#autumn isn't too hot and it isn't too cold

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

pairing - bucky barnes x female reader

warnings - none!! just tooth rottingly sweet fluff <3

word count - 1.7k

author's note - based on these two requests!! i'm also trying a new post format... what do we think?? I promised you i'd get a couple of xmas fics out before the 25th... I lied. apologies!! forgive me. title taken from the poem The Owl by Edward Thomas.

as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics. thanks, angels <3

masterlist. inbox.

He whispers the words, timid and reserved, directly into your ear as if he's worried someone else will hear. It's only the two of you sat on the couch in your shared apartment, but Bucky's nervous.

Your head whips around in shock, trying to play it cool. Failed.

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

You grin, big and blinding, the beams of it radiating into Bucky's bones. It settles into his muscles, eases the tension from his shoulders.

You try not to make a big deal of it, try to keep your excitement under wraps. But you've been waiting for him to say those words for almost six years.

"I want to do Christmas this year."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

He hates the cold.

No, he's traumatised by the cold.

Years spent frozen, genetically modified and locked in a glorified freezer. Every gust of wind, every flake of snow reminds him of the darkest days with no light to be seen. His blood may run hot, but he feels like his heart is yet to thaw. He debates moving to the desert at least ten times a day.

Then he looks at you. How happy you are when winter comes around. The way your face lights up when it snows. And he figures that if it brings you this much joy... maybe he can tolerate it.

He bites back the chill, grits his teeth at the icy breeze, ignores the shudder of the cold all the way down to his bones. He grins and bears it, because you love it. He thinks you don't notice.

You do.

You've known ever since you met him. His demeanour changes when the winter comes around. He gets a little tentative around the autumn time, as if he's preparing himself for the worst. And then the first snow falls, and he's different. Guarded. Careful. Reluctant. He puts a fake smile on his face and pretends, but you're nothing if not completely in tune with everything Bucky Barnes.

You never asked, never pried. Just stood steadily by his side, regardless of the walls he'd placed around himself. Around his heart.

He broke down one night, wrapped up in bed with you. A chill had blown through your old apartments rickety windows and unearthed old memories, ice running into his veins. He was sure his tears were frozen as they dripped down his face.

You understood him better, since that day.

You've tried to suggest moving in subtle and not so subtle ways, but he won't have it. He knows this is your home. He knows you like it here. He knows he can stay, if he works a little harder on himself.

So, he tries. Every single day, he tries. And that's all that matters.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Okay, so... ground rules. Hit me, Buck. We do this on your terms."

He thinks for a moment before turning to face you.

"I want it to be just us. No one else."

"Done."

"And I don't wanna do the whole Christmas dinner thing. Feels like too much all at once."

You fight the urge to burst into tears at how easily he's communicating with you, how effortlessly he's enforcing his boundaries. You've come a long way.

"Done. Agreed, by the way. Fuck Christmas dinner. We'll do our own thing."

He grins at you, leaning in to kiss you slowly, tenderly, leisurely. Like you have all the time in the world.

"I want to get a tree. And lights. We don't have to do all the ornaments and stuff, but lights would be nice."

"I have an artificial tree in the back of the storage closet... is that okay?"

"Perfect. I don't want to stand on all the pine needles, anyway."

Laughing, you shift closer to him, tangling your legs together on the couch.

"And no gifts for me."

"But Buck-"

"Angel. I don't want anything. I have everything I need sat next to me."

You roll your eyes, but you can't wipe the smile off your face.

"This isn't fair, suddenly."

"It's plenty fair. You stress too much when you buy gifts, and this is going to be a stress free Christmas. Understood?"

He hooks his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Understood," you whisper, swinging your knee over so you're straddling him. "Stress free."

Bucky tilts his head up to kiss you, gentle at first, then firmer when you roll your hips into his. He's a little distracted, admittedly. He got you to promise not to get him anything, but made sure you wouldn't ask the same. His mind runs a mile a minute, trying to wrack his brain on what kind of gift to get for the love of his life, the person that saved him and continues to save him every single day.

He comes up empty, but lets you kiss the thoughts away for a little while.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"My mom taught me this specific way to hang lights on your tree. Look, grab this end and I'll show you."

You're both still in your pyjamas, fire roaring, a jazzy Christmas melody playing from the radio. You decided you wouldn't put up your tree until the day before, to save Bucky from feeling overwhelmed. It's worked, so far - he looks plenty relaxed as he chuckles and rises from the armchair.

"You're tall, so hold this above your head so they don't tangle."

You work diligently, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Bucky's happy to watch you, fighting the smile off his face every time you sigh in exasperation. Eventually, you step back and admire your masterpiece, satisfied and content.

"It's beautiful, baby," he whispers, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

He presses a kiss into your neck, then another, then another. Your eyes slip closed, and you sink into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you ever thought possible. You spend the evening by the fire, lying on the rug, room illuminated by the lights on the tree.

It's perfect in every way.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Merry Christmas, angel."

"Merry Christmas, Buck."

His hand finds yours under the duvet, pulling you in close. You tangle yourself around him like lights on a tree, all encompassed by his warmth.

"What's the plan for today, Sergeant?"

He presses a kiss into your temple, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see you properly.

"I say we make some breakfast, spend all day on the couch, and then maybe make some dinner? I know we said we wouldn't do a traditional Christmas dinner, but it'd still be nice to take the time to cook something."

"That sounds perfect."

In the kitchen, you make pancakes with copious amounts of maple syrup, strawberries and pieces of banana strewn across your plates.

"My Mom made us pancakes every Christmas morning, you know."

"You've never told me that."

"I know. I kind of refrained from ever talking about anything festive, because I didn't want you to feel guilty."

"For making you miss out for so many years?"

"I haven't missed out, baby. I chose not to do Christmas because I love you. And that love takes precedent over everything else."

Bucky kisses you then, across the kitchen table, full and golden and so full of love you almost fall off your chair. He tastes like blueberry jam and syrup and coffee, and you wish you could bottle it up and stick a little under your tongue when you get homesick.

"What changed?"

"Hmm?"

"Why now? I would have been content to never do Christmas again, if it made you happy."

"Because I realised something, a couple of months ago. We were sat in the park, and you were laughing at that dog chasing the boomerang. The sun was making you glow, like some sort of angel, and I just knew. I can do anything with you by my side. I can't put my future on hold because of my past."

You're fighting back tears as you look at him, so happy and content. You never thought this was possible, when you first met him.

And here you are.

Celebrating Christmas, showing him your childhood traditions, making pancakes like your Mama used to. You're sat at the kitchen table as the snow falls outside and the warmth that Bucky's love brings is keeping the chill at bay.

It doesn't get better than this.

"I got you something," he murmurs almost sheepishly.

"Bucky-"

"Don't yell at me! I know it makes me a hypocrite, I know I said no gifts, I know."

You roll your eyes, but watch his every move as he gets up and leaves the room. You finish your breakfast and put both of your plates in the sink, turning on the tap so they can soak. When you turn around, Bucky has returned.

He's on one knee.

There's a ring between his fingers, glinting in the winter sun. You're both still in your pyjamas, warm and full, not quite having shaken off the heavy embrace of sleep just yet.

It's perfect.

"Maybe it's cliche to propose on Christmas day, but... I want to replace all of my old memories with new ones. Memories like this."

You walk over to him, kneeling down in front of him so your eyes are level.

"You've taught me what love is, baby. And I can never repay you for that. But I can certainly try. Every day, I can try."

There are tears dripping down both of your cheeks, Bucky's grin matching yours. The two of you are overwhelmed in the best way, unsure of how to process the gravity of what you're feeling.

"Marry me, baby. Let's do this forever."

You lunge forward and smash your lips to his, laughing into his mouth.

"Yes," you breathe when you pull away. "God, yes. A million times yes, Buck."

His arms wrap around your middle as he picks you up, twirling you in circles around the kitchen, both of you shrieking with joy.

Bucky slips the ring onto your finger when he puts you down, both of you tilting your heads to admire it.

"I love you," you murmur, leaning up to press your foreheads together. "The cold can't touch you now, baby. This love will warm us forever."

The cold can't touch him now. Love will warm him forever.

@lizzystuffsthings <3

[myteavsricochet]

Favorite firstprince fanfics, an incomplete list:

One shots:

All the Stars We Steal From the Night Sky :

Alex is quiet, and something is wrong.

Or, Alex struggles with emotions and Henry is there to help.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Just Them Being Soft, Alex is struggling, Henry helps)

In His Wildest Dreams

Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. Pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process.

(Please, look at the tags carefully, this fic is very soft, very hot and very consensual but may not be for everyone: Consensual somnophilia, Kink exploration, Porn with feelings, Smut)

5 times Alex called Henry baby ‘casually’ and 1 time it was (definitely) because of love

How did “baby” become a thing in the film universe? When did it become a thing in the film universe? Fine, I’ll answer these questions myself.

(Additional Tags: Overuse of the word "baby", Pet Names, Fluff, Angst, 5+1 Things, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort)

Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

Alex has always been too much. Objectively, he knows this. He talks too much, his volume is too much, and the fire under his ass is too much. So, when he’d met Henry, when he hadn’t cared about Henry’s opinion and had been his real, authentic, annoying self, and Henry had liked him anyway? It was something Alex struggled to wrap his head around. It started in kindergarten.

Or: A look at Alex's childhood and how hard it is always being the too-much person in any given room.

(Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Childhood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, So much comfort)

Déjame Ver Cómo Es Que Floreces

Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

-

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

(This fic is absolutely amazing ❤️

Additional Tags: Humor, Fluff, Family Fluff, Pre-Engagement, Mexican-American Culture, Mexican OC's galore, Drinking, Family Bonding, Karaoke, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Alex Claremont-Diaz Speaks Spanish)

Forty-Four Days

"God, I haven't seen you in forty-four days," Alex suddenly spits, and Henry feels the pain of his words in his own chest, like ice replacing the blood in his veins. Because that's it, isn't it? Forty-four days of separation. Forty-four days of waking up to an empty bed, of making coffee along with his tea only to realize that Alex isn't there to drink it, of long meetings without any of Alex's witty jokes, of cold hands on chilly autumn walks because Alex isn't there to warm them up.

Maybe it's the simple fact of hearing for the first time, or maybe it's the tipping point of the taxing day, but Henry feels something inside of him snap, and —

And all he knows is that he needs to see Alex now.

(Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Separations, Separation Anxiety, Late Night Conversations, Minor Character Death, but it's nothing to worry about I PROMISE, Reunions, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Mild Sexual Content, they love and miss each other, that's the plot, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

A Mind That Never Sleeps

Five times Alex stays awake with Henry, and the one time he coaxes him back to sleep.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Insomnia, Sleepless nights, Piano, Weddings, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, that's really all this is, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

talk too much

Alex has his wisdom teeth removed and Henry takes care of him, fluff ensues

(Additional Tags: wisdom teeth removal, not bloody or graphic, just fluff, pure fluff, No Angst, Henry Pov, firstprince, living in the brownstone, FLUFF I TELL YOU, Henry taking care of Alex, and Alex taking care of Henry too hehe, You’ll see)

silk and steel

Thanks to a welcome day off, Henry and Alex spend a lazy morning in bed. Soft, mid-morning cuddles escalate into semi-soft, mid-morning sex.

(Addictional tags: Morning cuddles, Morning sex, Body worship, Light dom/sub, Praise kink, Established relationship, Top Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Bottom Alex Claremont Diaz)

I don't wanna dance, if I'm not dancing with you

"You want me at a ball?"

"I want you with me as often as possible," Henry says, immediately, as if it's obvious. Maybe it is. "But yes, it would be nice to have you there. I'm not necessarily actively trying to anger my grandmother, which you being there might, but... Well, she hasn't exactly extended an invitation but I have just as much right as anyone to bring a date and--"

"Baby." Henry's rambling stops short on what nearly sounds like a gasp, and Alex grins to himself. Sometimes, his boyfriend is too easy. "Do you want me there?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there."

----

or, Henry wants Alex at a ball and Alex is anxious about it.

(Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Ballroom Dancing, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Hurt/Comfort)

If You Hold Me Without Hurting Me, You’ll Be the First Who Ever Did

Henry feels himself aching for Alex—this Alex, the one who’s at home in Texas, the one who’s vulnerable and free—and he sees the ache reflected in Alex’s eyes.

