected in the process. He nodded encouragingly. “What are your intentions here? Are you trying to hook up or fall in love because I don’t do either at weddings,” 

He smirked as he nodded very hesitantly. “Well, what if I told you that my only intention was to check out this beautiful, very impressive cake,” he said quietly. 

“Really?” she teased.

“Maybe,” 

She smirked as she felt her heart start to race the longer she looked into his eyes. Something was causing the butterflies to erupt in her stomach as she continued to look into his strong and powerful gaze.

“I have a rule that I don’t hook up at weddings,” she stated while awkwardly resting her hands onto her hips.

“Okay then let’s fall in love,” he offered. He knew it was cheesy as he said it but he didn’t care. The giggle that fell from her lips was worth it. He never wanted to hear another sound ever again.

“I have a rule against that too,” she mumbled while fighting off a grin. Quinn swallowed harshly as he looked behind him. He saw his brothers watching from across the way near the bar. He pursed his lips forward as he looked back towards her. Smiling softly in the process.

“Do you have a rule against having a conversation with me while fetching your drinks?” he questioned while crossing his arms over his chest. He swayed from one foot to the other. 

“I do not have a rule against that,” she offered.

“What would you like to drink?” Quinn said as he glanced down to the glass that was empty on the table. She reached down and took a hold of it. Carefully, she handed it towards Quinn, their hands brushed against one another in the process. A nervous grin fell onto her lips as she quickly brought her hands back to her sides. 

“Vodka cranberry with lime would be amazing,” she said happily. 

“With lime,” he muttered as he took a step back while tapping his finger against the side of the glass. 

“I’ll be sitting here,” she said pointing to the table only a few feet in front of them. 

“I’ll be back,” he offered quietly as he started walking through the sea of people back towards the bar and back towards his brothers. No doubt already on their third beer well before the party even truly started. 

“Hello, can I get another tequila soda and a vodka cranberry, please,” he refers to the bartender, completely ignoring his brothers. He heard stifled laughs falling from both of his brothers while he shook his head as he fought off a laugh. “Will you guys just shut up,” he said through a giggle. 

“So who’s that?” Jack sing-songed. 

“Shut up,” Quinn mumbled as he pulled his wallet out to tip the bartender. 

“Your eyes are-like-glued to her,” Luke let out as he pointed behind him. At the motion, Quinn spun his head around to look in her direction. “See,” Luke said with a giggle. “So what’s her name?”

“No idea,” he let out with a dry laugh.

“You were just talking with her for like five minutes and you never got her name?” Jack chimed in.

“She has these rules about meeting people at weddings and–” Quinn trailed off as the drinks rested in front of him, “I’m leaving, bye,” he muttered as he took a hold of the short glasses and started making his way through the crowd again. 

As Quinn walked up towards the table. He carefully rested the drink in front of her as he pulled out his own chair. He rested his own drink down as he sat down beside her. “Thank you very much,” she offered as she brought the drink towards her lips. She took a very tiny sip before she rested it down onto the table.

“Of course,” he let out as he took a small sip of his own. Their eyes connected and the corner of her lips curled upward as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. “So you’re really not going to tell me your name?” he asked teasingly.

She chuckled as she tilted her head to the side while looking into his eyes. “It helps prevent the whole hooking up or falling in love part of my rules,” she expressed.

“Right and why do you have these rules, what’s the story there?” Quinn questioned while leaning towards her subtly. He brought the drink towards his lips. She grinned while she also brought her drink towards her lips.

“Isn't it kinda obvious? A few bad hookups that led to a few bad relationships. It’s also not great for business, when you keep hooking up with your customers’ guests.” she explained the last part through a giggle. Quinn nodded along while chuckling. 

“I get that,” he expressed. The groom and the bride entered the reception, causing everyone to erupt into cheers. Quinn turned his head to follow the noise, watching his cousins kiss his bride. Quinn dropped his gaze towards his lap, his entire body filling with envy at the sight. As the reception fully started, the food was being passed around and the party was getting fully started.

Jack jogged up towards Quinn, “Quinn, Quinn, Quinn hey Quinn–Lukey gave me the number to the maid of honor–look at how pretty she is,” Jack said as he pointed in the direction behind him. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where he was looking. 

Before Quinn could even react, Jack disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Quinn fought off a grin as he looked over and met her gaze. He took a deep breath. 

“So I’m Quinn,” he let out while meeting her gaze. She giggled as she brushed her hair away from her face.

“I’m Y/N,” she whispered as she leaned towards him. 

“I’m so sorry about him and breaking one of your rules,” Quinn expressed as he pointed behind him. Y/N let out a soft laugh before she brought the drink towards her lips. She rested it back down onto the table. 

“It’s okay,” she muttered as she looked towards the caterers that were handing out the meals to each table. She mentally connected the dots that she would need to start preparing the cake for the guests. Jacob and his bride wanted nothing to do with the dramatic cake cutting, explicitly in their instructions to not make it a huge moment. 

For the next hour, they both sat together and talked about anything and everything. Conversations flowed so easily, Quinn has never had it so easy with a girl before. But he knew what it was from the moment they met. This moment together would be the end. Because he respected that she had those rules. Despite how stupid he found them, it wasn’t his place.

But Quinn knew that you couldn’t fall in love with someone at first sight or at first conversation. It takes time to fall in love with someone, to really fall in love with them. He knew that. He swore he knew that but the way his heart fluttered as she spoke or the way her smile lit up his entire world. He’s never felt like this before.

But it would be momentary. Just for the night. That’s all he knew.

“I’m sorry, I need to start preparing the cake,” she offered as she stood up, leaving her glass on the table.

“I can grab you another drink, if you’d like,” Quinn offered as he stood up from the table. Quinn took a hold of both of their glasses, she smiled towards him as a thank you.

“Better not, once I am done with cutting the cake I am heading home. But thank you,” she offered as she took a few steps away from him towards the table.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere,” he offered as he pointed towards her with the glass still in his hand. She giggled as she turned towards the dessert table to begin cutting the cake. 

Quinn walked back towards the bar, returning the glass as he asked for another tequila soda. It was his fourth drink of the night but he wasn’t feeling it yet. He wasn’t feeling anything at this point. There was no way he was going to let her go. He couldn’t. He would never forgive himself if he let her go.

The bartender nodded as Quinn pulled his wallet out again to tip him. The drink only took a few seconds for him to make and place back in front of Quinn. He took a long sip as he drifted his gaze towards her as one of the other caterers started assisting her with the many plates that were needed for the cake. 

He made his way back over to the table where Jacob and his bride were standing there talking with Y/N. “–seriously, Y/N. You are incredible. The cake looks literally amazing. The cupcakes are out of this world. We would love for you to…” Quinn tuned out what the bride was saying to Y/N as Jacob smacked his hand against Quinn’s shoulder.

“I’m fucking married, man,” he let out, astounded at the statement leaving his lips. Quinn laughed while giving him a brief side hug.

“How does it feel, kid?” Quinn asked with a smirk toying to his lips. Every few seconds he looked towards Y/N as she was listening to Jacob’s bride rant clearly tipsy. 

“Like the best feeling in the world,” Jacob said while shaking his head. Jacob was also quite tipsy evidently. Which is well deserved. “I cannot wait to be like–really married, man, like really in the thick of it. I can’t wait for…” Quinn began to tune him out as his gaze landed on Y/N. 

She was almost done making the servings for the near two hundred people in the reception. Her smile was polite but genuine towards the bride. Quinn couldn’t believe that he may be letting this girl go because she was perfect. He was in love with her. That had to be the feeling he had in his chest because somehow he’s forgotten how to breathe but every breath he takes is like breathing for the first time ever. 

He wouldn’t tell her any of that. He wasn’t that crazy because he was crazy. This is crazy. He doesn’t even know her last name and he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever see her again. 

“–But listen, man. My beautiful wife and I are going to enjoy this cake without smashing it into each other’s faces because we are not tacky,” he offered, smacking another hand onto Quinn’s shoulder. 

Quinn watched as Jacob wrapped his arms around his bride and guided her towards the table with the cake slices set on paper plates. Paper plates that had their faces printed on them. Odd decision, once again. But having your faces on paper plates isn’t tacky, sure, Jakey whatever you say. 

“Well, my job here is done,” Quinn heard her say beside him. His gaze landed on Y/N and he smiled once their eyes connected. His smile faltered slightly as he realized that this would be the end. “It was lovely meeting you, Quinn,” she offered as she didn’t break eye contact once.

“You can’t leave without one dance,” Quinn said as he subtly pointed towards the dance floor. She shook her head slightly. “Aw come on, you have to put that pretty dress to use. Twirl a little,” he said teasingly.

She smiled as she felt herself start to blush. “You said that your entire family is here. I am not going to dance with you in front of your entire family–I am a stranger and that would be weird,” she explained while taking an urgent yet hesitant breath. He pursed his lips forward as his gaze dipped down to hers. Her lips were covered in a clear gloss, he wondered if it was scented or if it was just making her lips look so pretty.

“Then let’s go somewhere private,” he let out. She thought he was joking but the smirk on his lips told a completely different story. “Come on,” he offered while holding his hand out towards her. Their eyes remained connected as she felt her heart leap up into her throat in the process. Glancing towards the caterer that was in the process of cleaning up the minor mess that he left behind, she delicately rested her hand into his hand. 

His smile widened as he spun on his heel and started guiding her away from the reception. He was not quite sure exactly where he was heading but he swore there would be another, smaller, ballroom where they could have some privacy. 

His hand started tingingly as it was connected with hers. It was as if a magnet finally connected with their hands interlocked. His heart was slamming against his chest, desperate for her to lose her stupid rules and fall in love with him. Since he definitely has fallen in love with her. 

Quinn was right, there was a small secluded ballroom directly behind the one Jacob’s reception was held. Nearly to the point where the music was so loud, they could still dance as if they were inside the reception. Quinn glided his thumb along the top of her hand before he stopped in the center of the ballroom. 

Their eyes were connected as they were lips were only a few inches apart. She took a hesitant breath as she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. He carefully looped his arms around her waist, their bodies were close. It felt right, with their bodies nearly pressed so close to one another, it was right. 

“This is a first for me,” she offered barely above a whisper.

“What is?” he asked quietly as he looked deeply into her eyes. She returned the gaze as she twisted some pieces of his hair between her fingertips.

“I don’t dance with a guy I just met in a ballroom…alone,” she offered somewhat teasingly. He giggled.

“Well, for your information, I don’t go around asking beautiful girls to dance privately in a ballroom the first night I meet her,” he said. A small giggle fell from her lips, he loved making her laugh. “Usually, I wait until the fifth date for that,” he offered as he leaned towards her. She rolled her eyes playfully. 

You Don’t Know Me by Michael Buble began to play in the reception. There were a few squeals from some of the women in the other ballroom. Jacob said that his bride loved his music and Quinn was surprised this was the first time his music played.

To his surprise, Y/N rested her head onto his shoulder, her head facing away from him. Quinn smiled softly as he slowly blinked, he continued to sway their bodies back and forth. 

Quinn’s heart was slamming against his chest so hard he was starting to worry that it would explode in his chest. His hand slowly began to absentmindedly run along her back, his hands remained respectful. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, rather he would never do that unless he was joking. But he continued to glide one of his hands up her back and lower down her back.

Their bodies swayed perfect sync. They moved in a small subconscious circle, moving about the open space. He heard her humming along to the song, the corner of his lips curled upward at the sound. His heart was so full from this moment, with yes the woman he loved. He wouldn’t dare let it slip from his lips but he knew that the feeling burning in his chest was the desire that only love could bring.

The song started to reach the bridge, nearing the end of the song. Slowly, she lifted her head up as their noses nearly bumped into one another. Some of her hair was blocking her face, without hesitation he raised his hand up and tugged the hair behind her ear.

His thumb glided along her jaw for a moment that caused her breathing to hitch in her throat. His gaze remained on her glossed lips, craving the taste that her lips would bring. He inched towards her as she inched towards him. Their lips were nearly already touching, craving each other. Quinn’s thumb glided along her jaw once more as he nearly kissed her with everything he had.

“We’re not going to kiss tonight,” she whispered as her own eyes remained on his lips. Yet, she leaned away from him in the process.  Quinn grinned as he ran his hand down her side before he settled them on the small of her back.

“That’s okay,” he whispered as he lifted his gaze up, watching them flicker up to meet his eye. 

“It is?” she questioned barely above a whisper.

“There’s a rule against that at weddings, remember?” he leaned towards her, whispering in her ear. “Falling in love is against the rules,” he whispered as he pulled back.

“Right,” she let out, almost as if she wasn’t believing it. 

“I’ve got a question though,” he whispered as their eyes remained connected. She nodded slowly. “I don’t want to watch you walk away, that’ll ruin this moment,” he whispered. 

A small smirk formed on her lips, “That wasn’t a question,” she said quietly. He smiled as he tilted his head to the side.

“I want this moment to be perfect and you walking away will just ruin that memory,” he expressed quietly. She nodded as she ran her thumbs along the side of his neck.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. 

“What?” he questioned breathily, masked with a laugh.

“I’m serious, close your eyes and count to ten in your head,” she whispered again. He stared towards her suspiciously, meeting her gaze he nodded.

After a few seconds, he listened and shut his eyes. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her hands glide off of his frame, his hands slipping from her frame. He didn’t count, simply feeling her vanish from his life almost as quickly as she entered it. 

He kept his eyes shut, probably for a lot longer than ten seconds but he wanted to keep the last image in his mind. He wanted to remember this moment knowing that he’ll probably never see the love of his life again. Yes, he was dramatic and yes he knew deep down in his heart that she probably wasn’t the love of his life. But the ache in his chest feeling her body drift away from him was the worst feeling in the world.

Yep, this was definitely worse than watching her walk away. Eventually, he opened his eyes and was alone. The music was loud and still playing slow songs, Ed Sheeran was playing in the other room. A song he knew but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

Quinn lazily took a step behind him, spinning in a one-eighty as he half expected to see her standing behind him. But yet she was gone. Completely vanished and his heart was heavy. He stood in the empty ballroom, lazily doing another spin as he looked towards the hallway that they entered the ballroom through. He realized that’s probably where she vanished.

