#a declaration of xxx

[startwinklemashup]

24. Star Twinkle Precure ED 3 x A DECLARATION OF ××× (BanG Dream!)

[illusory-nomad]

OUT OF FRAME!!

A Jinu fic

"Let's surpass someone's dreams and make it the proof of our existence"

Synopsis : A major dating scandal cost Y/N her spot in the rising girl group Huntr/x, and unfortunately ended her idol career. Her ex-group, managed by her own brother, continues to climb to greater heights without her, fueling her jealousy and competitive spirit. Determined to outshine them, Y/N takes on a new role as manager, scouts five boys from across South Korea's entertainment industry, and forms the Saja Boys with a single goal: surpass her old group and topple her brother's success.

Pairings : human idol! jinu x manager! reader

Tags : Second chances, slow-burn (?), found family, slice of life, exes to lovers (in a good way I promise ;-;), crack, angst (?)

Warnings : references to some parts of Kpop Demon Hunters (some are more visible than the rest), swearing, death threat jokes, abuse (?), mistreatment, reader's pronouns are she/her, reader is Bobby's sister (is that a warning??), fluff, slow burn (?), crack

Status : ongoing

Author's Note : *starts a new fic despite having two ongoing fics* Hey, baby gorilla :) Kpop Demon Hunters was sooooo good, and this plot has been rotting in my drafts after my high school scrapped it off for a play, and I think this is a good opportunity to put it to use! As per my last two fics, I will always put a tw before every chapter, so please read that first, and if I missed any warnings, please let me know (though the story is slice of life, so idrt there will be a lot of tws). I'll also be sure to update the tags and everything as the story progresses, and I apologize in advance for any mistakes

00 : Introduction

01 : Only Love Can Hurt Like This

02 : A Declaration of War

03 :

04 :

05 :

06 :

07 :

08 :

09 :

10 :

11 :

12 :

13 :

14 :

15 :

Taglist (open) : @brithedemonspawn @jammycheese @xxsadlovexx @saltedcoffeescotch @hydeonysus @katzline @blackstar-gazer @ateezswonderland @charlie-xo @azzberry @rai-xxx @kyxmlii @yeast-ken23 @snoweclipsese @nyanyanihao @kyuki07 @reiofsuns2001 @ratchetprime211 @arcaneh0 @berryhobi @amery-benson-cvii @scara-simp69 @thesimppotato11 @whimsiecat @elegancefr @doodle-with-rhy @mysteris-things @animegamerfox @faerie-soirxx @kazeniya @rirk-ke @phantom-101 @snowy-violet @shqyou @sswrillya @needsleep3000 @tenaciouskittenpuff @skzlover143 @cherrybl1ss @crescent-z @ellie-x0xo

(Bold : can't tag ;-;)

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi hi hi! So I'm new to tumblr and found your account and omigod I love the way you write 😍😍

So can I request a little something thats been rattling around in my brain? So it's Aaron Hotchner x Southern!Reader.... Basically Penelope drags everyone to a country bar to celebrate Reader's anniversary of joining the team... and she blows everyone away with her line dancing skills and her bullriding... Hotch realises that the polite sunshine girl he fell for is also very talented.

Thank you thank you! Kisses, have a great day xxx

Boots, Bulls, and a Bit of Surprise | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Southern!Reader | WC: 1.5k | CW: Fluff, mention of bar and alcohol

A/N: I tried my best, but bear in mind that I'm not american and have no clue at all about southern culture and styles ;)

Also yay, this has been in my inbox for ages and I just finished it as a treat for me being done with school for hopefully the next 3 months.

Garcia had declared it a mandatory outing. And when Penelope made something “mandatory,” it might as well have been written into BAU policy.

“Three years!” she had exclaimed that morning, dramatic as ever. “Three years of grace, sweetness, charm, and accented perfection! You think I’m letting that slide by without a celebration? Absolutely not. You, my dear, are going to put on your boots and let me celebrate you.”

You’d tried to argue, gently. Said you didn’t need anything fancy, that you were just grateful to be part of the team. But Garcia had waved you off with a sparkling hand and muttered something about “honky-tonk happiness.” And that was that.

So here you were, standing outside The Rusty Spur, a weathered but lively country bar tucked just off a back road near Quantico. Warm yellow lights glowed over the porch, and the sounds of fiddles and guitars spilled through the open door into the night air. The faint smell of barbecue and beer made your stomach growl despite your earlier apprehension of going out.

“Feels like home,” you murmured without thinking.

Hotch, standing beside you in his usual dark attire, that made him look extremely out of place in this setting, turned slightly at the sound of your voice.

“Good or bad thing?” he asked quietly.

You gave him a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Good. It’s a good thing.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped ahead to follow the others inside.

The interior of the bar was like something plucked straight from your childhood: worn wooden floors, strings of fairy lights draped from wooden beams, a live band already in full swing near the bar. Cowboy hats dotted the crowd. Boots stomped in rhythm across the dance floor. The vibe was warm and loud and just a little chaotic.

Everyone looked vaguely overwhelmed, while Penelope looked like she’d ascended to country-western heaven in her rhinestone-studded jacket and pink boots.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, spinning in a slow circle as she took everything in. “I’ve found my aesthetic soulmate. This bar is me. This is who I am now.”

You laughed softly, slipping off your denim jacket to reveal a button-down tucked into high-waisted jeans and a belt that had your name stitched into it from years ago. Your boots scuffed lightly on the floor as you stepped forward.

Morgan gave a low whistle. “Okay, cowgirl. You been hiding this whole time or what?”

“Not hiding,” you said with a wink. “Just hadn’t had the chance to show y’all yet.”

Hotch didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t look at him yet.

Penelope ordered the first round, a mix of drinks in mason jars and bright-colored cocktails with umbrellas, and you all settled into a large booth near the dance floor. The bar had just enough space for the team to spread out but not enough to avoid the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floorboards.

When a new song kicked up, upbeat, classic country, full of claps and kicks and steel twang, your ears perked up.

“Oh, I love this one,” you said, already halfway to your feet.

JJ blinked. “Wait. You dance?”

You paused, halfway through pushing in your chair, and smiled like you were letting them in on a little secret. “Y’all really haven’t been paying attention, huh?”

Without another word, you made your way to the dance floor, hips swaying casually as you joined the growing crowd already in formation. The second the beat dropped, your entire posture changed.

You were electric.

Steps crisp, turns sharp, your body moving with an ease that only came from muscle memory built over years. You glided through the line dance like you’d been born into it, like the rhythm had grown with you, which in reality it had. People around you started to slow down just to watch, and the team definitely did.

“She’s incredible,” JJ said under her breath.

“I thought she was just sweet tea and apologies,” Emily muttered.

Garcia let out a breathy gasp and grabbed Morgan’s arm. “My girl is lighting the place on fire. She’s setting the bar on actual fire.”

Even Spencer looked floored. “Her coordination is… statistically uncommon.”

Hotch was silent.

He didn’t say a word. He just watched, his eyes locked on you like he was trying to decode something he hadn’t realized was right in front of him all along.

He’d always known you were kind. Grounded. The kind of person who remembered birthdays and brought snacks to stakeouts and sent thank-you notes in handwriting that curled like calligraphy. You were soft-spoken and steady.

But this was something different. You weren’t just good at this, you were magnetic. Controlled. Radiant in a way that went bone-deep. He didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the table until the song ended.

You curtsied with a grin, breath a little heavy but eyes bright, and made your way back to the table. People clapped as you passed.

“I am… genuinely intimidated,” Emily said, wide-eyed.

“You never told us you could move like that,” JJ added.

You just shrugged, cheeks pink with the rush of the dance and the attention. “It’s just like breathing, where I come from. County fairs, church picnics, Friday night dances. You either learn, or you get left behind.”

Penelope leaned in, dreamily. “I would commit crimes for your kind of footwork.”

Hotch still hadn’t spoken. His gaze hadn’t left you, but his expression was harder to read now. Thoughtful. Quiet.

You were just about to ask him what he was thinking when a voice near the bar yelled over the music.

“Bull time!”

A cheer rose from the crowd. A spotlight flickered toward the far corner, where the mechanical bull sat like a challenge waiting to be accepted.

You perked up instantly.

“Oh no,” Morgan said, eyebrows rising. “Don’t tell me...”

You were already standing again. “Oh, I’m telling you.”

Penelope clapped like a delighted child. “YES. I knew you’d be the one.”

“You’ve done this before?” Emily asked, half-laughing.

You shot her a wink as you handed your jacket to Spencer. “Won my county fair four years runnin’. That bull and I go way back.”

Hotch was still silent, but his eyes followed you with the same intensity as before.

The bull operator gave you a nod like he recognized a fellow pro, and you swung yourself up into the seat without hesitation, adjusting your grip and posture with ease.

The bar quieted a little.

Then the machine jolted to life.

You rode like you were born for it, hips moving in sync with every lurch and twist, one hand high in the air, the other tight on the rope. You didn’t wobble. You didn’t flinch. The crowd whooped louder with every passing second.

And then, with a final spin, you let yourself fall, landing lightly on your feet and giving a little bow, grinning from ear to ear.

The bar exploded.

At the booth, everyone was shouting and laughing.

“You’re actually a menace,” Morgan said, stunned. “An actual bull-riding menace.”

“Your core strength must be off the charts,” Reid muttered.

Penelope looked like she might cry. “You are the most beautiful cowboy goddess I have ever seen.”

But you weren’t really listening to them anymore.

You were looking at him.

Hotch was still seated, still quiet, but something had changed. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed, but not in disapproval. It looked more like… awe. Curiosity maybe?

You walked over slowly, chest still rising and falling with adrenaline.

“Well?” you asked softly. “Still think I’m just polite and sweet?”

He looked at you, gaze steady and intense. “I’ve never thought that,” he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it.

Your stomach fluttered.

“Good,” you murmured.

The music shifted to something slow.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Dance with me?” you asked, holding out your hand.

He hesitated, just a second. Then he stood, his hand sliding into yours. His touch was warm. Steady. Reassuring in the way only he could be.

You led him to the dance floor, placing one hand on his shoulder, the other holding his firmly. He was stiff at first, classic Hotch, like he wasn’t sure how to let go. But you leaned in just enough, your voice soft.

“Relax. Ain’t no performance. Just you and me.”

Something in him loosened at that. Slowly, he matched your rhythm. Not perfectly, but with effort. He was trying. And he was holding you like he didn’t want to stop.

And under the soft lights of a bar that felt like home, with a team that had become just like family, watching from a distance and the music wrapping around you, Aaron Hotchner danced.

Badly.

But you didn’t mind one bit.

[ilys00ga]

you are my favorite!!!! super happy to know you are taking requests :D also i hope you are doing well♡♡

could i request a yoongi x f!reader possibly where they have a rlly bad argument and make it up and it ends really fluffy? maybe the argument could be over jealusy or this stuff ofc not in a toxic way. Thank you in advance :)

BLOWING SMOKE.

PAIR: yoongi x f reader

TAGS/WARNINGS: established relationship, producer!yoongi, yoongi fucks up real bad, hes lowk an ass in this one sorry xxx, he fixes things tho, misunderstandings with a great amount of miscommunication, reader thinks hes cheating, jealousy, angst, also fluff, a teenie tiny dusty bit of smut implications at the very end, but no smut I promise. that's it I guess?? lmk if I missed something. oh yeah this is probably full of unedited mistakes, just ignore :)

A/N: omg omg first off, THANK U I love u lots 💗 second, this matches the new fic I was already working on so akdjqjsjjs was in the mood for some good angst hehehe...although, I gotta say, this was pretty rushed cz I had a shit ton of things to do (I still do) but I tried to make it as good as I can, I hope u like it 🥹 also, ik u said 'not in a toxic way' but I think I might have gotten carried away? nothing too extreme I hope, but we all fuck up, and yoongi here is not doing any better.

PS. requests are still open! feel free to drop some in my ask box anytime :)

Loving Yoongi was like a field of cotton grass dancing with the wild wind on a fresh late spring day. But being in a relationship with him, much like any other relationship out there, wasn't always a bed of soft petals and a sky of warm sunshine.

“I'm sorry, darling. I have to stay here for another two hours. You can still come over if you want.” That was what he said over the phone, one day, when you asked whether he was free for a dinner date or not. It's been a hectic week for the both of you, two adults trapped in the hectic mess of what we call life. An unsettling bubble formed in your chest. You missed him, so, terribly much. The days went on, and it became harder for you to sit down with him for a genuine conversation or a wholesome meal. The mere thought that your relationship was heading towards one of those bland and colorless stages was heavy on your heart.

His suggestion sounded apologetic enough for you to swallow the pill entirely, so you immediately declared your agreement, grabbed your purse, then left the apartment.

On your twenty-minutes-long walk there, you made sure to grab a bottle or two of wine and some snacks, because, knowing Yoongi, he would let his body devore itself before he would feed himself a proper meal, once he's inside that studio.

Except that, all of your hopes of a hopelessly romantic night at his studio, and that uncomfortable couch he purchased specifically so he wouldn't doze off when he's supposed to work, vanished as soon as you pushed the door open and walked in.

Yoongi never said or did anything to hurt your trust, neither were you the type of lover to shed tears and break glass when they see their partner with another person. But seeing him sitting so close to the female producer you were already familiar with, their chairs almost touching as they fixed their attention on the large computers on top of his desk, that was a sight you weren't ready for. And it wouldn't have been so much of an issue to you if you weren't sitting in the same room with your boyfriend and the woman he used to hook up with on a regular basis before he got with you.

“It's good to finally see you, __.” She gave you a smile. A little, polite and genuine gesture that, in contrast to the smile you mirrored to her, made your stomach flip.

Another hour passed with you staring mindlessly at your phone screen and them doing their thing. You were on the verge of excusing yourself to leave, to maybe catch some fresh air instead of suffocating to death inside that closed space, when the girl finally stood up to leave.

You watched as she gave him a hug, her hand gently rubbing at his shoulder, before she faced you to bid her goodbye and left.

Throughout the entire thing, Yoongi didn’t spare you a glance. His back was the only thing you could see, along with the back of his head, covered with his favorite dark beanie. You thought her departure would soothe your heart and put your anxious mind to rest. That Yoongi would turn around and explain why the hell he was hanging out with her, and not with his usual team members. Except that neither of the above happened.

“I’m done here too, for the day. We can go now.” He said as he stood up from his own chair, stretching his arms and arching his body with a rough groan. You were left wondering whether you were the insane one there. Or maybe he was that blind to the chaos happening in your head at that very moment.

The words were on the tip of your tongue. You could no longer hold them back. They were too strong to be kept hidden deep inside your throat. And so, you cleared your throat and let them speak for themselves. “You never told me you still work with her.”

You paused, taking a deep breath as you anticipated an answer from him, which came rather more lightheartedly than you fancied.

“Oh, I didn't think it was worth talking about.” He said, hovering over the desk to turn the devices off.

“Really?” You tucked the tip of your finger under another one, his usual nonchalance was supposed to sooth you, reassure your heart that he only belonged to you, but it only served to stir something inside your anxious self. “But it's still something, Yoongi..”

“Darling, you were never bothered with who I work with.” He remarked.

“Because you never had history with your usual team members.” Your blunt argument, with all the bitterness it held, took the both of you off guard.

“Is this about what I think it is?” He glanced up at you again, finally catching up on the situation at hand. “Look at me. Are you upset because she was here?”

“Yes I am.. You never mentioned the fact that you still see her everyday. Were you planning on keeping that from me?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I told you it was never a big deal, baby. That's why I didn't bring it up.”

