#fic: message received and misunderstood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

azsazz · 6 months ago

Text

At Fault

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: HAPPY NEW YEAR!! AUTHOR! ⭐🎀 Could u make a rhysand x reader where reader is misunderstood as a mole and tortured and stuffs by rhys himself? Uk what i mean, right 😭

Like lots of angst but a bit smut sprinkled on top?

Warnings: Torture, blood, cuts, smut, oral (f receiving).

Word Count: 3347

Notes: Well, now that I don't have tiktok anymore, that means that theoretically i should have more time for fics, right? 😭

_________________________________________

“I’m not asking again,” the male spits, growling in your face. You’ve watched his eyes darken to black with each minute of torture that passes. His voice is a knife all on its own, and he leans so far into you that you can feel the scrape of his teeth against the apple of your cheek when he speaks. “Who do you work for.”

You might answer if you could. No, you know you’ve answered this question before, the winged male just doesn’t believe you. You’ve been here for days, limbs wound tightly to the uncomfortable chair they tied you to as soon as they caught you in the thicket of their border.

If you could gather enough saliva in your mouth, you’d use it to spit right back in his face. You would savor that much more than swallowing it in a futile attempt to wet your throat. It’s been days—months?—since you were ambushed in the middle of the woods, on your trek through the Night Court lands to deliver a message from your mother.

Your voice is a barely-there rasp. You wish you could scream and yell, shout like the first days you were in this dungeon, trapped with only the blue glow from the stones adorning your torturer’s armor. With the way he squeezes your jaw in his harsh grip, it pains you to speak.

“I already told you,” you add as much vitriol as you can muster. “I’m from the Night Court.”

The male releases you with an annoyed snarl. You stretch your mouth, watching as he turns his back from you. His wings are tucked tightly to his back, and you can’t help the stab of jealousy that accompanies the sight of them. He steps closer to the table where his glistening weapons lie. The glimmer of his azure gems gleam across the metal, and you shiver when you catch the short, sharp knife that he’d spent hours nicking your flesh with. He’d spent the following hour cleaning your blood from the blade before polishing said weapon, all whilst goading you into admitting where you came from.

The funny thing is, you aren’t lying. You’re from the Night Court, the Illyrian camps in fact. Ironhelm is a recent development, made up of females and children and even a few males who wanted a better life for themselves. A revolt of sorts. Ones who could no longer suffer under the reign of warlords who praise nothing but violence.

If the male lifted the back of your shirt like you pleaded a thousand times, he would see the deep scarring from where your wings would be, if you still had them.

If he brought the High Lord to you like you asked for, you wouldn’t be trapped in the depths of the Night Court. You wouldn’t be battered and bruised, wouldn’t be on the verge of starvation, wouldn’t be moments away from passing out from dehydration.

The male plucks a new weapon for today’s session after examining a few different weapons. The blade he turns with has a harsh curve to it, and you’re not sure it’s purpose, but it looks menacing as fuck.

You straighten in your chair, wincing when the restraints pull at your already tender skin. Your wrists are rubbed raw from the way you squirmed in pain beneath his blades, from every time you writhed in a desperate attempt to escape. They never loosened a centimeter, and they feel tighter around your swollen limbs than they did the first time you attempted to free yourself.

“No,” you beg, kicking your legs against the ties. It’s useless, you’re not going anywhere, forced to suffer indescribable pain when all you had to do was deliver a message to the High Lord himself. “Please! I’m telling you; I’m from the Night Court. Stop!”

You can see your reflection in the weapon as it draws near. You look like you feel, like you were dragged here from Ironhelm by your hair. Your eyes have deep purple rings around them, your skin sunken and littered with wounds, both scabbed and fresh.

The male gives pause, eyes taking on a sheen to them that you haven’t seen before. Like his focus is half on you, half on something else. But there’s no one here, no one but you, him, and the blade in his hand that you’re pretty sure has a name of its own, too.

Your heart is in your throat. It gives a hearty pump with each passing second. This is worse, you think, the looming threat of death only inches from your face, the anticipation of a brush against your skin.

“Fine,” he mutters, and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you, but there’s no one else here. You don’t know what he means until the knife inches further and further from you as he retracts, pinning you to your chair with an ice-cold glare that freezes the exhale of relief in your lungs.

With that as his last word, the male disappears into a mist of shadow, and you’re alone.

There’s no time to catch your breath, to rest your eyes or dry the tears that have somehow managed to slip from your eyes without your knowledge. Something worse is coming, you can feel it in the air, the crackle of power that fills the room. The walls tremble and you hiss as the chair you’re in jolts, your restraints buzzing against your raw skin. The temperature drops further, and you can see your breath, just as a figure appears in front of you.

His presence makes you cower, shrinking into your seat. There’s a feeling of wrongness in the air, one that has the soldered wounds on your back burn with phantom pain. Or, perhaps the pain is real. You can’t tell.

“Who—” you stutter, afraid to even ask. “Who’s there?”

A low rumble shakes the room. No, it’s in your head. It crawls up your spine and takes root in your mind.

It’s not just a rumble.

It’s laughter.

“Wha-what?” You shriek. You’re too exhausted, too out of your mind to realize that it’s the High Lord. You’ve heard of what he can do, how he crawls into the minds of fae like a spider, quietly and discreetly weaving webs of intricate lies, making them forget who they are and become the soldiers and spies he wants them to be. Such tales had been shit spit from mouths of the Illyrian’s you grew up around, before you escaped to Ironhelm. They are the only stories of the ruler of the Night Court that you know.

And now he’s here to do just that to you.

Your scream doesn’t even escape your throat. You’re frozen to the spot, eyes wide with fear, spine arched against the chair. You struggle against the magic that keeps you from moving, but it’s no use, you’re like a rat trapped in a maze of the High Lord’s own creation, and the maze is you.

The male steps closer. With a sharp snap that stings your ears, a faelight illuminates the dungeon. Your eyes burn, but you can’t even squint them against the light. You can’t move a muscle. Can barely even breathe.

Violent, violet eyes are the first thing you notice. They’re sharp, and they bore into yours so deeply that something twists just barely inside of you. You can’t tell if it’s your own doing or his, since you’re trapped in his clutches. The lines of his face are even more beautiful, and if you weren’t struggling to breathe already, you sure are now.

His nose is straight, the perfect slope. His mouth is a thing of wonder, and you stare at it for a moment longer than you probably should. His face is set in perfect neutrality, giving nothing away.

Dark hair frames his temples in perfect whisps. If you weren’t trapped under his command, weren’t chained to a chair in his torture chamber, you might like to run your hands through it. Atop his head sits a gleaming onyx crown, each spoke inlaid with what you can only assume are rare and expensive gems.

His posture exudes royalty, as do his clothes. The sleeves of his button up shirt are rolled to his elbows, like he has plans other than slithering around in your mind to take a more hands-on approach to extract information from you. You’d willingly give it to him, have been giving it to the blue-stoned crony of his, who refused to believe the truth that spilled from your mouth.

Hopefully, the High Lord will believe you.

It's not looking like a good start.

Who are you? His voice has a hard edge to it that doesn’t sound right. Like he’s putting on a front for you. You’d imagine his tone to be regal and silky, not this gravely tone that still stirs something between your legs.

Wow. Trapped for days, on the verge of starvation, and tortured and bloody, but your cunt is alive and well.

The corner of his mouth twitches and your face flares red. You’d forgotten that he was still in your mind.

You stretch your jaw when he releases your muscles to do so. The fire you felt in his companion’s presence has eked from your body. The disuse of your limbs has drained all the fight from your body and replaced it with fear.

Well, fear and a little bit of arousal. What the fuck?

Your name, he commands again.

You speak it out loud, though you sound no louder than a mouse. Being in the presence of such power is intimidating. Thus far, the stories hold true. As you think this, something flashes in his violet eyes too quickly for you to catch. You furrow your brows in confusion, but your focus is pulled back to the matter at hand when the High Lord asks you another question.

Where do you hail from?

Ironhelm, you respond.

Ah. He knows of the territory vaguely, but has not been out to visit the newest camp himself. He remembers signing the papers to make Ironhelm its own camp, thought it was nothing but a good idea, which has him wondering why, if you come from a safe haven, that you’re sitting in a chair with cuts and bruises on your body.

Suddenly, something about all of this isn’t sitting right with the High Lord.

Ironhelm? He questions, and you nod, tiredly. Your body slumps in the chair as he releases you from his clutches. The High Lord steps forward as if to catch you, but the ropes around your torso keep you upright.

There’s a feeling of wrongness in his gut. Guilt. Remorse. Shame. With a snap of his fingers, your bindings are gone, as well as the dirt and grime from your time spent in this dungeon.

He can do nothing about your wounds, so he says, “I will have a healer come look at you when we’re finished here.”

His tone is much softer, you think that’s what shocks you the most. No, perhaps it’s the way that his entire demeanor has changed now that he knows where you come from. Those dangerous eyes soften, his shoulders ease.

Why the fuck didn’t his spy tell him where you were from? You distinctly remember repeating over and over while he took a blade to your skin your camp’s name.

“That’s it?” you all but hiss as you rub your tender wrists, rubbed raw from the ropes. “I tell you where I’m from and you release me?” You’d sound angrier, if you had the energy.

The High Lord steps closer and crouches to your level. You almost rear back in your chair with how close he is, close enough that you could lift your foot and touch him with your toes. He even more beautiful up close, and you shake your head of that particular distraction.

“You must forgive my shadowsinger and I,” he says softly, like he’s trying not to scare you away. “There have been an influx of spies crawling around my lands. Some are very well trained. We can’t be too cautious with what we believe.”

He’d have been here earlier if he could have but a meeting with the Winter Court kept him away. Azriel’s reports through the mind connection each night were vague enough to let Rhysand know that you weren’t talking, but that his spymaster would make sure you would soon.

You don’t know what to say to that, staring at the High Lord wearily. It’s not that you don’t believe him, but…no, wait, it’s exactly that you don’t believe him. Not after the shit you’ve gone through the past…however long you’ve been trapped down here.

“You don’t forgive me,” he murmurs, and fuck, you forgot that he can read exactly what you’re thinking. Like how you find that wrinkle that forms between his brows endearing. His violet eyes flicker to yours for a second, and there’s that feeling in your gut, like butterflies taking off, before he glances down at his folded hands, deep in thought.

“I’d like to forgive you, High Lord,” you say, but you’re not entirely sure that you mean it. He does look guilty for what has happened with you, but you think you’d prefer to deliver your message and get out of here as fast as possible, exhaustion and hunger be damned. “But your apology does not atone the horrors I bore in your care.”

He nods graciously. His knees hit the dirty, hard ground and the sight of him with a gleaming crown on his head, kneeling before you, ignites something within you. Your cunt throbs and your nipples tighten beneath your shift.

The High Lord inhales deeply, his chest moving with the motion. His entire display is so primal that it has your chest heaving in much the same way. The sorrow in his eyes sharpens again, this time into something much headier.

This time, when he speaks, his tone is deeper, gravellier. “I’d like to apologize again,” he says, inching closer. You should slam your thighs closed before he moves any closer, you really should, but he looks more than ready to beg for your forgiveness. You don’t get the chance to, anyway, because his palms are suddenly on your thighs, slowly dragging closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. “Try to make it up to you. If you’ll let me.”

Your body trembles beneath his searing touch. If your mouth wasn’t already a desert, it would most definitely be one now. Your fingers are wound around the arms of the chair like a vice, knuckles drained of all color.

You stare down at him between your legs. The gleaming crown on his head. His hands come to a halt at the juncture of your hips and thighs, thumbs close enough to brush over the seam of your trousers. You bite your lip, holding in the desperate noise that threatens to spill from your lips. You find that this is an apology that you’d very much like to see. To feel.

“Yes, High Lord,” you breathe.

“Rhysand,” he replies, sternly. Your cunts throbs at the demand.

“Yes, Rhysand,” you whisper. And in a single wave of his hand, your clothes are gone.

You gasp at the sudden shift in your attire. Your nipples tighten at the cool, damp air that washes over your body in a wave. Rhysand’s thumbs soothe you back into the chair, a soft hush has you leaning back and nervously spreading your legs wider.

Rhysand takes his fill, staring right at the beauty between your legs. He inhales the scent of you deeply, committing it to memory. Sweet, forgiving. He drinks it in like a drug.

He hooks his hands in the crook of your knees and tugs you to the edge of the chair. Eagerly, he helps you rearrange your legs over his shoulders, and then he sticks his face right into your cunt and ravages you.

“Oh,” you cry out, arching for him immediately. Rhysand licks a stripe from top to bottom before swirling it around your clit. Your thighs immediately try to close around his head at the feeling and he smiles into your cunt, before he continues eating ravenously.

Your fingers find his hair, slipping between the spires and into the silky strands, holding his face to your cunt. Your hips move, grinding into his face. You’re dripping and he’s eagerly lapping up your slick like a starved male. It’s too much, it’s too good, he’s too perfect.

Rhysand is skilled with his tongue in more ways than one. He licks, he twists, he sticks it as deep into your cunt as it will go, especially enjoying the deep cry of pleasure you let out when he begins to tongue-fuck you. He peeks up at you, wishing your head wasn’t thrown back over the back of the chair. He’d use his power to force your head up so that he can see if the pretty noises you’re making match the look on your face, but you’ve been through too much since arriving in his town, and he’s going to be making this up to you for however long he can convince you to stay.

His cock throbs in his pants. It aches to be unleashed, to find home in this perfect fucking cunt he’s devouring, but this moment is all about you. Once you cum on his tongue, he’s going to add his fingers, and once you cum on his fingers, he’s going to winnow the both of you to his bedroom where he’ll pamper you with his luxurious bath, with a hearty meal, and a bed so comfortable it won’t be possible to get inside of you tonight with how quickly you’ll fall asleep.

There’s this niggling in the back of his mind, urging him to take you, to take care of you. He doesn’t know what it is, but he likes it all the same, wants to listen to it.

Your body distracts him when it constricts, your cunt hugging his tongue as you near your edge. Your back arches at an impossible angle. Your hand flies to your breast, tweaking your nipple while the other stays buried deeply in Rhysand’s hair, though you have to do little to guide him.

He diverts his attention to your clit, suckling before trapping it between a soft bite and flicking his tongue up and down like he’s made for it. Your body threatens to collapse, but his hands clamp down on your legs as he moves impossibly quicker, driving you right over the edge.

You cum with a scream that echoes long after your voice gives out. You writhe, violently, riding out your blissful high. You’ve never felt anything quite like this, and it’s the best apology you’ve ever received in your life.

Rhysand’s movements slow, guiding you through your orgasm. Each sweep of his tongue sends aftershocks to your clit until you’re a whimpering mess and the hand in his hair is trying to shove him off. After one last fierce lick, one that shows you that he isn’t done with you yet, does he pull away.

This sight of the High Lord licking the taste of you off of his lips does something to you. Stirs up that feeling again, the one that feels like it’s been roused from a thousand-year slumber.

“Do you forgive me yet, darling?”

You pretend to think for a moment, biting your lip to smother the pleased smile you want to give. He’s still very much planted between your legs, pressing soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, looking much less like the menacing High Lord he was when he appeared in the darkness.

“No,” you answer, heart jumping at the challenge that fills his violet eyes. “I don’t think I forgive you, yet.”

