#I would add the coffee thing but that's too obvious

[maikissed]

and the day after that, and day after that part 2

jude bellingham x reader there's a bit of sexy times, so.. Jude likes them older so I here’s a part 2, what can I say...

Your stance awkward and stiff as you observed your surroundings, your gaze stopping a few times to glance in Jude’s direction. He didn’t seem much concerned or reserved regarding last night events and it filled you with such ire, that his confessions turned to be your burden to solve. Giving the impression as he’s been freed after voicing his decision, if u could call it that, waiting for you to make yours. As if there was any decision to make. You never wanted to make one. Your heart turned heavier at the thought of it alone, because every solution you considered in the morning seemed difficult. It was foolish. Would you break his heart? Could you? Something was telling you that he was not going to let you, and that was what frustrated you the most.

This whole day you’ve been very attentive and observant, and the revelations of many conclusions that hit you afterwards were astounding. He’s been benevolent, and caring, starting with the mug of warm lemon water waiting at you at the breakfast table. It’s been the fifth time that he prepared you your morning drink exactly the way you made it, but it’s been the first time you noticed that he remembered perfectly. He just shrugged it off. Simple gesture, with such new meaning suddenly. And then, twenty minutes later when Mia asked you if you’re willing to join her for swim, he nonchalantly stated the most obvious thing: “It’s only nine Mia, she’s not stepping one foot in the morning sun cause it’s too harsh”. He’s known you your whole life, of course he was aware of your habits and tendencies, but it struck you like a bullet after you realised not many people around you were so considerate. He’s always been close, always your favourite person to be around. He paid attention to every little thing there could be, that you preferred cauliflower over broccoli, the opinion that milk is for calves and not humans and it’s absolutely useless for our system, therefore you never drink it, so he always went on a hunt for a proper substitute for you. Even your brother frowned after you rejected the lactose free one in your coffee. Next, he remembered that you hate musicals, too big pillows to sleep on and creased, not ironed clothes. All of it, messing with your head the whole day, you we’re fuming. You swore something in your brain started to malfunction.

And it felt like bricks falling over your head when you caught yourself analysing his current encounter with a long-legged blond near the bar. What was it today? A nutter day? You took a big gulp of your sour drink.

“What is it with you today?” Mia slumped next to you on the settee “You’ve been having your little stuffy face on the whole day. Or is it the daiquiri?” she clicked her long nail on your glass.

“Don’t know, think I ate something bad” you murmured.

“You’ve barely eaten today” she snorted.

You sent her a sharp look.

“Maybe that’s it”

The eye roll she made at your answer did not slip your attention. Giving her a proper look you could tell your friend had already had one too many, as her accent turned heavier and her hair a little messier. She was a yapper when she was drunk, that’s for sure. She will not make this evening easy for you. And you’ve already been on pins and needles.

“You need a shag” she pointed out making you roll your eyes this time.

Well, we have an expert.

“I’ve had plenty just few days ago”

“From what I’ve heard, from you of course may I add, Alex’s not really living up to the expectations” she giggled quite proud of her valuable notice.

“He’s alright!” you fought back.

“Look around you! Maybe it’s time to taste something new”

Before you could really process what Mia’s intentions were, she suddenly stood up and your eyes widened, observing her wobbly stance, expecting the unexpected.

“Attention everybody!” she shouted and you froze, your eyes glued to her bright face “My gorgeous friend here needs a proper shag!” she accented the last word.

“Mia!” you gasped trying to grasp her arm to make her sit down because clearly, that was not very wise of her. Outrageous!  

Many faces gathered on the terrace obviously turned your way to find the source of this blatant declaration. Your face probably beet root at the moment. What a night.

“She’s quite a treat, as you can see” she twirled to take a look down at you “Any possible suitors please report to me first!”

You could hear someone laugh in the distance and you flinched knowing for sure, that every hotel guest will definitely gawk at you for the rest of your stay.

You gaped at your petite friend with open mouth. Words blocked in your throat.

“Now, we wait and see” she sang sitting down and kissing your cheek in the process.

“There’s a special place for you in this world” you hissed “You should start rubbing dirt on yourself”

“Oh, death threats?!” she just laughed it off.

There was a movement on your side and you prepared yourself for the worst, turning your eyes up to spot Jude with an amused expression painted on his face. Oh, he loved that.

“Dance with me?” that was all that left his lips and you frowned, gazing at his palm extended to you.

“And we have the first candidate!” Mia chirped.

“Now I have to keep an eye on her, thanks to your little announcement, Mia”

You saw her sending him a small wink.

“I accept your application, Bellingham”

And as you had enough of this not very enjoyable to you situation, you stood up abruptly, taking the boy’s hand, letting him lead you near the dancing couples. The song was too slow for your liking. You lost the sense of your own body as he placed your palm on his shoulder, the other gripped lightly in his left hand.

“You’re wearing the necklace” he observed, his voice startling you a little since you were immensely focused on his fingers displayed on your bare back.

Big, almost covering it from side to side.

His comment made you remember that you indeed wore the delicate necklace he gifted you for your 24th birthday. White gold, because he knew you adored it. You never wore it on a daily basis because you found it too precious. And that he knew as well.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Well, obviously not because I’m being presented as an escort for tonight”

He laughed at your comment and you smiled at the sound of it.

“I wore it as a totem” you started after a few moments, your hand on his shoulder twitched uncontrollably “Of my undying… love and devotion for you, Jude” you watched his features turning serious. Dark, sparkling eyes boring into yours. “All of it, strictly platonic” you specified.

A soft smirk flashing before your eyes when he spun you around, pressing you much closer to him as you faced him again. Warm flesh, hard lines of his body, close.

“I am patient” he murmured quietly.

And you felt the vibration from his words on your skin! You realised you kept your mouth slightly agape. What an arrogant, self-assured little bastard. Making this hundred times more difficult for you than you expected. What will it take for you to put up this fight?

“My father once told me” he continued, taking advantage of a lack of response from you “That if you find a person that makes your heart serene, your head calm and your body light, it means you’re home. I have this and more when I’m with you, all I’m asking for is one chance”.

You remembered the boy, always around, not as loud as your brother, gentle, considerate, the boy who used to fix your bike when your brakes started to screech or share his last sour bubble gum with you because it was your favourite. The boy who held out his hand for you when you were jumping over the fences in your neighbourhood, the first boy who called you beautiful when you wore your awkward little baby blue dress at the end of the sixth school year. He resembled him so much now, in this moment. With his eyes big and shiny, honest, sincere.

You didn’t know but minutes has passed as you reminisced, taking in the sight of his face, changed over all those years, yet eyes still the same, always. You were still rocking gently into the music but all you could hear now was slow breaths of his and yours, felt the beating of your hearts inside your ribs that were touching. The rhythm was steady, synchronised. Serene. You stopped.

Taking a step back you still held his hand with yours and there was a glimpse of something close to dismay appearing all so sudden on his expression. For the first time. There it was, you could end it now. Finally the doubt showed it’s way to the surface and it was enough. With a heart on his sleeve he confessed. And you had the tool to became the executioner. But you didn’t let go of his hand and said nothing nonetheless, just took another step back wanting him to follow. Blood pumping in your veins as you wondered what exactly were you going to do? Maybe say? But you knew what you wanted to do, you just considered if you should. Not wanting to wait too long, you didn’t head to the stairs leading to your rooms as you planned at first, instead taking a turn to the small café near the lobby, empty now at this hour, with lights low.

You faced him again, slowly placing one of your hands on his neck, the other reaching for his cheek, your thumb grazing the skin there. He pulled you closer to him, his arm fully wrapped around your middle. You sighted. After counting three steady breaths you leaned in, realising you had to stand on your toes just a little to reach him right but he lowered his head to make you both comfortable. The soft touch didn’t turn into the kiss instantly, you gently swayed making the impression of leaning back again but you quickly realised you turned a bit dizzy. It was pleasant. So when you brought your lips back to his, you finally kissed him properly and he put the perfect pressure to it in response. Nothing about it was weird, as you considered for a second before making a move. A first kiss, yet felt very natural. Like it was promised. Like it simply waited for it’s right moment. Moving your hands further up, locking them behind his head you deepened the kiss, intensifying the movement of your lips against each other and there was a moment of your lips parting just a bit more, that he took advantage of, his tongue meeting yours in a stunning flick, making you let out a timid moan. Unwise. He pushed you back gently, your bum meeting with the edge of one of the tables around. You leaned back when he sped up, the kiss heating up and your heart skipped a bit. He took notice of a gentle push of your palm on his chest, breaking the contact.

“Don’t think too much, just feel me” he whispered against your lips.

He said it to simply comfort you but it sounded so sexy you could feel tingles spreading over every inch of your skin. You refused to open your eyes at first, but when you did (a mistake) you almost choked with your own breath at the sight of him. Towering over you, close, his palm on your cheek, the other hand gripping your hip. Oh, you’ve been so foolish.

And you kissed him again, the contact more firm, closeness more certain, you could feel your breath speeding up. You were practically sitting on the surface of the table right now. Another moan leaving your throat as you could feel him sliding in between your legs, your dress hiking up a little and you were inviting him, lewdly parting your thighs.

“Jude” you breathed pulling away “We should stop there”

He looked absolutely enchanting with his pretty eyes shining in the gentle lights around you. And you didn’t move or pushed him away, so he leaned in, brushing his lips on your neck, under your ear, going lower. The warmth and wetness of his tongue on this delicate skin made you loose your composure once again and you grasped his nape closing your eyes. It was way more than just a simple contact of two excited people. You felt drugged, ecstatic, freed.

“Stop” you whispered, not very convincingly but he stopped still.

You kind of regretted it.

“I might die if you stop me right there” he rasped.

“Bit dramatic” you smiled even though you felt like agreeing.

“I’m serious” he pecked your lips to kiss you again but you turned your head away.

“Let’s go upstairs”

“To have sex?” he whispered the question into your ear, spreading goose bumps all over your neck.

You laughed.

“To talk”

[tanaor]

Want quick tips to add instant chemistry to the relationships of your characters??

(🥳With examples🥳)

First of all, I want to say that you can also use most of them for platonic/ non-romantic relationships, so feel free to use this tips however you think they might work better in your story. So, without further adue, let's get to the tips!!!

Make your characters LISTEN to each other. Like, if A tells B they're not a morning person, B could make some coffee for A or lower the volume of their alarm.

This might sound quite obvious, but show that you characters care for each other. It might be as simple as one of them giving the other a glass of water when they feel a little dizzy, but it works wonders!

Make your characters physically close. When you are emotionally close to someone, you tend to be physically close too. But here is the thing. Make your characters react like it's second nature: "how would I not hug B when I haven't seen them in days?" or "Of course I'm gonna take A's hand when I feel insecure".

They don't have to be constantly thinking about each other, but when they do, MAKE IT MATTER!! For example, character A is out shopping, and they see B's favorite cookies. B didn't have a good day, and A knows that. But A also knows B is gonna fucking love the cookies, so they buy some.

Let them believe and trust each other. Also applies if one of them is a little distrustful: let your characters rely on one another, even if at the start they aren't as comfortable doing it. For a distrustful character, letting the other one help with chores might be a HUGE thing.

Other tips for writers: previous | next

[writers-potion]

Writing Morally Gray Characters

Morally gray antagonists and heroes can bring up many interesting questions about your story's theme and plot. Yes, your hero does want to save the world, but resorts to cruel ways of bringing peace?

Being morally gray can also mean that the character is highly goal- oriented and values efficiency and success over anything.

Deceiving Appearances

As is true in real life, a person's intentions aren't always obvious. A character, their title, background or really just how they look might at first indicate they're the hero type but surprise - they're not.

By hiding ulterior motives behind more apparent ones, you can add depth to your morally gray characters. Appearances can be deceiving, and that makes for a juicy read.

Morally Gray vs. Villains

Morally gray characters and villains are not strictly one and the same. Yes, there is overlap-they can be villains-but the distinctions are there nonetheless.

I don't think having a dark past to provide motivations for morally gray characters is too effective. They do intend to harm others, and sometimes, that's just the way they are.

Recognition

Your morally gray character should recognize that their choices can cause harm, intentionally or otherwise.

