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yvnaology · 5 months

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LANGAGE D’AMOUR: HOW THEY LOVE!

LANGAGE D’AMOUR: love languages, how they show their innermost emotions that make your heart melt and your cheeks burn. it’s how they show their appreciation for you, in their own special way.

CHARACTERS. fontaine cast (lyney, lynette, freminet, wriothesley, clorinde, neuvillette, navia, charlotte & furina.)

CONTENT WARNINGS. tooth-rotting fluff, slight angst in navia’s + slight spoilers if you haven’t done the archon quests, established relationships, not proofread.

EXTRAS. last time i’ve ever even attempted writing was in july, it’s DECEMBER. please bear with me & my rusty weaving of (mostly) fluffy tales! 🫶🏼✨

I. ❝ MAY YOU BE REWARDED WITH TANGIBLE ITEMS, MY DEAREST ! ❞

GIFT GIVING: people with a gift-giving love language prefer to be shown love through the act of giving and receiving gifts. (furina, freminet.)

FURINA brightens up at the slightest glimmer of joy in your eyes when she expresses how the item inside the box in her hands resembles you. Regardless of value, Furina expresses her utmost adoration by giving you a myriad of tangible presents. Her presence at your doorstep painted a spot of joy on your cheek, much more so when she presented you with a beautifully wrapped offering — her look of anticipation for your reaction inciting a giggle to escape your lips. Reward her with words of appreciation or even a kiss, would you? The prominence of a reddened hue on her cheeks and how she would act as if such an action didn’t have much of an effect, betrayed by the pounding feeling in her chest . . . is well worth it.

FREMINET whose diving expeditions never came out empty-handed. Whenever the urge rises to the surface, he finds himself delicately weaving matching bracelets or necklaces using romaritime flowers and beryl conches for the two of you. He wears the most flustered expression you’ve ever seen when he presents them to you, a token of his appreciation. When you wear his handmade jewelry with a twinkle in your eyes, he feels his heart warm indefinitely. Neither of you can explain the twitch of the corners of your lips, when a sudden collaborative effort ends with his mechanical penguin friend, Pers, having an addition to its design, a lumitoile necklace.

II. ❝ MY APPRECIATION COMES IN DOING, ASSISTING, AND SERVICE ! ❞

ACTS OF SERVICE: people with an acts of service language love language show love by doing something for their partner that they know they would like. (wriothesley, lyney, clorinde.)

CLORINDE, who does not express her inner worries whenever you walk across the streets of the nation of Hydro — and nonchalantly offers to accompany you to ensure your safety. You notice how the corners of her lips twitch into a small smile when you accept, her expression mirrored on your face. She’ll listen attentively to your woes, joys, or rambles while keeping a hand on the hilt of her sword in case of an emergency. If danger does arise, you will be sure that the Champion Duelist will resolve the issue while keeping your person a safe distance from the root cause. Any doubts will immediately diminish, and her question of ‘are you alright?’ gives you butterflies, but I guess that makes two.

LYNEY, who presents you with a magic trick at the sight of your tears, tips his hat and winks as he performs the way he would for the bawling children. A sense of wonder would overcome your senses and distract you from the cause of your woes, as he gently takes a rose from behind your ear — a flick of his finger and suddenly your hair becomes a holding place for an abundance of rose petals. The moment a smile is etching on your features, Lyney knows he has done something right. Your flushed cheeks give him the motivation to continue until you’re left with a racing heart from something that wasn’t a monster in the form of anxiety. He’ll spoil you with his tricks, wonderous and extravagant at heart, and finally press his lips against your dampened cheek at the end of his performance.

WRIOTHESLEY who constantly pats the cushion of the chair for you before you sit, ensuring its comfort. He prepares a cup of your preferred morning drink every day, much to your delight. His actions have their way of making you smile, something he will forever be grateful for. Wriothesley, who puts a hand on the small of your back or around your waist as you two walk around the Fortress of Meropide — such a question as ‘why?’ crosses your mind once or twice, but the moment you ask . . . his response is vague. It’s his intention to leave you in the loop of questions while your blood rushes to your cheeks. You feel him tightening his hold on you only slightly, noticing the small grin appearing as you point it out — earning a small snort from him.

III. ❝ MY TIME IS YOURS TO CHERISH, TO CREATE MEMORIES FROM, LOVE. ❞

QUALITY TIME: people who have quality time as their love language, time itself holds a great significance to them and their relationship, as the clock ticks — there is not a moment they’d like to waste with you. (neuvillette, charlotte, lynette and navia.)

NAVIA, who cherishes the times she’s made macarons with you, inviting you to gatherings that the Spina Di Rosula held, even the times when you’ve had to watch her break down in tears of reminiscence of her losses. She appreciates you, for accompanying her to her father’s grave, and for agreeing to have a picnic near the area where memories of sorrow lay bare. Navia keeps you close, unable to fathom the idea of another person being taken from her. As proud of a lover as she was, she feels herself fearing and doubting more often than not. All of your smiles, laughter, joys, and tears are things she will forever find herself admiring. You only live once, and she plans to spend every waking moment by your side.

CHARLOTTE, who captures what she considers to be the best moments of your relationship on camera. Time is a precious thing, unable to be wasted and regretted — as she takes you by the hand, she wonders if the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest will remain within the next five or ten years. She’ll fondly look over the pictures she’d taken, a few of them capturing your.. rather expressive emotions. A picture of your pout, frown, and smile — yet she can’t possibly choose a favorite out of all of them. Whenever her camera flashes in your eye, the expression she wears is almost.. soft. The moments that she’s the most quiet, even she feels the need to become a romantic, intertwining your fingers in hers.

NEUVILLETTE, who finds himself learning about human emotions as time goes on — observation, mental note-taking, until he finds one he couldn’t decipher or describe in words: love. The feeling of euphoria only existed in your presence, such intensity took him a while to come to terms with — all because of your smile. His role in Fontaine is complex, and he finds himself wishing that time would stop for both of you. Every free minute he has, he will always choose to spend with you, oh lovely you. The melusines aren’t the only ones who take note of his longing gaze, causing you to visit the Palais Mermonia frequently. His smile reflects yours, as his wish for another minute by your side had been granted.

LYNETTE, who often invites you over for tea parties, whether it be with the company of her siblings — or simply a moment for the two of you to enjoy. She’ll prepare you the best brew she has, along with a few desserts she knows are to your liking. She makes sure the atmosphere is comfortable, waiting intently for you to start the conversation. Regardless of the topic of the words that escape your lips, she is there to attentively listen to every word without fail. Your secrets are safe with her, guarded by her undying love for you. She isn’t the best at comforting, nor is she the kind to sugarcoat her opinion, but her small tea parties are almost equivalent to relaxation sessions. They allow her to pamper you in her own ways, just as you deserve.

#lynette x reader #lyney x reader #neuvillette x reader #clorinde x reader #navia x reader #freminet x reader #genshin x reader #furina x reader #wriothesley x reader #charlotte x reader #astronetwrk #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader

1K notes · View notes

seuonji · 7 months

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彡 things they left with you before leaving for tour.

notes ๑ gift giving! headcanons. reader and svt member does not live together!

genre ๑ fluff

warnings ๑ none

word count ๑ 1k

from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated<3

seungcheol left you the key to his home.

you’re free to go there whenever you want but he mainly gave it so that you have access to his closet!! it’s also to allow you to see kkuma.

whenever you’re there you always send him a selfie to show how the house is doing. he especially loves the photos that contains you and kkuma on his bed.

yn: [photo attachment]

yn: i changed kkuma’s hairpin today, doesn’t she look cute?

cheol: you both look adorable♡

jeonghan left you tons of his oversized shirts.

tons as in it could probably last you until he comes back. but he leaves the ones that hold some type of meaning.

he’d totally give you a whole presentation while unpacking the clothes on why he’s giving it to you.

he left you the shirt that he wore on your first date. he left you another shirt that you complimented. another one he left was one that you described as, ‘looks very comfortable.’ another was in your favourite colour while another was in your least favourite colour,, he asked you to send him photos of you specifically in that one.

he gave them with the intention that though he’s not there, you won’t feel alone at night.

he loves it when he calls and sees you wearing them!

joshua left you countless of letters he wrote.

just in case he’s not on his phone enough, to keep his presence with you, he wrote different letters. one for you to read when you’re sad, one for when you felt doubtful, another for when you felt scared.

he wrote letters for any feeling you may feel while he’s gone whether it was sorrow, anger or joy.

one day you were missing him, a lot. so you opened the letter that had ‘read when you feel alone.’ written on it.

‘yn, you’re feeling alone? cause im not there, right( ˊ̱uˋ̱ )?‘ he joked with you even through writing. ‘i know it’s a long wait but i’ll be back soon and we’ll be in bed watching movies together. i’m always thinking about you. i may not be one call away because…what if i’m on stage? but you’re still my number one priority, i hope you know that.’

it’s just long texts of reassurance that he loves you and suggestions of things you can do while you wait for him and honestly, as you read the letters, the more it felt like he was actually there.

jun left you a polaroid.

he aswell provided the films but the films were the same amount as the number of days he’d be gone.

he asked you take a picture of something everyday whether it was the scenery or something you were doing. you could either label them or keep it in a photo card binder. he wants you to talk about it with him when he comes back.

total plus if you like journaling/photography!!

soonyoung left you a heart locket necklace.

it had funny pictures of you and him on one side and the other side had a picture of you two cuddling.

he has a matching one of course! his one has so many scratches because of how much he kept opening it.

notably, he left you a cute tiger plush that was almost your size.

“think of him as if he’s me.”

“that’s weird youngie…”

idk why but initially i imagined he’d leave you a body pillow with him printed on it.

wonwoo left you his console so that you can help him keep up with his games. just kidding.

if you like reading, he definitely leaves you some books he’s collected over the years. he’d even buy books that are of your taste if his isn’t your style. he gave it so that you’d have something to preoccupy your time.

if you aren’t too into reading, he left you things that supports the hobbies you do. if you like art, he buys you paint, if you like knitting he’d buy you yarn. he finds joy in your passion.

jihoon left you a usb filled with movies and shows on it. he even provided snacks!

he loved hearing your opinions about shows/movies he liked. since you two were going to be apart, he thought you’d have more time to watch them.

when you did watch the said movie/show, he’d instantly call and listen to your opinions intently. he might end up falling for you all over again! but also it could end up in an endless banter—

“what did you think of that character?“ he asked excitedly but there was a touch of tiredness in his voice.

“they were okay,” you casually answered.

“just okay!?” suddenly the tiredness was gone.

“i said what i said!”

seokmin left you a jar filled with origami hearts, cranes, airplanes, stars and even some of your favourite animals.

as you unfold them, there’s small messages written in them. it had messages of affirmations to song/food/movie recommendations.

he looks forward to your response to the letter you opened that day.

“the one i opened today was a good one,” you said smiling.

“really, what’s wrong with the other ones? why aren’t they as good?” he asked in a whining tone.

“the one i opened yesterday said ‘listen to aju nice by seventeen.’” you recalled monotonously.

“what’s wrong with that?”

“anyways the one i opened today said to ‘eat pizza while thinking about me.’” you brushed off the previous topic.

“ah, that’s a good one, even i’m jealous.”

“you wrote it?”

“still, why would you have pizza without me…”

also, he made tons of it lasted even until he came back.

mingyu left you a cookbook of things he usually cooks for you.

the first few pages were your favourite meals hes cooked for you. they’re key parts are highlighted in your favourite colours and he even places in affirmations in free spaces. the middle pages are random meals you don’t necessarily like but,, he needed to fill in the pages. the last few pages are your favourite deserts!

minghao left you the experience of having permanent bracelets with someone.

he brought you to the store and you got a bracelet in his in his favourite colour as he got one with yours. you both spent hours just admiring the way it shined and he couldn’t stop taking pictures of it.

