#he would stand so still while i dote upon him

[jazzzzzzhands]

Y'all!!

Hey hey hey guyssss

If if you wanna!! 👉👈

Send me an outfit to draw Wally in!

I desire to dress up the Darling..

[helaintoloki]

The Unbearable Truth

pairing: Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, spoilers

notes: so i actually hated this storyline in the show but i also recognize angst potential when i see it so here’s this

summary: after getting lost in the subway system, Five comes to a grave realization

Five Hargreeves doesn’t love you anymore, and you’re completely oblivious to the fact.

You’re in the kitchen of Lila’s home baking holiday treats with your niece while awaiting the arrival of the rest of your family to begin the festivities. You smell of cinnamon and pinecones, and for the first time in years you actually feel content and happy with where your life is now. Sure, there’s technically a looming apocalypse hanging over you right now, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before. You’re actually part of a family now with a man who adores you, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Alright, Grace, would you like to do the honors of putting the gumdrop buttons on the gingerbread men while I check on the sugar cookies?”

“Yes, aunt y/n!” The girl exclaims cheerfully before immediately diving into the candy bowl. You laugh at her eagerness and turn towards the oven only to be met with the sight of Five in the kitchen doorway. He looks disheveled and unnerved, but you’re too engrossed in your own joy filled bubble to pick up on it right away and instead mistake him for being tired and overwhelmed with the situation surrounding Ben and Jennifer.

“Hey, you made it!” You say with a smile as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning your attention to the sugar cookies. Five can only stand there stiffly as he clings onto the ghost of your lips against his skin. He had hoped that by seeing you again, by being in your presence and showered in your love for him, the feelings he once held for you would return.

But as he stands there in the middle of the kitchen watching you run about, he realizes that he feels absolutely nothing.

Initially, he had wanted nothing more than to return home to you and his siblings. Five had fought tooth and nail trying to figure out a way to get out of that damned subway system so he could have you in his arms again and tell you how much he missed you even if for you he had only been gone a couple hours. But a man could only take eating so many subway rats and being shot at so many times. He had grown tired, weary, and depressed. For a moment it seemed they’d be stuck there forever, and so he decided that maybe it was time to make the most of it.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with his brother’s wife.

A woman he had once hated with his entire being now was his sole companion, and whether it was due to some sick twist of fate or a moment of weakness, he had begun to look at her the way he once looked at you. With complete adoration and care as well as a fierce need to protect her and keep her safe. He knew the chances of ever seeing you again were highly unlikely, and the next logical step would be to move on. So he did.

But now here he is, back in his original timeline left to deal with the aftermath of his decisions.

In what was seven years for Five and three hours for you, the boy has fallen out of love with you. Your smile still may be as beautiful as ever and your scent of red berry plum and jasmine may be intoxicating to any other man, but he feels absolutely nothing when he looks at you. The spark is gone, and unbeknownst to you your relationship is about to fall apart.

“Where did you run off to?” You ask him after setting the freshly baked sugar cookies onto the cooling rack nearby.

“I had an… errand to run,” he utters carefully, growing stiff when you wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head upon his shoulder. Calculatingly, Five hesitantly rests a hand on your back while the other comes to comb his fingers through your hair. It’s a familiar motion that he is easily able to replicate in order to portray himself as the same doting partner you know and love. Lila had sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t sure just how to break it off with you without telling the truth. So for now he would go through the motions and hope to god you didn’t pick up on the fact that something was completely wrong.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you profess earnestly, peering up at him with fluttering lashes and a devoted smile. “I love you, Five.”

His chest tightens in agony at your words, his hold on you tightening in an attempt to ground himself as he harshly swallows down his discomfort. He meets your adoring gaze and smiles, carefully tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips in a tender kiss. It’s believable enough to keep you feeling secure and oblivious to his detachment, and he hopes that maybe if he keeps this up he can forget all about Lila and go back to normal.

