#I can’t look at this anymore why are kisses so difficult to draw

[wispscribbles]

“Welcome home, Simon.”

[beenbaanbuun]

Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

——————————————————————————

hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

[hazbinhappy]

Hi! First of all, happy spring break! I hope you enjoy your time off! ♡

I love Husk so much, he needs love to heal his dead heart 💔 so maybe femreader who's at the hotel with everyone and he finds himself catching feelings. And it terrifies the hell outta him. He hasn't felt anything like it in so so long, maybe nothing ever this strong. He has no idea what to do about it but the longer he's around her, it becomes more and more difficult to keep his feelings to himself. (If you like angst, maybe he pushes her away at first and she's hurt by it and it leads to a blow up which ends in his confession.)

Aaaand an idea for Overlord!Husk. We still don't know much about that part of his story, but let's say one of the souls he owns is readers. How he got her soul can be up to you. He starts to develop real feelings for her but she doesn't think they're genuine since she thinks she's just his "pet"

A/N: I am enjoying my spring break! Just lounging around, playing video games, and drawing! And of course writing and doing matchups! I hope I do these two well! I separated them with separate gifs! I changed up the first one a bit! god i just love overlord husk my man my man my man i went so hard on this for husk actually not being my top favorite (he is a top 3 three) I decided to mix the singer one with this overlord husk due to catching feels and being sweet <3

I feel like he is someone who clocks his feelings quickly or ignores the fuck outta them until he can’t anymore

I think in his past life he may have been married, but divorced because of his alcoholism and gambling addiction

So when he meets you he’s fine in the beginning. You’re just a soul who is trying out this redemption thing. So what?

But then you start to come to the bar more and more often. You don’t even get alcoholic drinks. Just Shirley Temple’s or non-alcoholic versions of drinks.

It confuses him because why come to the bar, silently have a drink, and then leave?

Eventually you start to talk with him, but you’re sober. You’re not drunkenly confessing anything, you’re just making light conversation, maybe a thing or two about your past or current life.

Soon, maybe a couple months, he starts opening up too and enjoys having conversations with you and in fact looks forward to when your freetime matches up so you can talk or even play cards (“What’s on the table?” “It’s just a friendly game of poker, Husk. Nothing more, nothing less.”)

Angel teases him one day about how he’s smiling more and seems to perk up whenever he hears your voice or even the mention of your name

That’s when it really sets into his mind and he starts to think about it.

Unfortunately that soon leads to him becoming avoidant and shut off from conversations leading to the same on your end as well before evolving into you guys simply not talking anymore

This actually upsets Angel and Charlie (moreso Charlie, but Angel decides to take care of it because we all know how Charlie can get a bit too involved in things)

Angel and you have a little heart to heart and Angel just…. He just laughs because it’s funny to him! You two are old souls who used to be married (and divorced) and y’all don’t know how to handle love anymore!

Angel comes up with this big grandiose plan on to confess but you settle on just a simple “smoke break” confession/trapping him on a break

Husk is standing on the balcony for a breather as you slip in behind him. He goes to leave but you purposefully block the door.

It’s a back and forth mini-argument. You planned on confessing first, but then he just blurts it out like a middle schooler admitting his first crush.

It’s a bit silly. This old man just blurts out his feelings as you’re standing there silent.

It’s a sweet moment to though because you give him a hug and cheek kiss (sorry I am a sucker for those I find them adorable) before confessing as well

Thankfully the hotel can run as normal without all the tension

Poor Alastor though he was loving all the misery and sadness coming from you two, mainly from Husk; he provided no real good advice

Did you know that most casinos don’t have clocks or windows so you don’t know how long you’ve been there and keep staying :D

So the only person with a watch is Husk and that is like a hidden pocket watch that he only checks when he gets a drink

I think that reader may have been one of the first souls he got! Or maybe the first he got specifically for the casino. He wanted some entertainment for the place to also keep people coming or staying so that’s what he uses your soul for!

He probably just smooth talked you into it or you made a silly bet and lost so you now have to work for him. So your relationship doesn’t necessarily start bad because you don’t hate him depending on if you choose the losing bet option, but if you choose the tricked option then it doesn’t start off well

Eventually it does get better over the years!

He starts to pay you a bit more and finally allow people to tip you; he doesn’t mind if you gamble because I like to believe that he houses people in an area above the casino so he has another layer of control as well

He tells his workers whether or not it’s daytime if they ask in private; when people know what time it is for your show they’ll be an announcement of like “Show in thirty minutes” so patrons are still in the dark about the actual time

He now doesn’t visit your shows with the idea “Yeah I own them”, but instead “Aren’t they gorgeous and saying a good job, say they’re doing a good job or I’ll fucking cut you-”

 At this particular show you sing “Once Upon a Dream” (a song from your favorite movie as a child Sleeping Beauty came out in 1959) just to change it up from all of the loud game noises and yells in the casino

When you look over at Husk with that sweet smile and look as you walk around, even running your fingers across the back of his chair before doing so to some other people

It makes him feel giddy for some reason even though he wasn’t the only person who you gently touched… but he was the only person who you gave that look to

After your shift ends and you’re in the dressing room grabbing your things, he was leaning on the doorway smoking a cigar

“So, doll, do you look at everyone that way when you sing or just me?”

“Jesus, Husk! Warn a person before you sneak up on them.”

 “Apologies, so?”

“...Well…um…the song-”

“No is a sufficient answer.”

“No… I don’t look at everyone that way when I sing.”

“Mmm, nice to know. Have a good night.”

It’s not necessarily an odd conversation, but it’s not solidified in what you guys feel about each other

It is very flirty between y’all though and it’s known that you are off-limits and your are his

You question it a lot (and so do other people) considering he owns your soul and he specifically made you an entertainment piece at his casino, but he definitely takes you out and lets you have more freedom than the other souls, so your worries aren’t completely squashed, but you feel better

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“You guys never wanna hang out anymore.”

Dustin crosses his arms over his chest and turns away, which earns a scoff and a laugh from Eddie.

“We’re hanging out right now, Henderson.”

“Not just us,” Dustin grumbles.

He narrows his eyes, and when Eddie follows his gaze, he spots Steve a couple yards away. Cupping Billy’s face in his hands and kissing the freckled bridge of his nose.

The sight warms Eddie’s heart. Especially when the blond doesn’t struggle to get away from the affection.

“Should I not invite them next time?” Eddie asks. “Stevie’s never been good about holding back on the PDA.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Eddie’s brows draw down in concentration. It can be difficult to keep up with Dustin’s likes and dislikes sometimes — when Eddie and Steve first got together, he gave Eddie the cold shoulder for a while. Didn’t talk to Steve much either, but he completely ignored Eddie whenever he saw fit. Turns out no matter how cool he might think Eddie is, Steve is just a notch higher in his book.

Big brothers do come before best friends, Eddie supposes.

It was worse when they first announced that Billy was their partner as well. Dustin was pissed, but he didn’t make it obvious unless Billy was around.

Eddie honestly thought he’d gotten over it already.

“That’s not fair.”

Dustin tears his gaze away from the smooching couple and furrows his brows at Eddie.

“What?”

“I can’t invite Steve but not Billy. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“He can’t stand to be away from you guys for an afternoon?” Dustin huffs. “I miss just hanging out with you both.”

“Look, if you wanna hang out one-on-one, we can plan accordingly. If you wanna hang out with Stevie and I, we can plan accordingly.” Eddie leans back on his hands in the grass. Tilting his head to the side. “But we can’t just spontaneously go out, and tell Billy that he can’t come for no reason. Okay?”

Dustin’s face looks like it’s going to explode out of his head for a moment. Eddie sighs and internally braces himself for whatever tantrum is about to grace him, but his attention is pulled away by a chorus of laughter a ways away.

His boys are lying on the ground, chests heaving from running around and because Steve just not-so-gracefully tackled Billy. Their smiles are huge, even when Billy springs up and starts wrestling Steve into the grass with the goal to pin him.

The sight, the sound of their giggles and fast breaths makes Eddie’s heart soar. He’s never been the roughhousing, physical type.

But he’s glad they’ve found that in each other.

“I guess I just don’t get it,” Dustin says.

Eddie glances over at him. Finds that he, too, is watching the display.

“Get what?”

Dustin pulls a few blades of grass up out of the ground and drops them unceremoniously before he rips more out while he thinks.

“Why you guys like him so much.”

“Want me to tell you?”

Their eyes meet briefly and Dustin nods. Eddie spreads a little smile.

“He loves hard and fast, makes it kinda hard to keep up with sometimes,” Eddie chuckles. “Stevie’s all about being slow and careful. His way of loving is very handled, so to speak.”

In the distance, the laughter has quieted down. Billy, on his back, gently smooths his palms up Steve’s thighs. Lets himself be pressed into the earth by warm weight and soft lips.

Eddie continues, “Obviously, calm and crazy don’t always mix very well on their own, so they need a mediator sometimes. Someone who’s a little bit both.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at Dustin, who huffs amusedly as he considers the new information.

“You guys balance each other out? That’s kind of cliche.”

“Maybe so, but the point I was getting to is that if we left Billy at home today, what do you think Steve would be doing right now? Sitting here looking bored? Pacing?”

“Probably…”

“And what about Billy? Alone at home wondering why we didn’t include him? He’s a lot more sensitive than he looks, kid, I guarantee he would’ve been in tears within the first hour after we left.”

Dustin pouts for a moment. Eddie looks back up the hill. Finds Steve carefully brushing Billy’s hair out of his face and smoothing his thumb along his cheekbone.

They both look so tuckered out suddenly.

“We’re better together, Henderson. I would’ve been really sad at the end of the night if I went home and found my boy upset like that, and so would Steve.”

Dustin nods dejectedly.

“Yeah…”

“We can definitely plan to hang out, though,” Eddie reassures. Reaches out and nudges Dustin’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Just us.”

Dustin nods again, but this time he spreads the faintest smile as well.

Their attention is pulled away when footsteps approach. Billy and Steve are hand-in-hand, walking down the hill, when Steve slips on the grass. Billy pulls him back up before he even makes contact with the ground, resulting in giggles and a slightly startled-looking brunet.

Once they reach the base of the hill, they come to settle at each of Eddie’s sides. Billy leans heavily into his shoulder and sighs fondly when an arm drapes around him.

“Did Stevie get too rough with you again?” Eddie coos.

Billy snorts.

“Other way around, Edd,” Steve huffs.

“I was gentle.”

“Sure, that’s probably why I’m gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow.” Steve shifts into Eddie’s other side, lacing both of his arms around his torso. “People at work are gonna be asking me if I’m safe at home.”

Every word is very evidently accompanied by a smile. Billy chuckles and presses closer. Reaches out to lightly brush his fingers over Steve’s forearm.

“I didn’t rough you up too bad, did I?”

Every time the two tousle around, Steve has to try and keep up, meanwhile Billy shows restraint. He rolls over every time without fail and lets Steve pin him.

It’s like a dance that they do.

“No, love, you didn’t.”

Both boys at either of Eddie’s sides curl closer to him, effectively sandwiching him between them. He presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead while he cards his fingers into Billy’s hair.

Practically has them both purring in a matter of seconds.

“Couple a’ sweethearts,” he muses.

Billy sits up a little, just enough to look at him.

“You wanna go, Munson?” he challenges. “I’ll take you out right now.”

A large hand smooths up Eddie’s sternum, over his collar and comes to rest at the crook of his neck, thumb gently swiping over his Adam’s apple.

“Sure,” Eddie hums. “Where’re we gonna eat?”

The blond snickers and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Anywhere you want. Steve’s treat.”

“Hey.”

Steve reaches over and playfully thumps Billy’s leg, which has the blond grinning in the moment of stillness before he reaches back, and Steve dodges away from his hand. They’re quickly scrambling to get up again, sneakers ripping grass from the earth as Billy seamlessly separates from Eddie’s side and lunges at the other brunet.

Then they’re back to chasing one another and huffing out-of-breath giggles.

Eddie watches for a moment, smiling. Just until they wind up on the ground again with Steve on top.

“Yeah, Henderson, I love my boys. I love ‘em a lot,” Eddie says softly. He glances over at Dustin just in time to see him avert his eyes, a contemplative look playing on his features. “I bet you’d get along with Billy if you gave him a chance. He and I are pretty similar in some aspects.”

Dustin makes a face.

“How so? Aside from the taste in music.”

Eddie blows a raspberry and leans back on his hands, looking up at the fading blue of the sky.

“He’s nerdy, for one. He’s always reading gothic literature that goes way over my head, and I read some pretty odd shit,” Eddie begins. “He proofreads my notes and all of my campaigns, which I’m sure none of you guys know about, now that I think about it. Y’know how I brought Iymrith back a few sessions ago and you guys all lost your shit?”

Dustin’s eyes widen and his jaw drops.

“That was his idea?”

“Sure was. He also suggested the mimics, among other things— my point is, he’s more on-our-level than you give him credit for. I think you’d enjoy him if you took a sec to look past all of the denim and hairspray.”

Dustin seems to think on it. Eddie lolls his head to the side and sighs softly.

“Doesn’t have to be today, obviously. This stuff takes time,” Eddie adds.

The chorus of laughter has stopped. Billy and Steve lie next to each other in the grass, pressed as close as they can physically get, chests still rising and falling a little fast.

Dustin presses his lips into a line as he watches them. Watches how Steve nuzzles their heads together and splays a hand against Billy’s chest, smoothing down to settle just over his ribs at his opposite side.

Though Eddie would like to think that his words have fixed everything, he knows deep down that Steve has the ultimate sway.

And his soft touches speak louder than any words ever could.

“Okay,” Dustin says.

His gaze lingers on the couple a few paces away for a moment longer before he pulls more grass up from the earth, a look of contentment on his face.

Eddie can’t help but grin.

“Okay.”

[allhappyandgay]

Did El spy on Mike and Will in the van?

I know people theorize that El spied on mike and will while they were separated and that she overhears them all the time, but I haven’t seen a ton of actual reasoning other than her having the power to do so. this might actually tie that theory together! it’s still just a theory, but I think I’ve put together how El knows about mike and will and that it will be a big part of how byler comes to be in s5.

while watching some analysis on the scene where El is drawing the stick figures on the window (possibly showing that she is aware or has thought about mike and wills feelings for each other), it got me thinking.

so.

at the surfer boy pizza when El and mike are joking at the table, El suddenly changes the tone of the conversation. she takes mike’s hands almost like she’s bracing him—this is going to be a difficult conversation. she begins with

“I missed you.”

now if you remember this scene you know she wasn’t just saying “I missed you so much mike! Im so glad we’re together again!” she said it as a serious statement, like she was leading to something else before mike started talking.

what if she was going to say that she missed mike while she was at NINA, so she went into her mindscape void place to see if they were okay and while she was checking on them she spied on mike and will in the van? (I can’t think of any other scenes that would give her any ideas so we’ll go with the van/painting scene)

my overarching reason for this is the way El acts around mike after they reunite.

first off, they don’t kiss.

I think there are multiple reasons they don’t kiss but to stay on topic I think El has already broken them up in her head.

aside from their relationship status being mostly undetermined at this point, maybe another reason she didn’t kiss him and instead had almost the exact same reunion with will is because she had already entertained, or even accepted, the idea of mike and will having feelings for each other after having already spied on them.

this way, El knows the real reason mike doesn’t love her, which is why she isn’t upset at him anymore (until after the monologue). I will come back to this later.

El looks at mike a certain way at the pizza place (the only alone time they have between reuniting and mikes monologue), almost like she’s seeing him in a new light, with a loving, compassionate look on her face. this leads right into the ‘almost break-up’ as people like to call it.

she already had the idea of mike and will in her head before she decided to confront mike about it, hence the stick figure drawing on the window. that was her telling us that she knew, before she was going to tell mike as well.

notice how she approached the conversation with such an empathetic and caring demeanor in contrast to her ignoring him and will after the monologue. this is because she was going to confront him about whatever she saw between him and will in the van, have a mutual break up, and become closer platonically.

and this is exactly why she starts with “I missed you”, she’s giving him some background—as she knows mike hates being spied on—before dropping the ‘I know what you are’ bomb on him.

but that didn’t happen, did it?

instead, mike seemingly begins taking it in the opposite direction (from El’s perspective) and the moment builds up for him to finally tell her he loves her.

of course this is right before argyle slams pizza in between them (god damn fucking interruption trope) so we really don’t know whether mike was going to confess his love or, too, suggest they break up. either way I do believe El expected he was going to say I love you which still helps my case, because, well, look at her face!!

yes this is her realizing what mike is about to say. doesn’t look too pleased does she? she looks apprehensive, and almost scared. she no longer wants mike to tell her he loves her.

then BAM! in comes argyle with the pineapple pizza. this brings me to my next point:

argyle and el have an understanding.

this genius analysis by @dinitride-art suggests argyle and El both have the same idea about mike and will. I highly suggest reading it because it goes in depth about the lighting and shots which i’m not going to do. so let’s just say argyle knows.

this would explain why both El and argyle are trying to get mike to eat the pizza after he calls it “blasphemous”. they both say “try before you deny”; they both know.

