#but every day you're reminded that as far as the world knows or cares - you're dead.

[blockedbykei]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇)

🏐 — tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: something about the stars has always intrigued tsukishima, how even in the dusk of the night, the brighest star would light up the world and burn itself in the process. he also didn't know what to do when that star had turned into the person who seemed to make his days just a little bit better.

— warnings: nothing much, except angst. just soft yet also mean tsukishima who doesn't know what to do with those feelings of his. maybe he's a little ooc. based on "andromeda" by weyes blood.

stars, so miniscule, so far away from his touch, so beautiful even with the stygian waters that it swims on.

every night, after practice, tsukishima would walk his lethargic body home with his headphones in his ears, his neck bent backwards it could snap. but he didn't care, he wanted to watch the stars move and follow him.

he wanted to watch all the dead stars who shined the brightest, the stars that had turned into supernovas, the stars that are created. and he felt at peace— the soft rhythm and reverb of the song humming in his ears, and the stars that lead him home.

and occasionally, adding to his visual and auditory senses, a sweet drink on the palate of his tongue made his evenings better.

tonight was no different.

he had just bid his goodbye to his teammates, although timidly and without masking that annoyance he'd always bore against the little tangerine boy who always had a little too much energy.

tsukishima begins his journey, using the stars as his map, putting his hands in his pockets. yamaguchi hadn't joined him for tonight. actually, he hasn't joined him in a while, always walking yachi home, using her "safety" as an excuse (it really was the reason, but obviously there was another one).

still, he didn't mind the absence of his friend.

anri's soft doo-wop brings pleasantries in his ears as the song begins. his fingers tap inside the pocket of his gym shorts. he looks up at the night sky and connects his own constellations. tsukishima wonders if those stars ever know that they're being admired by millions of people in this planet, even if they'd died billions of years ago.

as a child, he used to think that the stars were the meteors that had killed his beloved dinosaurs. and every night, he would refuse to look up. but then akiteru, despite finding humor in his little brother's childish belief, had decided to tell him the difference between meteors and stars. and then added more information about those stars.

so now tsukishima loved three things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, and stars.

his feet patter softly on the cobblestone that serves as a pathway to his home, the cool air drying the sweat off his temples and cooling his back, which reminds him to wipe his sweat when he gets home before he showers to avoid getting sick.

and then he suddenly comes in contact with a small body.

just outside of sakanoshita market, tsukishima's chest bursts in sudden (but light) pain from the person's elbow. and that person had emit a small noise of surprise and pain, stumbling backwards.

tsukishima was just about to snap, tell the person to look where they had been going and call them an idiot when his eyes met yours.

they're wide, irises darkened from the night's haze, and you're clutching your elbow, headphones askew. you rub the soft skin, a small pout on your lips and tsukishima wonders how painful was it for you to pout like this.

then you look at him and he feels the air stuck in his throat.

pretty.

"oh! sorry. i didn't mean to bump into you." you bow in front of him, hands pliant at your sides. tsukishima's at lost for words, lips only parted and looking at you. he still hasn't said anything when you bring yourself back up again.

"it's- it's okay." he finally stammers out, pausing his music and moving his headphones off from one ear. "sorry for not looking either." tsukishima bows slightly, just tilting the top half of his body.

you smile lightly at him, hanging your own headphones around your neck, scanning his figure. he suddenly feels shy under your curious gaze, watching as you read the print on the left side of his chest.

"karasuno...? ka-karasuno! i go there," you laugh lightly, like that discovery was the greatest news you'd ever heard. "i don't think i've seen you around. well, maybe because i'm new. i'm such a dumbass."

though the last sentence being a whisper, tsukishima contradicts: "n-no. i haven't seen you around either." he takes one step forward towards you, didn't expect himself to be nearer than he'd planned. "tsukishima kei."

you tell him yours in a polite manner, with a smile so bright you'd beat the stars that hover both of your bodies. "you're part of the volleyball club, aren't you?"

he hopes you don't see his wavering blush in the dim lights. "yes."

"cool! what position?"

"middle blocker."

"that's so cool," you face him, neck bent upwards to meet his eyes, hands forming into excited fists in front of you, like how hinata would get enthusiastic about something. "you're really tall. i bet, i mean if you could, you'd hit the streetlights when you jump."

that theory piques his curiosity. his eyebrows raise. "i haven't given it a thought. i will try it soon though." tsukishima finally removes his headphones and leaves them around his neck. he points to the bag in her hands. "what'd you buy?"

"chocolate milk. ukai-chan is your coach, right?"

"how'd you know?"

"i see him enter the gym everyday after classes. he owns this store," your head motions behind you. "can you tell him his mom is a little mean? i actually preferred it when he was watching over the store."

tsukishima smiles a little. "can't. he's our coach. he might actually drop us for his store."

your laugh may be brighter than anything else in existence.

"okay, well, see you around tsukishima-san." you smile at him, the pearls of your teeth glinting in the moonlight, the whiskers of your eyes denote the glee you've obtained from him and tsukishima softens just a little. you wave at him and walk past him.

he turns around, and even though your back was to him, his hand lifts and waves at you.

tsukishima walks home happier than he expected, a small smile lingering on his face.

🏐 —

"who you looking for, tsukki?"

yamaguchi serves his friend a teasing smile, holding the tray carefully in his hands. tsukishima looks down at his friend and deadpans:

"shut up, yamaguchi."

"sorry tsukki."

they sit down on the table hinata and kageyama sit on, the two bantering quite loudly on which flavored milk was the best and is advisable to increase their energy. kageyama says: "banana, you dumbass."

hinata argues that: "it's chocolate! it makes people hyper for a reason. could you watch your language?!"

tsukishima and yamaguchi sit beside each other, their backs to the window of the cafeteria, which meant that tsukishima has a view of the entire room, his height being an advantage despite the large crowds.

he blindly brings his bento out of his box, his eyes never leaving the heedless crowd. yamaguchi, ever the curious, most specifically the friend who always wondered what it is that ran through tsukishima's mind, asked again: "seriously, tsukki, who are you looking for?"

tsukishima huffs. "just sawamura-san. i need a-advice. on my blocks." the lie slips easily off his tongue that yamaguchi can't decide between believing him or forcing the truth out of him.

but tsukishima is slightly disappointed that even after five minutes, he still can't see the color of your hair amidst the throng of students. though his face might say otherwise (rbf), he can't help but feel a little sad.

maybe the star isn't shining so bright today.

he pokes and prods at the vegetables placed on top of his rice, stabbing the carrot and shoving it in his frowning mouth. he doesn't notice that hinata has been observing– no, looking at him. because hinata was never the type of person who could be discreet.

"stingyshima, you look sad," he doesn't know if it's a tease or not, but maybe it is. "is he looking for someone, yamaguchi?"

"i don't know," he shrugs. "he says he's looking for sawamura-san."

"he's right there," kageyama jabs his finger behind him, seeing daichi in line for the cafeteria food. "your blocks haven't been good? figured."

"sorry if i haven't lived up to your standards, king." tsukishima sneers. yamaguchi and hinata laugh, kageyama burning in his seat.

eating his lunch ended quite faster than he thought it would, and soon he finds himself walking along the hallway of the school building waiting for the remaining free time to end. so his boredom drags his feet towards the nearest vending machine.

the device on his ears blocked out all the haze and noise of the world, which left him in his own environment. it eased the nerves that trickled along his veins, rubbed the tension off his shoulders. in his own milieu, he could think whatever and say whatever and do whatever.

just like how stars form themselves however they please, explode and die whenever they want to. tsukishima didn't have better knowledge of stars than he knew of dinosaurs, but it was his own thought and he had the freedom to think whatever it is (although of course, with just a little bit of accuracy and validity).

tsukishima's eyes scan the plastic divisions for the sight of any strawberry drinks. when they land on one, he types the number and slips the cash in. the conveyor belts begin to twist.

but much to his dismay, when the drink was pushed, it never fell.

he tuts in frustration, his head falling backwards to release a tired, irritated sigh.

and then you pop up beside him.

tsukishima jumps lightly when he sees you put your head out and smile at him, clutching his heaving chest. somehow, your laugh had managed to drown out the song in his ears; he doesn't mind though. he thinks your smile was the most beautiful orchestra ever conducted.

he puts his headphones around his neck. "they're incredibly annoying, aren't they?" you smile up at him. "here, i'll help you."

suddenly, you begin to violently shake the vending machine. tsukishima almost feels embarrassed for you, but the lack of audience has rid that feeling. you, with your height, looked like a child angrily throwing a tantrum and had transferred your anger towards an object.

nonetheless, adorable.

finally, the strawberry drink fell down, and you squat to pick it up from the port to give it to him. tsukishima takes it from you and says: "thank you."

"no problem!" you beam at him. "i was actually looking for you earlier. i couldn't see you. did you eat at your classroom?"

tsukishima removes the plastic of his straw. "no. i was at the cafeteria." he doesn't want to admit he's looking for you too, but he hopes you can see it in his eyes.

(you don't. to you, he looked uninterested and entertained at the same time. very hard to read)

"aw, alright. well, i was just wondering if you'd like to, uh, switch emails?" you're shy and he finds it amusing. "not switch like i use yours and you use mine, but switch like i take yours and you take mine... so we could text each other..."

he wants to say that he knows, he's not dumb. but you– your eager eyes of softness look up at him and he forgets how to be so cruel and cold. like you were the kind of fire to melt the falling snowflakes. tsukishima nods.

"sure." he pulls his phone out with one hand from his pocket and hands it to you. you take it and give your phone to him, and it felt smaller in his hands.

when you exchange phones again, there's shyness written across your face. tsukishima can't help but blush with the way the sun kisses your skin the way it would to tainted windows– radiating colors so beautiful he can't help but simply be at awe towards you.

a star is created somewhere far away. tsukishima's heart skips a beat.

"i was actually looking for you, too. earlier." he admits, putting his phone back in his pocket. "i couldn't see you. sorry."

"don't be sorry!" there goes that smile again, always making his heart flip. "we both struggled anyway."

"do you want anything?" he points to the vending machine. "chocolate? banana? strawberry?"

"can i try yours first?"

tsukishima pauses, the straw in his mouth just finishing his sip. there's innocence in your eyes that riles him up the wall in ludicrous ways. he slowly takes the straw out between his lips and hands it to you, with you greedily taking it from him before his hand met you halfway.

he swears he could've been redder than any other person in the world when you so shamelessly put his straw in your mouth.

should i be worried about the germs or the fact that we kind of just kissed but not really?

when you sip, you swallow and he can see your brain ponder on what decision you were going to make. you hand it back to him and say: "yeah, i like that one, too."

how could you act like you didn't just drink from his straw?

tsukishima gets you one, this time without shaking the vending machine and hands it to you.

"thank you." you say, your smile adding to your gratitude.

though it seems as if time has reached its end and a familiar sound rings across the hallway that reminds the both of you that the free time was over. tsukishima sees your pout but you don't directly show it to him.

"well, see you around, tsukishima!" you wave goodbye to him, walking away.

tsukishima stands still, staying at his place. his drink was no longer cold, the condensation dripping down his fingers.

somehow, the colors are brighter, the drink was sweeter, the tension from his body had disappeared, and everything else felt lighter. and even if you were no longer standing in his proximity, that luster you left behind etched itself to him.

you were now his new environment.

🏐 —

you. hi tsukishima! 3:13pm

when his phone dings, he places his waterbottle to his side, tuning out the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls. he sees your name on the screen. he doesn't hesitate to text back.

tsukishima. Hi. 3:13pm

his palms sweat from simply typing that greeting. but his heart seems to beat faster and his chest feels light. he didn't expect that you'd text right away. nevertheless, he feels elated to see you text him.

you. didnt see u at the gates earlier during dismissal, do u have training today? 3:15pm

tsukishima. Yes. 3:15pm

you. oh really? until what time? 3:18pm

tsukishima. 7. 3:18pm

you. okay! thats kind of tiring haha. 3:20pm

tsukishima. It is. 3:20pm

he winces at the possible tone he may deliver, so he adds:

tsukishima. Haha. 3:20pm

"bruh, you text so lame."

it seems that tanaka had been peaking over his shoulder as the conversation ensued. tsukishima hugs his phone to his chest and glares at him. "that's invasion of privacy."

"and that's how to lose a girl," he points at his phone. "you text like you're so uninterested."

yamaguchi looks at the two. "who's tsukki texting?"

"some girl named, uh,–"

"no one." tsukishima snaps. "no one."

"oh, it must be the one tsukishima was looking for earlier," hinata runs– or skips towards them. "stingyshima flirting? i wonder how you look like. i'm smart, but i won't tell you that i'm a smartass because i wanna impress you with my blocking skills. i'm so cool and so tall."

tsukishima hates how hinata mimics him. he bites back. "oh, i'm hinata. i'm so small."

much to his dismay, even sugawara had joined in. "you could tell her that, you know, i'm so tired. but i'm drinking water so that's good enough for me already."

he responds with respect, though dripping his annoyance. "sugawara-san, please don't mimic me."

his phone vibrates again, and everyone else leans in to look. tsukishima snarls and moves away from them, clutching his dear phone to his chest.

you. any chance we could drink later? 3:27pm

you. not alcohol, of course. just milk or juice, or a shake, even yogurt. although, we can't drink yogurt... 3:27pm

tsukishima feels yamaguchi peer over his shoulder, and he knows its him because of that distinct smell of his. he doesn't hide the phone away even when yamaguchi says: "she's asking you out! go!"

"calm down, yamaguchi."

he shakily types his response.

tsukishima. Sure. By the store again? 3:27pm

three dots, he's awaiting for your response.

you. okay! see you there :) 3:28pm

🏐 —

his practice ends at 7 on the dot. tsukishima has never left faster in his life.

though he was always the first to leave, bidding them goodbye before walking his way home. this was different– his goodbye bore that sense of urgency with a twinge of excitement as he clumsily slipped his regular shoes on, walking as fast as he could away from the school campus.

coach ukai had actually offered that they go back to the store together, but tsukishima was in a rush.

it was an eight minute walk to the store. he got there in five.

you were no longer wearing your school uniform. you had your hands at your sides, rocking back in forth from the heels of your feet, your headphones bobbing along with your head as you listened to your song. tsukishima wonders how he would approach you.

a tap on the shoulder? yell your name? appear in front of you? should he turn you around violently and smile awkwardly? should he–

"tsukishima-san!"

he didn't realize that he had spaced out, blinking. you approach tsukishima as you discard your headphones to hang them around your neck, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

"how was practice?" you pip. "you look exhausted."

tsukishima reddens. "i'm alright. same practice anyway," he rubs the back of his neck. "should we go inside? i'm thirsty."

he hopes he doesn't sound too demanding. but you reacted normally, gave him a pretty smile, and led your way towards the store.

coach ukai's mother sat behind the counter, sporting the same cigarette in her mouth, a garbled greeting escaping her without bothering to look up as she read her newspaper. you and tsukishima find your way to the back where the drinks are.

he opens the door for you, the appliance bulb casting a white glow over your face as you bent and searched for what drink made your veins twitch with excitement.

"by the way, you know yachi hitoka?" you balance your hands on your knees, looking up at him. "she's your manager right? i'm in her class!"

"really?" he queries, swallowing thickly. "you're really smart, then. it's one of the higher classes."

"i try," you shrug shyly, looking back at the selection of drinks. "anyway, i asked her about you. she said that you were a middle blocker, 6 foot something, and that she liked your friend yamaguchi? i don't know, she said it then she denied it."

"oh, she likes him alright," he chuckles. "he walks her home every night."

"really?!" you pick up two cans of coke and clutch them to your chest, standing upwards. tsukishima shyly reaches for another strawberry drink. "i'm mad at her for not telling me that."

you make your way to the front with tsukishima following behind you. you place the contents on the counter, the woman behind muttering something you can't discern as she scanned your orders.

"are you allowed to stay out a little longer?" you ask him, the soft beeps of the drinks grazing his ears. he shrugs again, reaching for his wallet.

"yeah, sure. do you want to do something?" he places the payment on the counter before you were able to take your own cash out. you pout.

"i was going to pay for mine."

"it's alright. it wasn't that expensive, anyway." he smiles a little at you. and it was the first time tsukishima had ever smiled kindly at anyone, except yamaguchi, his mom, and akiteru. "you were saying?"

you pop open your can. "i found this really nice spot where you can stargaze. and, honestly, i'm bored and tomorrow's the weekend. i would have invited you to do this tomorrow, but we're here now!"

he laughs through his nose. "i'm free anytime."

when you both approach the exit, coach ukai and the team stand by the open doors. tsukishima stops on his tracks, his mouth parted the slighest as you tip your head back to drink your soda. when your head comes back in place, your eyes settle on the crowd upon you.

"oh, hello ukai-san!"

tsukishima looks at you through his peripherals before darting his eyes back front. they all snicker, eyes widened at the sight in front of them— cold, narcissistic, mean tsukishima kei, with probably the nicest girl in all of karasuno. yachi waves at you.

"is that why you were rushing to get out, tsukishima?" ukai teases, a cigarette hanging loosely off his lips. "i see you've met my number 1 customer."

he blushes when he's exposed, and he ignores the way you give him a surprised glance.

"so you must be the girl he was texting earlier," tanaka approaches you, offers his hand. "forgive him. he sounds lame when he texts, but trust me if you saw his face he looked like–"

"tanaka-san." tsukishima almost pleads.

while shaking his hand, yachi approaches you with yamaguchi behind her. "this is why you asked me about him!"

"shut up, yachi."

tsukishima could die right then and there. melt into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment. there were words exchanged between you and his ever loving team, the heat on his face becoming hotter and hotter at every second.

he wishes he could leave now.

by the time hinata begins to ask you a question about tsukishima's attitude, he sighs loudly. "excuse us, but we have to head out now."

you look at him again. "we do?"

"yes, we do," he looks down at you. "you told me, remember?"

you smile at him, recollecting your invitation. "oh, yes! we should get going."

you offer your goodbyes to the curious group. tsukishima wallows in discomfort, walking away with his shoulders slightly slumped and a hand in his pocket.

"i like them," you tell him, drinking your coke. "they're nice."

"they're really not," he takes a sip of his drink. "if you hung out with them, you'd be just as annoyed as i was."

his "joke" makes you laugh. first he thinks what could be so funny about his comment, then he realizes you don't actually know that he wasn't joking. the thought makes him swoon just a little.

"so why stargazing?" his and your feet are synchronized, stepping on the uneven cobblestone to the destination that tsukishima still doesn't know. your shoulder is closed to his when you walk; he resists the urge to put his hand out so that they'd graze your fingers, feeling the heat rub on his calloused skin.