Even if it means he’s just playing a part.

Pulling away, he meets your loving stare and offers you a small smile. Hesitating, as if he has to force the words out of him, Five murmurs out a quiet, “I love you, too.”

And you believe him.

[whatswrongwithblue]

Based on your recent post: "your heart is beating so fast right now" (Alastor x Reader) - maybe some snu snu please? Thank you! ❤️

I am so sorry this took me so long! It's just been a crazy week and I'm preggers and always so tired but I hope you like it. I had to look up what snu snu was and while it's not exact, I hope the rough sex does it for ya!

Trigger warnings: Rough sex, oral (fem receiving), p/v, biting, clawing, choking, use of shadow tendrils/tentacles.

When you had first begun this little romance with Alastor, you had made a lot of assumptions about what it would be like.

You had expected him to be a doting gentleman, maybe even a bit over the top. Opening doors for you, offering his arm, cooking for you, etc etc. And that was all very spot on.

You had also prepared yourself for him to be a bit of a jealous type and that was also certainly true. There had already been a few conversations about boundaries and you assured him that the second you needed his help scaring off someone, you would be happy to unleash him but he wasn’t allowed to threaten to eat someone just because you were friendly to them.

And then there was the matter of sex. You had assumed incorrectly that after that first quite passionate kiss that he would whisk you away to his room and ravish you. Or the second kiss. Or the third.

But nothing else had happened yet. There had been a plethora of opportunities for him to make a move and yet he was clearly one for taking things slowly.

It left you feeling more confused than frustrated because he clearly adored you and wasn’t shy about the fact that he considered you two an item now. Perhaps it was just because he was an older soul but this was Hell. It wasn’t like a little bit of forward behavior down here was frowned upon.

And then the day that Lucifer and Mimzy showed up to the hotel came and you were reminded of a very particular side of Alastor that you found unbearably attractive.

It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.

That confidence. That glee in his eye. The ease in which he eviscerated his enemies. Not to mention the increase in his size and the number of appendages he had when he went full demon on everyone.

You had spent the rest of the afternoon in a tense, silent, rather wet uncomfortableness as you waited for evening to come so you could get a little alone time with your new significant other.

Evening finally came and found you at Alastor’s door. You had spent a few minutes pacing your room, hoping he would come to you, but of course he hadn’t. It was time to take matters into your own hands so you lifted your arm, ready to knock, when the door flung open before you could.

Alastor grinned at you as he noticed your hand still being held in mid air.

“So you were going to knock. I thought you were going to stand there all night.”

“Why would I do that when there are far better things I could be doing this evening?” you said, feeling unusually bold.

“Is that so?” Alastor raised an eyebrow at you as he stepped aside and gestured with his arm to invite you inside.

You walked a few feet into the room and then turned to face him and instantly felt your body warm under his gaze.

He looked angry, or at least as angry as Alastor could look. The strained smile, the pinched brows, the ridge of fur along his ears all dead give aways that the demon that was usually so composed was still very bothered by the events of the day.

But his body language towards you was much more welcoming. So you took your chances and rushed over to him, took his face in your hands, and pulled him down into a heated kiss.

He went tense at your touch but only for a moment before he was melting into the embrace, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in closer.

There had been plenty of fantasies before tonight that you entertained yourself with when alone in your bed. Images of tender, slow love-making for your first time with Alastor. But that was not what you were craving now and you had a gut feeling it wasn’t what Alastor needed either.

Your hands were everywhere on him; running through his hair, caressing the back of his neck, sliding beneath the lapels of his jacket.

And the way he was kissing you back was only spurring you on. You could feel his need, his own frustration and pent up aggression, in the way his lips crashed against yours with a bruising ferocity and his tongue sought entrance. You parted your lips and invited him in and the taste of him was intoxicating.

He was practically humming with power beneath your touch; he was strung taught with it and you wanted nothing more than for him to unleash it on you.

“I want you.”