(we have now been given 2 pieces of visual evidence that El knows about mike and will: the stick figure drawing on the window, and her feeding him the gay pizza)

now. with the idea fresh in your brain that El was planning on breaking up with mike, i’d like to plant yet another idea in there.

mike was not going to say he loves El.

I could be totally wrong, but let’s assume mike was going to come out/break up with El too before they got interrupted. this is because at this point, based on the van scene with will, mike believes will reciprocates his feelings. he has hope.

so El and mike are both thinking the same thing, they were going to mutually break up. then they get interrupted and we skip to the bath where el gets tied up by vecna.

this is where everything goes to shit.

will encourages mike to say what he does to el, crushing all of mikes hope that will loved him back, resulting in mikes lie filled speech to El. the monologue obviously didn’t work for several reasons, and El is fully aware that mike is lying to her.

after the monologue, El ignores mike and will for the most part, probably upset that mike lied to her again about something so meaningful like love. she wasn’t mad at him before the monologue because she realized the reason mike couldn’t say I love you was because he is gay and struggling in the closet.

but now it’s different. now she has been lied to even further, with the knowledge that he can’t love her in that way. she probably feels used and angry, especially since his monologue hindered her ability to help max sooner.

now for a summary!

because I am already confusing myself with all this lol

at the beginning of s4, El is upset that mike won’t say he loves her, but she doesn’t know why he can’t. El goes to NINA and gets her powers back, and then tries to find the cali crew through the void because she misses them. El ends up spying on mike and will during the van/painting scene. El now has an idea that mike and will love each other, and that that is why he can’t say I love you (she is not mad about this, quite the contrary). El and the cali crew reunite, figure out a plan and prepare. El takes the opportunity to confront mike about what she saw, her reasoning being that she missed him, and that is why she spied and ended up seeing him and mike. she is planning to tell him that she accepts him and they will mutually break up. mike starts talking before she can say anything other than “I missed you”, resulting in the audience taking it as a romantic gesture or just a statement and nothing else (which it was not, it was her opening for the break up). mike starts building up to say something, which El thinks is ‘I love you’, which she does not want because she now knows the truth. they get interrupted by argyle with gay pizza, and el and argyle try to get mike to try it, implying they both would be supportive of mike being gay. then we skip to El being choked by the vines, will tells mike he’s the heart and not to stop, making mike realize he misinterpreted wills love confession (he didn’t, there’s a whole lot of miscommunication happening). mike then says what he thinks El wants to hear, which is that he loves her. but El knows that he doesn’t so his monologue does not help her, instead it distracts and hurts her. she’s able to help max only when mike tells her to fight. when El wakes up and they drive to hawkins El doesn’t speak to mike or will because she has now been lied to further after she already knew the truth.

I imagine in s5, when mike and el inevitably confront each other again to see where they stand, that El will tell him what she was going to at the surfer boy pizza. which is that she knows about him and will. we will probably be shown a flash back of her seeing the van scene in the void, which is when the audience will also find out. this way they can finally break up, mike has the start of a support system, and a deeper understanding and connection between mike and El will be necessary for both of their arcs next season. this will also kickstart byler because when El tells mike that she had nothing to do with the painting after seeing will lie about it, mike will finally be secure in knowing will reciprocates his feelings after going back and forth all of s4.

to close this up, *inhales* I AM SO EXCITED FOR PLATONIC ELMIKE!!!!!!!!

july 2022 Edit: changed my mind since I posted this but it hasn’t disappeared yet n most ppl rb the original so I just wanted to say, the way the whole painting fiasco will go down in st5 is not gonna be all rainbows and sparkles, I do hope mike and el will be able support each other and they won’t like leave each other’s lives ofc but by platonic elmike I meant broken-up-mlvn lol not gay besties. also taking into consideration the very real possibility of them being cousins… anywho mike is repressed af still and he won’t be able to just,,, lay it all out on the table and explain. there was nothing in s4 that indicated he is ready to get all that out yet except maybe the baby step that was holding wills shoulder and not being stirred up one bit by el stonewalling. plus, yknow, all the talk abt telling the truth even if its scary. as for el she has alllll of next season to figure her shit out too, she made bigger steps in s4 toward her arc than mike I think but she’s not there yet.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Autumn Flush

Second Flush | Masterlist

Pairing: Old Western Retired!Christopher Pike x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only (Minors interacting with the work will be blocked)

Notes: *The term ‘flush’ in the chapter titles has nothing to do with skin tone. It’s in relation to the phrase ‘the first flush of spring’; ‘second flush’; ‘autumn flush’.

Sorry this took me 800 years. Here's the last bit!

Warnings: Cursing; fluff; Reader is a virgin; period-typical attitudes toward sex; explicit sexual content - fingering; vaginal sex; unsafe sex; creampie

Summary: Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a  way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it. 

GIF by dearemma

It’s difficult, altering your established routine with Christopher. He goes out of his way to come and visit you on Sundays, rather than your trekking up to his cabin to spend time alone with him. Dr. M’Benga kindly agrees to act as chaperone, allowing the two of you to spend time together ‘properly’. You sit in M'Benga's parlor, sharing conversation and coffee with Christopher and the doctor. But M'Benga always finds a way to excuse himself and Rukiya for at least a few minutes, allowing yourself and Christopher to have some proper alone time. 

When this begins, you start by shyly inching closer to one another and taking hold of each other’ hands. But as your courtship goes on, you’re already moving toward one another before the doors to the parlor can close entirely. 

Now, Christopher sits on the settee beside you, taking hold of your hand in his. You lean into him happily, resting your head on his shoulder as you intertwine your fingers. There’s a warm August breeze pushing through the window, ruffling the curtains. You tip your head up, brushing a kiss to his jaw. Christopher hums happily, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“I miss coming to see you,” You admit softly. “I liked the walk.” 

“Just the walk?” 

“Not just the walk...I miss the horses, too.” 

“The horses.”

“Well you’re here,” You point out, batting your eyelashes at Christopher. “So I can’t miss ya, can I?” 

“Then I will see you in two weeks.” 

You couch a giggle in a groan, resting your head back against the settee. 

“Don’t do that,” You pout. “I’ll be lonely.” 

“You have friends in town,” Christopher points out, “Una and Joseph, Jim, Spock, Christine.” 

It’s true. You’ve found a community beyond Christopher in Enterprise. The whispers haven’t stopped or disappeared, but they’ve grown more quiet under the pleasant conversation of your friends. 

“Still,” You mumble, peering down at your joined hands. “I don’t like missing you. I did that long enough when I was in Baxter’s Crossing.” 

Christopher is quiet for a moment before he untangles his fingers from yours. You frown a touch at shift, but he wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. 

“I missed you, too,” He admits in a murmur. You smile, curling your arm around his middle and nuzzling into his neck. 

“I didn’t think you would,” You mumble.

“Why do you say that?”

You can hear his frown, and you reach down to pick to a piece of lint on your dress, distracting yourself from the painful memory.

“You didn’t turn to look at me when you left.” 

“I figured you’d gone inside.” 

“I watched you until I couldn’t see you anymore. I wanted you to look at me.” 

Christopher sighs softly, breath brushing across your forehead. 

“I couldn’t have left if I’d turned to look at you,” He admits. You snuggle closer, despite the warmth of the room. 

“I’ll have to save these moments up, too,” You sigh.

“Why do you say that?” 

“Well��I know it’s a long ways off, but come winter, it’ll be harder for you to come into town.” 

Christopher grunts thoughtfully, rubbing your hand gently with his. 

“I’ve been thinking about that.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm…Cabin’s an awful lot of space for one person.” 

It doesn’t take long for the implication to sink into you, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it at first. 

“You came up to Enterprise for space, Christopher," Your voice shakes as you remind him.

“There’ll be plenty of space, even with two…Maybe three, some day.” 

-- 

The celebration is a small one, but you’re certain it couldn’t be lovelier. The town’s judge officiates; half of Enterprise turns up to see the two of you married. You can’t shield or mask your joy, and you don’t want to. Tears spring up in your eyes as you exchange vows; you have to stop yourself from leaning into his chest and clinging to him in front of the others. 

-- 

“Would you stop that?” Christopher laughs as you stroke your fingers over his bare cheek. 

“Absolutely not,” You shake your head. “I’ve never seen all of my husband’s face before. This’ll be quite the adjustment for me.” 

Christopher’s smile spreads brightly across his lips. He turns his head, brushing his lips across the band on your ring finger. 

“Do you think you’ll manage it?” He murmurs. 

“I’ll have to find a way, I suppose. Of course that may include touching your cheek.” 

“I see.” 

“Can you stand it?” 

“I’ll find a way.” 

-- 

The sun is beginning to rise hazily in the September sky as you and Christopher finally get ready for bed. You’d made short work of the morning chores while you were still in your wedding clothes: he’d fed and watered the horses while you’d fed the chickens and fetched the eggs. You tiredly kick your shoes off, nudging them aside. You’re exhausted; your feet ache form dancing; your cheeks hurt from smiling. 

“Could you help me with this?” You yawn, waving at the lacing on the back of your dress. Christopher hums, fingers carefully working at the fastening. You sigh softly as you feel the bodice loosen. 

“Thank you,” You sigh as you wriggle out of the dress and skirts. You’re left in your shift as you climb onto the bed. You turn to watch Christopher undo the buttons on his waistcoat. You move up on your knees, crawling across the bed to him. As Christopher shrugs off his waistcoat, you raise your hands, making short work of the buttons on his shirt. Your face heats at the feeling of Christopher watching you so closely. 

You suddenly feel terribly shy. Maybe it’s silly to feel that way; you’ve only been married for twelve hours. You were warned by your employer that Christopher may be a touch pushy—may demand that you complete your wifely chore. When you’d asked which she meant, the horses or chickens, she’d just given you a pitiful smile. Her true meaning had become apparent far too late. Now, you can’t get it out of your mind. You’re certain that Christopher would never demand that of you, but the prospect makes you nervous. 

When Christopher cups your cheeks, your eyelids flutter. You feel yourself swaying into his chest, tipping your chin up for a kiss. Christopher gives it to you without hesitation or teasing. He slides his hands down over your bare shoulders, smoothing over the goosebumps blossoming on your skin. He leans back, eyes skimming your face—but before he can lean in for another kiss, you yawn widely. You raise your hand to cover your mouth, ducking your head in embarrassment as Christopher chuckles. 

“Why don’t we get some sleep?” Christopher urges. You slide back in the bed, pushing your legs beneath the sheets. You mean to watch Christopher undress the rest of the way—you want to watch him, but your head is so heavy with fatigue. You feel the bed dip beside you, and you snuggle close on instinct. You rest your hand on his chest, and find it bare. Your eyes do open, then, a touch stunned. Christopher just eyes you with a patient, fond smile as he raises his hand, stroking his knuckles along your jaw. 

“Rest, my darling girl.” 

--  

Perhaps living with a man should be more of an adjustment. Perhaps it would be more stilted of a change if you didn’t already know him so well. It is a little strange, but living with Christopher is enjoyable. You love waking up to the sight of him; you love finding yourself curled in his arms. You find that you really don’t mind getting up early to tend to the horses and the chickens. Christopher takes care of the more physical odds and ends around the cabin—cording wood, exercising the horses. You handle most of the duties in the home—managing the cabin’s inventory, cooking meals, washing your clothes. The two of you take trips into town every week, to visit with others, and to pick up supplies. 

Your life has an ease and a feeling of normalcy that was unimaginable when you were ferrying the baby to her grandparents. 

--

“Y’alright?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, hardly looking away from the dough that you’re forming in neat rolls. As you tuck the last of them into the dutch oven, Christopher rounds the counter, plucking it up and heading for the fire. 

“Thank you,” You chuckle. Christopher waves it off as he sets it on the hook. When he turns back, he finds you wiping the excess flour from the counter with a wet rag, a fond smile pointed at him. He smiles, too, and your heart lifts into your throat as he takes slow, steady steps toward you. You hurry to duck your head, scrubbing with renewed purpose. 

Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a  way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it. It’s been months, but you think about it now and again—your former employer’s warning that Christopher would expect you to attend to his more physical wants. 

He hasn’t neglected you, or shied away from touching you. You’ve had a few bouts of more amorous kissing—often before you’ve fallen asleep. Your encounters nearly moved beyond kissing and fondling twice, but both times, you were interrupted. The first time, Mary Lou had gotten out of the stable. The second time, Una had arrived to collect a dress and waistcoat that you’d mended for her. 

“So, um,” You pipe up nervously as Christopher rounds the counter, “I’ve been thinking.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“We should start stocking some things for the winter. Just the staples,” You hurry to add as you lean heavily against the counter. 

“Been thinkin’ about this long?” 

“Just since this morning.” 

“Mm.” Christopher’s hands land on your hips, holding you steady as you wobble just a touch. You bite your lip in concentration, bending over the counter to swipe at specks of flour on the far end of the countertop. Your hand goes still as Christopher cuddles close, burying his face in your neck. You let your eyes close for a long moment at the nuzzling, at the feeling of him pressed flush against you. You’ve woken up like this more than once, but it feels very different to be pressed close in the light of day.

“You make up a list?” Christopher asks after a stretch of quiet and stillness, his stubble brushing pleasantly against your skin.

“Oh—Not yet—I mean, not really. Well—” You stumble over your words as his arms curl around your middle, his hand splaying over your belly, “That is—It’s only in my head. I haven’t written anything down.” 

“Well what’ve you got in your head so far?” 

“Erm...Beans, rice—” 

“Mhm.” 

“Flour, sugar, honey—” 

“More honey?” Christopher teases. “I swear I’ve bought more honey in the last two months than I have in my entire life.” 

“I bake with it!” 

“I know.” 

“And I don’t hear you complaining about what I’ve made.”

“I’m not.” He gives your hip a little squeeze, then a tug, urging you to turn. You blink up at him expectantly, arching a brow. 

“Good, because if you are, I’m not baking you anything else.” 

“Not ever again?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Okay,” Christopher chuckles. He dips his head, brushing a kiss to your jaw. You tug your lower lip between your teeth as you let your eyes slip shut. You slide your hands up into his hair, gently twining the silky strands around your fingers.

“So we can, um…” You mumble, “We can, um…We can worry about this later.” 

It’s all that you get out before Christopher catches your lips with his. You moan softly, lips parting as he teases his tongue against them. Christopher leans back just a touch, murmuring, “Up,” and patting your thighs. You plant your hands on the counter, pushing yourself back onto it. He darts in for another kiss, his hands pushing up the fabric of your skirt. You spread your legs, giving him plenty of space to slot between them. You raise your hands, smoothing them over his roughening cheeks (it’s surely only a couple of weeks before his beard is in full bloom again).  

You tip your head back, shivering as Christopher’s kisses drift from your lips, trailing along your jaw, and down to your neck. You suck in a stunned, shaky breath as his hand raises, gripping at the front lacing on your dress and giving it a yank, undoing the tidy bow. You tip your chin down, watching as he slips his fingers between your corset and your low cut chemise. You’d been remiss in tightening it that morning, wary of running behind and not getting the bread finished in time for breakfast. You wriggle a little, nerves fluttering in your belly as he works it down, revealing your chest to him. 

Christopher doesn’t hesitate in his ministrations. He sucks a kiss to the top of one breast as he palms the other, his rough fingers giving it a tender squeeze. You reach back, fumbling with the strings of the corset and hastily undoing them. You toss the corset aside, then suck in a sharp breath as he tugs the neckline further down. 