“Then I’ll continue until you find it inside of yourself to do just that, darling,” he purrs, and sticks a finger inside of you.

#rhysand/reader #rhysand x reader #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #rhys/reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand angst #rhysand smut

448 notes · View notes

softpascalito · 5 months ago

Text

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XI - Bona Noctem

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 31k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: a smooch to everyone who commented on the last chapter and an extra big smooch to my lovely @alwayslurkinginthebackground for beta-ing the last few chapters and always being here to talk about our roman husband ♡

thermopolium - a snack bar (but ancient) thermae - public bath caldarium - room with hot water bona noctem - good night

Chapter XI - Bona Noctem

The sounds of the cicadas follow him all the way through the deserted streets. Acacius can still feel the adrenaline in his body, having stayed in his study and the atrium for the remainder of the evening, silently hoping that Lucilla would simply go to sleep before he came to join her. He’ll be back beside her when the sun comes up. Like he was never gone.

A few people rush past him on the streets, one or two drunks stumbling in the shadows when he passes one of the thermopolium, where cold and hot food are served–preferably with wine or beer. No one pays him much attention, partly because he has dressed down, ditching the red cloak that usually flaunts his wealth and standing, and partly because he keeps his head low. He would do well not to be seen with you, at least not at this hour of the night.

“Stupid. It was a stupid idea.” Acacius mutters to himself as he passes below the high walls of the colosseum and turns onto the street that leads to the public baths. It’s a cloudless night and it almost feels like the moon is taunting him, threatening to expose his secrets. The entrance is abandoned, large columns framing either side of the heavy door.

As soon as he steps inside, a light steam hangs in the air, the scent of honey and herbals reaching his nose. Acacius treads lightly, heading to the right. He finds the small changing room empty. Carefully, he rids himself of his cloak and his shoes, leaving him barefeet and only in his toga.

The steady sounds of water dripping and fire cackling below drift to his ears, the otherwise ruling silence only broken by the taps of his feet on the stone floor. He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out where he is supposed to find you. He cannot go into the women’s section, even though that’s where you’ll most likely be. Has he misunderstood your message? Did you mean to meet somewhere else? Or maybe outside the baths?

He is still trying to answer his own questions when he steps into the largest of the rooms the thermae holds. The caldarium, offering hot water to relax aching muscles in, the large pool lined with columns all around. And on the steps that descend into the water is a familiar figure.

Your head is bowed, your gaze focused on the almost completely still water, your feet arched into it just up to your ankles. Steam drifts over the surface, disturbed only by your miniscule movements and the occasional gust of wind blowing through the room. It’s much darker in here now than it is during the day, the columns and statues throwing long shadows onto the walls around you, flames burning low in the braziers.

He wishes he wouldn’t have to speak. He allows himself a few moments of just watching you, imagining that you are merely a painting on canvas, the same way he did when you were framed by his door and the moonlight behind you on the night of Bona Dea. He briefly entertains a fantasy where, if he did not speak, you would always continue to sit, always continue to wait for him. That he could come back here every night and just stare and it would be enough.

But you wouldn't. And he wouldn't. And he has to say the things that are waiting in his throat. He knows they're there because he feels how hard it is to breathe.

“Dulcissima.” His voice is low and he casts an anxious look over his shoulder, still worried that the two of you may not be entirely alone. When he turns back to you, he finds that you’ve raised your head and are looking up at him, a small smile decorating your face.

Acacius slowly walks around the room, making his way to join you. The stone steps are comfortably warm below his bare feet as he stands next to you, a small sigh leaving his lips as his hand hovers above your head. You have not taken off your veil, only lifted your stola enough to avoid it getting wet.

“So you understood my message?” You hum, your eyes trailing up his body until they find his.

Acacius nods quietly. “We are lucky no one else did.” He pauses for a moment, not wanting to sound too harsh. “It was too dangerous.”

Your smile drops as soon as the words are out of his mouth and his throat only becomes tighter. He doesn’t want you to look at him like that. He wants a smile on your face. And he wants to be the one to put it there.

He wants to say what he came here to say. But you are making it so impossibly hard for him.

Acacius doesn’t move as you stand up, already way too close. “How did you even get into the men’s thermae?”

“I walked through the door?” You ask quietly, stepping into his embrace, allowing your stola to fall freely around your feet.

He sighs but it sounds more like a growl and he feels you pressing yourself further into his space in response. The smells of the baths are replaced by those of you and he gathers you into his arms without further thought, tucking your head below his, the fabric of your veil scratching against his nose. “Dulcissima.” He whispers again. “We cannot continue this.”

“I came during the day. It would have been fine, everyone knows I am coming along to the south so–”

“That is not what I meant.” He can feel you tense up in his arms, your muscles going rigid at his revelation.

“Acacius.” You whisper, your voice muffled against his toga. “Nothing has changed. We can keep it secret–”

“It does not matter.” He thought getting the words out would allow his throat to relax. But somehow they do the opposite. “If anyone finds out, if we are caught–” He shakes his head. “If any man was to walk into this thermae right now, you would be condemned by morning. And they–”

“I will not feel the touch of another man for a decade. Until I finish my services and are allowed to be rid of my veil.” He can hear your voice shaking slightly. “At least allow me your touch one last time.”

He should say no. But when you raise your head, soft eyes looking up at him, begging him to give in–He finds that he has no say in the matter.

“Come here,” he whispers and then finds that you don’t need him to tell you what to do anymore. Instead, you carefully begin to push his toga up and he bows obediently, allowing you to undress him. Before he has a chance to return the favor, you have wrapped your hand around his and are guiding him down the stairs and into the steaming water. Merely feeling your fingers curled around his has his cock twitching and he suddenly feels so exposed next to you. The fine dark curls that trail down from his naval and frame his length are not nearly enough to hide his excitement and he inwardly lets out a sigh of relief when the water finally allows him an illusion of cover.

His eyes fly to the way your stola trails behind you, the fabric gently gliding over the surface, sending small ripples through the entire pool. The warm color of the flames dancing in the braziers around the room reflect in the water, making it look like the two of you are bathing in gold rather than water.

The statues look on from their alcoves, stone eyes watching your dance. His hands smooth over your sides, eventually settling on your hips, gathering the fabric in his fists. “You look like a goddess.” He whispers and watches with satisfaction as a faint blush appears on your cheeks.

Your shoulders drop ever so slightly under the growing weight of the soaked fabric and Acacius doesn’t even think, he simply pulls you into him, nudging your legs until you willingly spread them and wrap them around his middle. “Have you ever … done this in the water?” You whisper and he chuckles.

“I have, actually. Though it was not nearly as comfortable and sanitary as the thermae.” At your raised brows, he continues, understanding the silent inquiry. He brushes his thumb through the fabric floating below the surface. “It was in the Tiber. I was to leave for my first campaign with the army. And she was kind enough to give me a going-away present.”

He feels you hum in response, shifting against him. It should feel wrong to speak about his past lovers with your middle so close to his but it doesn’t. He longs to be known by you. To be something different than the glorious General that he knows people see when they look at him. They don’t see the dead or the failures. They see a golden wreath of leaves that feels far too heavy on his head.

“You’re not here.” Your voice is only a whisper. But it still penetrates the thoughts swirling around his head and he watches as your face comes into focus again, a smile on your lips that almost seems sad. “Be here with me. Please.” He nods solemnly. “Be inside of me.”

His length twitches against your thigh and he has to stifle a moan at the feel. It seems like his body knows its place, craving to feel your walls around him again. “Your stola is too heavy. Let me help you.”

It takes a few moments until he manages to rid you of the thick layers of fabric and one hand leaves your body to heave the stola over to the side of the pool and onto the lowest stair. One of your hands is wrapped around his arm to keep yourself up, the other already undoing the white pieces of cloth that cover your most intimate areas.

Acacius lets out a soft groan at the sight, his hands coming to rest on your back as he steps into slightly deeper water again, the surface right below your breasts. “So beautiful,” he whispers and for the first time in days, his lips find your skin.

His mouth fits perfectly around your areola and he swirls his tongue around it in circular motions, occasionally adding some pressure by sucking on the sensitive skin. Small sounds begin to rise from your throat and he practically laps them up. “Acacius, please.” Your whimpers fill the steamy room, your voice weaving its way in between columns and statues. “Please come inside.”

And gods, it sounds like you’re inviting him into your home, like this is a sweet conversation at your front door rather than an illicit meeting in the middle of the night.

“Alright, of course. Of course.” He mumbles back as he withdraws his lips from your nipples, instead nudging your elbows. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Hold on, yeah? You can squeeze, you won’t hurt me.”

Acacius can see your eyes trace the scars there, receipts of his battles fought. Your touch is gentle, like you're afraid he'll crack open along the faded lines. “But–”

“Anaticula. Hey.” He squeezes down on you, making you look at him. “You could never hurt me. You just hold on and let me do the rest. Tell me if anything hurts. Yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper back and he nods reassuringly before reaching down to line himself up with your heat. Ripples travel over the golden surface of the water as you shudder at the feeling and Acacius can feel your hands tightening on his shoulders. Then, he follows your invitation.

Sinking into you feels out of this world. Your muscles clench around him, welcoming him in, pulling him deeper like your body knows what it craves. “Gods–” He curses quietly, listening closely for any sign of pain in your soft moans. “Take a breath,” Acacius whispers, peppering small kisses all over your jaw and cheek, the tip of his nose pressing into your skin. “It can be more difficult in the water.”

“It feels good. So good.” You whimper in between inaudible noises and Acacius is dimly aware of the strained feeling in his throat finally lessening as he watches you losing yourself in your pleasure. He moves very gently at first, making sure not to push you too hard. But before long, you're squeezing down on his shoulders, demanding for more and more and more.

And again, he has no choice but to give you what you want when you ask so prettily. The room is filled with the noises of the water sloshing around you, giving way to his movements as he buries himself inside of you again and again. One of your hands finds his hairs, pulling on his curls as your mouth chases his, swallowing the moans he draws from your body. His own grip tightens as well and you throw your head back, your movements becoming more erratic. Several strands of hair frame your face, the put-together look you usually carry slowly melting away.

“Dulcissima, I am close, I should–”

“Stay inside,” you whimper, now fully abandoning the concept of being quiet. “Please–” It's hard to tell which one of you is more surprised by your orgasm arriving as fast and hard as it does. Your words turn to a choked sob as your body trembles around him and he cradles you in his arms, giving a few more thrusts as you fall apart between his fingers.

He curses under his breath, only barely managing to pull you off him in time to not spill his seed inside of you. Acacius maneuvers you onto his hip instead, emptying himself into the water. He grunts as he feels his length twitch a few more times, scraping his teeth over your collarbone and placing a few kisses there blindly, his eyes squeezed shut.

When he opens them again, a large piece of white is floating away behind you. You don’t even seem to be aware, still all soft and wrung-out in his embrace. But over your shoulder, he sees the future unfold. Your veil drifting away across the water.

***

It feels like youre waking up from a dream that's too good to be true. One that you may have had earlier today, when you were in Aquila’s shop. Of a future with Acacius, who would always do as asked. Or so you thought.

You begged him to stay inside and he didn’t. You felt his release, felt a part of it brushing your thigh and disappearing into the water. An odd sort of jealousy is set alight in your chest. The idea that come morning, others will get to swim in this water and unknowingly be with a part of Acacius that should be only yours.

He moves below you, keeping one strong arm wrapped around your back as he leads you back toward the stone steps, shifting you onto them. “Are you alright?”

In the span of half an hour, he has gone from being mad over your note to worried. You can feel his eyes on you and you shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine.” You won’t give him the satisfaction of disappointment on your face. Not if you can help it. Because you know what is about to happen, merely by the way he holds himself.

“We should not linger.” He mutters, turning his head to each side to survey the quiet room. “And we should not take any other risks.”

You only look at him for a split moment. But it's enough to see the pain in his eyes.

“I'm sorry I ever put you into this position,” he whispers, brushing his palm over his beard. “I knew it was a mistake to talk to you in the temple–”

“I was a mistake?” You breathe out, feeling your body begin to tremble with something that is not the cold.

“No. Gods, no. You are wonderful and talented and–” He sucks in a small breath. “And you feel incredible around me.” You nod even though you barely register his words.

“But?”

“But it was a mistake to talk to you.” He says quietly, driving his point home and you feel like you wanna sink into the depths of the pool and never resurface again. He may be able to forget, to move on. But you know that Vesta won’t. And you have no doubt that you will be punished for laying with him. Your goddess is not one of forgiveness.

“I will pray for your safety.” You say quietly, forcing yourself to stand despite your legs feeling like they are not there. “Bona noctem, Acacius.”

You hear his footsteps behind you, water dripping from his still naked body and you have to force yourself not to look. “Dulcissima, please. Your clothes are all wet.”

Gods. He has a point. You just assumed that your illicit meeting would last longer, that you’d have time to wait for them to dry. You wonder if the girl he did it in the Tiber with had time to.

“Wait.” Acacius commands with a voice that reminds you why he is a General and you listen to his bare feet tap away–and back. You can hear him wring out your clothes, placing them beside you and then you feel a comfortably warm fabric settling on your shoulders and wrapping around your form.

His dark cloak is too big on you but it is in no way less comfortable. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you wonder if he knows, despite not seeing your face.

“Be safe,” he whispers and you think you hear his voice crack slightly before you finally force your body to move, grabbing your shoes from the spot where you left them, your wet clothes tucked under your arm as you step out into the city of stone. The moon shines brightly all the way back home.

71 notes · View notes

mouse-of-mischief · 5 months ago

Text

Regarding my previous post; the people have spoken! Thank you to all that voted! I will say that the fanfic I'm currently writing is a short story/bit of a drabble, and I am much more accustomed to writing longer fics, so forgive me if the pace seems a bit rushed so far. This is also my first time writing from Watson's perspective (I usually write in third person narration), so wish me luck in doing the brilliant man justice!

______________________________________________________________

The Adventure of The Retired Detective

"My dear Holmes and I have been with each other for a grand forty years now. Though, he and I have only been retired for twelve. Twelve years ago we solved our last case, a particularly harrowing one it was, and soon after we agreed that we properly should settle down together in our ripening age. It may come as no surprise to my readers to learn that my companion did show some reluctance in this plan, but I have thankfully learned the art of persuasion when it comes to him in particular. We moved out of our familiarly busy flat of 221B Baker Street, much to the lamenting of Mrs. Hudson and surprising relief of my partner’s older brother Mycroft, and Holmes and I instead bought a cosy cottage in Sussex. In our new home, Holmes took up the much less dangerous hobby of bee-keeping. Though he still often does the odd chemistry experiment or two, and I have gotten to indulge more in my passion for writing. If you had asked either of us years before, we most likely would have both agreed that we could never imagine us enjoying such a domestic and sedentary life style. Yet here we are. I now the age of seventy, Holmes now the age of sixty-eight, and the two of us safe and sound in the countryside together. Or, at least, that’s what I thought. This morning, just after breakfast when Holmes went out to our back garden to tend to his beloved hive of bees, I received a startling letter in the post. A letter from Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, an old friend from Scotland Yard that Holmes and I have not heard from or seen since we left London so long ago. I couldn’t help but feel a tug of anxiety upon my heart as I gripped the coffee-stained parchment in my hands, and I was soon met with the discovery that my concerns were not unfounded. For the letter was not an innocent note of sentiment but infact a very urgent request from Lestrade begging for my dear Holmes and I to come out of retirement, hop over to London on the next available train, and help solve one more case. One more mystery. One more adventure. I found myself giving a huff of disbelief at reading the message, and then heavily slumping down into my armchair by the fireplace to worry about what to do. There was a time that receiving a letter such as this would inspire excitement in me, that I would waste no time in sharing the news with my partner and getting to work at once. But now I feel an ominous hold threatening to grip and shake the peace Holmes and I have carved out for ourselves here. Now I worry more for my dearest’s safety. It was a habit I couldn’t help but develop over the years to hold a high care for Holmes’ well-being, especially after the incident with the infamous (and hopefully damned) professor Moriarty, and now the idea of potentially leaping back into danger immediately fills my mind of what new trouble Holmes may be susceptible to these days. I must not be misunderstood; my partner has made it quite clear to me on multiple occasions that he is not at all senile, but previous readers will no doubt understand my concerns..."

