#these are both things I’ve been trying to do for years and years now. braces and school

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 61. Pretty Boy

Summary: After Violet's run in with Barlowe on the mat, Xaden has them ramping up their training. And Liam is looking for someone else to challenge. But his flirty mouth may just get him on the bad side of a certain Section Leader.

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

The gym is a bit busier tonight. Challenges were back on, and with no one flying with how cold it’s been and the temperamental weather, everyone has been taking advantage of being up for extra training. As usual marked ones are spread throughout, training with the more experienced ones as per Xaden’s instructions.

Since Violet’s challenge with Jack, he’d been on edge more than usual, and was now more demanding about everyone under his care being on top of their training. Which mean Imogen and I had to increase the amount of training we were doing with Violet to keep him at bay. On the mats closest to the weights area, Bodhi and Liam are sparing, showing some techniques to some other first years who are watching them intently. Though with the amount of girls watching them I know they’re watching for reasons other than learning how to fight. And with the cocky smirk Liam flashes at them before putting Bodhi on his back, I know he notices the attention.

”Come on Durran, give me a real fight.” Liam complains as he helps pull him up from the mat.

”This is meant to be informative. Not a proper fight.” Bodhi points out.

Bodhi was never one to go all out in these sessions. Preferring to use the time to explain and show technique. Whereas Liam was always itching to prove himself. Which he didn’t need to. He was undefeated this year, and everyone knew he was a rider to look out for. Both on the mat and up in the air. He was a very talented rider.

”And what better way to teach then to show them a proper challenge. You’re holding back. I bet Imogen or Dahlia would give me a proper fight. Wouldn’t you ladies?” Liam asks as walk past.

”I don’t think tha-”

”Of course we would.” Imogen says a bit to eagerly as she cuts Bodhi off. “I’m sure the undefeated Squad Leader would love to put on a proper fight.”

I turn and look at her, utterly confused as to what the hell has gotten into her. Usually she’d brush the boys off and mutter something about pent up testosterone. Because this isn’t the first time they’ve tried to pull us into their training while he walk past.

”What do you say old Squad Leader?” Liam asks with a smirk as he braces his hands on his hips.

Imogen shoves me toward the mat as she relieves me of my pack. “Fine, but make it quick. I have other things to attend to.” I tell him as I walk onto the mat.

”I’m sure I can make that happen given my track record.” He says confidently as he starts to circle me.

”Come on then pretty boy, show me what you’ve got.” I taunt before he rushes me.

Despite his size he’s quick and agile. It’s what’s given him the upper hand against all the opponents he’s been put up against. Most people would assume due to his height and build he’d be a bit on the slower side. But I’ve watched him fight for most of this year, so I know what to expect. Especially when he come’s at me with a combo I’ve watched Xaden do countless times. I shouldn’t be surprised. They were fostered together, so it doesn’t surprise me that Xaden trained him during that time.

Liam lunges at me, pulling me from my thoughts as I dart backwards to get out of his reach. We fall into a rhythm with ease, as if we’d done this a thousand times before. Soon I get an opening and land a series of hits on him as he slows, clearly fatigued by the sparing he’d been doing with Bodhi prior.

”You’re getting slow.” I tease.

He grins, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes as he steps back to circle me again. He parries my next punch with a casual twist of his wrist. I pivot, trying to slip past his defences, but he grabs my wrist and spins me around, the motion pulling a laugh from my lips as he pushes me away.

”Oh please, I could go all night pretty girl.” He teases with a smirk.

”Alright, that's enough.” A familiar booming voice comes from the edge of the mat.

I turn to see Garrick who is practically shooting daggers at him with his glare, arms crossed over his chest as he focuses on Liam. It’s not hard to tell he’s jealous, clearly having heard the banter between Liam and I while sparring.

”We we’re just getting started. Unless you’d care to join us.” Liam throws back with a smirk, not helping the situation at all.

I watch as Garrick’s jaw ticks with his tell-tale sigh of being annoyed. If Liam wasn’t who he was, I have no doubt Garrick would have laid into him on the mat already. Fucking possessive man.

“I said that’s enough. Dahlia has other training to do.” He barks out.

Yep. Jealous as fuck.

I roll my eyes as I walk over to Garrick who keeps his eyes on Liam, as if looking for a reason to lay into him. He finally looks at me when I lay my hand on his bicep. His hazel eyes softening ever so slightly as they meet mine.

”Don’t worry, you’re a pretty boy to.” I tell him with a smirk before reaching up and placing a kiss on his cheek which flushes bright red almost immediately before brushing past him and joining Imogen who looks like she’s barely containing her laughter.

”You did that on purpose.”

”I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She says with a smug smile on her face as she hands back my pack.

We turn and head over to the door to the weights area just as Liam joins Bodhi on the edge of the mats behind us.

”You could have fucking told me she was Garrick’s girlfriend. I thought they were just sleeping together.” Liam whisper yells at Bodhi.

Bodhi just shrugs. “Not my fault you live under a rock.”

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[r66dusthewriter]

What comes after.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: “Are they lovers?” WORSE

Been working pretty consistently on these so i thought i could spare some extra fics this week 😙 enjoy, i guess...?

Genre: Angsty fluff

Era: Daryl Dixon spin off, season 1.

Word count: 0.6k

You had come after him, all the way from America to Paris with no real hope of finding him and yet, against every odd, there he was. Just like always, he was tangled in something larger than life, something neither of you could fully walk away from and instead of pulling him out of it, you stayed. Maybe it was foolish but soon you realize this was just another impossible chapter in a story you never meant to write but couldn’t stop reading.

You glanced sideways. He drove in silence, eyes fixed on the road, the set of his jaw tight in thought. In the backseat, Laurent was asleep, his breaths soft and steady like a lullaby against the chaos following him. He reminded you of Carl and how life never softened its hits for anyone. You turned back forward, the weight of words pressing on your chest until they spilled out in a quiet murmur.

“When this is over…when we find out what really happened to Rick. We go home if we still can and then…” you shrugged, unsure how to frame the ache blooming in your chest, “what comes after?”

Daryl shifted in his seat, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. You know that look, he was trying not to feel too much. It was clear he’d grown attached to the kid and how could he not? But this wasn’t home. It was time to stop pretending. There were no phones anymore, no commercial flights, no soft returns. Just death, survival and running time.

He snorted faintly. “What’? Ya think I’ve been plannin’ some kind’o vacation?” He teased. “Florida, maybe?”

You chuckled under your breath but there was no humor in it. “No, I’m saying maybe it’s time you finally put yourself first. You could…get your life back. You know, stop doing things for people”

He didn’t answer at first, just stared ahead as if the road could save him. “I dunno if I still can” he mumbled.

“Bullshit. You never thought about…settling down?” Your voice cracked, not from nerves but from sheer exhaustion of “almost”. You and Daryl had danced around that edge too many times and now time felt like something borrowed, like you should stop hoping and finally let go.

He gave a quiet, almost bitter huffed laugh. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on. Nobody special though?” you asked gently, for your own sake.

His hand tightened on the wheel, the tendons in his forearms flexing. Something shifted in his expression and when he looked at you, really looked at you, it hit like a gut punch. This was it, no more of you.

“Wha’? Like you?” he asked, rougher than he meant to, like he was bracing for heartbreak.

Your heart dropped. You wished you could reel the words back into your mouth. “I wasn’t–”

But he cut you off, voice low, certain. “Won’t find tha’ nowhere else”

Your breath trembled. You feel his eyes on you, waiting, always waiting for something you weren’t sure how to give.

You met his gaze “Who do you want me to be?”

He didn’t even blink. “Whatever you’re willin’ t’ still give me. I’ll take anythin’”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “I think we both need to get a life”

“At the same time?” he asked, and it wasn’t a joke, it was a question wrapped in forever.

You turned to the window, to the gray blur of France passing by, wondering if the years had been worth it. Wondering if you’d ever loved anyone the way you loved him.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a single tear falling. “Same time”

[wendichester]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ hands on,

summary. you and sam have been best friends for years. but there's a restless feeling... always there... always lingering.

pairing. sam winchester x reader genre. steamy

wordcount. 489

notes / warnings. steamy make out with sammy!

The tension has been there for years.

Late nights, cheap motel rooms, stolen glances across dingy bars. It’s in the way Sam’s fingers brush against yours when he hands you a beer, the way his voice drops just a little when he says your name. The way you feel him in a room before you even see him.

But you’ve never crossed that line—never let yourselves go there.

Until now.

The hunt is over, and you’re both wired—adrenaline still thrumming through your veins as you step into the bunker’s kitchen. You should be exhausted, but sleep is the last thing on your mind.

Sam’s already there, leaning against the counter, nursing a beer. His shirt is still damp with sweat, sticking to the hard lines of his chest, and he watches you with that unreadable expression—the one that always makes your stomach flip.

“You good?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. Just… still coming down.”

His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you mean. “Yeah. Me too.”

The air thickens between you, something electric crackling in the space that should exist—but doesn’t, because you’re already too close.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s inevitable.

One second, you’re staring at each other, and the next, you’re backed against the counter, Sam’s hands braced on either side of you. His body is warm, solid, right there.

His eyes flick down to your lips, and you swear you see his resolve snap.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice is rough, laced with something dark and hungry.

Your breath catches. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His jaw tightens, like he’s still trying to hold on to some last shred of control. But you both know it’s useless.

You don’t wait. You don’t hesitate. You grab the front of his shirt and pull.

The second his mouth crashes against yours, it’s over.

It’s teeth and tongue, desperate and messy, years of tension unraveling in a single kiss. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair like he’s starved for this.

You moan against his lips, and he curses, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, closer.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your throat, his hands gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You tilt your head, giving him more access, your fingers slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over hot skin. “Then what took you so long?”

His laugh is low, dangerous. “I was trying to be good.”

You smirk, rolling your hips against him, feeling the sharp inhale he takes in response.

“Don’t hold back now, Winchester.”

And from the way his hands tighten on your body—the way his mouth claims yours again—you know he won’t.

Not tonight. Not ever.

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[siancore]

Written for the @sambuckylibrary SamBucky Summer Bingo On the Town Card - Square Fill: Pride.

Bucky Barnes had been many things in his long life. A son. A friend. A soldier. A hero. He stood now in front of the cameras and reporters a newly elected congressman. Part of the legacy that Bucky wanted to leave was for the people who had the time and energy to want to know him to really know him. He owed his next words to all of the people who looked up him; he owed the words to himself. Bucky braced himself, took a deep breath, and then said the words he needed to say. 

“I just wanted to start by thanking you all for being here. I know what I have to say isn’t the most important thing for people to hear, but it’s important to me, and I just wanted to put it out there before I step into this elected leadership role.”

The sound of cameras clicking surrounded Bucky as he cleared his throat and stared directly into the main video camera that was focused on him. 

“Where we find ourselves is, for want of a better word, tumultuous. We are in a place where the future historians will question us and what we’re doing to uphold the human rights of our people that many take for granted.”

Bucky calmed himself and continued to speak. 

“There’s a lot of work to be done, by leaders and those who claim to support everyday people. Either we change the systems that have held people back and held people down, or we stand by and watch. Either we hold those accountable for the atrocities they enact, or we wholeheartedly welcome fascism to this land. And I’ve seen fascism at its worst. What it can do. How it takes people’s sense of humanity and replaces it with complacence. I don’t want to be complacent in the face of oppression. I don’t want to be complicit in oppressing others. I want to stand for the truth. That’s the way that I want to push back.”

Bucky took another steadying breath.

 “If I don’t do much of anything, then I want to stand in my own truth.”

He breathed deeply once more and stared down the lens. 

“My name is James Bucky Barnes, and I am a gay man. And I’ve learned that in this day and age, it’s so important for people who have the capacity and support to be themselves to stand up and be counted. To everyone else, I’m here for you and I’ll fight for you. I’ll answer a few questions now. Thank you.”

Bucky was sweating in his suit. His heart was thrumming against his chest. But he believed in his own convictions. He was happy to stand there on international television and tell the whole world an important part of who he was. 

“Happy Pride,” said one reporter whom he gestured to. “Congressman Barnes, thanks for being so candid with us. We wish you all the best. My question is: Will you be joining Captain America at Capital Pride this year?”

“Thank you for the well wishes,” said Bucky with a genuine smile. “Sam took me to Capital Pride a little while ago when World Pride was hosted in DC. It was an amazing experience. My first time attending an event like that. It was really great to see everyone out and about celebrating and having a good time. I had a great time. If Sam wanted to invite me along again, then I’d uh, I’d be more than happy to tag along. Next question?”

“Mr. Barnes, can you go on the record and confirm whether or not you and Sam Wilson are more than friends?”

Bucky felt his face flush warm, and his palm sweat. He figured people were going to be intrigued by his and Sam’s relationship seeing as they were inseparable. Seeing as they were both queer men who were in each other’s proximity most of the time.  They had asked Sam about it enough times. He took a discreet breath and answered. 

“Sam is an amazing man,” said Bucky with an earnestness that reverberated through the small space. “He’s my best friend. When I first decided that I was going to continue on this path of doing this work, Sam supported me. He supported me in ways I can’t even put into words. Sam Wilson is the friend I wish I had when I was a young man trying to figure out my own wants and needs; my own sexuality. And he’s been that person for me now in this time and space.”

Bucky wrung his hands together and said, “I love him. I love Sam. He’s my best friend. What we have is so, so special to me. Putting a name to it feels like it could never be enough. We’re friends, co-workers, colleagues; partners. And everything in between. I have nothing but love and respect for Sam Wilson.”

The amassed reporters all erupted into a furore of more questions. Bucky inched back, held his hands up, and said, “That’s all the time I have for now. Thank you all for your time.”

With that, he stepped away and was ushered into one of the private courtyards as his assistant relayed to the journalists that he was done. Bucky reached into his pocket and retrieved his cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one and took a deep draw. It helped to calm his nerves. He paced back and forth in the small space. He had done it. He had come out to his constituents and the world. He felt as if he might throw up or dissolve. His other pocket began to vibrate. Bucky took his phone out and saw Sam’s name on the screen. He snubbed out his cigarette and then answered. 

“Sam?”

“Hey, Buck,” said Sam’s rich voice. “You okay?”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and let out a little laugh. 

“Yeah,” he supplied. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Always,” Sam replied, and Bucky could hear the smile in his tone. “So, you did that.”

Bucky had no words, he just let silence pervade between the two of them. Comforting and grounding.

“You did really well,” Sam added. “Handled it like a pro.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you,” Sam proffered. “I know how hard it is to bare your soul like that. You did an amazing job.”

“I thought of saying ‘homosexual’ instead of ‘gay’.”

“No, that was fine.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Bucky said with a chuckle. “I didn’t want to say anything that might’ve offended folks.”

“Nah,” said Sam. “You were awesome.”

“Thank you,” said Bucky, feeling a sense of ease wash over him. “Thanks, Sam. I –” 

“You don’t have to say it,” said Sam. “I do gotta ask, though.”

“Oh, God,” said Bucky with a hand to his face and half a smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Me and you?”

“Sam.”

“Nah, I just mean, Capital Pride.”

Bucky stifled a laugh and said, “What about it?”

“Well,” said Sam, sounding all kinds of cutesy. “The press wanted to know if you and I were going together.”

“Yeah?” said Bucky, unable to keep the smile from his face. 

“So, are we going?”

Silence floated around a beat as Bucky cleared his throat. 

“What, you mean like, together?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, sounding amused on the other end of the line. “Will you be joining me at Capital Pride this year?”

Bucky let out a small laugh and wiped his hand over his face. 

“You askin’ me out?”

“If you’re sayin’ ‘yes’, then hell yeah,” said Sam, confident as ever. “I’m asking you out.”

Bucky felt his tummy do numerous somersaults as a deep happiness wrapped him up in a warm embrace. 

“Well,” Bucky managed. “If you’re asking, then the answer is ‘yes’.”

He took a deep breath and said, “My answer to you is ‘yes’.”

Sam let out a rich, deep laugh and said, “Good. I’ll pick you up on the weekend.”

“It’s a date,” Bucky replied, giddy as all hell. 

“Yep,” said Sam, the smile evident in his intonation. “It’s a date.” 

[iamgonnagetyouback]

The second one is for Harry. I don’t have a plot for him tbh. Anything works…maybe something like James and lily are still alive and the reader is Sirius’ and Remus’ daughter (if you’re comfortable with that else she’s just Sirius’s daughter) and that her and Harry have feelings for each other but they make sure that their parents don’t know about this because they think they won’t approve but secretly Sirius and James have made a bet even before they were born that they’d end up dating.

Gonna sign off as - 👀

you bet on us?⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ ㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ harry potter

the morning started off innocently enough. you and harry decided, with great trepidation and a little bit of sweaty-palmed hand-holding, that it was time to come clean to your parents. you’d spent months sneaking around, dodging suspicious looks and sharing whispered secrets under that big oak tree in the potter backyard. but enough was enough. today was the day.

at breakfast, you sit on one side of the table, gripping harry’s hand under it like a lifeline. across from you, james is mid-story, waving his coffee cup wildly, nearly splashing sirius, who’s cackling in support. remus stands by the stove flipping pancakes, while lily is engrossed in her tea. it’s almost too peaceful. almost.

you exchange a look with harry, both of you gulping in unison. here goes nothing.

you clear your throat, trying to sound calm and confident but ending up squeaking, “we have something to tell you.”

every head swivels toward you. four pairs of eyes lock on, and it’s like they’ve turned into your jury.

sirius’s brows lift, eyes flicking to your joined hands, a smirk already forming. “oh, this is going to be good.”

james takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, not even trying to hide his amusement. “go on then, let’s hear it.”