The first night they spend at the lake house, before Alex wakes up with Henry's swimsuit tangled around his elbow.

(Additional Tags: Emotions, Anal Sex, Bottom Henry, alex calling henry baby, henry calling alex love, Boys In Love, Porn with Feelings, Henry Pov, so it's a wee bit angsty)

love dares you, to change our way of caring about ourselves

Henry has read it all: fairy-tales of princes and their courters, unsung histories of kings and their secret lovers, and he has read all their happy endings. But he is not a prince in a fairy-tale, and he has always thought his own secret love story was likelier to end in tragedy.

Perhaps it’s time that changed.

(Or, Henry’s POV the morning after The Great Claremont-Diaz Ambush at Kensington Palace)

Let Me Hold Your Head in My Hands

Alex has a migraine.

Henry takes care of him.

(Additional Tags: Sickfic, Sick Character, Boys In Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Idiots in Love, Headaches & Migraines, Tooth-Rotting Fluff,Domestic Fluff, Bathtubs)

you would not believe your eyes (if ten million fireflies)

Alex and Henry are staying at Alex’s house in Texas. Henry has never seen fireflies before, and Alex can’t let him get away without the experience of catching one.

Or,

Alex is helplessly in love with Henry.

(Additional Tags: Fluff, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Summer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, firefly catching, Fireflies, Lightning bugs, Texas)

Promises, Promises.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes again.

The corner of Henry’s mouth does the thing it does. His walls are back up.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he mutters, before turning on his heel and marching down the hall.

——

OR

Alex has never felt so horrible. And 3 days is a long time.

(Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Fights, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Stressed Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Anxiety, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Abandonment Issues, Leaving Home)

The Red Side Goes Up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

(Additional Tags: Smut, Rimming, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Post-Canon)

(all of me changed like) midnight rain

“They’re fighting again,” he whispers instead. Henry’s eyes are sad.

“I know, love.”

Or, 5 times Alex believes his relationship with Henry won't last, and 1 time he knows it will.

Or, 5 times Alex doesn't believe in love because of his parents and 1 time Henry proves him wrong.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, Canonical Divorce, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Song: Midnight Rain (Taylor Swift), Depression, References to Depression)

We'll Get Together Then

5+1 times Oscar was a good dad to Henry (ft. Abuelo Oscar)

(Additional Tags: Henry and Oscar bonding, 5+1 Things, I have Feelings about their relationship, Arthur's death is mentioned)

The Bet

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

(Additional Tags: Bets & Wagers, No sex bet, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but it gets resolved eventually, Wet Dream, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Porn With Plot, like it kind of has a plot, Mostly just porn though, Kissing, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Riding, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

What Kind of Day Has It Been

Even after thirty-odd years of being together (twenty-five of those married) Henry still has to drag Alex away from his desk and up to bed. Even just a few days after routine surgery Alex can't help himself.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Kissing, Married Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

take a bite, babe

And, well, Henry can no longer lie to himself. He couldn’t be more in love with Alex if he tried.

Or: five moments Henry notices Alex’s eyelashes (and falls a little more in love).

I miss you, i'm sorry

"I—I’m killing myself trying to make this work, trying to make both you and my family happy, living on planes, and it’s still not enough for you? I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to be with me,” Alex says bitterly, wiping furiously at his eyes and refusing to meet Henry’s.

"Alex—"

“No,” Alex interrupts angrily, “get it off your chest! I can’t wait to hear all about how much work I am to be with. You know what, if you’re just gonna leave me again then you might as well go ahead and do it now. Save us both the hurt.”

Or: the fight.

(Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Fighting, Healthy Relationships, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Comfort, Healthy Conflict Resolution, Conflict Resolution)

Too Much

Okay, so maybe Alex talked too much for them. It was fine. He could still sit with them at lunch, he just had to make sure not to talk so much. Just listen to them. He could do that.

The next day, and the day after, Alex sat with the same group of kids. Only, he no longer went on rants about movies or books or what he saw on the news that morning or what his parents talked/argued over at dinner.

Alex stayed silent, desperate to not be too much.

***

OR 5 times the people in Alex's life thought that he was too much + one time Henry assured him that he wasn't.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Projecting, author's first fic)

the common tongue of you loving me

Where did kissing come from? Henry has always wondered. Why kisses? At the beginning of history, which long forgotten person, which ancestor of all mankind, was the first to press their lips to another’s in a declaration of their love?

Was it a lover, perhaps, so consumed with devotion that they sought to use lips as well as fingertips? All followed the base urge of their bodies — the innate knowledge that the pressing of lips was the highest form of touch. But no one knows why.

Except when Alex quirks his cupid’s bow, licks into Henry’s mouth and lets his bottom lip rest on Henry’s, and oh. Henry knows.

(Additional Tags: Kissing, henry has so many feelings about kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Grinding, Frottage)

All Your Closets Of Backlogged Dreams

It’s not that the loss of the President’s oldest child is a secret. It’s just that nobody talks much about the death of Catalina June Claremont-Diaz.

It takes Alex years before he talks to Henry about her.

(The painful story no one asked for that ties June into the movie.)

(Additional Tags: Past Character Death, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing)

He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

(being with you) makes the flame burn good

“Ah, would you look at that,” Alex says hoarsely, breaking the kiss, “Looks like you got a bit of batter on your neck.”

He lowers his head and licks a stripe up Henry's neck until his tongue reaches the spot below his ear and Henry shudders slightly in his arms.

“Tastes so good, baby,” Alex teases and fits his thigh between Henry's legs, feeling how hard he is and how immediately he grinds against Alex's body, searching for any form of relief.

“Oh, piss off,” Henry breathes and tangles his hands in Alex's curls, fisting his hand lightly and moving his hips a little faster.

(Additional Tags: Married Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Kitchen Sex, Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Laughter During Sex, Body Worship, Sort Of, Hickeys, Begging, Praise Kink, Nipple Play, surprisingly there's NO food play in this, Dom Alex, Sub Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

we thought we ruled the world

Alex stares down at his latest text from Henry. A link to an article he’s seen about ten versions of so far. He’s managed to resist clicking on any of them, but now Henry is sending it, so he supposes he should at least give it a skim.

How Prince Henry’s Relationship With FSOTUS Lost Ellen Claremont The Election

............

Or, what would have happened if Ellen lost.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, mostly happy at least)

pictures of you

Henry has seen photos of Alex before, of Alex’s easy grin and disarming smirk, wild curls awry and lean muscles on casually stretched biceps. He’s seen countless photos of him before.

But.

Alex has never sent him a photo before. Not like this.

---

Five times Alex sends Henry a selfie from bed (+ one time Henry sends him one)

the dresden dilemma

The Crown had expectations when it sent a member of the royal family abroad but after a handful of years navigating said expectations, Alex and Henry had become adept at circumventing them when possible. Like tonight: They were supposed to be in Berlin for the weekend, but after a bit of needling and a lot of promises to behave, Alex had convinced Shaan to arrange for them to spend at least one night outside of the city.

Dresden, Alex had argued, was close enough to Berlin that they weren't really disobeying the Crown and besides, what harm could a single night in Dresden do?

(Additional Tags: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Established Relationship, Alex Claremont-Diaz has Trauma, cause he's an american kid and who doesn't, or at least he thought, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Fireworks, School Shootings, implied/referenced anyway, Guns)

the clementine thing

And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company.

Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him.

-

Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor

(This is one of my favorites, please read this ❤️)

In the Low Lamp Light, I Was Free

“You wanna go again?” Alex asks, pressing the back of his head into the pillows, offering his throat more fully to Henry’s hungry mouth, and when Henry laughs and retrieves another condom and the little bottle of lube from his toiletry bag, he adds, “I had a thought, though. I thought, maybe… you could be inside me this time.”

(Movieverse; there were two condom wrappers on the floor in Paris.)

he is exactly the poem i wanted to write

There is no Turkey in Alex's room this year, but there is a prince.

AKA, Henry spends thanksgiving with Alex after the election and reflects on all of his dreams coming true.

(Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, so fluffy it borders on worshippy, Porn with Feelings)

we might fall

A little ficlet of Alex and Henry in the hammock. Metaphors about falling.

lifeline of mine

Henry hates hospitals, has hated them since he watched his father wither away in one that smelled just like this one, that had the same unsettling chill in the air. And every time he walked into a hospital after losing Arthur, he would see his father’s ashen face, would feel the ghost of his cold skin prickling his own, would hear the slowing beep of his heart monitor. And now, it’s Henry in a hospital bed, not knowing what’s wrong with his body. And he’s scared, and he’s thinking about Arthur and…

“I saw him,” Henry whispers.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Hurt Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Worried Alex Claremont-Diaz, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Forehead Kisses, Fever, Angst with a Happy Ending)

please don't ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

Alex’s love language is physical touch.

Henry knows this—has known it from the first moment he’s met Alex, all wild curls and bright eyes and a smile that could breathe life into Henry’s little, fragile hife. He’d stuck out a hand at that first meeting, dejected when Henry didn’t even take it. Found a way to poke and prod Henry every single time they’d met after, sharp jabs hitting his shoulder and rough hits shoving him around.

Now, Alex’s fingers are gentle as they lace around his. His arms hold him tight to his chest. His hair tickles the nape of Henry’s neck, and the couch is entirely too small for the two of them but Henry doesn’t have the heart to kick him out.

Or, 5 times Alex clings tight to Henry and 1 time Henry finds out why.

Bear with me

The first time it happened, Henry was not having it.

“For the last time, I’m not helping you shave your arse.”

—

In which Alex is very hairy, and Henry sort of has a thing for it. Not that he'd admit it, though.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Canon - Book, But can fit the movie verse too, tzp is a walking thirst trap, this was supposed to be crack but became quite serious real quick, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Sex, No Smut, Body Hair Appreciation, Healthy Relationships)

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie)

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

but i'd put you first a million times over

Henry first noticed it shortly after the Waterloo incident. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough to thrust all their private thoughts and emails into the public eye; they had to be thrust into the limelight as well.

Or the 5 times Henry asked the Crown for better security, plus one time he no longer had to.

(Additional Tags: Protective Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Paparazzi, Hurt/Comfort, 5+1 Things, Hurt Alex Claremont-Diaz, Post-Canon)

in every scenario

Henry can practically hear Alex thinking. They’re curled up in bed, Alex’s head resting on his chest, and his mind is so loud. He can hear it in the rustling of the sheets, in Alex’s hand skating up his ribcage; the anxious curl of his toes against Henry’s ankles. He’s nearly vibrating with thought.

Henry’s hand tucks into the base of Alex’s spine. “Love,” he murmurs, ducking his chin to look down at his boyfriend. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

-

Or, Alex has something important on his mind.

Long fics:

all that glitters (is not gold)

Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

—-

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

(The masterpiece. The firstprince sequel. The canon sequel.)

But I love him, whether or no.

Henry moves to New York City to help Pez with the opening of his new bar in the East Village. The location—fortunately for business, but unfortunately for Henry’s sanity—is directly across the street from a fire station. The sound of sirens is bad, Alex the gorgeous firefighter is worse. But when Alex helps Henry avoid a near catastrophe the night of the bar’s opening, the two form a tentative friendship that starts to develop into something more.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Firefighter!Alex, Canon typical mental health issues for Henry, Canon typical struggles with grief for Henry, Canon typical child of divorce issues for Alex, Canon typical struggles with sexuality for Alex, Firefighter injuries, Hospitalization, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

the poem you make of me

After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention.

Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

God Save the Blessed American President Mom

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.”

“June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.”

“Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”]

***

On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life.

Alex gets shot instead.

How wonderful life is (while you're in the world)

The corner of Henry’s mouth. It’s disappeared now, covered by the oxygen mask fixed securely around his head, but if Alex concentrates hard enough, he can see it sprawled out in front of him. Every ridge, every bend and edge and turn of it.

He knows Henry’s heart. And that’ll be enough.

(or: the one where henry gets shot and alex is a goddamn mess.)

[eeveebitches]

balcony. || Roman Roy

Pairing: Roman Roy x F!Reader

Summary: You're Roman's sad assistant, Roman is your comforting boss. There's something unspoken, too.

