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hoseoksluna · 1 day

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BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can.

Or you wish you were as stony as them.

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning.

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up.

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to.

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you.

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?”

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with.

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.”

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor.

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.

This is good.

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.”

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve.

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep.

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.”

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you.

Hoseok, the prince of peace.

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.”

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.”

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well.

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you.

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.”

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly.

“You want it from the back?”

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin.

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.

“Yes, sir.”

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later.

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?”

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.

“Thank you, sir.”

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.”

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.

A breath of fresh air, he is.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.

What would the angels do in your place?

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. “Go, I’ll get the car ready.”

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you.

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.”

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service.

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.

Doesn’t say anything.

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?”

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.”

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe.

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.”

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.”

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go.

Three weeks ago.

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck.

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard.

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?”

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.”

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.”

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest.

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?”

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?”

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to.

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him.

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi.

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it.

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.

You don’t really think that’s a good idea.

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.”

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook.

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.

But he surprises you with the words he says next.

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.”

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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silovsmenot · 2 days

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Foreign Language | Artūrs Šilovs

SUMMARY: A first meeting with a certain Latvian goalie, a surprise that leaves him thinking of you ... And an unexpected reunion thanks to injury. WARNINGS: So much fluff, poor Latvian language - if you're a Latvian native, please excuse me, I'm still learning. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader (f!reader implied). NOTES: This was the very first idea that I had, and it's been a brainrot ever since. This could very easily be a multi-part, because the brainrot is real. Okay so little Latvian lesson: 'sveiki' is an informal form of hello and 'piedodiet' is sorry. WORD COUNT: 2147 FIND PART TWO HERE

New job, new city — you were beyond excited to get started with your new life in Vancouver. It was a dream come true, a sports photographer for the Vancouver Sun. You’d be covering everything from soccer to basketball, and your personal favourite, ice hockey. It couldn’t have been better.

It had only been a few weeks and you were still pretty starstruck by the whole situation. The smile had rarely left your lips for everything felt so right. As you drove to the Abbotsford Centre, your music turned to loud as you sang along to your favourite song — life was good. And today promised to be another good day. You were helping to cover a story of the Vancouver prospects in Abbotsford and how they were developing within the AHL affiliate, while your partner would be interviewing players at the rink side and in changing rooms, you’d be snapping the shots of the training session.

It promised to be a lot easier than your usual days, training sessions were a lot more relaxed than game photography. Even with their game against playoff rivals looming, you knew it would be a calmer atmosphere than the alternative.

With the heavy camera bag upon your shoulders, digits scraped back your hair as you walked, tied back as you always did while working. Nodding across to your partner who stood waiting at the large rink doors, he held out a coffee to you, which you gratefully accepted with a quiet ‘thank you’. You two were close, like siblings — natural partners and you always delivered high tier work together.

“The boss wants some focus on the goalies, see what you can do, y/n.” He muttered as you walked, both sipping quietly at the hot liquid. From where you were, you could already hear the shouts of training, the crash of the puck against glass and the slapping of sticks upon the ice. It was a sound you knew and loved.

And as your partner pushed open the door, the bright lights of the rink lit everything up. You both moved quickly with a light tapping of both coffee cups in luck, your partner immediately gravitating to the head coach who lingered beside the boards, while you would weave onto the bench and begin your setup. Lens mounted onto the camera body, fixing your settings to this particular arena until you were happy with your picture. It was simply second nature now.

You stood beside the boards, camera switching from player to player with smooth motions as the camera clicked. Turning to each goalie, your camera would linger with the rhythmic clicking — you didn’t need to know all of the story, but a focus on the goalies was always a popular one. Players being called up to the NHL happened so regularly, it was hardly a story, but goalies? Now that got people ticking.

As the session progressed, you watched your partner question each player who came to the bench for water before they’d even had a chance to breathe. You would simply smile at each person, almost sympathetically, and do your job with the clicking of the camera.

Even as the young goalie skated over, angling toward the bench where you stood with a hand outstretched for a bottle, your lips presented a small smile as you waited for your partner to pounce. But as he was too wrapped up with Tolopilo, this goalie was left in silence … for a moment at least. You knew a little about him, of course. A young guy from Latvia, drafted a few years ago now, with a bit of a rocky start to the season. His eyes met yours as the blue and green mask was raised from his face, lips curled into a smile at the first glance.

You spoke without a second thought. It had been some years now since you ended things with your ex, but you’d spent a few years learning Latvian for them — it had been years since you had any reason to use it.

“Sveiki…”

Artūrs blinked. The smile on his lips disappeared as confusion was etched in its place. He’d been in Canada for a while now, with only the occasional passing player conversation to give him that little piece of home. He’d never expected this woman to come out with that.

“Sveiki.” The goalie quietly replied, leaning his weight forward upon the boards beside you. “You’re Latvian?”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping through your lips as the camera lowered, your body turning to almost mirror his as you leaned upon the boards.

“I’m not Latvian, but my ex was. I learned some from when we were together.”

As you spoke, he watched you closely as the smile returned to his face. A smile that you couldn’t help but find contagious. He nodded slowly, thinking silently to himself before his blocker hand began to shake. The glove removed, his hand wiping upon his jersey before it was offered across to you with a grin.

“I’m Artūrs,” He spoke with a little more confidence, capturing your gaze beneath his dark eyes. They were easy to get lost in as you looked at him. “But this lot mostly call me Arty.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Arty.” You hummed as your hand came to meet his, a slight look of amusing disgust at the sweaty hand of the goaltender. Needless to say it was enough to make the young goalie laugh.

Releasing his hand with a playful swat, you too would wipe your hand upon your jumper as he laughed. You couldn’t blame him, and you too found it funny, but a sweaty hand was not what you wanted.

“Piedodiet.” He spoke through the laughter, head cocking as he watched you. Your eyes narrowed playful in response to his apology.

“I’m not sure that I believe that you’re sorry.” You found yourself teasing in response, the camera growing heavy in your hands as it sat idle. If your partner looked over, it would look as though you were helping him with his job — but far from it. You were enjoying yourself, more than you realised at the time.

He gave no response, just the rising and falling of his brows. A cheeky grin at his lips as the hand returned the blocker, the bottle returned to it’s place on the boards.

“Will I see you around here more?” Arty called out as he took a few strides away from where you stood. He hoped, silently, that you’d say yes. That you’d be back to photograph and chat more. For whatever reason, he wasn’t quite sure yet, he wanted to see more of you.

It was your turn to stay silent, shrugging with shoulders and hands. You had no idea if your job would bring you back to the Abbotsford Centre, but you hoped that it would.

And as the training session came to end, your partner returned to you with a notepad full of notes and a voice recorder full to burst, you gave a lingering glance back to the goalie as he took his first steps from the ice, and met your eyes with a smile.

Months passed and you had often thought of the grinning Latvian goalie of the Abbotsford Canucks. Your job hadn’t taken you back to the little suburb of Vancouver, though you’d occasionally catch the games on TV. A little curiosity peaking as you’d remember the conversation with him — sometimes, you’d catch yourself smiling as you thought about it. You’d watch his games when you could and read the news in which he featured.

You couldn’t say that you missed him, you barely knew him, but you wanted to know him … You wanted to be able to miss him.

March rolled around, the end of the regular season was in sight and you’d taken the lead in photography coverage of the Vancouver Canucks for a while now — you’d become a regular at the Rogers Arena, and knew most of the faces of players, staff and partners. You’d even become friends with a number of the wives and girlfriends. You were a familiar face to all.

And you were one of the first on the scene, with your partner in tow, at the announcement of the press conference. Demko’s injury was the worst kept secret in the city, and you’d all been waiting for them to announce it. To know which lucky goalie was getting the call up from Abbotsford.

Journalists and photographers piled into the large room with whispers and nods of acknowledgement. Everyone waiting for Tocchet to make the announcement, and your heart skipped a little beat when he did … for the grinning goalie, Artūrs Šilovs would be taking up the role of back-up in Demko’s absence.

You wasted no time in getting down to the rink following the announcement, you knew that all the reporters would be clamouring for a word with the captain and the rookie goalie. As the flood of journalists began through the arena, the players were already leaving the ice with only the two goalies remaining with Clarkie. Many left to find the captain and coaches, while a few photographers, yourself included, would snap what shots they could of the two goaltenders.

Your stomach did a spin to see him again, the grin seemingly stuck with glue upon your lips — it had been months, surely he wouldn’t not remember you, you thought. But as his eyes glanced across to the wall of photographers, his gaze did linger upon you. Beneath his mask, he did grin. He’d spent months hoping to see you in Abbotsford, at his training or his game. It was a bitter disappointment when another photographer had been sent down in your place.

And as the nod was given for both goalies to leave the ice, little else mattered to him than making a beeline to you.

“Sveiki.” Arty immediately said as the helmet was raised, drifting on his skates just in front of you. Your smile spread instantly, quietly returning the hello with a hum. “I need to change, but please don’t run off.”

With a curious look etched upon your features, you silently nodded. It was the end of your working day anyway, you needed to sort through the photos of the day, but you could do that while you waited.

So sat upon a chair in the stands, laptop open and photos running through, you edited and submitted your best to your partner who would return to the office to write his piece. Gaze would snap up at the first sound of movement up the steps, it was strange to see him out of his goalie gear and in normal, casual clothing. A pair of jeans, a jumper, and glasses? There was something unexpected about that, but they suited him well. You liked the glasses' look.

“You didn’t come down to Abbotsford again.” He quietly said, the disappointment clear in his voice and on his face. And you felt the sting — but you also felt the twist in your stomach of excitement … he’d wanted to see you again, he’d thought about you.

“They moved me solely to these guys. I’m barely away from this rink now, Arty.” You sighed, hand closing the laptop which rested in your lap. You’d hold it there, fiddling with the corner as you thought. “I watched some of your games from home. I should’ve come down for one or two … to watch.”

“Do you want to go for a coffee, y/n?” Artūrs interjected, impatiently and abruptly. It was almost like he had to get it out before he could stop himself, and he was noticeably nervous as he waited for an answer.

You took a moment, watching him fiddle with the hem of his jumper as he waited — yet his smile never wavered. It was stuck, just as yours was.

