#sugary sweet soul ; musings .

[lovedlace]

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[lemoncrushh]

Ruin the Friendship

Summary: It's Ella's birthday, and her best friend Harry plans to tell her how he feels about her.

Warnings: None, just sweet, sugary fluff

Word Count: 5.2k+

A/N: Uni!Harry x OC, AU, friends to lovers one shot written in third person, originally from 2019. I think my first plan back then was to include some smut, but as I was writing, I decided it was not needed. I think you'll see why and agree. Also, Liam and Niall are in this one :).

Ella was his best friend. Some people would say Niall was Harry’s best mate, and while he considered that to be true for the most part, if anyone was to ask, he’d proudly declare that Ella took the title. They’d only known each other since the first year of uni, but in that time they’d grown very close, and if Harry was honest, there were things they shared that he didn’t share with the lads.

Not things like details about girls he fancied or the head he’d gotten that one time from Marla Lemons. He could only talk shit like that with his mates, and he reckoned Ella wouldn’t wanna hear about it anyway. But they could have deep conversations well into the night about nothing and anything, musing about life and death and what it all really meant. He’d known Niall for nearly a decade, and while he could chat him up about complete random shit, he wasn’t the type to talk about things like that.

Sometimes it was nice to have a friend to just chat about nothing with.

One thing he’d never been able to tell Ella, however, was that he secretly wanted to be more than friends. He’d never made a move, and other than holding her hand when she was scared at the haunted house or wiping her tears when she’d cried about an exam she’d failed, he’d barely touched her. Something had happened that first year at university that had put them in the friend zone, and he eventually accepted that was just how it was meant to be. At least for a while. But this last year had been different. Something had shifted, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Harry stood in the kitchen, his hand around a red cup filled with some sort of concoction that smelled entirely too sweet. He didn’t really want to get shit-faced tonight, that wasn’t his plan. Not that he really had a plan. But it was Ella’s birthday, and if he had anything to say about it, it would be her best one yet. The last three had been fun as far as he could recall, except for the time some girl Niall had been dating...Lena? Lorna?...had gotten so wasted she threw up on the rug. Ella, being the kind soul she was, insisted on cleaning up, holding her nose with a clothespin until Harry finally pulled her away, yelling at Niall that he should clean up his own girlfriend’s puke. Later that night, sat with Ella up on the roof, Harry had thought about confessing his feelings to her. But it just hadn’t felt like the right time, and given that he was still pretty drunk himself, he was afraid Ella would simply blame it on that and not take him seriously.

So the friendship continued.

“Hey mate, you gonna drink that or are you trying to read your future in it?”

Lifting his head, Harry saw his friend Liam enter the kitchen, walking up to the counter beside him and pouring himself a cup of the same pink liquid.

“What’s in this?” Harry asked.

“Hell if I know,” Liam shrugged before taking a large gulp. “Mmm, tastes like bubblegum.”

“Blech!” Harry sounded after taking his own sip, making a face of disgust. “Nah man, where’s the good stuff?”

“Right here, mate!” exclaimed Niall as he strutted into the kitchen with a case of beer in each hand. Two more lads followed him in, carrying the same. Leave it to Niall.

“Not what I meant,” muttered Harry, walking around them to the living room.

The front door opened then, and another handful of people entered, some he knew, some he didn’t. He recognized Vickie, Ella’s roommate among them and when she spotted Harry she smiled.

“Birthday girl’s on her way,” she announced, setting a bag on the counter. Harry noticed the clinking sound it made which made his ears perk up.

“Harry!” Liam called as Vickie pulled out the bottles of both brown and clear liquor. “I think this is what you were looking for!”

Turning back to the kitchen, Harry eyed the bottles and was about to make a decision when a commotion started behind him. It wasn’t a surprise party, but it seemed every girl in the house had run to the front door to greet Ella when she arrived. Harry stood back, his hands in his pockets as he watched her beautiful smile, the pink in her cheeks when her friends hugged her or wished her a happy birthday.

He contemplated stepping forward to give her his own wishes, but soon thought better of it, deciding he’d give her time with her girlfriends first. Instead he made himself a drink, a proper strong one. At least one, he told himself. He didn’t need to get hammered, but he’d need the liquid courage if this was to finally be the night he told her how he felt about her. While he was at it, he reckoned he’d make a drink for Ella as well. He knew what she liked.

“Happy Birthday Ella!” he heard Liam exclaim over the loud music.

Harry looked up from his drink to see that the lad had beat him to the punch as he offered Ella a red cup of what he could only assume was the disgusting pink shit. He chuckled when he saw her make a face and shake her head.

“Um, no thanks, darling,” she said. “I think I’ll see if Harry has something more to my liking at the bar.”

He felt a warmth ooze throughout his body at both the mention of his name and the fact that she called the simple kitchen island with a handful of liquor bottles a bar. He watched as she took a couple strides through the living room and met him with a smile.

“What’ve we got here, bartender?” she asked.

Harry raised a brow. “Oh am I bartender? No one told me.”

“I’m joking,” she giggled, placing a hand on his bicep. “But can you make me something? I am the birthday girl, after all.”

With a smirk, Harry handed her the drink he’d mixed. “Just so happens I already did.”

A wide smile spread across Ella’s face as she took the cup. “See, this is why we’re besties.”

Harry’s face fell, but he quickly tried to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yeah. You bet.”

Besties. Right.

“Hey, Ells Bells!” they suddenly heard behind them. They both turned to see Niall rushing towards Ella, nearly knocking her drink out of her hand when he enveloped her in a hug.

Harry rolled his eyes. He hated Niall’s stupid nickname for her. He suspected Ella wasn’t too keen on it either, especially when Harry’d slipped up once and called her that himself. She’d told him it was Niall’s name and she’d rather just leave it at that.

“Hello, Niall,” she greeted graciously, kissing him on either cheek.

“Who’s up for a game?” he asked.

Harry grimaced, knowing what kind of game Niall had in mind. But if Ella wanted to play…

“No thanks,” she shook her head. “I think I’ll sit it out this year, love, if it’s all the same.”

Niall shrugged. “Suit yourself. ‘s your birthday.”

“Besides,” Ella added with a cheeky grin, “I don’t want to end up like dear Lorna.”

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, nearly spewing out its contents. When he swallowed, he let out a loud guffaw, causing Niall’s cheeks to redden.

“Eat shit, the both o’ ya,” Niall spat before grabbing another beer from the cooler.

When he’d joined the group in the living room, the majority of them cheering at the prospect of a drinking game, Ella turned to Harry, her face flushed from laughing.

“You’re not gonna play?” she inquired.

“Nah, I’d rather not.”

“Wow. Harry Styles is not interested in getting smashed at a party?” she mocked. “Is the sky falling? Did I miss something?”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Just don’t feel like it tonight. I mean, I’m still drinking. Just...responsibly.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see how you are in an hour or two.”

“Oh we will?” he quirked a brow.

“Yeah. I’ll check in on you, but don’t expect me to hold your hair back when you’re retching in the toilet.”

He chuckled at their playful banter. He enjoyed taking the piss and teasing each other, even if Ella only thought of it as a friend thing. She didn’t need to know it gave him a boner sometimes.

“Styles, you’re not playing?” Liam called from the living room where a large group had gathered around the coffee table.

Harry simply held up his hands.

“It’s early yet,” Ella winked.

Early, indeed, Harry thought. Too early. He wanted this night to be over already, or at least get past the first part so he could possibly get a chance alone with her to give her his gift. He didn’t want her to open in front of everyone else. It was too personal, and if by chance she didn’t react to it the way he hoped, at least he’d only get his ego bruised a bit and not have to suffer a full embarrassment.

Vickie came up to Ella then, along with another girl who’s name Harry had forgotten. They chatted amongst themselves for a bit before Ella turned to Harry, her hand on his arm. Touch number two, he noted.

“Harry, we’ll be right back, Vickie wants to show me something.”

With a nod, Harry raised his now almost empty cup and drained the rest of his drink. He considered making a second, but reckoned he should pace himself if he didn’t want to hear Ella say ‘I told you so.’

He decided to wander into the living room and watch the others playing the drinking game. Sat on the couch, he laughed when Liam had to take a shot, then Ella’s friend Melissa had to take three in a row. Poor girl, Harry thought until she declared she could hold her own.

After a while, he got bored so he walked down the hall, wondering where Ella had gone. He couldn’t imagine there was anything in the house Vickie had wanted to show her. They’d probably gone outside or to her car. The music drifted down the hall as he made it to his room and sat on the bed. He was definitely not himself tonight. Normally he’d be the first one sat on the floor for a game, or at least by now he’d have a light buzz. He just wanted a clear head, he’d told himself. But it definitely wasn’t clear. All he could think about was her and what he was going to say, if he got the chance to say it.

Running his hands down his face, he took a deep breath and let it out. He stared at the floor for a good while, replaying in his mind the scenario he’d conjured up a couple years ago, edited and tweaked over time.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

He jumped when he heard her voice. Lifting his head, he saw her standing in the doorway, her gorgeous eyes wide with wonder.

“Hey,” he muttered softly. “Nothing, I’m just…”

Ella stepped into his room. She’d been in there several times, but this time as she sat on the bed, Harry felt himself tremble.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “Did one of those stupid prats out there give you a hard time? Because you know, that’s my job.”

She nudged Harry’s shoulder with her own, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed lightly under his breath, but said nothing.

“Hey. Harry. I’ve never seen you like this. What gives?”

She turned on the bed to face him, her legs criss crossed. Harry picked at his bottom lip. He wondered if this was it. If this was the moment he was supposed to take action. But how? Was he supposed to give her a long speech about how he’d pined for her for years, or was he supposed to just grab her and kiss her? 

“This is probably a shitty thing to say,” Ella continued, “but I’m not sure I like this Harry. Not that you’re only fun when you’re drunk, I don’t mean that. But you’re so serious and quiet. It kinda scares me.”

“Sorry,” he said a little too quickly. “Don’t mean to scare you.”

“Something on your mind?” she tugged at his shirt. “You can tell me, you know. I’m your best friend.”

“I got something for you,” Harry finally said.

“Yeah?” Ella beamed. She bounced on the bed excitedly. “What did ya get me?”

“Um…”

“Ella!” the sound was deafening, coming from the living room. “Hey birthday girl! It’s time for cake and presents!”

“Oh!” she eyed Harry who merely shrugged. “Well, you can give me your present now.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll wait. Til later. It’s…”

“Oh,” Ella mouthed again, her voice a whisper this time. “Okay.”

Ella rose from the bed, pulling Harry by the arm. They joined the party in the living room, the drinking game seemingly at a pause. The cake sat in the middle of the coffee table, pink roses and candles atop, Ella’s name in the center.

“Thank you so much,” Ella blushed, her hands by her chest. “I’m gonna cry.”

“You say that every year,” Niall quipped.

“Hush, you!” Ella poked at him.

Vickie lit the candles and a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ began. Though he sang along, Harry was mesmerized by how beautiful Ella looked in the candle light. His stomach was in knots now, and he knew he had to tell her.

Ella opened her gifts next, giving sincere thanks and hugs to each guest. When it was time to cut the cake, however, Melissa made it known that Harry hadn’t given her a gift.

“What’s with that, Harry?” she slurred, obviously drunk from the game. “You’re her best friend, where’s yours?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat until Ella spoke up.

“He’s saving it for later,” she winked at him.

Good god, how many times was she going to wink at him tonight? Had she done that before? He didn’t remember.

“Ooh,” voiced Melissa in a sarcastic tone. “Excuse me.”

Noticing Vickie could probably use some help, Harry rose from his chair and joined her in the kitchen where she was dividing slices of cake onto plates.

“Oh, thanks Harry,” she said, handing him two plates that were ready to be served.

“I should be doing this anyway,” he offered. “Seeing as I’m her best friend and all that.”

He hadn’t meant for his comment to sound sarcastic, but he certainly noticed it came out that way. When he turned the corner, however, he heard a snort from Vickie, followed by a “yeah, sure”.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, what was that sound for?”

“Go,” Vickie shooed at him. “Serve the cake.”

With a frown, Harry made for the living room where he handed Ella a slice of cake, making sure it had a rose on it, and gave the other to Melissa, despite the scowl on her face.

“What did you mean by ‘yeah, sure’?” Harry hounded Vickie when he returned.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Harry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You’re lying.”

“God, don’t be so sensitive,” she scoffed. Deciding Harry wasn’t moving fast enough, she brought more cake to the living room herself.

“Please tell me,” he urged when she came back to grab the last pieces. “Do you not think I’m her best friend?”

“Oh, certainly, Harry. You are.” Then she lowered her voice before completing her thought. “But you want to be more.”

Harry glared at her, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Oh c’mon, Harry! Everybody knows it.”

“Everybody?!”

Vickie giggled. “Don’t get so bent out of shape. Maybe I exaggerated. But Niall told me about your present.”

What the...too much was going on now, Harry’s mind was in a whirl.

“How does Niall know? I didn’t show him.”

“He found it in your room. Was looking for some shorts or something.”

“Jesus,” Harry mumbled with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone else. I have no idea who Niall told, but I reckon it was just me.”

“What the fuck…” Harry dropped his head. It suddenly felt too heavy for his neck. His entire body felt drained, and he thought he might be sick.

“Hey,” Vickie said low, “if it’s any consolation...Ella’s never confided in me about you or anything...but if you were to make a move, I don’t think she’d reject you.”

Biting his lip, he lifted his head. He was afraid to ask, but at this point he had nothing to lose.

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don’t know. But she literally talks about you all the time. I notice how she looks at you. It’s possible it’s just a friend-like fondness because she really does love and adore you. But I swear they look like heart eyes to me.”

With another sigh, his shoulders dropped. He admitted he felt a little relieved. But he was still extremely nervous.

“Thanks, Vickie,” he said.

“Here,” she grinned, “have some cake.”

“Nah. I think I’ll make another drink.” Harry grabbed a bottle and a new cup, filling it with ice.

“Whatever works for you, darling.”

Vickie joined the group in the living room while Harry nursed his cocktail for a bit. He watched Ella with her other friends, her head falling back as she laughed. Taking her final bite of cake, she looked up and their eyes locked. She tilted her head in question before rising from the couch.