Although he's willing to risk the chance in his pursuit of knowledge, he does actively recognize that his actions can result in negative consequences. He sometimes acknowledges this before he does something, and sometimes only in hindsight.

Remorse

They must understand and experience remorse. When the consequences of their actions wreck and story world and kills people around her, she would certainly have regrets and even struggle to undo what she did.

The point here is, she won't regret until she has already caused the wreckage.

Redemption

Finally, when even they feel things have gone too far, your morally gray character must seek redemption however that manifests itself in your story.

For all their logic and reasoning, they are not without feeling. They can grow to care for other characters and go out of their way to help them at times, even save their life.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[thisismeracing]

Heartdresser | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x braider!reader ― Warning: mentions of a brother, social media au mixed with regular writing, tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader (she/her); - 2.8k words + social media setting. ― Summary: When Lewis finds himself just a couple days away from a racing weekend and without his usual braids he desperately searches for suggestions of available hairdressers in the area. As the saying goes, love can come from the most unexpected places, and Lewis is about to discover that this is, in fact, true. (based on this request)

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

Being a Formula One Driver had its perks, from obvious and big things such as traveling everywhere to not-so-obvious and small things like having your hair stylist travel to you when you needed them. After becoming an adult and famous, it took Lewis a couple of years to come to terms with his hair, how to style it, how to take care of it, and how to embrace the texture and volume. He felt finally whole when he reached that point, one where meaningless comments on the internet wouldn’t make him rethink his path, goals, and achievements. Of course, comments hurt, but being comfortable with yourself helped, and that was something Lewis learned. 

Now, his braids were part of him. The hairstyle being associated with his image in the blink of an eye. Something that made him feel handsome, and connected with his roots. Something that seemed to help other young black boys around, who started to see themselves as stylish and handsome too.

That’s the main reason why he was so frustrated when his braider called him to tell them they couldn’t make it to Las Vegas. And the thing with braids is that it's not only a style that connects you to your roots, and makes you feel comfortable, it is also a hair protection style. Though Lewis doesn’t tell people he has superstitions and somehow it is true, part of him feels like he races better when he’s feeling himself in all senses of the word. This means having his hair in the braids he’s been looking forward to for over two weeks is something important to him.

So in the heat of the moment, he decides to look for help on Twitter.

“Hi, you must be Lewis,” you smile, extending your hands, and the man in front of you takes it in with a grin. 

“Hey, good afternoon,” his grip is still thigh yet soft on your hand. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for having me on such short notice.” He’s handsome and polite in all the ways one should be to be considered perfect, and you start to understand why your baby brother was drawn to admire his persona outside the tracks. 

You shake your head with a chuckle, “It was actually my day off, but I had no problem fitting you in since it meant Dee would get to meet you.”

“Oh- honesty is something I find hot,” he chuckles and adds a grin for good measure, all while looking straight into your eyes and you can’t help but laugh.

Add funny to the list of things Lewis Hamilton seems to be. 

“Who’s Dee, by the way?” 

“It’s Aiyden, my little brother. I call him Dee,” you explain before adding, “He’s finishing a Chemistry project with a few friends at school. He was tempted to skip but gave up after a pep talk on how school is important, and I would take forever doing your hair just so he could see you.” 

Lewis nods while you explain, and then he’s chuckling just like minutes ago. 

“I don’t mind waiting for him with you,” he winks.

You’re not sure if he’s being friendly, funny, or flirty, but any of these F words coming from the black guy in front of you are surely making your heart skip a beat. 

“You can sit here while I grab everything,” you point to a chair in front of a big mirror and Lewis does as said. 

“Your hair looks fire,” he comments, watching from the mirror while you go through the small saloon gathering the packs of hair and combs you would need. “Did you do it yourself?” 

“Thanks,” you stop just for a second, smiling when your eyes meet. “And yeah, I did it just last weekend.”

“You look even more stunning with this style,” and just like that he has you giggling again. “I mean it. I saw your profile picture and I was convinced you couldn’t get more beautiful, and then you opened that door with a smile and these amazing braids and I was like wow.” “You’re a funny one.”

“I’ve heard some women like their man funny, is that your case? If so, I’m ready to get into stand-up comedy.” 

You double with laughter, shaking your head and biting your lips to keep the funny noises inside.

“Same style you’ve sent me the picture?” Lewis nods. “Any addition or preference?” you ask, starting to section his hair, and he answers no while making himself comfortable on the chair.

And even though you joked about taking forever just so your brother would catch Lewis, you ended up really taking forever because the driver in front of you would joke around and give you flirty comments and you couldn’t help but stop to laugh. The style he wanted was fairly fast, and his curls weren’t that thick, but still, you two did a small snack break when he ordered from a vegan bakery downtown. He was a fun guy to talk to, you came to learn that pretty quickly, which only added to his face card, which certainly was never denied. 

It was one of the best sessions you’ve had in a long time.

You were just finishing the final touches, adding water to boil, and cutting the small strands coming off the braids, when the bell over the door rang, announcing your little brother’s arrival. He has an incredulous expression on his face watching his idol sitting on the chair of his sister’s salon. 

“Hey man, how was the chem’s project?” Lewis asks and Aiyden turns around to the door, doing a small victory dance and, probably, the most hideous expressions to conceal his eagerness and happiness. 

You and Lewis laugh.

“Omg, hi, Lewis!” He finally walks to you, shaking hands with Lewis. His eyes – big orbs gleaming with excitement. 

“Aren’t you gonna say hi to your sister, young man?” with your hands on your waist you furrow your brows in the direction of the curly-haired boy who smiles, engulfing your body in a big hug. You hug him back before tapping his back and fake complaining about how he was crushing you. 

Aiyden had just turned fifteen, but his love for sports seemed to help him defy your DNA and grow more than your family’s average size. He was almost reaching your height, and he sure was stronger than you, but he was still just your baby boy. 

“These new braids are lit, man! Told ya my sister would make it happen,” Ayiden, who still has one of his arms around your shoulders, tells Lewis with a proud smile.

The driver moves his head confidently checking his hair in the mirror, “She was a great braider, and even better company, to be honest.” 

Yn rolls her eyes playfully before going back to the water and mentioning for Ayiden to take a step back. She dips the ends of the braids into the water, waiting for a bit before taking them off and draping a towel around Lewis’ broad shoulders. 

“So, your sister mentioned a chem school project. How was it?” 

And just like that Ayiden and Lewis are talking non-stop while you tidy the salon, watching their interaction with a fond smile. The Brit was attentive to your brother, always ready to listen rather than speak, always engaging, and making Ayiden feel comfortable to share whatever he wanted to. 

He probably had no idea, but that was an easy way to get to your heart. Ayiden was your treasure, and the fact that Lewis was treating the boy as if he was his little treasure too only added to the list of things you found amazing about him.

“...right, Yn?” Dee asked and you snapped out of your daydream.

“What?”

“Lewis just invited us to the Vegas GP, I said we were going, right? Please, please, please,” he pleaded in front of you with his two hands together as if in prayer, and you bit the inside of your mouth.

“Sunday?” 

“No, the whole package, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday!” he explained excitedly.

“It will be fun, c’mon,” Lewis tried.

“You have school on Friday.” You reasoned, but Ayiden was quick to explain that Friday wouldn’t be until 6 pm. “You’re the one asking Kali to get my appointments from Saturday,” pointing a finger to your brother you accepted, knowing that your friend and coworker, had a space on Saturday for a hair or two and wouldn’t mind covering so your clients wouldn’t be hanging out to dry. Still, she would probably huff and yapp before accepting. That was something that Ayiden would now deal with though, so you were all good. 

Ayiden jumped up and down the same way he did when he was ten years old asking you to get him a new pair of soccer jerseys, and you accepted. It was endearing.

You talked for a few more minutes, Ayiden got his picture, and just like that Lewis was saying his farewells. This time he didn’t shake your hands, rather hugged you and you couldn’t help but breathe in his scent and relish his warmth.

“See you on Friday, guys,” he waved, showing off his perfect set of teeth. 

“See you, man!” 

yourinstagram

liked by lewishamilton, youngdee, and others

yourinstagram had to drive the kiddo to school today or else he would stay home choosing his weekend outfits lol (traffic is a bitch btw, so if you can avoid downtown, pls do!)

view all comments

youngdee why would you expose me like that

⤷ yourinstagram I'm your older sister, ofc I'm gonna act like a mom ❤️😘

lewishamilton nice fit, ayideen!

⤷ youngdee thank you, man! 😎

⤷ fan4490 OMG KJSDKGJSKG

charleslechair she looks so cute

⤷ charleslechair scratch that I just went through her pics

⤷ charleslechair she's hot

⤷ charleslechair and super talented

wolffmickey so its confirmed, she's the braider?

schumachinho *on my knees begging* pls, do my hair too, yn, pls pls 🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️

yourfriend I spent an hour on traffic today in a road that usually takes me about ten minutes 🫠

yourfriend2 bruh, ayideen is getting bigger and bigger, I feel OLD 😭

Friday rolled around quickly and you got to watch the total amount of fifteen minutes of practice 1 before all hell broke. Ayiden explained everything to you along with the whole controversy going on with the LA Gran Prix, which you were just a tad aware of. Lewis wasn’t able to spend much time with you guys that much was expected, but whenever he found a few seconds he would pass by, ask if you guys were ok, if Dee was having fun if there was something he could do, and just overall being the goofy Lewis he was during the appointment. Ayiden seemed to find the flirtatious glances and lines funny, and so did you, except this time it felt a little more real because you were sure a few people around overheard some. 

It was an amazing night, you made friends with a couple of people from the crew, and Ayiden had the time of his life meeting a few other idols, and almost started hyperventilating when Hamilton told him he would take him to meet Charles Leclerc on Sunday. 

Saturday was even more of a rush, you almost didn’t see Lewis, but he texted before and after quali. So when Sunday came you were still trying to navigate the whole paddock thing, but a bit more comfortable about it. Aiyden was still acting as if it was his own version of Disney land and it was his first day discovering the adventure world. You were loving it for him, of course. 

“Nice outfit,” Lewis whispers right beside you, catching you off guard and making you jump in surprise. You were in a corner, just texting a friend, and checking your next few appointments while Ayiden went to meet Charles and you thought Lewis would be there until he came back, but it wasn’t the case.

“You’re sneaky,” you chuckled, straightening your instance and looking into his face only to notice he was already staring at you. 

“You look cute when you’re focused,” he winks, before adding, “and when you’re scared too.” 

“You look cute when you joke like this,” throwing back at him you didn’t expect for his brows to furrow in confusion. 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

Lewis giggles. He giggles and you can’t help but smile with the sound and the way his lips part while his eyes squint. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?!” 

“I think you’re pretty and smart, and talented. I was genuinely flirting with you,” his explanation makes your insides turn in giddiness, and as if it wasn’t enough Lewis smiles, eyes glued on yours before he asks: “Wanna go on a date with me?” 

“A date?” You repeat trying to let the idea sink. 

“A date?” This time it’s Ayiden’s voice and you turn alarmed, expecting to see a confused and jealous brother, only to find him with the biggest grin ever.

“Yeah, a date,” Lewis smiles briefly to Ayiden, before staring back at you, waiting for your answer.

You blink still unsure. Fair enough, he was hot, educated, smart, and he checked all the boxes, but that wasn’t any guarantee of a successful relationship, or fling, or whatever he had in mind. And also, his lifestyle wasn’t something you were used to. How would dating him work when he’s often traveling around to drive?

“C’mon, don’t overthink it, Yn.” Ayiden comes to help, standing beside Lewis and the Brit chuckles. “It’s THE SIR Lewis Hamilton,” he points, and this time Lewis laughs. 

You bit your lips, not helping but letting a smile escape. 

Lewis is in front of you, hands in his pockets, big brown eyes watching you, and the smallest smile gracing the corner of his plump lips. He looked great. And as much as you wanted to deny, there was a vibe going on. 

You take a deep breath, smirking at him, “Get yourself a podium and we’ll talk about a date later.”  

Ayiden’s eyes widened. 

“Did you forget how quali went?! It’s gonna be hell to get a podium, almost impossible,” your brother tries to reason, but Lewis shakes his head, extending his hand to which you clasp in yours.

“Deal,” the driver smiles. “I’ll get you a podium.”

