#and the occasional once every month or two painting

[intotheelliwoods]

Gonna ask this to a few people that inspire me, but how do you take inspiration from things without feeling like whatever you make is just bad in comparison? Or like a downgraded version of the thing(s) that inspired you?

(If this is too negative feel free to delete/ignore, I'm sorry)

Oh gosh this is such an interesting question since, I dont think I really have feelings of thinking my version is bad? Or that I am just a copy?

I am honestly just grateful my work became as popular as it is in the first place haha- low expectations going in to begin with. That and, I am very aware my art style isnt as defined and polished as other peoples styles, but I have come to terms with this! And hey the improvement in my own artwork over the past year is a massive trip if you go back through some of my older stuff- I am improving, slowly.

I mean, 2AL started by complete accident, and was "inspired" from me wishing the Leos from OMO or MNMC would hug it out already- but if you were to compare 2AL to one of those, they are very different. Hell even comparing OMO and MNMC, same starting point, but still very different.

I think my only advice to other people trying to make an AU is to try and find some core theme/idea and work around that, rather than gather a bunch of little things from other sources you like into a big pile. Find some key message to start up a base with.

[parkerslatte]

Overlooked | Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Y/N, the eldest Archeron sister, and while the Inner Circle are invited to the Autumn Court by Eris, the new High Lord, Y/N and Eris meet for the first time and the bond snaps.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Epilogue

•••

Y/N Archeron was always overlooked. Her whole life she would always be looked over in favour of her younger sisters. Of course when Y/N was human, she learnt to live with it. She did what she could to try and support her family, picking up as many jobs as she could. The only one who ever thanked her was Feyre. 

Once Y/N was made into fae and her entire life was flipped upside down, she felt more overlooked than she had in her whole life. Feyre had Rhys. Nesta had Cassian. Elain had Lucien and Azriel. Y/N had no one. Of course Mor took it upon herself to bring her along to Rita’s every time she went. Occasionally Y/N would go home with someone but in recent months, she preferred to be alone. 

Now as she sat alone in her apartment, there was a pain in her heart. The last few months, Y/N had been more lonely than ever. She had barely seen her sisters and the rest of the Inner Circle. Azriel was the only one she had seen and it was in passing, Y/N didn’t stick around for a full conversation. 

There was a knock at her door and Y/N sighed before dragging her feet to the front door and opened it up. Feyre was standing on the other side with a friendly smile on her face. Her hair was tied up and her hands were covered in dried paint. 

“Y/N, it’s good to see you,” Feyre said, wrapping her eldest sister in a hug. 

Despite the way she was feeling, Y/N smiled as she wrapped her arms around her youngest sister. It was the first hug she had received in a while. 

“What are you doing here? How’s Nyx?” Y/N asked. 

“He’s great,” Feyre said, lighting up at the mention of her son. “He misses you though.”

“I miss him too,” Y/N said. “I’ve been a bit busy lately, but I’ll visit everyone soon.”

“About that,” Feyre said as the two took a seat on Y/N’s couch. “We have been summoned to the Autumn Court. Eris has become the new High Lord and we need to build his trust. There is a ball and we must be in attendance.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, deflating the smallest amount. Her sister hadn’t come to see her to catch up.

“The whole Inner Circle is attending,” Feyre continued. 

“But I’m not a part of the Inner Circle,” Y/N replied. 

“Of course you are!” Feyre exclaimed. “You are family.”

It doesn’t feel like it, Y/N thought.

“When is this happening?” Y/N asked. 

“Two days time,” Feyre replied. 

Y/N only nodded and Feyre stood up from the couch. “I need to get back home, but I’ll come to collect you in two days.” 

Y/N didn’t bother to rise from the couch as Feyre hugged her and bid her goodbye as she exited her home. There was a pain in Y/N’s heart as she folded in on herself. All she wanted was her sisters and even they didn’t have the time for her anymore. 

***

Two days later, Y/N wore a gown that left little to the imagination. The slits in the skirt ended at her upper thigh and the plunging neckline and tight bodice accentuated her curves. Despite the way she was feeling, Y/N smiled at her reflection. 

When Feyre met with Y/N and was winnowed to the rest of the group, she remained on the outskirts. Everyone greeted her yet it felt as if they were only doing it out of common courtesy. Y/N never wanted to go back to her apartment more than ever. 

The Night Court was beautiful and Y/N would admit that. But the moment she got to the Autumn Court, she was taken by its beauty. The colours of the leaves and trees put her at ease. The slight breeze ruffled her hair as a smile tugged at her lips.

The feeling of being in the Autumn Court was different and Y/N wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing or not. She felt a small tug within her that drew her in. 

While everyone didn’t even stop to look around, Y/N lingered behind everyone looking around in wonder. Even when they entered the hall where the ball was taking place. Y/N gasped. 

The intricate architecture and the walls that seemed to shine took her breath away. The rest of the Inner Circle didn’t even react. Rhysand’s gaze was fixated on Eris standing at the very end of the room, lounging on his throne. 

When Y/N finally tore her gaze away from the high ceiling, her gaze finally landed on Eris. There was a slight tug within her that made her freeze. Eris’s gaze bore into hers as his eyebrows furrowed. His expression hardened just as quickly as he tore his gaze away from Y/N. 

“Rhysand,” Eris greeted, standing up from his throne. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

Y/N didn’t listen to Rhysand’s response as her gaze was fixated on Eris. There was a small frown on her face. There was a tug within her that she didn’t fully understand but she wanted to know more. 

Before Y/N knew it, everyone was mingling as she stood on the outskirts of the room, sipping her wine. Many males had approached her to dance but Y/N simply denied them. She had stayed near her sisters at first but as they went off with their mates, and in Elain’s case, Azriel, Y/N remained on her own. 

Feyre had spoken to her briefly and Nesta and Elain had exchanged a couple of words but there was nothing more than that. There was never anything more than that. 

Y/N watched as everyone danced and truly looked happy. Happier than she had ever seen them. Y/N could tell that she didn’t fit anywhere within their happiness. With a sigh, Y/N placed her empty wine glass down and slipped out of the room. 

She didn’t stray too far, the music could still be heard and Y/N hummed along. The night sky was filled with stars and Y/N simply sat herself down on the grass. The Autumn Court was beautiful. 

Y/N’s relaxed body suddenly tensed as she heard footsteps behind her. 

“The eldest Archeron sister.”

Y/N looked in the direction of the voice and her eyes wide fed as she felt the tug in her chest pull even more as Eris stood beside her. 

“Yes?” Y/N said. 

A smirk was present on Eris’s face as he lowered himself down so sit beside her. She was surprised. The High Lord of Autumn just sat on the grass beside her willingly. From what everyone had spoken about Eris, Y/N didn’t expect him to do that. 

“I haven’t seen you before,” Eris said, his tone casual. 

“I haven’t had a reason to make myself known,” Y/N responded. “I try not to be a part of anyone’s business.”

“But you were Made,” said Eris, leaning back on his elbows. “That makes you everyone’s business.” 

Y/N scoffed. “I never wanted to be Made. I was content with my life.”

Eris hummed.

Y/N glanced back at him, meeting his gaze. The tug happened again and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“I was content with my life when I still felt like I had a family,” Y/N wasn’t entirely sure why she had told Eris that but she felt relieved that it was off her chest. 

Eris frowned. “You have three sisters.”

Y/N laughed humorously. “Three sisters who are happy with their relationships and families that they never spare a look my way. Ever since I was Made and have been trapped within the Night Court, I have felt my own sisters distancing themselves from me. I know it isn’t intentional. They have their own lives and I have mine. They each have their someone. They have someone to look after and someone to look after them. I am completely alone.”

There was nothing stopping the words spilling out of her mouth and she didn’t want to stop them. The weight on her chest was seemingly lifting with every word she spoke. However once Y/N realised who she was speaking to, her words ceased. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about how sad my life is,” Y/N said, wiping away a tear she didn’t know had escaped. 

“You feel trapped in the Night Court?” Eris questioned. 

“Trapped was the wrong word I think,” Y/N said. “I was welcomed at first but Rhys never allowed me to leave on my own in the first few months. I had to either stay indoors or have an escort everyday I went. It was suffocating. Even now, I am still told to stay within Velaris.”

“It has been years,” Eris said. “Why don’t you leave?” 

Y/N shrugged. “I am not sure where I would go. It’s not like I know anyone else and I wouldn’t be welcome back to my old life. So I guess I am trapped.”

Eris didn’t respond as he got to his feet, brushing himself off. He held out his hand to Y/N. 

“Come and dance with me,” Eris said. 

For some reason, Y/N felt herself reaching up to touch his hand. As soon as her fingers brushed his, Eris closed his hand around hers and pulled her to her feet. 

Y/N’s heart raced as they stood chest to chest. That pull in her chest became tight. 

Eris’s eyes glanced down at her, his eyes fighting to remain on her eyes. He failed as he looked down at her body and the dress that clung to it. The colour perfectly matching his jacket. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Y/N questioned, her voice a whisper. 

Eris’s eyes locked with hers again, as Isal could easily get lost in them. “What have they told you about me?”

“That you are rude, manipulative, dangerous,” Y/N answered. “They mentioned that you proposed to my sister after only one dance.”

“And do you know the reason for that,” Eris whispered, stepping closer to Y/N. 

The eldest Archeron shook her head, her heart hammering against her chest as the close proximity. 

“My father,” Eris spat, “was forcing my hand in marriage, he didn’t care who it was. I fought against it but once he…” Eris trailed off and sighed, though Y/N didn’t miss the flash of pain in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he did, but I knew that it would continue if I didn’t marry.”

“So you proposed to my sister,” Y/N concluded.

“I’ll be honest and say that it was a spur of the moment decision and I knew that it would piss off your High Lord and his lapdogs.”

“He isn’t my High Lord,” Y/N responded. 

“Oh? Then who is?” Eris’s voice was low and rumbled in his chest. Y/N's hands moved on their own accord to rest firmly against his firm chest. Not to push him away but to feel him. 

“No one,” Y/N said. “I am not controlled by anyone.”

Eris smirked. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Before Y/N could muster up a response, Eris had laced his fingers with hers and pulled her toward the ballroom. It was still lively and everyone still danced with their partners. However as Eris entered the room, all attention seemed to divert towards him, and then to Y/N, who didn’t shrink away from the stares. 

Eris brought her to the centre of the ballroom. His gaze focussed on her. Y/N swallowed, suddenly nervous. Even though many others had returned to dancing, Y/N could still feel the stares of those of the Night Court. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rhysand’s face twist into one of anger. Y/N couldn’t find it within herself to care. 

“Don’t focus on them, just focus on me,” Eris muttered as he wrapped an arm around her to pull her body flush with his and they began to dance to the music. 

At first Y/N couldn’t focus on anything but the stares of her sisters and their mates, but as soon as she felt Eris lightly squeeze her hand, she shifted focus to him. They danced around the ballroom with ease and Y/N found herself smiling. Y/N was surprised that the smirk Eris had was changed. Now a genuine smile graced his handsome face. It suited him.

“You are quite beautiful, Y/N Archeron,probably the most beautiful female I have ever encountered,” Eris muttered.

Y/N flushed and tried to ignore her pounding heart.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Y/N asked as he spun her around. “You never answered my question.”

As she was spun back into his chest, Eris held onto her tightly. “You feel it too, don’t you? That tug. That pull that began as soon as you set eyes on me.”

Y/N didn’t respond but the answer was in her eyes. 

“I feel it too,” Eris whispered into her ear. “And do you know what it is?”

Y/N had a feeling she knew what it was but she didn’t want to say it, in fear of being wrong and in fear of what would happen after. 

“A mating bond,” Eris whispered, his lips brushing against her ear and Y/N’s body was immediately covered in goosebumps. 

Y/N pulled away and looked into Eris’s eyes. There was something in the back of her mind telling her that he was lying and it was all some big joke. But the moment she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but sincerity. 

Eris pressed his forehead against Y/N’s and she felt that cord within her tighten more until it snapped into place. There was no more feeling of the pushing and pulling. Her body seemed to get warmer and she gasped. 

“You are my mate,” Y/N said in disbelief. 

Eris smiled. “And you are mine.”

From across the ballroom, Rhysand stood with the rest of the Inner Circle, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at Eris. The High Lord of Autumn, listed his gaze from Y/N for the first time since they had begun to dance and locked it onto Rhysand. 

“I think your brother in law wants to talk,” Eris commented. 

Y/N ripped her attention away from Eris and turned it to her family standing the opposite side of the ballroom. Feyre’s eyes held a sense of pleading for her to get away from Eris. Nesta and Elain stood by her side, unreadable expressions on both of their faces. 

“Why should I care what they have to say? It’s not like they have taken any care in what I have to say.” Y/N answered. 

“I would love to return to dancing with you and let Rhysand do his own thing, whether that be leaving or brooding,” Eris said, his hand gripping her waist. “But I need to keep up appearances tonight.”

Eris led Y/N out of the ballroom and into the hallway, the rest of the Inner Circle following behind them. 

“What are you doing with him, Y/N?” Rhysand said as soon as the door was closed. 

“Dancing,” Y/N responded bluntly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Y/N, just come with us,” Feyre pleaded to her older sister. 

“Why?” Y/N exclaimed. “It’s not as if any of you even notice I’m there half of the time.”

“That’s not true,” Feyre said.

“Yes it is,” Y/N said, letting it all out. “When Tamlin gave us the money and Nesta, Elain and I lived in that house, the two of you barely ever spoke to me. After Elain and Nesta were thrown into the cauldron, no one even batted an eye once I was thrown in. None of you even cared even though I was screaming for someone to save me.”

“Of course we care, Y/N,” Nesta spoke up.

“You all have a funny way of showing it,” Y/N answered. “When everything was over I thought that I could have my sisters back, I thought that we could finally be a family after everything. But I was wrong, you all had someone who you valued over me. At first it didn;t bother me. I know that once you all had your mates, I wouldn’t be at the top of your priority list but I seemed to be right at the bottom.”

Tears fell from Y/N’s eyes no matter how hard she tried to stop them. “None of you told me that Feyre could have died from childbirth.”

The Inner Circle were silent. 

“When Feyre stopped by a few days ago, I was happy. I thought that you had come to talk to me and catch up but the only thing you did was tell me about this ball where my presence wouldn’t even be missed if I hadn’t attended.”

“Y/N, we are sorry you feel this way but do you realise who you are dancing with–”

Y/N cut Rhysand off with a scoff. “I just poured my heart out to all of you and that is all you have to say. Did any of you even notice me leave earlier? I think not. Eris followed me and was the one to ask if I was okay. He was the one who actually listened and took notice of me.”

“Y/N, we can talk about this back home,” Feyre said.

“Home? Velaris has never been my home,” Y/N said. “All of you made sure of that when you forgot I existed.”

“We didn’t forget about you, Y/N,” Elain piped up. “We love you.”

Y/N shook her head and hardly wiped the tears away. “If you loved me, you would act like it. You would check in on me from time to time. You would invite me to your family dinners that I never get an invite to. You would act like my sisters and not strangers. None of you were there when I needed you most.”

A tear slipped down Feyre’s cheek as she looked at her sister. “I am so sorry, Y/N. Please forgive us. Come home, we can make this right.”

Y/N shook her head. “I am staying here.”

Everyone looked surprised, even Eris, whose arm hadn’t left Y/N’s waist. 

“You are not staying here, Y/N,” Rhysand said. “As your High Lord–”

“You are going to command me to come back with you?” Y/N said. “Really, Rhysand, after all of that?”

“If I may interject,” Eris spoke up as Rhysand shot him daggers. “If Y/N does not want to return to you, I will have a room set up for her here and she will be looked after until she wishes to return.”