“Here we go again,” she smiled as she leant against the counter. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“Not,” he managed a grin. “‘Cause nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you over here by yourself? Are you secretly getting drunk so I won’t notice?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. So...how about that present?”

“I told you, I’ll give it to you later.” he replied, hoping his tone was light and playful.

“You’re being mean,” she pouted, resting her chin in her hand.

Harry chuckled. “No, ‘m not!”

“Well, you’re being weird then.”

“Sorry,” he muttered before taking a drink. “I just...wanna give it to you with no one else around.”

“Ooh. I’m intrigued.”

Harry noticed how her bum stuck out and she wiggled it just slightly. It almost seemed like she was keeping time with the music playing, but he wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, he felt his blood rush to his crotch and he had to take another gulp from his cup.

“Make me one of those?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering.

Harry obliged, pouring the liquor over ice and adding soda. When he handed it to her and she took a sip, her eyes widened.

“Is this what you’re drinking?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed.

“This is way stronger than the first one you made me,” Ella claimed.

“Well, you gotta start off slow.” This time it was his turn to wink.

“Bloody hell, Styles, maybe I am getting drunk tonight.”

Ella rarely called him by his last name unless she was scolding him. With her hand on his arm as she took another drink, he suddenly decided he liked it.

The moment was short-lived, however, when his reverie was interrupted by the noise of half the party joining them in the kitchen. Apparently it was refill time, and they all began to freshen their cups or grab beers. They all chatted for a bit, and before long the whole gang was singing a chorus of “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. Harry realized he was enjoying himself, and was remembering it was a party and started to loosen up.

“Feeling better?” Ella asked, her doe eyes smiling up at him as she placed another hand on his arm. How many times was that now? He’d lost count.

He grinned, looking down at his now empty cup.

“Sorry I’ve been…” he didn’t know how to complete the sentence.

“No worries, darling,” sang Ella. “I just like it best when you’re like this. Happy and smiling. You have a dynamite smile.”

Before Harry could respond, her hand dropped from his arm and he suddenly felt a chill.

“Going to the loo,” she whispered in his ear. “Make me another?”

Harry watched her walk away before he refilled both of their cups with ice and made the same drink as last time.

“So did you tell her yet?”

Harry lifted his gaze to see Melissa standing across from him, a cheeky grin spread across her face.

“Tell who what?” he asked.

“Ella,” she rolled her eyes. “That you’re in love with her.”

Harry’s jaw dropped just as Liam and his footie pal Derek gasped.

“Wait...whoa...what?”

Harry searched the faces in the kitchen before landing on Vickie’s who simply shrugged. Then he glared at Niall.

“Don’t look at me, mate,” he held up his hands.

“It’s my fault,” Melissa admitted. “I saw the letter you typed on your laptop.”

“Letter?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Oh my God, there’s a letter?” Niall brought his fist to his mouth.

Harry thought he might be sick right there on the kitchen tile. Rounding the island, Melissa looked at him.

“Honestly Harry, I thought everyone knew. It’s rather obvious, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t think,” conveyed Liam.

“I might’ve suspected,” said Derek.

“I didn’t really know,” added Niall with a shrug. “Until I saw the box in your wardrobe.”

“What box?” piped Liam.

“I only told Vickie about it, I swear,” Niall continued. “I was wondering if maybe there was already something going on and no one told me.”

“You didn’t think to just ask me?” Harry scoffed, his jaw set. “And what were you doing in my room anyway?”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” exclaimed Melissa when he stepped closer to Niall like he was going to clock him. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like she hasn’t been in love with you for years anyway!”

“What?”

All was silent then, except for Ariana Grande who sang from the speakers in the living room as everyone turned to see Ella stood by the kitchen, her face full of shock, bewilderment and disbelief.

“Ohh shit,” someone muttered low.

“What’s going on?” Ella asked, her eyes wide and her fists at her sides. She appeared to be breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It was Harry’s instinct to pull her away from the crowd and hold her forever, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

The others in the kitchen quickly busied themselves, the beer and disgustingly sweet punch somehow suddenly the topic of conversation.

“Ella, the birthday girl!” cheered Liam. “What can I get you to drink, love?”

“Melissa?” Ella called, ignoring Liam’s attempt at distraction. “What did you just say?”

“Um...nothing um...important,” her friend stumbled. “I was just reminding Harry here what great friends you are and how it’s a wonder you’ve...never...become...more.”

Blinking, Ella looked from Melissa to Harry. He seemed to be in the same state of shock she was in, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down each time he swallowed.

“Ella…” he breathed, unable to spit out any other word.

“Um...guys…” offered Vickie, coming around the counter with her arms open. “Now might be a good time to open that present.”

She eyed Harry strongly, giving a slow nod of her head. Her hands on each of their backs, she ushered them towards the hallway and into Harry’s room. Without a word, she closed the door behind her, leaving Ella and Harry alone.

They stood in the center of the bedroom, staring at each other and waiting for the other to speak until Harry finally broke the silence.

“Is it true?”

A blush rose in Ella’s already pink cheeks as she bit her bottom lip and nodded. Harry wasted no time erasing the space between them, taking her face in his hands and planting a soft kiss on her mouth.

Startled at first, Ella froze, her hands in the air. Then she soon relaxed, letting her hands fall on Harry’s arms as she kissed him back.

“Ella…” he breathed again when he broke the kiss, his lips nearly still attached to hers. “I’ve...I’ve been in love with you for years too.”

“Since when?” Ella looked up at him with her big beautiful eyes.

“Since...I met you?”

“Liar,” she quipped, stepping back as she tugged on the hem of his shirt.

“Well…” Harry chuckled nervously. “Soon after...I reckon it was that day after the footie game when we were walking back and you asked if I was enjoying school so far.”

Ella glared at Harry, her brows raised. “First year? I don’t think I even remember that.”

“I do,” said Harry. “Very well. You had your hair back in a plait, but the sides were falling down. The sun was starting to set, and I just thought you were the sweetest thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

Ella hummed softly as she ran her hands up his chest.

“Kiss me again,” she pleaded. “Just like you wanted to then.”

Cupping her face again, Harry tilted his head and brought his mouth to hers. Ella felt the tingles right to her toes, a tiny squeak of a moan escaping her throat. That was music to Harry’s ears, and he eagerly slipped his tongue between her lips, meeting hers with a jolt of electricity. They kissed each other like they meant it, like it was everything they’d ever wanted. When Ella repeated her sound of pleasure, Harry lifted her by her bum and carried her to the bed.

“Your lips are so soft,” he declared, his body pressed against hers.

“Yours too.”

His hand on Ella’s waist, he lifted her shirt slightly until he touched skin. The connection was like fire, an explosion of all the senses. He began to kiss her neck then, feeling her pant beneath his lips, sending his blood rushing throughout his entire body.

“Oh my God, Harry,” Ella moaned. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked with a smirk. “Me too.”

“Really?

“Fuck yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because…” Ella hesitated. “I didn’t wanna ruin the friendship.”

“Me neither,” said Harry.

“So what do we do now?” Ella looked at him with equal parts desire and apprehension.

“Ruin the friendship.”

Ella giggled, causing Harry’s chest to tickle and his smile to widen.

“I guess...if both of us feel the same,” she remarked, “it’s not really ruining it, is it?”

“I suspect not.”

After a few more kisses, Harry rested his forehead against hers as he listened to both of their breathing.

“I should stop,” he groaned.

“No. Why?”

Lifting his head, Harry looked Ella in the eye. She was so beautiful, her pouty lips already swollen from his kisses, her gaze questioning. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, with her. But they’d only just confessed how they felt. Actually, they hadn’t really fully done that. Someone else had let the cat out of the bag.

“Um...let me...give you your present,” he said, sliding off the bed.

“Okay.”

Ella sat up, pushing her hair from her face as Harry rummaged through his wardrobe and pulled out a small box. Setting it on the bed, he cleared his throat.

“So um...there’s a letter that’s supposed to go with it. I was going to read it while you open the gift. It kind of explains it all. But...since you already know, I reckon it’s pointless.”

“No, I’d like to hear the letter,” Ella smiled sweetly.

“Right then,” Harry chuckled nervously while he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. Clearing his throat again, he began to read…

Dear Ella,

Four years ago, we met in Lit class. While I didn’t make the best marks, I felt as though I aced it because you were sat next to me. Your love for literature was infectious, and I always left class with a smile on my face. I also began to enjoy your company at football games. It was obvious to me that despite the fact that you weren’t a massive fan of the sport, you came along to cheer on your friends, and I thought that was just a kind thing to do. You’ve always had a compassionate heart and a kind soul, and I reckon that’s why I began to have deeper feelings for you.

As the years have gone by, I’ve tried my best to convince myself that we’re just meant to be friends. I consider you my best friend, and I cherish our friendship more than anything. Many times I’ve wanted to tell you how I really felt, but the timing was just off, or I was chicken shit. I worried that you didn’t think of me in any other way, and being just your friend was better than nothing at all.

I still feel that way, but tonight, on your birthday, I’m putting myself out there and taking that risk. You have my heart, Ella. I want you to be mine, both my friend and my lover. I want to kiss you better than you’ve ever been kissed. I want to hold you in my arms and tell you every day how in love with you I am. You deserve the moon and the stars, the heavens and the entire universe...and I want to be the one to give it all to you.

I pray that you’ll have me as more than a friend, and accept my heart as I hand it over to you.

Yours eternally,

Harry

Dropping the paper, Harry noticed Ella was in tears, her cheeks wet as she tried desperately to wipe them.

“That was the most beautiful letter,” she whispered.

Laying the letter on the bed, Harry sat down next to it and handed Ella the box.

“I hope you like it,” he said.

It was a simple white box, unwrapped but a pink bow adorned the top. When Ella lifted the lid, she gasped. Inside sat a silver charm bracelet containing six delicate charms. She fingered each one before looking up at Harry, waiting for his explanation.

“Here, may I?” he asked, lifting the bracelet from the box.

Ella nodded and Harry unlatched the clasp and wrapped it around her delicate wrist. Ella watched his mouth as he began to describe each charm.

“A book,” he said, touching the first one. “For your love of literature. A football, for all the games you went to.”

Ella smiled, recalling all the great memories she had of watching Harry and his team.

“Two hearts…” he added. “One for your big, kind heart. And one for mine which you now own.”

Without hesitation, Ella lifted her other hand to Harry’s cheek. He smiled back at her.

“And...the moon and the stars…” he finished. “Because you deserve them.”

“Harry…” Ella murmured softly, more tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

Dropping his hands to her waist, Harry pulled her closer.

“Say you feel the same, Ella,” he whispered. “Say you love me too.”

“I do,” she declared. “I so very much do.”

Hope you enjoyed!

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[levanterhaze]

✧ PAST LIVES WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ in a whirlwind of past lives, emotional turmoil, and unresolved history, follow the angsty love story between the chef Carmen Berzatto and a lost soul attempting to mend the fragments of their shattered past.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, just a little bit of fluff but not too much lol

→ 3kish

first chapter: the midas touch

Stepping into Carmen Berzatto's mind was like getting swept up in a lively dance of memories and traumas, a vibrant mix of anxiety, anger, and the poignant notes of grief.

In the whirlwind of working tirelessly and mulling over unspoken feelings, Carmen found his unique forte. Picture him slicing through onions, yet mentally transported to that fateful family dinner where everything unraveled. His hands shook, sweat lingered on his temples, and, ironically, an old faithful cigarette became his solace, a bittersweet affirmation that his lungs were indeed alive.

On the whole, revisiting the past was a vivid nightmare for Carmy, a realm he seldom painted with optimistic dreams. Yet, every so often, his mind would wander back to a face from days gone by, a time when life seemed more carefree and innocent, a canvas where he felt secure enough to unfurl his heart into something beautiful.

Did he yearn for that? It was a perpetual query whenever her image crossed his thoughts—the sweet, well-intentioned girl who appeared in his life like a gift from the cosmos, a surreal deity he deemed himself unworthy of.

Before the portrait of his life transformed into its current state, there was someone. Sweet, cozy smiles. Hands entwined like an unbroken melody. Glances as sugary as stolen kisses. Pledges of everlasting love whispered in the hush of the night. A dream. An obsession. Two hearts shattered like fractured stardust.

Now and then, Carmy pondered the whereabouts of the girl who once occupied a significant space in his heart—the muse of his first love. Nostalgia and melancholy clung to this initial foray into matters of the heart, an indelible mark like the lingering stain of aged wine—permanent, resilient, and unforgettable.

In those reflective moments, a palpable grudge gripped Carmy for breaking that girl's heart—a girl who poured everything into a relationship destined for the shadows. He sensed his own brokenness, juxtaposed with her radiant beauty. He avoided becoming something she could mend, thus choosing distance as his peculiar brand of self-preservation.

But what if...?

These three small words, weighty with possibility, haunted Carmy like an incessant rhythm.

He could have had it all. Or perhaps nothing. Or even the splendid paradox of both worlds colliding. Yet, in the grand tapestry of life, did it truly matter? Carmy had forged a path to his present, and the dreamy girl who lingered in his musings was surely distant enough to forget the whimsical boy who once broke her heart.

Anxiety unraveled the threads of Berzatto's faith, gradually fading like the waning embers of a once-robust fire.

Returning to Chicago, it felt like rediscovering the world anew.

What do you do when your dreams dissolve into echoes, vanishing in the blink of an eye? When every effort seems futile and never quite enough? The echoes linger in your mind, tears poised on the brink, waiting for the opportune moment to make their dramatic entrance.

Life in Los Angeles was meant to be simpler. You envisioned a dream, thinking everything would unfold seamlessly. Young and too naive to fathom the intricacies of the world. Pursuing an acting career in a world where vultures circled fresh talent felt like social suicide. You were never prepared, but for years, you tried relentlessly.

Exhaustion took hold—utter weariness. Voices echoed in your mind: too thin, too fat, perhaps she's passable, but not captivating enough, if only she had more curves, maybe she'd be more fuckable.

Nothing ever seemed enough, and you grew weary of the constant striving.