Word count: 1.685

The harsh autumn wind bites at the skin exposed by your party dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It's times like these where you curse yourself for your 'the jacket ruins the outfit' mentality. Sure, the moment you wanna go home you can step into a cozy Uber. But this jacket-less lifestyle doesn't support emotional breakdowns on balconies.

You're not sure why you feel the way you do. Maybe it's just life-- too much and too little, constant scratching and clawing just to get out of bed. Or maybe it's this dress, and the fact it just doesn't look as good on you as it used to look. Maybe it's the fact that you're lonely, no matter how much time you spend with others.

"Are you thinking of killing yourself? Because that's, like, lame." Your head turns for some reason, as if it isn't immediately clear to you that it's Roman. "Only a little bit," you weakly chuckle out, turning back to look at the view. Small lights blinking from high to low, desperate to shine through the darkness.

Roman wordlessly walks to stand next to you, although he turns his back to the view. He leans on the old, marble railing, hands tucked in his pockets for only a moment before he pulls them out again.

He's clearly nervous. Emotions aren't on the forefront for him, and the dysfunction of his upbringing definitely hasn't made him capable of handling yours any time, either. But his hands clasp and unclasp, his eyes blink rapidly, and with a single sentence he dives into the deep end.

"So are you, uh, okay?"

Your breathing stills at the question. Suddenly the cold air blows into your eyes, and now suddenly it's making you tear up. Damn the cold air for making you look weak. "Yeah, I just... I don't know," you mumble out, carelessly wiping your eyes, any make-up you had on now smudged. From the corner of your sight you can see Roman's eyes widen. His head starts darting around, like he's searching for something in the air, as he hesitates in his next actions.

He takes a single step. A small one, for sure, but the step is to get closer to you. One leg over the other, and now his arm is touching yours. "D'you wanna... talk?" You shrug, still mindlessly staring out in front of you as Roman struggles to think of ways he can show he does care about your feelings, even if he wouldn't outwardly admit it.

"Wanna be my therapist?" You laugh bitterly as you say it, to which Roman cracks an uneasy smile. "Sounds like a fun time, maybe even a little hot. Doctor, patient, stuck in a room for way too long," he tells you, carrying a nonchalant grin.

As always, he makes you laugh. "And a therapy couch to have crazy monkey sex on. I'm into it." Roman's grin grows at that, teeth peeking out as he finally turns to look into the night as well. "Soooo, what, is the party so bad you're considering suicide?" You roll your eyes at him with a light smile, which he happily reciprocates. "You're on the right fuckin' path, though, since their wine tastes like the aftermath of a grape juice enema," he groans out, eyes squeezed shut in faux annoyance.

With each smile you give him, he feels more secure. Like his feet are properly tied onto the ground, instead of floating out into the empty cold of space. "I'm just sad is all, Romes. Not about the shit wine, though, I haven't even had any tonight."

"Seriously? I thought that guy from the app company sent you a drink. He wanted to get into your panties bad, you do know that, right?" He tries not to come over as jealous, since this is your moment of vulnerability, but you can tell he is by the way he runs a shaky hand through his hair. All you do is shrug in response. "Didn't accept it."

He cackles, which makes you smile. "You stone-cold bitch. Poor guy's gonna jerk himself off as he cries, and you show no mercy?"

Another shrug from you, and another laugh from him. His laughter dies down quickly when he sees the change in your expression. There's a quiet somberness to it. The kind that brought him back to his childhood, uniforms and broken mirrors. 

He hates that somberness on you.

"Seriously, what's up? You're all quiet and fuckin' depressed, it's giving me the heebie jeebies." Your head doesn't turn to Roman as you prepare to speak. You keep your eyes on the twinkling lights of the buildings far away from you. Twinkles of humans who are just as awake, and possibly just as solemn as you are. "It's these parties. They just kinda highlight my loneliness, it's... it's just a bit much tonight," you sigh out, head not moving an inch.

You don't bother looking at Roman's face. It's most definitely a melancholic one, eyes round and glassy with his eyebrows slightly knotted. "You have me," he mumbles out, and despite his weak attempt at making it sound humorous, you both know it fell flat. He's too desperate for you to acknowledge that for it to be funny.

"I know I do."

A silence falls between the two of you as you both stare out. Roman's arm is still flush against yours, a lick of heat that's so miniscule yet so warming to you. 

He's thinking of something, anything, to say to you. Something that'll comfort you like you always comfort him. But how can he copy the eye contact you make across a room, or the hug you always give him where you squeeze his shoulders extra tight? Nothing he could say could ever carry the nurture your perfume carries for him.

"You don't have to say anything, Romes, just... be here with me?"

Roman stills. His hands stop fiddling, and his eyes stop darting around, searching for an anchor point to help him stay ashore. He lets out a heavy sigh, before grabbing your hand and tugging you with him. "C'mon," he mumbles, not daring to look at your expression, "let's go home."

There's something far too domestic about how he texts his driver with one hand while the other one holds onto yours. Like you're not his underpaid assistant, or his closest friend, but instead his partner. Your mind floods with images of his apartment flooded with your things, and Sundays together in bed. 

The two of you weave through the crowd. Roman speaks for the both of you every time someone tries to speak to either of you, probably to ask why you're leaving so early. He simply throws a 'fuck off' their way as he continues leading you to the exit. 

The taxi is somehow already standing there. "Let's ditch this shitty granny orgy," he chuckles out. He's clearly just as nervous as you are about the implication of whatever is happening now, but he doesn't hesitate in sitting snugly against you in the car. You let your head fall onto his shoulder. A heavy sigh escapes you, the kind that felt like it had been in your lungs for years.

"Just so you know, I didn't do groceries." You huff out a small laugh. "I told you to start doing them though," you mumble against his shoulder. His head falls to lean against yours, digging his nose into your hair. "I know, I'm just really fucking stubborn, like, all the time," he mumbles back.

This makes you laugh a little harder. He laughs too, content in your proximity to him. It felt right, sharing body heat. The car stops, and as the two of you step out Roman grabs your hand again. He doesn't let go, not even when unlocking his door.

Your hands disconnect to let Roman remove and hang up his jacket. He scurries to his bedroom, leaving you to take in his apartment. You've been in it plenty of times, but never like this. Never in a way that made it feel like home.

Roman returns, already changed into a sweater and loose pants. He hands you some clothes, as well, head nudging you towards his bedroom. "It's all oversized, because my pecs are fucking huge and stretch my clothes out," he jokes, flexing his muscles as if he can't hear his blood flow in his ears.

With a sheepish grin you head to his bedroom and change. You try not to dwell on how constant Roman's scent now is, or how you're pretty sure he uses the same fabric softener as you. Instead, you call out his name, thoughtlessly throwing yourself into his bed.

He bites back a quip, and silently enters the bed to lay next to you. It's like there's no air in the room as you lay your head on his stomach, your arms carefully wrapping around his waist. Gently, he strokes your hair, other hand swung over you, keeping you as close as you can be.

Roman's body stiffens at the first sniffles. Your tears roll down your cheeks, but you don't let out any sobs. He pulls you up, and tightly wraps his arms around you. Only when your head is buried in Roman's shoulders, you let out a strangled cry. You convulse in Roman's hold, shivering despite the warmth he's giving you.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here," he whispers as he keeps his hold on you strong, lightly rocking from side to side. There's a lump in his throat as he listens to you gently weeping. You, out of all people, shouldn't ever have to feel this way.

As you quiet down, only letting out the occasional hiccup, Roman lightly pulls you to look at him. He cradles your face with his hands, shakily wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs as he tries to think of anything to say.

"If you need a salary raise, let me know."

A hoarse laugh escapes your throat. You smile through your tears, and Roman smiles back. 

"I think I'd like that."

[pathetic-sapphic]

hello! i was wonder if you could do fluffy headcannons for vi and caitlyn? thanks in advance and have fun writing this : D

Fluffly Vi and Caitlyn HC's

VI

Vi is actually quite a bookworm! Growing up in the Lanes makes it hard to learn how to read and it wasn't until Vander found her trying to make sense of a novel left behind by a patron at the Last Drop that she started learning. Vander taught her himself, after the rest of her adoptive siblings went to bed, Vi would stay up and have Vander teach her how to read next to the soft glow of candle light. Those are some of her favorite memories with him.

She is a dog person through and through. Will beg for the two of you to adopt a dog once you've been living together for a while and you always seemed unsure. Little did she know, you were actually planning to surprise her with a puppy for her birthday! And when you finally do, oh, she cries so much! There are tears of happiness sliding down her freckled cheeks as she holds the tiny golden retriever puppy in her hands. Your apartment is alive with the sounds of her sobs and the puppy's attempts at barking, your heart clenches with joy at the scene. Vi will forever be grateful to you for such a thoughtful and amazing gift. She knows she can never repay you but she's willing to try through kisses and hugs.

Hates going clothes shopping unless you're the one doing it. If so, she's at your service. She'll carry your bags, point out clothes that she thinks you'll look nice in and compliment you when you try them on. When she's the one buying clothes, she likes for it to be done as quickly as possible. Though she can't say she minds the appreciative looks you give her when she tries on some particularly tight clothes or ones that show off her muscles.

Loves silly pet names. Cutie, honey bee, hot stuff, etc. But most of the time she likes to stick with good ol' 'babe'. Her heart almost jumps out of her chest the first time you call her 'darling'. There's just something about the way that word rolls off of your tongue that makes her stomach erupt with butterflies. First names are only uttered in serious situations.

Her giving love language is physical touch, receiving is words of affirmation. Vi loves being close to you, hugging, kissing and touching you whenever she can. She craves reassurance and affirmation due to her past. Needs to know she's good to you and that you feel loved and protected by her side.

Her favorite season is autumn! It's chilly but not too cold, but at the same time cold enough for her to cozy up inside and enjoy the rainy scenery unfolding outside your shared place. Even better if the two of you cuddle under a blanket and doze off in each other's arms. Violet swears she never slept better.

As much as she adores being the big spoon, she has a secret fondness for being the small spoon too. Especially after a nightmare, Vi needs to be held and feel protected. Her life has been one of hardship and being in your embrace reminds her that that period of her life is over. Now there is only your warmth and smile which protect her from all harm and sadness life brings.

CAITLYN

Has no bias when it comes to dogs or cats, but since she grew up with dogs, she isn't opposed to adopting a cat with you this time around. She had planned to find a more exotic and fancy cat breed but that went out the window one night as she was coming back from work. Coming back to you. It was a rainy night and it was already quite late as she stayed longer in her office than she should've so she was hurrying along. Despite the heavy sounds of rain and her footsteps echoing off the pavement, her ears managed to pick up a tiny, desperate sound. Cautiously following it to a dark alley, she was surprised when she stumbled upon a dirty kitten that was meowing its little heart out. Caitlyn couldn't bear to just leave it so she took it home to you. Your kind soul immediately saw the kitten as a new addition to your little family and it made Caitlyn so happy. The sweet but feisty calico kitten would quickly become an integral part of your everyday lives and the two of you wouldn't have it any other way!

Opposite of Vi when it comes to shopping, Caitlyn loves indulging herself with new fits and it's even better if she gets to do the same for you! Be prepared to never have to use your wallet ever again because your girlfriend has you covered. Loves to spoil you with whatever you desire and buys you stuff weekly, even if you don't ask for it. Whenever she buys you new clothes, Caitlyn likes to make a little show out of it! She'll twirl you around and give advice on how to pair different articles of clothing. However, she understands if it may be a bit too much at first so she'll start off with small and inexpensive but sentimental gifts. Anything to make you happy.

Caitlyn secretly collects antique porcelain figurines. She remembers her mother always having some on display when she was a child but never let her go near them in fear that she'd break them on accident. But she was always so amazed by their graceful yet still forms and the details which adorned their smooth surface. So, when she got older, she started buying them out of pure self-indulgence. When the two of you start dating, she's actually a bit scared that you'll find her obsession silly but, as always, you pleasantly surprise her with a look of awe and compliments on how pretty they are. When a couple of days later you show up with a gift for her, she is so happy! That happiness grows too big for her heart to contain when the gift turns out to be two custom-made porcelain figures with a striking resemblance to the two of you. You may not know it, but this definitely helped heal her inner child.

