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malavera · 1 month

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Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day

warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting

wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)

creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!

dedicating this one to my favorite authors!

@velvrei @wolverinesleftclaw @stark-ironman @lovelybucky1 @cyber333angel @dollverine @joelsgoldrush

peaches masterlist

The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.

The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.

“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.

There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”

You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?

Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.

You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.

Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.

And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.

Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.

You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”

You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.

“Yeah, sure, Peach.”

And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.

As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.

“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.

“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.

“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.

You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.

“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.

Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.

Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.

You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.

You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.

Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.

For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.

You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.

Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.

"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”

“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.

“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.

“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.

Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.

“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.

You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.

Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.

You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.

From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.

As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.

With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.

You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.

“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”

Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.

“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.

Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth.

“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.

“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.

“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.

“I-”

“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,

“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.

“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.

"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.

Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.

You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.

A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.

"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.

"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.

"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.

"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.

"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.

"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.

"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.

"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.

"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."

"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.

Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."

As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.

"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.

"Hmm, taste just like a peach."

let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉

#Malavera #Logan and Peach #Logan howlett smut #logan howlett smut oneshot #logan howlett series #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #deadpool x wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut

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hiitsm · 1 month

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Whispers of Desires

You and your girlfriend are navigating the tender stages of experiencing your first time together.

Whispers of Desires is for 18+ only.

This piece contains intimate conversations about sex, characterized by a mix of awkward, shy, and loving moments. It also includes a depiction of soft, slow, and tender sexual activity, with a focus on emotional connection and mutual care.

Note: I’ve spent a lot of time crafting this piece, and while it may be a bit longer than initially planned, I felt that each moment deserved the detail it received. I've adjusted it a little. I hope it meets everyone’s expectations. Thank you so much for the kind messages and support after the teaser. I appreciate it a lot.

The kitchen is warm with the scent of freshly baked pastries, the lingering aroma of sugar and butter mixing with the comforting familiarity of Alexia’s home. You stand at the counter, carefully folding a dishcloth, trying to keep your thoughts focused on the simple, repetitive tasks. The to-do list lies nearby, a silent reminder of the things you can control, and the one thing you can't seem to face.

You glance at the list, its contents scribbled in your neat handwriting:

To-Do List: 1. Clean up the kitchen 2. Fold laundry 3. Talk to Alexia about her sexual desires

Your eyes linger on the third item, the one you've been dreading. With a sigh, you quickly strike through it, the pen's ink cutting across the words as if that could erase the anxiety gnawing at you. You can’t bring yourself to talk to her about that, not yet. What if the rumors are true? What if her desires are something you can't fulfill? You don’t want to lose her, but you also don’t want to lose yourself in the process.

You’ve heard all the rumors about Alexia Putellas. That she loves to dominate, to pull her partners apart with a fierce intensity. That she revels in control, in the thrill of the chase. That her passion is raw and fast. Each whisper you caught only fueled your anxiety, a churning storm of nerves that seemed impossible to quiet. You tried to ignore them, to push the thoughts aside, but they lingered in the back of your mind, casting shadows over the love you share.

And now, with the possibility of taking the next step in your relationship looming before you, the fear has only grown. You’re scared to take that step, terrified that your desires aren’t the same as hers. What if you can’t match her intensity? What if what she wants is something you can’t give? The thought of not being enough for her, of failing her in some way, sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You start wiping down the counters, moving in a methodical rhythm, each swipe of the cloth offering a brief distraction from the storm brewing in your mind. The sponge glides over the cool surface, removing traces of flour and sugar, but the tension in your chest remains.

As you straighten up the scattered baking supplies, your eyes drift toward the small, framed photo on the windowsill. It's a candid shot taken on a sunny day, the two of you caught mid-laughter, arms wrapped around each other, the kind of joy that feels almost too good to be true. The memory makes you pause, your fingers brushing the frame lightly as you wonder if you’re letting your fears overshadow the truth of what you have.

The whispers, the rumors, they all seem so distant when you think about the woman you know. The Alexia who smiles softly at you over breakfast, who texts you in the middle of the day just to say she misses you, who holds your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. But still, the doubts linger, making you question whether you truly know her as well as you think.

The front door clicks open, and you hear the familiar sound of her footsteps, steady and sure, as they approach the kitchen. You barely have time to turn before she’s there, her presence filling the room with an effortless grace.

“Hola, amor,” she greets you, her voice soft and filled with warmth that wraps around you like a blanket. She glances around the kitchen, taking in the clean counters and organized space. “Cómo va todo?”

You quickly grab the to-do list, folding it in half and slipping it into your pocket before she can see the items you’ve been obsessing over. “Everything’s good,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds more steady than you feel. But Alexia is already closer, her eyes searching yours with a mixture of affection and curiosity.

Before she can ask anything more, you close the distance between you, leaning in to kiss her softly. Her lips are warm, and for a moment, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, shared moment. She hums contentedly against your lips, a small, pleased sound that makes your heart flutter.

“Mmm, that was nice,” she murmurs when you pull back, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She switches to English, her accent making the words sound even sweeter. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer into the safety of her embrace. “What were you up to, amor?”

“Just trying to get things sorted around here,” you say, your voice quieter now, more intimate. “How was your day?”

“Busy, but good,” she replies, her voice a little softer now, as if the closeness between you demands a gentler tone. “I missed you, though.” The sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you admit, your hand resting on her arm, tracing small patterns on the sleeve of her shirt. You can feel the steady beat of her heart through the fabric, and it gives you a small sense of calm. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Alexia’s eyes soften as she leans in for another kiss, this one more urgent, more filled with the longing that has been building up in both of you throughout the day. Her lips move against yours with a tenderness that quickly deepens into something more, a hunger that you feel echoing in your own chest.

Your heart races as you return her kiss, your fingers threading through her hair, holding onto her as if she’s the only solid thing in your world. For a moment, you lose yourself in the warmth of her touch, in the way she makes you feel safe and cherished.

But as the kiss grows more intense, a wave of anxiety crashes over you, pulling you back to the surface. You break the kiss abruptly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Alexia pulls back just enough to look at you, concern etched on her features.

“Qué pasa?” she asks softly, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing gesture. Her eyes search yours, trying to understand what’s going on inside your head.

You struggle to find the words, torn between the love you feel for her and the fear that’s been gnawing at you for days. You want to be honest with her, to share what’s been weighing on your heart, but the words stick in your throat, refusing to come out. You’re scared, scared that your desires don’t match hers, scared that what she wants is something you’re not sure you can give. And more than anything, you’re scared of losing her, of the possibility that this might be something that could drive a wedge between you.

Alexia waits patiently, her gaze steady and filled with a quiet strength that both comforts and intimidates you. She deserves the truth, but you’re not sure you’re ready to face it yourself. Not yet.

Alexia's concerned gaze remains locked on you as you struggle to find the right words. Your chest tightens with the weight of your fears, and you can feel your face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety. The warmth of her hand on your cheek feels comforting, yet it only amplifies your nervousness. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

“I—” you start, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been... thinking a lot about us, and, um, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” You stumble over the words, each one feeling like a hurdle you’re barely able to jump. You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I mean, I know we’ve been... close and everything, and I love you so much, but... but I’ve heard some things, and I—”

You stop abruptly, your hands gesturing awkwardly as if trying to physically grasp the right words. The shame of not being able to articulate your feelings is almost overwhelming. You glance around, desperately searching for something to focus on.

Alexia, sensing your distress, gently guides you towards the couch. “Come on, amor,” she says softly, her voice soothing. “Let’s sit down. You look like you could use a minute.” She leads you to the couch and gestures for you to sit, her touch light but reassuring.

You sink onto the couch, feeling a mixture of relief and dread. Alexia moves to the kitchen, her movements quick but purposeful. She returns with two glasses of water, handing one to you. “Here, drink this. It might help you feel a bit better.”

You take the glass, your hands still trembling slightly as you sip the cool water. Alexia sits beside you, her proximity comforting, yet her eyes are filled with an inquisitive tenderness. She reaches out and takes your free hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

“Whatever it is, we can talk about it,” she says softly. “I’m here for you.”

Feeling the pressure of your emotions building, you fumble for the to-do list you’d tucked away in your pocket. With a sheepish glance at Alexia, you pull it out and hand it to her. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks down at the list, and you see a faint blush spread across her cheeks.

“I, um, I had this list,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was supposed to help me keep track of things... but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about... that last item.” You gesture vaguely at the paper, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Alexia’s eyes dart to the list, and she blushes lightly as she reads the crossed-out line. The color in her cheeks deepens, and she bites her lip, clearly feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation. “Oh, um...” she stammers, her cheeks growing warm. “I see you’ve, uh, crossed out that part.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of guilt as you watch her reaction. The sight of her blushing and stumbling over her words makes your heart ache. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I’ve been hearing these things, and I didn’t know if we were on the same page.”

Alexia’s eyes soften with understanding, even though she’s clearly flustered. She reaches out, gently squeezing your hand in a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression,” she says, her voice a little shaky but kind. “I really didn’t mean to cause any worry. I guess I didn’t realize how much those rumors were affecting you.”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot,” you admit. “I’m just scared that my own desires might not match up with what you want. I’ve always preferred things to be a bit softer, you know?”

Alexia’s blush deepens, but she quickly shakes off her shyness, her eyes meeting yours with a sincere intensity. “I understand,” she says softly. “And I want to make sure you feel comfortable with us exploring this together.” She pauses, then adds, her voice growing more confident but still tinged with a hint of awkwardness, “I, um, like to be in control and, well, sometimes a bit rough. But that doesn’t mean we can’t adjust things to fit what we both want.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you at her honesty. “Thank you for sharing that,” you say, your voice tinged with gratitude. “I really appreciate you being open with me. Can I ask you something? What do you like, exactly?”

Alexia takes a deep breath, her shyness melting away as she becomes more animated. “I, um, really enjoy taking the lead, feeling like I’m in charge,” she says, her eyes brightening with a newfound confidence. “But I also love hearing what you like, what makes you feel good. I want to make sure we both have what we need.”

Her willingness to adapt and consider your feelings makes you feel incredibly valued. You squeeze her hand back, your heart swelling with appreciation. “I like it when things are gentle and tender,” you admit, feeling more at ease now that the conversation is flowing openly. “It’s important to me that we both feel good about what we’re doing.”

After the conversation, the dynamic between you and Alexia shifts subtly but significantly. There’s a new warmth in her gaze, an added layer of intimacy that wasn’t there before. The initial awkwardness has melted away, replaced by a deeper understanding and a tangible current of desire that flows between you.

In the days that follow, the air seems charged with a new energy. You notice the way Alexia's touches linger a little longer, the way her kisses are filled with a gentle urgency that wasn’t there before. Conversations take on a more flirtatious tone, filled with playful teasing and soft, suggestive glances. The connection between you feels more electric, more alive, as if the boundaries between affection and desire have become wonderfully blurred.

One evening, after a particularly busy day, you find yourselves curled up on the couch together. The soft light of the lamp casts a warm glow around the room, creating an intimate cocoon where it’s just the two of you. Alexia’s head rests on your shoulder, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on your arm as you talk about your day.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about,” Alexia murmurs, her voice low and warm. Her breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. “I’m really glad we had that conversation.”

“Me too,” you reply, your voice soft. “I feel like things are... different now, in a good way.”

Alexia lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours with a sparkle of playful mischief. “Different how?” she asks, her voice taking on a teasing edge.

You smile, feeling a flush of warmth at her proximity. “Well, for one, there’s this new... tension between us,” you say, your words coming out with a hint of nervousness and excitement. “I feel it every time we’re close.”

Alexia’s smile widens, her eyes darkening with a mix of affection and desire. “I’ve noticed that too,” she says softly. She leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss that quickly deepens into something more passionate. Her hands find their way to your face, cupping it gently as her kisses grow more fervent.

As the days pass, the physical connection between you both becomes more intense. You find yourselves stealing kisses whenever you can, your touches lingering with a newfound intensity. Each caress, each look, becomes a promise of what’s to come, a gentle build-up to the moment when you’ll finally give in to the desire that’s been growing between you.

With your heart full of anticipation and a touch of nervousness, you decide to make tonight special. Something that reflects the tender connection you both cherish. You spend the afternoon preparing, wanting every detail to be perfect.

The apartment is filled with the warm, inviting scent of your cooking. You’ve prepared a simple yet elegant dinner, something that you know Alexia loves. The table is set with your best dishes, a bottle of wine breathing on the side, and soft, flickering candlelight casting a golden glow over everything. The lights are dimmed, the apartment bathed in a warm, romantic ambiance that feels almost magical.

You’ve added little touches around the room. Fresh flowers in a vase on the table, the soft strains of music playing in the background, the living room rearranged slightly to create a more intimate setting. It’s a space that feels safe and inviting, designed to make tonight memorable.

As the time draws near, you catch yourself fidgeting with the edges of your dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, adjusting the candles on the table one last time. There’s a nervous flutter in your stomach, a mix of excitement and anxiety as you wait for Alexia to arrive. You want everything to be perfect, but more than that, you want to show her just how much she means to you.

As the final touches are set, you hear the front door creak open, and your heart skips a beat. You quickly smooth down the fabric of your dress, a soft blush warming your cheeks. You’ve chosen something special for tonight. An elegant dress that flows gracefully, making you feel beautiful and confident, even if your heart is still racing with anticipation.

When Alexia steps into the apartment, she pauses in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the sight of you. Her reaction is immediate and genuine. A wide, happy smile spreads across her face, lighting up her features. For a moment, she just stands there, staring at you as if she’s seeing you for the first time. The look of admiration in her eyes makes your heart swell with warmth.

“Wow,” she breathes out, her voice tinged with awe. “You look... increíble, amor. So beautiful.” She takes a step closer, her gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of affection and admiration. “I—I’m so lucky,” she stammers, her usual confident demeanor giving way to a shy, almost bashful expression.

You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at her praise, and you can’t help but smile shyly. “Thank you,” you reply, feeling a rush of warmth from her words. The way she’s looking at you makes you feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

Alexia’s gaze then shifts momentarily to her own outfit—casual training wear that she’s clearly worn just for comfort. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as she nervously tugs at the hem of her sweatshirt. “Oh, I, um... I didn’t realize I’d be, uh, underdressed,” she stammers, her eyes flitting between you and her own attire. “I didn’t expect—”

You cut her off gently, stepping closer and taking her hand in yours. “You look great,” you say sincerely, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I love how soft and relaxed you look. I just wanted to make tonight special for you, for us. It’s not about the clothes. It’s about being together.”

Alexia’s blush deepens, but she seems to relax at your words. She looks into your eyes with a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you,” she says, her voice softening. “You really didn’t have to do all this, but it means so much that you did.”

Without another word, she leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips. The kiss is warm and full of affection, a perfect encapsulation of the love and understanding that has blossomed between you. When she pulls back, her eyes are filled with a soft, loving glow. “I’m really lucky to have you,” she murmurs, her voice full of emotion.

Her words are reassuring, and you feel your nervousness begin to fade, replaced by a sense of calm. You lead her to the table, pulling out her chair before taking your seat across from her. The candles flicker between you, casting soft shadows on her face as she looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

Dinner is a quiet, intimate affair. The conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and shared glances that say more than words ever could. The food is delicious, but it’s the company that truly makes the evening special. With each passing moment, the connection between you deepens, the unspoken promise of what’s to come lingering in the air.

After the last bite of dessert, Alexia leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours. “This was amazing,” she says, her voice low and warm. “Thank you for doing all of this.”

You smile, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “I’m glad you liked it. I just wanted us to have a night that’s... just for you, for us.”

Alexia’s eyes soften even more, and she reaches across the table to take your hand, her thumb gently stroking the back of it. “You’ve made me feel so special tonight,” she murmurs, her voice filled with emotion. “And I want to make sure you feel the same.”

The intensity in her gaze sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s a different kind of shiver than the anxiety you’ve felt before. It’s one of anticipation, of knowing that you’re about to share something incredibly intimate and meaningful with the person you love. You nod, unable to find the right words to express what you’re feeling, but knowing that she understands.

She stands, pulling you up with her, and with a gentle smile, she leads you into the living room. The atmosphere here is even more intimate, the music playing softly in the background, the candles you’d placed around the room casting a soft, romantic glow. Alexia pauses in the middle of the room, turning to face you, her hands resting lightly on your waist.

She looks at you with such affection, such care, that it takes your breath away. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, her voice filled with concern and love. “We can take things slow, amor. There’s no rush.”

You nod, your heart full of love for her. “I’m okay,” you reply, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I want this... with you.”

Alexia’s smile is soft and full of warmth. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, one that speaks of all the tenderness she feels for you. The kiss deepens slowly, her hands moving up to cup your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks in a gesture that is both protective and loving.