"yesterday, when you walked home, i looked back and saw you look up at the sky," you reply. "and i realized that "oh, he stargazes too!" so i decided to bring you to my spot."

"your spot?" you hum in agreement. "why?"

"because it's nice to share the feeling of looking up at beautiful stars." you throw your now empty can onto a nearby bin, opening your second one. "i figured maybe you might feel the same way i do."

if it was admiration then yes, he felt the same way you did.

🏐 —

tsukishima realizes the walk was 10 minutes away from his home. now you're both standing at a hill where you can see all the houses nearby and karasuno at the other side.

you sit down on the ground, he copies you. his bottom sits on the soft soil, his fingers prickled by the grass, and the cold smell of the meadow enters his nostrils.

he thinks that everything is happening a little too fast – he had only met you yesterday, exchanged emails earlier, went out to buy drinks, and now you're both sitting at a hill stargazing like it's a date. your optimism and kindness shakes him a little, leaving him with an unknown thought of what he could possibly do as of this moment.

yet he's still here, watching you gaze at the stars, the sheer glow of the moon kissing your cheeks, the stars reflecting off the mosaic of your eyes. you're radiating this cordial heat that wraps around his right arm that rests just millimeters away from you.

"told you it's pretty," you beam, lips parted, never sparing him a glance. "you see that? that's cassiopea right there."

you point to the sky and squint, and it's only then tsukishima takes his eyes off you and follow the direction of your fingerprint.

you trace the invisible strings that connect each star to one another. blearily, his imagination turns those strings into silver. tsukishima draws nearer towards you, his shoulder now bumping yours, his pinkie grazing the skin of your finger.

"andromeda isn't here yet. but it's the one i've been waiting for the most," you turn your head to look at him.

tsukishima's breath hitches when he realizes that he may have underestimated how close the proximity he had created was, your breath fanning his face. he senses your surprise, the way the bottom of your eyes twitch lightly and your nose scrunches a little.

"i figure maybe they arive in a few weeks," he murmurs. he can sense your surprise and says: "you're not the only one who knows about stars."

"yeah? figured you were more into dinosaurs."

"that's true," he sniffles, you giggle. "when i was a kid i thought that the stars were the ones who killed the dinosaurs. so every night, when i see them, i would always cry 'cause i thought that they might fall here and kill us all."

"pessimist, huh?" when your head tilts up, your chin bumps his shoulder. "anything else i should know about you?"

"there's one thing i want to tell you but i've been making it plainly obvious."

"you have a knack for strawberries."

"yes," he smiles a little, the whites of his teeth appearing between his thin lips. "i like music."

"so do i."

"yeah? what genre?"

"...anri..."

"really?" tsukishima's eyes brighten, maybe even brighter than the stars. "i like her music."

"i thought you were kind of a japanese rock kind of guy."

"i can be many things," you look back up to the sky, your eyes darting between each individual star like you're tracing another constellation. tsukishima's tracing the features of your face like it was his constellation.

"yachi says you're mean, but in a way that brings up the team's drive to play harder," you say into the wind. "please don't be mean to me. i cry easily."

tsukishima wonders if he can even smile more than he is now. "i'll try my best. you're giving me a lot of reasons to be mean right now."

"but you're not being mean to me right now," you poke his glasses and shove them to his face, hurting the bridge of his nose. albeit tsukishima doesn't mutter a single complaint. "you're just being dorky."

"i am not!" he balances his body with one hand behind him, the other tugging on the end of your hair.

"now you're just being childish!"

your laugh beats out all the songs he had to search for to complete every single of his playlists. it was as soft as silk, as dulcet as violins; it was something he'd play on repeat when it played on his headphones. and your sweet laughed matched the way your face became even more beautiful.

tsukishima feels his heart beat a little bit faster.

a star explodes. supernova.

he no longer feels wearied from practice, his body languid from comfort in your presence. and just like last night, he was happy his day ended with something that lacked the usual bothersome feeling in his chest, but something that decompressed every constraint muscle in his body and think of something else that made the corner of his lips smile and his heart elated.

that's why when he went back home, when his mother and akiteru (who was visiting) were dead asleep, he silently descended to his room with a smile on his face, brushed his teeth with the sound of your laugh echoing in his ears, changed his clothes with your scent somehow lingering, and went to be thinking about you.

🏐 —

the past few weeks were more eventful than the days he had to train for the inter-high preliminaries.

the more he saw you, the more he felt himself unwinding like a diurnal motion, every trust and rigor travelling through his veins whenever your aura touched his opalescent skin.

you were the succor to his weary bones. you were the happiness that he never truly found in others. you were the light brighter than the stars could ever give him in the dark.

secrets were passed the way notes would in classes.

you got a sweet tooth? what dessert do you like?

strawberry shortcake, tsukishima said. no regrets, no embarrassment. pure adoration.

did you know that velociraptors aren't actually that big?

yeah? how'd you know that, tsukishima?

it's called reading, he'd roll his eyes. you're in the highest class and you don't read?

his retorts were never used to add insult to injury. that's what he liked about you– you knew when he was serious and when he wasn't despite the fact that tsukishima believed that he was hard to read. it seemed like you were able to read him better than yamaguchi has.

his heart aches at the thought. the ache, painful but so good, but something that he could not discern the true intention.

but he could never let you in him. never in his life.

you. saw a frog and it looked like you. loser. 12:51pm

you and tsukishima had exchanged countless of texts that contained topics that he never expected himself to be indulging in. that familiar ding! of his phone reminded him of you already, because you'd been the only one who constantly texted him more than yamaguchi has.

(also because, well, he set up a different tone for you.)

tsukishima sees your name pop up in a rectangular notification on his screen. he opens it with sweaty hands and a towel over his head, his thumbs typing out a snarky reply.

tsukishima. How could a frog look like me, (y/n)? That's dumb. 12:51pm

he ruffles his towel over his damp curls, the sweat on his temples being sucked into the cloth. he watches the three bubbles appear on your side and you say:

you. because i said so. look! 12:52pm

the attached image looked far from what tsukishima looks like. it was a regular frog, beside a pond, with no thoughts. he rolls his eyes.

tsukishima. I don't see it. 12:53pm

you. thats because youre not LOOKING. do u see his eyes? literally you. i think its the mouth, haha 12:54pm

he laughs either way despite not having seen any similarities. but laughing seemed to be a mistake, as he forgot where he was at the moment.

"quit laughing, tsukishima. you'll slack off," kageyama taunts from afar, face etched into an arrogant smirk. yamaguchi approaches him, peeking over tsukishima's shoulder to snoop on the conversation.

"are you worried i'll ruin your game, king?" tsukishima rubs the back of his neck, tilting his chin upwards. "my apologies."

you send him another text: omw there to see u :p 12:59pm

the latter's growl was overpowered by yamaguchi's hum of interest. "tsukki, that frog does look like you."

"yamaguchi, how nosy are you?"

"nosy enough to ask when will you tell her that you like her?"

tsukishima's eyebrows furrow. he did not like you. during those weeks, the both of you did more than just exchange texts in any time of day– often you'd meet after classes and buy a drink when he didn't have practice; sometimes you'd wait for him until seven in the evening so you'd both go up the hill again and talk mindlessly about things that tickled your brains.

in those few weeks, he had learned more about himself than he ever had with anyone else.

and he feels, though never actually given any attention to, that his days ended with a smile on his face rather than feeling boredom creeping up his shoulder like a grim reaper would on a dying soul.

instead, it felt like he was resurrected; tsukishima felt like a shooting star falling through evening, the fire pulsing through his veins as he fell. with you, he felt like everything else had color, that everything else made sense.

his life became brighter that it seemed like hinata's hair was actually on fire from the bright orange hues.

so no, he did not like you.

"i don't like her." he wipes the sweat that dripped onto his glasses. "don't be ridiculous."

"yesterday, when you were eating, you kept talking about how this (y/n) girl told you how the dinosaurs from jurassic park were created. and all of us were talking about one piece."

"so? it's way more interesting."

"but not her?"

"yamaguchi," he bemoans. "nothing is interesting about her."

that lie. that sickeningly, macabre, heartbreaking lie that it even hurt him to say it. tsukishima also doesn't understand why yamaguchi has a horrified face plastered on him, but he realizes he wasn't looking at his friend, and was looking behind him.

he whips his head around.

the tips of your shoes had mud on them from the dampened soil. your umbrella hung loosely around your wrist and dripped on the ground. your fingers clasped around a small contained with what seemed to be strawberry shortcaked that looked delectable enough to make his stomach hurt. and your chest heaved from what he assumed was the aftermath of rapid walking.

despite the sight that had made his head spin, the affliction that twitched from your frowning lips and the gloss that made your eyes shine from dejection had turned the situation into something so monotone he feels like his soul had just left life.

a star dies in the middle of the galaxy.

tsukishima thinks the regret plastered on his face may be seen. he hopes that it is.

the sound of squeaking shoes and ricocheting balls continue, but the ringing of his ears are louder. you swallow thickly, shuffling on your feet, and approach him hesitantly like he'd burn you if you were near him.

"i brought you this because you looked so pale yesterday after you practiced," you say softly, though he could hear the pain in your tone. tsukishima takes the container from your reaching hand, and swears he sees your breath hitch when his fingers graze yours.

"thank you–"

"see you around, tsukishima," you bow, before you hurriedly leave the gymnasium.

it felt like the room was shrinking rapidly on him, his muscles pressing in on his body in a suffocating manner. yamaguchi puts his hand on tsukishima's shoulder, leaning down to check in on his distraught friend.

"tsukki," his eyebrows are raised in concern, voice loud enough to snap tsukishima out of his pity daze but low enough that everybody else remained distracted. "hey..."

"i'm fine," he looks up at him. "it's nothing. i'm- i'm fine. let's just go back to practice."

his fists clench when he shoves the cake into his bag and walks back into the court. his blocks are futile when he thinks of your eyes. his serves hit the net when he thinks of the frown pasted on your lips. and he feels himself at the bottom of the game when another star dies.

he just doesn't know if it was his or yours. could a heart break two times?

🏐 –

tsukishima had a crisp trepidation towards the true veneer of love.

he believes he was too young for that, that he was in a stage where he would have this deep passion for things that were alive albeit something that he can't touch nor interconnect with– hense is unfathomable love for dinosaurs, stars, and strawberry shortcake.

so whatever it is that he was feeling for you – he doesn't know if it's love. tsukishima feels like he could die if he didn't see you for a single day; his feet and his body restless up until you both meet after practice.

tsukishima is even more restless now.

there wasn't a single text from you since 12:59 in the afternoon.

there was almost a hundred texts from tsukishima since 3:00pm, the time he had excused himself early from his practice.

he lays on his bed, his headphones on but no music. he wasn't in the mood to put himself up in brighter spirits. his back rests uncomfortably on the thick mattress, his curls splayed across his pillow, a hand on his chest and a hand holding a fork, his feet spread apart.

and the strawberry shortcake you gave him rests on his chest, half eaten, his mouth chewing sadly on the sweet delicacy.

"do you think stars have thoughts?" you asked. tsukishima found this beguiling and preposterous simultaneously, however the curiosity that happened to lift his lips into a dazed smile made him release a teasing retort:

"you certainly don't."

you threw a grape at him. he caught it with an open mouth. the sun was about to set, but the warmth was enough to prevent the both of you from shivering idiotically on the hill at the cold breeze. "i'm approaching an epiphany, asshole."

your vulgarity made him smile more. "celestial bodies, more specifically stars, do not have thoughts. but they're alive, and they function into a cycle."

"unorthodox minds like mine go out of the box," you rolled your eyes. "sorry, i'll put it in simpler terms so you could understand. i have a very creative mind."

"oh yeah?" tsukishima tilted his head sideways to present his interest. "and what'd you mean by that?"

"you know how stars die and create themselves?" you queried. "it's like how phoenixes rise from the ashes as they're reborn. but when a star resurrects, they're called "zombie stars," right?"

"yeah."

"and i'm not saying that they have a mind of their own, but if you were to input your own thoughts into a star, then yeah, it's like they resurrect themselves to live on with life over and over again, and don't you think that's exhausting? they're like dead stars, and they still shine brightly, and it's ironic, right? because something that has been dead billions of years ago still shine. it has a meaning into it that people just... completely ignore."

"so an analogy?" his eyebrow raised.

"yeah, something like that," you licked your lips. "when you see a bright star, and you don't know if it's a dead star. but imagine stargazing and finding love in something that has been dead long ago."

tsukishima's body softened. "uhuh."

"but what if you keep loving that star? and that star just receives so much of that love that they're able to resurrect themselves. well, obviously loving a star isn't actually gonna bring it back to life because there's a separate scientific explanation for that, but i'm saying that– that if you love something, or someone, hard enough that you're able to bring light into their lives, then that's possible.

and they take all that love for the benefit of their life and... they burst into something beautiful called supernovas."

tsukishima stared at you, his gaze ever so adoringly. "and what's the point of this epiphany of yours?"

"that loving someone that has been gone inside their body is possible to save them and bring them back to life to turn them into someone even more beautiful."

tsukishima sits back up, a whiplash from the quick commotion.

it was already night when his thin curtains were tainted black from the dark glow of the evening.

he pushes himself off his bed, slip his way out of his home and clumsily puts his shoes on to find you.

and he knows exactly where you are.

so it's no surprise when he sees you all alone, laying down on the meadow of the hill, blooming flowers grazing your cheeks in any way the wind blows. tsukishima stands and stares at you longingly, his fingers twitching beside him.

"(y/n)."

he says your name like an oath to the stars. you sit up, hearing his voice, cheeks dry with tears melting onto your skin. tsukishima's heart breaks the slightest when he brings himself up the hill.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him, voice so small he'd think you were whispering.

to his surprise, tsukishima falls onto his knees in front of you. he finds it endearing that despite the reduce of his height, you still look up at him. then he takes your hands into his, his thumbs tracing every ridge of your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes.

"i didn't mean what i said." he declares like he was under jurisdiction of the judge. "you are–... the most interesting woman in the world. the most beguiling, the most entrusting, the most beautiful."

your eyebrows furrow, hands shaking in his grasp. "what are you saying?"

"that i'm an asshole." he admits. "you are so interesting that every epiphany of yours pulls me back on the ground and into you. that epiphany you had about dead stars that resurrect themselves from getting so much love? shit, (y/n), that may be me."

you let out a tiny gasp, maybe a breath of reliefz his face is so close to yours, his knees in between your legs, bumping the side of your thighs. "what?"

"i–... i don't know if you love me. you don't have to. but you've made my days brighter and gave my life meaning that i felt like i was resurrected. like all the pieces in me were brought back together. and everything else just felt... alive."

finally, you smile. just a little, but it was enough to make the grass greener and the color of your shirt turn pastel, your eyes vibrant in the night. "yeah?"

"yeah," he laughs, idiotically he may add. "i like you. i like you so much. i like you more than i like dinosaurs."

you guffaw, throwing your head back, hands never letting go.

a star resurrects. a supernova explodes.

"i like you more," you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

it was enough for him to jump on you to press his lips on your awaiting mouth, gently pressing you down on the grass, his hand on the back of your head to soften the blow as he settles himself in between your legs.

his mouth, sweet with strawberries and ardor, his hair soft like flowers when your fingers tangle on the golden locks, his glasses pressing against the space between your eyebrows and the bridge of your nose, his tongue that hovers respectfully on top of your bottom lip.

innocent, lips full of solicitude, he kisses you deeper and with care, his head tilting to open his mouth the slightest so that he could get closer to you. the small sound that emits from your mouth makes him pull back and smile shyly.

his eyes had the galaxies reflected off his eyes that it made space seem like they were golden from his irises. you take his glasses off, placing them beside you, and let your hands rest on his face; tucking his hair behind his ear as you do so.

and above your intertwined bodies, andromeda swims across the stygian night sky, traced by invisible strings. just as tsukishima predicted.

tsukishima could stare at you for the rest of his life.

tsukishima loved four things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, stars, and most especially:

you.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[f1byjessie]

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[topguncortez]

f you’re still doing prompts : jake and shy wifey !

please. make me feel good. no one else can like you.

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

Body Love || Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey

opposites attract masterlist || main masterlist

synopsis: Y/N has been having a hard time feeling confident since the births of her twins. Jake is determined to make her remember how beautiful she is.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smutty-ish, cursing, negative self talk, mentions of c-sections

note: lmao not me going back to my graduation challenge requests. but think of this as a soft launch before whumptober gets started

She was doing it again. Jake had caught her doing it several times in the past couple of days. That look in her eye told him that what she was looking at, she didn’t like what she was seeing in the mirror. She furrowed her eyebrows as she touched her cheeks gently, poking at the skin on her face. Jake tried his hardest to stay out of sight to watch her. 

Y/N was gorgeous. She was the most gorgeous girl that Jake had ever laid eyes on. Her body had changed a lot over the years from age, and carrying five of the most beautiful kids that Jake had ever seen in his life. Her thighs were a bit bigger, her stomach not as flat as it used to be, her breasts weren’t as perky, and her hair had some grays in it, all small changes of age and being a mother. But the scar that sat on her lower abdomen was the most noticeable to her. The scar wasn’t there a year ago, but it was now a permanent reminder of probably the worst day of her life. 

The pregnancy and birth of Jasper and Maxwell Seresin had been anything but easy. Throughout the whole thing, Y/N was having problems with her blood pressure. One moment it was too high, and the next it would be too low. She had tried her best to remain as stress-free as possible, but it was hard with a naval aviator for a husband and three other kids running around the house. A c-section was the last thing she wanted, but when it came down to a life-or-death situation, Y/N agreed to it. The scar reminded her of the moment when she almost lost her babies. She didn’t like it, but Jake loved it. 

He loved every single mark on her tummy. Whenever they were intimate, Jake would kiss every single stretch mark on her tummy, sending flutters through her body. But they hadn’t been that intimate since Jasper and Maxwell were born nearly a year ago. Y/N never liked to take her shirt off anymore when they would have sex. She would hardly show herself when they would get dressed in the morning, she’d either step into the closet or the bathroom. They didn’t shower or bathe together like they once did, in fact, she went as far as locking the door whenever she did to deter Jake from entering. 

Jake didn’t like being iced out like this. He had spent years trying to break down her walls, to get her to let him. She slowly opened up to him, and gradually built up that confidence to let him know everything about her, to let him truly see her. But now, it felt like he had moved ten steps backward. 

He sighed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on, as he watched Y/N lift her shirt gently and run her fingertips over the scar. She looked at the reflection of the scar in the mirror and frowned at it. Jake walked up behind her, and placed his hands on her hips, causing her to jump at the action. Y/N tried to push her shirt back down to cover the scar, but he stopped her. 

