#READER-INSERT

[luna-redamancy]

Fires of the Heart Part Four (Thorin x F! Reader)

One, Two, Three, Four (You're here!)

You were standing, or were you spinning? No, surely standing. Your brow furrowed as you felt your body sway back and forth. Your eyes refused to open, as if held shut by an unseen force, while you struggled to maintain balance in unfamiliar surroundings. Forcing a deep breath through your nose, you exhaled slowly as the world around you began to still.

Finally, the pressure released. Opening your eyes, you squinted at the dim light that shocked your senses after what felt like an eternity in darkness. The room revealed itself slowly—a stone floor, stone walls, and a breeze billowing from down the hall, where countless ornate doors stood shut.

Your tongue felt heavy as you tried to speak, to call out. “Maybe now isn’t the best time,” you thought, surveying your surroundings. With a newfound sense of mobility, you realized you could move.

“Feels strange,” you murmured aloud, the sound breaking the silence and making you startle, eyes darting down the hall as if expecting someone to appear.

“Why am I... afraid?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a realization dawning that you weren't entirely in control.

“Where am I?”

Suddenly, as if observing from above, you watched yourself move down the hall with purpose, seemingly knowing where to go. Panic gripped you, your heart pounding in your ears. “Wait, no! We don’t know if it’s safe!” You tried to call out, but your voice echoed unheard down the hall.

You couldn’t move to follow. Looking down, your form was no longer in the stone hallway but in a bedroom. A crackling fire caught your attention, warmth flooding through you and drawing a gasp from your lips.

“What—” It had been so long since you’d felt warmth. Your gaze swept the room, but a nagging feeling nagged at your mind. A dull ache throbbed in the back of your skull as your eyes landed on the tools in the corner. “Smithing... tools?” You attempted to move closer for a better look, only to find your feet rooted in place.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and the whispers of a discussion made it’s way to your ears. You drifted closer to the voices, the air crackling around you and the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. One voice felt familiar, warm and gruff tones resonating in the hallway, mingling with a measured tone of an elder. Your curiosity pulled you forward, almost as if drawn by an unseen force.

The door creaked open silently as you entered the room, finding yourself in a library bathed in the soft glow of ancient manuscripts and maps. Thorin and Balin were deeply engrossed in their discussion, their faces etched with determination.

“There must be a way around them, Balin,” Thorin's voice rumbled, echoing with a mix of frustration and determination.

Balin nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the intricate details of the maps spread out before them. "Their surveillance is tight, but not impenetrable," he affirmed. The council was lazy, often putting up displays like this for show. He reached for a map that seemed newer than the rest.

He laid it out on the table, revealing what appeared to be a map with detailed surveillance plan dotted with symbols and annotations. Your eyes traced the lines and markings until Balin drew your eye to a corner of the map. No dots. No symbols. No annotations.

Thorin leaned in, studying the map intently. "This opening," he murmured, pointing to the spot with his finger. "Could this be our way through?"

Balin's eyes gleamed with a flicker of satisfaction as he nodded, tracing a route on the map with a deliberate finger.

"Yes, it's a blind spot in their patrols, Thorin" Balin explained, his voice steady but with a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "If we move swiftly and quietly, we can bypass their main defenses."

Thorin straightened, his jaw set with determination. "We leave just before the first peaks of the new dawn," he asserted, his voice resolute. "They'll be changing shifts."

Balin's gaze sharpened as he nodded slowly. "The perfect moment to strike," he murmured, his tone betraying a calculated edge that sent a chill down Thorin's spine.

Thorin glanced at Balin, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he masked it with a nod of agreement. “Aye, perfect indeed.”

Before you could attempt to speak again, it was like you were pulled underwater. A rushing sound pulsing against your eardrums as the view in front of you dulled and morphed into a blank void. You jolted awake with a cry, tears streaking down your face, your heart racing in panic. The remnants of the dream clung to your mind like cobwebs, but the details slipped through your grasp like water through fingers. Confusion washed over you as you struggled to make sense of the swirling emotions and now fragmented images.

"Thorin!" you called out, the name bursting from your lips with a desperate plea, though its significance remained elusive to your clouded memory. Sitting up in bed, you clutched the sheets tightly, your chest heaving with rapid breaths as fear gripped you.

The room around you felt unfamiliar, shadows dancing in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window. A fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that seemed to flicker like elusive memories just beyond reach.

Who were Thorin and Balin? Why did their names stir such raw emotion within you? How did you know them? Where did you come from before waking in the forest? These questions echoed in your mind, accompanied by a profound sense of loss and yearning that you couldn't quite place.

"No, who are they?" you murmured aloud, your voice trembling with uncertainty. The dream had felt too real, too vivid to dismiss as mere fantasy. It had left you shaken, vulnerable, and grappling with a sense of foreboding that chilled you to the core.

Your hands shook as you wiped away tears, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within you. A clock chime broke through your thoughts as you looked out the window. “Noon, already?” Your brows furrowed as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the winter air sent shivers down your spine as you hurriedly put on your day-clothes.

Outside, the clergymen’s voices grew louder, their urgency rising as they implored the masses to heed their call. “We must repent to end the suffering! These winter clouds are no natural phenomena, they are messages from the gods! We must heed their demands!”

The words echoed through the narrow streets, mingling with the whispers of the wind that carried the biting cold of approaching winter. You hesitated as you went to grab your boots, visions spurring in your mind. 

“Thorin--” He shushed you with his lips, his embrace enveloping you in the scent of forges and the comforting aroma of pine and cedar that lingered around his hearth at night. His kiss was sweet, reminiscent of pomegranate seeds—a taste you savored, knowing it would soon be a memory.

As his lips danced with yours, a bittersweet realization dawned. This was your farewell with the god of fire and invention, the deity who had brought warmth and love into your life.

“Please don’t forget me,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible amidst the rush of emotions. A tear trickled down your cheek, tasting of salt as it slipped past your lips. Thorin pressed his forehead against yours, his touch a mix of solace and sorrow.

“I could never forget you,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm against your ear. 

The memory unfolded like a fragile parchment, revealing moments of laughter and whispers shared in the glow of his hearth, moments of tenderness and passion that now flickered like embers in the recesses of your mind.

The urgent calls still echoed through the streets, but you brushed past them, your mind consumed by fragmented memories and unanswered questions. Thorin’s kiss lingered on your lips, a fleeting taste of something lost yet unforgettable. His and Balin’s presence in your dreams felt too vivid, too real to dismiss as mere figments of imagination, and now this...

As you walked, the cold air nipped at your cheeks, reminding you of the harsh reality outside the confines of your own mind. Each step forward felt like a hesitant plunge into the unknown, guided by an insatiable need for clarity. 

Your feet guided you, moreso than your own mind, as you left the main streets for a less traveled path. The snow crunched against your feet, making you all-too-aware of the silence and solitude now encompassing you as you made more distance between you and the city. 

Ahead, you spotted the stone structure, tall and imposing against the pristine white of the snow-covered landscape. The door, once grand with intricate carvings and gilded accents, now showed signs of neglect, its paint chipped and faded with time.

With a shaky breath, you reached out and pushed open the heavy door, wincing at the loud creak it emitted as it swung inward. The interior greeted you with an eerie stillness, the faint scent of ancient incense lingering in the air. Before you stood an empty altar, its surface bare save for a few scattered remnants of offerings long since gone.

A flicker of uncertainty washed over you as you stepped further into the dimly lit sanctuary. Shadows danced along the stone walls, casting ghostly shapes that seemed to whisper secrets of forgotten rituals and silent prayers.

You approached the altar cautiously, the weight of your questions pressing upon you like the chill of winter outside. What were you seeking here?

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Fires of the Heart: @abiwim @tschrist1

[generalsmemories]

48 hours.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: did time always pass this slowly before?

✧ word count: 3.5k

✧ contents: established relationship, mentions of other characters, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the 1.2 main story! + a very sorry attempt of writing angst lmfao

✧ a/n: i better see my man waking up from the best sleep he's ever had next update, i ain't accepting anything else. but until then you guys will get whatever this is because Jing Yuan is literally the definition of sleeping beauty throughout 90% of this piece.

The smell of seawater is prominent the closer you get to the statue of the former high elder. The waves seemingly roaring their praises for the Vidyadhara male before you who once again parted them to reveal a palace buried beneath them.

You're still able to see the waves crash down onto the shore, the force of the impact so harsh that your shoes are drenched.

The troops behind you seem to be in awe, whispering amongst themselves as you make your way up the stairs. Fu Xuan seems to notice you almost immediately, to which you give a curt bow before looking over to Jing Yuan whose hardened expression seem to soften slightly upon seeing you, "General, the reinforcements you've requested are here," you relay, glancing behind you to gesture the other Cloud Knights to position themselves behind the two that was behind Fu Xuan.

"Splendid, Lady Fu?" Jing Yuan turns his attention back to Fu Xuan who straightens up a bit, your eyes sweep over the people behind him. The trailblazer and their companions either giving you a curt nod or an energetic wave upon seeing your attention on them. Only one male diverts his attention elsewhere when his eyes locked upon yours. You can however see him give you a curt nod when he glanced back at you, "Remain here - lead the Cloud Knights in defense of this passage. We must prevent further incidents."

Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can utter a sound Fu Xuan takes a step before you in alarm, "Jing Yuan- General, are you planning on facing Phantylia alone?"

Your mind blanks the moment you notice what he's planning to do, but as the plan has already come this far any complaints you would have would fall on deaf ears. You can merely bite back your words and look away from him - Jing Yuan does take notice of this, but he has no time to console you, merely sparing you an apologetic glance as if that would lessen the sudden reveal of his plans.

You only turn your attention back towards the stairways leading down once you start to hear bustling around you, already noticing Fu Xuan address some Cloud Knights - but she does glance at you and cock her head to the side towards the retreating group with a small smile.

Almost as if saying: "We never know what might happen, say what you want to say now instead of regretting it later."

He's walking considerably slower than the rest of the party, and you let out a scoff at how he even predicted this, "Jing Yuan." you call out, and your lover turns around with the same easygoing smile he always gave you whether it was during a meeting at the Divine Foresight, on the training grounds of the Cloud Knights as he sparred with Yanqing or at the comfort at your own private quarters.

But he doesn't move from his spot - "Yes?" he asks softly, foregoing the petnames he usually addreses with you, a silent hint as to what sort of situation the two of you find yourself in.

"... I expect you to return safely to your troops, general." you merely say, before mouthing silently: "And to me."

Jing Yuan doesn't give you a nod, he merely laughs with a smile before turning around and descending down the stairs.

The next time you saw him, he was being carried by Dan Heng, not even conscious to hear your call for him.

HOUR 3

It took an hour to haul him to to Miss Bailu's place, the smaller vidyadhara's eyes widening upon seeing his unconscious self being carred by another Vidyadhara of all things.

And as much as you wanted to stay by him, there were more immediate pressing matters to handle. You had practically begged the high elder to take care of him, sputtering whatever you were informed before Bailu were forced to sit you down to make you relax.

You were offered a cup of her herbal tea before you continued on your way, taking one last glance at Jing Yuans' resting form before you rushed out to take care of your home in his stead.

HOUR 12

The ink brush in your hand is barely moving at this point, the tip of the hair dipped with the ink having made an extended black dot on the paper scroll you were currently writing on. You glanced over to the side from your place at the desk, watching with rapt attention Jing Yuans' chest falling up and down - an indicator that he was alive and breathing.

You're pretty sure you've observed his condition more than you have gotten any work done in the past few hours. The intial plan was to go the Divine Foresight to take care of the duties that would be left behind with the abscence of the General personally because at that point you would be easily accesible to the public. But just after an hour or two, Qingzu had contacted Fu Xuan to inform her that you were in no right mind to currently focus.

Thus you were tasked to stay home or work from the room where Jing Yuan was resting by Bailu's clinic - Fu Xuan had merely parroted back what Bailu had said to her which was to let Jing Yuan wake up on his own terms, he didn't seem to be affected too strongly by Phantylia's attempt to turn him into a voidranger, and Bailu was currently in the process of finding out more.

"You wouldn't want him to wake up to the entirety of Xianzhou and yourself in disarray do you? If anything the moment he does he would sure wish he was back asleep," she had tried to joke, to which you only responded with a dry laugh.

You glanced towards the clock again, you don't know how many times you've done it, 7:28 AM. it had gone 9 hours since? Why did it feel like it had gone days?

You let out a sigh, settling yourself to sit beside Jing Yuan and brushing a hand through his hair, "How come you even made me forget the concept of time for us?" you mutter. 9 hours was usually nothing for you - nor for him. 9 hours was a lot for a short-lived species, but for you, it was just 9 hours.

It was just supposed to be a few hours.

So how did 9 hours suddenly feel a lot longer?

HOUR 24

There's a quiet knock at the door that jolts you awake, the sudden sound amidst the quiet room makes you jump from your seat at the desk, your knee colliding with the surface underneath the desk.

It doesn't hurt of course, but the person behind the door can hear your quiet curse, "Come in, Yanqing," you utter a few minutes after, and when he opens the door he's met with scene of ink spilled all over the desk and dripping down the floor.

"... Lady Bailu wouldn't be very happy about that mess, you know?"

You merely dropped a handful of paper towels down on the floor and set the ink bottle straight again, taking a seat by the bed and gesturing for Yanqing to settle on the floor in front of you. The boy doesn't utter a word as he passed you the bandages and first aid kit he had gotten from one of the attendants.

"You know you don't have to come all the way here to just get your wounds dressed up, right?" You remind the lieutenant, but at the back of your mind you're well aware the reason why Yanqing keeps coming back, "But thank you."

A couple of minutes pass like that, Yanqing kneeled on the floor as you set up everything, the distant tick-tock of the clock reverberating by the lieutenant ears.

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore, right?" you ask while undressing the bandages currently adorning his head, "It never hurt at all, who do you take me for, [Name]?!" he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side harshly - immediately regretting said decision with a pained whimper.

You chuckle, brushing out his hair before starting to wrap the bandages around his head again, "You and that idiot really like to throw yourselves head first into danger, hmm?" you muse quietly, Yanqing's posture immediately stiffening at the mention of the general still unconscious beside you.

"He's not mad, is he?" Yanqing asks quietly after you've tied a knot, leaning his head back to stare at you. The mere question makes you laugh even more, "He was already aware of what you were planning to do, he could never be severely disappointed in you," the response made the younger boy let out a sigh of relief.

"... Are you mad at him?" Yanqing asks in the end, the boy having already made himself comfortable against you, twisting his body to lean his arms on your left thigh. Propping his chin on his arms that rests against your thigh, he takes a long look at Jing Yuan before directing his gaze back to you. He patiently waits for your response, but you can only blink back at him in wonder before your gaze turns towards Jing Yuan.

... Were you angry?

HOUR 32

"You're not gonna rot in this room with him of all things, [Name]." is the first thing Fu Xuan says the moment she slams the door open. You are for once, not cooped inside the clinic room, but outside by the balcony staring down at the Xianzhou people go on about their day with a cup of herbal tea in your hand, merely giving her a glance with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm very much not rotting inside there, Lady Fu. Bailu wouldn't let me either. Please give me a bit more credit than that," you say with a sigh, placing the cup of tea down in front of her before taking a seat opposite of her, "I'm just concerned is all, is there any news from Lady Bailu?" you question, the divination commissioner shaking her head, "Other than her confirming that the general should really just be deeply asleep, she hasn't found anything yet. But he did take a lot of wounds and hits during that fight from what I was informed, it's amazing there's nothing more than that."

A moment of silence passes, the only sound is the clinking of ice cubes against your glass while you swirled the tea around.

"That's the thing."

"Pardon?"

" There should be something more happening to him than just being bedridden needing a nap! He was almost turned into a voidranger of all things, Fu Xuan!" you shout, the fragile composure that you had so desperately tried to hold up cracking in just a few hours. The divination commissioners' eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst.

If the past you could've seen the state you were in now, they would've laughed at you. Even now you find yourself pathethic. Because it is pathethic, you've been through worse situations that lasted for weeks, months and even decades.

But somehow, seeing your beloved in such a position and unable to do anything when you usually were able to just cracks down on every purpose and belief you've held yourself to.

"He didn't want help, he didn't ask for help when he had the chance! He went into that battle expecting to not come back alive at all, but with purpose to bring that ravager down with him! And of course he would, it's Jing Yuan! He will lay down his entire soul and being, his life to protect the Xianzhou through another crisis - just like every other problem that could've risen to a crisis in the past centuries!" you cry, Fu Xuan can see that even with the outburst you're still trying to keep yourself sane, your knuckles turning white from gripping the corners of the table before you.

