#in the scene in the shop in bath

[kate-apologist]

I guess I'm just relistening to the whole series because it's my one tether to sanity during this move

[smallnogginstudios]

Inspired by the movie Spirited Away, my illustration will be a desk mat design coming to Kickstarter soon! If you're interested, feel free to follow me or get notified on Kickstarter by clicking here, I will also be coming out with another design so stay tuned :) Join my email newsletter here so you don't miss out on kickstarter launch updates and exclusive pricing! While you're here Feel free to follow me on Instagram at @smallnogginstudios

[scorpieuns]

KISS ME MORE | PARK SUNGHOON

summary: freshman year is just around the corner, and you still haven’t had your first kiss, so who better to ask for help than your best friend?

word count: 3.2k

MINORS DNI!!

warnings (18+): smut. fluff (just a smidge). kissing. swearing. oral (f. receiving). fingering (f. recieving).

A/N: this was literally just an excuse to write the ‘teach me’ trope im currently obsessed with lmfao. decided to return with another short fic while a longer one is currently in the works!

Your saturday was lazily drawing to a close, the amber light of the late afternoon bathing your room in a rich, golden hue as it filtered through the sheer curtains. Sunbeams danced across the floor, casting long, dappled shadows that shifted gently in time with the breeze from your fan, its low hum blending with the quiet outside. The heat of the day still lingered, but your room felt cool—a refuge from the summer heat beyond the window.

You and Sunghoon spent another day in the slow, unhurried rhythm of summer break. You had wandered through quaint little shops in town, indulging in some ice cream from your favourite parlour—before ending the day by hanging back at your place.

Soft, flickering light from the television illuminated the room, casting faint shadows over the cozy disarray of blankets and pillows on your bed.

The movie playing was one of your favourites—a classic romance that you knew almost every line to. Your gaze was fixed on the screen, eyes wide and captivated, but Sunghoon seemed content to only half-watch. His attention was mostly absorbed in a book he had got from one the thrift shops you’d visited a while ago, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he read quietly.

Sunghoon lay sprawled beside you, completely at ease, the quiet shuffling of his turning pages blending in with the murmur of the movie’s dialogue as the two of you comfortably sat in silence.

Every now and then, Sunghoon would glance up from his book, watching you for a moment with a fond, almost amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He silently chuckled at how deeply you were invested in the story, even though he knew you had seen it more times than you could count.

As the movie played on, the flickering shots of the couple lost in passionate kisses filled the screen, but your mind was elsewhere. Each romantic scene tugged at a part of you, stirring feelings of uncertainty that you tried to brush away.

The effortless intimacy the characters exchanged seemed so foreign and so far removed from your own experiences. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you shifted slightly on the bed, that weird feeling in your chest only returning.

Fall was approaching, and the thought of starting college without ever having kissed had been gnawing at you. You were always the one admired from a distance—some guys flirted but that was all they did. The real experiences, the ones you saw in movies and tv shows still remained an elusive mystery.

It felt like you were missing some crucial part of your youth, something that was supposed to happen naturally, yet it hadn’t.

In the locker room, when your friends would share their stories about their latest flings or kisses, you’d smile, laugh along, but inside you’d cringe, hoping no one asked about your own love life. It was your secret, the thing that made you feel out of place despite how perfect you seemed to everyone else.

Then, there was Sunghoon.

You glanced at him, your best friend, lying beside you with a cute focused expression etched into his features. He didn’t talk much about his romantic escapades, but you’d heard enough to know he wasn’t inexperienced.

Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of faint hickeys on his neck or the way girls would glance at him. It left you with a strange feeling, one you couldn’t quite name…was it jealousy? Insecurity? Maybe both. You felt your face heat up, embarrassed by how much it bothered you.

As another kiss scene plays out on the screen, your gaze flickers back to the couple. You bit your lip, the pang of longing growing sharper. What did it feel like? To be kissed—or to have someone look at you like you were their whole world, if only for a second?

The thought of entering college without knowing something so simple yet so intimate made you feel…painfully awkward.

You tried to focus on the movie, but the thoughts kept circling back, louder and louder. The movie no longer held your interest, and the weight of your unspoken feelings became too much.

Unable to shake the feeling, you sat up as your mind ran on impulsivity. The movie played on, but you no longer cared about the plot or the characters. All you could think about was the current problem you had and the one person who would listen to you.

You shifted on the bed, turning to him. “Sunghoon." you murmured, your voice softer than usual.

He responded with a low, distracted hum, barely lifting his gaze. One hand rested on his chin, finger grazing his bottom lip in a way that drew attention to the curve of his mouth, while his eyes flicked over the pages with slow, deliberate focus.

"How does…kissing feel?"

That got his attention. Sunghoon’s eyes snapped up from the book, the words clearly catching him off guard. He pushed his glasses up with one hand, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “What are you on about now?”

You cringed at how juvenile your question sounded now, already hesitating, “I…” your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment, “I haven’t…kissed anyone before. And with college coming up, I just feel…I don’t know…insecure.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Wait, you’ve never kissed anyone?”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, Mr. Midfielder. I’m not like you, alright? It’s not like I’ve had tons of people drooling over me.”

A soft laugh escaped him as he sat up, expression softening. “No (Y/N), it’s just hard to believe.” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re… like, insanely pretty.”

Sunghoon’s words sent a little flutter in your stomach—but you brushed it off, chalking it up to him just being nice.

“Of course, you would say that,” you muttered, playfully shoving his shoulder.

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon insisted lightly, catching your wrist, gently lowering your hand. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away.

There was something in the way he looked at you making your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You tore your gaze away, suddenly feeling exposed under the weight of his attention. “This is stupid,” you mumbled with a wry laugh, already regretting bringing it up.

But Sunghoon wasn’t letting it go. He muttered your name softly, his voice coaxing you to meet his eyes again. He reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up until your gaze locked with his once more.

His touch was soft, barely there, but it made your cheeks warm. “It’s not stupid,” he murmured, his eyes searching for yours. “It’s okay to be new to things. Everyone is at some point.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you muttered, staring at the comforter as if the intricate embroidery held the answers to everything swirling in your head.

Sunghoon watched you intently, his heart aching at the sight of your lips forming a soft pout and your expression so full of uncertainty. How was it possible that you had never been kissed?

He couldn't understand it, and yet, the thought of you being with someone else, experiencing that first kiss with someone who didn’t know you like he did—it twisted something in his chest.

Sunghoon would kiss you in a heartbeat if given the chance, but after ages of trying to ignore his feelings—of pushing aside how much he actually wanted you, he wasn’t sure he could handle it without letting everything else spill out.

His hand was still holding yours, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin, and for a moment, the touch seemed to blur the lines of just simple camaraderie. The warmth of it messed with your thoughts, and before you could second-guess yourself, the words tumbled out.

“Well, you’ve done it before, right? You could, I don’t know… teach me.”

“What?” Sunghoon froze, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with surprise. His voice dropped an octave,“you’re asking me to… kiss you?”

You nodded, scooting just a little closer, close enough to feel the faint warmth of his body against yours. “Come on, Hoon. We’re best friends. It’s not like it would… mean anything.”

Even as you said it, you couldn’t really believe the words yourself. There was an undercurrent, a dull gut feeling, that told you it wouldn’t feel like practice.

To you, maybe. The thought tore through Sunghoon’s mind.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing up his bangs as he tried to think. For the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely flustered, “I don’t know, (Y/N).”

His voice was thick as he swallowed, cheeks slowly turning pink. “That’s not exactly something you just… teach.”

“It’s just a kiss. I just wanna know what I’m doing when I eventually have to kiss someone for real.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flickered, his eyes betraying more than he wanted to show. For a split second, his eyes darted to your glossed lips, his breath hitching as he quickly looked away.

He pushed his glasses up again, licking his lips as he huffed. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Why?” You asked, the plea in your voice betraying your own feelings. “It’s just one kiss, Hoon.”

Right?

You tried to keep it light, casual, like it didn’t matter. Like it was just a small favour between friends. But inside, your heart hammered against your chest, your skin felt flushed, and the air between you both had clearly shifted.

The way Sunghoon was looking at you now, though, like he was really considering it—like he was seeing you in a way he’d never let himself see before—it was almost too much.

“Are you… sure?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud would shatter the moment.

Your fingers brushed against his knee, lingering for just a second longer, “I mean, it would just be practice.” You stated, but underneath it all, your heart skipped a beat, a buzz coursing through your veins as you looked back at him.

Sunghoon’s resolve crumbled at the feeling of your hand on his knee. How could he say no to you when you looked at him like that—those wide, pleading eyes making it impossible to refuse?

He swallowed hard, his breath shaky. “Just… a practice thing,” he muttered, his eyes flickering between your gaze and your lips, fighting the gravitational pull on them.

“Yeah,” You muttered quietly, reaching up to remove the wire rimmed glasses from his face and placing them on your bedside table before glancing back at him.

Sunghoon’s hand moved up, threading through your hair before gently brushing it away from your face, his touch slow, deliberate.

His thumb traced the edge of your cheek, pausing to brush against your bottom lip in a way that sent a shiver through you. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, but it ignited something deep inside you, making your breath hitch.

Your stomach fluttered as you met his intense gaze, his dark eyes trained on your lips. He leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel his breath fanning lightly over your skin, teasing, heightening the anticipation.

Sunghoon’s lips hovered over yours, just barely ghosting against them, brushing so softly that it made you ache for more.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, you closed the distance, pressing your lips gently against his. The kiss started soft, tentative, your body hyper-aware of every detail—the warmth of his breath, the way his lips responded immediately, moulding into yours with an eagerness that surprised you.

Oh.

You pulled away for the briefest moment, eyes flickering down to his lips, your heart pounding through your ears. Without a second thought, you leaned in again, this time a lot bolder, your hand finding the side of his face.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. He kissed back within a heartbeat, a soft sigh escaping his lips that sent a rush of warmth to the pit of your stomach. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you against his chest, the space between you vanishing as your bodies pressed together.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, the soft strands curling around your fingertips as you tugged on them softly, his soft groans between kisses making your pulse race.

Sunghoon’s lips were firmer this time, more needier with every kiss, sending a rush of heat through your body as his grip on your waist tightened.

You softly fell back into the bed as he hovered over you, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before you parted your lips a little more, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he licked into your mouth.

Your hands slowly drifted down Sunghoon’s body, slipping beneath the thin fabric of his shirt to trace the contours of his torso, his breathy moans travelling straight to your core.

“Fuck.” He rasped, pulling away, “maybe we should stop.” Sunghoon’s eyes were glazed over, lips were swollen and tainted with your lip gloss, “I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself (Y/N).”

“Then don’t.” You rushed, breathless and wasting no time kissing him again, an unmistakable moan leaving Sunghoon’s chest as he kissed back desperately.

He pulled away—already missing the feeling of his lips on yours before they moved to your jaw, trailing soft sloppy kisses that travelled down to your neck, the feathery feeling creating a dull ache between your thighs.

Your sighs of pleasure almost bordered on moans as he gently sucked your delicate skin—pink and purple marks blooming on your skin, recklessly marking you from your neck to your collarbone.

Sunghoon’s hand drifted over the small of your back, sliding over to find their place on your ass squeezing the soft flesh with a lewd groan—an involuntary moan slipping past your lips at the feeling, tugging his hair.

Everything had your mind spiralling. Sunghoon’s lips were on your neck, his hand roaming every inch of your body.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't want more—craved more.

He trailed wet kisses along your chest, lifting your shirt to press a few more along your stomach, revelling in the way you leaned into his touch, your soft whines and sighs driving him up the wall.

You admired the way Sunghoon looked when he glanced up at you with his eyes, weaving your fingers through his already dishevelled hair, moving to his face and caressing his rosy cheeks.

Sunghoon’s fingers finally met the waistband of your shorts, lifting your hips up as quickly pulling the layer of clothing away, “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He hissed, running his hands up and down your thighs.

His other hand brushed over your underwear, groaning at the sight. His finger traced over your wetness on the silky fabric, and you leaned into his touch, with the most beautiful moan he’d ever heard.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet.” Sunghoon groans as his thumb taps at your clothed clit, clenching around nothing at the mention of the pet name he’d just given you.

He kissed your thigh, hooking his finger into your underwear and sliding the damp pink fabric down your legs, almost moaning at the sight of your dripping cunt.

Sunghoon lifts your leg and holds it over his shoulder, swiping his tongue over his thumb before meeting your clit and your head falls back, “Hoon, fuck.” You moaned, grabbing at your sheets.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Sunghoon says softly, and you nod—watching him dip below your thighs, lips move to your clit and sucking on it gently.

You never fathomed anything would feel this good. Sure, you’d touched yourself a couple of times, but nothing could beat the feeling being eaten out.

You cry, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his tongue dipping into your folds, letting his thumb swirl around your bundle of nerves while his tongue enters your core, moaning into your entrance.

The vibrations from his moans sent shockwaves up your spine, head tipping back in from the sensation with a broken cry, legs attempting to fly shut but he pushed them apart with a sound of disapproval.

His tongue swiped upwards, and his eyes fluttered closed at the taste of your arousal, reveling in the insanely beautiful moans that tumbled from your lips.

Your hands weaved into his hair, tugging the soft strands as you shamelessly bucked into his mouth with broken whimpers.

Sunghooon held you firmly against the sheets to stop you from squirming, unable to stay still from the feeling of his nose causing friction on your clit as he lapped at your pussy.

Your eyes peer over at him and the pornographic sight of him buried between your thighs makes your cheeks burn. When his hand moves from your thigh you don't think much of it, until you feel his fingers circle your entrance.

Sunghoon pulls away from you, just in time to watch your plump lips fall open when he easily slides his fingers into your dripping core.

“You have know idea how good you look baby.” He panted, plump lips covered in your arousal biting his lip at sight in front him, completely enamored by your fucked out expressions.

Sunghoon’s fingers curl inside of you and they brush over your sweet spot, your mouth opening in a broken moan.

“F-feels so good, Hoon” you mewl breathlessly, grabbing his free arm as you bucked into his fingers, pumping them into you at a perfect speed.

You cheeks flushed furiously at the sounds of his fingers fucking your sopping wet core, broken raspy moans leaving your chest as his lips pressed kisses to your overstimulated clit—your mind a scrambled mess.

All you could think about was the pleasure that was currently surging throughout your entire body, making your toes curl and your head dizzy. A few whines and broken moans was enough to tell Sunghoon you were close, furiously clenching around his fingers as you begged him not to stop.

“That’s it baby, come for me.” He coaxed, his voice raspy and breathy, moaning at the sight of his fingers easily slipping in and out of you.

Your body jerked forward and your hand flew to his arm, blunt nails digging into his skin as you let out a whimper, back arching as his name tumbled past your lips in high pitched moans.

You were almost embarrassed by how fast Sunghoon made you come, mind clouded and hazy as he continued pumping his fingers, your walls clenching around his digits as he fucked out your high.

He pulled away shortly after, fingers slipping out of your entrance and placing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

You watched the messy haired brunette suck his fingers into his mouth, eyes closed and moaning at the taste of you—before you leaned over, softly grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him to your mouth for a kiss, lightly tasting yourself on his tongue.

"So we both agree that this wasn't just practice, right?" He mutters against your lips and you laugh, still dazed and high from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"Yeah, I don't think I wanna do this with anyone else. You're my only option, Park." His smile grows and he pecks your lips again.

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[eddiesxangel]

The Nanny | E.M x f!reader

Anon requested :I have an idea for a smut for Eddie. Okay, so the reader is like a babysitter for Eddie, so the reader takes a video of playing with Eddie’s kid and sends it to him. When Eddie watches the video, however, Eventually, his eyes are only on the reader; he becomes attracted to the reader and gets stiff. But the reader did this on purpose for that reason, and so when Eddie gets home, his kid is asleep, and it’s just him and the reader, and they start to get intimate, and one thing leads to another …

Wc: 2.9k

Cw: smut, oral (f&m receving), p in v, unprotected sex, pull and pray

When you got the job about a year ago, you were out of school and desperate for a full-time job to pay the bills. You saw his ad for a live-in Nanny in the paper and jumped at the opportunity.

When you started this nannying business, you never thought you would fall for the handsome dad who hired you.

The family you learned was a father and daughter. Eddie was a widower. His wife had died five years previously, and he had a seven-year-old little girl.

Eddie was a dedicated manager and owner of a construction company in town. His hours were unpredictable, so he asked for your help getting his daughter, Charlotte, ready for school in the early mornings and picking her up. To accommodate your assistance, Eddie has constructed a small house in his backyard for you to stay in, providing you with your own space.

During the year you spent with Charlotte, you formed a deep bond with her, and she became your favourite person. You both shared numerous activities, such as shopping, getting your nails done, having sleepovers, and attending her dance classes.

You supported her at every recital and never missed her soccer games, even when Eddie couldn't attend. Your time with Charlotte became an irreplaceable part of your life.

Your relationship with Eddie grew as the year went on. You became more attracted to him. He was so charming, funny, and handsome. He made you feel welcomed like you were part of the family—the family you wished was real.

Eddie has been away for the last few days; he will be home this evening, but you still wanted to send him some updates about Charlotte. You sent him a video of you guys at the community pool. She loved swimming, and you couldn’t help but want to flirt. Did you wear this specific bathing suit so he would see it? Yes. You can’t help but want to get his attention, to have him look at you the way you look at him.

You were on the splash pad, and thought it would be cute to show a video of you and Charlotte running through the sprinkler. You set up your phone against the wall for balance and click record. You and her squealed as the water was cold on your bare skin. You were smiling and laughing together the whole time. You hoped Eddie found it cute…

Eddie was in the airport lounge when he received a notification on his phone. He smiled when he saw that your contact had disrupted his podcast.

He paused his show and swiped to see what you had sent him. The video began with a scene of Charlotte, soaked and jumping up and down, with her two missing front teeth visible. Eddie smirked at the sight. He loved his baby; he missed her so much. The video continues, and when you come into the shot, his eyes widen as he watches you run toward Charlotte. His eyes can't help but stare. Your ass bounced as you ran back towards his daughter; your tight bathing suit clung to your every curve. The sight of your body so exposed, your wet skin glistening in the sun, Eddie couldn’t help but feel his excitement start to grow.

You giggled and laughed as you picked her up and ran with her through the water. Your smile was so genuine, and Eddie hated that he had developed an attraction to you other than liking your personality.

When the video finished, you sent another text, but this time, it was not what Eddie had expected. When he clicked back to the chat, he almost dropped his phone because he was so shocked. Right under the wholesome video of you and Charlotte was a picture of you lying on your bed, hand draped across your naked chest.

He was looking around. To make sure nobody else saw what he was looking at, he opened the photo, and he could see more of your bare skin than he ever thought possible.

Flustered and confused, Eddie didn’t know what to make of this. Did you mean to send it by accident? Was this meant for someone else? The thought of it supposed to be for someone else sent a pang of jealousy through Eddie’s chest.

The overhead speaker saying the fight Eddie was supposed to be boarding was what snapped him out of his thoughts. The whole flight would feel extra long now that this would be all Eddie would think about. He couldn’t get home fast enough.

Eddie never replied to your video and didn’t respond to the picture you decided to take for him. You’re unsure what came over you, but you wanted a clear message. You didn’t think the video would do anything, so you got bold.

You started to regret your decision about the picture. Maybe you will lose your job. Perhaps you could play it off as an accident, pretending you didn’t know you had sent it to him.

It didn’t matter because it had been hours, and Eddie would be home any minute.

Trying to ignore the feeling of panic by distracting yourself by cooking dinner, you hear the front door click open.

“Honey, I’m home,” Eddie’s deep voice rings through the front hallway. Your stomach turns upside down at the sound of his voice.

“In here,” you try to keep your voice calm. Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet.

“Daddy!” Charlotte leaps off the kitchen chair and charges her way to her father. He’s been gone three days, the longest he has ever been away.

“Hi, handsome.” You smile as Eddie makes an appearance with Charlotte in his arms.

“H-hi,” he stutters, and his cheeks are a rose pink. He totally saw the photos.

“Dinner is almost ready,” you say, turning back to the stove, trying to hide your awkwardness about what you’ve done.

Eddie cleared his throat and took a seat as though nothing had happened. However, his mind was racing. He wanted to discuss it with you but didn’t know how to approach the situation.

Dinner was okay. You both tried to ignore the elephant in the room for Charlotte’s sake. You asked him questions about the trip, and he asked what you guys got up to. You let Charlotte do most of the talking. She eventually got bored and asked to watch a movie with both of you.

The tension could be cut with a knife as you and Eddie stole glances at one another while Charlotte was obviously enthralled by the princess singing about love in the big flatscreen.

After another hour and a half of torture, Charlotte passed out on her father’s shoulder. He smirks and says he’s putting her to bed and you stand to clean up the mess that was left in the kitchen after dinner.

A few minutes after watching the dishes, Eddie returns to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to clean; you’ve been on the clock for three days straight; I can take over. You sit and have a drink, relax.” He approaches you from behind.

“I don’t mind; youve been travelling all day; it’s my job to take care of you.” You look over your shoulder to see Eddie much closer than you thought.

“No, it’s your job to take care of Charlotte.” He raises a brow.

“What if I like taking care of you?” you drop the clean fork into the right side of the sink with all the other clean dishes.

“Sweetheart, about that…”

“Yes?” You turn excitedly.

“I um-you- I saw something.” Eddie didn’t know how to approach this. He sees you looking at him with hopeful eyes as you bite your lip. His heart fluttered in his chest when he saw the look on your face.

“I wanted you to see it.” You boldly admit.

“You- uh? What sweetheart?.” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Did you like it?” You take a small step forward, testing the waters.

Eddie visibly tenses. He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be attracted to his kids’ nanny, but he’s also only a man—a man who has been crushing on you like he was back in high school.

“This is wrong”

“Why? It didn’t have to be?” You trail a flirtatious finger down his chest.

Eddie inhales sharply, and he can’t help his attraction to you take over.

“Because you’re you, and I’m your boss-“

“Charlotte is my boss,” you giggle and bat your eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs.

“Eddie, I don’t want to keep pretending that there isn’t something between us. I can’t pretend any longer.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Please tell me it’s not just all in my head. All those late nights after we put Charlotte to bed, how we seek one another out even if Charlotte is not around, I see the way you look at me.”

Your face and Eddie’s were mere inches apart. Your lips were so close that Eddie was leaning in against his better judgment, but he wanted you so badly. You were right; there was an undeniable connection between the two of you, and Eddie didn’t want to ignore it either.

“Please, tell me I’m not crazy,” you whispered.

“You’re anything but sweetheart,” Eddie whispered back before closing the gap between you.

His soft lips formed with yours like they were made to be together.

You wrapped your hands around Eddie’s neck, pulling him in closer.

The sensation of his mouth on you went straight to your core. You needed him so badly.