“Yoongi, it doesn't matter what you think of it. I deserve to know this type of thing.”

He scoffed at that, his attention turning to his stuff as he started gathering them. “Baby, please. I was working. We had a project to do. It's not like I slept with her or something.”

“Did you?”

At the heavy implication of your short question, Yoongi froze in his place, unmoving. His eyes spoke of surprise and pain as he stared deeply into yours, sending a chill down your spine. You blinked, and the sound of crashing almost made you jump when he threw the headphones he was holding carelessly on the desk.

“You think I did?” He asked. Even as his voice was completely empty of amusement, he didn't raise his voice at you. “You think I slept with her?”

“I don't know.” You shrugged. “That's what I'm trying to know.”

Neither of you spoke after that. He continued staring at you, not providing an answer that could satisfy your clenching heart. Instead, and just like every single time the two of you had an argument before that, he faced his desk again and busied himself with his belongings, his movements harsher and rougher than before.

“It's better if you leave now.” He said, his voice disturbingly cold.

You wished he could say anything. Maybe snap at you for being so harsh with your judgment on him, or lay his heart out and tell you the thing you dreaded the most, that he indeed slept with her. But he didn’t. He just faced the other way and did utter a word. And so, you grabbed your purse, phone in your other hand, and walked out of the studio.

Deep in the darkness of your room, you lay on your bed, deep in thought, staring at the ceiling like it could crack open and show you the secret towards a blissfully happy love story to remedy your soul. Your string of thoughts was cut short when noise broke out in your apartment. The sound of the front door being locked and closed again.

You craned your neck to catch a glimpse of the digital clock on top of your nightstand. It was three am.

Having had this scenario happen multiple times throughout the years of your relationship with him, you left your tear stained pillow and followed the source of the noise, your boyfriend in the kitchen.

You found him bent down in front of the open fridge, his back, once again, facing you. If he didn't hear your footsteps against the floor, he definitely heard the soft sniffle you let out as you leaned against the doorframe, you were certain.

“It's three in the morning.” You stated, like it was the most important news you could give him at that very moment. He didn't spare you a glance, settling for a can of beer and pushing the door of the fridge closed with his leg. “You shouldn’t drink at this hour.”

“Good to know you care about me.” He said, his voice calm but dripping with the usual bitter sarcasm he often exercised when he was tense or angry.

You couldn't help rolling your eyes at that. He was really upset. “Can we just talk?”

He flicked the can open with one hand, taking a long gulp of the liquor that left you with a small frown. “Why? So you get to accuse me of cheating again?”

“Yoongi, please-”

“No, __.” He paused, his gaze felt like a freezing flame to your soul. “You feel the way you feel, yeah I get it. But doubting my loyalty like that? Thinking that I could really go out of my way to cheat like it's nothing? What the fuck are you doing?”

His words, coupled with the way he looked at you, felt like a punch to your guts in that very moment. He was right, you knew that. No matter how insecure and threatened you felt back then, no matter how fucked up the thing he did was, cheating shouldn't have been your first conclusion. Especially when you loved and cherished him so deeply. With a trembling voice, you gathered your words and tried to ignore your stinging eyes as they threatened to spill your hidden emotions out. “I... Our relationship has been so dull lately, I was hoping we could spend some time together and catch up, but then I saw her there and I just..”

“Just what, __?” He cuts your speech. “Do you even trust me?”

“I do, of course I do! But you didn’t even talk to me about it, and when I tried to talk, you were all like ‘Oh, it doesn't matter, you're just being dramatic.’”

“That is not what I said.” He hissed.

“Doesn’t matter!-” A sob interrupted your speech, you ran a hand through your hair in frustration. “Can we just- please-”

Your words were cut short when he started walking towards you. You felt his arms engulfing you in a tight embrace, your face finding its place buried into the crook of his neck, where your warm tears touched his soft, milky skin.

“Shh.. I know.” He whispered into your ear, the strong smell of alcohol, carrying a hint of coffee within, filled your senses. Your arms moved on their own, automatically hugged him back. “You know I would never break your trust, right?”

You nodded your head. Something about the softness of his voice, heavy with vulnerability, made your heart crush into pieces. The way he held you, despite the hurt you knew he felt because of you, had a toll on you.

You pulled away, enough to bring your hands up and cup his face. Your teary eyes staring into his weary ones as you spoke. “That was so stupid of me. I'm sorry.”

“I'm the stupid one here, baby..” He turned his face to nuzzle your palm and press a kiss onto its skin. “I should've thought into it. I was so immersed in work, I didn't see how fucked up the entire situation was. Should've paid more attention.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss on your forehead and letting his lips linger on your skin there for a few more seconds. “I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry I made you think that lowly of me.”

The gentleness of his gesture and his words made your tears flow with a mind of their own. There was never a time he made a huge mistake and didn't make you feel like the sky might fall apart at the sight of your tears. It only made the guilt heavier on your heart.

He tightened his hold around you, pulling your body flush against his as he let you cry your hearts content out on his skin. You could feel his hand on the back of your head, a silent encouragement for you to nuzzle his neck again. You obliged.

“I can't believe you made me cry at three a.m like this.” You whined, after a long moment of hushed words of love and quiet sobs, and sniffled.

“I'm sorry, darling..” He cooed at you, wiping the tears off of your cheeks with his gentle fingers. The soft expression he had quickly faded into a slight smirk that appeared on his handsome face. “It wouldn't be the first time I do that, though.”

“Hey!” Your hand landed on his shoulder in a light swat. “We're having a moment here! And I still haven't forgiven you, you know!”

He let out a light chuckle, his smirk deepening when he tilted his head and noticed the faint blush on your face. “Worry not, I'll make it up to you. I'm gonna make you cry in a different way, darling.”

“Go away!” You whined again and shoved him away. His suggestive words made your face feel a lot warmer than necessary, but you tried to sound as stern and unaffected as you possibly could, under his gaze. “I'm going to bed. You better not follow me there, you're sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, no need for the bed, baby.” He ignored your empty threat and rejection, making a quick job of scooping you up in his arms and heading towards the living room. “We have a foldable couch for a reason.”

“It's an expensive couch, you ass!”

[luveline]

You are such an awesome writer 🥹 I love seeing you show up on my timeline!

I'm not sure if you are taking requests rn and totally ignore this and I'm so sorry if you are not and sorry to bug you.

I am so obsessed with bombshell bau reader with our boy Spence. I was thinking like maybe established relationship this time where the team goes out to the bar again only this time her and Spence are actually together so she's just really cute and even more cling. Maybe her and Emily or one of/all of the other BAU girls are being wild goofy drunk girl and reader is extra flirty with Spence but not at all smooth and Spencer is just like “you're a menace” ? But like in a sweet adoring way 😂?

Again no pressure at all and I hope you are feeling better from the rude requests and enjoying your time off school, lots of love xxx

thank you love, and thanks for your request!! ♡ drunk!reader

The last time you'd been to this bar in particular, you and Spencer were strictly friends. He was still styling his hair straight and wearing sweater vests, and the idea of being your boyfriend was a fantasy. A brilliant, never-going-to-happen work of fiction. 

“My boyfriend is the prettiest man alive ever in the history of planet Earth!” you declare, climbing up on one knee in the booth beside him, your cherry spritzer tipping over the glass’ rim. It races down your naked arm to your elbow and drips from there to his thigh. “Have you seen him?” 

“Sure, I've seen him,” Morgan says, rolling his eyes. 

You wrap your arms around Spencer's head from the side and kiss his forehead. You shift as you do, forcing your lips up into his hair, leaving behind an accidental raspberry smear of lipgloss. “Then what's the problem?” you ask. 

“I don't know,” Morgan says. 

“I know what it is,” Emily says. 

“Me too. Rhymes with indoctrination,” JJ laughs. 

You put your glass down hard on the table, arm still held proudly behind Spencer's neck. A lot has changed since the last time you were here, but the way he looks up at you hasn't budged. He has a sick, all encompassing crush on you, and seeing you now turns it into a dizziness he can't shake, almost like he's had a few too many drinks with you. Your eyes are glassy, grounded but wet, and your eyelashes pinch together in the corners as you bring your gaze down to his. “It's love,” you say. 

Everybody laughs. Spencer just keeps watching you watch him, his palm to the small of your back to prevent a fall. 

“It's love!” Penelope echoes, shepherded by Hotch, too many drinks between them both. “My favourite lovebirds! I brought your drink, beautiful.”

“Thank you, gorgeous.” You take it eagerly. Spritzer sloshes over the bumps of your fingers. 

“Sit down,” Spencer suggests. 

You give him brief googly eyes and sit down. The booth is a three sided square, with you and Spencer on one arm, Rossi, JJ and Emily against the back, and now Morgan, Penelope and Hotch opposite. It's a full troupe tonight, a rarity, and you and Penelope decided early on that the best way to celebrate would be to drink whatever you liked and in egregious quantities. 

Hotch is perhaps doing the same. Spencer can't tell. But all in all, everyone's having a good night, especially you. 

“Did you hear that? He's so nice to me,” you say to no one in particular, your fitted blouse sparkling in the light as you lean back, your hand finding his thigh. “Spencer, what's on your pants?” 

“Oh, I wonder?” 

“You're not blaming me, are you?” Your voice is as stickying as you can make it, and drunk as a skunk you may be, but you maintain your talent for flirting. 

“Did I say that?” 

“Because that wouldn't be very, gentlemanly of you…” You lean in too close. Your talent remains. Your subtlety suffers a different fate. 

He leans in like he might kiss you and says, “You're a menace.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

In front of all your friends and coworkers. “It means I'm cutting you off,” he says, sliding his hand between you and your glass. 

More laughter. You throw hurt looks at them all and Spencer picks up your cherry spritzer. You're baffled, but a smile dripping in sickly sweet love spreads over your lips as he drinks it. “Fine, I'll share,” you say. 

“Thank you,” he says, putting it out of your reach as he leans in to kiss you, cherry lingering on his lips. 

You kiss him back gently, and then a little harder. He eases you away. Arms snuck once again around him, you squeeze until his ribs cry out in protest and make yourself comfortable on his shoulder.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” he asks, head angled down to offer a tender smile. 

“I love you so much I've decided not to care.” You lift your head. “You're too nice to be mad at you,” you whisper. “And I love you.” 

“Yeah, you've mentioned that.” He rubs your arm. He's so in love with you, he doesn't think to blush at his part in your PDA. 

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 1

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds themselves caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Note: Hello!!!! very first chapter of my very first fic!! I hope you enjoy :)

xxx

I fiddle with my safety belt. The seatbelt light hasn’t turned off yet, but I’m itching to free myself from the contraption strapped across my lap.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to London Heathrow. It is Thursday, January 23rd, local time is 9:47am. Enjoy your stay, or welcome home." My feet are bouncing, my AirPods are almost dead, and I’ve caught up on many, many, many hours of TV. Whilst I swap my SIM card, I let the rest of my row scurry out and collect their bags. I haven’t used this SIM card in eight months, and now it's vomiting up every random notification and text I’ve missed. Through it all, I text George.

As I go to leave the plane, a flight attendant nods at my University of Exeter hoodie. "Welcome home!" I smile politely and answer, "Thanks, it’s been a minute." The flight attendant — Eve, shout out to name tags — looks confused, as my accent betrays the hoodie.

I run a hand through my dishevelled hair, a mess from sitting on the plane for 14 hours. I actually haven’t slept in a real bed for three nights. With the developed world, surely getting from Brisbane to London could be cut down to one flight, not three (it definitely can, but it is so much cheaper to do layovers).

The grey skies of the United Kingdom press down on me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. They aren’t just clouds, they’re a constant weight that seems to swallow up the horizon and dull everything beneath them. Even when I lived in Manchester, I made the journey to London a dozen times, but every time, the skies felt like a mirror — a reflection of the same hollow, endless grey. The city could be bright with lights and energy, but that overcast sky, that heavy weight in the air, is the same across the whole island.

The blanket sky is still heavy, but it still carries a quiet kind of comfort. Maybe it’ll never match the sharp brilliance of the Brisbane sun. But here, beneath this endless grey, perhaps it can offer warmth, not weight.

Customs is a bore. I have nothing to declare and only a small suitcase to my name. Okay, I have a very large and very full suitcase, a small carry-on (also full), and a personal item that’s bursting at the seams. I also have my toothbrush and toothpaste in my back pocket. Not a good look. Still, I get waved straight through, and the waiting in lines was for nothing.

The terminal opens up in front of me. Its bright, busy, full of hugs and signs and little kids dragging tiny backpacks. I scan the crowd, already feeling the weight of my backpack.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice cuts through the low hum of reunions and baggage announcements. I turn. There’s George. I’d seen the mullet and the hint of stubble over FaceTime, it suited him well, maybe too well, but seeing him now in motion was something else entirely. His airport outfit, a sweater and slacks, was nothing crazy, but it was not something the footy-shirt Uni George would wear. He looked older. Calmer. And somehow, seeing him in the flesh stirred something unexpected, a quiet but insistent flutter in my chest.

"George!" I say back. We walk toward each other, arms outstretched. "We live in the same city again!" We embrace, and all those years come flooding back. I can still picture the day we met perfectly.

It was maybe day five of uni. I had actually already calculated how many days were left (not including weekends, bank holidays, and non-term time), the answer was 334. England was not what I thought it was going to be. People did not find my accent cool or endearing, but rather thought I was speaking a made-up language. I had gotten lost finding my Uni Halls, lost finding the Tesco, (wtf is a Tesco btw) and lost finding that very lecture hall.

Because I was late due to getting lost, I sat down hurriedly at the closest chair that wasn’t the front row. I just so happened to sit next to George. His hair was much shorter, his face clean-shaven, and he wore some kind of football shirt. The lecturer was already talking about tendons, and I opened my laptop. It was flat.I let out the kind of sigh you only hear from someone who's jet-lagged, laptop dead, and hopelessly new to a country they barely understand.

George offered to send me the notes, and so we spent the whole lecture giggling together, laughing at the lecturer's choice of outfit and the diagrams in the PowerPoint. From then we were almost inseparable. Even when I changed courses after a year (what was I even thinking, doing Sport and Exercise Science?) we remained close friends. He made Exeter feel like home. His laugh and his jokes could replace the Brisbane sun any day. We even lived together for six months, when his flatmate went travelling and my boyfriend dumped me suddenly. We fit well together. I taught him how to not cause nuclear warfare when cleaning a bathroom, and George taught me how to elevate any ready meal past the packet instructions.

When George graduated, he moved to London, and his lockdown TikToks inexplicably propelled him to fame. I always knew he would do great things. I was always a bit surprised he wasn’t into the drama or acting side of things at uni. He was always so funny and charismatic, so much so that his talents seemed wasted on being a PT, or whatever it is you do with a Sport and Exercise Science degree.

I went the other way. When I graduated, Manchester called me. I was offered a graduate programmer position with great benefits. The city was alive in a way that only big places could be, but after a few years, the relentless pace and the grey skies of northern England got to me. Homesickness hit like a ton of bricks.

So, I packed up and went back to Brisbane.

The months spent at home didn’t heal me like I thought they would. The sun was too hot and the accents too sharp. I was with family again, with the comfort of everything I knew, but the itch to do more, to push forward, kept gnawing at me. Not to mention everyone at home had moved on without me. Half my friends were doing what I did, living abroad, and the ones that were left were too busy getting married or starting families. So, when the opportunity in London came through, an offer I just couldn’t ignore, I knew it was time to pack my life up once more.