The words left your lips the moment you pulled away for air, the statement more a demand than a plea. Your eyes met his in time to see them momentarily blaze a brighter red at your admission.

“Are you certain?” he asked slowly. He was offering you an out; giving you a warning. “Tonight is not what I had imagined for us. I do not have it in me to be gentle right now. Not even with you.”

“I don’t want gentle,” you assured him and brought your lips back to his.

Alastor kissed along your jawline and then dipped his head lower to kiss along your neck.

You let out an involuntary squeak when he bit you, rather hard. You could feel the sinking in of his teeth and then the warm wetness of his tongue as he lapped at the wound he had created along your pulse point.

“Your heart is beating so fast right now,” he whispered, his lips tickling your flesh as he kept his attention at your neck. “If I didn’t want you so badly, I would eat you alive right now.”

“I’m not scared,” you insisted and Alastor pulled away from your neck then to look into your eyes with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, trust me, my love,” he was with a wicked chuckle. “I know.”

____

You were spread across his bed and naked within a few minutes. No time to savor the discarding of clothes, no time to relish in the delight of seeing each other nude for the first time.

No, neither you nor Alastor had the patience for that. Rather, he had you on your back with his face buried between your legs before you could even think of being self-conscious or get a good glimpse of his body.

All you could see now as you looked down your torso at him was his antlers and ears pointed straight at you and the ashen bare skin of his shoulders and arms as he forced your legs wide.

And in a sense he was doing exactly as he had threatened he might do; he was practically eating you alive. There were already a multitude of bite marks along the inside of your thighs, leaving smears of blood along both your skin and his while his tongue and his lips were doing devilish things at your core. Stroking and prodding and sucking on every fold, every inch, every sensitive collection of nerves inside and out of you. Occasionally you felt the edge of his teeth graze your most intimate flesh, never biting down, but each sharp sting added a new thrill to the sensation and made you feel like he was truly and utterly devouring you. All the while you rutted against him, crying out in a mix of pleasure and pain, clawing at his hair as you grew closer and closer to that wonderful edge, and he dug his talons into your hips and thighs in an attempt to gain some control over your movements.

His tongue dived into your depths, curling up and licking in just the right ways, and those unnaturally red eyes of his met yours and you came undone, helplessly shuddering against him as he finally mastered his control over your senses, leaving you breathless and blinking up at the ceiling in a daze after it ended.

You were vaguely aware of him lifting himself up from between your legs but you hadn’t even caught your breath when he had you flipped onto your stomach and aggressively grabbed your hips to lift them upwards with a strength you didn’t know he possessed in this form.

“I’ll ask you one more time, ma cher,” you heard him say in his husky, staticky voice. “Are you sure you want this?”

You huffed a laugh into the sheets beneath your cheek, way passed feeling shy knowing that he had your entire backside and pussy exposed to his gaze at the moment.

“Always the gentleman,” you answered breathily. “But shut up and fuck me, already.”

With a complete lack of verbal response, he slid his cock into you, ramming his hips against the swell of your cheeks as he bottomed out.

He grunted and you cried out as he stretched you to your limits but true to his word, he was far from gentle. Hardly giving your body a second to adjust to the size of him, he set up a rapid pace, sliding almost all the way out before slamming into you over and over again.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised, though his tone of voice was anything but polite. “If only you could see how well you take me.”

Your brain went numb as he set your body on fire; absolutely aflame with lust and delight as he pounded into you from behind. There was no room in your mind for dirty talk when all that you were felt narrowed down to the claws holding up your hips and the cock that was working every inch of your core in a way you had never experienced before.

But it seemed Alastor still had his wits about him and had no pity for the state he had put you in.

“Did you like what you saw today?”

All you could do to respond was moan and clench your walls tighter around his length.

Alastor grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you head back, forcing your back into a painful arch as he kept your hips raised and open, never once losing his ceaseless rhythm into you.

“I asked you a question.”