"The only thing I shouldn't have to worry about is when he's going to wake up, Fu Xuan. That worry shouldn't have to be my only concern with his condition," you mutter in the end. A few minutes pass by in silence, not because Fu Xuan didn't know what to say - moreso because she was aware that you weren't looking for comfort.

So she lets the few minutes pass before you raise your head with a smile. It's a smile she is well aware is forced: "Why don't we take a stroll outside then? I think Bailu would jump in joy if she sees me out of the room too."

HOUR 45

Fu Xuan realized how efficient you truly were whenever you didn't have to appease a touch starved general. A glance at the desk when she first arrived to drag you out showed her results of your hard work under 24 hours which was the finished and marked scrolls that was supposed to be sent to her - in addition to more "trivial" paperwork left behind at the Divine Foresight.

No wonder Marshal Hua was reluctant to let you go when Jing Yuan had first proposed to you.

And Fu Xuan will be damned to let said general also be your downfall.

So for the next 13 hours after that, you were somehow visited by numerous people who were in need of some minor help - that be the trailblazer looking immensely out of place as they asked you for some obvious facts about the luofu to Yanqing dragging you out to the training grounds to finally have a chance to spar with you again.

That girl really can't show concern in the normal way, can she?

A futile attempt to relieve your mind of endless worry - but an attempt nonetheless which makes a soft smile graze your lips. You sent a quick message to Qingzu to send a few Cloud Knights to guard the perimeter of the house before heading out the door once again.

If you knew the Cloud Knights well enough, they would already be running over - and sure enough you were greeted by enthusiastic greetings by them after merely taking a few steps away from the porch.

Fu Xuan merely gave you a deadpanned look when you arrived at the Divination Commission, "What, weren't you the one who wanted to distract me from worrying so much?" you asked with a grin.

"Yes, but I meant it in a way to relax your body and mind, not overwork yourself to exhaustion."

"Just humor me this once, Lady Fu."

Fu Xuan huffed, turned around while nagging at you. She didn't comment on the way you were clenching your fist so tightly that blood seeped out from where your fingernails were digging into your palm.

Love truly was a dangerous feeling.

HOUR 48

Jing Yuan felt like his whole body was underwater. It was hard to move, and even harder trying to open his eyes. There's a dull ache spreading through every vein in his body - a feeling he had gotten used to thanks to numerous battles, but with so many centuries of peace he was not liking how taxing it truly was.

Blinking his eyes open, he was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, but inside an environment that he was somewhat familiar with whenever he felt like skipping work.

Trying to heave himself up proved harder than normal, the man letting out a groan as he supported both hands on the bed to drag himself up to a sitting position.

He was covered in fresh bandages, so either Bailu or another attendant must've been inside a few hours before to change them. One look around the room gave him a rough idea on what has been going on.

It's been roughly 2 days since the battle with Phantylia, the new addition to the desk by the corner piled with scrolls and textbooks indicate that you've been by his side ever since he came back.

And lastly, although his whole body is hurting and moving even a muscle sends shockwaves of pain through his body, he was still very much alive.

"Bailu I've already been chased around for 13 hours to prevent from being inside there, I just want a break. No it's fine I don't need a bed I'll just sit by the balcony again - yes I'll call you if I need anything, don't worry. Really it's fine -" The fake cheer in your voice immediately stops up when you turn your head away from Bailu and into the room, but instead of being seen with the same scenery as you've gotten used to in the past 48 hours, you're staring straight into Jing Yuan's open eyes - the man himself only cocking his head to the side with a smile.

"Good afternoon, dear."

He can tell Bailu has already hightailed away to grab her things, which leaves him alone with you. You, who hasn't even moved a single muscle since locking eyes with him. Jing Yuan can see your mouth move in attempt to say something and that the hand on the door handle is trembling slightly.

"... What, you're not happy to see me?" he tries to joke, but the moment he sees your eyes flicker from surprise to anger he knew it was a bad joke to tell, "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" you seethe through clenched teeth, still having enough rationality to not yell inside of a clinic of all things, even closing the door gently before marching into the room.

You don't even reach out to him, and Jing Yuan doesn't have the energy to reach out for you.

"You sure weren't sorry when you kept all of those plans to yourself and walked down that staircase with half a mind of not returning," you point out, and Jing Yuan can only give you the same easygoing smile he gave you that very same day.

"... Why? Why is at the most crucial moments that you want to do everything alone? Why won't you lean onto someone for once, why must you do everything in secrecy but at the same time be so open?" you question, every worry and fear just pouring and Jing Yuan let's you speak.

And even when his whole body hurts, he reaches out to gently grab your wrist to pull you down to sit by the bedside. He's aware that you could've easily stood your ground, because he's much too weak to actually force you to do anything.

And yet you're so pliant, sitting down close enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head against your shoulder, "... 48 hours isn't a long time for our people," you breathe softly after a moment of silence, "But those 48 hours where you didn't even turn around one single time nor make a single movement? It was almost the worst 48 hours I've experienced so far."

"And I hate it, why have I let you reduce me to something so vulnerable and I can't do anything about it?! Why have you gone against everything you first promised to me?!" Your voice is gradually getting louder, but Jing Yuan doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," he mutters again, and you only scoff, "You're not sorry, I know you're not. If something like this happened again I know you would do the exact same thing."

You know him too well, and that's what also scares him in the end.

Because if you weren't so high on emotions right now and just took a moment to think, you would realize that if you were in the same battlefield as him things would not go as smoothly - to either one of you.

It was better for him to be alone right then and there - because if Phantylia had even seen one weakness from him of all people it would've reduced the already slim chances of them winning that battle to zero.

If Phantylia had even decided to target you, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his rationality inside - because you have him wrapped around your finger more than you realize.

Every regret and painful memory he has experienced have started to pale when he compares to every joyful moment you've given him. So if you were to perish in that fight for him and for the Xianzhou? Jing Yuan would've truly lost against the battle of time.

He's selfish, for once he wants to be selfish because he's chosen to not be in every waking moment of his life - so he wants to be selfish this once and rather take a gamble with his life than toy with yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers once again, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek, the general chuckling when he feels a stray tear his his thumb. He leans back to watch you, a guilty look crossing his features at your slightly reddened eyes.

And yet you're glaring at him in anger, but Jing Yuan is so relieved that you're still there with him.

So he leans in with no hesitation, pecking the corner of your eyes while whispering that he's sorry after every peck, his thumb pushing down on your lower lip to stop you from biting your lips so harshly, "I truly am," he whispers, silencing the bubbling sobs coming from your lips with his own.

He is sorry. And he hates the thought of you hurting, because both of you had gone through enough. But he would rather that you go through 48 hours of pure torment for him than taking the risk of losing you completely.

His love for you is selfish like that, because if he wasn't selfish he would be too vulnerable.

[lexsssu]

Sweet (Totsumoto Yuushi)

TAGS: Yuushi/F!Reader, smut, breeding, impregnation, some plot Ao3 ver.

Iɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ғɪɴᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ ᴏғ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ɪʀʀᴇsɪsᴛɪʙʟᴇ.

Totsumoto Yuushi had been down on his luck ever since the recession had forced his former company to let go of him. Applying to other companies also yielded no results, so he was stuck moving from part-time job to part-time job.

However, it wasn’t all that bad.

Before he’d lost his former job as a salaryman, he’d met cute little you.

Soft, fragrant, and probably the sweetest cinnamon roll he had ever come to meet in his entire life. 

You with your saccharine smiles and genuine warmth and concern for some random older man you’d met (he passed out on the side of a dingy alley, having drowned himself in beer after being forced to do some more unpaid overtime).

You could have simply ignored him back then because he would have woken up some hours later with a hangover and got back home relatively in one piece.

But you didn’t.

Out of the goodness of your heart, you managed to drag him back to your own apartment and had him settled on your sofa-bed. Hell, you even went as far as laying a blanket on him and putting a pillow that was softer and smelled nicer than any pillow he’d ever used beneath his head.

“Good morning. I just made breakfast if you’re feeling hungry,” your melodic voice greeted him as he sat up, somewhat disoriented and wondering where the fuck he’d ended up after passing out last night.

But speaking of breakfast, Yuushi feels his stomach grumbling as the scent of freshly cooked rice, eggs, toast, and bacon permeated around the homey apartment. 

“If it’s not too much trouble…” 

“Please, help yourself. I made more than enough to share!”

And for the first time in a very long time, he finds himself sharing a home-cooked meal with someone. Even if you were virtually strangers, he already feels much closer to you than anyone he’s currently acquainted with.

Yuushi goes home with his stomach full, heart warm, and your number on his contact list.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Contrary to popular belief, he does not sleep with you the next time you two meet up (which was at a popular cafe where he finds himself mesmerized at the sheer happiness you exuded just from tasting the pastries and one of those creamy, fruity drinks). 

He does his best to ignore the way the thick, white cream decorates your lips before you lick it off with your pink tongue.

Nor does Yuushi sleep with you even after every time you hang out after that.

He doesn’t do anything to break the ‘platonic’ friendship you two share, because he is so starved of human connection that he finds these moments with you more than enough…for the time being, that is.

Besides, how can he even dare to prey on cute little you, when you blushed so prettily when he so much as placed a hand on your shoulder or on the small of your back as he steered you somewhere?

You certainly deserved better.

A dirty old man like himself isn’t worth your attention and affection if you asked him.

But then he loses his job, fails to find a new one, and continuously fails to pay rent at his old apartment.

Just when it feels like his entire world is crashing before his very eyes, there you are again with a hand held out to him.

“You can stay with me for as long as you need to.”

Yuushi doesn’t hesitate, nor does he hold himself back anymore.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“I want to impregnate you. Gonna make sure my cock keeps kissing your womb like this.”

With your legs wrapped around his waist and your lower body practically folded in half to accommodate the heavy weight of the older man’s body, Yuushi is as deep inside you as he could be. And just like his words, the tip of his cock keeps bullying the entrance to your womb in this position.

“I'll take good care of you and all the little ones we’ll make, I promise.”

The way your insides practically choke his dick with just a few words renews his stamina, and so you both lose yourselves in a haze of pleasure just before the first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You become Mrs. Totsumoto not too long after, and the both of you move outside Tokyo to manage the strawberry farm you inherited from your grandparents. While your husband does most of the heavy work, especially as your pregnancy progressed, you still helped around with light housework and making different kinds of products with the strawberries you produced.

Aside from the fruits themselves, your humble farm also made strawberry jam, milk, strawberry ice cream, etc. You also had contracts with several businesses, supplying them with your high-quality products.

All in all, business was booming and life was good.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

At a newly opened inn somewhere in Japan, the new owner received this week’s shipment of strawberries as his otherwordly wife peeked from behind him.

“Ooooooh, this new batch of strawberries from our supplier is especially tasty today! Would you like to try some K-ko?”

[goldenatreides]

- training season -

[ paul atreides x reader ]

2.7k words, oneshot, smut, friends to lovers

summary: in a pinch, a dusty old weapons closet is just as good a hiding place as any.

content warnings: 18+ (minors shoo!) no use of y/n, all characters are over 18, f!reader, smut, religious imagery, mentions of violence, use of the Voice, implied consent, m/f pairing, fingering, PiV sex, semi-public unprotected sex, creampie, uhhhhh overuse of italics, gurney halleck jumpscare,

author’s note: you will pry my italics and religious imagery from my cold, dead hands. i need to be sedated. all feedback is appreciated and lmk if u find anything wrong, it’s my first time writing in a decade i think!! thank you to @earthshells for editing and teaching me about shrimping in bjj <3

🤍 masterlist 🤍 about 🤍 read on ao3 🤍

The clash of two blades resonates through the training room of Caladan.

Paul swipes at your side with his blade but you dodge, elbowing him hard in the ribs, catching him off balance. As you back away, he grabs your arm and pulls you down with him, pinning you against the ground; your face down on the cold stone floor, his legs straddling your back.

Your chest burns at the impact, flush against the floor. You feel his entire weight on top of you, heaving from exertion. His legs keep one arm locked at your side, under him, the other still caught in his grasp, pressed to the ground. Your blade scrapes against the stone.

“Do you yield?” His voice is much closer than you expect. His breath is close, tickling the back of your neck, too close, too warm—a shiver snakes down your spine.

(Why does it do that?)

Dark messy curls fall into your field of vision, some brushing the shell of your ear. A prickle against your jugular taunts you — his knife at your throat. Your shield buzzes with the contact.

(Ah.

He’s pressing it harder today than ever before.)

You make a small noise in answer, sound muffled by the ground.

Paul shifts his weight on top of you by sitting up, his legs still caging your back, knife at your throat. He relaxes the hand that holds yours bound.

(That’s new.)

Instead, Paul grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your neck, lifting your head slightly. It hurts — but you can’t lie and say it’s… entirely unpleasant.

(Oh.

That’s new too.)

“Well?”

You can hear the teasing grin in his voice. Years upon years of training with him and still, he knows your left side is your weakest. But you’ll be damned before you give Paul the satisfaction of beating you for the third time in a row this week.

You wriggle slightly under him, testing his hold — why is he still clutching your hair? — and finding it looser than you expect, you rotate, using your free arm to lurch back and upwards suddenly, knocking him off you. You hear him land to your side with a thud and a surprised grunt, blade clattering to the ground.

Fingers curling around the hilt of your blade, you spin around, hooking your legs against his to trap him. Now, you straddle him, your knife pressing against his throat.

“What’s gotten into you today, Paul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” he answers, still grinning.

His eyes are deadly, dark green.

Ignoring his choice to play stupid, you hiss: “Do you yield, Atreides?”

His holtzmann shield buzzes a bright red at his neck.

Your pulse buzzes too.

(Just the adrenaline.)

You want to wipe the smug grin off his face. He could have won so easily, you were distracted, why didn’t he?

Maybe he let his guard down too soon, or maybe — and you’ll never forgive him in this case — he’s going easy on you.

You feel the pinprick echo of his hands clutching your hair. A knot ties in your stomach, but you refuse to associate the two feelings.

(It must be close to lunch by now.)

Surely that must be it.

Paul laughs. It’s bright, airy — did your heart just skip a beat?

“Never.”

He reaches for his blade — that he shouldn’t have lost in the first place, he knows better than that — and as you lean forward to stop him, he uses your momentary distraction to free his other hand.

Which he promptly knots into your hair again, pulling you down by the back of your neck. Your legs slide out from under you against the slippery stone floor. Curse whoever built this castle.

Your own shield joins the buzzing, his knife finding your neck once more, yours still pressed against his, noses a hair’s width away.

His chest moves yours with each breath, every exhale waving strands of your hair that escaped his grasp.

You lie frozen above him for a moment or two. His eyes are so close you can count every individual lash, his pupils so blown you can see yourself reflected back at you.

Something about them is different today.

You’ve been staring at those eyes your whole life. Countless wishes cast on those same fallen lashes, gold flecks sparkling through a sea of forest green. You’ve seen them beam with childish mirth when you stole pastries from the kitchen, both your hands sticky from the bun you shared, giggling under a heavy oak table. You’ve seen them sorrowful and sullen, his under eyes as dark as bruises as he snuck into your room for comfort in the middle of the night after a bad dream, innocent adolescence.

Now, from so close, they’re dark, darker than you’ve seen—a raging sea, so bewitching it can drown you with no warning if you don’t tread with caution. You’ve caught glimpses of it before, in darkened hallways and after too many glasses of crimson Caladan wine, when he didn’t think you were looking—but never with such feverish intensity.

(Just the adrenaline.

He’s just caught up in the fight.)

Paul’s lips part slightly as his chest heaves up and down beneath you. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and a mirroring rosy blush dusts his high cheekbones. Few faint freckles dot his cheeks during the summer season and you see them now like clusters of little stars.

His eyes never leave yours, but his tongue darting out and slightly wetting his parted lips grabs your attention and you can’t help but stare. You trace your gaze along the dip in his cupid’s bow, the regal arch of his pointed nose, the cheekbones sculpted as if from marble of antiquity.

(Oh, Maker.

I’m staring.)

You cough to clear your throat from the thick silence that settles over the two of you, broken only by your mingled breaths. His mouth closes, lips curling into a coy smile as he sees you flush more under his stare.

“Something wrong?” his voice comes out husky, deeper than you’ve heard before. Why was the room suddenly so hot? The castle’s heating never worked so well.

You refuse to meet his piercing gaze again, mortified at the situation, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy below you. The boy —your childhood best friend, you remind yourself in an attempt to clear your head of whatever is happening—is different today.