“I’d like that.” You finally spoke, returning the laptop to your bag without breaking eye contact. The weight in his chest lifted immediately, a heavy exhale parting his lips as he nodded. You rose with a struggle, the camera bag always seeming to be heavier in that first moment, and Arty was quick to assist. His hand offered out, collecting the strap from your hand as it was slung onto his back with ease.

You walked from the arena together, both grinning wide with occasional glances at the other. A comfortable silence between you, it was simply a nice feeling to walk at each other’s side.

“Es priecājos jūs atkal redzēt.” He finally spoke, breaking the silence with words you didn’t quite know. Your Latvian limited to basic phrases that you learned to speak to your ex’s family during the holidays.

“What does that mean?” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

“I’m glad to see you again.”

And your heart skipped a little beat.

#my baby goalie #arturs silovs #silovs #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl oneshot #arturs silovs x reader #nhl x reader #arturs silovs x y/n #nhl blurb #hockey imagine #you just know he's a wholesome bean #he'd be an amazing boyfriend #silovsmenotwrites

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homestylehughes · 1 day

Text

But Daddy I Love Him

instagram au.

♥︎ luke hughes x zegras! sister

♥︎ face claim: marsai martin

"i forget how the west was won"

yn.zegras

liked by lhughes_06, trevorzegras and 50,567 others

yn.zegras the west coast, and my brother...

view all 100 comments

trevorzegras WOWWW OKAY. only here for the free vacation and not me...

↳ yn.zegras yup!!! how'd you know!!!

↳ trevorzegras i hate you.

↳ yn.zegras i love you too!!

lhughes_06 wow.

↳ yn.zegras 🤭

↳ trevorzegras luke. do not comment on my sisters posts.

↳ yn.zegras trevor shut up.

jackhughes little zegras and big zegras take over the west coast

↳ yn.zegras THE BEST SIBLINGS IN THE NHL!!! (even though i dont play..)

↳ jackhughes you've gotta better wrister than luke, so id say your better than him.

↳ lhughes_06 why do you always bully me.

↳ jackhughes because it's fun!!!

↳ yn.zegras luke don't listen to anything he says, he's jealous of the fact that you have two arm to use and he doesn't :)

↳ jackhughes too soon, yn. too soon.

masonmactavish23 MY FAVORITE ZEGRAS RETURNS!!!!

↳ yn.zegras I ONLY CAME TO SEE YOU!!!!

↳ trevorzegras this is why you're adopted.

↳ yn.zegras OH WOW OKAY. CALLING MOM NOW.

yn.bsf HOTTTTTT WOOFFFFFFFFF

↳ yn.zegras I MISS YOU POOKIIEEEEEEEE

yn.bsf bestie takes over the west coast, with her...hot older brother!

↳ yn.zegras HOT OLDER BROTHER HELLLOOO??

↳ yn.bsf you heard me!

↳ trevorzegras hi :)

↳ yn.zegras TREVOR NO.

jamie.drysdale i love how you come to the west coast when i'm now on the east...

↳ yn.zegras JAMIE IM COMING TO SEE YOU NEXT WEEK SHUSH.

↳ jamie.drysdale I KNOW.

lhughes_06 please come back i miss you.

↳ yn.zegras omw!!! i miss you more

↳ lhughes_06 good.

↳ trevorzegras jack do you see this??

↳ jackhughes yeah i do.

_quinnhughes hit trevor for me yn :)

↳ yn.zegras yes captain!

↳ trevorzegras quinn why do you hate me so much?

↳ _quinnhughes nothing personal bud just, your face

↳ yn.zegras QUINN HAHAHA

↳ trevorzegras she just hit me. thanks quinn.

↳ _quinnhughes you're welcome bud!

yn.bsf BIG TREESSSSS

↳ yn.zegras BIGGGG TREESSSSS (i wanted to climb one soooo bad)

trevorfanpage everyone say thank you to yn for blessing us with a new back picture of trevor

↳ yn.zegras IT'S AN HONOUR I'LL KEEP THEM COMING FOR YOU GUY'S

-----------------------------------♡-----------------------------------------

an: hiiiii!!! im down here this time LOL!!! first chapter doneeee!!! it kinda took a while but it was soooo much fun to make!! i hope you guys enjoy it! i'm sorry it's a little short and boring, i wanted to start it off simple and easy. getting into more of luke and yn story later on the upcoming chapters!!

hopefully you guys got the connection between the lyric and the west coast! i was going to put the the lyrics in every chapter, but i kinda find that annoying to do that for every chapter, but i will do it for a few!!!

longer chapters will be coming soon though!! like and reblog if you enjoyed!!! much love as always <33333

tags🎀: @lukey-pookie-hughes43

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #instagram au #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x sister!reader #luke hughes x y/n #trevor zegras #jack hughes #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #mason mctavish

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solitary-traveler · 24 hours

Text

Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why. Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Notes: Ahhhhh, I'm finally free again! I'm so sorry for not posting for a while, I was busy. Anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me. Part 2 is finally outttt. Also, tried a new writing style? I decided to go for less editing on this one, I want to see if it's better in terms of writing emotions. Thank you for 100 followers btw. You guys are the best <33

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, scara's pov after the battle, slight angst?

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

How could he, when the treachery was etched in the steps of his past ?

Yet the solitude that submerged the city of Sumeru leaves a bitter taste resting on his tongue. He settled beside a statue of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, overlooking the city she once presided over. The region he was supposed to subjugate and bend to his will.

For once, he’ll be the one exercising control, toying with the strings of his very own marionette play. He’ll devote himself to the role of the puppeteer, finding delight in engineering the people to act according to his words and his words alone. To constrain them to kneel and beg for mercy, manipulating their resolve for his own amusement.

But alas, it was not meant to be. For he had been defeated by a pesky Traveler and their idiotic companions.

Scaramouche’s face soured.

What a disgrace.

His sharp eyes remained its scornful glare at the city. He can not stand staring at the tranquility he yearned to have. The gentle winds that rushed his way seemed to mock him further . It left a lingering caress on his cheek, offering a taste of what he’d been missing for 500 years. He scowls, the hatred evident in his features. A flurry of fallen leaves soon crashed in his direction, dancing away as it avoided him to catch up with the gust of air. One such leaf had landed on your face though, as you lay asleep beside him. He had almost forgotten he brought you here on a whim, despite the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s warnings.

Their conversation was still fresh in his mind. Having visited you a few times everyday, the Dendro Archon’s attention was caught. She harbored a small smile on her tiny face, her voice warm as usual.

“You don’t have to come here everyday you know?”

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

His answer never really made sense, even to him. He doesn't know why he possessed such a strong obligation to see you. Maybe it had something to do with the turmoil of emotions he was experiencing, raging in his non-existent heart and influencing his thoughts. He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why.

Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Scara still remembers that day. Every single detail. He can’t forget how your body pressed against his, the metallic red a cool contrast to his overheating skin. The way your arms encompassed around him, squeezing him tightly like you were terrified he’d vanish without a trace. He recounts the smash of the debris falling on you, a consequence you suffered for attempting to shield him from danger.

A stupid move, really.

He was a puppet, a mere rubble like that was not a threat to his utility. Yet you , with all your mortal characteristics, decided to play hero and shelter him from it. Now look where that got you.

Asleep .

For two whole weeks.

Why even bother doing something like that? He wasn’t someone you’d want to save. He had hurt you prior to his fall, yet with no hesitation, you jumped to catch him.

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

He was nothing more than a discarded puppet, a vessel that was tossed away. A broken doll who's shattered pieces had crumbled to dust, leaving behind a shell of who he once was.

What part of him was worthy of your adoration? To the point where you disregard your safety just to come to his rescue?

He was insignificant. A failure . A worthless scrap of metal.

The despairing sobs he vocalized that day served as a reminder that his existence was a mistake. He plummeted to a time in the past when a shed tear sealed his fate to be discarded. He expected you to do the same.

Yet you didn't .

You didn't abdicate him. You didn't push him away. You simply emboldened your hold and refused to let go. Your touch brought such fervor ardor he had never felt before, a fleeting emotion that loiters within his senses despite the passage of time. Your touch provided him the solace he'd been searching for. But did he even deserve that comfort?

He eyes your complexion, and his chest burns. What a cruel play by fate, charming the wires of affection out of his grasp and awarding it to you like a trophy.

If only you didn't catch him, then he wouldn't be this troubled.

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

The burn starts to grow, the searing sting tormenting the foundation of his being. His stomach lurches, oh how badly he wants to throw up. Maybe he'll end up vomiting all these useless feelings too.

He wills to change the past, for a preferable outcome in the future. If he never existed, this dilemma would cease to exist. He wouldn’t have to suffer, and you would go on your merry way. Like a parallel line, your paths would never be bound to meet. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be asleep in the first place. Maybe you’d be out there somewhere, roaming Teyvat with the Traveler without the hindrance of his presence.

His existence bordered between pain and fury anyway, and he knew more than anyone how it was certainly a life not worth prevailing.

With a sigh, Scara narrowed those eyes of his in your direction. How dare you look so peaceful when he's over here, drenched in a scorching passion of self-hatred? The audacity to just remain there, with your pretty eyes closed, and not bother doing anything about it. He huffs, ready to hurl more insults at you. Maybe you’ll wake up from it, returning his jabs as you shoot him a dirty look. And yet…

“Sorry…”

Something entirely different tumbled out of his mouth. He blinks, barely registering the phrases ripped from his throat. Did he just-

“...I’m sorry”

Why was he apologizing? What was there to apologize for? He wanted to slander you for your interference in his life, not to beg for forgiveness.

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

He stops. Has he always sounded like that? Strained… and distressed?

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

The pang of discomfort bites him without a warning, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. His trembling hands reach out to you. He wants to nuzzle against your arms again, to have you drown out his sorrows in an act of intimacy he’s been longing for.

“Please wake up already”

Taglist: @featuredtofu, @slaylatus, @feikyuu, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @materialgrowll,

@lxkeeeee, @l4r1n3, @cicil-nema, @alaynac101-blog, @beomtorii2,

@strawbeewie,

@gravy-kfc, @kaeeelie, @pocketdroll, @ladyvelvette, @mmeatt,

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

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goldenempyrean · 6 hours

Note

Hello, would you mind writing a fic with Sicknat x reader on a mission? with phrases like: “I'm never sick” “it's just a little tired” “it's all Tony's fault. I will kill him” “take care of yourself” ?