The Uber is too warm, the heater cranked up for someone who’s just survived 24 hours in transit. The windows are fogged slightly from the inside, giving the city beyond a muted, watercolour quality. Raindrops trail lazy patterns down the glass, and the windscreen wipers squeak in tired intervals. The car smells faintly of pine air freshener and something synthetic, maybe cleaning spray.

George’s voice fills the space easily. “Oh my god, I forgot how Australian you sound. We’re gonna barbeque some shrimp later, we gotta.”

I laugh, too tired to fully roll my eyes. The awkwardness we maybe should’ve had slips away like the condensation on the window. It’s just us again.

“Really? When I was home, everyone poked fun at how English I sounded. Also, we don’t even say shrimp, you idiot. We say prawn, just like you."

The driver doesn’t say much, just hums along to the soft lo-fi playlist playing through the speakers. Outside, London passes in shades of grey and brown. Victorian terraces, wet pavements, red buses blurred by rain. I lean my forehead against the cool glass for a moment, the city lights bleeding into my peripheral vision like old memories.

Inside the car, it feels safe. Familiar. George taps his fingers on his knee, in time with the music, and for a second I forget the jetlag, forget the toothbrush in my back pocket, forget that I’m technically homeless in a country I haven’t lived in for almost a year.

The rest of the ride was quick and strangely comforting, it was like slipping back into an old jumper, soft in all the right places. By the time we pulled up to George’s flat, we were already trading jabs like no time had passed.

George helps me into the spare room. I already know it’s not going to be empty, he’d warned me it had become a dumping ground for him and his roommates, but I hadn’t expected it to be this cramped. I can barely wedge my suitcases between the broken tripods and half-lit ring lights. The air smells faintly of dust and old extension cords. My bedside table, if you can call it that, is a cardboard box labelled costumes.

I perch on the edge of the camping cot, its frame creaking beneath me, and take it all in. This isn't just temporary mess. It’s the kind of chaos that grows roots. I feel out of place again, like I’ve been slotted awkwardly into a life that isn’t mine.

This isn’t how I pictured 25. Certainly not crashing on borrowed sheets in a friend’s overstuffed spare room, careful not to knock over a stack of prop wigs every time I roll over.

I have to remind myself that I chose this. I chose to move abroad for uni, to live in Manchester, to go home, and to come back again. Every decision led me here. But right now, ‘home’ feels like a word I’ve forgotten the shape of. I try to place my hands around it, to remember the last time it felt solid, close, mine. But the memory slips through my fingers, distant and half-lit.

"Once you're settled, me and the boys are gonna take you out for drinks, get to know everyone in the flat." I smile sweetly at George’s invitation-that-was-not-an-invitation. The jetlag is creeping in, slow and heavy, like fog rolling over my brain. It settles behind my eyes, in my limbs, weighing everything down. But I know better than to give in now. I can’t sleep before bedtime.

"Thanks George, that’s very sweet. I'm gonna freshen up a bit and maybe try to make a bit more space in here? Is that okay?" He agrees that I can move whatever I need, and to ask him before I throw anything away, but it’s probably all good.

The door clicks behind him as he leaves me to adjust. My new job is supposed to be the fresh start I need, but standing in my new 'bedroom', everything around me feels foreign. The dark London sky begins to drizzle again. It always drizzles here. Back home it’s either raining or it isn’t. I sigh and start to unpack, digging for my toiletries.

I’m not sure where my home is anymore.

[da-rulah]

Could you do a something fluffy about Terzo getting given flowers for the first time in his life by a s/o 🥹 maybe after a bad week/ something that has him feeling down

Helloooooo, it's been a very long time since this ask was popped into my ask box and an even longer time since i've sat down and written anything, so please bear with me if this isn't very good... i'm quite out of practise.

No warnings, utter fluff.

'A long week' barely scratches the surface when describing the last seven days. His week had turned from aggravating, to downright infuriating, and landing now, on a late Sunday night, at just plain exhausting.

His Sunday evening service had gone off without a hitch, thanks to his careful planning and his apparent new role as a fire fighter, putting out metaphorical fires across the ministry all week. He'd even managed to keep up the facade of his usual self as he delivered his sermons.

But the second he was alone and back in his quarters, Terzo let his shoulders sag with an audible sigh, his head dropping to stare at the floor as if it were too heavy for his body.

Usually, after a difficult week he would spend his time with you, wrapped in your arms and being reminded that he needed time for himself too. You were his greatest support. But this week was different, and as much as he adored your presence, and as much as you lifted him from his own self pity often enough, he had done his typical act of pushing you away and declared he just 'needed to be alone tonight'.

You'd never let him know that it bothered you when he did that. You tried to be understanding, but you knew him better than anyone, and you knew this was a defence he put up when things got too much for him. Smothering him was not an option; you couldn't just turn up and be there, he never reacted well to being backed into a corner like that. But what you could do, was send little reminders that people - namely you - loved him dearly, and were here for him.

Terzo kicked off his shoes as the door, stripping of his ceremonial robes and unbuttoning the shirt underneath them. He wandered into his papal apartment and slumped over the kitchen counter, his eyes barely lifting from the floor as he dragged his feet. He reached out for the bottle of brandy he kept decanting in the same spot, right where the sunlight from the gardens would stream through the day to bring out the subtle notes and richen both the colour and flavour.

As he reached, his hand his glass he was unfamiliar with. His decanter was crystal, patterned and textured. This was smooth, bulbous even.

Terzo looked up, confused to find that in the middle of the countertop sat a vase, a purple ribbon tied in a neat bow around its neck. This vase was filled with the most beautiful arrangement of purple and white Columbian carnations, accompanied by purple Ruscus leaves.

He was utterly bewildered, his brain not working fast enough to put the pieces together until he saw the card that sat in amongst the flowers.

Keep smiling, my love. The world will grow tired of upsetting you. You know where I am. xxx

No one had ever bought Terzo flowers before. He'd never even thought men could receive them, the notion never crossed his mind. But such a small gesture, such an act of unbridled kindness and affection, had his eyes watering and his painted bottom lip quivering.

Was this how you felt whenever he bought you flowers? He understood it now. He understood the look on your face, because it was the same one that was on his right now. Such a small gesture had him feeling seen, validated and loved all at once. It was overwhelming.

You know where I am.

He sure did. But now, he wanted you here instead. Pushing you away wasn't the answer, you were teaching him that slowly. Sometimes you'd get through to him, sometimes you didn't. But tonight you had.

Terzo wasted no time in picking up his phone, wiping away the tears he'd let fall and dialled your number.

[deadlyflames]

Klonnie Weekend – Arranged Marriage (From strangers to soulmates?)

I was slacking this weekend! I’m sorry Klonnie fam! This one shot is based off this post . Hope you guys like it!

AO3

Xxx

It was always the same dream, ever since she was a child.

She’s a little girl, standing in the middle of a meadow of purple flowers.

A young boy stands in front of her. She watches his dirty blond hair turn to gold in the sunlight as he bends down and ties something around her wrist.

He pulls back quickly once he is finished and his hands drop to his sides in clenched fists. The boy’s stormy blue eyes regard her with trepidation as she examines the bracelet he had tied off.

The design of the wooden pendant never changes and the details remain clear in her mind even after she wakes up. It’s shaped like a butterfly with the intricate designs carefully carved into the wings, attached to a simple leather strap.

No matter how many times she sees it, the bracelet makes her insides burst with a flurry of butterflies.

She can’t stop herself from smiling.

“It’s beautiful!” she declares as she holds her wrist up and admires the bracelet. “I love it.”

The boy looks up at her then with wide nervous eyes, a furious red blush staining his cheeks. “Really? Then you will accept it?” he asks her, and she can hear the tremble in his voice. He steps forward then and clutches her hands in his, almost desperately. “I know I’m no great warrior, but if your mother accepts the betrothal, I… I promise that I… I…”

Giggles bubble up from her lips and a warmth spreads through her as he fumbles through his declaration. “She already accepted it, silly. I heard her talking about it with your mother last night.”

Somehow, his stormy blue eyes get even wider and a small breath of leaves his lips.

“Oh.”

She giggles again. With his stunned state, she manages to slip her hand from his and holds her wrist and the bracelet protectively against her chest.

“You couldn’t take this back from me if you tried,” she says with a wide teasing smile as she starts to bounce on her toes. “Now I am yours and you are mine.”

He still holds her other hand in his and he squeezes it tightly as her words ring in the air. The wind picks up and the flowers and grass rustle with the breeze. A severity falls over his features and something both dark and vulnerable shines in his eyes.

“Do you promise?” There was no blushing or fumbling, and his voice seems darker and deeper. The words coil around her like a snake, and something about them feels binding.

The sky above them grows darker and the wind howls around them. The grip he still has on her hand becomes almost unbearably tight. He holds her hand as if she's a lifeline; as if he might float away if he lets her go.

“I promise,” she answers in a whisper. Despite the dread that knots in her stomach, she knows that she means it.

There is a relieved smile on his face, showing off his dimples, when he finally releases her hand.

Her fingers tingle slightly from how tightly he held them. She ignores it though and uses her fingertips to trace the wings of her butterfly pendant, while a soft smile curves at her lips.

She doesn’t know how the thought comes to her, but she knows he carved the piece himself. Just for her.

But when she looks up again the blue sky has been replaced by dark storm clouds and the boy’s face has changed. Like the sky above them, the blue of his iris turns black. Red veins crawl out around his eyes. Blood gushes from his mouth when his jaw jerks open in a silent scream and reveals his teeth have been replaced by horrible jagged fangs.

She reals back in horror and screams.

And that was always the moment when Bonnie would wake up.

Even though it doesn't repeat every night, she dreams of the scene often enough that she knows it has to have some kind of meaning.

When she’s a child, she doesn’t really understand it. The boy from the meadow is not someone she has ever known nor is his face one she has ever seen. The pendant never appears anywhere besides her dreams. The words were ones she never remembers saying (Betrothal? Who still talked like that?).

Bonnie thinks it might have been a scene from some movie she might’ve seen, though that doesn’t really explain why the dream keeps recurring.

Things change when she finds out she’s a witch. And when she sees a vampire’s face for the first time. She recognizes that the boy from the meadow had the same black eyes and fangs that Damon Salvatore shows her right before he rips out her throat.

Later, Bonnie finally brings the topic up with her Grams. The frown never leaves Sheila Bennett’s lips as Bonnie explains the dream from beginning to end.

“Some believe that dreams are memories,” Grams tells her after a long silence. “From another life.”

Another life. Could that have been the answer? Bonnie never really believed in past lives, but she supposes anything is possible in a world full of witches and vampires.

She idly wonders what that life had been. Who that boy had been to her.

“Do you believe that?” Bonnie asks.

Grams stares at her then with a strange look in her eyes. She looks at Bonnie in the way someone would look at a stranger they just barely recognized. Her gaze shifts over Bonnie’s face, as if she is searching for something in her features. Bonnie shifts uncomfortably under the stare.

Her Grams blinks and the strange look is gone as soon as it appears. She smiles softly as she brings her hand to Bonnie’s cheek. “When you get to my age, you start to believe a lot of things.”

Later, Bonnie convinces herself that her Grams had just been drunk. Though, a part of her still wants to ask her Grams what she truly thought the dream had meant. Bonnie knew there was something more she didn’t tell her.

But she never had the chance to get an answer. With her Grams taken away from her and a bunch of 200 year old vampires released from their tomb, her cryptic dream seemed so much less important. The dream returns to her every so often, but she has less and less time to ponder on it as her life becomes entrenched in the supernatural.

That is, until she met Klaus.

Xxxx

Bonnie is almost certain that Alaric is drunk. That’s not exactly new for him, but he at least usually makes an effort to be sober when he’s teaching.

After having to ask one of his students what they were learning, he looks about ready to just leave the classroom when he finds out they're still covering the 1960’s.

“Right, the sixties.”

Ric starts to turn towards the chalkboard, and his eyes scan the classroom. His gaze slides from Stefan to Elena and then towards Bonnie.

He freezes mid step and nearly stumbles, his eyes still locked on Bonnie. The slight smirk that was on his lips falls. For a second, he just stares at her, frozen, with his eyes wide and his mouth just barely agape. There’s confusion in his eyes which turns to horror.

For some reason, Bonnie thinks of her Grams and the strange look in her eyes when Bonnie had told her about her recurring dream. That same feeling, when someone who she knows stares at her in a way she had never seen before. Unlike Grams, Alaric doesn’t look at her as if she’s a stranger. He sees her and he knows her, but he still looks at her like she isn’t supposed to be there.

He looks at her as if he’s looking at a ghost.

“Oh, fucking hell.”

There are scattered giggles among the students when their history teacher curses under his breath. He recovers quickly from the outburst, turning back to the chalkboard. The chalk piece in his hand scratches loudly on the board from the way Alaric aggressively writes ‘the 60’s’ in large messy letters. Bonnie swears that she hears the chalk crack in his hands from how hard he grips it.

Even when released from his eerie stare, Bonnie glances around self-consciously, wondering what could have made him look at her the way he did. Is something wrong with him? Is something wrong with her?

When he turns back to the class, there is no sign of the haunted look he had before. Just a lazy smile on his lips as he goes on a very odd rant about why the 60’s were terrible. All the while, he never once looks in Bonnie’s direction again, making her wonder if she had imagined it.

She reassures herself that Ric’s bizarre behaviour is because he is definitely drunk.

Xxx

Alaric calls in sick the next day. And the day after that.

Bonnie might have been more concerned about him if she wasn’t dealing with her own stressors. Between the overwhelming power flowing through her, Jeremy hounding her, and the imminent danger that seems to cling to Elena. Bonnie has plenty to focus on besides Alaric and whatever the hell is going on with him.

She doesn’t see him again until the night of the 60’s decade dance.

He shows up while she is alone, after Jeremy sulks off. Her boyfriend isn’t exactly pleased about the danger that came with harnessing the magic of 100 dead Bennett witches.

“Bonnie. Can I talk to you privately?” Alaric seems more like himself, though she isn’t sure why he would want to talk to her privately. Maybe it has something to do with the way he stared at her during history class. Or maybe Jeremy had told him about her potentially deadly boost in power.

Bonnie casts a quick glance at Elena, making sure she is still dancing with Stefan, before turning to follow Alaric into the hall.

Alaric leads her through the school, further and further away from the dance.

“Where are we going?” she asks, having to jog in order to keep up with his stride.

He doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Just a little further.”

Bonnie can see the doors to the cafeteria are just ahead of them. They are practically on the other side of the school from where the dance is being held. Far from the safety of the crowd. Far from any of her friends.

Bonnie stops in her tracks. “What’s going on, Ric?”

Alaric stops walking when she stops following him. When he turns towards her, she can see the glassy quality in his eyes, as if he’s not fully there.

“I have to bring you to him,” he says, not even a trace of emotion in his voice.

Slowly, the realization dawns on Bonnie that he's been compelled.

“He’s waiting for you. In there.” Alaric points to the cafeteria doors.

Bonnie knows in her bones who he’s talking about and her insides twist so violently she thinks she might throw up on the spot.

Klaus.

He’s there. He compelled Alaric to lure her to him. He knows about her and he is going to kill her if she goes through those doors.

Suddenly, her situation becomes far too real.

Before, she was able to convince herself that she could handle it. That she could find a way to survive whatever massive spell was needed to take down someone like Klaus. And if she didn’t survive, at least she would be doing something good. Saving her loved ones and ridding the world of an ancient evil vampire who seems to be regarded as history’s greatest villain. It would be a good death. A noble death.