28 notes · View notes

letthemusicmoveyou28 · 1 year ago

Text

Coming soon for @larryafterdarkfest

Deemed and Delivered a Crime

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues.

“For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?”

There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat.

“I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?”

Harry growls into the phone. “You misunderstood me. I’m getting him back, but I’m not paying you a bloody dime. I don’t negotiate, or tolerate threats.”

He jabs the button to end the call and slams it back down on the table before angrily barking out. “Find him. Now.”

(Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life 2 years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

Subscribe here to know when it posts!

And follow @larryafterdarkfest to find the other fics in the fest!

#snippet #larryafterdarkfest #teaser #larry fanfiction #1d fanfiction #hlficlibrary #hlcreators

63 notes · View notes

bdafic · 4 months ago

Text

Not everyone has enough experience on the internet to recognize scams, especially as scammers find new ways to make you feel weird for being suspicious. There is no shame in inexperience or naivete, scams work for a reason, so here's a heads up on a recent one going around that targets fic writers specifically.

You'll receive a message or comment complimenting your fic and asking permission to draw a scene from it. Scammers of this type are rarely aggressive. They're hoping to get you into a position where you feel obligated to send them money out of guilt, so they hide under a veneer of politeness and ignorance.

Once contact is established they'll try to pull you into a private exchange where either, A.) a service or product is provided as a "gift", then subject to a bait n' switch after delivery, where they demand payment, or B.) change their tactics and act like you've already agreed to a verbal contract about a paid commission, and so feel obligated to honour it. Payment up front. Either way, the approach is designed to make you think this person made an honest mistake. They misunderstood, maybe they don't speak the language well, maybe they're new, or young, or just don't know the 'rules' yet. You take pity on them, and so pay them for the work.

It works similar to the "donate to gaza" scams that have been proliferating on Tumblr lately: appeal to empathy and shame people for questioning it. We're a pretty socially conscious, leftist, bunch of users on this webbed site and those of us involved in fandom communities tend to go out of our way to support and encourage other creators. It makes for a healthy, welcoming, community and we should keep doing that! The flip side is that it also makes a great hunting ground for these types of scams, so stay skeptical and ask questions.

The first time I got a DM like this I actually assumed it was a ChatGPT bot

however, after this they appeared to talk like a person. On the off chance they weren't being deliberately malicious, just extremely clueless, I pushed a few buttons... and it was immediately clear the intent was to trick me into paying them.

The pitch was generic but their background work could easily scan as legit if someone is just doing a cursory pass. They had a had a bio that linked to various socials. Some more convincing than others

Their ArtStation account, formatted like those "p u s s y i n b i o" Twitter bots, actually had some drawings on it too. All the images look like standard newbie stuff on stock backgrounds with a Photoshop filter applied, which plays into the "young/new artist" persona that some will adopt. All the images were uploaded at the same time: either a week ago, or six months ago. It's all tagged "noAI" but...

I ran a few through AI image detection and the results were anywhere from 60 to 98% likely AI, with one or two 15%'s thrown into the bunch.

This particular thread died after I sent that last message, which tells me that while the cold call may have been automated, the pickup probably involved a real person. Over the last week more have come in. Most are extremely obvious; way less sophisticated than the first try. One of the tricks is to use code to pull the username and a random story from the author's account. If you receive a copy of the messages somewhere the code gets stripped out they'll appear like this:

Whereas on fanfiction.net, it looks like this

This is why you'll sometimes see those random spaces around punctuation. Underneath the hood the opening line might read, "Greetings '=$AUTHORNAME' ," and they forgot to delete the space after the variable or didn't format it well and the punctuation was interfering with code execution.

These types of scams are extremely old, this is just a new way of doing them. There are cases where the whole thing is malicious and intentional from start to finish. There are cases where the people doing it are being forced to. And there are cases of people new to art and commissions who legitimately believe this is the best way to approach someone before they've built up enough of a reputation to rely on word of mouth. I have been on the internet since the early to mid 90s and I have seen all three varieties many, many, many times, in many, many, ways.

If you're not sure, ask a few leading questions -- but never give personal information or move to a second contact until you are 100% positive of who you're talking to. If you've got doubts, you don't need to be a dick about it, just block and move on.

#writing adjacent #psa #scams #scam awareness

17 notes · View notes

unioncolours · 4 months ago

Note

Ok but listen!

Betrayal - Shinki

Shinki/araya?

Thank you for joining my Majsasaurus fic give away 💚

Look, I don't take responsibility for whatever I've written but your tags on my last snippet made me... uuh.... LoC 2 more snips? I guess? 😂🔪👀

Ship: Ambigious Araya x Shinki (+ Shikajin)

Word count: 476 words

Warnings: Nothing in particular, just insane vibes you can hang around for. A bit of action, a bit of cringing

If intrigued, continue reading ❤

With little sense left, Shikadai threw himself in between Inojin and Araya. Araya’s blade fell - damn his sense of duty - and Shikadai wasn’t sure if Inojin would be able to react in time. It was as if he had seen this before, as if he had lived this scenario earlier. Then, he had not been able to do anything about it in time, not in the way he had wanted.

He forced his arm forward, and the dull shield of his weapon on the outside of the forearm blocked the sharp edge of Araya’s sword the final second. It gave Inojin the opening he needed to make a glamorous somersault, paint a bird for himself and escape.

“No!” Araya yelped, mouth tense in a frown. Even without seeing his eyes, Shikadai knew whatever glare beneath it wasn’t kind. “What did you do? I thought you were on our side, Nara! He is a criminal - “

Shikadai pushed himself away from Araya.

“What are you doing here?” Shikadai panted. “I - I thought -”

“You let him escape!”

“I thought you knew why! I’m in his company - “

“I do know! Don’t think you’re the only one who knows what it is to love someone beyond one’s reach.” His voice was biting, dangerous. With a whip of his hand, he took a step back. “But the world isn’t a happy place where people like us just can be with whoever we want. He is dangerous - “

“He is misunderstood,” Shikadai managed forward, barely wrapping his head around the confession he was hearing.

“I had a mission - “

“Araya, calm down.” The cool voice behind them was undeniable. Shikadai felt a wave of relief through his body. Shinki was here. His cousin was here. He could talk sense into Araya.

Araya turned slowly around. Shikadia could see his Adam’s apple wobble in a nervous swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I missed my chance. Inojin escaped. I - your cousin - “

“Let him escape,” Shinki just said when he came closed and Araya couldn’t withhold his surprise.

“What?” His voice sounded suddenly weak. “We had a mission. I thought - “

“I received a message,” Shinki said. “From Inojin himself.”

Even if Araya’s face was mostly covered, Shikadai could see the embarrassed blush cover his cheeks. From his point of view, he had now gone against his team leader and essentially humiliated himself by causing a fight against his team leaders wishes.

Against his love interest’s wishes, Shikadai thought.

“Change of plans,” Shinki said.

“You… could have told me,” Araya just got out.

“But you wouldn’t believe me,” Shinki just replied, and Shikadai wanted to become invisible and not be in the middle of whatever this discussion would turn into. He looked up to the sky to where Inojin had escaped.

Had Inojin sent Shinki a letter without telling Shikadai?

Suddenly he felt just as betrayed as Araya did.

#majsasaurus

8 notes · View notes

zyafics · 10 days ago

Note

to start with your first point: yes, condemning something is still a form of shaming, esp in fan spaces. you might not have called anyone out by name, but it's preeeeetty easy to know who you're speaking on. esp as an avid rafe reader, ik who you're referring to. i assume most people do as well. it's not hard to gather context clues. now zya. taking one look at your account makes me see quickly you are NOT a micro creator on tumblr.

you seem to have been around for a while and your following is no joke. that means you are influential. that means people will rush to agree with you. that spreads. now, especially since you're kinda trying to make "lets hate on incel/sexist rafe" a thing, people who write incel/sexist rafe feel called out, even if you're not tagging them directly.

you keep circling back to the idea of "consequences" and accountability, and yeah, no one is saying dark fic can't be criticized. what i'm saying is that criticism becomes unproductive when it demands one rigid framework, especially in a space known for being creatively free.

sometimes, people want to write from the point of view of someone who sees rafe through rose-colored glasses. sometimes people want to see the rafe depicted in the show and focus on one of his bad traits. that's not immoral.

now. for your point about influence and teens stumbling into content, most dark fic writers already use tags n mature warnings and make it very clear this is a dead dove, esp the people u were hinting at being dissatisfied with. but we also can't control what people ignore or how they interpret art. and even if ALL the sexist rafe fics disappeared, theres soo much other media glorifying it that people will use as a substitute.

ALSO. you saying that fiction can have an impact on people doesn't contradict the idea that fiction and real life are separate things. both can be true. fiction isn't real, but it can still kinda impact people depending on their mindset ooooooooor their level of media literacy. that's not me going back on anything like ya said,bc same as how I SAID video games don't cause violence cause obvi its not real, it can be misinterpreted by unstable individuals. the issue is with how individuals receive content, not the inherent existence of the content itself.

what i said was: fiction is fiction. people know that, especially adults. tumblr is mostly adults. it's not a blueprint for how to live. but yes, like any media, it can influence certain people, and that doesn't mean we shut it all down or expect every creator to moralize every narrative for fear of being misunderstood. that's censorship.

fanfic is not curriculum. it's not built to parent children. if teens are in spaces meant for adults and reading adult content, that's a larger issue

you keep circling back to "i never said they can't write it, i just want accountability." and that's fine girly pop, you're allowed to want that. but accountability doesn't mean forcing people to write characters or narratives through your moral lens. it means giving people room to disagree with your take without being painted as apologists or harmful creators. when you say things like "if you felt shamed, that's because you already felt guilty," that's not a fair argument. it shuts down discussion by implying im reacting defensively bc im in the wrong.

there is no way to ensure all readers get the "message," esp if they don't want to. but being the fanfic police n saying no to nuance and subtext to preempt every possible misinterpretation is impossible.

now, especially since you're kinda trying to make "lets hate on incel/sexist rafe" a thing, people who write incel/sexist rafe feel called out, even if you're not tagging them directly.

so the other option is to just not say anything?

that's fair.

that's also fair.

for your point about influence and teens stumbling into content, most dark fic writers already use tags n mature warnings and make it very clear this is a dead dove, esp the people u were hinting at being dissatisfied with. but we also can't control what people ignore or how they interpret art. and even if ALL the sexist rafe fics disappeared, theres soo much other media glorifying it that people will use as a substitute.

you're right.

you saying that fiction can have an impact on people doesn't contradict the idea that fiction and real life are separate things. both can be true. fiction isn't real, but it can still kinda impact people depending on their mindset ooooooooor their level of media literacy.

very true.

but yes, like any media, it can influence certain people, and that doesn't mean we shut it all down or expect every creator to moralize every narrative for fear of being misunderstood. that's censorship.

okay fair.

fanfic is not curriculum. it's not built to parent children. if teens are in spaces meant for adults and reading adult content, that's a larger issue

you're right. i apologize for bringing the teens into the argument; that was unnecessary.

if this is the end-all conclusion, i have nothing else to add. i agree with all your takes. you're being fair about the writing ethics of everything.

when you say things like "if you felt shamed, that's because you already felt guilty," that's not a fair argument. it shuts down discussion by implying im reacting defensively bc im in the wrong.

my interpretation is if you're fine with writing your content, why do you need to justify to me—a stranger—about it. if you feel some deep response to my callout, isn't that a responsibility for you to navigate?

okay. i never intended to be the fanfic police. i don't want to be. i agree with your takes. i just don't like it. and that's point-blank-period.

#asks

4 notes · View notes

33max · 7 months ago

Note

hello bean I hope you are well!!

I just wanted to say that I love your writing so much!! I've never liked or understood age play (never really tried to) but your fics helped me understand and get into it a little bit!!!

"lock it up" is one of my favorite maxiel and Max fics and I've been working my way through Turkish dinosaurs and it's soo good!!!

and it's not just age play! Just the way you see and write max is so special to me!!! Max in lingerie is one of my biggest and favorite agendas and your fics just scratch that itch so good for me!!

ok that's it for now! ❤️

hello lovely! thank you so much for this lovely message I am BLUSHING. I’m so honoured that you decided to give my fics a try and that they are helping you understand age play - that’s literally the biggest compliment I could receive as I know both non sexual and sexual age play can be very misunderstood!

what nobody really knows about lock it up is that I frantically wrote it while on holiday with @thatsapodium and @dreamingofseastars! I sat down, opened my phone, and word vommited the whole fic into my notes app in about 90 minutes!!! but considering how chaotically I wrote it, I am very proud of it! I often struggle with smut as I never know what is sexy and what is a bit of a miss - but with that one I felt quite confident that it was sexy.

turkey dinosaurs is obviously my soul fic and it will probably always be my favourite creation, even if I don’t necessarily think it’s my best writing! I actually think my best writing is NOBODY WINS A WAR!

I’m so glad you like how I write max, because he’s so special to me and it’s really important for me personally to feel like I’m capturing his character even if I’m putting it into my own little worlds!

all my love ♥️

#answered #tinytysh #bite bite bite < me at you as you’re a hazard!

8 notes · View notes

nialovessatoru · 13 days ago

Note

Hi!! You don’t need to publicly answer this, but I saw you’re doing a greek myth au and as a resident jjk fan and greek myth nerd i wanted to give a little idea for thought. You absolutely do not need to use or even care about any of this, just wanted to share if it interests or helps at all!

firstly, thanatos is the god of peaceful death, so i dont know if that fits with your vision for sukuna. other ideas if it doesnt include Eurynomus (who stripped flesh from the dead), Cratos (god/representation of might/power), Deimos (god of fear/terror), Moros (god of doom), and Acheron (god of one of the rivers of the underworld, the river of pain). (sadly most personification of gruesome death and murder are feminine in nature)

secondly do not forget that Apollo is a god of healing and light and is generally a good guy, but he also is a god of plague and sickness ;) he def can fuck people up if he so chooses. So i like that god for Gojo. And Geto with Hades is such a good idea tbh, Geto is very kingly in his mannerisms, he behaves like his cause is noble.

Finally, my final suggestion: reader is a nymph of the underworld (there are a few kinds), since all the gods you’ve chosen are associated with an aspect of death.