Besides practicing shooting, Caitlyn also loves fencing! It lets her release tension and stress which piles up from work and it keeps her agile. Puffs out her chest with pride if she ever spots you watching her during practice. Tries extra hard to impress you but at the same time gets really clumsy because she's constantly checking if your eyes are on her and only her. You catch on quickly and find it very endearing.

Soft and sweet pastries are her weakness. Goes to her favorite bakery to pick up her breakfast every morning before work. Once she's with you, she drops by in the afternoon too, during her break, so she can get you your favorite and give it to you when she gets home. At the end of a long day, there is nothing Caitlyn yearns for more than the sweet taste of a flaky pastry and your soft lips.

[mayuichi]

“... I didn't meant what I said.„

Saigiku Jouno x Reader Warning: unhealthy relationship behaviors (sorry I can't see Jouno be capable to have a healthy relationship with anybody)

Note : I skipped yesterday in my everyday fic because of some sickness, so I have to post twice today woohoo! I really hope I'll feel better soon ughhh

Art from the anime.

Despite the blanket covering your lap, you keep shivering from the cool air. Autumn slowly letting place to winter, December becoming colder day by day. It was one of the snowy days today. Those days you would love to spend home with your boyfriend.

Speaking of which, it was getting late, night already settled down. Yet he still isn't home. It isn't even surprising, he is part of the Hunting Dogs after all. You're used for him to get home extremely late, if just not coming home at all.

Sitting on the sofa, looking at some stupid TV show to pass the time, you're reading a book at the same time. You just want some background noises to not suffocate from the silence. You work too, of course, but your shift finishes at 5pm. It's already been two hours you're trying to kill time.

You have been waiting long enough, you're pretty sure he won't come home anytime soon. Placing down your book and turning the TV off, you make your way to the kitchen. Once again, you'd make food only for yourself. How long has it been since your last meal together ? A bit too long.

Picking each ingredient carefully, you start making yourself dinner, every so often glancing toward the window in case you'd see him come home. While waiting for the cooking to be over, checking from time to time in the oven, you pick your phone.

“I'll lock the front door. Be careful to not wake me up when you'll come home, if you even do. I have to wake up early tomorrow.„

You're pretty sure he won't even read it now. There has always been some ups and downs in between you, but it's been a while since the last good time. You couldn't help but doubt his words again. You sigh, feeling helpless.

Eating alone, you use once more the TV as only company. Does he love me? You question your own mind, knowing damn well it'll only hurt you further. But those questions keep repeating themselves in your mind until the next day.

Even throuhough your shift. You're tensed, so anxious it needs to end. He hasn't answered your last text, and didn't even went home.

Walking home, your head low, you don't want to see anyone. Holding the end of your scarf, you hurry back home. The cold air reddening your nose and ears, your fingers taking a blue tint. You even struggle to open your door, your hands shaking.

Rapidly closing the door behind you, you rub your hands against one another, yearning for some warmth. Without undoing your scarf or jacket, you make your way to the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate, only to see a tall figure waiting against the cupboard.

He is facing you, his arms crossed as a smirk adorned his face. “I can feel that you missed me, didn't you ?„ he hums. It isn't truly a question, he already knows the answer. Yet you don't plan on giving him one.

He raises an eyebrow when he hears your steps leaving to the bedroom, where you take off your scarf, jacket and shoes. He follows you close. “Aren't you planning on answering me ? Is it too much to ask to your little self?„

His smirk widens when he feels your heartbeat increase. He absolutely loves the way he can play your emotions like an instrument. So easy to read, and to control. “If you can't even utter a word, then what's the purpose of my presence. I thought you'd jump in my arms. Or perhaps... You don't truly love me ?„

He steps closer and closer, until his slender figure is hovering you, almost pinning you against the wall. Fluttering your eyes shut, anxiety rising in your body, your voice almost breaking as you speak. “I.. should be the one asking you that..„

He huffs in response, unsure of what you are trying to tell him. He brings his fingers under your chin. “Go ahead, word your thoughts then. I am all ears, darling.„

Your breath itchs in your throat. Feeling his soft yet hot breath against your nose, you muttered in a shy voice. “... I know your work asks you a lot of your time but.. You don't even text me...„

You see his expression not faltering even in the slightless. Instead, he just pulls away, sighing in disappointment. “Are you that needy ? Greedy for attention ? You should've known better when you desired to be with me. If you can't keep up, then I might just leave.„

His words sink in your mind. You turn your head away, barely capable to answer. “... I understand...„ it took you all your might to not let your voice break, but he knows better. He knows deep down you're dying from his words.

And even if he feels regret, speaking and admitting them out loud is another thing. He watches as you make your way to the living room, where you snuggle under the blanket and turn the TV on. He has always been cruel, but never going to that extend. Never expressing anything about leaving.

What if he truly does ? Would it make him feel better ? But you, in all that ? Does he think about how you feel ? You endured all his words, and his sadist behavior all the time, for only little to no comforting moment. You just have to handle it. Yet you are at your breaking point.

Drowning your sorrow and pain in that stupid show. It's all you can do if you don't want your mind to make you suffocate. The night quickly arrives, and with that, the cold breeze from the open window too.

Too absorbed into forgetting your aching heart, you don't hear the footsteps making their way to close the window. “Darling,„ his tone surprisingly sweet. “Here. I wouldn't want you to freeze.„

He places a hot chocolate in front of you on the coffee table, sitting down next to you. He doesn't try to touch you in any way though, surely knowing it isn't the time for it. You stare at the gentle treat he gives you.

You hesitantly reach for the cup, feeling its warmth spreading through your hands. You see him pick the TV remote to lower the volume. He lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

“... Why do you act so kind suddenly ?„ you breath out, quietly blowing on the hot chocolate before taking a sip. You can hear him gulp. Perhaps he feels remorse now..

“... I didn't meant what I said.„ it's so hard for him to admit he's wrong. It makes you giggle, and you don't hide it, which makes him have a faint blush. He clears his throat, “... Don't laugh like that. It isn't fun.„

“Yet it would've been if I were the one to apologise.„ you sigh, keeping your eyes on that sweet drink he made you. He leans over you, his head almost resting on your shoulder.

“... I promise to make an effort, but please, don't leave yet. I want you to stay. It's better with you.„ it's the first time he shows himself being vulnerable. Yet, everyone has insecurities and weak side, right ? But he doesn't want anyone to see it. You're the only exception.

“If you don't push me to leave again, then... I won't. I love you also for your harsh words, but.. Just, don't make me feel like I'm a burden.„

He presses a gentle kiss on your cheek. You hope he'll change his behavior, but you can't be sure he will. You just allow yourself to doubt. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting gesture.

“You can't be a burden. You make me have another purpose than just serve for justice. You make me feel alive.„

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ mayuichi's property. do not repost, copy or translate it without permission.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

hello! if it's not too much to ask, could you possibly write some headcanons for the papas with an s/o who loves to be outside no matter the season. like. they're just out there enjoying it. idk. whatever you want. have a good day/night and wishing you well!!

Hi!!! Love this request so much, I had great fun coming up with these headcanons <3 I myself am not an outdoorsy person unless it's autumn or late summer but hopefully you enjoy these !

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

This is something the two of you have in common

Even in his old age, the cold getting to him quicker in the winter, there is nowhere he'd rather be in the abbey than outside in the gardens

So the two of you spend a lot of time outdoors together whether it's working in the gardens, having a picnic, going on a stroll through the grounds, or just existing together

Primo makes sure that the two of you are well wrapped up if you're spending the day outside during the winter

He also got you matching umbrellas for if the two of you wanna sit outside and watch the rain during a thunderstorm

When it's especially cold and snowy out, his ghouls will bring you both flasks of hot chocolate to share

Summer nights are often spent laying on the grass and gazing up at the stars surrounded by blankets and pillows

If the two of you go on walks through the woods to the rear of the abbey, Primo will bring along his books about identifying wild plants and he'll teach you about them and how to identify what's poisonous and what isn't

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

Very much an indoorsy person

However, Secondo loves that you prefer to be outdoors and spend so much time outside

It encourages him to actually leave his office and enjoy the outdoors a little more

Has had to drag you indoors during heavy rain and thunderstorms before now because he doesn't want you to catch a chill or get sick

Spoiler, you almost always catch a chill

It caused a lot of chaos and arguments with Imperator, but Secondo moved to a bedroom in the Papal quarters that has a balcony for you so that you get to wake up and bask in the sun outdoors first thing in the morning

Knows that if he can't find you in the abbey that he's bound to find you outside, which gives him the comfort of knowing you're safe

His favourite outdoors activity to do with you is in the summer and just lay in the sun with you (you're probably sunbathing whereas he just wants to lay there and be with you, quietly existing together)

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

Thinks it's rather endearing that you take so much joy and enjoyment from simply being outside

Sometimes it's easy to forget that the simpler joys in life are the most wonderful and beautiful and fulfilling

So naturally Terzo is drawn to you because of this

He's such a romantic at heart that he literally tries to predict the weather outside so that your first kiss can be in the rain

He's like a lovesick puppy when he sees the pure joy and contentment on your face at getting to spend time outdoors

Will absolutely make snow angels with you no matter how cold or unbearable it might be

Romantic picnics under the stars or watching the sunset are a must

The two of you have fallen asleep cuddled up together under a tree more than once and woken up to one of the ghouls standing over you

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

Copia got sick really quick as a kid, so he spent a lot of his childhood in the infirmary, watching all the other abbey kids having fun outdoors from the window

So having someone in his life who loves to be outside as much as he does makes him incredibly happy

Has a photo album full of just pictures of the two of you doing various activities outdoors

He's similar to Secondo in that he is comforted by the fact that he knows where to find you because you spend so much time outdoors

Takes you wild blackberry picking in the abbey woods during the summer

He will also take you to pumpkin patches during the autumn as a way to bond and spend quality time together outdoors while also doing seasonal activities

You will probably have to nurse him back to health if he gets sick from getting soaked in the rain with you

This doesn't deter him from spending as much time with you outdoors as possible and he adores that you're such an outdoorsy person

𝐍𝐢𝐡𝐢𝐥

Nihil is not an outdoors man

Doesn't understand why you enjoy being outside so much during all manner of weather and temperatures

However he's not going to stop you or try to convince you to spend less time out there. He actually likes that you're different to him in those regards

Won't go out of his way to constantly be outdoors, but he will spend time outside of the abbey with you

Starts getting into cloud watching because of you

Will also go bird watching with you and sets aside one day a week where he will do an outdoorsy activity with you

Calls you his little songbird because you spend so much time outside in nature

You will have to really butter him up to get Nihil to go outdoors with you during the winter and snowy weather

[vonev]

The Executioner (and the judge) II

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Chapter 2: and in the confinement of your heart, leave me haunted

Part I Part II Part III

Words: 4.6k Summary: Coming back isn't easy, nor is the reality that you'll have to face everyone easier.

a/n: so excited to be revealing more of the plot!!

“Hello?”

For an entire second, the world stops around you; your breathing hitches in your throat, teeth biting on the skin of your finger, eyes frantically dancing around every inch of your lap. 

Her voice brings back memories: ones you suppressed to the back of your mind for so long, just to be lit up in flames once more as easily as you’ve smothered it before. 

It brings back the numerous springs fleeting away within the blink of an eye; how the clouds would accompany your loneliness amidst trials and tribulations, during dire times when you’d be left stranded alone somewhere with only yourself to lookout for. To save.

Summers go by just as quick; if not quicker. A knowing, familiar look from your lieutenant—his lips on your skin, breaths fanning across your face, hands grabbing at whatever he could, because he had just realized he’d spend the rest of his life with you; till death do you both apart, quite literally.

It takes you back to the several autumns spent, where the bunch of you would gather in the living room at a safe house with blankets and hot coffee and tea for each of you as you all but wilted away in the approaching cold. 

It reminds you of the last winter wasted with blood on your hands and a gunshot to your oblique, head spinning as voices shouted over your prone figure; blurry eyes and even blurrier nights with a strong hand supporting the back of your busted head, your figure molding into his arms like you had always belonged there: with him.

That’s what you lost, you think. The sense of belonging, of safety. 

There wasn’t a day gone by where you wouldn’t think of him and those sullen eyes of his you adored, and still do. 