“She is not staying–”

“I am!” Y/N exclaimed. “I am staying here because Eris has been the only one to not make me feel invisible and useless.”

“Y/N, please,” Feyre said, her final attempt to try and convince Y/N.

Y/N shook her head. “I would prefer to stay here, at least until I am ready to see you all again.”

“How long will that be?” Elain asked. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N responded and Eris gently squeezed her waist in reassurance. 

Feyre nodded. “If that is what you wish, Y/N.”

“It is,” Y/N said. “Now please, leave me alone.”

Y/N turned on her heel and walked down the hallway until she was out of sight. 

Once she was around the corner, Y/N finally let out a sob, the weight was gone from her chest but at a cost. Her sisters probably hated her now. But she couldn’t stay in the Night Court, she didn’t belong there. It wasn’t her home and would never be her home. 

“Are you okay?” Eris asked, appearing behind her. 

Y/N tried to quiet her sobs but failed. 

Eris was by her side in an instant with his arms wrapped around her, chin resting on top of her head. Y/N immediately felt safe and secure in his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tightly. The bond connecting the two filled Y/N with an emotion she couldn’t place. 

“They left,” Eris muttered. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

“Is it true?” Y/N said, pulling away from him to gaze up at him, her eyes bloodshot. “Can I really stay here?”

“For as long as you like,” Eris replied, brushing her tears away. 

“And what of the bond?” Y/N asked.

“That can be your decision,” Eris said. “If you choose to accept it or not, you will have a place at the Autumn Court.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you, I have only just met you but you have been so kind to me.”

Eris smiled. “You need not thank me for that. You deserve kindness.”

Y/N rested her hand over his heart. “As do you, Eris.”

Eris pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I can show you to your room if you wish.”

“But what about the party?” Y/N questioned.

“Who cares?” Eris said. “My priority is to make sure that you are okay and looked after if you are staying here. I am not going to let my mate in just any room here, I will make sure you have the most luxurious one, right after mine, of course.”

Y/N laughed for what felt like the first time in a while. Eris smiled at the sound.

“Thank you, Eris,” Y/N said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

Eris laced their fingers together and squeezed her hand and led her down the hallway. Y/N squeezed his hand back and happily walked alongside him. No longer would she be overlooked, not when she had Eris by her side.

[ybklix]

stargirl

black hair felix my beloved, just felix my beloved₊˚⊹♡

★ lee felix one shoot.

✦summary: After a fashion event in Paris, Felix decides to visit you at your apartment, you two are best friends, you have kissed before but you don't know how to take the next step even though you both want each other badly.

♡notes: 2022 felix in ysl event outfit.

✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / only 18+ / felix x fem reader / idol felix / reader's pov / oral sex / unprotected sex / fingering / masturbation / foreplay / needy reader

wc: 6.1k

one shoot (masterlist)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat My position couldn't stop, you were hitting it.

I gently placed my fingers over my lips, removing the crumbs from that cookie bite I had just taken. Followed by several bites, I would occasionally run my tongue, while, standing in front of my kitchen island, I flipped through the pages of my previous month's Vogue magazine... I had to confess that I was a little nervous. My mind was all over the place and my stomach seemed to drop with every passing second... still, the cookie was sweet and delicious, I couldn't stop eating it.

The sudden message notification sound distracted my attempted attention from the magazine. My cellphone was right next to it, and that's when through the screen I managed to read his name, and a message telling me to open the door, that he was outside; once again my stomach dropped with nerves and my breathing was short. This used to happen to me when I really liked someone. I think I really like him.

I didn't bother grabbing my cellphone, I just nervously smoothed down my pajama shorts and ran for the door. I was so nervous, I knew he was coming, but I didn't expect it, inside a part of me was begging for him to say I'm getting tired, I think I'll get some sleep, see you tomorrow.... Only then maybe I would feel calmer.

I didn't take any more time to think and simply opened up, finding his slim complexion dressed all in black, in front of me. He smiled at me. I smiled back and let him in.

His scent reached me in his soft breeze as he passed, every passing second was killing me, I really didn't know how much longer I would have to survive like this.

Disappointed that our greeting was just a shy smile, I followed him with my eyes. I was tired of neither of us making the first move, it's not like we hadn't kissed before... I just felt like he had this thought that there wasn't enough trust yet, or maybe he thought we couldn't cross that line yet. Agh, if only he knew… it was what I was looking forward to the most. We had spent an excellent afternoon, touring the city, I took him to my favorite places, talked like I had never talked before, showed him every useless thing in my apartment, my favorite paintings, my favorite restaurant, I was near him for hours… and still, no little kiss. I closed the door after his entrance, he walked a few steps in the foyer and turned to me, looked me up and down, frowned and said:

—Oh sorry, were you going to sleep already?

I felt my cheeks burn. Embarrassment took over me; the truth was that after a hot afternoon, I wanted to take a bath and make myself as comfortable as possible, but in a… sexy way, to tell the truth the bare shoulders and perfectly loose pajamas were quite cute, just right, why would I feel embarrassed… a part of me knew exactly what I was doing, however the me of the moment, standing in front of the man I liked, didn't have the slightest idea. In fact, I wanted to give the relaxed appearance, as if I didn't care so much in his presence, when in reality I spent hours fixing my hair knowing he was coming, I used concealer under my eyes and richened my lashes by placing a clear mascara, light liquid blush and my favorite perfume on my neck.

—No, I just wanted to be comfortable, although you know… it is a little late —I answered awkwardly, I didn't know how to keep a conversation and he knew that—. Do you want a drink? —I tried to make him comfortable.

—Sure.

We went to the kitchen where, in two glasses, I served us wine, because I was nervous and didn't really know what I was doing.

—I drank it quite a lot today —he said.

I looked at him, surprised that this might not be what he wanted to drink. He was sitting on the other side of the kitchen counter as he watched me pour the drink.

—But it's okay —he hastened to add when he saw my reaction—. Champagne, wine, people, basically it was all like that.

I opened my mouth in amazement, I was just about to ask him how that designer campaign meeting had gone. I must admit, it was quite attractive to seet him at that kind of event.

—Really? And how did it go? —I asked him and took a small sip from my glass. I walked around the table, to approach him and hand him the drink.

—Good. Sit here —he suddenly ordered, pointing to the chair next to him on his left side, then stared at me.

Where had that come from? It was so sudden and so… good, I really liked it. Hearing him order me in that voice, I wasn't at all upset. He knew perfectly well that I would do everything I could to push him away, no matter how much I wanted him to, I just couldn't. So I obeyed, and like a good friend about to overhear a friend's conversation, I sat down next to him. Our knees bumped, and he kept staring at me. Quickly realizing his tone, he cleared his throat and tried to take it back.

—Ahh, to talk more comfortable. I smiled. I liked him too much, couldn't he see it?

We were facing each other. My breath was starting to hitch again, my heart was racing and it was enough just to see the beauty of his face.

At times like this, I pray for him to go away, only then I could breathe. —So, how was your night?

I used a soft tone and tilted my head a bit to listen to him, just acting like everything is fine. Felix let out a sigh, frustrated, puffing out his cheeks.

—You know well I was nervous, but I enjoyed it, people were so kind —he laughed softly—. It was fun, a lot of people came to Hyunjin and I, they were nice, the atmosphere was good, I guess.

—That's good to hear. I saw him pass his gaze to my lips quickly, then quickly divert to the counter, where he captured the cookies on the container.

—From where? —he pointed them out.

—Oh, from the bakery nearby, didn't you see it when you came here?

—I think so, it looks nice —he smiled at me.

—Do you want some? —I asked him, to which I hurriedly stretched out my hand to reach for the container.

Felix nodded, and gently stretched his neck, opening his mouth. He waited for me to feed him. I unconsciously smiled like a fool at his action and took a cookie, handing it to his mouth, Felix laughed between mouthfuls and took it. From a sweet and innocent act it went to tension, as I suddenly felt his heavy gaze, fixed on me, as he delicately licked his lips. Felix. Making me go from one emotion to another. Does he know how nervous he makes me? I'm sure he does and I'm so embarrassed.

—Tastes good.

I smiled at him. With nothing more to say, I thought for a few seconds until he spoke again.

—So you didn't go out today?

I shook my head.

—I came here and wanted to rest a bit. Felix let out a light chuckle, then took a sip from his glass. I must admit, I memorized every little detail of something that only lasted three seconds… it was like in slow motion. Him, with his elegant build, dressed in a way he regularly doesn't, his shiny black button-down shirt, his formal black jeans, his hair still perfectly groomed despite hours of a tedious social event… the way his arm came up and the glass came to touch his mouth, gently closing his eyes and stretching his head back. I was absolutely lost. Absorbed. I averted my gaze as fast as I could when I realized he wanted to captivate mine.

—And… Hyunjin… didn't he want to hang out?

Felix looked down for a second and gave a half smile.

—Not really… he said he wanted to rest. But I did want to come and spend some time. He looked at me once more. This time I could feel the tension and the incredible magnetism in our flimsy bodies. Under the glowing light of my kitchen. Just the two of us. Was it me or was his breathing getting heavy? I smiled at him. Again, out of words to which he added:

—I wanted to see you.

I froze, I swear if he touchs me I can turn into a liquid state. Still, I pray for him to do it. Now. I watched his fingers play with the cup, and the seconds seemed eternal. I didn't know what to say.

—Wanna listen some music? —he suddenly interrupted, clearing his throat and putting his hand over his fingers.

He quickly stood up on his seat. I looked at him confused; Felix headed for the turntable in my living room.

I soon realized, he may have felt uncomfortable, unrequited. I should have said something, silly me. Why doesn't he just take me, can't he see that? Why doesn't he just...

—I listen to it a lot for my French class —he said cheerfully, showing me the cover of Edith Piaf's album.

I smiled warmly at him as I approached him. One thing about Felix is that he would act as if nothing had happened a few seconds ago, just like me, one of the few things alike that we shared.

—It's fun to learn with music.

—True... but I don't feel in the mood for Piaf's...

—How about… —he turned, searching through the albums until finally showing me one— Yes.

My smile widened so suddenly.

—Lana? Really?

—You say it's always a good time to listen to her.

I wanted to capture him in that moment. Him holding my favorite album, with a smile, taking it gently.

—And it is.

Nervously, without thoughts, I sat down on the couch. The first few seconds are a kind of crunching sound emitted by the record player, it's so... satisfying, then the best part started: the guitar of cruel world, the song. I closed my eyes tightly, hiding my excitement.

Opening my eyes I found a smiling Felix, approaching me, then sitting down next to me. If I thought about it, Felix's all black outfit, his dark hair, matched the album aesthetic completely.

—I love that song —I told him.

—I know. You love all of them.

I looked sideways at him as I blushed. The song with that slight crackle was so special, I hadn't heard it in a while. I'm obsessed again.

—I'd do anything to hear it for the first time. To erase my memory and... experience it again.

Felix laughed. I was so happy to hear Lana that I unconsciously moved closer and closer to him.

When the song ended, suddenly it caught my attention that he got up from the couch to go get his phone from the counter, where he stayed for a while, apparently just texting. I sighed, and decided to approach him. He was acting strange out of the blue, I thought he liked me back... I have to prove it before I build up any more stupid expectations.

Felix laughed and kept on texting. It was no big deal. He was confirming his schedule with someone on his staff for tomorrow. Or so I read. As I steped back, slowly, I saw his relaxed expression, and his adorable profile. Well, if I didn't do it now he would leave with nothing but a void in me.

I tried to pretend to check my phone too, but nothing was getting my attention.

—Felix —I called for his attention.

He raised his eyebrows, as a sign that he was listening, but he wasn't. His eyes were glued to the phone screen, his fingers typing nimbly. He looked so good doing the tiniest thing, still, I wanted his attention.

—Felix —I called him back, to which he unexpectedly locked his phone, placing it on the table and stared at me.

He folded his arms, looking relaxed. He was leaning on the edge of the table, facing my living room. Good. Now I had his attention. It took me a few seconds, I tried to captivate him, to let him feel the atmosphere, to which, then, feeling the blood rise in my cheeks, I let out a small laugh at the phrase however I dared to tell him:

—Do you want to kiss me already?

He thought about it the shortest second and the next, finally, he drew a shy smile on his face, moved closer to me... and I felt his lips on mine. I could die right there.

His hands took hold of my waist and pulled him closer to his body. We were pressed together, moving our lips slowly, enjoying ourselves. I tried to stand on my tiptoes, as my arms wrapped around his body as well. We lasted like that for a sweet minute, his right hand ran from my waist to my face, where he placed his hand on. We looked at each other. The glance after the act was always….

I didn't have time to think. He interrupted my thoughts as his lips crashed into mine again, but this time it was more passionate, quick, desperate. I think we had only kissed like this once before, and it ended up leaving me totally craving something more.

I felt the warmth and softness of his fleshy lips brush mine; this time his grip was stronger, and his hands torturously roamed my body, my back, waist, caressed my hair, I felt his hands touch my flimsy silk pajamas, and I noticed the coldness of his shirt buttons and belt sticking to me. I tried to keep up with him, but suddenly his tongue made me open my mouth wider. He was initiating it.

I just wanted a piece of him tonight, before he walked through that door, before I went to sleep sad that I didn't tell him how intensely I felt...that I wanted him. But this felt so intimate, special. I hope he can finish what he's starting, my legs don't respond, I can hold on because of his strong grip and I feel my temperature rising.

Our breaths shorten. We manage to separate, but Felix looks serious, focused. Then the torture continues, he follows with light kisses, at the corner of my lips, around my face, my lips, the tip of my nose, at one point in his actions, our hands intertwine and he continues, teasing me. He knows I'm impulsive and may take his lips in a desperate act; but I didn't feel like doing it now, that little moment felt so right, lovely, warm, perfect.

Slowly, his kisses came down, each brush felt like a prick, it's sharp, startling, pleasurable pain. My breathing was getting faster and faster and I can hear the throbbing in my ears... for a second I thought if he is feeling the same. But I couldn't get a good look at him. He deposited kisses on my jaw all the way down to the neck. So this was how it was going to happen. I thought.

I couldn't help but feel the sudden violent throbbing in my lower part. Shit, this time I was already wet. I was aroused and I was dying to know if he was feeling the same.

His perfume overwhelms me and the brush of his nose kills me. For a second it's not about sex, it's not about the incredible urge I have for him to take me, remove my clothes and have him do with me in sudden frenzied actions of his, to cry and scream... for a second... it's about the art of touching skin to skin. I needed him. To feel him close. So close. To breathe in his scent as I lay my head on his shoulder, making me his. It was almost as if this whole process was so tedious, I wanted to be under his skin already. To feel wanted by him.

I was about to regain my composure until he came to give me kisses on my shoulders. I was just asking over and over again in my inner thoughts and cries, please take off my blouse.

He grabbed my butt and again pulled me into his body. That's when I opened my eyes a little in surprise as I finally felt him and, I realized, we were both aroused.

His cheeks were colored with a slight reddish tinge and his hands traveled from my ass to the inside of my blouse, where he roamed my waist. The cool touch of his rings against my warm skin made me let out a soft moan, one that managed to make Felix smile broadly.

Once again we found ourselves kissing, but now slowly, delicately and passionately. His hands were finally touching my skin, sometimes he would bring his hand up and I felt his thumbs play with my nipples, he would squeeze my breast and, I had to admit, I loved it. But it frustrated me at the same time.

As we parted, in a quick act due to my frustration, I boldly removed my blouse and threw it on the floor, letting Felix see part of my naked body for the first time and, giving him the green light, that is absolutely happening tonight. I wanted it so badly. I wanted him to see it all if it's possible.