Sorry if this is not the type of message you like to receive but! My greek mythology fixation had to! Godspeed and good luck and I hope the fic turns out well! 🩶 Have a wonderful day!

hellooo, so first of all, i appreciate your thoughts & suggestions!

i love it when people rant about something they really enjoy and i definitely understand the urge to give thoughts on something you know a lot about. especially when someone gets something wrong. i really don’t mind & am open for suggestions / corrections etc as long as it’s not phrased in a rude or condescending way, but you’re really polite about sharing your thoughts, so i appreciate it and love hearing feedback from someone who’s more educated in this topic than i am!

soo i’m going to try and answer this without spoiling anything but it might contain mild spoilers

about sukuna as thanatos, i did think about making him cruel first and then it wouldn’t really fit, but if i ever make a fic with sukuna who’s actually cruel, i’ll get back to your suggestions because i think they’re so so good, i really like cratos for him but the others also have so much potential when it comes to plot ideas!

but i went with thanatos because in this fic, i don’t want him to actually be cruel, cold and kinda rough, sure, but also dutiful and not evil by any means. i kinda want for him to be intimidating merely because what he represents but then be kinda misunderstood, it’s not the right word but sort of, that you’d still fear him but he really wouldn’t do anything to anyone unless he needed to. i also think he’d be a good counterpart to geto as hades, since i let my readers choose, obviously they’re still different in character but neither of them are evil and they have a direct connection to death, which fits the plot i thought of

and then in contrast, there’s gojo as apollo, who as you mentioned, is generally good but definitely has bad traits that can come out, which is really important for what i’m planning.

i also really like the idea of reader being a nymph of the underworld to kind of have a present theme in all the characters, but for what i am planning in terms of plot, i think naiad makes more sense because they’re not really supposed to love eachother and it’ll have consequences (which, i don’t know if that’s accurate but i have read some things somewhere that make me think it’s at least not something that’d be totally out of place for the au, i just don’t wanna say too much rn :,))

thank you for your thoughts & suggestions, i appreciate it🤍

#inbox 💌#jjk fanfic #greek mythology au

2 notes · View notes

thedragonagebigbang · 1 month ago

Note

hi! i was just wondering: i submitted my responses to the google form for the signup and wanted to know how I will know if I'm permitted to participate? :D I haven't done a bigbang before, so this is very exciting and new

Hi there!

If you submitted the form and received the automatic confirmation email from google, that means we have logged your signup - and just like that you are all signed up!* Unlike some other forms of events, this Big Bang is open to all and there is no screening or application process! The signups help us as moderators gauge how many artists we will need and what ~ general kinds ~ of fics that will be pitched!

We are so excited by everyone's enthusiasm, whether you are new to fandom events period, or if you've done a hundred bangs - if you are new to our event, or were part of our cohort last year. So:

Welcome to the 2025 Dragon Age Big Bang!

Now what?

Time to Plan!

Writing officially Kicks Off on July 1. Until then, plan your work, review our work requirements, ask us questions, get your outlines going, break down your daily word counts, research what method of creation is going to help you best during this long haul. Or maybe just absorb all the creative media you can for inspiration, and get your writing-motivation chocolate stash stocked up!

And of course, get hyped! Joining the Discord is optional, but there in the #SecretWriter-OnlyChannels you can brainstorm, share inspiration, and scream with other participants.

Writing Begins July 1. We will post announcements on July 1 and send out emails to all writers signed up with us letting you know that it's finally time to start writing!

*if we have misunderstood your question please let us know! you must receive the google confirmation email to confirm you have signed up. Google definitely has its hiccups! If you are unsure whether you've received that email confirmation, please check your spam folder first before messaging us to double check! But we will happily double check :)

#mod post #2025 q and a #writers #2025

4 notes · View notes

dia-souls · 2 years ago

Note

Yall are so talented and good at writting reaction. I know you all are going through bunch of controversy and all that stuff but I gotta admit one thing that you all got talent and honestly as a dl-fan that's what matter to me the most who cares if you did wrong or were misunderstood as dl-fans we all gotta chill and enjoy instead of taking things to hearts and getting angry at each other afterall we all create contents for each other and than fight amongst ourselves lol its so idiotic thing in my opinion but I don't create content so I might not understand I guess. Anyway back to the topic what other project are you working on cuz I just got free from exams and touched tumblr and there are no updates on any novel or cd drama (I repeat I am not complaining don't block me) I am just asking.

🦋 Admins talk:

Thank you very much, dear Anon, for your kind words, we appreciate you very much. To be honest we all were surprised by your words. You're so kind, thanks for your word of encouragement we all really appreciate the way you comforted us. We are happy to know you like our contents.

We didn't try to steal any content. Our main motive wasn't to steal any content. It's a misunderstanding we just didn't want to bother the admin with unnecessary notification because she left fandom and that's why we added slash but anyway things did get out of hand and we were misunderstood unfortunately in future we will avoid doing it because let's be honest if we knew this would happen we wouldn't have done it in the first place. But it's very good to speak with people before judging them. Because sometimes you don't know anything about them and your wrong judgment will break their hearts. We don't want to discuss this issue more we have already explained the reasons, apologized and all stuff......

Anyway we think you are concerned for us, as admin Afra recently had small issues regarding her health but she is back in town and is better now she will start posting soon once she is better. Admin Irsa is going through exam phase. Admin Ava is also busy too. All three admins have already plans to release some of their fics and Drama CDs as soon as they get free from their busy schedule. The thing is that we all are young and students so give us some time we all will update soon. Your asks will also be answered soon.

We must say that all the admins love this fandom and like to continue producing contents as long as they feel safe and happy. It was a new novel that will start on December 1st. But this will happen if the admins have good mental conditions. Admin Afra has bigger plans for new novels and games you can see here and a vey big project that called diabolik lovers series. She is not in a very good condition now. We will have to wait and see what happens in the future. If everything goes well, the new novel will be published soon.

Again thanks for your lovely message! People like you is what that keep us going in this fandom! One more thing none of the admins plan to leave the fandom and in near future too so don't worry we aren't that weak it's just admin Afra issue did surprise us. She is young so do go easy on her as she receives a lot of hate for stupid reasons and just for a misunderstanding. Please give her some time to regain her mental health back. So remember don't judge people when you are not aware of their situations. Before sending any hate message try to speak with them first and remember mabye you are judging them in a wrong way. We all are here to enjoy and all three admins love publishing contents so let us enjoy doing it and be nice that's it.

#admin talks #admin afra #afmin ava #admin irsa

24 notes · View notes

okamirayne · 11 months ago

Note

I’m one of the people who have gotten really bad at commenting on fics I read. In the case or BtB it’s mostly because I can’t figure out how to comment in the FF.net app 🙈 (In other cases I’ve been scared off by being told my reactions and interpretations were wrong, both by writers and other commenters) However, that doesn’t excuse not commenting or writing you here, so I am sorry for my negligence.

Because I am still here, I’m still reading BtB like a religious text, and I still adore every last word. I, much to my own surprise, loved reading from Hiashi’s pov in a previous chapter; I’m so here for the whole mess that’s Sasuke and the SasuNaru…maelstrom; I desperately want to see where Kiba and Ino end up, how they solve their current situation (if they solve their current situation), and how they heal, individually and potentially together.

Even more desperately: I want Shikamaru’s grief. I cannot describe how much I love reading these dreamscape flashbacks. Getting these small insights into the hidden life they got to live for a little while, it’s incredible. Even more so because we know how it ended. For now, hopefully. Shikamaru watching Naruto, but refusing to see who Naruto was holding… He knows, of course he knows, but like he said in an earlier chapter: they won’t let him grieve. I want his grief, every last ugly heartbreaking bit of it! If you were to write out the scene when Neji’s death caught up to him (cause I’m not sure the moment he died would necessarily be it), my god… I’d pay good money to read that, for real.

And, finally, Genma. I said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t know how he’s still standing. I want to read when Kakashi first walked away. And I want to read every last letter of them, hopefully, finding their way back to each other. Genma deserved his eight times up. I at least want to see him get his ninth time realised.

Hey sweetie! 💜💖

Thank you so much for carving out the time to leave this message. I'll always reiterate how much it means to receive feedback. I appreciate you doing so. 💖

[...] In other cases I’ve been scared off by being told my reactions and interpretations were wrong, both by writers and other commenters

I'm sorry to hear you felt scared off by responses to your feedback, but I'd definitely encourage you to ignore that. Christ, some of the stuff I've been told about my writing, the tropes I use, the themes I explore...🤦🏻‍♀️ Not everyone's cuppa chai. Even if interpretations were 'wrong' so to speak, the fact that you're engaging with that storyline and the characters is fantastic. I'm sorry if your engagement hasn't been warmly received by writers in the past - I find that baffling and not representative of writers on the whole, who are invariably hungry for engagement and grateful to receive it unless it's a troll comment or angry flame. Gently guiding a reader who may have misunderstood something is different to completely blasting them out the water and if that's been the case for you, then that's rubbish and I hope that me telling you how much your feedback matters will encourage you to share your thoughts with writers you read. You matter. Your engagement matters. What you love matters, as it's invariably what we love too. I'm so grateful you're still here, luv. And I thank you for showing up for me.🫶🏼 💖

I, much to my own surprise, loved reading from Hiashi’s pov in a previous chapter; I’m so here for the whole mess that’s Sasuke and the SasuNaru…maelstrom; I desperately want to see where Kiba and Ino end up, how they solve their current situation (if they solve their current situation), and how they heal, individually and potentially together.

So lovely to know you enjoyed reading from Hiashi's POV. I feel that there's room for a lot of nuance where Hiashi is concerned, rather than him being portrayed as a black-and-white, cold-hearted dinosaur for not changing the Hyūga clan. Digging into his brain (and chest cavity) was a must.

Kiba and Ino 🫶🏼😔

SasuNaru: Watch this space 😏

Oddly enough, Shikamaru wants his grief too. And I'm on what emotional whumpster ride with you. *grabs medicinal liquids*

Funny how HHU began as another of my failed attempts to write a series of one-shots (BtB flashfowards/flashbacks) that just ended up as a timeline skip continuation of the BtB series....my point being the little flashbacks are good fun to write, and might've originally been posted as one-shots (if I wasn't so shit at them). I'm glad you're enjoying these memories.

If you were to write out the scene when Neji’s death caught up to him (cause I’m not sure the moment he died would necessarily be it), my god… I’d pay good money to read that, for real.

Ah damn, I'd need my Angsta guns locked and loaded for that. Ha! Aw. I'd also happily receive said good money to write it too, if only that were legal. 🤣

Ah, Dearly Tortured Genma. 🥹💖 He's been through the absolute wringer. Kakashi walking away was a serious KO to his heart. Damn right you are, Genma definitely deserved his eight times up and I adore that you are invested in him having his "ninth time realised" (love that). I fully support this sentiment. Thankfully so does Raido, or else Genma might've been alone in the fallout...but credit where it's due, he's a tough bastard.

Thank you again, my lovely, for this wonderful feedback! It matters and it impacts. 💖🫶🏼💖

#awesome reviewers are awesome #love my reviewers #reader kindness #btb feedback #hhu feedback #appreciate the support #support your writers #support fanfiction

6 notes · View notes

hamevents2024 · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I'm interested in this exchange, but concerned about the lack of detail in the form and on the promotional post.

In my experience with fic exchanges, it’s best to ask participants to list multiple characters & ships they like, to make matching easier. Entirely random matching also seems likely to cause problems, especially with the short list of wants— it’s very likely that someone might only write that they want Lams and end up randomly assigned to a creator who hates it. I’m also concerned that the form doesn’t explicitly ask the participants to list their DNWs. Additionally, you mention trying to find pinch hitters, but don’t ask in your form whether participants want to pinch hit.

Some other important questions: what are the gift requirements? Minimum & maximum word count for fics? Level of detail for art (lineart, flat color, etc)? How important are the prompts— are they mandatory? (If so, it’s worrying that there’s very little guidance on what is appropriate to say in your prompt.) What content is allowed (NSFW, dark fic)? Have the organizers ever run an event before? How do the organizers plan to contact participants? Will fics be organized in an Ao3 collection— if so, why not use their gift exchange matching features rather than random matching?

I really would like to participate in this and see it go well, but I’d like to know more about the requirements & I think more detail is required in the signup form for an event like this to go smoothly.

Hi! Glad to know the posts do reach more people ^_^

I think you misunderstood the event entirely; it's not a fic exchange, it's a Secret Santa! The fun thing about those is the random aspect, and in a case like a fandom event it might even help people to get out of their own niche! If you truly feel like you cannot create something for a specific ship or character you would know that about yourself before signing up.

I’m also concerned that the form doesn’t explicitly ask the participants to list their DNWs. Additionally, you mention trying to find pinch hitters, but don’t ask in your form whether participants want to pinch hit

I'm unsure what exactly you mean when you say 'the form doesn't explicitly ask the participants to list their DNWs' - it's right there:

(And we've already received great feedback on that that will help the assigned Valentine to create something for them!)

As for pinch hitters - we already have a few, so there's no need to ask for them! Please feel free to message me off anon if you would like to be a part of that behind the scenes team though ^_^

Perhaps you have never participated in a Secret Santa style gift exchange either in real life or a fandom, but the consensus for these is usually that you wouldn't gift something of a quality you wouldn't want to receive yourself. We don't see the sense in adding explicit requirements if they might end up intimidating people who would have liked to participate otherwise.

Have the organizers ever run an event before?

We do hope you're happy to know we have run several events in both small and big fandoms before - so no need to worry on that front ^_^ We're sure we can handle an event for a fandom in which approx. 10 people still actively create new works!

If you don't feel comfortable participating in a Secret Santa Valentine with this level of requirements we would love to add you to our team so you can run a fic exchange tailored to what you think is important for it! Please let us know off anon so we can add you to this blog if this is something you would feel like doing ^_^

#post: asks

9 notes · View notes

airi-p4 · 2 years ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖💖💖

(In my opinion comics also count as fics if you want to talk about your writing and comics)

Thank you @goldenlaurelleaveswrites @blueberry-macaron for the asks 💙💙

I think it's not surprise if I say I'm more confident about my comics than my writing, right...? ^^;

COMICS (choosing only 5 is HARD so I'll go with 6 + 2 bonus):

1- I'm very fond of this old one called Recharge. I wanted to draw a comic that didn't need text to be enjoyed and I'm happy of how it turned out.

2- Loneliness (less). What can I say? I LOVE Juleka and this idea had been in my mind for A LONG WHILE. Originally, I planned it as a fic, but I think it works great as a comic too (even if I'm not 100% convinced with the dialogue). I love it <3

3- The real truth. This one will always be canon in my mind. Salty? Sure. But 100% TRUE.

4- To every Lukanette fan. I really like the message I wanted to convey with this comic and how well received it was, not only in the Lukanette fandom but in general, in other fandoms as well. I'm proud of it -^v^-

5- Short-circuited. Old but 100% accurate. ALWAYS.

6- Costume. A Halloween Special comic that I love. Plus @verfound 's fic "You could say I'm a fan" based on this is PERFECTION.

BONUS: Fairy Misunderstood AU. I like some chapters better than others, of course, but I'm happy with the overall idea. I hope I can find the time to work on it again soon!

BONUS 2: The parrot series. I love that silly bird. CUTE.

Of course there's more, but I think I these are the ones I like the best? ^^;

FICS:

Would it be a surprise if I said that I prefer short fics over long fics...? But then these short fics are SO GOOD that I can't help it but want more??? Ugghh That's what usually happens to me, either when reading or writing... (and I'm so bad at finishing multichapter stories sorry ;_;) Anyway, here we go:

1- Trapped. My first fic ever (with pics!). It''s a bit embarrassing for me now but it will always hold a special place in my heart...