Will he resent you? You hoped not, fingers crossed that somehow, someway, he’ll forgive you—the rest of the team, too. Because as much as it hurt them to see you gone; you had been the one quietly suffering in silence, with absolutely no one to turn to: because who would hear your cries in the nights you’d wallow up in loneliness and days spent tucking away in your bed to will the sadness away? No one. None except for him who stuck by, through thin and thick, like the birds of a feather he kept to you.

Yet you couldn’t find a reason to go back; a proper one.

It hadn’t been easy for you to decide to end it all and leave for good; you posed too much of a danger to everyone around you. Misfortune seems to favor you the best amongst all. 

Everywhere you go, people die.

Hells, you somehow managed to bring an entire town down with only your existence.

Yet you live through it all practically unscathed to see the damage, to see what you alone can do to the people around you: nothing good. Demise seems to trail your back, sit in the dark in the corner of your room, live in your shadows. 

“…if this is a prank call, it’s not funny.” 

Her voice snaps you back to the present. 

Mindlessly, you let out a small snort. Even though you haven’t seen her for so long, she still seems to be grounding you in the moment. Her presence has always been. Especially during tough missions when morale would be at its lowest, she would be there to cheer the entire team up—somehow. 

“Kate.”

“I—“

It sounds like she’s choking back annoyance behind the line, trying her best to remain her composure and keep the professionalism intact.

“This isn’t funny, whoever you are.” Kate groans, and from the sound of it, the squeak of a chair indicates her getting up from it; probably pacing around the room as you both speak. “I know you’re using a voice changer, so drop the act, what do you want?”

“I need your help, Kate,” you mutter, still in trance upon hearing her voice grumble through the microphone. 

“And I need you to stop using my friend’s voice—it’s creeping me the fuck out.”

“I am your friend,” you speak up with a newfound confidence, determined to see through this conversation and convince Kate that Yes, I’m alive and No, I have never died. 

“No, no you’re not—“ she sounds really mad now. “—because my friend is dead .” 

Your body freezes up at the venom in her tone, the reminder of your ‘death’ ; back in the foreign forest near a Soviet compound where you should’ve died of blood loss. Because fate just had to play you, even in your ‘last’ moment. You still weren’t sure if you were truly alive after that fiasco with the Barkov, you felt that a piece of you was stripped away, like you’d unknowingly traded your soul for another chance at living.

Not that it’s ever that easy, of course.

“It’s me, Kate, I swear.” 

Silence fills the room once more.

Seconds ticks by, and yet not another word spoken between the two of you.

“…Sweets?” 

Ah. That’s a name you haven’t heard in a while: your callsign. 

It was funny, really, how it was assigned to you in the first place: back at the headquarters with the entire 141 lounging inside the kitchen in a secluded safe house, you had all been bouncing back and forths with a callsign for you—you were a new recruit, so naturally, they’d need a nickname for you to refer by other than, well, your name.

Names felt too personal; like a thin thread no one is exactly allowed to cross unless permitted, you had told yourself you’d scowl at any stranger who dared to utter your name in greeting, it’s only ever reserved for the special people. And during that time, your special people had died in a battle you fought, the vision of their decapitated limbs still fresh in your mind as you felt yourself zone out. 

“—Sweets.” 

The debate halted, and every head in the room simultaneously turned to him who stood by the kitchen countertop, stirring his tea away in silence. His suggestion was a shock to you, especially since he didn’t talk much—not to you, anyway. Your eyes widened in surprise, lips slightly parted as you were about to ask a question hung in the air.

“Why?” Gaz had beaten you to it. His voice rings out in the quiet atmosphere the room fell into; his head tilted as you all stared at the back of his mask intently.

“She likes sweets,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. He continues to stir away with a little teaspoon, his eyes drifting to your dumbfounded face and lingered. 

“Caught her red handed with her trousers down and hands in the snack cabinet,” he shrugged. 

Your mouth hung wide open, not wanting to believe what had just occurred. Your face felt heated, embarrassed at being exposed to so many people you’ve not grown familiar with—naked and humiliated.

“You!” 

You shot up from the stool, internally cringing at the loud scratchy noise of the legs against the beaten hardwood floor. 

“You’ve no right to call me out, hypocrite.” 

“Oh?” 

He turned around, fingers still clutching at the hem of the teaspoon, his exhausted eyes held your stare. 

“That’s right, it has been you who was eating away all my snacks! My sweets!” 

His gaze remained nonchalant, yet you could spot the hint of mischief behind those stares—he shrugged.

“Not my fault we’ve got a rat runnin’ ‘round, no?” 

The audacity—

— “Watch your back, Ghost.” With a final scoff, you stomped away from the kitchen and back into your dorm. His stare still fresh on the back of your head as you burrowed yourself into your pillow and groaned. 

Oh yeah.

You and Simon hadn’t started off smooth and easy. 

“Kate,” you whisper into your phone, fingers gripping the sides of your phone with much intensity. “I missed you.”

“You—“

Knowing her for years, you could see the way she’s desperately trying to maintain her demeanor, to not completely go batshit and lash out on you; even though you did deserve it. Instead, you hear her take a few deep breaths over the phone, a soft incoherent murmur and a couple of shuffling on her side before she speaks again.

“I don’t even know what to do with you right now, you know that?” She chuckles, but it doesn’t hold the lightheartedness it should’ve, it sounds bitter, angry. 

“I know…” you take a moment to yourself and sighed. “I’m sorry for walking out on you.”

“Walking out isn’t even the right term,” she grunts. “You were supposed to be dead!” 

“Yeah I’m—I’m aware.” 

“…and?”

“…and I’m sincerely sorry, from the bottom of my heart,” it’s true; you have always carried the heavy guilt of leaving your teammates behind throughout all your years. 

“I just—“ 

“Before you say anything else, answer me this—“ she halts, and if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve missed the way her voice falters slightly.

“Are you going to walk out on us again?”

Huh.

Out of all the questions she could’ve asked, you’re rather surprised by the one she does ask. It makes you stop and think over your next words.

“Not doing that again,” with a deep breath, you nod to yourself. 

Never again.

Both of you spend the next half an hour catching up; or trying your best to—because after you were gone, a lot had happened between the 141.

World-ending missions, political conflicts (so much of it), an upgraded headquarters, and Kate being promoted—all of them did, actually. 

It makes sense; you were there for the beginning of it all, when the three of you sat around a table and Price put a name on the task force he created, nurtured. He did a damn great job, too. You’re relieved to find out that everyone you know is still alive and well; saved for a couple of more emotional and physical trauma added on. But who’s still counting anyway? 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hold back the urge to ask how he has been doing; is he well? Has he been on his usual shenanigans when you’ve been gone? Does he think about you the way you do with him? 

…has he found someone new?

You don’t ask, because you’re afraid the answer might cave your heart in, and you’ve had too much of that. 

“Let me get this straight,” Kate sighed. “You want me to fly you out to Urzikstan?”  

With a hand on your hip, you pace around the cold concrete floor of your bunker. 

“Yes.”

“And may I ask for the reason?” 

“You must know, Kate, it’s quite obvious—“

“—Don’t fucking tell me—“

“I’m going to murder Viktor.” 

There it is again. The familiar silence that only festers deep within the tiny confinement of your room, nestling into the cracks of the wall and the dent in your heart. 

“I can’t let you do that, Sweets.”

“Yes you can, I know you can.” You’re growing frustrated; not particularly at Kate, but the convoluted situation at hand. It’d be so easy: drop you in Urzikstan where the Al-Qatalas reside, then slaughter your way to Viktor, before he joins the rest of his dead comrades as well.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve done something similar before; with the Russians especially.

“You can’t force my hands here, I’m tied. Sweets.” She hesitates. “Plus, Shepherd will kill me if he finds out.”

“What if he doesn’t?” You press on. “Send me along with one of your guys to be deployed there, we’ll come up with a plan, and I’ll be under a new name—new disguise.” 

“It’s not that easy, stop making it sound like we're planning a shopping trip,” Kate grunts on the other end. “This will cause an outright war, a massive conflict.” 

“I fail to see the issue here.”

“The issue is—hold on,” Kate’s voice grows faint, and from what you can hear, someone has knocked on her door. 

The next few minutes consist of a bunch of mumbo-jumbo of words you couldn’t decipher, only movements on the other line and some deep grunts, possibly from the man speaking to her. 

“—we found him—KorTac—infiltrate…König—” 

KorTac? The KorTac? 

The task force had mingled with the private company, sure, but they’ve always been off-limits when it came to being directly involved with missions, mostly providing much needed intel but never their operators; have they switched up their agenda?

Rubbing the knitted tension in your temple, you exhale in annoyance, confused and curious—If KorTac is involved with the task force then, how come they haven’t tried to search for you all these years? Admittedly, it makes you bitter, the grip on your heart only grows tighter and your breathing gets quicker. 

They’ve given up on you so easily.

As the soft murmurs of a chatter on the line continues, your eyes flicker over to a framed photograph sitting atop a couple stacked books: in the picture was the entire 141, grouped together for a quick cheeky selfie Soap took during a downtime in a mission. All your smiles reached your eyes, except for Simon who never has his mask off—he’s the odd one out, always has been.

You know his face though; he’s shown you himself, when he’s the most vulnerable—and honestly, it made him even more desirable: to see a side of him most will never have the pleasure of knowing, the way he’d hold you against his chest in bed, when he’d silently sob into your shoulder during tough times. 

To the world, he was Ghost. But to you, he was Simon Riley himself.

You missed him. You still do.

But you can’t help shudder at the thought of meeting him again; Simon was never a man of casualness, he doesn’t crack jokes with strangers and show how broken of a man he actually is—to everyone else, he’s a human killing machine, a renowned executioner with the guns he’d carry. Everyone would cower at his presence, turn away at the sight of him, anything to not get in his radar; anything to avoid him altogether.

It’s understandable, he’s always had an intimidating aura and a tough shell to crack. Unless you were in the 141, you’d never know that he secretly enjoys Cradburry bars and black tea in his free time, maybe even plays a game of poker or two and religiously sharpens his pocket knives.

Under that tough shell, is a man with an empty void in his heart desperately needed to be tended to; and you filled in that slot easily. 

Oftentimes you’d sleep to the ghost of his warm embrace behind you, that’s how you fight insomnia; the thought of his arms circling your midsection the way it always did, like the perfect puzzle piece to an empty socket. 

You dream of him, too. 

Nightmares would cloud your sleep; of when you’d both meet again, except he’d turn away upon seeing you and scoff. ‘This is what you get for leaving me, for leaving us.’ he’d say in those sequences, unknowingly shattering your already fragile heart to tiny pieces. 

A few times, you’d dream the better of him: both of you meeting under a better circumstance, rekindling an old bond that was once lost and found again, he’d hold your hand in his as you both walk toward sunset. 

You’d always wake up crying after, the thought of a timeline where you both existed in peace and love was too much to bear. 

Because you know it’ll never be true.

Especially not when you both fought tooth and nail everyday to stay alive; your yourselves, for the team. It’d be a miracle if you had a proper room for a breather. 

At least you had him to run to for comfort; just as he does with you. 

“Thank you—“ The muffled sound of doors closing pulls you back from your daydreaming. “Sorry, you're still there, Sweets?” Kate’s voice rings out with a hint of concern; in case you run out on her when she’s distracted.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.” 

Kate sighs in relief.

“I think I can do something for you.”

Your ears instantly perk up at her words, listening intently as your head tilts closer to the phone. 

“But first, we’ll need to get you here in the States, sounds cool?” 

“Fuck yes.” 

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

“Fuck no.” 

Kate stares at you, dumbfounded and honestly, a tad bit offended. 

“You need this if you want to do what you wanna do.”

“And die by the hands of the Russians? Not again.” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing down at the file in front of you. 

Kate’s eyebrows furrow, she’s clearly frustrated as well—you’ve been stubborn ever since you landed at the base in the United States, after a quick briefing of a mission taking place in Russia in a secret meeting room with Kate, you quickly suppressed the urge of participating. 

“It’s not worth it, those bastards are ruthless.” You grumble under your breath; maybe it was a bad idea after all, you wouldn’t be able to live if you encounter Barkov’s men again. 

They’d put a bullet through your head on sight.

“You won’t be going alone,” she shuffles through a couple of pages on the file and picks out a sheet from in-between, sliding the piece of paper across the table to where you sit. 

“He’ll accompany you.” 