So, on a Thursday, the decision was made to return to Chicago. Leave the rented L.A apartment behind and embrace the small space that belonged to you. Driving back home, the air in Chicago felt oppressive. Breathing seemed challenging. The dense air, pregnant with memories and echoes of past lives, served as a stark reminder.

It's real. It's Chicago.

Coldness embraced the season, and the darkened apartment resembled a skeletal frame. Fragile white walls, devoid of adornments. It was just you and your ego, weathered by years of struggle.

Then, the need to shop emerged, a necessity to prevent impending insanity. The fridge echoed emptiness, much like your stomach. The nearby supermarket beckoned, and you welcomed the walk. A peculiar sensation enveloped you as you traversed the streets—a desire for recognition, yet a deeper hope for anonymity.

A passing gaze stirred anticipation, only to be met with moistened lips and your hastened steps. Later, as you gazed upon your reflection in the glass of the dairy section, self-loathing consumed you. Disdain for the red lipstick, its inadequacy on your lips. Disgust for the perfume that clung to you. A loathing gaze at your reflection, prompting the question: when would this cease?

Earphones encapsulated your ears, resonating with melancholic '80s tunes at a volume that drowned the outside world. Nearly ten at night, the door beside you opened, prompting a swift move to retrieve that damn cheese. In that fleeting second, blue eyes and a nose akin to Apollo's altered everything. Suddenly, you found yourself in a snug loft, surrounded by abundance, with a boy destined to shatter your heart.

A pause ensued. Earphones draped around your shoulders, seemingly programmed for such moments. Carmy's name hovered on your lips, yet you restrained it. There was an ordinariness, a professionalism in the way he scrutinized the products, evoking a suppressed urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was Berzatto.

"Carm?"

And as if, in some way, time had rewound a few years, Carmen feels something tug at his chest.

There you were. In the flesh.

The twin emeralds staring at you, as if you were something out of this world, suddenly felt like too much to bear. Looking at Carmy was like gazing at that boy you once fell for. Filled with dreams, ambitions, and fears.

You could be mistaken, but you swore you saw his lips move to the rhythm of the nickname: angel .

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're here," he says as if your presence is an impossibility, just a meter away.

"And you're here," a small smile graces your face.

"I-yeah, I’m here. Los Angeles?"

A failure , a shattered dream, a colossal disappointment .

But you simply shrugged, lips twisting into an upturn smile. That's when Carmy gives a hint of a grin.

It's really you.

"I'm sorry," but did he truly feel it?

The silence lingered uncomfortably, both of you staring at each other as if in a standoff. You smiled first, a beautiful smile he already knew. Carmy took a step forward.

"I wrote you an email. When... You know. I'm really sorry, Carm," your eyes sought traces in his outwardly weary expression. He glanced down, just for a few seconds, and nodded, shaking his head.

He didn't know what to say. And what could he do? His inbox was flooded with messages he probably would never read. And knowing there was one message among many, a message from you, made him hate himself even more.

"Are you living around here?"

"Down the next block," you bit your lip.

"I have a place," he suddenly says. "Actually, Mikey had this place, and you probably knew that, but I, after, uh... I'm with the restaurant. The Bear."

"The Bear," you repeat the name with such poise and affection that makes Carmy's heart almost leap from his chest.

"You should drop by if you like," he looks directly into your eyes, like an invitation. "I’d like to," and then, the longing.

You shared another moment of silence, just two familiar strangers trying to connect after years in the shadows. Carmy felt his own body slowing down a feeling that had been cold for a long time. Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this.

"Okay," was all you said.

Carmy slipped you a phone number, never hinting that it belonged to him.

A couple of weeks passed since that unexpected supermarket encounter, and a persistent sense of disappointment clung to your routine. Part of you understood. Maybe Carmy wasn't into revisiting the past, a ghost of what his life once held. You accepted that. Yet, he seemed well, on the surface at least. You figured, at the very least, you could be friends if the history still held some weight.

On the flip side, time has been kind in aiding your healing process. Unpacking boxes in the apartment felt like therapy for a mind that had weathered its fair share of storms. Some items were old enough to consider tossing, like clothes and forgotten books. Amidst these relics, something intriguing caught your eye.

Two sketchbooks. It had been ages since you held one, forgetting that you were once an artist. They were dusty, and as you opened them, a rush of emotions accompanied the doodles of a past version of yourself.

There was Millennium Park, scenic landscapes, a woman on a train, and countless pages filled with familiar green-eyed gazes. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing the depth of your feelings for Carmy.

So many sketches of him, capturing every detail—nose, eyes, hands, lips, his entire essence. Undoubtedly, he was your muse. A mix of drama and nostalgia coursed through you, and amidst the clutter, you decided to keep these memories of a former you.

And thoughts about Carmy? They remained.

One evening, you found yourself outside The Bear. No one seemed to notice you, but the lively atmosphere tempted you to step inside, maybe greet Carmy, and shoot him a teasing look for giving a number that didn't quite belong to him.

But you hesitate.

Chasing someone who clearly wasn't interested felt a bit degrading, and despite your annoyance with life's twists, you weren't willing to go that far.

As the days whisked by, the Berzattos kept popping up, serving as constant reminders. A chance meeting with Natalie at a cozy café unraveled, and she could hardly believe it was really you standing there. She hugged you warmly, apologizing for everything that had transpired between you and Carmy.

In the end, Carmy hadn't spilled the tea about your return to Chicago. And even though you pretended not to care about the opinion of your super-talented ex-boyfriend and chef, there was a subtle sting to your pride. You shared the thing about the supermarket encounter, the email, and the phone number.

Sugar was livid.

In The Bear's kitchen, Carmen's sister stormed furiously towards the office where her brother would likely be sorting out bureaucratic matters with Syd. With a hand on the door and furrowed brows, Natalie burst in like a typhoon.

"What is wrong with you?"

Sydney paused mid-motion, holding a notebook and pen in hand, her eyes shifting from Carmy to Sugar.

"Good morning to you too, Sug" he continued writing something in one of the notebooks, but Natalie had no patience for her brother at the moment.

"I’m not joking, Carmy.”

Finally, he looked at her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Angel ?"

Carmy froze in his tracks.

"What about Angel?"

"Sorry, is Angel a person or...?" Sydney seemed confused, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"You didn't even mention she was in town. And worse, you gave a fake number! What's your problem?"

"Sugar, can we discuss this later?" Carmy already had his hands over his face, sliding through his hair carelessly.

"No, we can't."

"Ooookay, I think that's my cue. Talk to you later, Chef."

And just like that, Sydney was far enough away for them to continue the unwanted argument.

"Care to explain yourself?" Natalie crossed her arms, leaning against one of the walls.

Carmy sighed, feeling defeated.

How could he convey his dark thoughts to his sister without leaving her extremely worried? How would he say that he felt dread at the prospect of something good and beautiful approaching his broken and confused life? How could he explain that sometimes feeling like a victim was safer than letting someone truly enter his life?

"I... Did you-did you see her?"

"Of course, and she seemed really disappointed, Carmy," Natalie poured out to her brother. "Why did you do that? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"No. Nothing. Angel... She's just... Too much, you know?" Carmy felt powerless, like an open wound. "She was part of a version that doesn't exist anymore, and I know it wouldn't work out. Seeing her is like... It just wouldn't work out, Sugar."

Natalie felt sorry for her brother. She knew Carmy, and despite being irritated, she knew he would have a justification.

"Oh, Carmy..." Sugar approached, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Even if you don't want any kind of involvement with her, apologize, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I know you will."

The phone rang three times before you answered.

Pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine, you settled in to enjoy one of your favorite TV series. It was a healing day, for sure. Just wine, television, take-out food, and your own company.

" Hello ?"

"Hm, angel ?"

Involuntarily, your heart did a somersault. Even though you knew who it was, you tried to tease Carmy. "Is this really your number, or is it just another lie you want to tell?"

"I'm sorry."

The time it took for his response was enough for you to sit on the sofa and savor the wine on your lips. "It's okay, Carmy."

"No, no. It's not okay. I’m a fuckin’ asshole."

"I guess, but I understand that you don't want someone from your past in your life, and... well, it was kind of a jerk move, but you don't owe me anything."

Things weren't going according to the script Carmy had planned in his mind.

His house was dark, only the bathroom light on, and the cold wind kissed his face in the dimness of the night. He was afraid that if he pulled his hair any harder, strands would come out in his hand. Anxiety was eating him alive, and the worst part was that he had made his own bed.

"That's not true. How can I make it up to you?"

You smiled to yourself, considering the possibilities. "For lying?"

"For being a fucking idiot, angel. Tell me."

Your sigh made Carmy's heart race. He expected you to yell and curse him with all the names he deserved. But your calmness was worse than he could imagine.

"I don't know, Carmy. You were the one who gave me a fake number. Maybe you have to figure that out."

"Sure, sure. I, uh, will think about it. By the way, Natalie gave me your number, so..."

"I figured."

"Are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon?"

"Maybe..." you toyed with the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Let's grab a coffee or something, yeah? I'll text you then."

"Okay. Goodnight, Berzatto."

Carmy was in the midst of deciding whether he regretted scheduling this coffee.

Strolling through the chilly streets of Chicago, he had the unruly companion in his hands and the smoke flooding his lungs. With every step, it felt like he was ready to take three steps back. As if little devils were rolling dice in the game and angels were rolling their eyes.

He was about to flick the cigarette away when he saw you. And damn , you looked like a mirage.

The face sculpted by angels, the sweetness and wildness in the gaze that only he could recognize. And that red lipstick... He'd be damned to hell.

Approaching, he stamped out the cigarette and watched your face light up. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Berzatto. You showed up."

"We made plans."

"Yeah, that’s why I was worried." and again, the calmness was like a stab in his chest.

During the walk to the coffee shop, Carmy and you talked about life's nonsense and how things seem different now.

"How’s Chicago treating ya?"

" Ugh . It's hard to find something to do in this city. I mean, after I went to Los Angeles, I really thought chasing dreams was something special. You can't imagine my reaction when I found out I wasn't the only one," you smiled to yourself, holding the coffee cup. "I feel like a failure. An imposter."

"Why?" Carmy looked at you and clenched his own fist, tempted to touch you.

"Throughout all the years I spent in L.A, I realized that my dream was getting farther away every day. And every day..." you glanced at him briefly. "Every day, I wished to have my old life back, y’know? Simpler times."

"I understand."

Of course, Carmy understood. He had been through hell on earth to be where he is now, but there was a certain innocence and delicacy in the past that he couldn't leave behind. A moment in his life in which you were also a part.

"The greatest chef Carmen Berzatto sympathizes with the story of a fake rising star?"

And as if it were scripted, Carmy and you stopped in the middle of the avenue, connecting in an inexplicable way.

"You'd be surprised."

And amidst random conversations and reminiscing about people from the past and times that certainly wouldn't return, the night appeared as a pleasant surprise, and you found yourselves again in the block where you had met, in front of The Bear.

"Well, I guess that's it," you said, still trying to stifle the laughter because somehow, Carmy Berzatto could draw some laughs out of you. "Thanks for the coffee and the walk, Berzatto."

The strange silence filled the night air, condensing your breaths.

But at that point, Carmy felt good, so good that his mind had given him a respite.

Without hugs and touches, you awkwardly said goodbye and went your way. "Actually..." Carmy made you stop in your tracks. "I'm kinda starving, and uh, if you want to come in, I-I can whip up something quick. If you want."

Your smile made Carmy feel at home. "Sure."

You didn't understand much, but watching Carmen Berzatto move through the kitchen of his own restaurant was like witnessing art come to life.

Everything was so clean and empty. There was a large counter where you sat, just observing the magic unfold. Seeing him like that brought back memories you weren't sure if you should remember.

There were nights when Carmy experimented with new recipes, and you both spent the night in the kitchen—him as the chef, of course, and you merely assisting, grabbing an ingredient here and there. Even when he claimed it looked like shit , you would kiss him and say it was great, that he was talented. To you, Carmy was Midas.

Watching him from behind, you couldn't help but notice the tattoos and how his muscular and oh-so-masculine arm moved swiftly to stir the contents in the pan. You lowered your head, thinking you might be seeing too much. You knew nothing about Carmy's love life; it was a topic you avoided all afternoon, like a minefield—not safe yet.

"Here." Carmy crossed the small space to the counter, holding a spoon and a coppery liquid close to your face. "Try it."

You almost choked on your saliva but kept your composure as his large, sparkling emerald eyes met yours. You opened your lips slowly, waiting for him to place the spoon in your mouth. Carmy didn't know exactly how much time passed, lost in your lips—inviting, scarlet, as soft as velvet—and your sinless eyes. It was somehow sensual and intimate that he could die. As the taste hit your palate, it was like an explosion of flavors: honey, orange, citrusy, and sweet all at once.

He stood there, waiting for a reaction.

"So good." Your eyes were locked onto Carmy's, and all he knew was your lips, dangerously close, making his heart beat irregularly.

"Yeah?" He approached meticulously, you noticed.

"Yeah."

You weren't sure what you were doing. Carmy wasn't either.

Submerged in a world already known in aquamarine, you felt your heart beat faster. His hand touched the side of your thigh, and that little touch of skin-on-skin made your body burn. Not a common burn. Burning for Carmy. For something you once had.

And this was the worst way to burn.

"Bear," you breathed. He was so near, my God, you could sense the nicotine and cologne, the distinctive essence of that man before you. If you extended your fingers, you could brush against his face, yet you refrained.

The endearing pet name left Carmy suspended. What in the world did he believe he was doing?

Inviting you for coffee after being a colossal dipshit, thinking that cooking a meal could mend the bygone years? Believing that crafting a repast would reconstruct the past and heal the heart he once left broken?

"I’m sorry," Carmy retreated, his hands gracing his temples, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and traversing his entire countenance. "I-I don't know, uh, what I was doing."

"Carmy."

"No. I-I'll serve the dishes, and I hope it doesn't taste like shit." He moved with celerity, evading the recent occurrence. His finesse was so adept that you began questioning yourself.