“Christopher,” You sigh, tipping your head back. He hums as he circles your pebbling nipple with his tongue. He sucks it between his lips, groaning softly against your tender skin. He draws back with a greedy, slick sound, grasping your hand. 

“Come with me,” He urges.

“What? Where are we going?” 

“You’re too good to be taken on a counter, sweet girl.” 

--  

You’ve seen how strong he is, but you still marvel at the sight of Christopher drawing his shirt off. You kneel up on the bed, hesitantly reaching out before you slide your hands over his tanned, muscled skin. You begin to shy as he reaches you in kind, but Christopher grasps your jaw, drawing you in for a soft, warm kiss. You can’t help but melt against him, shivering as his rough fingertips dip beneath your slip and draw it over your head. It’s only a moment before he tosses it toward the small pile of your clothing that’s been discarded. 

Your body goes hot as his gaze sweeps across your bare flesh. You press your face into his neck, laying gentle kisses into his skin as you nervously straddle his thigh. Christopher hums softly, sliding his hands down over your back and flexing his fingers in your skin. You gasp, hips hitching against his thigh. You whimper as pleasure that ripples through you, a throbbing pulse between your legs.  

“Go on,” Christopher urges, smoothing his hand further down. You hesitate before you press down against his thigh a little more harshly, a stunned moan slipping from your lips as your breasts brush his chest. Your embarrassment swells as you feel his hardening length against your thigh. He doesn’t tease or chide your sounds or actions. Christopher just gives you a lusty grin, pressing his thigh more insistently against your core. Your hips jolt against him as you chase the sensation. You burble, unable to stop the sounds falling from your lips as Christopher grasps your hips, urging your pace on for a moment, then nudging you to lay back. 

Your eyes widen as you watch Christopher raise two fingers, sucking them into his mouth. He slides his thigh back, teasing the slick digits against your tender clit. You let your eyes slide shut, pushing your head back into the pillow as he slips them further down. 

“Is this alright?” 

“Yes—oh!” Your breath catches in your throat as he eases a thick finger into your throbbing pussy. He curls and twists it, his rough palm brushing against your clit.

“Can you take another?” 

“Mhm!” 

He grins at your eagerness, gently pressing another finger into you. You can feel his heavy, heated gaze as you tip your hips down into his touch. Christopher slides down your body, tracing his tongue teasingly around one of your nipples before lapping hotly across the pebbling mound. You sigh, sliding your hand into his hair and arching up into the slick heat of his mouth. His fingers scissor and thrust slowly, his palm grinding firmly against your clit with every stroke. You shift your thigh, body heating as you feel his thick, hardened length against you. You peer down between the two of you, chest fluttering with nerves as you spot the flushed head. 

“Is—” You swallow thickly, “Is it going to…Fit?” 

Christopher lifts his head, a warm chuckle dropping from his lips. 

“We’ll make it fit.” 

--  

Your thighs are still been shaking and tense from the first swell of pleasure; your movements are a little stilted as Christopher settles on his back, urging you to straddle his thighs. 

“But,” Your brows furrow as you adjust, “I thought I would be laying down.” 

Christopher just tuts softly, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I did promise I would teach you to ride.” 

You bite your lip, looking down as the head of his cock slots against your slick opening. Christopher’s hands rest on your hips, squeezing them to focus you. 

“We take this at your pace,” He reassures. “Take what you can. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.” 

You rest your hands on his chest, easing down just a little. You tense at the stretch of him slipping inside, but Christopher strokes his thumb soothingly over your sides. You bear down a bit more, eyes slipping shut as he fills you. 

“That’s it—Oh, sweetheart,” Christopher sighs, his grip tightening. You slide your hands to his shoulders, wincing as you move just a little too quickly. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Mhm,” You nod, adjusting to press your hands on either side of his head. You lower your head, pressing your lips to his, distracting yourself from the slight pulse of pain as you adjust to him. Christopher’s hands slip up, nails brushing small circles in your skin as his tongue flickers against yours. You swallow thickly, nervous as you shift your hips. When it doesn’t incite the same discomfort, you do it again. You break your kiss, resting your forehead against Christopher’s as you begin to roll your hips, panting softly against his lips. Once your tentative movements become more steady, you feel Christopher gently push up beneath you, thrusting in a bit deeper. Your mouth opens with a shaky moan as you speed your roll to a slight bounce. 

You open your eyes, taking in Christopher’s darkened eyes, and the rising flush in his cheeks. He raises his hands, cupping your cheeks and holding your gaze. You want to close your eyes, to surrender to the rising tide of your pleasure, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your breath and moans mingle as you grind and thrust against one another. Christopher’s fingers slide between your thighs again, toying with your tingling clit. You gasp his name, hips grinding down against his cock and his fingers. 

“That’s it,” Christopher presses his face against your neck. “Just like that—God—” 

His broken off curse is drowned by your crying out as your pleasure swells and crests. Your hips move as if of their own volition as you feel his cock spill into you. Your shaking arms give out, and you settle into his chest, panting heavily as your pussy twitches around him. He rests his hand on the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together. You hear Christopher draw in a deep breath, then grunt softly. 

“I think the bread is burning.” 

Tag list:   @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​​​ ; @amneris21​​​ ; @milf-trinity​​​ ; @thembosapphicclown​​​ ; @brandyllyn​​​ ; @wildmoonflower​​​ ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​​ ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @nominalnebula

[ryuichirou]

Hello it is I, the Floyddle and Azudia headcanon anon!

(at this point I feel like I need an emoji or a nickname to sign off as for anon😂/j)

But I saw your art of Jamil and Kalim when Kalim realizes about his crush too late and he gets married off , and three things.

1, Amazing art as always I gotta give chef kiss and tap those heart buttons every time I see the art on here and Twitter!

2, I need an update on that, will Kalim that he realized he had feelings too late ? 😭 (I live for angst )

3, If you guys ship the two, you know what time it is...

✨headcanon time ✨

After 10000 years I’m finally replying, Anon! Sorry for the long wait.

I’m excited to talk about Kalim/Jamil. I love them very much, and once again, this is one of those ships that I’d draw more if I had more brain capacity, free hands and free time… So to at least talking about them in a post feels great, thank you for your ask!

First of all, thank you so much for liking them and looking at our stuff both here and on twitter! <3 I’m very happy to hear that.

Second of all, well, Kalim is in a difficult situation lol He’s so used to Jamil always being there for him, he wouldn’t really even think that he has a crush on him for the longest time. That’s why, when it’s finally time for him to start a family of his own, and it feels weird and wrong, and he suddenly feels this strong and desperate longing towards Jamil, who isn’t available to him anymore, he’d finally start thinking about it. And then he’d realise that it’s too late, but he can’t do anything about his feelings either, they’re impossible to ignore now. Kalim is torn, conflicted and miserable. And Jamil… Jamil has to deal with it, let’s leave it at this for now.

Sooo headcanons! Oh, and these are about KaliJami in general, not about that comic we’ve talked about before.

Kalim is actually quite possessive of Jamil, but he might never get an opportunity to realise it. But theoretically, if Jamil was to serve someone else, take care of someone else or give more attention to someone else, Kalim would probably feel weirdly upset about it. He really doesn’t know just how much he’s used to Jamil always taking care of him, and how much he doesn’t want to actually share Jamil’s absolute attention with others.

Kalim is the king of unintentional mixed messages: he is so casually flirty that sometimes it’s difficult to figure out if he’s just being his usual charming Kalim self or actually tries to be flirty. Jamil just assumes that it’s never romantic with him, and with others, well, it doesn’t concern him. That’s a huge mistake…

That being said, Jamil would probably realise that Kalim has a crush on him before Kalim himself realises it. But would still try to ignore it for as long as he could. They won’t start dating unless Kalim makes the first move, and even then, Jamil’s first instinct would be to turn him down (and he would actually turn him down). “For Kalim’s own sake”. But Kalim is persistent and is horrible at suppressing his feelings and desires; he’s very spoiled by Jamil, after all.

Once they start dating, Kalim is going to become even more insufferable because he’ll instantly get 10 times more clingy. He is very physical and loving, it’s like he wants to constantly hug and kiss Jamil and rub his face against Jamil’s. Especially at first, during the honeymoon phase (although with Kalim the honeymoon phase never really ends, he wakes up every day and acts amazed and enamored with everything Jamil does). 

Because of that, Kailm’d find it super difficult to hide their relationships. He doesn’t even know why they have to hide it, but Jamil insisted on it, so he has to stay quiet. And it’s horrible, because Kalim wants nothing more than to shower Jamil with kisses while chatting with other people, hold his hands, casually touch him and talk about how much he loves him. And to brag around about how wonderful it is to be dating Jamil. Please, Kalim, just shut the fuck up…

Kalim would also be horrible about personal boundaries. Sometimes Jamil would find him in his bed in the morning, because yes, he is that clingy. Also quite capricious and pushy.

Jamil is the one who’d rationalise their relationship by thinking that everything that’s going on is just him obeying to Kalim’s whims once again, and that Kalim would probably get bored eventually and move on. Kalim, on the other hand, doesn’t think too far ahead, he’s too euphoric because of his feelings. Ironically, despite Jamil’s concerns about Kalim’s airheadness and kind of unhealthy nature of their relationships, Kalim’s feelings are pretty serious and much deeper than Jamil realises.

Not only Kalim does embarrassing romantic stuff all the time, he also says a lot of embarrassing romantic stuff all the time. And compliments Jamil’s appearance even more than he used to. Sometimes it feels like he just tries to make Jamil blush and get mad at him, but he really isn’t, he’s just that honest and that in love.

Kalim is obsessed with Jamil’s hair. During the day he tries to control himself and not touch it (Jamil told him not to several times), but during intimate moments he really can’t help himself. He grabs it, strokes it, smells and kisses it. Jamil finds it annoying, but since it’s done when both of them are quite aroused, he’ll complain about it later.

Kalim is the loud one during sex. He’s like… too loud. He’s horrible and holding back, which makes Jamil even more nervous than he already is. It’s a hot mess.

Alright, I think that’s it for now. Thank you for your ask again!

[misslovasstuff]

Dazai x reader pt.1

What don’t you get? I am in love with you!”

He stares at you for a moment ,then says:

“Rage can’t be love. - he takes a step closer, hands behind his back and eyes piercing through yours. - Do you think of love as this angry, fierce and selfish little thing?”

You blink, a bit taken a back. It was a question if it was his articulation that was making your mind dizzy, or his being drawing yours closer with every subtle move that he did towards your direction.

“Love is delicate, it is kind, - his voice gets lower as his hands start reaching out to you. - yet powerful and strong. Love makes your whole body quiver with just -

his hands briefly come in contact with the skin of your neck, which make you let out a little gasp.

- quiver with just a simple touch.”

As the corner of his lip turns, he puts your hair out of your chest, lending a kiss in your collarbone, then to the nape of your neck, your chin and …

“Love makes you hungry, desperate, and yet it fills you in with the most beautiful emotions and thoughts a human being can experience. It makes you full again.” - he says, looking down at your lips but not approaching them. - Now, tell me what you wanted to say again.”

A strong gulp runs down your throats as your heart begins to feel like it was about to leave your chest. For the first time in a while your mind went completely blank, so you say whatever comes, whatever feels right.

“I wake up and you’re the first thing that comes up in my mind. In fear that you might be the last thing I think about before I sleep, I try to avoid my best thinking about you throughout my day. But how can I when everything beautiful, kind, loving and special reminds me of you and you only. I walk and observe the flying birds and realise how you have given the freedom to be myself, you’ve given me the wings to paint my own skies and not be afraid anymore. In every person I meet I search for you. Maybe someone will have your smile, your eyes, or maybe the touch of their hand on my skin will feel as ecstatic. But I don’t find anyone like you, thus do I not only think of you before I go and die temporarily, I feel you closer as ever before. - You take a step back:

So if you want me to prove my love I will prove it! I will do anything! But… Dazai …

I can’t let myself love you. ”

He blinks and watches your gaze shifting away from his.

“Goodbye.”- you say with a shaky voice, hands trembling whilst hiding your tears. Turning your back, you feel as if you’re letting a part of yourself behind. Perhaps your gardener that watered the flowers of your soul, or your reader who knew you better than anyone else. But so, goodbyes are difficult, but yet necessary.

Dazai watches you walking away. His eyes are wide open and scared. He reaches his hand and his lip parts, ready to call your name.

Instead, he bites it and lowers his gaze.

He knew why you left, why you couldn’t love him. Dazai forgot one simple definition:

Love is impossible, when you love in desperation and fear of loneliness.”

[bbyannabeth]

spidey au pt. 7

annabeth is seconds away from dozing off when percy suddenly reaches out and pauses the movie playing on his laptop. “i feel bad,” he says. annabeth blinks a few times, lifting her head from his shoulder. she looks over at her… well, she doesn’t know what he is to her anymore, exactly. they had kissed last week, and quite a few times since then, but they had yet to talk about what it actually meant. 

“about what?” she asks, rubbing her eyes carefully. 

“i bailed on grover last night because i had to kick that guy's ass and help that girl home,” percy says quietly. “and he asked to hang out today instead, but i didn’t wanna cancel on you.”

annabeth bites her lip and shifts upward so she’s not leaning against him so much. he’s so warm, she’s worried she might still fall asleep. “have you considered telling him, perce?”

percy nods. “of course. i want to. i’m just worried. like i told you, the fewer people who know, the better.”

“but he’s grover.”

“i know.”

annabeth reaches for percy’s hand, holding it tight between her own. “i’m tired of keeping secrets from him,” he murmurs. “we haven’t even told him about us.”

annabeth swallows, trying not to sound nervous. “we haven’t even talked about us,” she whispers. she knows that there’s something between them, something real. but she’s worried that talking about what has been unspoken for so long will mess up what they’re trying to build. percy’s eyes flick up to hers, and annabeth knows she failed to keep her nerves out of her tone. 

“we can talk about us,” he says. he brings their joined hands up to his lips and kisses her fingertips. like it’s the easiest thing in the world, he asks, “will you be my girlfriend?”

and she thinks maybe it is the easiest thing in the world, because she smiles. and she knows her answer, but she would never back down from an opportunity to tease him. “we haven’t even gone on a date yet,” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

he chuckles. “i’ll take you on as many as you’d like,” he promises. “but i don’t need a date to tell me how i feel about you.”

“and how’s that?” she asks. she’s expecting him to tease her right back, but he takes her question seriously and she’s silently grateful for that.

“you’re my best friend in the world, and i really, really, really like you.”

perhaps there are still some things unspoken between them, but she catches it all the same. 

“i really, really, really like you too,” she says, knowing he’ll catch the deeper meaning beneath those words. “and yes, i’ll be your girlfriend.”

he smiles, tugging his hand from hers and instead placing it on her chin to draw her closer. 

“you do still have to take me on dates, though. i’m not gonna make it that easy on you, you know?” she says, just to be difficult, but his smile only widens. 

“i expected nothing less from you,” he says, finally kissing her. it’s still an unfamiliar feeling, kissing him. but it’s one she already loves and she can’t wait to do it a million times more in the future. 

he pulls back just enough to look at her. “can you be there when i tell grover?”

annabeth’s eyebrows furrow. “you want me there?”

his cheeks turn pink, but he nods. “i just think it’ll be easier with you there.”

annabeth smiles slowly, nodding. “i’ll be there.”

“thank you,” he murmurs. his eyes shift to her lips for a second then back up to meet hers. he tilts his head. “we done with this movie?” 

annabeth bites her lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. “are we?” she teases. that’s all the answer percy needs, apparently, because he shuts his laptop and moves it to the bed beside him without looking away from her. 

“we are,” he says, and then he pulls her close again. 

—

it’s three days later when the three of them finally have time alone. 

“why do i feel like i’m in trouble?” grover asks, looking at her. 

annabeth smiles a little at that. they’re currently sitting at percy’s dining table, grover on one side, annabeth and percy on the other. 

“you are,” annabeth jokes. grover smiles, but he still looks nervous. admittedly, annabeth is too. it isn’t even her secret, but she’s nervous for percy.

“okay so,” percy says, twirling a pen between his fingers. “do you want the good news first, or the… not-bad-but-kinda-big news first?”

grover stares at him, glances at annabeth, then stares at percy some more. “you’re stressing him out,” annabeth murmurs. grover points a thumb at her, not taking his eyes off percy. 

“yeah, what she said. you’re stressing me out,” grover repeats. after another few seconds, grover says, “the good news.”