Lewis squeezes Ayiden’s shoulder and winks at you before disappearing into the garage to get ready for the race.

“One more reason why he’s the goat, see? If I were you I would go on a date with him even if he didn’t get a podium.” 

You laugh, “For the few things I saw, he likes the challenge. Let me indulge him.” 

“You’re crazy.”

“And he’ll get a podium.” 

“It’s very unlikely, but I won’t deny the possibility. It’s Lewis after all.” Your brother leans on the wall beside you. “And it looks like he wants this date bad.” 

“What makes you think this?” 

“C’mon, he’s been flirting with you nonstop since the hair appointment.” 

“I genuinely thought he was joking.” 

“You can be so clueless sometimes,” your brother rolls his eyes playfully and you slap the back of his head. 

“Watch it, young man, I’m still the oldest.” 

And you were still right too, because hours later Lewis impressed everyone by getting third place. He kept everyone on the edge of their seats along with Charles who did a brilliant race, and just like that your brother was grinning devilishly your way because now you had a date with no one other than Lewis Hamilton who happened to walk into the garage just as you were handling a water bottle to Dee after he ran to watch the ceremony as if his life depended on it.

Lewis was smiling brightly at you, sweat mixed with champagne, but you couldn’t help but grin right back and lace your arms around him, taking him by surprise. 

“I’m all sweaty, sorry,” he whispers, his tattooed hand flatting on your bag and bringing your body closer. 

“It’s fine. Congrats on the race.” 

“Congrats on the race, man!” Ayiden hugs him too and Lewis smiles, eyes still trapped on you. When your brother lets him go and stays rooted in place looking from you to Lewis you trap the laugh inside, and roll your eyes fakely, pointing for the young boy to give you both some privacy.

“So, looks like I scored myself a date, huh?” 

You nod, taking a small step in his direction and trying to keep your hands from tracing all the small details on his face from this up close, “You sure did.” Your eyes were now on his lips, and Lewis grinned. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You already have a date, what else do you wanna ask me?” You’re teasing and he knows it because this time he’s the one to take a step in your direction. The tips of your shoes are touching, and you can hear the rustling outside, but it’s just you two in the corridor, and you hope it stays like this for just a little longer even though you knew he had an interview in a few minutes. His company and attention are something you enjoyed having.

“With how many dates do you find it ok to kiss someone?” His playful tone is there, but his expression makes your knees almost buck. “Can we count practice, quali, and the race as dates?” 

And just like that he has you laughing and grabbing his neck to close the distance and smash your lips in a very much-awaited kiss. 

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[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.” 

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. 

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began. 

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.” 

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually. 

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.” 

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him. 

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together. 

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him. 

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him. 

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity. 

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”  

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard. 

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy. 

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose. 

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”  

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.  

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.” 

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you. 

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves. 

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before. 

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away. 

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying. 

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.” 

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him. 

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound. 

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody. 

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent. 

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero. 

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again. 

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded. 

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.” 

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded. 

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.” 

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.” 

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow. 

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least. 

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

 Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony. 

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion 

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.” 

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object. 

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown. 

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled. 

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky. 

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire. 

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert? 

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out. 

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety. 

Azriel. 

You couldn’t help but think of him. 

Azriel was nothing like that. 

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist. 

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you. 

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom. 

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you. 

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home. 

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you. 

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity. 

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.” 

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.” 

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent” 

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness. 

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight. 

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge. 

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight. 

“Like who?”

“Cassian.” 

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth. 

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day. 

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it. 

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.” 

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home. 

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself. 

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?” 

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.” 

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching. 

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger. 

“How are things going? With the book?” 

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch. 

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.” 

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you. 

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch. 

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real. 

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks. 

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick. 

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily. 

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch. 

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows. 

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed. 

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing. 

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another. 

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes. 

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

[lucyswinter]

earlyseasons!spencer having a crush on fem!reader headcannons?

.-‘*•_spencer reid crush hcs .•*-.’💗’-.•*

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none :)

♡ ♡ ♡

-you guys were both hired onto the bau around the same time, so you went through training together and were well aquatinted by the time you were officially colleagues

-he always thought you were really pretty, but didn’t really develop a crush until he saw you in action at work, and was immediately stricken with you after your first case. the way you could command a room and take charge…he thought it was very atttactive

-he looooves talking with you! he isn’t super easily flustered or anything, he just takes any chance he can get to start a conversation.

-to add on, he always comes up with random little facts for you each day. “hey, y/n! i love your ladybug earrings. oh, did you know that a ladybug can eat up to 75 aphids a day? cool right!?”

-always remembers little things about you. you could call it his love language, but that’s really just who he is. within the first few days of meeting you, he already knew your coffee order by heart, and brought it to you nearly every morning

-even though he doesn’t really get flustered easily, he does get a bit…okay a lot blushy at any small touches. like you brush past him on the way to a meeting? his cheeks are red immediately

-he likes to daydream sometimes, and he often spaces out and stares at you without realizing. you’ve caught him looking a few times, but never said anything

-his favorite part about you was your smile. he loved seeing it after he made a corny joke or shared a lame fact. he liked being able to make you happy.

-he thought he was fairly discreet about it, but everyone else at the office thought his crush was painfully obvious

-it didn’t take him long to realise he wanted to ask you out. it took him a while before he was able to build up the confidence, but one day, after one two many cups of coffee (one cup), he stopped you in an empty corner of the office and just went for it

-“look I- this is probably really random and it’s a bit crazy that I’m doing this, but I just- whew okay…I like you. A lot. You’re like… really pretty and really smart and I would like it very much if I could take you out or get coffee or…” you roll your eyes at his caffeine fueled rant and interrupt him by pressing your lips to his

-“sooo…you like me too?” “yes, you idiot! now kiss me again!”

♡ ♡ ♡

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that” 

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

[fuctacles]

LATE BLOOMERS

for @steddieholidaydrabbles Spring pop-up | T | 1k | no cw | t4t w transfem Stevie and transmasc Eddie, pre relationship, mutual pining | read on Ao3

Eddie hates spring. 

It’s getting warmer and swarms of people are going outside to piss on his good mood. Kids are screaming, parents are showing publicly how terrible they are, the sun is glaring into his eyes, and birds are chirping. Literal hell. His last slivers of peace are the nights and early mornings when everyone is still sleeping.

Except her.

She’s new here, moved in around Thanksgiving last year, and has been running daily ever since. Eddie had noticed her passing his house now and then, her chestnut ponytail swinging with the movement. 

Every morning, in a very un-Munson fashion, he sits on his porch, the cold planks digging into his ass, with a thick sweater, and a coffee warming his body. All so that he can nod at one of the many joggers blemishing the neighborhood.

He always liked drinking his morning coffee in the crisp, chilly air, still foggy and void of people, still in their beds or getting ready for work. She is a great motivator to do it every morning, to wake up to his alarm and start his day early. 

She’s like clockwork, always on time and never out of breath. Barely missed a step the first time he nodded at her in a casual “good morning, neighbor” greeting, and now every time she passes his house she looks to the side, catches his eye, and smiles, raising her hand in a small wave. 

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest and he’s on the verge of weeping into his coffee every time.

It’s all the interaction they’ve had so far, and he’s not even sure what the woman’s last name is, though the rumors he’s heard say it’s Harrington. He likes to imagine she chose this route to see him just like he chooses to wake up early every morning to drink his coffee on the porch, even though no jogging type would go for a metalhead freak like him. He might just be conveniently on the way to her favorite bakery or something. 

He hates spring a little less when it’s warm enough for local joggers to dress down. It gets him swooning over some ankle like an ancient bachelor. A couple of days later the temperatures rise to sports bra levels which he learns the hard way while choking on his coffee.

It’s tight, obviously, but no amount of support can prevent the obvious bounce accompanying the movement of running. He tries his best not to be a creep and greets her with the same smile.

He thinks he’s prepared for the sports bra the next day, but he’s heavily mistaken when the transgender flag rounds the corner. He gets the coffee on his t-shirt this time as he recognizes the top she’s wearing from the same site he used to get binders from. 

She's a little hesitant with her greeting this time, and Eddie can’t stand it. So he opens his stupid mouth and yells:

“Me too!”

She looks at him quizically so he adds, albeit a tad more timid:

“I’m trans.”

And to his absolute horror, she starts walking up to him. 

He’s thinking the worst things: maybe the colors are just a coincidence, maybe she got it because she liked it and has no idea what it means, or maybe he’s about to get shunned by the local community that he already doesn’t feel welcome in.

But then there’s a megawatt smile directed at him and every bad thought evaporates from his brain.

“Really?” she asks, and he can only dumbly nod. 

“Thank god! I worried it would be like, a problem.”

Her hand is out and she’s right in front of him.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says. Her hand is warm against the morning chill. Enveloping and strong.

“Eddie.”

She smiles, warm and teasing, wreaking havoc across Eddie’s internal organs. 

“Is there a chance I’d get a glass of water?”

Eddie straightens up immediately.

“Yes! Of course! Come in, come in!” He opens the door and motions her inside, hoping the filtering jug is full. 

It is, so he pours a glass for the gorgeous creature in his kitchen.

“Thank you,” she says politely and it’s so simple, but Eddie’s melting inside as he watches her swallow the water and lick her bottom lip.

“Hey, listen…”

“Mhm?” he makes a questioning sound, eyes drawn to the way she crosses her arms, making the muscles flex and frame her cleavage.

“Would it be weird if I asked to borrow a sweater? I heavily overestimated the weather today.”

Eddie was nodding before she was even finished, head bopping so hard he was getting dizzy. 

“No! Just give me a moment!” he said before running up the stairs to his bedroom to grab the first clean hoodie he could find. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and he has the pleasure of watching her put on his clothing. “It’s stupid, but I’ve been dressing up, or dressing down rather, to…” She bites her lip as she zips up the hoodie. There’s a flaking-away Metallica logo across the chest. “There’s this metalhead on my route I wanted to impress, I guess.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’m pretty sure you’d impress him in a skiing suit.”

She chuckles. 

“You think so? Maybe I should just suck it up and ask him out then,” she wonders out loud, turning to leave, and Eddie’s stomach sinks. But then she’s turning back and laughing again.

“Eddie! Do you want to go out with me?”

The relief he feels melts his bones. 

“Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been freezing my ass on the porch every morning?” He goes for the snark because he doesn’t know how to deal with having this beautiful woman’s full attention.

“Breakfast tomorrow? The usual time?” she asks. Because of course, she’d take him on an early morning date.

“Should I buy a tracksuit?” he jokes, but to his horror, her eyes sparkle.

“That would be perfect.”

Stevie event interest check

[aurorawhisperz]

that’s what you get (e.l.)

contains: swearing, suggestive content, fluff, richie exists..

neighbor!ethan landry x fem!reader

a/n: THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE TROPES NOW IM GONNA BE POSTING MORE BY JULY 🦅🦅🦅 ethan is a bit of a meanie in this but he’s still little old him (maybe just gf ethan persona)

some tropes i used are: enemies to lovers, girl next door, forced proximity and best friend’s brother 🙏 (yk allat shit LOL) THERE WILL BE A PART 2!!

•

You knew for a fact that Quinn Bailey was your best friend—what made it even better is that you two could communicate through your windows, but one thing you also knew is that you didn’t like her brother, Ethan, he was your age, Quinn was older than you both. He would sometimes cut into your ‘girl talk’ since his room was right beside hers.

“Dammit!” You said as you banged on the door roughly. Your parents weren’t going to be home until tomorrow morning for something important, and you had left your keys inside the house. To make it even worse, it was raining.

A familiar voice startles you and has you snap out of all that stress. “(Name)?” says Quinn, covering herself with a blanket. I think it’s pretty obvious what she was doing just now.

“Quinn!” You called from below, your eyes widen at the sight of her covered body by the window. “I’ll..get back to you! Damn..” You hear her say something to an impatient guy, something about helping a friend—obviously that friend was you.

A few minutes later, she runs out in pink slip-ons and a purple nightgown with an umbrella. “Need help? Holy shit, you are soaking.” Quinn’s eyes widen at the sight of your outfit ruined. “And cold.” You add, then slamming your fist on the wall, “I left my keys inside.”