But now that death is far too close to her, only a few small steps away, and all she can do is remain rooted in place.

She’s only seventeen years old. She never graduated highschool. She never went to college. She never got married or had a family.

She didn’t want to die yet.

Alaric moves and Bonnie finches violently when he starts walking towards her. She knows she can snap his neck with a flick of her wrist, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. But if Klaus has him compelled, she might not have a choice.

Instead of trying to grab her and drag her towards those doors as Bonnie expects him to, Alaric walks straight past her. Back in the direction of the dance.

When he is out of sight, Bonnie whips around towards the cafeteria entrance again. But no ancient vampire emerges to try and kill her. Despite her shaky breathing and how her heart hammers against her ribcage, everything stays painfully quiet and horribly still.

He’s waiting for her.

The primal urge to run rises up from deep in her gut and nearly chokes her.

Instead, Bonnie steps forward.

When she peers through the open doors, there is only one person inside. A young man leans back in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on the table, fiddling with something in his hands. She knows he can hear her footsteps with his vampire senses, but he doesn’t even look up at her as she enters. Whatever he has in his hands has his full attention.

When he does finally look at her, Bonnie is struck by how young he is. And how pretty he is, with his sandy blonde hair and wicked grin. Like the college boys she used to flirt with when she would visit her Grams at Whitmore.

“What took you so long?” he asks, and she immediately notes his soft voice and accent.

Bonnie doesn’t answer. She just stares at him as he swings his legs off the table and stands to his full height.

“Hello Bonnie,” he greets her with a wide smile, clasping his hands behind his back. “I assume you already know who I am.”

Her eyes narrow and every muscle fibre within her becomes as taught as a bowstring. “Klaus.”

“Surprise,” he beams, a cheerful lilt in his voice as he takes a step towards her. “I heard you’re planning to kill me.”

Bonnie takes a step back and clenches her fists. She can feel the magic crackling in her palms and the lights around them flicker. ”Is that why you compelled Alaric to bring me here? So you could kill me first?”

“No,” he counters. ”I had your history teacher bring you here so we could chat.”

Bonnie’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and suspicion. “About what?“

“I need to kill the doppelganger,” he asserts, his voice unyielding and his eyes as cold as ice. “I’ve waited far too long to break this curse and I am not going to back out now. Not even for your sake.”

Not even for her sake? What is that supposed to mean?

Despite her confusion, Bonnie doesn’t waste time pondering his words. “I’m not going to let you hurt her. If you come after Elena, I will kill you.”

Klaus tilts his head and a strange smile settles on his lips. ”What if I offered a compromise?”

This time, Bonnie is stunned into silence, unsure of what kind of compromise he could be suggesting. Her confusion must be evident because he decides to keep elaborating.

“There’s a loophole. A way for Elena to survive the ritual,” he explains, almost casual in his tone. He seems to be amused by the shock his words elicit, because his smile grows even more wide. “An elixir my brother had made for Katerina 500 years ago. One that will allow the curse to be broken while ensuring the doppelganger doesn’t die.” He pauses. “At least not permanently.”

All Bonnie can do is stare at him as his words echo in her skull. He has a miracle elixir that will ensure Elena doesn't die? He has a brother?

This confrontation is turning out to be infinitely more bizarre than she had anticipated. Bonnie assumed this guy would be trying to kill her as soon as he set his sights on her. Why is he trying to bargain with her instead?

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Klaus says, and his simple denial nearly drives her into a fury.

“Why would you do that?” she asks, and her frustration slips into her voice.

As her anger rises, the power simmers under skin and the lights around her flicker and stray flyers flutter. Klaus remains annoyingly unfazed by it all, seeming to be more interested in her power than threatened. This bastard has kept her spiraling since he started talking, while she slowly loses the nerve she had worked up in order to kill him.

“Because I know it would hurt you if she died. And that’s the last thing I would want.”

What the hell is this? What is this guy’s game?

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Bonnie hisses through gritted teeth, regarding him with suspicion.

Klaus simply shrugs with that irritating, dimpled grin still plastered on his face. “You'll just have to trust me.”

“Or I can just kill you now,” she says, her voice as cold and hard as steel even as her heart stutters in her chest. “Before you hurt anyone else.“

Klaus stops smiling, but he doesn’t falter. “We both know that using the amount of magic it would take to kill me, would also kill you.”

Bonnie nods at his statement, because she knows it’s true. ”But no one else would need to die. Just you and me.”

She can see it, the moment his composure cracks like an egg. Her steadfast assertion that she was more than willing to die in order to kill him seems to grate on his nerves. There is a stormy rage in his eyes for a second, and she thinks he might actually try to attack her. Instead, his livid expression is smothered and replaced with a smug smirk.

“Hmm. Just you and me,” he echoes and his voice is soft as velvet. “That’s almost romantic.”

This finally sets Bonnie off, and her magic flares. The lights overhead surge with electricity until the bulbs burst. Sparks shower down on them and scattered papers whirl around the room.

Klaus isn’t bothered by her display of power. “You’re not going to kill me.”

”You think I can’t?” she challenges as more lights surge and shatter in the hallway

”Oh, I know that you can,” he chuckles. “But you won’t. And I have no intention of killing you.”

Before she even has the chance to blink, he rushes her. She’s pinned against the wall, one hand holding her waist while the other grips her wrist. Klaus’ face is so close that she can see the stormy blue colour of his irises.

For a second, she thinks he’s going to bite her, but instead he just leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as if he is trying to steady himself. As if he is a ship lost at sea that has finally found his anchor.

Bonnie knows she should attack him. She should use all her magic, all the power of her ancestors, to throw him off of her and crush his heart until it bursts. But the tender way he holds her and the vulnerable, agonized look on his face stays her hand.

He pulls her hand up to his chest and presses her palm over his dead heart.

Bonnie almost finds herself forgetting everything - where she is and who she is with - when she sees the raw pain in his eyes when he opens them again. Those eyes that she suddenly registers as familiar.

Those same blue eyes. That same sandy blonde hair. That same dimpled smile.

She is too stunned to move. Too stunned to speak. She doesn’t even rip her hand away when he releases the hold on her waist and her wrist.

Her palm stays pressed against his chest.

She only starts to come to her senses when she becomes aware that he is tying something off around her wrist.

“I’m yours and you’re mine. Just as you promised.“

Klaus pulls away then, slowly. On instinct, Bonnie draws her arm protectively to her chest. Her skin still hums from where he held her. There was that feeling of death that came with the touch of every vampire. But there is another feeling beneath that. A warm and familiar tingling in her fingers.

“I won’t kill you,” he says, though Bonnie can barely hear him. “And I know you won’t kill me.”

Bonnie looks down at the bracelet he tied around her wrist and her stomach drops like a stone. A wooden pendant, shaped like a butterfly, attached to a leather strap. The same pendant that had been floating in her dreams for years.

The one he had carved himself. Just for her.

Klaus steps away from her. “Once you’re ready to accept that, come find me.”

When Bonnie looks up again, Klaus is already gone.

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity; Invisible String

series masterlist

i was going to include this in chapter seventeen to break up the angst a bit...but then i thought i'd just do it as its own separate piece so that they have a chance to explore their love without there being as much (because i couldn't help myself) angst overshadowing this pivotal moment for meadow and matty....there is also an important (not very subtle) easter egg regarding the storyline that will be delved into in a later chapter....anyway this takes place between chapter 16 & 17 xxx

warning: 18+ content, fingering, piv, soft smut, declarations of loooove!!

~∞~

After the Order members had left, with plans of meeting privately to discuss Professor Dumbledore's funeral and what they were supposed to do in the wake of the harrowing battle, Madam Pomfrey had made her way over to you to check on the wounds that littered your abdomen, and with a flick of her wand, they became faint lines of jagged silver as they scarred over. Shortly after that, she'd declared you okay and insisted that you get some rest in a proper bed. It was probably also to make space for the students, part of Dumbledore's Army, who had also been injured in the battle.

You and Mattheo left shortly after that, but not before Ron came up to you and wrapped you in a hug, tears leaking from his dull blue eyes. No words were needed, you knew what his actions meant. You held him tighter, even as his parents beckoned him to his brother's bed.

The castle halls are eerily silent as you walk hand in hand with Mattheo. Even the portraits don't stir at the harsh glow of his lit wand, as if they were grieving for the loss of Dumbledore in their own way. The two of you are the only disturbance in the still atmosphere, your soft breathes and light footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor.

Neither of you had wanted to venture near the Astronomy tower again, afraid that the sight of the now spotless hallways would spark harsh reminders of the bloodshed and carnage that had swept through them like a petulant disease only hours before. So wordlessly, Mattheo had begun leading you towards the dungeons, his body heat sheltering you from the chilly bite in the air.

The Slytherin common room was mysteriously desolate when you entered behind him. Not a soul to be found under the dim glow of the Black Lake's murky waters; only the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth and the gentle ripple of the current against the windows could be heard over your mingling breathes.

"Where is everyone?" You ask, cringing instantly as your voice becomes agonisingly loud in the silence, despite your words being spoken with quiet cadence.

"In bed I assume, or gone." Mattheo responded with a low rasp. "It wouldn't surprise me if news has already spread and parents are collecting their children to return home."

You respond with a soft "oh", as you follow him up the stairs to his dorm.

"Draco's gone." He continued as he unlocked the dark oak door leading to his dorm. "So are Blaise and Pansy. Enzo and Theo are still here, but they'll leave soon too."

"Why didn't you tell me anything before? I deserved to know that my friendships started out as a means to an end." You ask him as you enter his room. He's silent as he observes you from the threshold, brows creased in thought.

"I would've told you eventually. There was never a good enough time though. And it wasn't a means to an end, love." Your about to retort but he continues as if you hadn't opened your mouth to speak. "It felt like the right thing to do, to tell you when I did."

"To gain The Order's trust?" You ask, running a hand through your hair.

"Exactly. Though I doubt it's done much to sway them."

"What happens now?" You ask hesitantly, reaching and squeezing his hand.

Mattheo gently guides you to where his bed sits in the corner of his room, allowing you to find a comfortable position before he finds his own one behind you. He pulls your back to rest snugly against his chest, cradling your body to his own with strong, protecting arms as your heartbeats synced as one.

"I don't know, darling. But we'll face it together." He says as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. The two of you rest in stagnant silence, unsure of what tonight's happenings meant for the world as you knew it.

~∞~

A little while later, you turn to face him, restless anxiety clawing at your insides. Mattheo's curly, deep brunette hair has fallen haphazardly across his forehead and his onyx eyes, framed by glorious lashes, shine bright, despite all that they had witnessed in the past few hours. He has a soft smile painting his face as he admires you in tandem, although you can see his poorly hidden concern for you reflecting behind the tenderness. Each breath you take, he mirrors and your racing heart slows to a relaxing lull in your ears. Unhurriedly, you bring a hand up to his face and brush the loose curls away from his eyes, a tender look overtaking your fatigue.

"I meant what I said in the ward." He mumbles, voice betraying how exhausted he was, too.

"Yeah?" You ask, your smile widening imperceptibly. You fingers caress his face with featherlight strokes as you trace the freckles and scars that are scattered across his cheeks. Your eyes are now alight with teasing mischief as if daring him to say the words aloud, all sense of tiredness having left your face in the wake of it.

"Yes, Meadow." He responds with a quiet snicker as he pokes your side. His eyes glow with serene happiness as he watches you squirm and giggle, watches the despondency leave your pretty face. "Did you ever take me for a liar, sweetheart?"

"No." You say breathlessly as he continues to stroke at your trouser covered hips. "Never."

I want to hear you say it. You implore wordlessly. Please.

He kisses you then. It's not hard and rough and passionate like his caresses always are. Instead, it's soft and slow and entirely all consuming, like the very first time, but infinitely better. Every emotion he's ever felt for you coarses through your veins as his tongue clashes against your's.

"I love you." He says breathless and low against your lips. You kiss him with a newfound fervour, pouring your every thought and every emotion, intertwining your soul with his. Your magic practically explodes around you, casting a warm indigo glow about the dorm room, illuminating his features; guiding shadows in a dance across his face.

He looks at you in awe as you both admire the way his own magic seems to tangle seemlessly with it. Whorls of indigo and silver flicker in pretty patterns that seem to pour out around you like a smattering of a million tiny stars.

My incredible, smart girl. He tells you with a wide smile on his face as he looks at you, admiringly. You flush under his intense stare.

You undress each other with practiced fluidity until you are both blissfully nude; no barriers separating you from the other, all vulnerabilities splayed out in the open. He rolls on top of you and presses your hands above your head with one of his as his other trails lightly down your stomach, tracing the new lines of scars which seem to twinkle under the faux starlight. He presses soft kisses to the marred skin, words of love and adoration melting into you as he presses away the new insecurities without even trying.

He eventually works one finger, and then two inside you as his thumb strokes idle patterns against your clit. You mewl at his practiced ministrations as he fingers you, slow and rough, in the way he knows you love, despite never having said it out loud before.

The noises you make bring a delighted smirk to his pretty lips and he speeds up his movements almost unnoticeably to bring you close to release; teasing you through one orgasm before letting a second rush through you, all while drinking in every sound; every expression that you let overcome your flushed face.

It feels like an eternity later that he finally sheathes himself inside you, every ridge of his cock brushing sensually against your most sensitive spots as he sets a leisurely pace – starting slowly before he finds a particular rhythm that has the both of you moaning in unison. His arms are braced at either side of your head, careful not to snag on your hair which is haphazardly fanning out on the pillow beneath your head. The muscles in his biceps flex with every push and pull of his body, his core tense with the exertion of making you feel like you're walking on clouds.

Your own hands are on a journey of their own, travelling along the defined muscles of his abdomen and across his strong hips, until a particularly deep thrust from Mattheo causes you to claw at the soft skin of his back, willing him to come closer to you. The scars that litter his skin are blissfully joined by marks of your making, marks that he wishes could stay there forever in place of the others.

Where he's left love bites on your skin, you eagerly return the favour as best as you're able. Leaving deep purple marks across his chest and clavicle with your kiss-swollen lips that happily migrate from his body to his own lips as much as possible.

"I love you." You whisper against him and he lets out a barely restrained groan as he thrusts even harder into you at your admission. Satisfaction thrummed through his veins at the whiny sound you let out in response.

"Say that again." He says, pressing hard kisses to your chest, leaving more delicious marks in his wake.

"I love you, Mattheo Riddle." You repeat, a moan catching in your throat as you begin to reach your peak for a third time. "You have my whole heart. Break it. Crush it. Decimate it. Do what you must, but please know that it's yours. It will always be yours. I love you."

The both of you are pushed over the edge at that, clinging to eachother's bodies, which are slick with sweat. The euphoria causes your intertwining magic to surge around you again, and you both feel how it sparks at your very souls, the feeling never ceasing, only growing as you allow your love to manifest and flourish like its very own entity.

Neither of you want the intoxicating feeling to end, content in basking in the sensation, if only to prolong the immense amount of love that radiates from your magical cores.

"I love you, darling." He mumbles into the skin of your shoulder, exhausted and spent, breathing in the scent of you; the soft floral hint of your perfume that seems to linger despite the raging battle you'd been in and the musky scent of the sweat that clings to your skin.

You press a kiss to his own shoulder as his body flops to land beside your's on top of ruffled emerald sheets. Your interwoven magic still permeates the air, seemingly in no hurry to dissipate any time soon and you can feel it, along with Mattheo's deep in your chest. By the look on his face, he's feeling its affects too.