Caring For A Widow

〚 Notes - Jeez, this request is old! I’m gonna try and get through some of my old ones over the next week :D I thought I'd start with this as I haven't written my fav redhead in a while! :) 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Natasha let's you take care of her when a mission goes sideways. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1044 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

“I swear I’m gonna kill Tony.” Came the annoyed grumble from the redhead leaning against your chest, “This is his fault.” She sniffled, rubbing her nose roughly against the sleeve of her hoodie, rolling her eyes when you chided her for not using a tissue instead.

To be fair to her though, this wasn’t exactly the best of situations. You were both huddled in a tiny safe house in the middle of nowhere, having just narrowly escaped an ambush during your mission and to make things worse, Nat wasn’t feeling great.

She’d mentioned it in passing a few days ago that her throat had hurt but it had been such a busy few days you hadn’t thought to check up on her. Of course, she hadn’t told you when it had gotten worse, she was Natasha after all - as stoic as ever. But now she was here, miserably ill in a cold, unfamiliar house just longing to be back home.

“I’m never sick,” Nat mumbled solemnly, though her congested voice and the deepening circles under her eyes betrayed her. She curled tighter against you, seeking warmth in the drafty safe house.

“I know, I know,” You replied softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her clammy forehead. “Your timing sucks.” 

She lifted her head just enough to shoot you a look but with the way she was cuddled against you, it held no malice behind it. “Have you told the team we need extraction already?” Nat changed the subject and pushed herself up a little to peer at the laptop which you’d been quietly working on as it sat on your knees.

You nodded, tilting the screen down so she could see it properly, “They know. Steve wants to be cautious of using air space since they clearly knew we were coming so he’s organising us a car instead.” The redhead stifled a yawn as you explained and you paused to lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, “It’ll be a few hours before it arrives, so we’ve just got to camp out here for a bit.”

Natasha shivered against you a little, pulling her hoodie a little closer to her. “You can't shake those chills can you baby?”

“No.” She mumbled thickly, unable to hold back a second shiver.

She turned away to muffle a rough cough into her arm and you gave a sympathetic pout in return before having an idea, “Alright, stay put," You instructed gently, pressing a comforting kiss to her temple before carefully slipping out from beneath her.

You knew that she needed something to soothe that throat of hers, so what better than tea. The kitchen of the safe house was sparse, but you smiled to yourself as you managed to find a small kettle and some basic supplies. This’ll do.

You filled the kettle and set it to boil, whilst it began to heat up, you returned to Nat's side. "Come on sweetheart, let's get you into a hot bath," You said gently, offering her a hand to stand up.

The redhead hesitated, clearly not wanting to move from her spot. It was strange to see her so lethargic, “A bath?" She echoed, her voice hoarse and congested.

“Mhm.” Your hum of agreement was followed by small smile, “You like taking baths when you’re not feeling well.” She couldn’t argue with that, instead sniffled quietly before pushing her knuckles up to the underside of her nose before stifling a sharp sneeze.

“It’ll help clear up some of that congestion too.” You added when she groaned quietly to herself, sniffling at her red nose again. The safe house was small, that couldn’t be argued but at least this one was relatively modern meaning luckily for you two, the hot water was actually hot instead of barely lukewarm as many of the other houses had.

It didn’t take long to run. Once the bath was ready, you helped her ease into the tub. Natasha murmured a grateful “Thank you” and let out a small sigh as the warm water seemed to relieve the tension in her shoulders and muscles.

While she soaked, you returned to the tiny kitchen area, preparing the tea. You found some honey and added a generous spoonful, knowing it would soothe her sore throat. As the tea steeped, you went back to check on her.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, leaning against the old, wooden doorframe.

Natasha had her eyes closed, the steam from the bath working wonders on her congestion. "Better," she admitted, her voice already sounding a touch clearer. "Thank you."

“Don’t fall asleep in there, let me know if you need anything, okay?” You smiled and left her to relax for a while longer, returning to pour the tea into a mug. You knew Nat appreciated everything you were doing to take care of her, but you also knew how important it was for her to decompress alone for a little. 

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with damp hair clinging to her neck, you were waiting with the warm drink in hand.

She accepted the mug gratefully, taking a careful sip. "This is nice," she murmured, her voice softening a little as her sleepy eyes blinked to keep herself focused. You knew the residual heat from the bath and the tea were probably making her tired.

"Good," You smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her back to the makeshift bed. "Now, let's get you wrapped up in some blankets and you can nap until extraction gets here.”

It seemed she was too tired to argue about napping (she usually would make a fuss about wanting to be on alert just incase) and instead, she allowed you to tend to her a little as you tucked her in. Natasha settled against the pillows; the tea cradled in her hands. You sat beside her, one hand gently stroking her damp hair.

"I still want to kill Tony," She mumbled sleepily, though there was no real bite in her words, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before she fell asleep against you.

You chuckled softly, kissing her forehead once more, “We'll save that for when you're feeling better."

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@sayah13 @mahalkitanova @romanoffskisser @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @citrussnz @fluffyblanketgecko @kljhsong @santana1437 @blackwidow-3 @asiangmrchk13 @lovelyy-moonlight @juiles @lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69 @observeowl @beholdagaywriter @widows201 @llovergirleraa @danveration @idkeithershawty @rainedontknow @poison-blackheart @loveshineslikethesky @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @ahintofchaos @scarlettssub @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister @rianlovelygirl @taliiiaasteria @swaqcenix @inluvwithfandom

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #sickfic #fluff #whump #comfort #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff sickfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff imagine

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 days

Note

Hello love 😘

I got a new request for you. A smutty one at that, if you're up for it!

Tangerine and the reader are having a nice night out, even though the reader is tired for work and mental load, she lets herself be pampered by our lovely Tan-Boy.

Back at home the pampering continues into nice and steamy sexytime 😏 but at one point reader being exhausted, tired and overstimulated she says their safeword. Tan spaced out doesn't hear her at first and so he askes again while pounding her. Tears streaming down her cheeks reader repeats herself again and Tan stops, immediately! Pulling out, talking to her calming her down, asking her what's wrong. Reader explains that Tangerine didn't do anything wrong its just her being too exhausted and overstimulated. So Tan comforts her, makes her a bath etc....

If you're up for writing this im ever as always thankful to you💕

If not that's okey as well🫶🏻

Love ya bye😘

hii honey!! idk why but I just love safeword fics😵 and I love love this! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

gif creds to @/peachyspaceslvt for the never ending supply of crazy hot tan gifs. ur our saviour🫡

RED.

tangerine x fem!reader — smut & angst? with comfort

word count. 537

warnings. 18+ only. pinv, doggy style, reader says safeword, comfort. minors dni

This week wasn't so forgiving and the days exhusted you.

As a reward for your efforts, Tangerine took you to dinner at a fancy restaurant on the waterside - the evening filled with good food and wine, the company of him making it all so much better. It didn't end there - the date carrying on into the night when you both finally make it home.

You're on your knees - chest pushed into the mattress and arms stretched long in front of you, Tangerine behind, his cock rutting into you. One of his hands on the back of your neck, the other gripping a handful of ass. His pace is almost relentless, the splitting feel of his dick ramming into you incessantly. It was like he was trying to make you forget about your week, replace it all with something so much better.

And for the first thirty minutes of it all, that was true. But after a while, you started to reach that point where it felt like too much, the feel of his cock giving more pain than pleasure. Everything else from this week worming it's way in and taking its toll.

With your face buried in the mattress, you mutter your safeword, your voice barely audible - the slight force of his hand on the back of your head muffling your words. Your choked-out sobs go unnoticed, the sound much like those he pulls from you usually.

You say the word again, slightly louder this time. "Red," you murmur, your tears wetting the sheet. "Red."

Though he doesn't hear you, the sound of his cock fucking into the messy state of your cunt overlapping your non-blissed cries.

"Red, red, red, red," you ramble, voice wavering. "Red."

The second he hears the first 'red', he's dragging his cock from you, a warm hand resting on the middle of your back. "I didn't hear you. I'm so sorry," he pants, catching his breath. "Fuck— I'm sorry, love. You okay?" he continues, moving to sit beside you - his hand running up your spine, making you roll over to face him. "Was I hurtin' you?" he asks, thumbing away the wet under your eyes.

You don't reply. You only sit, scooching to lean into Tan's shoulder as you wipe away the residual tears.

He wraps an arm around the middle of your back, pulling you into his side at an angle. "Got carried away," he shakes his head, voice and face filled with guilt and shame. "Real sorry, darlin'."

You slip your hand into his and hold it to your chest, your other hand wrapping around his forearm, hugging it. "It's not your fault," you whisper, pressing a kiss into the back of his hand. "I'm just... I'm just too tired. You didn't do anything wrong," you try to comfort.

You knew his brain was blowing this out of proportion, so you wanted to reassure him, even though you technically needed it more. You sit in comfortable silence, quietly consoling each other - his hand stroking up your back, your lips pressed into his other. The side of your head resting on his shoulder, his atop of yours.

“I’ll run us a bath when you’re ready.”

#j23r23 #tangerine #tangerine smut #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine angst

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twistedwonderlandshenanigans · 2 days

Text

TWST Cast Food Order Series - Coffee Shop

Idk it seems like fun and I want to do their subway orders eventually so if you have a req drop it. Also, gonna update my tags Eventually, but this will be the first post that refers to Jack T., Che'nya, Najma, Neige, Falena, Rollo as 'twst side characters'

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

Heartslaybul

Riddle Typically, Riddle has a lot of rigidity regarding food and drink, and what he will or won't allow himself to have. However, as he starts to work through it all he eventually gets to the point where he feels comfortable ordering a small London Fog (Earl Grey Latte basically, with vanilla syrup) and a cake pop if he's feeling indulgent, though usually he just asks Trey for them. Even farther into the future, he'll indulge in getting himself a small white hot chocolate with 2 pumps of strawberry syrup because then it's basically drinking chocolate-covered strawberries....it just takes him a while to get there. (He always spells his name out when the barista asks, he learned after getting Ridelle on his cup)

Trey Whenever he makes candied violets, he also has violet syrup. He tends to carry a small vial on him when he goes out because if he's going to pay for tea, he's going to make sure it turns out perfectly. He typically gets a medium iced lemon herbal tea and he adds his syrup to it for just the right touch of sweetness. (Always gives a name like. Batman or some shit, especially when his siblings are around)

Cater Coffee connoisseur. You might think he's a basic bitch, but to me a basic bitch still means he's getting some sort of sweetener in his drinks and he is Not. Cater cannot STAND drinking a lot of drinks that go viral because they're so damn sweet. That all being said. Yeah, he's getting a large iced latte with skim milk. He won't have normal milk because of the fat content, but the other milk alternatives tend to have a sweetness to them naturally. He could get an iced black coffee or cappuccino, but he likes the ratio of a latte better. Iced black coffee is reserved for exam week LMAO it keeps him awake in more ways than one. Those spicy drinks that circulated at Starbucks? He definitely tried one. Didn't finish it. (Has had his name spelled as Carter. So. Many. Times.)