“Why do you hide this from me?” Jake asked, looking at the scar in the mirror. He gently ran his thumb over the skin and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t like it,” She answered, “I hate seeing it. It’s ugly.” 

“Yeah, but it reminds you of how much of a champion you are,” Jake said, and placed his lips on her skin, “Shows the sacrifice that you made to bring your babies into the world.” 

“They were cut out of me,” She sniffled and looked away from the scar. “My last babies and I didn’t even actually give birth to them.” 

“Stop that, yes you did,” Jake turned her body, so she was facing him. He gently lifted her head up, “You gave birth to Jasper and Maxwell. It wasn’t how you wanted it to be, but you still did it. It still means something.” 

“Why have you stayed with me?” Y/N asked him honestly, looking up at his big green eyes. She could see the heartbreak in his eyes the moment the words left her mouth, “I-I’m not as pretty, or as confident or as smart as some of the girls you used to bring around the Hard Deck. So, why did you choose me? Why did you stay with me?” 

“I stayed with you because you didn’t throw yourself at me, or any of the other pilots that walked into there. I chose you because you are a kind, gentle, old soul, who would rather stay home and eat strawberry cupcakes and watch Bob Ross paint ‘happy little trees’ instead of going out and getting piss drunk,” Jake explained, “I chose you, because when I saw you. . . I saw my whole future. I saw our wedding, I saw our first house, our first deployment, our kids, that huge ass flower garden you made me plant and sat by sipping on lemonade looking as good as a Sin on Sunday,” Y/N chuckled at his words. Jake caressed her cheek, and kissed both of them, before grabbing both her hands, 

“If I could go back in time to the night that we first met, I would choose you, over and over,” Jake said and kissed her lips. 

“Even though I look like this now,” She gestured to her body. 

“Especially when you look like this,” Jake said. Y/N let out a gasp as Jake quickly turned them, and placed her on the bed. He climbed on top of her, and looked down at her body, “God damn, you look so fucking sexy. You looked sexy then, and you look sexy now. Your body has changed in the most delicious ways.” Jake pressed his hips into hers, and her eyes widened at the feeling of his semi-hard cock, “I get hard just thinking about you. Thinking about your ass, your thighs, your tits, your tummy.” 

He moaned as his hands grazed the sides of her stomach, “Your tummy. . . fuck, it has to be my favorite place. I love it. I love seeing it stretch and grow with my kids.” Jake pushed the shirt that she was wearing up underneath her boobs, and started placing kisses down her sternum, to her belly.

“Please Jake,” Y/N panted. 

“You don’t realize how crazy you drive me,” Jake shook his head, climbing back up her body, and placing kisses on her neck, “Fuck sometimes I feel like a fucking teenager, getting instantly hard when you walk into a room.” He pushed his hips against hers, his hard-on straining against his joggers. 

“Show me,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his face in her hands, “Show me what I do to you. Make me feel good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, green eyes peering down at her, a hint of mischief in them, “You want me to make you feel good?” Jake’s hand slowly worked down her body, until he was cupping her covered pussy in his hand. Y/N nodded her head frantically, shamelessly grinding against his hand. He was hardly even touching her, and she was begging for him, “What do you want from me, Y/N? Tell me.” 

“Your fingers, in me.” 

“Like this?” Jake asked, feigning innocence as he slipped his hand down the front of the boxer shorts she was wearing. His fingers expertly parted her, sliding through her slick and gently into her. Y/N’s head tilted back with a loud moan. 

“Yes,” Y/N moaned as Jake’s fingers curled in and out of her, his lips sucking gently at her neck, “No one else can make me feel good like you do.” Jake nodded his head, pulling his fingers out of her and gently circling her clit, “Fuck, Jake.” 

“So naughty for me,” Jake chuckled against her skin, “I love it when you curse.” 

“I love it when you touch me,” Y/N said back, her hand reaching down to palm him through his pants. She pressed her lips against his, her free hand gripping the back of his neck and playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. Jake’s hips bucked into her hand, as his tongue slipped into her mouth. 

“Jake,” Y/N cried out, as his fingers slipped back into her, curling them against that sweet spot, “Make me cum, please.” “Don’t worry baby,” Jake cooed, grabbing her hand and pinning it above her. She whined at the loss of pleasure from him, “You’re mine and I take care of what belongs to me.”

taglist: @damrlova @phoenix138 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592 @noonenuts @marvellouscroissant @senawashere @bradshawsprincess @alwayshave-faith

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[ikaroux]

How are they with their pregnant partner? Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Alert: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

Note: Wow, it's been so long since I've written NSFW…. I'm a bit rusty.

Then I'll have to do Aether, Neuvillette and Wriothesley, as well as diving back into rewriting the old texts in this series. I'd also like to do Freminet… Let me know if you're interested in other characters.

Since I now have an AO3 account, I decided to rewrite the first versions of this series to post them on it. I hope you'll still enjoy them.

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus

"Ah?! A ba-baby!?"

Itto's reaction was surely overblown, yet the expression on his face was undoubtedly to die for. Mouth wide open, he stared at you in shock, taking a long moment before pulling himself together.

Bursting into laughter, he wrapped his muscular arms around you. "Ha ha ha! I've got to tell the Arataki gang! They'll be so happy to know that their leader will soon be a father! No, wait! I'll announce it to all of Inazuma! Let's have a big party! OYE! SHINOBU!" You hit him hard on the head, red with shame. 

"I forbid you to tell anyone until you're three months pregnant! Have I made myself clear?!" Your stern tone sent shivers up and down his spine. 

"Ah?! Why not now?" You sighed. You may have loved this man with all your being, but he was still exhausting your nerves.

"There's a high risk of miscarriage during this period, which is why I'm asking you not to talk about it... Please. Please." His expression slowly softened as his gaze dipped into yours. Again, he wrapped his arms around you more gently, tenderly kissing your forehead. 

"Understood, boss." You smiled, lovingly returning his embrace.

Itto's behavior during the pregnancy was so exemplary that the members of his gang, Shinobu first, wondered if he hadn't suddenly fallen on his face. He even went so far as to find "honest" jobs here and there to buy you maternity clothes and furniture for his future bedroom.

Your husband had the ingenious idea of consulting the high priestess Yae Miko for advice on your pregnancy... Peculiar. Itto knew of no demon in his circle who had fathered a child with a human. His instincts warned him of the risks you could run with a half-demon baby. Miko will make sure you're taken care of by a midwife who knows the oni world.

You felt terribly ill during your pregnancy. From beginning to end, your vomiting and discomfort drove Itto crazy with worry. You could see him running around looking for anything that would make you feel better. If you were vomiting, Itto would stay with you, stroking your back until it passed. If you felt dizzy, he'd lift you into his arms and sit you on his lap, rocking you gently until you felt better.

Often, you could see your companion admiring you with a blissful expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" you'd ask him every time, knowing perfectly well his answer. You loved hearing him repeat the same passionate, loving words to you. "I just think you're beautiful. I can't take my eyes off you. Héhé." Itto always had this little blush on his face when he admired your rounded belly. Really, pregnancy made him much softer and more considerate than usual.

You didn't like people touching your belly just because you were pregnant. And it took you a long time to accept that Itto would do it without you grumbling. Yet it was his childlike smile and the stars in his eyes that gradually made you accept the situation.

Itto would often talk to his baby, telling him how his day was going or stories about the oni clans. You could only listen, rolling your eyes as he combined words with gestures. Even so, you couldn't resist stroking your companion's imposing hair, smiling tenderly as you watched him.

When your belly is rounded enough to be visible even from several meters away, Itto will make a habit of always kissing it, amused by the baby's kicks that would distort your belly. "HAHAHA this child will be big and strong, just like his father!"

It was quite amusing to see your companion preparing for the birth of your child, taking crash courses with a few women from your village. Shinobu was obviously making sure that his boss used the right gestures to calm a child's cries, change its diapers or properly hold its baby in his arms.

As expected, the delivery was difficult. Giving birth to a half-demon child demanded a strength your human body didn't possess. Blood loss made you wince and Itto thought for a moment he was going to lose you both. But you showed exemplary strength, and the support of your companion, as well as that of the high priestess, enabled you to pass this difficult ordeal. Your baby's cries echoed through the room, and Itto wept loudly, clutching your hand to his cheek. His tremors and muffled sobs made you smile tenderly, as happy as he was that all had ended well.

Itto was speechless as he took his child in his arms for the first time. Was this little crying creature his baby? The one he'd seen growing in your belly? HIS child?! He was so tiny, so cute with his little scarlet horns barely visible on the top of his skull. Not quite knowing how to soothe his crying baby, you showed him the right way to rock him and... Surprisingly, Itto was extremely good at it...

Your tender oni is said to be a very protective and cheerful father. He wants his child to always see the world in a positive light. He'll sometimes be a bit too daredevil with him, earning your wrath. Fortunately for you, Itto will calm down over the years…

NSFW Bonus

"POUAH, I'm exhausted!" Itto dropped onto the bed, arms and legs spread wide as he let his heavy eyes close. "The Arataki gang gave it their all again today. Hehe, at least we're not causing Shinobu any more trouble!" Watching him out of the corner of your eye, you smiled slyly, striding towards him with hushed steps. The oni opened his eyes abruptly when he felt you climb astride his hips, your hands sensually massaging his bare chest. You'd always appreciated the firmness of his muscles, taking pleasure in exploring each of his curves to discover the most sensitive places he hid. Leaning over him, letting your chest, slightly swollen with pregnancy hormones, rest against his, you nibbled his lower lip. His eyes, immediately filling with desire, couldn't tear themselves away from yours. You could quickly feel your lover hardening beneath you.

"Do you still have enough strength left to care for your companion in need?" You mumble erotically in his ear, teasing his nipples with your fingertips. "I want it terribly~" Itto lifts his hips to meet yours, one of his hands positioning itself on your waist to rock you onto your back.

"Do you feel that?" His hand crept under your clothes, passing the band of your underwear to caress your femininity. "Héhé~ you're already soaking wet darling~ Is it being pregnant that puts you in the mood?" Without giving you time to respond to his comment, Itto enters two fingers deep inside you, making you cry out in surprise. He knew perfectly well where all your sensitive points were, pressing slyly on them to make you moan loudly. Your body sought to escape the delicious torture he was inflicting, his fingers aggressively penetrating you. "Don't awaken the beast in me if you don't want to writhe in pleasure under my ministrations." Itto was a completely different man when he had sex with you, his usually jovial face transforming into a darker expression as his desires got the better of him.

Pregnant or not, he was never one to go out of his way. Itto knew he was big, too big for you, and foreplay was always a mandatory step before he could implant his sex inside you. "Look at you, darling, your breasts are so big with pregnancy. I want to lick them terribly!" Itto grabbed one of your breasts between his lips, adding a third finger inside you as his free hand groped his pants to pull out his excruciatingly hard member. It was too much for you, and your back arched beneath him, your hips swaying to the rhythm of his fingers. You were so close, and seeing him caress himself while he fingered you made you come hard on his hand. Itto pulled away slightly you, leaning toward the other nipple he hadn't yet teased. "Not yet... Not until you can take four inside you." Damn, that damned demon!

Itto looked thirstier than you, his eyes glowing scarlet as he watched you cum with four of his fingers inside you, just as he'd promised. Sex with him had always been sport, but now that you were pregnant, everything seemed more intense. When he finally penetrated you, that damned demon took a malicious pleasure in watching you from all his height, holding your legs close to his hips as he pounded you rigorously. His eager eyes darted between your face distorted with pleasure, your swollen breasts bouncing with each of his hip thrusts and your slightly rounded belly.

Itto was a man of stamina, far more than anything you could take. So when you begged him to stop, the oni would comply at once, fear settling in his brain. Had he hurt you? Was the baby all right? None of the above... But you were clearly close to fainting. Itto, aware that he'd been a bit hard on you, will take care of your body, immersing you with him in a warm bath, his big hands massaging your shoulders. He won't be frightened to see you asleep in his arms, so, taking advantage of your sleep, your companion will cuddle you tenderly, one hand resting on your belly, lovingly caressing it.

"I'm going to be a dad? Really?"

You smiled tenderly, taking his trembling hands in yours. Heizou's gaze flickered between your eyes and your belly. A baby? You were pregnant?! His mind blurred as a vision of you with a round belly popped into his head. All of a sudden, the word dad sounded pretty good in his head... Kneeling in front of you, Heizou encircled your thighs with his arms, placing a tender ear close to your belly, a joyful smile on his lips. "I'm going to be a daddy... I'm going to be... Daddy!" Slowly, tears rolled down the cheeks of your companion, who had suddenly gone silent. Your hands were lost in his hair, cradling Heizou against you, feeling his tears stain your clothes. You waited patiently for him to calm down before kneeling down in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his as a gentle smile stretched your lips. Heizou closed his eyes, resting the palms of his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs lovingly caressing your skin. He breathed in your scent slowly, enjoying it more and more each day.

The two of you remained like this for a long moment, enjoying the tender silence that surrounded you. Images of your future life flashed through your minds. Heizou carrying your child in his arms, his gaze tenderly on him until that tenderness was directed at you...

Heizou was nothing but sweetness and tenderness to you. Even before carrying his child, this man never raised his voice at you or refused to take you in his arms. He loved to cuddle you, take care of you and listen to you. Sometimes, he would take you on his lap and listen to you affectionately talk about your future child, imagining your future life with him. You could sometimes see a dreamy smile stretch your companion's lips, as he imagined, just like you, this wonderful life.

Kazuha was a close friend of yours, so he was one of the first to be informed of your pregnancy. What a surprise when he knocked on your door, a gentle smile on his lips, holding your letter in his bandaged hand. "I've asked Beidou to make a little detour to come and see you. Congratulations, both of you." The two men weren't very tactile compared to you, who didn't hesitate to hug him in thanks. "Hehe, expect the title of Uncle Kazuha! What do you think Heizou? Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"; "Pretty good indeed." Heizou replied, a warm smile on his lips. To tell the truth, Kazuha didn't mind and, in a way, was happy to know that a family would now be waiting for him back in Inazuma.

Your companion's job was a constant source of anxiety for you. The midwife had gently admonished you for this, reminding you that stress during pregnancy could be bad for you and the child. Heizou, who accompanied you that day, bowed respectfully to her, promising to do all he could to calm your anxieties. Obviously, you were feeling terrible as you left the surgery, crying your eyes out in your companion's arms. Heizou comforted you tenderly, murmuring words filled with love. After this episode, he promised you he wouldn't take any more potentially dangerous commissions for the rest of your pregnancy…

For a few weeks, you'd been practicing cooking for your future baby. Heizou was sort of your test subject, trying to create colorful and cute bento. He enjoyed it every time, looking forward to seeing what you had prepared for him. He loved the little octopuses you made with the sausages, or the animal-shaped onigiri. His favorite was surely the pink onigiri that strongly resembled a fox. He was sure you'd tried to imitate Lady Yae Miko in her yokai form.

Heizou was sitting comfortably on your bed, one hand tenderly caressing your scalp while your head rested on his thigh. You could feel his other hand warmly covering your six-month-old belly, occasionally enjoying the little kicks his child gave through you. Heizou's fingers had always had this magical effect on you, weighing down your eyelids as sleep slowly invaded. Heizou was happy to have you in his arms, confident and at peace, pampering and cherishing you. Your breathing was a soothing sound to his ears and the movements of his child against his hand, an affectionate warmth he loved to feel.

"Heizou, promise me you'll stay with me through the birth! The closer the fateful date gets, the more I'm afraid of what's going to happen..." Your companion took you in his arms, gently caressing the small of your back. "I promise I'll be there, from the beginning, until the end." His lips kissed your forehead, moving down your nose until they settled on your lips. "Together... Even if I end up with a crushed hand, I'll stay by your side." You laughed, hitting his arm without force. "Everything will be okay, Y/N... I love you."

Your companion managed your first contractions with impressive composure. He quickly took you to the midwife's office, insisting on staying by your side all the way, as he had promised. Your companion kept your hand in his, occasionally wiping your forehead with a cool cloth. He encouraged you all the way, worrying about your cries of pain. He knew it could last several hours, and seeing you suffer helplessly gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite the context, he promised himself to remind you later of all the curses you'd shouted against him and the gods, while your mind was clouded with pain. He would surely have laughed if he hadn't seen the tears rolling down your cheeks…

Heizou remained silent for a long time, as he gazed with tear-filled eyes at his infant, comfortably ensconced in the crook of his arms. Sitting cautiously by your side, he finally dared to explore his child's chubby face, tenderly brushing his cheeks, nose and little lips. Curious, he placed a finger in the hollow of his palm, his little hand automatically tightening around it. Heizou let his tears flow, leaning gently towards his baby to kiss the top of his head, then towards you, lovingly claiming your lips.

Heizou will be a very warm and instructive father. He wants his child to be able to learn all sorts of things for himself, encouraging his curiosity and intellect. He will never be too hard or too strict with him, preferring to explain things several times rather than let him give up. He doesn't expect his child to follow in his footsteps, but he'll still be happy when he tells him he wants to become a great detective, just like him.

NSFW bonus:

You were naked, leaning over the bathtub to check that the water temperature wasn't too hot, completely oblivious to the olive eyes staring back at you with a brilliant gleam of desire. Heizou approached you, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. His hand rested on your belly as his bare chest pressed against your back. You shivered as his teeth nibbled your earlobe. "You really are gorgeous..." He murmured sensually as his hands worshipped every inch of your skin.

"Hei-Heizou, you really are insatiable! We've already made love today! Twice!" You growl without any real motivation, your lover's hands slowly kneading your chest. You hear him giggle against your ear, pressing his hips against your buttocks.

"Is that a problem? I can easily guess you want this as much as I do..." That man and his damned intuitions! You quickly gave up the fight as Heizou sensually lowered one of his hands between your thighs, teasing your femininity with his fingers. "You're so wet already~ Is it pregnancy that's got you all worked up?" Heizou pinched your nipple as one finger penetrated you with ease, making you squeal against him.

"Stop teasing me for a moment! I need you..." You begged, your fingers encircling Heizou's wrist. Your companion breathed an amused laugh, withdrawing his hand from you to guide you to the bathtub. He didn't need to fight your desires, because after all... He wanted the same thing you did.