He took a deep breath as he found himself doing another spin, wanting to savor the memory. He let out a long drawn out breath as he decided it would be best if he left early. He stumbled slightly as he made his way towards the exit in search for the hotel that was in the same lot as the reception.

~~~

He slept better than he thought with her slipping from his life. He swore that she was going to change her mind but she stood firm. Firm enough to leave without saying goodbye. But maybe that part was on him. Since he was the one who told her that he didn’t want to watch her walk away. That would’ve been the worst thing in his mind. 

His brothers were on their way over to his hotel room, they allegedly ordered Denny’s for breakfast and were willing to share. Quinn shot up from the bed as he walked towards the door. He pulled it open to see Luke covering his eyes. Jack was using the Denny’s takeout bag to block his eyes. The bag was huge. They really ordered the whole menu it seemed.

“What are you dickheads doing?” Quinn asked as he swung the door open, letting them walk inside.

“You disappeared last night, we assumed you brought home that girl. Is it safe?” Luke asked teasingly as he stepped into the room, separating his fingers as he peeked inside. He dropped his hands to the side, somewhat disappointed in his older brother that there was in fact zero sign of a hookup.

“I did not, I didn’t even get her number,” Quinn mumbled regrettably as he plopped down onto the bed as Jack began to pull out the different meals. Luke’s mouth fell open as he sat down on the chair near the large window. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jack asked as he dropped a take out container that held pancakes with strawberries on it. 

“She has rules that she doesn’t hook up at weddings, okay?” Quinn defended as he caught the plastic silverware that Luke tossed towards him.

“Isn’t that the point of being single at weddings?” Jack questioned as he handed a container towards Luke. He opened without a single piece of hesitation.

“She works weddings, I guess it becomes awkward or whatever,” Quinn mumbled while he ripped open his plastic silverware. “I enjoyed my night with her and I am content knowing that I’ll never see her again.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jack and Luke both said at the same time. Quinn raised his hand up and flipped them off in the process.

“It’s true. I am okay that I will never see her again and that she’ll just be that one girl I danced with at my little cousin’s wedding. That’s all,” Quinn explained.

“You didn’t dance with her, we would’ve seen you,” Jack offered with a mouthful of pancakes.

“She thought it would be weird if we danced in front of my entire family. So we went next door to the tiny ballroom and danced together there. We almost kissed and then she was gone. End of story,”

“Wait–”  Jack held his hand up as he spoke.

“Let me see if I’m getting this right,” Luke interrupted. Jack nodded encouragingly. “You spent over an hour flirting with this girl and getting her drinks.”

“Right so far,” Quinn uttered teasingly.

“She tells you that nothing will happen with you and you still ask her dance,”

“Bingo,” 

“She tells you not in front of your family so you take her next door. Slow dance, stare all lovey dovey towards one another and then you don’t kiss her.”

“Right on the money, little bro,” Quinn expressed, a smirk toying his lips.

“What happens after you don’t kiss her?” Jack questioned tossing his hands to his side. Quinn rolled his eyes playfully.

“I told her that I didn’t want to watch her walk away because it would ruin the moment,”

“Sure,” Jack let out sarcastically. Luke took a dramatic bite of his food to hide his laughter.

“So she told me to close my eyes and count to ten and I did and she was gone. Which might I add is possibly worse than watching her walk away but that’s the end of that,” Quinn explained, dropping his gaze towards the pancakes in front of him. He took a dramatic bite.

“So that’s it?” Jack and Luke said at the same time, still dumbfounded at the whole conversation. Quinn nodded.

“You never want to see her again?” Jack asked.

“It’ll ruin the whole–memory or whatever. And besides I live in Vancouver and she probably lives in the Toronto area. Why would I track her down just to never see her again because I don’t live in Toronto,” he explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jack smirked as he took a deep breath. A blush formed to his lips as he furrowed his eyebrows harshly. “So if I told you, I grabbed her business card from the dessert table and had the address of her business you wouldn’t want to go see her?” Jack offered as he held up the tiny card in his hand. 

Quinn would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his stomach do rock star kicks and flip as he saw the tiny card. He could barely read her name on the front but it was obviously her card.

“You’re blushing,” Luke pointed a dramatic finger towards him and Quinn fought off a grin forming to his lips.

“She didn’t want it to become anything, so no, I wouldn't want to go see her. And–uh–did you forget the part where she probably lives in Toronto.” Quinn expressed as he took a long breath trying to relax his body. 

Jack still had that smug smirk on his lips and Quinn knew that he had some bullshit up his sleeve. He chose to ignore it, well that lasted all of four seconds as Jack twisted the card around. There was a tiny cartoon plane on the card with words he couldn’t make out.

“Even if the card says ‘We’re moving to Vancouver! Enjoy our treats while you can!’” Jack read out while fighting off a fit of laughter. 

Quinn’s eyes widened as he jumped up from the bed, “Shut up, it does not say that,” Quinn expressed as he stormed towards Jack. He ripped the card from Jack’s hands and read the words himself. It was true. “Oh shit,” he mumbled barely audible. He continued to hold the business card close to his face as he spun it in his hand. Her name spread across the front of the card. 

His heart jolted again in the same way their eyes first met. A smile formed to his lips as he lifted his gaze up and met Jack’s eyes.

“Go get ready, we are on a mission,” Jack ushered Quinn by pushing him away. Quinn nodded encouragingly as he jogged towards his bathroom. He needed to get ready to go see her again. Jack turned to Luke, “Is it bad that I really want to just go get more of her cupcakes?” 

“No, I dreamed about that cake last night, it was so good,” Luke said while giggling.

It took him a long forty minutes to get ready. His shower was fast but he was careful with his hair; he needed it to be absolutely perfect. 

He was starving. Which meant that every two seconds he would jog back into the hotel room to take a few bites of his pancakes before he went back into the bathroom. There were several shouts from Jack to just take it with him but he rejected the idea.

But now they were in the car and only a few minutes away from the bakery. Luke saw that they were open online despite Quinn’s protest that they could be closed since it was a Sunday. But they were open and Quinn was officially nervous. 

“What are you going to tell her?” Jack asked from the backseat as he tapped his hands against Quinn’s shoulders.

Quinn had no fucking clue. He had absolutely zero idea of what to say to her. Everything about last night was perfect except one thing. He didn’t fucking kiss her. She said no but the way she sounded disappointed when he agreed; he should’ve suspected that she wanted more. He respected her wishes but right now he is respectfully no longer doing that.

He craved the feeling he had in his chest, the ach and the desperation to be around someone. He craved wanting someone so bad that it actually hurts. It’s physically painful knowing that he let her go. He let her disappear and slip away from him.

He should’ve kept his hands on her waist, desperately slam his lips against hers. Something. He needed something to make the moment better than the near perfection that it was between them. His heart was beating for her and he needed that feeling again.

Would he tell her that he loved her, that the moment their eyes connected he fell in love? The second their eyes connected it was love at first sight, something he swore was a myth. Something straight out of the movies that reality couldn’t handle.

“Quinn?” Jack asked, tapping his fingers against his shoulders again. Quinn shook his head and looked outside of the passenger window to see her at the register. He took a deep breath, finally able to breathe again once he saw her in the distance. Her smile was so genuine and the sparkle in her eyes could be seen from several feet away and inside a tinted car. “Holy shit dude,” Jack said as Quinn fell silent.

The people that were inside left, a cupcake in each of their hands. Quinn could hear his heartbeat in a fast cadence. He saw the door swing open and shut. 

“What if this is a mistake? What if she doesn’t want to see me again? I mean what if she doesn’t want me like I want her?” 

“What do you want then, Quinn?” Jack asked quietly. 

Quinn shook his head slightly as he bit his bottom lip. He dropped his gaze towards his lap. “I’m going to sound fucking crazy if I say it,” Quinn let out as he clenched his fists for a moment before he rested his hands onto his thighs. 

“I think you would be crazy if you didn’t go in there,” Jack expressed quietly.

“Go,” Luke pushed him before he reached down and unbuckled the seatbelt for him. Quinn took another breath as he unwrapped the seatbelt away from him and reached towards the door handle and pushed the door open. 

“Bring me a cupcake,” Luke muttered as he tapped his hand against Quinn’s arm. 

“Can you be serious for onc–” Jack scolded Luke but Quinn let the door shut. He brushed off the comments his brothers made as he stepped out of the car. 

Quinn nearly collapsed as he stood up completely. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins so fast he was feeling slightly faint. He slammed the door shut, pulling his pants up slightly. He took a step like a baby deer trying to learn to walk. 

He spun his head around looking towards his brothers. They were both eagerly watching out of the windows. Luke gave Quinn a thumbs up. Quinn rolled his eyes as he continued walking towards the bakery. She had her back turned and her head down. 

Quinn took a deep breath as he pulled the door open. The door made a sound similar to windchimes as he stepped inside. “I’ll be with you in one second,” she sing-songed with her back still turned away. Quinn took a few steps inside, his heart fluttering hearing her voice. 

The flutter in his chest erupted as the same Michael Buble song that played last night was playing in the bakery shop. He kept his gaze towards her, an anticipatory grin on his lips as he waited for her to turn around.

Slowly, she spun around a customer service grin on her lips and quickly switched to a genuine one. Their eyes remained connected for a few seconds before a breathy laugh left her lips as she rounded the register and took fast steps towards him. Quinn’s eyes squinted as he watched her come closer to him, his heart nearly exploding in his chest as he watched her make her way towards him.

“Thank god,” she mumbled as she leaped towards him, connecting their lips instantly. 

He kissed her with so much urgency and love it was as if life would stop right here in this moment. Maybe he was okay with that, life ending while kissing her perfect lips. He took a hold of her cheeks, holding her head in place as her hands explored his body, desperate to find a perfect place to rest her hands. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back as he watched her eyes flutter open. He glided his thumb along her cheeks. 

“Feeling you slip away from me was so much worse than watching you walk away,” he mumbled as he looked deeply into her eyes. He leaned towards her, devouring her lips in the process.

After a few seconds it was her turn to pull away, “Leaving you standing there was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she mumbled as she ran her hand down his chest. 

“Do you have any rules against the day after weddings?” he asked quietly while scanning her features. She shook her head ever so slightly. He nodded before he pressed his lips against hers with so much urgency. He stumbled backwards as he lowered his grip onto her waist to stablize her. 

[af4ll3nst4r]

𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝚆𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙸𝙽

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝟙𝕩𝟙𝕩𝟙𝕩𝟙 𝕩 𝔻𝕖𝕗𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕥! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

'𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜' 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝗼𝐧𝐬

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Oʙsᴇssɪᴏɴs, ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ/ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴᴛ

Art by Deanzief on twitter! :)

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ 1x4 hated you. Hated you with all their heart.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ What? Why shouldn’t she? You were nothing but another survivor… puny, weak, and utterly pathetic. Just another in the crowd to beg and plea for mercy right before he lodges their sword right into their stomach.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Though, you weren’t exactly what she was expecting you to be.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ You refused to go to down with a long, grueling, yet exciting fight. You were strong, it doesn’t really matter how you’re built. You were irritatingly courageous, and fought for your team. You were taunting, brave, defiant. 1x4 did like that about you. Not that they’d ever admit it though.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Your lack of fear, wether it be from going over the same thing every time you’re no longer afraid, or something else.. does interest her.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Soon, he starts to save you for last. Absolutely relishing in the cat and mouse chase.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ If they do catch you, which is not often, they sure do take their sweet time making it painful. If you refuse to show some kind reaction other than a pained grunt or expression akin to one of resistance, she’ll plunge the sword deeper into your chest.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ The crimson liquid poured out of your chest as you gasped. You kept your pain under the wraps, refusing to give 1x1x1x1 the satisfaction he desired. She wanted to see you hurt, to witnesses you plead for mercy, to cry and scream under their blade. But you gave them none of that, and it enraged him. “WHY WON’T YOU JUST GIVE IN?” You hear her scream, practically piercing you with the sword by now. “I know it hurts… I know you’re in pain… WHY WON’T YOU JUST SHOW IT?” They growled, their chest heaving up and down as they leer down at you. A small, weak chuckle leaves you. You… you dare to laugh? Their sword is painfully piercing your chest.. blood pouring out of the wound.. and you, laugh? “The last thing I’d do is give you what you want…” You mutter, voice as soft as a gentle feather but with the determination of a tiger. They violently pull their sword from your chest, your blood covering the edge of their blade. You hear something accustomed to angry shouting but it fades out as your vision slowly begins to blur, a soft ringing in your ear as your chest still stings with pain. It’ll be over, you tell yourself, it’ll be over soon.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ You don’t give them what they want and they despise you for it. Yet, your defiance only makes their obsession grow larger. At this point they’re desperate for some kind of negative reaction. Just some kind of pained scream, or something along the lines of that.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ And you knew that, but you never wavered. No matter how many times they stabbed that sword into your body as if you were nothing but a meaty toy. And she continued to wonder how long it’ll take. How long it’ll take for you to finally break. He was growing impatient.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ This obsession got worse and worse. The obsession to see you finally give into the pain and obey. But you never did.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Soon, something else burned in their cold, black heart. It was full of nothing but malice, a horrible hatred for everyone and everything. It wasn’t love, no, far from it. Captivation? Enchantment? Admiration? Ugh.. that word left a bad taste on 1x1x1x1’s tongue.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Perhaps they were impressed obsessed with how defiant you were. Perhaps they were impressed with just how strong you were. Perhaps they were impressed at your refusal and unwillingness to grant them satisfaction.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Maybe that’s why they found you so interesting.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ You somehow were able to cause him to feel something other than absolute malice. Did she hate you for it? Possibly.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ 1x4 stares at you, eyes looking deep within your soul. Your eyes are half lidded, you appeared tired. Yet no fear was evident on your face, like how 1x4 was used to. You were backed into a corner. He held her swords by their sides, long white locks blowing through the wind. “Do it.” You say, “Do what you always do.” Your voice was almost threatening, as if you were daring him to do so. “No.” They answer, and you pause. “Then I wouldn’t get what I want.” 1x4 grips onto their sword. “So you’re finally giving up?” You asked, and you see a smirk play out onto their face. “Not exactly.” She answered, before letting go of one of his swords to roughly grab your face. It caught you off guard, and your eyes widened, earning a chuckle from 1x. You feel her nails dig into your face as he brought their face close to yours. You try to lean back but you’re only pulled into a kiss. A kiss you swore would bruise your lips. You struggle, attempting to pull away from the kiss. Their grip on you tightens, but you refuse to give up. You finally push them off you, the taste of poison stinging in your mouth.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ You cough, and shivering slightly. Your eyes were wide and finally… you gave them a look they’ve been desperately seeking out since the moment you denied to give them it: fear. “W-What… what the fuck? Why would you do that?” You stuttered, wiping your mouth as you hear the ticking of the timer. You earn no response.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ Though, what you do earn is a manic, sharp-toothed grin from 1x1x1x1. Along with the sound of a joyful, sadistic laugh.

⋆⁺₊⋆𓆩⚔️𓆪 ˚₊‧⁺ And soon, it all went black.

Reader to 1x (probably):“I hope you fall off that fucking swing and snap your fucking neck and never recover and live your life as a fucking vegetable.”

[wlwoceaneyes]

The way she looks at you

word count: 2.8 k summary: You’d rather bury yourself in books than deal with real-life feelings – especially the very real ones you have for your boss. Too bad she’s already noticed your crush… and might just feel the same. tags: shy!reader, flirty!EmilyPrentiss, mention of alcohol, no use of yn, clueless!reader, booknerd!reader, flustered!reader, Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, Season 18, younger agent (?), I wrote it in my head with some age differnce (undefined) but it could also be the same age, breakthrough against the network

The bass is a low, steady throb in the narrow, overcrowded bar, vibrating through the floorboards, through your ribs, into your bloodstream. It’s insistent and inescapable. It’s louder than usual tonight, maybe because the room is so full it barely breathes, filled with people pressed too close together, their laughter too sharp, their movements uncoordinated from their drinks, their boundaries thinning like the fog that’s being pumped across the dancefloor, curling around legs and faces, making it hard to see clearly though clarity was never what anyone here came looking for.

You’ve already fended off one man tonight, not entirely gracefully but firmly enough, a man whose gaze had lingered for far too long, heavy and possessive. You know this place. It’s not unfamiliar. And yet, you never quite feel like you belong. But then, you don’t feel at home in bars or clubs or parties at all, not really. You prefer the silence of a good book, the slow intimacy of a quiet dinner, or the comforting anonymity of a darkened cinema, if the film is good and the seats are far enough apart.

The light flickers above you, catching in the artificial mist, dimming the room just enough that every face seems half in shadow. Beside you, Luke dances without inhibition, and though he doesn’t seem to notice it, Penelope is standing closer than usual, her arm brushing his more often than coincidence would allow. You’ve half a mind to nudge them together, just a little, just enough to disrupt the fragile balance they pretend isn’t there. But ever since their ill-fated date a few years back, they’ve both shut down the idea entirely, as if naming it made it less real. Everyone else sees it, though. Even Emily, who’s been assigning them to joint tasks more and more, though whether out of strategy or subconscious hope, you’re not sure. She plays her cards close to her chest. Always has. But after your last comment and Rossi’s knowing smirk, you’re inclined to think it’s deliberate.

Tara bumps your shoulder softly, her arm wrapped casually around Rebecca’s waist, and drags you out of your thoughts. “You’re already planning your escape, aren’t you?” she teases, raising a brow.

Rebecca throws you a look, equal parts mock-threat and amusement, her lips pushing into a pout as she warns, “Not this time. We’re celebrating. This is a breakthrough in our case.”

You don’t respond, as usual. Silence is often your best defense. So Rebecca presses on. “Together,” she says pointedly.

You give her a crooked grin and sip from your drink, eyes trailing briefly over her. You like testing Rebecca’s limits, she gives you plenty of chances, and as one of her future bridesmaids, you’re allowed a little mischief. With Tara and Rebecca, you feel a kind of ease that you rarely allow yourself. There’s no tightness in your chest, no breath caught behind your ribs. You can simply exist, without the weight of self-consciousness dragging you down. The rest of the team feels like family, too, but they love nothing more than teasing you, pushing your buttons just to watch you squirm. Maybe you should go easier on Rebecca, though, if she ever feels the way you do under the weight of all that attention.

“I’ve been here long enough,” you begin to explain, nudging Rebecca playfully when she rolls her eyes. “You know me, Becca. This just isn’t my thing.”

“I know,” she grins, “you’d rather be curled up on your couch with one of your hundred fantasy novels.”

You can’t help but laugh, she knows you too well.

“Probably the ones that are just a little filthy,” Tara adds with a smirk, and your cheeks burn with heat. She’s not wrong. Ever since the evening they visited and found your not-so-innocent book collection while you were in the kitchen, it’s been their favorite joke.

“Who’s filthy?” JJ cuts in, appearing with a fresh glass of wine in hand, and her question draws the team’s collective gaze toward you like a spotlight. You feel your stomach twist.

“No one,” you reply quickly, too quickly, voice thin, eyes down. Your blush gives you away. It always does.

“Is it one of your books again?” Garcia beams at you, the kind of smile that exposes everything without saying a word.

You don’t miss the way Emily approaches then, a drink in hand, her gaze cutting through the noise and laughter like a scalpel. Her dark eyes settle on you with surgical precision, unblinking, unreadable, and you feel like she sees straight through you again. Her presence is electric, every cell in your body suddenly alert, and all at once you’re forgetting how to breathe.

You hate how she does this to you. You inhale slowly. Center yourself. Offer your friends a half-hearted smile, because they are your friends. More than that: your family. And you’re supposed to be celebrating, not spiraling.

“Maybe,” you say vaguely, eyes fixed on the bartender mixing drinks behind the counter, grateful for the distraction. You need to look at anything other than the amusement on your friends’ faces. Anything but Emily.

Luke starts in, teasing you about that fantasy novel from last month, the one with the elves and humans and too much tension in too many corners. JJ jumps in with something about vampires and insatiable hunger, and you can’t take it anymore.

But before the teasing can tip into something unbearable, Emily cuts them off. One sharp look and JJ and Luke back off with silent shrugs.

“Whatever you’re reading,” Emily says, stepping beside you, her voice calm and precise, “it’ll still be there tomorrow.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, grounding and steady.

“Tonight, we toast. We didn’t let the case beat us. We got ahead of the network. We outmaneuvered them. That matters. That’s worth something.”

You hear the words, but they dissolve in your mind, because all you can focus on are the long fingers pressing gently into your shoulder. They’re warm and steady. Grounding, almost, the way they seem to root you here, tether you to this moment when all you want is to disappear. You glance at her. She’s standing close, and her silver hair catches the colored lights, blue, then red, then green, casting her face in shifting hues.