(And whatever is happening is definitely not happening.

It’s just Paul.

He’s just messing with you.)

Still avoiding his eyes, you sit up, excuses already tumbling from your mouth—cut off by Paul tightening his grip on your hair, sending electric sparks tingling at the roots of your scalp.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his voice comes out not fully his own—distant, many echoing voices folding in his own all at once, commanding your undivided attention and acceptance:

“Look at me.”

Your stomach falls through the floor as your eyes snap to meet his. Maybe all those lessons he skipped to hang out with you were not so useless after all.

You feel every point of contact with him a thousandfold. His hand in your hair, yours on his chest, his toned waist between your ever-so-slightly trembling legs. His other hand drops his knife, and slides up to rest on your waist, lithe fingers delicately brushing the stitches of your clothing.

“Paul—” Your voice comes out more of a whispery mumble than you expected.

(Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me whole.)

The hand in your hair relaxes, and his palm slides down to the back of your neck, fingers light as a feather. They hook your jaw, cupping your cheek. You think you’ll suffocate under the weight of his gaze on you.

Paul breaks the stare first, his eyes clinging to your mouth.

His thumb gently traces the outside of your lips, teasing your bottom lip. You hope he can’t feel how your pulse thunders against your neck, your heart threatening to escape your chest at his very touch.

(He definitely can.)

Heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside break the spell and you both freeze in a moment of panic. A familiar voice calls out for Paul, as you jump off him and he scrambles to his feet.

He looks around the room quickly, and seeing an old and dusty weapons storage closet, he grabs your hand and pulls you into it, shutting the heavy door as quietly as possible behind him.

Not a moment too soon, as you hear Gurney Halleck’s voice coming from the training room.

“Paul?”

After a beat of silence, Gurney sighs in frustration and you hear the training room doors click as he leaves.

You and Paul breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve both skipped out on one too many tutors this week, but the consequences can wait until…later.

Your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the closet. In the inky darkness, you feel Paul standing in front of you, so close in the cramped space that with each breath his chest flushes against yours. He smells of cedar, of bergamot, of honey. Comforting. Familiar. Paul.

What the hell just happened in that training room? You’re not willing to break the heavy silence first. Neither is he.

Instead, he kisses you.

Your mind goes blank as you feel his lips, softer than a pillow, press against yours. The kiss is gentle, shy, nothing like the fierce training you were practicing earlier, nothing like the commanding voice of the Atreides heir.

(Oh, fuck it.

Maybe it is happening.)

As Paul starts to pull away, you open your lips and kiss him back—feverish, hungry, devouring—your heart hammering out of your chest.

It was as if a rubber band had snapped, releasing whatever was holding either one of you back. He deepens the kiss, and you melt into it—his lips crashing against yours, his tongue tracing against your own. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls, wrenching a deep moan from you that he stifles with his lips.

His hands find your waist and he pushes you back against the wall, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his middle as he presses into you, his hips slotting perfectly between them.

The sudden movement sends a rack of old weapons crashing down, a cacophony of metal and plasteel, undoubtedly ancient and expensive, startling you both.

He pulls back from you for a moment and breathes heavily, both of you straining to hear if anyone noticed. As you relax, he presses his forehead against yours. A stray curl brushes your lashes. If someone were to find you here, like this, you’re both good as dead for the foreseeable future.

In the darkness, your labored breaths intermingling, his voice comes out as barely a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

Your head spins and you think if you don’t have him right now, immediately, you might die.

Instead of answering, you grab Paul’s face and pull him back in for a kiss. He moans into you, a deep guttural groan, rolling his hips forward, starving hands roaming against breathless skin.

Heat pools in your stomach as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his lips plush and addicting. You knot your fingers into his unruly curls, gently tugging and the groan that leaves his lips is more holy than a hymn.

(Maybe you could stay like this forever.)

He peppers desperate butterfly kisses along your lips, along your jaw, along the length of your neck. As he presses his lips to your pulse in the crook of your neck, you hear him chuckle as you feel the thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud of your racing heartbeat.

His hands fall from your waist to cup your thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along your pulse, leaving barely a mark. The heat between your legs only grows, electricity shooting upwards with every push of his hips. Even through the layers of cloth you can feel him against you and every cell in your body screams more, more, more.

Paul’s hand slides up your inner thigh, and grazes a sensitive spot through the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you arch into it, but he stops and pins your back harder against the wall until you can’t move an inch, trapped by his arms and his presence.

You know he’s grinning like a devil in the dark. You don’t want to wipe it away this time.

He toys with the waistband of your underwear, slipping a finger behind the fabric, teasing in lazy, languid strokes. You whine softly, unspoken begs for more of his touch that set your cheeks ablaze and your head whirling.

“What is it?” Paul asks, lips at your neck, kissing at a delicate spot right under your jaw.

“Please,” you groan.

His breathing is ragged as he continues toying with your waistband, a teasing finger occasionally traveling down between your legs.

You think you’re going to die waiting.

“Please what?” He’s toying with you, his voice laced with honey.

If you do die, you’re going to drag him to hell with you.

But in between bruising kisses, all you manage is a whimper that Paul swallows with his kiss.

“Use your words, my star.”

His lips trace the shell of your ear sending electric shivers down your spine. His teeth tug slightly at the lobe and the world echoes until the only thing left is him and his hands and his voice.

“I need you, Paul,” you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you even think of them, pulled out by his Voice, “Please.”

A lithe finger finally slips under the fabric, pushing it aside. His thumb traces hurried circles around your clit, everything already slick from his relentless teasing.

He presses his lips to yours again, silencing his own groans. Just as the knot in your stomach starts to build, he slides a finger down your slit, and you sigh at the loss of his rhythmic movement.

But you don’t have time to voice your discontent—you feel him slide one of his long fingers inside you and you press into his touch. You don’t even have time to think before another finger slips in and you feel the slight burning stretch. Your head falls back against the cold wall as you pant, and his hands work in and out, chasing your pleasure.

You dig your nails into his back. His hand works faster and faster, and in between whispered curses and pleading prayers you find your release.

Through the haze of your high and waves of bliss, you’re vaguely aware of Paul’s belt buckle falling to the ground, somewhere. In the tangle of roaming hands, messy hair and skin plastered with a thin sheen of sweat, Paul’s shirt buttons come undone — likely by your doing — and your own soaked underwear gets lost in the dark — definitely Paul’s doing.

However, you’re very aware of every inch of Paul as he slides himself into you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer over and over again.

“You’re doing so good for me, my star,” Paul sighs into your ear, his hips flush against yours, fully inside. “You’re doing so well.”

With every thrust of his hips, you welcome the feeling of fullness as your nails rake down his back, leaving delicate red marks and half-moon indentations. Every push, he reaches a deeper part of you, his hands guiding your hips to meet him again and again, goosebumps covering your skin at his feverish touch.

Through half lidded eyes, you see his silhouette in the dark, tousled dark curls haloed by a sliver of light from the doorframe, strong shoulders and toned arms keeping you pressed against the wall even as his hips stutter in his desperate rhythm inside you.

He falters and you feel him twitch, consequences be damned, as he sinks completely inside you, hands bruising your hips and voice groaning as his own release catches up to him.

He looks almost holy this way, completely undone inside you, and whispering your name as if it can save him.

(Maybe it can.)

[unhingedkiara96]

Gallagher being in love HCs

NSFW, Gallagher x Reader, established relationship, genderneutral reader, one mention of light spanking

You aren't safe from a big slap on your butt once in a blue moon

If you complain that it hurt in any way, he'll say he can kiss it better

You have established a "tie signal" with him

If you're playing with his tie, like fondling it, it means you want to have gentle, cuddly sex

If you're grabbing and pulling on it, it means you want him to be rough

He's a service top

He loves taking care of you

But once in a while, if he feels too tired from work, he'll ask you to take charge and help him relax

How exactly? Surprise him

If you start off by giving him a massage, he won't stop praising you and saying how much he loves you inbetween moans and groans

If you're doing stuff around the house and happen to be bending down, he is very likely to get behind you and teasingly caress your butt, maybe gently grind himself while he grabs your hips if he's feeling "cuddly"

Once you turn to him, he sports a smirk but also a hint of adoration in his gaze

His biggest weakness? Whenever you say "please"

Not necessarily in a begging way, but still. It feels nice

He also loves asking you permission before doing anything

"Can I kiss your lips? Can I touch your thighs? May I... pleasure you down there with my tongue?"

Loves nibbling and licking and gently biting anywhere on your skin

He'll lose his mind if you kiss his scars

If you got some of your own, he'll make sure that you know he finds them beautiful no matter what, because they are a part of you and he loves All of You

[to-thelakes]

sleepy

pairing; matt murdock x fem!reader

summary; re-adjusting to anti-depressants was never an easy task but you have your vigilante boyfriend to help.

warnings; fluff, just pure fluff, reader is on anti-depressants and very very sleepy, also a cheese lover

notes; this one-shot is definitely at least a few months old, i think i wrote it when i originally switched my dosage so it's a little chaotic. i feel like there's a lack of fics talking or discussing antidepressants so i like filling in the gap to comfort anyone who was suffering the sleepiness and shitty feelings like i was those first few months. also this is my first matty one-shot i'm releasing so please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window. 

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Glad I could be of service,” He teased. You grumbled against his chest but he merely continued to grin, kissing your hairline again before he let his eyes fall closed.

[mirnilop]

𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

[redamancy-writes]

Jealousy on the Boardwalk (The Lost Boys 1987 x Female! Reader)

Word Count - 1036 Fandom - The Lost Boys 1987 Pairing - Poly! The Lost Boys 1987 x Female! Reader Title - Jealousy on the Boardwalk

Jealous - fiercely protective or vigilant of one's rights or possessions.

“All of these attractions, and I can’t help but keep my eyes on you, sweetheart,” You felt like you jolted out of your skin as Paul was suddenly behind you, his hands snaking around your middle as the rest of the boys approached. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” You laughed as he pulled you into him, Paul’s face diving into the crook of your neck to pepper kisses against the flesh. 

“S’rry,” He murmured against your skin as each of the other boys approached to give you their own greeting. A kiss to the knuckles, a devilish grin and a kiss to your nose, and an appreciative glance over your form before a gloved hand cupped the side of your cheek and kissed the other. 

“What do you boys have planned tonight?” You asked as Paul kept you locked in his arms, feeling particularly affectionate tonight, while the other three surrounded you two. 

“Some rides, some food,” Marko grinned as he pointed to the newest addition of the Santa Carla boardwalk. It was a thrill ride, and you couldn’t quite make out the name as the neon lettering was too far for your eyes to fully focus on, but you could hear the screams of terror and resounding laughter of groups of friends as it took them through it. 

“That looks like fun,” You mused, a gasp leaving your throat as Paul decided to begin to nip against your flesh. “Paul,” You muttered in warning as he laughed before pulling away. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Marko pulled you free from Paul’s grip.

“Hold on, hold on,” You laughed as he started tugging you towards the ride, “I think I need to hit the bathroom first, then go on the ride.” You explained as he looked at you with a confused expression. 

“Knowing you four, it will be hours before you’ll want to take a break,” You tossed a knowing glance to Paul as he was already antsy to get going, ping-ponging off of Marko’s energy. 

“I’ll meet you all over there,” You pecked Marko’s lips before you were disappearing into the crowd, David’s eyes watching over you until you entered the public bathroom. 

“C’mon, I’m going to grab a slushie,” Marko nudged Paul, the two making their way to the treats stand, Dwayne and David resting against the handrail, eyes wandering the crowd as they waited for your return. 

-

“Phew,” You wiped the water on your hands off on your jeans as you left the bathroom, the hand dryer not doing a damn thing to dry your hands after washing them. Eyes scanning the crowd, you grinned as you made eye contact with Dwayne, his lips quirking into a grin as you began to approach only for a wolf whistle to catch your ears.

Dwayne’s expression morphed into a glare, gaze drifting to your left as the Surf Nazi’s whistled and called at you. 

“C’mon hot stuff, you bounce on those biker’s dicks all the time, you can give us something!” You felt heat crawl up your neck as you ignored the group, biting your tongue as you moved past them to get towards David and Dwayne. 

You blocked out their voices as you kept your gaze on David, only for a reaction to be forced out of you as a loud smacking sound brought your attention back to the group. The sting on your ass came after. 

“What the–”

“What the fuck did you just do to our girl?” You didn’t even see Marko and Paul, but now Marko had the bastard up by the collar, their noses nearly touching. 

“C’mere,” Dwayne pulled you to him, facing you away from the group. You didn’t want nor need to see what those three were about to do.  “Let’s go get you a drink, hm, maybe a milkshake?” He was seething, hands trembling with rage but he kept it under wraps as you heard a sickening crunch while he led you away. 

As the two of you sat in the booth, you swirled the straw around the milkshake, briefly letting your gaze flick up from the creamy beverage to Dwayne’s face as he stared out the window, eyes flickering back and forth. 

“You okay?” You broke the silence, making his attention snap from the window to you. 

“You’re asking me that?” He grinned at you, “How about we reverse that question, how are you? Are you okay?” Dwayne reached a hand over, interlacing your fingers with his. 

“Meh, I’ve been better but I’ve certainly been worse- but I do have a milkshake so,” You shrugged while smiling, “I just hope the others are alright,” You frowned. 

“You worried about us, doll?” David questioned, just now adjusting to putting his gloves back on as they entered the diner. 

“Always,” Your eyes flickered over each one of them, your frown deepening. Marko had a split lip, always being the one to jump in head first into fights, and you could tell Paul had gotten several good hits in, knuckles bruised and blood caked on them. David, you couldn’t tell, but you figured the gloves were now not for a personal style choice, but to ensure you wouldn’t worry. 

“What happened when we left?” You knew what happened, or at least had a general picture, but you couldn’t help but ask. 

“They got what was coming to them for touching our girl,” David said simply as you scooched further in the booth for him to sit next to you. Paul took his place next to Dwayne as Marko pulled up a chair to sit at the edge of the table. 

“They won’t be bothering you anymore,” Marko gave you a smile as he leaned his arms against the table. 

“Oh?”

“Not if they want to live,” Paul muttered as he grabbed a menu off the condiment caddie. David’s eyes flickered to Dwayne while he put an arm around your shoulders, a raised brow sent his way while Dwayne subtly nodded in response. 

They had more business with those Surf Nazi’s, but for now there were more pressing matters, such as getting you fueled up and turning this night around. 

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[curatoroffiction]

What You’ve Hidden Part 2

This is a continuation of a story I started writing in response to a post made here. (Which is where you’ll find Part 1 of this story) This is based off of @underqualified-human’s post on their “? Yuu AU” concept, and was really fun to write! I definitely love harassing Crowley. I know I write a lot of anti-Crowley propaganda, but I fuckin’ love his character. He’s such a slimeball and I love it. XD Storytime stops before Idia’s chapter because it hasn’t been released to the English version yet.

----- Story is reader-insert, gender-neutral, and is also a continuation of an existing chunk of story I already wrote. The boys discuss how much they really know the Ramshackle Prefect. That is, until the prefect arrives on the scene and begins to explain themself.

----- The conversation quickly moved from a lighthearted conversation about the Ramshackle prefect to a cautious journey embarking through the group's delicate notions of trust.

"I don't buy it - ___ can't lie. They're too honest." Ruggie shrugs. He's never seen you lie in a way that mattered. You were always so straightforward with him and everyone else in Savannaclaw, even when it probably would've benefitted you to lie. "They're not a goody two-shoes, but they sure aren't about to pull off a scheme."

Jamil on the other hand is now rethinking everything he knows about you. "On the contrary, I've found them to be quite.. Crafty, when they needed to be." He shakes his head thinking back to how you so easily would sneak out of containment prior to his overblot. How you could escape and even collect help. He starts connecting the dots on how you always seem to know just where to look or who to talk to in order to collect help. One could say it's fate, but it was hard for him to believe in fate after meeting you.

"... They *are* capable of lying.. Lying well, at that.." Riddle murmurs, not comfortable with the conversation's route, but incapable of stopping himself from treading into these waters as people talk more about it. "When Ace and Deuce want something kept hidden, they're very good at hiding things from people." His brow furrows as he thinks on the last dorm inspection.

"Well that at least tells us they're loyal to their friends!" Kalim smiles big, refusing to fret. "And that's all I need to know to enjoy their company."

"Are they loyal to their friends? Or are they just loyal to their resources?" Azul once again steers the conversation into the depths.