“uh… well, harry and i…” you glance at him, wide-eyed. “we’re together. dating. you know, in a relationship.”

silence. deafening, horrible silence. you brace yourself for the absolute chaos about to ensue—a dramatic gasp from sirius, a whole speech from remus, something. but instead…

“oh, finally,” remus sighs, flipping another pancake like he’s completely unfazed.

“pay up, padfoot.” james holds out a hand to sirius with a smirk that could only mean one thing: they knew.

“are you—are you betting on us?” harry sputters, his face turning beet red.

sirius lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh as he fishes out a handful of galleons and plunks them into james’s waiting hand. “yep. and i had my money on last christmas, but nooo, you two had to make it as painful and drawn-out as possible.”

james shrugs, looking positively delighted. “i told him you two would take forever. i mean, you’re related to sirius, for merlin’s sake.”

“oh, come on!” you snap, indignant. “you didn’t even wait for us to tell you?”

sirius leans forward, smirking like he’s the world’s wisest sage. “kid, you were about as subtle as a hippogriff in a teashop. ‘oh, dad, we’re just going out to ‘study.’’” he air-quotes aggressively. “or, ‘oh, daddy, it’s so peaceful under the oak tree.’”

“do you know how many times i nearly hexed you?” remus says, shaking his head, clearly unimpressed. “once or twice would’ve been fine, but the ‘study dates’? please.”

harry’s face falls into his hands, groaning. “so you… knew? this entire time?”

james snorts, leaning back with the air of someone who has been utterly vindicated. “son, i’ve known since you looked at her like she’d personally invented quidditch.” he raises a smug eyebrow at lily. “which, by the way, was second year.”

lily laughs softly. “second year, james? don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“oh, not at all,” james replies with a flirty expression. “i’d know that look anywhere—it’s exactly how i used to look at you.”

you and harry exchange an exasperated look. “so… none of you are upset?” you ask, bewildered.

remus grins, nudging you both toward the table. “not at all. in fact, this is excellent news because now i can finally use your time together as leverage for chores.”

lily laughs, patting your shoulder with a wink. “honestly, we were all just waiting to see how long you’d last before one of you cracked.”

sirius, meanwhile, is dramatically clutching his chest. “i was holding out for the christmas confession! so many prime opportunities wasted! i could have retired on those winnings!”

“oh, get over it,” james says with a slap on his back. “we all saw it coming from a kilometer away.”

and as you and harry sit there, faces hot with embarrassment and disbelief, the rest of them toast to the “official family binding,” clinking glasses and laughing like this is the best entertainment they’ve had in years.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎplease refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[kxsagi]

“𝐦𝐫. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐫𝐬. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢”

a/n: welcome to the wedding of kura and isagi!!! 

this is peak delusion, i just wrote a 1.2k fanfic about me getting married to isagi, but call me kura isagi now

(GUYS I'M SORRY I WROTE THIS A DAY LATE, I HAD THE DRAFT ALREADY WRITTEN AND COMPLETED I JUST NEEDED TO PUBLISH IT, BUT I LEFT HOME AT 8 AM, WAS BUSY RUNNING ERRANDS AT THE BANK ALL MORNING, WORKED FROM 11 AM-7 PM, AND THEN WATCHED THE NEW JOHN WICK BALLERINA MOVIE RIGHT AFTER SGSLGJLAG PLS FORGIVE ME 🙏)

suggestive content inside! it ends with us about to do the boom shakalaka 

the soft rustling of kura’s dress echoed through the bridal suite as the final pin was tucked into place, locking her veil against neatly slicked back hair. the light caught the intricate beadwork of the dress – a masterpiece of lace and softness that hugged every curve. kura stared into the mirror, heart in her throat. not because she was nervous – no, she was ready. ready to become isagi yoichi’s wife. 

but then came the sound she hadn’t braced for. 

her mother. 

“wow…” 

kura turned slightly and saw her mom standing in the doorway, hands clutching her chest, tears slipping freely down cheeks that still held the glow of years gone by. she didn’t say anything else. she didn’t have to. the sight of her daughter – radiant, grown, glowing with love and purpose – was enough to crumble every wall she’d tried to keep up all morning. 

kura blinked hard. “mama… please don’t cry, or i will too,” she warned, a half-laugh, half-plea in her voice. “and i just did my makeup.” 

her mom walked up slowly, reaching out to touch her daughter’s arm like she wasn’t quite sure this was real. “i knew you’d be beautiful,” she whispered. “but this? you’re a dream.” 

kura hugged her tightly, careful not to wrinkle the fabric too much, but the warmth of that moment – mother and daughter, standing in the final seconds before everything changed – would stay with her forever. 

the ceremony was outside, under a clear sky that seemed like it’d been painted just for them. the white chairs were filled with faces both old and new, friends and family, blue lock boys in suits trying (and failing) not to draw attention to themselves, and kura’s friends whispering over champagne flutes about how the groom looked like someone out of a drama. 

but isagi only had eyes for one person. 

his hands trembled slightly at his sides as he stood at the altar, smile wavering the moment he saw movement at the end of the aisle. 

and then there she was. 

kura, walking slowly, steadily, her arm looped through her mom’s. the sunlight caught her veil just right, making her look like a beam of light had stepped off the clouds and decided to marry him. his breath caught. the crowd disappeared. he didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or fall to his knees in worship, but one thing was clear: 

he had never, ever seen anything or anyone so beautiful. 

his lips parted slightly, eyes glassy, heart practically crawling out of his chest to run to her. and when kura saw his face – the mixture of awe and adoration, the shaky inhale he took just to stay upright – she bit her lip and whispered, “don’t cry, yoichi…” 

and he almost did. 

the vows came like waves crashing against the shore of their love. 

“yoichi,” kura began, voice calm but strong, “i’ve never been good with words, that was always your thing. but somehow, you made me want to learn how to say everything better, just so you’d know exactly how much i love you. you taught me patience, you taught me partnership, and most of all, you taught me that real love doesn’t ask for perfection – it just asks for honesty. and today, with everyone here… i’m saying yes to every version of you. past, present, future. goals, losses, morning hair and all.” 

he laughed through his tears. 

his turn. 

“kura,” he said softly, then cleared his throat because damn, his voice cracked, “i knew from the moment i met you that you were something i couldn’t predict. and i love that. i love the way you challenge me. i love how you believe in me, sometimes more than i believe in myself. i love how you hold me like you were always meant to. with you, i’ve never felt like i had to win just to be worthy. i just… had to show up. and i promise i’ll keep showing up for you. always.” 

the officiant didn't even get to the formal line before everyone erupted into quiet sniffles and blurry phone camera zoom-ins. 

“by the power vested in me… you may now kiss your bride.” 

isagi didn’t wait. he stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her with a kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things – temples, trophies, dreams come true. but kura kissed him back like he was all of those and more. 

the afterparty was chaos. 

bachira was the first to hit the dance floor, dragging kura’s friends into an aggressive conga line before the salads were even served. reo and nagi showed up in matching suits “just to mess with people.” nagi took a nap in the gift table for twenty minutes. chigiri gave a heartfelt toast that got ruined halfway through because shidou stood up and shouted, “BOOM SHAKALAKA TO MARRIAGE!” 

oliver stole the bouquet toss with shocking grace and then winked at every bridesmaid as he handed it back. ness sobbed the entire first dance. loudly. even though no one asked him to. 

isagi was glued to kura’s side, except when his blue lock teammates kept pulling him for “one more photo” or “one more shot.” but even then, his eyes always searched for her. always returned to her. like a magnet. like gravity. 

“mrs. isagi,” he whispered at one point, spinning her under twinkling lights. 

“ugh, that sounds hot,” she replied with a grin, resting her forehead against his. 

“you think so?” 

“you can call me that every day from now on.” 

they arrived at the hotel penthouse just before midnight. 

massive windows framed the skyline like a moving painting. champagne was already on ice. rose petals, because of course. a bed so wide they could probably sleep on opposite ends and still not touch. but they didn’t plan to. 

kura kicked off her heels the second the door closed behind them, sighing with relief. “if i had to smile for one more camera…” 

yoichi chuckled, watching her shimmy out of the afterparty dress with the kind of hunger and awe that made it feel like he was seeing her for the first time again. 

“you still have the ring on,” she pointed out, holding her left hand up. 

he looked down at his own. “you, too.” 

“you know what that means?” 

he stepped closer, hands on her waist now. “what?” 

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice low and dangerous. “it means i own you now.” 

he smirked. “you’ve always owned me.” 

they kissed like it was round two of the ceremony. hands everywhere. mouths breathless. rings catching the dim light as their fingers laced together. 

“yoichi,” she murmured, dragging him toward the bed, “you ready?” 

he nodded, voice husky. “with you? always.” 

the last thing heard before the lights dimmed was the thud of his jacket hitting the floor and her whisper: 

“let’s make this marriage official.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

taglist (my bridesmaids + you can be added here if you want to just lmk): @simpingmyassoff @kissbabie @nensi @jnkosstuff @mymeloreo @mihyas-dieehefrau @beepbopzlorp @byzantiumhollow @6riix @gh0stlightdiva1100 @sasukevrz music anon @lylisimps @cutonmyhrt @youdontneedtoknowlol

[bitchinbarzal]

Hold onto me | C Keller

Summary: After months of distance and unresolved tension, divorce papers sit on the kitchen counter, threatening to end everything you built with Clayton.

-

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

You used to love the silence. Back when it meant comfortable mornings together, when Clayton would slide behind you in the kitchen, pressing lazy kisses to your neck while you sipped your coffee. Back when it meant lazy Sunday afternoons spent curled up on the couch, half-watching movies you’d seen a dozen times, his fingers tangled in yours.

Now, the silence is suffocating. It’s filled with every unspoken word, every fight that ended with one of you walking away instead of fixing what was broken.

And today, it all comes to a head.

The man you once thought you’d spend forever with stands across from you, hands braced on the kitchen island. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tension in his shoulders—the same tension that’s been there for months.

Between you, a thick envelope rests on the marble countertop, taunting you both. Divorce papers.

Your name is already signed at the bottom.

Clayton hasn’t picked up the pen yet. He hasn’t even moved.

“This is really it, then?” His voice is hoarse, rough like he’s been swallowing back words he’s too afraid to say.

You take a slow breath, trying to keep the shaking in your chest at bay. “I don’t know what else to do, Clay.”

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours with a desperation you haven’t seen in so long. “You don’t know what else to do? What does that mean?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “It means I can’t live like this anymore. We don’t talk. We don’t touch. We don’t even look at each other.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it, but it’s the truth.

Clayton flinches like you’ve physically struck him. “That’s not true.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “When was the last time we actually talked? Not about schedules or who’s picking up groceries—actually talked?”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence that follows is heavier than anything else.

Your eyes burn, but you refuse to cry. Not now. Not when you’ve already mourned this relationship over and over again.

“I know things have been bad,” Clayton finally says, his voice lower now, strained. “But I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“That’s the problem,” you whisper. “You stopped seeing me. I stopped seeing you. We just… stopped.”

The words sit between you, stark and painful, and for a second, you think he might just pick up the papers and sign them, putting an end to the last five years of your life together.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he steps around the island, closing the distance between you. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to anymore.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he finally says, voice raw. “I know I’ve been—fuck, I know I’ve been distant. I just thought if I pushed through, if I focused on hockey, I could fix things without actually talking about it.” He shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “Turns out that was the worst thing I could’ve done.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I didn’t help, either. I let the resentment build. I shut you out, too.”

His hands finally lift, hesitant as he cups your face. His touch is warm, familiar, and it breaks you.

“I love you,” he breathes. “And if there’s even the smallest chance you still love me too, then I don’t want to give up on this. On us.”

Tears spill over, and you grip his wrists, grounding yourself. “I don’t want to give up either.”

Clayton exhales sharply, relief flashing across his face. “Then let’s fix this. Together.”

The divorce papers sit forgotten on the counter.

That night, neither of you sleep.

You talk.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you talk.

At first, it’s hard. Every word feels heavy, every confession laced with regret. But as the hours pass, the tension begins to fade.

“I hated coming home after games,” Clayton admits quietly, lying beside you in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

You turn your head toward him, heart twisting. “Why?”

“Because you weren’t there,” he says simply. “I mean, you were physically there, but you weren’t there. And I knew it was my fault.”

Your breath catches. “Clay—”

“I’d walk through the door, and it felt like I was stepping into a stranger’s house.” He lets out a slow exhale. “I didn’t know how to fix it, so I buried myself in hockey. I thought if I just worked harder, if I just gave it time, it would go back to the way it was.”

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I felt like I was waiting for you to come back to me.”

Clayton turns then, shifting onto his side to face you. “I’m here now,” he murmurs. “I never stopped loving you. I just—” His voice falters. “I just forgot how to show it.”

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You reach out, fingers tracing over his jaw, the stubble rough against your skin. “I missed you,” you whisper.

His eyes darken with something raw and unguarded. “I missed you too.”

And then, he kisses you.

It’s not hurried or desperate—it’s slow, filled with every word you haven’t said. His hands slide into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. You press closer, melting into him, your fingers gripping his shirt like you need to anchor yourself.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he promises.

You don’t know if it’ll be easy. You don’t know if the cracks will ever fully disappear. But you do know one thing:

You’re willing to fight for this.

For him.

For you.

For the love that never really went away.

[waliminium]

All That’s Left Behind

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, emotional strain/conflict Word Count: 2.3k Summary: After you walk away, Harvey is left to face the emptiness of his life without you. Months later, a chance encounter compels him to reach out, leading to a cautious journey of rebuilding trust. Slowly, Harvey learns to show up and fight for the relationship he once took for granted. Though the road is fraught with pain and uncertainty, hope emerges as you both take a chance on each other again.

The rain came down in sheets, slicking the glass walls of Harvey Specter’s penthouse and softening the city’s sharp lights into a blur. He sat in the dark, staring out at Manhattan, a glass of scotch dangling loosely in his hand.

It was almost laughable how much his life mirrored the storm outside. Chaotic. Relentless.

For the first time in years, the one thing Harvey couldn’t control wasn’t a hostile client, a legal loophole, or some rival firm.

It was you.

You were the only thing that had ever made him want to stop running, to stop being Harvey Specter, closer of deals and breaker of hearts. But even with you, he couldn’t stop the one thing he feared most. Losing.

You had been gone for three months, and the hole you left behind seemed to widen with every passing day.

The penthouse felt cavernous without you. He hated it. He hated the emptiness, the silence that seemed to swallow him whole the second he walked through the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the things you left behind—your scarf draped over the back of the chair, the half-empty bottle of vanilla hand lotion on the bathroom counter. And your mug. God, that damn mug.

It sat on the kitchen counter, chipped and worn but untouched since the morning you left. It was a small thing, insignificant, really. But to Harvey, it was everything.

Some days, he’d find himself standing there, staring at it, his hand hovering over the handle as if touching it might bring you back. But he never could.

The fight—or rather, the end—was etched into his memory.

It hadn’t been loud or dramatic. No screaming, no accusations hurled like weapons. That wasn’t your style.

Instead, it was quiet. Painful in its simplicity.

You had come home late, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you dropped your bag onto the couch.

“You’re late,” he’d said without looking up from the case files spread across the dining table.

You didn’t answer right away. When he glanced up, you were standing there, staring at him with an expression that made his stomach twist.

“We need to talk,” you’d said softly, your voice steady but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten.

He leaned back in his chair, gesturing for you to sit, but you stayed where you were, arms crossed as though bracing yourself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said.

At first, he thought he’d misheard you. “Do what?”

“This. Us. Whatever it is, we're pretending this is.”

His heart stopped, but he forced himself to stay calm. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but it was hollow, and it cut deeper than any words could. “I’ve been trying, Harvey. I’ve been trying to make this work, to be okay with how you live your life. But I’m tired. I can’t keep being the last thing on your list of priorities.”

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply, standing now, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You knew what my life was like when we started this.”

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes but refusing to fall. “I did. But I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”

“Damn it, I love you—”

“No, you don’t.”

The words hit him like a slap.

You wiped at your eyes, your voice trembling. “You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. Of having someone to come home to when it’s convenient. But love? Love means showing up, Harvey. And you never did.”

He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, but the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the truth.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you repeated, softer this time, and it was then that he realized you weren’t angry. You were broken.

When you turned to leave, he didn’t stop you. He told himself it was because he needed time to think, to calm down, but deep down, he knew it was because he didn’t know how to fight for you.

The first few days after you left, Harvey convinced himself you’d come back.

You always came back. After every argument, every tense moment, you’d find your way back to him. You’d walk through the door with that soft smile, telling him it was okay, that you could work through it.

But this time, you didn’t.

He tried calling once. Twice. But your voicemail picked up each time, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave a message. What could he say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? It felt hollow, insufficient.

He threw himself into work instead, taking on case after case, staying at the firm late into the night to avoid going home. But even the thrill of winning began to lose its edge.

Mike noticed first, his usual smirk replaced by concern.

“You look like crap, Harvey,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

“Thanks for the observation,” Harvey replied, not looking up from his desk.

“Seriously. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

Mike sighed, his brows furrowing. “You know, whatever it is, you can—”

“I don’t need a therapy session,” Harvey snapped, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine.

One sleepless night, he found himself sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by the remnants of the life you left behind.

The scarf you’d forgotten in the backseat of his car. The book you’d been halfway through, a folded page marking your place. And your notes.

You’d always had a habit of leaving little notes around the penthouse—on the bathroom mirror, in his briefcase, tucked into his suit pockets. They were silly things, mostly. Jokes, reminders, affirmations.

But they were you.

He pulled one out of the drawer, the paper crinkled and worn from years of being shuffled around.

“Don’t forget to smile today. It looks good on you.”

His chest ached as he stared at the familiar handwriting, the words blurring as his eyes burned.

Time passed, though Harvey barely noticed.