As the kiss lingers, your hands find their way to her back, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. The room seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of intimacy. The fears and doubts that had once clouded your mind now seem distant, replaced by the certainty that this moment, this connection, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

When she pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, you can see the love and desire in her eyes, tempered by the same care she’s shown throughout the night. “I want you to feel safe with me,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I want you to tell me if there’s anything you need, anything you want.”

You nod, your heart swelling with emotion. “I feel safe with you,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with the depth of your feelings. “And I want to be with you... just like this.”

Her smile is full of understanding, and she takes your hand, leading you to the couch where you’d spent so many nights talking, laughing, and just being together. But tonight, it feels different. There’s a sense of anticipation, of something new and beautiful blooming between you.

She sits down, pulling you gently onto her lap, her arms wrapping around you in a way that feels both protective and possessive. Her lips find yours again, the kiss slow and tender, her hands exploring your body with a softness that speaks of her care for you. You feel her breath hitch slightly as her hands move over the curves of your body, her desire evident but tempered by the gentle way she touches you.

You respond in kind, your hands moving through her hair, down her back, holding her close as you both sink deeper into the kiss. The world outside ceases to exist, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

Her lips trail from your mouth to your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, each one sending a shiver of pleasure through you. Her hands continue their gentle exploration, never rushing, always mindful of the pace you’ve set together. You can feel the tension in her body, the restraint she’s holding onto, and it only makes you love her more.

You shift slightly, straddling her lap, your hands resting on her shoulders as you look into her eyes. “Alexia,” you whisper, your voice filled with all the love and desire you feel. “I want this... with you.”

Her eyes darken with desire, but there’s also a softness there, a tenderness that reassures you. “I want this too,” she murmurs, her hands settling on your hips, holding you close. “More than anything.”

The moment feels like it’s wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and mutual affection. Alexia’s fingers gently trace the curves of your waist, and you can feel the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second.

Suddenly, with a playful glint in her eye, Alexia shifts slightly beneath you and starts to rise. You yelp in surprise, your arms tightening instinctively around her shoulders as she lifts you effortlessly from her lap. Her strength is both reassuring and exhilarating, a reminder of her athletic prowess.

“Whoa, careful!” you laugh nervously, gripping her tightly as she stands up. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and she chuckles softly at your reaction.

“Relax,” Alexia teases gently, her voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you. I’m an athlete, remember?” She holds you securely against her, her muscles flexing as she adjusts her grip to make sure you’re comfortable.

With a tender smile, Alexia walks slowly towards the bed, her steps measured and deliberate. As she reaches the edge of the mattress, she carefully lowers you onto the soft surface. Despite her careful movements, you cling to her, your arms wrapped around her neck as if reluctant to let go.

She pauses for a moment, her eyes roaming over your body with a mixture of admiration and affection. Her gaze lingers on you, taking in the sight of you stretched out on the bed, your dress clinging to your form in a way that makes her eyes darken with desire.

A warm, affectionate smile spreads across her face as she looks up at you. The connection between you both feels electric, charged with an intensity that makes your heart race. Without breaking eye contact, Alexia leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. The kiss is soft and lingering, a promise of the intimacy to come.

As she deepens the kiss, she begins to lay her own weight down beside you, her body pressing against yours with a comforting warmth. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, syncing with your own in a rhythm that feels perfectly natural.

Her hands explore your dress, her fingers tracing along the fabric as she starts to unfasten it. You help her, your movements synchronized as you pull the dress up and over your head. The dress slides off with a soft rustle, leaving you in your underwear.

Alexia’s fingers trail along your exposed skin, her touch light and teasing. She smiles up at you, her gaze filled with adoration. “You look beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice low and sincere. The way she looks at you makes you feel cherished, every inch of you appreciated.

She then starts to peel off her tracksuit, her movements slightly awkward as she tries to juggle her clothing while maintaining her focus on you. You help her, your fingers brushing against her skin as you assist with removing the tracksuit. Her clothes fall to the floor in a soft heap, leaving her in a simple, form-fitting top and underwear.

With the room filled with a tender, expectant silence, you take a deep breath, your fingers hovering hesitantly above her skin. You let your hands drift toward her chest, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You want to trace your fingers over her beautiful breasts, but you hesitate, unsure if you’re crossing any boundaries.

Shyly, you lift your gaze to meet hers, seeking reassurance in her eyes. The vulnerability in your expression is met with a soft, reassuring smile from Alexia. Her eyes, full of warmth and encouragement, seem to invite you to continue.

“Está bien, amor,” she whispers in Spanish, her voice soothing and full of affection. She gently takes your hands in hers, guiding them with a loving touch to cup her breasts. The warmth of her skin beneath your palms is both exhilarating and comforting.

As you make contact, Alexia lets out a soft, breathy moan, a sound so beautiful and intimate that it sends a shiver of pleasure through you. The sound resonates deeply within you, amplifying the connection you share and making you feel incredibly close to her.

With a gentle yet assertive grace, Alexia begins to take more control of the moment. She shifts her weight slightly, pressing her body more firmly against yours, allowing her warmth and softness to envelop you. Her hands glide over your body with a tenderness that feels both exhilarating and reassuring.

“Just let me guide you,” she murmurs softly, her voice a mix of confidence and tenderness. “Tell me what you like, and we’ll explore this together.”

You nod, your breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as you let her lead. Her fingers trail down your sides, exploring your curves with a careful touch that sends waves of pleasure through you. She lifts her gaze to yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, and you respond with a soft, encouraging smile, giving her the silent permission she needs.

Alexia’s hands continue their journey, gently slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. She eases them down slowly, her movements deliberate and careful as she uncovers your skin. The cool air against your exposed core contrasts with the warmth of her touch, intensifying the sensations you're experiencing.

As she removes your underwear completely, she turns her attention to her own, her fingers deftly working to peel them away. The sight of her undressing, her body illuminated by the soft light, makes your heart race with anticipation. When she finally discards her last piece of clothing, she pauses, letting you take in the beauty of her fully exposed form.

Overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment, you slowly shift into a sitting position on the bed, reaching out to wrap your arms around her. The softness of her skin against your body is electrifying, and you hold her close, your breath mingling with hers.

You lean in to plant gentle kisses on her exposed breasts, your lips brushing against her warm skin with a reverence that conveys just how much you adore her. Each kiss is tender, filled with love and a desire to show her how much she means to you.

You then trail your kisses down her left inner arm, admiring the beauty of her tattoo as your lips make contact with her skin, adding a layer of intimacy and appreciation to the tattoo. You slowly and softly set you teeth in her soft flesh.

The sensation of your kisses and bites elicits a soft, appreciative sigh from Alexia, her body responding to the gentle affection. “I like that,” she murmurs softly, her voice laced with warmth and pleasure. “It feels so good.”

She continues to revel in the intimacy you’re sharing, her hands tenderly caressing your back as you continue to kiss her. The closeness between you both becomes even more palpable, each touch and kiss a testament to your deep connection.

After a while, with a loving and considerate touch, Alexia gently guides you back onto the bed. “Let’s take our time,” she says softly, her voice filled with reassurance. As she helps you settle onto your back, her gaze remains tender and attentive, ensuring you feel both comfortable and cherished.

Once you’re comfortably situated, Alexia positions herself above you with a graceful and deliberate motion. Her core makes contact with yours, and she begins to move with a slow, rhythmic motion. She rocks back and forth with a gentle, deliberate pace, creating a sensation that blends pleasure with the perfect amount of pressure.

Her movements are tender yet purposeful, each shift and glide against you enhancing the intimate connection you’re experiencing together. The rhythm she sets is both soothing and stimulating, allowing you to fully immerse yourself in the shared moment of closeness. The feeling of her body moving against yours is a harmonious dance of pleasure and tenderness, deepening the bond you share and making each moment feel incredibly special.

As the pleasure builds, you finally allow yourself to be vocal about how good she makes you feel. Soft, breathy moans escape your lips, each sound a testament to the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. You find yourself unable to keep quiet, your voice betraying the immense pleasure you’re experiencing. The sounds you make only seem to encourage Alexia, her own movements becoming more attuned to your responses, amplifying the mutual pleasure you both are sharing.

As the pleasure between you builds, Alexia’s focus remains unwaveringly on you. Her eyes, filled with a mix of adoration and passion, roam over your face and body. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice tender and filled with genuine appreciation. “And you make me feel so incredible.”

Her words are a soothing balm, adding to the warmth of the moment. The pleasure between you becomes almost overwhelming, and in the throes of it, her movements start to quicken. The rhythm of her grinding grows faster, her passion driving her actions as she becomes more lost in the sensation.

In her heightened state of desire, Alexia’s hand reaches out and firmly grabs your right breast, her fingers pinching your nipple roughly. The unexpected intensity makes you gasp in surprise, your body reacting sharply to the sensation. Her eyes widen in alarm as she notices your reaction, and she immediately halts her movements.

“Oh mierda, lo siento, lo siento mucho,” she breathes, her voice laced with concern. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Despite the sudden stop, the sensation had been unexpectedly pleasurable, and you find yourself blushing, feeling exposed but also intrigued. You look up at her, your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. “It, um, actually felt good,” you admit shyly. “If you want to, you can continue.”

Alexia’s expression shifts from concern to a warm, relieved smile. Her eyes reflect a blend of affection and excitement as she takes your words to heart. “Are you sure?” she asks softly, her voice tender and filled with a gentle eagerness.

You nod, feeling a newfound confidence in sharing your desires. “Yes, I’m sure,” you affirm. “I trust you, and I want to experience this with you.”

With your reassurance, Alexia resumes her movements, her touch becoming more deliberate and attentive as she finds a rhythm that balances both pleasure and sensitivity. Her continued exploration of your body is filled with a renewed passion and care, ensuring that every moment is both thrilling and deeply intimate.

As the sensations between you intensify, Alexia’s movements become a rhythmic dance of passion and tenderness. Her body rocks gently but purposefully against yours, each motion sending waves of pleasure through you. She maintains a steady gaze, her eyes never leaving yours, communicating unspoken affection and desire.

“You feel so amazing,” she murmurs softly, her voice a tender caress against your ear. “I love the way you respond to me.”

Her words are a constant comfort, her sweet reassurances adding an extra layer of intimacy to the moment. She leans down to kiss you, her lips finding yours with a fervent yet gentle touch. The kiss is a melding of emotions, a silent conversation of love and longing that deepens with each passing second.

As the pleasure reaches its peak, her hands move with a delicate precision, enhancing the sensations and making sure you feel cherished and adored. She holds you close, her body pressed against yours, and the steady rhythm of her movements becomes a perfect symphony of shared ecstasy.

The culmination of your mutual pleasure comes as a breathtaking crescendo. You both feel the rush of release, a powerful and overwhelming wave that washes over you, leaving you breathless and blissful. Alexia’s soft, contented moans mix with your own vocal expressions of pleasure, creating a harmony that is both beautiful and deeply personal.

You kiss her tenderly, your lips moving in a gentle rhythm that matches the lingering waves of pleasure. The kiss is a promise of love and devotion, a sweet exchange that further cements the bond you share. Her hands cradle your face, her touch tender and reassuring as she pulls back slightly to look into your eyes.

“Thank you for being so amazing,” you whisper, your voice filled with genuine affection. “I’ve never felt this close to anyone before.”

Alexia’s eyes shine with a mix of love and satisfaction. “It’s because of you,” she replies softly. “You’ve made this so special. I love you so much.”

As the euphoria of the moment begins to settle, Alexia’s teasing smile makes a reappearance, her eyes twinkling with playful affection. She leans in close, brushing a strand of hair from your face before speaking, her tone light yet filled with meaning.

“I don’t stand a chance of having a normal life with you, do I?” she teases, her voice laced with warmth. “You’ve made me want to do this with you every single moment, exploring new things, finding out what we both like. We’re just getting started, and I’m so excited to explore even more with you.”

She punctuates her words with that little shy smile of hers, the one that always manages to melt your heart. It’s a perfect blend of her natural confidence and the sweet, awkward vulnerability that makes her so endearing.

You can’t help but laugh softly at her words, feeling both exhilarated and a little overwhelmed by the intensity of your connection. “Gosh, what have I gotten myself into?” you tease back, your tone playful but your heart swelling with affection.

Alexia chuckles, her smile widening as she leans down to kiss you again, this time more slowly, savoring the moment. “Whatever it is, I hope you’re ready for it,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice carrying both a promise and a challenge.

“I am,” you whisper back, feeling a surge of anticipation for the adventures yet to come.

With her by your side, you’re ready to explore everything. Every desire, every emotion, every new discovery. As you lie there in each other’s arms, the future feels wide open, full of possibility, and you know without a doubt that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

As you hold Alexia close, the warmth of her embrace and the depth of your connection make you realize how unfounded your doubts had been. In this moment of intimacy and understanding, you know with certainty that your fears were unnecessary, and that what you share is stronger and more beautiful than you ever imagined.

Note: I realize that some transitions might not be as smooth as l'd like, and plan to refine them later. I just wanted to share this now, even though I haven't done a thorough grammar check yet. Please be gentle with your feedback!

#woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas smut

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intheorangebedroom · 2 months

Text

The corner deli

Summary: You take a night trip to the corner deli and meet this handsome guy, but shit turns out weird.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

A/N: This is what happens when I can't sleep. Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡

Word count: 1.8k

The corner deli

And here you are, another Friday night on your own, reading a book you can barely focus on, scrolling mindlessly in between chapters, slouched in your couch and feeling sorry for yourself. Those stupid, evil thoughts starting to whisper some nasty shit in the back of your mind, and you’re letting it happen.

It’s on you, though, because some of your coworkers, the younger ones, offered you to go out with them but you said no. You’re too much of an introvert, but not enough that you don’t feel miserable now, sitting here alone while the city’s buoyant life unfolds without you behind your closed windows. What difference does it make, anyway. It goes on, whether you decide to join or not. No one misses you, so there.

Fuck it. Tonight, you’re gonna eat your feelings. You slip on your jeans and your shoes and go out to the deli on the corner, it’s open all night. You’ll get some Pringles or ice cream, whatever comes first.

You’re walking down an aisle, hesitating between two flavors of Chex Mix, when you catch sight of THE most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

He’s tall. And so fucking broad. His denim shirt is working hard containing the breadth of his solid shoulders, his jeans are tight on his thighs. He’s got a scruffy, patchy beard and strands of brown hair curling at his ears underneath his trucker hat. He’s all sharp profile, solid features, plush lips, oh! his lips are just… generous, and his eyes… god his eyes are dark, deep and soulful. Wait, did you just use the word soulful? Well, he’s that fucking handsome. There’s a stern crease splitting his brow, but it’s tempered by the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind you get from laughing often.

You look down at yourself and… fuck. Your mascara has run off because yeah, maybe you cried a little, earlier. Your hair is dirty, pulled together in a messy bun that looks nothing like those supposedly effortless hairdos thrown at you in Instagram reels. The ones that make you feel unworthy of the air you’re breathing. You're wearing a dirty pair of 501 with your pajama shirt tucked in, there’s no way you're getting anywhere near him, even if you had any self-confidence to boot.

You walk over to the back of the store. Not that it’s a good hiding spot, it’s just where the fridges are. And of course, they’re out of the one ice cream flavor you like. Wow. It really ain’t your day, is it? Craning your neck to scan the empty top shelf, you spot the very last Netflix and Chill’d all the way to the back. Opening the door, you stand on tiptoes, fingers scrambling over the icy shelf to grab it, but you can’t reach that high.

That’s when you feel him. His chest barely brushing at your back. You get a whiff of his scent and you swallow a gasp. He smells like leather and warm skin and laundry and you can’t even move anymore, you just stand there like a Roman statue in a museum, with one arm up. Your gaze follows his arm as it extends toward the shelf, reaching it with ease. As his large hand grabs the last tub, the whole sequence of movements completely effortless and well, graceful.

He takes a step away from you, and your body’s responding again. Your heels meet the ground, and you turn to face him. There’s the promise of a smile curling his lips, fuck he is stupidly handsome, Jesus fucking Christ, are you still breathing? He hands you the tub and all you can think of is how thick his fingers look around it, and how they would feel buried inside you, or wrapped around your throat, and… oh wow. That escalated quickly.

You swallow hard, blinking the filthy thoughts away. There’s something in the way he looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes. You feel… warm. He flexes his jaw to the side, he’s smiling at you, still holding that goddamn ice cream, you gotta say or do something, but your body has bailed on you, yet again.

Eventually, you take the cold tub, careful not to touch his fingers. But he’s not letting go. Your breathing turns shallow, you can barely hold his gaze. Why does he keep looking at you with those soft brown eyes, why is he smiling like that? He can’t possibly be… what? Interested in you? No one can. No one ever is. That’s why you’re in this deli, alone, in the middle of the night, wearing last week's dirty laundry.

Oh. Of course. He’s waiting for you to thank him. Jesus you’re stupid.