He opened his mouth slightly in surprise, I let him watch for a few seconds and before he could make the next move, I stepped forward, giving him another quick, passionate kiss, then I was the one moving down his neck and then to his slight bare chest. As I did so I could hear Felix's heavy breathing close to my ear, followed by sighs of frustration, exasperation and the occasional slight moan in his deep voice, which really turned me on more and made my legs lose the strength to stand there, standing in front of him. My bare breasts brushed against his silky shirt and I felt the pressure of his hands caressing my bare back, occasionally pushing my loose hair away from my face.

Finally I managed to unbutton his shirt, I stretched it a little to get it out of the grip of his belt and left it open; I saw his flat and worked abdomen, stupidly I ran my hands over it, feeling it; Felix let out a chuckle with an arrogant tone, to which I quickly raised my eyes and he stopped laughing, even so, he returned a sweet smile, one that ended up melting me.

Unsure, I started moving down, depositing kisses on his chest then his abdomen... if I kept moving down this would have a consequence, so I hurriedly and nervously, directed my hand to his erection, where I gently touched it on his pants. I looked up to see Felix's reaction, but he was already closing his eyes, letting himself go. I squeezed it some more, massaging it, this time Felix moaned. From one second to the next, I was on my knees. In front of his notorious bulge, about to do what it's excpected.

Felix leaned back agains the table a little, relaxed his body and with his left hand began to gently stroke my hair.

When my breathing was becoming uncontrollable, choppy and irregular I was starting to like it more. Just like now. With trembling hands, from excitement and nerves, I unbuckled first his belt... then the button of his pants, his zipper... before pulling it down, I looked at Felix, who was watching me from above, even at that angle he looked so good. I think I had fantasized about seeing him in this position... me pleasuring him.

—Do it —he said to me, in a frustrated tone, almost in a gasp.

His voice became deeper than normal. He licked his lips and waited to be satisfied.

My knees were losing resistance, and the pulsations in me were getting stronger and stronger. My mouth began to produce more saliva and I felt my cheeks burn intensely.

I finally pulled down his pants where I found his erection on top of his underwear, more prominent.

I wanted to play his same game, and I kissed slowly over the fabric, stuck my tongue out moistening him a little and used my hands. It was soft and hard at the same time. Meanwhile, I heard Felix cursing in a low tone and sighing. But I couldn't resist that little game anymore, so I pulled the elastic of his underwear, and I had to turn my face away, otherwise he was going to slap me. I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them to finally see him. I blushed instantly, perplexed that this was actually all happening, me about to give him a blowjob... and I used to be so shy around Felix.

It was perhaps, better than I had imagined, perfect length —I think even a little bigger than I thought— perfect thickness, color and obviously kept the area clean. Shit, it looked so good.

I directed my left hand to his straight, firm manhood, feeling the texture of his skin, going up and down, stroking his tip with my fingers, until I reached the other end. Meanwhile my best friend lifted his head back in pleasure with muffled moans.

Before I felt it in my mouth, I wanted to feel it on my lips. I wanted every end of me to feel his texture... I was pretty sure this was going to keep me happy for quite some time... and of course, his love and understanding, I hoped.

I kissed it once, then opened my mouth, closed my eyes and ran his length across my lips. His warm, stiff, throbbing sex was finally at my disposal, his pleasure was now up to me and the thought was enough to make me wet again. I could be on my knees, below him, but I still felt that all the power belonged to me now.

Without further ado, I held him with moderate force and began to lick him, moistening and lubricating him... from his glans to his base, tentatively taking his balls from time to time and at last, I was ready to take him into my mouth. Concentrating on not ruining it, I sucked hard, using my tongue and making him rub the softness of the inside of my cheeks. He seemed to love it.

That's when I noticed a weak Felix, surrendered and letting himself go, holding more and more to the kitchen counter with his hand and the other one not letting go of my hair.

I continued my work, in, out, from shallow... to trying deeper, pulling him out, flicking my tongue and when I felt my jaw hurt, I used my hands.

Felix's moans and gasps were getting hotter and hotter. But nothing compared when he moaned my name in his voice, or when he let out little whispers, like this, it feels good, it was the best music to my ears, even better than the one that was playing in the background... it was priceless, the feeling was on another level. I wanted to be his already.

The atmosphere was burning, nothing around us could turn us off, he was totally lost to the pleasurable sensations and desire. His moans were so hot, blending together with the music and the grotesque sounds of his penis in my mouth, it was all too much that I couldn't help but run my hand slowly over my body, traveling over my tits, pressing them, imagining it's him, finally him, until I reached my wet spot. I was dying to be touched, but I had to stop myself. I really wanted it to be him this time.

Felix noticed my groping, bit his lip and, between the incredibly deep look of lust —a dark, piercing, serious yet brilliant look, my new favorite look of his— I noticed his intentions to stop me and take me. To touch me.

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to stop until I saw him cum. Climax. For me. And only for me. I wanted to see him made a mess just for me. If that included having to hold out a little longer for his touch, I would hold out.

I kept up my work for a while longer, keeping a rhythm, speeding it up, feeling every outstanding vein, his skin texture and fat vibrating cock inside my mouth and sliding down my tongue. Tears were starting to come out of my eyes, my nose was about to get runny… I was so turned on that if he didn't cum, I would at any moment. I swear his moans, the strong grip on my hair, loud sighs and gasps as he called my name were enough for me. I was going crazy.

I could tell how much he loved to be pleasured, the movement of his hips was slight, and his little pushes and pulls on my hair were gentle; just Felix always being so considerate.

Until I felt salty droplets of his pre-seminal fluid coming out of him, lubricating the area more, making it slippery, I knew he was going to cum soon. So I continued, harder.

Felix's moans began to change suddenly his ahh was getting deeper and steadier, his legs were getting weaker and that's when I suddenly felt something warm shot my mouth, followed by a loud exasperated moan from my best friend, fuck, he yelled. He filled my mouth, dripping semen on the edges of it.

I was surprised, but I couldn't help but smile in satisfaction, seeing him fully yielding, with his head back, I was just looking at his bare abdomen, his long neck and marked jaw. I withdrew my mouth and hands slowly, still a mess was made, one that didn't bother me at all, after all it was what I was looking for. His semen fell a little on the floor and there were drops on my chest; I didn't know exactly what to do so I thoughtfully swallowed it. After all Felix was a guy who kept his diet healthy, just someone to trust I guess.

I looked up and found Felix staring down at me from above, at a fucking hot angle, with a cocky grin, he said with a husky voice:

—Did you just swallow it?

My cheeks burned in embarrassment, I was already hot, and my face already had that pink tinge to it; but for some reason I felt the intensity of the color rise, I didn't know what to say, I was suddenly back to my shy self; was it wrong?

His hands searched my cheeks and lifted my gaze. Quickly, I stood up, never breaking eye contact.

—You're too good. Good girl.

Still, I was still so horny and wanting so much more. Felix smiled at me, moved dangerously close to me and with his thumb wiped the semen beside my mouth, ran his finger across my lips and made me open my mouth, tasting him one last time. I would never have thought Felix would do something like that, I was surprised and delighted. At the end of the day he was just a little older than me, I guess there is more sex experience in him than I know; I was dying to know.

Without hesitating, he took me by the waist and sat me on the table, the cold, hard marble stone it was made of made me moan. This time Felix had no time to waste, so he pulled hard on my shorts and panties, leaving them lying on the floor and me, completely naked and vulnerable in front of him. I quickly glanced down at my body and then stared at him, his chest still rising and falling from heavy breathing, his gaze turned darker than usual and he still looked focused.

I blushed, he only moved closer to me, separating my legs to accommodate his body and began to kiss me, but now his hand was holding my neck tightly and the other was squeezing and playing with my breasts until he reached my wet pussy, where I put my legs together a little and gave a little jump of surprise when I felt his fingers pass through my area.

I confidently opened up more and more to Felix and wanted to enjoy his touch. I felt two of his slender fingers run up and down, until they found my clitoris, which made me moan in between the kiss, making me shudder, making my nipples hard and, by uncertainty, bringing me closer to his body. Finally he squeezed it and began to make movements, up and down and then circularly. He pulled away from me, but his face was inches from mine. I saw in detail his serious countenance, his pink lips with their perfect heart shape, the freckles scattered across his face and the hair falling a little to his forehead beginning to unkempt, our eyes meeting again.

I held myself with both hands, placed firmly on the table, but I felt small in front of him, I felt like he was now in total control of me. My muscles were contracting, my stomach was enlarging and shrinking from my breaths and constant sighs of excitement… his touch made me swoon. He continued like this, a few painful minutes in which I felt more and more of my climax until he moved down and inserted two of his fingers. It felt so good, with his thumb he kept caressing my clitoris and wet labia; he kept his rhythm, without being rough, it was perfect. I closed my eyes and let myself go, still wanting more of his touch.

—Does it feel good? —he said in my ear in a husky voice.

He smiled broadly. I knew it filled his pride and he liked knowing he was good at what he did, if not the best. At times I was afraid this would happen, Felix can be a bit of a perfectionist, yet he seemed to handle it very well, he cum for me and just now I was watching him masturbating himself. His hand was going up and down and pulling hard his cock, he seemed to be a little rough on himself. He looked so good. I suddenly realized, I wanted him inside me right now.

Felix caught me watching him, removed his fingers from me and began to tease me, rubbing the head of his erect penis over my wet, throbbing lips, pressing and slapping it. I just groaned in frustration.

—Do you have a con…?

—Do it like this —I interrupted him, aroused.

Felix frowned, confused and unsure of his next move.

—They're in my room. But you can really do it like this —I tried to calm him down and persuade him.

I didn't want to walk to my room for a condom and I didn't want him to come off me right at the best time of night either. Yes, I was thinking stupidly and one little mistake could be forever but those were problems of the future, now I was here, next to him, ready for him to fuck me.

Then, the thing I craved so much, he pushed it into me, slowly until it was all inside. Felix grabbed my waist, pulling me closer to his body, feeling his length deepest in me. I let out a moan. Him inside me felt so good, so right.

And then he started with the non-stop movements, the thrusts. He started slow and when I felt it, I asked for him to do it faster. The sound of our bodies colliding was beutiful. Felix in one swift movement gracefully slid his shirt off, throwing it to the floor, leaned towards me and I couldn't help but touch his naked torso. His arms his back, and his thin silver chain dangling, moving. It felt so good I had forgotten what an incredible dancer he was, he had amazing control in his hips. His thrusts were strong, deep and steady, each one deteriorating me, destroying me, in the best possible way.

My breasts were moving up and down and Felix was moaning and panting freely near my ear. Everything was wonderful. I managed to wrap my legs around his body and stroke his soft hair, I was feeling so full and full that I could predict my climax at any moment. He felt it, my legs trembling, my muscles shrinking, my back arching and my eyes watering with my grip on his back tighter, my inner walls felt so hot, wrapping his hard dick tightly.

So, before I could cum, he kissed me, caught my lips, passionately. And I climaxed, this time moaning louder than the previous times and one more time… calling his name.

Felix didn't cum yet, but he seemed happier for my reaction as a half-smile appeared on his face. He continued inside me but now in a more delicate and slower, almost romantic way, until he pulled his erection out of me, resting it on my belly and came.

I was trying to catch my breath, as was he, for a few seconds we said nothing. Until we looked into each other's eyes and we both burst into laughter. It was bit funny because evidently we both wanted to have each other so badly.

I got off the table, thinking, this doesn’t have to end yet, I feel sticky for the fluids and a little embarrased. Since we were here, there was one more thing I wanted to do, well, hundreds, but right now I was only thinking of one. I want to jump on his dick.

—Let's go to my room —I said, taking his hands, almost in a plea—. Take off your clothes.

Felix still had his pants and underwear on, only they were both pulled down. Without looking back I walked to my room, almost jumping of happiness. I waited for him, sitting on my bed. I was wet and ready again just thinking about it. Felix came in a few seconds later, shy, blushing and covering his area, as if I hadn't seen it all before. I laughed slowly and he sat down next to me, on the edge of the bed, so with a nod I told him to settle in nicely, with his full body to the bed.

Finally we were both naked, ready to give ourselves completely once again. I spread my legs apart one on each side of him, putting my body in front, and kissed him again. That unique kiss that we loved to give each other so much, passionate, strong and intense. My hands went down from his abs to his already hard cock, playing with it a little. As we parted, I looked at him, and confessed:

—I want to feel all of you again, Felix; is that okay?

That meant I wanted to feel every raw texture of his hard cock inside me, every inch rubbing all over my guts.

He looked at me, so fucking cute with his big brown cat eyes; he nodded shyly.

I smiled and put it on. Slowly, teasing him. I played a little, rubbing it in my area, rubbing it, just like he did. Letting myself fall gently on his cock, stroking it over my cunt without putting it inside of me yet, moving slowly back and forth, Felix closed his eyes in pleasure, and I couldn't hold back any longer, I was just getting wetter and wetter, my area was was throbbing, ready to ride my best friend's cock.

So I stared at him.

—Now it's my turn —I said.

I had this theory that Felix liked to be slightly dominated and, evidently he liked to have the attention to him and I seriously liked to give, so it was a perfect dynamic. And without further ado, I settled him right into me. Felix moaned and his hands held my waist tightly.

Then I started to do it finally, what I wanted so badly after all. I jumped on him, slowly moving up and down… as I felt his hands run up and down my body, damn it was excellent. My cheeks once again burned and I felt slight sweat break out on me. Felix seemed to love it and that was just what I wanted. I rested my head near his neck for a moment, breathing in his scent and feeling his soft hair on my nose. I had him just the way I wanted, close to me.

Once again, the beautiful, grotesque sound of our skins colliding mixed with our pleasure-filled sighs and moans. Until culminating in my second orgasm and for him, his third. The sensation was so indescribable and more when you’re together with the person you wanted.

We hugged. Felix gave me a tender kiss on the cheek as he stroked my arm and hair. I expected nothing more from sweet Felix than adorable after care; he was just like that.

I think I was going to sleep next to him for the first time. Internally I squealed with excitement and returned the tender kiss on his cheek.

[hubbvrd]

number 45 with joe burrow please 💕💕

Surprise | Joe Burrow

summary — Moving house is not always stress-free. But despite the last few hard weeks, Joe makes sure to put a smile on your face with a surprise

pairing — joe burrow x reader

words — 1952

notes — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!!🧡

The last few weeks and months had been associated with a lot of stress and headaches.

Anyone who loved moving and said that it wasn't so bad and stressful was completely wrong.

For Joe and you, there had been nothing worse in the last few weeks and months than setting up your new home and packing moving boxes.

The countless hours spent in various furniture stores had been a lot of fun for you, but when it came to painting various walls and putting together all the countless pieces of furniture, there was the occasional argument between you out of sheer desperation.

However, you were able to resolve the small arguments about how you should place the furniture in the respective rooms fairly quickly, so that every small argument was resolved within a few minutes.

"This is finally the last one." Joe puts the last box down in the hallway before running his fingers through his completely disheveled hair.

"We've finally done it," you murmur with relief and hand Joe a bottle of water before sitting down on the step and catching your breath.

In the last two hours, you've moved countless boxes from your old home to your new home and dragged them inside, so you're more than sure you'll be feeling sore muscles for the next few days.

"Finally," Joe agrees as he sits down next to you on the step and you rest your head on his shoulder.

"And who's going to unpack all our stuff now?" you mumble tiredly as you look at the piles of boxes blocking the passage to the open-plan living and dining room.

"That's the question..." Joe takes a big gulp from his water bottle before running his fingers through his hair again and letting out a loud sigh.

The move is already pretty exhausting as it is, but then there's the hot weather, which has doubled the strain on your strength.

"How about we take a little break first? We rest and eat a little and then we'll take care of all the boxes?" Joe suggests after a few minutes of silence, which almost caused you to doze off any second.