"Friends! If they were just looking for power, they wouldn't have helped Ace and Deuce when they got in trouble with you, right?" Kalim cocks his head to the side, looking to Azul with genuine confusion. It wasn't hard to imagine what motivated you in his eyes.

"Mmm.. I'm not so sure about that." Jade starts delving into this thought exercise. "Through those two, ___ got a chance to interact with Riddle, which dragged him into their scuffle with Leona - Which was the primary reason it wasn't a disaster. Leona helped with Azul, Azul helped with Jamil, Jamil helped with Vil, and so on..." Many of the dormleaders had never heard of the intertwining threads of their interactions with the prefect, or how perfectly it all seemed to meld together.

This starts to garner some genuine concern, causing even Malleus and Kalim to think on the coincidental nature. It's a little too perfect.

The guys are quiet as they feel themselves consumed with the idea that you might actually be a complete stranger. Someone who has come so close to them all, snaking your way in with ulterior motives. However, they each process the concept very differently.

Riddle just flat out refuses to believe it. He thinks Azul's being paranoid and that you'd have no real reason to lie to him. And even if his overblot put you off from him, you'd have no real reason to lie to Ace and Deuce. No, Azul's the one being paranoid here, and he won't get dragged down with it.

Trey feels like it's a nonsense consideration. Even if you weren't genuine when you first met everyone here, you surely warmed up with time - Isn't that just how being a social person works? No one puts all their cards out on the table without reason. He's got no reason to doubt you.

Leona on the other hand, lets his mind dance on the edge of the idea. He'd seen firsthand how you can change your tune if you need or want to. You're not above forcing people's hands, but.. You also don't really subscribe to the "Work smarter not harder" mantra that it really takes to scheme. You put too much effort into the things you do to be someone who isn't, on some level, genuine. Still, he underestimated you once, and doesn't make mistakes like that twice.

Ruggie on the other OTHER hand figures there's no reason to worry. Hell, he's fake as hell when he wants to be. As far as he's concerned, everyone's got a grift, and it'd be nice to hear you had one too. Even if your friendship was founded on a lie, he doesn't care. You've never treated him like he owed you, and you saved his life from Leona lashing out at him. As far as he's concerned, that makes you someone worthy of respect at the least.

Jade himself doesn't really care either which way. He likes you and is amused by you, but whether you value him as a friend or not matters very little to him. If he wants to deal with you, he will. He doesn't need an invitation or prior rapport. Still, he likes to think he knows you well. Even if he doesn't know your real name, he knows how to poke and prod you to get desired responses, and at the end of the day, isn't that enough?

Kalim's bothered by the prospect. He shakes his head outright refusing to even consider a world where you were disingenuous. Still, his mind thinks on Jamil. Someone he's held dear to his heart since he was a very young child was able to fool him and use him and control him. ... He doesn't like the idea that there could be secrets you keep from him. Still, if you do have secrets, maybe there's a good reason for it. Maybe you're afraid? Or you just need a safe place to open up? Maybe he just needs to be a better friend.

Jamil furrows his brow in thought. He'd overlooked you once, only to be surprised, and much like Leona, he doesn't make that mistake twice. But unlike Leona, he has to care as far as Kalim's wellbeing is concerned. He doesn't think you'd ever do anything to hurt Kalim, considering you once tracked him down to give him treasure that Kalim tried to sneak to you. If you were in it for the money, you'd have never done that. Plus, there were plenty of times that you could have hurt Kalim by now and you didn't. If you were some kind of physical threat, you'd have struck by now. But if it's a power grab, what kind of power triumphs over money?

Vil's not intensely bothered by the idea of you using every tool in your arsenal to collect strength. If you really were so quietly calculated, it'd be something to applaude. A fake smile here, a warm grin there, you're bound to make useful connections. It's no surprise to him that you were able to make useful connections that echoed forward. He finds himself annoyed with Azul's persistence on the matter, figuring that Azul himself has been bothered by this and is now trying to make it everyone else's problem. People often try to project their insecurities onto the people around them.

Rook on the other hand is delighted at the prospect. If you suddenly showed yourself to have a side that even he couldn't see coming, what a rush that would give! Maybe he should poke and prod you more. Maybe he needs to test the waters and see what really makes you tick? People often let the most real facets of themselves surface under pressure..

Idia already had like 20 fears centered around dealing with people going into this conversation - Most of which had to do with them lying to him already. This machiavelean web of social warfare that Azul is painting just gives him a headache. It's like when the business man thinks he's onto something in boardgame club and just won't relent. Idia may not have a high social self esteem, but he knows Azul well enough to not let this get under his skin. At least, that's what he tells himself. It's hard to not be bothered by the idea, but he won't get taken for one of Azul's wild rides.

Ortho's only bothered by this line of conversation because it implies that you could lie in a way that tricks his censors - And that just isn't like you at all! But any attempt to protect your good name is just met with Azul shrugging and saying 'Anything is possible, I suppose.'

Malleus is the only one who is really torn asunder by this conversation. At first, he was offended that anyone could think that way about you, being your fiercest protector in the matter, but then it hit him that you've always been a bit weird. You've never been scared of him - Was that an act? How could he ever really know? He knew he wasn't just a means to an end, but he had no clue if you befriended him genuinely or not. Did you really not know who he was when you met? Or was that a ploy? Whatever the case could be, he's gutted at the idea that you could be anything less than a friend.

Lilia isn't bothered by the idea. He pretends to be someone he isn't all the time. It's good fun! Even people who've spent their lives hiding their true selves in favor of a false self give away truths. He is, however, bothered by the dark look on Malleus' face coupled by the thunder of the rolling clouds outside. "I mean, everyone has something to hide, don't they, Azul?" His tone is more pointed, as though he'd uncover Azul's secrets for all to see if he answers incorrectly.

A shiver runs down Azul's spine at Lilia's sharper gaze, surprising him with the reaction. ".... Yes, but when someone knows all of our secrets, shouldn't we get to know at least SOME of their's?" He looks to the others to back him up, but isn't getting much help.

He can't be the only one bothered by this, right?

---

The group is deep in thought when you arrive. You step into the room and all eyes are on you. Grim gulps from your shoulder, looking at all the staring eyes. Even he can't ignore the palpable energy of the room. ".. Did we miss somethin'?" He asks tentatively.

Azul takes the lead, snaking his way beside you with a big smile. "Of course not! We were just discussing how we don't seem to know anything about you, ___. Tell us about yourself?"

You take a glance around the room, which seems to confirm Azul's claim that the room is waiting for you to talk about yourself. "...." You blink. ".. What do you wanna know?"

"Well, your name, where's it come from? What's it mean? Tell us about it."

Your eyes narrow as you look at the businessman, who laughs off your suspicions. With Azul, there's always an angle. They must've had a bet about your name. Your eyes relax as you look around the room of your friends. Riddle looks annoyed with the octopus man. Trey gives a quiet shrug like 'I dunno why this guy is being weird'. Leona looks more annoyed with Azul than he does with you, but Ruggie seems interested in hearing you explain your answer. Azul is frevently awaiting an answer, Jade making his biggest creepiest smile to the side as his eyes won't budge from you. Kalim looks somewhere between distressed and excited. Jamil looks like he's trying his hardest to look indifferent, but you know by the way he glances at you that he's invested in your answer.

Vil actually moves to shoo Azul away from your shoulder as he takes over the conversation. "Azul's been 'kind' enough to express that we don't know much about you or where you came from. You came here so abruptly, and you had so little to your name in ways of protection. It's still an amazing mystery to us as to how you adapted so well." Quite the improv actor, Vil smoothly transitions you into the conversation with the grace of a socialite. While he's not bothered by the idea of you being cunning and cutthroat, he IS bothered by the idea that Azul might slip up and make it appear as though the entire group is worried. Besides, any chance to get to know you better is a gift.

Rook smiles delightedly as Vil takes over. If there's anything you're hiding, they'll surely be able to sense it. "Ah yes, Trickster, you fascinate with how otherworldly you are! Please tell us more about yourself. How DID you acclimate so well?"

Idia feels sick to his stomach. More social nonsense is piling up. And on the one day Ortho convinced him to come in-person to one of these meetings. He can't just check out and play a game as things are heating up, so he's stuck just looking visually awkward and avoiding your gaze. Ortho looks determined, but happy to see you. He waved when you first came in, which signaled everyone that you were there in the first place. Now that things are getting weird, he's just excited to have a chance to monitor your vitals while you're under questioning, so he can prove to the others that you're not lying.

If you're lying, he'll know.

Malleus looks like he's stuck in his own head and upset over something. Deep in thought - When he finally looks to you, his eyes melt a little and the storm temporarily relaxes. Lilia's more concerned with how strong Malleus' reaction to this than whatever you could possibly hide from them. He does find it amusing that he could scare Azul with just a judgemental glance though, and files that away as something fun to do if the young octopus man's antics cause Malleus or you grief. He's got thousands of years of judgemental dad looks stashed away for such an occasion.

"Well, uh.." You're not sure what question to answer, so you just answer Vil's because he's less creepy about it. "I just did what I could to survive. I'm as surprised as anyone that I've been able to last this long." And it's true - Everything you've done has been on the fly. Ever since arriving in Wonderland, you've found yourself in increasingly strange circumstances. You shrug, sorry that you don't have a better answer.

"But surely, you must have had something - Skills you've relied on, plans you've laid out. Things that helped you survive through the messes you've encountered?" This time, it's Rook speaking up, trying to coax more out of you.

"Not really, no. I showed up and had a flaming monster thrown at me, I held him up by the scruff of his neck and Crowley dubbed me as his handler. I was given a job as a janitor, and I'd have done it just fine, but Grim wasn't having it and threw a fit. We got in trouble for it and got a bigger workload with Ace. Then he dragged Deuce into the mess and we all got expelled.." You recount your first week here at Night Raven College.

No one ever really heard the story of what happened when you got here before.

You were a janitor? Crowley didn't let you be a student? But you came through the mirror! You couldn't even go home! The frustration of the fear that you're anything but genuine slowly bubbles away as they begin to find themselves annoyed with Crowley and his handling of the situation.

"If I got expelled, Crowley was gonna throw me out, and I had nothing, so I had to do what he told me to in order to stick around. We went to the mines, fought an overblot monster that seemed ancient, and got a magestone to replace the one we broke. From there, I was pretty ride or die for Ace and Deuce." You shrug.

Azul isn't having it though. "That explains why you got involved when they had trouble with Riddle, by why did you get involved when Savanaclaw was scheming?" He won't forget that you've somehow endeared everyone here to you.

"Crowley showed up at my door and told me to figure out why students were getting hurt. When I told him 'Nah', he blackmailed me with my food budget."

The room's stunned to silence.

".... Crowley.. *blackmailed* you?" Riddle's the first to speak up, and he's appalled and pissed. That whole ordeal was incredibly dangerous! He knew Crowley was slimy from time to time, but you didn't even have magic! That goes against several regulations!

"With your food budget no less.." Trey looks disturbed. Ruggie's big grin from earlier is gone.

You shrugged once again, desensitized to the idea. "I didn't want to get involved, but then I had to."

None of them can sense a lie off of you, but they're all listening attentively. They need to know more. How do the threads of fate connect you to them?

"What about after that? You didn't really need to help Ace and Deuce when Azul's plans came to fruition." Jade now speaks up, curious. "Surely, if you were scraping to survive at that point, it would have been easier to just ignore and let them fall to their own stupidity. It would even be a great lesson for them, yes?"

"I wasn't gonna get involved that time either - You're right, they deserved a lesson. Even Grim got in trouble there, but I was so tired at that point."

"So what happened??" Kalim asks eagerly, moving closer to listen, like his ears can't hear you if he can't see you well enough.

"Crowley again. Said faculty couldn't get involved because Azul wasn't technically breaking any rules, and he needed the problem fixed. Once again, I told him no and he threatened my housing security."

Malleus' eyes narrow. The storm outside is slowly building again, but this time for a very different reason. Azul feels sheepish. At every turn, you were being threatened and forced into involving yourself in the lives of the other students. So then why were you still so friendly? Ortho's eyes have gotten frustrated at the idea of what you're telling them. He's visibly upset. Rook is stone silent as you have every ounce of his attention.

"And with Jamil..?" Ruggie jabs a thumb in the direction of the long-haired boy from the sands.

"Crowley told me I had to keep the school's heating running while everyone was away, and I barely was able to remind him to get me food for the winter break. Even then, he held it as a reward I had to earn. He gave me a cellphone in case there was an emergency, but the damn thing was on the worst possible plan, and he never picked up when I called him. Kalim invited us to the dorm for a feast, and Grim and I were so hungry that I decided to let him treat us. When we got there, we got roped into everything.."

"But you escaped. You could have just stayed away at that point." Jamil finally speaks up, remembering the events. He's embarrassed by his actions, but he needs to know why you came back.

You throw a thumb towards Azul. "Yeah, but I only escaped because I accidentally flew the magic carpet into Octavinelle, and Azul made me take him back because he had his own agenda. I didn't wanna be indebted to him for the damage the carpet did, and I didn't trust him enough to return the carpet safely, so I begrudgingly obliged and got roped into bullshit again."

Azul looks embarrassed as once again the attention's all on him. This conversation is more exposing him for his shady bullshit than you for yours.

Luckily, he's saved by Vil speaking up once again; "With my.. incident - You were pushed into it by Crowley again, yes?"

"Yeah. Your troupe needed a place to stay, and my dorm was the only one equipped for it. I wanted to stay as far out of your way as possible, but it was kind of impossible when I was named as the manager and you knew where I slept. You whipped everyone into shape, and even pushed me to do my best, lest I find my snacks.. uh.."

"Tampered with as punishment." Jamil nods, remembering the spell Vil had been using. You were in a tough situation, and once again you made the call that allowed you your best chance of survival.

---

Before you can explain anything further, a familiar voice can be heard.

---

"Hello my gracious students! Thank you all for coming to this meeting!" Crowley has finally arrived. Half an hour late. He opens his eyes from his delight to find several people staring at him with malice. He blinks and gulps down his nerves. "... I seem to have missed something." ----- If you like stories like this, check out the rest of my collection in my Masterlist on my profile, or check out my stuff on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuratorOfFiction

[chickenparm]

Name Tag (Wanderer/gn!Reader)

happy birthday, dude with hat

Wanderer/gn!Reader 1,390 Words - SFW (Reader is shy/nervous, first meetings sorta, subtle nahida plotting)

---

The box crinkles in your hand, and you cringe at the sound. 

The House of Daena is never fully silent. There are always people here, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, flipping pages, rolling book carts back and forth. It’s peaceful, but never totally still unless you sneak in during the early morning hours. Perhaps that’s a boon, that it hides that crinkling from the figure you’re spying on around the corner of a bookshelf. 

This is foolish, you think. Not once have you shared words with him, but you’ve heard enough from others to find him impossibly intriguing. Like a crystalfly to the glowing Statues of the Seven, you’ve been inching ever closer to him, against your own logic. The box in your hands feels heavier with each moment that you procrastinate. 

Peering around the shelf, you watch as he scratches something out on the roll of paper in front of him, his lips downturned in an obvious sneer. Gone are the blue and white fabrics he adorns himself with typically - today he wears the typical garb of an Akademiya scholar, one loose sleeve bunched around his elbow as he props it on the table, his chin on his palm. 

The tip of his pinky curls in at the corner of his lip, and for just a moment you see him bite the nail before thinking better of it and lifting his head from his hand. Enraptured, you watch as he pinches at his chin in open thought before writing something quickly, then setting down the pen. 

His eyes are pretty, you think shamelessly. Purple like Viparyas, always focused, sharp as a knife. They shift as he reads, then they close and he sighs before opening them to look directly at you, expression expectant and somewhat vexed. “Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

You want nothing, or at least that’s what you want to protest to him, but instead all you can do is nearly squeak as you duck back around the bookshelf and hold the box even tighter. You can do this, it’s fine. A few weeks ago, you were able to get an audience with the Dendro Archon, and despite her initial surprise, she’d been exceptionally forthcoming and excited to direct you in this single endeavor. 

He’s lonely, the Lesser Lord told you as if it were some secret. Maybe it is, for he doesn’t look as if he longs for anyone’s presence. But when you questioned her, she’d held up her hand to cup next to her mouth and whispered to you, “Give him time, be persistent.”

This is the first step. The next ones will be easier, you try to assure yourself as he makes an annoyed tsk from where he sits out of your sight now. Taking a breath, you square your shoulders and turn to step around the shelf. Looking at him doesn’t make it easier, but this is preferable to lurking outside his periphery and wondering what could be. 

At least this way, you know. 