“Boo, it’s not that hard to knock on our door.” She chuckles, then you roll your eyes, “And deal with your brothers while you get to bang someone tonight? Yeah, right.” Her eyes then dart and she forces a smile out. “Ethan’s not that bad.”

You frown, “Yes, he is.”

“Baby, you’ll have to deal with it. I can’t stand Richie anymore.” Quinn complains, then she tugs on the sleeve of your wet cardigan to let you inside her ‘humble home.’

Grateful to be out of the pouring rain, the familiar smell of your best friend’s home fills your nostrils.

You both plop down on the plush couch, and she hands you a towel for your wet hair. Quinn then shoots you a playful smile, “Aside from our ‘interventions’, what did baby bro do this time to get on your nerves?” She asks.

“That’s about it, he wants to be the center of attention even when he’s not wanted.” You let out a sigh.

Quinn’s lips curl into a smirk, and she gently places a hand on your shoulder. “He's just trying to be a part of our bond, in his own misguided way. Ethan’s.. different, he’s fucking awkward and stuff but not around us because he’s more comfortable.”

You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and understanding. “I guess I can try to tolerate him a bit more. For you. But he better stay out of our serious conversations.”

Quinn laughs and pulls you into a hug, the warmth of her embrace enveloping you. “That's the spirit! And don't worry, I'll make sure that jackass knows when to give us our space. Besties have their ways, you know.”

“What ways?” says Richie, holding an ‘I LOVE STAB’ coffee mug. You also know for a fact that you hated him more than Ethan—being the movie geek he is, not that it’s bad, it’s how he takes it too far and even gets touchy with others. “Ways to die.” You mutter, staring deep into his damned soul.

He nods nervously and heads back into his room. “Stay in there!” yells Quinn.

Once the silence has dissolved into thin air, she blurts out, “How about that tension?” Your eyes widen, eyebrows pinched together and lips parted in protest. “Sexual tension?” You repeat, your face going pale.

She nods cheekily, “SEXUAL?” You shriek. Quinn laughs at your reaction.

You then hear Quinn’s name from upstairs, “Ooh, priorities.” She avoids your gaze and then drags you back upstairs, “Q, don’t make me a third wheel tonight.” You roll your eyes as her grip on your arm tightens.

•

“What the hell?” is the first thing that comes out of Ethan’s mouth when Quinn pushes you into her room. “Quinn, and you. Get out!” He narrows his eyes. “E, I’ve got a guy waiting for me to go back.”

“Then tell him to fucking leave?” He shakes his head. “You’re a degenerate, you know that?” Ethan shoots back.

“Well, I’m not a virgin, so you don’t get a say in that.” Quinn lets out a corny smile and shakes her head, you can see Ethan gritting his teeth. “Do you want her to deal with Richie then?” She tilts her head slyly.

He sighs, “No.” she raises her hands and continues “That’s what I thought, love you both!” Quinn exits just as Ethan is about to flip her off.

You sit down on Ethan’s beanbag and all he does is stare.

He scoffs, “What brings you into my lair?” He crunches on a cheeto. You obviously refused to let his taunts get under your skin, “Spare me.” You retorted.

Ethan smirks, enjoying your discomfort, “Mighty (name) finds herself in a bit of a predicament, huh?”

“Unlike you, Eth, I don't have the luxury of living in a perfect little bubble where everything goes my way. So excuse me if I need a moment to think.” You tightly clench your fists.

“Can’t we just tolerate each other’s existence only for a little bit?” You complain, Ethan’s mouth turns into an “O” shape and he sarcastically remarks “Who can go the longest without being an asshole? You or me?”

“Me.” You pridefully chuckle. “This starts now.” He declares.

You have never heard silence quite this loud. The only thing you and Ethan have been doing for the past few minutes is stare at each other. Eye language perhaps?

His lips part at the sight of you.

While you did hate Ethan, there was always something telling you otherwise—you’d find yourself looking through his window, and if you timed it right, even got to see his muscles whenever he changes. (And it was hard to keep a straight face when you’d see it during your conversations with Quinn.)

What snaps you out of that thought is Ethan’s scoff, he then turns his head—then his gaze back to you. “It’s so dumb.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows pinch together in the middle, and your lips purse. “You know how Quinn gets to show off her man all she wants and how she’s so freaked out over everything they do—even when she’s..done those things so many times.” says Ethan.

Ethan then shrugs, “It’s just stupid.”, your eyebrows raise in agreement as you bit the inside of your cheek.

While you did hate Ethan, part of you..or most of you was telling you that he wanted you to give in—but give in to what? Being the muscular little thing he is, it’s hard to maintain your sanity when you see him without a shirt through his window. Practically drooling, but of course, you couldn’t let Quinn know.

Mainly because she’s so ‘Quinn’, she would probably tell him.

Behind the thin walls of her bedroom were sounds quite pathetic, you two burst into laughter up to the point where you both were crying.

You put a hand over your heart and leaned back on the beanbag.

“Are they THAT loud?” You ask, “Very.” He chuckles in response, this might be the only conversation you two could call a genuine conversation.

“This is really pervy of us to do, but we don’t have a choice, not like we can tune them out.” says Ethan as he grabs a Marvel plush and sits next to the beanbag you were on.

“It’s not like me and Quinn could tune you out.” You joke. A genuine smile tugs on the corners of Ethan’s plush lips. “Gee, you’re really being nice right now.” Your words laced with sarcasm tumbled out.

You had spent your entire life making sure Ethan would never fall for you, nor would you fall for him—and you failed.

It was like there’s nobody in the world right now but you two.

“Well, it’s part of the game right?” Ethan said, his eyes, half-lidded, looking up at you. “It doesn’t seem that much of a game anymore.” You kept your eyes on him, and he kept his on you as well.

Silence. Just silence. That was how much reality hurt.

This is also the closest you have ever been. There is only inches between you both, and you are close to giving in. Breaking the silence, “Maybe I should leave now, I’m not cold-” Ethan then stops your lips with a kiss. He pulls away and you are left with the sight of him hovering over you on the beanbag.

You kissed him back even longer, yes, you were kissing your enemy. It felt so wrong—but at the same time, it felt so right.

The smell of lemon zest surrounded you, along with his intoxicating aura. The thought then entered your head.

Hey, what if I just pulled away and ran like crazy?

Just as you’re about to pull away, he insists against your mouth, “Stay.” Ethan said, you could tell from how hot his lips were—he felt the same way. Out of control.

Ethan then turns you both over so that he was on the beanbag and you were straddling him.

His hands were sneaky enough to slide under the back of your shirt. “Just calming your nerves.” says Ethan as he rubs soothing circles on your lower back.

It was his shuddering breath that made you think this was a dream. Being woken up was the last thing you needed. Ethan whines into the kiss, and you smiled against him.

You then pull away with a small gasp escaping your lips when his hips jolt up into yours, your fist slammed against the wall as he did it twice.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry. It’s a reflex.” Ethan stammers as he sits up, moving you as well. “No, no! I just got startled. It’s fine, really.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth then his hands grip the sides of your face. Ethan is kissing you once again.

Just kissing, this is the closest you’ll ever get. Maybe you’ll forget about it the next day, or maybe one day—you’ll look back and regret it. The kiss being hot and slow, and his arms wrapping around you.

Ethan slides his arms around you and pulls you closer.

The moment of bliss is then interrupted when Quinn knocks on the door. “Hello? Just making sure nobody’s dead yet.”

“Shit.” You whisper, and you get off Ethan and push him back to his bed.

She enters the room and looks around. “I’m surprised this hasn’t turned into a warzone yet.”

“Uh-huh.” Ethan nods, but he’s all shades of pink. “Why are you so red right now?” Quinn tilts her head and squints. His hands move to his face and he tries to think of an excuse.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Have some decency, we heard you in there.” You grumbled, she then chuckles and leans against the doorframe. “Sorry, if I..” Quinn twirls her red hair with her finger. “Cockblocked you.” She lets out an awful grin then locks the door—closing it.

Now you were definitely in some situation, I guess she’s getting suspicious now. There was nothing in the room aside from the kissing sounds..what else? Ethan’s whining, and your fist hitting the wall..

Wait a minute.

You were completely fucked. Do you and Ethan just forget about it now? Or do you have to keep up the strategy? You weren’t the type to forget such a heated kiss, but what about him?

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

[arcanumofthestars]

ALASTOR X FEM READER HEAD CANONS?!

This is my first ever attempt of writing, well anything except for essays for schools, and all that in Greek, so be nice everyone, I know it's not that good and I can't add those pretty wavy lines or pictures for the life of me so if you have tips it would be very appreciated.

Alastor x Fem!Reader Headcanons.

- If one thing can be said for Alastor, he's a gentleman. He treats you in the way a proper lady should be treated.

- When he first meets you, he is interested of course, and does not forget to let you know.

- He won't tell you, but it's pretty obvious, from the small things he does for you, like holding the door, offering you his arm when you walk side by side, or kissing your hand when he hasn't seen you for a long time.

- He argues with himself every day, debating whether he should try to make a deal for your soul, to keep you his forever.

- He rejects the idea in the end, as he recognises that his feelings have grown deeper than just possessiveness.

- And he wonders why.

- It's not your appearance, although you're very beautiful, it's just not it. It's not the fact you believe in redemption either. Cute, adorable maybe, but still not it. And finally, he realises. It's the small touches you put in everything, little signs that say “**Reader** was here”.

- Like how you put a bit more spice in the food you make. How you might rearrange the chairs around the table because you got bored. How you can have a deep conversation with Angel or Husk and lift their spirits immediately. How you encourage Charlie when she needs it.

- And how you can see right through him. When you made jambalaya because you “accidentally” overheard that it's his favourite. When you mirror his manners because you know he gets angry and frustrated with rudeness and slang. When you keep Niffty and the Egg Boys away when he's not in the mood to deal with them. When you asked for permission to go up to his radio tower to clean up a bit, claiming that it must be… well… filthy after all those years. When you know he wants to go out to kill so you leave some towels and black coffee in his room for when he returns. (He doesn't know how the coffee is always warm even if he returns the next day, and it's driving him crazy.)

- He told Husk about it. It's not like the bartender would tell anyone, after all Alastor owns his soul.

- It takes months of deep talking and cheerful conversations for him too actually ask you out, as he is concerned that you might reject him because of his blood lust. But he does. And you say yes.

- The first date is something really classy, a fancy restaurant maybe, with romantic candles, and music, delicious food, and you two even dance a bit.

- A whole lot dates follow, and when things finally become official, everyone in the hotel is dumbfounded, but happy anyway. Maybe you'll manage to put some sense in the Radio Demon after all.

- The whole time Alastor calls you pet names like “dear” or “darling”, though when he wants to fluster you he might say a soft “baby” in his sentence, because, let's not forget that this kind of pet name was considered top in the 1930’s.

- And, oh well, sinners can't have kids, but you have a lot of work in the hotel anyway.

- Alastor even lets you say some stuff in his radio broadcast sometimes. And, definitely, he does NOT talk about you for twenty minutes after that every time.

- And the smile on the Radio Demon's face does not look so forced any more.

That's all for now! I'll be back for more! My requests are open! I'm waiting for suggestions!Check the fandoms I write for in my pinned post.

[l3viat8an]

Mornin Ro~ *Hands you coffee in a cat mug*

Okay so like ya know how Beel and Belphie have like connected feelings and stuff. Like how Beel knows when Belphie has a tummy ache, etc.

So I would imagine they also know when the other is fucking MC. And this fact usually results in MC being an Attic Club Sandwich™

Like imagine Belphie is napping on the couch and Satan is sitting on a chair nearby reading and Levi is on the other couch (I think they have 2!?!?akskdndks) on his switch when Belphie starts mumbling in his sleep. That's nothing new of course so they just ignore it for now. Then Belphie starts shifting around and groaning until he fucking tumbles off the couch and he wakes up all irritated. But then he gets up and just fucking *bolts* to the attic and Satan and Levi just exchange confused glances. (Belphie is lightning bolt for MC)

Imagine Beel in the kitchen rifling through the fridge for a snack and Asmo and Mamms are chillin' nearby having a little discussion about what club they're going to tonight. Beel is in the middle of eating a head of lettuce like it's an apple when he finds a pudding in the back of the fridge. So he finishes the lettuce quickly, opening the pudding and he takes one bite before his eyes widen and hes like 'huh?' and he abandons the pudding on the counter heading to the attic quickly. And Asmo and Mamms are just so fucking confused because why tf did Beel just abandon his food.