He initiated the retrieval of plates, the sonorous clink of crockery harmonizing with the cascade of hex he cast into the ether. You descended from the counter, advancing towards him, heart racing, and mind more befuddled than ever. Was this the intended outcome, after all?

"Carmy!" you implored, as if your words were echoes unheard. He appeared agitated, fervently seeking something you couldn't fathom.

"Where the fuck’s that shit? I swear to fucking God, all these fucking assholes stresses the fuck out of me. They come here, cook, and leave everything a fucking mess, and I can't even find the FUCKING WINE CORK!"

Carmy's metamorphosis when angered was perturbing. His visage flushed crimson, veins on the brink of eruption, and words discharged without restraint.

"It's okay!"

"No, fuck that shit!" he forcefully disengaged as you tried to soothe him. Carmy leaned against the stove, trembling hands and bowed head. It was too much. It was enough. "You should leave."

"What?" You could hardly believe it. Humor was almost slipping off your tongue, but the way his muscles moved under the white T-shirt, and how he didn't even look at you, said it all.

"Just fucking go, alright?"

You yearned for a day when clouds were as ethereal as cotton and the sun gleamed unprecedentedly, perhaps a day when Carmy Berzatto's enigma unraveled. Until that day materialized, you’d simply leave. You seized your coat and left.

Berzatto’s downfall was knowing that this was the pattern.

No matter how many attempts he made, worthiness eluded him. Each time, he became the architect of your heartbreak, irrespective of the circumstance.

It was his eternal condemnation.

[yandere-fics]

I'm so so sorry for this wall of text but I kind of got into Darla mood and with it into a religious themes of her upbringing (kinda). Hope you will enjoy this bit :3

----

Rain. Heavy droplets descended down, mercilessly soaking everyone who had been caught in its downpour.

In a perfect world you would sit in your little apartment and watched TV until it's sounds lulled you to sleep. Sadly it's isn't perfect world. Not even imperfect as the nightmare slowly unfolded before you.

The bible described Helel as a radiant star, a light bringer and the woman before you could be described in similar words, especially when you learned that the angel in reality is a devil.

And just like Helel, you saw her fall from grace and turn into Lucifer that brought only doom and sorrow in her wake.

Darla, the Devil, sat across you with a smirk unbefitting her character. Slow ticking of the clock made you rethink whatever made her force you to come here.

It wasn't surprising that yet again you sat opposite her, with a plate full of bite-sized cakes between you two. And again, the silence between you stretched for quite some time as you watched her stir her coffee absentmindedly.

You tried to run away as far as your legs could carry you, you mused, as far as you could hide away from her scorching gaze but the thing is.... she wouldn't, couldn't give you up. Never. Never. Never. As long as her soul is intact she will not rest till you are hers. She will not rest, for attachment and obsession are eternal desire of The Devil.

You never called yourself religious but in times like these you prayed.

Prayed as hard as you could but no matter how pure or how fervent your prayers were nothing answered and you wondered if the throne of Gods stands empty.

Her hand started tapping rhythmically on the table as she watched you with hawklike intensity in turn and with her gaze upon you you understood that this world is without mercy and you are awake, the awareness of this sentence rendered you speechless, while burning in your heart that scorchs your very soul makes you wonder how you're still alive in this world that shatters your every dream and rips apart every speck of hope that still, like an embers slowly cooling down, burned pitifully inside you.

You couldn't stand her gaze, so you took the sugary treat, your face an evident display of disgust as you reluctantly took a bite of the cake.

"I don't understand why you do this," she chortled as she took one cake for herself. "You evidently don't enjoy this."

As the aftertaste lingered on your tongue, you knew the answer. In some way, this helps you manage social situations that you aren't sure how to tackle. "Honestly, sweets aren't my favorite, but it's become a bit of a comfort thing during conversations."

"Even if it's hurtful?"

"Yes."

And isn't it what haunts you so? Forcing yourself to swallow hurt just to feel a little bit of a world that shattered months ago.

This world, your world, hadn't ended with a bang and scorching blaze that left no trail in its destruction nor silently where no one could notice the doom that hanged outside like an omen that was foretold aeons ago.

It ended with a soft good morning to the thing that forced you to leave your world behind and forced into this golden cage.

A bitter thing to swallow.

She watched as you forced down the bile that rose up when you took another piece of cake. "Let's take it easy for today," she proposed, reaching over and taking your fork away, eating the offending treat herself.

You watched as she chewed, knowing very well that she's just shy of snapping at you. The way her jaw clenched with every flex was quite telling.

"Can we do it quickly?" the question slipped past your lips, a pained thing considering the headache that haunted you from the second you woke up.

She smiled wickedly, strangely making her look charming. "I don't think so," with voice so gentle and smooth, she sentenced you to slow torture. "What happened was stupid, angel."

How far she had fallen? To think everything is her to take, her to govern upon? She, like the rest of them, was once holy but tragedy snapped her halo and remade it into horns and no one could blame her for starting to crave something unholy.

Blasphemous, she chortled, not unholy but blasphemous. To drink blood of an angel and feast upon your body, her dream simple and not so far out of reach. To snap your wings and chain you down.

After meeting her you only knew thousand agonies, a thousand heart breaks but in the end you just felt... resignation.

The Devil is selfish and she takes and takes and takes everything that she desires until nothing is left behind.

It hurts, does it not? You'll shed tears, will you not?

All that was left of you was an hollow corpse that the Devil guarded so possessively.

I have no notes, it's perfect, everyone give praise to them.

[oceanlipgloss]

OUT OF THE BLUE

MEPHISTOPHELES.

+ no warnings.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

There was something beautiful about being in love with such a man—a bewitching romance, as hypnotic as watching smoke coil out of cracked lips and expand, but not at all dark like that.

So once more in this room she sat, quietly admiring the handsome noble as he drank tea sickeningly sweet and courted literature in bouts of utter silence and whispered musings. His skin glowed golden under the heated kisses of blonde light, dreamy.

She was ensnared, but within her chanted no desire to be free. For very long a time she had dreamt of being a prisoner in his arms. Again and again she had willed it, but it had not yet become.

His frown was twisted with exasperation, for he had once again caught her in a shameless act of admiration. How truly idiotic. Did she in all seriousness believe that he—a demon whose veins sang with the blood of nobles—would ever even think about considering her human heart?

An irritated sigh, lured out of his lips—and a lecture on propriety. In his suave voice, even annoyance sounded pretty.

Emotion lay its colorful body down on her warm tongue. A soft voice spoke his name—a melody hushed and sweet, lulling a child to sleep.

At the touch of her pink lips, a familiar spark tingled within his veins. He had been drinking more sugar than tea. With innocent lips she tasted the delightful crystals on his. Love sings electric. She had dared interrupt him mid-complaint and swallowed his facade. Her tongue had gently pressed itself against soft ripples of candied skin. Could innocence still find their kiss when she had just licked the sugary waves on his lips?

Overwhelming emotion again gripped his throbbing heart and caught the butterflies of breath that fluttered in his lungs. The roses that had bloomed under his skin were impossible to miss. His mind was desperate to break apart the haze that glazed it—for had they just shared yet another dizzying kiss? Had she once more claimed his lips out of the blue, without his permission?

Her manners may have been ill, but he wanted her still. When she was close to him like that—her shallow breath brushing ghostly fingers against his swollen lips—his heart flipped. How much longer could he resist?

Looking into her eyes was like gazing into the clearest tea. He could have sworn that he was able to see straight into her soul—a star shimmering with color and energy. He always told her that her tea was of a flavour bland—a concoction lacking and sad—yet, every time he made each syrupy drop his nonetheless.

In moments such as these, his body felt warmer than it should have been. Hers burned with love. At the look in her eyes, fragility roamed his knees. Without a care in the world, her fingers caressed his luscious hair.

Out of the blue, her love had spread in his heart, a blessing, a rot. There were times when strange desires—indulgent fires—impaled him. There were times when the temptation to fall passionately in love became too much to bear. And were there not times when he found himself swaying on the edges of heaven?

Perhaps he would forget for a mere while. Perhaps he would turn pride and nobility into strangers, then befriend the sweet sensations—so that maybe someday, the fairy tales masquerading as dark mysteries within his mind would come undone and swirl into a truth he no longer had to fear.

Until then, those questions would continue to gleam; what if she kept herself by his side, a mortal beauty? What if their bodies continued to burn, candles in the dark? What if they never forgot to kiss, addicts in love?

+note: the first piece I've written for him. I love Mephistopheles so much—most of all—and I think that the hate he gets is really unfair, so I put together a post on the subject.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[liroyalty]

Aesthetic Meme List your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits & sceneries.

TASTES: Floral Teas, Buttery bread, Chocolates, Sugary pastries, Sweet fruits

SMELLS: Strawberries, Lavender, Fresh Linen, Rosewater, Fresh Spring Air, Soft Floral perfumes

SIGHTS: Magical gardens, Forests untouched by man, Greenhouses filled with flowers, Pastel colors, A castle with a theater within, A room with a piano, Works of art adoring the walls, A Welcoming smile

SOUNDS: An angelic singing voice, Classical music ringing through the halls, Fits of laugher, Social butterflies chattering away, Excited clapping, Heels clicking against marble floors, A songbird's chipper tune

SENSATIONS: A warm hug, A pat on the back, A hand to hold when in need, A source of encouragement, A friend loyal & true

OUTFITS: Puffy princess gowns, Ribbons & bows, prefect white gloves, pearls & lace chokers, Pinks!

TASTES: Strong Teas, buttery bread, chocolates, Fruits, The coppery tang of blood, Something that can't be defined

SMELLS: Pomegranates, Mint, Leather aka Old Book smell, Rosewater, Wine, A decaying corpse

SIGHTS: Dark forests filled with monsters, Graveyards at midnight, A Haunted place, The Night Sky unburden by clouds, Gothic castles that have been boobytrapped, A library of forbidden tomes, Glowing Red eyes in the dark, A beast from hell, Something so beautiful it makes you stop thinking

SOUNDS: An alluring singing voice, the angelic illusion of a harp being strung, the growls of a demonic creature, a confident speaking voice, the giggles of a excited little girl, the crackle of a hearth

SENSATIONS: Being stared through into your soul, A shadow at your back, A splatter of blood against your body, An arm hug filled with a need for closeness, A cheek kiss filled with repressed love, A head buried against your chest in a hug to hide a broken heart

OUTFITS: Form-fitting dresses or tea gowns, elegant styles, lace & sheer, jewelry with expensive gemstones, braided hair & dark colors

[phoenix-of-jade]

💘 - Three ways my muse shows they have a crush

💔 - Three ways my muse shows heartache

💥 - Three ways my muse shows anger

Three Ways

💘 - Three ways my muse shows they have a crush

If he has a crush on you, Xuan will usually become very sugary sweet and flattering towards you. Words of affirmation are one of his primary love languages, so he very much expresses his affection through his words, like compliments and praise.

He'll also be very chivalrous and will try courting you with gifts, invitations to various dates or simple gestures of affection. He's a direct man, so his love is very much obvious.

And lastly, a third sign that he's enamored can be his mood around the person he likes. If he's in a bad mood, the mere mention of his crush will lighten his mood instantly and generally speaking, when he's around that person, Xuan almost looks as if he's high or in a state of elation.

💔 - Three ways my muse shows heartache

When he's heartbroken, Xuan usually chooses the sad drunk path, of drowning his sorrows in alcohol until his liver will be on the verge of quitting life.

He smokes more in those circumstances, even if generally speaking Xuan hates smoking and doesn't practice it too often, except when he's really stressed or angry. One could say that depressed Xuan has self destructive tendencies, since he'll also drown himself in work, in particular the high risk hitman bids.

Finally, a heartbroken Xuan will be found listening to sad songs that vibe with his current state of soul, reminiscing the good old times with the one he's lost, as he's slowly going through the 5 stages of grief. When he's drunk, there are also high chances you can find him singing along to these songs (his neighbors hate his 3AM impromptu balcony concerts).

💥 - Three ways my muse shows anger

An angry Xuan will make his bad mood known through subtle actions. He's not loud or explosive, no, his anger is a cold, slow burning one. If he's in a particularly bad mood, Xuan will be more sarcastic and snappy than usual, aiming to hit his interlocutor where it hurts most especially if that person happens to make a mistake.

Angry Xuan will also express his volatile state through his body language, in particular a closed and defensive posture, and a very common trait will be the excessive tapping of his foot.

Lastly, Xuan will express anger by letting his steam out through physical activity, be it a roughly approach when being intimate, or taking his anger out on someone through violence (like torturing a prisoner or traitor, during an assassination mission or straight out in a fist fight if it's initiated by the other party).

[oceanicmaster]

♭: What is your Muse’s favorite and least favorite foods?

♥: Does your Muse have a preference for Salty, Sugary, Sweet, Sour, Or Savory foods?

♕: Does your Muse have any alternative dietary needs or habits? (drink blood, consume souls, eat non-edible items, etc.)

♧: What type(s) of food will your Muse NEVER eat? Why?

♡: Does your muse have food allergies? (Wheat,Peanut, Egg, Fruit, Soy, etc.)

♬: Does your muse have any food intolerances? (Lactose, Gluten, Caffiene, etc.)

♪: How often does your Muse cook their own meals? How often do they order in /go out to eat?

♫: Does your Muse have any type of food/drink addiction (like an actual chemical dependency)

♥: Is your Muse concerned with eating healthy? Do they follow-through with plans to do so?

♬: Does your Muse do any kind of meal-prepping?

✞: Has your Muse ever had any misconceptions about certain foods or nutrition overall? (i.e too much chocolate gives you acne, carbs are evil, gluten-free = healthier foods, etc.)

♭: What is your Muse’s favorite and least favorite foods?

"Hmmm... Cinnamon rolls are my favorite, and I don't like lemon pepper wings, so much. Spicy and sour don't work for me."

♥: Does your Muse have a preference for Salty, Sugary, Sweet, Sour, Or Savory foods?

"Sweet. I probably wouldn't be so much of a baker, if I didn't love sweets."

♕: Does your Muse have any alternative dietary needs or habits? (drink blood, consume souls, eat non-edible items, etc.)

"I do not."

♧: What type(s) of food will your Muse NEVER eat? Why?