“now, no matter the distance, you’ll still have a piece of me that’s always with you,” he said.

seungkwan left you a self care pack.

there was skincare products, your favourite snacks and cds of your favourite films. they were each labelled with tags of why he gave those specific items.

‘you’ve always liked these, enjoy them.’ labelled on the snacks.

‘please use this, take care of your skin okay?’ labelled on the skincare.

‘don’t get too bored just cause im not there.” labelled on the cds

it’s as if he was taking care of you without because there.

vernon left you a pet fish (?)

questionable but at least you’re not completely alone. also he got consent before he bought it so, it was okay. but he also left you some of his jackets and beanies but if it was summer he’d leave you baseball caps. yknow, the sensible gifts.

it’s the thought that counts!

whenever he gets the time he’d call you to check on the fish.

and you as well, of course.

chan left you a box full of snacks.

he’s bringing the same snacks with him in his bag. he plans to call you every night so you two can talk about your day while eating the same snacks so that it seems like you two are together.

2K notes · View notes

pearlywritings · 2 months

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Dr Ratio nsfw alphabet

tw: female reader, protected sex, edging, body worship, semi-public sex, kinda power play, Veritas is a switch

word count: 3.3k+ words

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is aware he can go a little harsh sometimes. So the first thing he always does is move you from whatever position you are in into the one where you face him, bringing your foreheads close and making you match your breath with his to calm down. He is usually on a quieter side, but will ask if you need anything specific, different from your usual aftercare routine. Which never goes without taking a bath. He either lets you laze in bed or brings you to the bathroom with him while filling up the tube - depending on how badly he’s exhausted you. Once in the water, he thoroughly washes you, then lets you do the same to him - and it really shows how much he loves you, otherwise he wouldn’t have trusted you with the process of cleaning his body.

After or before the sessions where he is on a more subbing side, he’d really appreciate it if you'd give him a small massage - the man is stressed, even though he doesn’t show it, knowing he will be taken care off, soothes his mind.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Is it a surprise that it is the brain? This man is literally attracted to intelligence. Close second is your lips. It’s astonishing to him how your mouth can both speak out of brilliance and spew out the stupidest nonsense there is. And it’s incredibly satisfying to shut you up with a firm kiss on your lips with his fingers holding your face in place. Or vice versa when you hook your thumbs into the chest window to grab his shirt and drag him closer to smash your lips into his because he talks too much.

On himself… I’d say the brain too. Plus I feel like his arms. He is well-built, and has strong muscular arms - he literally shows off one of them, unclothed. Not to mention the statues he summons - their poses bring attention to the arms immediately. Besides, such physical strength allows him to maneuver your body however he desires, especially when his patience runs thin and words are not enough anymore.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As much as Veritas doesn’t like messiness, while having sex it’s very hard to avoid. He’s got accustomed to two sweaty bodies held close together (the touch-starved side of him simply won), he even stopped complaining about the sheets that have to be changed every time you end up in bed, but when it comes to cum…

While railing you he’d prefer finishing in a condom, but with enough convenience and your endurance of him rolling his pretty eyes, he might go raw and finish on your backside/thighs. In oral he’d rather hold back once you bring him close to orgasm and finish after thoroughly fucking you, or, if you are willing, in your mouth.

In your case though, he is more gracious, fully aware that you might not have the same control over your body, just don’t be surprised when after he’s eaten you out or your juices drenched his pelvis from your orgasm, he reaches for a towel to wipe himselfs.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You know boudoir photography, right? This man thinks bigger. Not even a huge oil painting, no. A statue. A statue that depicts an intimate moment of yours, your intertwined bodies, every curve of the body and fold on the sheets covering some parts of your body carved in marble perfectly…

He doesn’t bring it up because it might require posing and you might not be ready for this. And because he has a tiiiny fear at the back of his head about expressing openly this side of him that’s reserved for you only. Oh, and maybe because he thinks those intertwined stone bodies of yours might look better with the wedding rings…

Big chance he’ll eventually bring it up.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

If you are his partner and came as far as having sex, it means he is very serious about your relationship and that you are his first. Veritas, most likely, didn’t even entertain the thought of getting into the relationship. But even the brightest minds may face their own miscalculations and here he is, with the best woman, whose body he’ll get to explore. Yes, at the beginning of your relationship he was lacking practice when it came to intimacy, but he is an extremely quick learner with the right theory. His natural observance and phenomenal memory made it easy for him to find and remember all of your erogenous zones (more than you were aware of) and become a master in yet another field.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He has a preference for ones where he gets to claim your lips whenever he wants. He fancies being in control, but doesn’t mind passing the reins to you. Lotus flower and missionary are usually his ways to go for slower times, perfect for closeness and staying in once finished; for the times with more tension in the air, he’d pin you to the wall, completely lifting you off the ground and drilling his dick into your warm walls or would provoke you to push him in his chair and ride that attitude out of him right there in his office.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is serious, no doubt. More often than not, for him sex is proving a point to you, relieving the tension, getting rid of stress and these things are not to be joked about. If anything, if you were to joke in the middle of it, he’d scoff, giving you an incredulous look, but ultimately decide to shut you up with a kiss or fingers, or shove his spit-covered cock back into your mouth.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Completely clean. He prefers it all shaved off. On a rare occasion you manage to catch a glimpse of his sleeping pants hanging a bit low, revealing a patch of hair he hasn’t yet had an opportunity to get rid of, and you are assured that violet is his hair’s natural color.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

To a man of Veritas’s world perception romance and all these feelings can be explained by science. Yes, he is probably not the man who’d throw rose petals on top of some extremely fancy sheets or won’t declare his love every single thrust of his hips, but one thing is certain - when he is with you, his whole attention is only on you. His eyes are on you, his lips are on you, his hands, his chest, his everything. You are the center of his world in the moment and he expects the same treatment in return.

However, when it comes to taking baths together - either after sex or it being what started sex in the first place - he goes a little extra. There might be some candles to help you both relax, bubbles, nice oils. But also taking care of each other, taking turns with hair, body and everything. Might also read to you in that deep soothing voice of his while you laze with you head on his chest.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Like every healthy man Veritas masturbates. It doesn’t happen often and now there is you, should he need to take the edge off, yet it is the fact. There was a period when you had a hate-tolerable relationship and you managed to drive him so insane with that smart mouth of yours that he felt both repulsed and attracted. And as his hand fisted his hard, leaking cock, he couldn’t push away the fantasies of putting his irritating lovely colleague in place.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Voice kink. Surprisingly, he has it, but only for the sound of your voice specifically. Since he is with you, obviously he mainly enjoys the things you have to say. Then comes the realization that he also enjoys the way you say them. And then, when sex finally becomes a part of your relationship, he can’t help but fuck you a bit harder whenever a particularly delicious moan escapes your parted lips. Plus it sends the blood to his dick whenever you praise him, gently combing your fingers through his hair and whispering into his ear how amazing he is.

Edging. Since this man is a little shit, and sex can be a result of your prior argument, he’d be torturing you with intense stimulation until he sees the telltale signs of your nearing orgasm and stops altogether just to rile you up more. When the tables are turned he performs colossal patience, lying through his greeted teeth that no, he is not annoyed you denied him relief, after all, it’d be unnecessary mess (meanwhile you with your stupid all-knowing smirk gaze at his twitching cock with an angry red tip).

Body worship. During the slower intimate moments Veritas can’t lie to himself that he doesn’t like the way your palms slide over his shoulders and arms, kneading tense muscles. That his breath doesn’t hitch when you kiss the side of his jaw and then trail pecks down his strong neck, and then lower. That his pride doesn’t stir when you have that look in your eyes as you are gazing at his body. Though he might ask tauntingly if your brain stopped working when you stay silent for too long. Won’t blush once you start worshiping him verbally too, but satisfaction will be obvious.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Home, it’s the most comfortable and logical place. Bed, bath, sofa, table - as long as it works, it’s alright.

But it’s not uncommon to happen in his office at the Intelligentsia Guild. Luckily for both of you, Veritas happened to be very forward-thinking and the room is pretty much soundproof and can’t be unlocked that easily. But then again, not many people would be brave enough to bother him. Sure, it’ll leave you both breathless and messy, but Dr Ratio would grumble about it afterwards, while fixing himself. Right in the moment all his thoughts channel to just one thing - you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Concentration. I’m not joking - the look of utter concentration and dedication on your face is basically the equivalent of sexy for him. Also then you argue with him. Like a whole oral battle, defending your own opinion on the matter, providing him proofs that back up your point. It just all goes to the moment where the tension is so thick and your mutual stubbornness is making it impossible to bend the scales in either direction, that it becomes dire to resolve it through physical contact.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Won’t harm you. Well, putting some strain on your muscles in one of the positions, or smacking your ass/hip are alright, but nothing that involves heavily beating or cutting you.

Also nothing filthily messy. Like watersports.

Won’t share you with anyone. Yes, no one deserves someone like you, and no, he is not potentially jealous.

And please, for the sake of Nous, don’t call him Doctor or Sir while fucking. He deals with stupid students of his and other people on a daily basis and these titles are associated with very unpleasant encounters to him. He’d rather be called by his name or whatever sappy nickname you came up with for your lover.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Doesn’t have a preference, but would appreciate it if you were the one to take care of him. Would also love it slow, with your tongue lapping at the tip of his length, lips wrapping around the girth and thumb and index finger wrapping around the base, while the fingers of your free hand play with your pussy, stretching yourself for him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on what sparked the love-making. His thrust can be powerful, precise and deep. He doesn’t need to be fast to prove his point, he can drive you insane with the same stone-like resolve. You can cling and scratch at his back all you want, you can keep moaning and whining underneath or even on top of him - he knows it’ll be his way in any case.

When you are in charge, his response is slower and more sensual, even if it’s just a rhythmic clench of his fingers on your hip. If you are riding him he rarely complains about the pace you decide to proceed with, both leisurely drag of your walls up and down his cock and quick loud smacking of skin to skin have the same finale.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He wants to say he doesn't like them, because the consequences are messy, but… they do happen. He'd blame you for causing it, but, well, if he really didn't want this to happen, he would've put his foot down. Yet he willingly accepted and succumbed to it and now has to do something with his puffy lips and messy hair before his next class starts.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

In the beginning you both experimented to find the middle ground on what your intimate life is most favorable like, he probably has something akin to a list of what kind of sexual intercourse is most efficient for the exact situation in his head.

Quickies in his office are a risk, true, but the amount of precaution taken is amazing. After all, he’d never do anything that would ruin his or your image. Even if he could care less of what those surrounding him have to say, it’s such a headache to resolve the consequences of being caught getting freaky.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has great stamina, but usually doesn’t go beyond 1, rarely 2 rounds. Why would he exert himself? Instead of additional “exercise” you could spend this time more productively.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Skeptical about them being used on him, but if you own or use any, he wouldn’t mind. After all, sometimes your schedules might not match and you are just one horny human.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually it’s not on purpose, he is just an annoying man and his attitude tend to slip into the bedroom, but sometimes it is his intentions to torture you, edging and denying you further pleasure to test your limits (and patience).