Naturally, you slid your hands down his torso, up under his shirt, signalling for him to take it off; you needed to feel his skin; you kissed him like it was the last time you ever would kiss him.

You slid your hands down to his belt buckle, undoing it at a speed that wasn’t fast enough.

“Please, Eddie, I need you; let me make you feel good.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t just say things like that to me.” Eddie groans.

“Please, I need this; I’ve wanted this for so long, I can’t-” You both were so desperate, his pants couldn’t come off fast enough.

With a soft thwap, his jeans hit the kitchen floor, and you sink down to your knees.

“Fuck sweetheart, you look so beautiful like this.” he grips your chin before slipping his thumb in your mouth for you to suck on.

You slide your tongue along his rough, working hands, and he watches with lust burning in his eyes. You pop his thumb out of your mouth and replace it with the head of his cock. His thick shaft was heavy in your grip as you took more of him while not breaking eye contact. The weight of his cock resting in your mouth made you drool.

“Fuuuuuck, good girl.” Eddie’s breath became erratic.

Your eyes started watering as you tried taking him all the way down your throat, but Eddie was big.

Your breathing became shallow, but you were in heaven.

“You ok, sweetheart?” He’s looking down at you, a hand cupped on the back of your head, trying to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth as he hits the back of your throat.

You bob your head back slowly as you nod yes. You were finally able to catch your breath, drool coming out of your mouth as you pumped his cock in and out of your slick mouth.

Eddie couldn’t believe this was happening; not twelve hours ago, he was in a different state, jacking off to this fantasy of you on your knees.

He pulled you back up to kiss him, your pussy was throbbing, and the pulse that went directly to your clit was screaming for attention.

Moaning your name Eddie pushed you back so your ass was against the kitchen island, and you saw the hunger in his eyes.

He helps you jump onto the white marble countertop with quick hands.

“Baby, please.” An involuntary whimper came from your mouth, and he went in for another kiss, hands roaming from your inner thigh up until it reached your pussy.

“Oh baby,” he said the second he truly felt how wet you were for him.

Kissing down your neck, leaving purple bruises in his wake, not giving a care in the world right now about visible hickeys, he crept lower and lower until he was kneeling between your legs, forcing your knees open.

He stared into your heat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He spoke, not breaking eye contact with your wet pussy.

He leaned in; he started with soft kitten licks to your clit with the tip of his tongue, gentle and delicate, before he took long deep strokes off his tongue, tasting every inch of you. Eddie moaned at your tase; he wanted to consume you, to make you feel so good you forget about every man before him.

The tickle of his beard was grounding you. This was actually happening.

“Oh!” You cry but quickly cup your hand over your mouth, remembering Char was upstairs.

With Eddie’s face pressed into your cunt your orgasm was quickly approaching. You couldn’t resist it anymore; your hips started gyrating into his face, and you needed more.

“Eddie, please,” you whimpered.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he pulls away and replaced his mouth with his index finger, slowly stroking up and down your weeping slit.

“Yes, Eddie, please.”

“That’s my good girl, asking so nicely,” he said, grinning up at you before standing.

With his hard cock in hand, he rubbed his tip up and down your slit gathering your juices so he could split into you nice and easy.

At this point, you were so turned on you couldn’t think, moaning out as he slowly stretched you open, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Inch by inch, the pleasure mixed with the burn of the stretch was so good, too good.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuckin’ taking me so well.” He slipped inside of you until you felt the tickle of his pubes against your clit.

You hadn’t even realized he was talking to you, cock drunk off the feeling you were so close, and he hardly started.

Incoherent muffled moans filled the empty kitchen as Eddie's cock quickly started to pump in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot on each thrust.

You didn’t stand a chance, as he had your legs over your shoulders, ankles rolling. He gripped the backs of your calves to hold your legs as wide as they could go.

With each thrust, the pleasure became more and more, your back arching up into the feeling of him filling you up.

The feeling in your belly started to build until he unexpectedly pulled you off the counter, walked you over to the couch, and flipped you so you were on all fours.

Once you were spread open for him, he started thrusting harder.

“Oh god! There! Please don’t stop!” You screamed into the couch cushions.

It was so good your hands gave out, your cheek pressing into the brown leather, only making your ass stick out more for him.

He spreads your cheeks to watch how your greedy pussy swollen his cock each time.

A slap comes down hard on your ass as he pounds into you; you moan out with pleasure. Another smack on the other cheek to even things out.

He’s going at a pace that makes your head spin; his fingers gripped into your hips so rough you’re sure there will be bruising tomorrow.

The noises that are coming out of you are inhuman; you don’t even recognize yourself; he was so big, you were so full, it was too good. 

“shhhhhh, sweetheart, we need to be quiet.” He wraps a hand around your face to cup your mouth to muffle the moans, but that only makes it hotter, so you cry about again. You couldn’t talk; each thrust was getting deeper and deeper at the angle he was holding you in.

Each thrust was building up the coil in your stomach. You were so close when he started rubbing your clit, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m close,” you seethe through gritted teeth.

“Come, sweetheart, come on my cock.” You were already seeing stars before he finished talking; your body shook, clenching down so tight on his cock while your orgasm filled your body.

“Oh god, yes, baby, milk this cock so good” Your pussy gripped down so hard on his cock that he almost wasn’t able to pull out in time.

You feel his warm seed on your back as his orgasm shoots through him.

Dazed and all fucked out, you roll over to see Eddie beaming down at you after he cleaned you up a little bit.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Eyes glazed over, you manage a

“Hi,” you giggle.

You curled into his neck, leaving soft kisses and kitten licks; you couldn’t help yourself; your boyfriend was just so hot. 

“I think we have a lot of catching up to do,” he throws you over his shoulder. “Eddie, put me down,” you giggle, getting a full view of his bare ass in front of your face. He runs you to his bedroom; you know it is going to be a long night. 

[augiewrites]

"valley reverie" - sebastian

summary: the timeline of sebastian and the farmer’s relationship based on canon dialogue

pairing: sdv sebastian x farmer

word count: 2.5K

a/n: this may be my magnum opus

The sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains when Sebastian emerged from the house for the first—and only—time that day.

He shot a glance to his mother and Demetrius, who were standing at the edge of their property, looking over the valley bathed in golden light. His mother sent a small smile back, followed by a pointed disappointed look at the carton of cigarettes held loosely in his glance. Demetruis didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Sebastian knew it was a nasty habit, but he spent most of his life with not much thought to the future—he was surprised he made it this far. Maybe his life would have been different if he had planned better; if he had considered for a moment that there was such a thing as life past sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. He supposed he should start to consider a life past twenty-four, but quickly dropped the thought as he placed the cigarette between his lips and continued his stroll to the lake.

He saw it then, as his lighter sparked to life and helped the cigarette take eleven minutes off his.

Someone was sitting in his spot. A humanoid blob of denim focused intently on the bobber floating in the water.

He hesitated, then decided to keep moving—his trajectory now locked in past the stranger and across the rickety planks of wood to the smaller islands in the middle of the lake. His mother had been saying for years that she needed to build something more structurally sound, but had yet to get around to it.

As he got closer, he took in more of the scene. There was a muddy bucket next to the stranger, and he noticed a couple slimy carp flopping around inside. Whoever this was, they clearly didn’t have enough experience to catch the tricker creatures in the lake.

Just as he was about to slip past toward solitude, he locked eyes with the stranger. Their bored expression quickly turned to worry.

“Sorry, am I in your spot? Robin said it was okay for me to fish here.”

Recognition sparked in his brain—his mother had told him about the new resident of Pelican Town. The words she had used to describe them flashed behind his eyes: sweet, a little lost, cute. That last one was sent his way with an exaggerated wink and met with a scoff from him.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

The farmer didn’t respond, just looked on waiting for an answer to their question. Sebastian didn’t gratify them with a response, instead looking across the lake at the tree line and abandoned quarry.

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The farmer scrunched up their mouth slightly, beginning to reel in their line. There was nothing but a limp worm dangling from the hook. Sebastian took note of the grieving look flashing on their face before it was gone in a blink.

“Better than where I was.”

Sebastian didn’t bother responding as the farmer heaved up the bucket—they were a lot stronger than they looked—and walked away without another word.

Robin smiled at the farmer with a wave and shouted goodnight before sending another disapproving look to her son.

_________________________________________

Sebastian heaved open the door of the house, exhausted from band practice. Sam was his best friend, and he enjoyed spending time with him more than he would admit, but the newest addition to the band was definitely a hindrance.

He didn’t dislike Abigail, and he couldn’t deny that she was a talented drummer, but he had been hoping for years that her little crush on him would fade away. He could only take so much of puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated laughter at his quips that definitely aren’t that funny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts on how to shake off the purple-haired girl—more importantly, how to shake her off without actual confrontation—that he didn’t notice the farmer leaning against the shop counter until their voice pierced through. His mother was nowhere to be seen, so they had to have been talking to him.

“What? I didn't hear you...I'm busy thinking about something. What do you want?”

The farmer narrowed their eyes at him, leveling him with a glare. “You know, I get that you’d rather be listening to My Chemical Romance and jerking off to Nietzsche than interacting with a human being, but you really need to work on your people skills.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

He expected avoidance from the farmer, based on their first meeting and subsequent run-ins where they gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to acting like he didn’t exist.

He realized that the farmer wasn’t as timid and one-dimensional as he let himself think.

The moment was saved by Robin entering the shop room and dropping a workbench on the floor with a heavy thud. “You’ll make better use of this than I have lately—it’s pretty old,” she looked up from the dusty bench, noticing her son frozen in the doorway, “oh, hi Sebby.”

“Sebby?” the farmer questioned with a smirk.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, brushing past his mother to get to his lair.

“Sorry about him,” he heard his mother as he descended the stairs.

“It’s fine,” the farmer laughed, “he’s cool.”

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _________________________________________

Sebastian looked down at the frozen tear in his hand with a neutral expression on his face, though his heart was quickening its pace.

“Gunther told me it’s fabled to be the frozen tears of a yeti.”

He met the farmer’s grin with one of his own, “I really love this. How did you know?”

They shrugged, “Seemed like some emo shit you’d be into.”

A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Well…thanks.”

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for more when I’m in the mines.”

“The mines?,” his brow furrowed, “how far down did you go?”

“Not super deep, I think I stopped at sixty since it was getting late.”

Sebastian gaped at the farmer—who he now realized he really misjudged—as they shouldered their backpack and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” they stopped just shy of the threshold, “your code is wrong, by the way. Third line down.”

He looked to the screen, baffled, seeing that there was, in fact, a mistake in his code.

He began to ask the farmer how they knew that, but they were gone. _________________________________________

The sun was setting on the valley, and Sebastian found himself sitting by the lake’s edge with the farmer, who was reeling in sturgeon and bass with ease.

“I’m sure the city’s different for other people, but it was corporate hell for me,” the farmer spoke softly as they baited their hook—it was different than any bait he had ever seen, and the farmer had informed him that the wild man living behind their house had taught them the recipe.

Sebastian hummed, “I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?” the farmer teased him, flicking water at his face.

He blew a puff of smoke in their face.

The farmer coughed, then began to laugh as they fanned the smoke out of their face, “asshole.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the palms of his hands and gazing across the water.

They sat in comfortable silence as the farmer cast out their line and half-heartedly focused on the bobber—they didn’t really need it anymore, but liked the safety net.

“You and Sam are probably my only friends in this town.” Sebastian broke the silence, but continued looking straight ahead.

“Well I am very likable.”

Sebastian knocked their shoulders together with a scoff.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” _________________________________________

Sebastian was indifferent—and sometimes loathful—toward most events held in their little town, but tonight was an exception. It was hard to not be in awe of the midnight jellies, and he was excited for the farmer to see them for the first time.

They were perched at the edge of the dock, along with Sam and Abigail, their feet dangling inches above the water.

It was a lot colder than expected, and the farmer was bundled in his black jacket. He couldn’t help but feel bad about the sad glances Abigail was sending their way.

The farmer looked content, and Sebastian recalled something they told him at the beginning of the season—the used to be terrified of the ocean before moving to the valley.

He nudged their shoulder with his own. It didn’t take much effort—they were sitting a lot closer than he realized. A light blush dusted his cheekbones.

“I thought I saw something moving in there…” he pointed to the void of the ocean and leaned closer to their ear, whispering, “something big, something dark.”

The farmer’s eyes widened as they looked across the vast darkness before they narrowed and turned to him.

“Just trying to scare you...” Sebastian laughed.

The farmer smiled, knocking their knee against his, muttering an all too familiar “asshole.”

It wasn’t too long before Lewis sent out the first lantern, and the water surrounding the docks was filled with glowing jellyfish.

“It’s beautiful,” the farmer breathed out as their head landed on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” his eyes landed on a glowing green jelly before looking down at the farmer, “it is.” _________________________________________

Sebastian never saw the farm in its full glory—before the farmer’s grandfather grew old and passed away—but he had been there plenty of times when it was overgrown and abandoned.

He had told the farmer this as they sat on the newly installed swinging bench on their porch. They joked that they would be suing him for trespassing, since it was technically their property at the time, even if they hadn’t known it.

It was a chilly fall day, but the farmer had made a pot of coffee to keep them warm.

“I thought this was your busy season,” Sebastian lit up a cigarette and moved the ashtray closer to where he sat. It was a newer addition to the farmer’s decor. He thought about the prideful look on their face as they held it up and told him that Leah let them use her pottery wheel. It was painted with little creatures that looked like the much happier cousins of the slimes living in the caves.

The farmer hummed, holding their mug close to their face, but not taking a sip, “Yeah…a lot busier than I thought it would be, actually.”

He grinned at them, “so, you’re slacking today, huh?”

The farmer laughed.

“I’d rather hang out with your sorry ass than work.” Despite the insult, the farmer’s tone was soft and earnest. Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up.

“Could you picture me living on a farm? It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately.”

“If I could do it, then so could you,” the farmer linked their pinky with his, “it’s a lot more freeing than you’d think.” _________________________________________

Boxes filled with Sebastian’s things lined the walls of the farmhouse, but Sebastian and the farmer lay in bed, choosing to ignore them. 

They had all the time in the world.

The farmer was twirling the pendant dangling from Sebastian’s neck, “there’s steam coming out of your ears, Seb,” the farmer giggled and smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows with their finger.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Sebastian turned his attention from the ceiling to the farmer, “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

A beat.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

The farmer laughed, “Well I would hope so,” they tugged gently on the pendant, pulling him closer, “because you’re stuck with me.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer had joined his family for dinner, and his mother had shooed them away with one hand as she cooed at the bundle held tightly in her other arm.

The valley was coming to life, but the ghost of a winter chill was in the air. They settled down by the lake despite the cold. It was no longer his spot, but theirs.

The farmer was skipping stones across the lake when he grumbled about how being in that spot made him want a smoke.

“No one’s stopping you,” the farmer laughed.

“I am.”

The farmer still held a loose smile as they raised their eyebrows at him, “oh?”

“I'm trying my best to quit smoking now that we're married…” He avoided their gaze and brushed some mud on the palm of his hand onto his jeans, “I don't wanna die on you. It's a bad habit. I want to have a future together.”

A baby cried in the distance. Sebastian and the farmer smiled at each other. _________________________________________

The farmer was surprised to find Sebastian’s side of the bed empty when they woke up. It wasn’t a rare occasion, as they usually found Sebastian in the kitchen after a restless sleep, but he was nowhere to be found.

They couldn’t help but worry a little bit as they pulled on their boots and opened the screen door. They paused out of instinct to let the dog run out before them only to realize that the dog wasn’t hot on their heels like usual.

They had only gotten two steps onto the porch before a mass of fur and slobber crashed into their legs.

“Oh hello baby,” they cooed down at the dog as it rolled onto its back, breathing heavily out of excitement, “good morning stink.”

“Good morning to you too.”

The farmer was so caught up in giving the dog attention that they hadn’t noticed Sebastian leaning against the porch railing.

They straightened from their crouch, smiling at him as the dog whined from the loss of affection.

“I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went ahead and fed the animals,” he pushed off the railing and took a few steps forward to fix a rogue piece of the farmer’s hair, “one less thing for you to do.”

“Thanks, Seb,” the farmer said softly, suddenly bashful, “I’m going to check on the pumpkins. Thought I could make some soup tonight if any of them are ripe.”

They took a few steps off the porch, “feel like being a country boy today? Or did you get your fix?”

He smiled, leaning his forearms against the railing, “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer found themselves sitting on the porch swing once again. It was a mild summer evening, and he was looking on as a toddler played with the dog in the yard.

He tore his attention away from the rowdy scene in front of him to look at the farmer, who was curled up at his side reading a book. He felt his heart swell.

“This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

The farmer looked up from the book in their lap, smiling.

“I don't often show it, but I'm really happy that I'm your husband. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 9]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

ferocious and stubborn as an ox

cw: period talk, fluff

wc: 4.8k

Just as promised, Simon picks you up the following afternoon. 

Jack Frost paid you a visit last night, leaving intricate, swirling designs on your windows, casting the grey cityscape beyond your apartment in prismatic light. It diffuses your vision to the point that you don’t recognize Simon when he pulls up, unfamiliar with his car, and you nearly jump out of your skin when he knocks on the door. Shoulders scrunching, muscles tensing; you turn to the door with a grunt as your cramps jolt through your body. They’re worse today than they were yesterday. They always seem to grow more intense with time, but it’s a familiar pain you know how to push through. 

Shouldering on a coat, you open the door only to be immediately scrutinized under Simon’s gaze. Dark eyes flicker over your body, checking for dark circles, perspiration, and general fragility. Though you are loads better than when he saw you last week, you’re certain your crossed arms and the slight hunching over your stomach isn’t convincing. Judging by the tight line of his lips, he’s not entirely impressed. 

Mustering a smile, you glance behind him, prodding him into action. “Hey. Ready to head out?” 

He hums before nodding, boots clomping against the floor as he moves out of the way. “Got the car all warmed up for ya, sweetheart.” 

London looks magical around this time of year, especially from the passenger's seat of Simon’s car. Warm white lights twist up the trunk of every tree, spiraling along branches where stray snowflakes glint in their glory. Evergreen garland adorns street lights with faux holly and winter berries, giving your eyes a break from the otherwise barren concrete jungle. It’s beautiful. Picture perfect. Something you’d expect to see on a postcard or in a movie. Glass fogs up with your breath as you lean closer to get a better look at the streets. 

With only one more week until Christmas, the pavement bustles with last minute shoppers. Children in too-large coats and fluffy caps trot behind their parents as they squeal in delight at window displays in flashy shops. The holiday has a way of illuminating everything. Casting a warm, yellow glow on the wonderstruck faces peering through the glass. Bathing the streets until they’re lively and buzzing. Banishing the gloom of the city — you almost don’t recognize the streets. 

Of course, the grey is always there underneath the surface somewhere. Lurking with sharp, nefarious tendrils, waiting to smother anything it can. For the moment, at least, it’s nice to pretend that it’s gone forever. 

Once Simon finds a place to park, you’re able to step out into that wonderland yourself. A soft breeze nips at the tips of your ears and nose, rubbing them raw with crystalline shards like sandpaper across your skin, but you ignore it in favor of the toy shop display flashing through the window. A model train travels through a tiny village dusted with cotton-like snow. Tiny villagers go about their tiny lives as they attend church and visit family or throw snowballs at one another. Each of them are hand painted with care, complete with rosy cheeks and colorful winter attire. 

Simon’s reflection dances in the glass as he approaches your side, looking down at the scene you can’t help but gawk at. His arm brushes against yours as he inspects the paintwork on the figurines, and you glance up at him with a smile. His face glows in the light bringing his skin to life, scars and all. It casts shadows on his face perfectly, defining the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones.

Swallowing, you turn your attention back to the scene in front of you. “I wish it would snow more in London.” 

He hums, feet shuffling on the pavement. “Would be a lot of shoveling.” 

“Well, it wouldn’t have to snow a whole lot,” you chuckle. “Just enough to stick around. Thick enough to make snow angels out of.” 

You pause to watch the train travel through the tunnel. A small light fixed to the front of the locomotive cuts through the darkness, and you watch it grow brighter as it nears the exit. In your head, you imagine its whistle. The huff and puff of smoke as the engine burns coal to transport presents. You smile. 

“My dad and I used to make frost angels instead. The grass at the park would always glisten with frost, especially in the mornings, so we’d lay in the field and make angels.” You laugh at the memory as a fit of giggles erupts behind you, children passing through with toys in hand. For a moment, you almost feel warm. “They never looked really pretty, but he’d always finish them off with halos anyway.” 

“Could always blend up some ice for ya,” he patronizes. 

You mock laugh at him. “Oh sure, thanks. Think you can get all of London covered by Christmas?” 

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.” 

Ignoring the way your cheeks warm at his comment, you quickly change the subject, suggesting that you get to shopping before you freeze to death. Thankfully, Simon bites and leads you inside of the toy shop where you’re welcomed by a jovial clerk with a kind smile. A green elf hat sits on his head, leaving the children nearby to gawk at him. Christmas music plays softly through the radio on the back counter and it fades in and out as you wander between shelves where spiced cinnamon and pumpkin wafts just behind you. 

A variety of toys adorn the aisles, but Simon appears to be on a mission for something in specific. He completely bypasses the frilly princess costumes, fancy dolls, action figures  and crafts supplies in favor of toy cars and model ships. They’re cute; impossibly small. Made perfectly for little hands and fingers. 

Then you make the mistake of looking at the price tags. 

There’s a special aesthetic that surrounds this time of year. Something beautiful and kind. It’s the type of feeling that tugs on heartstrings, drawing people into warm embraces with hearty meals and laughter. It makes you feel at home even when you’re far from it. Despite it all, there’s always going to be something that’ll separate you from everyone else. You’ll never be the one bringing home gifts to family members. Never be the one to splurge. Each year you can hardly scrounge up enough to give Row something. Hell, you’re not even sure if you’ll have enough to buy the sanitary products you so desperately need. 

Then again, it’s not like you have much family left to buy gifts for. 

“What kind of present are you looking for?” Push it out of your mind. You can’t mope forever. 

“Somethin’ my nephew’s been wantin’ for a bit. He’s been talkin’ his parents ear off ‘bout it for the last few months,” Simon replies, eyes scanning the shelf in front of him. He hums as his fingers ghost over the box to a model plane. “Been obsessed with planes lately.” 

“Nephew?” you repeat. “So you have siblings, then?” 

“A brother. Thomas. Everyone calls ‘im Tommy. I like to call him a pain in the arse,” he humors. 

Chuckling, you crouch down to assist Simon’s search for the perfect gift for his nephew. The movement, curling in on yourself, temporarily eases the cramps that still fester deep in your abdomen, and you sigh. No matter how little the reprieve is, it’s always welcome. 

“Big or little brother, then?” you ask. 

“Older. Certainly not bigger than me.” 