So whichever twin was left out just busts in the room like "I'm here bitch" and the other just chuckles like "Took ya long enough" (RIP MC 😔)

~🍒

Nsfw content MDNI

Hiii 🍒!! *hands you a donut with sprinkles* ‘n I’m keeping the mug XD

They’ve got the twin telepathy thing but X 10 at least!!!-

I laughed at Belphie rolling off the couch and just fuckin’ running off ngl jsksjsk he’s a demon on a mission!!!-

and Beel leaving food??? Asmo’s gonna worry he’s sick, when really Beel’s just absolutely whipped for MC!!-

Now my random idea / add on to this is how much fun teasing them both would be!!!

Just imagine spending the day with Beel, doing errands or whatever around the Devildom.

Soft kisses and touches whenever you can and Beel even pulls you into an alleyway to make-out or more~

All while Belphie is at home! All those damn touches and teasing is killing him!! In the best way. He can’t even just run to where you and Beel are because you’re moving around too much….so Belphie ends up sitting in his bed waiting impatiently for you two to get home!

and when you do both boys are all worked up from your sweet teasing~

Beel pushing you down onto Belphie’s lap as the younger demons hands start pulling your shirt off and immediately nipping his way down your neck, leaving some lovely little marks~

While Beel move closer tugging on the waistband of your pants until you lift your hips and pulling them off.

Belphie’s hand moves down to dip one of his fingers into your wet pussy and he lets out a dark chuckle, “Really, already this wet MC. You really are a slut.” before you can answer or Belphie can tease you anymore Beel’s pouting and grabbing Belphie’s wrist to pull it away “I want a taste. Move.”

Belphie rolls his eyes and sighs, “You’ve had them all day and you’re still going to hog them? I guess you really are the avatar of gluttony.”

Beel just nods as if it’s obvious and moves down to lick at your sex. Groaning when he tease you on his tongue~ Belphie shakes his head, but before he can say anything else Beel’s pushing his tongue into you a little harder and you hips buck up the back down and into Belphie’s, meaning your practically rutting against his cock….maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all~

[the-marshals-wife]

The Bad Batch Having a Token of Their Love For You Would Include (Bad Batch x Reader)

A/N: I love these boys so much and I thought of this instead of going to sleep all week. I really hope y'all like my idea for Echo's especially. He deserves the galaxy and more.❤️ (I also had extra ideas that are definitely still in character but probably "anachronistic", so I just labeled them bonus. I mean we have finally 'caf'' aka coffee in SW canon, so maybe there's hope for hoodies 🤭)

Description: Bad Batch x Fem!Reader | Warnings: none, just lots fluff and kisses

★ Bad Batch Tag List ★ @dantes-devil-huntress @sageislostinspring (comment to be added!)

Gif credit: user mutantfactor

Hunter

He would get a tattoo of your name

Hunter did not need his heightened senses to be certain that he had fallen in love with you - if anything, they just strengthened his conviction that you were the one he was meant to find

Being the intensely devoted and thoughtful man he is, you were on his mind constantly, and he wanted a symbol of his love to be as a part of him as you had become

He didn't even tell you at first because he wanted it to be surprise

It wasn't until he changed into plainclothes for an undercover mission that you noticed the new black ink on his right bicep

You grabbed his arm and stared at the Aurebesh letters spelling your name

"You like it?" he asked, a little nervous

Speechless, you pulled him into a kiss

"I'll take that as a yes" he smiled, before getting another embrace filled with kisses

Whenever you have time alone together, you love to slowly trace the letters with your finger and listen as he dreamily talks about the future

Later in your relationship, he would want to add to it with a portrait of you, and someday, the names of your children

Bonus: he would keep anything you gave him like a pendant or a ring and wear it whenever he could (this man would totally wear one of your scrunchies and make it look hot - a product of his 'girl dad' powers that you find very attractive)

Wrecker

He would keep your shirt to cuddle with

The only thing Wrecker has ever been discreet about in his entire life is his feelings as he was falling for you

It wasn't for lack of trying. He had been officially head over heels for months, but every time he tried to tell you, his words suddenly came out wrong

You thought it was adorable, and you were sure he'd figure out how to say what he was feeling when he was ready. It just gave you more opportunity to realize you were falling for him too

What you couldn't figure out, however, was where your favorite shirt had disappeared to

That is until, after days of searching, you finally caught a glimpse of it tucked beneath the pillow in Wrecker's bunk

You were stifling a giggle when he walked up behind you, looking nothing less than mortified

"Oh, Y/N! That! I uh...I found it on the floor and I was going to give it back to you! But it smelled really nice, and pretty...like you, and um, then I forgot..." he stammered, his face bright red

You smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "Keep it."

In the weeks following, you would refresh it with a spray of your perfume every so often when he wasn't looking

He would also draw doodles of you whenever he had downtime

You were all on a mission not long after the discovery of that day, and during his watch, you rolled over to see him drawing in the sand with a stick. He'd scribbled your initials together within a heart, surrounded by a dozen tinier hearts.

Suffice to say he was not the only one feeling absolutely smitten from then on

Bonus: speaking of shirts, you would absolutely be the couple with the "If lost, return to ___ + I'm ___" tees (likely worn with your matching homemade 'friendship' bracelets)

Tech

He would keep a recording of your voice and laughter

Tech is a private person when it comes to his emotions, but he feels very deeply, even if he isn't sure how to best express his growing affection for you (he thinks it's obvious, after all)

It's this very reason why you doubted that he returned your feelings at first, until you walked by him one day and heard the sound of your own laughter, playing over and over

"What's that?" you questioned, now recognizing the moment that had caused your sides to nearly split (Wrecker had just taken the most dramatic fall into mud you'd ever seen, immediately after bragging he was 'too heavy' to slip)

Tech muted the sound and kept his stare on the datapad, "I capture auditory recordings of all of my interactions for analysis, and file away important data for later reference."

"My laughing is 'important data'?" you smirked as he hesitated for only a moment

"Well, no. Not technically. It is, however, a pleasant sound that reminds me of you, and one that I would like not to forget. By that reasoning, it is important to me," he stated, calmly meeting your awe-struck gaze

It took all your strength not throw yourself into his arms right then and there. He went back to filing his recordings, oblivious to the fact that he had just irreversibly won your heart

He'd also incorporate you into some of his private passcodes

Anything from your initials to your eye color to your favorite flower - just some of the many details that he associates with you and remind him of how much he cares for you

Bonus: if he had a lockscreen/background, it would definitely be a picture of you. He would also be the type to make you a playlist of your favorite songs all from memory because he knows you that well

Crosshair

He would engrave your name on his rifle

Crosshair is a man of conviction and loyalty, and when he was certain that he could trust you with his heart, he wanted to display his loyalty in turn

Modifying his rifle in any way at all is significant, so ingraining your name on the scope is a very personal gesture to him

He caught you completely by surprise on a mission, casually showing it to you while you had watch together

You were stunned to see your name glistening in the firelight, every letter expertly etched into the smooth metal, "Cross, I can't believe you would do that for me..."

"Your love makes my aim true," he replied, wholly sincere

This one remark sealed your fate, giving you both the courage to lean in and share your first kiss

"Then you will never miss," you whispered afterward

You spent the rest of your watch sitting close together in soothing silence under the stars

He would also carve your initials into the wall of his bunk

Wherever he would go, you would be there also. His devotion is unyielding, and you have a partner until the galaxy itself burns up

Bonus: a huge sign of his affection would be letting you wear his clothes. He may act disgruntled, but it's all in jest because would be the boyfriend that's extremely proud to see you walking around in his hoodie

Echo

He would have your handprint on his armor

It seemed like a lifetime since he'd had the handprint from Captain Rex on his chestplate that had meant so much to him through those long years of war

When Echo is sure of something, nothing can move him from it. Not much time was required for him to know that he wanted to share his life with you, and that he wanted your handprint on his armor

He confided in you quite a bit about his past in the GAR, and you knew about the original print, but you never dreamed that he would ask you to replicate it

"Are you sure?" you asked in disbelief

"I am, Y/N. There's no one else whose mark I'd rather carry with me, and no one I want by my side more. On and off the battlefield," he confessed, taking your hand in his

Tears welling in your eyes, you dipped your other hand into the red paint on the table, placed it carefully onto his chest, and pressed your lips to his

More than a symbol of love, you both knew this was a vow to keep fighting for a free galaxy where you could build a future together

He would also have a photo of you in his personal things

He's not afraid of letting his relationship with you be known around his brothers, but his horrifying experiences imprisoned by the Separatists have made him extra cautious in all things. He keeps his photo of you safely tucked away and never brings it on missions, not wanting to risk it falling into the hands of anyone who would ever want to harm you

Instead, whenever you're apart, he holds his hand to his chest before he drifts to sleep and dreams of you. The nightmares are all but gone

Bonus: you two would totally have matching caf mugs with snarky sayings. "Grumpy parents in the morning" vibes all the way

[f4irys4n]

brothers best friend

jeong yunho x afab! reader

your brother wasn't too much older than you, probably around a yea

so that meant you closely grew up with him and his friendship group

and over the years.. you slowly developed a crush on yunho

honestly, you just thought it was due to the proximity: he was an attractive guy and he was nice to you, you're bound at least get a little crush on him

but over time you began to realise that it was so much more than that

you tried your best to try and hide it, to not make things awkward but as you both got older, this progressively got harder

he'd watched you grow up, there was no way he could ever like you. you were convinced he only saw you as a sister

there was one defining time where he was staying over at your house and he'd had a shower, and of course you stepped out of your room the very same moment he stepped out of the bathroom

to add to this situation.. he was shirtless, hair and chest still wet..

you swear you audibly gasped at the sight before turning back around and locking yourself into your room once again

since that day, you felt stupidly awkward around him

and of course, he noticed, and it confused him beyond belief

you'd been close since you were young, doing stupid things together and laughing around, why had you suddenly gone into hermit mode around him?

and the only thing he could think to do was to confront you about it?

you were in the kitchen one day making coffee when he came downstairs, telling your brother he was going to get a glass of water

but in reality, he just needed a moment alone with you

the second you saw him coming down the stairs, you tried to quickly rush what you were doing so you could slip away

'lets not be doing this again,' he speaks bluntly, blocking the way and stopping you from getting past him

'do what?' you fake confusion, trying to scooch past his big frame

'ignore me.. act like i'm not there,' he hums, a small pout forming on his lips 'every time i enter a room, you automatically leave.'

you didn't know how to respond to his sudden comments

you felt guilty, of course you did, but you seriously didn't know what else to do

'what have i done? have i upset you?'

'no.. of course you haven't, yunho,'

'so what's going on? we've known each other since you were 8, you've always wanted to be around me, what's changed?' he asks firmly

'it's nothing,' you mumble 'you've done nothing,' you continue, emphasising the last part of your sentence because that was the problem.. he's done nothing

yunho would sigh, slowly stepping aside to let you past, giving up trying to talk to you because it was apparent you weren't giving up

you take your chance and try to shoot off but he suddenly grabs your wrist softly

"y/n.." he whispers softly, you could hear the desperation in his voice "look at me."

you'd comply, feeling uneasy about what he was gonna say

and here comes an obvious looking romance cliché

he cups your face and kisses you

his lips were softer than clouds, and his finger tips caressed your cheek like you could break at any second

the grin on his face as he pulls away would be unforgettable

just a cheesy little grin, his cheeks red and round

"that was nice," he giggles softly

you'd actually be speechless because where did that come from ??

"that's what i hadn't done," yunho hums, pleased with himself "will you now please stop ignoring me? i've missed you,"

you'd actually be beyond baffled..

"i like you.. y/n.." he confess

instant wave of relief, am i right?

"and i hated not speaking to you, it's been the first few weeks of my life seeing you ignore me like you don't even know me when you've known me your entire life,"

you wouldn't even know what to say but sorry

what else are you supposed to say?