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not very loud. Satisfied sighs, rushed pants and breathy moans. Hums when you do something he particularly likes. Gets louder when he is relaxed and not the one doing all the work, but it also means there will be some Dr Ratio-style teasing remarks and attempts to hold a full ass conversation. You can always just shut him up with a kiss though.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Lone water drops fall from the tips of violet locks, hitting wide shoulders, strong chest and back and running in small trails down to disappear in the plush of the white towel, hanging on chiseled hips. Veritas’s body was truly sculpted by the higher powers, because no man can be this perfect and mouth-watering in image.

When the man clears his throat, you realize that you are staring at the abs you love so much, with his sleeping pants he asked to pass still clenched in your hands. Your eyes meet his vibrant ones, and with the way his dark eyebrow arches it’s apparent that he’s expecting an explanation, and why would you deny him one?

“You are handsome,” shrugging your shoulders, you speak the truth, finally moving into his direction again. “And I love how enticing you look after a bath.”

“Is that so?” A low hum vibrates in his throat, his expression unchanging and eyes still boring into your frame when he gets a hold on his clothes. “Or are you just horny?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I am not,” you smile, finding the twitch of his lips so funny. “It’s not like you are going to find out. You’ve just taken a bath.”

“There is no harm in taking one more,” a hand is on your waist, fingers crumpling the fabric of your chemise. “But before even assuming that this conversation might take a turn, I would rather have this question answered by you properly. So… Are you horny?”

You think it’s unnecessary to ask again, given the fact that your hard nipples poke through the thin material and thighs are clenched together, and that shiver that ran down your spine when he grabbed you… But Veritas wouldn’t be himself, if he wasn’t like this.

“I am,” you admit, putting your palms onto his pectorals, groping them softly and biting back a laugh at how quickly the slither of repulse appeared and disappeared on his face. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Should I do anything?” Yet he takes a step back, using the hand holding pants to push the door behind him open; the other hand still laying on your waist makes you take a step too. “It’s not my fault you can’t control your urges.”

“Isn’t it though? It’s you who are making me all hot and bothered,” this time you take the first step forward and he is the one to follow until you both are in the bathroom. “Don’t you think that taking responsibility is the right thing you should do? Come on, love…” your smile turns teasing and voice acquires that taunting lilt that rarely fails to excite him. “Admit you want it too.”

Your lover remains silent, though the pants are tossed onto the vanity and the second hand joins its twin on your waist. He leans down and you catch the dearly familiar scent of his body wash and shampoo, before his head dips and your lips are claimed by his. To shut you up, of course.

Not a minute later your nightwear ends up on the vanity too, soon followed by his towel and your panties.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Around 6.2 inches when erect, quite thick with a nice vein running on the left side, curves to the left a little. Looks as good as the rest of the man.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Isn’t really high, can easily go a couple of weeks without it as long as there is at least some physical contact with you (taking baths together, sitting on the sofa together with your legs thrown over his and his palm resting on your knee, as you both are nose deep in your books/laptops, gentle pat on his elbow when you sense his annoyance, fingers touching as you sleep, etc.)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Has his own ritual of reading a little before he ultimately goes to sleep. Can stay in one position for long, so he won’t mind if you fall asleep on his shoulder or chest while he is still awake.

If cuddling, he doesn’t have a preference between a big and a small spoon, he can do both. It really depends on the mood and doesn’t happen every night.

Oh, and by the way, it really isn’t uncommon for you to fall asleep on the respective sides of the bed with just your fingers touching in the middle or not having contact at all.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x fem!reader #veritas ratio x reader #hsr smut #moonlit pearl stories

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eponymous-rose · 9 months

Text

A little thing I'm also really appreciating in this rewatch of TNG is something that seems to have all but disappeared in the age of tightly plotted, entirely serialized eight-episode miniseries TV: little slice-of-life moments that don't serve any driving plot purpose except to flesh out the world a little bit.

The scene with Picard's hairdresser earnestly telling him how he should better have handled diplomatic relations with the Romulans doesn't serve a deep narrative purpose in the sense of echoing the themes of the episode or foreshadowing some important moment with that hairdresser. It's there to share a little picture of the world - yes, there are still hairdressers in the future, yes, there's still awkward small-talk with said hairdressers. There's also the nice little reminder in all these domestic scenes that normal life is happening aboard the Enterprise, families and all, which adds to the sense of danger when the ship's in peril and paints the moments of war and conflict as uncomfortable juxtapositions. It's not there to serve the plot, it's there to build the world. And the characters! Picard's mostly-polite demurs, the reveal that Riker has been 100% humoring this guy like "oh man, we should've thought of that, you're so right". There's no reason to include it beyond reveling in the world.

I really miss that about a lot of modern TV - we get these needle-sharp hard dives through a world, coherent and concise and often quite lovely, but trying to take in the scope of the world around that plot is like watching out the window of a fast-moving train: you're getting nothing more than vague impressions at a remove. It's the difference between a guided tour of a museum and a self-guided tour: sometimes, at some museums, you just want to meander around a bit at your own pace and let it wash over you.

Given the choice, I'll almost always fall deeper in love with a show that's criticized for "filler" or "monster of the week" because I know it'll give its characters and its universe time to grow. That's what drew me to TV in the first place - I adore movies, but there's only so much you can do with character and world in 2-3 hours. Lately a lot of TV seems to be seen as a rather long movie with the odd break where you get up to make popcorn midway through. I think there's something unique about the format of television that's being lost in this attempt to emulate the structure of a movie, in the same way that some novels feel like they might as well just have been novellas or short stories. It's not just a longer version of the same thing. It has the potential to be something entirely different.

Give me the bloated 20-odd-episode seasons of the 90s and 00s, where characters grew and changed slowly, by inches, and we had the time to change along with them. I love the new stuff, don't get me wrong, but I sure miss that specific brand of mess.

#star trek

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grapejuicestyless · 10 months

Text

People Pleaser

Harry Styles x fem! bandmate reader

summery: Y/n gives too much and Harry is the only one to give back.

Angst(kinda) to fluff!

If you were to ask the public, ‘Who embodies love on tour?’ The majority, if not everybody would be quick to conclude it was Harry. He was the front man, it was his tour. A man who grows flowers with his voice and encourages affection between even the most different strangers.

If you asked the people involved, they would say Y/n Y/l/n.

Y/n is a woman with so much empathy she walked in others shoes more than her own. She spends her free time devoted to helping her friends and family. Constantly doting on them despite how grave the situation seemed.

So yeah, if you were to define HSLOT, it would be Y/n, Y/l/n. The pianist who sat quietly in the back of the stage, tucked away behind Sarah and Pauli, quiet as a mouse.

——————————————————————————

The sun was high, burning into the black chevron of the HSLOT Wembley stage floor. The white and black paint radiating vastly different temperatures in the June heat. The backtracks boomed through the stadium, muffling the farther backstage you got. Humidity suffocated everything in a sticky wetness.

Harry was dancing in a black bunny shirt, sleeves rolled to his shoulders and shorts shorter than my own. Today the sun was more brutal than ever and the effects were obvious. Skin was redder than before and water bottles could be found empty and scattered beneath the instruments. The HSLOT band was huddling under the small amount of shade they could find over the small overhang mounted on the stage. Lucky for me, because of how tucked away my space was, I had full access to the cool shade and the slight breeze of the AC blasting through the backstage area. Mitch, however, due to his front and center stationing, was falling victim to the peak heat of the day.

Harry hummed into the microphone, lazily speaking numbers out of order to get a laugh out of anyone, though the heat seemed to be getting to him too as he seemed out of his usual pre-show element. The only thing there seemed to be more abundance of than Harry’s pitiful jokes, was the sweat drenching each and every one of us.

“Y/n/n?” A soft voice called from just in front of me.

Mitch stood just in front of Pauli who was stuck half in the sun and half in the shade, his body squished into the darkness. His hair was matted with wet and held up tightly in a man bun, his shirt drenched in sweat more so than the rest of us.

“Eh, Im sorry to ask but would you mind if we could just switch positions for just a bit? I’m overheating over there and need a small break.” He pleaded.

Ever the people pleaser, the urge to stay in the shade was pushed down and away as my body moved quicker than my mind. I was eager to make Mitch happy, loving the satisfaction helping a friend out gave me.

He traded me a small hand held fan for my perfect shady spot. Though the plastic wings barely moved and the air barely soothed the heat, the thought was nice enough of him to suggest.

So I stood in the sun, the rays casting down on me like a blanket that could only be described as hell on earth. Sweat collected more aggressively on my forehead but the quick look over to Mitch, who had a lazy smile on his face from the shade and the inconsistent AC gusts made it a whole lot more worth it.

By now we were on Satellite, Harry mumbling the song, waltzing over to Elin to make sure she was still feeling okay. It was moments like this that I believed we were soulmates. Bonded together by the environment that seemed to tug us together like some sort of gravity. His straightforward kindness and appreciation one of his best qualities that I loved.

I let myself marinate in my own wetness, my legs heavy from the heat and my cheeks growing sore from the sun. My eyes grew heavy and the fan grew weaker and weaker. Truthfully, I was struggling.

“Y/n..?” I heard a small yell from Sarah, who I was sure was boiling surrounded by all that plastic and metal, despite the shade. She was still blocked off from the AC air, so the heat might as well have been just as bad.

I nodded to her, making my way over cautiously, the floor slippery with the dew from the humidity and the sweat dripping off our noses.

“What’s up, babe?” I smiled, leaning against the edge of the platform her drums were set on.

“I’m struggling a bit here. I’m a little trapped.” I raised an eyebrow, ready to take a seat to listen to what she had to say. I wondered if it was about the baby or if it was a mental block. I was ready to be a good friend when she needed it.

“Do you think I could borrow that fan? Just for a second? It’s like a hotbox in here.” My eyes drifted to the soft vibrations rumbling through my palm, the soft buzzing sound from the hand held fan spinning softly in all its neon green glory.

Forming my lips into a thin line, I nodded, plastering on a smile and reaching up to hand it to Sarah.

She was thankful for my generosity, flashing me a smile and holding up a weak thumbs up. I reflected her gesture, hunching my shoulders as I spun to return back to the spot I’d taken in the sun.

Just now, I began to realize how much I took that tan for granted. Even the soft wind was able to move the still air that casted over the UK today.

My heavy feet turned into cinder blocks and my eyes became unbearably heavy. I seemed sway on my feet a little, every blink becoming stickier as my eyelashes bunched together more and more. It felt like hours going by. Realistically it had only been five minutes, but everything moved in slow motion now.

I think Harry was singing Matilda now, but it seemed to be silenced by the clogging of my ears. I felt faint suddenly, my body too heavy to hold up. I felt myself stumble. It was usually now I would focus all my attention in on his beautiful melody, but my ears seemed to reject any sound whatsoever other than shouts and belly laughter across the stage.

“Hey Y/n!” I heard loud and clear, the bubbly voice belonging to none other than my best friend. The man who I’d been stuck with since his very first show and the person in my mind that hung the stars and moon single handedly in my life. The closest thing I had to a home on tour, Harry.

I’m not sure if I was able to lift my lips into a smile or not, everything blurring together in a mushy mess. It was like I was on psychedelics while being totally sober.

Trying to remain polite, I tried to be more welcoming to him, reaching up to wave only to find myself stumbling back into the elevated stage platforms, hands slamming into the wood so hard the corners caused red lines to form, blood peaking in blots on my skin.

“Y/n!” He sounded more frantic now, not as light and airy like before. The sound of a microphone falling to the ground was ear piercing, if I could cover my ears I would. His feet sounded heavy, the sound echoing through the empty area like bricks. My elbows collapsed under the pressure of my body and my knees buckled.

I waited for the ground to come, braced for it even. Ready to bruise my face and bleed from the nose. But it never came. Instead I was wrapped in a wet body, my face smushing against a hard chest.