“Thanks. You. I mean, thank you.” Oh, great, that went well.

There’s a beat before he releases his grip and lets go of the tub.

“You’re welcome,” he says, and of course, his voice is velvet. Round and husky and low.

There’s an easy confidence about him, like quiet assertiveness, is that a thing? Like he knows his worth, but he doesn’t need to step all over people’s toes to show it.

You’re raking your brain for some smart quip you know will come to you tomorrow morning in the shower, when you hear a commotion at the cashier. Somebody’s shouting orders, a dude holding up something in his hand, pointing it at the employee behind the plexiglass. Holding a fucking handgun, Jesus fuck the place is getting robbed.

Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. There’s pressure around your elbow and you’re yanked down onto the dirty tiles.

The man in the trucker hat is crouching next to you. He holds his index finger pressed to his lips. His face looks different, his jaw tensed, a deep frown darkening his face. His eyes are pitch black, is it even the same man? A minute ago, he looked like the friendly next-door neighbor you’re daydreaming about fucking in the basement laundry room, and now he looks like someone who’s about to shoot you in the face.

“Be quiet,” he mouthes under the noises coming from the front of the store, “stay here, everything’s gonna be ok.”

You don’t want him to leave you here on your own, no matter how threatening he looks, but he’s already moving toward the front and anyway, it’s not like you can move.

Shouldn’t you call 911? He told you to be quiet, what the hell are you supposed to do?

It all happens so fast, and you’re so scared. You’ve never been this scared in your entire life. You hear a thud, followed by a gunshot. You clasp your hand to your mouth, you’re sure you’re gonna die. You hear the sounds of a struggle, a loud, piercing yelp, and another, louder thud. There are a few more noises, fabrics rustling, muffled groans and nothing. Deafening silence.

You can’t feel your legs and your heart is beating in your throat when you finally hear him, the guy in the trucker hat. His voice is firm and his tone commanding as he addresses the deli employee.

“Hey, hey look at me, you’re ok. Can you call 911? Hey! Call 911. You’re ok.”

Your legs won’t carry you. You have to crawl to the front of the store on your hands and knees, and your eyes grow wide at the scene you find there. A tall, young man with a shaved head is lying on the floor, wrists in a zip tie, he’s passed out, or dead, you’re not sure and you don’t wanna know. And anyway, you don’t have time to see more. He’s here, in front of you, the guy in the trucker hat, blocking the view with his massive silhouette, helping you get up and walking you outside.

“You ok?” he asks you.

He’s got one hand in the small of your back, the other one is gripping your arm. They’re warm, and that’s how you register how cold you are. In fact, you’re shivering in the warm city night, teeth chattering and all.

“It’s over, I got you,” he says, cupping your face and you look up at him, nodding, mumbling, “I’m ok, yeah, I’m ok,” trying to focus on his warmth radiating through your cheeks.

When they arrive, the cops instruct you to stay to make a deposition. Uncomfortable doesn’t cut it to describe your state of mind throughout the entire process, but he stands near you the whole time, his shoulder against yours, and you don’t think you could stand straight without it.

Eventually, the place clears up. The perp came to, they handcuffed him and took him away. As he passed near you, you saw a purple bruise blooming on his neck.

You’re told you’re free to go, and there’s really no reason for you to stay.

Except there is.

“So um… you’re a cop, or something?” you ask, looking intently at the fascinating tip of your Van’s, bumping against the curb.

He shakes his head.

“No. US Air Force. I’m a pilot.”

Your head shoots up, mouth falling open into a silent oh.

His smile is so fucking soft you want to kick the curb and break all your toes.

“Well, thank you, anyway. That was really scary. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now, there really isn’t any reason for you to linger. But he’s not moving, standing tall and broad and solid before you, hands propped on his hips, with that easy confidence about him. And that thing happens again, that thing where he looks at you with those gentle brown eyes and that promise of a smile, and you feel like you’re the center of the goddamn universe.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, offering you his hand.

From all the scary shits that went down tonight, this one has got to be the scariest, by far, because you know that if you take his hand, you’re not gonna let go.

You hear your name coming out of your mouth, and it’s too late. You’re done for. Your small hand slides into his larger one, and he gives it a strong squeeze. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to tell you everything you need to know.

And he’s not letting go. And you’re not letting go. You expect fucking fireworks, at this point, but it’s just… right. Like you don’t have to be scared. Like you don’t have to torture yourself anymore with mean-ass questions about how to behave or what to say next. Like you can simply be you, and it’ll be enough.

“So,” he starts, and he’s downright grinning now, a dimpled smile that lights up his entire face, “d’you think we can consider this as our first date?”

****

#happy frankie friday #the pilot™️#let me know if anyone's interested in a second date?#also just so you know chapter 5 of tybtm is coming along #I'm at 8k but i needed a break from the angst #and yes i am fully aware I said this chapter would be angst-free thank you very much #frankie morales #frankie morales / fem!reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales / you

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moxfirefly · 9 months

Note

I would like to ask for delicate hugs, but they linger longer the more both of you do it from the prompt list for Raphael if that is ok.

I love your blog and your writing! ❤️❤️

To have those big ol’ arms tight around you 😮‍💨

Love this anon! Let see how this goes.

Rated Feels/Romance/Tension.

The first thing that hit him was that fucking shower gel. It had the ability to linger so deliciously on your skin, mixing with your own scent. It was a punch to his senses, a good sucker punch that left him a little too giddy and ready for more.

This always happened when you two hugged.

So it was normal to press you against his chest and give a gentle squeeze, because you liked it when he did that.

It was fine to linger.

Right?

There was something natural to Raph’s scent, something between laundry detergent, some type of lotion and something so very him. You quite liked it, it was easy, you could tell it was him before you even turned to say hello.

What you liked though? What you enjoyed was how he could press you up against himself and squeeze. You loved weighted blankets but it paled so the pressure Raph’s arms could supply, the effortless way he lifted you off your feet several inches.

He always set you down, placed his hands on your shoulder before give them an affectionate squeeze. The fluidity of the motion is comforting, something to be expected whenever the two of you embraced.

With time the song and dance would change, small little intricate details that could’ve remained blind to the naked eye.

But you felt it, Raph felt it.

It was a greedy tune up, his arms fell a little lower to your waist, his chin rested more relaxed on your shoulder. The strands of your hair fanning his face and drowning him in the scent that very much had him mesmerized from day one.

You became more aware of his physique, the strength that lay within those arms, the press of his biceps and how nice it felt to run your hands down the obliques on the side of his torso. He was just to big and so strong.

Raph likes the small scattering of pink when he pulled away. The way your eyes stole a glance at his body, something about that filled him with so much pride, it left him a little dizzy with the ego rush.

As more time passed, and more time progressed, every little moment spent with each other, those embraces continued to evolve.

They evolved into something that left more questions than answers.

But god, did they supply another rush to his bloodstream, and left your skin all goose flesh.

That very night, when he went to see goodnight, make his way out of your window, the usual practiced motions…

He couldn’t pull away.

He held you close, chanced a soft caress to the back of your head. He felt your sigh more than he heard it, the small gush of air against his chest where you had glued yourself to. He was so firm, like stone, the scales a little cold against your skin. It was comforting, felt nice to have him life this.

It was the circles he drew on your back.

It was the way you reached up to the backs of his arms, fingertips running around the edges of his shell.

It was the fact that time continued to pass and yet neither of you could pull away.

#ask #anon #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader #raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #Raphael #Raph #friends to lovers prompt

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Fake It Till You Make It | Part 8

"Oh Steven..."

The view of Eddie was obstructed pretty quickly when Steve manoeuvred him behind him, turning fully to face his dad using his broader body to shield Eddie from view. “He’s—”

“Panicking. He’s panicking. I have eyes Steven. Lynda get this poor boy a glass of water would you?” A chair creaking from inside the room told them all his mother had gotten up to do as she was asked, and while that might have caused most to relax, Steve still stood his ground. A human blockade. “It’s okay son, you’re going to have to move eventually it might as well be now, he’s safe.”

“Is he?” Eddie rested his forehead against the centre of Steve’s shoulders, right at the base of his neck, just… rested there, Steve wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, it’d be okay.

“Well I’m not about to invite my son to send me to hospital, am I?” A wise choice, it seemed like Steve was fully prepared to do just that if necessary. “This house is safe for you both, and it always will be.” John stepped to the side a little, just enough to be able to see around Steve’s shoulder, although Steve was tempted to move into his way again, he’d put himself in the way of a train if it meant protecting someone else, Eddie was certain of it at that point “Eddie… was it?”

He’d overheard while Steve was talking to him. He knew his name. Eddie looked up, basically peeking over Steve’s shoulder. It was awkward, given they were almost the same height, but… he still felt safer there.

“Oh heavens, John step aside, you’re frightening the poor thing to death” And there was Lynda, nudging John aside with a tall glass of water in hand “Eddie, come on out from behind there,” as if ‘there’ wasn’t her damn close to six foot son “it’s okay” he was a grown man, yet he felt like he was seven all over again, hiding behind a couch away from the police who’d come to get his dad.

He’d only hidden because his dad used to tell him that if he was naughty the police would take him away, and he may have… coincidentally… drawn on his bedroom wall, he’d hidden it pretty well but… there were suddenly police bashing down the door!

Just so happened they were there for his father, who’d been doing much naughtier things.

Steve didn’t move, so that left the choice up to him. A choice he had to make, no matter how scary it was. He was there, there was no getting out of the plan now. They’d seen him, he couldn’t make a run for it… or he could but he’d never able to look Steve or Dustin in the face ever again, which left only one real option.

He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Steve’s bicep, and stepped out from behind him. Steve’s hand was very quick to find his, holding him, grounding him, a tether to keep him stable and god it felt nice to have it there, warm, and secure, fingers perfectly slotted between his own. He could only imagine what a pair they looked though.

The King and the Court Jester.

The Jock and the Freak.

Perfect and Completely Imperfect.

He knew what he looked like, how people looked at him, even in clean clothes, even having brushed his hair, he still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed sometimes, and Steve… god… There weren’t words for how perfect Steve looked.

It seemed effortless but Eddie knew Steve must have put in genuine effort. It was attractive how much effort he must have been putting in.

They all looked that perfect though. He truly looked so very out of place. Lynda in her pristine white shirtdress, a belt around her waist giving it shape and John in his expensive pale blue polo and pressed chinos.

There he was, in a hand-me-down red and black flannel, the only pair of jeans he owned that weren’t ripped at the knee (although they were getting there), hands full of silver rings, an old handed down Casio watch, scuffed Reeboks, and the one band Tee he had that wasn’t dirty.

The pickings had been slim he really should have done some laundry. He should have accepted Steve’s offer to help him clean up. They’d have been still doing it!

“Hi… I’m—I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson.” They didn’t know the family name, and it didn’t surprise him either, Wayne wasn’t raised in Hawkins, he’d just settled there after he learned Eddie would be handed to him. Traded his truck for a trailer in a random pick of a town and swapped his long haul journeys for night shifts at the plant and that was that.

They couldn’t have known his family name.

“Oh my…” it wasn’t a disgusted oh my, although her eyes did widen, he felt… seen as she looked him up and down, seemingly sizing him up, and then… she turned to Steve and all his worries seemed to vanish when she, with genuine mischief in her voice, said “he’s a bit out of your league isn’t he, Steven? I know we encourage you to be ambitious but—”

“W-what?!” And that was Steve, flustered in his response “No, I’m—he’s—”

“Sweetheart” oh she sounded so cheeky “he has tattoos” Eddie quickly glanced down at his bare forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, bats on display, his tattoos usually a source of judgement, she wasn’t judging him though. “You’re afraid of needles.”

“I am NOT!”

“That’s not what I remember from your last round of shots.”

“I was five.” At least he was the last time they’d gone with him to get his shots done. "I've had plenty of shots since then."

“These fears don’t just vanish, Steven, how do you expect to hold onto this handsome young man if you can’t even handle a little pri—”

“Lynda please.” John interrupted what would have been a stellar takedown with a comical amount of exasperation, the man pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off an incoming headache. Eddie, against all odds, was smiling, fighting back genuine giggles, the free hand not wrapped within Steve’s lifted to cover his mouth as if to hold them in.

“What? It’s not like it didn’t work.” She handed John the glass she’d been holding, since Eddie no longer seemed to need the water, then took a step closer to Eddie “Eddie, dear… how about you and Steven come into the living room, and we can get to know you a little, how does that sound?” There was no anger in her tone, no disgust hidden in the layers of it, she just… she smiled at him.

Where were these ‘rich assholes’ people kept claiming the Harringtons to be? Because he didn’t see them. He could understand the hesitation to trust, he was still nervous, the fear still licked at his very soul that maybe, just maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike when he couldn’t get out, but… was there any reason to be distrustful?

Had the Harringtons ever been outspoken against his people? Ever? Save for maybe one or two occasions where Steve had called someone queer as an insult back in high school, before he’d obviously grown.

People just assumed.

Those at the bottom just assumed the worst of all of those at the top. Same as most assumed the worst of him, that he was mean, that he was scary. They were just at opposite ends of the social ladder. There had to be some good among the rich, why not the Harringtons?

Why couldn’t they be good? Why not at least give them the opportunity to be good?

“Y-yeah… yeah, that’d uh—that’d be okay I think.” Steve squeezed his hand so gently, another attempt to ground him, to keep him tethered. To keep him calm, and it worked. It helped. Steve was there, Steve would keep him safe. No matter who came at them, Steve would keep him safe, not a King at all.

A loyal Knight, a Paladin, a Defender. He’d probably be safe walking through the fiery pits of hell itself, as long as Steve was there beside him. “You sure you’re okay, Eddie? We can go back to yours, we can just… try another day.” And Steve checked in with him too as his parents returned to the Living room, Lynda pausing at the door to wait for them while her husband continued on.

Steve’s hand warm around his, looking at him with a level of concern nobody had bothered to bestow upon him before.

Not even Wayne, but Wayne was kinda gruff, he showed his love in other ways. Steve barely knew him… he was just, that kind of person apparently.

“Nah, we’re here now and with you here? My very own big, strong knight in shining armour? I’m pretty sure I could brave anything.”

And that bashful little smile of Steve’s whenever someone praised him?

Beautiful.

Beautiful enough to chase any bad feelings away with their tails between their legs. Beautiful enough to give him the boost he needed to pull Steve along by his hand and into that living room with Lynda, beautiful enough to give him the strength to take on the goddamn world.

Or at least the scariest thing he could think of in it at the time, that being… being himself in front of two complete strangers who could ruin his life with zero repercussions aside from their son being angry at them.

So it was a pretty big deal, that smile of his.

The first thing Eddie registered as he entered the main living room though, was that off to the right, there was a magnificent mahogany table, complete with three chairs on either side and one at each end.

Last time he’d seen it, it’d been covered in pizza boxes and alcohol options, its majesty concealed beneath a layer of filth. “Stevie can I—” couldn’t help himself

“Later” Steve was quicker than him though, Dustin had already brought up the table before, it wasn’t hard to guess where Eddie’s mind would go.

Of course he’d shot Dustin down, but Eddie? Maybe… just maybe he’d let Eddie use it. Only once his parents left again though, something told him they’d draw a line at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, one of the main highlights of the ongoing Satanic Panic, being held in their dining room, whether they used it or not.

“So!" John began as he found his seat once more, waiting only for Steve and Eddie to sit down on the sofa close by, side by side, hand in hand, looking like the least likeliest pair in existence, to begin. "Eddie, tell us a little about yourself, how’d you both meet?”

Straight into the deep end then. "Well..."

Part 10

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #i have once called this fic my self-indulgent fic #it is for this reason that you get two updates in a row lmao

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chouxsardine · 8 months

Text

He Would---Danny Wagner x reader

A/N: A soft Danny thought, inspired my way home from the grocery run this afternoon and the infamous “If he wanted to, he would”. A little warm-up for Valentine's Day. I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Warnings: none; fluff, boyfriend! Danny; sound sensitivity; slight description of anxiety, unhinged cheesiness

Word Count: 2491

🎧: More Than Words by Extreme

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You are very sensitive to loud noises. Since you were a little kid, all your friends have known that a jump scare is a guaranteed win to get back at you for a prank war. You would scream like a banshee, most definitely fall on your behind, and actually need a moment and several deep breaths to rein in your pounding heart back to normal.

Sure, it’s an annoyance and can cause inconveniences sometimes, but you have lived with it for years and can usually get it under control. Therefore, you never really mentioned it to Danny after you two are together. As the attentive and caring lover that he is, he picked it up all by himself.