“annabeth and i are dating,” percy says. she knew that was coming, but a smile still manages to curl her lips upwards. it makes her stupidly happy to hear percy call it good news to someone else. 

grover looks between them. “okay, well finally,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. annabeth laughs, nodding.

“yeah, you got us there,” she agrees. she and percy had been a long time coming, and even they couldn’t argue with that. 

grover looks a little more relaxed now. “and the… other news?” he says. 

there’s a silence. annabeth places her hand on percy’s knee, which had started to bounce. she hopes that’s what gives him the courage to continue, because he finally says, “um… i’m spiderman?”

grover stares. then he blinks. then he chuckles. “what?” he asks, unsure if this is a joke. he looks at annabeth, who can do nothing but offer him a small smile. 

“what?” grover asks again, a little more insistent, and percy sighs. he pulls his sleeve up a little, curls his middle and ring finger into his palm while leaving the rest of them straight, and he shoots a web over to a bag of chips on the counter. percy pulls, flinging the bag across the kitchen and into his hand. he sets it down on the table, and doesn’t say anything else. 

grover’s mouth hangs open as he stares at the chips that still have a string of webbing attached to them. under the table, percy’s hand slips into annabeth’s and she squeezes softly. 

“now you freaked him out,” annabeth says after a few seconds. grover’s eyes flick up to her, then to percy. 

“i thought you were joking. but you’re serious.”

percy nods. it’s out there now, and it seems the hardest part is over because talking is becoming a little easier for him. “i’ve been wanting to tell you for so long now, but it was just safer with as few people knowing as possible.”

grover nods slowly. “and you knew?” he asks annabeth. 

“i found out a month ago. spiderman saved me from clarisse kicking my ass, but when he accidentally called me by my name, the pieces fell into place,” she shrugs. 

“not my finest moment, but it’s fine,” percy says. annabeth smiles briefly, but refocuses her attention on grover who is still processing this. 

“okay. okay,” grover nods, a little frantic. “this is cool and fine, nothing weird about this.”

annabeth glances at percy to find him smiling a little, and she knows everything will be okay. “it’s all cool and fine until percy tries to convince you to jump off a roof with him,” she says. 

grover pauses, and then covers his hands with his face. “i’m totally freaking out right now, oh my god.”

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count - Part IV: Lark, continued

ao3

masterlist

First | Previous | Next

Happy Friday! Please enjoy the aftermath of open mic night and Leara's continuously unraveling mental state. I do appreciate all the feedback I've recieved on this story. It's a difficult story to write: on the one hand, I'm building toward a satisfying ending where Bishop gets his comeuppance and Leara comes into her own as Dragonborn, but on the other, taking Leara through the dark valley before we get to the other side is hard. Next chapter she really does pass through the dark as she decends into Blackreach on the hunt for the Elder Scroll, with no one but Bishop for company. Certainly nothing will go wrong, right?

Thank you, @ravenmind2001, for your feedback! ✨

Taglist:

@ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @dakatmew @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality

Content Warnings: Attempted sexual coercion and assault

#######

“I was going to bring you a lovely bone,” Leara whispered, stroking Karnwyr’s ears. “But I was getting overwhelmed, and Bishop wasn’t playing nice with people. It was . . . not a good evening.” 

Karnwyr wagged his tail, lazily thumping it against her legs. Leara pressed a kiss to his soft head. Lifting his head, Karnwyr licked her chin, as if to say, “It’s okay.” This only drew a sigh from the tired Dragonborn. She resumed scratching the wolf. 

“I saw Ulfric Stormcloak,” she continued. “I haven’t seen him since that night – I can’t really count that dragon attack in Helgen, can I?” Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them on the sleeve of her nightgown, sniffing. “I was so scared, am scared, that he’ll discover who I am, what I was. What I did. That he’ll kill me.” More tears sprang up. She draped her arm over her face, chest heaving. Karnwyr whined. “He was so nice, though. He saved me from Alec’s ridiculous dinner invitation. I wanted to eat with Ulfric, I did – after what I did to him, now I want to know him, too. Isn’t that sick?”

Karnwyr laid his head across her shoulder. Leara dropped her arm from her face to wrap it around the wolf’s shoulders. “Sometimes I don’t know myself. Blade, Thalmor, Dragonborn. That’s some kind of unholy trinity. They all contradict each other horribly.” Her chest hurt. “I think I’m a monster.”

(*)(*)(*)

The door to her room opened. Air caught in her throat. 

“Get down from there, you rascal!” came Bishop’s voice.

She was thankful for the dark. She didn’t want him to see her tears.

“Down, you,” Bishop’s voice was closer. With a grunt, Karnwyr lumbered off the bed. 

At the same time, Leara sat up. “What are you doing in here?” she asked.

“You don’t wanna spend the night alone, do you?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed. He reeked of mead. 

Was that too much to ask for anymore, a night alone? “Why?"

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, husky. His hand was on her knee. “You’ve seen me looking at you, and what’s more I’ve seen you stealing glances at me! I’m not going to sit here and play your games. You can’t lie to yourself, and neither can I."

What in the ever-loving name of Akatosh? “You’re delusional,” she said, drawing her leg from under his hand to fold against her chest; she wrapped her arms around her knees. “I keep looking at you because you keep talking to me.” Like an over insistent child with none of the redeeming cuteness. 

Bishop laughed. “You are funny. And despite – or perhaps because of your sharp tongue, I find you quite irresistible.”

Fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. She didn’t need a light to feel his close presence. Why was he doing this, tonight of all nights when her head and heart were already in a dizzying whirlwind? Why did he have to intrude with his own wild emotions when hers were still in turmoil? “I’m not in the mood, Bishop,” she murmured. Nor would she be, she decided. Ever.

He hummed, his hand trailing up her shin and around the hem of her nightgown, the blanket having fallen away when she drew her feet up. “I really do want to see what’s under your clothes.” He toyed with her hem. “What sweet, tempting surprises you hold. I want to rip it off you. Has anyone else ever wanted to do that to you, sweet lady?’

Anxiety and tension lined her lungs, weighing them down like lead so she couldn’t breathe. It was only by the breath of Kynareth that she was able to draw air in. It cut through her throat, flowing in a stagnant stream. Her hand shot out, gripping Bishop’s fingers on her skin in a vice grip. She dragged them away from her and the next breath came easier. “That’s none of your business,” she hissed.

He jerked his hand from hers with a growl. “All right, enough toying around! I want to claim you as my own! I want you to be mine and mine alone! If I see someone else so much as look at you wrong—"

Rage and fire consumed her, flaring through her veins. “Get out, Bishop. Now!”

“I want you—”

“What I want is for you to go sleep off this bloody stupor, because you must be roaring drunk if you’re trying to proposition me!” Leara was on her feet. Grabbing the protesting idiot by the arm, she hauled him from her room and slammed the door in his face. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, quit playing hard to get!” he cried through the barrier.

Leara wedged a chair under the doorhandle. Then she pushed her nightstand and the trunk at the end of the bed against the door for good measure. 

Bishop knocked on the door.

Leara fell back into the bed, her head pounding as new tears welled under her cinched eyelids. One after another escaped down her cheeks until she was crying, a silent stream in the dark. With a grunt, Karnwyr leapt back on the bed. He licked her tears. Hiccupping, Leara wrapped her arms around the wolf and buried her face in his fur. 

And that was how she fell asleep.

(*)(*)(*)

·•★•·

A knock on the door woke her.

Bleary eyed, Leara lifted her head from her pillow – Karnwyr’s shoulder. Carefully, so as not to wake the slumbering wolf, she pulled her arm from under his ribs and crawled to the end of the bed. It didn’t occur to her until she was in front of the door that it could be Bishop, back for round two. What time was it, anyway?

“Hello?” she called out, wiping the sleep and tearstains from her face. 

“It’s Elda,” the tinny voice of the inn’s proprietor came through the door. “I have a letter for you.”

In a mad scramble, Leara cleared the furniture away from the door. She snatched a spare blanket from the wardrobe, wrapping it around her shoulders, before opening the door. 

Elda stared at her.  

“Good morning,” Leara greeted, leaning into the door. “You said I have a letter?”

The innkeeper held up a light vellum envelope. “Jarl’s man dropped if off not ten minutes ago,” she said, handing it over.

Leara turned it over in her hands. ‘To the Dragonborn’ was scrawled in sloping jagged letters on one side; on the other was a wax seal, deep blue and imprinted with the Bear sigil. “Did he say what it’s for?” she asked, her mind sprinting in a dozen directions: a dragon sighting or giant attack, to the Civil War, or . . . dinner. She dismissed that idea almost before it formed. This letter bore the Jarl’s seal; it must be official business. 

“No, just to make sure I got it to you myself,” Elda said. “Is it about . . . the dragons?”

“I’m sure,” Leara said, lowering the letter. Elda seemed almost disappointed, as if she’d expected Leara to open the letter and share its contents with her. Leara quirked an eyebrow at the woman.

“Breakfast is in ten minutes,” Elda said, coloring. 

“Thank you,” Leara called after her as the woman hurried down the hall. Leara snorted, closing the door. Letter in hand, she paced back toward the bed.

Karnwyr blinked a lazy eye up at her.

“He sent me a letter,” she told the wolf, absently giving his ears a good scratch before returning to the letter. Karnwyr yawned. “You’re right, I think it’s probably a bounty or something for the war or—” she slipped her finger un the lip, her nail cutting into the wax. 

The door opened and Leara whirled around, clutching the blanket tighter around her chest. 

Bishop looked like something spat out of Oblivion: his hair was tussled more than usual and his eyes bloodshot. His face was pinched into a wince. Hungover, but probably stone cold sober, too. He blinked at her, “Why are there two of you?”

“You’re hungover,” Leara said, slow and deliberate. “Do you remember anything from last night?” Because she did. All too well.

Bishop pressed a hand to his forehead, his mouth pulled down in a grimace. Not a damn thing once we left the palace. Still remember that bard’s shrieking, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Leara said, relief easing her shoulders. He didn’t remember visiting her. Thank the Nine. She gave him a sly smile, “You were so drunk when we got back here that you sang a love ballad to the barmaid. You got down on your knees to propose at one point, but passed out before you could.” 

“I – what?” He squinted at her, shaking his head in vague denial. “You’re screwing with me.”

“You make it easy, pulling stunts like that.” 

Bishop only groaned. 

Leara smothered a laugh as she went about the room, gathering her things. It wasn’t revenge if he did this to himself, was it? Jokes at his expense were, he decided. She also decided that she didn’t care. “Breakfast is in a few minutes,” she told him, her back to him as she laid her armor out on the bed. “You should get your things together. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Taskmaster.”

He left, shutting the door behind him, and Leara pulled her nightgown over her. “He’s such an idiot,” she told Karnwyr as she pulled her leggings on.

Karnwyr woofed in agreement.

It didn’t take her long to dress. The silver placed settled into place like a second, much harder skin. Her blue silk and chiffon dress hung on the wardrobe door, a bittersweet reminder of the night before. Sighing, she took it down and wrapped it in its parcel. In minutes, her bag was packed, and the room set back to rights.

Exiting, she found Bishop leaning against the wall across from her room, his knapsack slung over one shoulder. “Can’t say I didn’t miss that armor last night.”

“I can,” Leara rolled her eyes.

·•★•·

Leara ran her fingers over the soft leather. The hood was dyed a deep cerulean only a few shades darker than her eyes, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to the color. Lined with white rabbit fur, there was a dark blue cowl sewn into the neck with silver stitching. It was beautiful. And out of her price range, even after selling the dragonscales.

She set the hood back on the top tier of the display table with a pang of longing and picked up a different one from the neighboring table. This one was a dull brown, its stitching plain, and the attached cowl a thick grey. Serviceable and utilitarian. She stole another glance at the blue hood, displayed with other high-end crafted items. By the time she could afford an artisan piece like that, that hood would be long since sold.

“Are you done yet, or are you going to spend another half hour on the same two hoods?”

“No, I’m coming.” Plain hood in hand, Leara made her way to the counter, Bishop’s exasperated eye roll not lost on her. She set the hood on counter alongside the insulated under clothes and small sewing kit. “This is everything,” she told the clerk. The young Breton nodded and began tallying her total.

“What’s the thread and needle for?” Bishop asked as Leara began to count out the correct number of septims. “Are you going to darn my socks?”

“Darn them yourself,” Leara sneered as she packed her purchases into her bag. “This is in case someone rips you a new one and I have to stuff your guts back inside you and sew you together.”

Behind the counter, the clerk snorted. Bishop scowled at her, and the girl’s ears turned red. He faced Leara, who made no effort to hide the amusement on her pale golden face. “Laugh now, sweetness, but we’ll see whose getting stuffed later.”

“No one, if you miss another rabbit and we have to go hungry again,” she wagged her fingers at him, dancing around his innuendo. “Now, quit scaring the shop girl.”

Outside the shop, the air was clear and bracing, humming with the bustle of the market stalls and the ringing of hammers from the blacksmith’s quarters. As they walked, Leara pulled the hood over her head, her hair pinned in preparation of such a purchase. Fixing the cowl in place over her nose, the chill in her skin retreated.

“You look like one of those Thieves Guild rats,” Bishop said.

“Maybe, but I’m warmer than you.”

Bishop twirled a finger at the sky around them. “You think this is cold? Summer in Windhelm is nothing, ladyship. Try hunting along the Sea of Ghosts during the dead of winter. If that doesn’t freeze your blood, nothing will.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Leara said as they left the market and started down the main street toward the gate. 

They were passing the inn when a voice cried out Leara’s name. Or rather, title. Dragonborn.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bishop groaned.

Alec hurried across the street, clutching his plumed hat to his had as he dodged pedestrians and the occasional wagon in his mad dash to reach Leara’s side. She was thankful for the cowl, then: it hid her downturned mouth from the sycophantic bard. “Alec.”

“Good morning, my goddess! So lovely to see you again!” His eyes darted to the open gates several yards behind Leara. “Are you leaving? So soon?”

“Yes, I have a great deal of work to take care of,” she explained. “Thank you for inviting me to your performance, but I need to get back you there. Dragons to subdue, you know.”

The bard looked ready to swoon over her. “You flatter me beyond words, my lady!” He winked at her – again. He needed to see a temple healer for that. “Though I will try! If you would permit me, I would travel with you, devoting myself to writing the song of your legend! The memories we could make together would charm your heart!”

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh,” said Bishop. “The only thing she’ll remember of you this morning is the sight of you retreating as we leave.”

She resisted the urge to pinch her nose and smack her forehead. “Boys—"

“Think of what we could accomplish if we travelled together!” Alec cried, beseeching. “Let me join you, and your name will be sung from every rooftop in Skyrim until the end of time.”

“So, we’re playing the ignoring game now?” Bishop shouldered passed Leara and jabbed his finger at Alec’s face. “Let me tell you something, bard: only a savage wolf can truly appreciate a woman like her.”

Karnwyr whined. He was clearly just as embarrassed as Leara.

Alec tried to bat the ranger’s hand away. Failing that, he sidestepped Bishop to meet Leara’s eyes again. “So, you like wild and free men, my lady? Oh, I can show you a wild and free man right here. We could live and love together. Free.”

The only freedom Leara wanted was an escape from this measuring contest. 

“Wild? Free? Pfft!” Bishop was pure contempt. “What are you going to do if you get attacked by a dragon? Pull out your lute and bore it to sleep?”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Leara said, stepping between the two idiots. They were attracting stares. Again. If Bishop wanted to protect her from the Thalmor, as he kept claiming, then he was doing a rotten job at it! They couldn’t go anywhere without him drawing attention to them. “Let’s go,” she told him. Bishop nodded.

“Leaving so soon?” Alec laughed. His laugh lines were just as stiff as every other facial expression he tried to make. It Occurred to Leara then why that was: at some point, he’d had a face sculptor take scalpel and spell to his face and the results were anything but natural. “We’re just having some fun. We wouldn’t want the savage to get jealous now, would we, my lady?”

“Goodbye, Alec,” was all she said as she made her way toward the gate, Karnwyr at her heels. Bishop let loose a loud laugh at whatever botched facial expression Alec must have made at Leara’s abrupt dismissal. 

“We will meet again, my beautiful muse!” the bard called after her. “This will not be the last you see if Alec, Prince of Song!”