With shaking steps, you approach him with the box and stand opposite him at his claimed table. He looks at you, then the box, and his brows furrow together. “Another gift? I already told you guys I don’t want anything from you.”

You guys? You stammer for a moment, then shake your head and gingerly set the box down. “I-I’m not a part of whatever else you received today. This is just me. Please, accept this, and whatever you do with it after, I won’t be offended. As long as my well-wishes are received.”

The final two sentences are ones you’d rehearsed in the mirror all this morning, and you’re thankful that they come out smoothly. He looks at the box warily, then blows a sigh through his nose that you can hear. He wants you to know that he’s annoyed, but his hands reach for the box anyway. 

There’s a tag on it, and thin fingers reach to read it, likely expecting the name that the other students and scholars had pinned him with. Instead, he pauses, face falling to neutrality. 

You don’t like that name much. It feels almost impersonal, like a hand-wave of whatever identity he may have beyond his appearance. You’d instead opted for a messy doodle of the ornament he wears even now, pinned to his chest with the glow of his vision visible through his robes. It’s not your best work, but it’s unique to him despite you having no name to go off of. 

To your surprise, he doesn’t crumple the little drawing. In fact, he carefully unties it from the box and sets it to the side, on the stack of books he’d been using today. Is he going to… keep it? Your skin feels warm at the prospect, perhaps putting too much stock into something so simple. 

It takes him a painfully long amount of time to open the box. Only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity until he lifts the lid and peers inside. He says nothing for a long, long time. 

Nervous, you fill the silence with your own stumbling explanation. “I-if you don’t like it, that’s okay. I just thought maybe…” you trail off, because your confidence is waning with his lack of reaction. Good or bad, you don’t mind, as long as he gives you something. 

Carefully, he reaches in, pulling out a metal tin with Inazuman script stamped on it. There are other items in the box - accessories and tools to prepare the gift itself for consumption. He turns the tin in his hand, thoughtful as you explain, “It’s tea. You like bitter tea, right? That’s what Lesser Lord Kusanali said when I–”

Your words die as your embarrassment blooms. You hadn’t meant to tell him you’d been sniffing around for information to make sure your gift was something he’d at least accept. Those sharp eyes dart up to look at you, fingers frozen in their turning of the tea to read the labeling. Slowly, he asks, “You asked her about me?”

No getting out of it. Taking a shaking breath, you nod, then decide that you’re in too deep to clam up now. “I wanted to get to know you– I mean, get to know what you’d like. So I could bring a good gift. That’s all. Happy birthday.”

Your sentences are short and clipped, tacked on as if to bandage the situation you’ve surely ruined by letting him think you’re a fool. He didn’t need to know that you had any intentions beyond just a gift, he didn’t need to know that you wanted to know him. More than just some figure you pass on the street or see writing out his frustrations for Vahumana in the corners of the House of Daena. 

The sole of your shoe squeaks as you turn abruptly to make your exit and beat yourself up over this in the secluded privacy of your own dorm, far from any prying eyes. But you don’t even manage to follow through on taking a single step before he says quietly, “Sit down.”

You do. Mutely, and feeling stunned, but you do. 

Your hands lace together in your lap, clenching one another to hide the way they’re shaking with some odd mixture of anticipation and absolute terror. You didn’t think this was where this was going. Is he upset? Did you overstep by asking the Archon herself for the wisdom she holds about this mysterious guy?

The tin doesn’t make a sound as he sets it back in the box. The lid makes a tiny hiss from air escaping as he replaces it. The paper of the tag whispers against the cover of the book he set it on as he picks it up and examines it again. It's more silent in the House of Daena than it ever has been before, or maybe it's the blood rushing in your ears that drowns out the sound of anyone else existing within this space. It's just you, and him, and the box sitting between you that holds your hopes far more than any gift you could have fit inside.

He looks at the paper thoughtfully, then at you, and quietly tells you the name you can call him by.

[gavvaiins]

lonely

summary: having to carry the future of multiple universes on his shoulders miguel simply is tired, tired and lonely.

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader warnings: angst, pinch of fluff, less actions, more vibes; story's gender neutral but i feel it might be too female-coded? idk ; - ; word count: 3.7k

a/n: yeah ... this is longer than it needs to be. Might got confused by grammar later ... idk while writing i fell into a narrating-style crisis? It definetly doesn't help when the book you're reading is written is a different tense.

Sometimes all Miguel wished for was some time alone. In a building full of arachno-humanoids, constantly surrounded by either living people, holograms or other species there was sometimes not enough room to breathe. So, nothing reprehensible about wanting some time for himself.

However, Miguel wasn’t longing to be alone.

He didn’t need to.

He already was.

Despite being surrounded by dozens of spider-beings he was alone. He had no friends. Jess was a colleague, Peter Parker was a dear colleague, the best – and what was even Peter B. Parker? Honestly, Miguel didn’t know, but despite all these different Spider-People there was no one waiting for him. Not even in Nueva York, a city with far more citizens than anyone could count.

No one was waiting for him to come home – or to simply arrive, anywhere.

Lyla was nothing but an AI generated hologram, he created.

There was no one waiting for him.

And that was good. No one waiting for him meant safety; for him and for him. Without anyone there waiting for him to return home he could neither hurt nor lose someone. Miguel noticed that it wasn’t loneliness he was longing for, after all he was pretty much alone in his world, carrying the burden all by himself. Having time to breathe, to think that was what he was longing for. A moment without Lyla and the other arachno-humanoids, without having to think about anomalies and the downfall of universes.

All he wanted was peace.

“Miguel?” His body grew tense as your voice emerged from the dark, careful and soft, almost fearful as if you were entering a cave, unsure of what you’d meet in there. There was a chance that you hadn't spotted him yet, sitting on his lowered platform all by himself. Within moments he heard your voice he began holding his breath. If he didn’t make a sound, you wouldn’t catch him, which was a dumb and childish thought considering the lighting of the running monitors, which illuminated his big frame quite perfectly.

What were you even doing here? There was no need for you talking to him.

“Miguel?” You asked. He could sense the hesitation in your voice, it reminded him of the heroes in fairy tales, both brave and stupid enough to enter the dark woods full of beastly and hungry creatures. When Miguel thought about it, his room was a bit like a forest – or more a cave, dark and mysterious. To his surprise the light tremor in your voice didn’t stop you from further exploring the room. If this was truly a fairytale, you’d either be very brave or stupid, or both. Whatever it was Miguel would’ve eaten you alive.

But this wasn’t a fairytale, and he wasn’t the big, bad wolf, ready and hungry enough to devour you. But why didn’t you stop?

Why were you still going?

He was the Spider-Man who hoped not to be found by anyone, especially not you.

With every passing second Miguel’s body grew more, and more tense, his lungs felt strained, knowing very well that with every step you took, you were closer to seeing him. He knew that it would’ve been smarter to swing away, to simply vanish in the dark. But he couldn’t move. Something in him didn’t want to flee, despite his longing for peace and serenity. He was like a spider trapped in its own web, paralyzed by his own poison.

Maybe he longed for you to find him.

“Miguel.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, not entirely fearful but caring as well. Yet, Miguel kept using the tactics of a child. Stoic and stiff did he keep his posture, eyes on the ground, head buried in his arms; if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either. Rather he avoided your eyes, your whole presence like the plague.

How did he, Spider-Man 2099, guardian of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse and destroyer of a whole universe, look like? A mountain of a man hunched on his sunken platform, hiding his face like a fearful child, who didn’t know where to put its overwhelming feelings. He used to be an authority, always standing high on his platform, towering over and looking down on you. But now it was you who looked down on him, a pile of misery in blue and red barely illuminated by flickering screens.

“Oh, Miguel.” He could sense your presence beside him, he could sense everything of you – your pity and empathy was almost sickening. Your body was awfully close but kept a minimal distance of respect, and to his own surprise Miguel felt his tense muscles relax.

Finally, he found himself able to breathe again.

For a moment you said nothing, no Miguel, no how are you. No words left his lips either. You two sat in silence and Miguel enjoyed it, a little – sitting with you in the dark, just the two of you and he hated to admit it, but he began missing his name rolling off your tongue. His name sounded so soft and caring, like he meant something, like he was someone others cared for.

Someone you cared for.

And something inside of him longed hearing you say his name, again, and again.

To his own surprise he needed it, and he surprised himself by how desperately he needed to hear his name coming from you.

“Miguel?” Ah, there it was. Finally. It was embarrassing admit how Miguel’s heart enjoyed it deeply, hearing his name rolling of your tongue. It felt like warm milk mixed with honey running down his throat, filling his body with warmth and a feeling of serenity, of home. Despite his inner positive response to your presence he didn’t move, nor did he speak. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Feeling your knee nudge his thigh, his body grew tense again. The touch was subtle, yet it alarmed all his senses, as if your touch could hurt him. Couldn’t you just continue gently serenading his name, like a sweet lullaby he could relax and fall asleep to? Miguel didn’t need to talk with you about his feelings. He didn’t want to.

“Doesn’t – “

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled, words swallowed by the void underneath his arms.

“– look like nothing,” you said. No answer, and for a moment you grew quiet. He had no idea what you were doing but he could hear you shifting in your seat beside him. Were you finally leaving?

No.

He wanted you to leave, didn’t he? Yes … that’s what he wanted.

But you weren’t leaving, he knew it when he felt your gentle touch on his shoulder. His muscles jumped slightly under your touch as if your fingers were ice cold or burning hot. They weren’t. Your touch was light, careful, like a butterfly dancing on his skin. First came your fingers, gracing his scapula as if you were testing the waters, then rested your palm on his shoulder and despite the highly advanced suit he was wearing, it felt like his skin was burning – a malfunction, an electric shock.

His heart jumped.

It was too much.

“I said, leave me alone!” Forceful, almost feral, he slapped your hand away. Risen to his full dominating size Miguel was panting heavily, fangs bared, talons shown and eyes gleaming of anger … and hurt, and loneliness, confusion. He looked like a beast, tall and furious, ready to strike or devour you.

“Miguel.” He tried not to flinch. He hated the sound of your voice; it didn’t feel soothing anymore. Instead, it was laced with fear, but mostly hurt. But what was he expecting? Miguel had scared you; he had hurt you.

Good.

Lyla would scold him for being an ass. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he needed to, and if that’s what’s needed to leave him be, he’d endure it … and he would do it again, if he needed to. Despite his body telling him differently, he neither needed you nor your pity.

His initial thought was that his plan was working. The big, bad Spider-Man was indeed an asshole, who made you cry for no reason. Never would you talk or even look at him again, which he told himself was fine. But you weren’t crying. Sure, you were holding your arm protectively close to your body as if his talons had teared through your suit, making you bleed. But no sign of tears rimming your eyes, plus, you weren’t leaving.

You were still here.

“What the fuck?”

Why wasn’t it working? “I told you to leave me.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still there?” With satisfaction he watched you thinking of a good response, gears turning in your head, to no avail. Your mouth opened slightly before pressing it shut, eyes lowering to your hands folded in your lap. That was it; without anything to retort you surely would leave him.

Again, the two of you sat in complete silence. One he didn’t enjoy, but need, and surely neither did you. However, he was sure that you’d given up, any second, and leave him alone. “Is that really what you want?”

He looked at you, blinking.

“Is it really what you want?” You repeated, staring into his dark eyes and there is something in yours that scared him. Miguel couldn’t tell what it was, there was no poison in your eyes, no malice, yet he was afraid. “Do you really wish to be alone?”

You scared him, and that’s nothing anyone would ever associate with you. He hated to admit it, but he was, not of your physical strength or arachno-powers. Surely, he could easily knock you out. Rather he was afraid that you’d find something you weren’t supposed to see.

Miguel hesitated. “Yes.”

“I have to.” It just slipped out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to speak his mind, even if it was just a bit. You weren’t supposed to know. But now you knew something that was meant to stay hidden, that was meant only for himself. A burden he had meant to carry himself. There was no reason to hide, yet there was no reason to face you either, so Miguel did what he could best, being alone. With a heavy sigh he crept back into the shell he so shamefully had lost. This time Miguel didn’t burry himself beneath his arms, instead he stared in the darkness of his office, waiting for you to leave. By that time, he should’ve known that you wouldn’t leave him.

Not like that.

“Oh, Miguel.” Again, his name was nothing but a soft whisper, comforting. There lied some sadness behind his name, yet it was all he had wished for moments ago, before he lashed out at you. “You are not alone. We’re all Spider-Man.”

Some incomprehensible grumble left his lips, how should he explain? It wasn’t your fight, neither was it Peter Parker’s, only his. “It was me.”

“I’ve done this,” he said before you could even think of calling him again.

“I –“ Miguel’s breath hitched and for a second his heart stopped beating, stumbling over its own rhythm as he felt your fingers dancing on his skin again.

How dare you?

He wanted to bare his teeth at you, again, he wanted to scare you, to push you away from him, but he couldn’t. His mind told him to, like he used to do whit so many people before. You knew too much about him. But his heart, his body, craved for the softness of your voice, longed for the warmth of your heart. Carefully your fingers grazed his skin, almost waiting for some sign of permission until they could finally rest on his cheeks. Despite wearing your spider-suit your hand felt surprisingly soft on his skin.

With a sigh he leaned into the comfort of your touch, until he remembered who he was and what he did. His head shot up like your hand was hurting him but before he could utter any more words of misery you placed both of your hands on his cheeks, gently forcing him to look at you.

“You’ve done what? Jumping through the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse.” Your voice was calm and gentle, as was your smile. He could barely look at you. “That is quite a complicated name, maybe you should think about calling it spider-verse instead.”

Miguel meant to smile at your joke, even if only subtle, a ghost of a smile only you’d be able to detect and in any other situation he would. But he couldn’t. Not now, when he’d say something so gruesome that would paint him in a different light. However, the truth didn’t want to roll over his tongue, revealing who he really was, not when you so gently smiled at him, caressing his skin with your fingers. Heaving a sigh, he let go, and melted into your touch like warm butter. Was it good to let his guard down? Probably not. Neither was it professional to lean into your touch, almost gracing your clothed wrist with his lips. It wasn’t good but it felt good, the softness of your touch, the warmth seeking through your spider-gloves. If you’d allow it, he will fall asleep right here in your arms.

It was impossible for him to resist.

If only Lyla could see him now … big, bad wolf turned into a puppy.

However, he was left dumbfounded when he found himself stripped of your touch, even more so, when he found himself disliking the sudden coldness. Wanting to know what went wrong Miguel starred at you but nothing seemed to have changed. You still looked at him with the same fondness and empathy in your eyes, the only difference was that you’re patting your lap. His eyes followed your directions, and he grew hesitant.

“May I?” It should’ve been Miguel asking and not you. Though, resting on your thighs was a nice, almost heavenly thought but he shouldn’t enjoy your comfort too much. “Miguel, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s okay.” He declined.

“C’mon Miguel, it’s comfortable I promise,” you smiled, but he didn’t move. Surely it must be more comfortable than hanging in your hands, but Miguel couldn’t let himself fall on your lap. Already he was enjoying the tenderness of your fingers too much, what would happen if he rested on your thighs? Would he melt into them like he did with your hands? The though was nice but he resisted, not for long though. Tugging, basically dragging him by his arms, you somehow managed to pull his heavy body down on your lap. Carefully he shifted his weight, so only his head and upper body were lying on you. He didn’t want to crush you. However, the feeling that spread through his body as he rested on your thighs was both nice, comfortable and weird. Overall, it was a weird sensation and he’d found himself in a situation he’d never dreamed about before.

“May I?” Miguel had no idea what you were up to, yet he agreed with a hum. His eyes fell close and he hummed again, when he felt your fingers carefully dancing over his body, moving from his shoulder to his hair. It wasn’t the same when you held him in your hands, fingers holding him and caressing his cheeks. It felt different but good, relaxing your hands running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. And sometimes he could feel the ghost of your fingertips brushing over his face.

He didn’t know how long you stayed in this position, sitting in silence, him resting on your lap and you caressing him like a pet. Miguel couldn’t remember the last time somebody did this for him or when his muscles felt so relaxed. Again, if you’d allow it, he’ll fall asleep right here by your side. But then he remembered what you asked him a long time ago.

“I killed them.” Miguel’s voice was surprisingly calm, even to him. Neither knowing what he meant nor how to answer this, you remained silent. But he could feel your eyes on him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it … not after confessing murder. Yet, he explained, “I killed them all, billions of people, my – his daughter Gabriella, all because I was selfish. – Gabby died because I was foolish to believe that my actions wouldn’t have any consequences.”