“Yeah, figure it’s pretty hard to be bigger than you.”

Falling quiet, you put in more effort into searching through eye-catching toys flashy enough to steal away any child’s attention. They’ve got everything from small sets made out of metal, to build-your-own models. It’s certainly fancier than anything you remembered from when you were a kid, but it’s also been ages since you’ve last visited a toy store. 

“Oh, this is cute!” you coo. 

Your hands reach out for a large box padded with smooth cardboard. For its size, it’s incredibly light, so it’s easy work to slide it off of the shelf. A precious, design it yourself RC plane, complete with paint and all. The box depicts what you assume is supposed to be father and son, painting designs on the body of the plane together. 

You hold the box up for Simon to see, giving it a little shake. “Look, he could design his own little plane!” 

Simon’s eyes widen in recognition as you straighten yourself out, box still in hand. “That’s it.” 

Holding it out for him to take, he relieves you of carrying its weight. Large hands flip the box around, reading the description on the back. He smirks, then chuckles before shaking his head. 

“As seen on TV,” he quotes. “They play the commercial for this between his favorite cartoons. Been begging his mum for it ever since.” 

“What’s his name?” you ask. 

“Joseph.” 

Before you have the chance to comment further, Simon slides the box underneath his arm while his free hand retrieves his phone. The screen flickers on, casting a dim glow on his face as he flicks through applications. 

When he turns it in your direction, you’re met with a half fuzzy photo of a young boy and a woman. They’re outside, sitting in a pile of leaves, their dying colors of red and yellows vibrantly declaring the autumn season. A few torn leaves stick to the boy’s bright blonde hair as he attempts to shove a fistful of them into the woman's hair. They don’t quite stick to her copper locks, but she grins at him anyway. With bright blue eyes and beautiful smiles, they’re near carbon copies of one another. 

“Tom sent me this a few months back. That’s little Joey there, and his mum, Beth,” Simon shares. 

“He’s adorable,” you coo. “How old is he?” 

The very moment Simon answers, an unforgiving contraction rips through your abdomen. Muscles cramping and tightening, pulling so taut you fear they’ll tear each other apart. In a pitiful attempt to soothe yourself, your hand presses right above where your uterus is wreaking havoc on your body. With enough pressure, you’re sure you can phase through your organs. Reach into yourself and remove the nuisance and go on with your life. Instead, you fight back a grimace. 

No matter how hard you try, you’re unable to hide such vicious pain from Simon. He catches on quickly. Sniffs it out like a cadaver dog. His phone shuts off yet stays firmly in his palm as he presses the back of his hand against your forehead. Taken aback, you stare up at him, mouth trying to form words, yet nothing falls from your lips. There’s something about this touch that feels familiar. Something that leaves you feeling empty when he moves his hand away. 

“Sure you’re feelin’ alright?” he asks. “Still a little warm. Don’t look like you’re feelin’ too good, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it’s due to what your body has been going through as of late, or maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at you, but your mouth grows dry. Like a desert. Devoid of the oasis of words you so desperately need. There’s no use in beating around the bush — or at least, you try to tell yourself as much — you’ve followed him out here for a reason.

“Yeah I’m just… you know. On my menses,” you explain, trying to make it humorous but it sounds more awkward than anything. “That’s, uh, one of the reasons I came with you today. Was sorta hoping I could drop by the pharmacy to pick some stuff up.” 

You were hoping the concern etched into his face would melt away with your explanation, but if anything, it only gets worse. “You shoulda said something. Would’ve dropped by there first.” 

“It’s no big deal,” you attempt to assure. “I mean, it’s not like this stuff goes away with a magic medication or something.” 

God, you wish it would. A simple pop of a pill and a quick nap to have this all fade away sounds heavenly. It would save you from the odd look Simon gives you as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made him uncomfortable. Some men get… squeamish around that type of talk. You have a very vivid memory shoved in the back of your mind of one of the cooks getting on Bee for walking in the restaurant with a box of tampons. She told them off with a bravery you could only dream of mustering, and they haven’t mentioned anything since, but the image of their tense faces is forever burned into your mind. 

You wonder if it’s the blood or the body it comes from that disgusts them so much. 

“C’mon,” Simon urges as he nods towards the end of the aisle. “Should be a pharmacy on the end of the block.” 

“But what about presents for your family?” you ask. 

“This was the last thing I was lookin’ for. Everythin’ else is already covered,” he assures you. “We’ll go up and pay and get you what you need, yeah?”

If there is one thing that you’ve learned about Simon Riley over the last few months, it’s that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Of course, you’ve known this fairly early on. You’ve known as much since the moment he taught you how to shoot pool, hands firm and unwavering against yours. It’s a force that evolves. One that shows its teeth — ones sharp enough to send a man as terrifying as Andrei whimpering and running for the hills. 

You wonder if he brings that same heat to John’s establishment. Doing grunt work in the club, fighting off men gathering around the innocent like flies drawn to rot and decay. How often have those teeth been redirected at him, causing the puffy scars that trace the features of his nose and jaw? Are his claws only razors because someone else sharpened them for him? 

Too many times have you seen men like Simon deteriorate. Shatter and become nothing but self-centered beasts who don’t fear spilling blood. Strength and power corrupts even the kindest of people — turns humans into monsters; into men like Marco. Simon should terrify you, but he doesn’t. 

You don’t fully realize why that is until you reach the pharmacy

Even with your obvious apprehension about him accompanying you inside, he does anyway. Doesn’t flinch at the hygiene products. Watches intently as you peruse, counting numbers in your head and quids in your hand. It’s that counting game again. Barely scraping by — not having enough to buy supplies that’ll last you more than a few days, forever stuck with travel sized versions of what you require. When he catches on to that frustrated expression on your face, he insists on paying for you. 

“Not gonna let you go without what’cha need. These prices are robbin’ you blind,” he says when you try to argue. 

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” you retort, guilt eating you alive. 

“I’m not buyin’ you a pony here, sweetheart. They’re pads and tampons. Necessities.”

Stubborn as an ox, he doesn’t budge. He’s perseverant, and certainly has more stamina than you. Saving yourself from any further embarrassment, you finally allow it. You’ll just have to buy him something another time. He carries the items up himself, sneaking some over the counter painkillers in his hands in the process. You follow behind him like a wounded animal; or, at least the clerk looks at you as if you are one. Some pathetic, bleeding bitch — it’s like he can smell the blood that stains the insides of your thighs. Shame mixes with the embarrassment in your veins, lighting you on fire until you’re nothing but a boiling mess of a woman. 

Suddenly, the only thing you see is Simon’s back. 

“Get paid to stare or are you gonna ring us up?” he grunts. 

Simon cares ferociously, you realize. That’s why you’re not scared of him. It would be so easy for him to take. To scrape up everything he wants and shove it into his pocket like it’s always belonged to him, but he doesn’t. Simon likes balance. Enjoys peace. When he snarls, it’s with sharp teeth; just enough to get the glares and smirks to dissipate, and when he looks back at you, there is only care. Doesn’t speak about the tally. There are no numbers in the back of his mind. No debt to pay. 

He doesn’t count. He cares because that’s what he wants to do. And if it’s not, then he is the greatest pretender you’ve ever met — second only to yourself. 

You’re able to breathe again the moment you’re back in Simon’s car, seatbelt fastened and supplies in hand. Dusk settles in the sky with a soft lilac hue as you’re taken back home, but the streets do not darken. Christmas joy keeps the pavement illuminated, bright lights diffusing through the window — they almost look like stars. You squint, try to pick out constellations, try to ignore the cramping and humiliation that festers in your stomach. 

“Got plans for Christmas?” 

Neither of you have spoken in so long you nearly jump at the warm baritone resonating in his chest. Glancing at him, you quell your heart as you watch him for a moment. Hands carefully on the wheel, safely maneuvering through traffic, eyes flickering to you for only a moment before they’re back on the road. 

“Oh, uhm, not really. Usually I spend it with Row and John, but they’re headed out of the country for the holiday. My parents passed when I was a kid so… uh, otherwise I think I’ll probably spend it at home? Relax or whatever,” you explain. 

An eternity passes by as you wait for his response. Engine humming, radio playing old Christmas tunes in the background — you know what he’s going to say, and you try not to grimace before the words leave his mouth. 

“I’ve got family in Manchester. My mum’s hostin’ my brother and I for the holiday. You’re more than welcome to join, if you’d like,” he offers. 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh. “You know you don’t… have to do that, right?” you ask. 

“Do what?” he questions, sincere confusion lacing his tone. 

“I know that Row asked you to keep an eye on me. That she’s concerned about me, or whatever. And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, truly. But Simon, this is your family. I can’t… barge in. You deserve to spend time with them without having to worry about, you know… me.” 

His head shakes, eyes daring a glance at you as you fiddle with the bag in your lap. “Row isn’t makin’ me do anything. And you’re not bargin’ in if I invite you,” he says. 

Teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip, you feel yourself sunder. Long, spiderweb cracks in your foundation, heart pounding so hard you fear it’ll rip itself to shreds. You’re becoming undone in the passenger's seat of a car, and you swear it’ll be the end of you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not askin’ you because of Row, or anyone else. I’m askin’ because I wanna know if you’ll go to Manchester with me or not. That’s it,” he says. 

Finally, you bring yourself to look at him, anxiety slithering down your throat as you swallow. “Do you… really want me to go?” 

“Course I do. Wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t. I’d be chuffed if you did, but it’s up to you.” He pauses as he spares another glance at you. “You can say no.” 

Quiet eudaimonia warms your chest at his words, but you’re not sure which part has done you in. Is it his outspoken wish that you join him? That it’d make him happy if you came along? Or is it his quiet reminder that, despite what he wants, you still have a choice? 

“When would we leave?” you ask. 

“Christmas Eve, most likely. Still got work up until then, and then would have to be back the day after Christmas. It’d be a short trip,” he explains. 

Lungs filling with air, your heart settles as you manage a quiet smile. “Okay. Well… I’d love to meet them. Your family. And it’d be nice not to be alone this Christmas.” 

Simon smiles, and you find yourself staring at him longer than you should because of it. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He is really… handsome. Ruggedness, scars, crooked nose and all; all his features come together perfectly, as if sculpted by an artist. This is the same man who fought off a blade for you, the man who assured you were safe on several occasions, who refuses to be bashful or stationary when it comes to ensuring your comfort. This is the man who always walks you up the stairs to your apartment, refusing to let you out of his sight until he knows you’re safe in your residence. The man who fixed your door. Your sink. Everything. 

As you say goodnight and reiterate your plans for Christmas, your mind repeats that phrase: Simon Riley cares ferociously. 

Simon Riley cares ferociously about you. 

It continues. Repetitive. Never ending. Not even as Simon vanishes back down the stairs and you shut and lock the door behind him. Not even when you toss yourself face first into your bed, period products discarded on some forgotten counter in your kitchen. Fervid desire swells in your chest to the point you feel yourself about to pop. Explode in a mess of viscera until you’re unrecognizable and it hurts but feels like the closest thing to freedom you’ve ever tasted. 

Something’s gotten into you, surely. Or maybe you’re more sick than you thought. Period hormones wreaking havoc on your psyche. Whatever it is, you realize you haven’t felt this much excitement since you were a kid. 

For the first time in ages, something finally feels like it’s changing for the better. 

When your phone goes off an hour later, you find yourself looking at the screen hoping it’s Simon. You drop everything, pasta nearly boiling over on the stove, just to fetch the device, and you feel your stomach plummet when you see Row’s caller ID instead of his. A palpable tension still stretches between you two since your last conversation. You still taste the bile. That stomach acid and soup. 

Your hand shakes as you press accept and turn the heat down on the burner. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” Row greets. Her voice is soft. Careful. “You sound better than you did last week.” 

“Yeah, feeling a lot better,” you admit. Your laugh is awkward. Tense. You feel like you’re talking to a stranger, and maybe in some way you are. That’s what you’ve been doing — pushing her away, building walls until you’re unrecognizable to one another. Nothing but strangers who’ve known each other for half your lives. 

“Good. That’s good. Hey, uhm…” You brace yourself, eyes shutting as you let steam from the pot brush over your face before she continues. “I wanted to apologize for last week. For… honestly the last few weeks. You’ve… been going through a rough time with work and everything and… what I thought was me being supportive was really just me being a dunce. When I see something I think is a problem, I want to fix it right away, and when I can’t I get frustrated and… and I shouldn’t have said what I said to you the other day. That wasn’t fair to you.” 

Row pauses to clear her throat, but it still takes her a moment before she speaks up again. When she does, you freeze at the tightness of her voice. “I just… it makes me sad thinking about you having to do anything alone a-and I know no one likes unwanted help, least of all you but… just know that I’m here for you. Anything, I swear. Both John and I would move heaven and earth for you.” 

Trembling lips curve into a smile, and when you laugh you’re not sure if it’s out of love, relief, or both. Row falls silent on the other end of the line, trepidation obvious even through the call. 

“You keep saying I’m alone, but I’m not. I have you, silly,” you tease. “I know you’re more of a talker than I am, and you wanna know what’s going on but… that’s just not me. You know that. But just because I’m not sharing my… feelings or whatever, doesn’t mean I’m doing this alone. I have you, and John, and —” and Simon “— and I always have you guys to lean on. I know you feel like you aren’t doing enough, or that you should be doing more, but Row, you’re doing more for me than anyone else in my entire life ever has.” 

A long stretch of silence interrupts the call as you wait for Row to respond, and when she finally does, all she can muster is a quiet: “Oh.” There’s a slightly longer silence before she’s finally able to string the correct words together. “Well, when you put it that way… I sound really stupid.” 

“You have your moments,” you humor. 

A melodic fit of giggles erupts from both you and Row. Sweet, carefree, and loving. You sound like kids again. Gossiping school girls snickering to one another when you shouldn’t be. 

“Well, thanks for helping me get my head on straight, then,” she chuckles. “Really. It’s always nice to know it was worse in my head than it was in real life.”

“I notice things usually are like that,” you quip. 

“Well, I might have gone a little overboard. The idea of you spending Christmas alone still really makes me sad, so I talked to my mum. She said you’re more than welcome to spend the day with her and granny, if you’re needing company,” Row explains. There’s a short pause before she anxiously adds: “You don’t have to go, of course, if you’d rather stay home.” 

There’s another ardent swell that expands in your chest. It travels all throughout your body, synapses tingling, neurons buzzing. Leaning against the counter, you look down at the floor — which could use a good sweep — as your toes wiggle in your slippers. 

“Well, I’ve actually got plans for Christmas now. Simon invited me to go to Manchester for the holiday. We’ll be spending it with his family,” you share. 

An over dramatic gasp crackles through the speaker. “Seriously? You’re not joking? Wait, did you suggest it? Or was he seriously, like, let me take you to Manchester?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It was… really sweet.” 

“Oh? Sweet, was it?” Row jests. 

What you thought was going to be a quick call consisting of setting scores straight and airing baggage quickly devolves into a childish conversation about a potential relationship with Simon. You have to flip your phone on speaker to finish up dinner, and even then Row persists well after you’ve washed your dishes. 

It is… strange to be having this conversation. Even as a kid, you never pursued any sort of relationship. No one ever caught your eye. Nothing ever sparked what you imagined infatuation would feel like. For a long while, you thought you were broken. Meant to forever go about the world without a partner to crawl next to in bed or someone to make breakfast for. It would have been fine. You’ve gone your entire life so far without that bond. 

But now? Now that it feels so close you can reach out and touch it? You’re too frightened to name it — to call it love — lest you scare it off before you even have the chance to hold it in your hands. 

Eventually the call ends with promises and oaths, each of you swearing to tell one another about your Christmas excursions when Row returns from her trip with John. Lights flicker off as you slip into pajamas, soft cotton warming your skin as you slip under covers. As you lay on your back, eyes bleary as they attempt to focus on the pale ceiling above you, you think of Simon. Fingers itch to reach for your phone, to shoot him a text — to thank him for his kindness today. 

Don’t you remind yourself. Simon is the water you try to cup in your hands. Palms pressed tight together, wrists contorting into the perfect cup — you’ll spill it if you’re not careful. So you close your eyes, and for once you allow yourself to hope. To yearn. You lay there and pray that when Simon thinks of you, his heart beats just as wildly as yours does when you think of him.

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. isekai au. selfship-coded. female pronouns.

In all your focus on becoming strong enough to protect yourself and not be a burden to others, it hadn’t occurred to you that as a Demon Slayer, you’d be receiving a paycheck. 

A fat one at that.

You’re not exactly sure what to do with it. The envelope had shown up, slipped below the door of your lodgings at the Ubuyashiki mansion with your name on it, and while you’re not completely sure what the conversion rate + inflation would be, the sheer size of the stack was enough to make you quite confident that it was a lot of money. The issue is, you have very little use for money as you receive meals and board by virtue of Kagaya’s kindness, and the things you would buy if you could don’t particularly exist in this timeline. 

As you sit on your futon and think again about what it would mean to save and how banking would work in this timeline, and if it’s even worth it given your particular circumstances, a sudden flash of Tanjiro’s smile comes to mind, and you immediately know what to do.

You should buy him a gift. After all, you wouldn’t have gotten through your first mission if not for Tanjiro, you consider, your face warming as you consider what things you’ve seen him receive that delighted him the most. Then you consider that perhaps a gift is too presumptuous, and you see him happy when he has a nice meal, or perhaps you could get something nice for both him and Nezuko because that wouldn’t look too strange, plus he’s happy when she’s happy, or perhaps you could-

Your thought spiral is interrupted by the sound of a knock on your door. Two gentle raps, and then you hear his voice.

Think of an angel and he will appear.

“___, are you busy today?”

When you ignore your slightly quickened heartbeat to let him in, he looks just like the picture in your mind’s eye, sweet, practically glowing with warmth, save for the fact that you notice his hair is slightly damp and his skin dewy as if he’s just bathed. He’s wearing his Demon Slayer uniform but with his regular green and black checked haori over top and his sword is at his side as though he plans to travel. He smells good, and you hope you smell at least decent to him, too.

You shake your head no. 

“Are you planning on going somewhere? Did you get a new mission?” you ask. 

“No, I wanted to know…” he pauses for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling, “if you wanted perhaps to go out to town with me. I was hoping to congratulate you for your first mission.”

You blink twice. He really is always one step ahead of you, you realize. 

Tanjiro lets his hand fall to the side and nods at you, now with a steadier expression. “You did a really great job.”

To this, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“You mean by staying alive while you cleaned up?” you ask. Tanjiro decides to indulge in your humor, insisting, “It wasn’t all me.” he insists. 

Perhaps that much is true. Tanjiro is a good friend and mentor so it’s not odd that he would extend this kindness first. It’s also an opportunity it would be best to seize, treating him to udon or dango, and offering him some gratitude as well. 

Your mind may shift from time to time to the time he used his own mouth to suck turbulent air from your unnatural breathing technique out of your own lungs, but he is simply a friend.

And friends can hang out. 

—

“It’s a beautiful fit,” the shop owner says as you slip on a peach pink jacket with colorful embroidered petals and blossoms, the last of the four you’ve tried on to Tanjiro’s surprising patience, and glance at yourself in the mirror. 

Something about this entire scene feels wrong but also right to you. For one, you’re not the one who suggested this particular shop - rather it was Tanjiro who insisted you consider window shopping with him, under the guise of finding something for Nezuko, but soon you’d realized that he hadn’t exactly picked anything out, content to watch you leaf through hung designs and listen to the shopkeeper’s promise of superior quality compared to the other stores in the district. You consider that whatever would look good on you would look good on Nezuko and with each trying on of a jacket, you offer pros and cons.

This one is a bit airy and light, very comfortable for summer time.

I think this one might clash with her hair color.

The texture’s too thick here, I’m not sure I like this one as much but it’s very high quality, I can tell.

This last one however is simply perfect in feel and design, and you feel somewhat bad when you turn to Tanjiro and sheepishly say,

“This one is super pretty. I know we’re shopping for Nezuko but I think I might buy this one for myself.” Tanjiro smiles as he rises from the chair in the corner. He’s sat politely for the past few minutes saying very little except nodding appreciatively.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he states as casually as if he were describing the weather, then turns to the older lady running the shop, the same lady who had spent a few minutes glancing between him and you as well, and you’d pretended not to notice. 

“How much?” Tanjiro asks. 

Surprised, you wonder if he hadn’t heard you.

The seamstress names her price and Tanjiro is quick to give money, before you finally hold in your need to be polite and nudge him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. He’s unfazed as he hands money over, then smiles at you.

“Buying you a gift.”

“You don’t have to…” you start, but trail off as the woman receiving the money shoots you a dirty look that has you fall silent.

“You’re right, I don’t have to. But I would like to,” he adds.

You leave the shop promptly with a parcel in your hand and the seamstress’ eyes on your back.

—

Perhaps you do look like a couple, even if that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Tanjiro won’t let you treat him to any of the food, insisting you save your money instead through bites of skewered meat and noodles, and you finally find out which bakery supplies the Castella he brings by for you and your friends, as well as the girls at the Butterfly Mansion.

It’s better than anything you’ve tasted in your time, even if you practically choke on a roll when the baker tells you Tanjiro is lucky to be in the company of a pretty girl.

In your own time, you’ve been called pretty before, but this description today strikes at the very pit of your stomach, filling it with butterflies. Does Tanjiro know that you’re pretty? Does he agree? You ponder this for a few moments, then you’re immediately embarrassed to be thinking something so childish. 

Whether you’re pretty or not is moot. To him, you’re a younger sister to whom he buys gifts and food. Perhaps more pathetic since you are not related, since you have no one else, since you’re trapped here.

Tanjiro doesn’t answer the question you’ve posed in your head out loud, but he grins.

“I’m quite lucky indeed.”

—

As you walk side by side at the close of the evening, Tanjiro enthuses you in your progress, and you talk about all and nothing. There are red bean paste buns in your hand that you chew on idly between thoughts.

You’re not sure how the day went by so quickly, not while you were parallel processing, doing mental math to figure out what he thinks of you - as friend, as someone to dote on like a child, as someone who he could potentially…

No, that cannot possibly be it.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks. His cheeks are a warm pink and he’s looking straight ahead rather than at you, but his shoulders are relaxed and he bites and chews as he waits for your answer.

“Of course, I did,” you tell him. “This is…,” you pause, then continue, “probably the first time I’ve been anywhere nice, just for fun, since I got to this place.” Admitting it feels strange, but it’s true. Your life has now been limited to the mansion and towns you don’t know. Duty-driven, despair-driven, danger-driven. 

Tanjiro looks at you for a moment, and for just a moment his look is wistful. 

“Are you happy here?” he asks. Your mouth opens then closes, and then he quickly catches himself in a nervous laugh.

“Probably a stupid question, given none of your family is here, and you don’t have any of your technology and it’s not even your country and-”

You squeeze his hand for a moment.