The first time that he noticed it, it was a quiet afternoon. You were having a lazy weekend at your apartment, minding your own business respectively—you were nose deep in your chunky historical romance novel, Danny was working his way folding a pile of laundry fresh out of the dryer—the comfortable silence draped over you. He was stealing glances at you from time to time. He couldn’t help it—the sunlight that trembled on your curls with your breathing, the unintentional swaying of your legs that were stretched behind you and bent at the knees, and the way that you were completely unaware of your own natural and effortless beauty. He was just so in love with you. However, the love bubble is punctured abruptly by the noise from a power drill coming from your upstair neighbour. Naturally, you both flinched. Fortunately, the sound only lasted for a few seconds before the peaceful and tranquil atmosphere was restored. Danny noticed that your head was still tilted towards your left shoulder as if flinching from a tickle and your fingers were still pressing into your ears. He opened his mouth, wanted to check in with you, but despite your actions, you seemed completely unbothered, already getting back to your reading. Your hands stayed there for about another twenty seconds, and after that, you were completely normal, as if nothing had happened.

After that, the evidence has been piling up quite self-evidently. There was that night when the storm was particularly vicious. Danny was drifting in and out of conscious, bothered by the thunder and the pouring rain blowing against the window. He felt you stir in his arms. He looked down, and you didn’t wake up; it didn’t seem like you were having a bad dream either. There was just that flinching again—your eyebrows furrowed, your neck craning to the left. Danny carefully reached out and caressed the left side of your face, his thumb brushing feather-light strokes on your cheek. To his relief, you stopped frowning and leaned into his touch subconsciously, nuzzling his hand like a kitten. Danny made sure your breathing went back to normal before he fell asleep again.

There was also that time when you and the boys went to see the fireworks for New Year’s Eve. You were largely distracted by the visuals. The sounds only caught up with you when some of the single-shot aerial salute were fired towards the end. Upon that first loud bang, Danny’s black earmuffs were already around your ears. You turned your head, giving him a grateful look and flashing him a smile. He only squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as the people around began counting down. It happened so naturally that it skipped how he has already not only noticed, but also learned your way to deal with it.

Sure, Danny could have directly asked you. A simple “are you sensitive to loud sounds?” would suffice, but he prefers to let you take the lead. You should be the one who decides when it feels right and comfortable to tell him about it. This is the principle that Danny holds when it comes to most sensitive topics between you. He knows that it takes you longer to open up, so as long as it’s not something urgent, he always waits patiently.

And it did take a while for you to realize that. But once you began connecting the dots, things became abundantly clear. Danny always manages to find a way to make his presence known. The loud ‘honey, I’m home’ every time he dropped his bag at the doorway, the sliding of a steaming mug into your sight when your eyes are glued to the laptop screen and your fingers are flying over the keyboard, the keeping your Adblock software up to date especially during Halloween season so the unscrupulous jump-scares from the horror movie trailers would never get you. You have even joked with Danny how you have stopped accidentally breaking plates or glasses ever since you guys started dating. God knows how many broken ceramics or glasses you had to sweep up when you were with your ex. Danny would never creepily appear right behind you and then scolded you for being dramatic when you are genuinely jumped out of your skin. When he wants to get your attention in the middle of your little dance party, he always changes or turns down the volume of the song that you are playing and lets you notice it yourself.

You also remember that time when Danny found you minutes before he was about to go on stage.

You were about to go to your reserved spot at the side wing when you heard Danny calling your name. “Danny! what are you doing here?” He was all dressed up, the makeup sparkling around his eyelids. He looked so divine, but his breathing was quicker, and he looked a little flushed as if he was in a rush. Well, duh, of course, he was. Curtain was in five, he was not supposed to be here.

“Here,” he dropped something into your palm and spoke again before you had time to see what it was. “I knew you said you’re fine, but I want you to have them just in case.” “Okay, babe.” Given the tight timing, you decided to play along. Plus, you trusted him anyway. With that, he gave you a kiss with pouty lips so as not to mess up his makeup and hurried away at the stage manager’s anxious urging.

When you got a chance to look at the objects in your hands, you recognized it was a pair of earplugs—not two pieces of bright orange foam you found at the dollar store, but the proper ones, the “standing-right-behind-the-barricade” kind that you saw photographers and security guards wear. And they are in your favorite colour too. Your mind instantly went back to that conversation you had when you finally told Danny about your sound sensitivity. He was nodding along attentively and you could almost hear the gears in his brain turning. “What?” You asked, feeling a little self-conscious. “No, no. I was just thinking. You said loud sounds…What about the drums, do they also…” “Of course not!” You laughed, “they are quite the opposite, honestly. I was referring to like, more erratic noises. You drums are nothing like those!”

That was one of the earlier shows that Danny took you to, and those earplugs have been with you ever since.

Whenever you go to concerts, no matter if it’s at the crowded, overwhelming pit, or in a low-lit, intimate bar, Danny always stands behind you — not only to protect you as a human shield from strangers’ unnecessary physical contacts (accidental or not), but also to hug you from behind so that he can sway with you gently along with the rhythm, steal a kiss when the song comes to your favourite part, and catch the tears that slide down your cheek with his thumb when you are so deeply touched by the lyrics.

Today, you were walking down the street with Danny. As a firm believer and the loyal executant of “the sidewalk rule”, Danny was walking on the traffic side of the sidewalk, his right hand is stuffed in the left pocket of your coat, his fingers tangled with yours. This has always been your little tradition when walking together. Danny jokingly named it “save a glove, hold hands”, derived from that infamous cowboy phrase. It was late afternoon, there were few people on the roads. The air was crisp, delectable of the food smell coming from the bistros and restaurants nearby. You were telling Danny about one of the movies you recently watched and was about to get to the juicy reveal of the plot twist when you heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. Your heart instantly sped up your fingers twitched slightly.

You hated the sounds of sirens; terrified, you’d even say. Among all your noise triggers, they are probably the worst. You have hated it since you were a child; when your cousins would whip out their electric firetrucks and police car models on a playdate, the flashing light and clanking noises always made your skin crawl. Oh, just wait until you find out about the real ones screaming and whizzing by while you walk. It’s not only the high pitched sound, but also the instant reflex in your brain alerting that “something is wrong”, some one is hurting, someone needs help—a fire? a robbery? A car accident? Or could it be an abduction case? Did some grandma slip and fall in the shower, or is a mother unexpectedly going into labor? Images flash before your eyes: blood, yelps, a doctor performing CPR in the moving vehicle… To make matters worse, your deceptive brain offers you to consider the possibility: what if someone you knew is in that vehicle right now? What if they are the ones that was anxiously waiting for the help to arrive? Sure, life is not some soap opera or Lifetime original movie, but….what if?

“Ummmm…and then…then…”

The sound was getting louder, the ambulance was rapidly approaching. You tried to brush it off, faking a cough when you stuttered in your narration. “Come on, get it over with. You’re not going to have a panic attack mid conversation just from hearing some noise. No adults behave like that.” You scolded yourself silently, blinking rapidly as you turned your head away from the street. Just as the howling was becoming unbearable, the next moment, you were wrapped in a hug. Before you knew it, you were tucked in between Danny’s arms. His hand that was previously inside your pocket now snaked around your waist, his other hand holding your head against his chest, his palm covering your ear.

For the next twenty seconds, Danny became your senses. You were engulfed in his scent—mahogany cologne, musk, and the lingering smoky smell on his scarf from the restaurant you just left; his hand pressed against your ears—his big hands, strong fingers, palm dry and warm, radiating his body heat; the sound are all muffled, it was as if you slid into a warm pool—with a protective medium in between, you were safe from the noises. It was reassurance in every possible way.

You felt Danny’s hand gently rubbing your back, his familiar tell-tale sign to slowly welcome you coming back to him. His movements were gradual and calculated. He lifted his palm from your ear little by little, as if peeling open a tub of newly-opened yogurt, letting the exoteric sounds flush back slowly, the slow inflation of a ballon. Gone was the ambulance, along with your anxiousness.

You blinked, forgetting when you squeezed your eyes shut, and collided right into Danny’s eyes—the kind brown paired with the faint hue of an earthy green limbal ring—the undivided attention that makes your head swoon and your knees buckle.

“Hi.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Hi.” You shyly replied, pulling his hand back to your pocket as you resumed your walk, lacing your fingers with his.

People were still hurrying to and fro. The cars swooshing by behind you. No one took notice of a hugging couple on the side of the road, or if the did, they would just think it was some cheesy PDA. No one would understand the utter care, gentleness, and intimacy you have just experienced.

Of course he would’ve noticed. Just like he always did. Naive of you to assume that you can fake or hide anything from Danny, your Danny. Little did you know, throughout his time with you, he had trained himself to become the curator of an archive that was you. He could cite chapter and verse of your preferences and abhorrences. He enjoys every minute of it and he is always excited to discover more; he never sees it as a chore or an ordeal, but a labor of love instead; because if he wanted to, he would.

It was by then that you fully understood what Danny really means when he says he loves you with his whole body and his whole heart. It wasn’t the sex or the booze talking, nor the post-show adrenaline. What he means is that he loves you so much that it has become part of his instinct. You are wired into his thought process and will always be part of his consideration for whatever problem he is facing, a constant in the equation. In between choices, you will most often be firmly chosen by him, and in the rare cases that you weren’t, he would have legit reason, which you are certain that you would be sincerely convinced of because you understand that a relationship is about both giving and taking, and that you would do the same for him without any hesitation.

“Oh, Danny.” You sighed contentedly, slightly shaking your head, from the disbelief that a heart is capable of love with such depth that it will permanently mark your soul, from that annoying little voice in your head that makes you wonder what you have done to deserve such a lover like Danny, and from the epiphany which makes you realize that you are smitten by him and will most likely be stuck with him for the rest of your life. It’s a blissful surrender, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There are so much feelings in your heart, but no need to express them at all; because one glance at Danny’s eyes looking back at you with oozing adoration tells you that he fully understands every word you wanted to say down to the punctuations. So much was conveyed in the telepathic silence. There was honestly no greater communication. You know this was the perfect moment that calls for those exact three words, and Danny has already said them to you first, leaving you no choice but to chuckle and say it back.

“I love you, Danny.”

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Yea! You made it! Thank you so much for reading :)) Let me know what do you think or if we want a taglist. Any comments, thoughts, and feedbacks are GREATLY welcomed and appreciated.

My other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones || Coming back to me || Warm Honey

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fluff #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner fluff #danny wagner #danny gvf #gvf fanfiction

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briar-rolfes-research-oubliette · 6 months

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ON MONDAY, I (FINALLY) MADE IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NEWEST ERAGON BOOK!

MURTAGH

“A Book I Read”

It took three very patient friends of mine to encourage me to finish reading this. I took notes the whole way through, and I am now sharing those in hope of finding loving community with my fellow haters.

Important context:

I loved Eragon, which came out when I was roughly eleven

Christopher Paolini was the first author to ever disappoint me

I used to love epic fantasy, until feminism, coming out, and learning about literary criticism made me just too mean to enjoy it

Since 2015, whenever I’ve had writer’s block, I’ve found inspiration by looking at this screenshot:

Christopher has managed to create a life where his mum has never stopped doing his laundry or his editing for him. He has never worked a job in his life. He has infinite time to work on his craft, and yet, with all of those advantages, he writes the way he does. I don’t hate him, but I do want to destroy him in single combat.

LET US BEGIN.

17 November 2023

I forgot how obsessed this man is with proving he knows rare words. Picking up my phone to google the word “trenchant”.

He really just didn’t want to say the dragon had a sharp sense of humour huh? Oh, no, it’s TRENCHANT. It wasn’t even for dialogue I identified as comedy but Murtagh thought it was TRENCHANT. He and Thorn have been alone in the wilderness for too long

NOT NASUADA BEING DESCRIBED AS HAVING ALMOND EYES

Of course the protagonist has grown a beard. He’s A Man Now.

I have a theory that this book is about coming to terms with marriage. Murtagh is like “our bond… our bond that lasts until death… the oldest magic… only the two of us understand each other. But, we’re also trapped with each other,” and I’m like hm. Fascinating. Say more

Instantly Murt befriends a child, to prove he is good really.

It’s so weird to read a book by a grown man with kids who is like “how did we all start out so innocent and pure…” like have you MET five year olds

This whole fork fight scene makes me feel second hand embarrassment deep in my soul. It’s SO This Guy Is The Best And Coolest

“Fencing with effortless ease” I do not care how well trained he is: you cannot kill four men with long swords by stabbing them with a little fork in “four hard impacts.” It’s just not happening.

I’m really dwelling on the idea of magic as “imposing your will” on something. It’s very.., something. Murtagh cleans his shirt by “imposing his will on the garment” like. Okay, I suppose in a way that is how all laundry is done, but it’s. Hm.

How come he’ll clean a shirt with magic but not shave with magic? Why are these books SO obsessed with beards and shaving and how to do shave and using magic for shaving etc etc, Eragon was also majorly preoccupied with this

Paolini’s got so many complexes on the page. All the “we’re half brothers and your dad killed my dad” stuff is A LOT

The naming stuff… SMH what would Ursula Le Guin say about all this

I’m obsessed with how even as (gasp) an OUTCAST!! Murtagh can’t not be the coolest guy ever for any time at all. It’s like a disease

Giving the child the enchanted killing fork was the worst decision ever made. Murtagh gives her a murder weapon and is then moping like “what’s it like… to live without killing…” literally pages later.

I’m really startled that Murt is delighted to see a tiny flying magical grass boat come down from the sky and circle him instead of being like “wtf, I’m being Watched,” which would be the true act of a man we are told is paranoid

I just got to the bit where Murtagh offhandedly says that magic users who “are the heaviest” always have the most spell reserves.

Like……… what???? Magic eats your fat?? It burns glucose??

You could be a better mage if you just, ate a bunch of raspberry frogs before each fight??????

It’s food powered??? You really want to go there, Paolini????? Wizards in the candy shop, eating sweeties like Mistborns?

GOD, if only Galbatorix had chugged a bottle of red cordial before his last big fight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I return after losing my mind about this to my partner for forty minutes)

If it was “if you’re hungry you can’t FOCUS” I’d get it. But I always assumed it was like, you know how other fantasy does it? Some kind of pool of ADDITIONAL energy that you are accessing and that can be used up (until you go too far and start using life force or whatever). Like, it’s CHANNELLING it that makes you tired, not that it’s literal food energy.

Murtagh is always running or doing his sword forms or whatever and now I’m like “DUDE, NO!!!?!? DON’T BURN YOUR WIZARD CALORIES!!?!?”

I like when magic can’t do EVERYTHING, when it’s consistent or limited in some way, but I do hate the idea that it’s this predictable. Food energy becomes raw magical power. I GUESS.

(A little later)

Screaming at the suggestion Thorn can tell when Murtagh is horny.

I don’t like the euphemisms. It makes it worse

The fact he can’t talk to his dragon whenever they’re “too far apart” (distance never specified) is making me insane. Why did I pick up the dragon riding book if it’s mostly about leaving your dragon locked up at the bike rack

I know Thorn is basically a rescue dog with anxiety, but it bothers me how much he’s left on his own. The narrative just has no idea what to use him for other than speedy transport for the first um… 200 pages, it seems? He’s meant to be his own creature with his own intelligence. He doesn’t go anywhere without Murtagh though. So what is he doing all the time

I think Paolini WANTS his world to be big and mysterious (his introduction literally just keeps saying things in the world of the story are mysterious) but he HAS to keep explaining everything

24 November 2023

I’ve figured out something that annoys me about the world of this book, in terms of just how the worldbuilding is not actually that magical. It has the D&D problem!!! Which is to say that every regular person on earth is Level One and every important character is like, level 12. And part of what makes that even worse is that all women in this world are level zero.

I’ve been watching my friend Chris play the first Alan Wake game and we realised that all the faceless enemies that are possessed by Evil in the game are… working class men. The protagonist is this literate wealthy New York writer who is constantly killing faceless workers—farmers, loggers, coal miners, builders. And that’s not an INTENTIONAL commentary by the game, but it’s very revealing. And This book is the same in that: there is no such thing as a complicated poor person. They’re all either Dirty Evil or Dirty Good. Murtagh is going around, writing poetry in his head and inventing magical computer code, and then every child is an urchin who is like Oi Guvnah, and every dad is gruff, and every woman is worried.

The language used to describe everyone who isn’t a Fighting Man is so demeaning. And even then, we only need to respect the leaders of those men. The leaders are the only ones with depth who might need to be taken seriously.

It’s like Murtagh has a tally in his head where he is going “finally, a guy who is level 6”!

Most people in this world exist to deliver information to the protagonist.

Paolini either thinks his readers are too dumb to understand that his characters exist between scenes, or he doesn’t understand himself that we don’t need to see every time Murtagh enters a city under a new name and how he does it. Or know what he ate for dinner and how he prepared it and where he slept and what he dreamed and, and, and—

It’s weird because Paolini is being self indulgent as fuck but it is NOT fun to read. This dude really just needs to go write a survival story or something… A guy in the woods depending on nothing but his wits and his axe and his beard and his libertarian values

I don’t understand the stakes at play. All the magic scenes with Mind Penetration are so sudden and hard to actually understand as action. And the way it works is about brute force, so the dragon is not going to be at risk of being taken over except by another, even bigger dragon

It would be fun to read the Murtagh city sleuth segments if Thorn was backseat driving a little. I think that their bond should not get thinner over distance. The fact that it does just defeats the point of a magical bond.