His confession shocked you; he could hear it in the change of your breathing and the stillness of your hands, and something in him died. Shocked by his confession you surely would leave. Push him off you like something disgusting. Maybe you would never talk to him again, unless it was necessary, and the thought scared him. His mind had told him to push you away. It was best to handle it all by himself, it was what he always did. But the stupidity people called the heart had won and now the thought of you leaving scared him.

“Tell me what happened.” Your voice was calm, not scared, not soft, just calm. It wasn’t the reaction Miguel had imagined, especially not when your fingers continued to play with his hair. You weren’t even disgusted by him. What kind of person were you to not leave him? “Tell me what happened.”

And he did. Miguel told you everything. How he took the role of a dead man, living his life and raising his daughter. He made it clear that he thought of his actions as selfish and stupid, because he erased a whole universe and with that Gabriella’s future. Never would he forget the fear in her eyes, how she clung to him, looking for safety, calling for her dad – for him, not knowing her real dad has died – until she disappeared as well.

Telling his nightmare was awful, remembering the horrors of his action never got any less painful. But sharing it with you felt surprisingly relieving. It wasn’t like he was healed from his pain but telling you about it made it a little more bearable. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

How should he answer? Thank you? Moments ago, Miguel would’ve grumbled at the pitiful – no, empathic, he’d learned that much by now – tone in your voice but now he liked it, just as he enjoyed you calling him by his name. Miguel didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think you killed them, Miguel,” you said after an eternity, never stopping playing with his brown strands. Careful he shifted his weight to look at you. Even with one eye lazily opened, he decided that he liked looking at you, watching how you react to him. “Then, who did?”

Wringing with the words on your tongue you hesitated. “I don’t know.”

In normal circumstances Miguel would be grim, and scoff at your naïve words, claiming to be the villain of his story. The selfish murderer of Gabriella O’Hara. However, now he felt rather tame and tired. It’s enough for him. So, he only hummed, closing his eye to revel in the fondness of your touch.

“But you can’t know either.” He looked at you again. He had to correct you, he knew, it was obvious, really. But before an answer could roll over his tongue you were quick to intervene. “I know what you’re going to say, Miguel. You’ve seen it and to you it makes sense, but listen – I … how does anything make any sense? Multiple universes, anomalies, canon events … we shouldn’t even be here, Miguel. I shouldn’t, none of us. But here we are.”

There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, faint yet he heard and didn’t like it. Miguel knew you’d meant to comfort him but, in the end, you’d realized, that nothing of this should’ve happened. You should’ve never met the friends you made in the spider society, never should’ve met him and never found him dark, and lonely in his room. Almost instinctively his hand reached out to you, gently cupping your face. Now it was his turn to comfort you, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. Unsure if he should draw small circles with his thumb, like he wanted to, or caress like you used to do, he just held you. “Don’t. – The multiverse is mine to preserve.”

“Oh, Miguel.” A soft, but sad smile graced your lips as you laid your hand over his, unwilling to let him go. “It’s not yours, either.”

“But it was my fault, not yours. Don’t worry about something I’ve done.”

You sighed. “Miguel, you shouldn’t carry this burden alone, we’re all Spider-Man. It’s not your duty alone to save the multiverse, you can’t do this alone. I – I think what I’m saying is, you’re not alone, Miguel. You might think that you’ve to do all by yourself but that’s not the truth, we help you, all of us. We will carry that burden with you, I will.”

Truly it was sweet how caring you were, none of you could – and should – carry the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse on your shoulders. It was his job to preserve one less universe from being destroyed. It was his shoulders who had to carry the burden of it all, not yours. None of you should ever have to worry about the stability of your universe. But there was something burning in your eyes as you spoke, something Miguel enjoyed watching. So instead of objecting and lecturing you about the truth he heaved a hefty sigh and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable in your lap. It takes some time until you picked up where you left playing with his hair, gently scratching his skin here and there.

It's quiet as you ran your fingers through his hair, he doesn’t even move. You weren’t even sure if he was still breathing. But you swore you heard a hum, a content sound vibrating through his big body. However, when you try to check on him there’s nothing, no sound, no movement, not even a smile. Miguel simply looked like he’s asleep, stoic and grim – just like when he’s awake. It’s a silly though, him always looking serious no matter if he’s asleep or wake, it made you smile. However, in rare moments, when you’re not looking at him, his lips curl into a grin.

[currebunz]

Diluc Flirting Headcannons

-He really doesn’t flirt, it’s not something he picked up.

-Instead of flirting, Diluc is just attentive of you. He keeps tabs on you and asks other about your wellbeing. Anyone who knows you has been questioned by him.

-He lowkeys does background checks into people you know, wanting to make sure they are trustworthy around you. Diluc trusts your judgement but he doesn’t trust others.

-He will try to be more involved with your life as well. Need a commission? He’s on it. Going on an adventure? He’s tagging along because it is dangerous. Bored with nothing to do? He is inviting you to his bar.

-He doesn’t out right invite you to the winery but he does say you can come by whenever you want to. His maids alert him and he is there in seconds, surprising you as you were told he was busy at the moment.

-Diluc tries not to prioritize you in the early stage of the relationship, but he is only a man. He can’t help but drop anything minor in order to spend time with you.

-He encourages you to write letters or gives you a journal that you can leave at the winery so you both can leave messages in passing. He treasures them.

-After a thorough investigation, he will gift you things that are catered to your liking. It wasn’t like he had spied on you to see what caught your eye on the market.

-When you come by the bar, he can’t help but lift more of the heavier items. (Yes he is like that a bit). When you guys are out and about, he will take the lead and fight the enemies you encounter, hoping you are watching him.

-If you say his hair looks better down or in a higher ponytail, you will see him like that more often. (As a treat)

-Kaeya will taunt that he doesn’t know how to flirt and Diluc will finally be pushed to try something. The most he can do is kiss the back of your hand or compliment your looks, in private.

-Chivalry, his flirting is just chivalry.

[generalsmemories]

[ Request ] It's a rainy day out.. what do Jing yuan & the reader usually do in this weather?

This could be HCs or a drabble ( Please make it the fluff genre )

Thank you! :) ( LOVE YOUR JING YUAN LAYOUT BTW )

the pitter patter of the rain

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: under the gentle sound of rain there's only you and jing yuan... along with mimi of course.

✧ content: established relationship & fluff

✧ a/n: guess who absolutely lost it upon hearing this man speak in the special program for 1.2? yes. it was me. so here we are. i bring forth a gentle fluffy piece today. and EEE THANK YOU! THE HEADER ONLY TOOK ME LIKE 20 MINUTES BUT IM GLAD IT'S TO YOUR LIKING ANON !!!

Jing Yuan loved when the weather in Xianzhou were set to become rainy throughout the entire day. It would mean a certain set of events were more than certainly bound to happen.

He would be able to avoid being at the Divine of Foresight and doing paperwork with easy accesibility for everyone else to come and find him, because no one likes to travel back and forth in the rain.

He could stay home when he negotiaties the terms with both Qingzu and the other commissioners on a set amount of papers he has to look through to further advance the Xianzhou.

He would have your undivided attention (if he manages to shoo both Yanqing and Mimi away) because you too, liked to stay inside when it rained.

And as he expected, the first and second point came to pass without any trouble, but as he slid the door open announcing that he was home, he was met with silence. He was sure that the rain wouldn't stop Yanqing from traveling to the training grounds and continuing to swing his sword, to which was proven true when he noticed that Yanqings' shoes were missing from the entryway. As Jing Yuan ventured further inside the house, he was able to hear the gentle breeze rustle through the curtains, the wind chimes loudly ringing from the added wind from the pouring rain.

And outside laying on the wooden floor of the veranda while gazing out towards the koi pond in the garden were you. You were just out of reach from the splattering raindrops to hit you, but close enough to hear the rain hit the rocks, roof and pond. You were also clearly awake, Jing Yuan could tell by the hand that is threading through Mimi's mane whose head was resting on top of your stomach, while the upper body was covering your lower half like a blanket.

Truly a serene view, but his third point had yet come to pass because you hadn't even greeted him home.

Which meant that your attention was solely on Mimi and the splattering of rain hitting the ground or pond in front of you. But not him.

So with a small chuckle he made his way over to you, "It's quite saddening to be met with silence when I announce my early return home, you know?" Jing Yuan tells you when he's within earshot, you merely turn your gaze away from the pond to stare at him, eyes crinkling as you give him a smile, "Welcome home, Jing Yuan," you say with a grin, "Although I knew you would come home early."

He knew you were already aware of the fact he would return early, so Jing Yuan doesn't comment any further besides setting down the scrolls he took home to read through beside your head. And as if on instinct, you crane your head up from the ground so Jing Yuan's legs can settle on the spot instead. The general merely places a hand beneath your head to ease the strain on your neck while he finds a comfortable position on the ground before he gently places your head back on his thigh. You hum in affirmation, shuffling a tiny bit to get comfortable.

Mimi lets out a growl at your sudden movements, and you stop moving around while letting out a laugh, ruffling her mane quickly before squishing the cheeks together and making the lion look at you, "Sorry Mimi ~ Did I disturb your nap?" you coo softly, Jing Yuan letting out a snort at the use of baby voice. He uses one hand to open up the scrolls besides him while his other hand is busy twirling your bunched up hair by his thigh through various loops around his fingers, "Mimi may have gotten her nap interrupted, but Jing Yuan is lonely," he coos absentmindely, attention still on the scrolls which makes you let out a laugh.

Letting Mimi's head fall back down onto your stomach, you direct your attention back up at the general, who looks away from the contents of the scroll beside him to cock his head to the side, his usual grin still painting his lips. Your arm reaches up to him, to which Jing Yuan is quick to bend his head so that you can pat his head and thread your fingers through his hair, brushing away the bangs that cover his other eye to get a proper look at him.

"Why is our general acting so cute today, hmm?" you wonder out loud, Jing Yuan freeing his fingers from your hair to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin softly, you merely turn your head a bit to kiss the inside of his palm, "Because the general hasn't gotten his words of affirmation for his hard work today," he jokes back.

And as Jing Yuan watches your body shake with constrained laughter, his gaze softens. Breathing in the humid air from the rain that's starting to pour down hard - such serene moments with you could truly only be obtainable by the amount of work he has done over the years to keep Xianzhou peaceful.

As mundane as it is, he's somewhat glad that he's put himself in such a mundane routine for the sakes of moments like these.

"There, there, our cute general has done so well today," you praise, ruffling his hair, "What does he want for a reward for his good work, hmm?" you joke, to which Jing Yuan playfully rolls his eyes, only moving his thigh a bit as a signal to make you arch your neck up so he can lean down further and connect your lips.

He truly loved the rainy days onboard the Xianzhou.

[the-really-lonely-mountain]

Along for the ride, to Erebor - Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: Transported to Middle Earth, you must Join Thorin Oakenshield's Company as they travel to reclaim Erebor! OR: My take on the classic 'modern girl in Middle Earth' troupe. This is the second installment, so we are following the second movie of The Hobbit trilogy, and falling deeper in love with Kili on the way! This is the first part for the second movie.

Tags: Kili / Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Modern Character in Middle Earth, During The Hobbit, How Do I Tag, Canon-Typical Violence, Kíli Is a Little Shit (Tolkien), implied soulmates, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Freeform, light smut, it's really just a brief description nothing too detailed, Holding Hands, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Thorin Oakenshield Company Members, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Fluff and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Where In Middle-Earth Is Gandalf?, Hair Braiding, Dwarf Courting, My First Tumblr Fic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Live, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, Fíli Lives (Tolkien), Kíli Lives (Tolkien), this chapter is domestic as hell, sword fight training, kili is a big ole softy and i love him so much for it

Word Count: 4,977

A/N: Hey y'all!! It's been a crazy couple of months let me tell ya! good god! I've decided to finally post the next part of the story to tumblr despite it not having been beta read. I'll use you guys as my guinea pigs lol so if you see anything that doesn't make sense or is spelled wrong, I'm begging you to please tell me. I can't wait to hear what you think about my pride and joy! <3

Image credit: @iamjaynaemarie

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

The company climbed down the tall rock into the forest below. Having rested on the long flight over, everyone was prepared for a day of walking. Nothing notable happened except innocent conversation to pass the time and the forging of grapes with Bilbo for a snack.

The sun dipped closer to the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees. Thorin found a small river to make camp nearby. Gloin made the fire then Bombur started cooking the food. While the stew was being made, Fili and Kili practiced their swordsmanship under the watchful eyes of Thorin and Dwalin to provide guidance. The dwarves had found a log and brought it over beside the fire. You knelt in the grass on the fire’s side parallel to the log. The others were leaning against it on the opposite side, smoking pipes and making jokes and commentary about the training. You pulled out your thread spools and measured out the first color. You realized you didn’t have scissors and asked the merry gathering in front of you if they did.

“Nah lass,” Dori said, “Our weapons aren’t sharp enough to cut thread, they’ll only fray it” He kicked Nori to quiet him when he started to protest the quality of his weapons, “You’ll want to ask Thorin to borrow his sword.”

You swallowed thickly and looked over at the man in question where he stood with his arms crossed next to Dwalin. He always intimated you but approaching him alone to ask a favor made anxiety spike straight through you.

They were several feet away, but the clanging of metal was still quite loud. The brothers had removed their shirts, as men often did, to escape the insulated heat it provided. Not that you were complaining, eye candy is always welcome in a world of forests and furs.

You timidly approached the taller man as he instructed the brothers. You waited till they started fighting again to say in a shy voice: “Um Thorin?”

He glanced at you to acknowledge your inquisition, “Yes, what is it?” He sounded impatient.

“May I please borrow your sword?” You pointed to the weapon strapped to his side, “I need it to cut some thread” You tried not to sound as scared and skittish as you felt. He looked at you blankly for a moment, surprised by your question.

Kili threw his brother back several feet, allowing him a few seconds to turn to you with a confident smile.

“Hey Y/N,” Kili said, making you and Thorin look at him. You couldn’t help but smile and sheepishly blush as you tried not to ogle his ripped upper body dripping in sweat.

“Hi Kili” you swayed back and forth a little without realizing it. Thorin took note of your fond reaction to his nephew.

Fili let out a mighty roar as he jumped on the back of his brother, taking advantage of his distraction. The dwarves on the log laughed and you giggled at them as they goaded each other on.

“I’ve got you now brother!” Fili triumphantly exclaimed.

“I think not!” Kili replied with a strong thrusting attack.

Thorin sighed, “Very well” He untied his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it to you. You thanked him and began walking back to your previous spot. He looked at the line of dwarves who were still chuckling lightly against the log, “Make sure she doesn’t kill herself” he said to them. They all nodded, including Balin who found this ironic remembering their conversation about leaving you in Rivendell. It would seem the dwarf king was taking a liking to you.

You kneeled, unsheathed the great Goblin Cleaver a few inches, and positioned the hilt between your knees, so it stayed standing on its spine. You measured 7 lengths of thread at about three feet and rubbed them against the fine elfin blade which cut them in one pass to make makeshift embroidery thread. You repeated that 5 times to end up with two groups of pink, two groups of blue, and one group of black thread. You did your best to keep them separated as you bunched them together to fold them in half and tie a loop at the end that you could hook onto a button of your coat. You sheathed the sword and returned it to Thorin knowing he wouldn’t like being without his weapon. You sat on the side of the log with everyone else and secured your coat in your lap so you could pull taught against the threads. You separated the threads and began knotting them over and across each other like how you learned to make friendship bracelets at summer camp. It gave your hands something to do as you sat idly watching the boys trash talk then turn serious and start fighting again.

“What are ya makin’ Y/N?” Ori asked as he watched you.

“I’m making a bracelet” You replied, pleased to see the others taking an interest in your crafting.

“Why’s that lass?” Bifur leaned over to see what you were doing exactly.

“So I can eventually make one for everyone else” You explained how it’s a tradition of sorts in your world to make bracelets for those you care about as a show of kinship and the enduring strength of your friendship and bond. “Since I can’t fight beside you all on the battlefield yet, I thought this could be another way I show my commitment to the company” You smiled at the group. You’d grown very fond of them during your travels and hoped they enjoyed your company as much as you did theirs.

“That’s a very sweet tradition, Y/N,” Balin said, “We look forward to receiving your gifts” The rest of the dwarves confirmed it with ‘Aye’s and a strong nod of the head.

“Supper!” Bombur called while stirring the pot. Everyone got in line except the training group who was going one last round. You all sat down in your previous spots along the log to see the finale of the night’s training.