“I’m happy now,” you offer him, then let go quickly. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

His mouth opens for a moment, and you wonder if you overstepped but he beams, and you wonder what you’d do without this small friendship.

“We should go back,” you quickly fill in before he can say something else and you can regret touching him. You’re the first to take a few steps forward, practically skipping, snacks and new clothing in hand, and you hear him behind you catching up.

“Yeah, let’s get you home safe.”

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: An Accident at Dinner with the Inner Circle

Dinner with the Inner Circle was always an event to look forward to—filled with laughter, shared stories, and the warmth of being surrounded by those who had become family. Tonight was no different. The grand dining room of the House of Wind was bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, the long table adorned with an array of dishes that would make any chef proud.

Azriel sat beside you, as he always did, his presence a steady, comforting anchor amidst the lively chatter. His hand rested on your knee under the table, a quiet but constant reminder of the bond you shared. You were mid-conversation with Mor, who was animatedly recounting a tale of her latest shopping spree, complete with exaggerated gestures and laughter.

Across the table, Feyre and Rhysand were locked in a mock argument about who had won their latest training session, while Cassian was trying to convince Amren to try a new dessert. It was a scene of perfect, chaotic harmony—each voice, each laugh, blending into a symphony of camaraderie.

Feyre stood up with a smile, reaching for a large, steaming pot of soup from the center of the table. “Alright, who’s ready for seconds?” she asked, lifting the pot with one hand while balancing her plate in the other. But in her enthusiasm, she misjudged the angle, and the pot slipped from her grasp.

Everything seemed to slow down in that moment. You watched as the pot wobbled, tipping dangerously, and then—before anyone could react—it tumbled forward, the steaming contents splashing across the table. Hot soup splattered everywhere, cascading over plates, cutlery, and worst of all—over you.

The shock of the searing liquid against your skin made you gasp, instinctively jerking back in your chair. The heat was overwhelming, a burning sensation spreading from your lap down to your legs. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from everyone around the table, and Feyre’s horrified gasp as she realized what had happened.

“Y/N!” Feyre’s voice was filled with panic and regret as she reached out, but Azriel was already moving.

Before you could fully register the pain, Azriel was there, his shadows swirling in a frenzy around him. He pulled you to your feet, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and fear that you had rarely seen in him. His hands, those scarred hands that had seen so much pain, moved quickly as he tried to brush the hot soup off your clothes, his touch gentle but hurried.

“Az—” you started, trying to calm him, but his expression stopped you short. There was something deeper there, a shadow of past trauma that flickered in his gaze as he took in the redness spreading across your skin.

His grip tightened slightly, and you felt the tension in his muscles as he fought to control his emotions. You could see the anger simmering beneath the surface—not at you, not even really at Feyre, but at the situation, at the memories it stirred. Azriel’s own burns, the scars that marked his hands, were a constant reminder of pain he had endured alone, and seeing you hurt, even in this small way, pulled those memories to the forefront.

“Feyre, get some cold water!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, his tone commanding but calm. Feyre nodded quickly, rushing to grab a pitcher of cold water from the side table, her face pale with worry.

Azriel guided you away from the table, his movements swift but careful. “We need to cool it down,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, as he took the pitcher from Feyre’s trembling hands and gently poured the water over your lap, trying to soothe the burn.

You winced at the initial contact but nodded, placing your hand over Azriel’s to steady him. “I’m okay,” you said softly, trying to reassure him, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his expression a storm of guilt and fury.

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt,” he whispered, his voice low and tight. “Not like this.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the tension in his grip, the way his shadows seemed to pulse erratically around him. “Az, it’s okay,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, trying to pull him back to the present, to remind him that you were here, with him. “I’m okay.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lose control—the shadows around him darkening, twisting in response to his turmoil. But he took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as he leaned into your touch. Slowly, the storm in his gaze began to subside, the frantic edge fading as he focused on you.

The rest of the Inner Circle hovered nearby, concern etched on their faces. Cassian stepped forward, his voice gentle as he said, “Feyre didn’t mean it, Az. It was an accident.”

Feyre, standing a few steps away, looked on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

You offered her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Feyre. Really. Just a little hot soup.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand finally loosened, his posture relaxing as he took another deep breath. He glanced at Feyre, his expression softening as he nodded. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice still a little rough around the edges but calmer. “I know it wasn’t on purpose.”

Mor appeared at your side with a cool cloth, gently pressing it to the reddened area on your leg. “Here, this should help,” she said softly, her eyes flicking between you and Azriel with a worried frown.

“Thanks, Mor,” you said, grateful for the cool relief against your skin. You looked up at Azriel, who was still watching you with an intensity that made your heart ache. You reached for him again, pulling him closer so that your foreheads touched, a silent promise between you.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “And I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Azriel’s eyes closed for a moment as he leaned into you, his breath evening out as he steadied himself. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t stand seeing you hurt.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could express. You knew the scars he carried, both seen and unseen, and how fiercely he protected those he loved—how fiercely he protected you.

Rhysand cleared his throat softly, his voice gentle as he broke the quiet. “Let’s take a break, give everyone a moment to breathe.” He glanced at Feyre, who nodded, still looking a bit shaken.

Azriel helped you to a nearby chair, his hand never leaving yours as he sat beside you. His shadows, usually so composed, still swirled restlessly around his feet, betraying the lingering tension in his mind.

You squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “I love you,” you said softly, your voice steady and full of certainty. “And nothing’s going to change that. Not a little soup, not anything.”

Azriel’s expression softened, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smile. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice low but filled with the quiet strength that always made you feel safe. “More than anything.”

As the others began to regroup, offering more apologies and making sure you were comfortable, Azriel stayed by your side, his touch constant and reassuring. And as the evening slowly returned to its usual rhythm, you knew that no matter what happened, you and Azriel would always face it together—scars, shadows, and all.

[nottswitch]

— dreaming about… autumns with theo 🍂

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m-list ; how to request

༉‧₊˚. chilly but still sunny september days, when you go out for a walk around the courtyard, your hand intertwined with theo’s and safely tucked into the pocket of his jacket. cozy cashmere sweaters that you start stealing from him as soon as you arrive to hogwarts, before he could even unpack his trunk. spending time at the lake, you cuddled up against theo’s chest on the bench, him pressing soft kisses to the top of your head from time to time. the stereotypical ‘throwing autumn leaves into the air’ scene, except he stands there smoking and suddenly, a pile of leaves is blowing up above him. he’s dumbfounded, but then you giggle and he grumbles about the leaves being dirty and dusty while trying to hide an amused smile.

༉‧₊˚. gloomy and cold october days, when every weekend is a trip to hogsmeade, to hide from the weather in coffee shops (and simply shops, bc theo knows you definitely need a new matching scarf and hat set). sitting on a soft couch next to the window, wrapped up in theo’s arms, sipping coffee and laughing when he kisses off the foam stuck to your lips. sneaking in a flask of firewhiskey to put into your drinks and warm up even further. taking a paper bag worth of pastries back to your dorm, because you absolutely need a stash. theo draping his scarf around your neck at the smallest shiver he notices. he also gives you his coat and doesn’t accept any objections, stubbornly shivering himself while you scold him and urge the both of you to the castle. matching halloween costumes that steal the show during the ball, because you enjoy it, and theo would do anything for his lovely girl.

༉‧₊˚. dark and rainy november days that you mostly spend cuddled up in either his dorm or yours. the endless rain rattles against the window, the raindrops trickling paths down the glass and clouding the view. you’re in bed, your limbs tangled together, hiding under warm blankets. you just spending time in each other’s presence, doing homework or reading, feeling calm and content. theo playing guitar just for you in his dorm while you sit in front of the fireplace, the faint crackling of the wood mixing with guitar strings, pliant under his skillful fingers. theo coming back from quidditch practice, sliding under the sheets and wrapping his ice cold limbs all around you. you squeal when his freezing feet touch your warm ones, but he only chuckles and nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in your comforting scent. taking baths together, testing out new bath bombs and salts that theo got you (he secretly enjoys it and keeps a bottle of your favourite foam in his dorm). you putting up string lights in theo’s dorm and him pretending to be annoyed but turning them on whenever he’s alone, to be reminded of your presence.

bonus: playlist

❥ willow by taylor swift

❥ lost on you by lp

❥ small hands by keaton henson

❥ my love mine all mine by mitski

❥ falling behind by laufey

❥ sono aggrappata a te by angelina mango

❥ golden by zayn

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirteen

authors note: welp. the gala is finally here, friends! i hope you enjoy. well, the enjoyable parts.

ya'll remember that promo where kevin and sami tried to jump roman and he was furious, throwing shit out the ring, yelling at solo to position sami for the spear? that's how angry our collective favorite grump gets in this one...

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of torture, fighting violence, language, angst, fluff, livid roman, and discussion regarding family loss.

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 11k

“Guys, is this really necessary?”

Truth be told, Solana already knows how both of her friends are going to respond. Bayley, however, is the one who briefly rips her focus from finding an x-large size in the top to the matching bottoms she’s picked out for Solana.

“It absolutely is necessary.” She takes a second to gesture to Solana’s outfit for the day. “You’ve come so far in so many ways, including not hiding your body as much, so we have to keep that going.”

“Exactly,” Naomi chimes as she reaches yet another dress to Solana, adding it to the pile of clothes she already has stacked on her arm. “Besides, who doesn’t love shopping with other people’s money?”

Other people would be Roman. Despite her horror at the totals every time Bayley and Naomi sucker her into these outrageous shopping trips, her husband never seems to bat an eye. It’s not unsurprising. She knows he’s filthy rich. But still, just the thought of spending so much money on clothes is a struggle.

And as Bayley adds the two piece suit to her arm, Solana starts to notice there’s a theme in the items they’re picking for her. A lot of bathing suits. Sun dresses. Shorts and thin sleeved tops. All appropriate for summer, of course. But, something else. 

Like a trip.

Curious, Solana suddenly asks, “why are we getting so many vacation type outfits?”

Naomi looks at her with the perfect confused expression. “What?” She laughs, picking up a bright orange top with a low neckline. “Girl, it’s summer. These are summer clothes.”

“But all these bathing suits—”

“Because we finally got you to embrace a two-piece, so now we need to make sure you have plenty of em’ whenever you and Roman decide to go for a swim.” Her wink makes Solana look away to hide her blush. She doesn’t regret opening up about trying to eventually consummate her marriage, but the way Naomi and Bayley never waste a chance to crack an innuendo can be….a lot at times.

“I’m gonna go bring these up front.” Solana gestures to the heavy stack of clothes that she’s holding. The second, or maybe third, stack they’ve accumulated for her. There’s always a check-in regarding if Solana likes it or not, which she appreciates. Even if they’ve become exceptionally good at distinguishing whether she doesn’t like something because it’s just not her style or whether she doesn’t like it because of insecurity. And when it’s the second one, they never hesitate to invoke their veto powers, instructing the cashier to ring it up.

Solana finds the sales girl from earlier up at the register, messing around on her phone as the line is non-existent. Her emerald green eyes dart up from the screen and an almost crooked smile falls on her young looking face. Solana would guess she’s either in her late teens or early twenties. 

“Got more for me?”

Solana giggles. “Just a little.” 

The girl also laughs, accepting the new pile and adding it with the others. She turns back around with a bit of skeptical look. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

Curious, Solana nods. “Sure.”

She leans over the counter, red hair sprinkling past her freckled shoulders. “How did you meet your husband?” Eyes widening a bit, Solana’s surprise at the question must show. “I’ve seen you come in here a couple times now over the past few months, and every time you spend more than what my parents probably make in a month combined. And your ring is so beautiful. I guess I’m just kind of wondering how I can get lucky too. Cause your husband clearly loves you a lot to spoil you so much.”

Love…..

Not until this very moment has Solana ever thought about Roman and the word love in the same sentence. Hell, in the same universe. 

He’s….he’s done so much for her. Changed her life, for the better, in almost every way. And she’s gathered that he must care for her to some extent. Why else would he do the things he’s done? But love….that’s such a strong word.

Too strong.

Not to mention, he’d made clear to her the first time he came to visit her at her job that he could never love her. He was very honest about that, and in a weird way, she appreciated it.

But…..but he also said that she was a business arrangement, and nothing about the way he treats her feels like a business obligation.

So…..

It’s such a big thing, a big thing she’s not sure she wants to tackle in public, let alone while standing in front of a complete stranger. 

“He’s really great.” That’s the answer nonanswer that she settles on. “I just….I got really lucky with him.” Because she did. God knows she did.

“Fair,” the girl laughs. “Well, if he has any younger brothers who are kind and generous like him, I’m single.”

Solana smiles a bit when her attention lands on the word brothers. Siblings. Family. 

It takes her back to a few months earlier, the night he rushed off because of conflict with this Cody Rhodes person. The night he shared with her he also lost his mother at the age of ten.

But…..but there was more.

Brief glimpses, flashbacks almost of a different night. Her body pressed against his. His strong arms around her. Comforting her almost.

“....all of my siblings….”

“.....only one…..”

“....alone….”

And though she can’t make out everything, can’t remember verbatim what he’d shared with her that evening. there’s enough bits and pieces that she’s able to string together a coherent, heartbreaking realization. 

It wasn’t just Roman’s mom he lost that night.

He lost his entire family.

He was the only one who made it out alive. 

There’s a crushing, cumbersome weight Solana feels in the back of her throat as well as the pit of her stomach. She knows better than most how devastating the loss of family can be, but to lose your entire immediate family in one night. As a child?

That’s a pain she can’t even imagine.

Roman makes a lot more sense now, his coldness, the constant aloof disposition. The way he always has his guard up. Beyond just his title as Tribal Chief. How can one not lose trust in most and all things with a loss like that?

How can one love after a loss like that?

Realizing her epiphany is unfolding behind the sales girl, Solana manages to murmur out a, “I’ll keep that in mind” before excusing herself. She just needs some space. Needs some—

“Solana?”

The woman in question is close to the entrance of the story when a voice, both new and familiar, calls her name, forcing her to turn around. And it’s when she does so that Solana realizes why it’s familiar.

“Dom?”

It’s been years since she’s seen him, and he looks both the same yet different. Facial hair that seems uneven and unconnected with a hairstyle to match, bangs almost entirely obscuring his bushy eyebrows. He’s dressed in all black, clothes draped over his still slim build. Once upon a time, she would grow nervous around him, insecure of herself in comparison to someone she thought was so much more attractive than he actually was. Now though, she just wants to pretend this unexpected encounter never happened.

“What are you—”

“Did you get bigger?”

And there it goes. One simple question asked with almost a hint of a mocking smile, Solana is briefly reverted back to those days of deep rooted insecurity. Where she’d hold her stomach in around him and always only order salad the few times he took her out.

For a second, she’s tempted to cross her arms, suddenly regretting the top that doesn’t entirely connect with her high waisted shorts, exposing a strip of skin. 

“Damn. I really thought you would have gotten yourself together by now.” He scoffs, crossing his arms as he tilts his head. “You still not putting out? Cause your tits are actually not that—”

“Shut up.”

Solana isn’t sure who’s more surprised by her interruption. Him or her. Perhaps him, because his smile is dropped, replaced with an almost scowl.

“What the hell did you say to me, mami?”

But instead of cowering, instead of her anxiety growing at him, a man, moving closer to her. Trying to intimidate her. Solana doesn’t back down.

She doesn’t back down because she’s not scared. 

Chin lifted, she keeps her voice firm and unwavering. “You don’t get to talk about me anymore. Not my weight. Not my body. None of it.” Seeing the shock in his eyes at her actually standing up for herself, not allowing him to talk down on her like he always would, makes Solana’s assertiveness that much more fulfilling. “Now leave me alone.”

She turns to walk away when she hears footsteps behind her. “Where do you think—”

Call it the result of her training or the fact that she’s still very much in her feelings and head about her heartbreaking realization regarding Roman, Solana hasn’t a clue just what leads her to spin around and connect her fist directly with Dom’s nose. However, as soon as she does it, sees him stumbling back into a rack, she slaps her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my….” But instead of apologizing, instead of feeling terrible for hitting another human being, she finds herself almost laughing. A shocked, amused smile hidden underneath her palms. Her first is hurting a bit, but that sting is dulled by the satisfaction of his dumbfounded facial expression.

It’s a bit short lived though as he straightens up and starts to stalk toward her. “What the hell? You crazy puta—”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

Solana turns to see Bayley and Naomi. It’s hard to distinguish who looks more pissed. Who looks more ready to commit murder.

Naomi steps forward. “I know you did not just call her a bitch.” She turns to Bayley. “That’s what puta means in Spanish, right?”

“It sure does.” Bayley answers, coming to stand beside Solana. Protectively. “He called her a crazy bitch at that.” She scoffs, dressing him up and down. “Everyone knows you’re an idiot, Dom, but I didn’t think you were that stupid. Who the hell do you think you are talking to her like that?”

“He’s my ex.” Solana answers, partially unsure why she would let slip a piece of information that could only make the situation worse.

Naomi’s mouth drops open, one thumb gesturing to him. “Dirty Dumbass Dom is your ex?” Her eyes widen even more. “The one who said—oh hell no, Solana. We’re kicking his ass.”

Bayley lifts her hand, effectively stopping Naomi as she moves forward, no doubt ready to lay into him. Head tilted to the side, she smiles. “No….I have a much better idea.” Solana is understandably confused as Bayley tells Naomi, “I still have my stuff in my trunk.” 

Naomi’s eyes light up. “Oh, this just got so much better.” She turns towards the sales associate who’s been watching everything unfold from a distance like it was a TikTok storytime. “Hold the items, please. We’ll be back in a little bit.” 

Solana turns around to see the girl just give a thumbs up and shrug. “Do what you gotta do.”

Dom groaning in pain is what makes Solana turn her attention back to him, only to see him doubled over, holding his crotch as Naomi hits him in his back and starts guiding him out the store. “Get walking. Now.”

“I’m not going any—-” He cries out once again when Bayley kicks him in his face. 

“Shut your bitch ass up!” She curses in Spanish, motioning for Solana to follow them. “Come on, girl.”

Confused but following suit, Solana asks, “what are we doing?”

Naomi answers with intentional vagueness. “Having a lil’ fun.”

Something tells Solana they have different definitions of fun. 

But she remains silent as her two friends quite literally drag Dom out of the store, through the rest of the stores until they reach the parking lot. She’s again surprised when they take him over to Bayley’s car. She unlocks it and opens the trunk, pulling out a black bag that she hands to Solana. Solana starts to peek inside when something else catches her attention. 

Bats. 

Metal bats. 

She has two. One of which she reaches to Solana.

“I—just what are we doing?”

Bayley’s smile is nothing but mischievous. “Having some fun.”

Naomi suddenly pulls out a knife and presses it to his throat. “Take us to your car. Now.” 

Dom is quieter than she’s ever known him to be as he follows Naomi’s directive, leading them to his fancy pickup truck that Solana, even with her limited knowledge about cars, can tell is worth a pretty penny. 

They make him unlock it to ensure it's actually his truck before Bayley starts to circle it. She nods, as if impressed. “Nice. Can tell you’ve put a bunch of upgrades in.” Solana’s mouth drops open as Bayley takes her key and slides it along the truck as she walks. “Might need a paint job though.”

“What the hell! You—” He’s silenced by Naomi kicking him in his back, forcing him to the ground, knife still pressed against his throat. “You’re all fucking crazy!”

That only makes Bayley smile as she directs Solana to lay the bag on the ground, bending over and pulling out a portable bluetooth speaker. It’s only when seeing the glitter, paint, and glue that Solana starts to put two and two together.

“Are we—”

“Uh huh.”

She gasps. “But, we can’t—-we…..” And suddenly, she’s trailing off, thoughts of all of the cruel, unkind things Dom would say to her, the way he would put her down, fat shame her, bringing her to tears. The memories help her tune to change a bit. “C—can we?” 

Bayley stands up and places a hand on her shoulder. “Solana…..you are Solana fucking Reigns. Wife of Roman Reigns, the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table.” Out of the corner of her eye, Solana can see Dom’s eyes go wide as saucers. He clearly wasn’t aware of this. Of her marriage. Of just who she calls husband these days. “You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Bayley’s hype is effective as she pulls out her phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. A small smile falls on Solana’s face as she hears the familiar and oh-so fitting song. 

Right now,

He's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp

And she's probably getting frisky

Right now,

He's probably buying her some fruity little drink

'Cause she can't shoot whiskey

Bayley gestures for Solana to move closer to the truck. “Your ex. First hit is yours.”

“Solana, wait, please. I—I didn’t know you were with him.” Dom’s pleading and begging is desperate and embarrassing. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

For some reason, that word has never made her feel so irritated. 

“No, you’re not.” And without a second of hesitation, she takes the bat and swings it against his passenger window, effectively shattering it. On the side, Bayley and Naomi cheer her on, Solana not even needing encouragement as she moves around to the other side, doing the same to the driver’s window.

Bayley howls out, “let’s fuckin’go!” She takes the bat and brings it against the rest of the truck, creating dents, scratches, and anything else that can desecrate what she’s sure makes up for other deficits. 

Solana just took out the mirror on the passenger side when she hears Naomi aggressively yell at him not to ‘fucking move.” And Dom doesn’t, just watches helplessly as she moves over to the bag, pulling out the glue and glitter. She smirks in his direction, lifting the materials of destruction. “Time to glow, bitch.”

Solana laughs as Naomi rips open the door and starts pouring the deadly combination of glue and glitter all over the interior. 

I dug my key into the side of his pretty

little suped up four wheel drive

Carved my name into his leather seats

Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

Slashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats

The ironic and iconic lyrics serve as a manual and guiding force for Solana as she catches the tossed keys from Bayley who’s on the hood of the truck going HAM on the roof with the metal bat. Solana finds herself feeling almost giddy as she effectively slashes all four of his tires.

This is the last thing she ever saw herself doing: completely destroying her ex’s car without a care in the world, but it’s also exactly what’s happening.

And she can’t even say that she feels any regret about it.

Doesn’t feel bad about it.

Why should she? He never felt bad about any of the shit he did to her. 

And she especially doesn’t feel bad as she finds herself carving her name not only in his leather seats but the outside of the truck as well.

Naomi looks over at Dom who is now actually crying and laughs. “Look at it this way, Dom. We’re only doing this to your truck. Imagine what he’s going to do to you once he finds out what you did to his wife.” It brings her a great sense of satisfaction to see the terror in his eyes. 

It also makes her send out the brief video she recorded of Bayley and Solana beating the shit out of the truck with bats to her group chat with the men.

Naomi: Just doing hot girl shit. 💅🏿

Their replies start coming in only minutes later. 

Jimmy: Idk what’s going on, but I’m turned tf on. 

Jey: Why ya’ll females always go after our cars and shit? 

Roman: Why the fuck is it everytime you two take my wife out, it’s always some shit?