"Sounds like a great plan. If I knew where my bikini was, I'd jump into the cold water first and inaugurate our new pool."

A highlight for you is definitely the large pool in the garden, where you can swim a few lengths undisturbed or simply float in the water with an inflatable swimming animal.

"Fortunately, I've made sure that we can easily get to our swimming gear.

With a proud smile on his lips, Joe lifts a bag in front of your nose, from which he pulls out your bikini and you jump for joy, shrieking softly around your boyfriend's neck.

"You don't know how much I love you."

You give Joe a kiss on the cheek and then pick up your bikini.

Joe gives you a soft laugh in response.

"Let's see who's in the pool first." He more or less challenges you and before you can answer, Joe has already disappeared into the bathroom to get changed.

"That's not fair! You started way too early!" you shout after him with a laugh and slowly get up from the stairs.

You can already feel the muscles in your arms and thighs starting to ache slightly and you probably won't be able to move without pain tomorrow.

But you don't really care about that right now, because the only thing that matters right now is the pool of your new garden, so you quickly change into your everyday clothes and then throw on your favorite bikini before grabbing your towel and running into the garden.

Your old garden was quite small and had hardly any space to do anything big in it, which wasn't the case at all in the new garden.

The new garden is almost three times the size of the old garden and offers so much space for countless possibilities that the huge green space is almost crying out to be filled with beautiful things.

Once the house is ready, Joe and you will get to work on the garden, for which your Pinterest board was already almost overflowing with countless different possibilities just waiting to be realized.

"Do you want to keep staring at the garden or finally join me in the pool?" Joe's voice pulls you back to the here and now.

Your boyfriend is already in the water, floating on his back through the water, looking so relaxed and rested that a smile spreads across your lips.

"The water's even nice and cold" he adds as he slowly stands up and swims over to the edge of the pool.

"Just what I need, then."

A smile forms on your lips as you walk across the warm lawn to the pool and then sit down at the edge and let your legs slide into the cold water.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you begin to feel the cold water on your skin. Joe is right, despite the heat today, the water is incredibly pleasant, so you slide into the cool water without hesitation and then stand opposite Joe.

"I was telling the truth," he smiles, trying to tell you that he's not always pulling your leg like you accused him of a few days ago.

Because every now and then Joe loved to pull your leg, more or less.

Just yesterday he tried to convince you to watch a movie that wasn't even supposed to be scary. But in the end, you were so creeped out that you had to bury your face in Joe's shirt for the rest of the movie.

"This time, but who knows when you won't. I think you like to tease me, Burrow, and that's not fair."

You splash a little water on his face, which only makes the person opposite you start to laugh quietly.

"Lie. I would never do this. How could I?" he replies with a laugh and a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You're such a liar," you pout lightly as you swim towards him and then cling to him, trying to somehow push him under the water, which turns out not to be too easy.

Joe is standing so firmly that you barely manage to move him even an inch.

A resounding laugh rings out above you, which only makes you pout even more.

"That's not fair."

"Oh, y/n. You really are incredibly cute." amused, Joe presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms tightly around you and starts to swim off with you.

"I'll probably have to eat the whole pizza by myself today so that I can push you under the water tomorrow," you reply with a shrug and a big grin on your lips, to which Joe just rolls his eyes.

"How much time do we have until the pizza arrives?"

After you had put on your bikini, you ordered pizza for both of you via a delivery service so that you didn't have to cook anything or drive out to get something to eat.

"About another thirty minutes."

"That's enough." In one swift movement, Joe lifts you out of the pool and climbs out after you.

"Hey, we haven't been in the pool long," you pout again as Joe puts the towel around your shoulders and you snuggle up in it.

"We still have enough time for this in the coming weeks, months and years."

You watch Joe as he also puts a towel around his shoulders before holding out his hand to you with the words "Follow me, I have a suprise for you"

"A surprise? I love surprises!" you exclaim in anticipation as you take Joe's hand in yours and another soft laugh comes from Joe's direction.

"I know that. That's why I love giving you surprises." Joe squeezes your hand gently before walking with you across the lawn to the small hut at the end of the garden.

In fact, it wasn't exactly rare for Joe to give you a surprise.

He often brought you flowers, your favorite sweets or ice cream after training or after a game.

He also often took you out to dinner or on other romantic dates.

Joe's romantic side was one of the many reasons you fell in love with the Bengals quarterback.

"Do you want to show me all the big, nasty spiders in the cabin?" you ask with a slightly contorted face as you start to think back to the day of the tour.

Because on the day you first visited your dream house and were blown away by it, the hut more or less disgusted you.

Because the huge mess, which was accompanied by countless spiders and cobwebs in the hut, had already given you a big stomach ache during the viewing, so that you were already dreading having to clear this hut of all the spiders and cobwebs one day and then clean it out.

"No, don't worry," Joe assures you as you stop in front of the hut, which now has a new coat of white paint and no longer shows the hideous peeling paint, and Joe takes out the keys.

Outside the windows of the hut you can see white curtains that hadn't been there before.

Before you can even ask Joe why the cabin has curtains, Joe opens the door and gently pushes you inside and what you see inside leaves you open-mouthed.

The walls are lined with countless white bookshelves that reach up to the ceiling. There is a ladder on the shelves, which ensures that you can easily reach the top shelves.

All your books have found their place on the shelves and despite all this, there are still countless free compartments for more new books.

There is also a cozy armchair for reading, a matching stool, lots of fairy lights and lamps, as well as a rug that makes the room even cozier.

"Wow..." you stammer, overwhelmed, as you slowly turn in a circle, trying to take in every corner of the room.

Joe stands in the doorway and watches you with a broad smile as tears slowly well up in your eyes and you look over at him, moved.

"Surprise," he whispers as you cross the room in three long strides and fall into your boyfriend's arms as sobs escape you.

"Thank you, darling," you whisper, sobbing into his chest as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you gently.

"I thought this hut was perfect for your reading room. Here you can read undisturbed and run your book blog and all your other book channels."

"It really is. You don't know how much this means to me, thanks Joe." You slowly lift your gaze and look into your boyfriend's shining eyes.

"I was happy to do that, y/n. It's incredibly important to me that you have your own four walls where you can pursue your passion and since our house isn't really finished yet, it was important to me that this room is finished first and that you have it so that you can retreat and immerse yourself in the world of books."

Joe's words cause countless tears to start rolling down your cheeks.

You can't put into words how touched you are by his words and his surprise, so you whisper a quiet "Thank you" and then press your lips to Joe's.

And you realize once again how much you love Joe. And how grateful you are that he is by your side and that you are the one who gets to wake up by his side every day.

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come. 

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island. 

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits. 

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness. 

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you. 

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week. 

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth. 

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber. 

-

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size. 

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side. 

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck. 

But not at your island. 

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm. 

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after. 

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull. 

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something. 

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust. 

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance. 

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name. 

The name of the ship. 

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull. 

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned. 

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man. 

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them. 

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface. 

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side. 

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest. 

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked. 

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home. 

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive. 

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier. 

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled. 

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage. 

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home. 

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air. 

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water. 

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do. 

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later. 

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck. 

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope. 

But there was nothing else you could do. 

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside. 

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault. 

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

-

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen. 

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead. 

A fever. 

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good. 

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor. 

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak. 

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive. 

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you. 

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing. 

This man was a long way from home. 

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now. 

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

-

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove. 

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth. 

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered. 

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move. 

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less. 

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you. 

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“ 

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

-

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come. 

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed. 

You stifled a laugh at the thought. 

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire. 

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view. 

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands. 

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence. 

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat. 

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue. 

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary). 

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~  The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming. 

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside. 

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours. 

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet. 

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids. 

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!” 

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft. 

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you. 

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her.  You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?” 

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant? 

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.” 

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.” 

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?” 

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?” 

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.” 

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew. 

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.” 

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company. 

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

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed. 

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash. 

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest. 

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!” 

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down. 

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks. 

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night. 

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

[chvnnie]

my baby fever… its not going away…. help

Chan bought one of those little baby bathtubs the second he found out you were pregnant. It fit so perfectly in the kitchen sink, as if the house were constructed for the little life inside your belly. When he got to bathe the baby for the first time, using a tiny yellow wash cloth to gently clean her skin, tears stung his eyes. Though he bought this with every intention of using it, he never thought the day would actually come. Little, bright eyes blinking up at her father. A tiny hand reaching for his large fingers. He savors every second he gets to use the tiny tub, the day she’ll grow out of seeming impossibly far away.

It’s no surprise that Minho spends too much time in the kitchen, chopping away at veggie and fruits and pouring them into a blender. Different mixes based off your daughter’s preference. She just decided she loves the taste of peas, so he’s been putting them in all her food. It helps her explore new flavors, and there’s nothing that brings him more pride than watching his daughter enjoy the food he made for her. All the extras are spooned into jars, tucked away in the freezer for later use. Or to give to his friends — they really need to start making their own baby food, and stop stealing from Minho’s supply.

The twins see Changbin’s arms as a jungle gym; gripping onto his biceps tightly, squealing when he starts to lift them up. Their little legs kick out, the copy/paste versions of your husband overjoyed every time they’re lifted up higher and higher. Changbin’s arms are really sore today (he went a little hard in the gym) and honestly, he doesn’t love two three year olds clinging to him and begging him to lift them up over and over and over again. It’s another workout in itself. But he won’t stop until they’re tried of it — it’s worth the exhaustion.

It was Hyunjin’s idea to paint his daughter’s bedroom like this. Together they sit on the ground, the plastic of the protective wrap crinkling underneath them. Her hands are face up, pointed towards her father. Occasionally she giggles, telling him how cold the paint is on her bare skin. But she stays still, waiting until he covers every inch of her hand with the pale pink paint. Once he gives her the okay, she starts to place her hand on the wall. Over and over, leaving little marks until the paint has come off. Then, she sits again, asking for yellow paint this time.

Jisung couldn’t escape the studio today. There was too much work to do, and as much as he tried to push it off, eventually he had to go in. Your daughter is only about three months old, her head so tiny in the center of your partner’s chest. The black strap keeps her close to his body, his hands over her ears as he raps into the microphone in front of him. He doesn’t want to wake her. He doesn’t want to put her down. This is what will have to work. He runs the lyrics over and over again, her tiny breaths fanning across his t-shirt. Not once does she stir until he has stepped out to edit the track, whimpering softly. It’s time to focus on her — the track can wait.

Felix loves how warm his bed is when the kids are sleeping with you guys. He gets it, this is a hard habit to break. But there’s something about the way his daughter is tucked into his side, your leg reaching across to lay on top of his. It’s crowded, he’s teetering the edge. Honestly, he hasn’t slept that well tonight either. Ideally, there wouldn’t have been a storm, scaring his five and three year old into your shared bed. Felix would have been asleep a long time ago, hands all over you as he kept you close. But the second he starts to regret it, he hears his son’s snores. Feels his daughter shift in bed. Then he remembers how lucky he is to have this problem.

Seungmin’s son is gripping the rail in front of him for dear life. Brown eyes blown wide, looking out the window of their Ferris wheel seat. The five year old begged and begged until the two of you finally gave in — and what a shocker, your son who can barely get on a playground structure without complaining about the height hates it. Seungmin runs a hand over his soft hair, reassuring him that it’s safe. Mama and Papa are here, nothing bad can happen to him. He repeats that under his breath — Mama and Papa. Safe. Mama and Papa. Safe. Though, it doesn’t sound like he’s too convinced of it. That is, until you reach the peek. The ocean laid out before you three, sun making the water sparkle. His little hands relax, lips parting as he takes in the sight. That’s the day he fell in love with the sea, safe in between his Mama and Papa.

Jeongin turned his head for less than thirty seconds, just wanting to get a drink from his water bottle. That’s how long it took for his son to fall off his scooter, bare knees hitting the concrete hard and sliding. His sons cries bring his attention back, the water bottle hitting the ground. Rushing over to his son, Jeongin helps him up. Brings him in for a hug. He cries into his father’s shoulders, knees burning and bloody. It was scary. He went over a rock and lost control. It hurts. There are so many things going on in his little head right now. Jeongin picks up his son, carrying him inside the house and straight to the kitchen. He places him on the counter, cleaning the wounds as his son eats a popsicle. No stitches are needed thankfully — just a wipe and a bandaid, and it should clear up in a couple days. Though, his fear of the scooter is a little harder to shake.

so did that help or—

[blushweddinggowns]

Steddie Drunk Dialing Fluff

Steve Harrington-Munson was probably one of the happiest men to be alive in the modern era. He had the perfect life, against all odds. Because apparently having your late teens and early twenties ruined by demons equated to a fantastic adulthood.

He had it all. A loving family, the best friend/surrogate sister he could ever ask for, and he was married to the love of his life. And okay, yes. That had included some extremely embarrassing revelations and internal meltdowns and... a pretty brutal disownment. But he had figured it all out in the end. And here he was, a decade later with a ring on his finger and a nice hyphenated name. Not to mention how he was basically a trophy husband.

Eddie hadn't wasted a moment of the last decade. A symptom of almost dying it would seem. He went for the GED, gathered the band back up, moved across the country to chase his dreams and play in every shitty dive bar he could until they were discovered. All while dragging Steve along for the ride.

As much as Steve had believed in him, neither of them had been prepared for his music career actually taking off. Especially not to the level it did. It was undeniable that his husband was an A-Lister, despite how universally hated he was by half the country. You don't get many out and proud metal front man who loved parading around his high school sweetheart at every social event he could. But Europe loved him, as did the entirety of gay, rebellious youths world wide.

It was so stupid. There Eddie was, painted as an insane freak who was fake-married. With tabloids running story after story about his secret children, his drug addiction, a wife from another country, anything that they could think of. All while Eddie spent every free moment at Steve's side, always opting for a night in with his baby when given the choice. And when he wasn't doing that, he was busy playing surrogate fun uncle to the kids, who were definitly not kids anymore. But that didn't stop them from all getting together for Dungeons and Dragons once a month, hundreds and hundreds of campaign hours on everyone's belts. And that was his life. Spending time with his family, forcing them on hikes and runs, volunteering, working occasionally to help Robin with her translating work, all while coming home to the sweetest thing that ever existed.

God, did Steve love that man. Reminiscing about the love of his life while he was on tour was not helping his fretful sleep. He just... really had given him everything. He loved him so much in fact that he was only slightly pissed when he was woken up at three a.m. from the phone ringing off the hook.

Steve reached for it blindly, still half-asleep when he mumbled, "Mm-Eds?"

"Steeeeeeeeeevie," Eddie's voice slurred back at him, "Baby booooy. How's my baby boy? I miss my baby boy."

Steve smiled despite himself, yawning into the phone. Eddie was lucky he was so cute, considering how the love of his life who could not remember what time zones were, "He misses you too. And he's a little tired right now babe. What's up?"

"Day drunk," Eddie sighed, "Guys, morning show, mimosas, hotel room to sleep it off. Missing you."

"You won't be missing me for long," Steve softly laughed. Though... hearing his voice was quite the reminder of how cold the bed suddenly felt, "Just... one more week. That's not too long right?"

"Too long!" Eddie groaned, dramatic, "I miss you now. Why can't I see you now? Wait-Can I see you now? Cause planes and trains and-"

"And no," Steve interrupted with a chuckle, "You'd only get me for a few hours before you'd have to leave again."

"Worth it," Eddie mumbled out, his voice a little muffled as he tumbled around in his hotel bed, "Want my baby."