Scanning the piece of information, you quickly come to a realization that he’s a KorTac contractor. His details sprawl out on the sheet as you slowly drink them in; König—you recall the name from the phone call with Kate, you hadn’t expected he would adorn a veil with two holes for his eyes to peer through…it looked a little silly, but you wouldn’t say that to his face. Because if you thread wrongly, he could snap you with his fingers just as easily; he’s built like a mountain, probably throws a punch that lands like one, too.

“I see that look, and I get it,” Kate rubs the back of her neck. “But he’s harmless—if you’re an ally.” 

You nod, “Alright. When and where do we start?” 

Kate’s fingers press a couple of buttons on the remote she holds before the projector screen behind her flashes a new image; the picture of a map pops, Kate grabs a red pen and circles the area up north of the map.

“We’ll send you both here to infiltrate early, before the other task force arrives to help.” She pauses in her movement, gently putting the pen down to pick up the remote again as a new image flashes through: a clear portrait of Roman Barkov.

The man who almost led you to your death.

“We need him alive, so don’t try anything funny,” you feign offense as you gasp and hold a hand over where your beating heart stands. 

“I would never.” 

Her eyes flicker towards you, a ‘Uh huh, sure’ look plaster on her nonchalant features. “We’ll get started this Friday, I’ve already assigned you a dorm—don’t worry, no one else knows you’re here.” 

She slides another file across the table to you, you stop its momentum with your fingers, eyes glossing over the exposed file. 

“Huh, this copy looks legit.” You pick up the file and stare at the words: on it, is a portrait of a supposed mercenary. Despite all the illegitimate information on it, the copy seems professional, she even laminated the paper, for some reason. “This is me?” 

Kate nods, “It’s you, but obviously not you, you. It’s just a fake to get by, otherwise people would start questioning, and we’d have a lot more on our plate.” 

She wouldn’t be wrong; your sudden appearance would shake the unit up—you’re sure Shepherd would be on your tail right away, which would be the last thing you’d want as of now. 

At the same time, you’re not sure if you’re ready to come back to 141; if you’re still welcomed by your peers, that is. 

“We’ll get you set up, I know you brought your own weaponry, but a tad bit more cover up would set you straight—God, I’m gonna need to do so much paperwork for this.” 

You let out a soft chuckle—you’ve truly missed the lighthearted conversations with the people you love; sharing giggles over a couple of easygoing banter, engulfed in the warmth of a found family. You had thrown it all away when you made the ultimate decision to up and leave; sometimes, as you lay on your rock-hard mattress at night, you wonder how life would’ve continued had you chosen to turn back around. It’s…slightly too late to discuss such matters anymore, not when lives are at stake, your life is at stake.

The only way to bypass tyranny and continue your mundane life was to assassinate Viktor; but you’d need Barkov and his men dead before proceeding with that idea.

Which, as you tilt your head to the side, watching Kate shuffle through several screens on the projector and giving you an in-depth briefing; makes you wonder—

—why does Shepherd want him alive?

“You mentioned calling in a task force to help, who are they?” You yawn, the jet lag from before slowly catching up to you, rubbing your eyes in a sheepish manner. 

“Who else?” A smirk finds its way to the corner of Kate’s lips, and as you ponder over her words, the dread of your realization dawns on you.

“They—I can’t, Kate. Anyone but them.” 

Her brows knits together, her annoyance showing through despite her best effort. 

“Yes, yes you can.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Kate looks up at you, her worried eyes searching for yours that screams terror back at her; you’re terrified. Terrified of the idea of meeting them so soon, everything still feels so raw, so fresh. It hasn’t even been a full day since you stepped foot in America, having to approach a bunch of old friends who thought you’d been dead for the past few years would reopen an old wound, one that you’d been trying your best to nurture—the more you try, the worse you fail.

How would you be able to see Price, Johnny, and Kyle in the face? Laugh with them the same again?

How would you be able to stand in front of Simon, a man who experienced nothing but loss throughout his entire life, and tell him that you are truly sorry for everything you’ve done? What you did to him. 

It hurts to dwell on the thought that things wouldn’t be the same anymore, not after everything. Not after the stunt you pulled.

“It’ll be hard, Sweets, but you can’t keep running away from things.”

For a flash of a second, you see red. 

Anger silently brewing at the pit of your gut, your hand tightens into a fist, and a cold sweat breaks out on your skin. You want to correct her; that no, I didn’t run away—you guys gave up on me long ago. 

Sure, you’d made the decision to leave—but it didn’t count for the sleepless nights you spent inside the cold compound of Barkov’s ground, hiding from his men, surviving only because by sheer luck you had kept yourself safe in an abandoned storage room. Weeks would go by yet as you toyed with the stolen radio and matched its frequency to 141’s, only silence greeted you, even as you begged and cried—for anyone to pick you up, for someone.  

No one else was there for you when you’d puncture your deep gash with staples and rubbing alcohol being the only thing you managed to scavenge, something to keep you alive a little longer; something to keep their hopes up, that one day, they might just come and get you. 

But they never did.

So you left. You left with the loot you found angrily stashed away into a worn duffel bag, you left with the unforgiving winter air biting into the skin of your soles and nearly freezing your blood, numbing your every move as you trek through mountains of snow. You stayed inside a small hut for a safehouse, having gotten sick from hours of traveling through the harsh winter, with only a barely functioning fireplace to aid you in your worst moment.

They gave up on you, so you left.

“Thank you for today, but I’ll be heading to bed now.”

Without another word, you stand up from your seat, the chair rolls away as you continue to stalk toward the door. 

Kate stares at you, her gaze full of concern; she’d never seen you lash out or lose your temper, yet she’d be a fool to provoke you. So she lets you leave the room without another question, without chasing you down as much as she wants to. 

“And another thing, Kate,” you pause, hand clutching at the handle of the steel door as you throw your head over your shoulder, your gaze lingering on the floor. 

“I never run from things.”

And you’d be damned if the one time you were forced to leave would be the cement of your legacy.

The hinges creak, your figure disappears behind the door.

You sigh, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides, you walk down the foreign hallway with nothing but the fluorescent lights above you guiding your path. Your head stays drooped, not wanting to meet the eyes of anyone else who might pass you by. Just as you stuff your hands into your pockets, another figure emerges from the corner in front of you, their shadow gradually approaching your way as you keep your head low.

Too low, in fact, because you accidentally bump your shoulder into theirs; your eyes lift up, but when you’re met with a glimpse of their mask, you quickly dip your head back down; with a  mumble of an apology, you pick up your pace and practically jog away from the scene.

It took you extra minutes when you made your way to your room—the hallways have totally changed, and it was the uncanny valley of ‘I’ve been here, but where is this?’ feeling that settles at the pool of your stomach and rests at the back of your head–-nearly bumping into walls several times before reaching your dorm.

The keys jingle in your palm; out of nowhere, the hair on the back of your neck stands to alert.

Someone is watching you.

But as you turn to survey your surroundings, you couldn’t spot a shadow that would confirm your suspicion. Groaning, your fingers twirl around the metal before settling on the one with  a number 309 written on it; with the sound of a click, you enter your room.

It might’ve just been the fear that always followed you—the curse of being incredibly alert and anxious even during times when you were safe. You shake off the uneasy feeling.

The room was standard; a sink with cabinets sat to your right, and down the narrow entry to your bed is the door to the on-suite bathroom to your left. You’re grateful Kate didn’t assign you to a dorm that shares a communal bathroom—you’d make do without the kitchen, but having to share a shower with another stranger would tip you over the edge. 

Everything is fast-paced after the quick tour; immediately taking off your shoes and locking your door, you beelined for the bed. The nook of your chin hits the heavenly soft mattress that molds around your body, like how laying on thousands of marshmallows would feel—you exhale into the bedding, feeling tears prickle at the edge of your eye.

When was the last time you had a proper night’s sleep in a comfortable bed?

You could barely remember anymore. 

And as the exhaustion creeps up on you; the warm, familiar memory of you and your teammates sitting around a kitchen bar and having the time of your life crawls into your headspace.

Sleep finds you easy, and for the first time in forever, you sleep soundly.

[galedekarios]

oc meme

name: altonaufein, kulg llarzoran ithrana d'qu'ellar hlarahel

ages ago, when i was trying to find a name for my drow cleric, i was looking to create a drow name and drow house name that would reflect the role he would play within his house, while at the same time reflecting his backstory and journey:

altonaufein -> powerful, eyes of / seer of the way kulg -> male offspring in the house llarzoran -> three, thirdborn ithrana -> name of his mother, matron of the house d'qu'ellar -> of house hlarahel -> seers of, the gods

nickname: alton

alton has been called a lot of things in his life.

he was named altonaufein at birth, his designation as a male is kulg llarzoran ithrana d'qu'ellar hlarahel. during his captivity, he was called auflaque. when he finally fled and made it to the settlement, surrounding a small ilmater temple, he was called treated both with suspicion and fear, but also kindness and an open hand. he was called alton only ever by karl. in time, gale comes to call him alton too - and much, much later alurlssrin.

gender: male

star sign: aries

height: 160 cm, on the taller side for a drow

orientation: gay

race: drow

romancing: karl eifers (oc), gale dekarios

i've written more about alton's backstory and karl's part in it here in more detail.

fave fruit: wild strawberries. one of the first little fanciful things on the surface he took a liking to. at camp, he can often be found reading a book he nicked from the grove. the flora and fauna of faerun.

fave season: late summer, early autumn.

alton enjoys the balmy warmth around that time of year, a contrast to the cold dampness of ust natha that has seeped into his bones.

fave flower: wood anemones. they grew plentiful around the small settlement and ilmater temple that altonaufein lived at before the nautiloid attack.

fave scent: the crisp smell of a cold forest, the salty sea breeze, the soap-clean scent of skin

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: ever since i found coffee in the actual game, i am convinced that alton would drink tons of it. only making his anxiety & overthinking worse too.

average sleep hours: four. a trance usually lasts that long. he's a very light sleeper due to necessity and his paranoia about being found and brought back to the underdark. to ust natha.

i do think that after the game, once he's settled fully into his new life in waterdeep, with gale's coaxing and own habits, he sleeps in more and more, and trances longer.

dogs or cats: cats. alton isn't really used to pets at all. the first experience he had with them was back at the temple where karl fed a little anxious thing of a black cat. sometimes it would curl up to him and he would freeze and just let it do its thing, confused when it started purring up a storm.

but he learned to find it comforting. it was rewarding to pet it and treat it gently, learn to give and receive affection in this way.

dream trip: i don't think alton has one. he's too focused on them surviving the journey. reaching waterdeep maybe. for gale.

amount of blankets: one. he's very utalitarian and can make do with nothing at all if need be. yet again, once settled in waterdeep, he's very much able to learn to enjoy the finer things in life.

random fact(s):

-he's not a perfect eilistraeen and has little knowledge about her or her customs, gale helps him learn & shares what knowledge he has, as eilistraee has a bond with mystra and is known in waterdeep - and through this, they bond during the very early days of the journey -he always wears an ilmater pendant, stolen from karl, and it's his most priced possession -he later buys a medaillon, holding a small piece of parchment (on it are written the names of those important to him, people who have been kind to him - it's a reminder of how far he's come, a motivation to keep going, to keep fighting no matter how grim things are) -alton can't swim and is afraid of deeper water (he wouldn't ever show that fear) -he adopts myshka and takes him to waterdeep

tagging (with zero pressure): @ayrennaranaaldmeri, @messiahzzz, @lairofsentinel, @shibepetter, @rahabs, @wild-magic-oops, @friberchi, @leopardmuffinxo, @hawke, @zahra-hydris, @thenightsong, @fuzzy-set, @inkberrry, @waterdeep

if anyone else wants to do this, please do so and feel free to tag me. 🖤

[watermelonlovershigh]

Cold During Sex (SMUT) /concept/

AN: so i'm currently cold before work and thought of this. enjoy this short concept.

You're in the middle of sex. Harry is hovering over you with the beds blanket draped over his back, in case your little ones decide to enter your room without knocking. The sex isn't rough or fast pace but it's not slow and languished either. It's just a steady speed of him rolling his hips into yours. Rolling so he gets that needed pressure on your clitoris.