“We’ll see about that,” Bishop scoffed under his breath.

Leara only shook her head.

·•★•·

Green and gold auroras chased each other across the star-studded sky as they made their camp below a cliff face, hidden from the road. The night air was bitter, stirred by only the occasional gust, allowing Leara to light a fire with a small flame spell. The closer they travelled to the Sea of Ghosts, the worse the winds would get and the more difficult it would be to maintain a fire without shelter. She was thankful for her hood and the ear protection. There was more than one horror story of an elf who lost an ear to frostbite, and Skyrim’s biting cold was blistering enough to bring those tales to life.

On the other side of the fire, Bishop was fletching arrows. In the shadow play of the firelight, she half imagined him watching her. Every time she stole a peek to see, his eyes were focused on trimming the feathers of shaving the shaft of his arrows. Near the fire, Karnwyr was curled in a ball, faint snores blowing from his nose.

In the quiet of the boreal lights, Leara’s mind wandered back to the letter from Ulfric. Whatever its contents, she hoped they weren’t too pressing that the Jarl would be offended at her not answering while still in the city. Divines, what if they were a court summons? 

Rummaging through her bag, Leara’s heartbeat quickened. She took out her clothes and journals, but she didn’t see the letter. Soon the entire contents of her bag were strewn across her bedroll, no letter to be found. Delphine’s note from Ustengrav, a handful of bounties she carried out Balgruuf the Greater in Whiterun, her map, and some other papers, but no letter seal with blue wax and the Bear of Eastmarch. It was gone. 

“What are you doing now?” Bishop demanded as Leara frantically stacked everything to the side and pulled back the cover of her bedroll. “Don’t tell me you’ve got snow madness.”

“I can’t fin it!” 

“Can’t find what?”

“The letter!” Leara cried, searching through her belt. Disturbed from his sleep, Karnwyr looked up at her.

Bishop sighed, “You’ll have to be more specific, darling. Use you’re words. You’re normally so good with those.”

“I received a letter from the Jarl of Windhelm this morning,” she said, flipping through the journals to see if the letter was stuck between the pages. “And now I can’t find it! I haven’t read it, so I don’t know how important it was!”

“Is that it?” Bishop scoffed. He pointed his whittling knife at her. “It ever occur to you that it was a gimmick to get you into his war effort?”

“Regardless, I can’t leave a Jarl unanswered1” she snapped.

“Woah there, sweetness! I’m not the bad guy here! Don’t bite my head off!” Bishop set his fetching down. “What are you going to do, really? Go back to Windhelm, march up to his throne, and say, ‘oh, I’m sorry, sir! I got your letter, but I lost it without bothering to read it!’ Like that would go over well!”

Leara sank down on her disheveled bedroll, surrounded by all her worldly possessions. “Maybe I left it at the inn.”

“Then it’s been trashed,” Bishop said. “Look, it’s gone and there’s no way it’s coming back. Forget about it! You don’t want to get mixed up with a man like Ulfric Stormcloak.” Scowling, Bishop spit off to the side. “He’ll use you and then get you killed. Damned fool that I am, I’d try to protect you and get gutted in the process. It’d be suicide.”

Shoulders sagging, Leara didn’t respond as she repacked her bag. Bishop was probably right. Ulfric would likely be the death of her, one way or another. A pang of regret shot through her at the thought.

“I’m going to bed,” she whispered. Bishop shrugged in answer. Karnwyr snored.

Burrowing into her bedroll, familiar discomfort from her armor cradled her. Her hip pinched, but she ignored it, thoughts far away in a dungeon where she watches a young man shatter, his storm blue eyes caught in a whirl of lightning his screams like thunder bouncing off the walls. Leara slept fitfully that night. 

Miles behind on the road, the Jarl’s letter fluttered down the embankment of the White River, pushed along by a slight night wind from the place a ranger tossed it while his lady was distracted speaking with a lying cat man. The wind pushed it on to a piece of river ice, and left it balanced precariously on the edge. In the rush of the river, the ice bumped into another sheet, and the letter slipped into the water, lost in the current. 

[hanmine]

[ 𝐈𝐍𝐊 ] — 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

you may have fallen first, but rindou thinks he fell harder.

and that’s not to say you don’t love him—you love him impossibly more each day, but rindou thinks his love for you runs deeper in a way no one else’s can.

simply put: he never thought he’d love at all, and the way your heart beat is the rhythm he matches his too, the way you make the lines he draws for himself so blurred that he doesn’t know where they lie anymore, he thinks that he loves rather intensely. and perhaps you do most of the kiss initiating, and maybe you reach first for all the hand holding, and it’s true that you’ve always pressed yourself into his side before he’s wrapped his arm around your torso, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re loved any less.

but when he hears the small chuckles from the men surrounding him, downing drink after drink and losing more and more holds on their tongues as the topic of your relationship surfaces, he’s left to wonder, what really has he done to prove your love is equally reciprocated?

he decides to offer you an answer today, even if you’d never even asked.

“stand here,” rindou grunts, standing you in front of the mirror and turning you to look into it. you furrow your brows, tilting your head to the side as he unbuttons his shirt, opening the top to reveal his toned chest. eyeing the exposed skin, you gulp.

“why’re you undressing in front of the mirror with me watching?” you mumble, and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“stop being horny,” he grumbles.

“‘m not,” you pout, crossing your arms. “you’re the horny one, not me, rin. now what are you doing?” there’s a shine to his skin you notice from the distance, squinting through the mirror to get a better look, but he angles his body away so you can’t see.

“would you just listen?” he snaps, huffing. “close your eyes.”

“huh? why?” groaning, he rubs his face, looking at you with a tired expression. he doesn’t understand why you always insist on being so difficult—it’s a simple direction to follow, really, and he’s just trying to do something sweet for you.

“why don’t you listen to me and find out? you wanna hear it in a different language or something? close your eyes,” he demands, reaching over and pressing his hand over your face—albeit softly—to cover your line of sight. huffing, you close your eyes like he asks, instinctively grabbing his wrist and holding on.

“okay, okay. i closed them, you’re so pushy,” you mumble, and he purses his lips, staring at you for a moment. and for the longest time, he’s wondered why your penchant to talk back has always made him want to hear more of your voice instead of throw you across the room—though right now, he realizes he kind of wants to do both.

but more than anything, he wants to prove to you that he does love you, that it’s not an empty claim with no emotions to back it up. slowly, he removes the clear bandaging over the new tattoo inked on his skin, right on his collarbone as you shuffle impatiently for him to finish.

“no peeking,” he warns. “i’m serious.” groaning, you slump your shoulder, pout deepening that he knows you so well. he fights back a small grin, rolling his eyes at you.

“you’re taking so long,” you whine. it’s been thirty seconds at most—and you often have it in you to be one for theatrics, but he can’t really say he hates it. with one last tug, the bandage comes free, and rindou takes your hand and brings you into his chest.

“keep them closed,” he breathes, whispering the words against your forehead as he presses one, two, three kisses along your cheeks and jaw, stopping to nibble on your ear lightly. “i love you,” he says simply.

and it’s not fancy, it never really is, and it likely won’t often be, but it’s perfect no less. it’s raw, and unadulterated, and it’s rindou—and that’s exactly what you signed up for.

you smile against his chest, trailing a hand up and rubbing the smooth skin slowly, fingers tracing over the lines of his existing tattoo that you know by heart after all this time.

“i love you too,” you whisper. “is this all you’re gonna do? because you didn’t have to undress with me in front of the mirro—”

“you never stop talking, do you?” he mutters, but still, there’s a fondness in his voice that you couldn’t misplace even if you tried. and rindou’s not fond of too many things—he barely tolerates most of them, but he enjoys you. he basks in your presence, he drinks in the moments he steals with you, engraving them in the deepest crevices of his brain.

you’ve shoved your way into his life and you’ve made your mark, and he thinks it’s about time he shows you that.

“i’m gonna open my eyes without your permission if you keep being mean,” you warn, and he flicks your forehead, making you swat his hand away. the frown on your face tempts him to press a kiss to your lips.

instead, he tilts your head towards his collarbone.

“okay, open,” he finally says, and you don’t hesitate, opening your eyes and searching for whatever it could be he wants to show you. and you can’t miss it, not even if you’d wanted to.

in perfect, neat, simple writing, reads your name across his skin, inked freshly over his collarbone. your eyes widen, staring at the letters in disbelief as he smirks down at you slightly.

“is that…did you…you really got—”

“speechless, huh?” he smirks wider, and the expression makes you want to shove him away. and maybe you would, if it weren’t for his arms around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. “can never form a full sentence around me, can you?” he asks in a cocky voice.

“would you shut up for one second?” you spit, narrowing your eyes at him. “how are you gonna be so insufferable even when you’re trying to be romantic?”

“i’m already romantic,” he glares, flicking your forehead once more, and you move to bite his retreating fingers, making him stare at you in disbelief as you smile smugly at him. “i’m getting this covered up first thing tomorrow,” he grunts. giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck, and suddenly, your eyes go soft—and he hates to admit that he exhales shakily at the sight.

“what’s the occasion? this surprise, i mean,” you murmur. shrugging, he looks at your chin instead of your eyes—or maybe your lips, at this point you’re not entirely sure.

“wanted to show you i love your annoying ass. and that you’re mine,” he adds at the end, a little more emphasis at the statement, making your heart beat erratically. and you wonder if he’s ever noticed that increase in rhythm—because it’s all he’d need to know that his statement is true in all of its entirety.

“you…you tattooed my name on your chest so you could claim me as yours? that’s a little possessive…i love it,” you grin, poking his cheek. “that’s real sexy.”

“i do not want you or this anymore,” he says blankly. “i’m getting rid of it—” and suddenly, he’s cut off and being kissed. hard.

your hands gently cradle his face, pressing your lips hard onto his as you move impossibly closer into his embrace. and if you didn’t know by now that haitani rindou is utterly in love with you, enamored by your entire existence—you certainly do after this, and you hope he knows that the feelings are completely mutual.

“i love you,” you whisper, pulling away. “i love this, and i love you.” he grips your waist tightly.

“i love you too,” he mumbles.

“i know,” you nod, and the tiniest sliver of relief floods his chest. “you’re so obsessed with me, you got it written in bold,” you say with a wide grin. and if he didn’t love your stupid smile and your stupid voice so deeply, he’d hate the cockiness in your demeanor.

“never thought i’d regret a tattoo so soon,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

and this time, when your lips curl into a pretty little pout, he does kiss them, again and again and again—just so he’s sure you know the answer to the question you never had to ask.

this is for ris, always the y/n in my rindou stuff. here’s the tattoo you wanted him to get bae <3

[seijorhi]

Reminiscent

i’m (semi) back, y’all, and i come bearing a fic!! fhdjhfjdk it’s for oikawa i won’t apologise

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW non-con, drunk/drugged reader, forced infidelity, emotional manipulation, angst, past trauma, coercion, mild(ish?) smut, nsfw

“F-fuck, cutie! Just like – hah– just like that!”

You weren’t the clubbing type.

Not usually, at least – but exams were over and one of your friends was fresh off a bad breakup, one night letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

Walking is… difficult, your steps are sloppy – there’s an arm wrapped around your waist, your own slung over a stranger’s shoulders. Why are you outside? Where are your friends – they… they promised they wouldn’t leave you. 

“She good, dude?”

A soft, pretty laugh rumbles at your side, “Yeah, she’s gonna be just fine.”

And you remember the bar, the overpriced cocktails and the saccharine sweetness of strawberry liquor on your tongue. The dizzying lights and the bass that thumped so loudly you felt it reverberate in your chest. You knew the rules; they’d been drilled into you since you were sixteen years old.

Stick together, don’t accept drinks from strangers, and watch the one in your hand like a hawk - it doesn’t leave your sight.

A tongue between the valley of your breasts, long fingers curling up inside of you. 

“You like that, huh pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?”

They wouldn’t have just abandoned you, right? Maybe you told them to go. Maybe they thought you wanted it; to go home with the handsome stranger.

You never had the guts to ask them, never spoke about that night again. Not to anyone.

Pain. Something thrusting inside of you, splitting you open while he moans and pants atop you. It hurts so much and you want it to stop. 

Please stop. Please. Please. Please.

You’re begging, at least you think you are, but the words come out jumbled and wrong, and he just laughs, hiking up your thigh so he can fuck you deeper.

Why won’t he stop?

When you wake up, bruised and sore and all alone in your bed, it feels like a bad dream. You know it’s not – not with cum still seeping from between your thighs, the scent of the stranger’s cologne clinging to your sheets.

And you scrub your skin raw in the shower, but it isn’t enough to rid you of his touch.

—

It’s nothing like what they show on tv.

There’s no sympathetic detective to pat you on your shoulder while you break down, swearing that they’ll find the man who did this and you’ll get your justice.

You don’t go to the cops because you’ll know what they’ll say. You were drunk, drugged, and even if you could remember what he looked like (his eyes were brown, you think, and there’s a flash of a smirk in your head but the moment you try to focus on it it slips away like smoke) any evidence of rape washed down the drain the moment you stepped into the steaming shower.

At least… that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier than admitting you’re terrified of judgemental eyes. 

Or worse; pitying ones.

So you pretend that nothing happened. You show up to your classes and throw yourself into studying, make the time to get coffee with your friends, you even pick up a part time job – it’s good to keep busy. 

The nightmares are just that; nightmares.

And things are fine, until they’re not.

—

“Baby, you’re here!!”

There’s barely time to drop your bags before she’s pulling you into a warm hug. “Hi mom,” you reply, squeezing her back.

When she draws back to take you in, one hand cupping your cheek, she frowns, “You look tired sweetheart. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Yeah, just tired from exams and stuff.”

She looks unconvinced, but mercifully doesn’t push the issue. Of course, you don’t tell her that you missed your last two exams because you’d walked past some guy wearing that same cologne and just choked – that instead of finishing off your semester strong, you’d spent the day alternating between throwing up and crying in bed.

She doesn’t need to know that, because of that, you’ll probably fail both classes and have to retake them again next semester on top of an already full course load. It’s fine; you’ll figure it out.

For now, you work on matching her enthusiasm at having you home, grabbing your bags to bring them inside and into your old room.

“Oh, wait–”

Abruptly, you pause, gazing in confusion from the doorway of your bedroom. There’s a duffle bag lying open and empty atop your bed, a tangled jump rope, some weights, an empty bottle, a sweat towel – even what looks like a spare workout tee scattered haphazardly across the sheets.

“… I didn’t take you for a gym junkie, mom.”

She stops behind you, sighing. “It’s not mine it’s– Tooru said he was going to tidy it up, sorry sweetheart.” She sweeps past you to start tidying it up, but not before you catch sight of her wide eyed, deer in headlights expression.

And you can’t help the lone eyebrow that rises, falling back against the doorframe, arms folding across your chest. “Tooru, huh?” you grin, “And who might Tooru be?”

The flustered, almost guilty look she sends you makes you want to laugh – this is easy, comfortable, this you can do – but you restrain yourself. Just. “Tooru is… he’s– well, he’s the man I’m… seeing.”

She admits it like she’s confessing to a crime, eyes all wide and nervous; anticipating your reaction. And you suppose it’s not unwarranted. As far as you’re aware, she’s been alone ever since the day your dad walked out on you both – raising you was always the priority, or maybe the excuse. But you’re not fourteen anymore, you don’t need another father figure or every spare bit of her time and attention, and she doesn’t need your approval for this.

So you smile at her, “Is he nice?”

She lights up, her features – almost a mirror image of your own – softening as she beams, “He’s amazing, honey. I honestly don’t know how this whole thing really happened, or why he’s even interested in someone like me but… I lucked out with him.”

And so it goes, you prying little bits of information about the mysterious Tooru as the afternoon passes.

She tells you that they met a few months back, at the bakery she likes in town – and how she kept running into him; at the grocery store, and then at the park, and then on her way back from yoga that one night.

She tells you that he’s a terrible flirt, all smooth and charming with warm, pretty brown eyes, but he’s a good man beneath it all and she’s never met anyone like him. 

It strikes you, as you watch your mom animatedly talk about him, that you’ve never seen her look like this before. 

Happy. 

She can’t stop smiling, and when you look at her, really look, she’s almost a different person – younger somehow, a bit more care-free. It suits her, and you wonder with a slight pang in your heart how you never noticed how lonely she was before.