Deuce He likely won't have gone to a coffeeshop until he's at NRC so he's a little overwhelmed by the menu and what to order. I think he would go for a small frozen hot chocolate because it's familiar enough that he thinks it sounds good, but it's still something new and he doesn't know how to make it himself yet. Once he starts going more regularly though, I think he would really like REALLY sweet frappes. Like large cookie frappuccinos whether it be chocolate crumble or sugar cookie it does not matter lskjdfhlksdjf (has had his name spelled as Doose)

Ace Having a regular latte does not satisfy his sweet tooth, though he'll have one here and there. Ace likes trying lots of different drinks, but the one he always comes back to is a large iced white mocha, no whipped cream. (In relation to my MC, the no whipped cream thing was a change he made because he knows she likes eating the ice and he drinks slower than she does, so by the time she finishes the ice in her drink, he gets to pretend like he didn't time finishing his drink just in time to let her have the ice 'like a fucking weirdo, but okay' but the whipped cream always leaves a weird fatty residue on the ice that she hate). Ace is also a sucker for peppermint hot chocolate when it's in season. (Straight up had his name written as 'ass' on the cup which is the ONLY reason he doesn't tease Deuce about his spelling)

Savannaclaw (just assume pup/cubcups are implied LMAO)

Leona Ugh this pretentious bitch /lh. Flat white is too boring, lattes are the basic bitch drink, this has too much 'coffee flavour', this needs more milk YEAH I'M SURE IT DOES KITTY. Anyways, when he's alone, he gets himself a small cup of just steamed milk, with like a half pump of (sweet) vanilla syrup. When he's around other people he gets a Cafe Cubano, which is an espresso shot prepared with brown sugar. It's a small enough portion that's sweet enough he can get over not having milk in it, but he's not Jazzed about it LMAO he just doesn't want to get the milk in front of other people my poor baby man. He sometimes gets a Cortado, but he can never remember what to call it. (Refuses to give a name, just goes by the name of the order, or he's just called by his title)

Ruggie My man works so hard. He and coffee are best friends. He and Silver bond over coffee sometimes. It's beautiful slkdjfhlksdjfsdf In the mornings, he tends to make himself a large double-double coffee, which for non-Canadians means 2 milk, 2 sugar in drip coffee. In the afternoon, around 2pm, he makes himself a small iced dulce de leche latte. When he goes to coffeeshops, he goes because he wants something he can't make/imitate at home as easily....which would be a vanilla coconut cashew smoothie. (Vanilla ice cream, coconut milk, cashew butter and protein powder). He would have a fresh fruit smoothie, but he can't enjoy fresh fruit without feeling like he should share it with his siblings because it's a hot commodity, it's a luxury for them. Frozen fruit is cheaper and easy to make into smoothies, so he makes them a lot at home. Of course, if he's at a coffeeshop, he's going to get a donut too. (Has never paid attention to the spelling of his name, doesn't care)

Jack He cannot handle caffeine my poor baby, he would be so jittery and anxious. He is a fresh fruit smoothie guy, and also he cannot stand matcha (Vil made him try it at one point). He likes blueberry-acai banana smoothie with greens, yogurt, and protein powder. Otherwise, Jack will just get a small chamomile tea with honey as sweetener. (His name is always right and his tail wags when the barista throws on a happy face next to his name.)

Octavinelle

Azul Azul tends to drink Milky Oolong tea, because of the health benefits. Does he like the flavour. Debateable, I don't know I haven't had this drink I can't tell you if I think he does or not. Probably. I read somewhere it kinda tastes nutty or like Danish cookies. When he goes to an actual shop though, he tends to get an Americano. (Assule, Asul, Azhoole, he tends to spell his name out for people now too)

Jade Not a coffee or sweets guy. We know that he's fascinated by the varie-tea (badum tss and I immediately get hit in the head with a chancla) that tea has to offer. I think Jade has had caffeine once and like. You know how humans. kind of have exposure to caffeine as kids even in small amounts, like in chocolate, or in stuff like certain sodas. Mers don't get that. They don't get that exposure at all. Jade on caffeine was a terrifying experience for any and everyone involved and he is not allowed to have more, nor will he allow himself to have any because dear great seven he swears he saw God and he doesn't even know who that is. That being said, Jade likes Jasmine herbal tea, while he prefers it piping hot and just a touch sweet, he isn't opposed to having it iced. His favourite blend is good either way, as it has rose hips, hibiscus and orange peel. He also enjoys Chaga mushroom tea. (His name is generally spelled correctly)

Floyd Like I said. Mers don't get that exposure to caffeine that other species in TWST do get. However Floyd, to me, has ADHD. And what does my ADHD do to me sometimes when I drink caffeine? I pass the fuck out, orrrr I'm finally able to focus because caffeine is a stimulant and makes everything better!! (This is why I would down an extra large iced vanilla latte right before exams LMAO) Floyd doesn't care so much about the flavour than he does it's effects, so he generally just asks what drink has the most caffeine and gets that, usually a large nitro cold brew, and he tells the barista to surprise him with a flavour just NOT salted caramel flavour. (He gives a random name every time)

Scarabia

Kalim ADHD 2.0 but addiction is just a general worry for his family, so Jamil makes sure he only makes herbal teas, and smoothies. That being said, left unattended Kalim would order whatever tea a barista recommends. Otherwise, he gets a mango lassi. He also often enjoys any flavour of lemonade, carbonated or otherwise.

Jamil Aw man. This guy. Needs so much caffeine, and as much as he enjoys tea, Kalim only serves herbal tea, but Jamil doesn't mind too much how sweet he makes it. When he's in the mood for it, Jamil will make his own chai blend. However, when he wants caffeine, he'll consume it in a way that would make Rollo think he's a demon. He will order a nitro cold brew, and a 2 bags of green tea on the side. He will then microwave the cold brew to make it hot and steep the green tea in it. Using Starbucks as a baseline, a large nitro cold brew has 345 mg of caffeine. One bag of green tea has anywhere between 30-50 mg of caffeine. A 'safe' amount of caffeine to consume in a day is considered 400 mg.

Pomefiore

Vil We already know that Vil's favourite food is homemade smoothies- So when he goes out of his way to go to a coffeeshop, he's not going to pay for a smoothie, unless it's right after a run with Jack. Vil's order fluctuates with the weather and time of day. If he's getting something in the early morning (5:30am-7am) and it's cool outside, he's getting a flat white with soy milk. If it's warm out, he'll get an iced Macchiato with soy milk and cinnamon. If it's mid-late morning (8am-11am) and it's cool out he gets a medium americano, though if he's feeling indulgent he gets a honey vanilla tea latte with skim milk. If it's warm out, he gets a medium vanilla oat milk cold brew or a strawberry acai lemonade if he's again, feeling indulgent. He won't consider drinking anything until about 2pm, which, if he needs something caffeinated he goes for an iced matcha latte with oat milk regardless of the weather. In the evening, (4pm-6pm) he avoids caffeine and will either drink a small decaf iced lavender latte with oat milk or decaf green tea. Once in a while, Vil will try ordering something new. If he ends up liking it, that time of day is associated with that drink, so that would be the time of day he orders it again. the Vil in my head is telling me just how hard he has to mask when a coffeeshop doesn't have the thing he wants to order and how some of these orders. he doesnt even like. but he knows that they won't be out of the ingredients because it's Just the coffee and a milk alternative. So They Can't say they Can't Make it so he doesn't have to worry about needing to mask.his day is ruined if it's a day he wants to be indulgent and they dont have the ingredients but he has to try and hide like he is crying on the inside and he feels stupid about it because its just a drink I cant tell if it's OCD or Autism but there's a little something funky going on/lh

Rook He is well aware of the effects caffeine has on him. They aren't bad per ce, but he doesn't particularly appreciate the gastrointestinal consequences. He also doesn't really find the appeal in super sweet drinks. Most of the time, Rook just wants iced lemon water, though on nights he struggles to wind down enough to go to bed, he'll brew himself or order rooibos tea with a splash of milk. The smell is the most comforting thing about it, he remembers his sister used to make it for him.

Epel He says he's not a snob, yes he is, if you don't have apple cider, you suck, if you do have apple cider but it's a 'bad brand' you still suck, just a little less. That being said, a lot of coffee shops don't have apple flavoured drinks, and he likes making apple cider at home anyways. When Epel is out and about, he likes to order a large iced decaf maple latte. He always whispers the decaf part like it's a bad thing he can't actually have caffeine or else he turns into the squirrel from Hoodwinked. (Get's called Apple a lot, also Elle once or twice)

Ignihyde

Idia Do you seriously think this guy goes to a coffeeshop? No, it's 3am, he's on UberEats/CarriageBites, he's put in an order for a bunch of energy drinks and some of those iced coffee bottles, he throws an energy drink and probably a salted caramel cold brew in one of those SUS slushy cups, makes it slushy and downs it in less than two minutes. Get on his level. Noob. I say this as someone who drinks a near liter of an iced vanilla 'americano' in less than two minutes.

Ortho Is worried about his brother. He also loves the smell of cinnamon coffee cake.

Diasomnia

Malleus He's so lost in a coffee shop. He will spend a moment to read over the menu, realizes he needs to research the different kinds of coffee drinks before he feels comfortable ordering one, only for him to decide on having a coffee frappe. The caffeine has no effect on him so he drinks it purely for the taste.