"don't apologise.. just admit you like me back," he chuckles

like the cheeky little fuck that he is

because unbeknown to you, yunho knew you fancied him the entire time and was just waiting for the day you finally admitted it to him

"i've waited so long for you to confess to me, but you never did, so now i've had to do it myself you little shit,"

cut to you confessing and having another cheeky little kiss

and your brother extra points if you're imagining it's another ateez boy catches you in the act and threatens to beat yunho up

[doobea]

DAYTIME SHOOTING STAR - REO MIKAGE

synopsis: Being a college student sucks. Having a crush on your best friend also sucks. Your best friend having a crush on your other best friend is . . . kinda the worst. In which, Reo is hopelessly in love with you but you’re hard crushing on Nagi.

-> MASTERLIST. -> PLAYLIST.

contents: second lead syndrome feat. fem!reader & reo, heavy narration in the beginning as per usual whoops, also in an au where bluelock never happened LOL, grandparental meeting, reo x stardew valley vibes, of course y/n and reo get together duh, nagi's been shipping them together since high school word count: 3.9K a/n: FINAL PART OUT YAY :3 thank you for joining me on this journey hehe this was also my first time attempt of writing reo so hopefully his characterization went ok ;-;

VEGA -> prev.

You get the feeling that Nagi is up to something, after a while.

Well, Nagi is always up to something — gaming and dozing off, to be exact. This time, though, all of his attention seems to be fixated on you.

“That’s not your sweater,” he says, pointedly, one day, when you waltz into their apartment with a handful of pastries. You decided to make a detour trip to a local bakery earlier in the morning, carefully curating the palettes of the two males because —well— after that happened you felt like a small offering would be needed in a way. 

Like how many others delegate, the kiss was rather… confusing to all. Nagi doesn’t bring it up when you three all return back to festival grounds, nor does he bring it up to Reo when you finally go home. Reo’s been texting you like all things are normal, and you guess it’s because he doesn’t really know what to do either. Though, he’s been more endearing than usual over text, which you take as a sign that something is progressing.

Let’s just say that it’ll be weird for you to wake up without a ‘good morning, did you eat yet?’ text from a certain billionaire’s son.

Backstory aside, Nagi’s not lounging around for once. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hands from a brand you’re not familiar with. Judging by its fine print font and pastel color scheme, you assumed that Nana stopped by not too long ago. And his gaze isn’t leaving your sweater. Whatever, you’re probably not wearing it correctly anyway. Stupid rich people problems.

“It’s Reo’s,” you say, lightly, and scoot by him to place down the baked goods. “He accidentally gave me his sweater when he returned my things, that’s all.” 

It wasn’t an accident. Reo had made sure to spray that sweater with all the cologne he had. The sweater is warm, comfortable, and smells just like him. It’s nice.

Nagi gives you a look. It’s not a strong look, but it’s obvious enough to make your cheeks heat up. “Uh huh,” he deadpans before giving you a full up-down. “You’re wearing it, though.”

“Yeah, I am,” you shrug it off, trying to pretend that you don’t understand what the big deal was. 

Okay, yeah, your best friend suddenly kisses you and now you’re rethinking about your life choices since high school because you were so sure that you liked his other friend. And the fact that you kissed back? Was that supposed to happen? And you didn’t wear this sweater today in hopes of Reo seeing you, nope that’s not it. Reo doesn’t make you feel warm and fuzzy because this sweater does all of that. It’s a comfort thing and Reo doesn’t bring you comfort… right?

You apparently have some cheesy expression written all over your face, though, and that causes Nagi to pinch your cheek to snap you back to reality. “Suits you,” Nagi decides to end the topic before shifting to the main subject. “Reo’s out this morning.”

“I wasn’t trying to see him,” you grumble out, eyes narrowing as you fix yourself a latte and adding way too many shots of espresso to fight off your internal turmoil. You add a large serving of caramel syrup to balance out the bitterness and then top it off with a heavy serving of whipped cream, sighing happily as you get a mouthful of the sugary concoction within the first sip.

Nagi simply shakes his head and drains the rest of his drink in one go. “Well, he’s been talking about you nonstop, if that makes—” Nagi stops in his tracks when he watches your ears perk up. “—you happy…”

At this point, Nagi probably thinks everyone is in on a poorly executed inside joke, except for him. He doesn’t like it, but what can he do? His two best friends are now awkwardly pinning each other and neither of them are sparing him any details. Then again, he’s not sure if he wants all the details. So, instead of poking a dead fish around, he exits to the living room and throws on a weekly series that he’s been meaning to catch up on. These past two months have been quite tiring.

You eventually join him on the couch, body now running on full blast of caffeine and loads of caramel. “Sei, tell me everything that he’s said, please?” and you throw out your best attempt at puppy eyes because you know that Nagi has always been horrible at saying no to these kinds of things.

But maybe getting a girlfriend has changed him, somewhat.

“You’ll hear it from him, eventually,” Nagi simply answers, smiling.

Of course, regardless of how many times you repeat yourself, Nagi would spit back the same response. Since when did he start caring for Reo’s secrecy all of a sudden? Pretty lame. You zone out when an action sequence comes on the screen and begin texting Reo.

‘where are you’ You text over a character monologue in the background.

‘At some stores, picking up last minute gifts for later.’ Reo replies back with a series of emojis.

By ‘stores’, you would only guess it’s nothing but high-end designer stuff. ‘Gifts’ implying that he’s buying multiple for your family and relatives. ‘Later’ is when the two of you will depart on visiting your hometown for the weekend because it turns out Reo was actually serious about taking up your off-handed comment.

‘i told you not to get anything!!’ You send an angry emoji right after. 

Nagi is absolutely reading over your shoulder, too, and if looks could kill, you’re pretty sure you’d be in a million pieces, burning to bits on the floor. “Got a hot date with Reo, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t want to come and we’re not dating…” you huff before pushing him away. “And stop reading my texts!”

“Don’t text while I’m watching my show, it’s distracting.” Nagi shoots back, and you don’t really have an argument for that.

Though, you just glare at him until he eventually backs off and you go back to texting Reo, a bit more subtly, talking about various expensive gifts that he can get instead of showing up to your family doorsteps with diamonds and silk robes. You haven’t had anyone from the city come visit your hometown, so you’re a little nervous to say the least. Especially since someone accompanying you is several tax brackets ahead…though Reo wouldn’t judge you differently. Because he likes you, in more ways than one. Fuck.

You’re ignoring a lot of things happening right now, and bringing him over to meet your family is making you feel weird. Ugh, whatever.

In the end, Reo ends up returning half of his purchases because apparently designer bags and jewelry won't serve your grandparents that well in their everyday lives. So he opts to buy them expensive fruits instead. Fruits are already expensive in the country, so when Reo showed up with boxed grapes that costed more than your current outfit, you could've sworn your eyes were about to pop out of your sockets.

Reo should’ve known better than to wear anything remotely formal when he agreed to come visit your hometown. Tailored suits are expensive and difficult to replace and, from what he’s experienced within the past hour, the mud that’s been splattered all over his dress shoes and pants haven’t gone away no matter how much cleaning reagent he’s used so far. But complaints are off the table, no matter how much he absolutely wants to point out the sweltering heat and the lack of air conditioning in your home. 

The plane ride over wasn’t any better. You blatantly refused to use his credit card for first-class seating upgrades regardless how many times he’d begged you.

“It’ll only be a two hour flight, Reo. Plus, economy isn’t that bad.” You reasoned. 

Oh, but it was.

He’s a gentleman and gentlemen should always let others pick which seat they want first. Window seat was a non negotiable for you, and he didn’t really mind. What he did mind was the random stranger seated to his right.

Screen brightness — max.

Volume settings — max.

Chewing noises — sadly, also max.

It’s a miracle that he didn’t flag down an attendant and leave you for first class. Well, flight aside, landing happens and, inevitably, comes the next part.

“Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

Your grandmother comes into view, coming to Reo’s rescue with a sunhat and a bottle of water, and the basket next to her was already filled to the brim with all types of vegetable assortments from the garden. Reo graciously takes the hat and sips of the water before glancing down at his own basket, which is very much barren. He thought offering to help with harvesting will win him some brownie points, but he should’ve known how dirty it would get.

“It’s definitely different from what I’m used to, but it’s nice here.” He’s honest about the last part. 

The city doesn’t offer much in terms of parks and recreational activities and, despite the fact he’s pretty sure his button up is practically attached to his skin and that there’s probably a centipede (or two) crawling in his shoes, the whole nature thing is pretty serene. Your parents’ old home is a cozy cottage right off the side of the country road, surrounded by rice paddy fields with a wide range of mountains in the backdrop. Occasionally, Reo would see truck drivers making pit stops out in the front to either pick up a small shipment or make small talk with your grandfather — it’s completely foreign to him given that he’s so used to the stuffy business world. Seeing all of this makes Reo understand why some would enjoy a life of simple living and solitude. 

Your grandmother laughs. “We were afraid that you wouldn’t like it here.”

To this, Reo digs his hands back into the soil and pulls out a set of carrots in hands. “Sorry, did I give off that impression?” Says the boy who’s currently dressed head to toe in formal wear. Idiot. 

“Our granddaughter has been…” she trails off for a moment, finger pursed to her lips and head tilted, before finishing. “She’s been blowing up the family group chat about this trip for a while now. Safe to say she’s been worried.” 

Oh. That’s news.

Reo wipes off the puddle of sweat from his face and straightens his back. “It’s beautiful and peaceful here, you wouldn’t be able to get this back in the city. Everyone’s been really nice and the food,” he points down to the field. “You wouldn’t be able to get these without them costing an arm and a leg for the sake of being ‘organic’.”

“Sounds like you want to move here.”

And for the sake of earning those brownie points, “Yeah, I can see myself doing that one day.”

“Imagine that. Can’t stay away from our granddaughter, right?” she teases, and it causes him to do a double take.

“W-What?”

She ignores Reo’s stammering and hands him a pair of gloves and a metal bucket. “Once you finish picking the rest, come meet me by the farmhouse, the cows need some attention.”

Reo might have to rethink his career path after this trip.

“Can you tell your cousins to knock it off, please?” Your best friend is grumbling and hiding behind you for all things safety related.

One thing you forgot to mention, outside of the laborious work, is that your little cousins are an absolute menace to outsiders. The youngest one has been non stop terrorizing Reo around the house with a live grasshopper while the older one keeps throwing him glares and middle fingers. This has been going on right after dinner and Reo’s getting really sick of them and their chattering about how they hate seeing you with someone that needs ‘pampering’.

You huff and roll your eyes playfully. “You think I haven’t tried shutting them up?”

“Good point,” Reo groans from behind. He’s gripping your shoulders as if he’s on life support, shaking every time the youngest one raises the grasshopper closer. “Can’t you just give them an iPad or anything?”

“And what? So they can turn into those kids who stare at a screen all day? No thank you.” You tease, but you give your cousins a final stern look before getting to their eye level. 

Reo watches, silent but amused, as you pluck the insect out of the boy’s grasp and pinch his cheek with a light tug, not enough to shed tears but enough to cause him to yelp. You motion the older one over, who just grumbles under his breath but obeys anyway.

“Big sis, we swear we’re just playing together—” the older one starts, and you simply respond with a hard head shake.

“That’s not how we treat guests in our home. Last time I checked, you guys didn’t like it when I made you clean out the pig pen for fun,” you retort with a casual grin. “Time to head back to auntie’s place anyway, it’s way past your bedtimes.”

Both of them sigh in defeat, but that doesn’t stop them from throwing up a pair of middle fingers at Reo. Hey, down with the rich — they’re on the right track in life. And you know deep down they’re just looking out for you ever since your experience in high school, even if the hatred towards city folks is on the extreme side.

You’re stifling a laugh as the pair leave the house. Reo loosens his grip on your shoulders when they are out of ear shot and nudges your sides because you still have that damn grasshopper in your hands.

“Puke or cry in my house and I’m making you sleep with the cows tonight.” The threat is spoken casually, with a bit of affection to it, but Reo knows damn well it’s a valid threat.

“I’m not going to puke or cry,” he replies, haughtily. “And, for the record, I helped the cows earlier today so I’m practically their mother.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for that, you didn’t have to.” You gently toss the grasshopper out the kitchen window, making sure it landed on a patch of soft grass. “Grandma was constantly raving about you after you finished. Saying something about planning the next weekend trip together.”