Her lips are dark, her jawline severe, her shirt loose and grey, hanging just over her hips, the blazer she wore earlier presumably abandoned somewhere out of sight. Her bare arms catch your attention before you can stop yourself. And when you look back up, she’s already watching you. Smiling that smile. The one that says she knows exactly what you were thinking.

“You in?” she asks, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I… I’ll go get the next round,” you stammer, horrified by the way you were just caught staring. “Same as usual?”

She tilts her head, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip in thought, then nods. You don’t wait for more, you’re already moving, fleeing, stumbling over your own feet. And for a moment, you’re almost sure you hear her laugh.

About an hour later, drink number three in hand, you’re standing in a dimly lit corner of the bar with Tara, when you feel Emily’s gaze settle on you again. She’s barely taken her eyes off you all evening, which has made you distracted, kind of nervous. You turn away with a quiet sigh, but nothing slips past Tara. Not a single reaction of yours. A knowing smile plays on her lips as she glances from you to Emily, who’s just turned back to Rossi.

“You do realize she’s flirting with you, right?” she asks bluntly, and you nearly choke on your wine.

“Who are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the spike of panic crawling up your throat.

She raises a brow. “Your crush,” she says easily, making exaggerated air quotes before sipping her drink.

You glance at her with a puzzled expression, doing your best to act as if you have no idea what she means, holding onto the hope that a little performance might protect you from the weight of her words, but she simply snorts, a gentle, amused sound that makes it clear she isn’t fooled for a second.

“The woman who hasn’t taken her eyes off you all night, who touches you whenever she gets the chance, and who’s clearly amused by how you turn into pudding whenever she’s nearby,” she lists off. And with every word, your heart rate doubles.

Could it really be that obvious? Could Emily actually be interested in you? You want to dismiss it. You should dismiss it. And yet hope stirs low in your chest. Just as you’re about to deny it, to come up with some clever excuse, mostly for your own protection, Tara lifts a hand.

“Don’t even try to argue. Emily’s good at hiding things, but only when you’re not around. The second you get close, she goes soft like a cat.” She laughs at her own comparison, and you bite your lip. “But you, my dear? You’ve got literal hearts in your eyes whenever you look at her.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you reply flatly, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know there’s truth behind them. You don’t just get nervous around Emily, you flush. You lose your train of thought. Half the time you can’t even remember what you were about to say. And if you’re being brutally honest, you probably do have hearts in your eyes when you look at her. So much for staying subtle.

“Or maybe not,” you add, shaking your head. “I was hoping no one would notice. But who am I kidding, right? We’re profilers.”

“Exactly.” Tara chuckles and tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “And so is Emily. A damn good one, too.”

“Did she say anything?” you ask, caught off guard, heart suddenly in your throat. You’re desperate to hear a “no.” But Tara’s apologetic smile steals the hope right out of your chest.

“Not directly,” she begins, just as Rebecca appears beside you, tugging excitedly at Tara’s arm.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says, offering you a quick, apologetic glance, “but… Tara, they’re playing our song. Will you dance with me?”

How could you possibly be upset now? When Tara turns to you, checking to see if you’ll be okay alone, you nod with a warm smile.

“Go on, lovebirds,” you say, feigning exasperation with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m a grown-up, I can survive ten minutes on my own.” You smile as they drift off into the crowd, the buzz of the room swelling around you, though you’re suddenly more aware of your own stillness in it.

You stay behind, your gaze drifting across the room. You weigh your options. JJ and Garcia are at the bar, likely gossiping about Luke. Emily, Luke, Tyler, and Rossi are gathered around your usual table, exchanging theories about Voit. But before you can decide what to do, you feel a presence approaching. You glance to your right and see the young man you already brushed off earlier in the night. You’d tried to be polite. A vague smile, short answers, no eye contact. Still, none of it seemed to register. Some people don’t pick up on signals or worse, choose to ignore them. He struck you as the latter type. Too sure of himself.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, voice low. Lower than necessary. Close to your ear. Too close. Almost intimate.

The hairs on your arm rise and you quickly shake your head. “I’m good,” you say, lifting your glass as proof. But he doesn’t back off.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, as if your hesitation were some kind of flirty game. “No need to play shy. Are you here with someone?”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t want to provoke him. It’s a reflex. A layer of caution. That stubborn hope that maybe this will resolve itself if you don’t escalate things. And after all, he must’ve seen you with your colleagues tonight. Surely, he’s been watching. But you know what he’s really getting at.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks next, a smile in his voice that sends a chill down your spine. He runs a hand through his blond hair, rubs the back of his neck, and winks — as if that might change your answer.

You shake your head again, but before you can clarify, he adds, “Then I guess I got lucky.”

His gaze is insistent, his presence intrusive. It’s becoming very clear that this man doesn’t understand the word no. You take a step back, shoulders tense, throat dry but he leans in again.

“So… what do you say? Just one drink?”

You search for words, for an excuse, an escape, when a hand gently rests on the small of your back.

“She’s not interested,” comes a calm, steady voice right beside you. Your heart skips a beat. You know that voice. It’s Emily.

The guy looks up, clearly thrown off, brows furrowing. “I was just asking. No offense in that, right?”

Emily steps between you, not threatening, not intrusive, but with a quiet confidence that allows no room for argument. Her cool gaze meets his, and her presence clearly throws him off.

“Ask all you want,” she says calmly, gesturing loosely toward the door, “but when someone’s not interested, the next step is: you leave.”

The man, who had seemed so self-assured just moments ago, suddenly looks so much smaller. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to bother anyone.”

Emily says nothing more. She simply watches him go as he turns and quickly disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes lowered. Once again, your boss had to step in but this time, in a situation far more personal than anything before.

Emily turns to you, a smile on her lips, different from her usual ones. Warmer. “Anytime.”

Then, slowly, she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and where her fingers graze your skin, it tingles.

“I’m just not a fan of other people trying to flirt with you,” she murmurs, flashing you a roguish grin. “Really. That’s kind of my job.”

You blink once, then again trying to keep up. “You… what?”

She steps half a pace closer. Her perfume lingers between you, it smells earthy and refined, with a floral note that only reveals itself when you’re close. You feel her warmth and swallow hard at the proximity.

“Besides,” she continues, her eyes wandering over your face, “you’re ridiculously cute when you’re overwhelmed.”

“God,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, a nervous little laugh escaping as you glance away.

Emily grins, tilts her head slightly, and laughs. “And now you’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” you protest softly but without conviction. Because she’s right. You can feel it yourself.

She winks, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are. It suits you.”

You somehow manage to gather yourself and ask, “Was that… on purpose? Just now?”

She pretends to think for a moment, head tilted again. “What exactly?”

“That you stepped in. So… clearly,” you say, unsure how else to put it, hoping you haven’t just embarrassed yourself.

Emily smiles and slowly moves to stand beside you, casually placing her hand at your hip. “Call it impulse. Or jealousy. Whichever you prefer.”

You stare at her, turning her words over in your mind. Do they mean what you think they mean…?

“He looked at you like you were some kind of game,” she goes on, not waiting for a response. “But I know you’re more than that. You should never be a game to anyone.”

Something in your chest tightens unexpectedly. And when her eyes flick from your lips back to your eyes, you shove your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. Then she reaches out and gently pulls you along with her. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her touch, but she hides it well. You want her to know she’s not alone in this, that you feel it too, so you squeeze her hand gently in return.

Her thumb strokes lightly over the back of your hand. A quiet, grounding reassurance in the noise around you. She glances back at you, and you offer her a warm smile. One that says, I understand what you’re saying, what you mean. You’re not alone in this.

“Come on,” she says quietly, “you still owe me a story about the vampires and elves. I heard there was glitter involved?”

You laugh nervously, unable to stop yourself from staring. “How do you…?”

“I know everything,” she says, turning on her heel. Then, over her shoulder, she adds with a smirk, “Especially when it comes to you.”

taglist: @imightbethewriter pictures: Andrey Novik Unsplash //Abinash Jothimani Unsplash

[ra1nbw]

Cross Your Mind

·˚ ༘ pairing - natalie scatorccio!fem reader

·˚ ༘ summary - nat has been crushing on reader, yet unfortunately, reader is in a relationship. what happens when nat finally gets the chance to confess her true feelings to reader when she runs into her while it’s pouring down raining?

if someone had told nat she’d be running into you on a rainy day out, tears falling from your eyes, hoodie tugged over your head with nothing but your phone in hand-

she wouldn’t have believed it.

———

you and natalie were close friends. you had met one another through mutuals, lottie and shauna, allowing you both to grow a bond of your own.

it’s been a year since you guys had met and natalie couldn’t help but develop a crush on you. i mean what was there not to like? she thought you were beautiful, funny, smart, etc.

she didn’t think anything could get in her way of asking you out or at least telling you about her feelings, thinking you may feel the same since you both flirted with one another.

however, she found out the flirting from your end was platonic once you revealed you in fact had a girlfriend.

a girlfriend who nat would never grow to like. never grow to appreciate. ‘she doesn’t deserve you’ nat would tell herself during late nights in her room.

she knew your girlfriend was an asshole, nat picked up on the way she treated you while in public. whenever you’d try to hug your girlfriend or do anything romantically, she’d pull away, scoffing in your face telling you to tame yourself.

it made natalie furious and would only boost her ego, knowing she could make you happier than your supposed lover.

———

“y/n?” natalie shouted from across the street, squinting to see if it really was you, hard to tell from the pouring down rain.

she was just leaving the smoke shop, deciding to walk since her apartment was only down the street, not knowing it’d be pouring down by the time she left.

your head snapped towards her direction, embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks, not wanting her to see you this way.

drenched in rain, mascara running from your eyes, hair damp. you looked awful. you quickly tried walking away, refusing to look any longer at the blonde.

“shit- y/n, wait up!” natalie quickly looked both ways before running across the street, reaching out for your arm to steady you. “could you slow down and face me, almost like you’re running away-“

“what do y’want natalie?” you said aggressively, yet soft, voice cracking with every word flowing out your mouth.

nat furrowed her brows, finally taking in your current state. “fuck, you alright? why are you out here in the rain crying?” she asked and once you didn’t respond she decided to ask-

“where’s your-“ “don’t.” you cut her off. your eyes welling up with even more tears.

“y/n what happened? what’s wrong?” nat was genuinely concerned and you could tell. her eyes softening at the sight of you out here by yourself in the rain.

“she… s-she cheated on me, nat. she fucking cheated on me.” after you said those words, you finally let all your tears loose, allowing yourself to sob freely.

natalie always hoped you and your girlfriend would break up, but never like this. not when it was you getting hurt.

“are you fucking serious? im gonna kill-“ “stop, she isn’t worth it. fucking bitch had another girl in our bed… god- can you even believe that?” you scoffed out, the memory of you walking in on them flooding your mind once more.

natalie looked around, the street was getting emptier, gloomier. the rain taking over. before she could suggest moving somewhere else, you started to talk more,

“you wanna know something? i knew she didn’t really love me… i don’t even think i loved her honestly. she was so mean and never wanted any of my affection… it was always ‘slow down’, ‘you can’t wait till another time?’, ‘why are you so clingy?’ she quite literally never appreciated me or anything i’ve ever done for her.”

you spoke.

nat could tell you were hurt.

“i’m not even upset that we’re broken up… just upset that it took this long for me to finally fucking leave her. i deserve way better than that.”

“you’re damn right you do.” nats’ response caused you to turn your head towards her, looking deep into her eyes.

“you think so?” you asked.

“i know you do. you’re honestly the most… beautiful woman i’ve ever met. your personality is one to die for. you’re smart as hell, loving, and so fucking genuine you don’t even know it. you deserve someone that’ll take care of you, treat you like the princess you are.”

“not someone who’s gonna walk over you, treating you like you’re just a placeholder for someone better, because truth is, there is no one better, anyone would be lucky to have you. i know i would.”

your eyes held genuine fondness for natalie. you didn’t know if she was saying this as a friend or someone who has been waiting for this moment.

“natalie.. what are you saying?”

“i’m saying… fuck- i’m saying i love you, y/n. and i have for a very long time. since the first time i seen you at lottie’s party, you were the one for me. i wanted you to know how i felt but i found out you were already with someone and even though i knew she wouldn’t be the one for you, i wanted you to be happy.”

you scoffed, “happy huh? guess we know how i truly felt now…” you teased, nats confession registering slowly. “do you mean it?” you asked, “do you mean everything you just said to me?”

the blonde smiled fondly, her hands reaching out for yours. “you cross my mind every day, y/n. there’s not a moment that goes by without you lingering in the back of my head.” she spoke genuinely.

by now, the rain was getting heavier, both your clothes sticking to your bodies, yet neither of you cared.

you stared into nats eyes, searching for something- something that would tell you that she was making this up, that she would do you just like your ex did, yet you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t find it because this was real. what natalie was telling you was true.

“y/n i-“ before she could continue, you cut her off with your lips pressing against hers. your heavy arms wrapping around her neck, hers slowly finding its way to your waist.

the kiss was tender and slow. something that sent sparks flying through your body. at this moment, you felt as if the world had come to a halt, the rain had stopped mid air, nothing but ‘natalie’ on your mind,

was this what you were missing out on? was nat really right in front of you the whole time and you just couldn’t see it?

you were angry at yourself for being so blinded by a liars empty promises and silently vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t fall for that again.

not with nat you wouldn’t.

once you both pulled away from each others embrace, you rested your forehead on nats soaked shoulder.

so many thoughts were racing through your head, but one stood out the most.

“i think…” you started, lifting your head up to look into the girls eyes. “i think i wanna try. i think i want to try whatever this could be. slowly, i think we can make something happen.” you said softly, not wanting to jump right into another relationship, wanting time for yourself and time to get to know nat on a deeper connection.

she couldn’t help but smile big, her cheeks getting red at your words. “yea? i’d absolutely love that.” she spoke, leaning in to embrace you in a tight hug.

“i’ll take this as slow as you need it to be. i’ll always be here for you.”

you didn’t know what the future had in store for the both of you but you couldn’t wait to find out.

anon i hope this is what you were expecting 💔 pls lmk what u think!

original request here!

[minxipinxi]

One Year of Sylus... and Still Missing the Basics

It’s officially been one full year since Sylus was released in Love and Deepspace, and somehow, he still lacks standard, basic content. I’m not talking about limited. I’m talking about the bare minimum that should’ve come with being a fourth main love interest in an interactive story-driven game.

It’s not just frustrating anymore, it feels neglectful, and it’s starting to feel like deceptive game design.

🧷 What’s missing?

🔺️ Only one bond story.

After 365 days in the game. The bond system is core to character development and emotional connection. And we’ve been left with only one while the OG3 all have 2. Are they ever going to release the second bond story?

🔺️ Only nine 3★ cards... and two of those aren’t even accessible.

Not only does Sylus have a much smaller card pool than the other LIs, you can’t even obtain all the few that exist unless you were around during specific limited events. This affects his gacha rate in standard banners significantly.

🔺️ One. Single. 4★ memory with MC... and it dropped this year.

Fans have been starving. It took months to get just one 4★ card of Sylus and MC. For comparison? The OG3 were showered in romantic, high-quality 4★ content early on. What is this slow drip-feeding meant to accomplish besides making players feel like we made the “wrong” choice loving Sylus?

🔺️ Red Spectrum content? Basically non-existent.

Sylus only has three red memories:

• One is a limited event card.

• One is Promise

• One is hard to access and also an event card.

That’s it. Red content, which is crucial for building battle strength, is missing.

🔺️ His standard myth content is... empty.

Sylus has only two accessible myth memories. In one, he’s cooking. In the other, he’s sparring. That’s it. Both of these are so brief and shallow that calling them “myths” is honestly insulting compared to what other LIs have received.

🔺️ Secret times? Only 11. Tender moments? Only 8.

Raising Sylus’s affinity is hellishly difficult. These interactions are key to progression, and yet he’s been given fewer of them than any other LI. If you want to deepen your bond with him, good luck. You’ll be grinding through the same few recycled interactions for months.

🔺️ Anecdotes? Just one.

The OG3 have three anecdotes each. Sylus has one. These aren’t just fluff—they give backstory, personality depth, and gameplay bonuses. It’s been a YEAR. Why does he still only have one?

🔺️ Affinity cap raised... but barely.

When they increased affinity caps, the OG3 were bumped up to 220. Sylus? Only got 30 more levels, going from 130 to 160. This is after months of being hard-capped at 130 with little-to-no new content to even help raise it.

🔺️ Only one standard companion.

The OG3 have three companions each, tied to their anecdotes. Again: Sylus has one. If you don’t have the myths (which are hard to get), you’re forced to use just that one companion in battle. It directly affects gameplay.

🔺️ Less glint poses at high affinity.

This one may seem minor, but it’s actually not. When you finally manage to grind his difficult affinity levels, you get... less reward. Fewer glint poses, less visual variety. So even aesthetic and emotional payoffs are lacking.

When Sylus was released, many of us assumed the reason he had less content was because it was still being developed. But we’ve now hit the one-year mark, and nothing substantial has changed. We’re still waiting. Still hoping. Still being ignored.

And Sylus isn’t alone in this. Caleb, the other post-launch LI, suffers similarly. That’s where the petition comes in.

✍️ The Petition:

This isn’t just fan outrage, it’s now being brought to the attention of the Federal Trade Commission.

The Issue

This petition is to ask the FTC to investigate Love and Deepspace for potential false advertising and deceptive practices.

• The 2 love interests released after launch have far less content than the 3 original ones.

• This affects battle strength, gacha rate, bonding, and overall experience.

• There is zero transparency during onboarding to warn players about this disparity.

• Many players have spent money believing that the gap would eventually be fixed.

• It hasn’t been.

• Infold has ignored player feedback, refused to respond to concerns, and failed to disclose their future plans.

We feel this is misleading at best, and exploitative at worst.

🔗 How to sign

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Every signature counts. Every voice matters. The signatures are slowly but steadily climbing, and this is the momentum we need to finally be heard.

📌 Sign the petition. Share it. Don’t let it fade away. Let's make them see us.

🔗 chng.it/L2PLWxYFH5

[mistygreenwoods]

I made something for you

Call The Grave Back Grave

Caleb, when he and Nott blew into town on the rush of Gnoll teeth and the stench of one too many close calls with the law, thought that a carnival would have been a good place to relax and kick back. Their last scam had gone well enough in a hamlet a ways north east of Trostenwald and he rather thought his little friend deserved something nice for a change.

The start of the morning with three new marks and a smile on his face was a great start, even better once a few kind words and flashy hand motions got Nott and he invited to their table.

It was just—

"Here," the drearily dressed tiefling offered, his face flat of most affect and drawn in a way that Caleb usually noted as not worth the hassle of scamming. Too sullen for any good cheer, and far too interested in being left alone to their own devices. The tiefling placed a flyer for the aforementioned carnival in hand, his dark hooded cloak oversized in a way speaking of either a hidden blade or the simple desire to be hidden.

"And who might the handsome man giving such a gift to me be?" Caleb asked as he grabbed the bottom of the page, cocking an eyebrow over his tinted glasses and watching how the man froze in the careful way all those who wished to remain unnoticed tended to be. Interesting.

Very interesting.

"Mollymauk," the tiefling offered after a pause, the same pulled look about his features. He some how seemed to duck further beneath his hood. "Mollymauk Tealeaf."

"Well met," Caleb said in return, his coat pooling to the side as he dug his elbow into the wood of the table. His mage hand pulled his coat to properly lay more open. "Caleb Widogast—at your service."

Mollymauk blinked slowly at him.

They were red, a beautiful shade—crimson struck and as depthless as the blood pools that were rumoured to lurk beneath the Raven Queen's temples. Deep and inscrutable.

Undeterred, Caleb pressed on, at the very least angling for something of note. Would he be able to peddle some wears while he was at the carnival? A love lover or two reckless enough would fall for a 'love potion' that was just watered down jin and tonic. He'd have to be careful to avoid any form of security they may have. "And if I may ask, Herr Mollymauk, what will you be performing as tonight."

"I work mostly back stage," Mollymauk said stiffly, turning to his companion, the large woman with a sword and a flatter affect than her tiefling companion.

"I am security," the woman offered, shifting foot to foot. "Yasha."

She seemed to rally, placing a broad palm on Mollymauk's shoulder. "He is a very talented at card reading. You should come and get your fortunes read."

A dreary card reader?

Caleb licked his lips, his interest piqued. The talent had to be something if the shell trying to sell it looked like it would rather fade into the shadows.

Mollymauk nodded, and the motion looked more akin to a cat getting it's teeth pulled than the joyful agreement of someone wanting to get coins their cards would earn.

The rest of the table started their own round of introductions, and Caleb listened and threw his own two coppers in when the opportunity arose. It was easy enough to be charming when it counted, even more so at the chance of getting a few coins in his pockets by the loose purses of these individuals with Nott and he. Jester was a darling—enough so that Caleb let her win at least one round of their rigged game as a treat.

And even so—

Out of the corner of his eye Caleb caught Mollymauk staring at them, his fangs chewing his lower lips as his brow ever so slowly furrowed.