"...I'm not sure this is what you mean, but it's a bad idea to just eat seasonings and spices without them being part of a dish. It dries your throat out."

♡: Does your muse have food allergies? (Wheat,Peanut, Egg, Fruit, Soy, etc.)

"I'm allergic to mangoes. It's not usually a problem, but some more exotic dishes like to use it, which can surprise me sometimes."

♬: Does your muse have any food intolerances? (Lactose, Gluten, Caffiene, etc.)

"Caffeine gives me a headache, so I can't go too wild with chocolate, most of the time. Or drink... What did Sora call it, 'cola'? Some kind of nut-flavored bubbly drink."

♪: How often does your Muse cook their own meals? How often do they order in /go out to eat?

"I almost always cook for myself and everyone else in the Land of Departure. The only exception is if we take a trip to Le Grand Bistrot in Twilight Town to support Sora's efforts."

♫: Does your Muse have any type of food/drink addiction (like an actual chemical dependency)

"Nope~!"

♥: Is your Muse concerned with eating healthy? Do they follow-through with plans to do so?

"Eating healthy is important. But if you cook for yourself, it usually isn't an issue to do so."

♬: Does your Muse do any kind of meal-prepping?

"I... Do all the cooking? I don't pre-cook meals, I guess, if that's what you mean?"

✞: Has your Muse ever had any misconceptions about certain foods or nutrition overall? (i.e too much chocolate gives you acne, carbs are evil, gluten-free = healthier foods, etc.)

"I like to think being a chef means I believe fewer food rumors, but I'm sure I believe something silly, just because I haven't cooked with some ingredient."

[usagimen]

                  @altkiller   :   people will do anything to dissipate the monotony of their lives.

                 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒚, even the flesh they wore could easily be sold, stripped apart && rebuilt together. For a moment, she stands there with metallic claws tapping against her forearm, then laughter echoes. “Well of course, there’s a business behind it after all” she recalls her own idleness, leading to boredom that pierced deep within the frontal lobe, obtaining a dream is certainly dull. Somehow, the chase was far more interesting, life that was spent on the grime colored streets painted in neon, another rockerboy lying in her ear with promise of fame, she took whatever was given to become the fixture that stands before them.

   Too bad she didn’t remember her own face anymore, sculpt after sculpt, another illusion that was woven into her structure when she became restless, that was the nature of Alice slipping away into her own dreamland. “Why do you think this city continues to burn? You can profit over souls that have lost their way, everything at our fingertips, with nothing of our own. "She loves conversations like this, where the synapsis of her brain begins to form && every cell is electrified. In between arrangements, the sugary sweet lies from another suit or whatever nonsense another pretty face tells her, there is an organic nature to speaking in dead languages.

   “Isn’t that why you run the net? Chasing another rush that cannot easily be obtained amongst the living. Then, there is me who runs in a den of vipers knowing fully well they’ll kill me someday” she was never an ignorant young girl with her head high in the sky, kissing stars whenever she thought possible. For most BD actresses, they fade out, beloved muses that become discarded with the next plastic imagery to grace the screens. Everything that was fleeting && temporary, she didn’t mind, it was similar to another death; the cycle of rebirth. “At the core, we can moralize it till we’re exhausted, the truth is we want to feel alive, anything but sinking knowledge of what surrounds us, corps know it - you && I do as well. Our paths may not be similar, though we still seek the same thing just in different forms” she didn’t know yet if her extremism was a form of cathartic healing or self destruction; the ladder would be chosen. There’s a glimmer of a smile that paints across crimson lips, shiny && tight, with a hint of amusement in her gaze. The space between them is deafening as the melancholic music continues to play, only then does she break it, snickering as her head shakes.

       “You’re fun to speak with, I don’t like anyone that tries to win me over instantaneously - they are full of deceit && cannot best a liar. I wonder what else that brilliant mind of yours is hiding?”  

nineteen claws and a black bird. (accepting)

[azsazz]

Intertwine

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Accepting the mating bond.

Warnings: SMUT! 

Word Count: 2474

_________________________________________

“A mating bond?” You’re beyond flabbergasted. Not once in the nearly three hundred years you’d been alive had you heard something so dumb. “And it’s accepted when I offer you food?”

“Well generally you have to cook the food and then offer it to me but, yeah, pretty much,” the shadowsinger who is sitting at your table admits quietly. If it wasn’t for the sun shining through the window and casting over him, you wouldn’t have seen that adorable blush dusting his cheeks.

You suck your teeth, brows furrowing, “That doesn’t really seem fair, does it?”

You could tell that you were making him uncomfortable, the feigned nonchalance in your voice. On the inside, your mind was racing, having the question answered of what you felt the other night, like a rubber band snapping against your soul. You had flinched at the feeling.

His gaze moves from you to the sodden table, finger tracing the crack from where you had nearly sliced Cassian's hand off your first time meeting. A shadow of a smile pulls at his lips from the memory.

You hadn’t been so trusting back then.

“I suppose not,” he finally responds, his voice so quiet you barely managed to hear.

In all of your years spent with Azriel, you hadn’t quite seen him like this before: refusing to make eye contact while he played nervously with his fingers.

It was kind of fun.

He finally looked up, and staring now into those beautiful hazel eyes you knew you had a choice to make. And it would be the easiest one you’ve ever made.

Standing slowly from your seat at the table, you cross the tiny kitchen to the counter, a covered box sitting out and ready for you to bring to the House of Wind later tonight.

Inside was a birthday cake for Cassian. You had insisted on making it, as you were fond of baking, enjoying the sweet aromas that filtered in the air as you did so. 

Eyeing the nearly perfect icing – red to match the commander's siphons – you didn’t think he’d mind.

Smirking to yourself, you pulled a knife from your drawer and sliced directly into the middle, cutting a large chunk from the dessert and plating it. 

You licked your fingers as you made your way back to the table, the sugary icing sweet on your tongue.

You placed the plate down in front of Azriel and watched as he looked at you with big brown eyes before leaning forward and looking at what you’d served him.

He chuckled faintly at the cake sitting in front of him, the piece crooked and icing messy, but the ‘ass’ written in script was as visible as day.

“Really?” He asked, an amused smile and loving glimmer in his eyes as he looked back up at you.

“What?” You respond, trying to feign innocence, but you knew the Shadowsinger could see right through you, “it was the closest part to your name.”

“You could’ve just given it to me with one ‘s,’” he mused, shadows tickling your ankles.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you asked cheekily, picking up a wedge of cake with your fingers. You offer it to him, speaking gently, “It may not make sense to me fully, but it’s tradition to you so…” you trailed off, nearly touching the sweet to his lips as his caramel eyes bore into yours, “Az, will you be my mate?”

“Yes,” he breaths, parting his lips and taking the piece of cake from your fingers, his tongue swirling sensually around the tips, leaving no trace of frosting. You bite your lip at the sensation. 

He releases your fingers from his mouth, hungry eyes locked on your own. Your fingers tingling with the sensation, 

“So,” you swallow hard, “Is that it?”

“No,” he gives a slight shake of his head, “Now I take you on this fucking table.”

A smirk teases his mouth and he pushes up from the chair. You meet him halfway and your bodies collide, lips crushing in a searing kiss. His hands grip your hips, lifting, and you bury your hands in his dark hair, legs automatically winding around his waist like his shadows. He sets you on the table, the cake falling in the process, the plate shattering. He feels so good and you find yourself breathing heavily from your nose as you exchange open-mouthed kisses. It’s hungry and hard, your lips throbbing from it, but it’s exactly what you need.

“Off,” he mutters against your lips, his fingers playing lightly with the hem of your shirt before fisting the material and tugging it up swiftly, “This needs to come off.”

As soon as the cloth is over your head he’s back against your lips, holding your chin between both of his hands, his shadows twisting in your hair. His scarred touch sets you ablaze. 

It’s your turn to rid him of his shirt, whining softly against his lips when he refuses to move an inch from your mouth so you can slip the garment off. You shove the material harder up under his armpits, Azriel growling softly before he breaks the kiss and finally pulls it over his head. 

You smile into the kiss, fumbling with his pants. He’s got his knives strapped to his thighs as always, so you’ll need to undo those. But your mate doesn’t make it easy. It’s nearly a four-step process to get those holsters both on and off and it requires most of your attention. The pants are their own hassle.

Damn those Illyrian leathers.

Impatient, Azriel decides that if this is going to go any further, the both of you need to be naked. And he’d like this to keep going, fast. He steps back, hazel eyes dark with lust. His movements don’t falter, having done it everyday for hundreds of years, it’s all instinct by now. The swift movement of his fingers unstrapping his weapons with such grace has you pulsing with excitement.

You bite your lip when his cock springs up, the restricting cloth no longer pressing it against his own leg. 

When he notices you haven’t stripped yourself bare he smiles wickedly, practically ripping open your pants and you lie back, pulling at the legs and peeling them away from your beautiful body. 

His touch is featherlight as he traces up your legs, brushing over your crotch. They continue their path upwards, his shadows following, grazing your body, over the curve of your breast and the plane of your chest has you shuddering with excitement. 

The Spymaster can’t resist, kneading one of your breasts in his hand while his tongue flicks over the nipple on the other. You gasp, back arching off of the table as he catches the nub between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Az,” you beg, raking your fingers desperately through his hair.

The Shadowsinger rolls his hips, making you moan and then he draws back, only to lean his head back in, tongue first as you meet again. You return the kiss with vigor, clutching him tightly at his hips, hopelessly trying to get him to grind down on you for any sort of relief but he’s too strong, keeping his hips from meeting yours.

As if his brute strength wasn’t enough to keep you in place, his shadows dance across your skin, wrapping around your legs and holding them firmly to the table, restraining you further.

But your hands aren’t bound, so you snake them down his back, across your mate's delicate wings. He shakes, legs giving out just like you were hoping, his hips canting into yours.

It’s ecstasy, his dick thick and hot against your wet pussy. He rubs against you furiously, and you jerk up from the hard table beneath you while he tries to push you deeper into it. It’s not enough though, you need more, need him to split you open with his huge dripping cock.

“C’mon Az,” you whisper, his breath hot against your lips, panting before he moves across your cheek and down your neck, sucking and licking as he goes.

“Patience darling,” he purrs, and you’re surprised how well he’s holding himself together because you are a puddle beneath his palms. He presses a finger to your lips and you obey immediately, licking the digit all over until it’s wet and Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours as you work, he doesn’t even blink. It makes everything so much hotter and his cock jumps with desperate need.

His wet hand drags down, across the column of your neck, circling around your nipple. He’s taking too long, you haven’t got the time, but selfishly you hope that this would last forever. 

Now that you’ve accepted the bond, it will.

You gasp as the wet finger trails further south, a teasing touch against your clit. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, leaving crescents in its wake. 

“Please, Azriel, my mate…” You don’t even realize what you’ve said until he’s growling and baring his teeth, ready to tear the words out of your throat and swallow them. He ruts against you harshly, your eyes rolling back into your head as his finger presses harder into the bud. 

“Say it again,” his hazel eyes blazing, pressing your foreheads together harshly, “Say it.”

His breath trembles when you repeat your words, sending warmth down the bond, “My mate.”

He sweeps his tongue over yours, a solid weight in your mouth. “And you are mine.”

You’d heard him say it before, but now, with the bone officially accepted, it feels so much more. You feel as though you should apologize for taunting him about his traditions, but instead the words catch in your throat as he lines himself up to your cunt, the head of his cock resting for a moment, before he finally pushes inside.

It seems like it’s never ending, the drag of his dick as he pushes in, in, in. You can’t breathe, so full but somehow he’s still going, going, going.

“You okay love?” His voice is strained, like he can barely restrain himself any further, the feeling of you wrapped tight around him. It’s ethereal, you are, and his shadows are a frenzied mess above the two of you. 

Your only response is a whine high in your throat, legs jerking, trying to get free of the shadows that have kept their firm hold up until now. They fall away easily and you clamp your legs around your mate, never wanting to let go. 

The tender kiss to your lips has you ripping open your eyes, blinking back the lust to admire the man on top of you. It’s maddening, how beautiful Azriel is, especially in moments like this, when he thinks he’s being too rough on you, pressing the softest of kisses to your face to show you he’s still there, the Az you know and love. 

So you roll with it, the moment and your hips, swirling softly, urging him into action. He groans, pulling out slightly only to ram back inside of you, gliding in smoothly due to your soaking cunt.

You hum with pleasure, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he stands to his full height. Your hands caress down the rigid muscles of his chest and abs, before falling flat on the table on either side of you, no longer able to reach. 

Gods, does he take your breath away. The setting sun casts an orange glow through the room, caressing his glistening skin and illuminating his wings. You can see every vein, every scar from battle when the light hits them like this. He looks angelic and he’s all yours.

He squeezes at your thighs and you release his waist from the clutches of your legs. The Shadowsinger kisses the inside of your calf, then your ankle before settling your legs over his shoulders.

Azriel is merciless, pounding into you so hard you see stars. The movement has you slipping up the table, back arched in ecstasy, only for him to pause when you are on the brink of release, to pull you back down the table to him. 

He quickly picks back up the pace he had a moment ago. It’s deeper this time and he hits a spot inside of you that has your vision blurring and your thighs quaking, making you claw at the table, nothing else to grab onto. 

As if sensing this, he lowers himself onto his elbows, caging your head between them. You grasp onto any part of him, moaning beautifully beneath him. He gives you it all, sensing what you want through the connection shared. 

He can’t help but kiss you, needing to taste the sounds that fall past your lips like he’s been dehydrated for centuries and you’re his first sip of water. It’s sloppy, all tongue and barely lips because you both need to breathe.

“Azriel,” you pant, “pleasepleaseplease.” And he knows what you need, can feel it too, the heat in his gut tightening. His fingers snake between your bodies, and he’s nearly as skilled with making you come as he is with any weapon, pressing into your clit just how you like. 

His shadows breeze over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples as he watches with hungry eyes. Maybe someday he’ll let his shadows alone take care of you, though he doesn’t think he could stand to watch you fall apart without his hands on you.