He stopped going out to drink with the associates. Stopped caring about his reputation as the untouchable, unshakable Harvey Specter. He still won his cases—of course, he did—but the fire that once drove him had dulled to embers.

Jessica tried once to talk to him, her sharp eyes softening with something akin to pity.

“Whatever’s going on with you, you need to deal with it,” she said. “Before it deals with you.”

Her words haunted him, echoing in the back of his mind as he sat alone in his office, the city sprawling out below.

It wasn’t until he saw you again, by chance, that something inside him shifted.

You were outside a coffee shop, laughing with a friend, your smile radiant even from across the street. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

You looked happy.

He wanted to turn around, to walk away and let you live your life without him. But then you looked up, your gaze meeting his, and the world seemed to stop.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible gesture—and turned back to your friend.

Harvey stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.

That night, he wrote you a letter.

It wasn’t long, but it was honest. Raw.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For not being what you needed, for not saying what I should have said. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know.”

He left it on your doorstep the next morning, his heart pounding as he walked away.

Days turned into weeks, and Harvey told himself he’d done all he could.

But one evening, as he sat in his office, his phone buzzed with a text.

“We need to talk.”

For the first time in months, Harvey felt something close to hope.

The text was brief, no more than three words.

We need to talk.

Harvey had stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, rereading the message until the words blurred.

It wasn’t a declaration, a reunion, or even an olive branch. It was neutral, cautious. But it was enough to make his heart pound.

He didn’t reply immediately. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, second-guessing every possible response. Should he ask when? Where? Or would even that make him seem too eager?

Finally, he settled on something simple. Name the time and place.

The café was unassuming, a quiet little corner of the city that Harvey had passed by a hundred times but never entered. He got there ten minutes early, an uncharacteristic move for a man who was usually fashionably late to everything.

He didn’t know what to expect. Would you come in angry, demanding answers he didn’t know how to give? Would you be indifferent, already halfway to moving on?

When you finally walked in, he felt the air shift.

You looked… different. Not in the way you dressed or carried yourself, but in the subtle confidence you exude. You didn’t seem like the same person who had stood in his penthouse months ago, broken and pleading.

And yet, to him, you were still everything.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady but guarded as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he replied, his hands clasped tightly on the table to keep them from shaking.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, filled with everything unsaid and unresolved.

Finally, you broke it.

“I got your letter.”

He nodded, his throat tightening. “I meant every word.”

“I know.” You took a breath, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “That’s why I’m here.”

The conversation was careful at first, like stepping across a frozen lake and waiting for the ice to crack.

You asked about work, and he gave you vague answers, not wanting to burden you with the truth: that everything had felt meaningless without you.

He asked about your life, and you told him you’d been keeping busy. New projects, new people. You didn’t say much more, and he didn’t push.

But as the minutes passed, the tension began to thaw.

“I didn’t think you’d respond,” he admitted, his voice low.

“I almost didn’t,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “But then I realized I couldn’t keep running from this. From us.”

The word us lingered in the air, fragile and bittersweet.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you began to rebuild, piece by cautious piece.

It started with texts. Short, casual exchanges that slowly grew longer as the walls between you came down. Harvey found himself waiting for your messages, checking his phone more often than he cared to admit.

Then came the phone calls. They were awkward at first, filled with pauses and the occasional stumble over words. But as time went on, they became easier, more natural.

And finally, there were the dinners.

The first one was at a small Italian restaurant you loved, one he’d never gone to without you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again,” he admitted over a glass of wine.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t. Not at first. But I realized something: I miss you, Harvey. Even when I hate you, I miss you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you did. And if this is going to work, we can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his tone almost desperate.

“Show up,” you said simply. “Be present. Be here, with me, instead of always five steps ahead or stuck in your own head.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I can do that.” But promises weren’t enough, and you both knew it.

There were setbacks, moments where old patterns threatened to resurface.

One night, after a particularly long day at the firm, Harvey found himself canceling dinner with you at the last minute. The second the words left his mouth, regret settled in his chest like a stone, but he knew there was no taking them back.

Your silence on the other end of the line was worse than any angry response. Finally, you said, “It’s okay, Harvey. I understand.”

But your tone—it wasn’t bitter, and it wasn’t sharp. It was tired, resigned in a way that twisted something deep inside him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, though he doubted his own words even as he spoke them.

“Sure,” you replied quietly, and then the call ended.

Slowly, he did.

He started leaving the office earlier, something that shocked even Donna. He’d show up at your place with takeout and an exhausted smile, but he was there.

You began to see glimpses of the Harvey you’d fallen in love with—the one who made you laugh, who challenged you, who made you feel like the most important person in the world when he actually let his guard down.

And Harvey began to see you too, not just as someone he wanted to keep but as someone he needed to fight for.

One night, months after you’d first agreed to see him again, he found himself sitting on your couch, his arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“I never told you why I wrote that letter,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing against yours.

You tilted your head to look at him. “Why did you?”

He hesitated, his throat tightening. “Because I realized I’d rather risk you rejecting me than spend another day knowing I didn’t try.”

You didn’t respond right away, your gaze searching his.

“I don’t know if I can forgive everything,” you admitted softly. “Not yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said, his voice steady. “I just want the chance to earn it.”

For the first time in months, you smiled—small, hesitant, but real.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s try.”

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, Harvey felt something he hadn’t dared to hope for:

Peace.

[sammrapp]

R.GEORGE

THE CRUSH

After a year of balancing my two friendships with the Plastics (Regina, Gretchen, Karen and Cady.) And the art freaks, (Janis and Damien) along with my crush about Regina that only Janice, Damien and cady know about; i get a call from Regina one night, her voice sharp and low as she insists I stay over the night at her place. After packing a bag she picks me up in her pink jeep from my place.

The engine hums low as Regina drives, her nails tapping the steering wheel like a ticking clock. The pink Jeep glows under streetlights, cutting through the night like a secret. She hasn’t said much since I climbed in, only offered a quick “seatbelt” and the barest glance in my direction. Her sunglasses are on.. in the darkening evening. That’s how I know something’s wrong.

I study her profile in the half-dark—sharp jaw with that unreadable expression she wears like armor. I want to ask if she’s okay. I want to ask a hundred things. But I know better. Regina George doesn’t do vulnerable, not unless the dam’s already cracked.

The drive to her house feels longer than usual, like the silence is stretching out just to mess with me.

When we pull into her driveway, she doesn’t wait for me to follow. Just strides to the door and unlocks it with the kind of practiced motion that says she’s done this a million times—only this time, she waits for me before stepping inside. That’s not normal.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. Her mom’s usually blasting some early-2000s throwback and offering us mocktails in martini glasses. Tonight? Nothing.

Regina drops her keys on the counter, turns to me, and says, flatly, “You’re staying in my room. No guest room crap.”

I nod, unsure if this is a punishment or a privilege.

Inside her room, it’s like stepping into a dream I’ve had too many times. Pink lighting, perfume still lingering in the air, her mirror cluttered with high-end chaos. She drops onto the bed, still in her boots, and stares at the ceiling like it personally offended her.

“I broke up with Aaron,” she says suddenly.

My breath catches. Before i quick add to cover it up, “What happened?”

She shrugs, but her voice wavers. “He said I was too much. Too intense. That I didn’t let him in.”

A pause. Then she speaks again, “Maybe he’s right.”

I sit beside her slowly, careful not to move too close. “Regina, you scare the hell out of people. That’s your thing. But... that doesn’t mean you’re not worth letting in.”

She turns to look at me then. Really look at me. Her eyes scan my face like they’re searching for something—cracks in the façade, maybe. But I’ve never hidden from her. Despite keeping my crush for her a secret, I never hid my sincerity.

“Everyone wants something from me,” she says, voice lower now, more real. “But you—you’re the only one who’s never tried to beat me or worship me.”

I swallow, heart pounding as i wonder if ive been caught. “That’s because I—”

She cuts me off, eyes narrowing. “Don’t. Not yet.”

I furrow my eyebrows at her, feeling both shocked and confused as I slowly speak out, "What do you mean?"

Regina’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, even as the room feels suddenly too quiet again, like the air is bracing for something. Her voice is softer now, more hesitant than I’ve ever heard it.

“I mean,” she begins, and then swallows hard. “I mean that I don’t know what to do with you.”

That stings—just enough for me to flinch, but I try to keep my face neutral.

She sees it. She knows.

“No—I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly, sitting up a little straighter, her voice urgent now. “I mean, you make me feel... different. Not weak, just... like I don’t have to play defense all the time. You see through all my crap, and you don’t run. And that scares the hell out of me, but it also—”

BRRRRZZZ. BRRRRZZZ.

Her phone buzzes violently on the nightstand. Regina closes her eyes, jaw tight.

The name AARON flashes on the screen.

She reaches over, pressing the decline button and just breathes out a sharp sigh and keeps talking.

“It also makes me think there’s something I’ve been ignoring—something I’ve been too scared to say. And maybe it’s too late or maybe it’ll ruin everything, but I—”

BRRRRZZZ. BRRRRZZZ.

She grabs the phone this time, thumbs hovering like she might throw it across the room. She answers it instead, her voice a low growl.

“What?”

I can only hear muffled yelling on the other end. Aaron. His voice sharp, demanding.

“No,” she snaps. “You don’t get to call me ten times in a row and pretend you care now. You said what you said. You broke it. You don’t get to show up at the end of the movie like some romantic hero trying to rewrite the script.”

Another muffled yell. She stands now, pacing.

“I told you I was done. I’m not doing this tonight. Or ever again. Go wallow in your mediocrity somewhere else.”

She hangs up mid-sentence and stares at the screen like it personally offended her. When it lights up with another incoming call—AARON again—she finally loses it.

“Jesus Christ!” she mutters, hits decline, and powers the whole thing off. The silence that follows is immediate and full.

She turns back to me slowly, and the flash of rage is gone, replaced with something quieter. Tired, raw.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “I didn’t want tonight to be about him. He always makes everything about him.”

She walks back over and sits beside me again, this time closer. Our knees almost touch. Her voice drops low, like if she says it too loud, it might vanish.

“I was trying to say... I think I like you. And not the way I liked Aaron. Not convenient-like or show-off-like. I mean the kind where you’re stuck in my head all the time. The kind where I catch myself looking for you in every room. And when I saw you texting Janis the other day, I got jealous, which is pathetic, I know, but I did.”

I can barely breathe.

“And when I called you tonight, I didn’t know how to ask. I just knew I needed you here. Not Karen. Not Gretchen. Not Cady. You.”

Her eyes flicker down, like she’s afraid of what she’s just let slip.

“Say something,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.

I can feel the moment teetering—like it could collapse or bloom, depending on the next word.

The air between us is alive yet tense, humming with something too big for words. I look at her, really look at her, and it’s like my heart’s trying to break out of my ribs. And im terrified she can hear it too.

Her eyes won’t quite meet mine now, like saying all of that stripped her bare, and she’s suddenly unsure if she should’ve handed me the pieces.

Slowly, I reach for her hand where it rests between us, interlockingour fingers together gently. I don’t grab it roughly, I don’t force anything.

“I’m glad you called me,” I say softly. “Even if you didn’t know why yet.”

She glances up, cautious. But she doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve had this stupid, hopeless crush on you for almost a year,” I admit, heart pounding. “Janis told me it was dangerous. Damien told me to write it out of my system. Cady just said... be careful.”

A breathless laugh slips from her, sharp and small. “Sounds about right.”

“But none of them really got it. Because it was never about you being Regina George, Queen Bee, legend, the one everyone is scared of. It was about... you. The real you.”

Her eyes snap to mine now, really locking in.

“The girl who steals my fries when she says she’s not hungry. The girl who pretends she’s not listening but always remembers the tiniest thing I say. The girl who drove across town in the middle of the night just because she didn’t want to be alone.”

She stares at me like she’s bracing for impact. Like she doesn’t know what happens now.

I move my hand, just a little. Giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Her breath hitches.

“You don’t scare me, Regina.”

And then, finally, she moves—turns her palm so it fits into mine, fingers threading like they’ve been waiting to find their match.

For a second, neither of us says anything. There’s just her lamp casting everything in rose-gold glow, and the sound of our breathing, shallow and syncopated.

“God,” she says quietly, “this is terrifying.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “But not in a bad way.”

Regina leans in just a bit, slow and unsure. Her forehead brushes mine, her breath soft against my skin.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” she murmurs. “I’ve never done this... honestly. Not with anyone.”

I close my eyes, leaning into the space between us.

“Then don’t,” I whisper. “We don’t have to rush. We just... start here.”

A loud thump in my chest.

And then she kisses me—not dramatically, not possessively, but slow, like she’s tasting something she’s only ever imagined before. Like she’s trying to memorize it.

When we finally break apart, her eyes are glassy but steady.

“I’m turning my phone off every time I’m with you,” she says, voice low.

Regina doesn’t move away after the kiss. She stays close, her forehead resting against mine, our breaths syncing like we’ve somehow tuned into the same frequency. Her hand is still in mine, but her thumb starts brushing slowly across the back of it—like she needs that small motion to keep her grounded. To keep this real.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” she whispers, her voice low, almost fragile. “Since—God, I don’t even know when. That night at the bonfire, when you gave me your hoodie... I think that was it. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that.”

I laugh softly. “You kept it for two weeks.”

“You smelled like lavender and anxiety,” she smirks. “It was weirdly comforting.”

She leans in again—not rushed, not hungry, just... closer. Her nose brushes mine as her other hand comes up, fingertips ghosting over my jaw, my cheekbone. She studies me like I’m a secret she’s finally allowed to learn.

When she kisses me again, it’s deeper. Slower. Like she’s letting herself fall, inch by inch, testing the water before jumping in. Her lips move against mine with an unspoken question in every tilt and pause. I answer with the way I touch her arm, the way my fingers gently slide up to tangle in the ends of her hair.

The kiss softens again before it ends—trails off slowly. She pulls back just slightly, enough to look at me.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Can you stay close tonight? I mean—actually close.”

My heart swells.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” I murmur.

She exhales in relief, and then shifts, pulling the covers back. We both crawl in, limbs careful and quiet. Her bed smells like expensive fabric softener and that perfume she always wears—vanilla, sharp florals, something uniquely her.

Regina lies on her side, facing me, her eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. No walls, no games.

I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face.

“You can sleep,” I tell her gently.

“I don’t want to yet,” she whispers. “Not when you’re finally here like this.”

She edges closer, her hand resting lightly against my chest. Our legs tangle under the sheets. For a long time, we just lie like that—quiet, warm, touching in all the ways that say I’m here, I see you, I’m not going anywhere.

And eventually, with her body pressed into mine, her breath steady and safe against my collarbone, Regina George—sharp-tongued, impossible, infamously untouchable—falls asleep wrapped in the quiet safety of me.

And I hold her like she’s the most precious secret I’ve ever been trusted with.

PART TWO HERE

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 7: Precautions

You and Joel deal with a growing threat as you prepare to take on a new role. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 6 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild violence. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.7k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Three Weeks Later 

“You remember your talking points, right?” Quinn asked, watching Ellie closely. “And all the rules?” 

“No,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve completely forgotten the four things you’ve told me because I’m fucking dumb.” 

“Hey,” you said, giving her a look. “C’mon, kid.” 

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Language. Yes, I know I can’t swear. I have to talk about how great Sissy is…” 

“You don’t have to,” you said, giving Quinn a look. “You should be honest.” 

“Then I’ll tell them all about how you make me do the stupidest homework and don’t let me stay up late and also don’t let me beat up people at school even when they deserve it,” Ellie said, smug. 

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “You can’t…” 

You cut her off before she got too far. 

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “Ellie, say whatever you think is best. However this interview goes, it’ll all blow over in a few weeks, anyway.” 

“Just try not to swear quite so much, kiddo,” Joel said, his arms crossed as he hovered between you and the front door, waiting for the reporters to arrive. “You and I both know you know better than that.” 

“But I like to fucking swear,” she smirked and Joel, you could tell, was trying not to smirk back. “But if Big Miller says so…” 

“Jesus,” Joel rolled his eyes. 

The doorbell rang and Quinn ground her teeth but went with Joel to answer the door all the same. 

This interview had been a last ditch effort on Quinn’s part. The media had latched on to the concept of Ellie’s existence and hadn’t eased up since the news broke. Photographers still showed up outside her school half the week, paparazzi camped outside the gym where you’d been training for Savage Starlight and would yell questions with Ellie’s name in them at you, there were several viral posts theorizing that you and Anna had secretly been lesbians and Ellie was your daughter together. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your breaking point. Quinn had the idea to offer up an interview to the biggest publications, one in your home where you posed for pictures and answered questions about Ellie, the adoption, Anna, the works. In exchange, they agreed to stop buying photos of you and Ellie as you went about your private lives in Austin. 

You hoped it worked. You didn’t want to have to uproot Ellie yet again. The whole reason you’d come to Austin to begin with was that Elise had retired here and you didn’t want to keep Ellie from the only blood relation she had left or ask Elise to move to whatever new place you decided to settle, especially if you’d just have to do this same song and dance again in six months to a year when the press found out where you were again. 

You were, at least, out of your brace now. It had been a close call on the interview date, Frank planning a few outfits for you - some designed to downplay the brace, others without worrying about it - just to be safe. But the fracture had healed well and quickly, not requiring a full cast or any extended time in the brace. You’d gotten permission to take it off at your follow up appointment a few days earlier and had been relishing your new-found freedom ever since. Your training for Savage Starlight was slated to pick up more now that you were healed but you were enjoying the small reprieve where you weren’t dealing with the brace and weren’t sore and exhausted every night. 

Once things calmed down with the paparazzi, though, you could handle it. You hoped, anyway. In part because, outside of all that, things had been going smoothly - even with your surly bodyguard. 