You felt your body gush at the roughness and the stinging pain at your scalp, your pussy squeezing his cock with new enthusiasm at the anger in his voice. It didn’t scare you, it thrilled you and turned you on even more.

“Yes,” you panted.

“That’s what it takes to get you to want to fuck me? And I thought you were such a sweet thing.”

“What? No – no, I- ” You whimpered as the grip on your hair tightened and you felt the stinging of tears in your eyes beginning to build. But rather than try and pull away, you pushed your hips up and backwards, encouraging Alastor to keep up this act of roughness with you.

“I’ve wanted you every . . . every night,” you managed between gasps and the forceful rocking of your body. “Today just made me want you like this.”

He was silent for a minute as he considered your words, the only sound in the room the wet noises coming from your joined bodies and your coinciding moans.

And then you felt them, cool little tendrils sliding around your body, a cascade of shadows slithering across the skin of your thighs and back.

“And what else did you see today . . . that aroused you to such a point?” Alastor asked. The shadows snaked their way higher, wrapping around your ribcage and caressing your dangling breasts.

He still had your head yanked back by your hair so you couldn’t see them but you knew exactly what they were; those tentacles or tendrils or ropes, whatever they were. Weapons of shadow that Alastor had unleashed that afternoon on the loan sharks, now stroking your body – now completely trapping you to his bed.

You were going to come right then and there, thinking of those lengths of darkness that had disemboweled demons before your very eyes and how wonderful they felt being used on you this way. One toyed with your navel before trailing lower and twisting around the apex of your thighs, stroking that little swollen pearl of nerves with a dexterity and skill that shocked you.

A loud moan tore from your lips, your mouth hanging open at the sensation of it. There were so many of them, you weren’t sure you could count them even if you could see your body from a different vantage point, but you were utterly consumed in their embrace, forcing you completely still as Alastor continued to fuck you with perfect, unrestrained viciousness.

He practically sung your name, a warning for you to respond to his questioning before he had to punish you again.

“These,” you whispered, knowing he could hear you perfectly well. Just in time for one of the tendrils to begin stroking your jawline, you managed to tilt your head enough to capture it with your mouth and give it a seductive wet suck.

Alastor hissed behind you and snapped his hips in an uncontrolled rhythm for a moment and you grinned around the swollen black shadow between your teeth as you realized they were quite sensitive little appendages.

You salivated, letting your drool coat the delicious tendril and took it in deeper before hollowing out your cheeks and giving it another hard suck as you pulled your head away from it.

It yanked away from you and coiled around your neck before you could repeat the motion.

“That’s enough of that . . . for now,” Alastor said and the shadow around your neck tightened as he regained his control of the situation.

Your face turned red, burning hot, and you gasped for air, feeling the euphoria and elation wash over you as your burning lungs fought for oxygen and just when you thought you might actually faint, your orgasm crushed you from the inside out and the tangle of shadow around your neck let go.

You fell face first into the sheets as wave after wave hit you, every second of pleasure being dragged out to the fullest extent by Alastor, not letting up for a single moment as he pushed and dragged his cock through your spasming walls.

And then you were a weightless, boneless mess of flesh and nerve endings as you lay motionless beneath him as that perfect blissful minute ended, only coming back to reality when you felt the change in your lover above and behind you.

His thrusts became shallower, his grip on your hips tightening as his talons dug into you flesh, inch by inch, and then you felt the subtle but telltale twitch of his cock and the warmth of his seed filling you up until it was spilling out of you, coating your folds and trickling down your inner thighs.

Bruised and bleeding, and still tingling with post-coital bliss, you found yourself in Alastor’s arms as you lay on your side, your face buried in his bare and furry chest.

Hands that were now tender and loving, with no threat of claws or cuts, stroked your hair and along your spine as you both came down from your high.