"That was–" You mumble with a breathless giggle, fingers trailing patterns across his marked skin.

"All consuming." He agrees with a lethargic chuckle of his own before he's pulling your body into his again, magically rearranging the sheets so that the two of you are modestly covered.

"Can you feel something-" You start, but are unable to put this new sensation into words as he gazes down at you with soft eyes. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Different? Like my magic isn't entirely my own anymore?" He wonders aloud and you find that he's voiced your exact feelings.

"Yeah. Precisely like that, actually." You say. "It's like I've unconsciously absorbed your magic again. I'm sorry-"

His lips against your's prevent your apology from fully forming and he's looking at you with such a tender expression that makes you melt.

"I'm not sure it is your siphoning, love. It's different. I can feel your's too." He says with lightly furrowed brows.

"How strange." You mumble, a yawn escaping your lips. Mattheo manoeuvres you so that you're practically chest to chest as he lies on his back, letting your aching nipples brush against his strong pecks as he wraps his arms around you.

You breathe out a content sigh that causes a shudder to rush through him as it ghosts over the sensitive skin of his neck. The impact of your shared love and intertwining cores feels like a supernova swirling inside you.

The fate of the wizarding world, and your own fate, is a haze of unknown territory, but you were entirely certain of one thing; Mattheo held your heart in his hands, and he had no intention of ever letting it go.

~∞~

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@whatsupb18

[shegatsby]

Hi,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where he is in love with Alana‘s best friend? He met her after she picked up Alana from one of his dinners? And Alana often tries to set them up, with the reader being pretty stubborn, but after a while, finally gives in?

A/N: Hi, thank you for this request. Don't wory guys im getting to your other requests as well. xxx

''Pretty please!'' you heard Alana's honeyed voice yet demanding. You were at home, minding your own business, reading and drinking your wine when suddenly your friend Alana called, asking you to pick her up from a friend's dinner party. ''What happened to your car?'' Alana paused for a second, she came up with a quick lie ''Broke down a week ago.'' you looked outside the window and saw the darkness, under the yellow street lights one could see snow. ''Send me the address.'' Little did you and a certain gentleman know that Alana had a cunning plan. You wore a simple outfit, black jeans, a burgundy sweater, with your keys you left the comfort of your home.

The drive was 20 minutes, when you parked you felt as if you have entered Dracula's castle. ''The owner of the house must be into architecture.'' you thought.

When you rang the bell you had a feeling that tonight something strange would happen but you pushed that feeling away, no need to be paranoid.

A tall man answered the door, and made you freeze for a second. He was much taller than you, his maroon eyes seemed like the pits of a deep wheel, observing you and calling for you, ''Hello, I am Doctor Lecter. Please come in.'' you walked in with a bluch on your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were flustered. He took your coat, ''I am Y/N Y/L/N, Alana's friend. Here to pick her up.'' you said calmly as he took your coat you didn't notice but his eyes closed for a second to smell your scent and he found himself intrigued. ''Please follow me.'' you did as he said, he guided you to the grand living room where Alana was sitting by the fire place, as soon as you entered you were struck by the ambiance. The inside made you feel like you were in a museum, the walls were dark blue which held paintings from renaissance era, mostly depictions of ancient Greek tales. You fund yourself standing in front of the painting of ''Leda and the Swan''

''You are interested in fine art I take it?'' you heard Hannibal say with a cool yet interested tone. Before you could speak Alana's voice was heard ''Yes, my friend is deeply interested in art.'' you gave a threatning look to your friend and turned to Hannibal, ''Yes, I'm in awe of what men can create.''

Hannibal found your answer daring, you could see his eyebrow twitch, ''If you have to I would love to offer you a warm cup of tea?'' he offered kindly, you looked at Alana, wondering if she had to go home immediately but she nodded in agreement. ''I would love that. Thank you.''

''I will be back shortly.'' he declared and left you alone with Alana.

Alana had a strange look on her face as she sat by the fire again, ''He is fine isn't he?'' she asked trying to conceal her smirk, you rolled your eyes and sat next to your friend. ''What's your angle?'' you turned to your friend, obviously she was after something. Her blue eyes had a strange shimmer. Hannibal walked in with a silver tray that had three cups, you noticed how he held the tray elegantly his three piece suit made him look like a member of a royal family far away from here. You noticed his accent, he must be from Lithuania, an exotic place and exotic man...

''Thank you.'' you said she handed you the porcelain cup, it smelled divine, ''My pleasure.'' he responded kindly. It also tasted divine.

Even though you had spent thirty minutes there you loved the conversation, he was konwledgeable about everything and he was willing to listen, you noticed how focused his eyes were on your reactions and face.

You dropped your friend off and drove back home. When you climbed the bed your mind went back to tonight's events. Doctor Lecter's demeanor made you aware of him, he was there and dominant. It triggered you in an exciting way.

The next morning you went to work, you worked at a bookshop, the owner was an old lady who needed help and you started working, it had been 2 years and you were comfortable there.

As you placed the books on the shelves you heard the door open, a dominant voice called in a disbelief ''Miss Y/LN?'' you turned to owner of the voice, ''Doctor Lecter?'' you were startled to see him there, ''H-hi, how are you?'' you stood up to approach him, he was wearing a long black coat, black leather gloves and a dark red scarf, he immediately took off his gloves and extended his hand eagerly, ''Its lovely to see you here Miss, I'm very well, what about you?'' he smiled and you swore his eyes shimmered with an emotion... a powerful one.

''I'm doing great, what brings you here?'' you asked in a curious manner.

''I'm on a break and I thought I should look for a new book to read. I had no idea you were working here.'' Lie... Last night ss soon as you left he did a deep dive search on you and thanks to your Instagram he found a lot about you.

''What a grea idea. Anything speacial in mind?''

He looked around for a second, ''I would love to hear your recommendation.''

He was looking at you so intensely, ''Well,'' you started, ''My favorite is Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald.''

He took a step towards you, once again you were reminded how tall he was, tovering above you, ''May I ask why?'' his dark mind observing you, ''Its a love story and im sucker for those,'' you chuckled which earned you a grin from him, ''There was a line there which stroke a cord with me,'' you stopped to think for a second, trying to remember, ''He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.'' you gave the quote, ''Its just.. a great story.'' you were gas and his eyes were matched, lighting you up.

''Its a shame,'' he made you focus on him, you thought he was going to humiliate you, ''All the credit goes to Fitzgerald in fact his wife Zelda was the one who he stole the ideas from.'' your eyes lit up, he knew.

''Another white man getting a credit from something a woman had done. Same old story.'' you commented, he raised his hands as defending in a sarcastic manner, ''You said it, not me.'' you laughed at his reaction.

After talking for a while he offered you something, ''I will be throwing another dinner party next week. I would love to see you there.''

You smiled gently, ''I would love that.''

The entire week you pondered upon what to wear, and the day finally came. Alana was at your home watching you get ready, ''Wow, he really invited you huh? I knew he was interested in you since the second he saw you.''

You rolled your eyes, ''Its not like that, he is friendly.'' you protested as you wore a nice black dress, ''I know him, he never invites other than his work friends, you are the first person from outside his work and... you know what? You'll see what I'm talking about.'' Alana raised her hands in a weary attitude.

When you entered his home you understood what Alana was trying to say, everyone came from a successful background and they were all one way or another his colleagues, she was right. You were an outsider. Alana introduced you to her team she kept talking about, Will Graham, Jack Crawford and others, you had a nice chat when Hannibal approached, his eyes first landed on Will, who waa talking to you, and then you. ''I see you met my close friends.'' he said greeting you, ''Will was just talking about a case you and him worked on.''

His stood next to you and his hand went to the small of your back, you didn't understand what was going on, but he was directly facing Wil.. ''Please Will, go on.'' his tone was careful. ''Uhh-'' Will froze for a second, he looked at you and Hannibal and then smiled understandingly. You still didn't understand what was going on but let it go.

The night was vibrant, you met most of his colleagues and they were nice and kind but everytime he introduced you to someone new he would place his hand on your back and stood there like a statue.

When the night came to an end Alana left you with him, you decided to help him in the kitchen, he gave you an apron and you got to work. He played some classical music, you heard Hildegard Von Bingen and smiled to yourself, he noticed, ''I love Hildegard.'' you explained shortly. Together you worked in silence, ''Thank you for helping.'' he said gently and you smiled kindly. He offered a glass of wine and asked you to wait in the living room, the fireplace was lit, you decided to stand by the tall window and watch the serene night.

Hannibal walked in with two glasses and for few seconds he watched you, you looked calm and content. He approached and offered you a glass, ''Thank you.'' he smiled kindly and decided to stand next to you, a question was nagging you, ''Alana said that you usually invite your colleagues.'' you began, ''That is true.'' he said waiting for you to continue, ''What am I doing here then?'' you asked turning to him, looking at him under your lashes, ''I wanted you to mee to my friends and be a part of my life.'' he was so frank that it caught you off guard, '' You have captured me the moment I had met you Y/N, you don't have to say anything just think about it.''

''Yes.'' you found yourself saying, ''I want to be with you too Hannibal.''

He smiled lovingly and leaned in for a kiss.

Thank you for reading. :)

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: babies and pregnancy

Part XXX

Tamlin was sitting on sofa enjoying beautiful sunny day from private balcony of his bedchamber. Well, your bedchamber. Since the day he married you, he felt nothing but endless happiness and joy. To him everyday was like a dream. His home used to be a cold, dangerous, unwelcoming place where his own family ignored him or threatened him. With you it changed into something he never experienced, something he never dared to even dream about. Every room and hall that held bad memories turned into his favourite place full of warm rays of sun as soon as you walked through. He couldn't believe his luck, spending every minute of every day praying and thanking to the Mother for giving him such a gift.

With one leg up on the sofa, back leaning against the armrest, he held a stack of documents in one hand, the other one rested on your waist. You were settled between his legs, back leaning against his broad chest.

You were reading a book that you found in library some time ago. It was one of his mother's favourite ones, just some romance, but you couldn't put it down. Tamlin liked to watch you while you were reading, waiting for the moment you got so engrossed in the story that you stopped paying attention to your surrounding. He loved to see how your expression changed based on what you read, showing all kinds of emotions. If he didn't have so many responsibilities, he would just sit and watch you for hours without getting bored.

Since he returned to his duties, he was very busy, sometimes even leaving estate for several days to take care of issues on borders or distant corners of the Spring Court. This Court was completely ruined and it was pretty hard to restore it back to its original state. No need to say that Tamlin decided to take advantage of this opportunity and change things he didn't like. Because not all of the traditions and rules that previous High Lords established, were good. On top of that whole Prythian was slowly changing thanks to all new young High Lords with dreams or rather visions of better future. Tamlin wanted the same for his Court. And he did really good job so far.

Villages, cities and roads between them were repaired and rebuilt, new rules gave hope to all, whether poor or rich, for better tomorrow. Hearing about all the changes, not only original inhabitants of this beautiful country had came back, a lot of new Faes decided to move in here, too.

So as could be seen, High Lord of Spring had his hands full. However, whenever he could, he spent as much time as possible with you, even when he was working. Just like now. Your presence made him feel better whenever he felt down and you did your best to support him and help him with his duties.

Tamlin put down documents he was holding, on the table that he moved closer to the sofa for this purpose and took another one. He quickly skimmed it with his eyes.

"Little rose, your brother wants to see you. He's coming today's afternoon," he informed you.

"Really?" You put your book down, looking up at him with smile. You hadn't heard from Rhys much since the wedding. You were so worried. Lately he started to at least write you more often, but his letters were hectic and none of them explained what's going on. Tamlin seemed to know something though. When you were trying to get it out of him, he just declared that he promised to not speak about it. So you could only wait for your brother to tell you the reason.

Tamlin gently kissed your forehead, nuzzling to your hair and rubbed your belly. "He wants you to officially meet someone," he breathed out and handed you the letter to read.

"Do you know who could it be?"

"I have a certain idea, but I might be wrong," he laughed. His other arm wrapped around you, tugging you closer, so he could reach your lips.

You moaned to his mouth, turning over to him. Your hand slipped down to his crotch and to the bulge you felt there.

Pulling away he sighed. "I still have a few documents that I have to go through. Tonight," he promised and pecked your cheek.

"I already can't wait," you muttered, resting your head in the crook of his neck so you could drown yourself in his rich scent.

You smiled. "Will we tell them?" you asked after a while.

Tamlin frowned. "I'm not sure. I think that we should wait a bit longer," he said uncertainly. "Until it's safe."

You pursed your lips.

"But if you want," he added quickly. "Maybe we could wait to see who they'll bring with them and then decide."

"That sounds great," you smiled, satisfied. Your husband was a decisive male as you recently found out, even harsh in some ways, and he definitely knew how to get his way. A soldier indeed. But when it came to you, he had a soft spot for you and never tried to push you into something you didn't like or want, and rather let you make your own choices.

The morning passed quickly and just as was stated in his letter, Rhysand came on time. And he wasn't alone. Feyre was standing right beside him with a small bundle in her arms. The bundle moved and small voice echoed through the hall. You gaped at them in awe. Tamlin watched you with interest with a hardly there smile.

Rhys proudly grinned seeing your expression. He took the bundle from Feyre and together they stepped closer. "Y/N, Tamlin, I'd love to introduce you Nyx, our son."

A small fist flew out of the blanket and little baby made a satisfied sound. Apparently he didn't like to be swaddled much.

"Hello," you cooed at him offering him a finger. He immediately grabbed on it and giggled. It was a lovely baby with tuft of dark fine hair and tan skin of his father, and bright blue eyes inherited from his mum.

"So this is what you were hiding," you said softly holding Nyx's hand and gently rubbing his soft skin with thumb.

"Well," Rhys suddenly got serious. "It was quite a complicated situation." The blanket disappeared and you spotted a small pair of black wings on Nyx's back.

You gasped. It was well known that it was impossible for females who didn't have at least pinch of Illyrian blood, to give birth to baby with such wings. There weren't many cases of Illyrian male choosing female outside of the camps, but when it happened and female got pregnant, it usually ended with her and baby's death.

Your eyes shot up to Feyre, looking at her carefully. She was little bit pale and tired, but otherwise she seemed to be fine.

"How..?" You couldn't finish your sentence.

"Well, it wasn't exactly easy," Feyre smiled sadly and waved her hand. "It's quite a long story, maybe we should rather skip that. It's nothing interesting, really."

"And bloody one. You almost died," Rhys grunted. Now you understood why he looked so bad when you saw him the last time. He was desperately looking for a way to save his mate and unborn child. Even if he asked you, you couldn't help them, but he could at least confide with his worries.

"But thanks to Nesta, it didn't happen," Feyre gave him a look. "She came just in time and used whatever powers she snatched from Cauldron to safe me and Nyx."

Your shoulders slumped and you turned to your brother. "So that was what worried you? Can you imagine how much worried I have been, knowing that there is something going on and you don't want to tell me about it? If I knew we could tried to help you looking for a solution together."

"I told Tamlin and asked him for help. I didn't want you to be involved in this. I didn't want to stain your happiness. After everything that happened to you, you deserve it more than anything."

"Do you think I could be happy if someone from my family died without me even knowing there was something going on?" You hissed.

Angry, you turned to your husband to confirm that he really knew about this.

Tamlin next to you cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable. "It's true. He told me the day we informed him about our engagement. I tried to help and transform the wings before the birth but it didn't work."

Feyre's brows knitted together. Apparently she didn't know that he visited Velaris and tried to save her. Neither did you.