Heizou kissed you with tender passion, his hands resting on your hips helping to lift you onto his member. And as he pulled away from your lips to better admire you, seeing you gasp, head slightly tilted back and lips parted under the influence of pleasure swelled his heart with pride. He was the one who put you in this state... Singing his name as he touched all your sweet spots... You were so sensitive with pregnancy, it made him dizzy. He couldn't help it, he needed to see your flushed face, hear your moans of pleasure. Heizou had always enjoyed sex with you, but pregnancy made you so needy that he lost control…

It was so good to feel your hands in his hair, your body pressed against his with only your hips swaying on his shaft. Heizou loved breathing in your perfume, tasting your skin, having your little round belly against his stomach and your voice so close to his ear... Unable to take it any longer, Heizou helped you speed up the pace of your back-and-forth, making you cry out his name. He wanted to feel you cum, to have your walls tight around him. Heizou licked hungrily at your neck, grunting against you as he savored the tension rising in your abdomen, indicating that you were nearing your climax. And when, at last, you freed yourself from that merciless knot, squeezing his member in sweet, pleasurable torture, Heizou released into you. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as his hand tenderly caressed your back, murmuring soft words against your neck, feverish kisses wetting your skin.

Heizou will help you wash, towel and dress, taking you back to your room to rest... Until the next round.

"I'd really like to start a family with you, Y/N."

That's what he'd said to you one night, as he cuddled you in bed after a session of passionate lovemaking. How could you refuse him? You felt ready, and so did he.

A month later, when you were suffering from persistent vomiting and exhaustion, Lyney decided to take you to see a doctor as a matter of urgency. How could he not be concerned, seeing you in this state for over a week? And why didn't Lynette seem more concerned about your condition? He didn't have time to ask himself these questions. Your health was all that mattered to him...

"Congratulations, you're pregnant." declared the doctor with a big smile. Lyney, sitting beside you, remained silent, his eyes wide with surprise, unlike yours, which had a smile stretching to your ears.

As you left the practice, you walked quietly through the streets of Fontaine, Lyney at your side. He hadn't said a word since you left the office... And that began to worry you. Did he regret it? "Lyney... ?" Whereas up until now, your gazes had fled each other, you put aside the fear knotting your stomach to confront him... And then, as you turned to face him, you saw them... His tears streaming down his cheeks... "Lyney! Why are you crying?! Don't... Don't you want this child?" Suddenly he took you in his arms, embracing you warmly as his face hid in the hollow of your shoulder. "Y/N... I promise I'll do anything to make sure our child has a wonderful life! I swear it! I'll take good care of him. Both of you. You'll never want for anything! *snif *. Thank you, Y/N. I love you, mon amour. I love you so much." It was your turn to cry, the pressure knotting your stomach disappearing with his words. Your arms wrapped around his neck. Yes, you were going to build your own home. A home filled with joy and happiness...

Lyney would be surprised to see you so clingy with him. To tell the truth, it was usually his job to be clingy. You didn't want him to leave your side or take his hand away from your skin... Pregnancy made you very emotional, and only Lyney's smell, his presence, his warmth comforted you... He never complained, and to tell you the truth, he loved it. Receiving free hugs or feeling you curl up around him like a koala when you slept always made him smile stupidly.

He'd obviously let Lynette and Freminet know, although both seemed to have already guessed your condition... He was happy to see his family accept your pregnancy with such joy. His sister and little brother were very close to you and, like Lyney before them, promised to do everything in their power to make their nephew's/niece's life a wonderful dream.

Lyney would bend over backwards to meet your needs. Pregnancy made you very greedy and your desires were sometimes... Wacky. Why were you suddenly craving a bowl of soba, a dish that was only served at Inazuma? No matter! He would learn to cook it to please you...

When you became pregnant, you and Lyney were just engaged. Seeing that your belly was getting rounder, Lyney thought you'd look gorgeous in a wedding dress. And he wasn't wrong... On your wedding day, when he first saw you in it, the harmonious curves of your belly making you even more sublime, he froze in front of your beauty. You were beautiful, as bright as the sun, as soft as spring, as gorgeous as the rainbow rose. He could hardly believe that this incredible being would not only be his wife, but also the mother of his child.

"Lyney!" Your husband gasped as he heard your angry voice calling his name. Your mood swings had been quite hazardous since your pregnancy, and your husband's slightest misstep sent you into a tizzy. "I told you not to leave your magic accessories lying around the apartment! I'm not asking you for heaven!" Lyney was quick to apologize, immediately putting his things away. After that, he always knew how to make amends, kissing every part of your face, massaging every sore spot on your shoulders, whispering words of love to you.

He loved to make you sit between his legs, tenderly caressing your belly to feel his child against his palms. He loved having you against him, your hands resting tenderly on his to guide him to the places where you felt the baby move. The first time he felt it, he marveled as children do at his magic tricks. He wondered if he knew that the hands on his mother's belly were those of his father, or if he recognized his voice... And you were sure he did, because every time Lyney spoke to him to tell stories, your baby seemed to react, bubbling in your belly. "Hey, mon petit ange, do you know how Daddy managed to seduce Mommy? No ? Then let me tell you a story~... It all started with a rainbow rose..."

Since you were pregnant, you had learned to knit. Lyney was silently raving behind the back of the sofa where you were sitting, humming a few nursery rhymes while you finished your work. Leaning back on the backrest, his chin resting on his arms, Lyney admired you with loving eyes, listening to the sound of your voice while you remained oblivious to his gaze, too focused on the little socks you were lovingly knitting. At that very moment, Lyney felt blessed by the gods... You were a true blessing in his life.

At times, Lyney was filled with doubt. His childhood had been miserable, he had never known the love of a parent, only the cruelty of Men. The hearth had given him and his sister a home and a family, but even so, Lyney hadn't had a childhood. Would he really be able to give his baby a happy childhood? Would he be able to preserve his innocence? He had promised himself to be strong, as a husband, but also as a father. He often discussed this with you, exposing his darkest fears. You were his light, always finding the right words to illuminate his darkest thoughts.

You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, and the contractions were becoming more and more present. Lyney, tormented by your suffering, stayed by your side, keeping you upright and helping you breathe deeply to ease the pain. As soon as the contractions subsided, Lyney took the time to help you sit up, then took care of your belongings. You were close to delivery and it was out of the question for you to take care of anything while he was around. The midwife was already aware of your close contractions thanks to Lynette, and Freminet kept an eye on you, occasionally refreshing your sweaty forehead. As soon as he was ready, Lyney called a carriage to take you quickly to the Fontaine maternity hospital. It had, quite literally, become a family affair...

Although the birth lasted only four short hours, Lyney was heartbroken to hear your cries of pain. The pain on your face made him lose his mind, and even though your hand was crushing his, he paid it no mind - after all, his pain was nothing compared to yours. All he wanted to do was encourage you and pray for the best... He was scared... Although Fontaine's technology ensured that pregnant women were well cared for, tragedies could still happen. Finally, when he heard the baby's first cries echoing through the room, he allowed himself to breathe. Crying his eyes out, he kissed your forehead several times, hoping to convey all the love he felt for you. "Bravo mon amour, you did it. You've done it. I'm proud of you..."

The first time Lyney saw his baby in your arms, his eyes would fill with tears, bellowing how beautiful he was and how much he looked like you... Almost hesitating to take his baby in his arms, Lyney trembled as he became aware of the reality of this being so small, so fragile... His child. Stars shone in Lyney's amethyst eyes as a happy smile stretched his lips. Gently, he placed a kiss on his baby's forehead, promising that he would always be by his side and do everything in his power to protect him.

Lyney will be an exceptional father. He will look after his child with care and tenderness, using his magic tricks to make his child's eyes shine with joy. As he promised, Lyney will do everything to make your life beautiful. He was a loving, caring, funny and magical father and husband...

Bonus NSFW:

You heard the sound of a door closing, indicating that Lyney had just returned from his magic show at the opera. Abandoning everything you were doing, you rushed to the entrance to find him... No one. The living room perhaps? You quickly made your way there, finding your companion slumped in the armchair, admiring with a gentle smile the stuffed animal he held over his face. You had knitted it for your baby, modeling it on the amethyst-eyed cat he camouflaged in his top hat... Gently, you approached Lyney, gazing at his beautiful, moonlit features. When he finally noticed you, his face lit up as he lovingly whispered your name. His hand reached out to you, inviting you to sit on his lap. Your heart palpitated, happy to accept his attention. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him all day, or maybe pregnancy and its hormones were making you feel unbearably lonely. Whatever the case, this sense of urgency led you to him at a run, your fingers curling tenderly around his.

"I've missed you, mon amour." Lyney helped you settle astride him, wrapping his arms around your waist. The warmth he radiated as he pulled you firmly back against his chest made you want more....

"I missed you too..." You whispered back to him, eager for his attention, wanting more than just a hug. You felt insatiable, on the brink. It had been weeks since you'd been thrilled by him, though the look in his eyes made it clear he wanted to claim you... Was it your belly that was stopping him? Had he built a wall between you and himself to prevent him from giving in to his deep-seated desires? Yet when he saw the need in your eyes, Lyney languorously moved one of his hands up to your hair, tracing a slow line down your back to your neck before following the path of your jaw. Once he reached your hair, he gently grabbed a tuft, bringing your face close to his, your lips brushing lightly against his. Aaaah~ You could already feel him hard against your groin…

"Y/N, if you look at me with those eyes.... I don't know if I could hold it in... But I don't know if it's wise for me to make love to you in your state, ma chérie... Tell me to stop if you don't want it to get out of hand..."

Grabbing his shirt, you closed the distance between you and his lips, kissing him with need, your hips pressing a little harder against his erection. You needed him as much as he needed you... Now!

"I asked the midwife about it... She said it was safe..." You murmur against his lips before diving back into your kiss. That man was so weak under you...

Lyney took the time to prepare you with his fingers, encouraging your hips that moved sensuously to the rhythm of his hand working you languorously. Your companion always went slowly with his foreplay, starting first with teasing caresses on your clitoris before inserting a finger then two between your walls. His thumb, which was not devoid of agility, massaged your swollen nerve, almost making you moan loudly into his neck. Lyney was never silent during your intercourse, even when he wasn't yet sheathed inside you, he felt a torturous pleasure just by hearing the sounds you produced under his ministrations... Your belly had taken on a few curves with the pregnancy, and Lyney took a malicious pleasure in caressing it with his free hand, whispering words of love to you.

"Y/N~ Seigneur... I love you, ma chérie. I love you both... When I think that you- Hm! - carrying my child... It drives me crazy! I don't know why- Ahh~ - it puts me in such a state!" His hips crushed your heart as he withdrew his fingers to unbutton his pants, freeing his painfully hard, engorged member. "If you weren't already pregnant, I'd make sure you were tonight!"

"Ly-Lyney!" You cried out in pleasure as he began to penetrate you inch by inch, making you tremble on top of him. It felt so good it made you dizzy.... Lyney clung to you, rocking your hips with his hands to help him reach the bottom. You were so tight around him that he was sometimes forced to stop to help you relax.

"Relax mon amour... I don't want to hurt you... Ah! You're tight!" When he finally reached the bottom, Lyney stroked your back limply, his face buried in the hollow of your neck. You were both panting, drenched in sweat and trembling. The clothes still on you were becoming suffocating and you had to pull away from him to get rid of your top and bra. As you did so, your eyes never left Lyney's, who mimicked your actions, throwing his own clothes away before pulling your face towards him. His tongue forced your lips open, tangling with need around yours. It was a sloppy kiss, fueled by the desire you had for each other. This simple fact made your lover far more needy, his member trembling inside you. No longer having the patience to wait, you slowly lifted your hips, leaving only the tip of his sex inside you, before moving back down to the guard... It was a languorous dance, where your breaths served as music. 

Lyney would move slowly, his member touching the deepest, most sensitive parts of your femininity. He'd manage to make you see the stars with so little effort, sometimes changing your position to sit in reverse cowgirl or simply tipping you gently over onto the living room table, legs braced on his shoulders as he sensually pounded you. Your pleas drove him mad, always asking for more... And by the seven, he loved it.

After your escapades, Lyney would make a point of carrying you to bed, cleaning you thoroughly with a warm towel and kisses lost on your skin. You quickly fell asleep under his gentle caresses, giving him the opportunity to whisper words of affection to your belly. His hands tenderly cradled your belly as he rested his head on it, feeling the slight movements of his little one.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Angst, Violence, Aggression, Blood, TomRiddle, Slapping.

***FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Emily, are you sure I look okay?" You said, your voice a mix of stress and anxiety. "Did you get my baby hairs? The ones in the-"

"Yes, I got them." Emily said, cutting you off as she took a few steps back, focusing her attention on your uniform now. "You look perfect. Beyond perfect."

In the soft glow of your dormitory's lamplight, you moved toward the mirror, your reflection illuminated with a warm, golden hue. You released a long, tension filled breath as you eyed your appearance, your Ravenclaw uniform clinging to your form with tailored precision, the royal blue fabric complementing your complexion and accentuating your confidence. The pleats of your skirt fell in perfect symmetry, and your tie was knotted with care, each fold a testament to your attention to detail.

As you met your own eyes in the mirror, your irises sparkled with determination and purpose. Your makeup, subtle yet enhancing, highlighted your features without overshadowing your natural beauty. With a final, approving nod at your reflection, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the meeting ahead. You wanted to make sure that every element of your appearance spoke volumes about your professionalism and attention to detail. Confident and composed, you spun back around, meeting your blonde-haired friend  with a subtle smile.

"Emily, I can't express my gratitude enough," you sighed, your voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and unease. "I can't fathom why I'm so terribly nervous about this."

"It's Tom bloody Riddle; anyone would be nervous," Emily replied, her tone holding a touch of amusement as she lounged on her bed, her eyes fixed on you. "You know, he could be really good for you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying," she continued, sensing the growing tension in the room. "It's astonishing how you've spent seven years at Hogwarts without really getting to know him. You and he, you're like kindred spirits--both quiet, effortlessly brilliant...I could see you two hitting it off."

You felt a shiver race down your spine at the very idea, yet you quickly dismissed it with a forced, light-hearted chuckle. "Now, that's quite a leap, my friend."

"Make sure to remind me of my prediction when it comes true," she teased, a smirk dancing on her lips as she stifled her giggles. "Off you go now, don't keep Tom Riddle waiting.”

With a grumble of a goodbye, you took a steadying breath before pushing open the door of your dorm room and entering out into the bustling corridor. The familiar buzz of students filled the air, everyone seemingly lost in their own little world as you briskly made your way down to the library, your stride full of a tense determination. As you finally entered, your eyes scanned the room in search of Tom, and when you spotted him--engrossed in books, his demeanour calm and composed at a table in the far corner; your heart rate involuntarily increased.

But then, you spotted movement out of the corner of your eye--and when you shifted your gaze toward it, your pulse plummeted, heart stopping dead in your chest.

Mattheo Riddle, the man who, in his entire seven years at this school, had ventured into the library fewer times than he could count on one fucking hand--was surrounded by his friends on the far couches, a bright-eyed brunette girl seated dangerously close, her eyes glued to him as if he held the universe in his hands. The scene sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through you--creating a visceral reaction that made you want to retch.

You blinked, unable to believe your eyes, witnessing the source of both your irritation and inexplicable attraction, appearing utterly untroubled amidst his social circle. The sight should have been inconsequential--a mere blip on your radar, considering your vehement dislike for him and everything he's put you through.

Yet, as he met your eyes from across the room, that familiar, breath-stealing, devilish smirk teasing the corners of his perfect fucking lips, it felt like a punch to the gut, a twisting turmoil in your chest that you couldn't quite comprehend.

You knew you shouldn't care about who he was with or what he was doing. After all, you despised him, his arrogance, and the way he seemed to effortlessly entangle you in his web. But the inexplicable pang of jealousy clawed at your insides, leaving you both irritated with yourself and unsettled by the intensity of your emotions.

Trying to shake off the feeling, you clenched your fists, reminding yourself of your purpose here--to meet with Tom Riddle and discuss the mentorship guild. Despite your internal turmoil, you focused on the task at hand, determined to ignore the distractions and maintain your composure, and began to make your way across the room toward Tom.

Straightening your posture, you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. As you approached him, you cleared your throat to announce your presence.

"Mr. Riddle," you greeted, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I've heard great things about the mentorship guild, it's been a longtime goal of mine to be a part of it."

Tom's eyes, a sharp contrast to his brother's, held a depth of intellect that seemed to penetrate your very soul. His appearance was the polar opposite of Mattheo's--clean kept, professional; gelled hair and fresh robes--all attributes you'd never find on his messy haired, couldn't-care-less sibling. Tom regarded you with an assessing gaze, nodding appreciatively.

"I'm pleased you're interested," he replied, his voice smooth and composed. "Let's find a quiet spot to talk, and please, call me Tom."

With those words, you gave him a small smile before  following him through the isles of shelves and towards the back of the room, reserved only for quiet studies, leaving the unsettling sight of Mattheo and his entourage behind, unable to ignore the heat of his eyes on you from across the room as you moved. In the hushed confines of the library's quiet study area, you settled into a seat across from Tom, the anticipation of the conversation ahead mingling with a sense of relief.

Away from the prying eyes and distracting presence of Mattheo, you felt a newfound confidence building within you.

"Thank you again for considering me, Tom, you have no idea what this opportunity means to me," you said, your voice steady as you met Tom's gaze. "I've always admired your achievements and your approach to academics. I believe I can learn a great deal under your guidance."

His eyes, a captivating shade of deep brown, held yours in an unwavering gaze. "Please, the pleasure is all mine," he replied, his tone dipped in charm. "I've heard remarkable things about your intellect and dedication, Dumbledore spoke very highly of you. I anticipate our collaboration to be mutually beneficial…I have high hopes for what you can achieve."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you offered a grateful smile. Encouraged by his words, you felt a surge of motivation. "I'm eager to contribute in any way I can."

Tom's eyes glinted with approval. "That's precisely the attitude we value. With your potential and determination, I have no doubt you'll find your place within our guild."

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself immersed in discussions about your academic aspirations, the guild's objectives, and the various projects they were involved in. With every word, you felt a sense of belonging, as if you had finally found a community where your intellect was not only recognized but celebrated.

As you observed Tom while he spoke, it was clear that he was someone you could relate to on a profound level. Like you, he poured his heart and soul into his studies, the pursuit of knowledge a shared passion. His quiet confidence mirrored your own determination, and his dedication to academic pursuits resonated deeply with your own values.

In Tom, you discovered a like-minded soul, someone who, like you, appreciated the sanctity of the library's quietude and the solace found in the pages of a well-worn book. While Mattheo's antics might overshadow his brother's achievements, you recognized Tom's brilliance as a beacon of inspiration, a reminder that there were others in Hogwarts who shared your unwavering dedication to intellectual pursuits.

As the discussions came to a close, Tom straightened his posture in his chair, adjusting his pristine Slytherin robes.