You relaxed into his embrace, basking in the sweet moment; the exact opposite and perfect balance to the rough fucking you had just received. After several minutes, you expected yourself to fall asleep but your mind kept lingering on what had just transpired and rather than feel sated, you felt your thighs rubbing against each other with renewed need.

Nuzzling into his chest fluff, you let your hands become more brazen on his body and you found yourself kissing a trail along his collar bone and up his neck before you heard a deep chuckle come out of him, the vibration of it strong enough to be felt against your lips as you sucked hard just below his adam’s apple.

“Oh you insatiable thing,” he said through his laughter and then he was grabbing you by the jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Want more?”

You couldn’t tell if his tone was challenging or threatening but either way it sent another wave of desire straight down into your core that was still throbbing from how thoroughly it had just been fucked.

Smiling at him, you just gave him one simple nod, and looked eagerly up at him through hooded lashes.

“Well then,” he said, and from the corner of your eyes, you saw those shadowy tendrils re-appear. “Let’s see just how talented that mouth of yours is.”

More request prompts here! Or send me an original one of your own. Only stipulation is they must be Alastor x Reader or take place in the universe of my main fic, The Fire in the Sin.

[fhrlclln]

hi, same person from the forbidden obsession qimir ask, i forgot to mention that i feel like age gap would also go good with that,(legal ofc!) like he is just so down bad for her and she is just always so sweet to him and is only devoted to him.

and when osha comes into the picture, like they’re in the cave talking scene, reader just walks in mid conversation and is just like “master, you should be resting!” because she is also solely devoted to him and osha just in disbelief, shocked looking upon the dynamics of them and how they are so close. like ugh <3

devotion | qimir

SUMMARY -> devotion is one word to describe his pupil, his sweet and caring devoted pupil. he would burn the world for her if she asked so, but he knew deep down what he was feeling was wrong. he couldn't help himself, could he?

qimir x acolyte!fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> slight-nsfw

WARNINGS -> possessive!qimir, master-pupil dynamic (fucked-up ver.), mentions of age-gap (legal), sexual thoughts, he's literally downbad af, violence & blood.

WC -> 1.7k

a/n: gHADDDD I WANT A POSSESSIVE QIMIR AS WELL. this req has me drooling! hope you liked it, anonz!! <3

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

watching you fight for him has his blood going.

he watches you with hazy eyes as you bend down to swipe off a jedi that was attacking you from behind. your dual-saber is a sight to see of how you wield it with such precision all because of his teachings. you were aggressive in your offensive stance, placing no mercy upon the three jedis attacking you simultaneously. you defended yourself just like he expected you to, using your dual-wielded blade to block attacks while you would detach them to switch to massacring your opponents. all drop dead beneath your feet and a splatter of blood hits your cheek as your eyes darken. his heart beat loudly while he stood up slowly from where he was dropped by the umbramoths that attacked him, and your head immediately looked in his direction.

"master!" your eyes went from that menacing stare into a worried look. you switch off your sabers, tucking them back to your belt as you jogged towards him. oh, the way you call him master has blood rushing towards where he begged himself not to linger. he groans as he holds his hand up, and you stop before him.

"i'm fine." he grits his teeth as he adjusts his weakened arm, rolling it to ease the pain.

"you're not fine." you scold him, the ever-doting pupil you are. in this scenario, if someone else had said that to him, he might have just snapped their neck out of annoyance. but with you, he would always stay quiet and let you dote on him. it was his favorite thing you would do.

you stand near him, and your sweet scent envelops his nostrils. he lets out a long sigh when you touch his arm, but he winces when he feels a sharp pain. you immediately let go and he feels disappointed that your soft touch is gone.

"you need a bacta-patch, master. we should leave now." you suggested, and he stared at you for a moment, taking in your serene face that's splattered with jedi blood. he can't help himself but lift his weak arm up to swipe away the blood on your cheek despite the stinging pain.