Roman: What the fuck is going on?

Naomi: Because you all asked so nicely 😐, turns out Solana used to date Dom back in the day.

Jimmy: Rey’s boy? The fuck? She too damn fine for that weasel. He could never handle all that ass.

Roman: One more time, Jimmy. Just one more time.

Jey: Naomi, please give us the rest of the story before Roman make your ass a widow.

Naomi: 🥴 Anyway, she told us some of the stuff he used to say to and about her, and honestly….even more trash than we thought.

Roman: Like?

Naomi: We promised Solana we wouldn’t say anything. Just know he was mean to her. So I guess she ran into him and he said some out of pocket shit, she got upset and PUNCHED him!!!!!!!

Jimmy: Soso HIT someone?!? 

Naomi: Sure did!

Jey: Damn! Our Soso growing up on us!

Roman: I wanna know what the fuck he said to her.

Naomi: Ask her when you get home. 🙄

Naomi: So we’re fucking up his truck while he watches helplessly. 😊

Roman: The dead don’t need cars anyway.

Roman’s chilly response is both given and, in her opinion, well overdue. She’s never heard anything nice or good about Mysterio’s boy, so she can only imagine the full extent of what he put Solana through. 

It’s why she’s mostly pleased by how Solana allows herself to let loose, to get her receipt. She deserves it.

As Solana and Bayley pour glitter in his gas tank, Naomi casually calls out, “what should we get to eat after this?”

________

“I committed assault and vandalism in one day. One.”

Roman smiles as he adjusts his tie, partially thankful his clearly distressed wife is unable to see his humored response to her frantic worrying. 

“That bitch got what he deserved, Solana.” Part of it. But, Solana doesn’t need to know Roman absolutely plans on making sure she never has to run into that alelo ever again. No one will. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”

She really shouldn’t, because he can only imagine what was said to her, the treatment she received from that piece of shit. None of which she deserved. All of which makes him want to say fuck the gala and get straight to torturing the fucker.

Through the mirror attached to his dresser, he watches the bathroom door open, Solana stepping out, a robe only partially covering the length of her red dress. Leaning against the door, she crosses her arms, clearly in her head over what he partially wishes he could have been present for.

He would have taken the metal bats to Dom himself versus the truck.

But, he’s also him, and she is her. 

Two very different people. 

Roman moves across the room, pulling her against him as her hands lay on his chest. “You really mean to tell me you didn’t feel the least bit good at fucking his shit up?”

And he sees it, the way she’s fighting back the agreement. He reminds, hands moving to undo her robe. “You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.” She seems to be mulling over his words as he pushes her robe off her shoulders, watching it fall to the floor. “Fuck….” She always looks good, but there’s something about seeing her in the red, the way the dress hugs her curves, taunting him, testing his resolve, that has them wanting to ditch the gala for an entirely different reason. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her smile is bashful, but he’s pleased to see her not look away, to maintain eye contact as she murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’. She gasps a bit, informing, “Oh, I noticed earlier you were running low on your medicine, so I called it in and picked it up for you.”

That takes him off guard. It was on his to-do list. Somewhere on there, he’s certain. But for her to go out of her way to take care of it for him, it makes him feel something he can’t really explain. 

Solana’s smile dims a bit as she gently reminds, “you’ve gotta stay on top of that. It’s—it’s important, Roman.”

“Yeah…” It’s a response to her, but he’s still very much in his head over whatever this strange ass, yet somehow comforting feeling is. Fucking confusing ass shit. Clearing his throat, Roman forces himself to get his head back in the game. “Solana….” His tone is something different, something that makes her a bit nervous, that weighs down her previous smile even more.

She does her best not to reveal the alteration in her happiness level. But, she can just tell the mood is about to shift a bit. “Yes?”

To his credit, his hand moving in circles on the small of her back gives her a bit of comfort. Eases the weight of whatever he’s about to share. “Tonight..tonight I need to be on. Focused. The fucking annoying part about these things is that everyone’s there to see if they can seek out some type of soft point. Some kind of weakness.” 

This confuses her. Soft point? That’s not an issue for Roman, and she points out as such. “But, but you have no weaknesses.” 

Something flashes in his eyes and before she can say anything, not that she necessarily would, he’s back to explaining himself. “I don’t want you to think that I’m being cold with you. I’m not upset or avoiding you. I just—”

“You need to show them why you’re the Head of the Table.” His latter explanation provides the previously missing clarification. Reaching for his hand, she offers a gentle smile. “I understand.” 

“Do you?” For a second, it almost sounds like there’s a sense of urgency to his tone. Like he needs to know that she knows it’s nothing personal against her.

And it’s not really until this moment that Solana realizes there are two sides to Roman Reigns. The side that she sees, the almost gentle, caring side. The man who always goes out of his way to ensure her comfort and safety at all times. The man who’s changed her life in ways he’ll probably never be able to fully understand.

Then there’s the other side. The side that makes his name alone strikes fear in even the strongest of men. The most violent. The most diabolical. A god among men. 

Two completely different sides of the coin, but still a single coin.

This other side though, the side only she gets to see because it’s reserved for her. The side that might even be considered a form of vulnerability…..he only shows that with her, only shows it to her.

A….safe space, of sorts.

She is his safe space. 

This second, or maybe third, major realization of the day only makes that love aspect so much more confusing. Though it makes her heart swell to know she can provide that for him. That she can be that for him.

Pulling from floating thoughts, Solana brings herself back to the conversation at hand. “I do.” She offers an explanation of her own. “I know I asked if you’ll stay with me the whole night, but—but, I don’t think I need that.” And before he can protest, she gives the valid reasons why. “I didn’t know Bayley and Naomi would be there. I’m fine with them. I just—I didn’t want to be alone in a room full of people I don’t know.”

“I would never leave you alone.” He brings his hand to the back of her neck, informing in a low voice. “I might not interact with you much, but that doesn’t mean I’m not watching. 

“I know.” She cuts him off, again working to reassure him that he doesn’t need to be so focused on her. It’s clear there’s a task for the evening, a box that needs to be checked. And she doesn’t want to interfere in any sort of way. “I’ll be fine.” With a half smile, she reminds, “especially if there’s a bat nearby.”

A genuine smile grows on Roman’s face as he pulls her into him, Solana resting in his safe embrace. Being in his arms is starting to become one of her favorite things. “My fine ass, bat swinging wife.” She giggles against him as Roman drops his hand to her ass, giving a slap. 

“Let’s go.”

________

The minute the SUV door opens and Roman climbs out first only to offer his hand as Solana steps out behind him, her gaze taking in the beautiful mansion that looks like something out of a movie premiere, her anxiety starts to rise. Taking in the scene around her, she’s met with an actual red carpet leading up the steps to the mansion that has large, glass, double doors with swirled marble intricate designs that match the stone of the building. There’s a line of cars both behind and in front of their SUV, indicating guests are still arriving.

That makes her feel at least a little bit better.

She didn’t want to make Roman late. Even if something tells her he wouldn’t care one way or the other.

It’s not missed upon her how he gives her hand an almost gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over her knuckles all the while keeping his gaze up and focused. She sees how his light eyes subtly survey the perimeter as he leads them up the steps. She stills when two large men dressed in black suits wearing earpieces, guards clearly, stop them with a raised hand.

“Please walk through—-”

“Do I look fucking stupid?” Roman’s question needs no answer as he motions for Solana to walk ahead of him through the metal detectors that separate attendees from entering. Slowly, with a bit of anxiety at somehow setting them off even though there’s no way for her to, she does so without incident. Roman does the same looking every bit annoyed as he feels, but it makes her feel a bit better when he takes hand in his again.

“No weapons allowed.” Is all he says. Calmly. Simply. Without anything else. She nods, figuring as such, but a brief sideways glance at her husband, and she wonders how beneficial that actually is when he, himself, is a walking weapon.

She’s more than certain he’s killed before with his bare hands. Not a weapon needed.

Solana takes in the setting before her. Circular tables litter the first and second levels of the beautiful building, intricate, opulent centerpieces decorating each table. A live band plays some unfamiliar song as guests mingle about, many of which are admiring the various art pieces that occupy almost all of the walls. The lights are dimmed and the smell of lavender and honey penetrates, creating an almost calming atmosphere that starkly contrasts the fact that almost everyone in eyesight is a part of the crime underworld. Trained, brutal killers. 

Including the man who continues to soothe his thumb across her knuckles. 

“Come on.”

Solana stays close besides Roman as he leads them through the sea of people. Many of which, men primarily, seem to settle their gaze on her, her chest, only to travel up to see the man beside her and smartly redirect their attention literally anywhere else.

In some sort of strange way, that brings a sense of comfort to her. To know that just his presence wards off any and all unwanted attention. Makes her feel safer.

Then again, she’s not sure if any environment exists where Roman doesn’t make her feel safe. 

She feels even better when she realizes where he’s led them. A table full of familiar, equally welcomed faces. 

Bayley is the first to greet her. She stands up from the table, and Solana is in awe of her teal dress that hugs every curve beautifully. “You look fuckin amazing.” She reaches over, pulling Solana away from Roman and into a hug. “Aren’t you glad you went with this one?” She gestures down to the dress.

Solana laughs and nods. “Yes. I am.”

Naomi and Jimmy are also standing now, forming an almost line to hug Solana. Naomi pulls her in even tighter. “How's the fist?”

Solana gasps as Naomi laughs only for Jimmy to crack his little joke. “I made sure ain’t no bats around just in case you get upset again, sis.” 

Allowing him to hug her, Solana rolls her eyes and murmurs, “that’s not happening ever again.”

“You might wanna watch your shit, Big Dog. Soso believe in breaking shit when she gets angry.”

Feeling a bit defenseless, she grasps at straws. “It was—it wasn’t like that.”

Jey scoffs, pointing out after downing some of his wine, “girl, we saw you on that video. You was swangin the hell out of that thing.”

Cheeks flushed, Solana sits down in the seat Roman has pulled out for her. Right next to him. Bayley on her other side. She looks over at Naomi. “I can’t believe you sent it to them.”

“Are you kidding? Our sweet little Solana beating the shit out of her ex’s car with a bat? That’s Kodak worthy.”

She rolls her eyes, eager to take the attention off herself as she notices Jey’s seat beside him is empty. “Is Nicki not coming?”

Naomi answers with a chuckle. “Girl, Nicki got banned years ago after she—”

Jey quickly jumps in, depriving Solana of a story she’s certain involved some type of altercation between him and his wife. Their marriage truly does not make any sense to her whatsoever. “Aye, we don’t need to rehash the past.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Naomi leans over and whispers, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Solana hopes she follows through on that. Roman asks the twins something in Samona, the three of them starting a dialogue in a language only they can understand. And judging by the serious expressions on all of their faces, she surmises that it’s business related. 

Especially when Solo and Paul join the table. It’s almost like the ladies don’t exist after that, but it doesn’t bother Solana. It can’t when Roman already made it clear what tonight would be like.

It’s nothing personal. 

Just business. 

Bored and kind of eager to explore what seems like one of a kind masterpieces, she turns to Bayley and asks, “can we go look at the art?”

Bayley scoffs. “Hell yeah.” Standing up and adjusting her dress, she remarks, “it’s better than sitting here doing nothing.” Glancing at Naomi, she asks, “you wanna come with us?”

Naomi sucks her teeth. “Girl, you don’t even have to ask.” 

Solana smiles, grateful for their attendance and companionship. 

Roman’s deep voice cuts through with a simple two word command. “Watch her.”

She looks back at him, offering a small smile she hopes will settle any concern he may have about her. He doesn’t need to worry about that. Just needs to focus on himself. 

Linking arms with the other ladies, they move through the crowd, starting with the art near the entrance and making their way around. Solana seems to be the most intrigued by the pieces selected, trying to detect a theme in each one. Naomi and Bayley, however, seem to settle for a combination of roasting and admiring. More of the first than the latter. 

“Oh fuck, I was hoping they didn’t show up.” Solana is in the midst of deciphering a piece of abstract art when Bayley’s almost steel exclamation pulls her from her focus. 

Confused, she asks, “who?”

Naomi answers, subtly gesturing across the room. “Don’t stare. It’ll draw attention to us.”

Solana does her best, but it’s hard not to when she sees a set of new arrivals, most of which are absolute strangers, faces unseen prior to this very moment.

But one is not.

One is a face she saw, a person she spoke to, just days prior.

Brandi. 

She’s holding hands with a tall man, striking blue eyes Solana can see from nearly across the room, bleached blonde hair that somehow compliments his tanned skin. There’s a boyish look about him that Solana would guess is a facade, something that deceives people, cleverly hiding the fact that he’s just as much a killer as the guests around them. 

Before she can ask who he is though, Bayley offers introductions. “That is Cody Rhodes. And the pretty lady on his arm is his wife, Brandi.”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops. Her mouth feels dry. “Wife?” Solana looks back and forth between the couple. “Brandi is Cody’s wife?”

This just got a lot more confusing and complicated. The kind woman whose young daughter Solana ‘rescued’ is married to Roman’s greatest enemy? The man he hates most?

And suddenly Solana is thinking about her interaction with Solo after she mentioned Brandi’s name. 

He knew.

So, why didn’t he say anything to her?

Why didn’t he say anything to Roman?

________

Roman ignoring Solana for the majority of the night ends up being a lot easier than she anticipated. 

It’s quelled by the fact that she’s had one hell of a day, several major revelations clogging up her mental space. 

Remembering what Roman told her about his family.

Trying to figure out if she’s in love with Roman.

Trying to figure out if Roman could ever love her.

Accidentally helping out his sworn enemy’s wife.

Her personal guard being aware of this last piece of information yet saying nothing to her or her husband. 

Even though she’s sworn off alcohol after the last drunken disaster, there’s a burning temptation to walk over to the open bar and request something that can at least take the edge off. 

Something to help her clear her head.

It’s after dinner, and Roman, Paul, and the twins are moving around, briefly speaking with various guests. Roman and Paul, in particular, seem to keep the conversations perfunctory before moving onto the next one. Clearly checking off certain, necessary boxes.

Solana again is viewing artwork, doing whatever she can to distract herself when someone unexpected comes up to her.

“Hey.” She looks to her side to see no one other than Solo. He looks almost….nervous. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Does she want to talk to him at this current moment in time? Not really. But, something tells her she needs to. 

“Yes.”

Solo guides them to a corner that’s as close to secluded as they’re gonna get at the crowded event.

“Listen, I…..I wanted to apologize to you.”

Solana’s eyes widen. The surprises just keep coming. “Wh–what?”

“I know….I know I’ve been ass.” She wouldn’t necessarily use that word to describe his behavior and disposition, but it’s not exactly an inaccurate usage either. “It’s just….before you came around, I was just getting my chance to show Roman I deserve a seat at the table with him and my brothers. Then he assigns me to you, and I just feel like I’m not proving myself no more.”

Solana started to figure as such. Guessed that maybe he resented her to a certain extent because he’d essentially been assigned as her adult babysitter. That would probably annoy anyone.

“But, at the end of the day, Roman is the Tribal Chief. His word is final. I have to respect that.” He sighs, shrugging. “And as his wife, I gotta respect you too, which I ain’t been doing, so I apologize.”

Solana has never really been one to be on the receiving end of apologies from people. It’s still an uncomfortable experience as she murmurs an ‘it’s okay’ followed up with her question about his omission. “Why didn’t you tell me who Brandi was? Or tell Roman?”

He sighs loudly, voice lowering a bit as he explains his actions. “You’re new to the family, so you don’t know the history between Cody and Roman. Telling him would only kick off some shit. I figured if she came around again, then that I would tell you.” His explanation makes sense, Solana nodding slowly. He too doesn’t seem to want to upset Roman if possible. “I’m sorry for that too.”

She shakes her head. “No. I—I get it, and—I’m sorry, too, that you got stuck with me.” 

Solo smiles a bit. The first time she’s ever seen him do so. It feels…..odd. “You ain’t so bad.” He then asks, brow lifted a bit. “So, we cool?”

Solana swallows. What reason does she have for them not to be at this point? Everything he’s said makes perfect sense. “Of course.” Offering a small smile, she says sincerely, “thank you, Solo.” 

He nods, not saying anything else as he walks off.

Left alone, blowing out a big breath, she looks around. Solana spots the hall that leads to the ladies room. Making her way through the crowd, she walks in and goes into the first open stall. Relieving her bladder is an unexpected, small but significant enough type of relief. It feels similar to the peace she now has with the whole Solo situation. 

Solana walks over to the sink, pumping some soap into her hands, activating the motion sensor to shut on the water as she rinses, watching the suds empty down the drain. 

“Hey, sis.” 

Solana’s head snaps up the second she’s met with the voice she hasn’t heard in months. Her brown eyes, through the mirror, locking with an almost identical set of brown. The only difference being the glimpse of emotion that’s always been unfamiliar to her but a resident friend of his.

Hate.

Solana moves as quickly as she can, but it’s not fast enough, because he’s got a fist full of her hair. Wes yanks her head back and shoves her away, providing him the access he needs to bring his hand across her face, backhanding her so hard that it makes her double over in pain. 

Feeling an unfamiliar wetness, she feels her cheek, only to see blood on her fingertips. A glance at Wes' hand shows that the rings on his fingers must have cut her. 

But she can’t focus on that too long because his hand is wrapped around her neck as he thrusts her against the adjacent wall, searing pain shooting across her back at the violent impact.

She claws at his iron grip, his dark eyes narrowing against her. So much hate. “You dumb slut, did you really think you could hide forever?” Her eyes shut, her mind screaming Roman’s name in a way her mouth cannot. “Were you stupid enough to believe he could protect you from me?” Solana winces as he tightens his grip. “You’re a weak, stupid bitch and you always will be.”

Weak

Slut

Stupid

Dumb

Bitch

All words that she’s heard before. Cruel names she’s been called over the years in conjunction with beatings. Beatings like this that have left her bloody and broken. Feeling empty. Feeling like every hurtful thing she’s ever been called. Feeling that weak adjective that he’s always made her defining trait.

Solana closes her eyes and starts to retreat to that mental place of superficial security, bracing for what’s sure to be a beating like no other. She tries to return to that spot in her brain that’s accepted that this is her reality, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

The only problem is that that place doesn’t exist anymore.

She can’t find it.

She doesn’t feel weak or dumb or stupid. Doesn’t feel helpless and victim to his sadism.

Not even in this moment with his hand wrapped tightly around her throat. 

No….

She feels something else. 

Something much stronger, powerful, fueling.

Anger.

She’s pissed the fuck off.

It’s when she sees his other hand pull out a knife, that for a second, a brief moment, she hesitates. She hesitates, momentarily paralyzed by the fear and trauma that single item has brought her over the past twenty years. But, she closes her eyes and centers herself, tapping back into months of training, of sparring, of fighting.

Snarling almost, her rage and determination growing synchronously, Solana lifts up her leg with all the force she can muster, her knee coming into direct impact with Wes’s crotch area. Instantly, he releases her, dubbed over, groaning and cursing. Solana’s a bit lightheaded, but she powers through it, quickly grabbing the vase of flowers on the counter and swinging it with all her might over his head.

“Fuck!” He grunts, falling to the ground, his knife tumbling across the intricately designed tile flooring. 

Rushing to grab it, he does the same, but she manages to outpace him. Her speed gives her the upperhand. And with a cry of her own, she slams it down directly into the palm of his outreaching hand.

Wes howls in pain as she rips it out and kicks him in his side, watching as he tumbles onto his back. Solana slams her heel down on his other arm, pinning it and forcing the knife through his right hand this time. 

He cries out again and she backs away for a second, tempted to drive it through another part of him when he growls with all the rage and pain, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you bitch!”

His threat, unlike countless times before, doesn’t frighten her, doesn’t make her tremble and cower in fear. 

It just pisses her off even more.

“Come on.” Solana motions for him to come at her, for him to climb off the ground and fight her. “Come on!” Using the bloody knife, she takes and slices it across her dress, allowing her more freedom and fluidity with her movements. Kicking the material to the side, she crouches down, egging him on. “Hit me, you son of a bitch!”

Finally to his feet, Solana sees him ready to charge at her. Her eyes never leave him, studying every single movement of his bleeding body. And just when he’s about to slam into her, she jumps to the side, watching him slam into the wall. Solana doesn’t waste a single second as she rushes behind him, lifts her leg and kicks him in the head, intentionally trying to drive her heel into his neck. His shouts of pain further her drive as she drops her leg, snatches him by his hair and slams the knife down into his shoulder. 

She jumps back as his body plops to the ground again, Wes rolling over and writhing in pain, profusely bleeding from several parts of his body, black suit staining dark, bloody red. Solana moves toward him, utilizing every bit of strength coursing through her body as she lands brutal kick after kick into his side, intentionally aiming for his chest. A kick for every broken bone, every bruise, every cut, every burn, every time he waterboarded her to the point where she was unconscious. Every fucking thing. She only stops when she hears the satisfying crack of one or several of his ribs. 

But, it’s not enough. It’s not enough because all she can think about now is all the times he made her bleed, made her scream, made her flail with fear and terror. It’s his turn now. 

Kicking off her heels, she grabs him by the collar of his suit jacket. “Come here, you bastard.” He’s heavy, and it’s a strain to drag him, but she does just that, pulling him into one of the stalls. Solana shoves the back of his head into the toilet and holds him down face first into the water.

Wes flails against her, but her grip is just like her spirit. Strong and unrelenting.

“How does that feel?” She taunts, tears streaming down her face because as vindicating as this moment is, it still doesn’t strip away the pain of years of abuse and torture. Yanking his head back, pleased by the way he coughs violently, gasping for air, she continues to mock him with the same taunts he always threw her way. “Say something, bitch!” Solana slams his head back down into the water. Repeating the same act of torture he utilized on her for years. 

She does it until she feels her strength starting to wane, eventually releasing his clumped body down as she backs away, leaning against the counter. 

Chest moving up and down from her heavy breathing, exhaust settling in as adrenaline fades out, it’s only then she turns to look at her reflection in the mirror. Face reddened, hair disheveled, red dress stained with his blood splatter, a mixture of her blood from the cut that probably wont need anything more than a liquid bandaid, and tears running down her cheek, yet she’s never felt fucking better.

This….this is liberation.

It’s freedom from shackles of fear. 

Fear of the one person she never thought she wouldn’t be terrified of. And yet, that same source of so much heartache lies before her: bloody, bruised, broken. 

All because of her.

Commotion outside the door and banging against it alerts her to the fact that somebody has clearly caught onto her absence. Roman, most likely. 

Body suddenly very heavy, she moves over to the door, leaning back against it, eyes landing on Wes who’s coughing up blood. For a brief second, she feels a sliver of sadness, if guilt. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s knocked out the way, replaced with pride. Roman’s words from earlier in the night returning and cementing her satisfaction.

“You’re not ever required to be nice to people who are cruel to you, Solana. You owe them nothing.”