It was still a total mystery to you what he’d meant by keeping things “professional,” but things had definitely been that. Cool and distant, no more sitting next to each other by the pool late at night or sharing a drink now and then - things which seemed perfectly professional in your opinion but apparently weren’t for him. But, while he wasn’t wearing the watch you’d given him, he never snapped at you like he did the day you’d presented it to him, either. 

You took what you could get with him. It was a little disorienting, having someone treat you with such indifference - especially when he’d shown some basic, human care in the past. Not that you expected him to treat you the way everyone else did. You weren’t stupid, you knew that almost every person you interacted with every day treated you the way they did because you were famous and because you had a carefully crafted public persona that was only loosely tied to who you really were. They were either fans of someone who didn’t really exist but had your body and face and name or they wanted some proximity to your fame and all that came with it. Of course someone like Joel - who had to be around you all the time, whose job required him to move quickly regardless of your feelings - would treat you differently. But it still stung all the same. Anything short of the harshness he’d treated you with that day in your driveway felt like mercy and you were almost ashamed at how desperately you clung to that. 

“Hey,” you said to Ellie, reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Her eyes met yours. “I’m sorry about this. And you should know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can shut it down right now if you want.” 

She smiled a little tightly at you, giving your hand a small squeeze back. 

“I know,” she said. “But… this will make it all easier, right? They’ll leave us both alone and you won’t be as stressed?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you to do this because you’re worried about my stress level or…” 

“I know,” she cut you off, smirking a little. “But I’m also doing it for me. Fuck switching schools again, man.” 

 You laughed a little and rested your head against hers, taking a deep breath as you heard the distinctive sound of Quinn’s reporter wrangling voice from your entry way. 

“Well, now you’ll get an idea of what I do every day,” you said, lacing your fingers with hers. “See just how boring it is so you can tell all your friends at school that they don’t actually want to be movie stars when they grow up.” 

Ellie snorted. 

“Please,” she said. “I know you’re really off doing cool shit while wearing fancy clothes all the time. Definitely one big party, no work at all.” 

You laughed before getting up to go greet the reporter, slipping into the version of yourself that you shared with the press as you did.

The interview went surprisingly well. Quinn had handpicked the reporter so that wasn’t a surprise, a well known freelancer who didn’t ask anything too invasive. Ellie held her own, curbing her swearing (mostly, a few, more minor, curse words snuck in) and being her witty and charming self. The photographer posed the two of you together on your couch, by the pool with your guitars, by the kitchen island pretending to cook - even though you basically never did that yourself, anyway. 

Joel hovered the entire time. You could feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze sharp. He stayed at the back of the reporter and photographer the whole time they were in your house. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, his jaw set firm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, your hand going to rest gently on Joel’s back, when the photographer was focused on Ellie and the reporter was reviewing his notes. “You OK?” 

“Fine,” he grunted, glancing over at you. “Just tryin’ to do my job.” 

“It’s just a reporter,” you said, raising your brows and trying not to smile. “I don’t think they’re going to bite.” 

He just made a disgruntled sound and kept his eye on the visitors, his whole body still tense. 

He didn’t ease up until the reporter and photographer were gone and outside the gates of your property. 

“That was kinda fun!” Ellie said. “A lot of bullshit but not that awful.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

“Told you you don’t actually work,” she teased. You snorted and she turned her attention to Joel. “Hey Big Miller, wanna kill some zombies? I was playing a level the other night and getting my ass kicked, I could use another gun.” 

You glanced toward Joel, still worried that, at some point, he would decide he wanted to keep a professional distance from Ellie, too. She’d grown attached to your bodyguard over the last few months, not that she would ever admit it. She sought him out often to play video games or watch a movie. You could usually hear when she got home from school when he picked her up because she was still laughing at something he said when she walked in the door. 

It still surprised you, how the two of them had connected. You hadn’t expected a - presumably - single, childless man to have bonded with your brash teenaged niece so thoroughly. Had it been anyone else, it would have sent alarm bells ringing. You had plenty of reason to not trust the motivations of men, especially around teenaged girls, but there was something distinctly safe about Joel and his connection with Ellie. And she needed as many people to care for her as she could get. You didn’t want her to lose that because of some misplaced notion of propriety. 

“Been a minute since we went and messed up some undead,” he said, noticeably less tense now that the only people in the house were you, him, Ellie and Quinn. “Guess we should go show ‘em who’s boss.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said, punching the air. You didn’t scold her for her language choice, instead just smiling a little at the two of them as he settled into the couch and picked up the controller - the device looking oddly small in his large hands - before going to find Quinn in your office. 

“Ellie’s got some natural skill,” Quinn said, glancing up from the Emmy that functioned as a paperweight on your desk. “She’s smart, charismatic. Got a hell of a mouth on her.” 

“Tell me about it,” you snorted. “Aren’t you glad you usually only have to rein me in?” 

“Wrangling the two of you all the time would be a bit much,” she said. “I get the feeling you just feed off each other…” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “It used to be worse, back when I wasn’t actually responsible for her and we could just goof off and hang out. Drove her mom insane. I’m half surprised she wanted me to take her when…” 

You trailed off, a knot tugging at the back of your throat. 

“We won’t get any kind of prior article review,” Quinn said, sensing that you were ready to change the subject. “But I’m sure it’ll be positive. You gave them great shit to work with.” 

“Thanks,” you smiled, tightly. 

“So,” she said. “Ready for the fight choreo?” 

“Think so,” you nodded. “It’ll be weird, I think, but good. I hope good, anyway.” 

She hummed in agreement, nodding a little. 

“What?” You asked. “I feel like there’s something you’re not saying.” 

“Well, we have some timing updates and some new asks,” she said. 

“OK…” 

“They want you in LA a bit earlier than originally planned,” she said. “They’ve got the costume ready and they want to get you properly in it for a final screen test and fitting as well as for a few shots they can polish into a teaser trailer of sorts for the announcement at the con.” 

“Seriously?” You groaned. “When?” 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gaped. “Thursday is Thanksgiving!” 

“I know,” she said. “But they’re pretty set on this and it’s already a hell of a truncated timeline given your injury.” 

“Jesus,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Fine.” 

“They also want you to attend the premiere of Scarlet Sentinel after the announcement,” she continued.

“When the hell is that?” You asked. 

“The 11th,” she said. “Just a few more days, it’s not too bad.” 

“A few more days during the first Christmas after Ellie’s mom died,” you snapped.

“I know,” she said. 

“And they know what happened at the last fucking premiere, right?” You asked. “Because…” 

“They know,” she said. “But you and I both know with the timing of the convention and the announcement, your name is going to come up a lot on that red carpet. They figure, better to have you there to talk about it yourself than leave it to someone else.” 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m coming back on the 12th. This damn movie had better be worth it.” 

“Just think of all the little girls who will have a badass superhero to look up to because of you,” she smiled a little. “And remember that you’re the one who wanted me to chase this role for you.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know. I’m guessing I’ll have my grumpy shadow for this whole adventure?” 

“After what happened at the last premiere?” Quinn scoffed. “Absolutely.” 

You sighed, frustrated both at the situation and yourself. Part of you was glad that Joel was coming, his presence making you feel more protected than anyone else’s - including the guards who filled in when he was off. But you knew this trip was going to make both of you miserable. 

Another few weeks in Los Angeles with Joel. Perfect. Just perfect. 

***

Joel ground his teeth, his head on a swivel. 

Was there ever going to come a time that he wasn’t tense and frustrated when it came to you? 

He doubted it. 

There was something inherently frustrating about you. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was but it was absolutely there. 

Maybe it was that you were insufferably, disturbingly stubborn. Maybe it was that the whole fucking world seemed drawn to you. Maybe it was your ceaselessly annoying habit of underestimating any potential threat when it came to yourself. 

Maybe it was the fact that, in spite of his request for professionalism and his newfound practice of trying to shove some distance between the two of you, he was just as drawn to you now as ever. Even though you were a bad idea, even though you terrified him, he had to fight to keep himself away from you. 

He had to force himself to stay in his room when sitting at your house instead of seeking you out. He had to stop himself from thinking about you in ways he fucking knew he shouldn’t, stop himself from searching your name on Google when he was aching and desperate and couldn’t think of anything else. On the rare occasions he wasn’t near you - when he was taking Ellie to school or on his mandatory days off in between stints of protecting you - he’d see something that would remind him of you and have the strange urge to text you about it. As though he’d ever texted you about anything besides business, as though you were friends. As though he was anything at all to you. 

Now, he was stuck sitting outside where you were doing some kind of fucking training for that damn movie. Fuck if he knew what it was, all he knew was that he’d tried to talk you and the trainer - some musclebound jackass named Alan who looked like he knew more about making punching look good than making it effective - into moving the training to your house. Alan had vetoed that. 

“No,” he’d said, shaking his head as he took a look around the space that Joel had worked with you in for weeks. “No, this is way too small for what we need.” 

“The hell you mean it’s too small,” Joel snapped. “What are you doin’, throwing a goddamn party?” 

The guy looked at Joel for a moment. 

“You realize that this is a favor, right?” He said. “That I’m the most in demand fight choreographer in the goddamn business and I’m taking time away from other work to come here so I can train her because it’s supposedly safer here than LA? I’m not about to slim shit down any further than I already have, I’ve booked us time at a private gym in the city, she’ll be perfectly safe there since you’re apparently incapable of doing your damn job in California.” 

Joel fought the urge to swing on the fucker. 

“She gets hurt because you need a goddamn ballroom to teach her how to throw a more cinematic punch…” 

“That’ll be on you, won’t it?” He said. 

Joel couldn’t argue with him. He was right, the weight of that settling in the pit of his stomach. Your safety was on his head. 

That was a double edged sword. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe. He wasn’t comfortable with something like your life sitting squarely on his shoulders. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him with other clients but you were different. In so many things you were different. 

He’d been standing in this stupid fucking waiting room of this stupid fucking private gym for what felt like a small eternity. Nothing had happened, of course. Nothing had happened the two days before, either. That didn’t seem to make a damn difference, though. He was still tense, still watching for any threat, still frustrated that you were in an uncontrolled space and out of his sight. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Joel did a quick scan of the area - including the parking lot that he could see through the large windows - before checking it. It only ever vibrated for family, work or clients, it had to be something important. 

He was right. It was a text from Tommy. 

Been a change on the Siren case. Come to HQ with principal ASAP. 

“Shit,” Joel said quietly, going to text him back when he heard your voice - sharp and panicked and muffled by the door. 

His body reacted before his mind caught up. He reached the door before he fully realized what he was doing, damn near ripping the thing off its hinges and racing into the room where you were training. 

You were flat on your back in the middle of the room, mats on the floor to cushion any falls, and Alan was on top of you. He was straddling you, his knees astride your hips, his hands on your throat, holding you down. Your hands were on his chest, face twisted into a snarl as you shoved at him but the man was bigger than you, stronger than you and Joel had to stop him. 

He ran for you with a roar, tucking his shoulder and slamming into the other man, the mats on the ground cushioning their fall as they tumbled. 

“What the fuck!” Alan yelled as they came to a stop, Joel shoving the other man into the ground and pinning him. 

“Joel!” You yelled but he was focused on the man below him. 

“I don’t know what -“ Alan began but Joel cut him off with a punch, sharp against the man’s cheek, sending his head whipping around. 

“Joel!” You caught his elbow as he went to punch again and he let you pull him back, Alan groaning on the floor. You tugged Joel to his feet and he panted for breath, looking down at the man who’d been hurting you, the man who he wanted to hurt more. But, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere and Joel turned his attention to you. 

Your eyes were wide, your skin slick with sweat and your hand had gone from the crook of his arm to his side when he turned and the weight of your palm was heavy on him. But you were alive. He could breathe. 

“Joel…” you panted, almost like a question. His hand went to your cheek, your skin warm. He tilted your head gently, looking over your neck, trying to see any damage. 

“He hurt you?” He asked, voice rough. “You OK?” 

“What?” You asked, gaping at him. 

“Did he hurt you,” he said again. 

“No!” You shook yourself free of Joel’s hold on you. “No, he didn’t hurt me! It was fucking fight choreography!” 

You ducked around Joel and rushed toward Alan, kneeling beside him as he sat up, holding his face and adjusting his jaw. 

“Fuck,” Joel said quietly, wincing as he watched you gingerly examine the other man, the two of you talking low, your back to Joel the whole time. 

He should be more embarrassed about this and part of him was but he couldn’t help but just be relieved. You were safe. He didn’t need to see you hurting, didn’t need to live in that shock of fear that had all but swallowed him when he saw you on the ground, your life in the hands of another man. You were alive, you were safe. That was all that mattered, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about anything else. 

After a minute, Alan looked ready to get up and Joel approached him cautiously, your trainer’s eyes narrowing at him. 

“Sorry,” Joel said awkwardly, offering him his hand. “Didn’t know… Never had a job with an actress before…” 

“S’alright,” he said before taking Joel’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and he cracked his neck. “I’ve taken worse hits but damn, man, you hit like a fucking hammer.” 

Joel caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes off to the side and he smirked a little. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “Might be your job to make it look good, it’s my job to knock someone on their ass and keep ‘em there.” 

“You’re damn good at it,” he said before turning to you. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to say we call it early.” 

“Of course,” you said quickly. “Again, I’m so sorry, I…” 

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, laughing a little. “Does me good to take a hit now and then in my line of work. You should be more than prepped for the shots they want to get later this week but I’ll be in LA if you run into any issues. Now I’m going to head back to my hotel to ice my face and try to think of the best way to explain this to my wife when she picks me up from the airport.” 

“We need to go, anyway,” Joel said and you frowned. “Got a text from Tommy, told to bring you to HQ as soon as possible so that’s where we’re headed.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just run home first so I can change…” 

“No,” he cut you off. “We’re going straight there.” 

“But I’m disgusting!” You said, arms out at your sides as if to prove your point. “I’m not about to go to a meeting when I’m dripping sweat, that’s just…” 

“Don’t matter,” Joel said. 

“Is everything OK?” Alan asked, looking between the two of you. 

You answered before Joel got a chance to respond. 

“It’s fine,” you said, shooting Joel a look that almost dared him to talk. “He just loves to make my life difficult, it’s his favorite hobby, so he’s using this as an excuse.” 

Joel quirked his jaw but bit his tongue. 

“Come on, Siren,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

He watched as you stalked off to get your bag and water bottle, snatching them up with an almost comically angry look on your face as you did. He made you stay behind him while he surveyed the small parking lot before keeping you safely hidden from view from as much of the broader world as he could until he got you to the car. 

You reminded him of Ellie as he started the drive to the office, your arms crossed tight over your chest, staring straight ahead with your eyes narrowed. It would be intimidating if you were more… well, intimidating. On you it was almost comical, like watching a lion cub try and snarl at a threat. 

“That was mortifying,” you said eventually, your fingers digging into your upper arms so hard that Joel could see the indentations in your flesh. “Completely fucking embarrassing, I can’t believe…” 

“Can’t believe I did my job?” Joel asked. “Can’t believe I tried to keep you safe? Shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you at this point, Siren, been doin’ this for a few months now.” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped. “That was not you doing your fucking job, that was you losing your temper for who knows what reason and…” 

“That was me intervening when you were in danger,” Joel snapped back. “How the hell was I supposed to know that guy was supposed to be fuckin’ choking you out? And you, what? Expect me to just sit there and let it happen? Jesus.” 

“This is why I don’t need a fucking bodyguard,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Let alone one who doesn’t know the fucking industry. I fake die sometimes, too, Joel, you going to call 911? Plan my funeral?” 

Joel ignored you, clenching his jaw as he called Tommy. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said by way of greeting. 

“One minute out,” Joel said. 

“You’re gettin’ an escort in,” Tommy said. 

Joel frowned. 

“That serious?” 

“We’ll discuss it when you get here,” Tommy said. “Just… being cautious.” 

A team of four men met the car when Joel pulled up to the building where Tommy’s business was based. He passed the keys to one and fell into formation around you, immediately at your right as the four men surrounded you, blocking you from any view from passing or the random pedestrian. 

“This is such overkill,” you muttered. 

“Better over kill than you killed,” Joel glared at you as you rolled your eyes. 

But Joel did feel like he could relax a little now that the two of you were in the office. This was a controlled space, you weren’t at risk here. You might be pissed at him but he’d take that. If you were safe, alive? Pissed he could handle. 

Tommy seemed prepared for it, at least, not shaken by your sour attitude. 

“Joel,” Tommy nodded to him before looking to you. “Ma’am.” 

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I smell like a gym sock,” you said, clearly pissed but trying to control yourself. “Someone didn’t let me shower or change before coming here.” 

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Tommy said. “I got Quinn on the line, I’m gonna loop her into this conversation, too…” 

He switched on the speaker phone. 

“We’re all here now,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We OK to get started?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Lay things out.” 

You frowned and glanced at Joel, as if he’d have any better idea about what this was going to be about than you did. He just frowned, too. 

“This was sent to your address here in Austin,” Tommy said, dropping a printed image of a letter on the other side of his desk, closer to you and Joel. You stepped forward and picked it up, Joel looking over your shoulder at it. “Police have the original.” 

It was a note, like the ones before. 

I love your home. I can’t wait to share it with you. But why do you have other men spending the night? They won’t love you like I love you. Don’t you know that? Don’t you see? 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

Joel’s hand trembled as he took the copy from you, tracing the words over and over. 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

For a moment - just a moment - Joel had that vision of you again. The one that had come to his dreams more often than he cared to admit, the one where he couldn’t save you. 

There was someone out there who wanted you, wanted you so badly they were willing to kill to have you and what if he couldn’t stop them? What if they got to you when he was off for a few days, what if something happened when you were just out of reach? What if all he could do was stand there and watch you die? 

“Well someone’s getting ballsy, isn’t he?” You said wryly. 