And she’s adamant that they’re taking things slowly, that he still has an apartment of his own in town – which to be honest, you really aren’t gonna judge her on either way – but it is kind of funny simply because whether your mom realises it or not, it’s clearly a lie.

The subtle reclaiming of your bedroom aside, there’s traces of Tooru scattered all around the house; the extra toothbrush and aftershave you’d spotted in the bathroom, the men’s  shoes and the jacket by the door, red wine in the cupboard when your mom’s only ever indulged in white.

You haven’t been into her bedroom, but at this point you’d hazard a guess that there’s at least one drawer full of Tooru’s clothes, probably half her closet cleared out for him as well.

“He’s coming for dinner, but I just wanted today to be just us,” she says, reaching across the couch to squeeze your hand. And you’re grateful for it, because you’re happy for her – you are – but you’re not so sure how you would’ve handled meeting the stranger holding your mother’s heart first thing. At least, not after the last few days.

Not when you still feel all… brittle. 

—

Tooru arrives a little after seven, and to say that he’s not entirely what you were expecting is kind of an understatement. 

She’d gushed about how tall and handsome he is – though personally, you think pretty’s the more accurate word, what with his soft, delicate features, perfect cupid’s bow lips and all. What she’d neglected to tell you was that the man in question, stepping through the front door with a faint smile on his face, has to be at least ten years younger than her, mid-thirties at most.

Suddenly, your mom’s initial reluctance to bring him up starts to make sense.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmurs, stopping by your mom to drop a fleeting kiss to her cheek before warm brown eyes turn to you. 

Your heart stutters.

“Sweetheart,” your mom begins, slipping an arm around his waist and relaxing into his side, “this is Tooru– Oikawa,” she corrects herself.

He smiles at you, friendly and charming, “It’s great to finally meet you, your mom’s told me so much – all good things, of course!”

You force yourself to smile in return, “Yeah, you too.” 

There’s nothing overtly wrong with Oikawa, age difference aside – your mom’s clearly head over heels in love with the guy and on a surface level he seems nice enough, but you find yourself glad for the fact that he doesn’t make a move to step closer, try to shake your hand or god forbid hug you or something like that.

He’s nothing but a gentleman as your mom steps back into the kitchen to finish off dinner, setting the table without being prompted, pouring a glass of wine for your mom and one for himself before he offers a glass to you. 

“Oh, no I’m alright, thanks.”

You don’t drink so much anymore. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal but your mom pouts at you from the kitchen. “C’mon, sweetie. We’re celebrating tonight! One drink won’t hurt.”

“We’re celebrating?” you ask.

She throws you a wink, gaze softening as she turns to glance at Oikawa, already diligently pouring you a glass, “Of course we are. It’s not every day my girl comes home, and it’s nice having you both here with me.”

Oikawa’s fingers brush against yours for a fleeting second as he passes you the glass, and you have to fight to keep yourself from ripping your hand away. It’s nothing, you just– you’re not good with strangers touching you, and as nice as he is and as much as your mom might be infatuated with him, he is still a stranger.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, a playful twinkle in his eye as he clinks his wine glass against yours. “So you’re at uni, right? What are you studying?”

Uni’s the last thing you want to be thinking about right now, but whether or not Oikawa genuinely cares, he’s obviously trying to make an effort to get to know you. For your mother’s sake, grinning innocuously in the kitchen as she adds the last little touches to dinner, you suck it up, plaster a smile across your face and ignore the twinge of discomfort in your gut.

You can handle one night of small talk.

—

You wake the following morning to the sound of voices carrying down the hall.  

Not your mother’s – both are too deep, and your mom left a few hours ago for work. Figuring that one of them at least is likely Oikawa, you pull on a thin, satin robe over your pajamas, tying the sash in a loose knot before you slip from the room.

Those suspicions are proven correct; you round the corner to find Oikawa sitting up at the kitchen counter, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. There’s another man, a touch shorter, but imposing with dark, spiky hair and olive green eyes standing on the other side, hands braced on the marble top, glaring at Oikawa.

They both look up at the sound of your hesitant approach, the stranger abruptly straightening up, while Oikawa merely grins.

“Ah, you’re up,” he observes cheerfully, taking a sip of his coffee.

Your eyes flicker between him and the stranger – clearly comfortable enough in your home and with Oikawa, despite the faint, lingering irritation still visible on his face – and as your cheeks warm, you find yourself wishing you’d put actual clothes on before coming out to investigate.

“I- I heard voices…” you trail off, awkwardly folding your arms over your chest. “Is mom–”

“At work,” he supplies. “Do you want some breakfast? Coffee, maybe?”

You risk another glance at the other man, watching you now with an unreadable expression, dark eyebrows furrowed. You swallow uncomfortably, shifting slightly as you shake your head. “No, I-I’m okay.”

And in an instant, a flash, something like recognition passes through those olive eyes. 

 Oikawa chuckles smoothly, finally tearing his eyes away from you to address his friend, “Iwa, stop being so rude. You’re scaring the poor thing.”

The stranger, Iwa, just scoffs. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know?”

If he’s bothered by the scathing insult, Oikawa doesn’t show it, merely shrugging before turning his attention back to you with a smirk. “Ignore him, he’s just pissy this morning.”

You’d have to be a complete idiot not to sense the uncomfortable tension between the two of them – and now you. This is your home, but it feels like you’re intruding, like you’ve stumbled into a conversation you have no business hearing, but even if you wanted to leave your feet are rooted to the ground. 

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, “he was just leaving anyway, weren’t you, Iwa?” It’s almost a purr, the way he speaks, but even the silken words can’t entirely mask the razor sharpness that lies beneath. 

Goosebumps prickle along your arms.

Staring at you, Iwa opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but seemingly thinks better of it, snapping it shut with an audible click. He huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He spares you another glance on his way out, standing frozen by the hall. For a split second he slows, his scowl softening just a fraction–

“Iwa.”

It sounds like a warning, but he only rolls his eyes and huffs again. You think he’s going to walk out without another word to either of you, but he pauses once more, lingering by the entryway.

“You look a lot like your mother, anyone ever tell you that?”

He’s out the door before you can even think to reply, letting it slam shut in his wake. And you flinch at the harsh sound, something uneasy settling into the pit of your stomach–

“Hey,” Oikawa’s there by your side, his fingers entwining with yours. You hadn’t even heard him move. “Come sit, don’t worry about Iwa. He’ll get over it.”

His voice is soothing, you don’t pay attention to the words themselves, the implications there. You forget for a moment that you’re still in your pj’s, that you really don’t know him that well either, and mindlessly follow when he leads you to the couch and sits you down, taking the seat next to you.

And while your head’s still spinning, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing in the pit of your gut, Oikawa seems entirely unbothered by the turn of events, sighing contentedly as he stretches his long legs out, one arm sliding along the back of the couch behind you.

“Do your… friends usually just drop by like that?”

You don’t know where the words come from, or why that’s the first question on your mind, but when you glance over at him, Oikawa’s just watching you, an odd little half smirk playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”

His answer does little to soothe your unease. It’s really not a big deal, you know it’s not. Officially or not, this is his home too – you’re the one out of place. And if he wants to have people over when your mom’s not around, that’s fine, he can do whatever the hell he wants, but… 

You came home for peace. To hide away for a few days and pretend that everything’s just fine and you’re not one breakdown away from shattering entirely. You wanted your mom and the comfort of your old bedroom and safety and it’s fine – great, even – that she’s found somebody who makes her happy, but this– him and the weirdness with his friend and everything is just too much, and–

You don’t realise that your leg’s bouncing until Oikawa’s hand comes to rest on your bare thigh. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, an icy chill trickling down your spine as his thumb slowly strokes across the soft, plush skin. “Relax, cutie,” he coos, chuckling softly when you visibly flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

“P-please don’t call me that,” you choke out, fighting against the wave of nausea rising up your throat. And it’s just like last time, his cologne, notes of vanilla and cedar and spice, swirling thick and heady around you. That phantom touch, the warmth of hands gripping too tight, unwanted kisses hot and eager against your skin. 

“No?” he asks, cruel amusement dripping from his tone. ��Why not? I think it suits you, cutie.”

You want him to stop, to push him away, slap him – do anything really, but you’re frozen in place, shaking as the memories you’ve fought so hard to shove down come bubbling back to the surface. You can’t think straight, not with his hand sliding between your thighs, the warmth of his body pressing too closely against yours.

“Iwa was right, you know,” Oikawa murmurs, smoldering brown eyes drinking you in as you childishly shake your head, willing him away. His other hand catches your cheek, drawing your face back to him as tears well in your eyes, stubbornly clinging to your lashes. “She does look so much like you, the same eyes even.” 

He whispers it like a secret, nuzzling his nose against yours like a lover would as he sighs sweetly, “It’s the only reason I could stand it.”

And then he’s kissing you, the tenderness of his lips belied by iron fingers digging into your jaw when you whimper and try to wrench yourself free. 

It’s not like the nightmares that startle you awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air; hazy, broken recollections that fade the moment you try to reach for them. No, every touch, every moment of his assault passes in stark clarity.

The feel of Oikawa’s mouth as it trails greedily down your neck, his hand sliding under the cotton of your sleep shorts, even his pleased little hum when he realises you’re not wearing panties. “Such a good girl for me. Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

This time there’s no drugs in your system keeping you pliant and helpless, but that doesn’t make a difference. Not when his words echo in your head, playing again and again until every awful, sickening piece falls into place.

Long, nimble fingers stroke at your folds, and you can’t help the shivery gasp that leaves you when the tip of his middle finger sweeps over your clit. 

“Please– please don’t do this,” you sniffle.

Oikawa presses another fleeting kiss to your shoulder, “Shh, none of that. Let me help you, baby.”

“N-no, I don’t, I don’t– Stop!”

Knocking away the hands that try to push him back, he hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides them down your legs, your pitifully weak struggles only making things easier for him. It’s only when Oikawa reaches for his own zipper that panic truly strikes home.

You can’t just lie here and let this happen again. You won’t.

And like a switch flipped, you start to trash like a wild thing beneath him, the scream you’ve kept buried inside of you for months ripping itself free from your throat–

Only for the fingers that had been toying with your pussy to be shoved down your throat, cutting you off with a choked gurgle. As you gag, fruitlessly try to tug yourself free, Oikawa leans in nice and close – except this time there’s no gentleness to his expression, nothing but viciousness as he grins and bares his teeth. 

“You wanna yell, pretty girl? Want the neighbours to come running, let them see me fuck you?” He grinds his hips against you, his breath shivery as he pants at the friction of his half hard cock against your side. Nausea twists at your gut, acrid and bitter – you want to be sick, to cry and beg with him to stop but with his fingers still stuffed in your mouth, his thumb digging into the soft underside of your jaw all you can manage is an unintelligible whine. He hums, kissing away the single hot tear that spills down your cheek, “You think if you cry loudly enough, mommy’ll come home and save you?”

And it’s like time stands still as he laughs, cruel eyes glinting when he presses down on your tongue, warm saliva pooling around his digits. “Such a little whore, trying to seduce her poor, innocent boyfriend the very moment her back’s turned. Tell me, cutie,” he coos, “who do you think she’d believe?”

Your breath hitches, another sob catching in your throat – even if you wanted to answer, you can’t and he knows it. “She’s in love with me, you know. It’s almost a little pathetic how easy it was to manipulate her into bed – so lonely… desperate for love, for somebody – anybody – to pay attention to her, take care of her,” he sneers, distaste curling at his lips. “Wouldn’t it just break her fragile little heart to know she’s fallen for the man who raped her baby girl?”

Another garbled cry slips past his fingers and you can only watch in frozen horror as his other hand drifts back to his zipper. “You want to protect her, don’t you?”

His grip relents just enough for you to jerk a shaky nod.

“Pretty girl, so good for me.” Another kiss pressed to your cheek as the quiet hiss of his zipper fills the air around you. “It’ll be our little secret, hmm? She doesn’t need to know just yet, let her be happy a little while longer…”

Sliding down his briefs just far enough for his cock to spring free, he strokes it for a moment with slow, leisurely movements, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches your eyes widen. 

And when he pulls you forward, guides your mouth towards it, pre-cum beading at the tip, withdrawing his fingers so you can quickly gasp for air, you just… let him.

The fight’s gone, as quickly as it had come. 

You let his fingers curl through your hair, use it as an anchor when your lips part to force his cock between them. And he moans, low and shivery as your tongue slides along the underside of his shaft and you try not to gag around the sudden intrusion. 

You think that there’s no room left inside of you for shame, but as his other hand creeps back between your legs, teasing at your cunt, you burn with it, clinging to the pyre of your own humiliation and disgust.

And still, you kneel on the couch, letting him fuck your mouth, letting those long, pretty fingers curl up inside of you – moaning around his cock when they stroke that perfect little spot.

“I wanted to – shit – take this slow,” he tells you as his hips jerk upwards, shuddering in breathless delight when his cock hits the back of your throat and it convulses around him. “I wanted to make you want me.”

Wet, messy, gags sound with every unwitting thrust – you’ve no choice but to swallow him down, let him fuck your throat like you’re nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. There’s saliva coating your chin, dripping down the length of his dick, pooling around his balls. You can barely breathe, a task made even harder when Oikawa decides to add his thumb into the mix, teasing your clit while he fucks you apart on his fingers.

It feels so fucking good, and you’ve never hated yourself more.

Your throat burns, hot tears stinging in the corners of your eyes, and yet he’s intent on driving you to the brink of your sanity with every calculated flick of his wrist. Something tightens in your belly, a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap, and you can’t help it when your hips chase his fingers, the needy, shameful little whimpers that leave your lips (still wrapped around his thick, twitching cock) as you search for the pleasure to temper the discomfort.

“You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you? I could barely sleep last night–” 

You choke back a moan, your pussy clenching around his digits, sucking them deeper as white spots pepper your vision and you shudder out a moan.

“So pretty when you cum for me,” he pants, but you don’t care – can’t, not when you’re riding his fingers, tongue lolling out as he gives you a moment’s reprieve to bask in the rippling afterglow of your orgasm before everything comes crashing back down around you. 

Oikawa lets you fall back against the cushions, breathless, trembling and dazed. You’re not stupid enough to believe that’s the end of it, not when his cock’s still hard, throbbing against his toned stomach when he gives it a slow, cursory pump.

“Lie back, cutie,” he whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he pushes himself up off the couch to shed the rest of his clothes.

And as you shuffle obediently downwards, heart hammering in your chest, you find you can’t tear your eyes away from him either.

Tall and handsome, she’d said, but the words truly don’t do him justice. A body corded with lean, powerful muscle, golden, sun-kissed skin, a light smattering of dark hair trailing from his navel down past the well defined V of his hips… 

“See something you like?” he teases, smirking when you squeak and childishly jerk your face away, cheeks burning. “It’s okay to look, you know. I don’t mind the attention.”

It feels too soft, too intimate for what this is. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be attractive, or to make you enjoy your own assault, and you– you’re supposed to fight it, fight him instead of just lying there and taking it… 

But when he climbs back onto the couch, easing your still trembling thighs apart to settle himself between them, his touch is nothing short of reverent, dark eyes wide and adoring as you squirm uneasily beneath him. 

With one hand braced on the cushion beside you, his cock resting just above your aching sex, he leans forward, easing your top up past your tits. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it’s enough to make a fresh bout of humiliated tears spring to your eyes. Your hands curl into useless fists at your side as he settles back onto his knees and takes his cock in hand, hissing in pleasure when he glides the flushed, leaking head along your slick folds.

“Fuck, cutie. I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he laughs, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches hot, fat tears slip down your cheeks. With an agonisingly slow pace, Oikawa lines himself up with your cunt and presses in – even with how wet you are, one orgasm already wrung from you, the stretch burns and you can’t stop the choked gasp that leaves you.

His eyes flutter shut, head thrown back back as inch by inch his cock sinks into your pussy until finally he bottoms out with a satisfied groan. “Perfect for me, so fucking good,” he pants, and you barely have time to drag in a breath before his hips are drawing back, another desperate, strangled mewl escaping you.

Bruising fingers dig into your waist, Oikawa cursing as your plush little cunt flutters maddeningly around him– before he eagerly slams his cock forward, stuffing you full once more.

And as you sob and whimper between every wet, obscene squelch of his dick fucking into your soaked pussy, that all too familiar, shameful heat begins to pool in your core.