“So perfect,” he breathes, one last flick has you coming apart at the seams. He continues on, rubbing as you ride out your orgasm, clenching tight around his cock. The sounds you make are a symphony to his ears and he wonders for a moment, why he’s the one called the Shadowsinger when they respond so beautifully to your moans. 

Your skin is still on fire when he spills into you, his limbs going heavy, falling, but it’s okay because you’ve got him, hands winding into his hair as he buries his face deep into your neck, sucking one last mark to your skin while his body trembles with pleasure. 

It’s flawless, everything about this moment is perfect when he pulls back, the both of you trying to catch your breath, staring at each other with glazed eyes. Your hand moves from his damp hair to his cheek instead, fingertips tracing the structure of his face. Azriel leans into your touch. 

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your lips. His dick has gone soft but he makes no moves to pull away from you, not until you say it back.

And you do, of course you do. You love him with every part of your being, your soul. Your souls are the same, tangled together for eternity. 

“I love you too, Azriel.”

[slutforsilverfoxes]

You’re My Home

(or All I Ask Part 2)

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cam,” you sang over your shoulder to the smiling building secretary as you made your way out of the high school. You got into your car and started heading home, pausing only to indulge in a sugary frappuccino on the way. As you drove, you planned out the rest of your evening- grading papers and nursing the half empty bottle of red wine you’d started drinking last Friday after yet another failed date, a typical Wednesday evening.

Or so you thought.

Your heart had physically leapt into your throat, it must’ve, because something was pressing against your trachea and not allowing you to bring air into your lungs. Your car angrily beeped at you as it came to an abrupt stop, narrowly avoiding a fender bender thanks to the automatic brake feature.

That man arguing with a shorter blonde male in the middle of the sidewalk, his foot pinning down a squirming and protesting brunette, was undoubtedly your first and only love. He was older, obviously, his jawline sharp where it was once soft with youth, and a smattering of grey in his dark locks; he was taller, broader, bigger, but you knew in the very depths of your soul that that was Steve- your Steve- standing just twenty feet away from you. Involuntary tears blurred your vision as you hastily pulled over to the curb, throwing your hazards on and stumbling out of the vehicle.

“Steve?” you croaked out, not daring to believe that he was here, over a decade later, standing on the very sidewalk where he’d taken you on your first date- out for ice cream and a sunset stroll on the beach after your biology final in eighth grade.

He turned toward the source of the voice calling his name, eyes widening almost comically as his gaze fell upon you.

And then he was running to you, calling out “Book him, Danno!” as he narrowly avoided the path of an incoming car speeding across the intersection, ignoring the driver’s curses and his partner’s indignant cries because he hadn’t heard your voice calling his name in god knows how many years but it was a sound he would never, could never forget.

He picked you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his middle and your mouth molding to his like a puzzle piece slotting into its carefully crafted space. Kissing him was fire and ice, it was stars colliding, it was a distant memory, a dream, a miracle, it was coming home.

“Steve,” you breathed out, clinging to him, scared that if you let go the universe would whisk him away again. “How…?”

“I’ve been on the island for two months, working a task force for the Governor,” he explained softly, one hand cradling your head, the other caressing your back, the motion so familiar to him and the feeling of his hands so familiar to you that you were overcome with emotion. It was like both an eternity and no time had passed at all, like you were simultaneously here in the moment and back in his childhood home, recalling his gentle touches and sweet musings on the last night you spent together.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” you confessed, running your hands over his face, not daring to close your eyes for fear this was all some sort of sick dream.

“I thought you’d moved away, moved on, for sure,” he sighed out, stealing a quick glance to your left hand. You felt his heart beat pick up a few paces at the sight of your bare ring finger. “You didn’t…?”

You shook your head, feeling a few tears trickle down your cheeks. “I told you, Five-0,” the old nickname referencing his high school jersey brought a grin to his face that rivaled the sun itself, “I’d never love anyone the way that I loved- still love, you.”

He let you slide down his body, easing you to the ground carefully but still maintaining skin to skin contact. That sweet, goofy grin remained plastered to his face as he challenged conspiratorially, “Guess what I named my task force.”

“Tell me,” you whispered softly, tilting your face up to admire his beautiful blue eyes.

“Uh uh,” he shook his head. “You have to guess.”

You hummed, angling your head back and forth as if in deep thought. “Let’s see… ‘Steve’s Angels’. No, wait, I got it- ‘The M Team’?”

“Good to see you’re still a clown,” he chuckled appreciatively before growing serious. “It’s ‘Five-0’. It’s my way of reminding myself why I do what I do everyday. To make the world a little safer for the people I care about.”

“Oh Steve,” you sighed, feeling your heart soar with all the love you’d been holding onto for this man for over a decade. “There’s so much I need to tell you, so many things I’ve wanted to share with-”

“Hey!” You were cut off abruptly by the blonde you’d seen earlier now strutting up to the two of you, having delivered their charge into what you assumed was an undercover police vehicle. “What’s the matter with you, huh? I had to chase that son of a bitch down four blocks to arrest him- again!”

“Exercise is good for you, Danno,” Steve responded with a cheeky grin. “Besides, I had a very good reason,” he defended his actions, pulling you into his side and squeezing your waist. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Detective Danny Williams, my partner in crime and lesser half- in stature and status.”

Danny’s eyes widened at Steve as he processed his words, then narrowed in a glare, then widened again as he glanced back and forth between you two, choosing to let the jab slide- this time. “This- This is the Y/N, the love of your life, the one that got away?”

“This is my girl,” Steve nodded, pressing a kiss against your temple, the pride and love in his voice making you grateful that his arm was around you lest you float away in your dream state. “And I’m never letting her go again.”

After a decade and change of making it through the minutes, hours, days without the other half of your soul, you finally felt complete. Despite never having left the island, you felt like you’d come home.

Because you would never love anyone else the way you loved Steve McGarrett.

[sunjaesol]

THE MANY CRUSHES OF LUKE PATTERSON... AND THE ONE THAT STUCK

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

1982

Luke Patterson's first crush ever was Haley Martin. He adored the colour of her hair — like the clementines his mom bought — and the way she finger-painted, enough for his four year old eyes to stare at her in awe.

He watched her make mud pies in the sandbox from the monkey bars, only to ruin them to get a rise out of her. He couldn't understand why she didn't like him the way he did, so he nagged his mom to explain.

"Teasing girls should be fun for them too, sweetheart," she soothed. "This Haley clearly didn't like it."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Her smile stayed warm, similar to hot chocolate and whenever grandpa conjured candies from behind his ear. "Why don't you share your grapes with her tomorrow? I'm sure she'll like that."

His nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because it's sweet, Luke."

"I don't get that," he shrugged. "But I'll try."

The next day, he sat beside her during storybook time and that seemed to help a little already. By the time it was lunch, her mood was lifted, which excited him too, and urged him to offer the grapes.

It earned him a featherlight kiss on the cheek.

Luke squeaked in surprise, flushing a firetruck red, to which she giggled and plopped another grape in her mouth.

Three days later, his crush was gone from his mind and he began sharing his grapes with his new friend Reginald instead.

1986

"Can you ask Jessica what she thinks of me?" Luke hurriedly whispered, eyes flickering between Reggie and the girl from across the courtyard.

Normally, Luke Patterson exuded confidence. The resident class clown, always opening his jaw to react to the teacher without raising his hand, catching fights with stupid classmates, sneaking into dad's stationwagon to create mixtapes.

Fearlessness was his freaking middle name. (It was actually Beck, but whatever. He wished it was something cool like Duran Duran though.)

But when it came to girls... he got so nervous. Because they were girls! He didn't understand them! They hated rambunctious boys and only listened to stupid pop music and blabbered about how they stole makeup from their sisters.

Jessica, however, somehow made his heart flutter and his stomach twist up. She just looked cool in her dungarees and she had a pretty smile and she didn't wear that overwhelming, sugary perfume that was now popular.

Reggie snickered, in the way only eight year old boys could. "You liiiiiiike her!"

"No!" He scowled. "I–I'm just curious."

"Sure," he drawled, but then shrugged in agreement, the oversized leather jacket rustling on his shoulders. He stole it from his older brother after he saw him kissing (!!!) some girl and figured it held some magic to impress the ladies with.

"Just do it!"

With a dramatic flourish, the boy left their hiding spot, Luke lurking around the corner of the alcove to watch. Jessica looked up from her hard work of creating friendship bracelets and smiled at Reggie.

Oh, gosh. She was pretty.

A minute later, a sheepish Reg slowly crawled back to him, cheeks red and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Luke grabbed his shoulders, urgent. "What did she say?"

"Uh... well..."

"C'mon, dude!"

Reggie sighed. "She... likes me, buddy. Sorry."

His hopeful face crashed into one of devestation, quickly covering it up with a laugh and a squeeze of the shoulder. Oh, man, what would Steven Tyler do?

"That– that's dope!"

In the end, Reggie and Jessica were boyfriend and girlfriend for a week while he wrote an angry poem about how stupid dungarees were.

Huh... it was surprisingly good.

1988

"Hey, Luke," Gwenn greeted, shy, tucking her hands in her Camp Wacky Rocka hoodie. "I really liked that song you made about your guitar."

Jumping from the tree branch to the ground, Luke dazzled her with an appreciative smile. From above, Reggie and their new friend Alex watched on curiously.

"Thanks!"

Who would've thought that summer camp would be the first time he made a real, girl friend! Gwenn was super cool and she played the saxophone and she liked Joan Jett and her hair was all curly and big and it reminded him of pretty clouds.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed a gaggle of girls staring at them. Like they were waiting.

Gwenn stared at him. "Can you close your eyes?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

Whatever. Maybe she wanted to show him something cool and would stick it in his hand. Complying, he closed his eyes and impatiently waited, bouncing on his heels.

"So?"

Suddenly, he felt a light, warm touch on his mouth and — oh! She was kissing him!

Luke staggered back in surprise, gawking at a blushing Gwenn as she squeaked a sorry and ran back to the now giggling and screeching girls. They ran away like a flock of birds.

It was a dare! His first kiss, stolen by a dare!

His boys jumped down beside him, awed.

Reggie hollered. "You kissed Gwenn!"

"I don't get it," Alex muttered.

Luke's face twisted up in a sour expression. Camp Wacky Rocka should be all about the music and becoming legends and Gwenn ruined it!

He stuck his tongue out. "Whatever. Let's go to the mess hall!"

1989

When Luke turned eleven, he kissed someone for real.

His birthday party was at the arcade, loud chatter and robotic sounds clashing together in an amazing cacophony. His parents hated the place, which is why Luke loved it.

Of the twenty guests, Yasmine clapped the loudest after he finished his song with the boys — Math Is For Losers! — and grabbed his hand as they walked to a duel game.

Luke felt fuckin' giddy the entire time. (Freakin' in front of his parents, fuckin' with friends.) The swoop in his stomach, his cheeks stretched into a wide beam.

Freshly eleven and the king of the arcade, he boldly asked if he could kiss her.

She smiled, her purple headband glittering in the neon lights, and nodded.

It was short and warm and her lips tasted like pink lemonade and sour gummies and it gave him an entirely new buzz. It was exciting.

He kissed her a couple more times the days after, eager and curious, until she claimed she was now only interested in twelve year old boys.

Since Luke now held the record of most kisses between him, Alex and Reggie, he wasn't too bothered by it. They shook hands, complimented each other on the kissing, and that was that.

1992

"Are you or are you not my boyfriend?" Olivia bit, crossing her arms.

Luke sighed, lazy gaze drifting from her to his band waiting by their bikes. Damn, he thought having a girlfriend would be way easier. Why was she so tense?

"I am," he said. "Why do you think I'm not?"

"Because you ignore me, like, all the time!" Pouting, she fiddled with the hem of her tartan skirt. "And now you're going to be with your band!"

He shrugged. "You can come with us and listen, if you want."

Luke met Olivia this year as deskmates in French class. Her raven hair was long and thick and her lips were all shiny from lip gloss and maybe he got a little cocky, thinking he could be dating the hottest girl of freshman year, so he naturally asked her out.

Maybe he should've considered beforehand whether they had anything in common, but he'd always been the overzealous type. And besides... she was a good kisser.

She scoffed. "That's not any better. Whatever. I'll just hang with Tina and Priscilla then. Laters!"

Plopping a kiss on his lips, she turned around and stalked to her whispering friends. Luke puffed, adjusted the beanie and made his way to the boys.

Girls were confusing.

"I bet dating boys is easier," Alex mused. "Like, equally terrifying, but also... easier. I think. Maybe."

Bobby laughed. "How's the girlfriend, Luke?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned. "Let's go. I got this new song, Crooked Teeth, and it's a fucking banger!"

Olivia broke up with him after Sunset Curve's first, official gig at the arcade with the explanation that he loved music more than her. He never loved her to begin with, so maybe that was the problem.

She made out with Bobby that same night.

Holy shit, man. He supposed that bitter feeling at the sight of them tasted like rock 'n roll, the one thing he actually craved.

What a funny, funny feeling. (He wrote a hell of a lot of songs about it after. He never quite looked at Bobby the same way either.)

1995

"Hey, Maisie." Leaning against the locker beside the girl, he shot her a million dollar smile. "You comin' to our gig tonight? It's at The Orpheum."

Maisie was fucking awesome. Always in short, flowery dresses and fishnet tights and thick eyeliner like a rockstar, always listening to something new on her walkman. She came from a rich family, but that didn't hinder them from becoming friends.

Her jaw fell slack in awe, him instantly gaining more confidence. Ducking his head to meet her eye, he leaned a little closer. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he got a thrill every time it worked.

"Really?" She gasped. "That's awesome! I'll so be there!"

"Sweet," he grinned. "And stay after too."

A brow quirked up, intrigued. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Just 'cause."

"Right," she drawled. "Nothing is 'just because' with you, Luke."

"And that's why you gotta stay," he teased, nudging her shoe with his. "To find out."

If they rocked that gig and he felt like a fucking legend, he hoped it would end with the two of them hooking up. He wasn't interested in dating — having learned his lesson after Olivia — and he knew she wasn't either, but she was fun.

And that was the most important to him: to have fucking fun. Luke Patterson was here for a good time, not a long time.