The pathetic tilt to his voice was enough to make Steve's heart clench. God he was too precious. Suddenly a red-eye in the middle of the night for a two hour make-out session didn't sound like such a bad idea. But he could be the strong one for tonight, "You have me sweetheart. Want me to stay on until you fall asleep."

"Yes please," Eddie sighed, "Love your voice. It's so... nice. Like... audible perfume. Like poetry or something."

"Oh baby you are wasted," Steve said as he laid back down, nestling the phone to his ear, "Please tell me you drank some water before laying down?"

"... maybe?"

"Babe."

"I knoooow. Keep nagging me though. I missed that too."

"Is my bitching your bed time story?"

He could hear Eddie nodding, rusting against the fabric, "And it's the best. Keep going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but he did what he was asked. Saying every silly little grievance he could think of. He whined about how cold it was in bed without him, how Eddie had promised to take out the trash before he left and forgot. Again. How he hated how quiet it was without him, how much he missed hearing his voice trailing in and out of every room.

And Eddie listened, mumbling out a few sleepy m'sorrys and I love yous along the way. Until all Steve could hear was the slow, steady sound of his breathing. But he didn't hang up. Not when that was one of his favorite sounds in the world. And the perfect thing to fall asleep to.

Steve smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, a little amazed that Eddie could still make him feel so loved, from hundreds of miles away.

But one thing was for sure. He still had to be the happiest man on earth.

[inorganicone2230]

Like Hoarded Gold (Part 1) Yandere!Gojo/Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are complete strangers to you, but when they unexpectedly learn of the tragic news that has irrevocably shattered your life to pieces, the two of them become determined to help you and make you happy again, whether you want them to or not.

Warnings: Not many for this chapter, just the guys being nosy creeps for now.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this or any future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

“Come on, babe.”

Satoru Gojo moaned shamelessly into the kiss he shared with his lifelong friend and romantic partner, Suguru Geto, as he pressed the dark haired man down into the gym mat of the darkened storeroom they had snuck into.

“You're so fucking needy.” 

Suguru playfully taunted him, even as he groaned and pawed at the other young man just as desperately, his hands finally finding purchase on Satoru’s hips so he could grind their still clothed and aching erections together.

They’d had a break between lectures and when Satoru had teasingly suggested that the two of them find a quiet spot for a quicky, he had been more than happy to agree, which was how they now found themselves in their current situation; namely, the two of them laid out on an old mat in the storeroom of the college gym, desperately dry-humping one another.

“You're not gonna sound so cocky once I’m balls-deep in your tight fucking ass.” Satoru shot back, nipping his neck hard enough that it was surely going to leave a very noticeable bruise, one he knew Suguru would wear with immense pride and satisfaction.

Suguru’s chuckle was deep and sensual as he reached between them to begin unbuckling his boyfriend's belt and pants, desperate to get his large hands wrapped around Satoru’s fat cock.

“Wanna bet on-”

The door to the storeroom suddenly creaked open and both men instantly froze as dim light from the previously empty gym briefly flooded the space before closing and going dark again.

“Shit!” Satoru whispered harshly into his ear, just loud enough so only he would hear it. “Did a professor or someone else follow us?”

It's not like the two of them had ever tried to hide their relationship from the public, such a thing would have been an impossible endeavor anyway, what with how affectionate and touchy Satoru could be most of the time. But even with their relationship being public knowledge, it still hadn't stopped the occasional creeper or fame-chaser from trying to catch them in compromising situations, usually to try and extort the white haired young man for a cut of his rather impressively large fortune and inheritance.

With the unexpected death of his parents only four years prior, and Satoru being their only child, he had been the sole beneficiary to the Gojo family's vast wealth and assets, and while he still had to graduate college first before he could receive the entirety of his inheritance in full, the monthly stipend he received every month to fund their lifestyle until then was certainly nothing to sneeze at.

But it also had the unfortunate drawback of painting a big red bullseye on his back, and subsequently Suguru’s as well, one that led some people to think that they would be an easy target for some quick cash if a compromising photo could be taken and dangled over their heads.

“Just stay quiet for now.” Suguru replied, then tenderly kissed Satoru's cheek with the kind of affection he knew would leave the Gojo heir blushing. “If they try anything, I'll be the one to handle it.”

And he meant it to, he had already beat the shit out of a few creeps for trying this kind of shit, and would be more than willing to do so again if it came down to it.

Satoru was his, and he would always have his back, just like he knew Satoru would always have his.

The two of them, thankfully, were tucked away in a corner of the storeroom behind some stacked boxes of equipment, so they would see anyone that came around the corner, but when no one came, the two of them slowly rose to their feet to take a peek around, wondering if maybe the individual actually hadn't stuck around and left when the door shut.

But there, leaning against the wall next to the door was a young girl, one who both men briefly recognized as a first year, more specifically, she was a foreign exchange student who they just so happened to share one or two classes with this semester.

You had your phone drawn up to your ear and seemed to be calling the same number repeatedly as your expression grew more and more frantic every time the person(s) on the other end failed to pick up.

“The fuck?” Satoru silently mouthed as they looked at one another, confusion written all over each other's faces, but Suguru was just as lost as his partner and only shook his head at him.

He now suspected that you had no idea you weren't alone in here, which meant that you weren't a threat, so his posture had relaxed once more, but now he was also fairly curious as to what had brought you here, and who you were so desperately trying to get ahold of.

And based on the noticeable gleam in Satoru's bright blue eyes, Suguru knew he was also just as curious.

And then, as if their nosiness had triggered something on the other end of your phone, they suddenly heard your voice speak, your tone sounding both relieved and panicked as words, in what they were able to tell was English, began tumbling out of your mouth in fast succession.

The only problem however, was that neither of them knew enough of the language to be able to piece full sentences together.

“Oh come on!” Satoru quietly groaned in exasperation.

He knew enough to be able to pick out a few words here and there; words like ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘wait’, which you seemed to be repeating quite often as your voice grew more and more panicked, but eventually, whoever was on the other end must have abruptly ended the call, because you stopped talking as the phone slowly slid from your slackened grip and fell to the floor with a loud enough crash that he knew without even seeing it that the damn things screen was likely shattered to bits from the impact with the concrete flooring.

You looked so sad and heartbroken in that moment, and before either man knew what was happening, you dropped to your knees with a sickening thud that left both of them wincing. Your knees were most definitely going to be in a world of hurt once you finally managed to pull yourself out of whatever dark hole that conversation had thrown you into.

And then came the wailing…

The sounds that came pouring out of you were absolutely gut wrenching, and despite not knowing anything about you, not even your name, it took everything Satoru and Suguru had to stop themselves from going to you and demanding what it was that had caused this.

You had your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself, like you would fall to pieces if you weren't holding yourself together in that lonely embrace, and you were sobbing so hard that they both feared you might actually make yourself sick if you didn't get your breathing under control.

“What do you think we should do?” Suguru whispered.

Satoru didn't once take his eyes off you as he shook his head in uncertainty.

“I honestly don't know.” He answered. “We would probably just make things worse if we suddenly pop out and she learns we've been here this whole time.”

Suguru had to agree, and as much as it killed him to stand back and let your trauma unfold like this, he knew that Satoru was right.

Neither of them completely understood why they had this unexplainable urge to go to you, someone who was a complete and total stranger, but it was a matter they were going to have to ponder together and discuss at great length before making any solid decisions on.

But for now, they simply had to let the situation run its natural course and hope for the best, even if waiting and patience was never either of their strong suits.

And so they did.

They waited for almost thirty minutes, watching and listening to the sound of your very soul shattering as you cried yourself into exhaustion before you eventually managed to pick yourself back up off the floor and slowly and silently exit the storage space. Neither of them failed to notice the dead expression on your face or how utterly lifeless your eyes appeared to be, and both men knew it had little to do with the poor lighting from the few small windows sprinkled along the walls near the ceiling.

And only once they were certain they were alone again did both Satoru and Suguru finally release the breath neither of them realized they were simultaneously holding.

“Fucking hell…” Satoru groaned and slumped down to the floor to sit on his haunches. “What was that all about?” He asked, looking up at Suguru through feather soft lashes.

Suguru leaned back against the wall across from him and let out his own sigh of frustration.

He didn't understand what this feeling was or where it was coming from, but it was taking all his restraint not to go chasing after you, to make certain you didn't do anything foolish.

Perhaps it had something to do with seeing you in such a vulnerable state when you thought you were completely alone…

He had seen plenty of his friends in bad moods or had been a shoulder for them to cry on when they were stressed and upset, but he had never seen anyone in real life break apart so uncontrollably the way you had just now; not even Satoru after the death of his parents, if one could even call those two absent shit-stains by the title of parent.

“I don't know.” He whispered. “Maybe she has a significant other back home and they got into a fight or something?”

He saw the darkened look that flashed across Satoru's face and knew immediately that the thought of that prospect didn't settle with him any better than it did with Suguru himself.

“Or someone she knows could have gotten hurt, or even died.” Satoru casually stated, and wondered what it must have said about him that he hoped it was that and not Suguru's option.

This was not what either of them had expected to deal with today, not that anyone could have predicted it, but now that they had witnessed what you obviously must have thought was a moment of extreme vulnerability, their interest was thoroughly piqued and he knew that neither he nor Suguru would be able to walk away and just forget about it so easily.

At the very least, he wanted to know the details of the situation, even if they couldn't do anything about it to help you in the end, because if he didn't, then those mournful cries of yours would follow him for a long time, possibly forever, and he wasn't entirely sure he could stay sane if the burning question of it wasn't answered.

“Come on, let's go home for the rest of the day and figure out what we want to do.” Suguru said, and held his hand out to help his boyfriend rise to his feet. “There's no point in attending any more of our classes today if neither of us will be able to properly concentrate.”

It wasn't until they were almost to the door that something caught Satoru's attention and he had to pause for a moment to thank the heavens for his good fortune, because there was your shattered phone, still laying on the ground where it had originally dropped.

“It must be our lucky day, babe.” He said with a grin, bending down to pick up the device.

“I'm not too surprised, the poor thing was practically catatonic when she left, and a broken phone was probably the last thing on her mind.” Suguru wrapped his arms around Satoru's middle and rested his chin in the crook of his neck to look over his shoulder and watch him gingerly tap at the screen. “Maybe we could use returning it as an excuse to talk to her?” He suggested, but dismissed the idea just as quickly when he realized that would mean needing to explain how they found it and how they knew it was yours.

Satoru nodded his head absentmindedly, already knowing that he and Suguru had likely reached the same conclusion on that option, but he had one that might prove to be a bit more useful to them in the long run, especially as the lock screen lit up and showed both men that it was only the protective cover over the screen that was shattered. The sturdy case and screen protector had spared it from any true damage, and as he stared at the picture you had set of you and what appeared to be your parents at your high school graduation ceremony, he couldn't help but feel that fate was too good a word to describe this opportunity, and it had to mean something so much more.

“Let's stop by a cell-phone store on the way home.” He suggested, before pocketing the device and turning to give his boyfriend a conspiratorial wink and smile. “I have an idea of my own that I think you'll like a whole lot more.”

----------

Later on that night, Satoru and Suguru found themselves snuggled up together on the couch that faced the large wall of windows in their penthouse apartment that overlooked the Tokyo city skyline.

When the two of them had first graduated high school together nearly four years earlier and started apartment hunting together, they had immediately been sold on this particular property, located in Minato, based solely on the views it provided of the city at night, and naturally, with Satoru being who he was, they ended up with the absolute best the building had to offer, right at the very top on the 45th floor.

It had already come fully furnished at the time they had first moved in, but over the course of their almost four year residency, they had slowly replaced everything with pieces that were more suited to their own tastes and preferences.

That was one thing that he loved so much about Satoru, despite the apartment being in his name and the money from his monthly stipends paying for everything they had, his boyfriend never made him feel less than for not being able to contribute more than his ability to cook and help clean. Satoru always told him that the money was just as much his, and had even gone so far as to get Suguru's name put on the account and debit/credit cards of his very own so he never had to ask for money.

Satoru, for all his childish tendencies and spoiled entitlement, saw the two of them as equal partners in their relationship, and did everything he possibly could to show him that at every opportunity.

But the greatest gift of all, besides just being in his life, had been in the form of his college expenses.

Satoru had always been destined to attend his parents alma mater, the University of Tokyo, but for Suguru, with his poorer background and lack of financial resources, despite his excellent grades and a long list of extracurriculars that had earned him a full scholarship to the elite high school they had both attended, the prestigious university had always felt more like a far off and unattainable dream as he'd sent in his application for it, and half a dozen other more affordable and realistic schools.

Schools that were far enough away that it would have seen him and Satoru separated and likely to break up.

So when, mere days after his parents' funeral, Satoru had expressed a keen desire to pay for his tuition entirely from his own pocket, just to help him achieve his dreams and keep them from being separated, Suguru had known then and there that the white haired young man was the one for him.

It wasn't about the money though, Suguru had never given a single thought to asking his, admittedly very wealthy boyfriend, for financial assistance. It was Satoru's genuine desire to help him and not lose each other that had cemented it in his mind that they were it for one another; that, come hell or high water, he would fight tooth and nail to keep what they had, and Satoru had been more that eager to share the sentiment.

And now, here they were, making what might be one of the biggest decisions of their life together as they scrolled through your now deactivated phone, and seething with rage at what they were learning.

“You're reading the same thing as me, right? I’m not misinterpreting this?” Satoru asked through clenched teeth.

Suguru's mood wasn't much better as he took the phone from his boyfriend's tightening grip to read the translated email more closely.

“No, you're not.”

After leaving campus for the day, the first thing they had done was drive to a small electronics store on the outskirts of the city to have your phone deactivated. And thankfully, with the help of a very hefty bribe, the creep working the shady storefront had been more than happy to ignore the questionable ethics of forcefully disconnecting and resetting the password on a phone that clearly didn't belong to either of the men asking for it to be done, and in less than thirty minutes, the two had been on their merry way back home.

It had been Suguru's idea to run everything on your phone through a translator app so they could try and figure out what was going on with you, and while they both felt a mild sense of guilt over snooping so deeply into your private life, they told themselves it was for your own good, that they were only trying to help.

The translations were by no means perfect, but both men were smart enough to read between the lines and mentally fix whatever errors there were in the process, and while your text messages had been a bust, with most of them being fairly quick and concise, your emails proved to be much more fruitful.

And rage inducing…

Satoru had been right in assuming that whatever had brought on your traumatic breakdown had to do with your family, but if what they were reading had any kind of truth to it, which neither of them were truly doubting, then it was so much worse than just someone you knew and loved dying on you.

The email in question was from your mother and read as followed;

(Y/N), I know this will come as a tremendous shock to you whenever you read this, and I need you to understand that me and your father are not making this decision to be cruel to you, but you are no longer a child, you are a grown woman on her own at college, in another country no less, and I feel like I should be allowed to be honest with you about the changes both our lives are about to take.

I think you are well aware by now that having you was not a choice neither I nor your father made willingly, you were a genuine accident, and while we care about you and want you to succeed more than anything, you are grown now and fully capable of no longer needing us. Me and your father put our dreams and desires on hold and raised you for nineteen years, and now it is time for us to be allowed to live our lives how we see fit. We have already sold the house and all but its most important items, all of your belongings have been packed up and moved to a storage unit that I have provided the number for down below. It has been paid off for the next six months while you decide how and what to do with it, but this is the final assistance we will give you, as we need all the money we can spare to begin our new lives elsewhere.

I know this is going to be very hard for you to understand, but your father and I were free spirits before we had you, travel and adventure was our life, and while we did our due diligence upon having you, I won't lie and say that you were our greatest joy. Having to be tied down to one place for so long in order to give you the stability you required, it killed us a little inside with each year that passed, and now that we are finally free, we feel it is best we no longer keep in contact with you going forward. It will only serve to remind us of a time we no longer want to think about, and it will only give you false hope in the end that things could go back to your perceived version of normal, and that is not fair to any of us.