“Yeah, might as well help around, you know?” Reo weakly chuckles and briefly looks down at his hands. What he doesn’t add is that his hands are going to be sore for the next few days and that maybe your grandparents think he’s going to move in with them in the future. Something of that sort.

“It’s not the worst idea,” You grin. The sun is down, and the stars in the sky are starting to poke through. You catch Reo trying to get a good look before an idea pops up. “My room has a pretty good view of everything, if you want to head up?” You would offer to lay outside but, considering that the ecosystem here offers much bigger bugs, you decided against it.

Unsurprisingly, Reo takes up on the suggestion.

Your old bedroom is sparsely furnished, and that’s intentional. Most of your personal belongings are currently at your college apartment. All that’s left is a full sized bed, an old boxy television with an equally old boxy stand, a couple of bookshelves stuffed full of children's books, and one of those large colorful beanbags by the window sill. 

It’s a nice bedroom, for all things considered. A lot more vibrant and has more character than Reo’s old bedroom growing up. From what he’s shown you before, his bedroom was almost a black and white minimalist’s wet dream. 

“It’s a bit dusty, hope you don’t mind.”

Your bedroom window has a nice view of the mountain side, and Reo’s quickly distracted by the swarm of fireflies and night stars as he quickly shoves his suitcase into the corner and settles on your bed without a second thought. 

“I like it,” He replies, in a careful, casual voice. And maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear, your best friend sounds both anxious and excited, and maybe there’s a hint of nerves in there, too. Whatever it is, your stomach is back to doing those weird flips.

You try to think. You’re aware of several things right now. First, your best friend is making himself very comfortable in your bed. Second, he’s giving you a look, one that just screams some sort of smug superiority. Third, despite it being humid and warm in your room, you really just want to bury your face into his shoulder. Maybe you should climb in with him, look at the stars together, curled up and snuggling, maybe even run your fingers through his hair, and—

“So,” Reo interrupts and snaps you out of your strange reverie. “You’re sleeping on the floor, right?”

“Huh?” your voice is bleary, and your thoughts are kinda far off. Reo shuffles his way under your sheets and suddenly you put two and two together. “I saved you from those little demons and this is the thanks I get?” 

“I deserve it since I worked,” Reo sighs, dramatically, when you finally find the courage to sit down on the ends of the mattress. “Or did you want to share it together?” Tease oozes into his tone.

That last bit makes your heart skip a couple of beats. Alcohol wasn’t in the dinner mix and, even if it was, Reo would never be this bold in front of you. Perhaps there’s something floating in the summer air.

“Stop pretending that you live here,” but you eventually settle yourself underneath the blankets too, just on the other side to put some good inches in between.

Reo’s smiling, and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t bother you when he manages to hog all the blankets and the limited amount of pillows. He’s a gentleman, but also has his needy side that he’s not afraid of showing. Not to mention that he looks good in the dim lighting, even though he’s only been wearing one of your grandpa’s old t-shirts after working in the field. It finally makes the strange fluttering in your stomach calm into a steady, present warmth, and that’s maybe more problematic, but you don’t give it any real thought.

Reo speaks up after a few passing heartbeats. “Can I… say something?” 

You swallow thickly. “Go for it.”

It can’t be just your imagination, the way Reo’s mouth parts, just a little, the way his tongue is dating out to wet his lips. You’re leaning forward, hand reaching down between. You can’t stop looking at him. 

“I want…” Reo tries to say, but his throat is a giant lump.

“Reo,” You breathe out in response, head tipping, “If you keep looking at me like that, then…”

It comes in swift moments, with Reo pressed close, with both of your hips bumping together, with arms slung over the other’s shoulder. There’s been those moments of laughter, where it feels as if the whole world has faded away in a blur beyond the gaze of your best friend. It’s cliche and dumb, but you feel, in a way, that you’ve been looking at Reo for your life. And you have, really, because he’s always been there for you.

There’s a lot of things that Reo could say. They’re burning on his tongue, building in his throat, getting stuck there. He should just push them out, just say it. Or, maybe, he should say nothing at all, because that wonder and those answers are all reflected in your gaze.

Both of you are so close that he can make out every strand of your lashes. He can see the subtle shift of color in your eyes, the dark band increasing around your pupils, that slight nervous glimmer there. It’s got Reo’s heart pounding in his chest, hammering to be freed. He’s got one hand pressed into the small of your back, stroking there, slow and affectionate. His other hand is trembling, just a little, and he steadies himself bracing it against your cheek.

It’s got you shivering, and Reo realizes that you’re both a bit terrified.

“I want to be yours,” Reo might be nervous as hell, but he steels his voice, and brushes your lips together, he’s so close, when he talks. “I can’t think about anything else when I’m with you. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but—”

“Reo,” you take the initiative here, shifting closer, and settling your lips close to his neck. “It’s okay. I want you too.”

You take another inch forward and Reo allows it. Maybe you’re both getting more comfortable with each other. Maybe getting brave and feeling more grown up. Likely, it’s a combination of everything, and a good dose of ‘fuck it’s, from being young, and dumb, despite it all.

You’re not sure who leans in first but, before it even fully registers, his lips glide over yours. There’s some awkward teeth clacking involved, probably from the fact both of you are way too full of nerves over this, but Reo fixes it and begins to trace his tongue over the small opening of your lips. You move your hands straight to his locks, still damp from the earlier shower he took and the scent of lemongrass and citrus invades your nostrils.

Reo's kissing you as if he wants to swallow you whole. It's hungry, desperate, and intimate in a way that made your heart swell triple in size. The sounds of your beating chest floods your ears as he's pouring his emotions into the kiss, making sure that he's leaving behind evidence that his soul is yours to claim. The heat radiating off his body pulls you in, like an invitation, and you sink further into his touch.

After a moment, you pull back, hands still entangled in his hair.

“Your parents, aren’t you worried about—”

“I don’t pay mind to that type of stuff,” he presses a firm kiss on your forehead. “And you shouldn't have to either. That’s a future thing to worry about.”

That sounds good, you agree, but you’re growing too sleepy to voice it. Instead, you shut your eyes, reaching over blindly to find the edges of the blankets, tugging it up over you two. There’s really no way to move, without cramming at the edge of the mattress. You don’t care, and Reo doesn’t seem to, either.

“Hey, Reo?” You mumble as you both slip into silence.

“Yeah?” He’s tried, but awake enough to shake past the exhaustion, enough to form vague words. “What is it?”

You sit up, just a little, and it’s enough to inspire Reo to force his eyes open. You’re watching him, eyes intent, shining bright with emotion. It’s almost — just almost — enough to have Reo saying those three special little words. They’re right there, on the tip of his tongue, and only then he realizes that he’s terribly in love with you. He’s hopelessly in love. It’s way too early to say it, but he is.

You laugh, burying your face in Reo’s neck again, pressing a kiss there. “I’m glad that you’re here with me.”

Reo has hesitated a lot, during the past months. It’s taken him a while to get here. For once, though, awake or dreaming, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t hesitate. 

“I’m glad too,” he mumbles, and then, he’s dreaming, of endless what if’s and possibilities with you now in his life.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

additional note: idk why it took me over a month to pump this out LMAO but i hope you guys like the ending bc i was mulling over this chapter so many times before deciding to end it as such... anyways, I WILL BE BACK INTO MY BLLK FIC GROOVE HEHE gotta focus on my milestone fics + that ice skating rin series next :3 i love you guys and thanks again for being patient with me ;3

TAGLIST -CLOSED

@celestair @kitorin @popponn @yoisami @anurst @katsukiiishoe @yuzurins @vitaniangel-blog @kunikame @miwafei @astruoise @faeroow @wooasecret @limerence-lu @jaynawayna @iloveblogging2 @futuristicxie @rinlvr @au-ghosttype @wavetokio @yuusami @phtogravi @funnibunneh @idontevenknow129 @startaee @darthvada @livelaughloveisagiyoichi

[devilmademewriteit]

Gods & Monsters

pairing: Soldier Boy/afab!fem!reader

summary: delivering coffees to Vought’s crisis management team brings you face to face with Soldier Boy—who has a different job in mind for you.

warnings: pure, filthy smut (blowjob, fem penetration, slight predator/prey; slight orgasm denial) so 18+ only content; Soldier Boy b/c tbh he’s his own warning; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long hair (hair pulling); drug mention (coke in detail); title kink (sir); pet names (doll-face, sweetheart, doll); dubcon (coercion, imbalance of power); use of slut degradingly; choking; (light) slapping; spitting.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie

word count: 3.3k

this is my first time writing for The Boys!! would love to hear feedback & requests are always allowed :)

—

Even before finding yourself at the mercy of a power-drunk supe, you’d had yourself a pretty fucked up day.

After spending your morning hunched over your desk at Vought trying, in vain, to piece together a script for the new upcoming Crimson Countess film (with a team of useless douchebags hooked on uppers) you had all but quit your job.

Then, of course, the afternoon came with its own set of troubles. Your supervisor had hurried over, wild-eyed and raving, to break the news of a PR scandal—you guessed one of the twins, it was always one of the twins—which called for all hands on deck; including yours, which were delegated to the indispensable task of retrieving coffees for the crisis management team upstairs. If you weren’t flat broke and more of a risk-taker, you’d never engage with anything supe-related ever again—but you were, and you weren’t, so you find yourself in the later hours of the evening delivering lattes to your higher ups on floors of the tower you’d never heard of before.

The elevator doors open and you come face to face with the poster-boy of the company. Your heart leaps as you recognize his face; it settles when you realize he’d never recognize yours. After all, you’d only met briefly once before: just last week, you’d finally spent time on set for one of Payback’s shoots. Assistant duties only, of course, but it had been thrilling to watch the supe and his team, nonetheless.

Needless to say, seeing him up close, now, is a completely different experience. No mask, no makeup—just his chiseled, gorgeous face and entitlement simmering in his green eyes.

“Good, you’re here. I was gonna go looking for you,” Soldier Boy says, unfazed by your paralyzing shock. Amused, he adds, “And you brought the coffee, too.”

You stand in the elevator, unmoving. Then, ever so slowly, you hand him the tray of full, steaming cups.

He laughs, wrinkles next to his eyes forming as he takes the tray. Your mistake seems obvious once the image of the company’s most expensive asset holding a tray of five cent coffees is on display before you.

He calls someone over from down the hall, and a wiry young man comes scampering over. “Take these to the assholes down the hall,” Soldier Boy orders. “And tell them not to fuckin bother me tonight.”

The young man nods fervently and speed-walks, tray in hand, back in the direction he’d rushed over from.

The elevator dings and the metal doors begin to close, but a large palm slaps them back in place. You watch as Soldier Boy peels his hand back, leaving indents in the steel.

“Where have they been hiding you?” He asks, leaning against the metal frame. His eyes flash with amusement as he scans your body up and down, making you wish that you’d worn a nicer skirt or ironed your shirt just a bit more carefully this morning.

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “I work in the creative department. Writing,” you say, determined to regain some composure.

“You the one that writes those fuckin’ anti-drug ads?” He asks, ever-so-nonchalantly.

“No,” you answer, trying not to meet his imposing stare head-on. ”I write the movies, the television scripts, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like a complete prude,” he jokes. ”Though I’m sure I could teach you a few things,” the supe adds with a wink.

He looks at you expectantly, something unidentifiable in the way he takes you in.

You don’t respond.

“Really? Nothing? Thought you worked in the creative department,” he taunts.

You clear your throat. “I do, sir,” you respond, your voice faltering with fake confidence. “And I really should be getting back,” you quickly add, reaching for the button that would take you back down to your floor.

A massive hand blocks your own, and you look up at the supe, frustrated.

He whistles softly. “Whoo, ‘sir…’ I sure like hearing you say that.”

Adrenaline courses through your entire body as he takes a small, controlled step towards you. Your mind races, trying to come up with some sort of escape plan, but it goes blank the moment you glance at that pouty bottom lip or notice the rugged curve of his jaw.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, doll,” the stranger says, his voice suddenly low and quiet, “‘cause we need you up here.”