~~~

Caleb usually liked carnivals. They were loud, bright, and no one usually paid attention to the human with the coat and the bottles that would exchange hand for twice the price and half the credibility. Nothing foolish, of course, just the simple ones for the youth—some cuts alcohol mixed with water. An oil or two that would cure all that would ale you for a very reasonable price—

And yet—

"Does it actually work?" Mollymauk asked from behind Caleb, almost sending his heart right through his chest from the shock of it. He, apparently was just as quiet on his feet as he was in personality.

"Pardon?"

Mollymauk frowned at him from beneath his embroidered hood, his chin tilted to the young woman Caleb had sent off with lighter coins and a hand full of a potion that promised what it wouldn't give. The dark fabric of his clothes casted half shadows around his sharp features. "You said it helps you sleep at night—does it work?"

Caleb's gaze fell down to his potion bottle. The amber coloured liquid wasn't much more than some whisky. The cheap kind that almost exclusively wound up being used as a disinfectant some point or later. Too strong for drinking in any way that made it enjoyable.

Nott had stolen three bottles of it a week ago, and Caleb had siphoned off some to sell on the side. Vials were only a copper a piece, and he was more than willing to up-charge to make a profit for the two of them.

"Not in the way one would assume," Caleb said, the half truth sliding off his lips before he could stop it. Mollymauk looked so drawn—certainly something exciting would help with that. "Say—I will give you a deal my friend, a silver piece for a slice of good dreams."

Mollymauk looked at him up and down, the dark shade of the bags beneath his eyes nearly hidden by the lavender shade of his skin. His skin was an ashen shade of lavender, either not frequently touched by the sun, or blood letted.

Caleb was aware of the popularity of the practice, had spoken to more than one individual who was listening to one scammer or another reap profit by siphoning the blood of others. Coined gained by the folly of those who never quite learned any better.

Mollymauk had the scars to prove it. Some thin, some thicker. The trace of them around his neck like some sort of macabre necklace.

Truthfully, Caleb never would have noticed if they simply hadn't been standing so close together.

"Why the Hells not," Mollymauk murmured, fishing in his pocket and handing over a silver in quick fashion.

Caleb laughed, smiling wide enough for the solemn man to be put at ease. "Why the Hells not indeed— Enjoy, Herr Mollymauk."

Caleb winked as he handed it over. "And maybe if I am a lucky enough man you will dream of me, Ja?"

Mollymauk's head cut upwards but Caleb was already turning, his mage hand waving two fingers over his shoulder as he went.