“You don’t sound like you’re taking this seriously,” Quinn said, the sharpness in her tone apparent even through the crackle of the speaker phone. 

“Probably because I’m not,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your torso, your chin raised defiantly. “He’s just some weirdo. He knew where I lived in LA, too, and was too cowardly to show his fucking face, what difference does it make if he’s got my Austin address?”

“We’re going to tighten up security,” Tommy said, looking around you to Joel. 

“Tighten up?” You gaped at him before Joel had a chance to respond. “Tighten up how! Someone already follows me everywhere I go, is he supposed to, what, chase me into the bathroom when I take a piss now, too? This is insane! Quinn, tell them they’re insane!”

“It’s not insane,” Quinn said. “He’s escalating, there are valid concerns for your safety and we’re going to take the appropriate precautions. Maybe you should hear what those precautions are before you fly off the handle about it.” 

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes before you sighed. “Fine. Alright, what else am I going to have to fucking give up.” 

Joel’s jaw twitched but he remained silent, watching you closely as his brother started reviewing the changes. 

“Biggest one will be you’re never on the exterior of your home alone,” Tommy said. 

“I’m already never alone outside my house!” You gaped at him. 

“You’re never alone when you leave your property,” Tommy corrected. “But you’ve been able to go outside, swim, run, take a walk on your own as long as you stayed on your property. That will no longer be the case.” 

“Seriously?” You looked between Tommy and Joel, aghast. “I can’t step outside my own front door unsupervised? What am I, a toddler?” 

“We will also be stepping up who is on hand at your home,” Tommy said, ignoring your protests. “We’ll be doing more frequent perimeter checks and generally have a more active presence there. But that will be less obtrusive, you will still have just one body man when you leave the property for most outings.” 

“What about when I’m in LA?” You asked. 

“You ain’t serious,” Joel said before Tommy had a chance to answer. “You’re not still goin’ to fucking California, not after that letter.”

“Yes, I am,” you said. “I have to do some early shots in two days, the con is a week after that, followed by…” 

“And you can’t do any of it if you’re fuckin’ dead!” Joel snapped. “So you’re staying here, not goin’ to where that asshole is!” 

“No, she’s not,” Quinn said, a sense of finality in her voice. “She’s going to LA…” 

“You really willing to put her fucking life on the line for a goddamn movie?” Joel snapped, louder than he’d meant to but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “You’re gonna let her get hurt, get killed so you assholes can make a few bucks?” 

“She won’t be at risk if…” 

“Not at risk?” Joel cut Quinn off. “If she ain’t at risk then why am I here!” 

“She is actually in the fucking room if you assholes would fucking listen to her!” You yelled, Joel turning to face you, shocked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard you yell like that before. “I’m going to LA.” 

Joel went to protest but you wouldn’t let him. 

“No!” You snapped, rounding on him. “I’m going to LA! I’m going to LA, I’m going to do my fucking job and I’m going to go to the con and the goddamn movie premiere and then I’m going to come home and spend Christmas with my niece and you’re going to stay out of my fucking way!” 

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn said. 

“What?” You asked, still sounding pissed but not yelling now. 

“He won’t be out of your way,” Quinn said wryly. “Because he’s coming with you to everything.” 

“Well obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s been doing that.” 

“I mean,” Quinn continued. “He’s going to come with you to the premiere. As your date.” 

You and Joel both stood silently for a moment, dumbstruck. 

“What,” Joel said eventually. 

“You’re going to the premiere as her date,” Tommy said this time, looking between the two of you. “They decided they need you there,” he said, nodding to you. “And last one was enough of an opening that you got hurt but having you walk the red carpet with a bodyguard isn’t really an option. So, we keep Joel close - as your date - and he keeps you safe.” 

“No,” Joel shook his head. “No, the answer is she don’t go to the damn premiere, not sending me along with her like I’m some kind of goddamn undercover agent or some shit, this ain’t…” 

“Can’t I just go with Chris or Justice or something?” You asked and Joel tried to ignore how his stomach turned at the thought of you with either of those fucking guys on your arm. “We just tell them what’s going on and…” 

“Someone who isn’t trained ain’t gonna cut it,” Tommy shook his head. “It has to be Joel.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s what it takes? Fine.” 

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Joel muttered. “I don’t…” 

“Oh, come on Big Miller,” you said, your tone shifting to something more familiar, that dry, sarcastic edge to it he’d come to know well. “Didn’t you know? I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. There are men who would kill to be in your shoes.” 

“Yeah,” Joel muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

He didn’t press the subject when the two of you got back to your house that night, the new cadence of protection already kicking in, more guards obvious at the perimeter of your property. You didn’t wait for Joel to open the car door for you - something you’d become more willing to do as time had passed. Instead you just stormed off toward the house, Joel following quickly behind you. Before he had the chance to lecture you about it, you looked back over your shoulder to him. 

“I’m going in the pool,” you snapped. “Since you apparently have to fucking babysit me anytime I step foot out my goddamn door now.” 

He expected you to go get changed into a swimsuit but you didn’t. Instead you just stalked straight through the entry way, the living room, out the back of the house, stepping out of your shoes as went, walking straight to the water’s edge without pausing and jumping in fully clothed. 

Joel stood and watched, worried for a moment when you didn’t surface immediately. But then you screamed under the water, the sound muffled and distorted and sounding almost desperate. You went quiet and surfaced, immediately going to a ladder and pulling yourself up, more stalking toward the house than walking, eyes straight ahead like Joel wasn’t even there, leaving a trail of water on the floor in your wake as you went to your bedroom and closed the door. 

Joel tried to ignore the tug of concern in his chest. He picked up Ellie from school - the kid so excited about having a few days off for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother - and played a video game with her. You didn’t come out of your room. He kept hoping to hear some sign of you when he went to his own room, even as he was desperate for some distance, and he thought he heard you come out at one point. Just your quiet steps in bare feet and the cadence of talking just out of reach of where really hear it. 

He tried to let that soothe him. You clearly didn’t want anything to do with him - not that he blamed you, he had literally asked for this - but he couldn’t help but worry as he stared at his ceiling. You were upset but you’d left your room, talked to Ellie, hopefully eaten something. That was… it was fine. Good, even. He didn’t need to be a part of it or see it for himself and he’d done everything he could to make sure that here, within these walls, you were safe. 

That thought didn’t help him actually, really rest, though. He started to drift off and the image of you, pinned down with a man’s hands around your throat took over. But this time, he was always too far away to fix it. He’d run and run and run but it was like he was moving through Jell-o, not able to reach you but not able to look away. 

He jerked awake, his heart racing in his chest, and he sighed, wiping a layer of sweat away from his face. 

It was late now, quiet in the house. He debated it, for a moment, but not for long, getting up and going to the kitchen for a drink. But when he passed the hall with your room and office, he saw a soft glow around your office door. He frowned at that, going to the kitchen and grabbing two beers before going to that glowing door. He hesitated for a moment. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew better. He was the one who asked for a professional distance, he was the one who knew this couldn’t go anywhere good. But… you were right there, the comfort of knowing you were OK so close. 

He knocked. 

You were silent for a moment, long enough that he considered just going back to his room when you spoke. 

“Come in.” 

He did, finding you tucked into a corner of the couch that sat below the window, a tablet and papers spread on every surface around you. You seemed almost surprised to see him, your eyebrows rising as you looked at him through your lashes, not fully looking up from something that was sitting open on your lap. 

“I thought you might be Ellie,” you said. “Can I help you?”

He shrugged. 

“Saw the light,” he said, handing you the bottle, staying far enough away from you that he had to stretch to reach and you had to reach back to take it. “Thought you might… I dunno.” 

You nodded slowly, opening the beer and taking long pull. 

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting enough that the pages spread on the couch around you rustled. Joel just nodded, opening his own beer and taking a sip, too. He didn’t taste it much, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pajama pants as he walked slowly through your office, taking everything in. He was rarely in this room, he didn’t know it well. There was an Emmy on your desk and three more on a bookshelf. There were two Golden Globes, too, all in better shape than the Oscar was. He frowned at that. 

“How many of these damn things do you have?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder to you. 

“Emmys?” You asked. “Just the four. Three for Siren and then one for Family Tree. That was my first one, they gave me some meatier things once I was in my teens. Some ‘very special episode’ type bullshit. One where I had to decide whether or not to have sex with my high school boyfriend, that sort of thing. The television academy ate it up. Then there are the Globes - one for Siren, one for The District - and there’s a SAG in my office in LA. I think that’s it.”

“Lot of hardware,” Joel said, coming back to the sitting area of your office, taking the chair near your end of the couch, his fingers rapping against the glass of his beer bottle. 

“Yeah, well,” you laughed, a little cynically. “I keep telling Leo he needs to get me on Broadway so I can win a Tony. Then all I need is some bullshit way to win a Grammy and I can EGOT.” 

“EGOT?” Joel frowned. 

“Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony,” you said. “All the big ones.” 

“Shit,” he shook his head a little, taking another swig of beer. “Aim high, I guess. What are you workin’ on?” 

“Character research,” you said, holding up what was on your lap. It was a comic book, one from the series he’d seen Ellie reading. “I think I’ve just about figured her out but I’m trying to make sure I feel good with it before Friday. I’ve been reading up on how people react to certain traumas, trying to fold that in, see what seems right.” 

“Didn’t know playin’ a superhero needed so much research,” he said. 

“Playing anyone requires research,” you said. “People are complicated things.”

“Suppose so,” he said. “What…” 

“Why are you here, Joel,” you cut him off. 

He clenched his jaw for a moment. 

“I…” he took a deep breath. “Do you really have to go to LA.” 

“Are you serious?” You gaped at him.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not safe. Should stay here where we have shit more locked down and…” 

“And I have a movie to make!” You cut him off. “Do you really expect them to relocate production to fucking Texas because of me?” 

“Yes,” he said again. 

“Joel,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. 

“Ain’t you some huge star?” He pressed on, staring down at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumb. “Got all those damn trophies, everyone on the damn planet knows your name, just have all that shit come to you and…” 

“Joel,” you said, more gently this time, gentle enough that he frowned, looking over at you. You smiled a little. “That’s not how it works.” 

“Why not.” 

“Because,” you said. “Do you know what goes into making a movie? It’s not just some actors and camera men. There’s equipment we’re using that only exists in a few places on the planet and LA is one of those places. We start principal photography in January, do you know how much work has already been done so we’re ready to shoot? Do you know how many people’s livelihoods depend on this movie being made when we said we were making it where we planned to make it? And I mean actual people, not just rich assholes like me. The budget on this movie is $210 million and yeah, $35 million of that is coming to me but the vast majority of that money is going to support the hundreds of people who work on the movie who are just trying to pay their mortgage and put their kids through college. We move locations, shift filming dates now? Those people are suddenly out of work when it’s too late to get on any other projects. If you don’t think you’re up for it, talk to Tommy, have them send someone else…” 

“No,” he said sharply. 

You frowned. 

“Why not?” You asked. “Just…” 

Joel clenched his jaw, looking down at the beer bottle again. The corner of the label was shredded. 

“Don’t trust anyone else,” he said. “If you’re goin’ to LA, it’s with me. End of story.” 

You were quiet for a moment.

“Why do you care so much?” You asked eventually. 

“I… I don’t…” he bounced his leg, trying to find the words before finally looking over at you again. “I don’t want to watch you die.” 

You scoffed.

“I don’t think anyone would really hold it against you if I do,” you said wryly. “So don’t worry about it.” 

“That ain’t why I’m worried,” he said sharply before taking a deep breath and going back to the bottle, picking away at the label more and more. “I didn’t take this job to watch someone fuckin’ hunt you down.” 

You were quiet again. 

“Why did you hit Alan today.” 

He took a shaky breath.

“I thought he was hurtin’ you,” he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “And I.. I can’t…” 

He clenched his jaw, gripping the bottle so tight it hurt. 

“I need you to not get hurt,” he said. “Not gonna let you get yourself killed. And you… you just like to ignore what I tell you, you do reckless shit and it’s gonna…” 

“I’ll do what I’m told,” you cut him off, a keen kind of honesty in your voice, the shift noticeable enough that he looked over at you. Your eyes were oddly open, looking at him in much the same way you had the night you got hurt at the premiere, like all the artifice of your public persona had been stripped away and all that was left was yourself. “I don’t… I absolutely loathe just how much of my own life is out of my control and how all I am is just some thing all these other people move around to make money and the fact that I can’t even go outside right now without someone babysitting me… It struck a nerve. But… I’ll behave. I’ll do what you tell me to do. I won’t take any risks, I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I’ll obey when you tell me to do something. I’ll take it seriously.” 

He watched you for a moment.

“You’ll let me keep you safe?” He asked quietly. 

“I’ll let you keep me safe,” you said softly. “I promise. Just come with me to LA. You… you make me feel safe. I’ll do what you say, I’ll let you protect me. I promise.”  

“OK,” he nodded, looking at the label in pieces in his hands. “I’ll protect you.” 

He just prayed that would be enough. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this took me roughly 6 million years to update and I wish I had a good reason for that but, in all honesty, I just don't. I appreciate you spending your time with these characters, even after I've left you hanging.

Things are going to start ramping up next chapter! I really can't wait for what's coming, there's stuff I've been picturing since I first thought up this story that is just around the corner. I hope you enjoy it!

In the mean time, if you want to see what Thanksgiving Day was like for Siren and Joel, you can check out this (now officially canon) one shot I posted for the holiday.

Thanks again for being here! I love sharing this story with you all.

Love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter @phry-k @sunnytuliptime

[solxamber]

Not sure if this is allowed since I just recently requested it, and you recently posted it, but if you want to, can you make a part two to the rollo fic? He got me kicking my feet giggling and blushing just like yuu fr...

Rollo Flamme x Reader

part 1: here

rollo anon i hope this is what you wanted, if not, let me know 🫡

Dating Rollo turned out to be… oddly wholesome. You had braced yourself for awkwardness, tension, maybe even a lecture on the dangers of magic every time you held hands, but instead, Rollo was... incredibly considerate. And to your low, dirt-floor standards, he was absolutely killing it.

Take your first “official” date. He’d invited you to the library—yes, the library—because, in his words, “What could be more stimulating than expanding one’s knowledge together?” You almost choked on your tea when he said it, but you went along. And honestly? It was kinda sweet.

Rollo arrived, dressed impeccably as always, with a bouquet of non-lethal flowers. That alone had your heart skipping several beats. “I thought you might appreciate something... symbolic,” he said, handing them over with a proud smile. “They represent thoughtfulness.”

You blinked, staring down at the very normal flowers in awe. Thoughtful flowers? For you? From a guy who wasn’t trying to actively ruin your life? The bar was so low, and yet here he was, cartwheeling over it like some sort of overachieving gymnast.

“Wow, Rollo, these are... perfect,” you said, genuinely touched. “No one’s ever gotten me something so thoughtful before.”

Rollo blinked, genuinely confused. “Really? No one?”

You shrugged, smiling awkwardly. “Nope. This is... new.”

That seemed to light a little spark in his eyes, like he’d just been given a new challenge. “Well then,” he said, voice soft but resolute, “I’ll have to make sure this becomes a regular occurrence.”

Cue you, nearly melting into a puddle of feelings on the library floor.

And it didn’t stop there. The smallest things he did were, in your mind, the epitome of romance. Like when he held the door open for you, or how he always poured your tea first. Or the time he walked you home just to make sure you got back to Ramshackle safely, even though you both knew you were probably safer from harm than anyone else on campus.

“You really didn’t have to walk me all the way,” you mumbled, feeling giddy but trying to play it cool.

Rollo, ever the gentleman, gave a small, approving nod. “It’s only right to ensure your safety. Besides, it’s a pleasant walk.”

Pleasant?! Rollo, this was practically a marriage proposal in your eyes.

Then there was the time you’d been casually talking about books (because apparently, that was your new thing now—having intelligent conversations), and Rollo mentioned offhandedly, “I’ve taken the liberty of requesting a copy of that novel you were interested in. I thought we could read it together.”

You nearly short-circuited. He remembered what you liked? He went out of his way to get it for you? NRC was full of selfish jerks who’d trip over themselves for extra homework help, and here was Rollo—an actual prince among men—doing something so simple and thoughtful that you had to excuse yourself to go scream into a pillow later that night.

One time, you were walking around the gardens, and Rollo gently draped his coat over your shoulders because it was chilly. It was such a normal, nice thing to do, but your brain, ruined by years of absolute chaos, could barely comprehend it.

You gave him a grateful smile, heart practically bursting. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”

Rollo tilted his head, eyebrow raised. “Sweet? It’s just practical. You were cold.”

Sure, maybe it was practical, but the only practical things you were used to involved someone stopping Grim from lighting things on fire. The sheer normalcy of this kind of care was borderline magical.

When you got to the front steps of Ramshackle, you expected him to say goodnight and leave, but instead, he lingered for just a moment. “I hope you’ll join me for tea again soon,” he said, his voice soft but sincere.

You nodded, heart doing somersaults. “Yeah, definitely. Tea sounds... great.”

And then, in a move so simple yet so devastatingly perfect, he reached out and gently took your hand in his, squeezing it lightly before stepping back. “Goodnight,” he said, turning to leave with that cool, composed demeanor of his.

Meanwhile, you stood there, practically vibrating with excitement because, holy hell, he held your hand.

Rollo, in his usual intense way, probably thought he was just being courteous, doing the bare minimum of politeness. But to you? This was peak romance. No deadly plants, no chaos, no magic explosions—just... a nice guy, treating you like a person.

And honestly? That was more than enough.