We will be replacing our phones and numbers at the end of the week, so feel free to call us anytime between now and then if you have anything to say or add.

And please, take care of yourself and live your life to the fullest.

That was where the email ended.

It had been sent less than 24 hours ago, and a quick check of your call log showed them that your parents were indeed the last people you had tried calling, your mother having been the one to finally pick up and respond to your, now understandably, very frantic calls earlier in the storage room.

“What kind of sorry excuse for a mother would do this to their own child?” Satoru asked, his voice as cold and icy as his eyes and hair. “My parents were shit at being parents, and even they would have never done something as cruel and heartless as this.”

Suguru nodded in complete agreement as he reread the words on the screen again for a third time, and had to fight down every urge he had to punch this awful woman's number into his own phone and give her a piece of his mind.

“The only kind of people who could do this with as little remorse as she seems to have, are the kind that should have never been allowed to conceive in the first place.” The dark haired man responded, and draped an arm over his loves shoulders for comfort.

The two sat in silence for a long while after that, slowly processing everything they had learned, and in that time, Satoru had opened up your photo gallery for them to look through, idly scrolling through picture after picture, wanting to understand you further and gain insight into who you were. They started from the oldest ones at the very top, which seemed to date back three years, and while you seemed more interested in taking pictures of other people and the things and places around you, when a photo of yourself did eventually pop up every now and then, it always blindsided then how joyful and happy you seemed, especially in contrast with how they had seen you earlier, so sad and broken.

“So, what do we do now, Suguru?”

Suguru sighed, having known they would eventually have to discuss this.

“I know we were mostly just curious to find out what was the cause of her breakdown earlier, but now that we know the whole story, I don't think I can just leave this situation alone.” He said, and felt Satoru relax beside him, that was enough to tell him that his partner felt the same as him.

“Normally, I'd say that destiny and fate can suck my fat cock, but I don't feel like it was just mere coincidence that led to us being in that storage room with her today, it was definitely something more.” Satoru said, his confidence returning in full force as he stared down at a picture of your bright and smiling face, wishing more than anything that they could see it in person. “So who better to help a poor damsel in distress than the two best equipped guys in the city; we have the money, the means, and the time to show her were on her side.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself.” Suguru chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Now the only question is how do we proceed and make it happen?”

Satoru flashed him that signature too confident grin as he leaned back into his arms and pulled out his own phone.

“Don't worry, I got us covered on that front.” He said, scrolling through his minimal contacts to find the one he needed. “She might not figure it out right away, but our girl isn't going to know what to do with herself once she realizes she's got two knights in shining armor looking out for her.”

I've recently gotten really into JJK and since I'm not really feeling the motivation to write for any of my other fics at the moment, here is the newest idea that is rotting my brain from the inside out.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup  for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

[answer2jeff]

not a lot, just forever.

carmen's opening up, but he wishes you'd do the same.

warnings: fluff + angst. fem!reader who is also a big reader (mostly poetry) and occasionally journals. unestablished relationship (friends to lovers, mutual pinning.) very touchy-feely. writing is overly detailed and so painfully poetic you might vomit.

word count : 2.4k

hey. i think i left my book at ur place. 11:15pm.

sorry, just got home. i can bring it over now 11:36pm.

oh yeah that'd be great! thank you. (sorry for the inconvenience) 11:38pm.

no worries 11:41pm.

lmk when ur here. xx 11:45pm.

Carmen had some idea of what that meant: xx. He knew what it meant when girls signed notes with xoxo in replacement of red kiss marks and strokes of long acrylic nails through their secret lovers hair—not that he ever received one, no. But your occasional visits practically felt just as intoxicating. If the order was x-o-x-o, and the worded statement being hugs-and-kisses, then xx must've been hugs, right? Two hugs. Like the one you shared the first time you met at Natalie's baby shower. He smelled like authentic Italian cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke diluted by dish soap and warm water. His grasp was hesitant, but ever-all-consuming once his shoulders relaxed. It was like metamorphosis. The way he wrapped his arms underneath while you tossed yours up around his neck, his gold chain feeling cold and hard against your skin, unlike the rest of him.

He was an under-hugger. He kept the ones he cared for unsuspectingly close to him. Such physical touch felt familiar. Maybe you'd just remembered stories and inside jokes about him through Natalie so well his tenderness and anxious nature was fitting to the idea of him you had in your head.

That was almost 6 months ago. And surprisingly, you'd become pretty good friends. Not that either of you really did friends at your age...but somehow it worked. You'd come to realize that he was so much kinder than anyone painted him out to be. And yet, you never really talked about yourselves.

Not in a way that really mattered, anyway.

The articles you'd written, the interviews you conducted with snobby assholes, the dozens of freelancing jobs with horrific schedules you had before, what you loved about writing and what you hated about the world around you—those were topics of discussion. Carmen's favorite restaurants he ever expanded his career with, the odd relationship he had with his sister that flipped like a rusty switch after highschool, candle scents he loved and bought over and over again despite their poor quality wicks, the first time he got drunk and how he swore he'd never let another drop of alcohol touch his tongue—those were normal methods of late night conversations.

But what about your dream to publish a novel? Or the memoir you read that completely changed your views on love as a whole. What about Carmen's uncle being his only friend his entire life? Oh, how he would've become a starving, broken artist if he ever believed he had enough talent for it. Hell, what about the girl you met in middle school who mysteriously moved away and shared all her secrets on the true meaning of life, death, and everything in between? Why didn't you ever talk about those things? Maybe it was too close, too personal. If he knew you too well, maybe he'd see you as you saw yourself.

Carmen had been thinking about those colored pencils you bought him for his birthday and can't get himself to tell you he uses them every day. Not just to illustrate his dishes...but you, sometimes. Your hair, your smile. He used that photo you begged him to snap of you staring out your window melodramatically with a bowl of pasta carbonara and a glass of bubbling champagne in front of you as reference. How could he ever show you the endless amount of pages containing the essence of your existence in that goddamn sketch book?

Questions. Questions. Questions.

Thoughts of potential ate away at your patience with every pacing step you took around your bedroom.

Answers. Answers. Answers.

—

"Do people even have deep conversations over pasta and wine anymore?" You trace the pad of your middle finger against the rim of your glass, your elbow propped up on the counter so your chin can rest in your hand.

Carmen draws his eyebrows together, the little crinkle in his forehead showing. You glance up at it and struggle to stifle a growing smile. He cocks his head before barring his bottom lip behind his teeth, picking at the skin with the tips of his fingers. That signature pose; where his left arm is crossed against his chest and his hand holds the elbow of his right arm. It's a habit you almost immediately picked up on. It told you time and time again that he was nervous.

Thinking. Contemplating.

"Is that, like—" he breaths a chuckle, but it comes out more as an accidental huff than anything. Smug bastard, he is. Especially when he drags his gold chain across his neck as it loops around the finger that once picked at the dry skin of his mouth.

"Your way of..asking me for a deep conversation over wine and pasta?"

Ah. He's called you out. The one thing he couldn't shake was his annoyance when you were so completely and utterly vague about your wants, your needs, your desires. Hell, Carmen Berzatto would wrap a lasso around the moon, or any planet you put your claim on, and drag it down so it could be yours and only yours. Only if it meant you'd stop feeling so complacent. You knew this. At least to some extent. His little favors buttered you up until you a mushy mess of adoration. What really scratched at your urges and your patience was how blissfully unaware he was of his show of affection toward you. Part of you feared that if you ever told him how much it caressed that bruised, fruit fly infested, rotted spot of your heart so gently it felt like a kiss, despite the sting, he'd stop.

"Y'know what? Yeah. I'm asking."

You shrug your shoulders and stare down at your nearly finished bowl of penne with vodka sauce. Stabbing a stack of pasta onto your fork and the clinking sound of the metal banging against the ceramic bowl seemed to fill the silence before Carmen finally spoke again, though with much hesitation.

"Okay," he barely whispers, nodding his head and fumbling to take a seat in the barstool underneath the counter. Sitting across from you gives him the constant justification to just look at you.

Starting off this session with a question was quite a kicker.

"Y'know Sade Zabala? Author of that book you brought back for me."

Carmen blinks slowly. He pretends to dig deep in his memory to identify the name, wondering if you'd ever mentioned her. But he fails, pulling his lips taught, so as to say 'I've got nothin.' The sound of your dramatic sigh and the 'tsk' sound of your lips separating makes his palms sweat.

"She's a wonderful writer. A poet. I mean, really, her book Coffee and Cigarettes was one of the most gut-wrenchingly beautiful and altruistic collections of.. of love, pain, rejuvenation—all of it."

If he was completely honest, he doesn't have a clear image of what those words meant. But it doesn't seem to matter what comes out of your mouth or how you phrase it. Your use of specific language fascinates him. There is nothing else he can do in this moment but nod and allow the corners of his lips to curl into a smile strong enough to make the apples of his cheeks go pink.

"I'll tell you one line of one of the greatest poems she had ever written in that book. In the humble opinion of yours truly, of course."

"Sure," he assures you. "Of course, of course."

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

Saliva pools in your mouth as you speak the quote, the taste of every vowel washing down your throat as if you dedicate them to Carmen himself. Which, in bare and naked truth, you do. The only thing you could ever ask of Carmen was to let himself tear himself open with the hope and belief that you would crawl into his fears and convert them into profound discoveries. And the trust that you would not stitch him up with your own hands, but rather clasp your fists around the circumference of his wrists as he carefully closes the wound his trajectory of life has created.

"Wow." Carmen's eyes go another centimeter wider, the language still processing in his mind. He interprets it over and over again.

"I know. And—" you set your fork down so you can have complete focus as you recite your following question, "I was just wondering what you'd say if someone told you that, y'know? What would you tell them?"

Vulnerability, he thinks. Fuck.

"I mean...fuck that's—that's a good question. Um.." he chews on the flesh of his bottom lip once again, looking above at the warm glow of the light that hangs over your island counter as if he'll find the answer up there.

"I don't even like the good stuff about me, so. I'm not sure how to, like, articulate that? Is that the word?"

Now the quickening pace has started.

"And what do you think the good stuff about you is?"

Probing questions like this are somewhat too-close-for-comfort inquiries for friends. But Carmen would be stupid to mind it. He relishes in it, actually. With much guilt. But it's tainted with the secret pleasure of being cared for by someone he so deeply valued the opinions and thoughts of.

Since the first day you met, Carmen knew he would never go to anyone else for some piece of mind. For some sanity. Or even just for someone to explain the method to his madness. You understood it—what he believed.

"I care a lot, I think. But that's not always practical. It hardly ever is now that I think about it."

"You do. You care so much." You soften your tone, hesitantly reaching for Carmen's tattooed hand that rests on the cold marble counter.

"Sometimes it freaks me out."

"Like, this whole thing, the—the restaurant, where my life is right now, it makes me crazy. But it also keeps me..."

"Human," you finish.

"Yeah, human."

Though it takes him a couple seconds for his digits to not second guess themselves, he gently takes your hand in his. The slow pace in which he intertwines his fingers with yours is enough to kill you.

"Can I tell you something?" Carmen asks.

"Anything."

"You take good care of me. Of everyone, really." . His thumb gently rubs your warm skin, the rough and calloused mounds over his fingerprints soothing you. A deep breath moves in and out from his lungs as he meets your eyes again. This time, he won't look away.

"It's like you were made to just be good."

You smile, but you're not convinced you're certain on what he means. "Thank you, Carm. But—good?"

"I don't know. You're warm. I'm—I'm not like that. I'm not warm."

This, this is where truths as bare as untraveled paws of loyal dogs that roamed the streets in search of security uncover themselves.

"What? Of course you are." You lean forward, feeling your heart pound so hard it could leap out of your body.

"I don't think I am."

To think—no, to know that Carmen Berzatto cannot share at least one feature of his layered soul he genuinely likes. God, that pains you. You could write a million sonnets listing every little thing you adored about your friend.

"Carmen, you—" you sigh, your head dropping for a fraction of a second. "You have such a big heart. You're not cold or...or out of reach, or anything like that, okay?"

Even with Carmen's tendency for rage and his tattoos that displayed yet another callback to his culinary career—his way of speaking: so gentle and unsupported, you're certain that he is something so much greater than just a chef. He took care of people too. His staff, his clientele, his family—of you. Whether it was home cooked meals when you were sick, or when you needed to complain about Natalie. Carmen listened. Not as her brother, but as your friend. You don't really remember when you started to regularly see each other during his leisure. Either at the restaurant, or a coffee shop next door to your complex, and eventually his living room.

"This is so fucking selfish, but—"

No, Carmen. You could never be selfish.

But you let him be hungry. You want him to be hungry. Starving for reassurance. Because you'll feed him until the empty space in his existence is filled.

"I just wish you'd look after yourself the way you take care of me. Like, fuck, hearing you look at yourself and point out all this shit that nobody notices—which I wish they fucking would—because I notice them and I still love those things about you is..."

Oh, what a beautiful mind you've always had. He'll always store all the love you can't have for yourself in his own heart. Your wit, your intelligence, your smile, even down to the way you have to readjust the grip of your fountain pen as you inscribe your thoughts into your journal

"Wrong." He completed his thought with just one word. "I don't like it. It makes me sad," he says again.

That breaks you. So much that a tear sure to be followed by many more wells up in your waterline. The glisten of the salty liquid in your eyes startles the wonderful man across you. You can see the immediate guilt in his face, his blue eyes filled with concern and regret. But you shake your head, holding onto his forearm as he raises his hand to your cheek to catch the falling tear. Fuck being friends. Fuck small talk. Fuck jokes and laughs and cigarettes and poor communication that just ended in silence.

This was here and now. There was no going back.

With that, you cupped Carmen's own cheek, leaning closer and closer to his lips before he desperately kissed you. His free hand anchored itself on your shoulder blade while yours crawled to the back of his head to burry itself in his golden curls. Your taste was everything. Salty with pasta with a sweet aftertaste that echoed from your fruity lip balm, followed by a final twinge of bitterness from your glass of red wine. He tasted of comfort, of acceptance, something you'd never felt against your tastebuds from the previous years of the dating pool. With every separation of your lips to swallow gasps of air, the further the two of you hovered over the counter in a needy attempt to get closer.

You didn't need answers. Not a lot from him either. Just him. Forever.

tags: @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria @diorrfairy

[icedcoffeedisaster]

hello hello!

please, may we have some fluff headcanons about Donna Beneviento 🙏

Of course! Seems the love for Donna is very strong here 👀

Fluff Headcanons for Donna

She's a great cuddler, and once she has you in her grasp she doesn't let go for a good while. Its the kind of hug where you can melt in her arms

Whilst dating, your clothes start mysteriously disappearing, only for you to start seeing Donna wearing them and finding them around her house.

You never get them back.

You do get a black turtleneck of hers to keep, though. It's warm, soft, and smells of flowers, honey and spices

One of Donna's favourite pastimes is reading books on the couch with you beside her. Most likely non-fiction books on plants, yet occasionally will read a fiction book. You've seen a few romance novels laying around.

Her cooking is unmatched. Whether it be a classic Italian dish or something quick and simple, you haven't found better cooking elsewhere.

The pet names are endless, her favourites being "mia cara" and "dolcezza", using them constantly just to see you blush

If you want, Donna gets you to help her during night shifts in the theatre. You paint and work in moderate silence, until more often than not, you feel a hand around your waist or the ghost of breath on your ear

You dont get much work done after that

At the flower shop, you maintain a relatively professional front when the customers are around unless one gets particularly flirty. Jealousy burns its flames in Donna's heart, and she's one to get possessive.