"It's truly refreshing to meet someone as passionate and driven as you," Tom said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I believe you have a lot to offer, and I truly look forward to seeing your potential unfold."

You offered a grateful smile, though his lingering gaze left a trail of warmth beneath your skin. "Thank you, Tom. I'm admittedly quite antsy to prove my dedication."

With a charming smile, Tom leaned over the table toward you slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"I must admit, I'm not only intrigued by your dedication to intellect," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "There's something else...something undeniably alluring about you."

"Is that so?" You murmured, head tilting.

His words sparked something inside you that made your pulse increase. You weren't sure what the fuck you were doing right now, but admittedly, you couldn't help yourself. If the Riddle brothers had anything in common outside of their devastating good-looks, it was their effortless bloody charm.

"Indeed, it is," he matched your playful tone, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I'd relish the opportunity to delve deeper into your thoughts...outside of the Thursday evening guild meetings, of course," he said, his eyes glinting with intellectual curiosity. "How about we make it a habit, meeting one-on-one regularly? Tuesday evenings sound splendid, don't you think?"

Internally, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirred within you. The idea of regular one-on-one meetings with Tom was undeniably enticing, and would do wonders for your reputation, yet the fear of Mattheo's reaction held you back. As you hesitated, an unsettling vision of Mattheo's disapproving expression flashed in your mind, causing your response to stall.

"I...I appreciate the offer, Tom," you finally managed to say, your voice slightly shaky. "Tuesday evenings should work. I look forward to our discussions."

Your response came out a bit stilted, your internal turmoil seeping into your words, and Tom, ever perceptive, noted your apprehension with a slight eyebrow raise, but clearly chose to dismiss it.

"Wonderful. I look forward to it as well." He said, pushing up from the table and shooting you one last professional nod, "enjoy the rest of your night."

You smiled. "You too, Tom. Thank you.”

And with that, he spun, making his way down the dimly lit isle of the library, your gaze fixated on him until he was entirely out of sight. And once he was, you slumped back in your chair, releasing a stifled breath, acknowledging that his flirtation added a new layer of complexity to the already intricate web of your emotions--but, considering the fact that Mattheo was nothing more than selfish asshole who was currently cuddled up with another girl at this very moment, you refused to wallow in the thought of him any further.

You pushed up from your seat and delved deeper into the library's hushed corridors--the muted ambiance and the scent of old parchment surrounding you as you moved. With purposeful steps, you maneuvered through the labyrinth of bookshelves, gliding down the dim aisle of your choice, your eyes scanning the titles, seeking the specific astronomy book essential for your upcoming exam.

Finally, you came to a halt in front of the S category, your fingers gently tracing the spines as you read their titles, lost in the tranquility of the moment when out of nowhere, a vice-like grip clamped over your mouth, stifling any sound, and you were forcibly pulled backward--your body colliding with a strong, powerful chest, the abrupt impact momentarily jarring your senses.

As the initial shock faded, and the lingering smell of cigarettes and firewhiskey filled your nostrils, calloused palm tightening its hold over your lips, you knew there was only one fucking man that this could be. Mattheo Riddle's unyielding hand muffled any protest, and the fingers on his free hand dug into the wooden shelf beside your head, his silent strength radiating a chilling intensity that left you frozen in fear.

"Playing with fire, aren't you, Raven?" His hot breath danced on your ear as he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You know, playing too many little games might get you in trouble, princess..."

Pinned against the shelf, your fingers clung desperately to its edge, seeking stability as your body pressed firmly against the unforgiving wood. Mattheo's presence enveloped you, a low growl escaping him as he tugged your face to the side, pressing your temple against the row of books, his lips grazing your ear--holding you captive like a fragile little bird, ensnared in the coils of the big bad serpent.

"Tuesday nights, huh?" His voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it, your heart pounding in your throat as you realized he'd must have heard your conversation with Tom--and clearly, wasn't very happy about it. "I knew you'd fall for his fucking bullshit, Raven...you seem to have a knack for falling into traps, don't you?"

Rage coursed through your veins, a primal growl building up in your throat as you pressed against his restraining hand, your thoughts ablaze with a multitude of scathing comebacks. The fervent desire to unleash your fury clashed with the harsh reality that he had more to say, leaving you seething in silence.

"You're delusional if you think he's actually fucking interested in you..." he breathed, pressing his lips directly to your ear now. "You're just his new prey...his new little protégé...take you in and make you feel special, just to discard you once he's done with you..."

A chill crawled down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach like a lead weight. His words stung, and you struggled against his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, reminiscent of a snake coiling around its prey. Despite your attempts to break free, his hold tightened like a serpent constricting its victim, leaving you feeling trapped and vulnerable--involuntarily eliciting a sensation between your thighs you wished to ignore.

"Maybe that's what you want though, huh?" He taunted, voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe I've already ruined you...maybe you like being a little slut so much now that you're willing to throw yourself at anyone who offers..."

Your groan of frustration mingled with a futile attempt to break free, but his grip on your mouth remained unyielding. The hand that had been braced against the shelf now shifted to your hip, anchoring you firmly in place, his touch possessive, commanding--sending shivers down your spine, even in the face of his despicable words. The sheer force of his hold had an intoxicating allure, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unable to fully resist despite your burning anger.

"Do you want to fuck him, Raven?" His voice tightened, twisting your head back further to meet his eyes, the painful angle making you wince, your lids fluttering shut as a result. "No, no. Open those eyes. Look at me."

Your stomach churned with unease, and you reluctantly complied, his fingernails digging into your cheek as he forced you to meet his dark, possessed gaze, the smell of alcohol radiating off his breath.

You swallowed. It was a bloody Thursday--why was he drunk on a fucking Thursday?

"Is that what you want?" He muttered, his voice softening, though his grip remained firm. "Because he's going to try...believe me, he's going to fucking try."

In the vice-like grip of his fingers, you growled low, a surge of irritation coursing through your veins like molten lava. How dare he presume to control your actions, as if he held any genuine concern for your well-being? His selfish motives were as transparent as glass, his only interest lying in your submission to his sexual desires. Meanwhile, he shamelessly paraded his affections for other girls, a cruel reminder of his callousness. There was no way you would yield to his manipulative tactics, your determination burning brighter than ever amidst the storm of his toxic influence.

And with a surge of sheer madness, you bared your teeth beneath his palm, sinking them into his rough flesh with a viciousness that mirrored the intensity of your anger, determined to inflict any pain you could in your struggle for freedom--and as your teeth dug into his skin, he recoiled, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you tried your hardest to draw blood.

His grip momentarily loosened, allowing you a gasp of precious air before he tightened his hold once more--his eyes, ablaze with a mix of fury and surprise, bore into yours, capturing your defiance and turning it into a challenge. With brutal force, he spun you around, your back colliding with the unforgiving shelf; the impact sending shivers of pain racing through your spine, and the back of your head met the harsh wood with a sickening thud--your vision momentarily blurring, your heartbeat echoing in your ears like a war drum, punctuating the silence of the library with the harsh reminder of your vulnerability in his grip.

Your eyelids flickered, blinking rapidly to clear the haze, unveiling his intoxicated form, a menacing silhouette against the dim light. His eyes, blacker than the midnight sky, bore into your face with predatory focus, dissecting every flicker of emotion that crossed your features. Your eyes widened in sheer shock, somehow just now fixating on the new cut over his nose, dried blood trickling down from his nostrils and staining his chin, throat and uniform like macabre tears.

"Yeah, that's right..." he muttered, grin crawling over his lips, "take a good fucking look, princess."

Trapped beneath his unrelenting palm, you pleaded, your voice barely audible amidst the fear that gripped your throat. Desperately, you tried to shake your head, your eyes widening in horror as the sinking, sickening sensation in your chest deepened.

Your heart raced with dread, praying vehemently that the blood staining him had nothing to do with Tom.

"I warned you," he sneered, his head tilting as he leaned closer, his palm pressing your head back against the shelf with savage force, as if he was anticipating your impending reaction. "I told you exactly what I'd do to him if he fucking tried anything..."

Your heart fell, shattered, and scattered into a million shards on the cold library floor. Anguish surged through you, transforming into a fierce, unyielding determination, and without hesitation, your hand left your side, a trembling force of defiance as it harshly connected with his cheek--sending his face whipping to the side, his messy hair bouncing against his forehead with the impact.

The sharp sound reverberated through the silence of the library, and his grip on your lips faltered just enough to allow you to break free. Before he had a chance to do anything else, you gripped his wrist, holding it in place, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions.

Your voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and anger, words escaping your lips in a choked whisper. "I can't...I can't fucking believe you," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drum. "Mattheo, do you even realize what you've done?"

He blinked, his cheek tinged with a rosy hue from the impact of your slap. "Do you?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" Your lungs seized, anger threatening to collapse them. "How the fuck am I supposed to explain why you fought your own brother over me? How the fuck am I going to justify that in any way? We aren't supposed to...we aren't-"

Your words cut through the air, heavy with incredulity and a profound sense of betrayal. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you at a loss for words as you struggled to comprehend the tangled mess he had created.

"He doesn't know it was over you," he muttered, ripping his wrist from your hold. "It's not the first time I've fought my brother, Raven."

"Oh, so it's just one big coincidence that you suddenly pick a fight with him after he meets with the girl who's been tutoring you one-on-one for the last few months, right Mattheo?" You snapped, your words laced with bitterness and frustration, the tension between you hanging in the air like a storm waiting to unleash its fury. "Do you understand that if anyone fucking finds out about us...literally anyone...my post graduate career is fucking ruined, and all of this has been for absolutely nothing? Do you understand how many rules I've broken, how much I've risked, just to allow you to use me however you’d like? And this is how you repay me?"

With a sudden movement, you brought a hand to his chin--your fingernails biting into the skin of his jaw, the sharp edges of your frustration cutting into him as you held him firmly in place. The intensity of your grip mirrored the storm brewing inside you, the forceful pressure a physical manifestation of your raging emotions.

"You have absolutely no fucking right interfering in on my life like this...not while you're cuddled up with another girl on the couch...not when you've made it clear as day that I'm your fucking toy and nothing more." You seethed, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. "You have no right to paint him as though he's some demon when you haven't once dared to look at your own fucking reflection."

Mattheo's eyes met yours, his usual confidence flickering for just a moment as the weight of your accusation settled upon him. "You have no idea what he's like...you can't-"

"I know what you're like." You hissed, dropping your hand from his jaw. "And not many can be worse than you."

"That's where you're wrong." He retorted, spitting the words through barred teeth. "That's where you're absolutely fucking wrong."

"Admit it, right now, Mattheo." You snarled, words like venom as you spat them off your tongue. "Admit that I'm nothing but your fucking toy, nothing but a naive little slut for you to manipulate...admit that I'm-"

Your words hung in the air, abruptly silenced as Mattheo's vice-like grip clamped onto your jaw, the intensity of his hold promising to leave marks on your skin. He pressed your head back against the shelf, your body stiffening in response to his overpowering force. The heat radiating from his frame enveloped you, intensifying the sense of confinement as his free hand slammed onto the shelf beside your head, adding to the mockery of your helplessness.

"No," he growled, his voice low and intense, the frustration palpable in the air. His grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you winced, the pain jolting through you. "You're fucking not."

"Bullshit," you hissed back, your defiance flaring despite the pressure of his hold.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto yours with a fiery determination. "If you were just some conquest, just some notch on my bedpost, why the fuck wouldn't I have fucked you already, huh?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the intensity making your stomach twist in knots. "I've had countless chances, Raven...and Merlin knows I fucking want to."

Your voice trembled, the vulnerability seeping through your words like a crack in a dam holding back a tidal wave of emotions. "Want...to...what?"

"Fuck you," he admitted, his grip on your jaw loosening, his confession dripping with both desire and frustration. "I want to fucking rail you, Raven, what the fuck else would I be talking about?"

"But?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest, desperate for an answer you already fucking knew. "What's stopping you?"

He exhaled, his jaw tensing. "You're a fucking virgin...I've never...I wouldn't feel right if I-"

"Exactly my fucking point," you said, cutting him off, your words slicing through the tension between you. "It wouldn't feel right because I'm just a fucking toy, Mattheo...I'm just a means for you to get your release and then throw away when you're done, what you said just fucking confirms it..please don't stand here and try to pretend otherwise..."

The truth hung in the air, heavy and raw, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your unspoken feelings, leaving both of you engulfed in a suffocating sense of reality.

"You said you had no interest in taking my virginity." You whispered, reluctantly meeting his eyes. "You fucking said that, before any of this started."

"I know," his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I know what I fucking said.”

"So, let me get this straight." You spat, eyebrow cocked. "You want me to continue being your toy, breaking every rule in the book in exchange for your tutoring cooperation and improved grades in order to help me impress Dumbledore, while you continue to be with other girls, but get controlling and fucking crazy when your own brother comes near me, even though you know we could never be together and you have zero intentions of making that happen away...yeah?"

As he blinked, remaining silent, you huffed, releasing a frustrated breath. "Can you at least do me one little fucking favour and explain that hypocrisy to me, Riddle? Or-"

Cutting you off, Mattheo's fingers gripped your jaw for what had to be the hundredth time in ten minutes, pulling you into a kiss that felt like an explosion of chaos and passion--the taste of blood, firewhiskey, and the lingering scent of cigarettes filling your senses; a potent mix that somehow pulled a low moan from your throat. His tongue brushed past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you breathless, your entire body reeling from the raw desperation in his touch. The world around you faded into oblivion as his hands slid into your hair, anchoring you to him, pressing you against the shelf with an irresistible force, neither of you willing to separate despite your urgent need for breath.

After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo's lips reluctantly left yours, trailing a path of fire down to your jawline. His hot breath, laced with the taste of whiskey and desire, washed over your skin as he panted, and the room seemed to pulse with the aftermath of the passionate exchange. The two of you stood there, heaving, as if trying to fill your lungs with enough air to regain composure--the intensity of the moment lingering, leaving you both breathless and yearning for more, even though you both knew it was a stupid, idiotic, dangerous game you were playing.

"How is it, that the one woman I can never get enough of, is the one I can't have..." he whispered, his voice so low you swore there was no fucking way you heard him correctly. "When I think about it, I guess it's a fitting punishment, for a monster like me..." his hands fell to your hips, softly holding you against him. "To hold something in my hands and know beyond a bloody fucking doubt that I'll never deserve it."

Your lungs stalled, your heart stopped, oxygen fleeing you as though it was running from a fucking fire. He took a step back, releasing you fully.

"You're right, I had no right doing what I did." The words slammed your chest like a fifty pound brick. You couldn’t do anything except blink. "But I couldn't control myself, and it's not your fault, it's mine. I can’t get over myself. Just be my tutor, and let’s forget anything ever happened between us…I hope my brother makes you fucking happy.”

Without giving you a chance to respond he shifted, making his way down the isle and disappearing around the corner before you even had a singular chance to decipher what the fuck had just happened.

————-

Chapter Seven->

[rwbyrg]

Can we take a moment to appreciate just how well fed we are? Both in canon and beyond?

Oscar said "woah" the moment he first met Ruby.

"Woah. You have... silver eyes". Specifically.

The scene of them sparring at sunset and being goofy about it.

They're the two youngest members of the team, and both of their main allusions are stories about growing up (The Little Prince and Little Red Riding Hood).

Oscar's main allusion is of a character that's in love with a rose. Ruby's last name is Rose, she has a rose emblem, and can turn into rose petals.

They also have shared/parallel allusions from in-universe fairytales (Ex. The Boy Who Fell From The Sky, The Girl Who Fell Through the World, and most notably, The Warrior in the Woods).

The Dojo Scene

Their shared attachments to each other keep being put in focus.

Oscar cared more about Ruby being knocked out than Weiss being impaled at Haven.

Ruby's always watching his back in fights, and he always has hers in group conflict discussions.

Neo, the illusionist character, uses Oscar as both the first and last illusion to torture Ruby; going so far as to make Ruby "kill" him with her own hands. It could have been anyone, but it WASN'T. It was OSCAR.

Meanwhile, Oscar in the V9 epilogue laments to Ruby's "grave" about how he is struggling to hold onto who he is more than ever before. In large part because of the merge, but also because Ruby "always saw people for who they really were", and she's not around anymore to help remind him of who he is.

"You're your own person."

The Almost Hug.

The song that plays leading up to The Almost Hug is one about someone pining for a love they've lost and been separated from across worlds. The song airs a few episodes before Oscar and Ruby are the only "pairing" split up between Remnant and The Ever After. The song itself is called Treasure and Ruby is a type of precious gem, while Oscar's name alludes to gold.

Oscar's last name is Pine. Which, aside from the species of tree, is defined as: "to long or yearn for the return of something; to suffer, typically from a broken heart"(please see points 12 and 15).

They have multiple paralleling arcs and themes around choice, identity, responsibility, leadership, grief, etc.

Their character designs have complimentary colour schemes like other canon ships (red/green and silver/gold).

Sun/Moon ship

"Combat gear looks good."

They also follow the same story beats, separations, and reunions that other canon ships have in show (the meet-cute, the getting-to-know-you, the breakup arc, the distance makes the heart grow fonder trope, the (upcoming) emotional reunion, etc).

The animators, writers, and even voice actors on occasion, engage with fan content or discussions of the ship in a positive manner.

The Official RWBY Twitter Oscars Meme

Miles Luna has said a few times that the ship is cute. He also highlights that their relationship is built on mutual understanding from being in similar circumstances as the youngest kids in the group with too much weight on their shoulders.

Miles also said that in a hypothetical scenario where everyone celebrates Oscar's birthday, Ruby would buy a co-op video game as a present and the two of them would stay up really late playing it together.

Rosegarden won 2nd place in a popular RWBY YouTuber's "Top 10 RWBY Ships" poll as voted by fans after Volume 8 (it would have been third place if Renora and Bumbleby hadn't tied for first).

That one video from Aaron Dismuke, Oscar's VA.

"That kid's got a collapsible staff" -heart eyes emoji-

We've gotten a "Rosegarden Moment" in every Volume premiere since Oscar's debut in V4.

Oscar shouting Ruby's name too many times in the V6 fight against Cordovin.

Maria tells Oscar to "keep that fire fed" after he overhears Ruby talking about food always making her feel better. Then a few episodes later, he suspiciously makes a casserole for the "team" after "they" had a rough day (where he stood up for Ruby when she was looking defeated in a group argument).

Oscar's the only person Ruby opened up to about her grief until the blacksmith. Meanwhile, Ruby's the one who's always assuring Oscar he's his own person despite the merge.

The parallels of Oscar's struggle with the merge and Ruby's ascension in The Ever After.