An easy silver if he's ever made one.

~~~

"You pray," Caleb noted as Mollymauk knelt at the window at the upper back hallway of the inn. He had been largely silent since Fjord and Beau returned with him from the Lawmaster's—his lack of his own defence seen largely more as anxiety from the group (Jester, who had seemed to have adopted Mollymauk as a fast friend) than what Caleb was thinking.

Resignation took many faces, non so pretty as Mollymauk Tealeaf's. The question though, and one which his mind couldn't help but turn over again and again was a simple one—

Why?

Mollymauk finished the rendition of what he was doing, his knees folded beneath him as he faced his swords lent up against the wall across from him. His voice soft in askance for sweet night hours, safe away from darkness within deep harbours. "I do," Mollymauk said, not looking up from where he remained with his hands clasped at his folded knees.

Caleb, when he was a boy, used to be made to pray the same at the temple of the Dawnfather once a week, early, far too early and he had never found use in it. The position Mollymauk in was odd—different from the pose held in the temple Caleb's had seen. Mollymauk's hands were cupped sideways almost, thumbs untouched and open as if to make space, an empty vessel of some. Crescent shaped.

Cocking his head to the side, Caleb scrutinised Mollymauk, his dark cloaked hood and gold embroidered details, Stars, mostly. A night time tapestry.

"Well it is best you are tucked away up here then," Caleb mused. "I doubt the proprietor would be happy with heresy out in the common."

"Jester is there," Mollymauk said simply, and the cut to humour made Caleb rock back on his heels, blinking in amused surprise. There it was, that spark that brought red eyes to life. Caleb hadn't realised he had been looking for it before it stared at him from a lovely face. "And everyone is fine with it."

"And you are here because…?"

"Fjord needed the room," Mollymauk said softly. Almost guilty. "I didn't wish to intrude."

Caleb hummed, debating. He could leave Mollymauk to his meditations, as deary as he looked tucked away, or…

"Do you mind if I join?" Caleb asked, not waiting for a response as he slid down beside him, elbow on his knee and hand propped up on his palm. He fussed with the lay of his coat, making his tattoos visible, if only to steal another glimpse into those beautiful red eyes of his as Mollymauk's gaze dropped curiously.

Mollymauk sent him an inscrutable look beneath the rim of his deep hood, half shadowed and dark within this deep. He looked tired, Caleb noted. Very tired.

The whisky might do something for him, and for once, if distantly, Caleb wished it was something else. A true potion, something that would smooth that heavy brow of his.

"Can't say I do," Mollymauk murmured, hands reaching forward and fiddling over the cut of his swords hilts that he remained knelt before. "I can use a distraction."

"And I am more than willing to supply," Caleb said brightly, his glasses chains jingling as he opened his hands wide. All spark and flair.

Beyond obsessed with them. Some head canons below the cut

The Wonderful Widogast

Alchemist artificer

Snake oil sales man

A caleb that believes “damn youre right i was just a kid and none of that was my fault”

“Killed” Bren

Magic tattoos

Ready to fake his death at a moments notice

Molly

“Hes catholic now”

Extremely haunted by the somnovem but has no context as to why

Thinks you can go to jail for thought crimes

“I woke up with this awful little voice in my head which means im Broken and need to be Fixed”

He’ll try anything once

[pyreo]

very ace post I'm about to make here

I think I'm just exhausted by how much of everything has to be Hot Woman

of course I'm responsible for choosing a lot of media I engage with here, that might be what's degrading my tolerance level, but like there's no escape from Hot Woman

you look into any kind of artistry by a man who's great at drawing or painting etc... as soon as you look for more stuff you'll also encounter 'guess how small I made her waist in proportion to her boobs'. but like, you can't judge. everyone can draw what they like.

fictional women in male dominated spaces have always been idealised but it feels like that overton window shifted once they figured out they could get away with anything. but it's just fanservice right. but it's so unavoidable. waifuslop dominates as a moneymaker which ensures there'll be more of it. character designs are less tasteful sideboob and more 'outfit with nothing on the legs just straight up underwear and we're pretending it's normal'

fantasy setting with grotesque monsters to be killed? the monsters can also be Hot Woman. a game where you obtain and raise creatres, well, of course, those can also be Hot Woman! here at women we are all about being controlled and managed by someone else, and we will do a little dance for you.

It's not any one thing. it's just everywhere. there's so many fantastic artists online, and they're working very hard with their own styles and ideas to formulate their very own best Hot Woman. And they have amazing taste! I love seeing designs and creativity, and yet in the back of my mind I know it's a variation on Hot Woman, the cultural topic. The inspirational ideal. I do this too!! I make up a character and I realise that I have a chance to be part of the Hot Woman moment. Whatever I'm not, she can be. But instead of that potential being varied and personal, I'm leaning towards the mould I've seen so many times. I can be a part of Hot Woman too.

And I should be part of it, right? Because there's supposed to be common ground there right? I identify as a woman for lack of anything more suitable. I guess that's what I am. My body represents those same ideas I'm seeing. Some anime lady with boobs bigger than her head... and me. Both women. There's gotta be some overlap.

And it's not the kind of dichotomy that gets solved by 'we should treat men the same! more male fanservice!' to me. You cannot do any of this to men. We will never be culturally inundated by images of men in speedos with massive cockbulges in our daily lives, in ads, on posters. We will never have every blockbuster movie based around dynamic interesting women while a dude is thrown in the back somewhere and just has a small romance going on. We will never trope-ify men into broad flavours like 'cute and fun and helpful' or 'dark and tall and sexy (dubious)' to classify them from the POV of picking The One For You off the shelf. We will never have animes about schoolboys where people argue on imageboards about which one is 'best boy', the one who succeeded in being Commodity.

I don't know what to do with this. This is an idea that has escaped out the window. Women get hired to stand in front of things. I'm in spaces that don't want me and freely advertise it - every convention I've ever been to has stalls with body pillows and a woman who wants to be fucked on it. And that's me, apparently! That's what I am! I'm supposed to be like that. Hot Woman doesn't look like me - I'm unfortunate enough to sit in anime video game spaces where they can't even be an average weight, let alone having realistic diversity. But Hot Woman does have the appeal of weight while being thin, because now every girl - that's me! - has a random belt strap around her skinny thigh, with a meticulously drawn flesh pudge either side. She's thicc now. That's what thicc means, being underweight, having huge tits, an utterly flat stomach, and a strap on your leg that would cut off circulation.

This is a genre. Of course it's always existed. And how can I blame anyone for the fun of a fantasy, for idealisation, for people joining in without wondering if it could ever be different. Imagine a world, people say, where Hot Woman can ALSO... wear glasses. Incredible. Just imagine. She's still hot though. Hot Woman cannot be dulled or diluted, but we can expand her domain.

I don't know. Obviously nobody is doing this with the expectation that real life women should conform to a concept on paper. It's not coercive. There are women who choose to have vtuber avatars with boobs that fill the entire screen. That's what they want.

I should be grateful for the rows of sultry-eyed babes staring at me across the convention hall, because the next booth is gonna have children, girls who look maybe 6-8, on the pillows, right there among the families cosplaying together. So it could be worse. Sometimes the girls look visibly distressed. It doesn't really get mentioned. Nobody else is taking issue with it, I wouldn't want to be a killjoy. So it's fine. It's fine. Let's see some massive boobs, haha.

[laceanddenim]

| Happy accident - Simon “Ghost” Riley

A/n: Please note that this is a teenage!au, the setting being high school. Also, I’m planning on turning this into a series, let me know if I should <3

Word count: 2,3k (longest one yet 😵‍💫)

TW: none.

“Bloody hell…” — was the “goodbye” Simon gave his father that God awful morning, after yet another argument, probably the 20th one this week.

He grumbled under his breath, backpack slinging roughly over his shoulders as he walked.

The road from his trailer home to school wasn’t too long, only a couple of blocks away really, but eating away at his energy was the lack of sleep last night.

He didn’t really know why he stayed up so late, but can you blame him, when sleep evaded him like the plague?

But even so, heavy bags under his eyes, rage under his breath, he dragged his raggedy feet to school either way, actually early so.

The school doors were open, fake, smiley posters staring right back at him from the walls. Maybe if he squinted hard enough, he’d actually think the building was welcoming.

But Simon, the self-proclaimed “realist”, just pursed his lips and went about, stopping in an empty alley , just outside of sight of the corner cameras.

He reached his hand to the back pocket of his jeans, digging through loose change and rough fabric for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

Finally fishing them out, he pulls a single cigarette out, plucks it between his thin lips and just as his hand shields the fragile flame of the lighter, when a shoulder barrels onto his.

“Shit — watch it,” - his head instinctively shoots up to his side, searching for the culprit, cigarette wobbling as he catches his balance.

“Gosh, so sorry!” - a high, sweet little voice spurs from his right, you standing there, kneeling down to retreat his lighter.

You held the lighter out to him, pinched gently between your fingers like it was something delicate, not something that reeked of smoke and heat.

“Think this is yours,” you said, your voice soft, like you didn’t want to break the moment.

Simon took it without a word — fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. And in that half second, everything about you hit him all at once: the way your lashes curled naturally, the way your eyes always looked a little wide like you were curious about everything, the way your mouth tugged into a half-smile like you knew more than you ever said. You were soft in every way he wasn’t.

He swallowed it down — that ache in his chest — and shoved the lighter into his pocket like it didn’t mean anything.

“Be careful next time..” he muttered, barely looking at you.

But he did. He looked.

Just for a second.

And that was enough to ruin him for the rest of the day.

Either way, Simon lights the cigarette again. Pushes it past his lips and takes a deep drag, expecting the familiar icky, ashy taste he’d grown to find comfort in, but suddenly, it tasted…off.

His brows furrowed, fingers gripping the cigarette and checking it; same brand as always, nothing about it, really.

His head turns, trying to find your figure again in the alleyway behind him, as if you were the cause, but you’re not there. Just as he’s about to turn the corner and onto the main hall, he notices it, a small, shiny little oval lying on the tiled floor.

He moves back, leans down to pick it up; a ring. A thin, golden band with a decorative sun engraved in it, along with dainty little crystals on the star.

A ring, that looked comically small in his hands.

He figured it must’ve been yours, maybe you dropped it when you bumped into him, or maybe when you went to pick up his lighter.

He stares at it for a second longer than necessary. It’s warm from the sunlight spilling through the windows, glinting in his palm like it’s waiting for something — someone.

Simon turns it over between his fingers, careful, like it might break. It’s delicate, much like you.

Not the kind of thing someone like him should be holding.

He thinks about leaving it. Tucking it on the windowsill or handing it to a teacher with some half-assed explanation. But something keeps him still. The image of you, head tilted, mouth curled into that smug little smile you always wore when you were winning some invisible game.

She’ll be looking for this.

So he pockets it.

It disappears in his palm, swallowed whole by his fist, and he tells himself it’s just so you won’t lose it again. That’s all. Not because he wants an excuse to find you. Not because he wants to see that look on your face when you realize he noticed.

He doesn’t know why his chest feels a little too warm when he turns back down the hallway.

Doesn’t think too hard about how that tiny little ring is burning a quiet little hole in his jacket pocket.

So there he goes, in search of a girl he’s crossed paths with probably 2 times this entire year, just to give her this ring he’s convinced himself is hers.

But, fate has other plans as the bell rings, interrupting his little scavenger hunt and ultimately, forcing him to drag himself to his first class.

The ring sits in his pocket all day like it’s mocking him. Small, harmless, stupid. He almost forgot it was there — but every time he shifts in his chair or jams his hand in his hoodie, it presses against him like, hey, remember her?

And yeah, he does. Way too much.

It’s annoying, the way you’ve somehow slipped under his skin. You weren’t even around today after that hallway bump — no second glance, no smug smile, no offhand comment that makes his brain short-circuit for a full five seconds.

Just that ring. Just the ghost of your fingers brushing his when you handed him his lighter. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him. Maybe because it’s still got your warmth in it. Or maybe because it looks so damn you — dainty, shiny, a little weird.

He tells himself he’s gonna give it to a teacher. Put it in lost and found. Be done with it. But every time he thinks about letting it go, something in him coils up. So it stays in his hoodie pocket, wrapped in the silence he carries with him like armor.

Classes drag. He zones out in math, doesn’t bother taking notes in English, chews on the edge of his pen during lunch while his brain runs in circles it refuses to admit are about you.

By the final bell, he doesn’t even hesitate.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie halfway on, he turns down the hallway that always smells like lemon floor cleaner, the one that leads toward the art room — or maybe the library. Somewhere he thinks you’d be.

He tells himself it’s no big deal.

Just returning something.

Could’ve been anyone.

But it wasn’t.

It was you.

Speaking of you, here you are, leaning on the stairs railing, the afternoon breeze spilling your hair onto the air.

And you look..upset? You’re talking to a friend, brows furrowed as you glance around, your thumb and index fingers wrapping around your middle, where the ring once was.

That’s when he knows.

You noticed it’s gone.

His fingers brush his pocket instinctively. Yup. Still there.

He should wait. Shouldn’t make it obvious. But his feet don’t listen. Before he knows it, he’s walking over like it’s muscle memory. Like you are.

You look up just as he gets close. Your eyes flicker in surprise, then soften a little — just enough to undo him for a second.

“ You lose something?” he asks, casual. Too casual. He pulls the ring from his pocket and holds it out like it doesn’t mean anything, like it hasn’t lived there all day. “Thought this looked familiar.”

Your whole face shifts — a quiet relief passing over your features. You take it carefully, almost like you’re afraid it’ll vanish again.

“ Oh my God, I’ve been losing my mind over this,” you say, laughing a little, eyes crinkling. “I thought it just fell into the void.”

Simon shrugs. “Almost did. Floor was about to eat it.”

There’s a pause — not awkward, just charged. And then, as he turns to leave, you call out, “Wait—Simon.”

He glances back, brows raised just a little.

“You walking home?”

He nods. “Yeah. Why?”

You jerk your head toward the parking lot. “C’mon. I’ve got my car. I owe you now anyway, right?”

He hesitates — just enough to be noticeable — then walks toward you with that slow, steady gait like nothing rattles him. But inside, something shifts.

He’s not thinking about the ring anymore.

He’s thinking about how warm the inside of your car might be.

And how maybe, just maybe, you offered because you wanted him there.

The car smells like vanilla and something sweet — maybe your perfume, maybe a candle melted into the seat cushions over time. The dashboard is dotted with tiny charms, a fluffy pink dice swinging lazily from the mirror, and there’s a glittery chapstick rolling around in the cupholder like it lives there permanently.

Simon slides into the passenger seat, trying not to look out of place. His knee brushes yours for a second before he shifts, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands like it’ll make him take up less space. You hum along to some pop song playing quietly from your stereo — soft, bouncy, nothing like the noise he usually lets rattle in his ears.

“So,” you say, glancing at him as you pull out of the lot, “what do you actually do after school? I feel like you just vanish.”

He shrugs, watching the road roll past. “Homework. Sometimes work. Mostly just… don’t talk to people.”

You grin. “Wow. Mysterious and antisocial. What a combo.”

He huffs a laugh, barely there, but real. “I make it work.”

The small talk’s light — easy, even. You ask about a test. He mentions some teacher he can’t stand. You tease him about the way he says “schedule” like he’s fighting the word. At one point, he catches himself watching your hands on the steering wheel, how you tap along to the beat like you don’t even notice you’re doing it. Like you’re just… comfortable.

It’s weird, how quiet his brain gets in here.

How your car — all glitter and gloss and pink air freshener — makes him feel a little like he’s somewhere safe.

Too soon, you’re pulling up outside his place. His trailer’s sitting at the end of a cracked driveway, paint peeling from the siding, wind chimes clinking somewhere behind it. Nothing fancy. Nothing soft.

You shift into park and glance at him. “Well, Mr. Vanishing Act. Home sweet home.”

He nods, already grabbing the handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

But then he pauses, halfway out. Turns back just a little.