"in a while, my acolyte." he says, and you stay silent, letting him caress your face. your eyes shimmer and he feels happy at that how you obey him. he still needs to find mae and the remaining jedi, sol, to kill in khofar. they had seen his face and his safety, especially yours is in danger. the thought of his other former pupil brings distaste to his mind. why couldn't she be like you? devoted only to him and him only. but he guessed that was what made you special... your devotion to him was his drug. and he will never let that drug be of another.

・゜゜・．

osha watches qimir bend down to taste the soup he's simmering in his cooking pot. she feels disarrayed, waking up in his home on this unknown planet he had taken her when she was unconscious. she thinks about taking his saber and killing him right here, but the only problem is you. his other pupil, she knows she should fear the sith before her, but his other pupil is what she fears the most as you had killed yord. snapping his neck with ease and carelessly dropping him to the ground that night in khofar. she pieced it together that you are severely loyal to qimir, and that loyalty and devotion frightens her.

luckily, you weren't in the cave yet. you had gone out to harvest some herbs and fish outside. if you were in the room, she might want to consider fleeing at the very moment, as qimir had said that she's apparently not a prisoner here. but she is curious about you more than your master... you look young, maybe a year or two younger than her and mae, and she wonders when did you became his pupil. she gathers the courage to ask the man before her.

"your other pupil... how old is she?" she asks him as he looks at her with a sudden serious look.

"why do you ask?" qimir raises a brow.

"just answer it." he stands up, defensive he is that osha's asking about you. of course, it was a harmless question, but he feels like a lot of people are asking about you these days, and it annoys him. first, it was yord, when you were beside him in disguise in the apothecary, the jedi knight had immediately been drawn to question you. he considered choking the jedi right there for how close he was to interrogating you. second, it was a random drunk local in the streets of olega, asking your name and striking up a flirty conversation. that made him almost punch the poor guy in the plaza. he didn't want anyone talking to you... you were his and he will keep that attention of yours to him.

"a year older than mae and you." he answers shortly, your age was something else that had him going crazy if his feelings for you were right. you are his pupil and he is your master. the lines blur at that for him for his strong emotions for you. but you are somewhere maybe 8 or 10 years younger than him. not that it was big deal... you are an adult.

"so she was your pupil first before mae?"

"yes." he smiles at that, remembering how you were the only pupil that had seen his face than his cortosis helm for how he had seen how loyal you are to him. "my only devoted one."

osha shivers at that, feeling like this master-pupil dynamic was something else. she can't help but feel pity for you that you are placing your loyalty to a cruel, sick-headed murderer like him. what was it that made you be like this to him? what did he made you see that you're devoting your whole life to a man, who clearly would kill anyone in his way.

"then why take me here? if you have such a devoted pupil." osha hardens her tone, skeptical of his intentions now. qimir shrugs, extending his hand out to give her a bowl of stew.

"mae and her would always train together. a pity that your sister betrayed us. she was very fond of her." her eyes widened at his answer. was that truly it? that he brought her here just for you? somehow, she feels like the most devoted one in the room between you and him is him.

"you are insane-"

"master? shouldn't you be resting?" your voice interrupts osha's insult towards him. qimir grins as osha takes the bowl from his hand, not wanting to meet your gaze. you had a scolding look on your face as you placed your basket on the side, heading towards him. he feels his chest swell with giddiness when you near him.

"i am." his tone is light and osha observes the moment before her. how close you are with him, it surprises her. you roll your eyes as you check the bacta-patch on his arm.

"i thought i said i would take care of osha." you pout at him and he stares at your lips. osha suddenly feels uncomfortable, seeing how caring you are to this monster she views him as, and he's clearly looking at you with much more than a master should look at his pupil. not noticing osha's uncomfortable gaze, there's a moment of silence wherein you just examine his arm while he stands there, a million of explicit images in his mind formulating from your touch. he almost wants to pull you in his arms how adorable you look right now.

his honey-dark brown eyes burns on you, he's actually amused how you don't notice him with how obsessed he is with you. that if you just say the word that you want the whole galaxy burning, he would do so for you. you were at his mercy, he would do anything for you... anything.

osha watches in her horror how his eyes are different all of the sudden. it's as if he wants to eat you alive- and maker, she doesn't want to guess another meaning of that. she gulps, standing up, interrupting your examination on his arm as you looked at her. his jaw ticks in annoyance as he throws a glare at osha for disturbing your bonding moment with him.