2- Luktober 2020 Day 6: Wild. This is a super short story I wrote a long while ago and, even though I know that the writing could be better, I really like the idea (and how short it is). -LukaNoire MY BELOVED-

3- Delivered. Plagg being chaotic with Luka? Ladybug finally getting some decent help? JuleRose and Lukanette happy ending? A pinch of salt? YES.

4- Surfacing secrets. SALT. Satisfying salt. (+ angst, + happy ending)

5- Love in the Sky. I know this one is not finished yet, but it works as a one shot too, and I really like it that way. I always struggle to write long stories, after all... (but I can't help it but get excited and write more *sigh*)

I think that's it.

Wow- this took me so long (it was fun). It made me realize that I really want to improve more and more with my writing... I'll keep working hard on it! (òvó)

#airi answers #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #pro lukamari #airip4

10 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Omg I looove it! I didn't know you were a fellow Priestly/10 Inch Hero fan!! 💕

You know I never thought I would write for Priestly, as much as I liked the character, but after a friend encouraged me, I started sketching and completely fell in love with this adorable dork. 😂 I would so love to see you write something for him though!! If I get an idea for you, I'll shoot a prompt over to your inbox. 💜

Aww I'm so glad this story gave you all the feels!! 🥹 He's literally the sweetest most misunderstood weirdo, and I knew I wanted to pair with someone who saw that in him.

Lol honestly, if it's a gift you like and it doesn't hurt you too much, keep it. Full disclosure: my husband once received a fluffy pillow from an ex and it's my absolute favorite. I sleep on it every night and don't give a shit 😂

LOL I love that! And I totally agree. If it's not hurting you and you genuinely like that gift/it's become part of your routine, then why give it up?

But lmfaooo I'm so glad you liked that "ritual burning" (100% like Ross/Emily 🤣🤣) -- and of course, drawing the line at his dick. 🤣 That was a fan-favorite line, and I remember it really tickled me when I was writing it loll. And you can quote as much as you want, my lovely, I'm getting a kick out of all your reactions. 😝😝

Awww, he can relate after Tish. I honestly hated that he changed at the end of the movie. Like, whyyyyyy????? Tish would've liked him like he was, too?! What kinda message were they tryna send here? 🙈

Omfggggg I think this is all of our gripes with the ending. It felt like such a cop out, and frankly, a slap in the face to Priestly's character and Tish's supposed character growth. He shouldn't have felt the need to change when the whole point of the movie was to be your effing self. 🙄 It gave "Hollywood writing" for me.

Now I've died twice during one fic – noice 🤣🤣🤣 Also, I can relate with reader here. We've all been there and asked ourselves this very question 😂 And his response was GOLD 😆🫶

Ahaha I mean, amirite? 😂😂 I feel like I have this "if only" discussion with my best friend at least once a month. And lmfao that Solid Gold gif was perfect.~~

I honestly would love to meet Mr. & Mrs. Priestley and ask them tons of questions about how they raised such an awesome son 💙 Ooooo fic idea! Tell me how reader met his parents??? 🤓

Oh my Gooood, that's actually an awesome idea, and I don't think I've read anything like that before! Thank you for this. You're seriously making me want to play more in this world, with these two in particular. 💕

Oooh that's awesome that you both loved the angst, and that it took you by surprise! I didn't want to make the situation "too easy." But also gave a chance to explore the landscape of this sandwich shop post-breakup. And Ross/Rachel breakup vibes is exactly what I was going for! Since to me it seemed this group of employees were more like a little family, and Tish an integral part, so she wouldn't want to give that up in the "divorce" lol.

Ahaha yes the way Priestly and the reader had to dip out to avoid prying eyes was very much like Friends too. It's all just running in my subconscious at this point. 🤣

Aww, the ending was too sweet 🥹🥰 I love how shy they were around each other and that she essentially told him he should ask her out 😆 I'd honestly love to read more about these two! I adored this ❤️❤️❤️

Aww thank you so very much, Wayne!! I loved writing these two across both one-shots (which I see you read the original fic as well 🙏🏽). And you gave me an awesome idea to play with in the future!! 😘

The Miracle Man

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x F. Reader

Summary: The first time you met Priestly was both the worst and best night of your life. He gave you a Miracle.

AN: Here’s the prequel to Code Red! (But this can also be read as stand alone.) I hope you enjoy. And just a note, remember this was circa 2007, still the era of flip phones and iPods, despite the advent of the iPhone.

Word Count: 3,500

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for mature talk. A kind of meet cute, insecurities, angst, breakups, hurt/comfort, sandwiches, fluff and feels.

He was a lone ranger in the Wild West. His weapon of choice?

A dirty mop.

Priestly bopped his head to the music playing from his earbuds. His iPod was tucked in his right jean pocket while he speared the mop across the floor of the sandwich shop. It was three minutes to closing time on a Saturday night, and it was his turn to clean up and lock up.

He was looking forward to getting home, taking a shower, and diving face-first into his bed. But first, he just needed to kill three minutes.

Come on, come on, come oooon, he sang in his mind as the hands on his watch ticked on. While glancing down at said watch, he remembered it had been a gift from Tish for his birthday…

Three months ago. When they were still together.

Priestly heaved a sigh. What were you supposed to do with gifts from your ex that you actually liked? The gifts that made it into your everyday life, not just because they were from the person you thought you loved, but because it was actually hella practical and a nice accessory to keep on your person?

It’s just a damn watch. Don’t make it a big deal, he reminded himself. What was he supposed to do, have a ritual burning of everything Tish had ever touched?

That would take all damn night. And he definitely drew a line at his dick.

“Hello?”

The front door of the shop opened, the little bell Trucker installed chiming with too much cheer and startling Priestly out of his thoughts.

“We’re closed,” he said. But that was before he looked up, and had to pause in his mopping.

You were standing there, holding yourself in the open doorway with the cold breeze hitting your back. You were wearing a red cocktail dress and the highest black heels he’d ever seen, with your styled hair falling around your shoulders.

You were entirely too beautiful to be in this old sandwich shop, he thought. It had Priestly swallowing, frozen in time.

“Really? The sign says 10,” you pointed out. There was a level of desperation in your eyes. “Please, you’re the only place with the lights still on and I’ve been all up and down the block.”

Blinking out of his idiotic state, Priestly looked down at his watch again. It was exactly 9:59 p.m.

Well, damn. Got me on a technicality.

He held in a sigh.

“Okay, come on in,” he waved you over. Setting down his mop, he rounded the counter and went to man the register. He gave you a minute to peruse the menu. He noted that aside from your stunning attire, you had a cell phone in your hand that clearly couldn’t fit in that little purse hanging off your shoulder, bumping along your hip.

He couldn’t help but visually trace the curves of your hips and waist, back up to the sweetheart neckline of the dress, the deeper shade of your lipstick and up to your face.

But then he felt bad for staring, so he looked up heavenward before you caught him.

Meanwhile, your eyes drifted from the menu and dipped to his chest for a moment.

“Too bad I’m not gay,” you said.

What? Priestly frowned in confusion. But following your gaze, he realized you were staring at his yellow shirt, which read in big, 70s-style letters: Be Gay & Proud, Get a Free Drink.

His lips twitched at a grin, and he looked up at you. “D’you know what you want?”

You had a smile starting to play on your lips as well. You went back to considering your choices.

“Not sure, but I’m starving. What do you recommend?” you asked.

Priestly’s lips puckered as he considered the menu he knew by heart.

“Well, if you wanna go classic, I’d do a Spicy Italian on white bread. If you wanna be adventurous, we just added the Jalapeño Buffalo Chicken Club," he said. "But, if you wanna get crazy awesome, I can put on some Zeppelin and make you something special of my own design.”

He colored that last option with a gesture of his hand, a flourish, if you will. You tilted your head at him and smiled.

“Okay. Surprise me, Sandwich Man.”

Priestly snorted while he washed his hands again. “Sounds like the lamest superhero ever.”

“With his death-defying salami summoning powers,” you quipped, with a giggle that had him smiling as well.

“Nice alliteration,” he said. And he made a show of tying his apron back on. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Your late-night hoagie is safe with me.”

You tried to stifle another laugh while he worked his magic. From bread to meats and cheeses and toppings, Priestly was a master of his craft. He had that 12” hero wrapped and sliding across the counter towards you in record time.

“I call this the ‘Miracle,’” he winked. “You’ll see why. But that’ll be $10 even.”

You nodded and turned to the purse on your hip. You opened up the little velvety thing, but your face fell when all you found was your keys, not your credit card.

“No.” Your heart dropped into your stomach. You opened your purse wider and flipped through the satin insides, but you saw that it was empty. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I know I had my wallet in here…”

And then it dawned on you.

“That fucking asshole,” you growled.

Priestly’s eyes widened. “Uh…”

Your head snapped up to his. “I had a different purse picked out for tonight. You know, one that actually had my wallet in it? But my know-it-all boyfriend had the nerve to say, ‘That one’s too shiny, looks kinda cheap. This is a restaurant at the Ritz-Carlton, not a hooker hangout.’ Can you believe that?”

Priestly blinked in confusion, but he realized that in your purse shuffling, you had no way to pay for this amazing sandwich he’d just concocted.

And now, you actually had the beginnings of frustrated tears in your eyes as you took in a shuddering breath.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I can’t—I can’t pay for this. I don’t have my wallet… Hold on, let me see if he’ll…”

You held up a finger and started dialing manically on your phone. You held it up to your ear and waited. Your tears sprang forth anew when the line just kept ringing until it sent you to voicemail.

“Figures,” you scoffed. “The one time I actually need this douchebag to answer, he ignores me!”

You slammed the phone down on the counter and covered your face with your hand as you sniffled. Priestly softened with sympathy. You seemed to be having a harder night than he thought.

He slid the sandwich your way, making you raise your head.

“It’s okay. This one’s on the house,” he said. “Looks like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Your watery eyes met his. “Really? You don’t have to…”

“No worries,” he replied, giving you a bit of charm in his grin. “I’ll even throw in a soda. Lady’s choice.”

Your lower lip trembled, but you were able to smile. With a quiet thank you, you wiped under your eyes carefully so your mascara wouldn’t run. Then you grabbed a Coke from the machine along with your sandwich from the counter.

“Do you mind if I eat here?” you asked, gesturing at one of the tables. “I promise I won’t leave a mess. I know you’re trying to close up.”

Priestly waved a dismissive hand. “Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

He went around the counter to take up his mop and continue where he left off in the cleaning process. But he couldn’t help but eye you every now and then. Curiosity was starting to eat him alive.

Had your boyfriend just dumped you here? Had you gone off alone? Somehow, he couldn’t see the first option happening. If you were his girlfriend, he would do his best not to let you walk away angry at him, let alone this late at night, without any money or even your ID.

“Are you coming from a party or something?” he found himself asking. You looked up from your second bite of the sandwich. You’d looked to have been truly enjoying it, uttering a moan that’d caught his attention.

“No,” you chuckled humorlessly around a mouthful of bread. “I was supposed to meet his parents. His rich, very bougie, hyper-critical parents. Somehow it didn’t occur to me that he was just like them.”

Priestly paused and leaned on his mop. He was hesitant, not wanting to disturb you while you were eating, but he was too damn hooked.

“So…what happened?” he asked. You scoffed and took another massive bite of your sandwich.

“Okay, you want to hear this? Fine,” you began. “So, I’m a stress eater by nature. Let’s just start with that.”

“Who isn’t?” Priestly supplied. Pursing your lips, you raised a black olive at him in a thank you gesture.

“But when I tell you I spent three months depriving myself to fit into this dress. No carbs, cheese, chocolate, or happiness.”

He grimaced. “That’s no way to live.”

“Exactly!” you concurred. “But I did all that so my boyfriend would have nothing to say when I finally met his parents for this dinner—to celebrate him graduating from med school.”

Priestly found himself dimming inside. Not only were you spoken for, but you were with a future doctor, no less. The only title Priestly had to his name was Sandwich Man.

“It started with the purse thing when he picked me up. Then when we get there, he keeps telling me how stuffy his dad is and how judge-y and critical his mom can be and how I’m a reflection on him,” you mocked in an impression of his voice.

“Then I find myself second-guessing every word that might come out of my mouth, and I’m too nervous to even eat the $60 plate of Chilean sea bass in front of me, and not to mention, there’s a glass of wine in my hand. I don’t even like wine!”

By now, it was all Priestly could do to keep up with your verbal spitfire. You were also gesticulating wildly with your sandwich the more worked up you got.

“I mean, I’m saying things I don’t say, and suddenly I realize that I’ve wrapped myself up in so many knots for this man, I don’t even recognize myself,” you confessed. Your eyes lit up with a gleam of clarity. Your hands lowered down to the table, and after a beat, you continued eating.

“But then my boyfriend of over a year turns to me and says, ‘Why are you being so weird and frigid?’” you said. You met Priestly’s eyes. “I just, I got so mad. I wanted to choke him out with my napkin, you know?”

He bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

“So instead of violence, I grabbed the glass of pinot noir, or chardon-perignon-whatever-the-fuck, and I poured it in his lap,” you concluded. “Then I walked out. And I ignored his calls. And I kept walking. Then a nice guy made me a sandwich.”

Priestly had to smile at that. He knew there was a Ritz-Carlton in the area, but that had to be almost a mile down the street. You’d walked a long way in those crazy-ass heels.

He propped his mop against a nearby table and sat down across from you. He shook his head in wonderment. And inside, your words kind of rattled him.

I’ve wrapped myself up in so many knots, I don’t even recognize myself.

“You know, sometimes I really, really wish I was gay,” you said, gesturing at his shirt.

“O-Oh…really?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Yeah, I do,” you answered. “I’m a quick study. I could learn to eat pussy.”

If he had been drinking something, he would’ve spat it out. He mentally fumbled for a moment before he could articulate a response.

“Well, I don’t doubt you, but it can be an acquired taste. Though I happen to like it,” he replied, grinning mostly to himself. He didn’t even think about how it might come out though.

As soon as he realized what he was saying to a perfect stranger, his eyes widened and met yours.

"Uh, sorry," he said.

But you just chortled in amusement. Your blush intensified though, along with your smile as you took a sip of your soda.

“You’re uh…you’re pretty awesome,” he said. And he meant that.

You blinked in surprise. Your lips twitched upwards, a blush rosy in your cheeks.

“Yeah?” you asked. His smile deepened.

“Yeah,” he replied. “And for the record, I know I just met you, but…I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Your face softened with a certain shyness, but you smiled at him through your lashes.

“Well, I appreciate that…” you trailed, realizing you didn’t yet know his name.

“Priestly,” he offered, along with his hand across the table. You slipped your smaller hand in his and gave him your name.

Though you quirked a brow at him. “Priestly? That’s your first name?”

Now it was his turn to get a little embarrassed.

“Uh, no,” he said, his gaze falling from yours. He scratched the back of his head, under the blue mohawk.

“Oh. What is it, then?” you asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he chuckled wryly.

“I think I do, or I wouldn’t be asking,” you countered. Your smile was playful though. Disarming, even.

“It’s um, it’s Boaz,” he admitted. You tilted your head, as if swirling the name around in your head. But you didn’t say it was weird, or stupid, or too biblical. You just smiled.