Masterlist

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Welcome to part 2 of Whispers of Secrets and Starlight 🥳🥳🥳

I was praying for times I could use this song

Btw if anyone is wondering, idk why but this is what I imagine the daily outfits our future high lady wears: all of this or this other too, and a lot of other kpop outfits actually, the concepts are soooo good

Also... my bff who lives with me helped me write the smut, I'm too shy to do everything by myself so if you feel the writing is a bit off it probably wasn't just me in the document lol

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, Tamlin knows how to do politics 😔, 10% book following and it's gonna get worse, mentions of SA, PTSD, smut so... beware minors, mentions of war, Rhysand 🤤

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 9: Heart On The Window

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting flickering golden light across the maps and reports strewn across your desk. A cup of untouched tea sat beside them, long gone cold. You didn’t even notice when Rhysand stepped into your study until his voice curled around you.

"You’re working too hard, darling."

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t look up from the report in your hands. "Pot, meet kettle."

Rhysand let out a soft huff of laughter as he crossed the room. The moment he reached you, he leaned against your desk, one hand braced beside your papers, the other offering a sealed letter.

Your brows rose as you took it. "What’s this?"

"News from Cassian."

That caught your full attention.

You set the report down and broke the seal, eyes scanning the contents. Your heart thrummed as you read. Rhys watched you carefully, his own report still in hand.

"The first female Illyrian battalion," you murmured. "That’s… that’s never been done before."

"One of the many changes I’ve been making these past centuries," Rhysand said softly.

You lifted your gaze to his, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. This High Lord who had spent centuries fighting against deep-seated traditions, against Illyrian warlords who would rather see their females clipped than ever give them a sword — or freedom. A male who had been changing Prythian long before anyone had even noticed.

"You’re making history," you said, voice quiet.

A shadow of a smile ghosted over his lips. "We’re making history. They only accepted after Cassian told them a female would be commanding their moves. You."

The words settled deep in your chest but before you could say more, you glanced down at the rest of the letter. Cassian had intensified the training of the Illyrians, preparing them for war, making sure they were ready for what was to come.

"Az is extending his spy network, I don't know if you already read his report today" you murmured. "He's been trying to find more information about Hybern’s allies. Do we know if they’ve been securing more partnerships in the last few years?"

Rhysand’s jaw tightened. "Not officially. But Amren believes they will be showing themselves soon."

You sighed, setting the letter down. "Lucien said Tamlin has a map of the Cauldron’s pieces," you reminded him. "And now we know that the temples marked on it have been robbed recently. Hybern is gathering the pieces."

"I know, Amren told me you both figured it out two days ago."

You swallowed, looking back at him. "She thinks we won’t have to worry, though. The temple in our territory is being heavily guarded now, and I warned Helion. I mean, you technically warned Helion. The Day Court is prepared in case they are attacked too."

Rhysand nodded. "That’s the one thing keeping her from completely losing her mind over this. She's been surprisingly calm, judging the situation."

A smirk tugged at your lips. "And you?"

He hummed. "I suppose it helps me sleep at night."

"You don’t sleep."

A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth. "Maybe I would, if someone warmed my bed more often."

Your breath caught. But before he could push his advantage, you rolled your eyes and turned back to the reports.

"We still don’t know how far Tamlin is willing to go with all this," you said, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

Rhysand let out a mocking sigh, but he nodded. "Lucien’s been doing what he can from within," he said, "but Tamlin is wary of him. He won’t let him get close to the real plans."

Your nails tapped against the desk. "If Lucien can’t get close enough, then we need another plan."

Rhysand leaned in, his voice a velvet promise. "Don’t worry, darling. I already have one."

You narrowed your eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

His grin was pure trouble. "You’ll find out soon enough if we need to use it. If not, I won't stress you with it."

You sighed. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you adore me." You did. Gods help you, you did.

Rhysand leaned back on the desk, rolling his shoulders, exhaustion from war planning still evident in the sharp lines of his face. But when he looked at you, his violet eyes softened, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"And how is Feyre's reading coming along?" he asked, the shift in topic intentional. He knew you needed a break from discussing battle strategies, and nothing made you more at peace than talking about your cousin’s progress.

You smiled, stepping closer to him. “She’s doing so well. You’d be proud of her.” A hint of pride laced your voice as you continued. “She’s becoming more confident, and even asks me to sit with her while she reads out loud. She still struggles sometimes, but she doesn’t hesitate to ask for help anymore. And she already thanked the priestess who's been guiding her more times than Iris can tell her it's not needed.”

Rhys hummed in satisfaction. “She also reached out to me, asking to restart her physical training.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, reaching for your hand, tracing lazy circles against your palm. “I set up one of our trainers to work with her. She’s determined.”

You exhaled, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I ever wanted for her, so she will feel strong again.”

Rhysand tugged you forward, his arms wrapping around your waist as you instinctively circled yours around his neck. He let out a pleased sigh, nuzzling your temple.

“You’re happy she’s trusting you,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Of course, I am. I need your family to like me, don’t I? Especially if we pretend to get married.”

The way he said 'pretend’ made your stomach flutter. Your cheeks burned as you averted your gaze, and Rhys, ever the predator, caught the reaction immediately.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “What’s that look for?” You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you there. His voice was softer this time, almost unsure. “Do you want to marry me?”

Your breath hitched. “Rhys.”

“I mean it,” he murmured. “Do you want to officially be my High Lady one day?”

You stared at him, at the sincerity in his expression, at the slight vulnerability peeking through his usual confidence. Your heart clenched, and you wondered how long he’d been holding onto that question, too afraid to ask.

“Of course, you insane male,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “It’s been a process to love you, but every day, I feel like I’m falling even more.”

Rhys let out a shaky breath before sealing his lips over yours. The kiss was slow, reverent as if he were committing this moment to memory. But then his hands skimmed down your back, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

You pulled away just enough to chuckle. “See? This is exactly why I asked for separate studies.” But you didn't made a move to stop him from taking your shirt off.

Rhys grinned, voice husky. “Are you complaining?”

You leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “If you prove to me that you’re my good boy,” you purred, “I might be willing to warm your bed for a while.”

A growl rumbled in his chest as he swiftly lifted you onto the desk, pushing aside the endless war papers without a second thought. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, kissing down your throat, hands already roaming. “You’ll never have to ask twice.”

And Mother above, did he prove himself.

War papers sprawled across the polished wooden surface, their edges curling slightly as if mocking the chaos they represented. Yet, amidst the tension of impending battles and political strife, you and Rhysand found yourselves locked in a different kind of conflict, one of desire, power, and unspoken promises.

Rhysand stood tall, his broad shoulders filling the space as he leaned over you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and voracious. It was a kiss that spoke of reverence, of a man committing every detail of the moment to memory. But as his hands slid down your back, his fingers catching on the top that holds your breasts, the tenderness gave way to something wilder. He tugged the fabric upward, a silent demand that left no room for misinterpretation.

You knew Rhysand’s tendencies, his inability to keep his hands — or his lips — to himself when you were near. It was a game you both have been playing for a while, a dance of power and submission that neither was willing to abandon.

A primal growl rumbled in his chest, deep and resonant. With deliberate slowness, Rhysand dipped his head, his mouth closing over your breast. His tongue swirled lazily, a hungry exploration that made you arch into him, his breath hitching in your chest. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he suckled, his teeth scratching tour skin in a way that only heightened the pleasure. It was a sensation that was both tender and rough, a perfect blend of his duality, the gentle lover and the dominant High Lord.

“Rhys,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair as you tilted your head back, exposing your neck to his roaming lips. His name was a plea, a surrender to the sensations overwhelming you.

He hummed against your skin, a vibration that sent shivers down your spine, before pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, his pupils dilated as he drank in the sight of you. “You taste like heaven everytime I try you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

But he wasn’t done yet.

With a wicked grin, he slid lower, his lips and tongue mapping every inch of you again, committing it to memory. His breath was hot and eager as he buried his face between your thighs, his hands spreading your legs wider to grant him better access. You were wet, your arousal evident, and he wasted no time in devouring you with a ferocity that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

His tongue was relentless, tracing patterns that made you squirm and moan. He lapped at you eagerly, his teeth scratching your sensitive skin in a way that only added to the pleasure. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he explored every inch of you again, his mouth a tempest of sensation.

“Rhysand,” you cried out, voice breaking as your climax built, threatening to consume you. Your fingers dug into the desk, nails scraping against the wood as you fought to anchor herself to reality. The wood almost cracked under the force you were holding it.

He growled against you, a sound of satisfaction and possession, before pulling away just enough to look up at your eyes. His lips were glistening, your essence coating them, and the sight was enough to send a fresh wave of desire crashing over you. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a command. “I’m not done with you.”

You shivered at his words, your body aching for release, but you nodded, trusting him implicitly. This was your dance, after all, a delicate balance of power and surrender.

With a smirk, he rose to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt. His pants fell to the floor, revealing his erection, thick and throbbing, a testament to his desire for you. He didn’t rush, taking his time to savor the moment, to let your anticipation build.

“You’re mine,” he stated, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you. It wasn’t a question, but a declaration, a reminder of the rummaging bond between you.

“Yours,” you breathed, voice soft but unwavering. You were his, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him again.

He leaned over you, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as he positioned himself at your entrance. His eyes locked with yours, he thrust forward, filling you in one slow, deliberate motion. You gasped, nails digging into the wood as you adjusted to his size, your body welcoming him with a tightness that made him groan.

“So fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips snapping in a rhythm that was both urgent and controlled. The desk creaked beneath you, the papers long forgotten as you become lost in the moment.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your thighs rasping on his jacked as you met his thrusts, your body moving in sync with his. The power exchange was palpable, his dominance evident in every stroke, yet you were no passive participant. You were his equal, your desire matching his own as you surrendered to the pleasure he wrought.

“Harder,” you asked — never demanded, your voice breathless as you tilted your hips, seeking deeper penetration. You wanted nothing more than to carve your nails in his back, hold him closer to you, but you held yourself back. In the future, you promised yourself.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the desk groaning under the pressure of your passion. His hands gripped your hips, bruising in their intensity, as he pounded into you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he nipped at your lobe. “My good girl, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back as you surrendered to the pleasure. “Because I was made for you, Rhys. Always for you.”

His thrusts quickened, his control slipping as he neared the edge. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your climax hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you breathless. You cried out, your walls clenching around him as you shattered, body trembling with the force of your release.

He followed moments later, his growl of satisfaction filling the room as he spilled himself deep within you. His body stilled, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath.

For a long moment, you remained like that, hearts pounding in unison, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then, with a soft chuckle, Rhysand pulled back, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss.

“I believe I’ve proven myself,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the lines of his face as you leaned into him. “You have,” you agreed, tone playful. “Though I suppose I’ll have to keep testing you, just to be sure.”

He grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

And as you leaned into each other, the world outside — with its wars and worries — faded into insignificance. In that moment, there was only you, your desire, and the unspoken promise of more to come.

He took himself out of your warmth and winnowed both of you to his bathroom, where the bath started to fill itself under his silent command.

☆

The warm water calmed over both of you as steam curled around the marble walls. Rhys sat between your legs, his back resting against your chest, his wings slightly spread as he let you run a washcloth gently over his shoulders. His head leaned back against your collarbone, eyes closed, breathing deep.

You knew he wasn’t just relaxing, he was listening. Feeling. Memorizing every little touch, every caress, every drop of water sliding between you both. Your fingers traced soft circles on his arms before dipping lower, washing away the sweat and heat from earlier. You were always cautious during those moments, always careful with what you said and did.

Because you knew. You knew how Amarantha had broken him in ways no one else could see. How she had forced him into submission, twisted pleasure into something sickening. How, even now, the wrong words — hell, sometimes even the wrong tone — could bring back the shadows of those fifty years under her claws.

He never hid anything from you. When you started experimenting with your bodies, he had laid his boundaries out, not because he was ashamed or scared, but because he trusted you. And so you were careful every time. Not cautious in a way that made him feel fragile, but careful in a way that let him know he was safe.

Your hands drifted up to his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “You were perfect,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His lips quirked up. “I always am.”

You let out a soft laugh, rubbing circles into his chest. “I mean it.”

His breath hitched slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the words. As if, even after all this time, he still didn’t know what to do with your gentle appreciation for all of his effort into your pleasure.

So you continued, voice low, steady. “You’re always so good to me, Rhys. Always so careful, even when you don’t have to be.”

One of his hands came up to cover yours, gripping it tightly against his chest. Your other hand dipped into the water, trailing down his spine. No scratches. No harsh touches. Just warmth. Just you.

When you reached for the soap, Rhys shifted slightly, making room as you lathered it between your hands and ran it along his skin. But when you started to reach for his neck, he stilled. You knew why.

There had been a time — just a few months ago — when he would scrub his own skin raw after being with Amarantha. When he had tried to erase every last trace of her, even if it meant bruising himself in the process. And so now, every time you bathed together, you made sure to leave your scent on him somehow. To remind him it was you touching him. Only you. For the rest of your lives, if he wanted.

So instead of washing the soap away completely, you leaned down, kissing the spot down his ear. Your scent lingered there, mixing with his own.

“You're mine,” you whispered. Not as a claim. But as a reassurance.

Rhys exhaled, tension melting from his body as he turned in your arms, cupping your face with wet hands.

His forehead pressed against yours. “Yours,” he murmured back.

He kissed you then, slow, deep, and reverent. As if you were something sacred. And when he pulled you tighter against him, when his wings curled protectively around your back, you knew this wasn’t just about washing away the past.

This was about building something new. Something better. Something that could be yours.

As the bathwater cooled and the steam in the room began to fade, Rhys pressed one last lingering kiss to your shoulder before exhaling a slow, steady breath.

You both moved in unspoken sync, toweling off, dressing in soft nightclothes, the weight of the day and the amount of hours laying down war plans slowly pressing down on your limbs. But just as you turned to head for your own chambers, Rhys caught your wrist.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, searching his face. He had been the one to ask for separate rooms in the first place, not because he didn’t want you near, but because of his nightmares. He hadn’t wanted to wake you up in the middle of the night — even if sometimes he couldn't control his emotions from slipping through the bond —, hadn’t wanted to steal any of your attention away from Feyre when she was still adjusting to Velaris, to being free from Tamlin, to her new life.

You swallowed, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Are you sure?”

Rhys hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he nodded. “The nightmares haven’t really stopped,” he admitted, voice quiet. “But…” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “When you’re with me, I—” He exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “I always feel calmer. And sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, all I want is to know that you’re here. That you’re safe. That you’re with me.”

Your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice. So you stepped closer, reaching up to cradle his jaw in your hands. “Of course, Rhys,” you whispered. “I’ll always be with you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something deep and reverent and yours. He kissed you, soft and slow, before taking your hand and leading you to his bed. And as you curled up together beneath the covers, as his arms wrapped securely around you, as he buried his face against your neck and breathed you in, you knew. Tonight, if the nightmares came, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

☆

The next morning, you made your way to Feyre’s room, knocking lightly before stepping inside. She was already seated at her desk, a broad smile lighting up her face as she eagerly gestured for you to come closer.

“Look at this,” she said, practically buzzing with excitement. She slid a sheet of parchment across the desk, her calligraphy significantly neater than it had been before. “It’s getting better, right?”

You picked up the paper, tilting your head as you examined her careful strokes. The improvement was obvious, her letters were more even, her spacing more consistent. You looked back at her and grinned. “It’s amazing, Feyre. I’m so proud of you.”

A pleased blush dusted her cheeks. “Thanks. I actually enjoy it now, learning how to read and write. And not just that, I'm getting better at learning how to use my fae senses, how to listen to my instincts, to my body. It feels… good.”

Your chest swelled with pride. She had come so far from the girl who had once flinched at every single loud sound or every bright light. Now, she was embracing it. Embracing herself.

Before you could say more, a knock sounded at the door. A servant entered, holding out a sealed letter. “A letter from the Spring Court,” they said, before bowing and leaving.

Feyre turned the letter over in her hands, fingers running over the seal. “It’s from Lucien,” she murmured before breaking the seal and making an effort to read the first words. You couldn't contain your smile seeing her focused face. “You read it. It’s about the war, you’ll understand it better.”

You nodded, unfolding the delicate parchment that smelled too much like flowers. Lucien’s handwriting was precise but rushed, as if he’d been careful yet eager to write this.

Things are progressing. One of the warlords — curiously one of Beron’s youngest sons — has been particularly talkative, and I’ve managed to pry a lot of information out of him — he also let slip that Beron has been called to participate in the planning but didn't agree to it (yet). He’s been boasting about Tamlin’s plans to allow Hybern’s forces to use the Spring Court as a staging ground. It’s worse than we thought. Hybern isn’t just moving forces into Spring. They’re planning to use it as a funnel to invade Summer and Autumn next — if Beron doesn't agree. But here’s the interesting part: Tamlin is still keeping secrets from Hybern. He’s hesitant about giving them full access to the wards through the Wall, and I think I can use that. I’ve been planting doubt, making it seem like Hybern might betray him. He’s starting to trust me again, which means I’m getting closer to seeing what else he’s hiding.

Your grip on the letter tightened. Tamlin. That spineless, arrogant coward. Even after everything, he was still helping Hybern. You kept reading.

We’ve also been feeding him false information about the Night Court’s movements. He thinks they have mapped out a move to retrieve you from Night, and he’s been working with Hybern to prepare an extraction plan. But the map he has is the one Azriel altered. When the time comes, they’ll be walking straight into their own ambush. If this works, we’ll cripple their forces before the war even begins.

A sharp smile tugged at your lips. Good. Everything was going according to the plan.You were about to hand the letter back to Feyre when you caught the last few lines.

Tell your cousin I hope she’s doing well. I know this must be difficult for her, but she’s strong. She always has been. And I miss our talks. I miss you. When I come back I'll teach you how to make that tea we were talking about last week. Yours truly, Lucien V.

Your brows lifted slightly as you glanced at Feyre, who was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t eagerly waiting to hear the contents of the letter.