You finished your dinner quickly so you could take advantage of the distracted troublemakers as well as the river on the other side of the hill. You grabbed your bag and told Gandalf you were going to the river to wash up. You knew he’d keep an eye on the dwarf who often followed you like a puppy and missed you when you weren’t by his side.

You see, Kili had to share most of his things with his brother; toys, motherly attention, food, and this included the women he was interested in. They usually fell for Fili because he was more mature, older, and looked more dwarfish than Kili who had very fine features for a dwarf and was five years younger than his brother. He initially assumed it would happen again with you, so when you didn’t show any interest in his brother, only in him, he couldn’t put into words how happy it made him.

At the river’s edge, you placed your bag and makeshift towel (your shirt from your old world) on a rock and took off your clothes. The water was chilly but nothing a sit by the fire couldn’t fix. You washed your hair and body with the elfish soap you got in Rivendell. As you rinsed in the steady current of the water your thoughts began to wander to what Gandalf said about your predicament.

You felt pulled to Kili, he brought comfort and calmness to a feeling you didn’t even know was in need. His smile and his laugh, every memory and moment you made and shared with the handsome prince of Erebor begged you to stay in Middle Earth.

It was decided then.

When you stood to squeeze the water from your hair you noticed the sun was beginning to set. The others would want to bathe too, or at the very least wash their hands. You dried off and dressed and took a deep breath to enjoy the welcomed privacy one last time.

You reappeared beside the wizard, “Thank you, Gandalf, that was very much needed” You sat next to him on the ground in front of the fire to warm up. “I may be traveling with brutes, but I needn’t smell like one” You joked. He chuckled over his pipe at this.

“I’ve decided to stay here Gandalf.” You informed him. “Something about this place is calling me to stay.” You needn’t tell him about the intense pull to Kili, right?

“Splendid my dear,” He smiled fondly at your decision. “I’m sure you’ll find Middle earth rather agreeable.”

You smiled up at him, happy to have his support.

The boys were still going at it. Kili was making a great effort, but Fili got the upper hand, making Kili’s sword fly out of his hand and sail through the air to stick in the ground. Kili kept fighting though, trying to get Fili’s sword from him. Fili had to force him to the ground with his arms pinned before Kili surrendered.

“Good job lads, good work,” Thorin said as he helped them up. Coins were exchanged against the log from the bets the company members made. The boys started walking towards their bags, but Kili swerved at the last moment to approach you. Your hair was still slightly damp from the river, so it was obvious you’d just bathed. Being the mischievous sweaty dirt-covered mess he was, Kili held his arms out to you for a hug. You watched him in horror as he continued to walk towards you.

“Ew, no Kili stop!” You held your hand up to stop him but to no avail.

“Awe Y/N, just one hug?” Kili pleaded with puppy dog eyes.

You quickly stood and laugh a little at his persistence, “Don’t you fucking dare!” you said and dashed away.

“Come on Y/N, no need to play hard to get!” Kili strained as he chased you around the log and back toward your bags.

“Aaahh!” You made a sharp turn to narrowly avoid a grimy Fili, who stepped in your path, the little shit. This closed the gap so Kili could grab your arm and pull you toward him.

“Nonononononono!” you pleaded as he wrapped his beefy arms around your shoulders, making sure to rub his sweaty dirty face against your hair and pet the side of your face with his equally dirty hand. “Kili!” you drew out the last syllable in complaint.

“You smell so good” He had the nerve to say.

“You smell like Ori’s unwashed socks!” You pushed at his chest still trying to get away. Everyone chuckled at this. “Get off me, ya big olaf” you managed to wriggle out of his grasp, “I’m not coming anywhere near you till you bathe,” you said dead serious, and pointed to the river.

“As you wish” Kili bowed with a smirk, he grabbed his bag on his way to the river to join his brother. You sat in your by the fire with a small smile that seemed permanent whenever you were around him.

You were working on your bracelet when the brothers returned. The sun had dipped below the horizon making darkness seep into the crevasses of the world. Kili sat behind you on the same long stone Gandalf was perched on and touched the ends of your miraculously dry hair (the elvish soap is magic idk). You stiffened at the unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome contact.

“Can I braid your hair Y/N?” he asked innocently as pink dusted his cheeks. You whipped around aggressively, pulling your hair out of his hand in the process.

“No cause you’re just going to get it all tangled and I’m going to have to spend all night brushing it out!” You weren’t looking forward to that, you thought he was just trying to prank you. Kili’s pout was as cute as ever.

“My dear,” Gandalf budded in before Kili could sulk away, “Braiding hair in dwarfish culture is similar to your tradition of making bracelets for friends, but they take it much more seriously.”

“How much more seriously?” You asked, intrigued about the nature of Kili proposition.

“It’s like…” The wizard took a draw from his pipe while he thought of the words to properly explain it to you, “asking someone to dance, it’s special and a more intimate way of getting to know someone.”

“So, like a date?” You tilted your head in question. You understood his analogy; braiding allows both people to show their level of craftsmanship and commitment, with the added benefit of practicality and looking very nice in the end when done with love and care.

“A bit” Gandalf smiled at your naiveite, “Just know our dear Kili is not trying to prank you when he asks to braid your hair, quite the opposite” He took another draw from his pipe and looked back at the fire.

“In that case, you may braid my hair Kee” You flipped your hair back over your shoulder. You couldn’t see the beaming smile that grew on his handsome face. You dug through your bag to find the hairbrush and other trinkets from Rivendell which you handed to Kili. He kept them in his lap while he brushed your hair. If he came across a knot, he was sure to be incredibly gentle. You enjoyed the physical contact and attention very much.

“Any requests?” He asked sounding confident in his abilities.

“Whatever you think would look best” You couldn’t help but smile a little.

He used your brush to part your hair down the middle. He started braiding at your nape closest to the part. After that you didn’t pay very much attention to what he was doing, instead just relished the experience.

He finished one side and secured it with a bead from your stash, “How’s that feel, too tight?”, he asked and adjusted pieces here and there to make it lay perfectly.

“It feels great!” You chirped happily. You reached a hand to feel what he’d done so far but he shooed it away.

“Not yet, you’ll ruin the surprise!” He started working on the other side.

By the time he was done, you were so relaxed you’d almost fallen asleep on his leg.

“Done!” he said, you could tell he was very pleased with his work, “How do you like it?” He sounded a bit nervous.

You ran your fingers over the braids, feeling how they turned and curved at certain points and went straight in others.

“Kili this is amazing!” You said, very happy with the state of your hair. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you!” You looked back at him with a smile that was as big as his.

“I’m afraid I can't properly reciprocate though, I don’t know how to braid hair like this, I can only do normal braids.” You regretted never having learned how to French braid now more than ever. “If that’s how this works” You quickly corrected in a slight panic.

He was elated you wanted to return his deed at all, “That’s fine!” He tried not to sound too excited and be cool about it, “I can teach you if you want” he offered.

“I’d appreciate that!” You smiled.

You switched places, so he was sitting between your legs facing the fire. The position was innocent, but his thoughts were anything but. Images of your face beautifully contorted in pleasure from his tongue exploring your most private and intimate parts were most welcomed.

“May I take this out?” you lightly touched the silver clip that held his hair out of his face.

“Sure” He happily shrugged. You dug through his brown hair where the clasp was supposed to be, but your trembling hands couldn’t find it in all his hair.

After he heard you huffing and puffing and hadn’t felt his hair fall from the clip he asked in a soft voice, “Do you need help?”

“Yes,” you sighed, embarrassed you couldn’t even get a damn clip undone. He reached back, and struggled for a few seconds but undid the clasp, and handed it to you.

While you brushed his hair you thought of what you should do to it, or more what you could do with his hair given your limited abilities. You brushed through a few knots if any.

“I think I know what I want to try to do,” You touched the sides of his head just above his temple, “I want to do two small braids on the sides of your head, but I want the topmost part of your hair not to be braided.”

“Let’s try it!” He explained how you needed to part the hair and how to get started. You had his head lying against your thigh in an admittedly awkward and uncomfortable position, but he was quite the trooper. You had to restart the first braid three times but, in the end, he talked you through it and you tied it off with a bead.

“How did you learn to braid so well” you asked, struggling to grip all the pieces of the second braid properly and not pull the strands out of his head.

“My mother was insistent I learned. She knew my brother would have no trouble learning this facet of courting, but she feared I would spend all my time shooting arrows and never learn how to properly court girls.” He talked fondly of the memories, “So one summer when I was about to come of age, I came home from running amuck every day and she’d sit me down at her tapestry’s and make me braid the tassels that ran around the border.”

“Were you any good?” You asked curiously.

“Oh yes, I was very good! For a while, I was even better than Fili!” He was very proud of that.

“Why did he get better than you? Lean forward please,” you politely asked.

“He’s quite the lady’s man, so he had plenty of girls to practice on,” Kili sounded like that brought up memories that weren’t very pleasant. You finished the second braid with a bead like the first.

“Lay your head down for me again” You softly asked, gingerly guiding his head to lay against your other thigh, “Awe, baby Kili didn’t get any coochie did he” You fake pouted to tease him, gently scratching his scalp absentmindedly while you rested your neck for a moment. He liked it, more than he’d care to admit. “I’m in the same boat I’m afraid” You parted the other side of his hair.

“Oh? How so?” He was very surprised by this, “I’d have thought men were practically throwing themselves at you.” This made you laugh and blush.

“I’m awfully flattered you think that highly of me…” You took a moment to focus on a particularly difficult part, “But men from my world didn’t talk to me.”

“I find that completely unbelievable.” He was floored by this.

“I’m serious! I was never asked out on a date and the few times I asked for someone’s number they turned out to be self-centered losers with a ton of issues” You hated how much time you’d wasted on them. He couldn’t wrap his head around that and had to hold his tongue from proclaiming his thoughts of your perfection.

He turned to look at you despite your protests, “Then they are truly blind,” He couldn’t have been more sincere. His eyes blazed in the firelight with a mix of ferocity and sadness on your behalf.

“Thank you, Kee,” You smiled at him. He assumed his previous position so you could end the braid with a bead like the two before and then started on the last one, “And those silly girls are truly blind as well.” You wanted to kiss his slightly flushed cheek.

You were both in your own little world, where the troubles of the outside couldn’t get to you…or the onlookers and peanut gallery for that matter. Gandalf had moved to sit with the company who had been watching from across the fire on the other side of the log since Kili finished your first braid. They couldn’t quite hear your conversation, but they knew their beloved Kili was having the time of his life.

Fili was very proud of his brother. He talked about you all the time, was looking at you all the time; the man was whipped. Fili had to hear about you the entire time he was bathing, poor thing, and he finally got fed up with his brother not making a move.

“Kili, just ask to braid her hair for god’s sake” Fili huffed while he waited for his brother to finish in the river. Kili’s eyes lit up like a forge with the breath from bellows, and his face flushed like he did when he hammered out a new blade.

“I think I will,” Kili nodded, distracted by thoughts of engaging in such an informal and somewhat intimate act.

Thorin was very pleased you were trying to repay his nephew’s advances in equal measure. He’d seen the poor boy flounder with crushes in the past as he tended to be immature, and girls mistook that for uncaring and unable to provide. Something about you brought out the best in his nephew though, he’d never seen him act so mature, for this Thorin was willing to stay some of his distrust and pessimistic opinions about outsiders, at the very least about you.

By the time you finished the last braid, Kili had made himself very comfortable against your leg, with his arm wrapped around your calf, fidgeting with the laces of your boot. He looked so tranquil you hesitated to tell him you’d finished, not ready to leave the sanctuary you were in. You leaned back against your hand while you stared into the fire and gently scratched the nape of his neck.

He hummed half asleep, “Mmm that feels good,” His words were a little slurred, but it made him all the cuter.

You stayed like that till your bottom began to protest the hard rock beneath you. He was right on the cusp of sleep when you shook your leg beneath him, gentle with guilt.

“Kili, I gotta get up,” You softly tried to rouse him. He hummed in protest. “Besides, don’t you want to know how the braids turned out?” You admired your work with pride.

He sat up and stretched to wake his muscles then ran a hand over his new braids, “Wow Y/N! These are so good!” He looked back at you impressed, “You picked up on that fast!”

“Thanks, Kee!” You blushed as you ran a hand over the intricate lines in your hair, “They aren’t half as good as yours, but I think I did great for my first time” You smiled, pleased with yourself.

“Come show us!” someone from the log called, followed by various iterations of the same thing from others. Ever supportive, they were eager to see what you’d both made.

Kili stood and you followed him to the log. You turned so he could show off his creation. The dwarves were very impressed, a few coming up to inspect closer. When Kili turned to show your work, the company was even more impressed given it was your first time.

“Next time you’ll have to make beads for her, Kee” Fili teased making him and Bofur laugh at how Kili blushed.

“Make beads? What does that mean?” You asked the group in confusion.

“You’ll understand when the time comes,” Thorin said in an uncharacteristically happy tone. “For now, we shall rest” With that everyone began prepping their bedding for the night.

You laid your bed roll beside Kili’s like usual, but Bombur reminded you to clean the dishes before they were put away. Gandalf accompanied you so you could see with the light of his staff. Everyone was asleep when you returned to camp, except Thorin who was on watch.

When you sat on your bedroll, which was naturally next to Kili’s, he looked up at you, barely awake with a dopey smile.

“You look so pretty,” he said quietly, drawing out the last syllable of pretty. Red bloomed over your cheeks and down your neck. He loved your hair like that, he loved it even more that he was the one who did it.

“Go to sleep, Kee,” You whispered so you didn’t wake the others, but couldn’t help but smile as you lay on your bedroll next to him.

“But then I can’t look at you” He pouted, quite distraught about this revelation in his sleepy daze.

“Well, no, I suppose you can’t…” You nibbled your bottom lip as you thought of a solution, “Would holding hands appease you, sleepy prince?” you asked and held out the hand that wasn’t cuddling your coat to your chest. He was too out of it to catch your nickname for him. He nodded and held your hand in his, making both your hearts beat just a little faster.

You closed your eyes and rubbed your face against your coat to find a comfortable position. You could feel his eyes on you.

You opened your eyes to see him staring directly at you, “Good night, Kili” you said in a strong nonnegotiable tone.