“Boaz Priestly. Interesting,” you nodded. Then you wrapped up your garbage, having eaten all of your sandwich. You made sure to collect every crumb, even though he’d told you not to worry about the mess. You got up to take it to the trashcan near the door.

“How’re you getting home?” he asked.

You bit your lip. The anxiety in your eyes told him you’d been pondering that same question. You let out a deep breath.

“I guess I’ll have to walk back to the hotel, try to get a ride from my b…my ex-boyfriend. Gotta get used to saying that,” you said. “I promise I’ll pay you back for the sandwich.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was on me? Don’t worry about that,” said Priestly. “But I’ll tell you what, let me give you a ride.”

You shook your head. “Oh, thank you, but we just met, and I—”

Just then, Priestly realized how his offer sounded. He didn’t want to creep you out.

“Ah, or I can get you a cab,” he said. “I doubt you want to see that guy again tonight, do you?”

You bit your lip, smudging some of the scarlet red lipstick there. It distracted him for a moment, but he returned his gaze to your eyes.

You sighed. As much as you didn’t want to impose again, you let Priestly call you a cab. He paid for it in advance after you gave the cabbie your address. Before you got in the car, you turned to Priestly and touched his arm.

“Thank you,” you said. “I promise, I’ll come tomorrow and pay you back.”

He smiled. “You can try.”

He earned your sweet smile back, and he watched you get into the cab. He tried not to raise his hopes up, but he really did hope he’d see you tomorrow.

And yet, he should’ve known it was too good to be true.

“Maybe she got caught up at work or something,” Jen tried to console him the next day at closing, after you didn’t show up.

“It’s Sunday,” he pointed out grumpily. He continued to wipe down Table 4 of some nasty residue of mayo and pickled radish.

“You don’t know what kind of job she has,” Piper interjected. She was making a tuna salad sub on wheat for the last customer, which she then passed on to Tish at the register. “Maybe she’s in retail, or she’s in the restaurant business too—or hey, a lifeguard! This is a beach town after all.”

“Or maybe, she just played you into getting free food and a ride home,” Tish suggested, with her usual brand of cutting sarcasm. It just tended to cut a bit deeper these days, whenever it was leveled at Priestly.

The post-breakup thing had been tense and awkward for everyone, and it still hadn’t normalized just yet in their little sandwich-making ecosystem. Jen shot her friend a look though, one that told her she was being bitchy.

The problem was, she’d only voiced what Priestly was thinking anyway, deep down.

“Amazing, serendipitous things don’t happen to me, Piper,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He continued cleaning.

Three weeks later, it happened on a Friday afternoon.

It was one of their busiest times of the week. Tish was at the register as usual, Jen was sorting through the inventory and bussing tables, and Priestly was making hero after hero like a fiend, alongside Piper. He was definitely living up to his name of Sandwich Man.

He was still able to recognize your voice near the register.

“One 12” Miracle, please,” you requested.

“Um…we don’t have that on the menu,” Tish replied. But Priestly looked over with a grin. He met your gaze, and found you smiling back at him.

Tish followed the exchange with suspicion.

“One Miracle, coming up!” Priestly called out.

He had the order ready within minutes, but he was painstaking about it, not an olive out of place. He wrapped it up nicely and walked it over to the register himself, placing it in front of you on the counter.

“Well, hi there,” he greeted.

A familiar blush spread across your face, just as endearing as he remembered. The only thing different about you so far was your clothes. No longer dressed to the nines, you were more casual in your jeans, ankle boots, and V-necked top.

In every other way, you were the same. It might’ve been making his heart trip up.

“Hi,” you said. “Got a minute, Miracle Man?”

Priestly ducked his head, hiding a more bashful smile. Before he could respond, Tish interrupted, “That’ll be $10.”

You nodded and handed her a $50 bill. She looked at you in confusion.

“The rest is a tip, for the hero makers,” you explained, glancing at both Priestly and Piper. He gave you an incredulous smile.

You little minx, he thought. He couldn’t say no if you were tipping Piper too.

But he did ask Jen to help fill in for him while he made his way around the counter to go to you. Tish just watched the scene unfold with a silent frown, like she was trying to make sense of what was happening. She always thought she’d be the first one to move on.

“Let’s talk outside. Little more privacy from the peanut gallery,” Priestly said to you, tossing a knowing glance over his shoulder. You spotted all the employees now watching you and Priestly closely.

You became a touch more shy as he led you out of the shop with a hand resting on the small of your back. You slipped your sandwich into a larger purse than last time. Then you looked up at him with apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back here,” you said. “It got a bit…ugly, after that night.”

Priestly’s brows furrowed in concern. “Ugly?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assured him. “Lots of shouting and empty threats, then half-assed apologies. But I’m done with all that.”

Priestly considered that with a nod. “Well, good. I’m glad to hear you’re doing better.”

You stared up at his face, and you thought he really seemed to mean that. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling that familiar flutter in your stomach, not three weeks after breaking up from a year-long relationship. Even so, the night you walked out of this shop, you felt free. Like you could breathe again.

You felt like you.

So now, you leaned up and kissed Priestly on the cheek.

His eyes widened a fraction as he stared down at you. You smiled and grasped his hand.

“Would you maybe want to…ask me out sometime?” you asked. A nervous giggle escaped you, making him smile.

“Y-Yeah, I would. If you’re sure you want me to,” he replied. In the past, maybe he would’ve let his excitement get the best of him. He’d be trying to jump at this chance. Experience had taught him not to hope too hard though. Sometimes, getting what you wished for backfired in your face.

You squeezed his hand, earning his attention.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked. Your smile became teasing before you used his words against him. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re pretty awesome. But mostly pretty.”

He had to laugh at that. Pretty was not something he’d ever been called in life. Weird, freak, try-hard goth—that was all familiar territory. His tattoos and piercings tended to bring that out in people.

But he gathered some courage and squeezed your hand back.

“Well, you’re beautiful,” he said, thumbing at your chin. His eyes met yours and got lost there for a moment. “Uh, really beautiful.”

You blushed further and bit your lower lip out of habit. It drew his gaze, and he gained a little more courage. He tilted your chin upwards, so he could find those lips easier in a kiss. Your fingers curled in the front of his shirt and brought him closer. His hand found your cheek as he angled deeper into the kiss.

Despite the chill on the air, the California sun was warm and beating down on you both.

It was the perfect day for a Miracle.

AN: How I love Priestly lol. If you liked this, let me know! 💜

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BP Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @siampie @sanscas @kaleldobrev

@waters-2567 @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @idiotdyslexic @heartlessdelusions @chriszgirl92

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #the miracle man feedback #lovely review!

466 notes · View notes

yelenasdog · 2 years ago

Text

vibrant, saccharine, his ☼ (fwb!mat barzal x fwb!fem reader)

genre: filthy smut, fluff, angst with happy ending

summary: pretending is getting harder, for both of them. and after a hard roadie, mat’s not sure if he wants to pretend anymore.

words: 8.7k (WOAH)

warnings: cursing, excessive use of parentheses, friends with benefits arrangement, smut, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, blood (reader bit lip too hard oops!), pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty boy), reader is described as having sisters and a dog, food mention, idiots to lovers, misunderstood situation, reader uses she/her pronouns, and i think that’s it.

a/n: when i started this, i originally was just writing a blurb and then it turned into a full ass fic with a plot?? and fwb??? idk man, im nervy to post this since ive never published for nhlers before but oh whale! and ty to @eminems-skittles for reading this for me and checking it over �� love u

“You played so good, baby.” She breathed, welcoming him home with open arms.

“Not good enough, apparently.” He responded, letting her fingers card through his raven locks. Soft, freshly cut. She loved when he grew it out, but yet again it was him, so anything worked.

She sighed, letting her thumb fall to his cheekbone, knowing what he was referring to. It had been the last stop of the road trip, he’d had a hatty and despite making it to OT, it wasn’t enough in the shootout.

He’d had to wait an entire flight and car ride afterwards to see her, only giving her a brief text when he got off the ice (“We lost. Had a hatty. Fucking Toronto.”) (like she hadn’t stayed up to watch the game) and another when he landed.

And after so long of whatever the two of them had going on, she’d known better than to try to send him some long and winded attempt at a pick me up message. She settled for just responding “I’ll be here.” She didn’t need to say it though, he knew she’d be there.

She always was.

To anyone else it would’ve been sad, how she waited up for him, late nights spent lonely with just her and her dog, as he jetted around North America. In her mind, he was no doubt giving himself away to whatever random puck bunny threw herself his way.

Despite this, she was loyal, even though she had her suspicions about what he did when they were apart. And frankly, it wasn’t a part of the “deal” that they had to be exclusive, and it was none of her business. But truthfully, after so long, she couldn’t count on some washed up juniors player to give her even a fraction of the satisfaction he had.

So, she did this whole routine, whatever this was. She stayed up late watching his games, sitting on her couch in his sweatshirt he left. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but whenever she wore it, she liked to pretend.

Pretend that she was an obedient girlfriend wearing her loving boyfriends sweater. That as she sat curled up waiting on the corner of the beat up black sofa, 3 coffees in at approximately 1:37 am, she would be rewarded for her efforts come morning time.

That her and said loving boyfriend would lounge around together in bed (after he woke her up in the best way he knew how, showing her how grateful he was. Like I said, she loved when his hair was long enough to tug on, and even though she endlessly made fun of his patchy stubble, she couldn’t deny how delicious it felt burning between her thighs. Especially after they’d spent so long apart.) Then they’d go and grab late brunch, holding hands under the table as they sipped mimosas, which were Mat’s guilty pleasure only her and the waiter knew about, before heading home.

Maybe then they’d FaceTime his mom back in Coquitlam, an early riser with the 3 hour time difference. Mat had felt bad interrupting her morning routine, but she’d never pass up an opportunity to talk to her boy and the girl who she hoped was her future daughter in law.

After they got off the phone, she’d tell him how much she loved his mom, how her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, watching as she leaned into his touch.

“Missed you, Mat.” She’d say, closing her eyes.

“I missed you more.” He’d respond, his voice nearly a whisper. Her eyes would flutter open, and he’d recognize the look in them immediately. He felt his blood rush, and suddenly their proximity, which he’d never get used to, was very obvious.

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “I doubt that.”

He swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Her eyes hungrily swept over them, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and capture them with her own.

But patience is a virtue, she supposed.

“Want me to prove it, pretty boy?”

Words failed him, and all he could do was nod. He relaxed into the sofa, watching as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands were on either thigh as he fought the urge to lay his tired head back onto the beat up pleather behind him. It had been too long, he thought. And he’d be damned if he was going to miss out on seeing her do what he’d only imagined in the shower, or over the phone for the past 16 days.

She reached her hands up from the muscle of his thigh up to his tummy, her cold hands shocking him as she reached under his sweatshirt- the same one she’d been wearing before.

Her hands drifted, down, down, down, to the waistband of those damn Lululemon shorts she’d got him for Christmas. He held his breath, watching as they danced around where he needed her most and then-

The doorknob turns, and she’s brought back to reality. Sleep had almost claimed her, iced coffee left abandoned on the coffee table, a ring of condensation already drying on the glass. She attempts to smooth out her hair, hoping that her brief almost-nap hadn’t left her too disheveled.

Not that he’d care.

She stood to greet him as he opened the door, hockey bag, and garment bag, and duffle bag, and backpack, and- God, did he really need all that- and suitcase, dropped unceremoniously as he entered the threshold. He kicked the huge bag to the side, and it landed right under where her keys and her leash for her old mutt, Warrior, hung from the wall.

Above the leash hung a picture of her and her sisters, with her running shoes on the floor beneath it for easy access. They were nearly squished by the gear, and if it had been anyone else’s shit crushing her 160 dollar sneakers, she’d be angry. But the sight of his bag near her shoes was so weirdly domestic, she could’ve cried.

She, yet again, was snapped out of her fantasy by the closing of the heavy door, watching as the man in front of her shuffled forward, immediately allowing himself to be held by her. His head fell to her shoulder, and rather than the usual clash of teeth and shoving to get to her room, (they never went to never his place after a roadie. He needed to be away from the constant reminders of it all for awhile, just to be surrounded by her) she simply dropped a chaste kiss to his temple, letting her arm drop from his hair to his broad shoulders, squeezing once, twice, three times, on either one.

He stood up, and she led him to her room, though he knew the way well enough. Her hand in his felt nice, comforting, even, and he wasn’t going to complain. In the beginning of the arrangement the two of them had, touches like that had been normal. But as time went on, the barely there brushes and gentle caresses stopped all together.

He wanted to say something, wanted to ask her what was wrong, if it was something he did. But when he was off the ice, Mathew Barzal was not a man who liked to push his luck. So he didn’t. He let the touches slip away, and took what he could get from her.

Which right now, was toeing off his shoes, and crawling onto the plush comforter of her bed. It smelled like that sparkly ”fairy dust” shit from Lush he saw sitting on her bathroom counter once, cotton candy and bubblegum infiltrating his senses. That, and her favorite floral perfume he was all too familiar with on her pillow. A combination of scents he usually would find too much, sickly-sweet. But it was her, and that alone made it the most soothing aroma he’d ever known.

Initially when he’d gotten off the ice, the adrenaline had been pumping, and his anger had been rampant. All he’d wanted was to get home to her, have his way with her. To have an outcome he could control.

He’d kept himself relatively calm in the locker room, not having any outbursts towards Ilya, or anyone for that matter. If any of the guys had noticed he was uncharacteristically quiet, they didn’t say anything.

That is, until the bus ride to the airport.

He had been typing out his text to her, (Hatty, lost in OT, Toronto, you know the one), when he had felt a pair of peering eyes. Sitting in the back of the bus, he’d thought he’d done well to avoid such glances, but apparently not.

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be sulking so much.” A certain French-Canadian spoke, the brunette man’s tired eyes lingering over Mat’s hunched over form.

If there was one thing he didn’t need right now, it was more pep talks from Tito. He’d had more than his fill in the locker room. And though he loved the guy, he didn’t need to be told again how he “did everything right” and had a ”killer game”.

Because he knows, and that’s partly why he’s so mad.

Partly. As the other part is the fact that he wants more than anything to come back to NY to her arms. He was exhausted at this point, and rather than having his way with her, he now just wanted to be welcomed home into those ridiculously cozy sheets. He wanted her to light up all those overpriced candles she loved so much from Bath and Bodyworks, and for Warrior to snuggle up by him, stinky dog breath be damned. He wanted her to turn on ”Miracle” in the back as white noise, and laugh as she repeated all the lines from memory. (He may be Canadian, but he can appreciate a heart warming story told by Kurt Russell when he sees one.)

More than anything, though, he wanted her. And not just for an hour or two before he inevitably dragged himself out of those silky sheets that felt heavenly on his back, leaving her sleeping beside him. She looked peaceful in those moments, and he often wondered what she dreamt of. If she was dreaming of him as he did of her.

Bottom line was, Mathew was the victim of a series of unfortunate events. And the man to his left could recognize that it wasn’t just the hockey that was bothering him. (Though, that whole situation did suck pretty bad, he’d admit.)

So when Anthony told him he shouldn’t be sulking, he flashed him a tight lipped smile and a nod, before looking out the window at the Toronto sunset. The oranges and pinks were stunning, and more than anything their vibrancy reminded him of her. The smile she’d give him in her post-orgasm glow, or of the orange blossom on the bottle of perfume on her vanity. Beauvillier’s gaze never faltered, though, recognizing the deep train of thought his close friend was experiencing.