“Shit, can I get some medical help?” Harry. Harry had caught me. How quick he was to rush in to help.

I couldn’t quite make out his face with how jumbled up my brain was from the heatstroke I was almost sure my body was going through right now, all I saw was black dots and blurry pink lips moving quickly. I think he mumbled, “You’re okay, it’s fine.” But maybe that was an illusion I made up for some sort of comfort.

We met eyes, a worried shock painted on Harry’s face before I was met with the soothing darkness of sleep.

——————————————————————————

I woke up to a cooler climate. A buzzing sounding through the vent on the ceiling. Tassels of pink and yellow blowing in the wind. I had an ice pack taped to my forehead and one wrapped around my stomach with velcro.

My head was pounding with one of the worst headaches I’d ever dealt with in my entire life and my eyes were aggressively watering despite my excessive wiping.

I tried to sit up, but could only groan with how sore I was, my hand pressing against the ice pack quickly.

“Y/n, oh thank god.” I felt the couch dip by my head, Harry’s body kneeling on the ground in front of my face and his head hovering over mine as he hunched over me. The carpet ruffled beneath his knees as he settled into place. His breathing was slightly jagged, a little quick. Maybe in his panic it had picked up. Compared to mine, which was slow and steady. A good long sleep will do that to you.

“Did I faint?” My mouth was dry, so everything that came out of my mouth was strained and rough. Sandpaper scratching my vocal cords.

The question was obvious, I knew I had gone down before I even fell. I knew I was going down as soon as I handed away the shady spot and the fan. Maybe not directly, but that small tugging feeling that fought briefly with my body knew. I couldn’t help but let the smallest smirk grace my lips, trying to be funny and light hearted in a time of need.

“Gave everyone a proper scare, really did. Went down pretty fast.” He lifted an arm from his sides to gently move the ice pack from my forehead, sensing the slight discomfort it was giving me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. We watched each other quietly in the quiet of the communal dressing room.

His smile was infectious, always was. Harry had that kind of bunny tooth smile that made my stomach do secret summersaults and flutter occasionally. Despite the strict platonic relationship we’d established, it was hard to not fall for the other half who understood the urge to put others before myself just as well.

Lost in the dreamy thought of him, I snapped back to see the white smile slowly wipe off his face, eyebrows pulling together in worry and his gaze becoming less lighthearted and more serious.

“Was it dramatic? Could I win an Oscar for it?” I joked, lightening up the mood, or attempting to.

“Yes, and yes. Would’ve swept them, I think.” We laughed weakly, not finding the situation funny but the inability to stay so serious for so long amusing.

“We shouldn’t have had soundcheck outside. I knew it was too hot out, I’m sorry.” The warm bareness of his fingers engulfed mine gently, his thumb brushing my knuckles so light it almost barely ghosted over my skin.

“It’s not your fault, I made a couple bad choices that got me there.”

“Such a pushover.” I snorted, removing my hand from his in fake offense to his comment, though it was both true and not in any sense mean or bad intentioned.

“And to think, I had the perfect AC spot in the shade too!” We continued to joke, not finding anything about this at all serious. We probably seemed fucked in the head to the outside perspective. Who treats heat stroke like it meant nothing?

“I need to learn how to say no.” Harry silently agreed, eyes flicking up to mine slowly, almost like he was tracing my body in an outline in his head. Saving a mental photo of his best friend covered in sweat, melted ice and plastic icepacks.

“You do.” I smiled.

“I know.” He raised a brow.

“You do. Can’t have that happening. Scared me.” His sudden confession lacked any previous lightheartedness that we’d bounced off of each other just moments before.

I grabbed his hand again, now my thumb was the one to merely ghost over his skin smoothly.

“I know, I’m sorry. Don’t wanna worry you.” It was the most sincere thing I’d said all day. The only thing I’d truly meant really. All those “My pleasures” and, “Of courses” only being half hearted and made based solely on the idea that someone else could benefit from it more than I would.

“I love you.” Silence hugged the room around his confession. Not that we hadn’t exchanged the sentence consistently. Throwing it around so much it was a habit to tell each other before we left any room or made a joke so good it deserved the praise. But somehow, the words sat different than before. They held more seriousness and more honesty than the other times, and I couldn’t help the giddiness it gave me.

“I love you too.” Maybe if the situation wasn’t so dramatic and the heat wasn’t getting to both of us incredibly bad, maybe then it wouldn’t have happened. Some sort of forced confession out of the blue.

He showed no signs of having any interests in me. Other than the constant presence he seemed to enjoy having in my life and the fact that nobody knew me like him, he could have fooled me completely.

“Yeah?” He laughed through his teeth, breathy and light.

I nodded slowly, sure of myself but shy on the idea he could be playing with me. He would walk me to the door of hope and send me home crying. Maybe it was the feeling of giving so much and never getting anything back. Maybe it was the all too familiar feeling of being used because of the overflowing empathy I was dealt at birth and the nagging persistence in my mind ordering me to please the people around me that was responsible for the twinge of doubt I held to him. But his eyes held kindness and full trust, I couldn’t help but feel that fluttery feeling.

It could have been from the heat, but most likely from him rushing the blood from my heart straight to my cheeks.

“I hope you mean it in the way I think you mean it, because if this is the heat stroke playing with my feelings, I’m about to look really stupid.” My arms outstretched around his neck, pulling him to my lips. My fingers tangling between his puffy curls and damp with the sweat beaded on the back of his tanned neck.

His kiss was just as sweet as I expected it. It wasn’t an intricate make out with a long battle between our tongues. It was needy, but not in a rushed way. It was short, but did more than any sloppy kiss could possibly say.

“Is now a good time to say I only see you as a friend?” I couldn’t help but silently laugh at that. My chest moving up and down while my mouth was pulled into a large smile that broke out on my face.

Harry was still so close, yet to pull back completely as his breath fanned my nose and his forehead almost touched mine.

“Now that I’ve wooed you, does this mean you’ll let me play tonight?” His lips silenced mine, pressing hard and smooth against each other. He pulled away with a wet release.

“No.” For the millionth time, we laughed. We laughed, feeling happy. Content that I was okay, that this was okay. That we were whatever we were. Maybe we had crossed the line between strictly platonic. Maybe we were towing the line between lovers and best friends. But it didn’t matter because whatever we had was warmer than the June heat and bigger than any crowd Wembley could pull in our hearts.

It was all some sappy story of the girl who gave too much and the only man who gave back, very on brand for the HSLOT crew.

Maybe heat strokes could be good.

Read part 2 here!

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Note

Maybe Ghost Konig and any other cod characters you write for with an s/o who’s very insecure about their stretch marks? Thank you very much

MW2 w/ an S/O who is Insecure about their Stretch Marks

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', Implications of Smut, Knife Play, Insecurity, Anxiety/Upset, Minor Implications/Spoilers about Ghost’s Past, Mention of a Strap-On, Brief Mention of Murder/Killing, Angst, Fluff, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, etc.

Ghost:

Has absolutely zero clue as to why you're insecure about your stretch marks.

Genuinely never even thought of them before now, even though he’s seen them many a time.

However, when you expressed concerns over the way you looked - the way you felt - because of these marks, he set about trying to make you feel better immediately.

He’s not the most emotionally mature person; having to grow up as quickly as he did at such an early age definitely stunted his emotional growth, making it difficult for him to feel and express emotions clearly.

But for you, he’ll try his best.

He starts nuzzling into your thighs and stomach more often outside of sex; just tender moments between the two of you, with him showcasing how much he loves you and your body.

He’d try words of affirmation, saying how he thought you looked “Positively spiffing” (he was using the term humorously but meant every word) in your outfit.

Whenever you cracked a smile, he’d feel triumph bloom like solid gold in his chest, casting him in a glow of pride.

Eventually, he’d showcase to you the parts of himself he would never show another soul.

One evening, Simon had his hoodie off, his back and chest fully exposed to you. And all the scars that seared across them. You tracked your finger along them, creeping from one gash to another. All the while, Simon rhymed them off to you: when, where and how he’d gotten them.

You traced one on his shoulder blade. The warm glow of the room belying the horrific means through which the scar was attained.

“Paris, terrorist attack, twenty-ten.”

“I never heard of an attack in Paris then,” you said, tone questioning.

Simon cast a lopsided smile over his shoulder at you. You caught it.

“That’s the point.”

He turned to face you fully, placing a hand on your waist, beginning to hike your shirt up. You placed your hands over his, shaking your head, a wide-eyed expression overtaking you.

“No, Simon,” you said quietly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. His head tilted.

“Why not?” He said. “Have I done something to upset you?”

At that, your eyes snapped up and found his, dark and gleaming. You shook your head, vehement in your judgement.

“No, God no! Simon, it’s not you, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s you - don’t you dare say it.”

The authority in his tone made you ache in places you didn’t want to think about right now. You shifted.

“But…it is me, Simon.” You felt your eyes and throat sting with tears. “It’s always me.”

“Love–” Simon’s movements were stutterish as he took your chin in his hand and inched your face up to meet his. You tried resisting, but he wasn’t going to let this rest. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

There lay a desperation in his voice you’d never heard before, and neither had Simon. You sniffed, and, your eyes shimmering with tears, you looked up at him. Only sincerity painted his features, no trace of condemnation or judgement hanging upon a single point. You swallowed.

“It’s just that…I appreciate what you’re doing for me - believe me, I do ! - but…”

“...But…?”

“But your scars mean something; you got them through protecting people, fighting for them - caring for what matters most–” You choked on a sob, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “And mine are just…” it burned your tongue to say it, “there.”

Simon went quiet for a moment.

“(Y/N)...” His voice was a rumble of thunder, the cleansing storm rising over the tainted hill. He took your hands in his, abandoning your shirt. He rubbed reassurances into your hands, tracing the veins, the valleys of muscle and the alleys of life which pumped through them. His eyes seemed to turn down at the ends, round, doe-like.

“Your marks are not ‘just there’.” He wiped a stream of tears indenting the heather face of your cheek, and his hand remained there, collecting those which followed. “They are evidence of how you’ve lived, how you’ve survived,”

His hand dropped to your chin, bringing your face up to his once more, shining his moonbeams upon you.

“They show how you’ve grown. How you’ve lived and enjoyed a life you made for yourself. Your marks succeed where mine have failed; yours scream life, while mine whisper death - a life loved, and lives taken.”

Your mouth fell open. You were aghast, unable to conjure anything in your vocabulary that was either expansive or emotive enough to convey all that you felt. Your chest broke out into warmth, the dawn of a new perspective shining upon you as Simon did now.

Before you could form a sentence - as blubbering and elementary as it would be - Simon pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was warm, all-encompassing, musical and low in the ringing silence of your desolate ocean.

He parted, cautiously, lips peeling from yours as if you were attached there, and looked upon you. Your cheeks were beginning to sting with the salt of your tears, vaguely chemical against your skin. You clambered into Simon’s arms, wounded and healing, and encompassed as much of him in your arms as you could.

“Your scars are beautiful, Simon,” you whispered into his chest. “No matter what you think - no matter what you say - I’ll always find them so.” You nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll always find them you.”

You heard Simon sniff, felt his chest rise with the sudden influx of air - emotion. You didn’t look up. You allowed him emotional anonymity.

“And I’ll always love your marks, (Y/N),” his voice strained, whispering and wisping. “I’ll always love them on you–” he pressed a strong, permanent kiss to your head, “--I’ll always love you.”