You narrowed eyes on him. You clearly remembered when he told you that he knew what was going on in Night Court, but that he promised not to tell you. You really shouldn't be angry with him but only with your brother because it was his doing, but still you were a bit angry.

Feyre noticed the change of mood and came with different topic.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry I missed your wedding. I've heard it was beautiful and I'd love to learn more details later if you don't mind. I hope the two of you are truly happy."

"Yes, we are very happy," Tamlin was faster and answered in a reserved voice, pulling you closer to his side. He was trying to be polite and smiled at her, but you felt tips of his claws looming under his skin.

It was the first time he paid her any attention. Since they came, Tamlin didn't as much as looked in her direction. It must have been hard for him to meet her in person again after everything that happened between them. Feyre also seemed to have problems to look directly at him.

She stepped a bit forward and cleared her throat.

"It's okay if you say no, Tamlin, but could we have a word? It will be quick, I promise," Feyre bit on her bottom lip.

He didn't need to ask for permission, yet he did it anyway. Tamlin looked down at you and fingers of his hand on your hip clenched into your loose dress. You squeezed his hand, nodding. He leaned in and kissed you before he left with Feyre. Whatever it was, you hoped they could solve it and find it in them to at least forgive each other. You liked your brother and Feyre, and you'd really like for both of your families to meet up from time to time and enjoy those moments together. You watched them until they turned around the corner and then turned to your brother and small Nyx who seemed to feel so comfortable in arms of his father that he fell asleep.

"You really could have said something," you said in small voice trying not to wake up the baby, watching his lovely face.

"I'm sorry. I- I just.. I was so scared," He admitted, watching his son with love. "I couldn't even imagine loosing them, living without them. I felt that when I tell you, it'd be definite, ultimate, that there would be no hope left."

You huffed. "Why even bother to imagine such things. You wouldn't have to live without them. You would die together with them," you sighed heavily, tears stinging your eyes. The realisation of how close you were to loosing your brother suddenly hit you.

"You remember," he snorted.

"Of course, I do. You gamble with your own life. I understand why you two did what you did, but still. Imagine she would have really died with you following after her soon. What would happen with Night Court?"

At that moment, Tamlin and Feyre came back, saving Rhysand from answering. You breathed a sigh of relief when they seemed to feel somehow more comfortable in each others presence. You were sure Tamlin would tell you what they talked about later. He stepped to you, kissed you with a soft smile and his hand once again found its place on your hip.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing interesting, really. Just some siblings nonsense."

"I see. It seems someone was so bored that he fell asleep," he nodded to little baby, now sleeping in Feyre's arms.

You chuckled. "Do you want to tell them?"

"And you?" He asked carefully, already knowing your response in advance.

You nodded and Tamlin sighed.

"Tell us what?" Rhysand asked, always the curious one.

Tamlin just waved his hand and your scent filled the room.

"You are.." Rhys gasped, utter shock on his face.

"Pregnant?" Feyre finished for him with big smile. If she didn't hold Nyx, she would run to you and squeeze you in tight hug. "Congratulations! How far are you?"

"Well, baby is due in two months or so," you announced, smoothing your dress so they could see the rather small bump you had. Tamlin's other hand immediately lifted to your belly in a protective way. You both were worried at first, expecting that in this stage of pregnancy you would be already so big that it would be impossible to hide it. However healer assured you everything was okay and explained you that the baby was just in a very good position.

Your brother's face changed from pale to red.

"Two..? What?! So soon? Why you haven't said anything? That's your doing," Rhys spew words.

Feyre put her hand on his chest. "It's wonderful news," she told him in calm but a bit scary way. "You should be happy you'll be uncle and congratulate them, honey."

Rhys took a deep breath, thinking it over. Then he stepped closer to you and Tamlin growled. "It's my sister. I won't hurt her," he declared with narrowed eyes.

Tamlin seemingly still didn't like the idea of any male in your proximity, but he released you. Rhysand stepped even closer and carefully watching your husband, he slowly pulled you into a hug.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, for my previous reaction," he whispered to you softly. "I'm just.. surprised. I didn't expect my baby sister to grow up so soon, but I'm really happy for you and hope that everything will go smoothly. I can't wait to meet my little niece or nephew."

"Thank you," you whispered back, feeling easier, now, when even he knew about it.

Two months later

Tamlin ran across the gardens and up the stairs taking three at a time, swearing under his breath. He knew that he shouldn't have left. Nothing would happen if he postponed the visit of the farthest point of borders where they had some minor problem with supplies. He felt it coming, but you convinced him that it would be fine and you wouldn't give birth any time soon. Not even half a day had passed since he bid you farewell and you were fine back then, full of energy. The Mother had to hate him for some reason now.

As soon as he got the message, he ran all the way back. It was a big day and he didn't want to miss it by any chance. He knew that giving birth wasn't an easy task and he wanted to be there for you no matter what.

Heaving heavily and all sweaty he finally abruptly stopped before the double doors of your bedchamber. Something was amiss. He hadn't noticed it before as he hurried through halls, but the whole manor was quiet, too quiet. There should have been some kind of commotion, maids running around, screams or a baby cry. With a bad feeling and shaky hands he pushed the doors open wide. Small healer who took care of you during the whole pregnancy, emerged out as if she was waiting behind the doors for him, startling him and closed the doors behind her.

"Milord," old fae bowed. "You are late."

He swallowed hard around the lump that rose in his throat, his heart painfully squeezed and sank down. "Late? What do you mean by that?" His voice was hoarse, thick with panic. "Where is my wife? How is she? And what about the baby?"

The healer raised her hands as if trying to calm a startled animal. "Everything is okay, Milord. Milady and the baby are both healthy and fine. They are resting now."

Tamlin breathed a sigh of relief, running hand through his hair. It took him a moment to calm down his rapid heartbeat. He was in acute need of something to lean against or at least a gulp of strong alcohol. He had never felt so relieved in his entire life.

"Let me congratulate you to a healthy baby girl, Milord," healer smiled.

"A baby girl? I have a daughter?" Tamlin's eyes filled with tears of joy. His knees buckled and he almost fell down. He had to lean against the doorframe, taking another moment to process the information. "Can I see them?"

"Of course, Milord," healer bowed again, holding the doors open for him.

Nervously he stepped in and the healer closed the doors behind him. It was so quiet inside. On shaky legs he crossed the sitting room and stopped in the alcove leading to the bedroom. The door was wide open.

You were in bed, back rested against pillows. You looked so tired, but it wasn't what stopped him. It was a sight of you holding the little baby, your finger gently caressing chubby pink cheek. You were smiling down so softly at your daughter that his breath caught in his throat and Tamlin fell to his knees, momentarily overwhelmed by the emotions. His girls. The perfect picture of you two had engraved deep into his heart. Maybe some day he could ask Feyre to paint it for him. He already knew where he would hung it: to his office so he could have you two in sight even when he had to spend some time separated from you.

That's when Tamlin felt it.

All this time he was waiting, certain that you were the one, but it never happened, not until this very moment. It didn't snap for him when he proposed and you said yes nor when he saw you in that beautiful wedding dress walking toward him, not even when you spent your very first night together. It didn't really matter whether you were his mate or not, he was already so happy with you. You already were his soulmate whether the Mother blessed you two or not.

However, all it needed, was just to see you with your baby girl in arms. The bond had finally snapped for him and his stone heart came to life, moving. For the very first time in his long life he felt his heart beating, really beating, not only its echo. It was quite painful at first and he clenched the shirt on his chest in the shock, but with every beat it slowly got better and pain soon disappeared.

"I knew it," he sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You are mine. Mine."

Finally, you noticed him and looked up. You were surprised to see him on his knees, but you smiled nonetheless. "I've always been yours. Just as you are mine."

Tamlin crawled to the bed, impatient to see his daughter. His fingers trembled as he reached out, gently squeezing her tiny hand in his.

"I'm so sorry I missed it. I wanted to be here with you." He couldn't stop the tears. The little baby in your arms whom he loved so dearly even before he laid his eye at her, immediately won his heart anew. There was no way he wouldn't love her. She was perfect, a small version of you except of the hair as he could assume by few hairs that he saw.

"You are here now," you snuggled to his side. "Would you like to hold her?"

Little girl frowned as she left her mothers arms and shifted in discomfort. Tamlin expected her to start crying, but she only looked up at him with bright green eyes, yawned and again fell asleep.

Tamlin smiled as he brought her closer to his face. She smelled like you and the baby soap he had prepared for her. Small hand came to his cheek, tiny fingers trying to find something to grip on. He offered her his finger and she immediately grabbed it. Her pinky lips curled into a smile.

"She's perfect," Tamlin breathed out, unable to take his eyes off of her. "Thank you for this gift, my love. Thanks to you I'm the happiest male that ever walked this world. I love you so much."

He leaned in, giving all his gratitude into a kiss and sending a wave of love down the bond. You wrapped your arms around his neck, surge of need to be close to him overcoming you. However, the small bundle of joy between your bodies, didn't like it a bit. The both of you laughed out and snuggling together watched your little miracle.

That night Tamlin slept a deep peaceful sleep, holding both his beloved girls on his chest close to his beating heart.

Note: This was the last part (until I learn to write some good smut👀)of for now the longest story I've ever written. It was a long journey, but I had a lot of fun and learnt a ton of new things. Thanks to this story I also met a lot of new people here who are very kind and I'm very grateful for that. I'd like to thank all of you who stuck with me until the end. Hopefully you enjoyed it. This story wouldn't be what it is without you, your comments and questions, and your support. Thank you so much😘💕

And I very hope to meet you again in a new Eris' series🤞🥹🤞

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania @talesofadragon @ceoofyearning @little-nightowl

[sturnioz]

i've decided that the reason fb!chris won't kiss bun is bc he knows that if he does he'll drop down on one knee, declare his love and marry her and say he's sorry abt the frat wedding and he's gonna make this one the day of her life and it is and they have little bunny babies and everyone's happy for them the end xxx

yk what ? hell yeah..

[lex-the-flex]

A thought for this post: bobf luke meditation, plopping you in his lap (or you sit in his, whichever you prefer) and having a lil handsy makeout session 👀

Just Us

A/N: It's about time I answered this request. I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t see anything unusual. Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask, shifting closer.

"Yes, I'm fine, Y/N. But are you sure?" Luke asks.

"Yes, I'm sure. All the poison has left your system by now. The doctors checked you three times before we could come back here." You explain.

Nodding, Luke silently wishes this constant state of anxiety would just go away. He hadn't even been back for two weeks and he survived being injected with a powerful poison that nearly corroded him from the inside.

"It's like you said: both 3PO and R2 are doing their best to find the source of the toxin. Regardless if it lingered on your glove, you were still exposed, Luke." You continue.

"I know. I'm just glad I didn't make you come with me." He replies, glancing your way.

Sitting down next to him, the stone bench feels warm despite the breeze. Looking at Luke, an enormous wave of exhaustion fills his face, and you can tell he wants nothing more than sleep.

"Come on, why don't you try to take a nap? I'll go to the kitchen and made you some hot cocoa. Hopefully they still have Lando's recipe." You announce, ready to stand up from the bench.

Motioning to stand, Luke grabs your wrist, forcing you to stop. Turning to him, he quickly pulls you in his lap, arms tight around your physique. A tiny gasp overtakes your lips once you and Luke lock eyes. His bright blue orbs glow like a fresh layer of ice on top of a lake, but the bags of his eyes have the faintest hue or purple to them.

"Oh, Luke. You really should sleep." You whisper.

"I will ...as long as you're there. Please, Y/N. I just want your arms around me, that's all." Luke says, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

Silently tracing the scar above his upper lip, your hands move to the back of his neck, reminding Luke of your gentle nature.

"Of course I will. If that's what you want." You answer, leaning closer.

"It's all I want." Luke declares.

Capturing your chin with his thumb, Luke crashes his lips on yours, refusing to let go. Slowly kissing you, you fingers run through his dirty blonde hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. Running his hands down your shoulders to your hips, the fabric of your dark robes feels as soft as the Palace's silk bedding, like home in a way.

Strands of your hair tickled Luke's face and jaw, reminding him that he should shave soon. Carefully moving his grip to your waist, the sound of your kisses fills Luke's ears with a satisfying hum rising in his chest, letting him know that he was grateful to you taking care of him.

tagging~

@dreamliners

@midnightepiphany

@maybeimart

@nonbinary-tatooine

@kaleidoscope1967eyes

@dailydragon08

@eveningserenityyy

@sonofthedunes

@wicked0clouds

@tearsleftt

@thereallchristine

@partofmejustwantstosleep

@xxx-aurora-swirls

@remusstefon

@annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

@0paperairplane0

@jobean12-blog

@winter-soldier-101

@kethamine

@pantaeudaimonia

@acupnoodle

@flawroses

@xplore-the-unknwn

@tatooineknights

@myevilmouse

@edwxrdkenway

@gabbasposts

@garagesesh

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 37

read on ao3! (173k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.6k

at last, we have reached the final chapter of 'a fragile line'! thank you so much for reading, I've had the best time writing this over the past year ❤️

I will also be writing an epilogue for this story and it'll be up soon - much love xxx

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet’s eyes blinked open to the sound of gentle snoring.

She allowed her head to roll to the side, following the sound, until she found its source: Joel Miller, the man she loved, the man who loved her, asleep in a chair beside her bed. He looked exhausted, the lines on his face were more pronounced and his jaw was clenched in a way that told Juliet he wasn’t truly resting. 

Juliet inhaled a slow aching breath as her gaze slid back to the ceiling. She wondered how long Joel had been sitting beside her, how long she had been looked after, and guilt threatened to swell in her chest.

Her thoughts were cut off when the door to her old bedroom opened and Ethan’s head snuck through the gap, his eyes widened when he saw that Juliet was awake and he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. His steps were careful and quiet as his gaze darted to the man sleeping beside her and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

Ethan rounded the bed and stopped beside her before he dropped silently into the other chair. Juliet turned to him, swallowing rough as she prepared herself for bad news.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Juliet inhaled a sharp breath and allowed herself to assess her injuries. Thanks to the medication Charlotte and Ethan had brought with them, the pain from her lost finger had settled to a dull ache which flared only when she moved it. The infection had cleared up too, and Juliet had woke with a feeling of renewed clarity in her mind, the fuzziness was gone. She glanced at Joel, her eyes skimming over his face and she watched for a moment as his chest rose and fell. Charlotte had treated his head and had been monitoring his concussion closely, Juliet had watched him squirm as Charlotte disinfected his wound and told him to take it easy.

Juliet remembered the sight of him in the basement and she flinched internally. 

She turned back to Ethan who was watching her with a curious, if not worried, expression.

“Better,” Juliet answered finally, her lips tilting upwards in an effort to convince him. 

Ethan nodded, then his gaze dropped to his hands.

“We need to get out of here,” he declared, looking up at her. “Matt’s been patrolling the town and, with John dead, the people who are left are scared and hungry. Your stunt with the bodies on the front porch has been working so far but we’re days if not hours away from a group of them gathering together and coming for us.”

Juliet’s heart jumped, and she moved to sit up.

“Okay,” she murmured, processing everything Ethan said. Juliet winced when she remembered herself dragging those bodies to the porch as a brutal, violent warning to the town not to mess with her. “Let’s go then, we have the horses you came here on, we can head back to Jackson just now.” 

Ethan blinked at her, then his eyes narrowed.

“Are you sure Jackson’s where you want to go?” he questioned, and Juliet couldn’t help but notice an edge to his tone.

She stared back at him, her head tilted to the side. “Of course I do, what do you mean?”