And fewer have been crueler than the man before her.

Voice and body trembling from the weight of it all, Solana affirms with all the emotion and sincerity through her body. “I am not scared of you anymore.” She turns the lock, stepping out of the way to avoid the avalanche of bodies about to enter. “And I never will be again.”

Sure enough, it sounds like a stampede. Solana closes her eyes, stealing a moment to rest and relish in her inner peace.

“Solana.”

His voice is urgent and pressured, and seconds later, he has her in his arms, holding her against him. She breathes in his scent, comforted by his arms around her.

“I’m fine.” She knows he needs to hear it, needs to hear the words come from her mouth. Even if she knows she probably looks anything but, clothes and body splashed with her brother’s blood. 

“Solo!” Roman’s voice is filled with unbridled rage that, any other time, she’d probably tremble at. But, in this moment, it’s valid as hell. And beyond that, she knows without a doubt now that he would never make her the object of his anger. “Pick him up!”

Solana sets her gaze on a barely conscious Wes as Solo drags him out of the stall. 

Jimmy and Jey being present, Roman’s fury, and Solo holding him in position are all the things that  alert her to what’s about to happen. 

Jimmy whistles, taking in Wes' battered appearance. “Damn, she beat the hell out of you!”

“No.” Solana says it too quietly, too softly. She has to place her hand on Roman’s chest to get his eyes back on her. “No.”

“I don’t want you to kill him.” And before Roman can protest, ask her if she’s lost her fucking mind, she steps toward Wes, explaining to all parties but directing her wishes to him. “I want him to live in fear….to know what that’s like.” Eyes burning with a fresh set of tears, she emphasizes. “It’s his turn to be scared.” Head tilted, scoffing a bit at how pathetic he looks, she mocks him one last time, “who’s the bitch now?”

Without even thinking about it, Solana lifts her hand and connects her fist directly with the side of his jaw, knocking him out cold. 

“Goddamn!” Jey shouts with all the amusement in the world as Roman pulls her back into him, lips pressed against her temple.

“I’m okay,” she reiterates, holding onto his sleeve. “I promise.” She is. Maybe better than she’s been in some time. 

Better than she’s ever been.

Roman steps back for a second and slides his jacket off, placing it around her. 

Solana reaches for his hand and gestures for the door. “Let’s go.” He still looks so angry, so furious, but she knows it’s not toward her. Nevertheless, he doesn’t need to stay in this headspace. Not with his high blood pressure. Not with his health at stake.

Roman says something to Solo in Samoan and begins to guide her out of the bathroom that’s been completely destroyed in the fight. A crowd of most of the guests has gathered around, clearly curious and wanting to know just what the hell happened. It’s fair and almost expected. 

But, despite looking like everything she’s just been through, Solana doesn’t shy away from the stares and whispers. Doesn’t necessarily care. Because as ironic as it is, this might be the most confident she’s ever felt in her life. 

But, it’s when she sees Cody and Brandi that Solana just knows something is about to go wrong.

Cody smirks, calling out loud enough for all to hear, Roman especially. “I guess women and children aren’t off limits after all.” 

There’s more to it. There has to be more to it, because the second Roman rips his hand away from Solana and charges at Rhodes seems to take even the instigator off guard. Instantly, Jimmy and Jey are rushing toward their cousin as he lands a blow against Rhodes that sends him flat on his ass. 

“Roman!” She calls out after him, moving in his direction, only to feel herself being restrained. She looks back and catches Bayley and Naomi looking with worried expressions. 

“We need to get out of here!” Naomi urges, but Solana can’t seem to look away from what’s turned into an all out brawl. Jimmy and Jey struggle to hold back their irate cousin as he spits venom against Rhodes who looks just as pissed off now, blood running from his nose.

“I’m the head of the table!” 

“I’ll whoop everybody’s ass around here!”

“This is my kingdom, you little bitch!”

“I can’t just leave him!” Solana pleads, trying to pull away from Bayley who clearly has no intentions on letting her go.

“He’ll be fine, Solana. But, he’s pissed the fuck off, and now Rhodes is pissed, and it’s about to be a shitshow that if he was thinking straight, he would never want you around.” Naomi explains and adds on, “the twins won’t let anything happen. I promise you that. Now let’s go.”

And despite everything in her screaming not to, to stay with him, to somehow find a way to help him calm down, there’s a logical part of her that knows the girls are right.

Even with him clearfly only seeing red as she continues to shout at Cody, the other man also being held back, barely, by his men. 

“There ain’t a man alive who can touch my button. If I had one, you wouldn’t be able to locate it. Can’t no man knock me out! I’m tired of being humble! I’m tired of letting people think they got a chance! The Tribal Chief is heads and shoulders above everybody! I run this all!”

Roman is almost a different person, so consumed by his rage, no doubt most of it because of Wes, Cody just being on the receiving end but not just taking it without responding with threats of his own.

“Time and place, you narcissistic son of a bitch!”

“Not everyone is fucking scared of you, Reigns!”

“I’ll fight you any fucking day!”

Solana’s eyes briefly lock with Brandi who’s also being rushed away, and she swears, she sees what looks like an almost sympathetic expression. Like if she could, she’d apologize.

It makes Solana frown.

Naomi pulls on her again. “Let’s go, Solana.” 

Security for the gala is now rushing over as some of Roman and Cody’s men are now throwing fists as well. Solana hates this. Hates how this has all played out. But, she also knows that she does nothing to help the situation by hanging around and risking getting hurt.

That’ll only upset Roman more. 

So even with a tremendous amount of apprehension, she allows them to guide her out, never once not thinking about the man she’s almost certain she more than cares about at this point. 

________

Solana is up and alert the minute she hears him enter their front door. In the living room, lying on the sofa, her go-to spot when waiting for his arrival, she partially expects him to walk in and meet her. The way he has several times before now, but this time is different.

Heavy footsteps don’t bring him to meet her. They instead carry him past the living room, through the kitchen, and outside the backdoor. 

Instantly, she’s sitting up. 

She goes to follow him when Jimmy and Jey enter the house looking every bit the night that they’ve all had. 

It’s a stupid question, and she knows as such, but she can’t help but ask. “How is he?”

Jimmy is the one to answer, blowing out a breath. “Honestly? Still pretty pissed but calm enough to come back home.” He then shares, “I tried to get him to sleep it off at my place, but he wanted to come back here.

Good. Solana doesn’t say it, but she sure is thinking it. Not even from the perspective of her being uncomfortable being in this big house all by herself with just Dulce. That’s maybe a part of it, sure. But, the biggest thing is that this is their home. And if he needs something, she wants to be there to help him with whatever that is.

“It’s okay. I can watch him.”

“Solana….” Jey cuts in, stuffing his hands in his suit pocket. “You know he would never hurt you, right? I know he was definitely on one tonight, but—”

Seeing where this is going, she cuts in, calm but firm. “I’m not scared of him. I—I know he would never hurt me.”

They seem to be pleased by her answer but still a bit hesitant, Jimmy offering, “if you want, I can stay over tonight. Make sure—”

“He’s my husband.” She swallows, nothing unwavering about her reiteration. “I’ve got him.”

Jimmy and Jey still look unsure but follow her wishes. Each giving her a hug before reiterating to call them if she needs anything. She’s thankful for their support but mostly their making sure Roman made it back home safely. 

Solana carries Dulce up to her shared room with Roman and closes the door to avoid any unnecessary interruptions. It’s only then she finally makes her way back downstairs, venturing through the living room and kitchen to the backdoor. Hand on the knob, Solana doesn’t hesitate to turn it, bringing her to the man she’s had on her mind nonstop the past few hours.

Roman’s hulking figure is plopped down on the edge of the patio chaise lounge. His button down shirt is discarded, his muscles stretching against the cotton of his white undershirt. Playing with the sides of one of his shirts she threw on after her shower, Solana sees there’s no need to announce her presence.

He’s already aware. 

With calmness that contrasts his demeanor just hours earlier, he advises, “you should be asleep.”

His voice is hoarse, heavy, weighed down with something he seems keen on internalizing. No matter how much it wrecks him on the inside. It brings a frown to her face and a pain to her chest. 

Swallowing, Solana moves closer to him, calmly countering, “you know I won’t sleep until I know you’re okay.”

“Okay….” Roman chuckles, and it’s almost bitter. An almost ironic tone as he repeats her chosen word. “Solana, nothing about tonight was okay.”

Her heart grows even heavier than it’s been following tonight’s events.

It tears Solana up to see him in this state. To see and almost feel his turmoil and not be able to do anything about it. Because he doesn’t want help. Because he’s so used to handling everything on his own, as he’s stated to her multiple times before.

But, that’s the thing. He’s not alone.

She just needs to get him to see and understand that. 

Setting aside any reservations and trepidation about her next steps, she closes the distance between them, kneeling down on the patio stone directly in front of him. Naturally, his eyes lock with hers, and for a second, she sees a tremble of his nearly impenetrable wall. “Roman….” One hand on his knee, the other reaching to grab his hand. “Please….please talk to me.” His eyes briefly dart away, a sign of her words doing something to his resolve. “Whatever….whatever happened tonight, let me help you work through it.”

He sets his focus back on her, the hand under hers lifting to cup her face, thumb ghosting over the cut she cleaned, tended, and sealed with a liquid band-aid. “You got hurt tonight….”

“I don’t care about that.” Her dismissal is aggressive but slides into something soothing almost as she reiterates. “I—I care about you.”

His jaw clenches. “I lost my temper tonight.”

“I don’t care about that either.” Again, she’s dismissive, pushing aside anything that could prevent him from hearing her right now. Really hearing her. “I wasn’t scared of you. I’m—I’m never scared of you, Roman.” Swallowing, she stands up and moves herself on his lap, relieved when he wraps his arms around her. “But…I was scared for you.” She pushes back some of his hair that came out of his always neat bun during the brawl. “I just….I wish you would talk to me.”

But, she also knows that she can’t force it. Can’t make him. Even though it physically aches her to know he’s dealing with so much and won’t let her help.

Won’t let her be there for him the same way he’s been there for her.

“Cody and I grew up together. We were….good friends.” Solana isn’t sure she’s still breathing as Roman begins to explain in a low voice, his hand moving soft circles against her side. She says and does nothing, not wanting to do anything to risk deterring him from this rare occurrence of vulnerability. “We…we bonded over being groomed to take over our families legacies. His…his father was good friends with mine.” 

Friends….

It feels almost impossible to imagine Roman and Cody as ever being anything more than sworn enemies. She’s not sure she’s even seen a deeper level of hatred than what she saw in their eyes tonight.

“It was my 10th birthday. We were gathered at the house to celebrate, and it was fine, until it wasn’t.” Roman grows quiet, as he clearly hesitates. She starts to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that she doesn’t want to trigger him. But, he continues. “I don’t remember everything. Just the sound of bullets, screams, and then heat from the fire that someone set.” Fire… Solana’s eyes naturally drop to his tatted arm, tribal ink covering burns he clearly received that night of pure hell. Eyes watering, she continues to listen to him relive what sounds like a night of horror. “I was the only one who survived. My parents, my aunt, uncle, and my seven brothers and sisters were all killed.”

 “Oh my god….” Her heart literally breaks in that moment, hearing him confirm what she’d remembered just earlier in the day but didn’t want to actually believe. It’s just too devastating. To lose his entire family in that manner, all while celebrating his birthday of all days….it seems inconceivable.

Solana isn’t sure she’s ever felt this much sympathy towards another human being. 

Roman’s voice, however, never wavers. She can see he’s doing his best to simply recall and not feel. “And it wasn’t until I was 14 that a mutual friend of ours at the time, Seth, let it slip while he was in one of his manic states, that I should talk to Cody about what really happened that night.” His voice takes on a darker, angrier tone, and she can feel him shift underneath her. “So, I did, and I found out….that his father was responsible for the hit. That he betrayed my father. And that Cody knew the whole fucking time.”

There’s understandable anger in his words. Anger at such cruel betrayal. “For four fucking years, he pretended to be my friend. Pretended like he didn’t fucking know that his father was the reason my family was all dead.” His voice dips into something low, something much darker. “I can’t tell you…much after that, because I was so angry that all I saw was my rage.”

Solana brings her hand to his chest, a comforting placement, though she’s not certain anything could comfort this level of trauma. 

His expression is blank as he shares coldly. “I killed them all. His parents. His siblings. Everyone. I left him the same way his father left me: alone.” He swallows thickly, still not looking at her. “I told you before, Solana. I’m not a good man.”

“That’s not true.” She finally speaks, voice hoarse,  eyes watering at the truth of it all. She had no idea he’d been through so much. Lost so much more. “I don’t think I’ve met a man better than you, Roman.”

She’s never met any man like Roman.

Moving her hands to cup his face, it settles her a bit that he’s finally looking at her again. Closed off and back to being unreadable, it’s still eye contact. And she’ll take it. She’ll take whatever she can get from him. “No one….no one can know what it’s like to lose like we’ve lost. I….I get you. And….and I think you get me too.” Sniffling, she shakes her head, never wanting to invalidate his experience. “And no, I know….I know it’s not the same, but what I do know is that I haven’t felt alone since…since being with you.” She hasn’t felt a lot of things since being with him. Hasn’t felt the same amount of depression and emptiness. Just happiness and joy. “And I don’t want you to feel alone either, because….because you have me, and….and I’m not going anywhere.” Her tone drops into a soft whisper. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Because I love you.

But, that can’t be stated. Not aloud. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s not what he needs. Because it’s for selfish reasons. Because it would make her feel better to verbalize what she’s finally realized what she’s been feeling towards him. What she feels for him.

Love

“Besides….” She offers a small smile, messing with his beard, knowing the weight of this conversation might be too much for him, offering him a bit of a detour. “Who else is gonna bail me out the next time I fuck up someone’s truck?”

He cracks a small smile, and it makes her heart swell. It’s the best thing she’s seen all day. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

Relieved to hear a growing lightness in his voice, she buries her head in the crook of his neck, murmuring, “guess you’re rubbing off on me….”

Roman brings his hand to her hip, tugging her closer, kissing her temple. Lips pressed against her forehead, he murmurs. “I’m proud of you.” That means so much to her. His approval. “Cause while I hate to agree with my dumbass cousin, Jimmy was right. You whooped his ass.”

Solana can’t help it. She laughs into his chest, looking up while biting down on her bottom lip. Voice quiet, she expresses both a question and agreement. “I did, didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, bringing his hand to her cheek, thumb and index finger lightly cupping her chin. “Sure did, baby…“ He doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t need to. Neither does she. She just nestles closer to him as he stands up, still holding her, grip protective and firm. 

Like he has no intentions of letting go.

Solana prays he never does. 

Because while Roman Reigns is the last person she ever expected to end up with, to care for, to love…..that’s exactly what’s happened.  

That’s exactly who she’s with.

Exactly who she cares for.

And exactly who she loves.

________

Xavier stands in front of the hospital bed, a hospital bed he was still in days prior, where his son stood before him as they schemed together to create what he thought was a foolproof plan. It’s a plan, however, that didn’t go the way he intended.

Far from it.

Wesley was always supposed to attack Solana in the bathroom, was supposed to rough her up a bit to see if Reigns would come to her rescue, the prediction being he’d move to kill Wes but Solana would interfere, would stop him.

Because his stupid second born has always been a victim to her love mentality. Would be blinded by whatever fruitless hope she still has that some part of him or his son loves her. Because they’re family.

But, that didn’t happen.

His son attacked her, yes, but the bitch fought back.

And now he watches helplessly as a brutally beaten, stabbed Wesley is laid up in the ICU yet again, but this time in a coma. Limited brain activity. 

Prognosis….not well.

And it’s all because of her.

Xavier is a prideful man, but even he can admit he never saw this coming. Never anticipated Reigns would have the girl trained, never thought his weak ass daughter could be capable of something like this.

Capable of almost taking away his son. His heir. 

Xavier is seething and would shoot her dead right now if he could, but he has to be smart. Especially after tonight, which wasn’t an entire loss.

He snatches his phone, sending out a text. 

Xavier: I want that bitch DEAD.

Xavier: We’ll proceed with the plan.

Because while most will see Roman’s outburst as expected given Cody Rhodes was present and almost everyone knows the history there, Xavier knows better.

Xavier knows that Roman’s rage was primarily at the fact that Solana had been attacked, confirming what he suspected.

And he’ll give the bastard credit. From what he heard, Reigns did a great job masking his feelings for her, practically ignoring Solana the entire night. 

Never showing his hand.

But, he did.

He does care for her.

And just that thought brings a wicked smile to Xavier’s aged face. 

After all these years, the impossible has happened. 

Roman Reigns finally has a weakness.

________

translation: "i'd do anything for you."

[vamphoonie]

nsfw alphabet park sunghoon x afab reader ⭑ warnings dom!sunghoon, mentions of rough sex, stomach touching, slight belly bulge, breeding, pregnancy mention, unprotected sex, protected sex, oral sex, love making, bath sex, mentions of face and pussy slapping, spanking, vibrators, mentions of reader wearing makeup and sunghoon being a perv

put your age in your bio or you’ll be blocked. / por favor, pon tu edad en tu bio.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ a is for aftercare what are they like after sex?

sunghoon gets a bit sleepy after sex, but his main priority is always you. especially in times where you may have had a more intense scene than usual. no matter what, he always makes sure to get a damp cloth and wipe the mess from the inside of your thighs - the gross mixture of his saliva, your wetness, and cum - before he pulls you in for a cuddle. the two of you can take a bath after you regain your energy.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ b is for body part their favorite body part of yours.

he loves your tummy. he loves to watch the way it slightly bulges at the bottom when he’s deep inside you, even goes as far as to press his palm to the bulge, pushing your hips down and making you feel him even deeper. this is usually what starts his desire to breed you and stuff you full of his cum, imagining how pretty you’d look with your growing belly when he is successful in doing so.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ c is for cum anything to do with cum basically.

he’s a clean guy. he doesn’t like to make too much of a mess, so he would mostly cum inside the condom, or inside you if you let him hit it raw. if he feels like it’ll be a particularly messy night, like when he has the desire to eat you out until his jaw hurts, he’ll place a towel down under your hips to soak up any mess made.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ d is for dirty secret a dirty secret of theirs.

sunghoon secretly, or not so much, has a corruption kink. he never explicitly states it, but he likes the way your innocent eyes beg him to do everything for you. from when you’re out shopping and you ask him to briefly step inside the fitting room with you to zip up a dress, or when you ask him to hold your bags, or tie your shoes, or even so much as to reach something he purposely put on the highest shelf of your home so you have to ask him to get it down when you need it. he likes when you are essentially helpless and need him in your daily life to do everything for you.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ e is for experience how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

i don’t think he’s very experienced at all, actually. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing. he’s a pretty reserved guy, meaning he doesn’t get in bed with just anyone. he’s a devoted man, and when he loves you, he’ll do anything and everything it takes to please you. from treating you like royalty to taking his time to explore your body and find out all of the little things that make your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ f is for favorite position this includes an illustrated link.

#11. he could spend hours between your legs like this. he loves to do this when you’ve been very obedient, eating your pussy with purpose while you arch your back, pushing your hips toward his face as you play with your own tits.

#313. he loves the intimacy of being able to look into each others eyes during sex. he’s surrounded by you; your hands are draped over him, your legs squeezing around his waist, and he’s able to lean over and look at your face. he loves to watch your face contort in pleasure as you struggle to keep your eyes open, watching him and his own reactions.

#493. sometimes, sunghoon likes to show off his strength. he doesn’t live in the gym for nothing—he does it so he’s able to show off and hold you close while he’s balls deep inside you. he loves to hoist you up by your thighs, using his pure muscle strength to bounce you up and down on his cock (and his core strength to not double over in pleasure, because you feel so good wrapped around him.)

#316. on nights that he’s a bit rougher in bed, whether it’s because he needs to release some tension in his body or you asked for it, he likes to go for this position. the pillow under your hips angles you just right for him to hit that sweet spot inside you, and he likes to use your hair as leverage to arch your back more for him. he loves how it gets you moaning louder, unable to contain your sounds.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ g is for goofy are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

i think he sees sex as an act of love, so he tends to take it pretty seriously. if he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t be sleeping with you, so he would appreciate if you took it to heart the way he did as well. sex, to him, is a way to prove your loyalty and devotion to one another through your physical connection. he’s not quite the type to have casual sex.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ h is for hair how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

again, he’s a clean and neat guy. he also thinks appearance is important. at the very least, he is closely trimmed. he doesn’t like to seem unkempt and unclean with long, thick hair on his pelvic bone. he either trims the hair there closely or removes it completely, and his balls absolutely are rid of hair.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ i is for intimacy how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect?

he is the king of romance during sex. as i mentioned before, he sees sex as a way to prove your love to someone. most times, unless you request a specific sort of scene, he is romancing you and making you feel like you are the only person to ever exist. his full focus is on you, leaving no parts of your body untouched or unloved. you will feel his love surrounding you (and deep inside of you.)