Lilia Who do you think taught Idia to be a fucking caffeine gremlin. This motherfucker isn't even affected by the caffeine he just likes the taste of his abominable combinations and accidentally got Idia hooked. The only step Lilia doesn't do is the slush, he prefers his energy drink-coffee combo to be room temperature. Freak \lh

Silver He has Lilia as his father. Jamil and Ruggie as his peers. And Cater Diamond as a fellow coffee fanatic. This boy tries so hard to use caffeine to keep him awake, his coffee order scares the barista. (This was based an actual order I got from some guys FRIENDS because this poor dude was studying for engineering finals week, we were told not to worry about the price because they were willing to pay, and we had to give them like. Four warnings about the caffeine content. It ended up being 12 shots of espresso over ice in a 24 oz cup) He wants the biggest cup they can give him. He wants it filled with just straight espresso shots. Let me just iterate - one ounce of liquid espresso typically has about 63mg of caffeine. 12 espresso shots, using 63 mg caffeine as a baseline is 756 mg of caffeine. I don't know where that college student is now but god bless. I hope his friends took away the coffee at some point.

Sebek He doesn't like black coffee, I do think he likes particular types of coffee. Like the coffee that doesn't taste like coffee. However, his go-to order is still just a piping hot cup of hot chocolate. Also pleeeease give him the steamed milk art/latte art, he loves it more than he'll admit.

Others

Jack T. Jack has a running joke on Ace where he only drinks black coffee in front of him, each time claiming some sort of delicious or exotic flavour just for Ace to fall for it every time when he offers it and it's just black coffee...but every once in a while, it's magically cloaked Vietnamese iced coffee, but Jack won't tell Ace the name just to piss him off because Ace really likes it but he can't place what's different about it from normal coffee with sugar and milk.

Che'nya As chaotic as our favourite purple cat is, I think Che'nya is partial to a rich, thick French vanilla. I think he likes the smell more than he likes drinking it, but yeah, it's just a yummmmmmmmy drink. He gives his full name out and just. :3 at the barista.

Falena He has a latte macchiato, much like Leona, he likes his coffee to be milk heavy lmao

Najma She doesn't usually drink anything for caffeine, when she does though, it's usually her brother's chai LMAO, but she'll make it an iced chai latte. Unfortunately, I HC her as iron deficient so this isn't always. The Best Choice. When she wants a coffee flavour, she gets it in the form of ice cream or in a mocha.

Neige Doesn't drink caffeine because it's an addictive substance. Yes Vil has mocked him in his bedroom at some hour in the morning hate listening to an interview with him in it. Fucking. Golden Child. (lh) When Neige goes to a coffeeshop he usually just goes to pick up a pastry and tip the barista. He sometimes has chamomile tea before bed but with enough sugar to rot your teeth.

Rollo Every once in a while he treats himself to a decaf con panna and madeleines on the side.

----------------------------------------------------- Rapid Fire OC Orders Vizzie - Iced white mocha, no whipped cream, or iced vanilla americano/latte

Aspen - matcha latte with lavender foam and honey

Oisin - Bicerin with cinnamon on top

Cory - Romano (weirdo) /lh ----------------------------------------------------- Taglist: *DM or send an ask if you'd like to be added @fluffle-writes

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loulouwrites · 2 days

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THE NIGHT WATCH . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's eldest son is sick - he won't leave his bedside. warnings: illness, swearing, thoughts surrounding the death of a child, melancholy, unedited, angst, violence, discussions regarding the death of a child word count: 1.5k a/n: a lil drabble form the home series! i'm honoured by the love people have for this family. i know i'm not the most active on here but i just wanna say if anybody wants to talk to me (about anything) don't hesitate to hit me up! (i am still putting my taglist together but I completely forgot about it when I wrote this - forgive me pls)

It had been going around for a while now.

Some illness spreading around London that had children dropping left, right and centre.

Some children barely got a sore throat, and those that did were usually better after a few days, but he had heard the stories of the unlucky few, the children that had been bed bound for weeks before silently passing in their sleep.

He hadn't thought much of it at first - he found stories about other people's children mind alnumbingly boring - even the saddest accounts he had heard had barely registered in his mind.

When Benjamin had started coughing one morning, he had rolled his eyes, insisting he wouldn't get out of school that easily. His wife - who was gentler and kinder than he could ever be - had laid her hands on her son's cheeks, instructing him to go back to bed with a kiss on his forehead.

It had caused quite a tiff between the couple.

"You're too fuckin' soft," Alfie had told her, pointing an accusatory finger in her face.

"And you're too fucking hard on him," she had spat back, smacking his hand away.

She had been right, of course.

When Alfie returned home that night, the house was eerily quiet. No children greeted him at the door, even Bubbe the dog had barely looked up from her bed by the fireplace.

He had found them in the master bedroom, his wife had pulled up a chair next to the bed, and was dabbing a damp cloth on his son's forehead.

He would never forget the way Benjamin looked lying on the bed, his face pale and his hair sticking to his forehead, the wheezing breaths he took being the only sound in the room.

"I sent the children to my mum's," his wife had said, sitting with her back to him, her eyes completely focused on her little boy lying in the bed. "The doctor said it's highly contagious so they shouldn't be around him - or us."

He could tell she had been crying, her voice quiet and shaky.

Alfie didn't say anything in response, because what could he say? He stepped further in the room, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on Benjamin's limp body.

"He's fucking boiling, Alfie," she choked out a sob, "he's so hot but he won't stop fucking shivering, I don't know what to do."

Alfie watched as his wife's body shook with sobs, putting her head in her hands as he sat on the bed, silent, confused, and so very scared.

"He'll be alright," his voice held no conviction, almost as shaky as her's was. "He's a tough lad-"

"No, he isn't," she cried, lifting her head from her hands to look at her husband. "He isn't. He's sweet and gentle, he isn't tough."

"Love," Alfie shook his head, leaning forward slightly, but she cut him off.

"It doesn't matter anyways, it doesn't matter how tough he is - or isn't - kids have died, Alfie, they've died from this."

She stood from her seat, pacing the room as he looked on helplessly. He had seen her scared before, he had seen her sad and everything in between, but nothing compared to how she looked now. Her hair was a mess, her makeup had smudged, and there was already dark circles beginning to form underneath her damp eyes.

"Listen," Alfie rose from the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place. "He's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," she whispered, hanging her head.

"And you don't know he won't be," he bowed his head to meet her eyes, "but we're going to do everything we can do to help him, yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

That had been hours ago.

It was almost three in the morning as Alfie sat on the chair beside the bed, a dimp lamp casting a soft glow on his son's pale face. His wife had fallen asleep on the bed next to Benjamin, and the room was silent apart from the occasional raspy breath from his son.

This was all he could do.

All he could do to help his son was to sit by his bedside and watch him breathe, watch for any sign that Benjamin was struggling, and to press the damp cloth to his face whenever a shiver broke out of his body.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

If it were any other situation, they would know what to do. If Benjamin had cut his knee when he was playing, his mother would be able to patch him up and make him feel better, if he had gotten into trouble at school, Alfie could pay the teacher's a visit to make sure it never happened again.

But this was completely in the hands of God.

Alfie wasn't a particularly religious man - not in the common sense of the word, at least. He was proud of his identity, he enjoyed the community and sense of belonging it gave him, but he fell short when it came to the believing part of his religion.

He had always thought God was something people used as a comfort in their darkest times, or as an excuse for things not working out the way they had wanted it to, it was never particularly real to him. Yet, as he sat at his son's bedside, with nothing to offer him but a damp cloth, he found himself bowing his head, and silently praying to God that Benjamin would be okay.

He hoped this would be the first time God listened to him.

The doctor had arrived early the next morning, prodding and poking the sick child and humming to himself.

Alfie stood by the doorway with his wife, both of them shuffling slightly on the feet as they waited for the doctor to finish his assessment, their patience wearing thinner with every passing second.

The doctor sighed when he turned to face the parents, a frown on his old and battered face, his beard moving as he scrunched his mouth.

"I see no improvements," he had spoke, and Alfie had to grasp his wife by her waist when he body began to collapse, another sob racking her body.

"What does that mean?" Alfie asked, his hands still secure around his crying wife.

"It means that you should prepare for the worst."

"No, no, no, no," she whispered, her legs giving way for the second time.

"If he recovers it will be a miracle, I've seen stronger boys succumb to this illness."

Maybe it was the doctor's tone of indifference when he spoke, maybe it was the feeling of his wife's body shaking uncontrollably in his arms, maybe he was just looking for somebody to take his frustration out on, whatever possessed Alfie in that moment to let go of his wife and grab the doctor by the collar, slamming his body into the wall, was as fierce and raw as the fear gripping his heart.

"Now you listen here," Alfie growled, his face inches away from the doctor's. "My son will not die. You know how I know that?" the doctor shook his head, his face reddening in fear. "I know that because you are going to fix him. If you don't, it'll be your body they wheel out of here."

The doctor's eyes widened, and Alfie was sure he was about to start crying. "Mr Solomons, there's nothing I can do, I would if I could-"

"You will," Alfie roared, pulling the doctor back slightly only to slam him back into the wall harder. "You will find a way."

Just as Alfie pulled his arm back, his hand curled into a fist, his wife's voice called out to him.

"This won't help Benjamin, Alfie. Just stop it."

Alfie released the doctor, who gasped for breath, his face pale. He turned to his wife, his face softening. "He can't die."

She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "He won't die," she muttered into his chest, "you won't let him."

It was nearing nine o'clock at night when Benjamin started to stir in the bed. His mother had yet again, fallen asleep at his side, and Alfie was sat in the uncomfortable chair by the bed.

"Dad?" He whispered, his voice weak.

"I'm here, mate," Alfie said, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm here."

"I don't feel well."

"You're not well, mate," Alfie leaned forward, placing his palm on Benjamin's forehead, which was already beginning to cool.

"I told you I wasn't just trying to get out of school," Benjamin choked out, and Alfie let out a hearty laugh, startling his wife awake.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, sitting up and cupping Benjamin's face in her hands. "Thank God."

"You might catch it, mum," Benjamin groaned when his mother bent down to pepper kisses on his face.

"Still sharp as ever, I see," Alfie muttered, the tension in his body seemingly disappearing.

"We need to ring the doctor," his wife said, and Alfie shot her an unimpressed look in response. "A different doctor," she conceded. "Though him being awake means the worst is over."

"What did I tell ya?" Alfie grinned. "Tough as nails, this one."

#alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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caprart1 · 3 days

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Hiii guys guess what? I made a Sephiroth x Reader reeeheeheehee don't we love that

Contents:

Sane Sephiroth (idc idc I need it)

Kissing hee hee!!

A LITTLE bit of angst?

Cuddling, because I just want to hold him tbh

This is also on ao3 but idk how to hyperlink so it's also here under the cut 👇 ok goodnight

Human (Sephiroth x GN Reader)

Sephiroth was strong, there was no question about that. The world revered him as the legendary warrior he was, a title he had rightfully earned as his name became synonymous with power. He was cold and merciless in nature, and swift and accurate in combat. Talk of him among SOLDIER often consisted of speculation that he was not even human, but rather an indestructible weapon specially created for war. At least, that was what the lower class SOLDIERs claimed; the ones who looked up to him and watched in awe as he trained day in and day out. As his close friend, however, you recognized him as a human, and humans are not indestructible.

It was normal for Sephiroth to spend most of his days training alone or with others, or hidden away when Shinra demanded his time. Still, he rarely appeared worn out. He always maintained his polished image and calculated persona. As a SOLDIER you found yourself impressed with him, admiring his consistent strength and elegance. Yet, with the privilege of your friendship, you were more aware than others of the slightest changes in his appearance and behaviors. Those keen observations had made you aware lately of how dark circles had begun to slowly appear under Sephiroth's piercing eyes.

Today you were with him to help him spar, per his request. He bested you each round, as you expected, but you had been at an even greater disadvantage since you were focused on those subtle dark circles. You knew how well Sephiroth cared for himself, so it was jarring to notice this imperfection. It was unlike him.

"You look... damn... a bit tired lately," you huffed out when you became winded after a while of sparring. Sephiroth sighed as he lowered his sword.

"I have been facing trouble sleeping at my usual hours, but I am fine nonetheless. Do you need a moment?"

"Yeah, just... just a minute."

The two of you put up your weapons and took a seat at one of the benches there. You spent a few moments catching your breath while Sephiroth sat beside you, arms crossed over his broad chest and leg crossed over the other as he waited. Your eyes squinted as you looked over him for a drop of sweat. It was slightly annoying how he never seemed even the tiniest bit exhausted after fighting, you always thought to yourself.

"So, has there been anything that is keeping you from sleeping?"

Sephiroth shook his head and clicked his tongue. "You're still focused on that? I am fine, truly. Worry about yourself. Perhaps if you spent more time on that, you would be a better SOLDIER."

"You're good enough for the both of us," you grumbled at his teasing. "Is there something coming up? It just seems like you've been training harder than usual recently."

"In three weeks, I will be leading a mission to Nibelheim to inspect a Mako reactor. It will be the first big mission for one of our newest First-Class SOLDIERs, so I must be prepared for anything that could go wrong."

"Nibelheim... that's a long journey. Aren't you worried you won't function well if you're not getting enough rest?"

Sephiroth paused before responding. "I'm more than capable of functioning under less-than-adequate circumstances. You shouldn't worry yourself over my being."

Sephiroth continued his vigorous training over the next few weeks, leaving little time for anything else aside when the Shinra scientists called for him. You could swear that his dark circles were growing more prominent by the day. At times, there were odd hours of the night that you strolled down the halls of Shinra, and for many of those you saw Sephiroth back in the training room. His energy seemed different during these nights; the way he moved was more ferocious, as if his body was overflowing with anger. Intimidated chills would run through your spine just watching as he sliced through simulated targets. It made you wonder what kinds of thoughts went through his mind, and why he was not sleeping as he normally would at that hour. You never lingered around long enough to express your concern to him however, finding it best to leave him alone.

The concern eventually grew into worry when one day Sephiroth had met with you for another sparring session. As collected as he always presented himself to be, today his mind seemed to be lost somewhere beyond consciousness. His words were short and he broke eye contact uncharistically early. Even his movements dragged a bit as he prepared himself to train with you, lacking his typical sophistication. You also did not fail to notice how his blinks had become slow and drawn out, like his eyelids had to fight to open.

There was something else upon further inspection. Was that puffiness around his eyes?

"Are you ready now?" You were broken out of your study of him when Sephiroth spoke to you, Masamune in hand.

"Hold on, I need to put on my armor."

He nodded as he set aside his weapon and turned away, finding a seat and crossing his arms over his chest. You shook your worry out of your head and attempted to shift your attention to equipping your gear. However, you kept looking back at Sephiroth and observing him quietly sitting, head looking down. Something about how quiet he was struck you as odd though. It was not until a minute had passed of him being still that you decided to walk over and check on him. Perhaps he was just being patient and enjoying the moment of relaxation, you thought.

You soon realized that was not the case, however, as Sephiroth made no sign of acknowledgement the closer you came towards him. He was always acutely aware of his surroundings, even off the battlefield. As you stepped in front of him, eyes on his slightly hung head, you noticed his shut eyes and lips that were parted just enough to release delicate breaths. His whole body, miraculously upright, swayed steadily in time with his breathing. You hesitated in place, unsure of what to do. Your gaze fixated on how sweetly his long eyelashes rested on his cheeks, begging you not to disturb him. Even relentless warriors were not impervious; Sephiroth, too, was a human who needed his rest. But the logic in you argued the consequences of leaving him, and so with bated breath you reached out and softly touched his shoulder.

"Sephiroth?" you said in a hushed voice, too quiet for untrained ears. You watched Sephiroth's body jolt in surprise, but as quick as he awoke he had composed himself as if to play off that he dozed at all.

"Have you prepared?" he asked as he rose from his seat, wasting no moment to address his dozing, and walked past you. You turned back and watched him, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

As he reached out to retrieve his weapon, you stopped him with a hand over his arm.

"Seph."

Sephiroth stood in place, stilled by the rare shortening of his name, unmoving his arm from your grasp and eyes trailing away to an unknown plane. You studied his face for any signs of opposition to your interjection, and upon finding none you gently began to pull him.

To your amazement and relief, Sephiroth made no attempt to resist and allowed you to pull him out of the training room. The way was silent as you lead him through corridors and to his quarters, passing by the occasional SOLDIER. As soon as you entered and shut the door, you saw Sephiroth begin to remove his coat and shoulder armor like he had been waiting to. Your face flushed watching his upper body go bare and you averted your eyes out of decency. Although you both have seen each other on several particular nights, it was difficult to not feel sheepish looking at his nude figure when it looked as good as it did.

You heard the tumble of his boots against the floor and the rustling of bed sheets, and when you looked back to Sephiroth he had already crawled into his bedding. He sighed heavily as his head sank into his pillow, bringing one hand up to rub his weary eyes.

Feeling satisfied that he settled down, you readied to leave his room until your eyes landed on the lit lamp atop the nightstand beside his bed. Sparing him from turning it off himself, you walked over and reached to switch it off with a click. Glancing back at him one last time, you then again turned away to leave him to his deserved rest. At least, you attempted to leave.

You were stopped when Sephiroth murmured your name, and within an instant he had grabbed your wrist and pulled you down. The sudden action made you yelp as you lost balance and fell on top of him. With his other hand going to your lower back, you were pulled even lower until Sephiroth connected your lips together. It had transpired so quickly you could only stay shocked in place, but as your hand rested against his chest and his vibrant eyes fluttered shut you too melted into the moment. Soft lips moved languidly against yours and, pressing closer to deepen the kiss, you forgot why you had brought Sephiroth back to his room. You tilt your head and let his tongue greet yours enthusiastically, feeling his fingers dig into your back while you tangled one hand into his silky hair. Even while on edge of sleep, the arrogant bastard still found the energy to reel you in.

After a minute you broke away to catch your breath and gaze at Sephiroth. Despite your mouth now being free, you felt breathless looking down at him. His pale skin had become painted with the faintest shade of blush and his endless silver hair gathered around his head. If angels roamed the Planet, he would be living proof of it. At this close proximity, your skin ached to tenderly feel him and worship his being. You resisted, favoring to await for his next move.

Sephiroth's chest rose and fell slowly beneath you, unaffected by your weight over him. He moved his hand up to kindly touch your cheek, thumb gliding over the skin as you leaned into his palm.

"Stay," Sephiroth muttered. A soft command.

You eyes darted across his face in a daze as one half of your brain, now fogged with thoughts of Sephiroth, fought against the other half that brought him to his room in the first place. "Don't you need to sleep?"

He chuckled. "Don't get too excited. I will. I haven't been able to properly rest for some time now, but I believe having a comforting presence beside me might help change that."

Your heart raced at Sephiroth's request. This was the most vulnerable he was offering himself to be with you, and it made your soul grow warm in a way that paled any passionate moment you two had shared together. You nodded slowly and moved to slide under the blankets and join him. His arms opened, inviting you in, and you nestled yourself into his embrace comfortably. Your cheek pressed against his pectorals as his arms closed around you, securing you against his large frame. Sephiroth relaxed, releasing a sigh, and pressed his face into the top of your head, soft breathes tickling you. You wondered if you might overheat from the combined warmth of the blankets and Sephiroth's body against your clothed flesh. You did not dare move an inch, though.

Exhaustion dragged Sephiroth quickly into a deep slumber, but you remained awake in his arms. The steady beat of his heart in your ears, a reminder of the powerfully graceful man, was too loud for you to even think of drifting away. So you laid there, watching and letting him hold you close, as if you would ward off unseen evils. Funny that Sephiroth would need any protection. Sephiroth: the relentless First-Class who has never bled on the battlefield. He who could be mistaken as something other than human; a personal toy soldier for Shinra to use in their grand game. But he was human. After all...

Those silent tears that graced his sleeping face were the loudest expression of pain you had ever seen.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #ffvii #ff7 #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #oneshot #fluff #not my usual stuff but you know what? whateverrr #hey i cry every time i think about him btw

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elina-bnhagirl4 · 12 hours

Text

Not me starting my first post with my first husband. It's an example of my current writing.

Abbreviations here:

N/N: His nickname for you

Y/N L/N: Your official name

H/N: Your nickname for him

F/I: Favourite Ice Cream

F/B: Favourite Beverage

B/S: Body size (All of you are beautiful no matter what size you are, remember that 🥰)

Bold! Izuku Midoriya Boyfriend Headcannons

• He'd definitely pray to God that he got a girlfriend/boyfriend/Significant Other as youself.

"Oh heavens, I pray to thy self..."