Why does the dragon have to stay so far away? Like… it’s established that there’s a spell to conceal a dragon from sight. Dude. You could just go fucking invisible

There’s so many decisions that just are so bonkers to have made. The whole fetch quest for information pissed me off so bad. “You have to join the guard” (40 pages of emotions about uniforms ensue). This guy learned about plots from video games

Paolini had kids apparently, but you can tell he doesn’t really understand kids. “How do they all start out so innocent and pure,” says a man who has never heard a seven year old describe someone being killed by farts before.

The description of Murtagh carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried is very funny. I don’t know if Paolini has ever carried a cat before. If you’re carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried close to your chest, and you tighten your grip when it squirms… say goodbye to your nipples, my man

It’s strange how much Paolini doesn’t explore the things that seem to be the point. FOR EXAMPLE, the fantasy soul bond trope loves to say “even during sex!??! 👀” because it’s about INTIMACY, and some alien presence always being there. The dragon rider trope is popular because dragons are powerful and wise but also Beasts. Magic is fun to read about because it can do things that can’t be explained.

Paolini’s world is big, but nothing in it has any real substance. Nothing in it has any real consequence, and it makes it impossible to really invest in anything that happens. None of these poor city folks have a life once they leave the scene of delivering Murtagh information… or if they are a woman, delivering him a hot meal. There’s no sense of a world that exists outside Murtagh’s point of view!

25 November 2023

The towns so far don’t feel at all distinctive to me! I was interested in the one with the massive lake, but then it having this massive fish in it was the only point of interest. It would be fun to have been like “oh the fish has ruined our summer festival! It’s ruined the nobility pleasure cruises! It’s also eating fishermen!” Or “Why do all these fishing boats have huge spikes on the prow? Well,”

Again, these guys are all level one in peasant dirt town. They have no capacity for individual thought and no ability to adapt.

It’s like Paolini doesn’t know what makes people and places in fantasy feel distinct, or have culture. It’s so evident in how much he HASN’T thought about. For example, the bonkers amount of restrictive gender norms that he doesn’t seem AT ALL CONSCIOUS OF? Everyone who died in the war was A Man. No women died in the war. But that hasn’t resulted in any social changes. There aren’t more women doing work, for example, like being fishermen

I remember being thirteen or so and reading the bit in the second book where Arya explains to Eragon that she’s better and stronger than a human woman, because she is an elf, so Eragon doesn’t have to worry about her in battle. I was this kid there like “man, that sucks. I assume he’s coming back to that assumption later,” and… he never did. He still hasn’t. And that sucks

The dragon riders were not THAT long ago, in the world of these books. It makes me wonder—were none of them human women? I always assumed that some were human women, but… did dragons only choose elf men, elf women, and human men? If they chose human women, then even being accepted into a paramilitary dragon force didn’t change gender expectations in the rest of the world. What the fuck. He’s really never thought about this.

Women keep showing up as cunning-mysterious, as humble dirtmothers, or as innocent children. Oh my god I’m just describing maiden mother crone. That’s all he’s capable of.

I just got up to where he rescues the werecat baby (innocent girl child) and settles in to hear the stories of elder werecat (cunning-mysterious)

I noticed the Arya Problem with how Nasuada is described in this book, too. Every woman has to be the best, most capable, most powerful woman ever, to be worth the attention of The Boys. Otherwise they can’t respect her. Only two literal queens can be considered worthy of just two average guys who got pet lizards. Even then, they’re not actual equals.

“She still empathised for me.” Yes, don’t worry, Murtagh, I remember that’s what women are for.

I should note that the reason Nasuada is considered so powerful and so much worthy of his love and is her strength as a person. This is proven in the Eragon books because “she still empathised” with Murtagh whilst he was medieval torturing her. He was medieval torturing her for like… most of a book and that’s how they fell in love. Because she could see in his eyes that this guy torturing her… was Complicated. He didn’t really WANT to be medieval torturing her so she actually felt worse for him than he felt about how he was (and I can’t stress this enough) medieval torturing her

I just can’t imagine that THE QUEEN OF A WHOLE CONTINENT would still prefer the guy who sadly tortured her. He’s her top preference. Out of EVERY OTHER MAN IN THE WORLD

I put the book down until the day before I was meant to have finished the book for book club:

10 March 2024: from page 274 onwards

The evil witch is called BACHEL?????!!?!??!? Fucking BACHEL. Pronounced “buh-SHELL”, the guide at the back says. You changed one letter in Rachel, don’t lie to me Paolini

I got so mad being reminded the evil king Galbatorix was defeated by “Eragon forcing empathy upon him” so that he magically exploded himself out of guilt that I had to put the book down and complain to Charlie for five straight minutes

I guess that’s why Galbatorix made Murtagh torture Nasuada for him. He knew that if he’d done it himself she would have empathised with him too hard and he would’ve exploded himself

Murtagh has never met a single person he has respected. Murtagh is the specialest boy in all the land. Eragon had to leave the country because they were both too special to share a continent

Murtagh decided on where to go and he was immediately surrounded by armed guards who took him to where the plot was

Paolini uses the fucking word “admixed” while discussing EATING A PIE. The flavours admixed in his mouth. Just because you know a word… doesn’t mean it’s a word to deploy about eating a pie

I HATE how the only people strong enough to do the strongest magic are Elves Or Human Riders. It’s fucking magic my guy! Why is it checking your goddamn DNA! Also, hey! Wasn’t it supposed to come down to the strongest wizards being the guys who ate the most for lunch?

In a world of Magic how come every wizard battle ultimately comes down to who is a better Professor X?? I came here for fireballs, not Mind Battles. I don’t care about your Mental Wards

Hahaha Murtagh!!! Get trapdoored, bitch!!!!

Dragon panic attacks: conceptually cool but a bit ?? Like ah… the plot literally comes to scoop him up and carry him away. Yet again something outside of Murtagh makes a decision for him about what to do next

Murtagh’s poetry is going to make me explode myself like Galbatorix in book 4

If there’s something I like about this book so far it’s just the bits where he and Thorn are camping. Not flying, because then Murtagh is using the time to think and that’s horrible. The bits where they make campfires or whatever feel like something is actually happening. A guy and his dragon hanging out

Man. The way this novel is plotted really reminds me that it’s not actually that hard to write a book.

Murtagh goes to the evil village (oh yeah there’s an evil village. It is where Bachel lives. She is evil because she does magic without using the magic language). The village is called:

NAL GORGOTH

But I couldn’t remember this so I kept referring to it in my head by another, more familiar, name

Murtagh is so freaked out by finding a village with architecture that he doesn’t recognise. He’s like “My god!!! Nasuada has to be warned!!!” Ok but about what??? New ways of building pillars???? The art deco movement threatens the land??

Kinda fascinated by how much this village represents a threat to CULTURE. The architecture, the people… Everything about it so far is designed to be A Foreign Threat. The inhabitants are Of All Races (except elves they are too cool too pure etc). The humans have A VARIETY OF SKIN COLOURS, which memorably never happens in Alagaesia, a continent once explicitly described in the Eragon books as only having two (2) black people on it at all (then one died) (the other is Nasuada) (the one who died was her dad)

This guy with a goatee isn’t quite human. He is maybe part urgal and he is so uncomfortable to look at! Mainly he has arms that are a bit too long!! Bachel isn’t a human and also isn’t an elf, and that’s also deeply unsettling.

Bachel also fundamentally represents a threat to THE STRUCTURING POWER OF LANGUAGE, huh??

Bachel is so far the most interesting character in the book!

Bachel has: ALMOND EYES and AMBER SKIN

Murtagh is so upset and confused when Bachel calls him “my son” like… I’m cryign. “But she’s not my mother! I know my mother!!” he thinks, in a panic.

If this was a fantasy novel written twenty to thirty years ago, then the sexual tension between Murtagh and Bachel would be absolutely insane. Alas, this is a world of abstinence, and sexuality is only ever meaningful looks between a queen and the guy who tortured her (it is weird how he keeps caressing Nasuada’s face on the gold coins)

It’s very funny that Bachel has specifically fourteen warriors. The prose keeps telling us that there’s fourteen of them. So you get Murtagh stepping forwards and then sentences like “the fourteen warriors attending Bachel shifted”

She seems like a perfectly normal cult leader to me? Why is she automatically a threat to Nasuada! How come the two of them can’t arrange a toxic political marriage that becomes… something more 😉😉😉

Nothing annoys me more in this book than Murtagh being able to identify specific vintages of wine. It keeps happening and it pisses me off

Bachel is a half elf!!! “It had never occurred to him that such a thing might be possible.” This is truly and absolutely unbelievable to me. Nobody in this world ever has sex

How did it take so long to get to such an objectively cool village!!! Like this is just a cool place!!! Sorry that Nar Nar Goon is evil but like FINALLY something has style

Three thoughts at once:

I’m so bored that Paolini’s mind can’t get more interesting than temple virgins, let alone wearing white to represent ritualistic purity. Like… nobody in this world fucks anyway, why does it matter!

Murtagh should also wear white all the time

Lesbianism doesn’t count as a violation of being temple chosen. Alín is wearing lesbianism

Paolini has never once written a woman who is Normal. He just can’t conceive of it. You can feel how he starts sweating.

Murtagh finally realised it was a cult. What sets it apart as a cult is that the followers appear to be “half-wits” to him

I’m going to detransition to break his fucking neck

Paolini has learned nothing since he had a woman deliver the exact same line in like 2008. The fact that another editor just thumbsed this up. The fact that this is in a book published in 2023. Well, now I’m REALLY embarking on an antagonistic reading: that’s right, I am reading women as capable.

Obsessed with Bachel. She is a girlboss and I’m a feminist xxx

Book is constantly weird about how much she is capable of eating and drinking at her feasts and how it makes her appear swollen and bloated etc etc. Murtagh is so weirded out by this because he feels it is unfeminine… as though she is not a witch and we weren’t told earlier that how much magic you have is directly equal to how much you eat. (Meanwhile he is only picking at his food and eating just enough of it ‘to be polite’ as though this is not making a decision to have less magic than her)

She has so much charisma compared to anyone else in the book. If my choices are her or Murtagh then sign me up boys!!!

Okay but much like how this would’ve been a VERY charged relationship 30 years ago, I’m weirdly disappointed Bachel she isn’t not described as megahot? Like the book keeps telling me about this virginal templemaiden or whatever, because Murtagh is only attracted to women he can rescue. But I’m actually just like… I think this woman is hot. Tell me more about her. It’s wild that this book is written by a guy like Paolini, who told me all about Oromis’ pubic hair in 2008, and who barely thinks women are people. Yet he doesn’t want to discuss her tiddies?

This book could, and should! have started when Murtagh landed his dragon in the evil village of Nar Nar Goon. That’s the point that stuff got actually interesting. Everything before this was literally video game fetch quest logic plotting that earned him the right to fly to Nar Nar Goon.

Boar hunt. More like BORED hunt. And then suddenly there are so many pigs, a comical number of them flying everywhere

This motherfucker using the phrase “the boar was lying athwart him” in a sentence in an action scene????

Murtagh is nearly dead and the boar is lying athwart him?

I’m going back in time and bullying the author at school

RIP Murtagh, trambled to death by 30-50 wild hogs

Oh god every time someone knocks Murtagh out he has a vision or a bad dream or a flashback or whatever and it’s so tiring

“EXISTENCE WAS A TOMB WHEREIN THE SINS OF THE PAST LAID INTERRED???” Do you ever read a sentence that sounds so much like the author is jerking it? “All had been lost, and there before him lay the instrument of their destruction” he is furiously jerking it oh my god. “Destroyer of hope, eater of light” oh, god, he’s still going

…This book is. Weird about mothers

Murtagh flies into a rage because Bachel mercy killed a guy who was dying bc of boar trampling because “I COULD HAVE HEALED HIM!!!!!” And the mercy killing is proof it is a cult. Because doing it Bachel’s way meant the guy was too relaxed and at peace when he died

Paolini’s family were in a cult, as I understand. So it’s kind of weird how much he doesn’t really understand how being in a cult works

I don’t really remember how religion works in this world, but I do remember tuning out of a long boring passage in book 2 or 3 where Eragon learned about all the gods and decided he was an atheist. It’s especially weird to be like “holy shit, an EVIL religion??!” In a book where religion has absolutely never come up before now

Oh my god, Alìn was whipped for being ‘too familiar’ with Murtagh!!! That’s because she’s so pure and a helpless victim girl in all white :’((

In my mind Bachel and Alìn COULD be in a fucked up lesbian relationship with bad BDSM etiquette. Of course Paolini can’t imagine a world where women have enough personality or agency to fall in toxic love with each other. Also even though he has people tied up and strapped down and whipped and being tortured etc in every book don’t think he knows that BDSM like. Exists. Boooooo

Murtagh: killing one guy who is dying of a punctured lung is the ultimate evil!

Also Murtagh: I know an invisibility spell, but to sneak out of my room I am going to suffocate seven men to death

Genuinely upsetting to read those men dying. He made it impossible for air to enter or exit their lungs with a word. Veins popping clawing at faces etc. God, what a way to go. So unnecessarily cruel. Yep, there goes the good guy

The main way the village is evil is that there are unsettling carvings everywhere. Paolini read some Lovecraft, but he did not understand what was up with it. Or maybe he did, because this book did get a lot more weird about Racial Purity once Murtagh arrived in Lovecraft Village

11 March 2024

There’s a bloodstain that “filled Murtagh with the apprehension of evil” and it confused me because these books are so gory. Earlier he killed four men with a fork. But like oh yeah I guess it’s because when Murtagh murders people now it’s bloodless. I guess. His murders are good you see

This chapter is called The Bad Sleep-Well you can tell Paolini thought he was a real genius for this one

Okay but why are there bats… roosting… in a cave… at night. And why is Murtagh worried that red light will risk waking them? Animals cannot see red light?? SOME FARM BOY YOU ARE, PAOLINI

Okay I have to stop nitpicking. I have to restrain myself until my Vyvanse kicks in

“Murtagh felt a sense of not just age but antiquity. Whoever had built the stairs had done so long before Alagaesia had been a settled place. What was it Bachel had said? That the cultists had lived in Nal Gorgoth since before elves were elves... He was starting to think she had told the truth.”

Sorry uhhhh, Alagaesia was settled?? When they talk about The Grey Ones, are they talking about a race PRIOR TO COLONISATION?????????

“He continued forward. Deeper into the womb of the earth. Deeper into the black unknown, seeking, seeking, always seeking a farther shore, every sense razor-sharp and razor-scraped, skin all goosefleshed, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck and gathering around his belted waist.”

God it’s so overwrought...

He found the well!!

Oh my god. The well is a natural magic hotspot and that means it “wasn’t the sort of thing that the Draumar ought to have dominion over.” It’s a natural resource???

“Not that he would want Du Vrangr Gata to assume control over such an important location either. This was exactly what the Riders had been created for: to oversee and mediate that which could destabilize the land.”

Murtagh is going to bring democracy to the Middle East

He’s too scared to mentally contact his dragon with Bachel around. If he was a proper horse girl he would find a way

Oh Galbatorix BECAME evil because he met Bachel and she manipulated him. Haha oh dear. No, you can’t just come to the conclusion the dragon rider paramilitary force who controls the resources are bad on your own. Not just because they sent you into the mountains when they knew it was dangerous and wanted to find out if you’d be killed up there! No, a manipulation had to have happened

It’s funny to me that the evil ancient witch queen who lives in seclusion in the mountains uses the new name for the city of Uru’baen. Oh no, she knows it as Ilirea. She’s hundreds and hundreds of years old. You know what that is? Evidence of Find And Replace, to me.

Bachel’s eyes are “glowing with fevered ecstasy.” I could make her feel that way. Also. Because, I know about sex

Always with the fucking passing out at the end of the chapter for Christopher James Paolini

NOW Bachel is being described appropriately as a hottie. FINALLY. GOD! It only took Murtagh being mind controlled in his brain but I. I!!! I could see the glorious light of truth!!

“He followed, dumb and wildered.” Well, not as much as that sentence. (You can be bewildered. But can you ever just be wildered????)

The dedication to making Murtagh the most pitiful little meow meow in existence in the Galbatorix flashbacks I’m… what happened to the joys of a guy who is evil because he was convinced or was tricked, not because he was fully brain abused???

The Urgals are racially… uncomfortable. Yellow eyes and Murtagh just straight up saying “how do you speak English”

The evil guys have masks and they put them on and like channel the animals the masks are of and on one hand it’s an idea I THINK is cool but also combined with the everything it really has this “tribal stuff is threatening” vibe all over it

“What do you want, witch?”