“Gonna cum for me again, cutie?”

[wearywinchester]

Tender

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When hiding an injury from Dean doesn’t go to plan, he’s there to give you the comfort you need.

Requested by @latenight-daythoughts: “Hey! I have a request for a Dean one shot please, could you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt and tired to play it off until they get back to the bunker and when dean patches her up it hurts more then she thought, so she starts crying and Dean comforts her and is all cute and sweet? I love your writing btw!!”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff, comfort, kissing

Hurt. You got hurt on that hunt and you weren’t quite sure how you talked yourself out of it with Dean. Maybe you actually did, but a part of you told you that was more than likely impossible. Not with the look he gave you or the glance he spared down at your leg. But he seemingly took your word for it at that very moment.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you took a breath, trying your hardest to make it to the Impala sitting just a few feet away. Every ounce of pressure on your leg made it ache all the more as you walked, walked like you insisted you could do to a persistent Dean the moment he saw the look on your face. But you told him you were fine, staving his worries with a smile and a witty counter that had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was fine, so long as you kept your weight off of it as much as possible until you could clean yourself up, it’d be fine. At least that’s what you’d told yourself.

You were relieved once you’d slipped in the front seat after Dean suggested you sit up there with him, Sam in the back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you slumped back against the leather seat. The fabric of your jeans over the wound on your thigh had been frayed on the brink of being ripped, but not enough to draw your eye should you be anyone but yourself or Dean Winchester. Stains of crimson hadn’t been visible on the dark denim material, but you were sure it’d be obvious the moment they came off.

As you sat, you felt that ache on your leg begin to lighten some, that pain shooting down it dissipating now that you hadn’t been standing on it.

It shouldn’t be that bad, not really, you’d snagged it along the edge of something sharp when that demon had thrown you with so much as a flick of her hand. You were sore overall, something a hot bath might help with when you make it back to the bunker. But you’d yet to see your leg, to see just what damage lay beneath your jeans.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, pulling your attention from your thoughts.

You looked to your left, Dean’s gaze shifting from the road to look at you for a moment or two before looking ahead.

“‘M fine, De,” you murmur, that aching burn on your thigh threatening to spill over your emotions and give you away in an instant.

He looks at you again in a lingering glance, his lips pursed in disbelief, brows furrowing at the way you looked down at your leg with a frown, or the way you brushed your thumb over that very spot you said was nothing. He saw how your lips twitched downward in a deeper frown for only a mere second, quickly brushing it off with a sigh and a bite to the inside of your cheek before he looked forward once more.

You knew, by the light tension in his jaw and the crease between his brows, you knew he could see there was more to it than that.

After a moment or two you scooted a little closer to him, your hand grabbing his own. He felt the way you brushed your thumb along his knuckles in an absentminded habit, your gaze fixed out the window in an attempt to set your attention on anything other than the burning feeling that simmered on your skin.

It was okay. You were fine.

Your hand hadn’t left Dean’s nearly the entirety of the trip, something he noticed and something he didn’t mind, something that had him smiling softly at the mere thought of it. But something that was just as quick to steal that smile was the very look on your face each and every time he glanced over at you, a slight frown on your lips that you weren’t even aware you had, and that crease between your brows very much there.

You sighed when he parked in the bunker’s garage that night, getting out before he could come and help you do it. The look on his face was evident that he wasn’t happy with that, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth as he looked at you over the roof of the car.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, meeting him and Sam at the trunk where you’d grabbed your bags.

“You say that every time, sweetheart,” he counters.

“Maybe this time you’ll take my word for it,” you say, brows raised as you put your bag over your shoulder.

He chuckles then, head shaking as he closes the trunk. You tried your best to be convincing, and so far he hadn’t pried, but that very same feeling was back now that you were up and walking around, pressure back on your leg seemingly worse than before.

You found yourself grateful that Dean had chosen to walk ahead, Sam beside you, making it just a little easier to hide the change in the way you walked. Just enough to get you to your shared room without being terribly obvious. But it hurt, it hurt more and it was becoming increasingly more apparent to you.

You were home, and that’s what made things a bit better for you. You weren’t in some motel anymore, weren’t in the Impala anymore, you were home in the comfort of your familiar place with your room, your bed, and Dean. Despite the nagging pain wearing away at you with every movement of your leg, you tried not to think about it that much, and tried not to think about how it’d feel upon taking your jeans off. How it’d look given that you haven’t even seen it yet.

Dean dimmed the lights in the hall and bid Sam a goodnight like he always did, twisting the knob to your shared room and pushing the door open. Everything was as you’d left it just three days prior, the bed still made and ready to climb in and Dean’s slippers still tucked halfway under the bed, his pajama pants still slung over the back to the small desk chair.

“There’s no place like home,” Dean chuckles, sighing as he drops his duffel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed right next to yours.

You watched as he untied his boots and stepped out of them, unease settling over you as you took your own boots off, fighting the urge to scrunch up your face at the way your jeans pressed into your leg as you bent down.

You couldn’t hide this from him forever, you don’t think that’s possible when you really think about it. But you still weren’t willing to give it up, you could see the look on his face already if he knew. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged off your jacket, eyeing him with a soft sigh.

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” you say, smiling when he turns to face you.

He simply hums, dipping down to kiss you.

“Don’t be too long,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back with a grin.

“Is it ‘cause you’ll miss me too much, Winchester?” You ask, brow raising in amusement.

You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, a laugh leaving his lips as he nods to himself, tugging back the blankets on the bed. It very much was the reason and he knew it, no matter how much Sam picks on him for it all in good fun, he just can’t help it.

“That’s exactly why,” he says, tossing a clean flannel of his your way along with a pair of boxers because he knows just how much you love to wear them to bed. Doesn’t even need you to tell him that very fact because he sees you snag a pair from his drawer every night without a care that he’ll see you stealing them either.

You stand there for a moment more as you look at him, your smile soft and fond as you hold the clothes in your hands. After that moment, you find it in yourself to turn on your heel and step into the hall, heading towards the bathroom. Your heart was bursting with the very thought of him sharing his clothes with you, of the very idea that he’d been so thoughtful, but the wound on your leg was making it awfully difficult to think about anything other than that.

You switched the light on and closed the door behind you, setting the clothes down on the counter. You turned the faucet on and stuck your hands under the tap, the water cold as it splashed across your face. It was a little more refreshing than you felt before it, soothing the fatigue that’d been settling over you only temporarily.

Dread simmered in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to take off your jeans, but it wasn’t doing you any good to keep them on.

You exhaled a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as you hooked your fingers in your belt loops. It was fine until you got about halfway, and you found yourself fighting the urge to let out the cry that’s been sitting in the back of your throat, the feel of the rough material scraping over your thigh making it all the more difficult to stifle it.

It was then that you saw it, the blood smudged over your leg and the scrape that ran across your skin, angry and red as it tapered just above your knee. You ran your hands down your face at the sight of it, having been less than ideal but you knew it couldn’t have been good.

You kicked the dirtied jeans to the side in frustration, sighing as you opened the cabinet below the sink. You snagged the first aid kit and the bottle of peroxide just next to it, grabbing a clean wash rag.

This could have been avoided, maybe, but at that moment you were struggling to figure out just how it could have been. Demons were unpredictable, able to sense a trick with ease, able to tell when someone’s lurking with the intent to leave one less demon in the world. They give ample opportunities to be outsmarted, though, but this didn’t seem to be one of those times. There was no match for a human against the powers they hold save for the weapons that served you no use that day. You were thrown clear across the room without a beat of hesitation, something done with ease.

So maybe, just maybe it wasn’t avoidable this time.

You knew Dean saw it, he had to. It was more than obvious that there’d be repercussions to being thrown a good seven feet into a less than unforgiving cabinet. He knew you better than to believe that you were as fine as you say you were. He knows you like the back of his hand, can see your stubbornness from a mile away because he’s the very same.

You wet the wash rag at the sink, taking a seat on the bench by the showers. You began to blot away the blood, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as the burn of the jagged scrape worsened from it.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, a more than familiar voice on the other side.

“Sweetheart? ‘M coming in, I forgot to—”

Your eyes widen as the door opens, gaze meeting green eyes before his stare shifts downwards to the rag in your hand, splotches of a pale crimson staining it. They bounce to the source, to the irritated and red scrape dragging along the outside of your thigh, nearly classifying as a cut but not quite.

“Y/n.”

“Dean, it’s not—”

“What, ‘it’s not a big deal’?” He says, anger seeping into his tone. Not at you, never. It was when he thought back to that hunt that has him angry.

“Dean,” you sigh.

He’s quick to cross the tiled floor, kneeling in front of you. He nudges your knee with his hand gently, the tips of his fingers brushing along your skin. You saw the crease between his brows deepen, lips parted as his eyes bounced over the entirety of the wound on your leg. You can see the way his jaw tenses, tight and unwavering and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of his ears at that moment.

“Damn it, Y/n,” he says quietly, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” you reason, brows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side slightly.

His gaze narrows up at you in disapproval, your reasoning something that was near laughable to him, you even knew it was ridiculous too the moment the words fell from your lips.

“You can bet I’ll freak out,” he says, his chuckle humorless as he runs his hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us to split up.”

“Well, we did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, breathing out a huff through his nose. He was upset more than anything, with himself you could tell, could see the frown on his lips as he grabbed the wash cloth from your hand and picked up where you left off.

He was gentle as he wiped away the dirt and blood smeared around it, more so than you despite the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the tattered cloth. You tried to keep your attention on anything else, anything other than the way your leg had been so sensitive even the most mild of touches as hurt. You tried to keep your gaze on him, distract yourself with the abundance of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks.

They were easy to distract yourself with on any given occasion, on times where you didn’t need to be distracted, when you shouldn’t be. But for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to get lost in counting them this time, not with the numbing pain serving as a painful way of keeping you fixated on just that.

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, residual anger still wrapped around his tone with the softness of his words. But he was more concerned than angry.

You puffed out a humorless laugh through your nose, your grip on the bench you sat on tightening some. “I’m not exactly jumping at the idea of running to my boyfriend every time I get hurt on a hunt.”

Your tone is frustrated, embarrassment simmering in the pit of your stomach over the current situation you were in, not to mention the way it happened. You’d never get taken seriously if you ran and cried to Dean each and every time you got hurt. You barely felt like an adequate hunter as it is, you didn’t want to add to it. You would have been fine if he hadn’t seen it.

“Y/n, this isn’t some puny little paper cut, okay? This is way different than just slapping a bandaid on it and kissin’ it better.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean,” you say, jaw tensing as you look away.

You hated the way your voice was beginning to falter, swallowing thickly in hopes to push down the persistent lump in your throat. Now was not the time to cry, not in front of him. That would only make matters worse and you don’t think you could handle that.

“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, not even a little bit. You don’t have to play the tough guy act all the time.”

You stay quiet as you continue to look away from him, the pressure building behind your eyes. When you glance down you see he’s got that dreaded bottle in his hand, popping the cap open with his thumb. He’s hesitant as he tips the bottle, the clear peroxide having poured steadily over every inch of the wound on your leg, bubbling and stinging the moment it touches the damaged skin.

You felt your lip begin to quiver, near uncontrollable as it throbbed and burned, the pain worse than you thought as you bit down on your lip. It was almost unbearable, a numbing kind of pain that brought heat to your cheeks and quickened your heart. That pressure behind your eyes increased then until you just couldn’t handle it, lip free from your teeth as you hid your cry in your shoulder.

But it turns out, you’re not that good at hiding, not from Dean Winchester. Not that it was very hard to notice either.

He stopped immediately, gaze flickering to you, cheeks wet with hot tears and lip quivering in a way that tugged at his heart. His hand settled on your cheek, a gentle nudge to get you to look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, the fond nickname something that makes you cry all the more in that moment.

You wrap your arms around him and he settles back a bit as he holds you closer, brows furrowed and jaw tense because seeing you so upset is one thing he can’t handle. Seeing you cry is something that tears him to shreds every time.

His grip on you is tight, his stubble pressing into the side of your neck. He’s cautious of bumping your leg, his throat clearing to try and stave off that pressure constricting around his throat from that very same lump forming as it did you. You could feel the kiss he pressed to your cheek, one to your temple, lingering and sweet. Dean Winchester could be the gruffest man anyone’s ever seen, but he’s got the softest heart, and if there’s one thing he can do without fail it’s comfort.

He finds himself pulling back when you loosen your grip, lip still wobbly as ever as you look at him with glossy eyes. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, cheeks that burn with embarrassment for crying even though he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He didn’t mind the tears on his shirt, didn’t mind the snot to go with it. That’s the least of his concerns, they all pale in comparison to you.

“It hurts,” you whisper, your gaze shifting to his at the feel of his hand on your cheek, calloused and warm.

“I know it does, baby. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, smiling softly. “But ‘m almost finished and the ugly part is over, I can promise you that. You just gotta let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod, the patience in his words having set you at ease as you sniff, wiping your tears once more when his hand falls from your face in favor of sorting through bandages. He comes up with a few cotton pads, laying them over the length of the freshly cleaned wound as you sit there, still sniffling from having cried.

He’s more than careful as he takes the roll of gauze and wraps it around your thigh, securing the bandages completely with care to not make it too tight before he tucks in the loose end.

“You’re good as new, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at you.

You flash him a look, biting the inside of your cheek as you laugh softly, not quite humorous. “I’d hardly call it that.”

You’re grumbling, but he takes that hint of a smile as a good thing, standing halfway to press a kiss on your cheek and one to your lips, another to your forehead as his hand brushes over your cheek before he stands fully and swipes the clean clothes from the counter.

You stand with a look of unease, trying your best to keep the pressure on your good leg before that dreadful pain can jolt up your other. You shrug off your shirt in favor of his flannel, the soft material hanging loosely from your shoulders in a heap of warm and fabric softener and a hint of his cologne. It’s a simple thing that amounts to more comfort than you can express, the mere feeling of it putting you at ease.

He helps you with your pajama bottoms, trying not to fuss over you as you did it yourself, instead offering his arm for your balance that you found yourself needing more than you thought.

Your bed was more comfortable than you’d imagined coming home to, leaps and bounds better than that motel mattress. The sheets were soft and they too smelled like Dean, the blankets warm and hefty as they rested over top of you.

Dean brought you close enough to nearly share a pillow, the events transpiring earlier that day on the hunt having sunken deep in the pit of his stomach and simmered there, bringing with it that anger that hadn’t quite left. It made his stomach twist and churn each and every time you got hurt, the blame he put on himself having picked at him every single time without fail. Especially when it brings you to tears, especially when it’s got you so bothered it’s got you crying into his shoulder.

He hates it, he hates that part of hunting.

But regardless, those kind green eyes meet your gaze as he looks at you with a soft smile, his fingertips brushing along your cheek. He’s got that look on his face, one that’s telling of something humorous sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken.

“What, De?” You sigh, feeling the residual tension of your tears beginning to dissolve just a little more.

He chuckles, looking down for a moment as he shakes his head. “If I were you, ‘think I might’ve cried way sooner than you did.”

You roll your eyes then, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dean, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is not,” he insists, lips pursed to stifle his smile.

You look at him, tired and amused as you make no effort to hide your smile. He’s got that smile, that one that makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter every time he looks at you like that.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you sigh, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You find yourself lying atop his chest as he turns the tv up a little bit more, his chuckle rumbling against you. He tossed the remote down, the very tip of your finger tracing over his chest. Your legs tangle with his own, your injured one on top as you turn a bit more on your side. He’s got reruns of your favorite show on because he knows you’re too tired to watch the new ones, knows you like to have it on when you fall asleep.

“Goodnight, De,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chin before sinking back down on his chest.

He smiles in that moment, soft and sweet as his thumb brushes back and forth over your shoulder lightly.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You’re fine. You’ve got him and you’re okay.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[upat4amwiththemoon]

I miss…

Summary: You can’t pause time.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x female!reader

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 717

a/n: this is inspired by a poem I have written, so all the reader’s memories are my own

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

Wanda and Y/N are laying in bed, holding each other tightly and just being together. They decided today would be a great day to stay in as neither of them had a free day after a long period of intense work.

Wanda is gently brushing her hand through Y/N’s hair with her head on her chest. She smiles, keeping her eyes closed. The pillow under her head feels like heaven and the weight of Y/N’s body on top of her is comforting. The only sounds in the room are their soft breathing and a slight wind from the outside.