He hummed and smiled and closed his eyes, “Good night, Y/N.”

~~~

Kili felt your hand grow tighter around his, drawing him from sleep. Then he felt you pulling against it like you were trying to alert him to danger in the camp without making a sound. He opened his eyes ready for war and saw no danger. He looked at you confused but realized you weren’t awake. You were whimpering and mumbling as your head thrashed from side to side.

‘She’s having a nightmare’ he quickly thought. He squeezed your hand and gently shook it.

“Y/N” He tried not to let his worry raise the volume of his voice, “Wake up.”

You didn’t respond, your mumbles turned into clear pleas for help, making him fret even more.

“Y/N!” He shook your shoulder vehemently, “You need to wake up” He had an urgency in his voice. You feebly fought against his hold on your shoulder.

“Please!” you gasped, still breaking from the nightmare when you opened your eyes, “No, please let go!” You begged and continued to push against his hand with tears in your eyes, not knowing who he was while sleep still clouded your vision and mind.

“Y/N, Y/N look at me” he moved his hand from your shoulder to the side of your neck and cheek to call your attention to him, “It was just a dream, you’re safe now.” When you met his eyes, he recognized just how rattled you were.

You were breathing rapidly, and tears were making your eyelashes sparkle in the firelight. He could feel your rapid heartbeat where his hand laid over your pulse point. He could tell you were beginning to wake up because you softly uttered his name and the hand that was fighting his on your neck gently wrapped around his wrist.

“You’re safe, I promise,” His eyebrows were pinched together in worry. You nodded and took a deep breath to try to keep the tears away. It’d been a very long time since you’d had a nightmare that bad.

Kili pulled your bedroll closer to his, “Come here,” He gave you a hug to comfort you, “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked when you pulled back from the hug too look at him. You laid your head on his upper arm and kept your cuddle coat close to your chest.

“I-I was in a forest at night and there were goblins and orcs and Wargs coming to attack me and-” You were talking quickly, the bad dream still too real, “and I was all alone and I couldn’t defend myself…” You trailed off, the waver in your voice making it hard to talk. “I was so scared, Kili,” You tried to curl into yourself.

“Hey hey hey, look at me” He held the side of your face again, “You’re safe,” he said. You took a deep breath and nodded. “I’d never let anything happen to you, aye?” He promoted you to get you out of your head. You took another deep breath and nodded.

“I’m ok” you repeated “I’m ok.”

“Yes, there ya go!” He nodded, relieved you were coming around. His thumb swept over your cheek to wipe a tear. You took a few minutes to calm down. Kili was falling asleep, but he needed to know you were going to be ok.

“Thank you, Kee,” you said, your whispered voice no longer shaking with fear, he gave a hearty nod in reply before he yawned. His arm was going numb where your head was lying on it, but it was worth it when you rubbed your face against it to get comfortable as you did in that way, which he found utterly adorable. You appreciated the physical comfort you would have never had in your world.

“I’ll teach you how to fight tomorrow” he whispered over a yawn, his eyelids getting heavy again. He moved his hand from your neck to hang over your waist. He wanted to pull you into him, so you’d feel protected on all sides, not for any other selfish deeply personal reasons of course, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“I’d like that very much,” you smiled and watched as he fell back asleep, not snoring but breathing heavily in that way which you found so adorable. You felt safe with his hand on your waist and fell asleep not long after him with thoughts of training together dancing behind your eyes.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Taglist: @letmelickyoureyeballs

[lexsssu]

Sincerity (Cyno)

TAGS: Cyno/Fem!Bunny!Reader, fluff, simping, domestic fluff, fatherhood

He was just one of the many students within the Akademiya when he first met you.

And like all young scholars, when faced with a beautiful maiden, he makes a fool of himself by cracking a joke or two that had only ever gotten him exasperated sighs or awkward silence.

The last thing he expected was to actually have you in a fit of giggles while Tighnari, your senior and his own friend, rubbed his temples as his lips stretched into a thin straight line.

“I was a bit nervous about meeting you at first, but I’m glad I did.” Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked him straight in the eye without an ounce of fear or nervousness. 

It’s…a breath of fresh air, to be honest.

Most people regarded him with wariness for some reason.

So having someone, particularly the ‘Jewel of Amurta,’ expressing such sincere gladness over meeting him was…nice.

“If senpai told me earlier how funny you could be, I’d have begged him to let me meet you sooner!”

And it was on that sunny day at the Akademiya grounds years ago when Cyno, the future General Mahamatra, would find himself as red as freshly boiled shrimp for the first time in his life. 

“I’m going to marry her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sight of General Mahamatra looming over you was one of the greatest fears of scholars, mercenaries, and even ordinary citizens alike. Nothing good ever came out of being his target, especially when no amount of begging, bribes, or resistance could truly get him off of your scent once he’d set his sights on you.

This is why most willingly surrender the moment they’re caught. They’ll receive their judgment regardless of how they tried to prolong the inevitable, so it’s easier to just accept it.

With the rest of his team down and out for the count, the bandit could only throw away his scimitar, cursing internally as he got on his knees before submissively laying on the desert sand. He knew this was a losing battle, but at least he’d still have some of his dignity left after this—

“And that’s how you subdue enemies in a desert. You can even say that they got their just DESERTS!” 

“Da-buuuu!”

“That’s my boy. Of course my son would inherit his father’s tasteful appreciation of jokes♥”

“Ba-baaa…” 

Unable to help his own curiosity, the bandit peeked up at General Mahamatra who leisurely made his way towards him. A small, chubby face peeked out from the matra’s shoulder, possessing many of his sire’s features. From the piercing vermillion shade of his eyes, the shade of his skin, and his ivory tresses.

The only major difference was the pair of floppy bunny ears at the top of his little head. 

Had this been a different situation, the bandit might’ve paid his jailer a compliment for having such a precious-looking child. 

[insertsparkleshere]

Five vs One

Summary: Five times you and Rosa kissed for show, and one time it was for real.

Word Count: 2,586

Pronouns: Implied she/her/hers

Published: 12/28/2022

Author's Note: My obsession with Rosa Diaz continues

Trigger Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of drugs, general police shit

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

1. Stakeout

You've been friends with Rosa for years. Ever since you transferred to the 99, she's been your partner. You work most of your cases together, you're the only member of the 99 that's actually been to her apartment, and you would say that you know her pretty well.

The silence is comfortable as you sit in the car. The two of you are on stakeout, trying to catch some poor drug dealer.

You yawn.

"You good?"

"Tired. I can't believe we have another hour of this shit."

"You want me to grab you a coffee? I'll buy."

"I won't say no to that."

Rosa comes back ten minutes later with your usual order, handing it to you as she slides into the driver's seat. "Anything new? Or is he still waiting for the buyer?"

"Still waiting, but I think he's getting suspicious. He saw me in the car, but I pulled out my phone and pretended I was calling someone, so I don't think he made me."

"Good."

You take a sip of your drink, once again lapsing into comfortable silence. The drug dealer (you can't remember his name) looks over at you again. He starts walking over to the car.

"Shit." You look at Rosa. "He made us."

"No, he didn't."

"What-?"

You haven't even finished getting the word out when Rosa pulls you forward into a kiss.

"Go with it," She says against you, but you decided to do that the moment it happened.

"Yep, doing that." You break away from her, face flushed, and look over at the dealer. "He went back."

"Good."

You both sit back into your respective seats. You're freaking out, but you're trying not to show it.

"Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of."

"It's fine."

2. Operation: Broken Feather

"Commence Operation: Broken Feather."

And with those words, everyone's off to their varying positions. And yet, nothing works. Charles spills his coffee, but the Vulture just wipes it off. Rosa flirts with him (you see red), but he moves on. For once, he's not interested.

"I can't believe I'm gonna do this." You march over to Rosa, determined and praying that Jake can get the confession soon. "No time to explain, come on."

You take Rosa through a back way. You stop where you know the Vulture will come out of the stairwell he took to get from the bathroom to the squad's floor. "Trust me?"

"Yeah."

You grab Rosa, pulling her into a kiss just as the Vulture comes out of the door.

"Woah!"

He stops for a few moments, staring, then you hear his footsteps recede.

"Damnit!" You say, pulling away once you're sure he's gone. "I really thought that was going to work."

"Uh...Yeah."

"Sorry. Only thing I could think of to stop him."

"It's fine."

3. Tactical Village

"How come you're so mad at Boyle?" You ask, creeping down the hallway. Charles is a few feet ahead of you, but you're careful. Quiet.

"He didn't invite me to his wedding."

"You can be my plus one."

"If he didn't invite me, that means he doesn't want me there."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Just talk to him."

Rosa wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah, I know, feelings are for losers. But give it a try, okay?"

"Fine."

You hear something up ahead. Charles ducks through a side door, but there's nowhere for you and Rosa to hide.

"I have no clue if this is going to work," Rosa says, "but I need you to trust me."

"You know I do."

"I'm going to kiss you. When the perps come through, shoot them."

"Got it. You know we're being watched, right?"

"Yeah."

She presses her lips against yours, and you melt into the kiss like you always do.

Part of you wishes that you could do this more often, but you know that's not possible.

You hear footsteps, drawing closer.

"Woah. Uh, sorry."

You pull away, gun already in hand. You shoot one guy, and Rosa shoots the other. Green paint splatters across their chests.

"Don't be." You say. "It was just a distraction."

4. The Wedding

"We have a problem," Amy says.

"What's wrong?" You ask, pausing in your frosting of Rosa's wedding cake.

"Rosa's drunk."

"How?"

"Bellinis."

"I got it." You set your frosting bag down, wipe your hands on your apron, and set off for the small room Rosa's hunkered in.

"(Y/N)!" She slurs. "I'm getting married."

"Yes, you are. Which you need to be sober for. Come on, let's get you some water."

"No." She drags out the word, but you stand your ground.

"Rosa, you need to be sober to get married."

"Do I?"

"Yes." You sit down across from her at the table.

"You should have a drink."

"Absolutely not."

"You're so wound up! Why are you so stressed?"

"Because your wedding is today, Rosa, and you're currently drunk off of champagne, of all things. I mean, really, it's half bubbles."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't be stressed. This isn't your wedding."

"No, it's not. Which is why I'm going to drink my way through the ceremony and reception, but not while I am trying to make you a wedding cake."

"Huh?"

"I'm trying to make your wedding cake, Rosa."

"No, the other part."

"Ah, right. I am going to drink my way through the ceremony and reception."

"Why?"

"Because that's what you do at a wedding."

"No." Rosa gasps dramatically. "Is it because we've kissed?"

"What? No!"

"It is." Her eyes go wide. "Do you like me?"

"No, Rosa, I don't."

You hate lying to her.

She surges forward, kissing you hard.

"What about now?" She asks when she pulls back.

"Now...I need a bellini."

5. Nutriboom

"Why does this always happen?" You duck behind a door, praying the person goes away. "Seriously, every time!"

"It's comical." Rosa agrees, but she kisses you anyway.

+1. Show Me Going

“(Y/L/N), can I speak with you in my office?”

You jump. “Sorry. Startled me. Yeah, sure.” You stand and follow Holt into his office. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask how you’re doing. I know that you and Rosa are close, so you’re more likely to be particularly affected, what with her current involvement in the Brooklyn Heights shooting."

“Captain, I’ve been in love with Rosa Diaz for the last four years.” Your voice shakes a little, but you smile. “If I couldn’t take a little danger, I’d have broken a long time ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m okay. Honestly, I’m more worried about the rest of the squad.” You look back and see Charles and Jake talking, while Terry gets his blood pressure checked. “Seriously, Boyle’s got that vein popping out in his forehead. You know the one, when he gets stressed?” Holt’s phone rings. “I’ll let you get that.”

You leave just in time to see Charles stand. “Shots fired. Shots fired!”

“What?” Jake exclaims.

“Is anybody hurt?” Terry asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, man.”

“And, you’re BP’s at 290. Oh, 350. You broke the machine.” The guy next to Terry's desk says.

“Alright, screw this.” Jake stands and storms into Holt’s office. “There were shots fired.”

“I just got off the phone. There are two officers down.”

You run to the nearest trashcan, convinced you’re going to puke, but then you hear, “Neither one of them is Diaz,” and suddenly, you’re fine.

Holt shuts his door. You don't hear the rest of his conversation, instead sitting down at your desk. It's right across from Rosa's, a fact that you desperately try to ignore. You're trembling, but otherwise normal, so you take a breath and try to focus on paperwork. You put your headphones on, despite the ban against them, and blare your music as loud as you can in an attempt to drown out your thoughts.

A few songs later, someone taps you on the shoulder. You practically jump out of your skin, but when you turn around, you see Jake. “God, dude, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I got pizza. Come grab a slice.”

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Come on, eat. You haven’t had anything all day.”

“Fine.”

You stand up and grab a slice.

“Peralta, why are you back so soon?” Holt asks.

“Because I wanted to do something.” Jake turns back. “Hey, guys. How’re you holding up?"

“I mean, not great, but I know you really don’t want to talk about it,” Charles says.

“No. We should talk about it. I’m really scared for Rosa.”

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “I’m terrified that she’s gonna die and I’ll never actually have told her the truth.”

“Me, too.” Terry says. “I mean, the her dying part. It keeps making me think about my kids. How do I deal with the fact that every day I leave for work, I might not come home?”

“Man, I don’t even know, Terry. I don’t have kids yet, but I know you love them. And I feel like that’s all you can really do, right? I mean, now that I'm getting married, I keep thinking if something happens to me, it'll actually affect someone else.”

“I'd get over it eventually, after a lot of therapy.”

“I was more talking about Amy, but yes, you too, Charles.”

You all sigh.

“Hey, look at that. 130 over 80.” The guy next to Terry says. “Back to normal. I can get out of your hair now.”

“Nice. Told you, Andrew. Terry’s in tiptop. Thanks, Jake.”

“Yeah.” You say, nodding.

Jake turns to talk to Holt, and Charles’s phone goes off. “Guys!” He says. “Guys, guys, guys. They just took both shooters into custody. Officers got injured in the action. They don’t say how many.”

“Call Diaz. Get her cell.” Terry says.

Jake grabs his phone. “Damn it. It’s still just going to voicemail.”

“Let me try.”

Straight to voicemail.

“Her phone’s gotta be off, but I’ll try again.” You say. “She’s always picked up when I’ve called.”

“Adorable.” You glare at Jake. “Right, not the time. Just…glad that whole thing’s over.”

“For now.” You mutter.

Fifty minutes (or a lifetime, you aren't completely sure) later, Holt comes out of his office. He’d spent ages on the phone, trying to get in contact with someone who could give him the names of the injured officers.

“Okay.” He says. “I don’t have the names of the injured officers,” You swear internally, “but if Diaz is unharmed, she should be contacting us shortly. Or, if her phone is dead, perhaps she’ll be walking out of the elevator at any moment.”

Just then, the elevator dings. Your head snaps towards the doors.

They open…revealing Scully.

“Come on, Scully!”

“You can’t be doing stuff like that, man!”

“Fuck you!”

“I was just making a copy downstairs.”

“Yeah, well, next time, think.” Jake says.

“About what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Okay, Jake. Come on, man. Go easy on him.”

“Diaz!” Holt says, surprised.

“Rosa!” You and Jake say at the same time.

“You’re okay! Where’d you come from?” Jake asks.

“Felt like walking, so I took the stairs. Also, I thought it’d be funny to mess with you guys.”

“Rosa, you know I hate pranks.”

“You love pranks.”

“I do. I really do.” Jake hugs her tightly. “You did it so good.

“Were you guys worried about me or something?”

“No.” He says.

“I plead the fifth.” You put in, holding yourself back from running to her.

“So, what happened? Did they shoot at you?” Terry says. “Were you in the thick of it?”

“It’s been a really tough day. I just want to go get a beer. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

“Are you sure? Because the journey I went on today taught me that sometimes it’s best to talk about things-”

“Jake.”

“Right. It was a stupid idea. And Holt told me to do it, so. Let’s just go get a drink and sit in total silence.”

“Perfect. First, I gotta go to the can.”

“Actually, you might want to go check out the ladies’ room up here.” You turn at the sound of Gina’s voice. “Hey, Rosa, it’s me, Gina Linetti. Welcome back. Me and Amy made a little surprise for you, and I think you’re gonna like it very, very much. Come on, girl.”

You follow Gina and Rosa into the bathroom. You feel like if you don’t have your eyes on Rosa, she’ll disappear.

Also, you want to see how the bathroom turned out.

“Ta-da!” Gina says.

“You made it sound like you fixed the toilet.” Rosa says dryly.

“Yeah, I thought maybe Amy would’ve pulled something together in the two minutes I stepped outside.”

“Hey, Gina! Look what I stole from the Barnes and…Oh, my God, Rosa! I’m so happy to see you!” Amy runs forward, dropping the toilet seat she’s holding to hug Rosa.

“Wait, are you covered in toilet water?”

“Yes, big-time. But this is happening.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Kinda feel like I’m lurking.”

“Gina, get in here.”

“Yay!”

You hesitate.

“(Y/N), you too.”

You grin, rushing forward to hug the three of them.

“Do you mind if I come to Shaw’s?” You ask, once you're out of the bathroom and Amy and Gina are gone.

“Whole squad’s going. Let me go to bathroom, and I’ll drive you.” Rosa offers.

“You don’t have to-”

“You walk to work.”

“Fine.” You smile slightly, and go upstairs to grab your stuff from your desk. You meet her in front of the bathrooms, and follow her out to the parking structure. When you’re sure that you’re alone, you look at the ground. “You know, if you’d died, I’d have been so pissed.”

“Really?”

“I would’ve brought you back so I could kill you again.”

“Didn’t think you cared that much.”

“Of course, I care that much. You’re my partner. Half my cases, I work with you. Can’t have you dying on me, can I?”

Rosa doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously, though, you scared the shit out of me. Didn’t want to say anything in the precinct, I know you don’t like the mushy stuff.”

“Thanks.”

You stop in front of her bike.

“Do you really care that much?” She asks, giving you pause.

“What do you mean? Of course, I care. I don’t know if anyone told you, but I was close to a nervous collapse today.”

“Why?”

You stare at her, bewildered. “Why do you think?”

“We’re friends, but-”

“Rosa, I’ve…” You close your eyes. “Never mind. Let’s just go to Shaw’s, okay?”

“No. What were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing.”

Her voice drops. “It’s not nothing.”

“Rosa, trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter. If you have something to say-”

“I told you it’s nothing!”

There’s a brief pause. You could cut the tension with whatever knife Rosa probably has in her pocket.

And then she lurches forward, and you don’t have time to say anything before she kisses you, hard.

You freeze, for a split second, and it’s enough that Rosa pulls back. You don’t let her go far, though, dragging her back to you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

She bites your lower lip, and you gasp.

“You know,” you say, between kisses, “I’ve been waiting four years for this. I mean...Except for all the fake ones.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Just…didn’t think it would happen."

“I’m glad I made the first move then.”

“Me, too."

You never do make it to Shaw’s.