Your eyes meet his.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “That thing earlier… the ring. You, uh… looked nice.” He stutters over his words, so they just spur out into something he can only hope was comprehensible.

It’s barely a compliment, barely above a murmur — but it’s more than he usually gives.

Then he’s gone, door clicking shut behind him.

You drive off, music fading. And Simon watches you disappear through the dirty glass of his front window, standing in the doorway of a house that’s never felt like much.

Your car was soft, ridiculous, pink.

And for some reason, he misses it already.

[little-diable]

Hollow Bones - Dean Winchester

I am finally back from my trip and desperately needed to write something for Dean! And I just had to use this Mark gif, I ain't sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader has always been guarded around Dean, keeping just enough distance to protect her heart. But sometimes even (y/n) can't mend the cracks in the walls, only Dean can.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, shower sex, slight angst, jealousy, dom!Dean, slight possessiveness, friends to lovers

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Exhaustion stuck to her bones and muscles, not daring to let go of her as if it was a child scared of being alone. She couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t part from it as they drove past yet another welcome sign. 

By now the houses all looked the same, the stores all sold the same things, and the air was always thick and heavy wherever they went. The leather seat she had claimed as hers years ago had been shaped to her frame, expecting her to find rest on the backseat every single week. 

Even though this hunt was different because Sam had decided to stay back, it still followed the same pattern. It always did. And (y/n) couldn’t shake her annoyance and tiredness any longer, forcing her to shift in her seat at every turn Dean took. She tried to keep her eyes from wandering towards him, knowing that it wasn’t fair to direct her uncomfortableness towards him. 

She didn’t speak up as the Impala left the main road, didn’t protest as Dean turned down the music, only allowed herself to speak as he drove towards a motel, “Didn’t you want to visit the hospital first?”

“You need sleep and food. We can’t risk you getting careless while we are out there.” Dean kept his voice quiet as if he was scared he’d rip her out of her state. She didn’t reply, only let go of a grateful hum while her heart began to clench in her chest. It had been weird between the two of them for the past days, ever since their last hunt where Dean had spent his night out with a woman from town for the first time in weeks and (y/n) hadn’t been able to swallow her hurt any longer.

What she was feeling had nothing to do with Dean, and yet it had everything to do with him, on a deeper level at least. She had been hurting for years, swallowing down whatever she was feeling for Dean to try and protect her heavily guarded heart. For years she had built a wall around the strong muscle, not daring to break down the bricks she clung to. But every building had its weak spots, and Dean’s wandering eyes had always been hers, forcing the walls to slowly crack.  

“Wait here, I’ll get us a room.” (Y/n) watched Dean enter the reception, she could study him through the wide windows, allowing her to study the oblivious hunter. She knew he didn’t see through her facade, all too used to the unemotional features staring at him whenever they were working together. She knew he didn’t pick up on the subtle shifts in her behaviour just yet and how she searched for the comfort of the hours where she was all alone. But time wasn’t her friend, she knew Dean would eventually notice how she distanced herself, forcing (y/n) to come clean with what she was fighting against. 

Dean returned to Baby a few minutes later, opening her door while mumbling the room number before reaching for their bags. Wordlessly she followed him with tired limbs, entering the room after Dean only to stand frozen in the hallway of the room. It was an open room, with one big bed placed in the middle, and a shower and sink which was hidden behind a milky glass.

Heat wandered up her spine as her thoughts pictured Dean taking a shower, offering just enough of his body to make her heart race in her chest. (Y/n) only shook her head while taking another step towards the bed, eyes watching Dean plop down on it with a sigh. His eyes fluttered close, arms crossed behind his head, offering a glimpse of his muscles fighting against the tightness of his flannel. 

“I’ll take a quick shower.” (Y/n) mumbled the words – words Dean only nodded at without opening his eyes. She reached for new clothes before disappearing behind the milky glass, and then she froze again. Her gaze was stuck to the glass, seeing Dean’s frame through it, and even though she couldn’t make out any details, she knew he’d see enough of her if he opened his eyes. 

Slowly she turned towards the shower to start it, watching the water fall to the ground while her trembling fingers pulled her shirt over her head. Her senses were fully focused on Dean, she could hear him shift around on the bed, but she didn’t turn towards him. A part of her hoped he was watching her, feeding into the need she felt deep inside of her, but another part knew well enough she needed to get rid of thoughts and hopes like these. 

With her clothes pooling on the cold floor, (y/n) stepped into the shower with a sigh. The water cascaded down her back, clinging to her trembling frame. Something inside of her switched, forcing tears to well up in her eyes and her hand to cover her mouth before a sob could echo through the shower. Her body was trembling, shaking with every cry trying to rip through her body. 

She felt pathetic for giving into the emotions flushing through her body, for being unable to stop herself from shaking as if she was being buried in icy waves. The shower tiles were cold against her shoulders, she pressed herself against them to keep her balance, all while desperately trying to stop the tears from rolling. 

“(Y/n)? Is everything alright?” Dean’s voice cut through the thick air, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She couldn’t reply, didn’t find the strength to work through the tightness in her throat. “Sweetheart?”

Dean’s frame appeared in front to the shower, eyes finding her glassy ones. They stared at one another for a few moments, moments where her hand lost its strength to muffle her sobs, allowing the sounds to echo through the shower. Without speaking another word, Dean shuffled out of his clothes, exposing himself to her widening eyes as he stepped into the shower. 

Instantly, his arms found their way around her body, hand finding the back of her head to press her face against the crook of his neck. She shook against him, clung to Dean as if he was a lifeline saving her from drowning in the sadness which buzzed through her body like lightning hitting her over and over again. 

“I got you, sweetheart, shh.” Dean’s hand stroked up and down her spine, pressing her even closer to him as if any space was left between them. She didn’t dare let go, soaked up every passing second while calming down and finally getting a grip on her shaking system. 

“I’m sorry.” (Y/n) mumbled the words against his skin, words which made Dean tighten his hold on her. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, not for feeling something. What happened, sweetheart?” He gently tugged her face away from his neck, eyes staring down at her. His hand had settled on her waist, thumb rubbing circles into her skin to try and keep grounding her. 

“I,” a shaky exhale left her. (Y/n) got lost in his concerned eyes, filled with a green so deep she wondered if he had ever looked at her like that before. “I think everything is just too much for me at the moment. But you don’t have to worry about me, I got it.”

“I always worry about you.” A scoff left her, a sound so sharp (y/n) almost winced at it. Dean’s thumb stopped moving, eyebrows furrowed while he tried to dissect her reaction. “Have I done something? Is this about me?”

“Drop it, Dean, please.” She tried to free herself from his grasp, but there was no way out of this conversation. Dean didn’t let her escape, didn’t give her a chance to move away as something flushed through his eyes she could only describe as anger. 

“No, I ain’t playing this game with you. What is going on? If I did something I deserve the chance to make it right.” Her tongue kissed her teeth, mind racing while she weighed her options. She deeply inhaled, hands finding his forearms as if she was trying to push him away, but she didn’t move, not yet at least. 

“How long will you keep me around? When will you get bored of me and decide to string one of those girls along you seem to pick up like trophies?” The words were sharp, cold, no longer dripping with the sadness she had exposed moments ago. Dean was undoubtedly hurt by the words, jaw muscles tensing as he finally let go of her, hands dropped to his side. 

“Is this what you think of me? You think I’d drop you for some girl I couldn’t care less about? How many times have I saved your life? How many times have I stitched you up? Would I do any of that if I wouldn’t care?” The words made her tense, eyes no longer able to keep contact. Her body began to move, turning away from him as if she was trying to leave the shower, but Dean was quicker. His hand found the back of her neck to pull (y/n) back against his chest. “I won’t let you run from this, be honest for once.”

“You’re a miserable liar, Dean. You don’t care about me, you care about disappointing whoever has enough pity to listen in, that’s all. Don’t stand there and act as if I am more to you than I truly am.” He turned her towards him with more strength than needed, forcing her back against the wall while his lips found hers for a bruising kiss. 

It took (y/n) a second to move, to reply to the kiss with her hands finding his wet hair, fingers tugging on his roots. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues, bodies pressed together to communicate the words neither of them had ever dared to speak before. 

“You’re everything to me, don’t push me away because you’re scared. Not me, sweetheart.” Dean whispered the words against her lips, words she couldn’t reply to. She kissed him again, hands moving down his muscular chest to settle beneath his navel, all too aware of the path both were about to stumble onto. “I won’t touch you before you tell me the truth, (y/n).”

“I can’t be another name on your list, Dean. You’re it for me, and I won’t risk getting hurt.” She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the momentarily silence wash over them. Dean’s hand found her throat, thumb settling on her chin to tilt her head back up towards him, only to kiss her again.

“I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Let yourself fall, just this once and put your trust in me.” She could only nod, trying to drown out the protesting thoughts which faded into nothingness as his calloused fingertips stroked over her wet skin. A gasp left her the second he circled her hardening nipples, eyes watching his fingers explore her skin. 

Her hands began to move too, finding his twitching cock to slowly wrap her fingers around him. Both moaned in unison as she began to pump him while he found her heat, fingers circling her pulsing bundle. Being touched by Dean felt like being ripped from this life to be offered a new chance, something so beautiful and calming she couldn’t even put it into words.

“I once promised myself I’d do this properly, at least on a bed.” He pressed the words past his teeth, making her chuckle while tightening her grip on him. Both were high on the sounds the other made, giving room to the sensations they had been dreaming of for years. “But I can’t wait any longer.” 

Dean picked her up without another warning, only to press her against the tiles once again. Her heart was racing, pulse climbing higher and higher as he brushed the tip of his cock through her wet folds, “You’re on the pill right?”

(Y/n) nodded her head, words stolen right from her mouth as he pushed into her. Her forehead fell against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, lungs burning from the way she held her breath. Dean pushed deeper and deeper, groaning whenever her walls clenched around him, undoubtedly trying to relish in the moment before he’d properly take care of her.

“That’s it, sweetheart, look at you taking me so well.” Dean panted the words as he began to fuck her against the wall. She clung to him, fingernails buried in his skin to keep herself pressed to Dean as he gave them both what they were aching for. She was dripping for him, allowing Dean to fuck her faster with every passing thrust, searching for a high both wouldn’t ever forget. 

“I’ve been stupid, so fucking stupid for keeping myself from touching you. But you’re mine now, won’t let another guy even look at you again.” His words made her moan, walls clenching around him once again. “I’ll kill whoever dares to come close to you.”

“Dean,” she choked on his name, feeling him so deep inside of her, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was imagining all of this. “Just like that, right there.”

She would feel him for days, struggling to let go of her thoughts circling around this very moment. He fucked her with just enough pressure to push her closer towards the edge with every ferocious thrust. Dean was everywhere, surrounding her like a fog forcing her deeper and deeper into its grasp until there was nothing left but him. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Her breath hitched in her chest as he fucked the spot which made her see stars. She came moments later, teeth grazing his skin as she pressed her mouth to his shoulder. 

Dean kept fucking her, hips snapping against hers over and over again until he came himself. He let go with a groan, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she needed to look at him with her head drawn back and her walls still fluttering around him. 

“Shit, you’re perfect, (y/n).” Dean pulled out of her to carefully set her back down. She clung to him as her limbs shook from the intensity of her orgasm, unable to support herself alone. He didn’t dare let go of her as he cleaned her, hands touching her soft skin while pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You know I don’t break my promises, not when it comes to you, right?”

“I know. I trust you, Dean.” Her lips found his again, sharing a slower kiss to seal their promise made in the foggy shower with still racing hearts and prickling skin.

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur stilled when Kane spoke his name. He didn’t flinch, didn’t twitch, didn’t even shift in any way that could be called significant; he just allowed the sound to exist near him, allowed Kane to utter it. It had been years since he had allowed anyone to use his name like that; it almost made him feel like Kane was talking about someone from the past, rather than the doctor sitting so close to him. 

Arthur. 

Kane had said it nicely - Arthur had liked how the word had been formed. Low, careful, like it mattered - Arthur hadn’t asked him to, and yet Kane had given his name a deep respect. 

He felt the whisper of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips again, barely there. The way Kane had said it settled in his chest, flickering like a gentle fire - it warmed a part of him that had gone cold a long time ago, lost to the familiar aches and twists of time.

Arthur let out a soft exhale at the feeling of Kane resting his head against him. It wasn’t a heavy thing, not physically; Kane’s body had a weight to it, yes, but it was a gentle kind of weight. One that asked to be held, rather than forced - an opportunity, rather than a burden. 

Arthur shifted just slightly, enough to make it easier, letting Kane rest gently over him. He relaxed as well, finding it easier to when lured by the drug. 

It was a moment he would have to justify later - but this was something that could be justified with the simplicity of building rapport yet again. He was making Six into the ‘bad’ man, and making himself into the ‘good’ man. 

It was almost comical, how much this looked like manipulation. Perhaps it was - it wasn’t like Kane would know any better. Arthur could lead Kane just about anywhere, and he felt fairly confident that Kane would follow. It wasn’t a relieving thing to know. It wasn’t right, that Kane’s fate relied on someone like Arthur. Despite knowing that there was no manipulation here, that there were no deeper or darker desires to his actions, it as easy to feel as if he were still somehow taking advantage of the other. 

Kane was a good man. A very kind man, even as he talked about the man he had been created from; even as he he talked about carrying his name as if it were an honor as much as it were a curse. Kane talked about being chosen, about not knowing whether he’d earned it, about hoping that the one before him had been okay with the gift. 

Arthur stared past him, looking instead toward the camera in the corner. He didn’t see it, his eyes unable to focus; all he could focus on was the slow unraveling of something quiet in his chest. Something that Kane was causing, whether he knew it or not. 

It ached, deep behind his ribs. Nothing sharp, nothing obvious - just a dull echo that only ever came up when something old brushed against something in the present. He found that a lot, with Kane; a man who was far too innocent, who was trapped in a world that was far too cruel. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d held someone who would die.

Arthur’s fingers twitched as he held the other man, at the memory of another weight. One that hadn’t been so gentle, one that hadn’t been asked to be held - that body had been limp in his arms. The weight had been awkward and heavy, a body that didn’t know how to rest only because the soul had long since slipped away. 

They had been alive, when he’d picked them up. Still breathing, even if just barely. When he’d laid them down again, into a grave scraped out by his own hands, they were not.

Despite knowing that it wouldn’t be the same with Kane, there was still a part of his mind that was panicking. Alarm bells that were going off over nothing, fear over a recurring trauma. 

Don’t let go. Don’t look away. If you stop watching, you know what will happen. 

He had thought that they were only sleeping, too. That the blood had dried because it had clotted, that stiffness was just exhaustion. Everything had an excuse, denial overwrote reality. Every movement was proof of breath, proof of life, even if there hadn’t been any movement at all; it had been the last time Arthur had truly cried. 

That day had planted something inside of him, something cold and permanent. Love had become unbearable, friendship was unwanted. Even joy had been reduced to obsession; hobbies were compulsive, connection was repetition. The world was too loud, too sharp, and the only safe space away from it was somewhere deep inside of his own head. 