And if nothing happened between him and Maisie, then he'd still feel like a legend. In a couple of hours, he was going to play at The Orpheum! How gnarly was that?!

2022

Twenty-seven years later, Luke was still seventeen years old. While he preferred to not question the science behind ghostly activities — he flunked physics anyway — he was happy that he froze at this age.

Because Julie was seventeen, too.

And, man. He was madly in love with her.

He loved everything, from the babyhairs curling around her ears, to her voice and compassionate soul, to her beautiful smile, all the way to her cute, doodled sneakers.

Her epic music taste, her snark, the way she always found his gaze, the way she finished his lyrics, the way she always knew what to say to make him feel better.

His heart melted to a flickering candle whenever she hugged him, a raging wildfire erupting between every kiss. He was a fool for her.

"Stop moving," she giggled, one hand coming up to hold his chin.

He grinned, "Sorry, Jules."

Shifting closer, she dabbled more glitter on his cheeks. They were playing at a black-light club tonight, so Julie and Flynn bought all the glow in the dark makeup available at the store for the occasion.

They looked ridiculous in daylight, Julie's weirdly pink lipstick claiming all his attention, but he knew they'd look fucking cool once the lights went down.

"You want to watch a movie after the gig?" she whispered.

Luke rolled his eyes, playful. "You're gonna fall asleep."

"Yeah." With a bashful tilt of the shoulder, she leaned in closer. "But then you'll be with me."

"Julie! How scandalous," he teased, though his chest swelled at the thought of having some alone time, some cuddle time, with Julie.

"So?"

Murmuring a yes, he closed the little distance to kiss her, sealing the deal, only for her to chase after him — an attempt to wipe the lipstick stain off his lips.

"Nah, keep it." A smirk grew. "So the people know."

She tsked. "Idiot."

"You like it."

"I'm still taking it off though, seeing as you're supposed to be a hologram," she pointed out. "But... you can kiss my lipstick away after the show."

He sighed, dreamy. "I love you."

Finishing his glitter and removing the stain, she dazzled him with a satisfied smile. "Love you too."

She rose up from the couch and went to search for Reggie, the boy likely with Carlos. For a moment, Luke was alone in the studio, allowing himself to sink into that warm, fuzzy feeling.

No matter how many blunders he went through with girls — Haley, Jessica, Gwenn, Yasmine, Olivia, Maisie — they all prepared him, in one way or the other, for Julie.

To not only recognise when an awesome girl was standing right in front of him, but also how to treat her — because Julie Molina deserved the fucking world.

Even if that world now included the supernatural.

Whatever. They were all a little crazy.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @constantly-singing @unsaid-emily @willexx

[yourdorkiness]

summer goes in threes

mamma mia!au where the no. 3 gym gang are the three possible dads to be.

warnings: none. just fluff and one reference to sexy times. no knowledge of mamma mia required; it’s a really good movie though.

kuroo testurou is sam; the smooth, handsome, and dorky architect. it was a quite innocuous first meeting, despite all the strange variables which caused two rain infused strangers to bask in the warmth of the others sunshine smiles, a frickin’ horse separating them. the next day, he is knocking at door, pile of lumber in hand. “i know it is good etiquette to bring flowers to a beauty such as yourself, but i think the gaping hole in your stable would appreciate this much more.” you couldn’t wipe the grin on your face if you’d tried, for this polite young jackal had a warm ambience that belayed the supposed arogance of his speech. you invite him inside for tea. he stays the night. 

Golden eyes lazily follow you as your honeyed voice winds through old greek rafters; reminding you of the cat near your old dorm who would always recline on sun strewn brick walls from two o’clock to 6 o’clock like an eygptian sphinx, wisdom and wonder out of reach in unfathomable gazes. 

(“true gold” you’d tell him, when the silvery moonlight masks your secret musings, “is found through sifting and sifting, slowly removing impurities to create something ephemeral.” a thrill runs down your spine when he when gentle lips brushes your fingers. “that is true” said he, eyes  “for I have found gold inlaid amidst your soul.” “and i, your eyes.”) 

it is an ancient love story that is retold on the small greek island; one of hoarse laughter interwoven with cheesy jokes, a romance that makes you wonder each morning whether your heart has drowned beneath your rib cage, swept under tides and split open under pressures beyond your comprehension to offer all before such a man with such warm eyes. 

…yet so follows the tragic tale of achilles and patroclus, hubris splinters your heart seeing him smiling in the arms of another. The photo, his golden eyes, and- his smile. you are pierced, your soul rubbed raw, your golden armor (love sustains, love protects) crumbles into the sea. 

your lips find it hard to smile for a long time afterwards. 

(your soul is of gold, and perhaps one day it will regain its shimmer in the summer heat. but gold scars easily, and heartbreak leaves harsh marks.)

akaashi is harry; the “spontaneous” banker. serious, but with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. you both meet in paris, navigating a charming meal in paris with nervously fidgeting hands, a childlike waver of “will i, should i”. take his hand with a sugary sweet smile that melts bashful smiles as the warm feeling of companionship spurs the both of you on with determination newly unearthed. 

you feel like you are trapped in a hallmark movie, your heart never feeling like its beating out of your chest, but never cold. comfortable. it is a comfortable feeling, being with akaashi. for all his propriety, he is comfortable, dependable. laughter has never come more easily for both of you, each memory carved in perfection like marble, pure and stable. 

maybe that is why you find it so easy to leave, to abandon a work so beautiful that you wonder if it’ll stay that way, and leave his heart crudely carved with the beginning of something called heartbreak. It is something you find yourself regretting, when the sea is loud with missed chances retreating upon the shore, and the fragile love you had created with it. both of you floats back down to earth, purpose and duty carved in heavy lettering overtop your hearts. 

(but one day the sea beckons him, calling to him with a voice that speaks of a wedding, a chance for something new made of something old, amidst the blue Mediterranean Sea.)

bokuto is bill; one thing that strikes you when you first meet him is his mouth. his mouth is permanently curved upwards into a smile, piercing eyes crinkled into a grin that says that missed ferries allowing chanced first meetings. along with the sea breeze, your laughter mingles together to fill the sharp lines of the sails. 

the two of you are alone on the ocean, and it is in this moment that you forget past heartaches and sadness that clouds your way forward, for the sun is shining brightly along with his smile. a flirtatious tilt of his mouth as he leans against a sail turns to childish laughter barely catching himself when he slips, for he is so like the sea; happy one moment, sad the next, yet always sincere. 

when you here a shout off the starboard side of a boat full of happiness eager to share, there is not a moment of hesitation in bokuto as he jumps in. “for true love”, he later tells you brilliant smile not a least bit dampened by a dip into the sea, “so will you wait for me?”. and despite everything, you selfishly wish to sail on a bit longer with him, to depend on him and ignore the world until it is just you and him and the wide open sea of possibilities. but you have a stop to get off at.

as you step off the gangplank his hands are steady helping you reacclimate to the steady ground, a comforting warm shoulder that you used to lean on now carry your bags to your hotel. “it’s okay. you waited as long as you could.” the lump in your throat prevents you from saying anything back. goodbyes are a curse of your own making, you’d think you’d get used to it. you nod and leave again. the sea glimmers in the distance and you daren’t dream that the white sails perched on every wave that will pass by for years to come will be the one filled with times of happiness and his laughter. it’s impossible. years later, you and your daughters place three wedding invitations in a rickety blue mailbox, and you wonder if it’s truly impossible.

when he receives a letter, an invitation, it’s like the sun which was previously eclipsed emerged from the clouds, and childish laughter fills the Greek air once more. “Nothing is impossible!”

[forever-rogue]

Hey☺️ I was wondering if you could do 14 & 90 from prompt list 1, for reader x Javier. I think it would be cute if they were on about to head home or something and reader convinces Javi to go to the carnival. They play the carnival games that are almost always rigged (maybe I just sucked at them lol) and reader gets competitive over it. It’s a very fluffy request but it would be so cute to see javis playful side come out a bit🥺 thank you so much and I love your writing❤️❤️🥺

14. “But the carnival is right down the street! Can we please, please go!?” 

90. “I didn’t know you were so competitive.” 

I think Javier deserves some softness, don’t you?

Also not necessary, but I picture this being Javi and his Dulzura from AGM 🥺

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language 

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was a warm evening in Laredo, and the sun was starting to go down, casting the sky into brilliant hues of purples and pinks. It was warm still, the end of summer was slowly turning into fall, but warm enough where you could get away with wearing short sleeves and summer dresses. On this particular day, you were strolling hand in hand with Javier, taking your time as you walked home from dinner and back to Chucho’s house.

You’d come down to spend some time with Javier’s family, staying in town for a while for a wedding, and finally getting to relax and unwind for a while. You’d both been incredibly busy and it seemed like you hadn’t had more than a few minutes of alone time together. That’s why neither of you minded taking some extra time off and just being together. 

On this particular evening, Javier had taken you to one of his favorite places for dinner; it was nothing fancy or extravagant, but it had been his go to spot since he was young. You’d worn one of your - and Javier’s - favorite sundresses, not minding in the slightest as he eyed you up. Despite having been together for a few years now, you appreciated the attention. He always made you feel like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, like you were the one that personally hung all the stars in the night sky that he loved to watch so much. 

You couldn’t help but grin when you felt his thumb gently brush over the engagement ring that you now sported - soon enough it would be joined by a wedding band. He never thought he’d admit that he was exciting to get married, especially after his first engagement had ended in disaster, but fuck. He was excited to marry you - so excited to call you his wife. And you were just as excited to call him your husband. Javier was a good man - the best man - and to even think about spending the rest of your life with him was enough to set your soul on fire.

You grinned as you swung your hands back and forth, a little pep in your step as you noticed a commotion up ahead. Poking your head around, you tried to figure out what it was, but the laughter, music, and noise quickly provided an answer for you. Javier looked over at you, watched as your eyes widened in excitement, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Javi,” you tugged on his hand lightly, “the carnival is right down the street! Can we please, please go?”

“Hmm,” he pretended to muse softly as he quirked a brow at you. Your mouth formed a small o as you quickly realized he had known that it was here, “what a complete surprise...I had no clue. Definitely didn’t plan on walking this particular way at all, or anything…”

“You planned this,” you looked at him with soft eyes, watching as his own crinkled in the corners as he nodded with a smile, his dimple making its appearance. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned over and quickly kissed him, letting your lips linger against his own, “look at you, always managed to surprise me. How very romantic of you, Javier Peña.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” he shrugged lightly, relishing in your praise as a tinge of pink, similar to the color of shirt he was wearing, crept into his cheeks. Reaching over, you ran a hand through his dark locks, sighing contentedly as he keened into your touch, “but I thought you might like the idea.”

“I love it,” you agreed, giving him a quick kiss,  “I love you. Now - come on! We have to go; I want to go on the ferris wheel and those silly little games, oh! Cotton candy! No, no, no, funnel cake!”

“Don’t worry, Dulzura, it’s not going anywhere, we have plenty of time,” he insisted softly as you pulled him along with an excited bounce in your step. He couldn’t help but laugh as he followed after you. It was times like this, watching you get so excited and happy, that made him realize just how wonderful the little things were. Maybe it was just because he was so in love with you, maybe it was because he had softened with time - whatever the reason, he didn’t mind. He was happy; truly, truly happy.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You couldn’t help but giggle as Javier grabbed the bright blue cotton candy out of your hand. His fingers wrapped around your wrist as he brought your hand to his lips and licked your fingers clean of any of the sticky sweet residue. Your face flushed at the naughty little gesture, especially as he shot you a cheeky little wink.

“Behave Javier,” you warned, playfully slapping his cheek as you watched all the people around you. You’d been walking around, taking in all the sights and sounds as you watched the various people. Naturally, you’d already dragged him to the ferris wheel first, wanting to watch the remainder of the sunset from the top. You’d caught part of it, but the rest was cut off by Javier gently grabbing your face and kissing you until you were both breathless and grinning at each like lovestruck teenagers.

“What was that for?” you asked as you thoroughly lost the battle to keep the smile off of your face.

“No reason,” he promised, “I just really love you is all.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Javier gently interrupted your thoughts as you pulled you back into reality. You hadn’t realized that you’d zoned out and were staring at a small family that was nearby. It was a couple, flanked by their small daughters, both of which sported dark curls and soft dark eyes. You couldn’t help but think about yourself and Javi; perhaps one day that would be you as well. 

“Nothing,” you shied away from his question as you finished off the beer you were sharing while he polished off the sugary treat, “it’s silly.”

Almost as if he was able to read your mind, he turned to look at the happy little family as they started to walk away. You gave him a sheepish smile as he reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, “hopefully they’ll take after you.”

“Nope,” you grinned at him, “I hope they take after you, Javier Peña! Especially with those curls and those soft eyes, and that smile. Whatever way - they’d be lucky to have you as a father.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “they’ll be lucky to have a mother like you.”

“One day,” you said softly as he nodded in agreement, “one day.”

“Yes,” he promised, his heart already fluttered at the idea of your future children. He’d never given much thought to children, not before you anyway, but now? Now it was something he wanted just as much as he wanted to marry you. Who would have thought? Then again, he’d never expected you to make an appearance or just an impact on his life either. But here you were…”come on, let’s go play some games. I saw you eyeing that little hedgehog earlier!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

"All I have to do is throw the silly little ball into one of those big cups?" you asked, looking between Javier and the game attendant, as both men nodded. You took the bucket of balls that Javier had purchased, sure this would be an easy win. Plucking out the first one, you spied the lucky cup as you got lined up your shot.

"Don't get too confident," Javier smirked at you as he leaned against the counter. You scoffed lightly before dramatically pulling your arm back and making a show of shooting your first shot. It had to go in, there was no chance that it wouldn't and yet...nope..it bounced off the rim of the cup and landed in the space next to it.

"No way!" you groaned in disbelief as Javier tried not to laugh too loudly, his shoulders shaking with effort, "that totally should have gone in!"

"Try again, Dulzura," he insisted softly as you huffed lightly, "I'm sure you'll get it."

"Duh," you insisted with a smirk as you took another shot. This one, just like the last, hit the rim of the cup and then fell away from it, "umm...this is rigged! It has to be!"