The evening consumed you, whisking you from the mortal coil to that of the metaphysical, that which was hidden to all but you and Simon, where you joined once again, physical bodies bound in a tight embrace, slumbering, dreaming.

König:

You actually came to König, sliding into his lap as he read a book, unable to keep what was eating you alive a secret any longer.

“Maus?” he said, putting Pride and Prejudice down and turning his full attention to you. “Is something the matter?”

You kept your head down and nuzzled into his chest, hoping his shirt would soak the tears staining your cheeks.

König tried to crane his neck down to see your face, but you hid it further into the cotton of his jumper.

König sighed, then began rubbing your back with a large hand.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it,” he said softly, gently. “No matter what.”

Maye thirty minutes passed, maybe it was only five, and König remained quiet for the duration, occasionally squeezing you and pressing a kiss to your head.

“I hate them,” you muttered, voice muffled by König’s chest.

Immediately, his back was up, like a cat’s. If he had the ears, they’d have been pricked.

“What?” he said, voice hard and thin, like a spear. You jumped in his lap and he sank back down, patting your head, a silent apology for his outburst.

His voice sounded as if it were spread thin, trying to conceal something far bigger than itself.

“Who has upset you so, maus?” He was careful with his words, trying to keep the extent of his bubbling anger at bay.

Finally, you looked up into his large, soft gaze. His eyes widened.

Your face was red in places, a map of countries in a continent called Sorrow.

Your eyes glistened, and König’s breath caught in his throat.

Before he could ask what was wrong, you shuffled off his lap and stood before him. You lifted your top and held it in your limp hand.

König’s eyes moved across your body as if searching for an injury, and when he turned up nothing, he looked you in the eyes.

“Maus, my lovely– I don’t understand,” König said as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up at your command.

You sighed deeply. “Don’t you see?” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t you see them, König?”

“See what?” His tone was becoming gradually frantic.

You huffed. “My marks, König! My– ugly– disgusting–”

“Hey, hey–” he slid off the sofa and enveloped you in his arms, holding you close to him, “--they are not ugly! Just– listen to me, maus–

“How do you deal with them?” you said, quiet as your namesake. Exasperated. “Your scars, Köni…how do you live with them?” Your voice croaked with tears, and the lump in your throat grew, bobbed up and down. It burned, reminded you of why you were here to begin with.

König thought for a moment, going quiet, his arms still wrapped around you. His hand squeezed your shoulder, fingers pressing soft, repetitive circles into your skin, a cycle of comfort. His warmth - his scent of pine - filled your senses, held you as he did now.

“There was a time,” he said, finally, his voice a whisper, “not too long ago, when… they made me hate myself, hate what I’d become.” He took your chin between his fingers and inched your face to meet his. He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But then I met you, and you told me how pretty you thought they were; ‘like tattoos,’ you said.” The memory tickled your mind and you couldn’t help but smile at the image of you sat on König’s chest, trailing a light finger just below his scars, afraid to touch them - their history - for fear it would hurt your dear König. He urged you to feel them, to make himself entirely transparent to you.

“And that’s how I have grown to like - to love - them. Because your opinion means more to me than mine does.”

The stinging sensation in your eyes strengthened, and you couldn’t help but let a tear slip. Though, not of your own despair, but of your love for König, and his apparent adoration for you. König could tell your tears were not of sorrow, and he pressed a slow, light kiss to your lips.

“Unless you’re planning on leaving me for another man, I suggest you only listen to me from now on.” His smile made his cheeks round and full, his eyes turn into half moons.

“And what makes you sure I could leave you for someone else?” you said, speculatively, jokingly. Inquisitively. König gave an honest chuckle, taking your face between his hands and squishing your cheeks.

“With a body like that, you could have any man you wanted.” His tone was light yet held a hidden weight, a seriousness, perhaps an insecurity, he didn’t want to address. “I’m just glad you chose me.”

He punctuated his claim with another kiss, deeper, hotter this time.

Soap:

You were turned over in bed beside Soap, who, despite your best efforts to conceal yourself, heard your soft chokes of tears.

His initial, instinctive reaction had been to envelop you in his kisses, slip his arms around your waist and pull you flush against him, to implore you to tell him what had made you so upset.

But, as he lay on his side of the bed, listening to your silken sobs into your pillow, he felt his chest break out into weighted feeling of dread, tree roots digging through the skin and into his very being, tinging his blood with a most negative sensation of blackened lightning.

Empathy, one might call it. He was feeling what you felt.

He couldn’t take it, your tears, your despair, and so he turned, gently, onto his other side and faced your back.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you flinched.

“Oh!” you said, patting your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, Johnny– I didn’t mean to wake you,”

Your voice was deceivingly light, airy - a front to throw Soap off your scent.

Soap didn’t bother with the formalities. His only priority now was you.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he said. He pulled your shoulder back, willing you to at least look at him.

You didn’t move.

You refused to.

“Nothing, love,” you said, hushed beneath the tension in the room.

You turned, offering only a peak of your facial silhouette, sacrificing it to the sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds.

It was wet, despite your best efforts to conceal any evidence of your upset.

Soap restrained a sigh and watched you try to burrow your way back into your pillow before he started asking any more questions. Without warning, he forced you to look at him, pulling you so you lay on your back. He sank down on top of you, knees bolted to your sides - one of which sat dangerously close to the edge of the bed, threatening to slip off at any moment.

His gaze was direct and impenetrable as he searched your eyes, hands pinning your wrists beside your head. His strength was unrelenting, unmoving. He wasn’t going to let you off easy on this.

“Now, then,” he said, voice low and dyed an erotic tone of resolution with his accent. “Are ye gonna tell me what’s upset you, or am I gonna have to force it out of ye?”

You knew he was joking, and you shared the knowledge that this was his way of trying to make you feel secure - that you could trust him. But of course, you already knew that.

You gaze drifted down to where yours and Soap’s thighs met, and the weight that had been pressing on you for weeks jumped down onto your chest again, urging a fresh set of tears to emerge. You looked away, off to the side, hoping you could hide the dried streaks your tears had left behind.

“Hey, Sweetie, look at me– look at me.” Soap’s voice grew stern, and, when you refused to cooperate, he took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him, grip decidedly firm yet gentle.

“Angel, baby–” his eyes pleaded with you for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore and burst into tears, trying to keep your sobs quiet. Soap remained atop you, caressing the side of your face. Your tears were thick, almost viscous with all that had caused them, as if they, too, bore the weight of what plagued you.

“My marks,” you said, your voice merely a sound rather than a sentence. Soap’s head tilted as he looked down at you.

“What was that?” he said, unsure as to whether he’d heard you correctly. You sniffed, fortified your voice.

“My marks,” you repeated, clearer now.

Soap looked at you as if you were speaking another language, and you mistook his silence for perhaps the oncomings of a laugh. Or worse yet, agreement.

Soap scoffed alright, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he rearranged so he sat further down your body. He lifted your shirt, which you tried to pull down. He growled and practically tore it off you. And you let him. He stared down at your abdomen, your thighs, and sighed deeply.

“Why on earth are you worried about your stretch marks?” he said, absolute and firm, as if it were the most obvious question in the world. You almost wanted to shrug and apologise for wasting his time, but you remained quiet.

“These marks,” he began, lowering his face to your stomach, “are part of you. You know what that means?” His gaze flickered from your abdomen to your face. When you shook your head, Soap gave a huff of a laugh, his breath hot and circling against your skin.

“It means that they’re not the burden you think they are; they’re not unsightly, or ugly, or anything else you can think to call them. They’re beautiful because they are you.”

Your tears were still welling, and Soap pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. Then another. Then another. He linked a chain of kisses, inching further down your body, reaching the band of your underwear. He looked up at you beneath heavy lids. He dipped his tongue beneath the band, making you jolt. He laughed.

“I mustn’t have been doing a good job of showing you how beautiful you are,” he said, lowly. His hands slid to your hips, hooking his fingers over the edge of your underwear and tugging them down.

“It’s time I changed that.”

Price:

He’d picked up on your off mood every day this week, but he’d wanted you to come to him when you were ready, rather than him chase you up about something you didn’t necessarily want to talk about.

You never cracked, though. Not even once.

You’d kept your thoughts to yourself, yet your body betrayed you.

Whenever Price had initiated something in the bedroom, you’d shied away, putting your hands against his chest and giving a weak, watery smile.

“Maybe another night?” you’d say, and Price respected your wishes.

But, he was growing agitated.

It wasn’t his sexual frustration which urged him to act, but his frustration at himself for not being able to tell what was troubling you.

He was your protector; it was his duty, his pleasure to look out for you in any way you needed him.

And he felt like he was failing.

Eventually, he asked you outright what had gotten you so upset, and when you reluctantly told him it was your stretch marks, Price sat there. Flabbergasted.

“That’s it?” He couldn’t help himself saying. But when he saw how much the topic meant to you after you gave him a stormy look, he changed his tune.

Consoled you well into the night, holding you, burying kisses into your skin, drawing lines against your marks, saying how he found them beautiful because they were “Part of you.”

Never lets you go a day without feeling appreciated - more so than he did prior to this discovery.

“You know, Darling,” Price began, laying in bed with you in his arms, “I can’t remember what my life was like before you came.”

You looked up at him. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against your hair.

“And I can’t imagine what it would be like without you in it.” The smile in his voice was more than a mere tone, but a feeling, deep and sincere, the epitome of love itself.

Your face broke out into a grin, beams shining through the clouded sky. “Oh?” you said, bringing your thigh over his middle. You slid on top of him, knees either side of his waist. You planted your hands on his chest, rubbing slowly. His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a purr. His eyes gleamed, his lips curled up beneath his moustache, pinched as raised theatre curtains

“How about I show you how much you mean to me?” Your request was more foreshadowing than anything else, but, in a plot twist, John gripped you by your thighs and rolled so that he was now on top of you, your wrists pinned beside your head.

He brought his face down beside your head. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he rasped, his beard scratching the side of your face. He slid a hand down to the hem of your night shirt, raising it over your stomach. “And I don’t plan on retiring.”

Alejandro:

Is on the offensive immediately.

Thinks somebody’s said something to you that made you upset.

“Who was it, mi amor? Who do I have to kill?”

It would take all your strength to keep him from storming out the house and popping a cap in the first person he suspected as being the perpetrator.

You’d have to explain to him that nobody’s said anything to hurt your feelings, and that your insecurity about your stretch marks has been with you since you were young.

“It’s just the way I am, Love,” you’d say, casting a diluted smile Alejandro’s way. “‘Ts just the way things are.”

This shocks Alejandro; sends him into a catatonic state, even.

Not once had he even considered your stretch marks a point of insecurity: not for you, or him.

In fact, he thought they were cool, and whenever he’d show you his scars, he’d smile. “Now we’re matching!” He’d say.

After you’d expressed your insecurities about your marks, he’d never let you go a day where he’d remind you you’re beautiful (though, that isn’t saying much; there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t make you feel worthy and loved. He just tries even harder).

Man’s a body worshiper if ever I saw one (and I have seen many).

When you’re laying down together and he has his head on your thighs, he’ll randomly turn around and start kissing your marks.

Only does this in private, and with good reason.

Definitely the type to use tongue, even if it’s on the surface of your skin.

Will not let you leave until he’s convinced you’re feeling better about yourself.

Tells you that his mission in life is to “Make you realise how beautiful you are in everyone else’s eyes, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

You can definitely use the insecurity card to request - ahem - ‘snuggle time’ with Alejandro.

If you say to him in your whiny voice: “Baaabe, I’m not feeling too good about myself today,” he’ll be on you like a rash.

You may think you’ve got one over on him, but don’t be fooled.