“You know what I miss?” Y/N mumbles out tiredly, her fingers drawing random shapes Wanda’s bare stomach.

“Hm?” Wanda hums.

“I used to make a blueberry pie while my mom was at work and then waited for her to come back so she could put it in the oven because I didn’t know how to use it.” Y/N doesn’t bother opening her eyes. She isn’t sure why the memory came to her now, but she wanted to share it to Wanda.

Wanda smiles. “That’s nice.”

“I also miss taking out the mail from the mailbox when I came home from school so my mom didn’t have to do it.”

Wanda giggles. “You were an adorable child.” She opens her eyes to glance at peaceful looking Y/N. “I miss helping my mom to cook so I could learn how to be as good as her.”

“You are a really good cook.”

“Thank you, детка.”

“I miss practicing handstands on my backyard’s grass.” Y/N giggles quietly. “And pretending to be a musketeers with my friends. We used sticks as swords.”

Wanda laughs. Y/N smiles at the feeling. “I miss jumping on the couch with Pietro, pretending like we could fly.”

Y/N sighs, finally opening her eyes as well. “Do you ever feel like time moves by too fast. Like one day you’re having the time of your life and the next everything is shit.”

“I do.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back to those moments? The little ones you don’t even always remember but somehow they evoke the most emotion in you.”

“Sometimes, but not as much anymore. I have you now.” Wanda kisses the top of Y/N’s head and Y/N smiles at it. “Where is this all coming from?”

“Just thinking.” Y/N presses her cheek to Wanda’s chest even harder. “Sometimes, I feel like…I don’t even know what I feel. It’s not necessarily sad, but it’s not happy either. I just miss the times everything was easier. Like when I used to wake up ten minutes earlier on school morning so I could spend that time laying next to my mom. But now, waking up feels so difficult sometimes.”

Wanda frowns. The two know they both face those kind of difficulties once in a while, but it still hurts to hear. Especially when it feels like she can’t do anything to help.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“You didn’t.” Wanda sits up, bringing Y/N up with her. She moves her to sit on her lap, still leaning her head against her chest. “I love when you talk to me, about anything, sad or happy things.” Wanda rubs Y/N’s back.

“I know.” Y/N wraps her arms around Wanda’s neck, playing with the hairs on her neck.

“How about we get up and bake some blueberry pie right now?”

Y/N lifts her head to see Wanda’s face. “And then we’ll jump on the couches?”

“Yes.” Wanda giggles and stands up with Y/N, the two racing to the kitchen.

The next morning their alarm starts blaring at 6:50, when it usually wakes them up at 7:00. Wanda groans quietly before shutting the alarm. She turns back to Y/N whose eyes are already open. “Good morning.” She giver her a tired smile.

“Morning, моя любовь.” Wanda pulls Y/N closer and wraps her arms tightly around her waist. Letting out a deep sigh, she presses her face to her hair, inhaling the smell of her shampoo.

“I love you.” Y/N whispers, closing her eyes as she hides her face on the crook of her neck.

“I love you too.”

[knifefather]

Mmmm you gotta do a scenario on helping Riz with those poor heavy breeder balls 🥴 I bet he'd appreciate you laving your tongue all over them and sucking his balls and his cock so thoroughly his legs turn to jelly

dI meannn Ris does have the biggest, juiciest balls of Passione so 👀 It is my duty to write about them! And I apologize that it took so long for me to fill this request. I hope that the wait was worth it!

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: messy blowjobs, size kink, established relationship. 18+ only 

Risotto hasn't gotten a nut in weeks.

He recently returned back to Napoli after carrying out a particularly difficult assassination. The capo had a difficult time tracking the target due to their powerful stand and an even tougher time getting the blood stains out of his clothes after he was done with them. Oh well. Wearing all black has its perks.

Risotto was gone for approximately 21 days. The bastard really gave him a run for his money, because Risotto hasn't had a chase like that in a very long time. It was challenging for sure, but nothing he couldn't handle. What he couldn't handle, though, was going so long getting a nut. He was on high alert for several days on end, and you just don't have time for that kind of stuff when you're stalking a drug lord Stand user.

Risotto did nothing but sleep after he got back. He was excited to see you, his partner, once again, but his excitement was overpowered by exhaustion. After reuniting with you, he stumbled into the bedroom and crawled into bed. And that is where he stayed, asleep. You woke him up periodically to feed him, but otherwise, you watched over him while he rested. After a few days, Risotto seemed to wake for good. You were coincidentally in the bedroom at that time, quietly putting away laundry. He groaned and slowly sat up in the bed, one of his huge hands coming up to run the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hey, baby,” you greet, finishing hanging up a shirt in the closet. 

“Hey,” he croaks back. 

“You feeling okay?” you ask. You come to sit with him in the bed, your side still mostly made. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to rest on his shoulder. 

“I’m alright,” he responds. “Wanna lay down for awhile?”

“You’ve been laying down for like... three days,” you say, snickering at him. 

“You know what I mean. I’ve missed being close to you.” 

Pulling up the sheets, you crawl into bed with him despite being in your day clothes. You lay on your side and he snuggles against your back, holding you securely. He inhales deeply, not doubt smelling the sweet scent of your shampoo. The two of your are still for a moment, holding each other and listening to the sound of your synchronized breathing. It’s so peaceful and comfortable in the room that your eyes begin to slip shut. Though, you’re disturbed by something poking you in the back. You adjust yourself, hoping it would go away, but instead Risotto grunts while you move. 

“Morning wood?” you question, craning your head over your shoulder to smile at him. His black and red eyes are squinted as he fights off sleep once again. 

“You could say that,” Risotto says. “It’s been almost a month since I’ve gotten any. Couldn’t even touch myself.”

“You could get some right now, you know,” you say mischievously. His eyes open wider now, red irises shifting to look at you. 

“I’m too tired to fuck you properly.” He sounds disappointed. 

“Don’t worry about this. Let me take the reigns,” you assure him. You carefully untangle yourself from his arms and push the blanket off of you. At your direction, Risotto makes himself comfortable against the pillows and slides off his boxer shorts. You position yourself between his legs, laying on your stomach between his thighs. He parts them for you, looking down at you eagerly. The expression on his face is making you feel some feel hot on the inside. 

You gingerly grab his weighty cock and gave it a couple pumps with your fist. It’s as hard as a rock in your hand and stood intimidatingly tall. You can never get Risotto to fit in your mouth all of the way, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. You grab it by the base and guide it towards your lips, giving it a few broad licks. Looking up at him, his black and red eyes met yours. His lids are heavy, his breaths deep as you handle his cock. You mouth his tip, getting it nice and wet before taking more into your mouth. Risotto lets out a pleased sigh as you work your way down, taking more and more of him with every little bob of your head. 

“Merde,” he moans, his head rolling back on his shoulders before straightening. “I missed you so much,” he speaks, his hand coming down to cup the back of your head lovingly. You bat your lashes at him and smile as well as you can around his member. You swallow down more of him until you can’t stand it. Gagging yourself on his dick, you pump the remaining few inches that you can’t reach. Your saliva is dripping down his shaft as your mouth struggles to accommodate his pulsating length.  Risotto was never particularly vocal. He didn’t usually speak or moan very much. Though, this time, he’s breathless, grunting and groaning as you suck him with all you’ve got. You feel triumphant, and with a bit more confidence, you begin to bob your head more fervidly on his cock. Risotto’s thighs start to twitch on either side of you, his muscles growing restless and you try to suck the cum from him. “How are you doing that with your tongue?” he moans, running a hand through his short, white hair. You smugly continue to tease the underside of his cock with your tongue, all while your cheeks are hollowed. Cheekily, you use your other hand to cup his balls, squeezing him just tight enough to send jolts of pleasure up his spine. A loud moan escapes him, followed by him biting his lip to silence himself. Risotto’s cheeks are red with embarrassment, but you think that it’s adorable. His sweet, pleasured noise travels right to your pussy, causing you to tingle and throb as you suck him off. 

You can tell that your boyfriend is close because he’s beginning to buck up into your mouth. Usually he has enough control not to, because he is aware that his member is...bigger than average. But when he gets lost in the pleasure, on the edge and needing to cum, he will buck into your tight throat. Risotto only needs a little more to cum, just a bit. Tears are streaming steadily from your eyes, sloppy sounds coming from your throat with every bob of your head. Risotto grips your hair, pushing your head down slightly. “Gonna cum, cara,” he warns. But you’re prepared for it. You breathe in deeply through your nose and focuse all of your energy on relaxing your throat. Risotto lets out a long groan as he shoots his load down your throat. You sputter on his seed, some of it spilling out the sides of your mouth. Though, he’s relentless, and continues shooting ribbon after ribbon of his spunk. Drool, cum, and tears drip down your face and onto the sheets. The sight of you was truly beautiful. 

Risotto’s eyelashes are fluttering in bliss as he gets his fill. It felt like an eternity since he got to have your hands and mouth on him, and he’s so happy. You only pull back from his cock when you physically cannot take having in him your throat anymore. The capo relaxes his hand as you pull off his cock, sputtering and coughing as more cum drips down your chin. You swallow what you can, drawing in deep breaths in an effort to gather yourself. “Easy, easy,” Risotto speaks softly to you, loosening his grip on your hair and petting the back of your head gently instead. As you gaze up at him, you can’t help but smile. He returns the gesture, giving you a small smirk. His hand moves from the back of your head to your chin, tilting your face up at him. “I love you so much,” he professes. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“If you thought that this was just for you, then you are mistaken,” you reply wittily, still trying to regain your breath. “But you are welcome. I love you too, Ris.” 

Risotto strokes your chin with his thumb lovingly. “Likewise. Why don’t you let me get a towel for your face?” he says, the smooth bass of his voice vibrating in your ears. You nod enthusiastically. He plants a kiss on the top of your head before he crawls out of bed. 

[wonlouvre]

wonwoo + childhood friends to lovers?? maybe some jealousy involved on woos side eliciting a confession?❤️❤️

home | j. ww.

pairing: wonwoo x g.n. oc genre: fluff warnings: none (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.3k

💌: thank you for requesting dear anon! i hope you really like this :’) so much wonwoo content if you haven’t noticed by now and i’m living for it! thank you again! please do tell me what you think <3

Wonwoo thinks of himself as a coward for not swallowing his pride and reservations in telling you the truth. The truth about how much he is so in love with you,  it’s making it difficult for him to physically breathe. He hasn’t planned on confessing yet, but as the days go by, he thinks he’s running out of time. And even though he still sees you every day and you still keep him around, it's not enough. It’s not enough that he’s not holding your hands like he wants to or kissing you senseless like he wishes to. 

It’s not enough that he can’t love you more than just a friend. 

 “Wonwoo?”

You have been trying to get the boy’s attention for the past minute because it’s starting to concern you how much he’s spaced out. You have already tapped his shoulder, poked his cheek and even tickled his side. But to no avail, he was just staring at his book and sighing defeatedly. 

“Wonwoo?” You shake him again and finally, he looks at you. 

“Oh?” Wonwoo leans close and gives his glasses clad eyes to you. “What’s wrong?”

You sadly smile, bringing a hand up to fix his fringe. “Don’t you think I should be asking you that? You’ve been distracted ever since we got here.”

You and Wonwoo never created a schedule to study together, but by some unknown force, you always gravitated towards each other. It usually just takes one text message or one call and you’d be meeting at the university’s library in no time. Maybe, it’s a thing to be in sync with your childhood friend. You’re not sure, but you’re not ruling out the possibility. 

You and Wonwoo became friends when you just turned six years old and he was already nine. The two of you are next door neighbors, even up to now. Both of your parents became friends in an instant, automatically drawing you close to the shy boy with ease. He was timid and reluctant at first, but eventually he warmed up to you. 

The two of you were at each other’s side growing up. Attended the same school and always hang out afterwards despite the fact that he’s ahead of you. Went to the same playground. Ate at the local street food stands. Played at the only arcade established in the neighborhood. All of those done, together. 

It’s not that difficult to keep communication lines open and connection intact most especially when your bedroom windows are both adjacent. It’s a little bit unbelievable, but you and Wonwoo saw the different phases of your lives through those windows. You saw him escape through that window to play computer games with Woozi once. On the other hand, he saw you through that window dancing to one of your favorite songs. No hints of embarrassment. You even developed a code where there’s a number of knocks on the glass that will indicate your identities. You can enter at the main entrance of course, but this is special between the two of you. 

Well puberty was a different chapter and the two of you may or may not have distanced for quite a while. But, your friendship triumphed over the trials. 

Several people have asked if you have feelings for your friend. And several times, you denied. Likewise, Wonwoo has had his fair share of nosy people. It’s a conversation that you two have already talked about a year into college. The two of you were awfully awkward in denying, but shrugged it off nevertheless. By far, no one has asked again ever since. 

It didn’t affect your friendship, but a shift definitely happened. Like, the two of you became hyper aware of each other’s presence and actions. Casual gestures became lingering touches. Casual nicknames became specially endearing (that no one else is allowed to say them).

You could say this friendship also became something more as well.

Wonwoo’s heart skipped a beat at the warm sensation of your hand. He plays it cool and scratches the back of his neck, a habit he does when he becomes nervous.

You take notice of that, making you conclude that there’s really something wrong.  “Is there something that’s bothering you?”

Your friend sighs for the nth time and slumps on the open books he has failed to study. Wonwoo’s afraid to ask and he doesn’t even know if he really should. But, he has to get this out of his chest one way or another. “Are you really going on that study date with Jeonghan?”

Suddenly? You frown, confused as to where this is coming from. 

You answer him nonetheless. “Yes. You know I can’t fail this class, right? Jeonghan seemed to be the ace and he’s willing to teach me for free.”

“I can tutor you too, you know?” Wonwoo’s pouting now.

You grin and lean your arms on your notes, mirroring his position. You teasingly narrow your eyes at him and he looks away, annoyed at your antics. “But you don’t have this class in your program, remember?”

“And so?” Wonwoo asks, eyes boring back to you at lightning speed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have good knowledge about the subject.”

You smirk. Yes, Wonwoo is a coward, but you’re confident. You’re confident with how you have found the only person you’re still friends with since childhood. You’re confident with how you found the only person to teach you how to ride a bike and play computer games. You’re confident with how you found the only person you want to grow old with.

And, you’re confident with how you found Jeon Wonwoo as the only person’s initials you would allow to be at home inside your heart. 

“I smell jealousy,” you state the obvious for him. “Can you confirm that for me, Mr. Jeon?”

Wonwoo was a coward. But not this time anymore. 

Your eyes widen when he suddenly stands up, chair scraping against the wooden floor. What he does next almost made you topple over, but your tight grip on the table kept you grounded. Wonwoo gently holds your chin between his fingers and softly presses his lips against yours. 

Wonwoo is kissing you.

Suddenly, you’re not so confident anymore. Your breath hitches for a short second, but you relax immediately after. You close your eyes and eagerly return his kiss. 

“Uh, guys?”

Wonwoo immediately pulls away and stands straight while you cast your eyes down and pretend to read your notes. Idiot, you scold yourself. There’s nothing wrong with what you just did. Why are we acting like we just committed a crime?

Just like that, the magical moment bursted like a bubble due to Jeonghan's appearance. 

Jeonghan clears his throat and looks between the two of you, back and forth. “You can continue, you know? I'll come back when Y/N’s ready.”

“No!” You and Wonwoo shout in unison and everyone in the library is hissing and shushing. 

“Woah.” Jeonghan raises his hands. “No need to be angry.”

“No, I mean,” you stutter, finding the right words to say before holding the hand of the man who just kissed you. “Wonwoo will tutor me instead.”

Wonwoo blinks in surprise, but gets the message and holds your hand back tightly. “Yeah. I’m- I’ll handle it from here.”

“You know you can just tell me that you have a date, right? Why are you two acting like I don’t know what relationships are,” Jeonghan complains with a roll of his eyes before turning around and walking away. 

You and Wonwoo release a breath of relief, eyes meeting. You couldn’t hold your giggle meanwhile he couldn’t hide the growing smile on his face. You bite your lip and gaze up at him. He fondly caresses the back of your hand and tilts his head, a gesture you clearly know the meaning of.

“How about we do go on that date Jeonghan’s talking about?”

Your face warms, in love. “I’d love to.”