“Just making sure you’re not going to leave again,” he replied with a shrug as he straightened his spine. 

Juliet’s breath caught as guilt wrapped itself around her throat. She had explained to Ethan, when she first woke, why she left, why she had to return here. He had been shocked, he couldn’t really understand her decision to leave and Juliet wasn’t surprised as, despite everything that her friend had been through, he always knew who he was. Ethan was smart, caring and unwaveringly positive. 

He was the bright sky on a clear day, and Juliet was the dark cloud.

Her whole life, Juliet had been an empty space, a person who was hollow inside. Elijah had filled the cavity inside her with hatred and fear, and Juliet had believed that she had no choice but to be the person he moulded her to be: timid, scared… violent. Danny’s words had hollowed her out again, leaving her as another blank slate, ready to find out who she actually was - not who she was moulded to be.

Juliet turned to Joel, quickly running her eyes over his face. He would follow her anywhere, she knew he would.

She inhaled deeply as she thought about her time in Jackson: the twinkling lights in the mess hall, the Christmas tree she decorated with Ethan, the conversations she had with Charlotte, her patrols with Matt…

Juliet lay in her childhood bed, in the house she grew up in. But it was also the house where she was abused, the house where she was nearly killed, the house where Joel beat Elijah to death.

This wasn’t home, it never was. 

Juliet’s eyes met Ethan’s. “I don’t expect you to understand why I came back here,” she started, and reached out her good hand to clasp around his. Ethan’s eyes shot to her face. “You got me out of here years ago and I can never express to you how grateful I am for that. And then, when I came back, you almost got yourself killed to get me out again,” Juliet paused, blinking away tears that blurred her vision. “I know what it cost you both times, it’s a debt I can never repay.”

Juliet took another breath. “You’re angry at me for leaving Jackson, for coming back here.” 

Ethan shifted in his chair, but he didn’t let go of her hand. 

“I deserve it,” she murmured, then raised her chin, meeting Ethan’s eyes again. “But even when I left here there was some part of me that wanted to come back,” Juliet confessed, her heart pounding. “Charlotte said that I have PTSD, and maybe some variant of stockholm syndrome, whatever that is,” she shrugged. “I thought I was going to end up like him. He only ever taught me how to hate, not to love and I … I thought that maybe being away from here was only delaying the inevitable.”

Ethan squeezed her hand.

“So when I found out that… that I didn’t actually belong here, that I had parents and a life before this. Ethan, I’m sorry but I had to know if it was true.” 

Juliet looked around the room, her gaze settling on the handcuffs attached to the radiator behind Ethan. The horrors of her childhood threatened to rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“My life was stolen from me, I know that now,” Juliet choked out. “I want to go back to Jackson, I want to make a life for myself, I want a home, I want…” she turned her head to look at Joel as he slept. “I was just surviving before, I want to live.”

Ethan huffed out a breath, then stood and enveloped her body in a tight, warm hug.

Juliet lifted her good hand to wrap around his back as the tears that had threatened her vision finally began to fall. 

“I understand,” Ethan murmured in her ear as he squeezed tighter, not willing to let go yet. “You aren’t Elijah, you aren’t what he did to you. You’re Juliet, you’re my best friend, and I love you.”

Juliet dropped her forehead to his shoulder as his words settled in the most hollow parts of her heart, taking root and healing some of the damage. 

“Thank you,” she murmured against his shirt. “Thank you for coming back here, for saving me again.” 

Ethan pulled back and looked down at her, his lips were curved into a soft smile. 

“You saved me, so I saved you. That’s how this works,” he said, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

Juliet’s eyes followed him as he moved back and stood, straightening his back as he ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were rimmed with red. 

“We’re leaving in an hour,” he announced in a thick voice. “Even with the horses, it’ll be a long journey so you should get ready.”

Juliet released a heavy, weighted sigh as she watched Ethan turn and walk out the door, then she allowed her head to drop back to her pillow. 

Ethan’s words had shifted something in her, she felt lighter, like he’d cut away some of the scar tissue that refused to let her heal.

“You alright?” a gruff voice asked from beside her.

Juliet’s heart jumped as she pushed herself up and turned, finding Joel sitting forward in his chair, hands clasped and his eyes locked on hers.

She nodded slowly. Juliet wasn’t okay yet, but she would be. 

Joel’s hand reached up before she could notice the movement, and his fingers trailed over her cheek, collecting the tears that stained her skin and replacing them with a scorching red flush. 

“How much of that did you hear?” she breathed, her heart was pounding at the feeling of his touch.

Joel leaned back, rolling his fingers together, examining her tears on his rougher skin. Then he tilted his head up towards her and lifted his shoulders slightly.

“Enough,” he revealed in his signature gravelly voice, still thick with sleep.

Juliet turned her head, embarrassed that Joel had witnessed such a raw conversation.

“Hey,” Joel said, capturing her attention with a firm grip on her arm. “Don't do that.”

Juliet blinked at him, suddenly unsure of his reaction. She waited for Joel to take back his words from the other night, to call her selfish and shame her for coming back here, for getting him hurt.

Instead, Joel’s grip on her arm loosened and she felt his thumb begin to glide across her skin in soft, soothing movements. He had moved forward in his chair, and Juliet’s head unconsciously moved towards him. 

Joel refused to break eye contact, he demanded her full attention as she watched his jaw clench and his pupils flare.

“Tell me it was worth it,” he demanded in a low voice. “Comin’ back here, gettin’ hurt. Tell me I didn’t make a mistake.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat as she digested Joel’s weighted words. She could see the guilt swimming in his eyes and the doubt hardening his expression.

Was it worth it? 

Juliet looked at Joel’s bloodstained skin, then her eyes dropped to her butchered hand, her stomach dropped at the sight. The truth cost a high price, and they had paid it.

Was it worth it? 

She considered the room she lay in. It used to terrify her, it was suffocating and reminded her how weak she was. Now, as she glanced at the peeling walls and the dampened ceiling, Juliet saw the house for what it really was: a prison that didn’t hold her anymore.

She’d gotten out. 

Was it worth it?

Juliet’s eyes found Joel’s again, they were searching. She knew that he was digging in, attempting to decode the thoughts inside her head. 

Before they’d left Jackson, Juliet was pretending. She thought that if she put on a good show, if she smiled and laughed when she was supposed to, and played the part of a happy, grateful survivor, that she’d eventually feel that way. But it wasn’t real. Juliet was broken, and hurt, and frightened. 

When Joel had left her that day in that cold, Juliet thought she deserved it. Of course, he didn’t want to be with her, how could he want someone like her? Someone stained with the hatred of her father. 

Now, when she looked at Joel, and recalled the words they whispered to each other in the dark, Juliet realised that she’d been wrong. This house hadn’t broken her, her father hadn’t broken her. She’d survived this town again.

Elijah had taken her childhood from her, he had taken the life she was supposed to have, and he had erased the person she was supposed to be. But he wasn’t going to take her future. 

It had taken her too long to realise it, and it had almost cost her her life.

But she knew now.

This house didn’t scare her anymore. She wasn’t trapped here anymore. This wasn’t supposed to be her life.

Was it worth it? 

Juliet felt the corners of her mouth stretch into a careful smile. She blinked up at the man beside her, watching for a moment as he scanned her face and his expression became more puzzled.

Then she nodded. 

“It was worth it,” she whispered, and watched as the line between his eyebrows smoothed and his eyes widened.

One day, Juliet would tell Joel what Danny revealed to her just before he died. She would tell him about her parents, and how they met their end. But just now, Juliet didn’t want to think about her past. 

With her good hand, Juliet pushed the blanket off and moved her legs to the side of the bed. Joel was there, gripping her arms, helping her to her feet, brushing the hair off her forehead.

Juliet’s hand found his face again, her fingers traced the scruff on his cheek.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, for everything you’ve had to do because of me,” she breathed.

Joel’s breath caught and a muscle in his tight jaw jumped. He stared down at Juliet with a hardening expression. 

“I’d do it again,” he choked out, as his finger caught a wayward curl and tucked it behind her ear. Joel swallowed rough and cupped the back of her neck with his other hand, sending a shiver down Juliet’s spine. 

“If it meant I’d be here, with you. Juliet, I’d do it all again.”

Juliet released a heavy breath as his words washed over her. She thought about everything they had been through since that night she knocked on his door and her chest tightened. 

“I would too,” Juliet replied, and she truly meant it. 

After a long moment, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, more forcefully than she had intended and Juliet had to grip his shoulder to maintain her balance.

Joel’s grip on the back of her neck tightened as his head tilted to the side and deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. His body shuddered with the feeling. 

Juliet responded in kind, and her good hand found his hair, pulling him towards her. She poured everything into the kiss, with her lips she told Joel how sorry she was, how grateful she felt, how terrified she was to lose him. Juliet wasn’t even surprised when she tasted the salt from her tears on his tongue.

Joel broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he pressed their foreheads together. Juliet could feel his heartbeat pounding against her own chest.

Juliet had always thought that home was a place, a trap, somewhere to run away from, to escape. But it wasn’t, and as she stood there in the house she had once called her home, Juliet realised how wrong she had been. 

Home was rough fingers smoothing her hair, home was the smell of smoke and pine, home was harsh commands and soft words in the dark. Home was a feeling deep in her chest, filling the hollowness, healing her scars.

Home was nothing like she could ever have imagined, and as she felt Joel’s hot breath burn her skin and his lips meet hers while his groan reverberated through their bodies, she knew that this was it, and that it was real.

Juliet traced his skin with her trembling finger and pulled back enough to meet Joel’s near black eyes.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered, and for the first time, the word didn’t leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Joel held her in his dark gaze for a long moment, just watching her, until his eyes fell closed and his lips met her hairline.

“Home,” he murmured.

_________________________

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx @elli3williams

[charlesslut16]

Hi there! Can you write Yuki with social media admin y/n crushing on each other. like they were so obvious to other drivers that they have a bet going on but Yuki and y/n is just like trying to be professional while checking each other out. maybe a scene of Yuki finding out y/n learning Japanese for him too for max fluff? I need some Yuki appreciation after reading too many bad comments about Yuki recently. Hope you'll pick this up and thank you in advance xxx

-learning your language for love-

summary : you, the social media admin fell for yuki, the formula one driver....

PAIRING : yuki tsunoda x reader

WARNINGS : none

note : send in more requests!!!

december masterlist ; masterlist   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a typical race weekend at the Suzuka Circuit. Yuki Tsunoda, a young and talented driver for the Scuderia AlphaTauri team, was busy preparing his car for the upcoming Grand Prix.

Across the garage, social media admin, you, who had been crushing on Yuki for months, couldn't help but feel a flutter in her stomach as she watched him work.

The other drivers and mechanics had even taken notice of their obvious attraction, to the point where they had a small bet going on about when, or if, anything would happen between them.

As Yuki wiped his brow, adjusting his helmet, he glanced over at you and felt his cheeks heating up. He couldn't deny the fact that he had been checking you out too .

Even tho you both tried to remain professional. The tension between you was palpable like two magnets desperately trying not to be drawn together.

Later that day, while reviewing some data in the team's hospitality suite, Yuki caught you silently studying a Japanese phrase book intently.

Intrigued, he leaned over your shoulder and saw that you were actually trying to learn some basic Japanese words and phrases for him.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized how much effort she was putting into making him feel welcome and appreciated.

Overhearing their interaction, one of the other drivers, who had placed a bet on them getting together, smiled to himself and whispered, "Looks like we're in for quite a show this weekend."

As the weekend progressed, Yuki and you continued to navigate your feelings for each other while keeping up appearances.

They flirted shamelessly but always managed to maintain a respectful distance. It was as if they were dancing around each other, each afraid to make the first move and ruin the delicate balance they had created.

Finally, on the eve of the race, as they were working late into the night, Yuki mustered up the courage to ask you about the Japanese phrase book.

His voice barely above a whisper, he said, "You've been learning Japanese for me?" Your eyes widened, and you looked away for a moment before turning back to him with a small smile.

"Well," you said, "I thought it would be nice to try and understand you better. And… maybe it would make things a little easier for both of us."

He nodded, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "Thank you," he said softly, reaching out to take your hand. And with that simple gesture, you knew that the lines you had drawn were about to be blurred.

The race was intense, with both Yuki and you working tirelessly to support your team. You couldn't help but steal glances at each other, your eyes filled with promises and possibilities.

The other drivers and mechanics, who had placed their bets, watched on with bated breath, eager to see how things would unfold between the two of them.

As the checkered flag fell, the race was declared over. Yuki crossed the finish line in sixth place, but the victory he truly wanted was already his.

He turned to you, his heart in his throat, and leaned in close. Your lips met in a tender, hesitant kiss that spoke volumes about the depth of your feelings for each other.

Around you, the team erupted in cheers, oblivious to the moment of intimacy that was unfolding between their driver and their social media admin.

But for Yuki and you, this was a private celebration of your own, a moment of connection that transcended your professional roles and spoke to the deep love you had for each other.

As you parted, both of you with flushed cheeks and hearts racing, you knew that your lives had just changed forever. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but you would face it together, hand in hand, as partners in every sense of the word.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of excitement and adjustment as Yuki and you navigated your new relationship while continuing to excel in your respective roles on the team.

You became inseparable, both on and off the track, your connection growing stronger with each passing day. The other drivers and mechanics, who had placed their bets, couldn't help but admire the pair's dedication and passion for one another.

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 7

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Note: LETS GOOOOO

xxx

The night starts with noise.

The roomies had planned a fun night in. Arthur’s brought out the nice whiskey—well, the nicer whiskey, the one that comes with a cork instead of a screw-top—and Chris has somehow hooked up his old karaoke mic to the living room TV. The four of us sit around half-lounging on the mismatched couches, George on the floor with a guitar he’s only half pretending to play. Chris is yelling out half-remembered lyrics to “Teenage Dirtbag,” Arthur keeps skipping songs to find “something with emotional depth,” and I’ve got a half-drunk gin and tonic sweating in my hand.

It’s dumb and fun and unstructured. We shout over each other. We argue about whether Billie Eilish is technically indie. Someone throws a cushion and knocks over a bowl of crisps. At one point Chris attempts to stand on the coffee table to re-enact a scene from Love Actually and George pulls him down by the ankle like he’s done this exact thing before.

I am laughing so hard I have to excuse myself to the bathroom.

By midnight, the energy softens. The Bluetooth speaker dies mid-song. Arthur’s phone buzzes and he vanishes upstairs claiming something about early studio time, and Chris throws a pillow over his own face and declares he’s socially exhausted. Which leaves just me and George, still camped out on the floor, sitting opposite each other with crossed legs and flushed cheeks.

The living room looks like a failed sleepover with the empty glasses, a tangle of cables, someone’s sock. The overhead light is off, just the warm glow from the lamp by the window casting long shadows.

I reach over and swap our glasses so I can try his whiskey. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, just watches as I take a sip and pull a face.

“This tastes like regret and petrol,” I say, handing it back.

“It’s aged regret,” George corrects. “Very exclusive.”

We fall into a quieter rhythm. No more music, just the low hum of London through the window and the occasional groan of the floorboards above us. It should feel awkward, maybe, being alone together like this. But it doesn’t. It just feels… calm.

He fiddles with the guitar strings, aimless. I pick at a corner of the cushion in my lap.

Then he says, “You’ve seemed... better lately.”

I blink at him. “Better?”

“Yeah. Happier, I guess. "Proof that taking my advice is the most helpful thing anyone can do, ever ”

It catches me off guard, but I manage to play it off, “shove off it.”