The screen of his phone had begun to darken, the draft of his message just barely visible. Tito’s eyes quickly shifted from the screen and back up to Barzy, opening his mouth and pausing momentarily.

“Who’re you texting?”

Mat quickly turned off the device, the “click” sounding out in the quiet bus cabin, most of the Islanders players catching some shut eye or watching that new Game of Thrones spin off.

Personally, Mat didn’t get the appeal.

“Nobody, just… a friend I’m visiting tonight when we get back.”

Anthony’s eyebrows went up, making a face of understanding as he slowly nodded three times.

“A friend, huh?”

Mathew nods, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. “Yup.” He adds softly for good measure, popping the p.

“You visiting a friend after a game like that, this late, hm?” Another pause. ”Must be an important friend.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft again, compassion coming across his features and he thinks of her again.

“Well“, Anthony starts, popping in his earbuds and opening his phone to his Music app. “I’d say whatever’s going on with this friend seems worth talking to her about.”

Mat‘s head snaps up, and he scoffs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t say that it was a she-“

“You didn’t have to, buddy.” Tito winks in the most annoyingly-Tito way, and chuckles to himself. He then lays his head back onto the navy material behind him. Mat “hmph”s to himself, doing the same. He turns his phone back on again, going to the chat between the two of them. The still blinking cursor seems like it’s mocking him as he runs a hand over his face, hitting send.

If there’s gonna be any deep, emotional shit, it can wait until he’s not 2500 miles away.

7 hours later when he finally crashes through her front door, he swears the relief he feels mixed with the sense of dread it all might be over in an hour, gives him whiplash. But nonetheless, she welcomes him in, and she feels like home.

Warrior watches from the couch, his tail lazily wagging as he observes his owner greeting the man who occasionally slips him bacon from his Starbucks sandwich. His old man (old dog?) body doesn’t find the arrival of the hockey player worthy of leaving his nest on the sofa, as to him that’s all Mathew Barzal is. The bringer of bacon.

To Warrior’s owner, though, he was so much more.

The trek to the bedroom felt like it took an eternity, and as he laid on her bed, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a bad idea to push his luck for once. Risk ending it all to gain everything.

She laid down next to him, and he shifted, going from laying with his arms crossed under his head, to one next to her head, the other keeping him stable from his position on top of her.

Her hand crept up to push an unruly lock out of his eyes, and she leaned forward, and he met her halfway. They paused briefly, taking each other in after so long, before finally closing to distance.

He tasted warm, like cinnamon and something she couldn’t place, and she wondered if at the airport he’d gotten one of those pretzels she knew he liked so much. To compliment his psychopath reminiscent black coffee, of course.

His hand went from where it had been cradling her face down to rest on her hip. The soft touch elicited a whimper, and at that he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

She recognized that something was off, swimming around in that pretty little head of his. A small frown etched its way onto her face, and she lifted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at her.

“What’s wrong, Mat?”

He took in a shaky breath, looking over to his left, where the TV was on some random wallpaper, a sunset, he realizes. He scoffs, looking back at her.

“Can you just- can we- can I- fuck.” He mutters, slowly falling down so his body weight is nearly on top of her.

“Can you just… hold me?”

She swears she’s never heard him sound so broken.

“Yeah, baby, ’course. C’mere.” She replies softly, allowing him to fully rest on her. It was a miracle that he didn’t fully break down right there, at the feeling of her fingertips dancing over his skin, under his pushed up shirt. His nose was cold against her neck as he dragged it up against her to come to her cheek, pressing a kiss there. His eyes never opened, afraid that if they did, it would all just be another elaborate fantasy he’d created to pass the time.

“Is this a good idea?” Came her voice, cutting through the silence.

He sniffles. “What do you mean?”

“This. Us.” She says, not able to meet his gaze where he’s lifted his head.

“We’re going to get hurt. More than we already have.”

Oh. Oh, fuck this was happening right now. Mat sat up, feeling like a scared teenage boy. Damn you and the way you read people, Beauvillier. Maybe this would’ve been easier from 2500 miles away.

“We don’t have to.”

“What other option do we have?” She said, sounding defeated, like she already knows her answer and she doesn’t like it. “I-I can’t keep doing this no strings attached shit. Not when you do this. Not when you come here all beat up like some sad puppy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was.

“Don’t be. I should’ve known this would happen.” Her voice was soft, her eyes distant.

“That what would happen?” He questioned. She looked at him like he had two heads.

“That you’d leave, Mat. That this whole pretending bullshit wouldn’t be enough for me.”

He leaned forward again, catching her off guard.

“I’m not leaving you. I’d never leave you.”

She looked away briefly, mentally cursing herself for being so emotional as tears began to well up in her eyes. He fell to her side, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Do you really want this?” She asked, the tears rolling down her face illuminated a hue of pink from the salt lamp on the bedside table. Mathew reached out a hand, dragging his thumb over the droplet. He hated that she was crying, but fuck, she sure looked pretty while doing it.

His answer came without thought, he’d done enough of that on his way over.

“Yes. I want you in every way, if you’ll have me.”

A small smile came onto the corners of her face, and she nodded, shortly at first, but more exaggerated as they started laughing, a small “yeah?” escaping from Mathew. She responded with the same, and he took that as his sign to reach forward, closing the distance between them.

And like all the times before, they fell into their routine, her hands going down to his hips, lifting the gray material of his shirt over his head. He returned the favor, the two of them moving in sync as she lifted her hips and he gently slid off her shorts. He ran his palms along her bare thighs and she shivered at the feeling, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Mathew.

“I missed you, y/n.” He admitted, running a hand through his, now, unruly hair.

Another vibrant smile came across her face, easing whatever nerves Mat had left over from his confession.

“I missed you more, Mathew.”

He shook his head, dipping down to leave sloppy kisses on her neck. Taken aback, she let a shaky breath escape. He pulled back, satisfied with the response he’d pulled from her.

“Not possible.”

In a moment of boldness (and a slight hope to allow a fantasy to come to life) she challenged him.

“Prove it, then.”

His eyes darkened, then, and he surged forward. Her remaining clothes, which was just his sweatshirt and a flimsy cami, were gone in an instant. She was left in just a pair of black undies, Mat nearly cumming on the spot at the sight, like he’s some horny teenager. His apparel soon joined the growing pile on the floor, as she made a remark about how it wasn’t fair he was still so covered.

She shamelessly raked over his naked form, save for the black boxers, with his firm muscles, sore from the roadie, prominent as ever. She might’ve been drooling, she wasn’t sure. He smirked, the effect he had on her not lost to him.

The two began to kiss again, and there was no other way to describe it other than that it just felt right.

Mathew wasted no time, allowing his hand to trail down and cup her clothed heat, his thumb passing over her clit and past her entrance with a feather light touch. She shivered, her hips lifting up to chase the brief sensation. He pulled her panties to the side, teasing her entrance with his middle finger.

It was immediately covered in her slick, as was the black fabric he’d moved aside. It made him groan just from the sensation alone, making her chuckle at his behavior. Her laugh soon was cut off as he sunk the finger in, giving her no time to adjust, not that she needed it with how ready she was for it, before adding another.

His palm just barely grazed her begging clit as he pumped in and out slowly. And as she continued to lift her hips trying to feel him deeper, push his hand closer to her clit, she fully expected him to push her down and put her in her place.

But this whole thing was about showing him how much he missed her, how much he appreciated her. To show her that he was staying. And him staying meant that he’d have plenty of chances in the future to be an insufferable tease, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Matty, please-“ it was more of a breathy whine, not intelligible to an untrained ear. But thankfully for her, that wasn’t Mat.

“You want more, baby?” He questioned, knowing the answer. She nodded, hair splayed around her like a halo on the pillow. She was still illuminated from the TV screen and the salt lamp, making her look like an angel of sorts, not of this world.

“Look at me then, sweetheart. Wanna see that I’m makin’ you feel good.”

Her eyes that met his were glazed over and doe like, and it melted Mat’s insides at just one look. He did his best to push down the mushy feeling that arose, before realizing he didn’t have to anymore. He could feel as sickeningly in love as he wanted, no consequences.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. So needy, fuckin’ perfect girl.” He remarked, adding in a third finger. She let out a borderline pornographic cry, and Mat picked up his pace. His gaze only faltered from her face, contorting in pleasure, back to where he was pumping in and out of her, unable to resist the urge to watch in amazement.

Though her legs were flailing, going from propped up to sliding down and spread, rustling the comforter, she somehow had enough mind to reach a hand down. She attempted to run tight circles around her clit, but not before her hand was pinned to her side by the center above her,

“No, baby. Lemme.”

His range of motion was wider and his thrusts harder as he curled his fingers to perfectly hit that spot inside her that made her see stars, fully trailing his hand over her sex. He repeated the action again, and again, and again- and fuck, she didn’t know how long she’d go on like this but she never wanted the feeling to stop.

He felt her tighten around him, and he picked up his pace, knowing she was almost there.

“Mat!” she managed to get out between strangled moans and panting breaths. He leaned down, kissing below her ear on the one spot he knew drives her crazy. She was halfway thinking, well, less than halfway with her state at the moment, that he would cruelly pull his hand away as she reached her peak. So she clamped her thighs together in an attempt to trap him, subconsciously more than not.

It didn’t stop him from grinding his palm against her like he had been, leaning down to capture her lips with his in a searing kiss.

Everything at once was just so much, the obscene sounds coming from both their mouths and her wet heat, the feeling of Mathew’s bare skin on top of her, the feeling of warmth radiating from his body, and oh my God, after so long it’s fucking finally happening-

He felt as her chest seized and she pulled away from the kiss, her head slamming back before falling to the side. She cried out, her orgasm hitting her like nothing had before.

He found her lips in the chaos beneath him, his hand parting her thighs as she went lax, lazily pumping in and out as she rode out her high. Her slick coated the inside of her thighs, and Mat pulled away momentarily and she whined, like the little brat she was allowing herself to be.

He only smirked, leaning down to kiss on her collarbone, letting his tongue sweep over the seemingly shimmering expanse of skin before him. He moved further down, savoring the taste of her, how it felt to be so close to her. No guards up, no shields, no screening involved.

She moved her ring clad hands to run fingers through his locks, that fucking smile coming across her face. He looked up from where his hands were holding either side of her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to not make it hurt, but to say “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” His chin rested above her bellybutton, and he felt suddenly seen, bashful almost. He continued his trail down in a half assed attempt to hide his face, her breath hitching when he made it to her mound.

Her breath barely returned to her as he skipped over where she thought he was headed, instead opting to take her right leg over his shoulder, moving down the expanse of it to her ankle. He brought his eyes to meet hers, and a tender hand ran up and down the distance of it. He kissed the inside of her ankle, making his way up to the skin where her thigh met her already aching sex.

He lightly nudged his nose against the area, before attaching his lips. He started sucking on the skin there, licking her clean. Satisfied, he moved to the other side, beginning his good work.

“Mat,” she broke her silence, her voice splintered and low, “don’t tease. Please.”

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly in jest.

“I think we’re a little far gone from teasing, eh?” He asked, and truthfully, one mind blowing orgasm later, they were.

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever hotshot.”

“New nickname?” He questioned. “I like it.” He huffed, returning to his place between her legs. “But I fucking love this pussy, baby.”

And with that, he dove in. He immediately groaned at what he had found. (Which, obviously, caused her to tug at that perfect head of hair, eliciting another groan.)

If possible, she had become even wetter with the mix of his spit and her nectarine juices. It dripped down his chin, and he wanted to stay there forever. He’d found solace there, he thought. No Maple Leafs, no Tito, no hatty that meant jackshit in the end.

Just her and her consummate being. Vibrant, saccharine. His.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent drawing her closer and closer to the edge, but somewhere between repeated chants of praises and whatnot, he’d slipped.

“Fucking love this cunt, fucking love you-“

He hadn’t realized what he said, and if he had, he didn’t seem to care. But his words alone were enough to rip an unassuming orgasm from her. She didn’t allow herself long enough to think about if he meant to say it or not, or even to ride out the aftershocks rolling through her nerves. She grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him away from her glistening cunt and up to where she connected their lips.

A small sound of surprise, not reluctance, escaped from where they were joined. Her hands came to cradle either side of his face, and Mat thinks that he might’ve cried from the tender action. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to ask. Hey, it’d been a long day.

“You mean it?”

He realized what he had said, then, eyes wide and somehow his face even more flushed than before. He considered lying, like when Tito had asked who he was texting and he’d said a friend.

But where would that leave him, he wondered?

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I did.” He added after a beat of silence.

And in those few moments nothing had seemed scarier.

Not when he was 18, getting skipped over by teams in the draft, and that voice in the back of his head had told him that, somehow, everyone had collectively decided to skip Mathew Barzal. Not when he was 19 playing in his first game for the Isles, having to follow up Auston Matthews first NHL game where he had four goals. Four. Fuck.

No, all that was topped by this. By the same fear he’d had earlier when he’d been on the bus, or when he’d arrived at her apartment.

But all of that fear was dissolved in a second after her laugh sounded out in the small bedroom, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She pulled him down towards her, and the sound of her laughter pulled a radiant smile from the hockey player that he felt like hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.

She rolled over on top of his chest, leaning forward and throwing her arms around his neck. His chain was glinting, now, in the light she had previously been bathed in, and it caught her eye as it rested against his milky complexion.

“You looooove me.” She regarded in a sing-song voice, and Mat rolled his eyes despite the smile growing on his face. She leaned down, and Mathew’s grip on her bare hips tightened, all too aware of the wet spot left on his stomach from her leaking sex.

She mirrored his previous movements down his chiseled body, a regular Adonis in his own right. She left open mouthed kisses, the wet patches from them adding to the thin sheen that covered his body. She made her way down to his boxers, the obvious tent making her stifle a laugh. He caught it though, of course, and rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Laugh it up, babe. Laugh at my misery.” He commented, to which she only shook her head.

“Patience is a virtue, Mathew.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Well, he had a point there.

So rather than talk, she decided she’d put her mouth to good use. She pulled down his boxers at a painstakingly slow rate, watching as his cock slapped up against his stomach. Her mouth watered at the sight, the tip red and weeping, begging to be attended to. He kicked off the boxers, paying no mind to how they slipped onto the floor, forgotten. She didn’t either, as she was sure he had to have some extra in one of his gazillion bags sitting in her entry way.

Her nails scratched down his stomach, angry red lines puffing up and decorating around the expanse of his skin. They were accompanied by freckles and marks and scars that she could have mapped together with her eyes closed. She knew Mathew like the back of her hand. And with that, came knowing how to make him come undone in her hands.

She started leaving small kisses at the base of his shaft, before swiping the bead of precum from his head down to the rest of him. She pumped her hand a few times, and Mathew let out a strangled moan. She thought he couldn’t get any louder, feeling bad for her neighbors at whatever hour in the night it was, but she was quickly proven wrong.

She licked a long stripe from the bottom to his tip, before taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. She bobbed her head a few times, jacking off whatever she couldn’t fit with her hands. She hollowed her cheeks, and the rise and fall of Mathew’s chest quickened. The sound he let out was animalistic, and it sent another wave of arousal through her body. She moaned involuntarily, and the feeling caused Mathew to buck his hips.