"I'm just going to be another one of his lives, aren't I?" / "What if you could be anyone?"

Characters within the narrative regularly notice how close these two are to each other. Mainly Nora, Weiss, Yang, Cinder and Neo.

Oscar blushed when Ruby touched his shoulder???

THE FUMBLE?!?!?!?

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

How the Rhodolite princes would react to their firstborn/newborn

Rating: PG-13 (?) Ikepri itself contains a lot of mature themes however, as such, mdni 🔞

Warnings: Brief mentions of (past) character death, grief, pregnancy/childbirth themes (no actual birth depicted), gn but implied afab, & the usual tragic Ikepri cannon.

A/N: Tried to write how they'd hold their kid and what they were feeling when meeting them. Spoiler warnings for the Rhodolite princes routes, tried not to bring up anything major though (Luke's is probably the most spoilery?). Tried to keep the princes' spouses GN, though implied afab bc newborns. (One very brief mention of Belle, but mc/reader is not Emma.) Might eventually make pt2 with the others..? Please read the warnings and proceed only if comfortable! :)

(Apologies for anything that seems ooc, I haven't written much in awhile and this is my first piece for Ikepri! I'm more used to fics rather than hcs, but I tried my best! o7)

JIN 🦅

There's so much Jin can't help but worry about. His past, his future, his country... and now he's got not one but two loved ones he would do anything for. The little bundle of joy in his arms reminds him of the times when his younger brothers were born, and how cute they used to be (well, some of them, anyway). The bleary, garnet eyes trying to look into his own have him wondering.. is this how he looked to his dear mother? There's so much he cherishes, and so much he fears, but he won't let the history of Belle repeat itself. He'd fight the entire palace if he had to, but for right now, he'll settle for tackling pesky burps and dirty diapers. Jin coos at his baby, baritone voice suddenly startling the poor thing, and he can't help but pout. The baby in his arms continues to fuss, feeling hungry.

Jin pulls something out of his breast pocket, looking over at his spouse. "So.. how much longer until they can have lollipops?"

CHEVALIER 🐅

Chevalier would likely be a bit awed upon holding his firstborn, much like the quiet way he takes in Emma's precence. Chevalier is known to be awkward with his affections, as he's far from practiced, but it's been shown on several occasions how he tries to gently pet an animal that dares to come close, or how he clumsily takes care of his love when they're feeling under the weather. He may look fine on the outside, but he's actually quite hesitant, trying to sort things out logistically at first, before sort of just settling for standing there and holding his newborn with both arms. He stares down at their gentle features, taking in every detail, making sure they're comfortable and warm in their sleep.

Looking over at his beloved in all their tired glory, in his very own Chevalier-approved affection he says, "You did well, Simpleton." While he only speaks four words aloud, his faint smile speaks the thousands he didn't quite know how to express.

CLAVIS 🐆

"Dearie me," Clavis says, holding his newborn, full of wide-eyed excitement. "They look so much like you, I can see the bunny ears already."

Being someone who values life so dearly, bringing a new one into this world, with the love of his life no less, is enough to send Clavis' heart soaring into the stratosphere. He just can't help but want to drown them in affection, but they're so small and fragile, and Clavis knows better than to risk scaring them now. He's so, so gentle with his child, unconditional love flowing off him in waves as they bond quietly (please don't get used to this, it will not last), and looks upon their splotchy tufts of lilac hair. The Lelouch genes live on through yet another generation, he smiles to himself. Clavis slowly comes over to stand by his love, placing a gentle kiss on their head.

"You're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband like me. But I'm even luckier to have you both in my life."

LEON 🦁

The happiest day in Leon's life. Second only to your wedding. Scratch that, the wedding is second.. he thinks. He's a bit frazzled from work, labor stress, and all the chaos, cut the guy some slack. No one is immune to this sweet lion's charisma, not even a newborn. They can't help but stare at his flowy hair and bright eyes, like a cartoon character come to life right before their eyes. Leon gently caresses their neck, very lightly pressing a kiss into their soft kiss to their temple. What kind of person will they grow up to be? Will they eat as much as he does? Will they fall asleep when they read too? There's a lot that runs through his mind, but ultimately, he is hopes for them to be healthy, and live happily. This child is going to be absolutely spoiled (within reason), and always have someone in their corner, rooting for them and ready to help learn from their wrongs. For now, he can worry about righting their posture instead. He tries to hold them like he read (how his partner read) in the parenting books, supporting their necks and all. It was really hard to stay awake during those, but the excitement of fatherhood helped him push through, and he's going to put it all into practice now.

"When do we start working on the second one?" (If not for the literal newborn currently in his hands, he'd be busy dodging several pillows.)

YVES 🐈

There's a lot of suppressed guilt for his mother's death in mind, and so many worries for his darling's health before, during, and after. He's a bit scared to hold his newborn, for fear of his clumsiness and "bad luck". With some assurance, he finally takes hold of them, and he could not physically be more careful with his firstborn. Clear eyes like the sky blink sleepily up at him, and Yves is fighting back tears solely for fear of them landing on the baby and somehow hurting them. The smile on his face could split his cheeks if it got any wider. The baby falls asleep in its father's arms, and he even tries breathing softer so he won't wake them. He's just trying his best, please reassure this sweet cat, he means well. (And he absolutely lost the battle against those blasted tears anyway.)

"Thank you for loving me, and for bringing our child into the world with us. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

LICHT 🐺

(Twins having twins cliché may seem redundant, I made 'em different for each brother, pinky promise.)

Licht was blessed with not one but two bundles of joy. Beautiful twin boys, who had what looked to be his vibrant silver hair and his beloved's eyes. He couldn't help the memories that surged, of happier times, and the worst of times. He knew all too well just how ruthless the court could be, but he had a chance to make things different this time. Licht seriously considered building that house he'd once mentioned, and moving you all somewhere much more peaceful. One twin in his arms, one with their other parent, he feels all thought subside when the one he's holding tries to grab at his sleeve. Licht's now-famous smile blooms across his lips much the way the sun's rays appear over daybreak; subtle, then all at once. He takes a gloveless hand, letting their tiny hand hold onto his finger as best they can, eyes gleaming from the sight before him. Licht looks over in wonder at his spouse, only to find them already watching with a tired, quiet smile.

"Things won't be easy but.. I know we can handle anything. I adore you. And I adore them."

NOKTO 🦊

(Twins for both may seem redundant, but I changed things up drastically ok, we got this.)

Nokto wasn't entirely surprised to have twins, but he had also hoped luck would be in their corner in avoiding similar fates. Two little girls, jewel-like eyes like his, and his beloved's hair color (or so it appears, though it's hard to tell for sure with so little peach fuzz). Nokto sits at the edge of the bed, holding one newborn in his arm, and reaching his other hand out for the one in his love's arms. Aside from the memories of his own upbringing, he's now having Typical Girl Dad thoughts about how to keep them safe and teach them how to stay away from cooties (boys), among other things. With a soft sigh, he gently burps his newborn after she's done feeding, rocking her slowly as she tries to chew on her father's lucious locks. Laughter bubbles past his lips at her cute antics, and Nokto feels the stress fade away, even if just a little. His heart is still getting used to receiving love and believing in it, but it's grown enough by now to love his 3 new favorite people in the world.

"If they like my hair this much now, just wait till they start to grow their own."

LUKE 🐻

Luke could not be more the picture of a teddy bear than with his newborn all swaddled up and snuggled in with their giant of a dad. He can't help but wonder if his sister is watching over them, laying next to his spouse on the bed, their newborn but a tiny dot among the two full-grown humans taking up most of the space. He promises to be there for his child the way he never really had anyone, and hopes to live more in the present now, the stakes feeling higher than ever before. A whole new life, created on purpose, gently resting in one arm and atop his broad chest, nestled comfortably and trying to suck on their thumb. Luke holds his spouse's hand with his free one, squeezing it gently, looking into their eyes with the intensity of his own emeralds.

"Look at 'em.. they're so small. Just like you," he jokes before letting out a big yawn, "But sleepy, just like me."

All rights for the characters and original intellectual property belong to Cybird. My writing belongs to myself, Maladaptivedaydreamsx, and shall not be reproduced elsewhere without permission. Ok to translate as a reblog to this post. Ok to reblog, no permission required (for those who like to be safe and ask first, all's good little homies) 💜

If you enjoyed these, I might try to make a pt2 with the other characters soon? Likes and reblogs appreciated, thank you kindly for reading! If you have any hc's of your own, please feel free to respond with them, I'd love to hear what you all think! 😊❤️ (If you'd like to be put on a tag list for any future works, please reply, though it will be a general list for writings as I'm getting back into things slowly atm,, 🙏🏻)

Also, to the lovely person who sent this in likely about 2 years ago (after I'd stopped writing on here bc life happens) ... if you're still somewhere in the fandom and end up seeing this post, thank you for your patience, and for sending something in. I'm finally trying to combat the writer's block again! 🙌🏻

[whorerificstuff]

What if you and this male character were expecting a baby....

At first he was so excited to meet them, you were too after trial and errors to conceive a child. He knew you wanted a baby and he was there to give that. He knew you were pregnant the moment you ran through the bathroom door. The same symptoms that of a pregnant woman. But you wanted to make sure you really have a life growing inside of you. And you were. You were happy, he was happy to start a family with you.

Sometimes he would see you check yourself in the mirror everyday. And each passing day your stomach grew bigger and bigger till it was visible to everyone that you, his adorable and beautiful wife is carrying his child.

He saw how much you love the unborn baby. No, Words could not comprehend how much you anticipate to meet them.

Then there was that time he woke up with you gone. That made him jolt right up in panic only to see you grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling in ecstasy at him. He let out a sigh of relief.

"They're kicking"

That's what you said, your cheeks now dusted in pink. He couldn't help but stare at you, your hair was a little messy, a few strands in disarray but nevertheless you were still ethereal in his eyes.

You reached out for him to stand up and led his hand to your baby bump. He was very careful and gentle as he pressed his palm on you. He couldn't help but smile too when he felt the kick. He knelt down telling the unborn child that he wishes to see them and to not make things hard for you during labour. He felt you brush his unruly hair as you told him, eyes heartfelt and like a loving wife and mother would, that no matter what the cost, no matter how painful it is, you wish for your baby to be healthy and see the world. You smiled your eyes squinting a bit. They were full of undisputed love and he wish to see them every waking moment.

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

The skies were in their darkest shades of gray and the pour of rain was unforgiving. The atmosphere was mournful, somber very appropriate for a funeral.

He held the umbrella to protect himself and the little bundle from the rain. He stared down at a grave, his eyes were tired, dull, a very expressive lament in them as if he had been crying for the longest time till he couldn't anymore, and on that stone protruding on the surface of the wet earthly floor carved, is your name. You didn't make it. He was unable to shed any more tears. He already cried far too much. All he felt was loss and an immeasurable amount of grief. He hears the baby coo in his arm, the baby that you left him, the child that you both made out of love for each other, the only thing connected to you.

Everyone that attended your funeral all left and shared their grief and respect. It was only him and a few concerned friends that stayed watching him mourn from the background.

Your brother decided to finally approach him, he has the same doleful expression as the others that attended your funeral and the same look of sympathy for him, the husband, and the father of your child. Your brother told him it was time to leave, that the rain is cold for the baby. He was hesitant to leave but complied for the baby's sake.

His and your friends and relatives were worried for him. Your mother offered to stay with him till he knows how to care for the baby himself. It didn't take long for him though, but even without anyone's help he would still learn how to care for his baby daughter, but he'd rather much have you see him struggle, to try and try until he got the hang of it. He wanted you to praise him to tell him he was doing well, but alas, you aren't there. The home you used to share feels painfully quiet without you. His heart aches everytime he sees every trinkets that you bought and decorated all over the house. Everything reminds him of you. Especially the little baby who's soundly sleeping on the comfiest cradle that you have chosen, you were right about the baby being a girl, he could never argue with you, you're always right, all except when you told him you're gonna be there for your baby girl, to hold her, to feed her, to wake up every night, to watch her grow into a beautiful young lady, like her mother.

He couldn't sleep in his first night without you, and the next day, and the days after that. The bed was cold and too big for him. His friends called and asked him if they could be of any help but he told him that he can manage with taking care of the little baby.

But what about him? You weren't there to scold him for not eating, you weren't there to shoo away his intrusive thoughts. He was hopeless, the only thing that kept him moving was his daughter. She looks so much like you and it hurts so much. He misses you so much. There was never a night where he would not cry, where he would accidentally call for your name and expect for a reply. He had to be there for your baby. The baby that you grew to love each and every passing time and day. He'll try to make his daughter feel the same love that you've been giving to her. He'll let her know and feel how much you love your baby girl.

It was in the middle of the night that he hears the loud cries of his baby daughter. It had been a few weeks after your death, the empty space beside him, the space where you used to lie grew cold. That's right you're not here and never going to be.

He went to where the little pink crib was, his daughter was squirming and crying. If the neighbors weren't so understanding they would be knocking at his door every night.

The baby's crying was getting louder. He tried feeding the baby but she wasn't even hungry, he tried cradling but the crying kept coming, there was no sign of her stopping anytime soon. He wishes you were here, you would know what to do. Your touches were able to calm him down when he was stressed before, and he believes it'll be the same for his daughter too. No baby would ever reject a mother's touch.

He tried rocking the cradle gently hoping it what his daughter wants. He grew frustrated at himself. He doesn't know what to do, why his daughter couldn't stop crying unlike before where she was very lenient of her father.

"Please stop crying" He begged his daughter. She didn't, she kept wailing.

He wished you were here. He wanted to see you holding the baby to stop her crying and calm your baby down.

He couldn't help but also weep with his daughter. He missed you so much. And with that thought a few tears drip down at the infant's face.

He wiped the tears on his daughters face, but it was useless as new tears kept sliding down on her plushed cheeks.

He couldn't even wipe his own.

Then another memory dread his mind as his breathe hitched suddenly remembering what the doctor had said.

Newborns could not live without their mothers.

He couldn't help but only pray and beg

"Please be healthy"

"Please don't get sick"

"I'll buy all the things you want"

He closed his eyes kissing the temple of his daughter. He was scared that he might lose her too.

"Just please-..please don't leave dad too"

NOT REVISED AND SUBJECT TO CHANGE

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Drabbles of MC reflecting M6's love language or doing things for their beloved that their beloved does for them?

So like, carving wood figures for Muriel and getting him new tools when his wear down too much, getting Nadia thoughtful gifts that she would appreciate, spending time with Portia and Asra, and I think Julian and Lucio would love big dramatic displays of love

The Arcana HCs: Reflecting M6's love languages

Julian

Oh. Oh my. Be still, his rapidly beating heart (he really needs to cut back on the caffeine, but at least half of this is genuinely because of you) You're giving him affection?? In the best possible way???

You're fussing over his physical wellbeing when he's had a long day and helping him wind down?

You're playing music for him or telling him a story from your past?

By far your best stunt was when you decided to visit his clinic while it was closing to surprise him with a picnic dinner date

The front door was locked when you got there, so you decided to go through the back instead with the spare key he put in your bag a while back and completely forgot about ...

On your way through the back room, you spotted some of the spare uniforms and decided to throw on one of the coats and masks (as one does) to better surprise him

The surprised fumble, dramatic "en guarde!", and theatrical flourish with his own doctor's coat that you got when you surprised him was so typical of your first meeting that you fell apart laughing

The picnic on the docks afterwards where you reminisced on your (very successful) relationship so far was delightful

Asra

Oh, they're not used to this, and it's making them feel safe and loved and grounded in ways they don't know how to handle

You're offering constant reassuring physical touch, but leaving it up to him to accept it/only going ahead if he says yes first?

You're going out of your way to make safe, comfy spaces for them to take quick catnaps and breaks from the world and bringing them tea when they're deep in thought?

You're constantly bringing home things that reminded you of him and finding new niche experiences to treat him to?

They are turning into a puddle. They are melting through the floor. If this keeps up there will be water in their eyes and there is never water in their eyes -

It's not that he's incapable of accepting love, it's that he's become accustomed to carrying so incredibly much of it for you and expecting nothing in return, finding his reward in your happiness

But now it's like you're turning it all back on them and the connection they already feel with you is vibrant and alive in ways they never dreamed of experiencing

He can't help it, he is returning every single gesture no matter what

Nadia

This is a little hard to pull off, at first, given how much of Nadia's love language shows up in the way she uses her vast resources to pamper you and make you feel special and important

Unlike her, you have about as much money as you need to live comfortably in the apartment above your shop. You don't have enough to commission seven gold owls in her honor

However, what's quickly obvious about her gifts isn't how much money she put into them, it's how closely she noticed your little wants and went out of her way to meet them

And now you can do the same

Keeping a small heating surface and teapot in her suite so you can have her favorite brew hot and fresh when she wakes up

Stitching a pouch of soothing, memory and focus boosting herbs onto a decorative scarf for her to use between meetings

Tending to Chandra for a little while every day so she doesn't have to worry about her familiar going neglected for very long

Introducing her to the glorious (though not very fashionable) concept of long underwear for the chillier Vesuvian months

You doing this without making her feel small is what she loves

Muriel

... help

This is so, so strange to him, he has no point of reference for this and therefore little to no means to control how he reacts

You noticed how he likes to take care of the charms around the hut and repaired one for him when it was starting to fall apart?

You spent hours sitting next to him quietly until he found the words for his troubles, and then listened to him??

You even learned how to embroider so you could start putting together a new tapestry of the life you're building with him???

What nearly breaks him is when you start to cook dinners for him when he already has a habit of cooking breakfast

Sure, having a life where food is consistent is something he doesn't take for granted, and he's held onto the value of it long enough to make sure anyone who stays a while gets something (eggs)

But now it's a whole new level of safety and care where he can trust that neither of you are going to bed on an empty stomach, and he doesn't even have to worry about there being enough

If you start carving little companions for the wooden animals he's made and set them up like they're snuggling he'll implode

Portia

Is she used to receiving affection? Yes. She's a fairly well-adjusted adult with unmatched people skills, her friend group and social network are vast and she rarely goes forgotten

Is she used to being somebody's first affection recipient? ... not so much, no. She's the person who gets called up after her important people have called up their most important people

So to be your most important person ... that's new

She's hearing something from you before you've told anyone else?

You're not deciding on whether to attend an event until you know if she's going? She's the person you look at when you find something beautiful or funny because you want to see her reaction first?

And let's not even get in to the ways you praise the efforts that usually go unnoticed or the work you've put into knowing her

Not only do you check in on how she's feeling, you don't even need her to tell you half the time. You can read it on her face

And you don't act like it's below you to support her when she's so used to supporting others. You even bring her lunch so she eats!