He knows what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you.

After all, why would he ever pass up the opportunity to show the person he loves most in all the world how beautiful they are?

“There will never be a day where I will not worship you, mi corazón,” he panted, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs. “You are my god - my religion.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked up at you from between your legs. “My life.”

You screwed your eyes shut and whined when he licked a stripe against your underwear, catching you where you needed him most.

“Alejandro,” you whispered, his name a prayer on your lips. “Please,”

“Say it.” He slid a hand over your stomach, feeling your skin, your marks, beneath his warmth. “Say what you want me to do and I’ll give it to you.” There was no hint of a lie in his words, only the inescapable truth of his undying love for you and everything your body had to offer.

Between glistening eyes and an open mouth, you let him in. “You.”

Alejandro left many bruises and bites on you that night, all borne out of love. And, afterwards, as he looked upon your sleeping form, all he could think was of how ethereal you looked, and how lucky he was to have managed to find someone like you.

Valeria:

She simply won’t hear of it.

She’s quite an aggressive woman, and she expresses her love and adoration likewise.

Therefore, when you end up confiding in her that there is even a single part of yourself you’re insecure about, she flips her lid.

Not at you, of course. At who or whatever has made you feel this way.

She throws her hands up and curses in Spanish, saying how only she’s “allowed to make you feel that way.”

And she means it.

She won’t let you feel bad unless she wants you to (and even then it’s because you’ve whined and moaned for it).

Trust that she’s watching you like a hawk 24/7 after that.

If she finds you looking at your marks with anything less than adoration, she’ll drag you into the bedroom and force you to say you do, otherwise she’s not relenting with that ten inch strap-on.

She’s sensitive, however.

When she can tell that a quick therapy session isn’t going to change your mind, she’ll just sit with you and listen, make you a drink and hold you when you cry.

She’ll come up with the idea to name them - so they “feel like friends rather than enemies,”

Places warm, soft kisses along your marks, christening them with her love when you’ve decided on a name.

If you name one after her, she’ll be honoured.

“Now I’ll be with you forever,” she’ll say, wrapping her arms around your waist. “On you forever, I should say.”

Valeria dragged you into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. One of her men guarded the other side, frightening off other club-goers.

Valeria’s eyes were heavy, dark and all-consuming with a feral rage that only occurred under rare circumstances, those being her jealousy. She gave you little time to protest as she hiked you up onto the counter, the tap digging into your back.

“I’ll murder him,” she said, voice rasping with drink and the need to mark you - to take you. “I’ll kill them all - all those bastards that looked at you.”

“Valeria, please,” you gasped when she cut the lining of your jeans open, making the button pop and recede into a dark, grimy corner of the tiled room. Valeria brought the knife to your throat, her voice snarling and serious as death.

“I am the only one who can look at you.” The tip of her knife began its slow descent to the collar of your shirt, which she separated from your body with a long, ripping tear. Now, chest exposed, you yelped. Valeria forced your legs apart and crouched between them. Her knife sat at the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re mine,” she promised. “And if I need to mark you myself–” she trailed the tip of her weapon along the marks on your hips, “–then so be it.”

Gaz:

Will look at you like you’ve just asked him to recite Pi.

What???

What do you mean you don’t think your stretch marks look good?

Gaz thinks they look perfect!

He can’t imagine you without them; he’s genuinely emotionally attached to them.

You should’ve guessed as much when you felt him tracing them as you lay in bed.

Fr though, Gaz understands why you feel insecure, but he doesn’t understand why, if that makes sense.

He knows certain things get to you, thus making it plausible that you would become upset with something you found on your person, but he doesn’t understand why you’re insecure.

He can feel himself getting angry whenever he hears you talking - or even thinking - bad about yourself.

He’s not mad at you! Not at all.

He’s simply aggravated by the fact that something or someone has made it so you can’t see yourself the way he sees you.

To cheer you up, he’ll start relaying extremely specific compliments to you.

“I’d love you if you were a two foot tall worm with a receding hairline.”

“Uuuh…thank you?”

Though, if he found those didn’t work or, God forbid, made you feel worse-

“So you’re saying that you only find my personality attractive and not my body.”

– He’ll find another way of lifting your spirits.

“I would commit arson if you ever tried to get rid of your stretch marks.”

“...Why?”

“Because I love them and they’re my friends 🥺.”

Btw he’s fr about that - he sees your stretch marks as individual, sentient beings.

And he begins to tell you the backstories he’s made up for them.

And you can’t help but get attached to them, too.

“Hold on, why does Antonio get to be seen today and not Felicity?” you asked, holding the sleeveless vest to your torso. Gaz returned, throwing a pile of yet more sleeveless shirts, vests and other variants onto the bed.

“Because I haven’t seen Antonio all week and I’m starting to think you’re playing favourites.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Poor guy’s probably suffocating under all those jumpers you wear!”

“Oh?” You raised and eyebrow, looking at Gaz in the mirror. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz threw you a devilish smile, the corners of his lips pointing up like horns, sharp and curled. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding the vest against you.

“Put the vest on and you won’t have to find out.” He pressed a constellation of kisses to your shoulder, up the connecting junction of your neck and shoulder, until he reached your jaw. “Unless you want to.”

Graves:

When you initially told him, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Genuinely thought money would make all your problems go away.

He threw a wad of rolled-up George Washingtons at you and told you to “Buy something nice - do yourself up pretty.”

Obviously, not the best thing to say to somebody who’s insecure.

And when you didn’t talk to him for days afterwards, he realised where he’d gone wrong.

You wanted reassurance, not a solution.

See, he’s so used to using money to make his problems disappear that he thought it’d be a quick fix for you, too.

Pokes his head round the bedroom door like heeeyyy~ before taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t realise you just wanted to talk rather than have me fix the problem.”

His wording’s still very off, but he’s working on it with gentle guidance from you.

He genuinely never realised your stretch marks were an insecurity for you, though, hencewhy he’s not so good at the whole ‘reassurance’ thing.

He learns quickly, though.

It starts off with small gestures; putting a hand over your marks, looking at them fondly, telling you how gorgeous you were every single day.

And, eventually, when you’re being more…intimate, he’ll refuse to let you cover yourself up (unless you really want to, ofc).

Trying to hide your marks? Not for long - Phillip’s got a PHD in cloth tearing, and you’re his first job.

“I don’t remember telling you you could do that.”

Aggressive love. Full-on laving his tongue over your marks.

“Just markin’ what’s mine, Angel.”

Doesn’t give you even a second to feel insecure anymore.

Encourages you to wear clothing that reveals your marks if he thinks it’ll make you feel better.

Again, won’t force you to; if you don’t like revealing clothing overall, he’ll make sure to find other ways of empowering you.

Gets very territorial whenever he catches someone staring at you because he firmly believes that, 100% of the time, it’s because they’re checking you out.

Will glower at them with his eyes until they look away, cowering.

And all the while he’s looking at you, thinking God damn, I can’t believe I managed to pull you <3

“Love, why did you stare at that man in the bar earlier?” You asked, not looking up from your book. In the dim light of the bedroom, you saw Phillip’s head turn, looking at you. In your periphery, you saw his cheeks lift. He crept closer.

“Ain’t it natural for a man to want to protect what’s his?” His voice carried with it a weight you recognised as rhetorical. You put your book down on the bedside table and resisted a knowing smile.

“I don’t know,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is it?”

A sly smile crossed Graves’ face, and, in an instant, he was on top of you, his weight definite and promising of something. He wrangled your arms, pinning them above your head. And you only smiled up at him as he beamed down at you.

“Oh, I think you know it is.” His eyes gave no way to humour or jest, possessing within their oyster shell colour a pearl of the rarest, most valuable material: love.

Graves leaned down, and, biting the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss beneath it, whispered.

“And you know how much I hate sharin’.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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vilhelios · 3 months

Text

— I THINK I LOVED YOU IN ANOTHER LIFE .

( WHERE I WAS THE SEA, & YOU WERE THE SHORE . ) ; general fluffy romantic headcanons for rafayel / qi yu from love and deepspace <3

CW: not beta read, general rafayel story/lore spoilers, may be slightly ooc, tooth-rotting fluff, very slight angst !!!

— RAFAYEL is a terribly sweet, loyal, and affectionate lover. sometimes, you think he is something like a lovesick puppy—always ready to greet you at the door with a warm hug when you return from a mission, always eagerly awaiting your phone calls and texts. always at your side. when he calls you darling and holds you close, burrows his head into the crook of your neck, you can't help but feel like your being has been warmed by a pleasant summer sunbeam.

despite this, sometimes he feels like he's drifting somewhere far away from you. a receeding ocean tide, sea foam dissolving from your fingertips as you dip your hands in the waves. he's somewhere you don't understand, when he looks into your eyes and searches for an iteration of you in the reflected image of his own eyes—perhaps he is 800 years away, a lifetime and more. and yet, when you gingerly cup his face in your palms, feel him lean into your touch, you know he returns to you.

— RAFAYEL'S art studio is admittedly, a mess. there are days where you'll enter that room spotless and leave with splatters of some new shade of red and his beloved blues all over your clothes and skin. some days, this happens purely on accident—a trip right into a canvas here, a palm pressed onto wet paint there—and on others, rafayel seems to delight in using you as a canvas.

— when RAFAYEL kisses you (in that gentle fashion, where he cups your cheek like if he doesn't you'll slip like seafoam from his hold), those soft lips of his taste of cherries and grapes and strawberries. and perhaps that best encapsulates what loving rafayel is like, this sweetest red, red, red: the way his cheeks and ears flush when you press a kiss to his cheek; the colour of his eyes when the morning's rose-gold sunlight hits the pink in them just right; the bleeding, beating heart he offers to your awaiting hands. eventually, he pulls away to let the both of you breathe, and when he presses his forehead against yours, glances at you with that charming smile of his, you're enveloped in warm crimson all over again.

"there." rafayel smiles, leans back to admire the flamulla he'd painted on your cheek and the pout that graces your lips. "a cute flamulla for the cutie that keeps distracting me."

"you weren't even painting anything when i came in!" you scoff, dabbing the paintbrush he'd given you into the paint upon the palette. while he painted moon jellies, flamulla, and blowfish on your skin, you'd busied yourself with painting seashells on his. some of the clamshells are too close together, the venus combs look a little too spiky, and some conches don't look quite right. when he looks like he's about to chuckle at the sight of them, you poke him with the other end of your brush; "hmph. you're just a meanie."

"how rude!" he feigns, hand to his heart. "this is how you treat me for making you look like one of my most precious paintings?"

— you notice, eventually, that RAFAYEL always gifts you red jewelry (if not pearls, of course). the little treasures glint in the sunlight; rings with a ruby or red spinel centerpiece, a necklace with a red coral pendant, fire opal earrings... they're beautiful and never gaudy, as to be expected from a man with an eye for aesthetics, but it still perplexes you.

you ask him why, while he helps you put on his most recently gifted necklace as you two get ready to attend his aunt's opera show. your painter answers with a thoughtful hum, deft fingers clasping the necklace for you: "red disappears the fastest in the deep sea, so i never got to see it much." rafayel presses a kiss to your cheek, then, before settling his chin on the crook of your neck. "what better way to appreciate a colour i missed out on for so long than seeing it on you, darling?"

— RAFAYEL'S smug and haughty countenance seems to crumble at the mere press of your lips against his skin, little pecks gracing each beauty mark. the first kiss is placed on his cheek, a little ways away from his eye, his head cradled in your palms; you feel how he heats up beneath your touch, a light blush dusting across his cheeks and a bright vermillion burning at the tips of his ears. the second is placed on his chest, your lips and gentle, roaming hands sparking the rapid thrumming of his heart.