The ground had been hard, that day. 

He hadn’t buried them deep enough.

Arthur didn’t cry, but his throat tightened in a threat to do so. His breaths were shorter, a quiet form of grief; Kane was asleep on him now, but Arthur found himself watching the man’s chest too closely. Watching for every breath, every shift, needing to see that he was still alive. 

The drugs made it too easy for past and present to blur. After Kane had woken up, had been given a smile in relief, Arthur had gone to discuss it with the superiors. 

Of course, his request to be removed from the medication had been denied. 

─── ⋆⋅⚖️⋅⋆ ─────────────────

Three days later, the lights overhead were raised a bit again, though they were still fairly dim. The hum of the facility was just as cold, but the room now held a bit of warmth to it; Arthur hadn’t been pulled off of the job, and Six hadn’t been allowed to return thanks to Arthur’s discussions with those more in charge. 

Six was damaging to the subject, he’d protested. They didn’t want to keep Kane forever, the program was expensive - so Arthur’s methods were superior, because they got information faster. 

It had been a few hours in an office to get Six banned from the room, but Arthur was good at getting his way. 

He wasn’t in his usual outfit, today. The button-up had been replaced with a dark grey sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was exposing, but only in a minor sense, showing off the medical cuff around one wrist and a beaded bracelet on the other. 

His inner left forearm held a tattoo, one in elegant hand-written calligraphy. It was slightly imperfect, suggesting that someone else had written it; and it was faded by the sun, suggesting that whoever had written it had done so long, long ago. 

فَإِنَّمَعَالْعُسْرِيُسْرًا

Indeed, with hardship comes ease. A line from the Qur’an; one that had earned him more than a few looks over the years. 

He wasn’t Muslim, and he never had been. It had been pointed out to him before, with curiosity as much as with irritation, and even something close to offense. He had listened each time, quiet and understanding, never defending himself too strongly - either people were satisfied with ‘I was twenty-one and didn’t know anything other than that I liked it’, or they weren’t. 

The only other tattoo was an old dot pattern, one that circled the outer elbow on his right arm, hand-poked and slightly uneven. 

He made his way carefully to Kane’s bed again, his hands clean and a tray being placed down beside the other. He had nothing but more balm for the bruises, more warm pads, another clean cloth to wrap the worst of the swelling. It wasn’t bad, it was just deep bruising - something that hurt, but nothing that he had to worry about becoming infected or getting worse. 

Arthur wasn’t speaking much, though not for any real reason. He’d given a greeting as he’d entered, and he had walked over to start working - he hadn’t pulled his mind from the bruising ever since he’d last seen it. It was his most pressing concern, wanting to look at them just to make certain that nothing was behaving oddly. 

“Get your shirt off for me, please,” Arthur muttered - his voice a bit more clinical than it typically was, though with no true malice. Nothing but a deep focus for the man in front of him, needing to do his best to tend to him. 

Part of Kane, not-Kane, it, is still very much aware of he fact that this - the closeness between them - isn't exactly something that's happening between two men in such a casual way. ---At least not often, and without... other context involved. The same goes for two women. A man and a woman, even. At least that's what Kane thinks, is familiar with, feels that it's... correct, somewhere within himself.

And yet he makes no move to shift away, to try and get distance between them; He enjoys it instead, the intimacy, the care he receives from the other - those arms that curl back around him once that hand has fallen away from his cheek, the way Arthur looks him over---

Arthur. Not Harrow, not. Dr. Harrow, not Doctor - just Arthur.

"...I like it." A hum, a statement, but soft in nature. "Arthur." As if to test what it feels like to speak that name out loud, let it roll over a sore tongue a bit too slow, "...---You look like an Arthur to me. It fits you."

Just like the other had said something similar before - that Kane suits him, that he has... earned it, just like that.

It hits somewhere deep, settles there, and Kane blinks before he swallows, deciding to allow his head to sink and rest against the shape of the other man's shoulder - his cheek is coming in contact with it, nose almost touching Arthur's throat but not quite, a gaze growing even heavier than it had before---

You can sleep on me, the man offers - as if being able to read his concerns in just the same way as Kane had read the other's thoughts... unbeknownst to him, that is.

It prompts a brief smile onto full lips, one that only stays for a second and a half, then fades again.

I'll be here when you wake up, I promise.

"...I'm not sure if I've earned it. The name." A whisper, deeply emotional in nature, a bit unsteady - telling of how much it affects Kane, what Arthur had said before. Not necessarily in a negative way, no, not at all - but rather in a... general way? No, that's also not quite true.

Good doesn't fit either. It's just... very emotional, yes - his voice carrying that truth with every syllable that leaves his mouth, a pair of eyes finally falling closed, unable to remain open for any longer.

"But I like to think... that he was okay with giving it to me. He was... he was okay with me existing, more than I expected him to, when thinking back to it. He... was scared when I appeared, yes, but he wasn't... --he wasn't trying to fight me, and he begun to talk to me."

A swallow, brows furrowing a little as the seconds pass - as something primal and natural begins to take claim of Kane, wraps its dark fingers around his existence, his mind. He knows he's about to fall asleep, exhaustion taking its toll; Arthur being so comfortable, warm and kind, is only speeding up the process on top of it... and Kane surely won't complain.

"...Maybe..." Barely there anymore, but Kane seems to want to get the words out before he grows too tired to do such, before he's unable to keep in control of his tongue any longer. "...Maybe he was okay... with me having the name. Like he was... ---like he was okay with me having his face. His... body. That security guard said I'm wearing it like a badge - the face of a good man..."

It still stings, a little bit.

"...But maybe that's okay... ---Maybe it's okay for me to have his face, to be called Kane. He was okay with me being there, so... maybe I can... honor him, or something... by continuing to live on. By carrying his name."

A breath, a voice growing even heavier, almost a drawl at this point as Kane goes on, clings to his consciousness.

"---He was so strong. A soldier. I'm... a little proud that I got to meet him, and that the shimmer chose for me to be him."

"I don't think... that many... get to have it. The... honor."

One more breath, and silence begins to stretch. Kane's body softens even further, and he's resting a little awkwardly against the other - with his arm still being somewhat-curled around Arthur's back while Kane's head rests on his shoulder...

And yet Kane feels more comfortable than he ever has in his entire, short life.

I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.

[fireside-fanfics]

What He Sees

content warning: reader's body image + self-esteem issues; reader's negative self-talk

They’d known each other since the first week of sixth grade. He remembered it like a movie scene—her standing at the edge of the blacktop in worn sneakers, backpack two sizes too big, and an expression that said: I don’t need you, but I dare you to try me anyway.

She was the new kid—quiet, sharp-eyed, tongue like a whip when she did speak. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was either brilliant or brutal. Joaquin had never seen someone shut down a bully with just a look, a dry “you done?” and a casual walk away that somehow felt more powerful than any punch. She was fire in the shape of a girl, and Joaquin had been in awe of her since the beginning.

By high school, she’d carved an incredible reputation: smartest in the class, quickest to call out bullshit, the kind of girl teachers were afraid to underestimate. Valedictorian. A brain that made Ivy League recruiters chase her. But she’d chosen him—chosen to enlist with him, to fly beside him, to be part of something bigger together.

“Where you go, I go,” she had said nonchalantly when they signed their contracts, her fingers intertwining with his under the metal desk in the recruiting office—and she meant it. She always did.

Years passed. Bases changed. They got older, better, stronger. And then Sam Wilson called. The Falcon wanted a team. Joaquin said yes before the sentence was finished. She followed without blinking—signed on as Chief of Intel and Tech. By then, she’d already burned through her bachelor's at MIT—finished early, of course, because of course she did. 

She was in the final stretch of a dual MA/PhD in advanced systems engineering and cyber intelligence when Sam Wilson called. The week before she and Joaquin reported for duty, she defended her dissertation. Passed with flying colors. Walked out of the room with two new degrees and the quiet, satisfied kind of pride that only came from surviving something grueling on her own terms.

They celebrated the way she liked best: no fanfare, no chaos—just a quiet beach in Mexico, two hammocks, good tequila, and their phones turned off for seventy-two straight hours. Joaquin had kissed her under a star-choked sky, sand clinging to their legs, murmuring, “The world can wait for once.”

Now, with boots on the ground and Sam's team forming around them, she was right where she belonged—exactly where she’d always chosen to be. And Joaquin still looked at her like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten this lucky. She was beautiful, but not in the way anyone expected. Thick dark curls—curls that defied gravity, expectation, and nearly every military regulation she'd ever danced around—framed a face full of sharp edges and smarter eyes. Her skin was warm brown, soft and sun-kissed from years of being outdoors. 

Latina, like Joaquin, fluent in the same Spanish he spoke at home, but she also spoke flawless French, courtesy of her Haitian paternal grandparents, and Arabic with near-native ease thanks to the MIT immersion program she'd been accepted into her freshman year of high school. Joaquin used to joke she was fluent in half the languages on the damn security clearance list. She used to roll her eyes and call him “tonto” for acting impressed, even though she secretly loved it.

Because beneath the fire, the fight, and the fierce independence, she’d always trusted him to see her fully—not just the genius, not just the soldier. She trusted him to see the girl who used to sit next to him at lunch with tangled curls, ripped notebooks, and eyes that never missed anything. And he still did. That’s how they got here: three months into something brand new, and yet nearly two decades in the making.

Now she was sitting on the edge of the bed, hair damp from the shower, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, her bare thighs brushing the sheets. Joaquin was behind her, sprawled lazily, elbow bent as he watched her without her knowing. He had quickly noted how she’d been unusually quiet tonight. She wasn’t cold—never cold, always tauntingly sweet; rather she was distant in that way he recognized from their younger years. She was in her own head and that usually meant she was picking herself apart.

When she finally turned toward him, her eyes flicked down to her body—just for a second—but it was enough. Her gaze dipped low, scanned the oversized shirt that clung slightly to the swell of her waist, then quickly darted away like she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to. Like her own reflection startled her.

He noticed the shift immediately. The subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt that she was wearing like she was trying to cover more skin. That was the tell—her tell. She only did that when something was clawing at her thoughts and refusing to let go.

Joaquin sat up a little, the casual ease in his posture replaced with quiet attention. He watched her closely now, not in the way a man looks at the woman he’s in love with—though, God, that too—but the way you look at someone when you know them. When you’ve seen their armor and know exactly how to spot the cracks.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, like it was meant to carry between just the two of them. “Where’d you go just now?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes stayed down, fingers still picking at the fabric of the shirt—his shirt, which she’d worn a dozen times before without a second thought. But tonight, it was different. He could feel it.

“Talk to me, carñio.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tone gentle but grounded. “You’re not really here.”

Her jaw tensed, just for a moment. Then she exhaled and lifted her chin—but not enough to meet his eyes.

“Do you ever wish I looked different?” she asked, shame dripping in her voice.

The question landed like a weight in the air between them. Not because he didn’t have an answer—but because the question itself was so foreign to him, so far from how he saw her, it took him a second to realize she meant it seriously.

“No way … different how, baby?”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Just... different.”

But she did know. He could see it in the way her hands now folded across her stomach, arms crossing in a reflexive self-conscious curl. The way she was trying to shrink—not physically, but emotionally. The way she was pulling in, curling within herself to hide.

“I’ve always had curves, right?” she said, voice quieter now. “Hips, thighs, all that. But my chest never caught up. I’m barely a B cup. My boobs are far apart, and they’re not the perky kind—they kind of… point. And when I lie down, they flatten out completely. I just feel like I’m missing something that everyone else has.”

She finally looked at him then, eyes wide and open and vulnerable in a way she never showed anyone else.

“Sometimes I feel like I look like a boy from the chest up. Especially when we’re…” she paused, lips tightening. “... especially when we’re close. Like, when we’re making out—or almost there. I feel like you’ll look at me and wonder why I don’t look like other girls. Like I’m not enough.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and Joaquin felt it echo in his chest like something breaking. He reached out, gently, palm resting on her thigh to ground her.

“Mi cielo…” Joaquin started, but she looked away again, shoulders tense. So he moved closer, sat up straighter, and let the quiet stretch just long enough to be intentional. “You’re not wrong. Not one single inch of you is wrong.”

She scoffed, quiet and self-deprecating. He hated that sound.

“You think I don’t see you?” he asked, voice low, raw. “You think I haven’t been looking at you every day since middle school like you hung the stars yourself? You think I’ve been waiting years—literal years—just to get close to you, only to be disappointed when I finally do? Do you think I’m not obsessed with the way you look? Because I am. Every part of you.”

She closed her eyes, almost like she didn’t believe him—but he caught the tremble in her lip before she could hide it.

“You’ve always had this way of walking into a room like you don’t owe it anything,” he said. “Like you’re there because you chose to be, and the space should be grateful. And I watch you—every damn time—and I swear to God I forget how to breathe. And when we’re close?” He leaned in, brushing her curls back from her face with quiet reverence. “That’s not when you look like less. That’s when you look the most real. The most yours.”

Joaquin leaned forward slowly, reaching for her hand. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did. She blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice.

“I love your body,” he continued, gentler now. “I love the way you walk into a room and take up space like you belong there—because you do. I love your hips and your thighs and the way you always curl on your side with one leg over me when you fall asleep. I love that little stretch mark on your waist you always try to hide, and the curve of your back, and the way my shirt barely covers your ass.”

Her mouth twitched upward at that, a small smile threatening to form.

“And your chest?” He reached up, brushing his knuckles against the edge of her breast through the shirt, reverent. “I love these. They’re soft and warm and real, and I hate that the world ever convinced you they’re not enough because to me, they are. You—god yes you, baby—you are more than enough, mi amor.”

She leaned into his touch without realizing it.

“And when you lie down?” He kissed her shoulder. “That’s when you’re the most beautiful. Because you’re vulnerable. Because you trust me. You look like you. And I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard.

“I don’t always feel that way,” she admitted. “Sometimes I feel like I have to compensate. Be smarter. Be tougher. Be louder. Because I’ll never be the girl with the perfectly shaped, push-up-ready, porn-star boobs.”

Joaquin chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“I didn’t fall in love with you because of your bra size, mi cielo. I fell in love with the girl who stood up to assholes twice her size in middle school. The one who called me out for being too nice to recruiters, who made fun of my haircut during basic, who blew me out of the water at combat training and chess. You’re the smartest person I know, the fiercest, the most loyal—and yes, you’re sexy as hell. You just don’t see it.”

Her eyes were glassy now, but her lips curled into a trembling smile. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, then leaned forward and kissed her softly. The kiss wasn’t rushed or heated; just slow and sure, like he meant every word that came before it. When he pulled back, she pressed her forehead to his. She trailed her free hand up his arm, reveling in the goosebumps she left in her wake, and rested her palm on his cheek.

“You always make me feel safe,” she murmured, tears in her eyes. Her other hand squeezed his hand firmly.

“That’s the only thing I ever want to do,” he whispered. He squeezed her hand back. “And if I can help you see even half of what I see when I look at you… I’ll never stop trying.”

He let his hand rest against her side, settling just around her ribcage, the pad of his thumb tracing small shapes just below the swell of her breast over the shirt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but she wasn’t looking at him either—not quite—like some part of her still didn’t believe he meant it. That the words were just comfort, not truth. So he gave her what she’d always respected most: honesty.