Lingering glances, a brush of her hand on your shoulder as she walks by. On occasion, she will come and stand out front during the interaction, glaring daggers at the intruder until they leave

You're hers. Nobody else's.

Over time, she becomes more confident coming out in public with you, and whilst she's still self-conscious over her scar, she's less afraid. Constant praise and affection from you has lifted her spirits and given her the encouragement she needed

Be prepared for more plants in your dorm room if you stay there. Succulents on the windowsils especially.

Donna brings them as gifts whenever she visits, which is always perfectly timed to when both Dani and Angie are out

Most likely for the better, with what you two get up to

Donna's love language is physical touch and quality time. If she could, she would spend every moment clung to you, probably carrying you around or pulling you to a nearby couch

Have you seen her arms and hands she strong as hell

Eventually, she'll ask you to move in with her. It only takes a few months, we know our girl can't get enough

Before she met you, she had trouble sleeping at night. When you're in the same bed, she sleeps soundly, often curling into you or being the big spoon. She will always have a hold on you in the night.

She sleeps in an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It's very comfy and distracting

She's a very romantic person, and her love and loyalty know no bounds. She's with you for life, and you wouldn't have it any other way

[jarviscockerssecrethusband]

The podcast was Steve’s idea.

It had started with a joke from Heather. She’d took one look at Billy and Steve’s accidentally matching gym clothes and told them they looked like a failing alpha bro podcast duo. The type of guys who’d talk about being alpha males. Billy had laughed hard but it had made Steve think.

They’d been best friends since kindergarten and were functionally inseparable. Billy had seen Steve through a long period of deep, dark depression and Steve liked to think he’d helped Billy through Neil. Most podcasts Steve had listened to, the hosts didn’t even sound like they liked each other. They’d be perfect.

It took Steve about a month to convince Billy to put himself in front of a microphone. For a guy with a 300k follower Instagram thirst trap account, Billy was crushingly self conscious about his voice. He’d been on testosterone for three years but still felt like he sounded “clockable.” It wasn’t until Steve promised that if they got even one comment about Billy’s voice, they’d immediately delete the episode, that Billy agreed.

Between the two of them, they had absolutely no qualifications to start an agony aunt podcast. Still, the first episode was released onto Spotify and it had a surprisingly warm reception. Most of their listeners were queer or neurodivergent and were asking about what to do when a hookup went wrong or how to go outside without having a panic attack.

It was heartwarming really, the affect Steve felt that they were having. Two trans guys talking openly about sex, relationships, social faux pas, fitting in and the occasional tangent on oyster forks wasn’t exactly common. And their audience seemed to cling to them like two older brother figures.

It was perfect. Should have been perfect. It was just that there was a bit of a side affect.

As it turned out, spending every week with your best friend, who was physically just your type, and was also just an absolute sweetheart, led to having a crush on said best friend.

That is if you were Steve anyway. Shit.

Most guys on realising they were crushing hard on their best friend probably would have done something normal, like tell him. Not Steve though. Steve endeavoured to lock himself in the broom closet and scream before every recording session of the podcast.

It would work. Hopefully.

Then Billy started getting random listeners proposing to him via email. They’d read them out before every advice segment and Billy would either accept or decline depending on how funny he found it but it still made Steve die a little inside. Billy felt like his in some intangible, indescribable way and even jokes about marriage felt like suffocating.

He redownloaded Grindr the next day. The guys on there left a lot to be desired, especially compared to Billy but at least it stopped Steve from feeling quite so lonely. He flirted, made decisions that made Robin tut and generally started morphing into the kind of hot mess Steve had been in his late teens.

Billy didn’t seem to notice. That is until he did.

Steve was very late for recording the newest episode, a silly one about accents. He hadn’t remembered to shave so the patchy stubble that hrt was helping him grow in was a mess. There was gum stuck to to the bottom of his shoe. Something had gotten spilled on his shirt.

His co host once again looked delicious. Delicious and worried. So worried in fact that he dragged Steve into the very closet that he’d spent almost two months hiding in.

There was only so long Steve could hedge around the issue. Not with Billy worrying about all the things that could have gone wrong, anxious brain in overdrive. Steve had to tell him.

A short, excruciating silence followed after Steve admitted his crush/budding love. One that the slightly irrational part of his mind was convinced would culminate in Billy punching him again.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, Billy called him a dumbass, they made out under a precarious tin of paint for fifteen minutes, and agreed that getting together was long overdue.

The first email they got from a listener after going public about their relationship was short and to the point.

Can I propose to both of you?

I think it was @camaro-and-smokes and @prettyboy-like-you who reblogged being interested in the og post about this idea and since I am a fic writing weirdo, I wanted to write a little ficlet for them! I hope you both like it

(Inspired LOOSELY by the hilarious Help I Sexted My Boss podcast which I adore. Also inspired a smidge by Lust For Life by @oopsiedaisiesbaby)

[canaidliafail]

Stay grounded

streamer Abby x streamer f!reader 🌿

[part 1 ]. [part 2]

Not proof read like at all. pure crap. Im just horny had an idea and wrote it down. enjoy tho~ MDI cause it will get explicit in later chapters

CW: college exams, weed

“fuck, give me a caption”

“I like tits”

“literally fuck you”

you mumbled and your friends laughed, enjoying your misery. You stared at the blank space below your post and pursed your lips in concentration. Eventually you started typing cringing at every word

“trying some new products ˖◛⁺ ⑅ ♡”

and pressed “post” on the photo tossing your phone on the other side of the couch defeated. Been a presence online sure had its fun but you were also filled with the existential dread that people knew you “existed”

150k people to be exact. not much but more than you ever expected to get from your hobby. You usually posted your figurine collection from the most recent games you streamed with the occasional over the top pic of you dolled up and in clothes styled to fit the game of the month which unsurprisingly always over performed in statistics.

you had been doing this for a good two years now give or take and it was a wild turn of events considering how quickly and well your career took off. You loved the financial comfort but hated how exposed you constantly felt.

“Don't you have a stream tonight?” your friend,june, asked and you shook your head rubbing your face and squeezing your eyes shut to hopefully get rid of the persistent ache

“No, I'm resting for the week. Told them I have exams or whatever”

she passed you the blunt and you took a few puffs in silence staring into space

“Mind if I put on some music?”

“no go ahead” you mumbled and went to the kitchen to make coffee as you heard the first notes of mr.kitty after dark play in the living room.

“We need to go on a trip somewhere”. June said and Cassie agreed

“trip? where?” you shouted loud enough to be heard across the halls

“I don't know man but like, leave this town for a bit. Remember how fun we had on our last trip ?”

you smiled. Italy was fun. England was insane and Germany was borderline a fever dream. all three unique and all three with a romantic disappointment that entertained your friend group for months and you had to admit you had been craving leaving your city for a while now. Had it not been for the fact that you were on your last semester at college you would be somewhere else every other week -without any romantic endeavors-

You made the quickest shittiest coffee and went back to the living room sitting on the floor “Once Im done with exams we can go anywhere you want” you promised. Your phone pinged the flash going on and off

“What the fuck”

“Im suing for optical damage”

they yelled and grabbed your phone tossing it your way and you all but laughed

“Sorry sorry my bad forgot to turn off flash alerts”

You tapped your screen and almost choked on your coffee fumbling to unlock your phone the lyrics blurring in the background until they became a numbing buzz

staygrounded69 just made a new post

you tapped the icon and saw the new photo. You couldn’t quite understand what it was about her but she had you hooked and entirely captivated. It wasn’t a crush but you always found yourself checking for new posts or streams.

Abby, known by her public name staygrounded was a gamer who streamed here and there. In a more a casual stream she eventually explained that her nickname was a jab by her friend when she asked for ideas and he said “staygrounded, get it? cause of your fear of heights?” and it just stuck by.

That wasn’t why she had blown up though. No it was due to her coming out as a lesbian and that fueled every female straight and not. She was after all, a tall muscular woman with beautiful blonde hair and a face with unique features that deserved appreciation in the form of oil paintings and perhaps a face seating

you shook your head trying not to let your mind fall too deep into hopeless thirsty thoughts and admired the new photo. a casual gym pic. Fuck she wasn’t even flexing her muscles or anything. she wore the baggiest grey sweatpants with a black hoodie and a black cap with her braided hair and the lower half of her face peaking through sitting on a bench casually

and yet you felt weak. you bit your lower lip and chewed on it a little

“Cotton????” your friends called out to you by your streamer nickname and snapped their fingers. you looked up feeling your cheeks heat up

“aaah did she post?”

“mhm” you nod excitedly and went back to looking at the photo. You tapped the share button and posted it on your story leaving a small note

“her <3”

not been shy of publicly “aPprEciAtiNg” her since she was hell of a popular figure and would for sure not see your reshare.you let out a sigh and june smirked

“what ails you my victorian maiden”

“I love women” you said dreamily and took a sip of your coffee

“Wish they loved you back” Cassie bit and you grabbed your pillow and went over to her “oh you’re dead” you barked and she laughed as you started playfully smothering her with the stuffed item.

“alright time for me to bounce” june said first and grabbed her things “my teacher will probably be up my ass for coming so late” she groaned and you looked at the time “yeah I need to also get going”

“sucks to suck. Ill go take a nap” Cassie said and grabbed her things.

you and June both had afternoon classes while Cassie was happily a drop out who did seasonal work and rested during winter. The two of you were very visibly jealous of her not having to deal with the pain of exams.

“Yeah yeah get over yourself” June said jabbing her at her sides and Cassie yelped running in front of her, June chasing her down the stairs and you being the last one to leave the apartment to lock the door.

•••

You were in class when it happened. Your week ended with a babging 3 hour lecture entirely dedicated to pattern making. You were ready to grab the scissors and stab yourself to end this. You friend also seemed to slowly wither away while your teacher remained as chipper as always

“Now regarding coats-“ she continued and you pushed your chair away from the desk softly getting up to grab fresh paper to start copying the notes she was starting to draw on the board

You spread it out on your desk and grabbed the ruler and pencil and started measuring a No.44 coat purposefully being slower than usual so that you wouldn’t have to do much work. Your brain was squeezed dry for the day and this class was always the most difficult

you grabbed your phone to take a picture of the finished measurements and pattern on the board to have it for later. You opened the camera and zoomed in ready to take a pic

staygrounded69 liked your story

came the first notification and you fumbled with your phone as it nearly fell off of your hands. You sat down on your chair and stared at the icon for a hard long minute not wanting to tap it and see just a fan account instead. You decided to stay delusional

staygrounded69 liked your post

staygrounded69 liked your post

a few minutes later came another few notifications and then that was it. You opened your page and tapped the username that led to her profile.

holy shit

it really was her

its fucking her

You breathed in quitting her page and tapping her username again still in disbelief. She saw your photos. She had specifically liked the ones with your face in.

“Refrain from using your phones in class” your teacher reminded you and you were snapped back into reality

right patterns

coats

you shoved your phone in your bag and tried to focus on the sheet in front of you. for the remaining half hour you faked working on the class assignment and pretending to draw lines and correct them and the second your professor dismissed you, you bolted out of the class and grabbed your phone and checked for any new notifications. There was none and you tried to ignore the soft pang of disappointment that filled your chest.

You did hope she would follow you back or something but that was ridiculous considering how famous she was and by your knowledge she only followed her friends the she hang out with outside her online careers which was a dreadfully low number of people meaning there was no reason for her to follow you

you called june “you won't believe what happened”

“Oh my god. Its about that hot beefy streamer isn’t it?”

“Yes yes it is!”

and you heard screaming on the other line till the mic peaked and muted her out entirely. You gave her a few moments of squealing till she was back on the line ready to question you

“spill. what happened? Did she see your story? did she reply to it?”

“alright no nothing that important but-“

“oh come onnnn”

“BUT!” you interrupted and she waited for you to continue

“but she liked two of my pictures. You know what this means? it means she went through my page and liked two of my pictures June!”

“Wow oh my she will propose to you. She is so in love oh god”

You kept hyping up each other’s delusions all the way to your bus station

“did she text you ? any other notifications?”

you pulled your phone away and checked your page.nothing new so far

“no nothing yet, oh my bus is here”

“alright keep me updated if anything happens”

you hung up and walked inside the vehicle and sat on a plastic seat daydreaming of every possible scenario between you and Abby. However the more you sat the more the high of the excitement wore off and the more you settled back into your usual sorrowful self

ok and? she liked your posts. hell she is probably a player and likes every cute girls posts

you thought and sank further into the seat drowning in the soft music playing from your headphones. you tapped your foot on beat and rested your head against the cold misty windows of the bus. You started lying to yourself pretending this didn’t affect you much and that you'd be over her by tomorrow

You walked back home and tossed your bag carelessly near the shoe rack while taking off your boots and coat in one go leaving them on the floor not caring to tidy up. You went to the sofa and turned on your ps4 feeling excited that you finally had a few hours to dedicate to yourself

You logged into assassin’s creed valhalla ready to continue. This was your third play through and the only game you refused to play on stream. You liked keeping it as a way to comfort yourself and disassociate. You were planning on eventually getting tge ¼ scale Eivor statue that cost the not so humble amount of 1,2k $. Until you were ready to commit to such an expense though you settled for seeing your favorite character in game and left the statue in your wishlist amongst the other figurines you wanted to get

in between enjoying the game you checked the time and remembered today was Abbys turn to stream. You hated to admit that you had purposely made a schedule around hers so that you wouldn’t miss any time she went live, good example being now. You unlocked your phone leaving her stream open waiting for it to start while simultaneously running around in the forest, leisurely exploring the areas in your game

“Hey everyone! Can you all hear me fine? musics not too loud?”

came abbys voice and you snapped your head to your phone looking at her. fuck she was wearing that grey sleevless tank-top again

“Todays stream will be more chill. thought we could just catch up and chat a bit. I ugh had a long day at the gym”

she continued in her usual timid tone. On first look you would never think a woman like her would be so damn shy but she was. Or maybe it was just the camera and audience that caused her to be a bit more chaotic. Its not like you knew what she really was like behind the lens.

“Oh hey Alice nice to see you again!” she said taking her time to greet most of the people viewing her

“Oh we have Nora and Manny in the chat too” she said with a soft laugh. Nora. Oh you knew Nora. Abby usually posted with two women. Both seemed to be friends with her but could equally be suspected to be her girlfriend. One was Nora. They went to the same gym together and often hung out on stream. The second one was Ellie. Another streamer who in the beginning had a very well known hatred towards Abby until one day they miraculously made up and started occasionally hanging out.

not that it mattered to you if either of them was dating Abby…

“Next games? hm..Im not sure. Any suggestions”

you hesitated. You were a silent watcher most days. actually you had never said a damn word other than a donation to her stream and when she called you by your username back then to thank you, you felt so embarrassed that you decided to be one of the lurkers in her stream. Must have been a year ago or so when no one knew you either so there wasn’t a big deal made out of your name being mentioned. You felt stupid for even considering that anyone knew you at all to care if you left a comment. Even in the slim chance that your audience overlapped no one would really bother making a big deal out of it

“Have you tried ac valhalla?” you looked at your comment again and again till deciding to press send and then wait

“yeah not sure about that one..” she seemed to be reading and expanding a bit on which games she considered giving it a go or not. You felt a bit of relief thinking your comment was lost in the sea of others and resumed your game only to pause it shortly after

“Cotton? heh, cute nickname…I haven’t tried any of the assassins creed games but Ill check it out” You heard and your hands started to shake in excitement your ears burning from the heat.

Its not like Abby had any unique accent but the way she said your nickname made you twirl your hair and giggle to yourself. You grabbed your phone again

“oh really? she is?” you heard abby say and you read the comments the excitement turning into plain horror and mortification when you saw people start to recognise you and tease you for recommending the game they had probably seen you continuously post on your stories for a year straight. You exited the stream in shame and gently put your phone on the coffee table continuing your game.