You raised a brow at his kneeling figure, having head bowed to the ground, "Izuku, what're you doing?"

"Praying to whatever deity is out there who have blessed me"

"With what?" "You"

• He won't believe that he'd get a gorgeous/handsome/amazing partner like you. Even though, he knew you'd retaliate saying otherwise.

"Like, how did I get so lucky to have you? Maybe having a bad past was worth it after all"

You chuckled nervously feeling the stares around you due to his continuous rambles, "Izuku, sometimes your mentality makes me question myself"

• He'd everything in his power to make you happy such as weekly dates, late night calls and even skipping his plans if you'd ask him to.

"Izuku, are you sure you don't have any plans?"

He replied back sweetly as if he didn't had his one hand covering Denki's mouth to stop him from making fake kissing noises, "It's no worries, N/N. I didn't have anything to do all day"

• If you're in the same high school as him, he'll immediately introduce you to his friends and even invite in their sleepovers, parties or just in general.

"Hey guys, this is my partner Y/N L/N"

"Wow, you look so cute!"

"It is my pleasure to meet the significant other of our fellow friend"

"Hi"

• He'd tell you about his past after he got to know you a lot better. And I mean very very well. It's a very sensitive topic afterall.

"Izuku, are you sure you want to tell me about this now?"

He raised an eyebrow at your worried look, "Do you want to talk about yours?"

"No... I don't think it's the right time"

He shrugged and held you closer while continuing, "So, you know these guys, they made me..."

• He'd do his best to cheer you up when you're feeling down. He'd also immediately know when you are sad, depressed or in a bad mood.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? Who made you sad? I just need a name. I think I have F/I and F/B in the mini fridge. Do you want them?"

He quiet down feeling your body slump on his. He held you close feeling your murmur, "I need peace and quiet"

He hugged back gently before laying on his bed comfortably, "Okay"

• Even though you warn him about not being self sacrificing, he exactly does that.

"H/N, I told you to not be so reckless everyday!"

"But N/N, this is the only way to improve myself to be the hero I aim to be"

"Izuku, getting admitted in the hospital three times a week is not in the quota of being a hero!"

• If someone both of you may or may not know implies to leave the other, you'd get defensive to prevent the other for being self conscious.

"Hey, cutie~ How about you and me ditch your plain boyfriend and spend quality time together"

The person began sweating feeling the invisible daggers digging in the body from your stare, "You got a lot of nerve to insult my boyfriend right in front of me. If you want your body intact, I suggest you leave right this second"

"Hey, handsome~ What do you even see in that B/S person, anyway? I bet I can make you feel much better"

She got a nasty glare with deep voice oozing in hatred, "One, get your chest away from me. Two, I dare insult my partner one more time and you won't have any less than 5 bones to be mend after I'm done with your B.S."

The girl flinched back before scurrying away without a glance.

• If he's sure, you're his one and only, he'd introduce you to his mother after the 3rd date.

"Mom! Look who I brought!"

"Sweety, is that you?!"

"Yes, Aunty Inko"

• He'd propose to you after 3 years of becoming officially together, which is 1 year after debuting as a Pro Hero. He's sure in his life that there is no one else for him other than the love of his life.

"Y/N L/N, will you make me the happiest hero in the world by being my Mrs. Midoriya?"

You stood speechless staring at his sheepish expression while he held a small box having the most beautiful emarald ring in it.

Your eyes watered and you nodded not finding any words in your brain right now, just the grin on his face and him putting the ring on your figure.

Ignoring the clapping sounds echoing around you, you knelt down and hugged him tightly while sobbing quietly.

He hugged back just as tightly while murmuring soft words of how gorgeous you look right now. He definitely knew he made the right decision by choosing for a life together with you.

(⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ⊂⁠(⁠・⁠﹏⁠・⁠⊂⁠) ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

#izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #anime #mha midoriya #bnha midoriya

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artemisravencourtney · 2 days

Text

Klaroline WIP Wednesday: Those Violent Eyes Ch5

(Klaroline peeps please tell me if I'm doing this wrong, it's my first time trying WIP Wed)

TW: Very brief mentions of past SA

He muses out loud, more so to himself than Stefan, “We could imprison him? I happen to have some options beneath the manor that should do nicely for now.” “Imprison him until when? He’s obsessed with Katherine, he won’t just give up on the idea.” Klaus waves a hand, “Until it’s appropriate to kill him.” He says flippantly. “Weeks, decades, centuries, who knows?” He shoots Stefan a pointed look, then, “Your brother’s days are numbered, ripper. He lives because I allow him to, but I will tire of that eventually.” Comprehension dawns on Stefan’s face, and the hybrid realizes he’s given too much away. “Because of Caroline. You’re keeping him alive until she gives you permission to kill him.” It’s not entirely the truth, but too close for comfort, regardless. Stefan smiles then, tone friendly, “You like her.” He’s brought back to his upbringing, and Mikael’s wicked glee whenever he’d find a weakness in his least favorite son. His ‘father’ could poke at anything that touched a nerve until the words hurt almost as much as the blows, all without ever losing that hint of sadistic pleasure that came with causing his distress. Klaus won’t allow Caroline to be poked at. “Your brother is a rapist.” He says slowly, “I don’t have to like her to want him dead.” Stefan only smiles wider, eyes sparkling in amusement. “No, but you’d have to at least respect her to wait for her permission to kill him.” He raises an eyebrow at that, “Your bar for what constitutes as respect is pitifully low.” The ripper shrugs, allowing him to relax slightly (though he suspects they will be revisiting this conversation at a later date). “Maybe. Anyway, we can imprison Damon until you kill him, but that might raise some questions. He’s friends with the town Sheriff, they have lunch together every week.” He pauses, noting the scowl on Klaus’s face with a healthy degree of trepidation, “If he goes missing, she’ll catch on.” Klaus Mikaelson is not a good man. He will be the first to admit that. Not with pride, but not with shame either. It’s an intrinsic truth, one his mother knew long before he did, one that he stopped trying to outrun the day his Wolf was bound. Klaus is objectively a terrible person, a questionable brother, and a monster among monsters. He murdered his own mother, for crying out loud. But the very thought of befriending a woman like the sheriff, laughing with her while committing unspeakable crimes towards her beloved daughter in the shadows? Pretending to be her ally, while you destroy the one person most dear to her on this earth, and ensure she’s none the wiser? All for no apparent benefit, aside from blood and your own twisted amusement? Klaus is not a good man. But there exist evils he isn’t capable of. Something snaps inside of him, dark and foreboding. “You wouldn’t happen to mean Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes, would you?” At Stefan’s answering nod, he feels a startling clarity wash over him. There’s no seeing red, no fiery hatred, no bloodlust. Instead, he feels swept underwater, awash with a bone-deep chill the likes of which he hasn’t felt since his last winter as a human. Idly, he wonders if this icy, detached thirst for vengeance weaving its way through him is what Elijah feels on a daily basis. He’s always been the hot-headed, mercurial one of his siblings, and he prefers it that way, but perhaps there’s something to be said about this cold, calculating fury. “Change of plans, then. I have a much better idea.” He unlocks his phone again, scrolling to another contact, “You might want to book a hotel for tonight, preferably under a different name”, he says, typing away. Stefan says something in response, but the sound is garbled and far away as he hits send.

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #my fic writing #those violent eyes #klaroline fanfiction #fanfiction #wip #stefan salvatore

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cibeeorsomeshit · 5 hours

Text

teach him your handwriting (ao3)

fluff; established relationship

Blitzø slumped into Stolas’ lounge chair and groaned about paperwork fucking up his life for the eighth time in the past two weeks. Stolas couldn't help but feel like he was missing something.

“Blitzø, darling, do you need help?”

“He finally fucking got it.” Blitzø rolled over and onto Stolas, burying his face into the covered puss that had no right being this soft to lie on. “Moxxie keeps bitching at me to hire someone or get my shit together.”

“I see. And you wish to—hire me?”

“What? No, I can't focus if you're there.” Blitzø groaned immediately and pinched Stolas’ thigh hard enough that it would have bruised if it were anyone but Stolas. “You didn't hear that. I didn't say that.”

“Of course.” Stolas managed to comply before the urge to scoop his lover up and kiss him senselessly overwhelmed him. “How may I help you then?”

“Tell me how you do all those boring admin work. You go through them like drug addicts with a bathtub full of coke.”

“How classy,” Stolas said dryly. “I'm just a faster reader, I suppose”

A beat of silence. Blitzø turned his face so it was no longer smothered between Stolas’ legs and started playing with the fine down feathers on his wrist.

“I can't read very well.”

“I know.”

“Most of the words don't make sense. Moxxie is less of a prissy princess than you but he still came from money. Got all the proper education and all that crap. Our imp circus didn't really — It's not like we're legally required to be educated.”

“Actually, it is a legal requirement for children in entertainment to have 180 days of schooling in a year—”

“No one in hell gave two fucks about legal requirements! We didn't even have safety nets, you think they'll hire a teacher?”

“Well, if you want, I could teach you.”

“You have better things to do than to teach me how to fucking look at words, Stolas.”

“There are rarely things better than spending time with you, Blitzø.”

“…this isn't some weird sexy teacher kink, is it?”

“You think I'm sexy?” Stolas hurriedly pushed down his urge to have every part of Blitzø kissed at least twice, more if Blitzø was in a good mood and let him.

“Fuck you. You know what you look like.”

“I don’t want to overstep.” Stolas pulled Blitzø upright so they faced each other, which was exactly the position Blitzø didn't want to have this conversation in. “I know I can be overwhelming when it comes to things I’m passionate about and it definitely doesn't help that this involves words and you…”

“Ugh, oh my god, don't — you know I don’t think—I just need your he—fuck, I can’t say it. I'm going to be sick.”

Stolas’ smile was all gooey. “Will you satisfy my desire to spend time with you under the pretense of helping you with readings?”

The vaguely nauseated twitches to Blitzø’ mouth smoothed out, along with the rest of his body.

“If that's what you want, you attention whore.” Blitzø half-said, half-purred as he curled up in Stolas’ lap, back spines flared up in pleasure as Stolas’ finger massaged between his horns.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Stolas said, in the most indulgent tone since the beginning of hell, probably.