ཐི⋆ཋྀ j is for jack off masturbation headcanon.

he doesn’t jerk off often. he has an insane deal of self control, to the point that he can and will wait until he sees you again. he doesn’t want to waste his sexual energy on something so selfish to him. he’d much rather save the moment of release for you, wants to share his pleasure with you.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ k is for kink one or more of their kinks.

edging ── when i say that he likes to draw things out and make it last longer, that involves some edging for the both of you. he likes to build up just until one (or both) of you are just about to cum, then dial it back to leave you breathless at the loss of your almost-orgasm, just to do it again until you can’t hold it any longer.

sensation play ── he likes to stimulate all of your senses, and for his to be stimulated too. feeling his touch all over your body, seeing how blissed out you look, hearing each other’s sounds like music to your ears, tasting each other on your tongue when he kisses you, and smelling each other’s natural musk as your bodies are pressed together in an act of love and pleasure.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ l is for location favorite places to do the do.

he’s not one for spontaneity, so places such as the bed or the bath are his go-to locations. something about the plush mattress and soft sheets beneath you, you looking up at him with doe eyes full of desire and love, or the intimacy of being pressed nakedly against one another in a warm bath that he’d run for you is his favorite.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ m is for motivation what turns them on, gets them going?

he’s a sucker for domestic moments. if he wandered into the kitchen, seeing you in his clothes, attempting to make the both of you a meal, he’s done for. or cuddling on the sofa, watching a movie together. if you massage his shoulders after a long day at work, chest pressed against his back as you whisper sweet nothings and praises in his ear, he’ll be ready to flip you over and press deep into you.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ n is for no something they wouldn’t do, turn offs.

he absolutely will not do anything that will cause you physical harm. you might could get away with some light face slapping or pussy slapping as stimulation, maybe even some spanking if you’ve been misbehaving, but that’s as far as he will go. he is not going to intentionally cause you any pain or suffering; he loves you too much.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ o is for oral preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

his main focus is you, your pleasure, and what you want. he could probably live without blowjobs, but if you want to give him one, who is he to deny his lover? that being said, he 100% prefers to give you head instead. it brings him pleasure to have you moaning, whining, rutting your hips up into his face as his tongue languidly strokes your swollen clit. he’s good at making you want more, dragging out your pleasure and slowly building up your orgasm. he likes to take his time and have you begging for more. and it works, without fail, every time.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ p is for pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

it depends on the day or what you ask for. on his own, he is a soft and sensual lover. he likes to make love. he likes to make you feel every inch of him, every little bit of him pouring his love into you. but if you ask for it, he can be rougher. he can flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up just enough to arch your back the way he wants, and fuck into your aching pussy with a fiery passion that has you gripping the sheets so hard they wrinkle and come undone at the corners.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ q is for quickie their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

sunghoon and quickies do not mix. he doesn’t like feeling rushed; he likes to take his time to take you apart and put you back together again. he feels that quickies are too impersonal. he likes the connection and emotion that comes from loving someone so much that you are willing to share your naked body with them, so quickies where you barely get your panties out of the way before his cock is pushing past your entrance are not ideal for him.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ r is for risk are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

he’s absolutely willing to experiment with you. as mentioned before, he likes to take his time to figure out exactly what it is that makes you fall apart, the things that make you wettest, the things that light your body aflame with passion and desire. he’s not much of a physical risk taker, such as dangerous kinks or risky locations, but he’ll consider them if you ask.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ s is for stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

he generally prefers one long, drawn out round, rather than multiple shorter rounds. again, he likes to really take his time and really have an experience with you. he likes when both of you are breathlessly holding on to each other, so close to being completely spent, high off of each other and love, bodies numb from pleasure and feeling like you have finally melded into one.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ t is for toys do they own toys? do they use them?

i don’t think he would own a ton of toys, but he would have a vibrator stored away for special occasions. perhaps one that you can use both internally and externally. he would use it on nights you beg for more, or sometimes when you’ve been misbehaving as a way to tame you. holding your hips down as you try to squirm from the feeling of the vibrator on your clit, or the sensation of it being slowly thrusted inside of you on the lowest setting, seemingly as a punishment.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ u is for unfair how much do they like to tease?

he likes to get you a little heated, but he doesn’t tease for long. the second that your eyes start getting watery, he’s putty in your hands to do whatever you’d like him to. he may pretend as if he isn’t going to touch you, to give you what you want, mocking you a little for being so needy. but one look at him with puppy dog eyes, gripping his bicep, he’s done for and he’s giving you everything you like.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ v is for volume how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

i don’t think he’s very loud, but he does make noise. he gets close enough to your ears and moans out how good you feel, how tightly you’re squeezing around his cock, how pretty you are, how you’re made for him. he’s a moaner and a bit of a talker.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ w is for wild card a random headcanon for the character.

sunghoon would love to watch you get ready. secretly palming himself every time you bend over to grab something, and complimenting you as you sit at your vanity to do your makeup, just for him to want to ruin it directly after. sunghoon loves to see your lipstick smeared all over his skin and wiped off of your lips.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ x is for x-ray what’s going on under those clothes?

he’s long, above average. slender with a thicker tip and base. the type of cock to stretch you and fill you up like you were made to fit together like puzzle pieces.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ y is for yearning how high is their sex drive?

he doesn’t have the highest sex drive in the beginning, and you may even think he’s not attracted to you. but he is - trust me, he is. it just takes him a little while to get comfortable, and once he is, it’s like a switch flips. once he gets comfortable and sure of himself, he will never take his hands off of you.

ཐི⋆ཋྀ z is for zzz how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?

after he gets you cleaned up and settled, he will fall asleep rather quickly. probably within 10-30 minutes. and he will fall asleep holding you, even if you are still naked and sticky from sweat.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

(Full HC)

We've had the M6 bodyswapping with their familiars, we've had the M6 bodyswapping with each other… But what kind of antics would ensue if the M6 had a bodyswapping incident with MC?

The Arcana HCs: When M6 bodyswap with MC

~ anon, you spectacular genius ~

-- to set the scene --

You know you're in a magic-infused dream as soon as you open your eyes. Off to your right, you can see your beloved standing in the open air, staring at the glowing ball of light that hovers in front of them. You're about to remind them of the cardinal magic rule - don't touch the mystery orb - but by the time you call their name, it's too late. Imagine your surprise when you wake up to your own face staring back at you from your pillow!

Julian

He's staring at you in horror because he knew his eyebags were bad but he didn't know they were that bad

You, on the other hand, are experiencing all the physical ailments of a 6'4 human that never remembers to eat and the headache of needing a daily dose of six shots of espresso to function

He's immediately concerned about physical wellbeing and checking both of you over for any signs of injury. Yeah, he doesn't hate magic anymore, but he's still not comfortable with it

Coaches you on how to speak more like him in his voice. His voice is made for DRAMA, MC, you must PROJECT! ENUNCIATE! The people at the back can't hear you!

He's also going to encourage you to wear all of his normal getup. Enjoy wearing multiple layers of leather in a Mediterranean climate, MC, it's all for the *aesthetic*

You, however, have a secret weapon, and that is basic self care

You are going to eat so much nutritious food and drink so much clean water and get so much sleep and sunlight and exercise ...

It's also payback for how much you're sweating right now, because you won't be the one dealing with all the sore muscles later

He gets unbearably flustered when he changes clothes/bathes in your body and won't stop talking about it

Asra

They know exactly what's happened as soon as they wake up and they know it's their fault and they have 0 regrets. none.

Quick to suggest taking a lazy day so you won't have to juggle the shop with this. And then suggests sleeping in immediately after

He's very curious about what it's like to enjoy all kinds of experiences in your body, but he doesn't do anything until he knows you're comfortable with it (including changing)

Gets distracted/sidetracked every time they pass a mirror/window/shiny pot/remotely reflective surface because they like your face and it keeps surprising them to see it reflected back at them

You're about to watch yourself make the weirdest faces into the mirror as they try to document what your face looks like with different expressions

Has the time of his life picking out his outfit (to wear on your body) and watching you pick out yours (to wear on his body)

Pulls out every food item in your kitchen because they want to know if you taste things differently than they do. You're going to wake up with heartburn tomorrow

Might suggest pranking a few friends, but he's generally so averse to conflict that he won't be dead set on the idea

Occasionally taps into your bond, just to ground themself

Nadia

She's going to keep lying still for a moment or two to finish processing what's just happened and decide what she's going to do about it

And then she's going to teasingly tell you that you're welcome to help yourself to her body, and ask if she can help herself to yours

Tells a trusted Palace servant that she is indisposed and that neither of you will be available today (because there's no way she's going to try to swap jobs with you)

You might be tempted to set yourself up in front of a mirror and see if there's any pose or outfit in the world that Nadia can't look elegant in. She'll have a very amusing time watching you

Portia will inevitably hear about her absence and stop by at some point, which will only ramp up the hilarity

Nadia does suggest sneaking out at some point, your body makes for a great disguise and a day on the town sounds fun!

(You still haven't figured out how to tell her that what sets her apart more than her appearance is her bearing. You've never seen your own posture look that good)

Speaking of posture, welcome to life in a body that's excellently cared for! You can stretch in every direction and nothing hurts!

Though this much thick hair is heavy and hot

Muriel

Oh, he knows before he opens his eyes that something's off, because the furs feel unusually heavy over him and he's never shared a bed with anything bigger than he is

Speaking of, he had no idea that his body radiated that much heat. It's like lying next to a furnace (and it's more comforting than he expected. maybe you're onto something with all the snuggling)

He's violently uncomfortable with being in your body, mostly because he's assuming you'd like it back, and he doesn't want to do anything with it that you don't want him to

You, on the other hand, spend a day as the pilot of a body with unusual size and strength. You're going to have to be reeeeally careful not accidentally bump your head/break and tear stuff

What you choose to do with that is entirely up to you (and up to your body's capacity to contain Muriel's embarrassed blush)

Have fun flexing and watching yourself turn beet red

He is going to request that the two of you stay in the woods and out of sight, which certainly makes things easier

He's also going to apologize to you because he knows this was his fault (you'll have to convince him that being in his body is not a miserable experience, which he may have a hard time believing)

Inanna will be wolf-laughing at both of you the whole time

Portia

She woke up first and put two and two together. By the time you open your eyes, your face is staring back at you with this specific expression: >:3

Also, your body is buzzing (and I mean, buzzing) with energy. You feel like you could climb a mountain and still have the capacity to chop down at least 20 trees. Oh, and your hands are tiny

It's going to take a second for her to get used to your body, if only because she keeps stopping at every new movement/sensation to comment on it/experiment with it/tease you about it

As soon as you've had breakfast, she's taking the day off and dragging you into town for some good old-fashioned mischief

Because yeah, she just woke up in one of the most powerful magician's bodies in the world, she fully plans on taking advantage of that. Who wouldn't??

Long story short, your day is going to consist of running after her while she comments on your "low energy levels" (they're not low, they're human) and wreaks havoc with your magical capacity

The fountain in the town square spouts glowing orange water for a week after she passes through. Even she isn't sure how she did it, so you just have to wait it out and hope it won't poison anyone

Mazelinka saw you two at one point and cried laughing

Lucio

It takes him a while to figure out what's happened

Don't misread this as him assuming that things are normal. He knows things are not normal, because he's getting human sensations from his left arm

But his first assumption is that this is because his arm magically grew back in the night, and his second assumption when he sees his own body next to him is that he's been cloned

You wake up because he's frantically calling your name, asking why his voice sounds so weird and if you had to clone him as part of getting his human arm back and where you've disappeared to

Shrieks and falls backwards off the bed when his clone's eyes open and you tell him what's happened from his own body

You, on the other hand, are going to spend all day figuring out how to function with a metal arm. It's nowhere near as easy as he makes it look, plus it makes that whole side of your body cold

Lucio insists on doing your eyeliner (on his face) because yes, he loves you, and yes, he trusts you, but that's his signature look and he needs it to be perfect

And then you're going to accidentally ruin his face anyways when you go to scratch an itch, forgetting about the claws on his hand

It's nothing compared to his attempts to use your magic

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 5

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 7k

warning; /

notes; Ok I might have wrote a lot for this chapter but you will understand why hihihi. Nothing much to say beside that things are finally starting to move and that I love reading your comments ! bisous bisous and see you tomorrowwwww //>_<//

here is the link for part 4 or part 6

---

After a long journey back from the Winter Court, you finally arrived home in Velaris, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort of your surroundings. The shop was quiet when you walked in, a stark contrast to the chilly winds of the Winter Court that still lingered on your skin. As you stepped through the door, you were immediately greeted by the sight of Alex, his face lighting up with excitement as he spotted you.

“Nana! You’re back!” he exclaimed, bounding over to you with all the energy of a child who had been waiting far too long.

You chuckled, bending down to ruffle his hair. “I’m back, Alex. And I brought you something.”

His eyes widened in anticipation, his curiosity piqued. “What is it? What is it?”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small, intricately carved ice-blue crystal that glimmered like a frozen star. It was set on a sturdy leather cord, perfect for a young boy to wear without worrying about breaking it. “This is a special charm from the Winter Court. They say it brings good luck and keeps you warm even in the coldest of nights.”

Alex’s face lit up as he took the crystal, holding it up to the light. “Wow, it’s so cool! Thank you, Nana! I’m going to wear it all the time!” He slipped the cord over his head, the crystal resting against his chest as he puffed up with pride.

You smiled at his enthusiasm, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the charm. “I’m glad you like it. But remember, it’s not just for show—it’s supposed to keep you safe.”

Alex nodded solemnly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he was already planning on showing it off to anyone who would listen. “I’ll take good care of it, promise. Oh, and guess what? I scared off this really annoying customer while you were gone! Cassian and Azriel showed up and everything.”

You laughed, picturing the scene in your mind. “Did you now? I bet they were impressed.”

“They were!” Alex said, puffing out his chest. “Cassian said I handled it like a pro, and Azriel… well, he didn’t say much, but he nodded. That’s good, right?”

You chuckled, giving him a quick hug. “That’s very good, Alex. You did well.”

But as much as you enjoyed catching up with him, the exhaustion from your journey was catching up with you even faster. You stifled a yawn, feeling your eyelids grow heavier by the second. “Listen, Alex, I’m going to go get some rest. I’m dead tired after the trip.”

“Okay, Nana,” he said, still beaming. “I’ll be quiet. You go get some sleep.”

You gave him a grateful smile, ruffling his hair one last time before heading upstairs. The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light, the weariness of the journey pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When you finally awoke, it was well into the afternoon. The sunlight streaming through the window bathed your room in a soft, golden light, but your hair was a wild mess from your slumber, and you felt like you were still half-asleep as you went to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you made your way to the living room, still in your sleep clothes—an oversized shirt and comfortable pants—when you heard a knock at the door. You barely had time to react before Alex’s voice called out, “Nana, it’s Azriel! I let him in!”

Sure enough, Azriel stepped into the living room just as you were sinking into a chair, your messy hair and bleary eyes greeting him.

“Azriel,” you said, giving him a small smile as you tried to smooth down your wild hair. “No problem, Alex did well, but it seems like you have a habit of catching me in my sleeping clothes. At least this time, you came through the door and not by winnowing into my bedroom.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your disheveled state. “I’m learning to respect boundaries,” he replied, though the slight teasing in his tone didn’t go unnoticed.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head as you gestured to the kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” he said, moving to take a seat across from you. “Tea sounds good.”

You busied yourself with making his tea, and soon enough, you were both sitting in the warm, sunlit living room, sipping from your cups as a comfortable silence settled between you.

“So,” Azriel began after a moment, “how was the Winter Court?”

You took a sip of your tea, thinking back to the icy beauty of Kallias’s realm. “It was cold,” you said with a chuckle, “but beautiful in its own way. Kallias and Viviane were wonderful hosts. The weapon I made for Kallias… well, he seemed pleased with it.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I’m glad to hear it. The Winter Court has always been a place of harsh beauty, but it sounds like you handled everything well.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his concern. “It was a good trip. But I have to admit, it’s nice to be back home.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “We’re glad to have you back,” he said quietly.

There was a brief pause before Azriel cleared his throat, setting his cup down on the table. “I actually came by for another reason. Rhysand wanted me to let you and Alex know that you’re both invited to dinner at the townhouse tonight. We’d all love to catch up.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but pleased by the invitation. “Dinner at the townhouse? Sounds like fun. I’ll let Alex know. He’ll be excited.”

Azriel’s lips quirked into a smile. “I’m sure he will be. It’ll be good to have everyone together again.”

You nodded, already looking forward to the evening. “Thank you for letting us know, Azriel. We’ll be there.”

As Azriel stood to leave, he paused, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “Get some more rest if you can. You’ve earned it.”

You smiled, touched by the concern in his voice. “I will. And thank you… for everything.”

With a final nod, Azriel turned and made his way to the door, leaving you alone in the quiet of your living room. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment as you finished your tea, the thought of tonight’s dinner bringing a smile to your lips.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you were invited to dine with the Inner Circle, and you had a feeling that tonight would be a night to remember.

—— 

You stood in front of the grand door of the townhouse, the familiar dark wood gleaming under the soft light of the evening. Your heart was beating a little faster than usual, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your chest. It wasn’t every day you were invited to dine with the Inner Circle, and despite your usual confidence, there was something about this gathering that made you feel… different.

Beside you, however, Alex was anything but anxious. He was practically bouncing on his toes, his wide eyes taking in the grandeur of the townhouse. His excitement was infectious, and despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

You glanced down at him, your mind drifting back to the moment earlier when you had told him about the invitation.

---

It was just after Azriel had left, and you were sitting in the living room, still holding your empty tea cup. Alex came bounding into the room, Stellan trotting lazily behind him, his large paws thudding softly against the floor.

“Nana! What was that about?” Alex asked, his curiosity piqued as usual.

You grinned at him, setting your cup down on the table. “Azriel stopped by to let us know that we’ve been invited to dinner at the townhouse tonight.”

Alex’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stood there, as if trying to process what you had said. “The townhouse? Like, with Rhysand and everyone?”

You nodded, chuckling at his reaction. “Yes, with Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, and the other members I guess”

Alex’s face lit up with excitement, and in his eagerness, he nearly tripped over Stellan, who gave a low, disgruntled growl as he narrowly avoided getting stepped on.

“Sorry, Stellan!” Alex said quickly, regaining his balance. “But did you hear that, Nana? Dinner with the Inner Circle! This is going to be awesome!”

You laughed, shaking your head as Alex started rambling on about what he should wear and how he should act. “Calm down, Alex. It’s just dinner. No need to get too worked up.”

But your words had little effect. Alex was too far gone in his excitement, and he spent the next hour racing around the house, nearly knocking over a vase, tripping over his own feet, and even trying to get Stellan to look “presentable,” much to the wolf’s annoyance.

---

Standing in front of the townhouse door, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Alex was now practically vibrating with excitement, his earlier antics leaving you more amused than nervous.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he fidgeted. “Just remember to be polite and—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the door swung open, revealing Cassian with a wide grin on his face.

“Well, look who’s here!” he boomed, his voice warm and welcoming. “Come on in, we’ve been waiting for you!”

You barely had time to react before Cassian was ushering you both inside, his large hand resting on Alex’s shoulder as he guided you through the threshold.

As you stepped into the living room, you were greeted by the sight of the entire Inner Circle gathered around, the room filled with warmth and laughter. Rhysand was lounging on a plush chair, a glass of wine in hand, while Mor was perched on the arm of the couch, chatting animatedly with Amren. Azriel stood off to the side, his usual calm demeanor in place, but his eyes softened as they met yours.

“Y/N, Alexander,” Rhysand greeted with a charming smile, raising his glass slightly. “Welcome.”

You returned the smile, feeling your nerves slowly dissipate as you greeted everyone. “Thank you for having us.”

Alex, however, was utterly mesmerized by Mor. He had stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide as he took in her beauty. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward, taking her hand in his own and giving her a gallant bow.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as smooth as he could make it, “you are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before the entire room burst into laughter. Mor, clearly amused, played along, giving Alex a warm smile as she allowed him to kiss the back of her hand.

“Wow, thank you, kind sir,” she replied with a wink, clearly delighted by his antics.

Alex’s face turned bright red, but he grinned up at her, clearly pleased with himself.

Cassian doubled over with laughter, clapping a hand on Alex’s back. “I like this kid! You’ve got style, Alex!”

But before Alex could bask in his moment of glory, Amren’s sharp voice cut through the room. “And what about me, little one? Aren’t you going to greet me?”

Alex froze, his eyes darting to the tiny but fierce figure of Amren. She was standing with her arms crossed, a small smirk playing on her lips as she eyed him expectantly.

Alex gulped, all his bravado suddenly vanishing. “Uh… h-hello, Lady Amren,” he stammered, taking a nervous step back.

Amren’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. “Hmm. You’ll do.”

The room erupted into laughter again, and Alex, still blushing furiously, shot you a look that said, “Help me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “You’re doing great, Alex.”

Azriel, who had been watching the exchange with a small smile, stepped forward, giving Alex a nod. “Don’t worry. Amren’s all bark and no bite. Mostly.”

Alex relaxed a little at that, though he still kept a wary eye on Amren, who had taken her seat and was now sipping from her glass with an amused look on her face.

Rhysand gestured to the seats around the large table. “Come, sit. Dinner’s ready, and we’ve got plenty to talk about.”

As you and Alex took your seats, you felt a sense of ease settle over you. The warmth of the room, the laughter, and the feeling of being among friends—it was all exactly what you needed after your time away. And as you caught Azriel’s eye from across the table, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation for what the rest of the evening might bring.

As everyone settled around the table, the warmth of the fire and the delicious aroma of the food made the room feel cozy and inviting. You could feel the tension from earlier dissipating as you found yourself surrounded by friends, their easy laughter and conversation helping you relax. Alex was seated next to you, his eyes wide with excitement as he took in the lively atmosphere.

Once everyone had their plates filled, Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on you with a curious smile. “So, Y/N, how was the Winter Court? I’m sure Kallias and Viviane were eager to see what you crafted for them.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your wine before answering. “It was cold, as expected, but beautiful. Kallias and Viviane were wonderful hosts, and they seemed very pleased with the glaive I made for Kallias. The Winter Court is breathtaking in its own way, with all the ice and snow—it’s like stepping into another world.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “I can imagine. The Winter Court has always had that otherworldly charm, though I’m sure it must have been a stark contrast to Velaris.”

“It was,” you agreed, smiling. “But it was a good trip, and I’m glad I went.”

Mor, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You’ve traveled to so many courts, Y/N. I’ve always wanted to know—what was your favorite one to visit?”

You paused, thinking back to your many travels. “That’s a tough question. Each court has its own unique beauty and charm. But if I had to choose… I think the Dawn Court was my favorite. The way the sun rises there, casting everything in a golden light, it’s magical. And the architecture—delicate, intricate, almost ethereal. It was like walking through a dream.”

Mor sighed wistfully, clearly picturing it in her mind. “The Dawn Court is beautiful. I haven’t been there in ages. What about the Night Court? How does Velaris compare?”

You smiled softly, glancing around the room. “Velaris is home. No matter where I’ve been, I always find myself drawn back here. There’s something about the city—the warmth, the beauty, the people—that makes it special. It’s not just a place; it’s a feeling.”

Rhysand smiled at that, clearly pleased with your answer. “Well said. Velaris has that effect on all of us.”

Cassian, who had been busy demolishing his plate of food, leaned in with a grin. “Alright, we’ve heard about your favorite court. What about the one you liked the least?”

You didn’t hesitate. “The Spring Court.”

The table erupted in laughter, everyone instantly amused by your quick and blunt response. Even Rhysand, who often maintained a composed demeanor, chuckled.

Cassian grinned broadly, clearly enjoying the reaction. “The Spring Court? Why? Did you have some kind of swordsmanship beef with them?”

You shook your head, chuckling at his choice of words. “Not exactly swordsmanship beef… more like I have beef with the High Lord of the Spring Court himself.”

The room quieted slightly as everyone leaned in, eager to hear more. Rhysand’s brow arched in curiosity. “Beef with Tamlin? Now, this I have to hear.”

You rolled your eyes slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s just say that Tamlin and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye. I was there to forge a ceremonial blade for one of his events. Everything was going well until he decided to lecture me on how to make it ‘more powerful.’”

Cassian snorted, already seeing where the story was going. “Tamlin, giving advice on blacksmithing? This I’ve got to hear.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Exactly. He had some… interesting ideas about how I should ‘channel the strength of the land’ into the blade. He went on and on about how it needed to be more ‘earthy’ and ‘connected to the spring’s essence.’ I tried to explain that I knew what I was doing, but he wouldn’t let up. Finally, I got fed up and told him that if he wanted an ‘earthy’ blade, he could make it himself.”