There's always plenty of affection when she's around, but to be noticed and known and important - that matters to her most

Lucio

Just. Be proud of him? (yes, he's grown enough to know that that's a big ask, depending on the situation -)

His instinctive way to show you how much he loves you is to make a big deal out of you and what you mean to him. Bragging about what a good person you are, what a happy life you have, etc

But if you do the same for him? After years of knowing (even though he wouldn't admit it) that he wasn't necessarily someone whose fondness people would be especially proud of?

Man, you make being a good person sound amazing

If you brag about his swordmanship and survival instincts to other journeymen in a tavern after a finished job, he'll stare at you with stars in his eyes. If you call him handsome, he'll melt

Don't even get started on the massive boost to his security if you show him off. You ask him to give you a flourish while he's trying on a new red cape and compliment it to the vendor?

He'll be thinking about it all day (he might walk into a tree)

He remembers being a source of social discomfort for his ex-wife (and worse, his mother's shame for raising him poorly) but the moment you loudly call him yours it gets just a little bit lighter

[redr0sewrites]

Adam (or lute) with a really insecure S/o? like to the point of wearing baggy sweaters in extreme heat type. I imagine either of them having absolutely none of that-

ok but this is so real hello??? i love this request!!!

🥀Cw: angst to fluff, adam being adam

🥀Pairing(s): Adam x reader, Lute x reader

Adam:

adam isn't the most observant person in the world, so when he first met you, he didn't really notice anything strange about how insecure you are

adam fell hard and fast, and once you two were official, he began to notice the effort you put into hiding your body

he also noticed how, compared to him, you never bragged about yourself and you were always so self depricating

adam isn't very... empathic, and he sometimes has a hard time understanding your insecurities

adam doesn't understand why you don't love yourself- he thinks you're stunning and smart and gorgeous. how could you not see how wonderful you are?

he's mever been great at communicating, but he makes it a point to start reminding you how "fucking awesome" you are, and how lucky he is to be with you

when it comes to baggy and heavy clothes, adam doesn't care much about how you dress, moreso how you feel

he'll offer you his oversized shirts if it will make you more comfortable, but if you're deliberately overheating just to hide your body? no, that's not okay

thats probably when he'll pull you aside and ask whats up

while adam isn't great at explaining himself, he tries his best to articulate that he doesn't care what your body looks like or what you wear, as long as you're happy and comfortable

however, that also means he doesn't want you overheating or getting yourself sick, and will offer to just chill at home with you instead of going out

on days when you're feeling really insecure, adam will give you his robe to wear to make you feel more comfy, and will curl up with you on the couch in your shared apartment, far away from anyone else's prying eyes

adam just wants you to feel comfortable around him, and wants you to know that he loves you regardless of what you look like, but will never try to force you to be less insecure and will always try to make you more comfortable

even if he's a bit of an asshole and doesn't always understand, he's your asshole and you wouldn't have it any other way

Lute:

if you're datinh, lute worships the ground you walk on, she genuinely thinks you're perfect and doesn't understand how you could think otherwise

lute is also pretty observant and notices right away how insecure you seem to be

she takes it upon herself to compliments you often, not only on your looks, but on your skills and personality as well

lute doesn't show her body much either so she doesn't really care whether or not you do, but if you're hiding your body to the point where its genuinely harmful? nope. not gonna fly.

she's more mature than adam and would sit you down to have a conversation with you about how you feel

she doesn't want it to seem like a confrontation, she knows how sharp and rude she can appear and doesn't want her icy demeanor to scare you away

once she understands the situation a little better she offers genuine advice and is always very supportive

lute would invite you to go on walks with her, or to sit with her while she works out, and overall just offers to spend more time with you to work through any insecurities you may have

she doesn't want you to feel like you have to hide any part of yourself when around her, and will kiss every inch of your body and praise you to the moon and back until you understand that

lute wants you to stay safe and would fret if you overheated, as much as she wants you to be comfortable she also wants you to be healthy- physically and mentally

she understands that you don't want to purposefully overheat and doesn't blame you, but she is also pretty serious about you keeping yourself safe

on hot days you both mostly just stay home, and whenever you're feeling especially insecure she cooks you your comfort meal and chats with you to get your mind off things

i need them both this is not a drill. also what if i told you i had zestial x reader in my drafts huh. what then.

[rayroseu]

THIS COMMENT FROM THE SCENE OF MALEFICENT REVERSING AURORA'S CURSE 😭😭😭😭😭 OOOHHH BOOK 7 REFERENCE YOU'RE SO REAL AGAIN

It reminds so much of Malleus ofc.... I know there'll be a scene of him regretting his actions/his overblot.

Right now, he doesn't realize it because the core of his "curse" is a blessing... it is a blessing to live in your dreams and have a long happy life, but the "curse part of it" (I think) is when you reject this blessing that he's giving, and he forces you to take it, and when he realizes that at that point, where everyone wakes up and resist his blessing and he forces them back to sleeping again bcs he has to and its just a cycle from there...

he comes to a realization that he's not protecting/governing/taking care of them (he uses so many verbs to his actions lmao), he just gets angry at them, fights them, and hurts them (because he doesn't understand why people would reject a gift "so perfect" in principle.), then Malleus will realize he's no longer acting in kindness but rather in evil. 🥲🥲🥲

AAAAAAA i hope. 💔 Book 7 is also Maleficent-inspired btw and the point of that movie is to humanize Maleficent as an "purely evil villain" from Sleeping Beauty. And, while I don't doubt there'll be a scene alluding to the defeat of Dragon Maleficent, I still feel like he'll be redeemed at the end lol (so like... Book 7 won't be just be about Malleus will be beaten for his bad deeds and he'll learn and regret it lol) I wanna see Malleus admit his mistake and grow past it 🥲✨✨

It feels like whenever he makes a mistake so far, it has traumatic consequences where the damage cannot be repaired or he'll forever be burdened by unintentional mistake (like people getring hurt by his powers), but if the story lets Malleus redeems himself, it feels like its telling Malleus the lesson that things you have worked on can be destroyed and it will never be the same, but you can still work towards it again, like the saying "not all things that are lost are permanently gone".

Also speaking of lost--- In the past, I used to say Book 7 is Malleus "first experience of lost" but I don't think so now lol If you think about it, it feels like Malleus has always been experiencing lost ... No parents, Limited presence of Maleficia, Lilia is separated from him, People almost dies just by dealing with him (remember the Lilia quote from the frozen castle incident: "The people you are eating with right now are the people you have almost lost"), Yuu is leaving him, ... Like every decade of this guy's life feels like there's a parting 😭😭😭🔥

So its not his first time experience lost, rather he just had enough from experiencing it repeatedly 😭😭😭 But again even if things are lost (even to death), Malleus can still visit it again lol even if its changed, like how there'll come a day where Lilia will die but his memories are still in the world and Silver, -

I feel like thats also a nice way to connect to the fact theres an ongoing theme of things being lost but still their presence persist like how Meleanor's Lullaby is not recognized by Malleus that its his mother's song but Malleus still sings it, and how Dawn is forgotten as well but his behavior and personality reflects a lot with Silver (even though hes not the one who raised him).

[chibieggplant]

I've been dying to kiss you ~ Part One

Part 1/2 | Part 2

Fluff with a little bit of NSFW and angst if you squint?

Prestablished relationship. Making out without a plot.

His grip on your hand was soft as he held it; his thumb moved delicately, tracing the contours of your palm. He had the uncanny ability to tell what you were thinking by locking eyes with you. You looked at him with adoring eyes, smiling gently. Every day, he made sure to remind you of his love, but there was something important he needed to express.

"y/n...I want you to know that I would do anything for you. But the most important thing for me is to ensure you're happy.” A flicker of determination passed through his eyes. "And I won't stop until I do."

“You already make me happy, Sanji” you say with a playful roll of your eyes as it was already evident to you just how much Sanji cherished you.

Sanji chuckled, shaking his head. "You know what I mean, sweetheart. I want to ensure you feel safe, cared for, and, most importantly, loved."

Again, you roll your eyes at him. “You already do all of those things. Sanji, you're underestimating yourself.” you laughed softly.

Sanji gave you a wry smile; his ears reddened at the praise. "It sounds like I must be doing alright then.” He admitted sheepishly. "But there's one thing I haven’t done yet…” He looked at you softly, his gaze never leaving yours. A silent question hung in the air between them.

Your ears piqued slightly at his words, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation filling you. “And what’s that?” you asked, the question leaving your lips in a whisper.

“I’ve never given you a proper kiss.” He admitted, his cheeks pink from the admission. He could do grand gestures and show his affection, but there was nothing more powerful than a genuine kiss. And he realised he’d never truly kissed you before. He had planted gentle kisses on your cheek and playful pecks on your nose, but not a proper kiss, not with all the love he felt in his heart.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your cheeks flushing slightly at his confession. You could see the truth in his words, in his eyes. You had come so far together, and yet something so basic had slipped through the cracks.

He scooted closer to you on the bed, taking your face gently in his hands. His gaze burned into yours, full of love and longing. “I want to kiss you, y/n. I want to kiss you like you've never been kissed before." He murmured, his voice husky. “Like a man hopelessly in love."

Your heart fluttered at his words, your body responding to the intensity of his gaze and the warmth of his hands on your cheeks. You held your breath, the world fading around you as he spoke. You could feel the depth of his feelings and the sincerity in his voice, making you feel loved.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your eyes sparkling with emotion. "I'd like that, Sanji."

His heart surged with adrenaline at your response, a feeling of triumph shooting through him. "Good…” He whispered, tilting your chin up towards him. His thumb softly traced your bottom lip, and his eyes traced your face, memorising every detail. "Because I've been dying to kiss you."

With those words, Sanji leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, tender kiss. He could feel all his love and affection for you pouring out, his body responding to yours like a moth to a flame.

You melted into the kiss, your body feeling like it was on fire, your heart swelling with emotion as your fingers gripped the collar of his shirt. Time seemed to stand still as you both revelled in the moment, your lips moving against each other, each kiss more passionate than the last.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything else but you. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. He savoured the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, and the heat that spread through his body. This was what true passion was, he thought to himself. This was what it meant to love someone completely and utterly.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally broke apart, both panting softly. Sanji looked at you, his eyes filled with a dazed, euphoric look. He was utterly entranced, his whole world revolving around you.

"That...that was what I've been dreaming about," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "The most perfect kiss...with you."

Your cheeks flushed pink, your heart still pounding in your chest as the world slowly came back into focus. Your lips tingled from the intensity of the kiss, yet you couldn't help but smile widely at Sanji.

He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek. "I don't deserve you, y/n," He whispered, a hint of a laugh escaping him. "You're too good for someone like me…”

“Don't say that” You furrowed your eyebrows slightly in response to his words.

He shook his head, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But it's true, darling," He admitted quietly, his thumb softly brushing your cheek. "You’re kind, strong, beautiful...and me? I'm just a cook.”

“You’re not just a cook,” you said adamantly, bringing your hand up to his cheek. “You are incredibly kind, relentlessly brave, and the most loving man I've ever met. And that's just scratching the surface.”

Sanji blinked, a little taken aback by your spirited defence of him. “You don't understand, y/n," He insisted. “You're perfect to me. And yet, you're here, stuck with me. Just an average guy.” He sighed, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“I’m not stuck here with you,” you said softly. “I want to be here with you” Smiling sweetly at him, you attempted to reassure him before adding. “And you are truly exceptional, far from just average.”

He felt a rush of warmth fill his chest at your words, but a nagging sense of insecurity still gnawed at him. He felt unworthy somehow. “But why, y/n?” He asked, his brows furrowing. “Why me? There are plenty of other guys out there who are more deserving of your love.”

“Yeah, well, I want you,” you say simply, as to you, there is nowhere else you'd rather be but by his side. You smile gently as you tenderly brush some of his hair away from his face.

A thousand emotions flashed across Sanji's face, each stronger than the last. Awe, disbelief, joy, love... They all swirled together in a chaotic storm as he accepted just how much he meant to you.

He took your hand in his, placing it against his chest so she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. "I don't deserve you, but I'm selfish enough to keep you." He whispered fiercely.

He leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a passion fueled by love and desire. This was no gentle kiss. This was a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that said, "I adore you," "I need you," and “I’m yours.”

His arms encircled your waist, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on his lap. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against your own as a low moan rumbled in the back of his throat. He wanted you so badly. So desperately. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth over your jaw and down your neck, his teeth softly grazing your sensitive skin. You tasted like sunshine and strawberries, sweet and tantalising.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you revelled in the sensation of his touch, your body responding to his like a flame in the night. You couldn’t get enough. Slowly, your fingers traced a path over his shoulders and down his chest, eagerly pulling his shirt over his head.

The sudden exposure of his skin combined with your tender touches made him inhale sharply, his hands roaming over your body like a man starved. He wanted to commit every curve, every dip and valley to memory. He'd worship your body like a temple, where he was the only devotee.

Your shirt was next to go, quickly discarded on the floor as he devoured your body with kisses and soft, whispered words of adoration. Every inch of you felt precious to him, every gasp and sigh that left your lips a precious gift.

His hands made their path down your body, fingers tracing the curve of your hips and gripping your thighs possessively. "Perfect," he whispered against your lips, "So goddamn perfect," he repeated, his words becoming a mantra.

You reciprocated with your own caresses, your hands tracing his body with reverence. Your touch was light and adoring as your fingers skimmed over his chest and down his arms, tracing the contours of his muscles.

Sanji peppered kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and down to your chest. He could hear the rapid beat of your heart, or was it his own? He couldn't tell.

As his lips found their way to your chest, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped him at the taste of your delicate skin. Your fingers tangled more firmly in his hair, holding him to you.

His hands trailed down your curves, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer so you could feel just what you were doing to him. He'd love you like this for eternity if you let him, worshipping your body like it was his only purpose in the world.

His mouth retraced the path up your body, claiming your lips in a kiss filled with urgency and desire. He could feel your breath mingling with his, the heat between you both almost unbearable.

Sanji’s hands gripped around your waist, rolling you over so you were pinned beneath him. His body enveloped yours, his chest rising and falling as he eventually broke the kiss. He gazed into your eyes, filled with deep admiration. To him, you were breathtaking as your eyes looked back into his, dark with desire, your hair fanned out around you like a halo. At this moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the world, having the privilege of witnessing you like this.

"Please," he whispered, his voice rough and needy. "Please let me worship you…"

[onismdaydream]

tw: 18+ mdni. gn reader. anal fingering. mentions of toji's past abuse/upbringing. uncharacteristically soft for me. not proofread.

it's a rare thing, toji handing control over to you.

not that he doesn't trust you — he would place his life in your hands in a heartbeat, you know him far better than anyone else has ever come close to. he just feels safer when he's the one holding the reigns, no matter the situation. toji has spent too long around shady and shitty people that it's engrained in him to never let his guard down. let someone get the upper hand or be one step ahead of you and you're as good as dead.

but you...

you forced your way into toji's heart, kept pushing even when he pulled away, and carved your home in it. you made him learn to accept love, taught him that he deserves to love and be loved in return. showed him that there can be beauty in this cruel world.

though, he would never admit it — sincere and genuine expressions of emotions were still so foreign to him, but he was trying. there were other ways for him to show his affection, however. it would come in the form of his lips pressing against the top of your head when he thought you were asleep. his thumb rubbing circles on your hip when he held you close. his arm wrapping around your shoulder as you sat next to each other.

but there are moments when he felt more vulnerable, when he craves nothing more than your loving touch and sweet praise. he wants to deny those feelings, a nagging voice in the back of his mind that remind him of those days where he was forced to be on his own, thrown to the wolves without a care — inferior, weak, a mistake.

you're always there, though. always next to toji. always ready and willing and trying.

your touch is gentle where other's were not, soft and warm skin against his own, fingers tracing over the faint scars that litter his back. how he survived this long is a miracle. too many stupid and reckless decisions placing him in danger's way. you'd chastise him if you think it would make a difference. instead, you lean down, kissing down his spine and making him tense.

"'s okay, toji." he can feel your breath fanning against the small of his back, your fingers resting at his waistband. "i got you."

he's quieter when he's like this, almost as if he's afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opens it. too in his own head.

and it's your job to get him out of there.

you take your time, admiring every inch of his body that you can reach as you strip him of his underwear. you don't want to rush this, wanting to savor each and every little reaction you pull out of toji. usually, all the attention was on you in the bedroom as he took you apart underneath him. you wanted to return the favor.

it's a simple rhythm you fall into with him. your fingers curl as you pump them in and out, a glossy sheen coating them and making the motion smooth. low groans and heavy breathing fill the space between the two of you, your sweet praise and compliments making toji's hips hump into the bed.

it doesn't take much longer for him to spill onto the sheets under him, a shudder working through his body as you pull your fingers out afterwards. he doesn't protest much as you wipe him down, letting you roll him over enough to clean his cum off his stomach.

he holds you close when you come back to him, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. his way of thanking you, of saying i love you.

and you smile softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

i love you, too.

[sweetdreamsbuck]

napping on the couch together if you feel so inclined 🥺💖

I'm here

bucky x f!reader (gif not indicative of reader description)

w.c: 2.5k

a/n: Col, this strayed far from what it was originally meant to be, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you enjoy it<3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

Bucky’s never been one to be overbearing, in any way.

Protective and doting, certainly– never so that his attentive means of care made you feel anything but cherished, supported, grounded.

Your Bucky.

Meeting you, loving you, allowing something so priceless into his world, has changed everything for him. There’s a burning need to be the one constant in your life that knows you. To be the man who can take the pressures of the world from off of your shoulders with ease, weaving himself around every twinge of sadness, eclipsing all murmurs of insignificance and unrest, until all you know is the weight of his breath shouldering your heart.

“You listenin’ to me?” it’s not a question he ever finds himself asking, but tonight, his girl’s exhausted. Completely drained. And she came home with the wind knocked out of her lungs and harrowing sobs strangling her light.

Those familiar knuckles, vibranium and oh-so purposeful, stroked along your cheeks while rosy concern emanated from the swells of his own. Bucky finds it necessary now– their delicate dance of outlining the shape of your nose, smoothing the lines of distress and the tremble of your lips resting against his muscles– they’re the culprit of what coaxed your eyes shut in mere seconds.

His hands wield so much power– fragile, firm, thrilling tenderness you weren’t sure existed anywhere else outside of his touch. Impossible not to surrender to, falling deeper and deeper under his protection. But it’s purely selfish now how desperate Bucky is to touch you, to quell every fiber of worry or unease with the brush of his palm. He lives for the moment your body relaxes under his care, all tension and pain evaporating within the caress of his love. “Someone ready for bed?”