Spending time with Blitzø in his study or in the kitchen or on the bed pouring over books was what Stolas imagined heaven to be like. They scribbled in the margin of books, Stolas annotating or explaining, while Blitzø took in things in the fascinating way he did. Stolas was enjoying it all way too much to realize his mistakes.

A pile of papers and sticky-notes were dropped onto his desk.

“Ah,” Stolas said, very regal and dignified and not panicking at all. “It seemed I forgot I had some prior engagement I forgot about, but I’m sure you can manage without me. You’ve improved so much, you know—and my library is your to use, so I think I’ll just—”

“Stolas, what the actual fuck.” Blitzø was standing on the desk and towering over Stolas, presumably to assert dominance, even though he did that very well already at ground level.

“To be fair, you told me you don’t read them.”

“Yeah, because I go cross-eyed at your fancy rich people cursive.”

Most of the papers are dented and crumbled because Stolas folded them into little owls or lizards and had them sneak into Blitzø’s office when he was gone. Blitzø always took pictures when he came back and sent them to Stolas, but never indicated that he read them, or even opened them, let alone—

“I didn’t know you kept these.” Stolas said weakly.

Blitzø’s face darkened. “Yeah, well. I have a drawer for them.”

“You do?”

“That’s—fucking hell, that’s not the point! You were just never going to—shit, goddamn it, God fucking damn it!”

Stolas realized Blitzø was genuinely and not simply comically upset, and that made him rather miserable. “I’m sorry,” said Stolas, in a small voice. “I didn’t mean for them to be so upsetting.”

“Well, they are!”

Stolas started to gather all of them and deliberated between the fireplace or some exorbitant spell, maybe he would throw himself into the mix as well. A few blissful moments of oblivion sounded perfect right about now.

But Blitzø snatched all of them back before Stolas could finish and hissed with every part of him, clutching them to his chest with a sort of animalistic protectiveness. Stolas was baffled.

“You’ve been writing me love letters for—for so long and I didn’t even know.” Blitzø bared his fangs. “I thought they were just smut! I made fun of them to people! To you! And you let me!”

“I’m sorry.” Stolas repeated, and stood up when he noticed a shine to Blitzø’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

Blitzø bumped his forehead to Stolas’ chest, sunk in, wetting the feathers there. “Why do you let me treat you badly?”

Stolas wrapped his arms around Blitzø tight enough to cut off air. Blitzø forced the words out anyway: “I’ve been trying so hard to make up for the way I was with you before. Now I just keep thinking about how you felt when I fucking…tell you I don’t read them, or that it’s just cluttering up my office, likes they’re garbage. Fuck, Stolas.”

“Please don’t cry, Blitzø. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve been so good to me, don’t you understand?”

“Were you upset? When I said those things?”

“Darling…”

“Were you?”

Resigned, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing.”

Blitzø needed that, to know he was forgiven. He finally wrapped his arms around Stolas. Legs, too. And tail. Sotlas happily sustained all his weight.

“Do you want to take a rain check on our lesson today?” Stolas asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Blitzø mumbled.

“What would you like to do? We can watch a movie, or I can have someone prepare the spa room—”

“I want you to read to me.”

“What?”

Blitzø stuffed all the letters right into Stolas’ face. “Read them to me.”

“W-well, that’s quite embarrassing…”

“And I’ll reply to them.” Blitzø removed his face from Stolas’ chest and glared up at him, made completely non-threatening with the snot dripping down his face and the way his tail caressed Stolas’ back. “Prepare some fucking coffee, sweetheart, because I don’t care if it takes all night. I’m replying to every single fucking one, and I’m going to do it when I’m balls deep inside you too. Make sure it really gets in there until you never forget.”

“O-oh.” The sensitive place between Stolas’ legs tightened and he could probably just hump Blitzø there like that and finish, but he was so desperate for Blitzø to fulfill his promise that through some sort of miracle he controlled himself long enough to get them back to his bedchamber. And all night it took, alright. Blitzø hadn’t got an ounce of regret when he showed up for work the next day completely sleep-deprived.

It was all good though, since a paper owl was waiting for Blitzø in his office.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #blitzø #blitzo #blitz #my writing

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cokou · 8 hours

Text

—PAPERS?! A sequel

༄ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ➢ One Piece ༄ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ ➢ Law x Fem!Reader ༄ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ➢ NSFW // Smut // MDNI! ༄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ ➢ Doggy style, Teasing, Porn w/ Plot, Body worship, Argument (slight), name calling (good girl), Shit Writing, & Law doesn't know which one to do, you or his papers. ༄ ᴀ/ɴ ➢ Do not transfer my works to any other platforms // this is my only account, will not be cross posted to any other sites or apps! Also MDNI, NSFW Content ahead <3

—It had been a while since you've joined the heart pirates, upon you joining, you noticed that their captain was eyeing you. It almost felt like he was fucking you with his eyes.

It hadn't been long as well since you, and your captain, Law, had started dating.

Since then, not only have you received tons of gifts, but was also showered in love. He shows his love by giving you flowers, picking one from the bouquet he will give you, and keeping it in his office to know when to buy you another one.

That isn't all, but the way he shows his love for you on his bedroom, slowly teasing you and then doing God's work all over your body.

It felt like heaven. That was the only word to express it. Once or twice a week, he takes his loving time with your body, ensuring that no parts of you were left out. It happens in all places where he usually indulges in.

Just like his office, or maybe the Polar Tang's library, or if he just wants to ravage you do bad, it happens inside your shared bedroom.

You couldn't forget it all. The way his tongue laps all over your wet cunt and devouring you as long as he can, or maybe, the way his hips thrusts slow, yet so deep inside you, leaving you wanting for more.

He never fails to make you cum, no. He always makes sure that you've been pleasured before him.

But—, it felt different today, this week was almost ending, yet, Law hadn't payed much attention to you. He goes home much later, and lays down and drifts off on the couch instead of your shared bed.

You didn't pay attention as you thought that, this habit would leave. But God were you wrong. It has been a month, yet you still payed attention on how he slops down on the couch right after entering the door.

You had tried reaching out to him on the library, but he just gave you empty words such as, 'sorry' or 'i was busy'. It's not like you could ask Bepo or Penguin for help, it would feel like you're desperate.

It had been 3 weeks since then, yet he showed no change with his behavior. You were starting to think that he didn't love you anymore.

So the next day, you decided to try and end all of this bullshit he's doing, you waited for him to open the door and talk to him about his stupid behavior. You had faith that maybe you two would get to talk with each other and sort it out.

But now, you've been sitting at the couch for nearly 3 hours. You checked the clock, almost 3 am.

Suddenly, you heard the knob twist, followed by the door opening.

"I thought you decided to not go home, Law." You said in an annoyed tone.

He ignored you as he started to remove his coat and hanged it on the coat rack, you were thinking that maybe he didn't hear you, but your voice was well enough to be heard by the whole room.

"ehem, I'm talking to you."

"Sorry not right now I'm tired, Y/N." His excuses were lame.

"You're always tired. You don't even have time for me anymore!" You blurted in front of him as he placed everything on the ground, some of his papers spilling onto the floor.

"Let's not start this Y/N, I told you I'm tired." He faced you with a straight face then sat on the other side of the couch.

Although you didn't want to start a fight, his lack of attention to you is making you feel like a total shithead.

"Tired this, tired that, Make better excuses other than being actually 'tired'. It's not like you actually have to do everything in a day!" Now, you're actually starting to get annoyed.

He looked at you, now with a confused look.

"Sigh. Just because I don't need to do it all in a day doesn't mean that I'll let it sit on the desk everytime." "And, i don't wanna start this, let me have a brea—"

"A break for what? You want a break from me? So you're making it clear that you don't love me anymore?" You cut him off with a fast response.

His eyes shot awake and he turned to look at you right after you finished your sentence.

"Do you even know what you're saying right now?" He makes it clear just from his voice that he's starting to get annoyed.

"You know—, if you actually think that your works are more important than me, then maybe we should-"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss. You were shocked with his sudden reaction and you just leaned on the couches arm support to help yourself.

His kisses were always deep and passionate, it usually leaves you two a drooling mess. This one was no different than the others.

His hands grabbed on your waist, then onto your head.

"Have i not been giving you attention? Is that why you're all fucking needy?" He pulled away from you, his voice now sharp and it definitely showed no signs of tiredness.

You couldn't answer him as his words ringed inside your head. Once you finally found your self again, you gave him a simple nod.

"Use your words, Y/N-ya."

..."Yes."

"So i should give you want you wanted, right?"

Needless to say you two found yourselves on your shared bedroom, naked and fucking.

"This is what you wanted, am i right?"

Your ass was positioned up whilst your head was pushed onto a pillow cushion as he fucks his cock inside your pussy.

Finally, you thought. You had missed the feeling of him being inside your greedy cunt. Now, you're under him completely while he eearranges your guts.

"S'good.." you were mumbling incoherent words and moaning into the pillow. He stopped for a second and you felt him pull out of your cunt.

"Y/N-ya, I'll just get some papers i forgot to sign." He turned into the exit of the bedroom ass naked as you watched him pick up a pile of papers.

"You're seriously gonna stop just because of those? You could've done them after!" You shouted at him grom the bedroom to the living room.

Just a second later you saw him walking back into the bedroom eith a whole pile of papers on his hands.

And he, positions you back..?

"Be a good girl and hold yourself on position for me." He positions you with your ass up on the air and your head onto the pillow, your hands are gripping hard into the sheets you swore you could tear them.

You felt a cold pile resting on your back as he inserts his cock inside you once again. You didn't question him anything at all and waited for him to tell you what to do.

"And, don't you dare move. Okay?"

You gave him a thumbs up as he slowly thrusts inside you again with the cold pile on your back. He held your waists and you felt something writing on your back.

That was it! He was fucking using you as a table to sign his papers while fucking you! What a shithead! You felt him go harder and faster as you felt yourself near on edge.

"m'close.." you warned him as you felt yourself tipping over the edge.

"Come all over me." You did as he said and he followed not too long ahead. You rested yourself on the bed and turned to look at him.

He placed his papers on your stomach and gave you a kiss.

"Contented?" He asked you.

..."Yeah."

"You know i love you Y/N, never get that wrong again."

"Only if you're willing to show me!" You giggled as you felt a pen writing over your stomach.

"I'll make sure to never forget."

—In the end you fell asleep as he continued using your stomach as a table, it tickles.

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