The table burst into laughter again, the image of you standing up to Tamlin clearly entertaining everyone.

Mor giggled, leaning closer. “Did he actually try to make the blade?”

You smirked. “He tried. And let’s just say that the results were… less than impressive. I may or may not have offered him some pointers in the end, which he didn’t appreciate.”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. “That sounds like Tamlin, alright. Always trying to meddle in things he doesn’t fully understand.”

Azriel, who had been quietly listening, allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. “I’m surprised he didn’t throw a tantrum.”

You shrugged, taking another sip of your wine. “Oh, he was close. But I think he knew better than to push me any further. After that, I decided it was best to finish the job and leave as quickly as possible.”

Cassian grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to Y/N, the one person who managed to put Tamlin in his place.”

Everyone laughed and raised their glasses in agreement, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest at being included in their camaraderie.

As the night wore on and the conversation continued to flow, you found yourself completely at ease, surrounded by the warmth and laughter of the Inner Circle. The food was delicious, the wine plentiful, and the stories shared around the table were as entertaining as they were revealing. It was in moments like these that you truly appreciated the bond that had formed between all of you—a sense of camaraderie that went beyond mere friendship.

After Cassian finished recounting a particularly wild adventure he’d had with Mor and Azriel during a mission in the Summer Court, Rhysand turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’ve had your fair share of adventures too, Y/N. Surely you must have some good stories from your travels. Care to share one?”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair as you thought about the many escapades you’d experienced over the years. There were so many to choose from, but one in particular stood out—an adventure that was as ridiculous as it was memorable.

“Well,” you began, a playful grin spreading across your face, “there was that time when I was about 20 years old, and I almost ended up married to a complete stranger.”

The room went silent for a moment, and then everyone burst into laughter, clearly intrigued by the absurdity of the statement.

“Wait, what?” Cassian asked, his eyes wide with amusement. “You almost got married to a random guy? How in the Mother’s name did that happen?”

You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory. “It was a classic case of ‘wrong place at the wrong time.’ I was traveling alone, exploring some of the lesser-known parts of Prythian, when I got hopelessly lost in a dense forest. I had no idea where I was, and night was falling fast. I must have wandered around for hours when I stumbled upon this small village that wasn’t on any map.”

Rhysand leaned forward, clearly entertained. “Go on.”

“So, I’m exhausted, hungry, and completely disoriented,” you continued, “and I’m thinking, ‘Great, I’ll just find a place to stay for the night and figure things out in the morning.’ Well, as soon as I entered the village, everyone started acting… strange. They were all really friendly—too friendly. The next thing I know, they’re ushering me into this big feast, feeding me, giving me wine, and treating me like some kind of honored guest.”

Mor giggled, already seeing where this was going. “Oh no… you didn’t realize what was happening, did you?”

You shook your head, laughing at your younger self. “Not a clue. I was just enjoying the hospitality and thinking how lucky I was to have found such a welcoming place. But then, out of nowhere, this guy—the village leader, I think—stands up and declares that I’ve been ‘chosen by the spirits’ to be his son’s bride.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Alex, who had been listening intently, nearly choked on his drink. “You’re kidding! They just decided you were getting married?”

“Just like that,” you confirmed, grinning. “And here I am, completely blindsided, trying to figure out how I went from being lost in the woods to being engaged to a stranger. The son wasn’t even that bad looking, but I wasn’t exactly in the market for a husband, especially not one chosen for me by ‘spirits’ I’d never met.”

Cassian was practically doubled over with laughter. “What did you do? Did you just go along with it?”

“Not exactly,” you said, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “I tried to explain that there had been a mistake, that I wasn’t interested in marriage, but they weren’t having it. They kept saying it was ‘fate’ and that the spirits had spoken. So, in a moment of desperation, I pretended to get really drunk—like, completely wasted—and started acting as obnoxious as possible. I figured if I made myself seem like a terrible bride, they’d reconsider.”

Azriel, who had been listening with a rare, amused smile, tilted his head. “Did it work?”

You nodded, grinning. “Oh, it worked. They were horrified. The groom’s father eventually took me aside and, very politely, told me that perhaps the spirits had made a mistake after all. They sent me on my way the next morning with enough food and supplies to last a month, just to make sure I didn’t come back.”

The room exploded into laughter, everyone clearly enjoying the image of you drunkenly sabotaging your own wedding.

As the laughter and lighthearted stories began to die down, the mood around the table shifted to something more contemplative. Plates were being cleared, and everyone was settling in with their drinks, the warm glow of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. You could feel the shift in energy, and it wasn’t long before Amren, ever the perceptive one, spoke up.

“So, Y/N,” Amren began, her voice calm but with an edge of curiosity that immediately drew everyone’s attention. “You’ve shown us some impressive abilities lately, particularly that blue flame of yours. Care to share a bit more about where it comes from?”

The room went quiet, all eyes turning to you. You took a deep breath, knowing this moment would come eventually. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets, but the nature of your power was complex and not something you often spoke about openly.

You met Amren’s gaze, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “The blue flame… it’s not something I was born with. It came to me when I was younger, during one of my travels. I made a… pact, of sorts, with a being that fell from the sky. It granted me certain abilities in exchange for something that I wasn’t entirely aware of at the time.”

Rhysand, ever the curious one, leaned forward slightly. “What kind of abilities?”

You nodded, knowing it was time to explain at least the basics. “The blue flame you’ve seen is primarily a healing power. It’s incredibly potent and can mend wounds that most healers would consider impossible. But it’s not just for healing; I can also wield it in combat. The flame can burn through almost anything, though it doesn’t behave like ordinary fire. It’s… selective, in a way. It burns only what I intend it to.”

Azriel’s gaze was steady, his interest clear. “And the other abilities?”

You hesitated for a moment, choosing your words carefully. “I have the ability to see cursed beings and objects, to sense the malevolence within them. It’s as if the curse leaves a mark, something visible only to me. I can cleanse those curses, though it requires a lot of energy and sometimes comes with a cost.”

Mor’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s… incredible, Y/N. Those aren’t just ordinary powers.”

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. “They’re not. And they’re not without their risks. Every time I use them, I feel the strain. It’s like the flame is both a gift and a burden.”

Amren studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp as if she was trying to see beyond your words. “And this being you made a pact with… it left a mark on you, didn’t it? Something more than just the powers.”

Before you could answer, Alex, who had been quiet during most of the conversation, suddenly piped up, his voice filled with the innocence of youth but also a deep familiarity with your abilities. “Did they see you as a phoenix ?”

The room fell into a stunned silence, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You turned to Alex, your eyes wide in surprise, and saw the realization dawn on his face that he had said too much.

Alex’s eyes went wide with panic, and he quickly tried to backtrack, his words tumbling over each other. “I mean, not a real phoenix, of course! I just meant, like, you know… the fire and all that… it’s kinda like a phoenix, right? My mistake everyone.”

The entire table was now focused intently on you, the weight of Alex’s slip-up hanging in the air. Rhysand’s gaze was sharp, though not unkind, and you could tell he was processing this new piece of information. Azriel’s expression had turned thoughtful, and even Cassian, who was usually quick to joke, remained silent, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

You took a deep breath, realizing there was no point in denying it now. You turned back to the group, your voice steady but with a seriousness that hadn’t been there before. “The being that granted me these powers… it referred to me as a phoenix, yes. It’s not just because of the fire, but because of the nature of my abilities. The flame, the healing, the ability to rise from near-death… it’s all tied to that essence.”

Amren’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze almost piercing. “A phoenix is a creature of rebirth, of cycles. Does that mean…?”

You nodded slowly, understanding what she was hinting at. “It means that, in a sense, I’m not the one in control of my life, it’s length at least. The pact I made altered me in ways that I’m still trying to fully understand. The flame, the healing… they’re all manifestations of that change. But with that power comes a responsibility, and it’s not something I take lightly.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “A phoenix… that’s a rare and powerful being. It’s no wonder your abilities are so unique.”

Alex, still looking a bit guilty for his slip-up, glanced around the table before looking up at you with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,… I didn’t mean to say too much.”

You smiled gently at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “It’s alright, Alex. They were going to find out eventually. Better now than later.”

Cassian, who had been silent for a while, finally spoke up, a small grin tugging at his lips. “So, let me get this straight—you’ve got the power of a phoenix, and you can heal, burn through anything, and spot curses? Remind me not to get on your bad side, Y/N.”

The tension in the room eased slightly at his words, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Cassian. You’re safe… for now.”

The group shared a light laugh, and though the mood had shifted to something more serious, there was still a sense of camaraderie. They now knew more about you—about the weight you carried and the powers you wielded—but they accepted it without judgment.

As the conversation gradually moved on to other topics, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The truth was out, at least partially, and while there was still much more to your story, you knew that you didn’t have to carry it all alone.  

As the evening wore on, the laughter and conversation gradually shifted to a more relaxed, mellow pace. The plates had been cleared away, and everyone had moved from the dining table to the plush couches that circled the warm fire. You found yourself sitting comfortably, a cup of tea in hand, with Alex nestled in your lap. His earlier excitement had finally worn off, and now he was sound asleep, his small body curled against you, breathing softly.

The atmosphere was cozy, with the soft glow of the fire casting a warm light over the room. The conversations had turned quieter, more reflective, as everyone settled into the comfort of the late hour. You listened to the gentle murmur of voices around you, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Despite the weighty discussion from earlier, there was a feeling of peace in the room, a shared understanding that brought you even closer to these people who had become your family.

Rhysand was seated nearby, sipping his tea with a serene expression, while Mor and Cassian exchanged stories, their voices low but filled with the familiar warmth of friendship. Amren, ever the enigma, sat quietly, her gaze occasionally drifting over to you with a thoughtful expression, though she said nothing more about your earlier revelations.

Azriel, who had taken a seat near the fireplace, watched you with a gentle intensity that made your heart flutter slightly. His eyes lingered on Alex, who was now completely lost to the world, his head resting comfortably against your shoulder. There was something in Azriel’s gaze that made you feel… protected, as if he were silently vowing to keep you and Alex safe.

As the night grew even later, the conversations began to dwindle, and you realized it was time to head home. Gently, you adjusted Alex in your lap, careful not to wake him as you prepared to stand.

“I think it’s time we head back,” you said softly, glancing around the room with a smile. “Thank you all for a wonderful evening.”

Rhysand nodded, a kind smile on his lips. “It was our pleasure, Y/N. I’m glad you could join us tonight.”

Mor leaned over to give you a quick hug, careful not to disturb Alex. “It was really nice meeting you Y/N, you need to come by more often. It’s more fun with you around.”

Cassian grinned, raising his teacup in a mock toast. “And bring more stories! I need more material to laugh about.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of their affection. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As you carefully stood, holding Alex securely in your arms, Azriel rose from his seat as well. He moved quietly, but his presence was immediately reassuring. “Let me walk you home,” he offered, his voice low and sincere.

You looked up at him, the offer surprising you only slightly, though it was a pleasant surprise. “Thank you, Azriel. I’d appreciate that.”

With a final round of goodbyes, you carefully made your way to the door, Azriel by your side. 

As you both stepped out into the cool night air, the city of Velaris lay in peaceful silence. The streets were bathed in the gentle glow of the moon, casting a soft light on the cobblestone paths. The quiet hum of the city at rest felt soothing, and for a moment, you simply walked in comfortable silence, the weight of Alex in your arms a gentle reminder of the long day.

Azriel walked beside you, his presence a steady, reassuring warmth in the cool night. His wings were tucked close to his back, and his steps were as quiet as a shadow’s. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you and Alex, a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter.

As you reached the quieter part of the city, where the streets were lined with blooming night-blooming flowers and the sounds of the Sidra river murmured in the distance, Azriel finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for sharing your story tonight, Y/N. I know it wasn’t easy, especially with everything you’ve been through.”

You turned to look at him, his profile illuminated by the soft moonlight. There was a depth in his eyes, a genuine concern that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before. “Thank you for listening, Azriel,” you said, your voice just as soft. “It means a lot to me that you were all there, that you… understand.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering down to Alex, who was still peacefully asleep in your arms. “You’re not alone, Y/N. We’re here for you, whatever comes next. And you don’t have to carry this burden on your own.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that settled deep in your heart. The idea of not being alone, of having someone to share the burden with, was something you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully believe until now.

You smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I could rely on others. I’m used to handling things on my own. But tonight… tonight made me realize that maybe I don’t have to be so alone anymore.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours, and in the silence that followed, there was an unspoken understanding between you. A connection that went beyond words. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing against your arm, the touch gentle and tentative, as if he were afraid to break the moment.

“You don’t,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to be alone, Y/N. Not with us. Not with me.”

Your breath caught slightly at the tenderness in his voice, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, standing under the stars. There was something in his eyes—something warm, something that made your heart skip a beat. It was as if he were trying to convey everything he felt in that single glance, everything he couldn’t put into words.

“Azriel…” you began, your voice soft, almost hesitant. But before you could continue, he stepped closer, his hand now fully resting on your arm, his touch both reassuring and electrifying.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion you could hear beneath it. “You’re not alone. And if you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll be there. I promise you that.”

His words wrapped around you like a protective blanket, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely safe. Not just physically, but emotionally, as if you could let your guard down and not worry about the consequences.

“Thank you, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice catching slightly. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever had someone say that to me. Not like this.”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile, something that seemed so out of place for the stoic spymaster but at the same time, so perfectly him. “Then I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

You couldn’t help but return his smile, your heart swelling with an emotion you hadn’t expected to feel. “You’re making it very hard for me to stay independent, you know.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Maybe it’s time you let someone in. Maybe it’s time you let me in.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were lost in the intensity of his gaze, in the promise of something more. Something that scared you and excited you all at once.

“I think… I think I could do that,” you said finally, your voice steady but laced with the vulnerability you were allowing yourself to feel.

Azriel’s hand slid down your arm to gently take your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. You can count on that.”

Before you knew it, you had arrived at your door, the night seeming to have passed in the blink of an eye. You stopped in front of your home, reluctant to let the moment end.

Azriel looked down at Alex, who was still asleep in your arms, and then back at you. “Let me help you get him inside.”

You nodded, touched by his thoughtfulness. Together, you carefully brought Alex into the house, Azriel holding the door open for you as you made your way to Alex's room. Once he was tucked in, you both returned to the front door, where the night air greeted you once more.

Standing in the doorway, you turned to Azriel, your heart full. “Thank you, Azriel. For everything.”

He gave you that soft, sincere smile again, his eyes lingering on yours. “Anytime, Y/N. I meant what I said. You’re not alone.”

Azriel stood there, his gaze steady and warm as he looked at you. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, highlighting the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him. For a moment, the two of you stood in comfortable silence, the world around you fading into the background.

After a few beats, Azriel cleared his throat, his voice low but with a hint of something more, something almost… hopeful. “Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “What is it?”

Azriel shifted slightly, his wings rustling as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Just the two of us.”

The question caught you off guard, but in the best possible way. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your heart skipping a beat at the unexpected invitation. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, trying to gauge if he was serious.

“Dinner?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice. “Is this an official mission, or are you asking me on a real date?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, and you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “No missions, no work. Just a real date, if you’re interested.”

You couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks, the thought of spending a quiet evening alone with Azriel sending a thrill of excitement through you. “I’d love that, Azriel. Dinner sounds perfect.”

The smile on his face widened just a fraction, but the emotion in his eyes spoke volumes. “Great. I’ll pick you up at sunset.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and warmth. “I’m looking forward to it.”

There was a pause, the air between you charged with something unspoken, something that didn’t need words to be understood. Finally, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—a gesture so tender, it nearly took your breath away.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress.

“Goodnight, Azriel,” you whispered back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

As he stepped back and began to turn away, you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips. And as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you—that perhaps, in the quiet of the night, a new chapter had begun.

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

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[comfortember]

It's that time of the year again...COMFORTEMBER 2023

Hello and welcome to our fourth year of Comfortember!!! 🍂

First and foremost, I want to give a huge thank you to @highly--distractible for hosting this last year, thank you so so much, I appreciate it more than you know. The break was much needed 💜💜💜

Thank you for your patience on this, I know it's a little late. Here are the prompts for 2023:

For anyone who is seeing this for the first time (first of all, welcome!), Comfortember takes place for the month of November and each day has a comfort-themed prompt for any art medium like writing or fan art. Comfort can mean anything you want it to, from a fun slice-of-life story to the aftermath of an action-packed scene, anything that warms your heart while sipping hot cocoa.

The alternate prompts are there as replacements for if you don't want to do a particular prompt but still want to complete a prompt for the day.

This challenge is open to anyone in any fandom, and the link to this year's collection on AO3 is here!

Please send asks for any questions, I will be online more so you'll get your answers more quickly (well, relatively speaking, I can't answer while I'm at work 😅). Here is a link to the FAQ for reference.

The link to the Comfortember Discord server is here, and please use the #comfortember tag when you post on Tumblr so all posts can be found under a single tag.

I hope you all enjoy these prompts and don't feel pressured about a deadline!! The most important part is having fun, you can complete this when it is best for you 💜 Thank you for participating!!!

*The prompts are written out for easy readability and access under the cut.*

Safe

Sweater Weather

Leaves Changing

Warmth

Treehouse

Notes

Sick/Illness

Grief/Mourning

Aftermath

Sadness

Comfort Show/Movie

Dreams

Baking

Late Night Phone Calls

Plushies

Coffee/Tea Break

Heirloom

Cuddles

Loved Ones

Shopping

Relapse

Cry

Anxiety

Blankets

Rain

Friends

Soup

Flashbacks

Sleepover

The New Normal

Alternative Prompts:

Books

Baths

Travel

Candles

Colors

[cameronspecial]

I Don't Share My Candy

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Drug and Alcohol Use, Sexual Content (Not smut but some sexual tension that is let out) and Mention of Sex.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: Rafe doesn't want to define their relationship, so Y/N decides to take matters into her own hands.

A/N: This idea came to me thanks to this Instagram post.

Masterlist

Being in a situationship with Rafe Cameron is just about the most frustrating thing that Y/N Y/L/N has ever done. And that says something because she works part-time at a daycare during the semester. Although, she could equate Rafe to a toddler. He doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. He doesn’t like to share, but he expects other people to share their things with him. He doesn’t do a great job of hiding his emotions. He is clingy, only in secret when it is just the two of him cuddled under the sheets. He isn’t like most hookups Y/N has had. Once they finish their passionate activities, he wants to stay in bed and cuddle. He wants to make her a bath for aftercare and talk about their day. He wants to act like they are just an ordinary couple who just finished a night of lovemaking. He liked to consider them exclusive. The catch is that he only acted that way in the privacy of one of their bedrooms. It doesn’t even extend to the rest of their houses. Y/N wouldn’t find herself being cuddled on a couch in a living room with Rafe because, according to him, it is a hard no. 

This is why she finds herself watching as Rafe lets a blonde grind her ass into his clothed cock. He didn’t even give a glance in her direction. Seeing him with other girls always makes Y/N wonder if he was the same way with all of his one-night stands. Does he like to cuddle them? Does he run them a bath and ask them what their favourite part of the day is? Y/N couldn’t stand to watch the scene anymore, so she left the party with a shake of her head. She wouldn’t let him keep playing this game of tug of war on what to label themselves. And she has a plan to get him to pull the trigger on admitting who they are to each other. 

——

YN sits at her vanity getting ready with the help of her friends. As she does her makeup, Mable is giving volume to her curtain bangs to emulate the 70s style she is trying to achieve in her outfit. She found a brown patterned silk scarf shirt at the thrift shop, which she pairs with a black jean skirt and brown knee-high heeled boots. Everyone finished getting ready and it was time to add the finishing touches to their outfit that Y/N had bought thanks to TikTok. She hands out a candy necklace to each of her friends, putting on her own after everyone has received theirs. They head out to the nightclub with the goal of having the least amount of candies on their necklace and whoever does will be declared the winner. 

When Y/N had thought up which friends to ask out, she had made sure they were mostly her friends who loved to document every little thing they did on social media and who Rafe was following. With a drink in hand, she laughs as the tattooed brunet leans down towards her neck to eat one of the candies. She watches as Clara documents the whole scene on her phone. Y/N made sure to lean her face towards the camera, so it was clear it was her. The man pulls away and gives her a smirk as he walks away. Out of the corner of her eyes, she catches a glance at Clara’s phone. She is posting the video to her story on Instagram, making sure to tag Y/N. 

——

Rafe sits on the balcony with beer in hand and a joint resting on an ashtray on the coffee. He is skipping through people’s stories on Instagram when one particular one attracts his attention. He leans closer to his phone to make sure it is really her and the tag confirms who it really is. He observes the unknown person bring his lips down to her neck and Rafe feels his blood boil. Instead of placing a kiss in a place only Rafe’s lips should be close to, the boy’s teeth bite into a candy attached to the elastic necklace. Rafe rewatches the video over and over again, examining the look of joy on Y/N’s face. She shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as she is. She should only want him near her neck in that sense. On his fifth time watching it, Rafe notices the caption to the events going on: The girl with the least amount of candy wins and it looks like Y/L/N is playing to win. Without another thought, Rafe puts out his blunt and gets his car keys, glad that he had just started his relaxation so he only had one puff and sip of the possible impairments. 

——

Rafe finds his target dancing on the dance floor with a man behind her. The blue-haired man holds her swaying hips and his lips are near her neck. Rafe can feel the heat reach his neck. He quickly pulls the man away from her, ignoring the yip the man lets out. Y/N turns at the loss of the man’s hands on her hips and glows at the sight of Rafe. The angry look on Rafe’s face doesn’t deter her and she lets him drag her to the back of the club, out of sight of other people. The music dampens in the back of the club. Rafe gently slams her back into the wall and he leans his hand above her head. “Now, what game do you think you are playing at, little fox?” Rafe’s anger converts into a smirk as he lustfully looks down at her.  

“I don’t know what you are talking about?” 

“Ha, don’t play innocent with me. Why are you letting men’s lips near your neck?”

“Just playing a little game, Rafe. I wanna win.”

“Well, if you wanted to win, little fox, then you should’ve called me.” Each word is broken apart with a kiss as he makes his way down her neck towards the necklace. She feels him start to nibble one of the candies like the other men, but unlike the others the sudden feeling of him using his tongue to bring the candy into his mouth causes her to jump. He chuckles at her surprise and makes sure a little more tongue is used to get the next candy. 

“You’re only supposed to eat one. That’s how the game w… wor…works.” 

She is having a hard time thinking with the feeling of his hot breath on her neck. He takes another candy into his mouth, but when one of the pieces falls onto her breast, she feels her breath hitch as she watches Rafe lean his head down to eat the candy. He places a kiss on the place the candy once was, then licks his way back up to her necklace to continue his destruction of it. “I’m changing the rules. I don’t share my candy.”