You cleared your throat, folding the parchment. “The war news is good. Lucien’s getting Tamlin to trust him again, and they’re feeding him false plans to lure Hybern’s forces into a trap.”

Feyre exhaled in relief. “That’s great.”

You hesitated, watching her carefully. “And… Lucien wrote something else. Something personal to you. I'm sorry that I glanced at it for too long.”

Feyre’s face immediately turned red. “Oh?”

“He misses you.” You smirked, handing her the letter. “Wanna talk about it?”

She swallowed, fingers tightening on the parchment as she read his words. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“My feelings for Lucien are… complicated,” she admitted. “I’m not certain about anything, but I think I like him. A lot.” She bit her lip, eyes flicking down to the letter again. “He’s been really sweet. And he's been so patient with me. He never pushes, never expects anything. Never make fun of the words I get wrong or my bad calligraphy. And never complains about how much time it takes me to answer his letters when his comes in less than a few hours. He just… listens. He makes me feel safe.”

Your heart warmed at her confession. “I’m happy for you,” you said softly. Then, with a mock-serious expression, you added, “But if he ever says or does anything to hurt you, I will personally send him to the same hell I’m sending Ianthe and Tamlin to.”

Feyre snorted, shaking her head. “Duly noted. I'll tell him that in the next letter. And for the first time in a long time, you saw hope glimmer in her eyes. And felt it growing in your heart.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe @carmenadkins78 @ireadsstuff @oiolabomdia

[easybeezy]

Rui saw you, met you, fell in love with you and then kissed you-in that order

this has no title and probably makes no sense, its just a little Rui story I've had in my head for ages. If anyone even remotely enjoys this then i will be so happy--besides its time i stopped leeching off all the creative people in this fandom and actually contributed something

The closest Rui gets to dreaming is when he closes his eyes and thinks of you.

It is a blissful reprieve from the endless tasks that fill his day.

Before you, he felt more like an insect than a person. Always busy, scuttling from one place to the next, constantly around but largely ignored.

He takes a moment, just quietly, to picture you now.

With his eyes closed and drawing in a breath he thinks of you, your eyes, your lips, your smile. The last thing you had said to him.

All of it hurts to think of now, but it is a bracing pain. Something that centres him, steadies him, reminds him of what is at stake.

Then, opening his eyes, he steps forward into the facility.

*

He had been making his way to the library, returning a few of books Ed had checked out and then promptly forgotten about.

Rui didn’t like going into campus at the best of times but especially not to clean up after his geriatric housemate but if he didn’t do it then it wouldn’t get done.

So, he went anyway, and he went with a smile.

It was easier that way.

People didn’t stop to talk to him, ask him how his day was going, not like they used to.

He wasn’t a person anymore, not really. He was more like an npc, nodding and smiling his way through campus.

At least that way some people smiled back.

It was then that he first saw you.

The whole campus, not just him, had been roused by Kaito’s piercing screams. Watching Kaito, the second year with a gambling debt, flee from Fico was not an uncommon occurrence. What was uncommon though was you, running ahead of them both, a black veil draped over your face.

Flabbergasted was the feeling that came to mind as Rui watched Romeo, composed, serious—often too serious—Romeo chasing after you.

It wasn’t love at first sight—he didn’t believe in that stuff anymore, but intrigue? Definitely.

After all, anyone who could cause such chaos on their first day at Darkwick was someone Rui wanted to know.

*

He had asked Romeo, after he was pliantly drunk, who you were that night.

“You mean the BB running around wearing Hera’s snakes as a veil, ugh.” He huffed and set down his empty glass, tapping the wooden tabletop twice in a gesture Rui was all too familiar with.

“Do you mean the Honor student, wait she’s the same girl who had the Frostheim kid chasing after her?” Haru asked, red faced and leaning against the bar.

Rui nodded and set down another old fashioned in front of Romeo, “yeah, I’ve never seen Romi run so fast.”

“I was chasing that leech Fuji not the BB,” Romi scowled as he sipped his drink, the crease between his brows lessening slightly as he drank. “Why do you want to know about her anyway Mickey? Interested?”

Romeo and Haru shared a conspiratorial look that only made Rui roll his eyes.

Unsurprisingly he had gotten very little in the way of answers. Romeo was still trying to figure you out as well and as was his way, Romeo always reserved judgment until he was sure of a person’s character and you, you were an enigma to them all.

So aside from a comment about your horrible—Romeo’s words not Rui’s—taste in fashion, he had learned nothing.

*

It is meant to be a testing facility.

That’s what Darkwick had called it when the subject was first broached. A branch of the hospital that would house you, take care of you.

You had wanted to stay in Mortkranken instead, but the academy had shot that down, claiming it was too risky.

Yuri had raged of course, like he did whenever you were concerned, but it had been for nought.

They called it a facility, but it is immediately obvious to Rui that it’s a prison.

There is none of the clean crisp interior of the hospital, no lemon scented cleaning products or plush hospital beds. There are no doctors, no one to help here.

Hidden away on the grounds of Hotarubi and guarded constantly by men in suits, it is barely a ruin. Built around the corpse of something ancient and sinister. The walls thick with moss and the ground nothing more than churned up dirt.  

Rui had heard Lyca’s night terrors, he had heard you explain just how harrowing it had been finding the young boy locked away down here, but only now did he understand the true horror of this place.

*

The first time Rui had spoken to you, really spoken to you, was just after Lyca had arrived at Obscuary.

You had taken on the role of Lyca’s protector with a fierceness that Rui had found both heartwarming and humorous.

How quickly you and the young werewolf had ingratiated yourselves to each other, it would have been alarming but then Rui was dragged into your small circle and found that making people fit, making them feel safe, was just something you did.

You had been drinking with Haru and Romeo, listening to the red-head’s increasingly incoherent stories with enthusiasm. Laughing brightly and sipping at the watermelon mojito Rui had made you.

You were a slow drinker, sipping rather than gulping like Haru and Romeo, but still you were just as tipsy.

After the others had left—Romeo still on two feet, Haru being dragged along behind him—you had turned to him and blinked your bright doe-eyes up at him like you were waiting for something.

“If it’s another drink you want, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut you off,” Rui turned to polish some already spotless glasses, needing to break away from your gaze. “You’ve gone all glassy eyed on me, you need to get up to bed before I have to carry you.”

He’d said it playfully, more to fill the silence rather than start a real conversation, so when you spoke, your voice quiet but filled with an intensity he froze.

“What about you? Are you going to head to bed?”

It had been an innocent enough question, you couldn’t have known how it affected him. But affect him, it did.

“I ah,” he turned, rubbing his gloved hand against the back of his neck, “I don’t really sleep.”

He had been hoping to avoid this conversation, ideally forever. You still looked at him like he was a good guy, like you were comfortable around him. Shattering that had been the last thing on Rui’s checklist.

“Really?” your eyes lit up, shifting in your seat, no longer looking tired, now you were wide awake.

It was hard not to find your curiosity charming. After spending so long in Darkwick all of its curiosities had become commonplace to Rui, he often forgot that you were still finding your place here.

“Yeah it’s…”

He didn’t know how to explain it without scaring you, nor did he want to divulge the darkest parts of himself to a drunk girl at three in the morning. But he also didn’t want to cut you out, in fact he found he couldn’t.

The idea of dismissing your curiosity, of closing you out like he did so often to everyone else, twisted his insides painfully.

“It’s a side effect of my curse.”

That had been the first time he had opened himself up to you. Showed you his dark rotting core. It was also the first time that not just you, but anyone hadn’t flinched away in horror.

After he had confessed to you, a small part of his dangerous past, you had looked him the same way you always did.

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.

*

The day things had really changed though was about a week after that first mission together.

You had been coming around to Obscuary a lot. To watch videos with Ed, to help Lyca with his work. Rui had thought you were lonely, shut away in the ruins of Clementia. He knew the feeling.

He always liked when you visited, even though it wasn’t to see him. A quick chat, a smile, it was enough for him. Each moment with you felt like life was being breathed back into him.

It was different to his curse, that felt parasitic, like death and decay. Being with you, around you, felt like connection, like sunlight directly into his bones.

You had found him in the basement of the bar. He was sorting though some of his anomalous ingredients, checking to see what he was low on.

You had approached with your hands behind your back, a curious look on your face. It was the same look you had whenever you wanted a complicated cocktail.

He smiled, standing to face you fully, “out with it, what do you want?”

You skipped closer to him and instead of saying whatever it was that was on your mind you reached out.

He flinched back but you had been quicker, the tips of your fingertips brushing against his cheek.

He had looked at you with horror, waiting for the moment the light would leave your eyes, and you’d crumple, a dried husk.  

Instead, you just smiled at him, the playfulness gone from your face replaced with something softer, a gentle concern that felt as close to a caress as he remembered.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly holding up your hand to show him a pair of brown leather gloves. “Ed thought it would work, and it did!”

You were excited but Rui couldn’t brush away his horror, “Ed thought?”

You heard the edge in his tone and stumbled back, dropping your hand to your side. Your smile dropping away and ducking your head looking scolded, ashamed.

Rui hated that all he wanted to do was grab a hold of you, reassure you that it wasn’t you he was angry with. “Why would you take that risk, I could have—I could have…”

He couldn’t even say the words; they turned his mouth sour and squeezed his heart painfully. So instead, he just looked back to you, waiting for your explanation as to why you would take such a risk.

Did you have a death wish?

Had Ed convinced you to?

Rui didn’t care that it would’nt kill him, he’d touch the vampire anyway if he had intentionally put you in danger.

Your eyes flicked up to him meekly, “I just thought it would make you happy…I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped angrily, turning away so you couldn’t see the fear in his eyes, “what if the gloves hadn’t worked, how do you think I’d feel if you I killed you.”

He could almost feel you move closer, like the air around you was a degree warmer than everywhere else.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you first.”

“You’re right, you should have,” he turned around, his back pressed against the potters table, “I never would have let you but still…you should have asked.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, “oh, Rui.” you reached out a gloved hand, slowly this time.

Rui stilled, watching your hand like it was a bear trap. When you finally touched him, he waited a beat, just long enough to make sure you were really okay, before he gave in, leaning into your palm with reverence.

He must’ve looked pathetic, rubbing his face against your open palm like a touch starved cat but he couldn’t help it.

It was like he had been locked underground all his life and finally after years, he had felt the sun against his skin.

You never took the gloves off after that.

*

None of the others understand your choice.

That day when, struggling to remain unemotional, Yuri had announced that it was over. That he was out of ideas, that the end was inevitable.  

What you had asked of all of them. 

None of them had understood, but Rui did, does.

He knows what it is like to be a monster.

A real one, not like Lyca and Ed who only think they are monsters. He knows what it is like to be a destructive force, capable of only bringing pain and suffering to the world.  

He knows what it is to live with that, and he understands why you don’t want to.

So, when you had announced your plan to the rest of them, he was the only one who hadn’t raged. He didn’t fight or try to convince you out of your choice, he knew it was too late for that.  

That doesn't mean that he doesn't want to be selfish though. 

To beg you.

To plead with you. 

But in the end, he loves you more. Loves you enough to give you peace, even if it means being without you, even if it means going back to how he used to be.

*

The prison is quiet. Their plan to draw the guards away, distract them with a scene at the main building, has worked.

Lyca doesn't like the plan, nor does he know the full extent of it, but he had promised you so Rui knows he will keep his word. Still though, he doesn’t have long, there is only so much one werewolf and two second years can do.

*

“You’re always making everyone else drinks,” you said twirling around a bottle of whiskey just like he had taught you to only an hour earlier, “let me make one for you.”

It had become commonplace for you and Lyca to help out behind the bar. Lyca because he wanted to practice his social skills and you because…he actually didn’t know why you joined him some evenings.

He thought it was probably so you could keep an eye on Lyca, keep him out of trouble. But sometimes he imagined you came for him.

Rui smiled across to you and nodded, before he deftly hoped over the bar and took a seat on one of the stools, “okay then, what are you making me?”

“It’s a surprise.” You responded, your eyes twinkling.

You were the only two left in the bar, everyone else had walked or otherwise stumbled out, you offered to stay and help him clean. And boy was there a lot to clean.

Rui hadn’t been onto it tonight. Clumsy and distracted. More concerned with flirting with you, entertaining you, than ensuring the bar remained spill free and the dishes clean.

You were seriously becoming a hazard his business, but he didn’t really have it in him to care. Each moment with you felt like his head was just barely cresting above the waves.

He watched you feeling almost giddy as you made a show of getting different liquors and syrups, pouring them into a cocktail shaker. He could already tell that whatever you were making was going to be a disaster, far too sweet and far too strong, but you looked so happy doing it that he just grinned up at you.

You weren’t the best at making drinks to begin with, he only really ever let you mix for Haru and that’s because he was usually too drunk to even taste what he was putting in his body.

You set down a whiskey glass of purple-brown liquid with a smile. Rui looked from the glass to you dubiously.

“You wont even try it?” you pleaded, “I made it just for you.”

Of course he would.

It was basically just sugar, strong notes of chestnut and lemon waged war on his pallet only to be completely destroyed by an aftertaste of rubbing alcohol.

Rui coughed, blustering as he grimaced up at you, “that is awful,” he explained with a smile.

“No, really?” you frowned scooping up the glass and taking a swig only to immediately double over in a coughing fit. “God,” you winced setting the glass down, “that is atrocious.”

Rui grinned and you, overcome by the silliness of the situation or perhaps the alcohol, bust into a fit of giggles.

Rui took the glass again, choaking down another sip, much to your amazement. You fretted hands reaching over to try and pry the glass from his grip.

“No, don’t drink it its terrible!”

Rui just smirked, “but it was made especially for me.”

*

It is just Rui now, alone in the dark navigating the winding tunnels.

Despite himself he can’t force his feet to move any faster.

It wasn’t meant to happen so quickly.

None of them had expected the acceleration in your condition. No changes for almost a full year and then in the space of a month everything went south.

Outwardly Lyca was the most upset, most confused by your sudden downturn. Rui had kept himself calm on the surface, for you, for the others, but inside he felt like he was drowning.

Yuri had promised him time, had promised him a warning. It wasn’t meant to happen like this. So quickly.

He’d barely had time to process the new timeline, accept that time for you, for him, was running out, when they had taken you away.

*

The first night he spent with you was after a mission you had with Mortkanken.

Something about it had really scared you, more so than any other mission and you didn’t want to sleep alone at Clementia.

Ed and Lyca had been delighted seeing you back in your makeshift room at Obscuary. Rui was…more conflicted.

At some point he had fallen for you, entirely.

That was old news though, he could’ve nursed his one-sided crush forever. Dealt with it through frivolous flirting over custom cocktails and shameless pick-up lines but you had begun to act differently around him. Choosing to sit by him rather than Lyca, seeking him out to chat on campus, offering to help him in the bar.

It should have made him happy, and the selfish part of him was, but the rest of him just felt guilty.

You deserved better than him. You deserved someone who could actually touch you. Who could hold your hand without fear. Your gloves were nice, but a relationship built on little more than an occasional hand touch wasn’t the kind of relationship someone like you deserved.

And its not like you were devoid of options. Half the ghouls went gooey eyed just looking at you. It would’ve killed him to watch you be swept up by someone else, but it would’ve been better, safer for you.

So, he had tried to avoid you, create some distance. Hoping that it would force you into the arms of another. He should’ve known it was impossible though. He knew how stubborn you were, it was one of the things he adored about you.

He had locked himself away in his room, not sleeping just thinking, imagining a world where he was normal, where he had never been cursed, where he could be the type of boyfriend you deserved.

He felt the bed dip and he pealed open an eye expecting Ed, who often broke into his room to demand he fix the internet speed or solve a disagreement between him and Lyca.

Instead, he saw you, still in your jeans and jumper from that day.

He should’ve moved, gotten off the bed but instead he just watched you, waiting to see what you would do.

You didn’t speak as you shifted, lying down on the opposite side of the bed, facing him.

He was so close to making a flippant comment, something about how if you wanted to get him into bed all you needed to do was ask but there was a vulnerableness in your expression, whatever you had come here to say was important. So, he shut off the part of himself that wanted to flirt, to fill the air with noise, and waited.

“Can we pretend, just for tonight, that we’re both normal?” you reached across the bed, your hand dragging along the covers holding your open palm between your two bodies.  

Rui looked at you then at your gloved hand before, carefully, he reached across and laced you fingers together. He closed his eyes at the touch, letting the feeling wash over him.

It was pathetic really, how a single touch, a single caress, felt. How it sent him spiralling.

You were like a heaping spoon of honey after only ever tasting ash. Too sweet, too intense. it made him want to close his eyes, to cringe away, whilst at the same time lean in. sometimes he thought that if he could actually touch you, skin to skin, or kiss you, that it would be too much.

The taste of you almost burned his throat with the intensity of it.

He opened his eyes and met your gaze before giving you a single, almost imperceptible, nod. He would pretend with you forever if he could.

“We’re in love with each other, aren’t we?”

Your voice and expression were laced with tragedy and Rui found his own feelings a mirror of yours. His heart both swelled with joy and hope and clenched with pain at your confession.

You were in love with each other. You had been for a while.

But what did it matter? What did it change?

Everything that still stood between you was still there. Obstacles that were not made any easier with the confirmation of your feelings.

He nodded slowly, “I’m afraid so.” He looked down to your interlocked hands. “Desperately, in fact.”

A single icy tear pooled at the corner of your eye before rolling down your cheek where it hit the silk pillow. You nodded, before bringing your intertwined hands up, close to your face.

You pressed a single feather light kiss against the back of his hand, so gentle he almost didn’t feel it through his glove. Then you closed your eyes.

There was nothing else to say, nothing to do.

So, Rui just rubbed his thumb against your hand and imagined he was falling asleep with you.

*

It’s not hard to find your cell. You are their prize catch after all.