“I want you.”

Obsessed with how he’s shackled to a table and there’s still an incredible lack of sexual energy to this scene. This is like a day at the office for both of them.

… oh, but she is wearing claws and claws DOES equal a threat of penetration. Maybe a little sexual? As a treat??

Him being tortured reminds him of torturing Nasuada. Wow, it was their first date!

It’s just like. It’s fucked up imo. She should never kiss you Murtagh!!!

Is anything more boring than a torture scene.

Also, was he not drugged right before this scene? How is he able to mentally evade her and power his wards etc?

I’m mad that when he’s brought fancy foods by Alìn he doesn’t share his food with Ubek the Urgal

Oh my god Ubek tells him a story where the moral is just him outright saying at the end, “it’s important to stay close to the people we care for, even if we don’t always fit in so easily” lmao. Subtlety of a mallet

Is anything more boring than a torture scene? How about a torture chapter!!!1!1!1!

This chapter is interminable. Oh my god.

Oh, so we did all that and he gives in I guess. I can’t believe how little agency this man has had throughout this book????

Haha oh my god, Bachel is studying his nude and compliant body in front of her court. Telling him to turn around so she can inspect his back (no mention of his ass even though it is out, tragic). Fucking love it. Now that’s bdsm. Pledging my allegiance to her instantly.

I am BORED. I liked when he was at least doing things of his own volition!

He flies his dragon off on Bachel’s orders and we get the line “Never had air smelled so… so… delicious.” Cryign

GASP he’s killed… CHILDREN!!!!!!! I hate how it only becomes horrifying for him to have done these murders once he realises they’re HUMAN children. Urgal children? The implication is that would’ve been a bit tacky but ultimately fine

Prison brothers blood pact. I feel so little about this. Ubek is 5000x more interesting than Murtagh but he’s been slotted into what is unfortunately a sort of magical indigenous person trope but where instead of being a human being, he is an orc. Which makes the whole trope much worse

Murtagh touched Alìn’s face… gasp! She’s been corrupted by the Touch Of A Man!!!!! (I do not care about this.)

(I care a little. For example she didn’t touch HIM. He just reached out and she didn’t pull away. This is the biggest decision about this character’s life, and she isn’t even allowed to be the one who makes it. He decides on her behalf, and she must be okay with it. Because she doesn’t pull away or fight him off.)

(Also Paolini doesn’t seem to be aware that ‘a woman who has been pledged not to be touched by a man’ would um. USUALLY be understood by a reader as euphemistic. Not that her purity could be forever ruined by a man literally just touching her face)

The way Paolini fills Murtagh’s brainwashed dialogue with oops all ellipses makes me want to tear the book apart with my teeth

Worst: how Grieve the guy who is part urgal is perpetually referred to as “heavy-browed.” “the heavy-browed Grieve” I’m sorry but I missed phrenology school, is that bad??

Also if he’s maybe part Urgal but Murtagh is now given a chance to making it clear that some of his best friends are urgals... Why is Grieve so distastefully described? What’s wrong with being half urgal? My suspicion: it’s the bloodlines intermingling

I suspect I can just skip every fucking dream sequence and flashback. Nothing of any value in these

This one guy, Lyreth, who trapdoored Murtagh for 2.5 seconds ages ago in the book, is TWICE referenced as holding/ touching the waists of “village” or “cultist” women in his dialogue tags. That’s the full extent of it. It’s not that there’s a giggling tavern girl sprawled in his lap while he’s speaking. These faceless women are exclusively sketched into existence by how a named male character’s hand is on their waist. We don’t know anything about how they are responding to his touch, which is extra in-your-face considering that Murtagh just obliterated a woman’s ritual purity by touching her face without asking. And it’s only ever these women’s waist. It’s not their hips or thighs or boobs. He’s not kissing their necks. I’m sure in Paolini’s mind this guy touching women’s waists is meant to read as sexual, which is supposed to reinforce that he’s a scumbag… but it doesn’t work because it’s so impersonal. These women are just… unmoving waists that he is just touching. It serves as a good illustration of how women—and sex and sexuality and bodies—are handled in these books. Men are never ruled by their strong and muscular bodies. Men have minds, and magic, and telepathy battles. Even when Murtagh is on a torture table or when he’s naked in front of a powerful woman who is actively inspecting his body, he doesn’t feel vulnerable. He doesn’t have an ass or a dick. The wind doesn’t make him shiver. He’s just a Mind. But women, well. They only have bodies when men touch them. The course of Alin’s life is defined by Murtagh’s touch, and even Nasuada, a fucking queen, only gets physical description via the coins Murtagh has in his possession and his memory of the cuts and bruises he left on her body. And women also have no minds—unless they’re werecats or elves or half elves, the only kind of woman who are remotely threatening, the only kind of women who are “as good as” the baseline of human men. Nasuada is proven as Murtagh’s equal because she was able to overcome the torture of her body. If he hadn’t tortured her, or if she had broken down, she wouldn’t have proven herself worthy of being his romantic partner.

Eragon’s romantic interest also started out being tortured. Not by him, but “girl who is tortured but is too strong to give up her secrets” was her entire characterisation for a book and a half, until he rescued her. That’s uh. That’s how you find girlfriends who are good enough for your protagonists.

THESE FUCKING BOOKS.

Bachel has put Thorn in a special wrought iron muzzle. Yet again, this is just objectively cool

We learn about who the cult worships: evil dragon underground. He makes fumes come out of the earth and they brainwash people and give them visions. He will come out of the ground and eat the sun unless every living thing worships him.

Really Bachel is not leading a cult she is leading an environmental rescue mission. Quick we gotta get everyone to worship this evil dragon STAT, or he’s going to wipe out all life on earth.

Why does an evil dragon living under the earth with the power to eat the sun (?!??!) actually want or need to be worshipped by “every living thing”. What is his motivation?? And why would that stop him eating the sun?

“The sculptures would have horrified most any artist in Alagaesia, no matter their race.” Mark this down as one of the worst sentences he has written yet!!

I realise now I’ve been misremembering multiple main characters’ names

I like Bachel telling Thorn to stay, like he’s a dog. That’s good to me

Murtagh is learning about the power of friendship to heal himself last minute, I guess

Why is Murtagh pausing to duel fucking Lyreth, the most boring man in the world. Is it because of the waists he touched??? I have never felt this man was worth any time at all

NOT Paolini specifically pointing out that Lyreth “smelled of a cloying peach scented perfume” and that he’s physically weaker than Murtagh as Murtagh overcomes him. Lyreth was too feminine to be strong, in the end

This book is obsessed with the word “youngling.” Murtagh says to Thorn “don’t kill any younglings.” He’s fighting Lyreth but he’s not worried because he himself is “no longer a youngling”. Fucking fuck off! just say youth. Child. Kid. Teenager even!! Come on!!

Murtagh going “this is taking too long” in the duel: me at the whole book thus far

“Is wrong-think to worship Bachel or Azlagur,” says Ubek. This is real dialogue in a book published in real 2023. Oh yeah btw everything he says is written like this

Oh, the urgal’s size and brute strength makes him Murtagh’s equal. I see

Grieve is legitimately yelling “kill the non-believers!!” and calling them desecrators??? Cartoon hours

To start winning the fight, all Murtagh had to do was find his magic sword! It stores all his potency and he inherited it from his father. Freud?? Don’t worry about it

The cultists are bleeding green blood???? Does this mean they’re not human or is it the lighting or what.

Groups of dragons are always being described as a Thunder Of. They’re only ever being described in visions but it’s always being described as “a thunder of dragons”, because Paolini is very proud of inventing his very own collective noun for dragons I guess

Buncha little pasty freaks showing up.

Murtagh’s ultimate challenge: he has to fight one hundred gollums

Paolini inventing new guys for his dungeon at unprecedented rates

Murtagh is legitimately busy trying to think of new names for his sword NOW?? He is just going to stop in the middle of this urgent fight to go find where the bad woman (Bachel) took the good woman (Alìn) to go “my sword has a bad name. It could have a good name.” Did he not have time while he was mouldering in the dungeon to think about this

He’s checking his compendium, like in video games.

Books have never been worse. If Murtagh/Paolini calls this sword Scar I will legitimately never know peace

Oh the sword is called Freedom now. Get it? Like America? It’s the most important value??

“Seeing the armor, Murtagh realized that the leather garb the cultists had donned for the festival of black smoke had been made to resemble Bachel's fantastic suit.”

what a sentence

This is the worst

I hate how her spear has a name and a dramatic history. Like come on

Fucking mind battles again

Alin is just… I’m sorry to her, but she’s not a real person. She’s a cardboard cutout in distress

The final boss fight should not be taking place in the magical world of the mind

Now she’s calling him “infidel?” Okay

The ultimate battle: the structuring power of masculine language versus the primeval chaos of raw women’s emotion!!! Who will win!! Hint: Christopher Paolini wrote this!

“She seemed merely a woman again.”

‘Merely’ is how Paolini always describes women (when he thinks they’re worth describing of course)

Wait… is the only reason Bachel has been intimidating REALLY just because she’s been channelling a tough evil boy dragon? Once the mask is gone and he’s not empowering her… she’s merely…

I’m going to kick Christopher Paolini’s fucking ass

Murtagh feels so emotionally close to Bachel. As he splits her skull. Normal book

For real why were ALL the Riders so afraid of Bachel??? The gas fumes? Face masks not invented?? This seems pretty easy to solve like if they’d just. Sent more than one guy?

He passes out and the chapter ends of course. Then he wakes up in the city

Ah, Alin is blonde and blue eyed. She was a pale skinned virgin who needed rescuing from an evil and also foreign almond eyed amber skinned woman who was whipping her. You know how it goes

I hate how Alìn always calls Murtagh “my lord.” She’s like one of those medieval fighting game banners of a sexy woman. She’s a cartoon.

Isn’t it a shame that when Murtagh hastily gets out of bed to bow to Nasuada he is wearing pants. So much funnier if he wasn’t

I’m so over this book holy shit

Oh, for being the apparently only sole survivor of Murtagh’s obliteration of her cult and everything she’s ever known, Alìn is being promoted to… Nasuada’s maid. That’s not what she asked for. That’s just what she’s being told she’s going to do from now on. Fucking hell.

Nasuada is Jealous of this blonde woman and I was afraid for her because Nasuada is also famously the only black woman on the continent. But of course she has nothing to fear because only the most powerful woman in the land could ever be remotely Murtagh’s equal, which she proved by being stronger at being tortured than him

She asks him to stay and she touches his hand just lightly

The END??

They don’t even kiss?!!!?!! I had to read it twice to be sure. SEXLESS BOOK.

#how do I tag this. probs not in the official tag right #Murtagh: Don’t Read It!!!#DONT READ IT #I can’t believe how much money Christopher Paolini is worth… I also can’t believe he managed to father two children #man doesn’t know what women children OR sex are. how did he manage to solve that equation twice over

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amvro · 1 year

Text

pairing: amuro tooru x gn!reader

summary: he’s overworked and he needs some well deserved rest.

cw: none :)

It was as if he could do anything. He could start his day at the cafe and save a few people before coming that night, and because of this, it was terribly easy to forget that he too, is human like everyone else.

He was a little too good at pushing himself when he needed to most. When he needed some rest, but a call comes in asking for some extra help on a mission. Or the cafe suddenly asking him to open up the next morning because someone's unable to make their shift. He was always able to say yes and exceed everyone's expectations no matter the job.

For this exact reason, he was often given far more work than your average person, and this is not to mention he had three different faces he was juggling. Yet, even through all this work, it looked effortless to him. He never seemed to be struggling and he was always on task, so no one would suspect he actually was tired and a little rest was necessary for this hardworking man.

However, you would never miss it. Not the small eyebags that appeared just below his eyes and definitely not the sighs that he would let out every once in a while. He needed some rest, but you knew better than anyone that he wouldn't listen if you simply told him to, he would just push himself a little more. He's a little too good at that.

You knew when his next day off was, but you also knew he was planning to get all his household chores done and caught up with that day, and you weren't going to let that happen. He needed to rest. So there you were, two days before his day off, cleaning around to surprise him. You were absolutely ready to take the whole day and the next if you had to, but it was much better than you had expected. Of course, he still had most of his daily chores covered through all his work. Needless to say, you were excited about his day off.

Before long, his day off had finally come. He woke up bright and early like he always did, went out for a little jog, and did his little routine. He had gotten back home and he was ready to take out the garbage when he realized it was already done, which he found terribly skeptical. He then went to check the laundry which was also already done, not to mention everything seemed a lot cleaner than he had left it. Immediately, his eyes widened and he knew it was you, and he was ashamed he hadn't noticed earlier.

As if on cue, you rang the doorbell and he opened it up. You looked at his running wear and you realized he had already gone and ran.

"You're already done! Aw, that's too bad... I was going to tell you to sleep in some more first," you said and gave him a little kiss as you walked in.

"Thank you so much," he said, a little lost for words and you smiled.

"Oh, don't mention it. Go take a shower, I'll borrow your kitchen by the way," you said, pushing him towards his bathroom.

"I'm sorry, you just came but I think I will," he said, looking apologetic and you told him there was nothing for him to feel sorry for.

While he was in the shower, you decided to make a few mug cakes. Very simple 5-minute ones, because his showers were too short for anything special. Now, they took much longer than the five minutes they were advertised to take, but it was still done by the time he had gotten out of the shower.

You were sitting on the couch with a blanket and the mug cakes on the coffee table when he walked out of the shower. You had been dating for a while now, but gosh was he still so stunning with his wet hair.

"Come sit and eat while it's still warm!" you said. "I'll dry your hair."

"No, it's okay, you should relax," he said and you immediately looked at him, shocked.

"If anyone needs to relax it's you," you said and forced him to sit down so you could dry his hair, which he had no choice but to give into.

It was a lovely time, there were hardly any words said as the sound of the dryer was a little too loud, but it was comforting. He was eating your very quickly put-together mug cake while you were drying his silky hair. Every other bite he would feed you some as you were busy drying his hair, and you couldn't ask for more. Nothing could make you happier and the same went for him.

Once your mug cakes were finished and his hair was dry, you snuggled into his bed and pulled him in.

"We're going to sleep," you said, already comfortable under his blanket.

"No, we really don't have to. We finally have a day off together, we should go somewhere you want to," he said.

"Well, I want to be here right now. With you," you said, completely certain that that was what you wished for. "I really want some more sleep today and I can't sleep without you so you're going to have to tag along."

He couldn't help but smile. He slowly snuck in and you snuggled up right next to him as he kissed the top of your head. It was sweet, and that was it. It didn't have to be anything more and it was all he wanted for the past few weeks. He truly didn't know how you managed to notice and he couldn't imagine himself with anyone other than you. You had to be the one.

"Thank you so much," he said, again. "For noticing."

"Noticing what?" you said with a smile, playing dumb. "I just wanted some extra sleep with you. I hope you don't mind on your first day off in a while."

"There is nothing more I could possibly ask for," he said and wrapped his arms around you. Before long, he was fast asleep and you couldn't help but smile. You knew he was tired and you didn't know how to get him to rest.

You kissed him softly and whispered, "I am always here for you," before falling asleep as well, but you would never find out that he was awake to hear those words. Nor will you ever find out that he fell even more in love with you that day.

#furuya rei x reader #amuro tooru x reader #amuro x reader #furuya rei #amuro tōru #amuro tooru #detective conan x reader #i feel like genuinely nothing happened in this fic like i am trying to think back as to what happened through all this blabbering #and like 3 things happened MAX #VERY QUESTIONABLE AS A FIC.....#um not proofread but when have i ever proofread.... I WILL REREAD IT SOON AND FIX IT THEN IM SORRY #I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING IT BUT IDK IF ITS NEARLY AS FUN READING IT #TYSM FOR THE IDEA THOUGH I REALLY LOVED IT #request #AND THANK U FOR READING OMG I FORGOT TO MENTION IM SO BAD

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eastwindmlk · 2 months

Text

Laundry Day

It's been a while since I finished a fic for @jilymicrofics but today is the day! To have 723 words from Sirius's POV for the July 12th prompt. bedsheets.

Living with James was a dream come true for Sirius. They knew each other’s habits and schedules. It made for an effortless transition from dorm to flat. It wasn’t a big place, but they both had a decently sized bedroom if they wanted space. But most nights were spent in their slightly cramped living room.

Alright, maybe it could have been spacious but between James’s painting set-up and his record collection and the plants that Remus would rescue, only to deposit on their windowsill, radiator and ever-growing bookshelves.

What did not help was the fact that Lily was spending more and more time with them than she did at her own place. Sirius would mind it a lot less if they would just stop pretending and tell him that Lily was moving in.

Maybe then Sirius could make a deal about laundering delicates.