“You’re doing so good, baby. ‘M not gonna last with you going at me- shit- like that.”

He brought a large hand down to the side of her face, lightly stroking her cheek. It was a moment of wholesomeness that reminded them what they were now, what he had said.

Mat could tell she was tired, her pace decreasing. The look in her eyes never changed, though. And as he went to speak to tell her it was okay, and she didn’t have to (and because since it had been so long, he was scared he’d bust his load if she wasn’t careful), she pulled off.

A string of saliva followed, and the sight looked like a thumbnail of a shitty porno. Her eyes were droopy and glazed over, and Mat’s hypothesis was proven correct.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to finish. Let me take care of you.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier. She only shook her head, continuing to jack him off with her hand. Oh. He thought. That’s not what I was expecting.

“S’okay, Matty. Wanna make you feel good.”

She ran her thumb over his tip again, her glassy and swollen bottom lip hanging ajar as she concentrated. The moans he was letting slip free could only be described as pathetic, the 190 pound hockey player putty in her hands.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t, God, baby, shit! I-If you don’t stop.”

And then she pulled her hand off, and he let out a quick breath at the momentary relief, if that was even the right word. But it was short lived, and she managed to hoist herself up, dragging her folds along his cock, before stabilizing herself with hands on his chest. He slid inside of her, and the sounds they both let out echoed off her walls.

She started moving, and then it was “You’re fuckin’ amazing, you know that? So fuckin’ amazing. My girl, my perfect girl.” He rambled, the events of just that day alone scrambling his mind trying to keep up. Similarly to how she felt earlier, everything was just too much for the poor man. She felt like Heaven around him, and he watched in awe from below her as she moved, enamored by the woman he loves.

As she became more and more tired, her movement slowed, reduced to her grinding herself down on his cock. Mat was barely hanging on, trying to make it last as long as possible. He could tell she was close too, as she squeezed him like a vice, and put her energy into picking up her pace.

“Fuck, Matty. Feels s’good. Love you- shit! I love you so much, baby.” She told him, her eyes closed and her face screwed up as she chased her high. But something snapped in Mathew at her confession, and with a quick “fuck” under his breath, he flipped the two of them without ever leaving her.

He was relentless.

He slammed in and out, and at the sudden change in position and pace, she was blindsided. She thrashed around him, her hands everywhere at once. Her hair, his hair, grasping at his shoulders, scratching down his back. She settled for his biceps, as his hands were planted. One on the right side of her head, the other gripping her hip bone so hard, she was sure it’d bruise.

“It’s only ever been you, baby. I promise you.”

“Shit, Mat!” She cried, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She loosely draped her legs around his middle, allowing him to reach new depths within her. He was fucking her senseless, and they fucking loved it.

“It’ll only ever be you. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, Y/n.” His hair hung in his eyes as he fought to keep them open. He shook it out of his eyes, wanting to see her as she came in all her glory.

“Love you, Mat. So much, baby. You have no idea.”

His pelvis snapped harder against her, just barely reaching up and grazing her clit in the most exquisite way. The rope in her stomach began to tighten for the third time that night, so close to breaking she could almost taste it.

Actually, she could taste it, she realized. She had been biting down so hard on her bottom lip she could taste the metallic tang on her tongue, and fuck, it was all the more delectable.

“Mat!” It was another exclamation, followed by more babbles. “‘S too much, Matty, can’t do it.” Her voice was small, and despite the nature of the statement, Mat felt his heart flutter.

He shook his head. “Yes, you can, baby. I know you’re tired, but you can do it, Y/n. You’ve got another one in you sweetheart, pull through for me. I’ve got you.”

And never one to disappoint, especially not her Mathew, she did.

She came, and she came hard. But it wasn’t dramatic the way you’d think it’d be, at least not outwardly. Her breathing stopped, her toes curled, and her nails dug into the skin on Barzy’s arms. It wasn’t accompanied by a loud scream, or a drawn out, high pitched moan. It was a breath of relief that left her when she came, her head falling to the side and her eyes closing. A quiet moan of Mat’s name, and she was clamping down on him.

The sweet way his name fell off her tongue, mixed with how she was so damn tight around him as she came, and he was done for. It triggered his own orgasm, and he felt the same feeling of peace wash over him that she had as he spilled into her. He fucked her through it, soft thrusts calming whatever aftershocks they both were experiencing. She had gone limp under him, her eyes opening as she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

He stayed in her, lowering himself onto his side, then maneuvering them so she was laying on him. They were a cliché and they knew it, but they couldn’t seem to care. A few moments passed in comfortable silence, before it was broken by Mathew’s scratchy post-sex voice. Swoon.

“So,” he started. She raised a brow, wondering where he was going with this.

“You looooove me, too, then?” He mimicked her tone from earlier, and they broke out in a fit of laughter as she slapped his arm and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re alright.” She feigned annoyance, propping herself up on her right arm as she faced the man she loved. Mat scoffed, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Just alright? You’re crazy, lady.”

“But you love me.”

Not a beat passed before “I do.”

She smiled softly, lifting up a hand to run a finger along his jaw. He caught it with his own, never breaking eye contact as he kissed her palm. Again, swoon.

“I know.” She responded, wanting to stay in that moment forever. But, she knew that if she stayed where she was too long, she’d more than likely fall asleep in record time. So, she pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, which he turned to catch before she could go, pulling her back for a “real” kiss at his protest.

A petulant child, that’s what he is.

She pressed one more to his lips for good measure, before pulling himself off of him. They both let out disgruntled sounds at the sudden losses, and it took all her energy to sit up on the edge of her bed. She felt a strong jaw on her shoulder, and she leaned into it.

“Where you goin’? Leaving me all alone isn’t very nice.” She could hear the frown in his voice, and even though she knew he was joking, it tugged on her heartstrings that little bit.

“Gotta pee.” She said, standing up and walking towards the connecting bathroom. “Sorry baby, no UTIs for me.”

The frown stayed cemented on his face.

“You should be grateful,” she threw over her shoulder, shutting the door. “No UTIs, more fucking, yeah?”

He chuckled at her bluntness, deciding to go and get her some water and maybe a snack. Shit, he didn’t know. What was he supposed to do? Usually when they fucked before, her or Mat would be out the door as soon as possible, still trying to ward off those pesky feelings. But now, he was allowed to feel said pesky feelings, and he’d be damned if he fucked it up.

So, snack. And water? Yeah, water, for sure. He was hungry and thirsty, why wouldn’t she be. He had no idea the way around her kitchen, nor how to, er, actually make anything, so this would be rough. But, first, a pit stop.

He would have walked butt-ass naked into her kitchen, really, but then he remembered Warrior was out there and he didn’t have a need to traumatize that dog any further than he already was.

(It was one time, okay? He didn’t know she had a dog, he’d been asleep on his bed by the TV when they’d gotten to her place. And at the time, Mat was too preoccupied to notice.)

He looked around on the floor for the offending clothing item, slightly grossed out when he did finally find them. It was only for a minute, tops, is what he told himself, as he pulled on the boxers from earlier in the night.

He tiptoed, for literally no apparent reason, through the dark apartment until he found the bag he was looking for. He grabbed what he needed from it, struggling with the zipper while trying to close it, before giving up. On his way back to her room, he gave Warrior a nod and smile, and he swore the mutt gave one back. Okay, actually, on second thought, he remembered the clock on her microwave saying it was 3:18 AM, so, maybe he didn’t.

It was late and he just had the best sex of his life with the woman he loves. Give him a break. So what if he’s delusional and thinks he can communicate with dogs? At least he’s pretty.

When he gets to her room, he pulls on the newer, clean, pair of boxers, setting the other pair he grabbed from his bag on the bed for her when she got out of the bathroom, along with an Islanders shirt that he’d secretly always wanted to see her in. Too soon? Maybe. But after so long yearning for everything domestic and wholesome and good that he was convinced he didn’t deserve with her, he was indulging a little bit. So sue him.

His next stop, snacks. And water, can’t forget the water.

The water was easy enough, he got lucky. He grabbed her “emotional support cup” as she’d called it before when she thought he wasn’t listening, and went over to the fridge. He got a few ice cubes and put them in, and then went over to her Brita. He stood there, pressing down on the little lever, watching the steady stream of water into the cup. It was almost laughable, how he stood there in the dead silence, concentrating so hard. He was determined not to somehow do something wrong, even though it was just pouring a cup of water. Cute.

He checked the pantry once the cup was full, with the lid safely screwed on top. The rustling about caught the attention of Warrior, who hopped down from where he’d been on the couch, moseying on over.

Mat, who still was slightly wary of Warrior, despite the fact the dog would cause him no harm, shook his head at the mutt.

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for you.”

He turned his head and gave him puppy dog eyes, pulling out all the stops. Mat sighed, looking back to the pantry. He saw a box of Milkbones, and looked back to Warrior, who was egging him on. (They’re telepathically connected, remember?)

He reached in the box, pulling one out, and tossing it down. Warrior gratefully accepted, taking his treat and waltzing off to his bed to chow down. Mat looked in the pantry, going to close the box, when he sees it, his saving grace.

White bread, hallelujah.

He can do toast. Mathew Barzal is a totally capable 25 year old man who can make toast. So, he takes the bag, going over to the toaster. And-

One look at all those fancy buttons, and he’s tapped out.

Okay, it’s okay, he can remember seeing a vending machine on his way into her apartment. Yeah, he remembers her telling him about having to sign off on some HOA form for it, even though she was just renting. Apparently, her landlord hadn’t signed, which made it her job. Whatever, that’s irrelevant.

He figured that there wouldn’t be anybody out in her hallway at 3:23 AM, so he grabbed his coat with his wallet, shrugging it on over his bare back. His slides were somewhere in his hockey bag and the last thing he wanted to do was stink up her whole place by opening that Pandora’s box. So, barefoot it is.

He does his best to sneak out the apartment, leaving the door ajar as he makes the short walk to the vending machine, grateful his search was over. He let out a long sigh as he stood, wondering what to get her.

For himself he decided on a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and a bag of those tiny cookies. For her, he racked every corner of his brain for potential options, before realizing how long he’s taking, and how long he’d been gone. So, not wanting to waste any more time, he elected for one of everything.

He punched in the numbers and paid, attempting to grab them from the machine. Trying to pick up the few that had fallen, he leaned down. His attention was called elsewhere by the ”click!” of a door a few units down. His head snapped to the source of the sound.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He muttered under his breath upon what he saw.

A man probably not much older than himself, suitcase and backpack in tow, donned in, you guessed it, a New York Islanders hoodie a lá number 13.

The man had yet to notice the star player down the hall from him, and Mat was considering just making a run for Y/n’s place. But either way, he would have to go past the man, or the man would have to go past Mat to get to the elevator. Maybe he’d take the stairs? He hoped. Shit, who was he kidding, he’s not taking the stairs.

Starting his walk over, the unnamed Islanders fan lifted his head, stopping in his tracks. His jaw dropped, and if it wasn’t purely because of being in the presence of Mat Barzal, he had a hunch what it was.

Said hunch, was that it was due to the fact Mat Barzal was standing in front of him, in an apartment complex definitely not boujee enough for him to be living in, at 3:25 in the morning, naked, except for boxers and some fancy trench coat, holding several bags of snacks.

Mat would’ve laughed at the guys face, but he thought he wasn’t quite in the position to do so.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” And a stupid bro nod, was all Mathew could manage.

While he was facing that debacle, Y/n was having one of her own.

After she’d gone to the bathroom, she decided to try to do her nighttime routine, too. She put on her robe from where it had been hanging in her bathroom, beginning her little routine.

When she emerged 10 minutes later, Mat was nowhere to be seen.

His bags were still by the door, albeit one of them hastily thrown open. Was he leaving and had gotten some clothes and an Uber? Did he have last minute regrets? The door to her place was left open, and an overwhelming sadness began to take over her system. As the tears began to well up, she looked over to Warrior, only to notice him chewing on… a milkbone? How the hell did he get a milkbone?

She sniffled, wiping her sleeve under her nose. She sat down on her couch, looking at where her iced coffee from earlier was still sitting, ¾ of the way empty. The tears started to flow freely again after that, and she stood up, deciding that she should at least shut the door. She didn’t need to deal with a robbery, too.

As she stood and turned, she was met with a very discombobulated and very underdressed Mat trying to shove his way through the door.

“Have a good flight, man. Enjoy Miami!” Mat called over his shoulder to what sounded like her neighbor Gian, based off of the “Thanks bro, good luck this season!” she heard back.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to not bust out laughing at the sight in front of her. Hearing her snickering, he looked up gesturing to the bags in his arms.

“Hungry?” He asked, the smile on his face falling when he saw the red around her eyes. He dropped all the snacks on the couch to his right, making his way over to where she stood.

“Hey, hey, why’re you crying? What’s wrong sweetheart?” He questioned, and his sincerity made her smile widely.

“Nah, I’m all good, don’t worry about it. Just thought you’d left, that’s all…” A pause. “But I see now that you just had a case of munchies, apparently.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her towards his chest. His chin rested on her head, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.

“No, baby. God, no, I’m not leaving. I just wanted to do this whole thing right, and I thought you might be hungry, and I tried to make toast- your toaster is really complex by the way,”

She pulled away from him as he rambled, her smile reaching her eyes.

“And I filled your water and set out clothes for you and I really did try, baby. I didn’t mean to fuck anything up, really.”

She giggled again, taking hold of the shoulders of his jacket, shrugging it off. She folded it over the back of a barstool, then turned back towards Mat.

“And Gian?”

“Oh yeah, he’s cool. Ran into him in the hallway and introduced myself. Going to visit some family in Miami.”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding her head in understanding. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“So, am I gonna have to compete with him for your attention now whenever you come over?”

He reciprocated the action, one hand coming up to rest on her chin.

“I mean, he’s gonna be gone for two weeks, but after that…” he shrugged, trailing off. She hummed, and he smiled at her, leaning forward. He searched her eyes for any remaining upset, unable to find any, before he pressed his lips to hers. It was sweet and gentle, with not a hint of rush or fervor.

When they pulled apart, she was smiling again. Her hands found their way back to his neck.

“And baby, you’re amazing. You didn’t fuck up anything at all, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She whispered, leaning in again to connect their lips. She let her tongue sweep over his bottom lip, biting down just barely before pulling away. She pushed down the sleeves of her robe just a bit, exposing her shoulders. Y/n took his hand, and started walking backwards, letting it slowly slip out of hers as she did.

“Come on, hotshot. Come to bed. Snacks will still be there in the morning.”

She smiled again briefly, before walking towards her room, the robe slipping down as she went. Mat stood watching her in total awe, glued in place, until he was knocked out of his trance.

“Hurry up! And lock the door, too, please!”

He had never obliged to anything quicker in his life.

(And as for the snacks, they were not still there in the morning, thanks to a certain mutt who managed to rip open all the packets on the couch. The next morning was spent at the vet, who had told them Warrior would be fine, just fat. The vet had only said this, though, after Mat had consoled a crying Y/n, who was under the impression he was going to be poisoned.

The rest of the day after that? Making up for lost time.)

FIN.

YO idk if that was good or not i kind of feel like i imagined writing the entire thing and it was a fever dream. but. anyway! if you liked it, be sure to reblog <3 thank u i love u! go eat some protein and drink some water.

xx, hj

2K notes · View notes