The kyklos is a strange anomaly, its slow change rate allowing the academy time to perform all manner of horrifying tests.

You are the only one in this wing. In the bowels of the prison. There’s no light here and it takes Rui a moment for his eyes to adjust.

You are at the back of your cage, curled in on yourself. You flinch when you hear him approaching.

You are blind now.

The bouquet that covers most of your body has taken your eyes too.

*

He was in the garden when you found him.

You had been on a mission all week and still technically were, he hadn’t expected to see you. So, when he spotted your figure approaching through the forest, he couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face.

“I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow!” he called out, setting down his secateurs and jogging up to you, “you should’ve told me I could have walked with you or met you at Clem—”

You were crying and you had been for a while. Not sobbing, but silent tears were still gathering in the corners of your devastated expression.

At first, he thought the worst had happened. That someone had died. You’d been on the mission with Frostheim, you were close with all of those ghouls but Kaito and Luca in particular.

He wanted to run to you, to take you in his arms and assure you it would be okay. But he couldn’t so he just stood in front of you.

“What is it?”

Your eyes flicked up to him, worry clear on your face. For a moment you just chewed your lip and avoided his eyeline then finally you said, “I kissed Jin.”

He felt his heart crack. Not a small splinter but a chasm opening up inside of him. He tried to swallow back his hurt, push down the pain. You didn’t ow him anything, hadn’t made him any promises. You weren’t together, even if you acted like it, even though you loved each other.

“I don’t know why I did it…I just—I was just scared and sad and he was too and” —you take a step forward still rambling— "and for a moment I thought he understood me.”

At first Rui thought you were sad because you were breaking his heart, and truthfully half of him had hoped that you were.

He didn't know the Frostheim captain that well or even like him, but you could kiss him, you could be together and be safe. It would've been a better life for you.

The other half was dying.

“I regretted it right away,” you took another step closer, your arms outstretched fall uselessly at your sides. You looked down at your clasped hands and sniffled before finally looking back at him. “Are you angry?”

He hated the hope that bloomed within him. You weren’t here to break his heart, to rip him in two and discard him, you were here to ask for forgiveness.

Part of him is angry, furious, but a larger part is just relieved that you picked him. Still chose him when you had so many better options. How could he be angry at you, how could he hold a stupid kiss against you when he stole everything from you by being with you.

If he was a better man, he might’ve pushed you towards Jin. Insisted that he was the better option, but he was selfish and, God, he would choose you in any lifetime.

So, he did what he always did, he hid behind a flirtatious smile. 

“Don't worry I only care about being your last kiss.”

*

The small cage they have you in, grimy and dark, makes him want to rage. It makes him want to go to Cornelius and end his life with just one touch.

You are curled in in yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. He’s never seen you look so small, so scared, flinching as he approaches. 

“Who's there?” 

Your voice is marred with pain, and it makes Rui’s mind flicker to the darkest corners. Horrors blooming as he ponders over what tests they have been performing on you. 

“It's me.”

He hates that smile. The one that takes over your whole face as though he is a hero here to save you when in reality, he is here to do the opposite. It makes him feel sick.  

“I was starting to think you wouldn't come.” 

“I didn't want to,” he quietly admits to himself. 

*

When you had first broached the subject with him, he had thought it was a joke. 

Some kind of cruel prank. 

He had only just gotten used to the idea that you could love him despite his curse and asking that of him had set your relationship back weeks. 

He thought it was just a twisted call back to months before when you had confessed that you had kissed Jin.

*

“Will you come closer?” Your wrists are red raw from the cuffs and that is nothing to say of the one around your neck. 

As though subconsciously pulled towards you, he moves unthinkingly, dragging himself forward until he’s right in front of you.

The sight of your hands reaching for him pull at something in his gut.  

He takes them rubbing his thumb against your gloved hand as he slides to his knees across from you. The feeling of touching you still startles him.

“They let you keep the gloves?”

“They’re the only thing they let me keep.”

You reach blindly and press a hand to his cheek. He leans into your touch like it is the first time again.

“Why?” he asks his voice broken with pain.

“I'm sorry that it has to be you.” You are still so beautiful, even as you’re being slowly buried alive by flowers. “I'm sorry that I want it to be you.” 

He looked down at your hands and a stray tear falls, staining the brown leather of your gloves. “I wish this had never happened to you.”

“Then I wouldn't have met you.” 

He wants to make a joke, to plead with you to change your mind, to insist that there’s still time. But he forces it down. “But you'd be safe.”

“This is safe,” you remind him, running your hand over his cheek. “You make me feel safe.” 

He sighs his eyes fluttering closed briefly as he twists his head and kisses your palm.

“I wouldn't have changed it.” you whisper. “I need you to know that. I picked you for a reason Rui.”

He laughs through his tears and it’s a pathetic watery sound, “Yeah, because you're crazy.” 

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

He swallows and looks across to you. Theres only happiness on your face, a smile so bright it feels out of place in a gloomy place like this.

He can hear guards running through the tunnels, coming to stop him and achingly he realises he’s almost out of time.  

Tentatively he leans forward but you hold up a finger, stopping him.  

“I'll say it now because I won't be able to after.” He shakes his head, unable to think of the after. “You deserve love, and you're allowed to be happy.” 

“I'm happy with you,” Rui insists, squeezing your hands.

You tug him closer, the sound of the thundering guards increasing as he inches forward.

“I love you.” He breathes out, the words hitting you, fanning over your lips in a gentle caress.

Then as the guards burst through, he draws you in, dragging you against him, touching every inch of his body to every inch of yours as he kisses you.

And it is unlike anything he remembers but that might just be because it is you.

He feels the familiar sting, the pull of his curse drawing the life from you and feeding him. He can feel the moment the life completely leaves you, but he doesn’t let you go, he can’t.

Instead, he drags you closer, your chains rattling as he pulls you into his lap and buries his face in your hair.

He can still feel you on his lips, in his blood. He can feel it when the guards drag him away, when Cornelius interrogates him and still the next day. It’s not his reaper curse though, this is different.

You were already under his skin long before he ever kissed you.

[tgmsunmontue]

Build you brick by brick... 9/? (WIP)

A Hangster fic that starts with a Lego set...

Still for @phisworld14... 💛

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN PART EIGHT

PART NINE

Things don’t go long into the evening, those with kids want to get them home to bed. Amelia has been looking bored for over an hour. Natasha is buzzed and happy. It’s been a good night and everyone helps tidy up the worst of the mess before they leave. Except for Hangman; who has been walking around collecting empties and putting them in the recycling bin. Then wiping down surfaces and covering leftovers with clingfilm and doing dishes until he’s the last one there and Bradley watches him as he scrubs.

“You good Rooster?”

“Yeah. I am. Thanks,” Bradley mumbles, hopes he’s not blushing too badly at effectively being caught staring.

“Good.”

Silence falls then and it’s… awkward. Hangman keeps giving him sideways looks, like he’s waiting for something, or maybe considering something and Bradley wonders what he’s missing exactly. Maybe Hangman is trying to pretend to be more sober than he is, because he’s unusually quiet. Although Bradley’s seen him with a few drinks in him, as well as stone-cold sober, and neither state have ever kept him quiet so he isn’t sure what’s keeping him quiet now.

“You want to crash? I’ve got a guest room,” he offers, because it only seems polite considering it’s coming up to midnight. Maybe he’s just really tired? Hangman stops and looks at him, expression flat like Bradley has said something annoying.

“See… I know you’re smart Rooster. No one gets to where we are without being smart. But sometimes I really wonder…”

“What?”

“What if I don’t want to use your guest room?”

“You could get an Uber or Lyft or something?”

“Seriously, why do I find you attractive…”

“Fuck off… wait. What?”

Hangman has braced himself against the kitchen bench, is staring into the sink full of dirty dishwater like it has the answer to life and Bradley stares. Thinks it’s justified now.

“You… like me?”

“Sometimes. Against my better judgement.”

“Really?”

“It’s fine Bradshaw. You don’t need to rub it in. Just… let me dry my hands and I’ll get out of here.”

Bradley doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t let him move away, deliberately steps to block his path. Then he’s cupping Hangman’s face between his hands, pressing their lips together and it feels like the comfort of coming home and the exhilaration of freefalling all at once. It’s a much softer kiss than their first was however many years ago, he’s not as angry at the world as he used to be. He’s no less terrified though, but it’s for so many different reasons this time.

He feels hands curling and tugging into the fabric of his shirt and then he’s feeling damp hands on bare skin. He gives in to the urge to manoeuvre Hangman so the fridge is at his back, presses himself against Hangman’s front and lets his hands travel, fingers tracing featherlight over the fabric of Hangman’s shirt, despite everything he still feels a little unsure of his footing right now.

Hangman seems to have no such qualms, his hands on Bradley are gripping, fingers of one hand digging into his waist and back under his shirt, while the other is in his hair, tugging and flexing and despite the fact that their bodies are rubbing and pressing against each other like they both trying to climb inside the other, their lips remain softer, gentler, far more tentative and the contrast is a little disorientating.

“You really had no idea?” Hangman asks when Bradley has pulled away, just enough to lick and kiss along his ridiculous jaw line. He at least is obliging enough to throw his head back, giving Bradley easy access to the column of his throat.

“Nope.”

“Clueless… you got an idea now?”

“I’ve got several,” Bradley breathes, lets his lips move against the delicate skin just below Hangman’s earlobe, knows his moustache is no doubt prickling and tickling; nips at the earlobe gently before sliding his mouth back over Hangman’s. He feels Hangman’s hips grind and flex against him, can feel his cock getting firmer. The speed at which they’ve gone from simply being friendly to suddenly making out with intent for… well. More, if Bradley gets a say in the matter.

“My ideas.... You want me to tell you or show you?”

“Always been a man of action. Show me…”

PART TEN

[28harryssunflower]

The girl in his life

You’d been seeing Harry for a little over a month now. A few coffee dates, a couple of dinners, and one memorable afternoon at the park where you both ended up covered in ice cream and laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He was sweet, thoughtful, and exactly the kind of person who made you feel safe to open up.

But you could tell something had been on his mind lately. He’d been quieter than usual during your last date, like he was trying to figure out how to say something important but didn’t know where to start.

That’s why, when he invited you over to his house for a quiet dinner, you had a feeling tonight was going to be… different.

You sat across from him at the small dining table in his cozy kitchen, your hand wrapped around a glass of wine as he fiddled with his rings - a sign he was nervous.

“Alright,” you said softly, setting your glass down. “What’s going on, Harry? You’ve been acting weird.”

He looked up at you, his long hair falling into his face, and you saw the vulnerability in his green eyes. He let out a shaky breath, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right time to tell you something,” he said slowly. “And I don’t want to keep it from you anymore.”

Your stomach flipped. Was he about to tell you he wasn’t interested anymore? That this thing between you wasn’t working? You braced yourself.

“I have a daughter,” he finally said, his voice steady but quiet. “She’s two years old. Her name’s Ella.”

You blinked, processing his words. “You- wait. You have a daughter?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening like he was waiting for you to react. “Yeah. I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to scare you off before we even got a chance to know each other. I- I don’t date much because of her, but I really like you. And I want you to get to know her too… eventually.”

Your mind raced for a moment, trying to picture Harry as a dad. It was such a sudden revelation, but at the same time, it made sense. The softness in his eyes, the way he always carried himself with a sense of responsibility and care - it all clicked.

“Wow,” you finally said, a smile tugging at your lips. “That’s… honestly kind of amazing.”

His brows furrowed. “Amazing?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, it’s a lot, sure, but the fact that you’re a dad? That’s not something to be scared of. It’s something to be proud of. I can already tell how much you love her just by the way you’re talking about her.”

Harry visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping as relief washed over his face. “You’re not freaked out?”

“Not even a little,” you said honestly. “Do you have a picture of her?”

He pulled out his phone immediately, his lips curving into the softest smile as he scrolled through his camera roll. When he handed you the phone, your heart melted. Ella was a miniature version of Harry - curly brown hair, bright green eyes, and the most adorable grin.

“She’s beautiful,” you said, glancing up at him.

“She is,” he agreed, his voice full of quiet pride. “She’s my whole world.”

For the rest of the night, Harry opened up about his life as a dad - how he juggled his career with parenting, the challenges of co-parenting with Ella’s mum, and all the little things about his daughter that made him light up. And as you listened, one thing became clear: this wasn’t just someone you were casually dating. This was someone who loved deeply, cared fiercely, and would do anything for the people he loved.

And you knew, in that moment, you wanted to stick around to see where this could go.

[thrillered]

"You Know I Mountain Dew It For Ya" | Spencer Agnew x Reader | Pt. 8

Pt. 8: Confessions

-

-

-

-

-

“I just can’t keep doing this.” Spencer said, removing his hand from yours and adjusting his position to look at you more directly. 

“What?”

Your mind was reeling. Spencer's tone shifted from playful to serious very quickly. Your stomach flipped, a pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. Did Spencer do all this nice stuff today just to let you down easy and send you away? Were you really stupid and Spencer didn’t even like you platonically? 

Okay, you were spiraling. 

Spencer was your best friend and you were his, there was no argument about that. You were just high and stressed. 

“I just don’t know what to do anymore Y/N.” He looked at you, his eyes full of anxiety. “You are so wonderful and talented and smart and..” He began to ramble, unsure where he was going with this thought. “You- you just make me really happy and if I don’t tell you this soon.. Well- I might actually implode.”

“Okay hold on, what are you talking about?” You asked, trying to stop his babbling. As nervous as you were, you couldn’t help but think he looked adorable. The way his hair splayed over his forehead, his hands wringing together as his eyes darted around the room, finally landing on yours. Even as your heart dropped through your ass you thought Spencer was so uniquely him. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m so into you Y/N,” He sighed, finally revealing the feelings he's been harboring for years. “I’ve always told you I loved you but you have no idea how much I mean it.” 

You were stopped in your tracks, not fully comprehending his words. “W-What?” You asked again.

“Maybe this is stupid and maybe Alex got in my head but I don’t think I could go another day without telling you, especially with everything going on.” 

“Do you mean it?” You asked, your voice small.

“With all of my being.” He responded, grabbing your hands with both of his. 

“You know I love you too Spencer, more than anything.” His heart was soaring at your words, feeling fireworks erupting within him. “But… I need this to be real. If for some reason it’s not and you’re just high…” You shook your head.

“I promise this isn’t a lie.” 

“Then tell me again in the morning, tell me you love me when you’re sober,” You compromised, “I’m not going anywhere tonight but just please tell me in the morning if you're serious.” 

“Okay, I will. You won’t be able to doubt it, I swear.” 

You smiled at him, “So what now?” You asked.

Spencer glanced at the clock, seeing it was already past midnight. You both had work in the morning and should probably head to bed soon. 

“We should head to sleep. But first, there’s just one thing I really really need to do.” Spencer said, running his hands up your arms and shoulders to rest where your neck met your face. “You look so beautiful.” He muttered, observing you in the soft moonlight that shone through his living room window, dragging his eyes down your face and landing on your lips. 

You glanced down to his as well, watching as his tongue poked out to wet the corners of his mouth before connecting your eyes again. “Can I please kiss you?” He asked, his voice soft and gentle. 

You tried to memorize this moment, the smell of his home mixed with the candle he lit for you, the ways his eyes twinkled in the dim light, and the feeling of his firm hands against your skin. 

You didn’t realize how long you were taking to answer as you tried committing everything to memory. Spencer's stomach doing flips as he braces for a rejection that never comes. “God Spencer please.” You grinned widely.

He pulled your face the few inches to his and softly placed his lips on yours, testing the waters. All either of you could think about was how perfectly your lips slotted together, like they were always made for each other. 

It wasn’t a feverish kiss, there were no gnashing teeth, just so much love. It was soft but firm, able to communicate all the words you couldn’t say. You tasted like chapstick and citrus soda, a taste Spencer found both intoxicating and suited you. 

One of his hands moved to the back of your head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you down so you were almost laying on the couch, his warm body above you. “Is this okay?” He asked, breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against yours. 

You didn’t even answer, just pulled him back in by his shirt. He laughed into the kiss, shocked at the movement. He could feel your sly smile against his lips. You both relished in the moment, the air feeling thick with passion. 

Your hand had looped into Spencer’s hair which you loved so much. Spencer’s hand that was at your waist began to slide under your (his) shirt, just brushing his fingertips against the warm skin of your waist when one of Spencer's cats knocked a, luckily, empty bowl off the coffee table, scaring you both out of the kiss. 

You both laughed upon seeing a furry tail swiftly moving out of the living room. “It’s really late, let’s head to bed, yeah?” You asked not wanting to spoil such a perfect night by doing anything too forward too quickly. 

“Yeah, let’s head to bed.” Spencer repeated your words, kissing your cheek before standing up and offering you his hand. You took it gladly and slowly stood up. Even when you were standing you didn’t let go of Spencer’s hand, which he took the opportunity to pull you into him and kiss you softly again. 

“As much as I would love to keep going,” You pulled away, “We need to clean these dishes up and go to sleep, Spence.” 

He almost pouted, knowing you were right but being unsure this would ever happen again. You gave him a smile and began to clean up. There were only a few things that needed to be picked up so you were done before you knew it. 

Walking to Spencer’s room you noticed he also changed his sheets, ever the gentleman. You both climbed into bed, already wearing comfy enough clothes. “Goodnight Spencey.” You muttered, pulling the comforter around you. 

“Goodnight Y/N” 

Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. What if you were just high and stressed and thought this would be fun tonight and you would never speak to him again. You rolled over and slotted yourself against Spencer, resting your head near his, “I can feel you worrying, just go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning. I love you.” You reassured. 

Feeling your warmth against his side and your sweet words in his ear was enough to calm his mind. He pulled you in a little closer and rested his head against yours, placing a soft kiss to your hairline, “I love you too.”