However, this laundry day’s issue did not involve lace knickers or questionable stains on sheets. Actually, it involved no sheets at all.

Which was a problem considering he’d already stripped his bed, and he wanted to take advantage of the sunny weather and dry the sheets outside. There was just something about the smell of sheets dried in the sun that no drying charm could replicate.

Sirius was about to pop his head into the bedroom. — Well, he was going to knock because he did not particularly feel like walking in on anything this early in the day. — When he heard the giggling floating over from the living room.

It wasn’t like he dreaded to follow the sound. He was pretty sure that they would not try anything in the living room while knowing that he was home. Any other time? That was something he would rather not think about too much.

He was simply grateful that Euphemia Potter was keen on cleaning charms and taught her so well.

“Prongs?” he called out, just for good measure. Biting back a smile, he heard more giggles and squealing coming from the living room.

There was a sudden eruption of sounds, most notably the sound of scrambling and loud whispers. Followed by a screech and then more giggles. “We’re in th- Oi, give that back!- Living room!” The last word dragged out into a laugh, Sirius knew meant James had a plan that either meant getting into something. Usually trouble, occasionally, Lily.

Judging from the clattering, this was likely both.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sirius steeled himself before rounding the corner into the living room, his eyes already set somewhere in the distance. “I’m just looking for the…” His sentence trailed off when he found all the bedsheets — Granted, they only had four sets. — strung and draped into a rather impressive blanket fort.

“I was going to wash those,” he told his best mate, features settling into casual annoyance in an effort to not encourage any mischief. Tilting his head to the side, he dared to peek in, his carefully composed face breaking as he found Lily, dressed in James’ old quidditch jersey, waving sheepishly at him.

His eyes found James, who only had to give him a look. “No, I am not joining you two.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be in your sex fort.”

“It’s not a sex fort,” James replied and from inside Lily snorted, telling him that it absolutely was.

Sirius’ eyebrows inched upward. In a disapproving parent sort of way, he’d learned from Minerva McGonagall and waited for him to admit it.

“Fine, there might have been some… Lovemaking. But we are not now, weren’t even planning on it.” Another stifled laugh from Lily forced James to retract his statement. “There might have been plans, which we can absolutely postpone-”

Sirius lifted a hand to stop him from speaking, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. “How about this? I am going to the bakery and getting us something for tea and by the time I come back, I want them in the laundry basket, ready to be washed,” he suggested, unable to bite back his grin.

“Deal!” Lily decided for the pair of them, her hands already on James’ shoulders, to drag him back inside.

He kicked the nose of his boot against the threshold. “I’ll be back in twenty!” he called from the hallway, not waiting for confirmation before walking out.

#jily #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #jilymicrofics

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vioxis · 1 year

Text

Consume 2/?

Masterlist's | Tiktok | AO3

Prev | Next

Word Count: 1,463

Pairing: Stalker!Konig x F!Reader

Summary: The story follows König and his obsession, You. The object of his desire, the constant temptation before him. Do you know what you do to him? You feign innocence, but worry not Shatz… He'll find that out on his own.

TW: NSFW! MDNI +18. Very obsessive and possessive behavior, Stalker!König, Breaking and Entering,

Will update with more tags along the way! Part 2/? A.N: That long name? Yeah, its thanks to the friends in discord, I'm truly grateful.

König marveled at how effortless it had been to tail you from a discreet distance, his keen instincts guiding him through the shadows. Your apparent lack of awareness, even when you parked in front of your suburban residence, intrigued him.

That's quite the lengthy drive Shatz, the dedication it took to traversing an entire town. The Corporation must compensate you well for such commitment.

König quietly observed your suburban home, his sharp eyes scanning the details of your surroundings. The night was shrouded in darkness, but your illuminated living room stood out like a beacon in the quiet neighborhood.

The pale moonlight filtered through the sheer white curtains, casting ethereal shadows across the room. König couldn't help but wonder about the person who inhabited this pristine space. Was everything as perfect as it appeared, or were hidden imperfections lurking in the shadows? He had a feeling that there was more to you than meets the eye, and he was determined to uncover the truth.

With a calculated move, he left the safety of his vehicle and moved stealthily toward the side window. Inside, you were engrossed in your laptop, bathed in the soft glow of the screen. Your work attire clung to your body as you sipped what appeared to be a cup of dark coffee, the steam rising in delicate weaves.

König continued his silent mission, circling the perimeter of your house. The back door, framed with mesh, hinted at a wide backyard beyond. The back yard housed a shed and the interior of your first floor contained a living room, a kitchen, and a laundry area. This deduction led him to the conclusion that your room must be situated upstairs.

With this newfound knowledge, König began to formulate his plan, contemplating his next steps carefully. The ease with which he had approached your home troubled him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all too convenient.

König couldn't help but marvel at the series of fortunate events that had unfolded. Was this merely luck or had you indeed chosen the most breakable home in the neighborhood? It almost seemed as though fate was conspiring in his favor.

As he took a couple of steps back in the backyard, his sharp eyes caught sight of a window above the shed. The opportunity seemed almost too perfect, too serendipitous. With a grace born of years of experience, he effortlessly ascended the shed's roof, barely making a sound.

The gods, it seemed, had indeed graced him with an entrance to your room. He chuckled to himself, maybe it was time to move Shatz, this has become way too easy to breach.

His gloved hand reached out, and with a soft, almost imperceptible creak, he opened the window. The room beyond beckoned to him, a tantalizing invitation. König's initial intent had been merely to follow you home, but the allure of your house had proven too irresistible. It felt as if you had personally begged him to step inside. He surveyed the room in silence, realizing that maybe he should have brought his equipment with him if your home was this inviting.

However, a sudden movement on the floor inside startled him. In his haste, he had knocked something off an adjacent drawer, resulting in a loud thud. His heart skipped a beat as he saw yet another small statue he knocked over and a white Maine Coon sitting on the floor. The animals’ glassy eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul. König couldn't help but wonder if your cat was as gullible as its master, or if it had sensed an intruder in its domain.

König left the small cat statue where it had fallen and turned his attention to the drawer. Inside, neatly lined up, were your underwear – meticulously organized by color, type, and pattern. It was clear that you had an obsession for order, a detail that piqued his interest. Under his hood, he allowed himself a smirk, finding something in common with you that he could revel for a later time.

His moment of reflection was abruptly interrupted by the sound of your footsteps climbing the stairs. Panic briefly seized him, but he swiftly grabbed the first pair of underwear he could find and made a dash for your closet. The closet was a relic of an old-fashioned home, with shuttered doors.

Through the blinds of the closet, he watched with bated breath as you entered the room. You were tantalizingly close, yet seemingly out of reach. You spoke to Luna, your pet, with affection, addressing her by her long, grandiose name.

"Luna… did you knock over your replica again. My great Luna… Luna Selene Yuki the Great. My Tamer of the seas, Destroyer of worlds, everyone fear her," you exclaimed, nuzzling your nose with Luna.

König couldn't help but find the name rather pretentious, a long pretentious name. One that didn't align with the future he envisioned, you definitely will not be naming the kids he wish to burry deep within your cunt.

With careful and silent coaxing, you managed to lure Luna out of the room, leaving König alone in your closet. He pressed himself against the wall, his body tense with anticipation. The scent of your clothes surrounded him, but he couldn't afford to be immersed in it now, not with your imminent approach towards him.

As you moved closer to the closet, his heart raced, and he held his breath. It seemed as though you might discover him any moment. But then, to his relief or disappointment, you turned left and picked up a towel from a stool he had missed during his hurried entrance into the closet.

With a sense of relief, König heard the sound of running water as you entered the bathroom and started the shower. He seized this opportunity to stuff the underwear he had taken into his back pocket, a dark souvenir of his intrusion.

Turning his attention back to the slightly open window, he pondered whether you had deliberately ignored it or if it was a habit you'd unknowingly cultivate, allowing him easy access at any time. Deciding to explore this further on a later time, he took quick and calculated steps toward the window, preparing to make his exit.

But just as he extended his leg out, ready to slip away into the night, a soft moan reached his ears. He froze in his tracks, his head snapping in the direction of your shower. The unexpected sound sent a shiver down his spine, how delightful you sounded.

Slowly, his foot retracted back into the room, the faintest creaking of the floorboards beneath signaling his approach. He moved with deliberate, almost hesitant steps, each one bringing him closer to the shower door.

Inside, the steam-laden air was heavy with anticipation, seeping through the cracks of the door. Soft sensuous moans echoed against the tiled walls. His trembling hands reached out and gently grasped the cool, slick surface of the shower door, fingers curling around the handle.

"You're right there," he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur that danced with desire. He leaned in, the warmth of his breath fogging his sniper hood. "Enjoying yourself," he continued, his words lingering in the charged atmosphere.

"To whom do you owe that pleasure?" he breathed, his voice a tantalizing blend of seduction and mystery, as the unanswered question hung heavy in the air.

He withdrew his hand and sat down beside the door, his thoughts consumed by desire as he pulled out his cock. He didn't want to spoil his new possession just yet. Tonight, he yearned to sleep next to your panties, so his only option was his own hand.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and listened to the muffled sound of your moans, concealed by the cascading water. In his imagination, his hands explored your body, tenderly lathering and playing with your breast, while your voice softly uttered his name.

He continued to fuck his hand into oblivion, gritting his teeth to hold in his own moans. “Fuck fuck fuck— I’m coming I’m coming I—" your screams could be heard through the door. “Right there with you, Shatz… sheiß…!” he gritted as spurts of cum coated your floors.

The shower still continued to run as he came down from the high of his orgasm. With a composed mind, he reached for the matching bra to the stolen panties, using it to clean up the mess he had inadvertently made on your floor. Another dirty item with thoughts of making a mess of the owner. Another keepsake for his collection, finally. A true piece of you.

He’ll come back once more, and this time with a plan.

#cod x reader #call of duty #konig cod #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod smut #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig x y/n #konig smut #vioxi writes #konig fanfiction #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare

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oliversrarebooks · 1 year

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 25: Fitz's Magic Show

Masterlist

June 1905

TW: mind control, kidnapping, hypnotic language

Cards were moving smoothly, flowing from hand to hand like they were made of water, with a practiced ease that made it seem effortless -- much like Fitz's charming grin. The crowd was never as large as he'd like, at least for now, but they were watching, enraptured, glued to every small movement and every syllable of his patter.

When he was in his element like this, soaking up the attention, it made everything seem worth it.

"...and the queen of spades is in this hand, right? Who thinks the queen of spades is in this hand?" He showed an empty hand. "Does anyone want to guess where the queen of spades is? In my nose, you say? Sir --" He stopped shuffling and crossed his arms with a mock glare. "Sir, do you normally keep playing cards in your nose?" The crowd chuckled. "Of course, that's not where the queen of spades is. Here she is, in my sock! I'm glad I found her before she ended up in my laundry."

As he did simple tricks, he was scanning the crowd for a good volunteer for his showstopper finale, his eyes lighting on a woman in the front row. She had a simple blue dress and mouse-brown hair, looking almost like she'd blown in from a farm, with an innocent expression, and she'd been watching Fitz with an enraptured expression the entire show.

"Now, for my next few tricks, can I have a volunteer?" He flashed his smile at the woman, and was vindicated when her hand shot up. "How about this young woman in the front? Yes, you, come on up." He held out his hand to help her up the front steps of the stage, her grip surprisingly strong and her hand freezing cold. "Now, what's your name?"

"Lily."

"Lily, a lovely name for a lovely lady. Let's all give a big round of applause to our lovely Miss Lily!"

Lily giggled. "Are you trying to charm me?"

"Well, that depends. Is it working?" he asked. Truthfully, women like Lily weren't his type. Women weren't his type at all -- yet another in the long list of reasons why he'd left his family behind to pursue his own ambitions. The money, the status, all that had been nothing more than a gilded cage jam packed with stifling expectations. Here, on the stage, where he wasn't Fitzwilliam de Hastings but The Phantom Fitz, he was free.

The young woman was eating from the palm of his hand as he had her choose a card and pretended to forget which one it was or where he had put it. "You know, Lily, confidentially, sometimes I only find my assistant's card in my icebox the next day," he stage whispered to her. "But this time, I think I know where it is. No, not in your nose. I believe it's caught in your hair." He reached around her flowery accessory, using it to conceal the motion of snapping a card out of his sleeve.

"Is this your card, Miss Lily?" he asked.

"Yes, it is!" she said, but her smile had changed somehow, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Well, as long as she was still playing along...

"Well, hopefully I've earned your trust with that display of my abilities, because I'd like for you to participate in my final trick of the evening." He gestured to the box in the back of the set, one he'd painstakingly constructed from memories of similar tricks he'd witnessed, one he'd painted himself in deep blue with glittering constellations. "If you wouldn't mind stepping into this box, I promise that no harm will come to you, and the audience will get to witness something amazing."

"Trying to make me disappear?" she asked with a wink.

"Nothing escapes you, Miss Lily," he said.

"...That is very true."

He stopped for a moment, perplexed, before resuming his spiel. "You won't be gone for more than a moment. You have my word -- I swear upon my dear departed childhood kitten's grave." He closed the door with a dramatic flourish and turned to the crowd. "Please, no one tell her that I don't remember where my beloved little Mittens is buried."

He spun the box to a side that looked identical to the one that had been facing the audience, and opened it up to the false back. A dead simple trick, and not at all difficult to figure out, but with the right atmosphere, the dim gas lighting, and the patter, he could still get a reaction from the audience -- and tonight was no different. "Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced Miss Lily! I certainly hope I don't find her in the icebox the next day. Or in someone's nose!"

The crowd laughed, and Fitz beamed. Simple tricks and corny humor, but it paid the bills. He was right where he belonged, and his star could only climb higher from here. Soon, he'd move up the ranks to become a headliner, take his act on the road, go wherever the wind took him as the money poured in.

-------

The cape was flung haphazardly in a corner, the thickest of the stage makeup wiped roughly from his face, his props scattered across his dressing room table. Another successful show.

Fitz was rubbing at his exhausted eyes and wondering what he should do to round up some food when there was a firm knock on the door. He hoped it wasn't the theater manager with some petty complaint yet again. "Come in," he called.

He wasn't terribly surprised to see Lily's head peek in. It wasn't the first time members of the audience snuck backstage. Judging by the fact that she was alone, she must've gotten the wrong impression from his flirting. He'd kindly dispel any misunderstandings and send her on her way, simple enough.

"Miss Lily!" he said, his stage persona snapping back in place. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to let you know that I very much enjoyed being a part of your act this evening," she said. That was that strange smile again, the one he found so disconcerting but couldn't place. "I confess that I'm a bit of an amateur magician myself, so it was nice to see your sleight-of-hand up close. You're very talented."

"Why, thank you," said Fitz with a huge grin, unable to stop himself from eating up the flattery. He could always turn her away in a moment, when she was done complimenting him.

"I've been working on some magic tricks myself, if you wouldn't mind taking a look? I'd love to get some pointers."

"I'm always happy to help a fellow illusionist with their trade. Let's see what you have."

"All right," she said, unfurling a chain with a beautiful teardrop-shaped ruby on the end of it. "This pendant is an old family heirloom of mine, and I don't want anything to happen to it, so I'll need you to watch it carefully to make sure it doesn't disappear." She began slipping the chain through her fingers, swaying the pendant back and forth as she fluidly passed it from hand to hand. Her deft fingers were mesmerizing to watch, gentle and rhythmic. "Keep focused on the pendant, please."

She didn't need to remind Fitz, who couldn't take his eyes off it. Her speed and grace were top-notch, her talent for sleight of hand easily surpassing his. She seemed to have a knack for making the ruby sparkle in the most alluring way with every pass.

"That's right, just keep looking, just keep focusing, or you'll miss the trick," she said. "Keep watching the ruby as it sparkles and shines, stealing your attention away from everything else. Focus, don't look away. Focus and listen, Fitz, focus and listen."

Her voice was good for patter too, with a mesmerizing quality that was so easy to listen to. A natural.

"You've been working so hard up there on the stage. You must be tired. It must be so nice to just focus on my simple little trick. Easy. Compelling. Relaxing. No need to think, only to watch, and listen. Watch and listen. Isn't it nice?"

"Yeah..." he murmured, leaning forward. "You're good at the... the..."

"Oh, I know. Almost as good as you," she said confidently. "Just keep focusing, watching the ruby... have you figured out the trick yet?"

"The trick?" he said hazily. "You're going to make the pendant disappear?" He must be tired. He felt so sluggish.

"It's not the pendant that's going to disappear," she said. "But oh, that's right, silly me. The trick only happens after you're asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Aren't you tired?" she pressed, the ruby glinting in the gas light. "Aren't your eyelids heavy? Aren't you getting sleepier and sleepier?"