He laughs but than says, “you're more… relaxed. You've been singing in the shower again.”

I laugh, but it’s soft, self-conscious.

"How've you been otherwise?"

I don’t answer right away. I look around the room—the empty pizza box, the dying flowers in a jar on the windowsill, the scuff marks on the walls that no one’s bothered to paint over. The whole house is a bit of a mess, a strange blend of past and present lives piled on top of each other. It shouldn’t feel comforting. But it almost does.

“I don’t know if this feels like real life yet,” I say quietly. “Sometimes it feels like I blinked and ended up inside someone else’s story. Like I missed the bit where I decided who I’m supposed to be.”

George leans back against the couch, arms folded loosely over his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

He nods. “When I visit my dad now… he barely remembers what I do for work. Sometimes he doesn’t remember what day it is. And I sit there thinking, is this it? Is this adulthood? Pretending you know what you’re doing while everything quietly falls apart?”

There’s a long silence. It’s not heavy, just full. Comfortable in the way that only comes after years of knowing someone and still not knowing everything.

He doesn’t like to talk about his dad.

I didn’t even know he was sick until George’s mum tagged him in a photo on Facebook during third year—one of those blurry, too-candid hospital shots where everyone’s trying to smile but no one really looks at the camera. You could just make out the oxygen tube, the pale-blue gown, the faint grimness behind the eyes. George never brought it up, not even after I messaged him something vague and awkward about hoping everything was okay. He’d just liked the message and changed the subject.

So now, I don’t push. But I feel the edges of it sitting between us—the things not said, the things too raw to say out loud. He talks around it, not through it. The slow unravelling of someone he once thought was invincible. The quiet grief of watching a parent become someone unfamiliar.

He still doesn’t say much now. Just stares down at his hands like there’s something in them he doesn’t want to let go of.

“I miss my old car,” I blurt. “That stupid Corolla that the key fob didn’t work and the Bluetooth transmitter that make songs sound like it was underwater. At least it felt like mine.”

George smiles again, tired and gentle. “I can't believe I never got to see it.”

“Yeah,” I say. I rest my head on his shoulder. I do it out of habit, out of tiredness, “You still need to come to Brisbane.”

He looks at me a long moment, like he wants to say something else. Like he’s right on the edge of it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just shifts slightly closer, our knees brushing.

“You belong here, you know,” he says.

I feel my heart stutter.

“I mean—” he fumbles, “—not here, like, here here. Just… you don’t have to figure it all out right away. You’re doing okay.”

The words land like something warm and heavy in my chest. Not quite an epiphany, not quite a declaration. But something true, and real.

And I let myself believe him.

Xxx

It’s a Tuesday night again, and I’m already elbow-deep in prep before Matt even walks through the door. Ive done this for over a month now, I know where the gloves are, how to portion servings without being told, and I’ve somehow become the unofficial designated pesto-stirrer. A badge of honour, I suppose.

Ruth is already there when I arrive, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea cradled in her hands like it’s something sacred. She grins when she sees me, like she’s been saving a story all day just to tell me. That’s sort of become our thing—collecting little moments from the week and spilling them over chopping boards and takeout coffee cups.

“Alright, Aussie,” she says, nudging my shoulder as I pull on an apron. “You’ll never guess what happened to me on the tube this morning.”

“I bet it’s something deeply cursed,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “Or at least mildly deranged.”

“You’d be correct on both counts.”

She launches into a story involving a man in a business suit eating tuna straight from the can with his fingers while arguing with someone on speakerphone. I’m halfway through slicing peppers, laughing so hard I almost drop the knife. That’s how it’s been with Ruth lately—easy. Natural. Like we’ve known each other longer than we actually have.

We’ve started hanging out outside of The Van too. Not in any dramatic, “suddenly inseparable” way, but in those quiet, accidental moments that slowly start to mean something. One morning, I ran into Ruth at the coffee shop near the station. I was still half-asleep, standing in line, clutching my phone like it might keep me upright, when I heard someone behind me say, “Flat white, three sugars? Didn’t peg you for the reckless type.”

I turned around and there she was—hoodie, headphones around her neck, hair half-tucked into a beanie she probably found in a bargain bin. She looked like someone who belonged in London in a way I still didn’t. Turns out, she works in a building just one street over from mine. We laughed about how we’d probably crossed paths dozens of times without noticing.

Now, we’ve got this unofficial Friday lunch thing going. It started off casual, a “hey, want to grab something?” after a rough week. But now it’s edging into ritual. We never actually say, “Same time next week?”—we just show up. Sometimes it’s ramen. Sometimes it’s sad overpriced sandwiches we eat on a bench like we’re in a low-budget indie film. But whatever it is, I look forward to it. More than I probably should.

The others have noticed too. Matt teases us sometimes, calling us “the pesto twins” or saying things like, “You two come as a set now?” Ruth just rolls her eyes and tells him to stir his own damn pasta for once. But she’s smiling when she says it.

After service, Ruth and I are elbow-deep in suds, tackling what might be the single most stubborn pot in the history of cooking. Matt’s sticky date pudding—his self-declared “treat for the troops”—has fused itself to the bottom like it was made of industrial-grade glue instead of sugar and flour.

“I swear this pudding has achieved a new state of matter,” I mutter, scrubbing at the blackened edges with a sponge that’s probably considering retirement.

Ruth snorts, flicking a bit of foam at me. “Matt said it was ‘caramelised.’ This is carbonised. There's a difference.”

We’ve fallen into this easy rhythm during clean-up. Some weeks we talk. Some weeks we’re just quiet, the kind of silence that doesn’t press down on you. Tonight, there’s laughter, little sarcastic jabs softened by the warmth in our voices.

“Oh, I forgot to ask—how did your date go?” I ask Ruth, rinsing off the last of the soap suds and handing her the pot with a dramatic flourish, like it’s a trophy we’ve both earned.

She grins, drying it with a tea towel that smells vaguely of old coffee and garlic. “Oh, good actually. I’m seeing him again tomorrow night. He’s a bit strange, but... I suppose so am I.”

We both laugh, the kind of easy, knowing laugh you only share with someone who’s seen you drop a full tray of sandwiches.

Then she glances sideways at me, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Are you still in love with your roommate, or are you finally going to admit you’re obsessed with that northern bloke?”

I nearly choke on my breath. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she says, smirking. “Tall, broody, sounds like he’s permanently stuck in a BBC drama. Ring any bells? You’re the one who said, ‘I get why the internet’s in love with him’—and, my personal favourite—‘He’s just so witty, it’s infuriating. I love arguing with him.’”

I groan. “Okay, that’s some bold quotation work.”

“Direct quotes, Y/N. I could write your wedding vows at this point.”

I try to play it cool, but my ears burn traitorously. “I’m not obsessed.”

“You absolutely are,” Ruth says, gleeful now. “Every time he says anything vaguely nice, you light up like a Christmas tree.”

“That is a gross exaggeration.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I huff a laugh and toss a clean fork into the drying rack a little too forcefully. “Alright then, Miss I-did-one-semester-of-a-psychology-degree, what’s your diagnosis?”

She shrugs, folding the tea towel over her shoulder like she’s closing a file. “Hopeless crush. Prognosis: denial. Recommended treatment: awkward fighting-that-is-definitely-flirting followed by one extremely questionable decision at a party.”

“Sounds very clinical,” I deadpan.

“You said it yourself, I only did one semester.”

We both crack up again, the kitchen echoing with laughter that doesn’t feel forced or guarded. Just… open. Warm. Like we’re not just rinsing off stubborn caramelised pudding, but the static of the day too.

Then Ruth nudges me with her elbow, gentler this time. “But no, seriously. What about your roommate?”

I pause, drying my hands on my jeans, suddenly aware of how warm my face feels.

“We had this serious heart-to-heart yesterday,” I say, voice dropping a little. “And... I don’t know. At one point, he moved his knees to brush mine. Casually. Deliberately. It was nothing, but also…it wasn’t. The version of him I knew at uni would never have done that.”

“Ooh,” Ruth says, eyebrows arching. “Sounds serious.”

“I don’t know if it is, though. That’s the thing. We’ve been best friends for years. There’s this entire history. Every in-joke, every hangover, every disastrous date we debriefed over chips at 2 a.m. It’s all there. I know him inside out. But lately... it’s like there’s something new under all of that. And I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or if it’s real.”

Ruth leans back against the counter, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s always been there, just under the surface. Waiting.”

“Don’t get my hopes up".

xxx

I think Ruth is right.

The next week hums with an energy I can’t quite name.

It’s nothing obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. But something has shifted between George and me since that night—since the last bottle of red wine, the half-whispered stories, and the quiet that didn’t feel empty.

He lingers more now. In doorways, in the kitchen. When I’m making tea in the morning, he somehow always shows up just as the kettle clicks off, like he’s timed it. Like we’re syncing without trying.

He makes me laugh more, too. Or maybe I’m just noticing it more. His jokes feel warmer now, more specific. Inside references to things we barely remembered until one of us said them out loud. Like breadcrumbs from a version of us we haven’t been in years.

One night, he casually calls me “Miss Australia” in that mock-serious voice of his, and when I roll my eyes, he grins like he’s proud to have gotten under my skin.

And then there are the looks.

Quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glances across the living room when we’re all hanging out. The way his gaze lingers just a second too long when I say something sharp, or ridiculous, or both. Like he’s trying to study a version of me he hasn’t fully figured out.

I catch him watching me once while I’m hunched over my laptop—legs tucked under me awkwardly, hair in a messy knot, wearing one of those sad, shapeless hoodies I should’ve thrown out years ago. Not my best angle. And yet, his expression is... softer than I expected. Not intense. Just curious. Familiar. A little like awe. He looks away fast when he sees me noticing.

It’s nothing. And also it’s everything.

The kind of shift that lives in the space between words. That only exists if we never speak it out loud.

Still, it hangs there. Charged. Waiting.

Then it happens. We’re cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner, and George’s tone is easy, almost distracted, but there’s an edge beneath it.

“So, Will’s been messaging you a lot lately?” he says, flicking a dishcloth with a smirk.

I pause, caught off guard. “Yeah, he’s been pretty chatty.”

George shrugs, but his eyes don’t quite meet mine. “Figures. Can’t blame him, I guess.”

Something tightens in my chest—annoyance, maybe? Or something sharper, like… jealousy?

I glance at him sideways, watching the way his jaw clenches just a little.

That’s when it clicks. Maybe I’ve been missing it all along, how much this is bothering him. And just like that, a spark lights up inside me. If he’s jealous, then maybe… maybe he cares more than he’s letting on.

I know I should say something. I know I need to. But the words feel too heavy tonight, like they might break the fragile calm between us. Like if I speak too soon, I might shatter whatever this is, whatever quiet promise is hanging in the space between us.

So instead, I tuck the feeling away, careful and deliberate, like hiding a fragile glass in a locked drawer. Not now. Not yet.

I decide right then: it’s time. Time to stop pretending. To stop waiting for the “right moment” that might never come. I’m going to make a move. Not now—not tonight—but soon.

Tomorrow, or maybe the day after. When I’m braver. When the moment feels right. Because it has to be right. Otherwise, what’s the point?

For now, I turn my focus back to the dishes, letting the warmth of that unspoken something settle like a soft ache in my chest. And wait.

xxx

Two days later, George suggested we watch a movie together, like old times sake. He had bought popcorn from the shops earlier and Chris had given him a bottle of wine.

The movie played on, a gentle hum in the background as the flickering light cast shadows across the room. Somehow, over the course of the film, we had moved closer without saying a word—our knees nearly touching now, breaths syncing in quiet rhythm. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in this small, dimly lit space.

George’s hand brushed against mine once, briefly, like a question. I didn’t pull away.

As the credits began to roll, he turned slightly, eyes meeting mine in the soft glow of the screen. “I’m glad you moved back to me,” he said, voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place—relief, maybe, or something more vulnerable.

The words settled between us like a spark, igniting the air. My heart skipped, and I felt the tension coil tighter inside me. I shifted closer, feeling the warmth of him so near, and for a moment, everything felt possible.

Oh my god now is the time.

We sat there, the quiet between us stretching longer than usual, the kind of silence that buzzes with everything left unsaid. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and searching, like he was trying to unravel something deep inside.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. His eyes were darker than I remembered, shadows pooling in the corners like secrets waiting to spill out. There was something raw and vulnerable in his stare that made my breath hitch.

For a long moment, we just looked at each other, the world narrowing down to the space between us. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but held himself back. My pulse fluttered with a nervous hope, that fragile, reckless hope that maybe this was real.

I moved closer—slowly, carefully—watching every flicker of emotion cross his face. The warmth in his eyes melted the last of my hesitation. My fingers twitched at my sides, needing to reach out but not wanting to scare him away.

Then I leaned in.

My lips hovered just above his, breath mingling with his in a shared rhythm—quick, shallow, almost desperate. The warmth radiating from him felt like a quiet promise, electric and tentative.

And then, finally, finally, our lips met.

It was soft, tentative—like the gentle brush of a secret we’d both been guarding for far too long. The kiss didn’t demand anything; it whispered instead. Whispered of possibilities, of risks, of fears laid bare in the quietest of touches.

His eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes resting against his cheeks like fragile wings. I felt the slightest tremble in his body, a vulnerability so rare it made my heart clench painfully. The world around us seemed to blur and fall away, leaving just the two of us suspended in that moment—delicate, fragile, and full of a promise neither of us dared voice aloud.

Time slowed, each second stretching endlessly, holding us captive in a quiet breath of hope.

But then, his hands froze at my waist. Not pulling me closer, but pulling away—slowly, deliberately.

His eyes opened, heavy and clouded with something raw and tangled. Pain? Regret? Fear? Something deeper, darker, something I couldn’t reach.

“What are you doing? This is madness,” he whispered, voice breaking, thick with a desperate ache.

Confusion slammed into me like a tidal wave, crashing through everything I thought I knew.

What had I been waiting for all this time? The last week played on repeat in my mind—how he’d linger just a little too long in doorways, the way his gaze flickered whenever Will’s name came up, those subtle moments that screamed jealousy but wore the mask of casual indifference.

Had I been reading too much into it? Or maybe not enough. Maybe this was the moment when all the pieces didn’t fit anymore.

But if he cared—even just a little—why had he pulled away now? Why had the warmth I thought I saw suddenly turned so cold?

My heart twisted, caught between hope and hurt, and the silence between us felt heavier than ever.

 “What do you mean? I thought—” I barely got the words out before he cut me off.

“No.” His voice snapped sharp, brittle, haunted. “I can’t. Not like this. Not with you.”

The world tilted. My chest clenched so tight it felt like shards of glass were tearing through me. “Why?” I whispered, voice cracking. “Why kiss me if you don’t want this? If you don’t want me?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like he was trying to hold himself together. Slowly, painfully, he stepped back, breaking the fragile moment between us.

The sting of rejection was worse than I imagined—the heat of that kiss, the flicker of hope—it all twisted into a cruel betrayal. A promise made only to be shattered.

I sank back, breath trembling, eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. Silence stretched between us—thick, suffocating, filled with everything we’d just lost.

He didn’t say another word. The silence that settled between us was heavier than any conversation could have been—thick with everything left unsaid. In that quiet, I felt it unravel: the fragile thread that had been holding us together, fraying at the edges, slipping through my fingers.

It was like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break, and I knew, deep down, that I’d pulled too hard, too fast. The delicate tension that had been our unspoken promise was gone, scattered like dust in a sudden gust of wind, leaving me standing there with nothing but the echo of what could have been.

Fuck.