“You’re not some checklist I’m working through,” he said quietly. “You’re not a collection of parts I’m ranking in my head. You’re the woman I’ve trusted with my life since we were twelve. The smartest person I’ve ever met. The one who drags me out of my own head when I spiral. The one who still makes me nervous sometimes when you look at me a certain way.”

A small sound escaped her, half a breath, half a laugh.

“And yeah,” Joaquin added, “you’re the one I’ve wanted more than anyone for my entire life. Exactly the way you are. I love your body because it’s yours. Not in spite of it.”

Her eyes finally lifted to his. There was something softer in them now—not fully convinced, maybe, but open. Receptive.

“That shirt you’re wearing?” he said, mouth tilting into a half-grin. “You’ve had it on for two hours, and I’ve already had to mentally talk myself down from about six different thoughts.”

She snorted, nose wrinkling just a little, and shook her head.

“I’m serious. You walk around like that and then act surprised when I stare at you like you’re made of magic. I’m barely hanging on here.”

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed. Her hand moved from his cheek to the back of his head, fingers sliding through his curls, like a breath of relief.

“I don’t know how to shut it off,” she murmured. “The voices. The comparisons. The stupid, spiraling thoughts.”

“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “You just have to let me be here when they get loud.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she exhaled—slow and steady—like she was finally setting down a weight she’d carried too long. And she leaned forward, curling into him, her forehead pressing against the curve of his neck. Joaquin wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her the way he always did—like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

And maybe that was the whole point. She had spent her life proving herself, earning every seat at every table, breaking the mold, outrunning expectations. But with him? She didn’t have to prove anything; she didn’t have to fight to be seen. With him, she was already enough. And when he kissed the top of her head and murmured, “You’re beautiful, mi amor.” 

And she let herself believe it. Not because she needed him to say it—but because, somehow, she finally knew he meant it.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

NFL Rafe x popstar

Please make them be taylor and travis

While I did pull inspiration from Taylor and Travis, this is not a retelling of their story. Let me know if you want other parts for this AU. I have so many ideas

—

For weeks, you and Rafe had been planning your presence at one of the games — and to announce your relationship to the media at the same time. Unfortunately, your schedules never aligned. You were busy with the tour, singing your heart out each weekend in a different state. Touring was your favorite part of your career — seeing all the fans, meeting some of them, singing and dancing on stage. But it sometimes got in the way of your personal life. 

This weekend was going to be your first Sunday off since the beginning of the tour, and Rafe happened to have a home game. 

Your respective teams warned you of the backlash this would bring to both of your careers. The playboy quarterback and the popstar who writes breakup songs about her many exes. The media will have a creative blast with the headlines.

‘’Are you sure? Because I could set you up and sneak you in and nobody would know you’re there. My team—’’

You shook your head, interrupting him. ‘’No. I want to walk through the front doors. No special treatment.’’

It was kind and considerate of him to offer the option, but keeping your presence at the stadium a secret had downsides too. Were the rumors of you being at the game come out, the media would paint you as a diva.

‘’I know what I’m throwing myself into. It will inevitably draw attention to me — to us —, but any way we decide to reveal our relationship to the public will, Rafe,’’ you explained, reminding him that there was no escape to headlines. ‘’My publicist is ready to deal with the media, and so am I.’’

Rafe was still hesitant. A part of him wanted to look up from the field and see you in one of the suites, dressed in his team color — wearing his number — and cheering for him. It would give him extra motivation to score. But the other was thinking of all the nasty headlines and the hate you would get. You were strong, but football fans could be ruthless. 

‘’Just because we wanted a private relationship doesn’t mean it has to be a secret. I love you, Rafe.’’ You reached for him, holding his hand in yours. ‘’I want to be supporting my boyfriend at his big game…like all of the WAGs do,’’ you added, already thinking of the cute outfits you could wear.

Every move you ever made was calculated. From the car pulling into the Stadium’s parking lot to the security team escorting you to Rafe’s suite. You even practiced your walk pace — fast, but slow enough to allow the horde of sports reporters and paparazzi to take pictures. You wanted them to see you, to show the world that you were there. 

Bright lights flashed as you walked through the lobby, the click of cameras echoing off the stadium walls like distant fireworks. You kept your chin high, lips glossed in your signature shade, and your outfit — a blue blouse that matched the team colors and a mini skirt — was already trending online before you reached the elevators.

Security guided you past the crowd, up to the suite level, where heavy doors separated the chaos below from the calm above. Inside, the room was practically empty. You recognized a few of his friends from pictures and videos on his private social media, and his sister Sarah, whom you had met at his house before. It was nice to see a familiar face. 

‘’Sarah, hi!’’ you greeted, smiling at her. 

You stayed by her side through the game, watching from the front row of the suite. As expected, your face had made it to the big screens. The crowd’s reaction was a mix of gasps, cheers, and some scattered boos — nothing you hadn’t anticipated.

From your spot in the suite, you had the perfect view of him on the field — focused, fast, and commanding. He hadn’t looked your way yet, but you could tell by the way he carried himself that he knew you were there. Knew you were watching.

When halftime came, Rafe blew a kiss toward the suite you were in. You felt like you were sixteen all over again, dating the boy from the football team. 

—

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Calgary Kent dating hcs :O? please and thank you!!

Ma and Pa Kent raised him right. Enough said.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for anything to happen between the two of you, like an embarrassingly long amount of time because you just assumed that Clark was like that with everyone, he’s a sweetheart to all and couldn’t hand a fly nor wasp even if it stung him.

He would just say ‘I did startle it, so it only did what was in its nature to defend itself. I can’t fault a wasp doing what any of us would do when cornered.’

So needless to say it was a drawn out slow burn where Clark would open doors for you, walk on the closest side to the road when walking you home from work, lending you his jacket whenever it got too cold and always having his hand at a respectable on your waist when pulling you out of the way of others, his grip was soft yet firm at the same time.

Even after when you two started dating it almost feels as though you’ve never left that period of time where you’d smile softly whenever Clark did or say something that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

It was hard not to swoon whenever he would compliment your outfit, or just as though you were wholeheartedly consumed by this idea that you could never find a man who’d treat you half as good as Clark did, his eyes held a softness to them whenever he gazed at you from the corner of his eye, smiling equally as soft as he watched you as you’d absentmindedly bit the lid of a pen, or smile to yourself when you remembered something funny.

nothing went amiss within Clark’s eyes as though they were trained to pick up your every thought and feeling through expression as though it was his birthright. How could they when everything you did was worth remembering and worth noticing no matter if you were just standing there looking as though you’ve just gotten out of bed, or looking as though you’ve got a personal fashion team who dressed you up hidden somewhere with how good you looked.

He’s a hype man through and through, always encouraging you to go beyond what you think you can do and achieve the impossible, for life is meant to be lived and Clark would wholeheartedly support whatever it is that you wanted to do in your life?

Learn an instrument? Let him listen to a song your practicing and act as your audience.

Crocheting? He’s got shelves full of all your attempts in his way of saying that he loves each and every one, even if the eye was a little wonky on some little critters you’ve made, or a little disproportionate, Clark loves them all and couldn’t think to ever give them up.

Writing? He’d sit and read your work for hours on end if you let him, giving you advice and constructive criticism for when you asked him to be honest on what you needed to work on.

Anything you wish you could’ve learned earlier is more than welcomed by Clark, as long as it wasn’t harmful to you or others, that’s the main exception.

Cuddles are a big thing because why wouldn’t you want to cling onto this man until forever passes by? He’s warm, he’s comfortable and makes you feel safer and more at ease then any blanket you’ve ever had in the past as he runs his hands up and down your back, all the while keeping you tucked under his chin protectively and dotting soft kisses to your face now and then as he hums a lullaby to help you drift off to sleep.

Clark couldn’t deny you cuddles even if he tried, he just wanted to be the best partner he could possibly be and if giving you a place to rest your head, to clear your thoughts then so be it. He would even wordlessly open his arms to you if he saw the slightest furrow within your brow or the slightest bit of slumped shoulders and a frown upon your lips.

When you were within close proximity, he’d pull you into his arms, allow you to slump yourself against him however you saw fit, and would just stay that way until you felt like moving or if he suggested in getting you anything that he knew would bring you comfort such a a blanket or a plushie or a comfort movie to pass the time.

Whatever you wanted is what you’d get in Clark’s opinion.

Soft and tender and quite was what you’d describe your relationship with Clark, it was filled with understanding, a mutual respect and a sense of belonging and humour in the moments where you didn’t need much to make the other laugh or smile, just a few knowing looks was more then enough for matching smiles to appear upon both of your faces.

It didn’t take much effort on either side to make memories that will last a lifetime, no matter if it was cuddled up close together as you read your respective books while listening to the rain, or how you’d have impromptu food fights when you were trying to make baked goods with cute edible decorative pieces, or even when you wear/ hog his soft looking sweaters because you missed him too much.

Kisses were a language all on their own.

Forehead kisses, cheek kisses, neck kisses, butterfly kisses, nose kisses, jaw kisses, kisses on the lips all had their messages behind them that only you and Clark understood completely. All of which had the same thing in common and that was the constant reassurance that Clark would always come back home to you no matter what, never once making you question anything within your relationship because its foundations were stable.

There could be moments where Clark was very much eager to kiss you, hands holding your face between his hands that caresses your cheeks with featherlight adoration, allowing himself the moment to memorise you and everything about you to his mind as though he wasn’t going to have enough time to do so before kissing you as though there was nothing else he could possibly be doing then loving you, praising you, worshiping you like any person should if they were as lucky as he was.

You reciprocate this eagerness to show your devotion to each other by holding his hands, tracing the veins within them, tracing his fingers and admiring the power they hold within them. Before taking your time in admiring his face, his hair, his eyes, the slope of his nose, the soft yet sharpness of his jaw, his eyelashes, everything you could find to love about Clark your eyes would find them as though they were meant to.

Your relationship was sweet, it was warm, it was a safe haven, but it was all yours.

[lilangelbuds]

Daughter who needs to get her breasts and vagina examined by a doctor for a simple checkup. And Daddy doctor who pretends to understand and sympathize with her embarrassment from the situation but is secretly eager for the chance to finger his daughter :D

(I'm the same anon who made the gloryhole request I'm so glad you enjoyed writing for it! It was exactly what I was hoping for 🫠)

“Take off your clothes.” The words came out firm yet gentle, laced with the kind of authority only someone who’d earned it could muster. “It’s just a routine examination. Nothing to be nervous about.”

She hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the buttons of her blouse. “Dad… are you sure this is necessary? I mean, isn’t there another way?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening, though the air around them seemed to thicken. “I understand how you feel, but this is important. You don’t want to ignore something that could develop into a serious problem, do you?”

Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as she began to unbutton her blouse, one button at a time. The fabric fell away, revealing the delicate lace of her bra beneath. She could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his gaze making her skin prickle with a mixture of shame and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice steady but laced with a strange undercurrent she couldn’t quite place. “Just relax. I’m here to help you.”

She nodded stiffly, her hands moving to the clasp of her bra. With a soft click, it came undone, and she let the bra slip from her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts to the cool air of the room. Her nipples hardened instantly, though whether from the chill or something else, she wasn’t sure.

He stepped closer, his gloved hands reaching out to cup her breasts, his touch firm yet oddly tender. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her chest as he began to examine her, his fingers kneading her flesh with a practiced precision that sent shivers down her spine.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she fought to keep her composure. “Is… is this really necessary?”

“It’s just part of the examination,” he replied smoothly, his fingers brushing over her nipples, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. “You have to trust me.”

She swallowed hard, her legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. His touch was so clinical, so impersonal, and yet it was the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced. Her body betrayed her, a low moan escaping her lips as his fingers continued their exploration.

He smiled faintly, his eyes darkening as he moved his hands lower, his palms skimming over her stomach and coming to rest on her hips. “Now, let’s take a look at the rest of you,” he said, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill of anticipation through her.

She nodded weakly, her hands moving to the waistband of her skirt. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers trembling as she undid the clasp and let the garment fall to the floor, leaving her in only her panties.

He let out a slow breath, his eyes roaming over her body with an intensity that made her skin burn. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with something that sent a shiver down her spine. “Now, let’s finish this.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he knelt before her, his hands moving to the waistband of her panties. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin as he gently tugged them down, exposing her completely to his gaze.

“Dad…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible as she closed her eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his stare.

“Shh,” he soothed, his hands moving to her thighs, spreading them apart gently. “Just relax. This is for your own good.”

She nodded weakly, her body trembling as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her most intimate place. “You’re so wet,” he observed, his voice low and filled with a strange kind of pride. “Is this because of me?”

Her eyes shot open, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she stared down at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “N-no… I…” she stammered, her voice breaking as his fingers brushed against her, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her body.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his tone firm yet oddly gentle. “You can’t hide it from me. I can feel your desire.”

She moaned softly, her head falling back as he began to stroke her, his fingers moving with a practiced expertise that left her breathless. “Please…” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I can’t…”

“Shh,” he soothed, his other hand moving to her breast, kneading the soft flesh as he continued to stroke her. “Just let it happen. You’re safe with me.”

Her body trembled with pleasure, her nails digging into the edge of the examination table as he worked his magic, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. “Dad… I… I’m going to…” she gasped, her voice breaking as pleasure overtook her.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice thick with arousal as he continued to stroke her, his fingers moving faster and harder as he pushed her over the edge. “Let it out.”

She cried out, her body convulsing with pleasure as she climaxed, her legs giving out beneath her. He caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her as he held her close, his own breathing ragged and uneven.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a strange kind of pride. “You did so well.”

She clung to him, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm as he held her close, his hands roaming over her body with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through her.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of shame and desire. “What… what are we doing?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “We’re taking care of you,” he replied, his voice low and filled with a strange kind of promise. “Just like a father should.”