Though typically you stay hot during sex because of the body heat and movements, right now you're rather cold. It's getting cooler in your house due to the Autumn air that lingers outside. There is a tiny space between your bodies because Harry doesn't want to crush you but you need to get warmer or you're going to lose all the pleasure you've built up so far.

About three minutes later, Harry hears something odd. It sounds like teeth chattering. He can't really see you because the bedroom lights are all out but by lifting the hand that was pressed flat into the mattress beside your body and gently cupping your jaw, he can physically feel the vibrations of your teeth chattering together.

"Love," Harry pants softly above your face, "r'you cold? You're practically shivering."

Clawing harder into his back muscles with the hands you have placed there, you quietly heave out, "Ju....just a bit. The cool air is seeping into the duvet."

With a bit of a frown, Harry replies, "Awe baby, should 'ave told me. Here, m'gonna lower myself on yah more but tell me if I'm too heavy, okay." You just hum in agreement and that gives him the go ahead to slowly drop his warm body all the way on yours. He is heavy but a grounding heavy, not a suffocating heavy.

You moan at the new warmth your body is receiving as well as from the added pressure his pubic bone is adding to your clit. Plus his cock does feel deeper in this position but that could be made up in your head.

Now wrapped up in his body, Harry continues to roll and grind his hips forward, stroking the foreskin on his shaft with your tight walls as well as rubbing your swelling g-spot perfectly. Not to mention the hands free clit stimulation you're getting. "Better? All warm now?" he questions you.

Pecking a kiss on the side of his face, you answer, "Better. Thank you baby." Then your late night sex continues until you both find your releases.

————————————

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT’S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @japanchrry // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @bohogoth // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptresss // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1

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let me know if you’d like to be added on my tag list in my next post by telling me HERE (let me know if i forgot to add you)

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[lavenderpanic]

Go any I am ash from your fire Bucky Barnes headcanons? Silly thoughts about him in your universe you’d care to share?

He loves super spicy foods but he has like no tolerance. He'll be sweating and tearing up and shaking and still absolutely refuses to get something less spicy next time

He's lactose intolerant. Hence the oatmilk ice cream. (His favorite flavor is mint chocolate chip, and he'll fight you if you say it tastes like toothpaste)

He hates a lot of textures. He isn't too fond of the way paper towels feel. He hates the way ice sometimes sticks to your hands when it's really cold. He doesn't like pottery that isn't shiny.

He started growing his hair out because he wanted to look like Anakin Skywalker

His favorite kind of bagel is cinnamon raisin

He loves building LEGO sets. He used to collect them.

He totally steals the blankets from Steve while they're sleeping (and then complains he was too hot last night)

He's a night owl, while Steve's an early bird. He loves waking up to find Steve in the kitchen, just back from a run, cooking breakfast

He hates buying new clothes and will literally wear the same clothing items until they're so frayed and torn up that he literally cannot wear them any longer

His favorite season is autumn

When he and Steve go shopping he always buys the weirdest looking fruits and vegetables because he's scared they'll never get chosen and they'll feel sad

[delopsia]

Bestie i need more headcanons on cuddle bug rhett 😭🐛

I feel like I could go on about Rhett being a cuddle bug for HOURS

When you first get together, Rhett is very, very hesitant to touch you. Not out of a dislike for it but because he tends to forget how strong he is, and he's mortified that he'll hurt you. He's had a lot of instances in the past where he's hugged someone a little too hard or otherwise caused some sort of accidental harm.

But once you establish that you're not breakable! and that he isn't going to break your spine simply from hugging you from behind; all bets are off.

He used to always argue that he's not touch starved, saying something about lack of physical touch not bugging him in the slightest, but in reality, he's just grown so used to it that he doesn't see the signs anymore.

That argument went out the window when one day, you reached up and cradled his cheeks in your palms, and his face softened with a realization that he'd never had before.

Touch is a very intimate thing for him. He never had a lot of it growing up, and for a while there, it was only a thing he could find in his weekend hookups. It's something that makes him feel safe, feel real, like he's not just an invisible being whose only purpose is to work.

Rhett's favorite thing is to have you lying on his chest. There's just something so comforting in having you on top of him, safely secured in his big, strong arms. He could lay like that for hours if you'd let him.

There is a designated kiss for every occasion. Hello and goodbye kisses, just picked you up in his truck kisses, cheer-me-up forehead kisses, bedtime kisses, I didn't expect to run into you here kisses, giggly nose kisses because it's cold out and our noses feel like they're made of ice. For everything you do, there is a reason for a kiss or two.

Kisses your injuries, too. From bruises to cuts to old scars, they all deserve kisses!

He loves it when you kiss the scar on his chest. He's never really paid much attention to it until you started doing that, and now its become one of his favorite scars.

Autumn and Spring are his favorite seasons. Not because of the weather but because sometimes you misjudge the weather and wind up snuggling into him for warmth.

Laces your pinkies together when you walk. It's subtle, just a loose little link that doesn't result in hot, sweaty hands after a few minutes.

Drops everything to cuddle with you if you ask. It doesn't matter what he was doing beforehand; he's already halfway across the room with his arms open wide. Do you want to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie? Go to bed and take a nap together? Hell, he'll even carry you there!

Recently, Rhett's been introduced to the theaters with big couches instead of tiny seats, and he's been hooked. A movie with his sweetheart, in a comfy loveseat where he can cuddle with you and not spill the popcorn?? Sign him the fuck up.

It's a bit of a drive, considering Wabang is close to nothing, nothing, and more, nothing, but he doesn't mind it. That just means he gets to spend more time with you!

He won't admit it, but he really enjoys being the little spoon. Especially if you let him tuck his head up under your chin and go to sleep there. It's nice to feel small and delicate every once in a while.

Turns into a damn glue trap when he's drunk. Once you let him touch you, he's not coming off.

The good thing is, that means he's the last person to go missing in a bar. The bad thing is, you literally cannot get him off of you. He's hugging you from behind, sleepily kissing your cheek as he fusses about how he's sleepy and wants to go home.

And what do you mean that he can't snuggle into you in this booth because you're in public? That couple over there might as well be having sex against the wall at this point, and they're not bothered! So why can't he cuddle you??

"Just one kiss?" Rhett pleads, batting those pretty, long lashes of his, "please?"

"Rhett, I've already given you one," you regret the words the very second they come out of your mouth because his eyes drop to his lap, disappointed. You might as well have just backhanded him.

What's worse is you know he's not doing it intentionally. He just doesn't know how to control his expressions when he's drunk. If he's feeling it, you can see it written all over his scruffy face.

Reaching over, you take hold of his jaw and tilt it up, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he giggles.

It even works to get him out of those petty bar fights. All you have to do is run your hand up his back, speaking gently, and he's backing out of it. Might have a few more choice words for who he's angry with, but it works. Perry calls it the Magic Touch.

In the event that you tell him no, he does one of three things, he either pouts, accepts it, and moves on, OR he turns it into a game of 'who's gonna crack first.'

He always cracks first.

All you have to do is cozy up somewhere, open up your arms, and he's gone.

It's rare that he gets to join you, but bubble baths are his favorite way to wind down with you. It always starts out with him sitting across from you, legs tangled up as you talk about everything under the sun, but as the water starts to grow cold, he scoots over to sit next to you.

Play! With! His! Hair! There is no quicker way to make the man nearly purr. Sleepily blinks at you and smiles all big and wide while you do it.

Shamelessly loves the sparkly bath bombs you use every once in a while. he gets a real kick out of seeing the glitter on his skin the next day, and you usually get a picture of his shimmering hand with the caption, "darlin', I'm sparkling in the light again."

This past summer, Rhett got the big idea of putting a hammock behind the house, tucked safely into the shade of the trees. Really went all out and got one of the bigger ones because, hey! Potential cuddle spot!

Sometimes you'll find him out there, knocked out cold with his hat flat on his face, and you'll climb in and join him in his afternoon cat nap. He's too deep of a sleeper to notice your arrival, but he's always grinning like an idiot when you wake up. "Didn't expect to wake up with an angel in my arms."

Does that thing where he places his hand on your lower back as you step past him. He doesn't even intend for it to happen; it just winds up there, gently pressing into you until you're out of reach.

Nuzzles you with his nose like he's a dog. It's the first thing he does once he's got you in his arms, nose wiggling against you as he finds himself a nice, comfortable spot. It tickles, and your giggles only make him do it even more.

Who would have thought a cowboy could be so cuddly?

[fic-heaven]

Brown eyes

(Jealous! Simon x reader x Gus)

A very short short of Simon's pov on your situationship with Gus mentioning Apple Pie flavored

🐥🐥🐥

Brown's the color of late autumn. Of hazelnut, of onyx, jasper and sweet hot chocolate you enjoy in the cold mornings of February.

Simon gave you a sense of security and authority, and with him, the 141, your family. Those brown eyes in the middle of the mist of black paint reminded you of their comfort and their love.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley was as tall as a tree, rough like an untamed bull, his big hands only gentle when he touched you in any way, even during sparring. Though you never seemed to notice, and your obliviousness seemed to only lure him closer eager to see just how far he had to go for you to notice his advances.

"He's my mentor, my friend, my lieutenant."

Your brain fogged the idea of Simon ever being a romantic interest. After all, any short of intimacy amongst piers (specially your lieutenant) was strictly prohibited and Ghost seemed to be the most professional out of the bunch of you. So what exactly could lead you to think he would even try to woo you?

His eyes, they spoke a hundred words in a dialect you didn't recognize. Not in a person like him.

You liked brown eyes.

But add those brown eyes a hint of gold and they become breathtaking, godly even. A tiny detail you never imagined in such an eye color, yet when presented to you, they stole your breath away. Add to those brown eyes that hint of gold, and a patch of tan skin, a big round nose, now some dark, wavy hair like a sea at late hours of the night with a shine only reserved to the strongest light, and as if it isn't enough hair, a funny moustache covering half of the most gorgeous plump lips begging to be kissed and nibbled on.

His body as a whole, spoke volumes of his life, a bunch of scars from his hours of service and some other old ones along small tattoos here and there he gained on his youth working as a lifeguard and a policeman in the rich beaches of Costa Rica. He was muscular man, with a big back and huge arms resembling a bear, you wondered if he was was as hairy as one too.

He was breathtaking.

Gustavo Rodríguez. An operator from an international, private military contractor named SpecGru, and the apple of your eye.

A fear Ghost never thought he'd feel awaked the moment he saw your eyes sparkle with longing and awe at the sight of this nobody, of this... Random soldier, running through the field firmly gripping his assault riffle during a mission on a hot summer day hours before you could formally meet.

He had noticed your attraction to this man even before you realized it one day in the base while eating apple pie and giving Gus puppy eyes.

He had noticed before you because that's what Simon always did. He observed, he watched over you at all times, he knew you better than you knew yourself. After all he was your mentor, your lieutenant and one of your closest friends. He was your shadow, your greatest match.

You just haven't realized it yet, and he'll knock the sense into you somehow. That's a promise he makes himself everyday when he spots you and that nobody together

[startanewdream]

Harry, Ginny, and a tale in four seasons

(#17 - Spring - @hinnymicrofic)

Summer is for endless hot days, skins tanning as they fly high under the sun; birds at day, crickets at night, laughter anytime; jokes and shared tease, teaming up even when they are supposed to be playing against each other; resting under the shadow of a tree, with the breeze cooling their faces, talking about all and nothing; her cheeks are pink, blushing because of him but not for him; it's the fragrance of flowers in the air, intoxicating but never exhausting; it's the short nights spent camped in his room, telling each other ghost stories that never frighten him; he never remembers his dreams later, but there is a flash of red, a sparkling laugh; he sleeps better.

Autumn is realisation. It's noticing a distance that hadn't been there in the summer, but it comes with the age difference, classes that should help him survive. It's remembering she has other friends, a boyfriend with whom she must be enjoying that winding day in a cozy place; he scowls. It's seeing her with someone else and understanding why he hates it; it's remembering his every dream because she is there and how could he have not noticed it before; she is always there, only this time he yearns to share her laugh and her kisses; his dreams always grant his wishes, only for him to wake up.