I will end it all for real

this was my last straw

By the time the embarrassment of this minor inconvenience wore off You were in the middle of finishing the Granterbridge arc when you decided to post another story with a short caption regarding the characters. Your phone slowly started going off with notifications with people responding to your story and being in a sour mood you decided to mute it and continue your game till you fell asleep on the couch. The only reason you woke up was because you actually had a really shitty sofa with the thinnest pillows that did nothing to shield you from the hard wooden planks beneath.

You groaned in pain and looked at the screen of your Tv. Your ps4 was on rest mode and at 4.00 am you couldn’t be bothered to do anything about that so you just grabbed your phone and walked to your bedroom quickly going through the unusually vast amount of notifications in case there was something from your friends that you had missed

you stopped in front of your bedroom door and rubbed your eyes. your mind was blank. it was 4.00 am

you read the notification again

staygrounded69: hi

••••

heres my ko-fi tip jar if you enjoy my work 🤍

[coneyislandbabey]

she's a rainbow. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, pining lol

SYNOPSIS: Warren's got it bad for Camila's childhood best friend. word count: 2,008

NOTES: Written for this request!

You dragged your paintbrush across the canvas, a trail of plum purple in its wake. You were sitting on your deck, the sky a cloudless blue, the morning filled with birdsong and a soft breeze only making itself known through the occasional soft rustle of your hair and clothes. June was a ripe peach in your hands, pink, perfect, fleeting. 

“What are you painting today, Picasso?” Warren’s clear voice rang out through the morning air. He was standing on the deck of his own house next door, forearms resting lazily on the railing as he gazed over at you. You glanced up from your work to send a smile his way. 

“Shocked to see you up this early,” you called by way of greeting. “If you wanna see what I’m painting, come over and look.” 

At your words, he disappeared back into the house, and you knew that in a minute he would be opening the sliding door and stepping out onto your own deck. You did this almost every day, ever since you followed your childhood best friend Camila across the country, moving into the house next to hers and her boyfriend’s band in Laurel Canyon. 

In the months since you arrived, you’ve gotten incredibly close with all of Camila’s housemates. Whenever you weren’t doing a shift for your part-time job at a coffee shop or at your own place working on your art, you were at their house. You and Camila spent a lot of time one-on-one, getting together for wine or lunch or anything else while the band was working, but the band loved you so much that you found yourself hanging out with them almost even more than with her, especially since Warren started inviting you to their recording sessions down at the studio. 

You had become so absorbed in your painting that you didn’t realize Warren had arrived on your deck until his hands were on the back of your chair and he was leaning over your shoulder to get a good look at the canvas. 

“Oh, it’s our street at night,” he observed, taking in the deep purples and night blues that the familiar street was rendered in. “It’s beautiful. Looks like a place I’d wanna be.”

You rolled your eyes. “It already is a place you wanna be, Warren. You live there.” 

Though you couldn’t see it, Warren grinned, swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I only wanna be here so much ‘cause it’s where you are, mama.” 

You scoffed, sending a rueful smile his way as he sat in the chair next to yours. He pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and offered it. You took it between your lips and inhaled before sending it back his way. For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, Warren merely observing you as you painted. He had told you once, the two of you high as kites while hanging out late one night, that he loved to watch you paint. He said watching you paint was as intricate a thing as watching a musician play their instrument, that it was captivating. You had hung onto his words even through the drug-induced haze, had thought about them for weeks on end. 

“You’ll come over for dinner tonight, right?” he asked after a while. “Camila saw me leaving to come over here and made me promise to get you to come.”

“Man, I don’t even buy groceries over here anymore ‘cause I’m always just eating at yours,” you laughed. “Course I’ll come. Can’t beat the company.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back to the house; shockingly, I actually have responsibilities to see to today.”

“Oh, well color me impressed,” you responded, happily accepting his parting kiss on the cheek. 

Eddie watched, amused, as Warren got up for the dozenth time in the last half hour, drifting back over to the windows and peering outside, toward your house. Dinner was set for twenty minutes from now, and you were expected to come. Though some, clearly, were expecting you more than others. 

“Man, can you chill the fuck out? You’re making me antsy,” he said, after watching Warren pace the room for a few minutes while still pretending to look casual. 

“I am chill! I’m totally chill!” Warren said, having the gall to look incensed at his best friend’s words. 

Eddie leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Do you think you’ll finally just tell her how you feel so you can stop being such a fuckin’ freak every time she comes over?” 

Warren sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “Don’t you think if she was into me she would’ve said something by now? I’m not going to embarrass myself or ruin our friendship. I know when I’m gonna strike out.”

“Clearly you don’t, idiot,” Eddie retorted. “First of all, she could say the same about you because you haven’t made any moves either, man. All of what you just said means nothing.” 

“She’s definitely into you, anyway,” Graham said, joining the conversation as he walked into the room. 

“What makes you think that?” Warren asked, ignoring Eddie’s comments, which were clearly too logical for him. 

“Why else do you think she hangs around here so often? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re all friends, but everyone knows it's different with you two. Most of the time she’s here for you,” Graham explained. 

“Yeah, and don’t forget that she comes to our recording sessions because you asked her to,” Eddie chimed in, a smirk growing on his face as Warren’s cheeks grew redder. He didn’t have the chance to answer before someone knocked on the door. 

“You wanna go get that?” Eddie asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

Warren made his way to the door, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the conversation that had just happened. He had never felt the way he did about you before, not about any woman he had ever met. When you first met, things had been flirty between you, at least more flirty than you were with any of the other guys, and he almost plucked up the courage to ask you out in the first week of knowing you. But then the two of you got high together one night, and you got him talking about his hopes for the band, and you told him about all of your ambitions when it comes to your art, and he could feel himself falling in love a little. He had real, undeniable feelings for you, and that made it all too scary. So, he’d convinced himself that there was no way you could have feelings for him too, because thinking he had no chance with you was easier, more comfortable, than pining after you. 

He put a valiant effort into feigning nonchalance when he opened the door, all of these thoughts still a monsoon in his mind. You stood on the other side of the threshold, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other. 

“I baked ‘em!” you said proudly, holding up the plate and smiling widely at him. For a minute, his mind blanked, and all he could think about was the way your eyes sparkled in the porchlight, the way your dress fell perfectly on your figure. You knocked him dead every time he set eyes on you. Snapping out of it, he unburdened you of the bottle of wine and the cookies, widening his arms so he could take you in a hug. 

“Are they cookies? Or are they cookies,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “They’re just cookies, Rojas. This is a family dinner, not a late night recording session.” 

“Family dinner?” 

“Yeah,” you shrugged as you walked through the door. “This is a family, isn’t it?” 

“Guess it is,” he responded, because you were right and because he would agree with any statement you made ever for the rest of your lives. 

“Honey, you made it!” Camila shouted, coming over to hug you as you walked in. You greeted her warmly, and then did the same for everyone else standing around the kitchen helping to make dinner (or, really, getting in the way of Camila and Graham, who were the only ones actually cooking). 

Dinner was, as usual, the highlight of Warren’s day. After listening to Billy get grouchy and boss everyone around in the studio all day, getting to come home and actually unwind was a godsend. Plus, he got to see you, warm and pliant with wine and good food and good company. You were so effortlessly funny and charismatic, easily commanding the attention of the room with your stories and jokes without ever trying to. He could listen to you talk for the rest of his life. He could stand to do a lot of things with you for the rest of his life. 

After dinner, the group of you took the cookies you made and moved to the living room, settling in to watch a movie. You snuggled with Warren under a blanket on the loveseat, Eddie, Karen, Graham, and Camila squished into the old couch. Billy had retired to his room prior to the movie, citing that he needed to get some writing done. Graham had already fallen asleep, and Karen and Eddie were providing a running commentary of how bad the movie was. 

Warren nudged your side, and when you turned to look at him, he took a joint out of his pocket and tilted his head toward the door to the deck, a silent question. You nodded and he stood, you following close behind after wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t see the exaggerated wink Eddie shot Warren’s way as you left the room, or the way Warren mimed slitting his throat in response, sending Eddie into a fit of laughter that he desperately tried to stifle. 

Outside, you settled into your usual chair, Warren pulling one up close to you before sitting down. You turned your body towards him, leaning your head on the back of the chair and gazing at him affectionately as he lit up the joint, and, as usual, offered it to you before himself. You took a hit before handing it back to him, settling back into your position of observing him as the joint went to his own mouth. 

“What are you lookin’ at, mama?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and amusement gracing his face. 

You hummed, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally. “You should let me paint you sometime.” 

“Paint me? Why?” he asked, brows raising. 

“Because you’re pretty,” you said bluntly, Warren’s heart stumbled over itself. “You’d make a good muse.” 

Warren laughed, trying to steady himself. “You think I’m pretty?” 

You leaned toward him a bit more, a small, private smile on your face. “Of course I do, Warren. I’m sure dozens of other people have told you as much.”

“Not like this, no,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “And it wouldn’t mean anything coming from any but you, anyway.” Your brows raised, mouth dropping into a small, understanding ‘o’. Then you were smiling at him again, the corners of your eyes crinkling in a way that made his heart overflow. 

“Are you finally going to kiss me now?” you asked, and Warren choked, smoke emitting from his nose and mouth. 

“I- uh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he stammered, shaking his head as vigorously as he could in his buzzed state. 

“Good,” you said, leaning over the arm of your chair. Warren crossed the rest of the distance himself, connecting his lips to yours. You led the kiss, firm and gentle, your thumb stroking reassuringly against his cheek. 

“So, about me painting you,” you said breathlessly once you pulled away. 

“Anything for you.I’d be honored to be your muse,” he grinned.

tag list: @xleiaorgana @neptunes-curse

[avroravia]

hi! i love your writing sm, could you write dallas x f!reader whos super mother-like and loves babies? basically baby fever lol

tysm!

𝔟𝔞𝔟𝔦𝔢𝔰?

𝔡. 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰. 𝔣!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯, 𝔟𝔞𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔨, 𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔱𝔥-𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣 <ᙣ

there wasn't anything enjoyable about living at buck merrill's house. the constant odor of alcohol that spread into your clothes, the music that blared all hour of the night, or the un-hygienic behaviors of the numerous couples who leave and go. dallas would be lying if he said having his sweet girl by his side didn't make it tolerable, however.

that's why he was sat in the small double bed, head in your lap as your fingers intertwined with his brunet hair and a cigarette dangled from his rosy lips. dallas was never the talker between you two, he preferred to listen; and he would listen to every word you had to say.

"…and when i was at the store, this real cute baby waved at me." you smiled, recalling the random story you'd forget eventually. he wasn't paying much attention, but you didn't mind much. "i wanna have babies real soon."

that, however, caught his attention real fast. it made his brows furrowed together, and his eyes were painted with a look you didn't recognize. he took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke leaving his nostrils before he responded. "BABIES?" a slight chuckle escaped his lips as he sighed. he wasn't fond of the idea, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't entertaining.

"what?" your lips curled into a smile as you spoke, letting your previous words sink into his head.

"you want babies?" dallas frowned, his question sounding more like a confirmation with himself.

"yes, as a matter of fact." you smiled a bit more, "i do."

"course' y'do..." he mumbled, taking another drag of his cigarette.

dallas was quick to drop it, not willing to start an argument over a hypothetical problem. he just continued to quietly listen to you review your day over with him, occasionally commenting on something random.

as you both fell asleep later that night, he'd be lying if he said the thought didn't cross his mind once more. maybe you'd both have a pretty daughter, with your eyes and his nose. maybe a boy with his father's recklessness and his mother's love. or a baby in between, maybe one with their mother's hair and their father's smile.

dallas winston would be a liar if he didn't admit that he fell asleep soundly that night, with thoughts of his pretty girlfriend and their babies floating around in his mind.

[ᙣზᔦ 𝔚𝔒ℜ𝔇𝔖]

𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢.

sorry about the fact i've been inactive all month pretty much! life's been crazy lately, and this request was pretty good timing since my sister just had her baby! i'm wrapping up a few other requests as of lately, and i'm getting back on track with my writing soon!

[norwegika]

Stardew valley rant:

I’ve recently been really getting into the life of spouses after you marry them, because for the majority of them, they kinda just stick at home, occasionally visiting family or friends. And those who do still do stuff, it never changes. Maru always works with Harvey at the clinic, Emily always works for Gus at the saloon, nothing really changes in their lives besides a new, much more sedentary lifestyle. I really would like for the spouses to get new hobbies and stuff when they marry you, so here’s my little ideas/headcannons, bachelorettes first!

Abigail: She begins to work on her adventuring skills in the mines and you’ll find her on every fifth floor, going further and further. She’ll give you gems from her travels, and eventually, when she reaches the bottom of the mines, she’ll start going to the skull caverns where she’ll give you iridium and the occasional prismatic shard. Something cool that could happen would be the addiction of an elevator to the skull caverns as she travels further down, every 25 floors. She would also become a member of the adventurer’s guild and serve as Marlon’s apprentice, taking over the guild on some days or opening a branch in the Calico desert that she mans sometimes.

Maru: Maru never really branches out beyond her personal inventions, so I think there could be a quest where she asks you for a new wing of the house that she could use as a workshop. This wing would be constructed by Robin, would be unlocked at 20 hearts, and would cost 750,000 gold, 250 hardwood, 10 iridium bars and 10 battery packs. Then, you could accept quests from Maru every once in a while and unlock new inventions that she made that would increase qol. Maybe she could give you a crafting recipe for auto-petters, she could make a device that automatically plants grass in meadows for your animals, a machine that can increase the quality of items by using a resource or something, the possibilities are endless!

Penny; Penny is always caring for the children of the valley, and I think it would be great if when you marry her, like Maru, you eventually get a quest that allows you to build a school for the kids, possibly utilizing the space to the left of the community center. Maybe then we could have another mini-festival where you can see the children of stardew valley show off their work, maybe unlock a “Talent Show” cutscene where Jas, Vincent, and Leo show off their skills fr. This idea is more underwhelming than my first two and could definitely be improved.

Emily: I think as you progress your post marital relationship with Emily you could help her convince Sandy to move to the valley and have someone else take over the Oasis, learning Sandy’s real name, unlocking special cutscenes with her, etc. I also feel like Emily would have a little workshop where she makes clothes and you could unlock a system where she takes your gems and a clothing item and combines them, giving your clothes a buff, like combining Topaz with a shirt gave the shirt a +1 defense buff, etc. Emily could even start a clothing line and you could gift these clothes to townspeople and get new sprites and portraits for them :D

Haley: After marriage, Haley does literally nothing but see Emily once a week. This needdsss to change, so I think she could discover her passion for photography again and start a blog about the valley, which would unlock a building to the right side of the Bus Stop: the Tourist Center. You could open a tourist center with Haley and occasionally get tourists that come to the valley, similar to the tourists at the Stardew Valley Fair. These tourists could roam around the town for a bit, and you could unlock new dialogue with the townspeople about the tourists, like “These tourists are really boosting the community economy!”

(Cc specific) Leah: Leah would start hosting art classes in the community center every Wednesday! Every month, the group of people who decided to attend could make a new painting that could be hung up in the community center, orrrr you could unlock a new building between the Blacksmith and the Movie Theater/JojaMart, where you could see the different art pieces and could have a new festival, the stardew valley fine arts conference, where the Famous Painter Lupini could host a talk with the artsy people from the valley and Zuzu City, and you could get new clothing items, a cutscene, dialogue, new paintings and sculptures, etc.

I hope you liked my insane Stardew valley yapping session, I’ll do bachelors tomorrow probably :3