“For what?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Something about the glint in his eye makes you want to run down the hall as fast as possible—to get away from this madman. He reminds you of a wild animal; you sense something ferocious and tense coiled up inside, begging to come loose.

And yet, something about the grit in his voice and the shape of his shoulders makes you want to play his game, to close the distance between the two of you.

See where it takes you.

He smiles and steps into the elevator, easing his way behind you and placing his palm against the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he grumbles into your ear. “You’ll love it.”

You look up at him, unsure of what to do and intimidated by his overwhelming presence, his demanding words. Like prey caught in a trap, every instinct screams at you to get away.

You don’t move.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, twisting a strand of your hair. There’s an edge to his voice you’d only ever heard between cuts, when the cameras weren’t rolling. “Wouldn’t want to upset an American hero, would you?”

You give in, allowing yourself to be guided out of the elevator and down the hall by his palm’s weight against your spine. He doesn’t even look at you; he only steers you forward into an enormous suite, lavishly decorated with all sorts of expensive fabrics, paintings, and furniture. It’s nicer than anything you’ve ever seen, yet Soldier Boy saunters in like it’s no more impressive than a dingy motel room.

The first thing you notice is a heap of white powder out in the open on a massive wooden table. The supe walks over to it and does a line through a rolled up twenty, jerking his head back and shaking his head.

“Want any?” He asks, turning his gaze back to you.

“No, thanks,” you respond, wary. “I like to be sober on the job,” you add, not wanting to sound judgemental.

He shrugs.

“What, exactly, did you want from me?” You ask, cringing at the naivety of the question. What he wants hangs thick in the room, it was heavy in his eyes from the moment you’d first met them.

He closes the distance between you and flashes a taunting smile.

“You don’t like coke? I got benzos, oxy, weed… really anything a girl could want.” He plays absentmindedly with the fabric of your skirt, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“All I want is for you to tell me what you want.”

“You sure have a way with words, doll-face,” his right hand finds its way to the front of your throat, stroking the skin there, gently. Every part of your body responds to the touch and unwelcome arousal clouds your thoughts as you try to keep yourself together.

He ducks down, his lips lightly brushing skin of your ear.

“I want to watch you take my cock in every way you can, sweetheart.”

Your body responds before your mind can process his words; suddenly, you’re having trouble standing upright as heat spreads across your core.

“I know you’ll be so good for me,” he adds, fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“Can I say no?” You ask, cursing how small your voice sounds. Despite your efforts, you’re sure he can hear your reluctant desire dripping off your every word.

He looses a low chuckle. “‘Course you can,” a pause as he places his palm against your cheek, “but you shouldn’t,” he finishes, flatly. “Besides,” Soldier Boy continues, his voice husky and deep, “all I’m asking is for you to get on your knees and put that pretty little mouth to good use.”

You don’t know what makes you do it. Perhaps it feels inevitable; after all, you happen to be alone, cornered by the most powerful man in the world. Or maybe, just maybe, some twisted part of you wants to be at the mercy of this man.

Almost as if in automatic response, you feel yourself sinking to the ground, holding his stare like a tether to reality—a lifeline. He smirks with satisfaction, and, celebrating his win, unhooks his buckle for you to pull the length of him out. Your eyes widen, astonished by the sheer size and girth of him. He notices, of course, and gives you a lazy grin.

Asshole.

Begrudgingly, you accept that you want him. Still, you struggle to admit to yourself that this desire is quickly becoming much more than that.

Some starved part of you is desperate to satisfy this stranger in any way you can.

“Take all of it,” he orders, nodding down towards you. You obey, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and feeling him push down to the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking right, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy groans as you slide down the length of his cock, over and over. “That’s what this mouth was made for.”

He tugs at your hair, taking a fistful of it and forcing your eyes up to meet his. He thrusts forwards, pushing deeper and deeper and deeper—you give him everything you have. His intensity only builds and you find yourself choking, spit gathering in the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck yeah, doll,” he groans. “You fuckin’ love that.”

You melt into his encouraging gaze, your eyelids heavy, your panties soaked completely through.

You nod in agreement and he loosens his hold on your hair. You pull off of him, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting the two of you in pure need.

“Don’t you stop,” the supe warns, using one hand to guide his cock back into your mouth, the other pushing at the back of your head.

You go slow, now, blinking the well-earned tears from your eyes, savouring the feel of him against your lips, your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You put both hands to work and watch him remove the top of his suit, near swooning at the sight of his bare torso.

“You want me to fuck that pussy of yours?” He asks, making your clit throb in response.

Breathless, you utter a quick “yes,” before taking him back between your lips.

“Fuckin’ course you do,” he responds lazily, placing a hand on your cheek, running his thumb down your face, tracing the bone as he smiles.

“Then tell me you’re a slut who loves sucking cock,” he says gently, his torturous hand behind your head always guiding you to take more and more of him, keeping you desperate for air. “Isn’t that true?” He continues, arrogance soaking each and every syllable. “Don’t you fucking love having my dick in your mouth?”

You nod, dazed with lust, his low and gravelly voice undoing you in every way.

“Say it,” he commands, his voice severe—degrading.

You slide off of his length, continuing to please him with the use of your hands.

It comes out as a plea. “I’m a slut who loves sucking cock,” you tell him, earnestly, meeting the challenge in his eyes head-on.

His length twitches in your hand and you know you’ve done a good job.

Soldier Boy laughs. “Get up, sweetheart,” he orders, “bedroom’s on the left.”

You obey, lifting yourself onto shaking legs. Your kneecaps burn from the friction.

You round into a room with a huge bed, unmade silver silk sheets and a thin duvet cast upon it like something out of a movie. The moon’s glow shines through a massive window, illuminating the surrounding luxury. You hear a loud sniff followed by a sigh, then footsteps approaching your direction.

It’s impossible to take it all in. Barely five seconds pass before Soldier Boy is behind you, unbuttoning your blouse.

“You got a favourite way to take it?” He asks, ridding you of your shirt. “With tits like this,” he groans into your neck, roughly squeezing your breasts and running a calloused finger over each nipple, “I could watch you bounce.”

You shiver at his touch, aching for more. The feel of the supe behind your back is nothing short of maddening; his hardness pressing against you fills your head with thoughts so sinful they’d make the devil blush.

“I want to watch,” you decide, surprised at the strength of your own volition. “I want to see you fucking me.”

You wind up on your back at the edge of the mattress with Soldier Boy between your legs. Desire simmers into your very bones, threatening to undo you before even being touched.

He bunches up your skirt and slides a thumb down the middle of your panties. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he whispers to himself with a smile, shaking his head. He pulls them off roughly and sets himself up at your entrance, running his tip along your swollen clit one, two, three times.

“Stay up on your elbows and don’t look away—got it, sweetheart?” The stranger orders. You respond with a fervent nod. As he slides himself between your folds, you let out a soft gasp, watching his cock disappear inside you. He groans, then flashes you an arrogant smirk.

“Fucking desperate for it,” he says. “Look how good your pussy takes it.”

Placing his hands on your upper thighs, he sets a rhythm, slow and hard; all you can do is stare, open-mouthed, at the sight of his cock slamming in and out of you. You meet his eyes for a moment—his full of mockery and satisfaction, yours likely full of wild abandon.

“You like seeing me ruin you?”

Struggling to form words, you merely gasp out a desperate “yeah” and it sounds more like a question. You try to stay propped up on your elbows as the brutality of his thrusts intensifies—he fucks you harder and faster with every movement.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah you do,” he answers, throwing his head back, a winner’s smile spreading across his face.

It feels so good you can hardly string together a cohesive thought. You reach out for something to grab onto and your fingers find his forearm, the indestructible muscles underneath tensing as you struggle to stay up. Soldier boy smiles down at your dazed expression, placing his hands on either side of your head as he leans forward.

“Open that mouth just a little wider for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, contrasting the roughness of his thrusts.

You obey, and placing his thumb on your chin, he spits in your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue.

“Swallow, baby,” he says, and so you do, moaning as his spit slides down your throat.

He ducks his head down. “Fuck that’s so hot,” he groans, finding your clit and drawing lazy circles on your pulsing, swollen bud.

“You’re a fuckin’ superstar, sweetheart, the way this pussy takes cock.”

The stimulation overwhelms you entirely. “I-I can’t hold on,” you gasp out, feeling a familiar warmth spreading from where his thumb plays with your pulsing bud.

He wraps a hand around your throat, forcing you to look deep inside his heavy-lidded eyes, his dilated pupils.

“Tell me how much of a slut you are for this cock and I’ll let you come,” he orders with a mocking smile.

You can feel yourself going, seeing stars from the feel of his thighs slamming into your ass, his length reaching deep inside you, and the hand wrapped around your throat.

The man certainly loved making you talk in moments where words were impossible to form.

Soldier Boy laughs. “What, fuckin’ cock-drunk already?” His hand momentarily leaves your throat to collide with your cheek, waking you out of your stupor, before wrapping around your jaw. His grip is controlled—it inflicts no pain but allows for no negotiation, either.

“Tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you moan, barely above a whisper. All you can focus on is holding back your climax as his fingers continue to work at the apex between your thighs.

“Scream it,” he orders, slamming himself inside you. The violent sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, fills your ears.

“Please-“ you beg, the word coated in desperation.

“Fuckin’ scream it,” he demands, unbending.

He leans in deep, his cock grazing the sweet spot at your core.

Warmth and lust erupt from inside you.

Words become easy, now. “I love it, I love it, oh my god I love your cock,” you half-gasp, half-cry as your orgasm blossoms through your body. You tremble underneath him and he laughs, continuing to fuck you through the waves of bliss.

“Just a desperate fuckin’ whore,” he taunts, running his hands along your sides, your breasts, before reaching your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He pulls out quickly, leaving you panting, shaking, dazed, empty.

“On your knees one more time for me, doll,” he says with surprising gentleness, pulling you by the arm off the edge of the bed. “I wanna see you taste my fuckin’ load,” the supe says with a smile, again using a large hand to guide his length into your open mouth.

You take him in slowly, registering your own acidic taste on his cock. There’s a low groan from him, and then he’s holding both sides of your head steady and thrusting into the back of your throat.

“Fuck. Yeah.” He says, throwing his head back. You keep your eyes up, locked on him. When he meets your gaze, he groans, “god, you look a fucking mess.” He grins down at you, “I almost feel bad for getting you up here.”

You freeze and look up at him, his length still halfway down your throat.

He scoffs and smiles. “You really think they’d get someone from your floor to bring fucking coffees up here?” He palms your cheek, shaking his head. “I knew from the moment I saw you at the shoot last week—your little fucking clipboard and that short ass skirt…” he trails off, stroking your cheek as you stare up into his daring eyes.

“I knew I had to see you like this.”

His words send shivers down your spine. You know you should feel used, tricked, or stupid, but all you feel is grateful, special, at his having noticed you. That desperate desire to please him simmers fiercely in your blood.

Slowly, you begin moving again, running your tongue down the length of his cock before circling the tip, tauntingly, slowly, adoringly. He shakes his head and grins: a god between your lips.

“Good girl.”

You grab his hips to steady yourself, trying your best to stay still and take his whole length without choking, lightheaded from the lack of air.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You feel his cock twitch as a stream of warmth slips down your throat, salty and thick. He relaxes his grip and slowly pulls his length out from your mouth. “Look at me and swallow, baby,” Soldier boy whispers firmly, holding your cheek in his hand.

You close your mouth and swallow, trying to steady your breath as the taste of him lingers in your mouth. He smiles and wipes a thick finger along your lips.

“‘Could keep you here, you know,” he says softly, holding your face up to meet his drunken look. “Tie you up, fuck you till you forget who you are… you’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll?” He asks, his voice low, dark, and gentle—you ignore how sinister it sounds, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, turning into his palm and smiling.

Soldier Boy’s soft chuckle fills the room, and he leans down to take your face in both his calloused, firm hands.

“You’re a fucking star, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re my fucking star, right?”

You gaze into his darkened eyes, wondering how in the world you came to be in this position.

It didn’t matter.

You were here now, and you wanted more. Needed more.

“Right.”

Your answer is met by a look of utter male satisfaction, Soldier Boy’s eyes filling again with animalistic hunger.

You’d be his for as long as he’d have you.