"Sleepier... mmm." A warning bell sounded in the back of his mind. She was trying to pull something over on him. With difficulty, he managed to tear his eyes away from the pendant. He looked up at Lily and realized what it was he had been trying to identify in her smile. Her demeanor had been so disarming that he hadn't realized how confident and predatory it was.

Nor had he noticed the hint of sharp fangs.

He recoiled as his mind tried to catch up with what he was seeing. She was...

With great effort, he lifted his strangely heavy arm, feeling as if he was moving in a dream, and caught the pendant. "You're trying to mesmerize me," he said, trying to wipe the cobwebs from his mind and restore his usual cocky smile. He must have been imagining what he had just seen. "That's the trick here. Clever, and you aren't half bad at it."

Her delighted laugh rang off the walls. "Guess you're too strong willed for something like that, Phantom Fitz."

"Guess I am," he said, although he was surprised by how much she'd taken him in. "Your technique is excellent, though. You're practiced with your hands."

"I have had a lot of practice," she agreed. "But now that you've seen my trick, care for a bit of a gamble?"

His smile came easily now. "Always."

"Five more minutes of watching the pendant and following my instructions. No tricks, no trying to break free." She reached into her purse and produced a crisp five dollar bill. "If you can avoid falling under my spell, you win."

Fitz was as transfixed by the money as he was by the ruby. Five dollars was more than he made for an entire show. That extra money would really help him stave off bills and debt collectors and the ache of his stomach.

"And how will we determine if I've fallen under your spell?"

"I'll have to get you to do something you wouldn't normally do. Like, for example -- I'll get you to call me 'Your Majesty.'"

"Ha! I'll take that bet," he said. "Do your worst, mesmerist."

He didn't have five dollars on him, of course. He had barely a quarter to his name. But she didn't need to know that, because there was no way he was going to lose this bet. Sure, she had him dazed when he didn't realize what was happening, but now that he was on to her, that money was bound to be his. He could already taste the steak he was going to treat himself to if he won it.

"All right then. Five minutes, Fitz." She unfurled the ruby in front of his eyes once more. "And all you need to do is focus on the pendant and listen to my voice, and the money will be yours."

She began to swing the ruby in a slow, sweeping motion, perfectly rhythmic, easy to follow with his eyes.

"Focus," she said, and Fitz could immediately tell there was something different about the way her voice echoed in his mind. "Relax and focus. Watch the ruby. Watch it go back and forth. Watch it shine. Utterly focused on its movements. Utterly focused on my voice."

This was different from before. He could feel his mind slip, his gaze narrowing on the pendant. A little voice in the back of his head was nagging at him, but he was an old hand at quieting his own better sense, especially when money was on the line. He stubbornly kept watching.

"Good, Fitz, very good," she said, her voice like honey poured into a cup of soothing tea. "Keep watching. Keep watching even though you're so tired. So drowsy. So sleepy. Stay focused, even though the slow swing of the ruby is making you sleepier and sleepier. Drowsy. Heavy. And focused."

His eyelids blinked, so heavy, as he kept watching. He must be so close to getting that money. It must be halfway over at least. So close...

"Sleepier and sleepier with every swing. More and more mesmerized. More and more focused. Your eyelids are getting heavy, Fitz, so heavy and drowsy, but you can keep them open. You have to keep them open and keep watching the pendant, just like you said, or you'll lose the bet, Fitz."

That's right. He had said he'd watch the pendant and listen to her instructions for five minutes. He had to do that. Had to keep watching. Had to keep listening.

"You're so sleepy, Fitz, so sleepy. You need to keep watching, but it's so hard when you're this tired. Your eyes want to close so badly. You want to sleep, don't you?"

"...No," he said, with considerable effort. "I want to keep watching so I can win."

"Of course you do," she said. "You want to keep watching, even though the pendant is putting you to sleep, fast asleep. Only a few minutes more, and you'll have won the bet and can go to sleep. Only a few minutes of trying to keep your heavy, sleepy, drowsy eyes open. Only a few minutes of being so dazed and helpless and vulnerable..."

Yes, only a few minutes. He felt his eyes drift shut for just a moment, before he caught himself and wrenched them open again, his gaze fixed on the pendant once more.

"Soon you can stop watching and rest. I'll give you your money and take good care of you. Just watch the pendant and let it sink you down into hypnotic sleep." With her free hand, she ruffled his hair affectionately. "You're doing so, so well. You're perfect, Fitz."

He smiled drowsily, soaking up the praise and the comforting touch. He'd been struggling so long, ever since he'd run away from his family as a teen. Working questionable jobs, going hungry, scraping by on his wits and charm. God, it'd be so nice to be taken care of for a change. To drop the many layers of personas and guards he habitually carried and relax. It'd be so nice to rest...

"You've about to win, Fitz," she said, her voice low and so near to his ear. "You can shut your eyes now. Shut your eyes and go to sleep. Deep, restful sleep. Everything is going to be just fine."

His head tipped forward as his eyes closed all on their own, impossibly heavy, as a warm sense of peace settled over him.

"Go to sleep, Fitz, just go to sleep, nice, deep sleep," she soothed. "Let me put you to sleep and take care of you. I'm going to take such good care of you. All you have to do is sleep, and don't wake until I tell you to. All you have to do is drift off into blissful dreams."

Fitz didn't answer. His mind was already gone.

Part 24 >> Masterlist >> Part 26

Thank you for reading this interlude about another man who was doomed.

Five dollars was more like $175 then.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #mind control #vampire #vampire whumper #kidnapping #hypnosis #hypnotic induction #rare bookseller #fitz #lily

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callsigns-haze · 4 months

Text

Short love: Chp 20

Summary: The is about widowed father Bradley Bradshaw who enlists his brother-in-law Jake Seresin and childhood best friend Robert Floyd to help raise his three daughters, eldest Donna Jo Margaret (D.J for short), middle child Stephanie and youngest Michelle in his San Diego home.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: Fluff, flirting

As Y/n progresses into her fourth month of pregnancy, the physical toll becomes increasingly apparent. Simple tasks that once seemed effortless now feel like monumental challenges. Even the mundane chores of daily life—like laundry, unloading the dishwasher, or playing with the girls—have become overwhelming burdens.

Y/n finds herself struggling to keep pace with Michelle and Stephanie, whose boundless energy seems to know no bounds. Where once she could easily chase after them, now she finds herself lagging behind, her movements slow and labored. It's a frustrating realization for Y/n, who prides herself on her independence and ability to handle whatever life throws her way.

Despite her best efforts to maintain a sense of normalcy, Y/n knows she needs to listen to her body and prioritize her health and well-being. She reluctantly admits that she can't do it all, and that it's okay to ask for help when she needs it. Jake, ever the supportive partner, steps in to pick up the slack, offering to take on extra chores around the house and spending more one-on-one time with Michelle and Stephanie to give Y/n a much-needed break.

As Y/n navigates the challenges of pregnancy, she finds solace in the unwavering love and support of her family. Though the road ahead may be filled with obstacles, she knows that with Jake by her side and her girls cheering her on, she'll find the strength to overcome whatever comes her way. And as she looks ahead to the arrival of their twins, she's filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement for the new chapter of their lives that lies just around the corner.

As Michelle darts around the house with boundless energy, Y/n finds herself struggling to keep up. With each step, her growing belly weighs her down, and she quickly becomes out of breath. She watches as Michelle giggles and giggles, her tiny feet pitter-pattering across the floor, seemingly oblivious to Y/n's exhaustion.

Y/n knows she needs a break, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. She leans against the nearest wall, hand pressed against her swollen belly, willing herself to slow down and rest. It's a humbling moment for Y/n, who prides herself on her ability to keep up with her niece's endless energy.

As she takes a moment to collect herself, Jake appears at her side, concern etched on his face. He gently places a hand on her back, offering her support and encouragement. "Hey, love, why don't you take a seat for a bit? I'll keep an eye on Michelle," he suggests, his voice filled with tenderness and understanding.

Grateful for his understanding, Y/n nods wearily, allowing Jake to guide her to the nearest chair. She sinks into it with a sigh of relief, grateful for the chance to catch her breath. Watching from the sidelines, she smiles as Jake engages Michelle in a game of peek-a-boo, the sound of their laughter filling the room.

In that moment, Y/n realizes that it's okay to ask for help, to admit when she needs a break. She may not have the same level of energy she once did, but with Jake's support and the love of her family, she knows she'll get through this challenging time and emerge stronger than ever. And as she rests and recovers, she's filled with gratitude for the unwavering love and support that surrounds her, knowing that she's never alone in this journey of motherhood.

Y/n's reply earns a chuckle from Bradley as he surveys the scene, noticing the chaos that often ensues when Michelle is on the move. He shakes his head in amusement, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, we better hope she doesn't get too far," he quips, knowing all too well the mischief his youngest granddaughter can get up to.

Y/n nods in agreement, a playful glint in her eye as she imagines the adventures Michelle might embark on if left to her own devices. "Yeah, we might need to install a GPS tracker on her soon," she jokes, her tone lighthearted despite the slight edge of exhaustion that lingers in her voice.

Together, Y/n and Bradley share a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of the whirlwind that is life with Michelle. Despite the challenges and occasional moments of chaos, they wouldn't have it any other way. For amidst the madness, there's laughter, love, and the unbreakable bond that holds their family together. And as they brace themselves for the next inevitable adventure with Michelle, they do so with hearts full of love and gratitude for the joy she brings to their lives.

Bradley glanced at Y/n with a warm smile, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "How are you feeling, Y/n? Pregnancy with twins must be quite the journey."

Y/n sighed lightly, a mixture of exhaustion and amusement playing across her features. "Oh, you know, Bradley, the usual - tired, achy, and constantly hungry," she replied with a chuckle, a hint of fatigue evident in her voice.

Bradley nodded sympathetically, understanding the toll that carrying two babies could take on a person. "Well, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know," he offered earnestly, his tone reassuring.

Y/n flashed him a grateful smile, appreciating his kindness. "Thanks, Bradley. I think I'll survive, but I might need some extra help wrangling Michelle if she decides to take after her father and become a little troublemaker," she quipped, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Bradley chuckled softly, the image of a mischievous Michelle bringing a smile to his face. "Well, if she's anything like her uncle instead, we're definitely in for an adventure," he remarked, a note of amusement in his voice.

Together, they shared a moment of camaraderie, finding comfort in each other's company and the shared experience of navigating the ups and downs of pregnancy. And as they laughed and joked, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, as a family.

"So will the twins be, I swear they're going to be Elvis lovers due to Jake."

Bradley chuckles at Y/n's jest, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, we'll just have to make sure they're exposed to a variety of musical influences early on," he quips, envisioning the comical scenario of two tiny Elvis impersonators running around the house.

Y/n laughs, nodding in agreement. "Absolutely. We'll have to balance out Jake's influence with some Beethoven and Mozart," she jokes, her expression playful as she imagines the eclectic tastes her twins might develop.

Together, they share a moment of light-hearted banter, finding solace in humor amidst the uncertainties of pregnancy and the anticipation of welcoming two new additions to their family. And as they continue to joke and laugh, they find comfort in each other's company, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, they'll face them together, as a family.

Bradley's expression softened with empathy as he listened to Y/n's response. "I can only imagine. Carrying one baby is tough enough, let alone two," he remarked, his voice tinged with admiration for her resilience.

Y/n nodded in agreement, grateful for Bradley's understanding. "Yeah, it's definitely been a journey, but I'm hanging in there," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips despite the fatigue evident in her eyes.

Bradley nodded in understanding, his gaze reflecting genuine concern. "Well, just remember to take it easy and listen to your body. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," he reassured her, his tone sincere.

Y/n nodded gratefully, appreciating Bradley support. "Thanks, Bradley. That means a lot," she replied warmly, feeling a sense of comfort knowing that she had such a caring friend by her side.

Together, they shared a moment of solidarity, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, as a family. And as they continued their conversation, their bond grew stronger, a testament to the power of friendship and the strength found in unity.

As Y/n leaned back against the kitchen counter, Bradley's genuine concern warmed her heart. She couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence and support during this challenging time.

As Jake settled beside Y/n, his eyes softened with affection as he placed a gentle hand on her swollen belly. "How's my beautiful wife feeling today?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

Y/n leaned into his touch, feeling a rush of warmth at his loving gesture. "Oh, you know, just the usual twin pregnancy struggles," she replied with a tired smile, her hand resting atop his.

Jake nodded sympathetically, his gaze filled with empathy. "I can only imagine how tough it must be carrying two babies," he said softly, his tone filled with admiration for her strength.

Y/n sighed, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. "Yeah, it's definitely challenging, but having you by my side makes it easier," she said, her voice tinged with emotion.

Jake smiled, his eyes sparkling with love. "I'll always be here for you, Y/n, every step of the way," he vowed, his words filled with sincerity.

Feeling a surge of love and appreciation for her husband, Y/n leaned in to press a gentle kiss against his cheek. "I love you, Jake," she whispered, her heart overflowing with affection.

Jake returned her kiss with a soft smile. "I love you too, Y/n," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting embrace.

Together, they sat in peaceful silence, their love and support for each other serving as a source of strength as they navigated the challenges of pregnancy. And as they shared this tender moment, they knew that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it together, as partners, lovers, and soon-to-be parents of twins.

As they sat together, Y/n felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. She couldn't help but marvel at how lucky she was to have Jake by her side during this journey. He was not just her husband, but her rock, her confidant, and her biggest supporter.

Suddenly, a fluttering sensation rippled through Y/n's belly, and she gasped in surprise. "Jake, did you feel that?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening with excitement.

Jake's expression lit up with joy as he placed a hand on her belly, his touch gentle yet filled with wonder. "Yeah, I did!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "That must be our little ones saying hello."

Y/n smiled, feeling a surge of warmth at the thought of their unborn babies moving inside her. "It's such an incredible feeling," she murmured, her heart brimming with love.

Jake nodded, his eyes shining with emotion. "It really is," he agreed, his hand lingering on her belly as they shared this precious moment together.

In that instant, as they felt their babies' movements beneath their fingertips, Y/n and Jake knew that their love was stronger than ever. And as they looked forward to the arrival of their twins, they were filled with hope, excitement, and an overwhelming sense of anticipation for the journey that lay ahead.

With a gentle smile, Jake leaned in to press a soft kiss against Y/n's forehead, his touch comforting and reassuring. "I can't wait to meet our little ones," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness.

Y/n's heart swelled with love as she gazed up at her husband, feeling a rush of gratitude for the life they were creating together. "Me neither," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

As they sat together in the quiet embrace of their home, surrounded by the love and warmth of their family, Y/n and Jake knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, hand in hand. And as they awaited the arrival of their twins, they cherished these moments of peace and contentment, knowing that their love would only continue to grow stronger with each passing day.

As the sun set outside, casting a warm glow into the room, Y/n and Jake remained wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the blissful anticipation of parenthood. With each passing moment, their bond deepened, their hearts intertwined in a dance of love and hope.

Suddenly, the sound of laughter echoed from the hallway, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. Their nieces, Stephanie and Michelle, came bounding into the room, their faces flushed with excitement.

"Guess what, Aunt Y/n, Uncle Jake?" Stephanie exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Y/n and Jake exchanged a curious glance, their interest piqued. "What is it, sweetie?" Y/n asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"We made something for the babies!" Michelle chimed in, holding up a colorful drawing.

Y/n's heart melted at the sight of the homemade artwork, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "Oh, it's beautiful," she whispered, overcome with emotion.

Jake wrapped an arm around Y/n's shoulders, pulling her close as they admired the precious gift from their nieces. In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, they knew that their growing family was a blessing beyond measure.

As they basked in the warmth of their shared happiness, Y/n and Jake were filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love that surrounded them. And as they looked forward to the arrival of their twins, they knew that their home would always be filled with boundless love, laughter, and endless joy.

The evening breeze gently rustled the curtains as Y/n and Jake sat together on the porch swing, savoring the quiet moments of tranquility. The day had been long, filled with the hustle and bustle of preparations for their growing family, but now, as the sky turned to hues of pink and orange, they found solace in each other's company.

Y/n rested her head against Jake's shoulder, her fingers intertwined with his as they watched the sunset in comfortable silence. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers blooming in the garden, and the distant chirping of crickets provided a soothing soundtrack to their thoughts.

In the soft glow of twilight, Y/n couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought them to this moment. From their first meeting to their whirlwind romance, every twist and turn had led them here, to this place of love and contentment.

Jake pressed a tender kiss to Y/n's forehead, his arms encircling her in a protective embrace. "I love you," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper against her ear.

Y/n smiled, her heart overflowing with love for the man beside her. "I love you too," she whispered back, her words a vow of devotion that echoed in the quiet of the evening.

As they sat together, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, Y/n and Jake knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, hand in hand, hearts united in a bond that could weather any storm. And as they gazed out at the world spread before them, they felt a sense of peace wash over them, knowing that as long as they had each other, they had everything they would ever need.

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