— RAFAYEL sees you in everything. in the morning sunlight that filters into his kitchen, in the cherry blossoms that land on his hair, in the sea breeze that rushes past him as he walks along the shore. the mundane of daily life has become filled with so many traces of you that he cannot see them as anything other than beautiful. there's a piece of you in every one of his paintings now, a streak of your favourite colour intertwined with his reds and blues. he made the pigment himself, of course, extracted the colours he needed from your favourite things.

THE LOVERS ; Rafayel (20XX) ; Oil on canvas

This painting consists of only two colours, and depicts the view of a simple shoreline, with waves lapping at the shore. Although simple in essence, the two paints were handmade (as is the norm for pieces by Rafayel) with pigments extracted from materials that represented himself and his beloved. Upon closer inspection, one may notice the difference in brushstrokes between colours—where they start to blend, so do the strokes, perhaps one hand guiding the other. As per the words of the painter himself, this artwork is meant to represent a "marriage and a transfiguration; the way two souls are forever intertwined and changed by love."

a/n : pretty privilege is real because rafayel acts a lot like marius but i like him infinitely more than i do lu jinghe 😭👍 my love/obsession for this pretty little fish has made me rise from the grave of uni work and writer's block... please fill his tag i need to satisfy this itch in my brain that he gives me <\3 might write some more for him + him as abysswalker <3 (p.s. that final hc is perhaps the cutest thing i thought to do)

#love and deepspace headcanons #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #rafayel headcanons #qi yu headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel fluff #love and deepspace fluff

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luveline · 4 months

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Hi, I’ve never sent a request before so forgive me if this sounds weird I’m still learning how to use Tumblr lol but what if Eddie and reader go to Roan’s school for parent-teacher conference and her teacher shows them something Roan wrote or made expressing how much she loves her new mom and her new little family🩷 and reader cries from how happy and loved Roan and Eddie make her feel🥹

ty for ur request, it doesn't sound weird at all! eddie and roan —you and eddie attend roan's PT conference, stepmother!reader, 1.2k

You hide from the biting winter wind in Eddie's side. “Is it supposed to be this cold?” you ask.

“You sound surprised. It's December,” he says, though he puts his arm over your shoulders to cover as much of you as he can. “I told you to wear a coat.”

“The coat ruins my outfit,” you say.

“You being cold ruins the outfit.” He nods towards the step up into the school building. “You could say the outfit ruins what's underneath–”

“What's wrong with you?”

“An appreciation for my wife?”

“Stop saying that, you're confusing people. Steve asked me last night if we got married in private–”

“You're always talking to Steve,” Eddie complains, “he doesn't even call me anymore, he just wants to talk to you.”

He'd called to ask if he was still babysitting, actually, but Eddie wouldn't know that because he and Roan had been playing monsters at the time, speaking to each other in gruff tones while they made sandwiches for dinner.

“You have a problem.”

Eddie can't decide whether to bicker or dote, squeezing you tightly, a promise about new problems lost to the growing ruckus of the elementary school after hours. Some parents have brought their children, but the majority stand chatting in lines to see the teachers. You and Eddie have come through the main entrance of the building rather than the side door where Roan enters, and the walk to Mrs. Lundy's room is longer than usual, though far from unpleasant. Light shines through the windows where a rainbow of creatures have been painted, leaving glowing shapes of apricot, cerulean, and lilac on your skin as you pass.

“You're like a Christmas tree,” Eddie says.

“I just need some tinsel.” You point at the decorations hanging from Mrs. Lundy's doorway. “Like that.”

“You want some tinsel? I'll get you some tinsel, baby, just give me a minute. And maybe distract her.”

You refuse to help him steal from Mrs. Lundy, and spend your time in line waiting with his hands held firmly in yours to prohibit any theft. Eddie moans about being jailed but is otherwise content. He quite likes it, actually, rearranging your fingers to stroke your knuckles.

Mrs. Lundy is smiling, happy to see you and brag about your girl. She starts with Roan's general education, her behaviour, her grades, though this young she doesn't have grades so much as milestones. Roan is smart but no wizz kid (not that you care), she's kind (but not always good at sharing), she's loud, and rambunctious, a great artist, and she's very, very happy.

“She talks about your wedding all the time. Every day. She tells us she's going to be the flower girl, and the best man, and that she has a beautiful dress.” Mrs. Lundy beams. “She's walking on sunshine.” The teacher's smile turns soft, almost wistful. “Well, she's Roan. You know what she's like better than I do.”

Your cheeks ache with pride.

“She's a good kid,” Eddie says.

“Yes!” Mrs. Lundy reaches across the desk for a turquoise-coloured folder. “There was actually something I wanted to share with you both… You know we have creative writing assignments, and obviously we help them with making real sentences, but what she has to say is very much of her own volition.”

Mrs. Lundy pulls a sheet of paper from the folder and puts it down in front of your hands. “The prompt was what makes you happy,” she says.

The first sentence is simple.

My mommy.

A drawing of you decorates the page above the lines, so clearly you, your smile wide and pink.

My mommy is kind and I love her. Dad sayd the wedding is speshul becase he loves her, but she will be my mom. She makes me so happy. Mommy says she loves me all of the time, and she brushus my hair. My best part of the day is when Y/N comes home and hugs me. We are so happy, and Lucky gets dinner. I love my dad too, and Uncle Wayn.

Her spelling errors have been corrected in green pen, and her backwards letters are written forwards for her to copy. You read the entire paragraph in a blur, thinking about how long it must've taken her to get it all down, nearly an entire page in her bubbly handwriting, big letters running off of the page.

“Needless to say,” Mrs. Lundy says, “that most children write about their families, or their pets, or their toys. But Roan was extremely focused on the word love. She's clearly going home to a loving home every night.” Mrs. Lundy smiles at Eddie. You nearly miss it, reading the paragraph again, and then a third time.

“Can I take this?” you ask, clearing your throat, tears brewed and bobbing on your waterline, desperate to be shed. “Is that okay?”

Eddie laughs and elbows you in the arm. “Come on, it's hardly news.”

You wipe your eyes before you can cry in front of them both. “I'm sorry, just– can I?”

Mrs. Lundy beams again, emphasising the well-worn smile lines at the corners of her lips and creasing beside her eyes.

You hold it together well for a little while. Eddie talks over your wobbly silence, a hand on your shoulder, assuring Mrs. Lundy that you're all, in fact, very happy, and he's just glad that Roan is being a good student and friend to her classmates. Mrs. Lundy's kindness and Roan's love letter to you has knocked you entirely off kilter, and you're crying before you've reached the car. They're happy tears.

“Come on,” Eddie says, taking the paper you've folded carefully from your fingers as they clench. “She's said nicer to you in person.”

And sure she has. Roan loves hitting you with the saccharine when you're not expecting it. Drying her hair after bath time, totally distracted, she'll kiss your cheek and say, “You're so pretty.” She sprinkles I love you's wherever they'll fit like her dad does, and she shows it with little gifts and cuddles and invitations. Y/N, do you want to have a fashion show with me? Y/N, can we have ice cream in bed? Can I do your hair, please, mommy?

“It's different. It's different,” you insist, scrambling to find the words. “She's…” You rub your eyes. Your makeup is smudging, but you can't help it. “I don't even know what to say.”

Eddie shrugs. Lean shoulders, a loving arm behind your back, the car in sight but getting no closer, he comforts you in the middle of the parking lot while the passing headlights kiss your shoes. “You know how much she loves you, babe. This is a good thing, right? You're not upset?”

“Not upset,” you clarify.

“Okay, good. Is this a bad time for me to say that I am profoundly jealous right now? I used to get all the drawings and cards, I used to get Mother's day gifts. I have a mother's day card up in the attic… might have to get it out,” —he kisses your cheek— “just to cope.”

You laugh through a sniffle. “Let's go get it,” you say.

He presses Roan's assignment back into your hand. “You can keep that one, but don't get it out around me. I'm serious.”

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bby-deerling · 2 months

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Hi!!! Can I request Sanji and Kidd (separate) with a S/O who shows love by making things? For ex. She’d make bracelets or drawings as nothing that comes to mind honestly. If something makes her think of them she would whip it up in no time, she’s always had a knack for crafts! anyways your fics make my day, I love reading them sm! Hope you’re healthy!!

awee nonny, this is so cute! i threw in zoro too bc i looooove him or whatever, i hope that's okay!

one piece men & a s/o who makes them things

ft. zoro, sanji, kid || masterlist

zoro

he isn't very vocal when you give him a gift, but most of the time he simply is at a loss for words. zoro isn't the type to think much about gifts that people give him, but something handmade from you holds a special place in his heart, especially if creating art is related to your dream—to him, it shows dedication, a trait he really admires in you.

will wear any bracelets you give him until they inevitably fall apart from excessive wear and tear or getting accidentally sliced off in battle; at first he simply wears whatever you give him, but after a while he'll gruffly ask you to make the next one black and green.

he's terrible at expressing it, but he enjoys the drawings and paintings you make of him that range from full-fledged pieces to silly doodles. at first, you weren't sure if he was even keeping them, until you find a stack of them at the bottom of his drawer, kept neatly out of harm's way.

sanji

fawns and coos over every scrap of paper and gift you make for him; he loves to show your accomplishments off and brag to anyone who will listen and can't help but ramble on about how talented his lover is with all things crafty.

will wear any piece of jewelry, even if it makes him look absolutely silly. one time you turned a neat looking shell you found on the beach together into a necklace that was far too clunky and large to look good, but he wore it to death anyways, getting emotional every so often as he recalls the memory.

when you redraw his first wanted poster, creating something that both you and he feels is more accurate to his likeness, he falls to a heap on the ground and cries in happiness. the way you capture him, mixed with the care you put into each stroke of your colored pencils melts him into a puddle of lovestruck goo.

kid

one-upping each other with handmade gifts is a not-so-silent competition between you two. he deeply loves and appreciates all of your gifts, in his own clumsy, brutish way, but he can't help but want to return every present you give him with something better.

though he is resolved to knock your socks off and "win" the never-ending competition between you, he also takes it upon himself to help you take your own projects to the next level, even if it sometimes spoils the surprise for him. he teaches you basic metalworking and wire-wrapping to make your handmade jewelry more professional, and has no problem doing some plundering to get his hands on some rare stones for you to use.

some of his favorite times are spent tinkering in his workshop, with him working on a large-scale mechanical engineering project while you diligently make your crafts alongside him. though most of the time you have to yell over to each other to overpower the hum of machinery, spending time hanging out and chatting with you while you both create something worthwhile means the world to him.

#one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #eustass kid x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #eustass kidd x reader #one piece fanfiction

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predestinatos · 5 months

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making a mess | CL16 𓍯

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

tags: one shot, fluff, very cheesy, soft!charles, facemask stuff, honeymoon phase

warnings: -

words: 783

note: tysm for the request @champagneholland!! i really needed tome inspo... it's a short-ish one but i hope u & everyone enjoy!

“Charlie” you said, laughing at your own use of the nickname, still getting familiar with its more playfully romantic connotation. “Stay still and close your eyes,” the simple request seemed impossible for him to fulfill, as the green clay of the facemask reached your hands, his hands and some hair.

“I can barely do one of those things when I’m with you, don’t ask for both” Charles laughed along with you, his dimples showing as he looked down at your face. “You’ll be forced to do one of those forever if I accidentally put it on your eye,” you kept giggling as he tried his best to remain still and occasionally open one eye to look at you.