His voice is a whisper, a warm and honeyed heaven blanketing every inch of you. How a man of his size embodies the breeze of gentle winds rustling through blades of grass, well. You never have to wonder.

A fearsome beauty to behold, otherworldly– Bucky shines, burnished and ethereal; all of the terrifying Angel you know him to be.

The patter of freezing rain and rough winds plaguing the windows reminded you of how safe you were inside the life you shared. After all the isolating thoughts, after all the feelings of restless insignificance swimming round and round between your ears– Bucky’s here, soothing it all. Erasing any lingering struggle to find your footing, leaving nothing but the ghost of worshiping lips with husky whispers of how proud he is of you, how desperately he loves you with indescribable devotion rushing from his soul.

Each stroke, each breath, each kiss that danced along your skin echoes the sentiment of words Bucky’d shower you with until the day his heart stopped “Oh my sweet girl, I’m here.”

Crying had never felt so safe than while enveloped in his arms, strong hands soothing long paths along your tense back, lips falling protectively against your temple. He touches you as if you're the very thing that lights the sky; his words are hardly enough to prove how much of a miracle you are. Because to him, you are.

His miracle.

His pink lips barely leave your skin as his words sink in– a devastating touch each inch and scar of your being knows; Bucky’s kiss is final. And it lives within each curve, each insecurity, each smile, each ugly secret he knows took all the trust in the world to let him see, loving them enough for the both of you and then some– “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Bucky’s lips brand the words permanently, in absolution with tremors of his vigorous desire to be everything for you. “I got you. Whatever you need, let me,”– you need him, always.

Tonight hadn’t been any different. After what felt like hours of being shielded by his unwavering tenderness, of sobbing into his chest so rawly Bucky swore he felt his heart shredding in two, trying his hardest to catch all of you and never let go– resting your eyes for a moment against his stomach seemed to be just what you needed. Your head shook against thick muscle, his relaxing fingers slowed at your hairline, “N’am not, not tired. Just keep talking.”

Cool metal etched silent promises down to your hip, his piercing gaze staring at you with that look– the one that says he’s perfectly intent on staying like this, loving you, holding you until the messy and unforgiving world made a bit more sense. He needs it more than you most of the time. And then he’d get to hold you some more; knowing the overwhelming emotion he felt every time he looked at you was at peace within your veins.

“Really?” that deep voice crooned, playful, “‘Cause I think, you’re fallin’ asleep on me.”

Work had been hell the past few weeks while feelings of being alone were at an all-time high. Between wrestling with self-doubt, a workload that had somehow weaseled its way into your life and into the nightmares that kept you tossing and turning, all of the yelling and berating that shook you to your core because of mistakes that were entirely out of your control– of course. It was impossible not to.

You were falling asleep on the gentle thing you could never, ever, get enough of immersing yourself in. The one thing that proved time and time again, you could never be alone while Bucky still had air filling his lungs.

And maybe that’s why it’s so effortless to do so. The one thing that saw all of your broken pieces, the sharp edges you felt would threaten even the strongest– Bucky saw them, could paint them all by name like the scars marring his own body. He held them so tenderly, cherished each piece of you that you deemed burdensome so fiercely; nothing about you was a burden. Bucky admired all of you, desired all of you with a fervent need. It made your head spin, it made you feel whole.

“I’m not, just wanna hear your voice. Promise, I’m awake.” Bucky could hardly find it in himself to blink, not when your lips spread in a sweet smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. So small, so muted compared to the brilliance that nearly brought him to his knees every damn time he was in the presence of one. But it’s yours. “Please…”.

It’s weakening, mesmerizing, the bruise you leave with every display of your love. The serum only makes a man so strong; he’d never get enough of the way you wounded him.

Bucky gleams, and if you weren’t so spent, you’d see the air of ease filling his chest, the expanse of his shoulders quaking with reprieve.

Just when you thought you’d known everything there was to know about being seen, guarded by your very own earth angel, his hand closed around yours, tugging it gently to rest against his sternum. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning down to rest his nose within your knuckles. Inhaling, pulling you apart by the very seams and mending all at once– it seemed almost silly, how necessary his lips feel claiming the skin of your fingers, but your body felt the sensitive accusation of his kiss tenfold, “Even here. I’m here, too.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that blurred your vision if you tried.

There’s a lilt, always, pleasant and solid in his sigh when his eyes meet yours, your nerves buzzing from the way he always breathes you in vying for more. Vibranium tickles the tears under your eyes with adoration, a confirmation, he’d let you pretend you’re not falling asleep, that you really wanted to listen to him ramble on and on– so long as he gets to wound you, too.

That’s all you’ll ever need.

Your body knows, even on the cusp of sleep it craves him. More him, always more. His warmth, his support, the irresistible smell of his skin that always comes before relief. It slowly shifts, uncurling itself from the dip of the couch and closer to where Bucky’s fingers concealed your own.

His hands revel in that, it’s all they itch for; guiding your frame closer until your body collapses with deliverance, lashes teasing against his skin while your breathing slowed even more.

His eyes certainly never risk closing when you burrow further into his chest, hiding that exhausted pout within the shadows of his neck just above rough scar tissue. How could he miss even a second?

The echo of your heart mirrored the air puffing down his neck with every exhale sighed and it’s a revelation. Bucky revels in how perfect it feels to be wanted, to be trusted so deeply by the person who fills every color of his life with undying affection. He takes none of it for granted, especially not the soft hums the most distracting lips fall to adorn his throat with.

And then they melt on his skin, the featherlight promise of Bucky’s miracle resting against his pulse, again and again and again– it’s hardly his fault a shiver eases down his spine. Those damn lips. He’ll never be able to find language to express to you how good it feels, how addicting you are.

He’d do anything for you, be anything for you.

“Alright, sweet girl,” those strong hands wrap around your waist, plush lips greeting your eyelids with a dynamic song that sings I’m here. It’s okay to let go, let go, sweet girl. Let me love you. You’ve heard it countless times– have felt it endlessly since the first moment you invited him in behind those towering, frightening walls of your heart. But it’s soft, orchestrated with vulnerable direction, scruff-laced harmonies whispered against every inch of you, ostinato declarations of desire with a certain timbre only you know the key of “I’ll take care of you, just let me love you.”

“You’re gonna have to hear all about my perfect girl, but I can do that. Jus’let me hold you right.” The couch pillows already share the imprint of your body pressed up against his, of countless hours of entwined limbs and thick muscles sheltered within your arms. Yet, it always feels new, a different welcome each time, somehow more familiar than the last.

Bucky rearranged you both lying with his back nestled in the cushions, cradling you right atop his heart. “She’s so bright, the smartest.” Long fingers lifted under your chin, catching your eyes in their fight to stay open.

“And she’s the kindest soul, swear she’s made of stars.” He couldn’t help himself; that breathtaking glimmer washing so peacefully over your face, the trying lift of your mouth; he smoothed the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip before placing a kiss just under your nose, “beautiful,” on the plump of your cheek, “so, so beautiful,” on the corner of your mouth, “precious”. Bucky’s lips meld so softly with your own, your breath tasting of surrender, of bliss.

A sniffle slipped out, once then twice. “Strong. So damn strong,” a third time is when your body followed through with its fate, shaking slightly against him.

The way he holds you, knows you, worships you, leaving no room for questioning the torrents of emotion he treads– it’s maddening. Bucky walks with the years of his own pain, yet bleeds with the certainty of just how easy it is to love you, to devour you whole with the joyous bruise of being loved in return.

“Shh hey, hey…what?” he worried, rubbing a calloused thumb from your quivering lip all the way to your creased forehead.

“What what?”

Forced bemusement of his concern rumbled delightedly beneath you, “You’re okay,” his nose bumped against yours, lips following, “but what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm?” Bucky’s nose wiggled down to behind your ear, peppering quick pecks on the skin there until you were squirming.

You giggled– oh god you fucking giggle and Bucky’s ruined. It erupted, and he felt it everywhere; goosebumps, swirling until they bled so potent beneath his skin. Nothing else could matter more than the promising sound of the home he’s allowed himself to live in.

“I don’t know,” he feels it in your eyes– so telling of the devotion Bucky deserves– honest, and they can’t seem to get enough of the curve of his nose, the freckles that dance along the high points of his concerned features. Those serene, startling blue eyes. Always seeing you, always longing for you.

Home. Your Bucky.

“I’m just so tired.”

Bucky would relive every moment he’s endured to always know what it feels like to be loved by you, to be clung to in your most vulnerable of states, with glazed-over eyes tormented and drowsy, to know of the rapture that exists in holding you tight until the air drowning your lungs is full of his love, of soothing breaths. To nurture you, accept your feelings and emotions with open hands, however they may present themselves.

He wants it all. Just you.

Bucky could only pull you closer, breathing you in as plump lips gently lay on your forehead, resolute arms embracing you with reverence.

He clears his throat, ready for you to listen, “Sometimes, I wonder how I got here. You know how special this is to me? The light of my dreams, so damn comfortable in my arms. Did’ya know that? Used to dream of you,” his knuckles swiped away the remaining wet trails from your face, calloused fingers softly spidering along your shoulders.

“Really? My Bucky?”

My Bucky– god he could burst.

The flush spreading along his cheeks hardly phased him, he nestled his nose against you further, nodding.

“Didn’t ever get to see you, but I know it. Had to be you, watching over me. Better than I could have even imagined. Sweetest damn eyes, hurts my chest a little just thinking about going a whole lifetime without ever knowing them. Prettiest heart in the whole world, you save me a little more every time I look at ya. When I get to hold you. You have no idea what you are to me.”

Me? your tongue attempted. It comes out as more of a yawn, already asleep.

“All I ever needed. Lucky bastard I am, huh?” Bucky hates how the world seems to take your compassion for granted, walking all over your kindness as if it’s expendable. It’s not. Not even a little bit. God only knows the serenity it’s granted him, of the fresh air it’s offered Bucky to live within each day.

“You’re the first thing I’ve had in a long time. And you make me feel whole, capable. I could be myself, learn to, at least. Not… disappear. Could never do that, not now. I have years to make up for, a whole life to live. A home to get back to at the end of the day. And I got the sweetest thing in the whole damn universe to love. You got no idea…”

A questioning whimper of his name rumbles against his throat, safe and asleep in the soundness of his chest.

“M’right here, sweet girl. I got you.” Your Bucky, he thought.

The rain kept pouring, the night remained dark and chilled, but all Bucky could focus on was the heart beating warmly against his own. He counted your breaths as they landed safely within his black and gold shoulder– the only metal that would ever know the enormity of what a miracle you were– just as his eyelids drift closed.

<3

“M’right here, sweet girl. I got you.” Your Bucky, he thought.

The rain kept pouring down, the night remained dark and chilled, but all Bucky could focus on was the heart beating warmly against his own. He counted your breaths as they landed safely within his black and gold shoulder; the only metal that truly knew the enormity of what a miracle you were; just as his eyelids drift closed.

<3

[sorcerous-caress]

Companions with a Halfling Tav

[Fluff, kind reader, chubby reader, halfling reader, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara]

Wyll

Anyone seeing the two of you together wouldn't have believed that you were strangers who met less than a month ago. The playful teasing, the wholehearted smiles, and the comfort at being at each other's sides.

You really had a way to wrap every human you meet around your fingers, like you were an old friend they haven't met in a long time. It didn't take long for Wyll to feel at ease around you.

Your kind nature, your beautiful smile and your cheery demenour. You've always known how to brighten the mood and lift someone up even on their worst days.

Each meeting with Mizora left a sour taste in the aftermath, yet you've washed it down with each warm drink you handed to Wyll afterwards. Looking up at him from below, he felt his heart melt at the concerned look in your glossy eyes as you lifted the cup up towards him, a reassuring smile on your lovely lips.

A smile that said things will be better, that he will be okay.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world to have met you, met someone as precious and caring as you.

Karlach

And here she thought she'd be the only person in this camp who is looking to have fun and forgo the storm for rainbow.

The others are fine, but Karlach had what felt like a lifetime of misery already, of constant struggle and endless days to wallow in her sadness.

She has missed life, missed living and the excitement of it. The tenderness of a hug, and yours are absolutely the best she has ever had.

The way you fit perfectly into her arms whenever she gets on her knees to wrap you in her embrace. Your soft chubby body was brimming with love and care. Each warm hug reminded her of why life is worth living, of why she fights so hard everyday to stay a little bit longer.

She understands know why the goddess of halflings is also that of life, you're the embodiment of the one thing she was robbed of and god she never plans on letting you slip through her fingers.

The sound of both of your laughter can be heard in the early breakfast as Karlach sits next to you, her head laying on her crossed arms on the table while admiring you from the side. A time where everyone else is grumpy and sleepy, the two of you manage to be bundles of sunshine.

Your energy feeding into one another, returning the same effort and regifting the same happiness back.

Gale

Enjoys cooking food with you by his side. There is something to be said about the homely magic halflings bring with them wherever they may go.

Somehow, you sitting near him on the table and helping him chop down the vegetables for the stew, makes him feel at ease. Your smile is infectious, and Gale finds himself humming a song as the two of you make dinner together for the rest of the camp.

Your kind had a clear appreciation for the arts, for the many things humanity invented. Gale would invite you back to his tent after the meal, offer to read you stories as your small body curls on top of him. His blanket keeping the both of you warm.

Gale is sharing one of the most prestigious literature books, yet you've easily managed to keep up with the complex lore, identifying the many plot twists before they could happen. All while laying on top of him, letting him greedly cuddle your soft chubby body and speak his heart out.

Halfling and humans truly had a bond like no other, so similar and yet so distinct. To Gale, you were the warm home he'd come back to at the end of an adventure, the warm cup of chocolate during a rainy day.

Lae'zel

She doesn't treat you any differently. One day, you bring up the fact of being halfling, and she says she didn't really notice.

If you ask more then she admits that she judges and memorise people by their combat abilities, rarely by their looks or shapes. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't have been able to tell you apart from a tiefling. To her, there are only gith and others.

While you do fall into others, you're not exactly like them. There is something special about you, the fact you take a step back each time the party fails or encounters something damning, let them recollect themselves and have some time to relax before embarking again.

She admits she has always looked down on those ways, thought they were meaningless and a waste of time. Yet you've proven her wrong many times, and that she admits.

To rest, sit back and stay in the current moment. She feels restless, gets more agitated the more she has nothing to do. What do you mean her sword is sharp enough and doesn't need more sanding? You don't know what you're talking about, there is nothing such as too much sanding.

But you hold her hend in your own, entangle your finger with hers. Guide her back to the fire with the rest of the companions, hand her a warm bowl of soup and tell her to take it easy.

She hasn't touched her soup, yet there is a great warmth spreading through her. Your hums of a melody, quiets her brain, your touches, relaxes her drumming heart.

She looks at the stars and longs for a home she has never seen before, a place where she should belong. But at this moment, nothing in her life felt more like home than sitting by your side.

Shadowheart

She's been taught to hold on to her sadness, to use it to guide her. That her suffering gives her purpose, that hear tears give her meaning.

The two of you have a lot to learn from each other, the moon and sun in an endless dance, chasing one another whilst avoiding the other.

She relives her sadness too much, reopens her wounds too many times. You bury yours, stretch your smiles too thin and downplay your injuries too often.

She returns your kindness and is there to see you at your worst of states. When you can't be the person who is expected to cheer everyone up, when you feel like the ground is crumbling beneath your feet, she catches you in her arms.

And you teach her forgiveness, of her self, current and past. Of her sins, current and future. You extend a hand of mercy and she in return offers an embrace of empathy.

The two of you share a special bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Astarion

He never thought he'd fall for someone shorter than him, truth be told. High elves were always raised on these less than ideal views for the smaller races.

And maybe this is the irony of the fate, that the single person to manage to steal his heart was you. Barely reaching his waist and easily lifting him up.

He was cautious around you at the state, after all the most chipper and goody two shoes people hid the darkest secrets behind that facade. You can't possibly be all smiles and rainbows, can you?

Yet no matter how many times he rummaged through your closet, not a single skeleton could be found, not even a loose tooth or a spine.

Astarion didn't realise how much he was starting to warm up to you, until that one morning you were helping him brush his hair while he sipped on a cup of a blood you've kindly prepared for him.

As he held the cup with the cute cow prints on it, the same one he stole from you, it hit him.

You've been coddling him and making him feel at home without him realising it for so long! And like an idiot he absolutely ate it up. God, is this why his ancestors warned him about Halflings? They really sneak up on you when you least expect it, and the next thing you know, you're spending hours making friendship bracelets for each other.

No, of course, he'll never take it off. Are you crazy? Anyway, you sneaky traitor, it's his turn to do your hair, so come sit on his lap so he can leech of your warmth while hugging your plump body and stomach. No shush, he has earned this. Look, he even has a friendship bracelet as proof.

Halsin

He is very gentle with you, aware of his size, and makes sure never to make you feel uncomfortable or take too much space around you.

Halflings are one of the many gifts of nature, their kind souls and inviting homes have been written about in many elf history books. The best friends of the infamous humans.

You ground him back into reality whenever he gets too lost in his head, worrying about the shocking reality of the modern cities, or the forgotten essence of nature. Your tender touch against his cheek and invitation to sit near the fire and talk it out is everything he could've ever asked for.

You bring home with you wherever you go, be it amidst the misty shadowlands and withering trees, or inside the basement of an abandoned building the party sought cover in from the outside rain.

In fact you'd be the type to embrace the rain and dance in it, barefoot and all. Reigniting Halsin's connection to nature by reminding him of all the beautiful gifts of these earths.

Minthara

Just who do you think you are? Waltzing in here like a drop of sunshine, all cute and small, making Minthara question her sanity.

You stand for everything she has been raised against, the loud laughter that'd get you killed in the underdark, the friendly kind nature that'd get you taken advantage of by the drows, the lovely smile that you flaunt around so easily.

And yet, you're the hero of her story. The person who saved her, let her keep her identity when they tried to erease her existence.

Your light never dims no matter how grumpy she is, your smile never falters no matter how deep her frown gets.

She respects you, admires you and is enthralled by your beauty. The way your thighs look so mesmerising whenever you walk, your chubby fingers that look so short in comparison to her larger hand.

Minthara have pressed the edge of her sword against people's necks for simply thinking they get to pick you up without permission. Have threatened people's lives over some insensitive comments about your own kind and how halflings don't belong in the battefield.

You're brave, truly brave. It takes true strength to remain kind in the face of a harsh world, to remain soft inside. And Minthara knows that, for it is the one thing she couldn't amount to.