Winter starts as a pale replay of summer. They are together, but there is a wall now, born of his conflicted and unrequited feelings; he shouldn't, but it's hard to resist her pull, though. As the frosty days go by, he cannot help but share an amused grin when the Christmas love songs play on the radio; they tease the silliness of other couples around them; her eyes flash dangerously when he says he is sorry for all the mess with her brother. They spend New Year's Eve making angels in the snow, and he laughs, all concerns gone; their hands meet for a moment, a touch too warm on that cold night, and he craves for more; her smile flickers for a moment, and when she takes her hand back, there is a whole conflict on her face. When they get back, he cannot help but notice she doesn't seem thrilled to meet her boyfriend.

Spring is for hope. Whispers of fallings out between her and her boyfriend; at night, when he lays in bed, a glint of gold teases him — how lucky it would be if she happened to break up with her boyfriend, how lucky if she realised her feelings for him, how lucky if her brother wouldn't mind. Lucky helps him for once. He watches her; she is bright, lively, unbothered by end of her relationship, and he sighs more than once — he also gets hit by bludgers more than once, but he isn't noticing those. The days are getting longer and they return to the castle, after practice, in the twilight; the sky is painted with gorgeous colours but his eyes are on her, and her happy smile and the blaze of challenge and longing in her eyes; their hands brush, fingers almost intertwining, but then someone interrupts them, something happens, and they look away disappointedly. Every night she departs wishing him good dreams, and he wonders if she knows she will appear in his dreams later; he hopes he will be on hers.

When they kiss, on a spring day, Harry feels like summer began early that year.

[triviareads]

Ever since I was mildly horrified that Colin Firth is a fancast for Lisa Kleypas's Lord Westcliff (by Lisa herself which.... come on, you need to pick someone who is not hot and yet inexplicably super attractive because of his "vitality" or whatever, Lisa), I've come to realize people actually liken Westcliff to Mr. Darcy, and even call It Happened One Autumn a 'spicy" version of Pride and Prejudice which.... well, we won't get into that particular suggestion, buuuuut I do think likening Darcy to Westcliff is kind of a disservice to both characters (and calling it "spicy" Pride and Prejudice is a disservice to both texts).

For all that Westcliff is shown as this perfect paragon of aristocratic virtue, he's honestly.... kind of not. Apart from him and Darcy sharing a sense of duty and a degree of aristocratic snobbery (which, tbh, most aristocrats or gentlemen would have at the time), they really aren't all that similar personality-wise

Do I think the narrative about Darcy being a brooding borderline douchebag was pushed by by fans post-1995 Pride and Prejudice? Maybe. To a degree. But let's be real here, Westcliff comes way closer to being a dbag than Darcy ever does, particularly his hot-and-cold behavior with Lillian (the time he calls her an easy target for St. Vincent and then immediately pounces on her and fingers her in his butterfly garden comes to mind). Darcy's behavior towards Lizzy is fairly consistent; it's just, they both misinterpret one another's actions until the proposal makes everything clear. That's not to say they don't change their attitudes afterwards, but there was always civility at the least.

And I don't think Darcy is a super broody type, but he is definitely shy around people he doesn't know (awkward too), and seems like the type to socialize with a few close friends (like I'm convinced his only confidantes are Bingley, and then his own cousin Col. Fitzwilliam). Westcliff on the other hand displays no qualms about socializing in large groups, in fact, he seems to command a lot of attention in large group settings like balls and the big house parties he hosts (routinely, based on Secrets of a Summer Night, where he's described as an accomplished host).

I know it's hard to compare a text with on-page sex to a text that is much older and has no point of comparison, but there was this detail in Secrets of a Summer Night that stood out to me:

This is veering into headcanon territory but the more generous headcanon I have regarding Darcy's premarital sex life is largely "widows" and "older women" and that too... I imagine it's a limited number (otherwise, he's a virgin. or partially a virgin; that's my favorite). What I'd never think Darcy would do is "join in" with any village wenches in Lambton (a combination of his shyness and upper-class snobbery about socializing with the lower classes for fun). Nor do I think he'd he exhibitionist enough to do things with paramours at parties where friends could see him. Interestingly, in IHOA, Livia comments that Westcliff has had a few discreet affairs and nothing more, but between a secluded sister and a friend who routinely goes around town with him, I believe Simon Hunt lol; that being said Westcliff is deffo more of a society affair type than a sex worker/courtesan mistress type. To be clear, this isn't me judging Westcliff for having sex with a lot of women, it's just, again, for all that he outwardly behaves in a proper fashion, he really isn't, and has relatively relaxed views on propriety, even as he judges Lillian for her lack of it at first.

In his second proposal to Elizabeth, Darcy basically said he understands that "no means no", while Westcliff..... does not quite understand that.

Ways Westcliff is similar to Darcy:

They both are brought to their knees by women who initially don't fit within their notion of a "right" spouse. But that's such a broad trope, as is the fact that they both "save" their heroines in some sense.

There's a decent amount of language in P&P describing Darcy as a a fair-minded master and "liberal"; while I don't know enough to speculate on his actual politics (though I have read some pieces that suggest he might be, based on, among other things, the real-life figure Jane Austen may have named him after, the Earl Fitzwilliam), what we do know is that he's liberal in the sense of being a very involved master at his estate, liberal with money where his estate and tenants are involved. Basically, he's not stodgy and backwards, just like Westcliff is when it comes to his estate and tenants. Kleypas takes Westcliff's liberal attitudes a step further by aligning him with progressive causes and progressive politicians.

Look, both Westcliff and Darcy are classist to a degree; both initially balk at marrying women with connections to trade, but ultimately, they a) go ahead with marrying them anyway and b) we know they like to associate with people in trade in other ways. For example, Darcy and Bingley are good friends in the way that Westcliff and Simon Hunt are friends. Plus, we know Darcy gets on really well with Elizabeth's Aunt and Uncle Gardner (who are in trade), to the point that they're frequent visitors at Pemberley after their marriage. Basically, their snobbery is not universal.

Westcliff and Darcy are good to their siblings but even here, the actual sibling relationships are different. Westcliff is closer in age to both his sisters so their relationship is (mostly) noninterfering (tbh Westcliff exercises remarkable forbearance when McKenna returns) and Westcliff is less high-handed than I imagine Darcy is with Georgiana who, based on their age gap, likely regards him as a second father of sorts.

[mayajadewrites]

Stained Red

Chapter Two: Black Coffee

The walk to Birch's Coffee isn't too far from the office, but the temperature makes it feel like it's 5x longer. You love Autumn though, so you savor every moment of the cool breeze and foliage.

Walking down the steps, you notice Matt is walking a bit slower and looks almost lost. "Do you want to hold my arm?" You ask, holding out your left arm in front of him.

"If you don't mind, thank you. The wind is throwing me off." Matt lightly grabs your arm, picking up his pace. You felt his fingers grasp your arm a bit tighter when someone walked by you.

"So, how long have you lived in New York?" You ask, shoving your other hand in your pocket.

"I've lived in Hell's Kitchen my whole life. I don't think I could ever leave here even if I tried. You?"

"No way, me too. Born and raised." You smile proudly, looking ahead at the sign for the coffee shop. You led the two of you into the cafe, rubbing your hands together as the door closed.

"Cold?" Matt said, fixing his jacket.

"A bit. But I'm honestly always cold." You adjusted your beanie, running your fingers through your curls. "It doesn't help that I strictly drink iced coffee."

"I'm gonna try not to judge you." Matt shook his head, looking in your direction. "What's good here?"

"First, tell me how you usually like your coffee."

"Black." He said flatly.

"Ok, Matt "Boring" Murdock. Then just get a black hot coffee. I'm gonna get an iced vanilla latte with cinnamon."

"Hey, easy on the boring. You can't go wrong with black coffee."

You order for the both of you, sliding your card over the counter. "I'm so sorry again about earlier. I need to watch where I'm going."

"It's okay, maybe I'll bump into you tomorrow morning so I can take you out on a coffee date." Matt smirked, patiently waiting for his coffee.

You shake your head and look down, your cheeks burning a bit.

"I'm not opposed."

The barista sang your name, like she was in a Disney movie.

"Thank you." You smile, grabbing the two drinks.

"No problem, is that your boyfriend?" She whispered, raising her eyebrows. "He is not bad to look at."

You raised one of your eyebrows, your eyes falling. "Thank you." Was all you said before you swiftly turned around and headed for the small table Matt was waiting for you at.

"So, what's your day looking like?" You ask, leaning your cheek on the palm of your hand.

"I have some briefing to do, but nothing really crazy. I should be out of the office by 5. I never asked what you do, that was rude."

"I'm an author. Nothing crazy, but I write romance novels." You took a sip of your latte. "I rented out the office space so I can create boundaries between work and home. I didn't want my house to also be my workplace."

"Ah, makes sense. So you have a way with words?"

"I mean - maybe?" You laughed, slowly looking up at Matt. It felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

"If you can translate one of your books to braille, I would love to read your work." Matt sipped his coffee, adjusting his glasses.

"Sure, but just so you know there's some parts that are, well - spicy."

"Spicy? Like as in spicy sauce?" Matt tilted his head.

"Sorry, as in like... dirty."

"Oh. You mean sex." The ease that he said that made you nervous. Men don't usually make you nervous.

"I- yes."

"Ok... so like I said. If you can translate it to braille I would love to read it."

"You got it, Murdock." You smiled, checking the time on your phone. "We should start walking back." You slid out of your chair and when you looked up, Matt head your coat in his hands.

"May I?" He asks innocently.

You nod as Matt gently helps you put on your coat, running his fingertips up your arm. Your breath hitches when his hands get close to your neck - how embarassing.

"Thank you." The smile on your face was small, but inside you felt like you were bursting. When his touch was gone, you felt almost like you missed it.

Matt adjusted his hand and grabbed your arm to lead you out, to which you sighed in relief.

The walk back to the office was quiet, almost like you both were soaking up this time with each other. When you reached the steps, you couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"Don't forget about my special copy." Matt winked, letting go of your arm. "And thank you for the coffee. It was delicious." You looked at his lips, smelling a faint coffee scent mixed with his musk and vanilla.

"I won't. Get some work done, Murdock." You walk in front of him straight to the elevator. The doors shut slowly and you leaned your head against the wall. You've never felt like this after a coffee date, let alone a simple touch.

You needed to write to get your mind off of Matt Murdock.

Later that day

You started a draft of your new novel, but ended up burying your head a new book you recently picked up. Before you knew it, it was 5:15. Surely Matt had left by now.

"Knock, knock." You heard a low voice say, accompanied by a soft knock on your door.

You got up from your desk and opened the door for Matt, surprised to see him. "I thought you would've left by now." You say, opening the door wider so he can come in.

"Well, I was about to leave but I noticed that I didn't hear you leave, so I thought I could walk you home, or walk you to your boyfriends house-"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shook your head, packing up your tote bag. "I live alone about 8 blocks from here. If you're up for the trip, I would love for you to walk me home."

Matt nodded, looking around the room. "Where is your coat?"

"Its right next to the door on the coat rack, but I got it. Don't worry."

"Nonsense." Matt walked to the coat rack and gently grabbed your jacket.

I wonder if his hands are always that gentle.

Matt helped you put your coat on, and you two were off.

"Since, you know, I can't see - what's your address? Maybe I'll know where it is." Matt asked curiously.

"Sure," You tell him your address, maneuvering through the crowds of people leaving work.

"That's right near the gym I go to, Fogwells." Matt said.

"Oh, nice! I pass by there all the time." You make a mental note to look through the window to see if he's working out next time.

Your walk home was full of innocent laughs and smiles, and it was over too soon.

"This is me." You stopped in front of your apartment, looking at Matt. "Thank you for today, I enjoyed it." You turn to go up the steps before Matt gently grabs you by your forearm.

"Could I get your number? So I can remind you about the book." Matt smiled, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes, absolutely." You smile, grabbing his phone and typing in your name as a new contact along with your number.

"Have a good night." Matt smiled, the way he said your name made your heart pound a little faster. "I'll be seeing you."

You smile and head up your stairs, looking back as you do so. Matt was still waiting there - you assumed he's waiting for you to get into your house.

You close the door and lock it, and he's gone.

When was the next time you would see him? Would he touch you again? God, his lips look like a treasure. I wonder what they taste like...

That's it, you need a drink.

Next chapter will be in Matt's POV! Hope you enjoyed! PS - I'm also going to start incorporating mood boards for each chapter going forward. Let me know what you think!