Sitting in your bathroom, using the toilet as a chair, Charles let you apply the facemask carefully on your face, feeling your soft hands on his skin warming his whole body. When you were done, he got up excitedly, knowing it was his turn to do it.

You washed your hands and placed yourself on where he was previously sitting, looking up at him with glowing eyes and a smile – for a few seconds he just stared at you, completely bewitched by how lucky he was to have you. And then his hands here on your cheeks, squeezing them while he continuously kissed your lips – soft, cute pecks that then moved to your nose and forehead. “You’re so pretty” he said, giddiness written all over his expression, “and now half of your face is already covered with the mask. Much more effective this way.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes at him, his cheesiness and childlike way of loving you filling your heart immensely. Being loved as a best friend and partner was not something you were used to – previous relationships resulting in your feeling used – but as Charles stood in front of you with pajama pants and a green-ish facemask that almost matched the color of his eyes, you knew you were at home.

“Okay, Yoda, finish your work, please” you replied, pulling his hand towards you and allowing him to continue. Time went on, and he seemed to be nowhere near done, even though the package was basically empty at that point. Charles kept saying “there’s an empty spot here” when you complained about how long he was taking, enthusiastically applying the mask with such care you sometimes barely felt it.

But he could feel it – he touched every inch of your face with a gentleness that contrasted greatly with his strong hands and body, his toned chest bared before you. To him, every inch of you was precious and delicate, and he wanted to take care of it, kiss it, caress it, simply feel it.

So when he knelt down in front of you, claiming there was an “empty spot on your chin” you were surprised to feel his sudden touch on your thighs, not in a lustful way, but in a nurturing one. Leaving evidence of his touch all over your body, now looking like a canvas filled with loving strokes, he got up, pulling you softly, urging you to do the same.

As you did so, he lowered his head to your neck, kissing it and giggling as he kept painting you. You decided to pay him back for that, taking as much of the remaining product out of the package as you could and drawing silly doodles on his chest. His skin shivered at your touch, and he looked down at you, appreciating the contact he had craved for so long and now was lucky to have all for himself.

“You look like Shrek” you said, laughing and feigning pride at the masterpiece you created. He ran a hand through his hair, now completely messy, placing green highlights in it as well, cursing playfully at the movement. “I thought I was Yoda” he replied, to which you shrugged, “it’s whatever you prefer.”

“I think Shrek. He has Fiona” he replied, grabbing your hand and raising it, as you twirled under the bathroom lights cheerfully, holding him and being held in a waltzing stance as you finished. For a moment, you remained there, looking at each other’s ridiculous mess, how cozy it felt to be there, sharing breaths, memories and kisses.

After a while, Charles’ voice interrupted the silent moment, “is this supposed to burn?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “Shit, the time!” you remembered, realizing it had been longer than the amount suggested in the package instructions. “We should just take a bath” you both said, almost at the same time, laughing as he rushed to turn the shower on, not before leaving another kiss on the top of your head.

#consti reqs ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ #soo cheesy #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #charles leclerc fluff #fluff #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 fluff

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seungisms · 1 year

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🖇️📁 𝐒𝐊𝐙 … 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, do not interact if you’re under 18

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral (both male and female receiving), rare sighting of dom!jisung - i don’t personally believe but i’m doing it for the girls

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: every time i try to force my brain to write smth i literally just go into windows.exe shutdown mode so here’s smth short and smutty, hope you guys enjoy!! went a little feral for seungmin + chan and felix are unnecessarily soft in this, i’m sorry they’re my baby girls <3 reblog for a kiss, feedback much appreciated!

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍

he’s such a hardworking boy so he can get a little lazy during sex :( but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t give you the best dicking down of your life each and every time he finds the time to play with your pretty pussy! because of this he’s a really big fan of spooning. starts out real soft and innocent, strong arms holding you flush against his chest - the even breaths hitting the back of your neck almost tricking you into thinking he’s already deep asleep before you feel his fingers inch down your tummy, softy nudging past your underwear and dipping into your soaked cunt. makes some type of hushed comment about how wet you already are for him and he’s hardly even touched you. before you know it he’s filling you up with his thick cock, hips jerking against your ass in the most laziest, sloppiest way and grinding real slow in order to drag his dick against the plush walls of your pussy, making sure you feel every curve and vein as he fucks you. gets you off sososo well no matter how tired he is, fingers working at your clit as he brings you further towards orgasm, loving the soft whimpers you let out while letting him use you. will paint your cunt in his warm cum before kissing your neck all lovingly, telling you how good you were for him omg.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎

so mean with you >:( loves taking you from behind cause its just so easy for him to turn you into the neediest, sluttiest mess beneath him. will keep a strong hand tangled in your hair, forcing you to bury your face into the sheets and absolutely gets off on the sight of your cheeks pressed against the soft pillows - mascara and drool staining them as your hands clawed for some type of, literally any, support while he fucked into your leaking cunt. literally eats up the sight of your back arched so prettily, crying out that you couldn’t take it anymore but he swears the way your hips rutted back to meet the thrusts of his cock begged to differ. as soon as you show signs of of slumping beneath him - whimpering from the ache of his dick stretching out your tiny hole with every thrust of his hips - his hands are circling around your plush thighs, nails breaking the skin and dragging you back up so that your ass was pressed against him once again, making sure you feel just how deep he’s able to fuck into you. also gets a nice look at you spilling onto him at this angle, feeling your pussy close in around him before he’s pulling out and cumming onto your fluttering slit. definitely one of his favourite sights and also probably has a good few photos on his phone of you in this exact position, pussy quivering and brimming with cum 🤒

𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍

big boy l o v e s when you’re on top!! is able to feel every single little squeeze and flutter of your cunt around him and loves how deep he’s able to fuck up into you from this angle. swears there’s no better sight than when you’re riding him like your own toy, back arched and head thrown back as your eyes roll into the back of your head - busy chasing your orgasm on his throbbing dick and sweat collecting between your perky tits just begging him to lap up your pretty body. also really likes this position cause he’s prone to being a lazy mf and likes to make you work for your orgasm, grinding your hips down desperately onto him as he just sits back and watches with the smuggest grim on his face. very prone to bringing you to the studio just to get caught up with some track he’s producing, intent into not giving into your teasing until he’s down with his work. but before he knows it he has your pretty little skirt bunched up around your waist, some song lying unfinished on his computer and his cock pounding into your tight cunt - the sound of your cries muffled against his flushed skin and silenced by the soundproof walls of his studio. also loves when you take back control every once in awhile and it’s so easy for you to do so when you’re already sitting on top of his cock <333

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍

spoiler alert: this guy loves to cum. really basic with sex positions, typically favours cowgirl and missionary but he’s the foreplay king so sixty nine is this mans shit!! having your pussy shoved into his face while getting his dick sucked is a dream to this man, sometimes he has to pull away from lapping up your dripping clit to ground himself and wonder if he died and went to *heaven*. soso needy and will fuck his hips up, forcing you to take his cock further down your throat and absolutely lives for the soft gags you make around him, literally has to stop himself from filling your cheeks with his cum right then and there. such a tease too, will make the most obscene noises while eating you out. groans, grunts and whines against your heat, your wetness and spit covering his chin as he continued to open mouth kiss your pussy, tongue flattening out against your slit and practically devouring you. loves the slight sting of your nails breaking into his thighs as you resisted the urge to rut down against his face, whimpering around him when he spreads you open even further to prod his tongue into you, humming as your taste hits him. will get you off so well before forcing you off his dick, neither of you able to last long after he finally sinks into your abused heat.

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆

he just thinks you’re so pretty and you rile him up so much without even doing anything and he’s soso needy that he won’t even be able to make it your bedroom before he’s already inside you. loves all sorts of positions. will have no problem fucking you against the wall, on the kitchen counter or on the floor of the hallway where literally anyone can stumble upon you two - as long as your pussy is eating up his throbbing cock then he’s not picky. his personal favourite is bending you over the dining table, too eager to finally feel your heat wrapped snuggly around him to even think about stripping you - simply pushing your underwear to the side and fucking into your dripping cunt with so much force you could practically feel the wooden legs of the table creak beneath your weight. loves overstimulating you, filling you up to the point that you simply can’t take it anymore but that doesn’t stop his teasing fingers from finding their way to your slit - rubbing your sensitive nub while continuing to stretch you out around him. turns him on so much when he catches sight of the slight nail marks you drag down the table and will literally throw you the nastiest grin the next morning when you’re sitting down to breakfast with the rest of the boys, the faded cum stains marking the woods reminding you how well he’s able to get you off, leaving you satisfied and aching each and every time.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗

such a soft boy :(( missionary holds a special place in his heart. just loves the intimacy of it all, getting to see your pretty face all up close and personal as he slowly sinks into your tight hole, the slight glassiness of your eyes and the cute flush that takes over your skin is his favourite look on you. his lips will never leave you istg, kisses you so breathlessly and practically dripping with love, making sure you feel every once of his love for you in that one kiss before making his way down your neck, soft lips trailing over your shoulders before burying his nose in your hair - fingers finding your own in an embrace as he rocks into you, slowly grinding his hips against your own to ensure you feel the curve of his cock against your spongey walls. keeps his chest pressed tightly against your own, groaning into your warm skin as you clench lazily around him, hushed praises falling from his plump lips as he edges you to orgasm. likes to cum on your thighs and will be so caring afterwards, making sure you’re comfortable and well looked after once he’s finished cleaning you up. lets you snuggle up against him for the rest of the night, aftercare king fr

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍

this man is obsessed with making a mess out of you, constantly tells you that you ‘look the prettiest’ when begging for his cock 🤒 any position that allows him to turn you into a cute little sobbing slut is an automatic fav. his personal favourite though is forcing you to keep your legs pressed up against your chest, making you hold onto your ankles so that your cunt was spread open on full display for him, warm and wet and practically begging for him to slip his cock inside. just loves how deep and easy he’s able to press into you - eating up the small twitches and stutters in your face as he slowly fucks into you. also will have you rest your legs on his shoulders, leaving small kisses against your ankles now and again while rutting his hips deeper into you, the contrast of the loving press of his lips to the hot curve of his dick almost kissing against your womb making you sob out against him, hands clawing at the sheets for some sense of support while your pussy ate him up - losing count of how many times that night you’ve already coated his cock in your wetness and he’s intent on you doing it once more. sometimes when he’s being especially mean with you he’ll drag you by the small of your waist towards him, stilling deep inside of you despite your desperate whines for some sort of friction. makes you get yourself off on his dick and absolutely lives for the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock. loves that he’s dick trained you so well that no many how many times he brings you to orgasm you’re always ready for another, hips chasing his own and pussy fluttering at the thought of being filled once more.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍

as long as he gets his dick wet he doesn’t care 😭 however he always tends to revert back to reverse cowgirl, the sight of your ass grinding down against his cock always almost causes him to paint it in his cum right then and there. will thread his fingers through your hair before yanking your head back and pressing hot kisses against the warm skin of your neck, dick rocking into your quivering cunt with a pace you could hardly keep up with - the sting of your small hole being stretched out around his thick cock making you cry out, hand reaching back to clutch the back of his head, keeping his face buried in your neck as you continued to bounce on top of him. knows he’s about to send you over the edge when you suddenly slump forward and grip his thighs with a bruising force, giving him a nice view of your ass rutting down. his touch will never leave your body, feeling up your tits, ass, waist, literally anything he can gets his hands on. mutters the most filthiest shit in your ear as you choke on your moans - causing him to hold your hips down and keep you seated on his length, cumming deep inside your cunt. so content after and always tells you how much of a good job you did for him 🥴👍

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