"You've got plenty more tries," the attendant nodded towards your bucket, "surely one of them has to go in."

"It can and it will," you huffed as you tossed another ball, this one missing even worse than the last. Biting your lip, you held back a groan as Javier watching in amusement, "fuck!"

"Baby, there's children around," he almost doubled over in laughter at your reaction but you quickly flipped him the bird as you went back to your little game, "I didn't know you were so competitive!"

"Always," you insisted, "I always get what I want - I got you after all didn't I?"

"Yeah," he agreed with a goofy little grin, "you did. Go on and win big."

Even with his best wishes, you couldn't seem to get it right. It was another 17 tries and none of them got close. It seemed like it kept getting worse and worse with each successive throw. 

Once the balls were all used up, you groaned heavily, as the attendant took the empty bucket back. 

"Fancy another round?" he asked as you pouted at Javier. He shook his head as he came over and put his arm around your shoulder.

"We're good," Javier kissed the side of your head as he led you away and you sighed lightly, "its alright, Dulzura. Those games are set up for you to lose."

"I know," you looked around at some of the other games, a smile working its way back on your features as you watched all the kids laughing and screaming. Your eyes quickly found another game that intrigued you - this one where you had to aim water from a blaster at a small target in order to fill up the meter first. You weren't about to say anything, deciding it wasn't worth the time, and were ready to move on.

"Do you want to play?" Javi nudged his head in the direction of the game as you slowly nodded, "I saw that look in your eyes."

"I wasn't going to ask!" you laughed as he took your hand and led you over. 

"Because you know I'll kick your ass," he insisted as plopping down on one of the worn stools before beckoning for you to do the same. You quickly obliged as he paid, taking a hold of the mounted water pistol and aiming and trying to line it up with the target, "ready? Whoever fills the meter with water first wins."

"You're going down," you stuck your tongue out at him as the attendant unlocked the pistols and water began shooting out.

Quickly enough the two of you were laughing and giggling like maniacs as you both tried to win, playfully cursing each offer. It was hard not to get lost in Javi's laugh and excitement; it was also nice to see him so carefree and unfiltered.

"You're losing baby," he teased as you pulled yourself out of your head and adjusted your aim. His meter was almost at the top as yours was filled a measly halfway. You should have known better than to challenge a man with copious shooting experience. 

"You're a cheater," you insisted when he won a few seconds later, looking over at you with a victorious smirk, "this was a set up!"

"Nope," he insisted as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips, "you got distracted."

"Ugh," you teased as he helped you off the stool and the game attendant told him to pick out a prize. Javier feigned great interest as he walked around the whole booth, looking thoughtfully before calling the woman over. He whispered something in her ear before she nodded and he dashed off. You watched him in confusion, but stood there and waited.

It wasn't long before you heard footsteps behind you and he whispered, "close your eyes."

You obliged, making a show of holding your hands to your eyes as he shuffled around, "Javier…"

"Fine! Open," you slowly opened your eyes back up and when you did, all you saw that stuffed little hedgehog that you had spotted earlier in his hands. You looked between the plush and him as he slowly nodded and you grabbed it, holding it tightly to your chest, "I can play nice."

"Javi," you whispered softly, "you're too much. Thank you...I-I love you. So much."

"I know," he put his arm around your shoulder and you wrapped yours around his waist, "I love you too. But right now you're just saying that because of the hedgehog."

"I love you before then," you laughed, "and long after! Now, there's one more thing I want to do."

"Oh?"

"The tunnel of love!" you insisted with a wicked grin, "and excuse to sit in the dark on a dinky boat and make out like horny teenagers."

"Perfect," he agreed as he threw his head back with laughter, "fuck - I love you, baby."

"I love you, Javier Peña," you promised as you grabbed his hand and practically ran towards the line, "now come on!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[intimidating-fettuccine]

BEN - Longing 

I hope you all read and enjoy this, because I think it’s my favorite piece of writing.

Just something I got the urge to write since I’m soft for our boy.

Summary: You mentioned it in passing one day; that you liked when guys could play piano, for a few different reasons, one being your hope to one day have a romantic moment, one where you could rest upon someone as they played relaxingly elegant melodies on a piano. Who would’ve thought that BEN’s longing for you would lead him to learn to play the piano?

Warnings: Extreme amounts of fluff so sugary you’ll get cavities, BEN being head over heels for the reader, just something soft to soothe the soul because sometimes you just need something sweet, today’s reader is a bit mischievous and sweet, and ALSO equally head over heels for BEN, also this involves classical music because I’m a classical music fan so you can all suffer

Songs mentioned: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg&ab_channel=andrearomano , https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2deXwf4drE&ab_channel=andrearomano

His fingers were soft along the polished keys of the piano, the melody he was playing no longer what it was originally meant to be, now just an ever changing tune as his fingers danced across the keys. It was almost laughable, the reason why he had been teaching himself piano, the reason why he had even asked Slender to give him lessons.

You had mentioned it to Jane a while ago in passing; that you loved it when guys could play the piano, because playing it really well could be something difficult, because you loved the sound of the piano, and because you'd always wanted one of those romantic moments where you could snuggle up against someone as they played relaxingly elegant rhythms on a grand piano.

Who would've thought BEN's longing for you would have driven him to learn how to play the piano? With his lack of sleep in general and his stubborn drive to improve, over the last few months, he had gotten quite skilled at the instrument. He had learned the keys of the piano as well as he knew the backs of his hands, and he could even play several melodies with his eyes closed, such as the one he was currently playing. The one that had lured you into the music room.

"You're awfully good at that." Your voice was soft, and it sent a jolt through BEN, one that had him jumping, his fingers slamming into the keys, causing you to laugh and apologize.

"I didn't mean to scare you... I just, I wanted to listen and compliment you is all." Your smile was honest, and it caused BEN to swallow thickly.

"Would... Would you like to join me?" He gestured to the space next to him on the large piano bench, and something seemed to shine in your eyes as you nodded, walking over him to and delicately sitting next to him.

"That was Chopin, wasn't it?" You mused excitedly, the smile on your face growing, your eyes shining in delight.

"Yes, it was... Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, it's become one of my favorites." Your eyes seemed to glow even brighter at this, and you eagerly leaned closer to him.

"Really? It's one of my favorites too! It's so simple, yet beautiful... I've always admired it. I've found that if I just close my eyes and listen to it, I can lose myself in it... Like I'm floating on a cloud, or drifting into a different world." You spoke quickly and excitedly, but as you locked eyes with BEN, him staring at you widely, you began to grow a bit flustered, but before you could apologize, he spoke up.

"I think so too! It was really easy to learn, but it's just so fun to play. I find myself losing myself in the sound of it whenever I play it, which is probably why I didn't notice you coming in." His cheeks were red and his voice trailed off at the end, but his eyes were calling you in, as though the two of you were the only ones aware of this secret, aware of the pull of Chopin's melodies. You both smiled, laughing softly, turning your eyes to the keys again as BEN began to replay the song for you.

"I'm... A bit shocked. I never knew you would like classical." You spoke softly, scooting just a bit closer to him as you glanced down at your lap, playing with your hands.

"I never knew I would like it either... Although, I suppose classical sounds a bit better on piano than me trying to play all of my favorite game openings." He chuckled, and as you dared a glance at him the soft smile on his face took your breath away.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to BEN play out the song, and when it had come to an end, both of you hesitated, not wanting the moment to be over, wanting to continue living in this moment.

"Are you familiar with Debussy?" You spoke softly, afraid speaking too loud would shatter the moment between the two of you.

"A little... I've heard a few of his pieces, but I can only play Claire De Lune..." You smiled at that, and BEN seemed to get where you were going with this, and soon his fingers had resumed movement yet again, dancing out the melody of the aforementioned piece.

The piece was much faster, much louder than the previous one, and yet neither of you minded, just lost in the moment, enjoying your company and the beautiful melody of the piano. After a few moments, you took a deep breath, closing the gap between you and BEN so that your legs were almost touching, and you gazed at him again.

"May I?" You nodded your head to his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath, his cheeks and ears quickly tinting red, but he nodded, turning his eyes back to the keys before him.

You softly snuggled up to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to play the rest of the song. You could feel his skin growing warm, and you were sure that he could feel yours growing warm as well. The two of you melted away again. Suddenly, you weren't two people sitting on a piano bench, you were two people drifting across the sky, gazing up at the stars together, dancing along the moon, your bodies moving in sweet unison, twirling amongst the atmosphere. The moment was fragile, as though even a soft puff of air would shatter it, something so small and delicate, but to the two of you, it seemed to mean everything, something so important between you.

The two of you had never felt so close to each other, and it seemed that this situation had made the two of you realize something; that the two of you never wanted to drift apart, that you always wanted to be connected in this way. The song was meant to end a while ago, but BEN continued to play it again, starting over, wanting to prolong the closeness the two of you shared. As the song neared its end for a second time, you pulled away from him slowly, and the two of you locked eyes. As the melody drifted off and BEN's fingers came to a stop, both of you leaned forward, pressing your lips together in a tender kiss. The kiss itself was soft, but the emotions flowing through it were anything but, and as you pulled away it felt as though everything in the world made sense.

"Can I kiss you again?" The question was hardly a whisper, so soft it seemed as though you might not have even heard it, but the breath of air coming from his lips and landing on yours proved to you that he had in fact said it. You nodded softly and fluttered your eyes shut, the two of you leaning in, kissing each other yet again.

You didn't know how long the two of you kissed, it could have been two minutes or two hours, all that you knew was that it made sense and that you didn't want it to end. When the two of you finally separated at last when you locked eyes the two of you let out a shy stream of giggles, facing the piano again as you returned your head to his shoulder.

No words were needed between the two of you, basking in the feelings the two of you shared between you. You sat there, both of you with your eyes closed for what felt like an eternity, relishing in the present the two of you shared. It had been a few moments like that, before a sound drifted out amongst the room that had the two of you laughing softly again, a smile stretching across your face as you pushed yourself closer against him.

Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.

[grandtorinaa]

Armin Arlet x GN Black Reader

Fluff, Body positivity

Check out @gardenwritings ! I she inspired some of this with her own writing.

Some days just ended up being lazy, didn't they?

Lazy days where you didn't really remember what you ate for breakfast, or what you dreamt about last night. Lazy days where you ended up glued to a mass of blankets and pillows, scrolling through social media.

But at least you had Armin in the room to accompany you on your endeavors of nothing. It made things less boring.

A funny video came up on screen, and you snorted, tucking your head into a pillow you had been snuggling for awhile.

"What's so funny?" You jumped.

"Armin! Don't sneak up like that!" You said, still laughing a bit. You turned back to look at him, and he smiled at you sweetly.

He moved to cuddle you from behind, with his arms wrapping around your waist and his nose burying into the crook of your neck. You felt him sigh softly, melting into you and you let out a hum of contentment before turning back to your phone.

Some time passed by like this. Armin watching you use your phone with his hands gently roaming around your skin idly. He was a touchy person once he became comfortable with someone, you had learned this early on.

But there was something light and sweet about the way he touched you. Something that pulled at your heart when he embraced you so fully, it pulled so much it almost hurt, because you wanted to hold him too.

Another video played on your feed, and you felt his hands gently grace over your hips and across the band of your shorts. You both laughed at the meme, although his was a bit muffled from the way he had buried his face into you. You felt him trace the edge of the waistband before stopping completely.

"It's fine, don't worry." You hummed idly.

His fingers dipped under the fabric and simply, ran along your skin. You knew it wasn't intended to be sexual right now, physical touch, close contact, it was just a form of affection for him. Armin was always looking for skinship with you, holding hands, hugging, resting his head on your stomach. Heat, closeness and warmth. It was hard to blame him for seeking it out.

You shivered a bit though when you felt him feel along your stretch marks though. Someone else looking at them...touching them...felt odd.

But he brushed his fingers against them so softly, drinking in every bit of raised skin, and every bump and curve you had.

"I wish they showed more of these."

He murmured.

"Hm?"

"I wish they showed more people who just...I want…"

His breath tickled your earlobe.

"I wished they showed more people who looked like you."

Suddenly, you felt a slight heat rush to your face. "M-me?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I just, really like, you, everything, how you are."

You swallowed somewhat harshly, not even noticing that your phone screen had turned off.

Armin planted a soft peck to your neck that melted into a butterfly kiss. "You're really amazing, y/n."

"Y-yeah?"

Gosh, you didn't prepare for an onslaught of complements. Your heart was beginning to thump louder in your chest with every sugary, silky word he said.

"What do you like about me?"

"Mm," he felt his chest rise as he inhaled. "Your skin is really beautiful."

You shifted a bit in his hold. "I have body acne."

"I don't care." You felt his hand brush over your back. "I don't think it's bad."

You could almost feel his heartbeat through his fingertips with the way they touched you so intentionally, filled to the brim with adoration and practically worship. Laying down his bare feelings at the shrine of your heart, every word a prayer to a body he thought held the reverence and revere of something ethereal.

It was deeply embarrassing to be fawned over, but yet you wanted, no, needed to keep hearing it.

"Your stretch marks," he laughed, oh so lightly. "Your stretch marks are one of my favorite things. No one else has them."

"Armin, tons of people have stretch marks."

"Yeah but, no one has yours." Goosebumps came up over you. "I like yours a lot. I like the way they feel, the way they look," his thumb rubbed circles on top of one. "It's like they're talking about how much you've changed over time, how much progress you've made."

You turned your face away from him into the pillows and blankets.

Those lovely honeyed words kept leaving his mouth, spinning lines and pages of poetry, songs, mumblings and muses of how much a single person could adore you. It made your soul feel desperate, almost greedy for such deep praise. You almost felt sorry. With how he so openly embraced you, held you with that soul healing warmth.

You could feel the subtle vibrations of his words through your skin as he kept talking. You could feel the gentle shake of your heartbeat in your chest.

You turned halfway to face him, and he was still talking. And you pressed your lips to his, and he was still talking. The buzz of his words lingering in your mouth. He shuttered, deepening the kiss before pulling back to take bated breaths.

"Y-y/n?"

"I love you."

And you leaned in to kiss him again.