"i'm going to head out." osha places her bowl down and you nod at her. she quickly exits the room, feeling too uncomfortable to witness what just happened, even though it was just innocent in a manner.

"you scared her." you look to qimir. he grins, pulling you close to him. his annoyance fades away, seeing that you two are alone now.

"can't a man appreciate a woman's healing touch?" he teases and you blush at that. your oblivious nature isn't fooling him this time, he knows deep-down you know what he's feeling for you. and he hopes it would be reciprocated. his lips tickle your ear of how close he is, you stay silent, waiting for what he'll do next. his lips graze the tip of your ear and you place your hand on his lean chest.

"master... stop-"

"you were excellent in defending me. i should reward you." he cuts you off. "anything... just say anything and it's yours, my acolyte."

"i-" you don't know what to say when he's kissing the side of your face. "i want you."

his eyes turn dark and a malicious grin spreads across his charming face. you stare up at him, feeling his arms wrap around you. oh, the things he'll do to you.

"good." he says as he immediately surges downwards to capture your sweet lips to his. he devours you as you hold on his broad shoulders. the tent in his pants rubbed against your stomach makes him groan. your soft sighs of "master" and his name makes him feel like an animal in heat, and he cannot wait to devour you fully... he is yours forever and you...

his sweet, devoted, loyal pupil are his until the end of time.

[ghost-proofbaby]

the cool down (e.m.)

request: from the lovely @mrsjellymunson: Please may I have a 🍋 (with 🍓 elements if there’s room) with Eddie Munson (friends-to-lovers, or established relationship, or your choice of other) in a super-hot, uncomfortable van on a really hot day (or day into evening), where he and reader have to come up with ever-more-daring/inventive ways to cool down/off, and maybe they end up next to, or in, Lover’s Lake?? I’m thinking cool cans of drink/beer, water sprays, fans, wet clothing…

a/n: okay this definitely took on a mind of its own and i just realized i did not have any water sprays or fans or wet clothing, but i did have eddie come up with a sort of unique way to cool us down <3 i hope you still enjoy this, kittie!! <3 <3 (also, if you squint, reader is alluded to having a chronic illness that causes extreme weather conditions to affect them. and i mean, you really have to squint. it's just very very vague since i got lost in the sauce of smut).

warnings: smut, oral f receiving, reader is afab, allusion to oral m receiving at the end, temperature play (ice). minors dni.

wc: 3.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

First, it had been to go driving around to get your minds off the heat. 

And it had worked. Eddie’s van was certainly not any cooler than the trailer had been, but something about riding around the town aimlessly with all the windows down did get your mind off the unbearable heatwave. Something about Eddie, singing along purposefully off-key to his favorite songs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh as you laughed at him, made it all a little less terrible. His genius plan had worked – for the first hour. 

Then, it had been to go to the gas station and get slushies. 

An even better plan than his original one, honestly. You’d gone from staring at his dash while the van stalled at a red light, desperately trying to focus on anything but that creeping sickness at the edges of your mind, when he’d brought it up. One moment, your stomach is dropping as you feel that familiar light-headedness. The next, your en-route for a cherry slushy, on your doting boyfriend’s dime. 

You win some, you lose some. 

The losing being the terrible affect the heat currently had on you now that you were laying out in the back of Eddie’s van now, parked at Lover’s Lake, the water doing nothing to cool the smothering breeze enveloping you two. 

“So, did you bring me all the way out here to kill me, or just stare at the lake all night?” you ask after taking another sip of the tart frozen treat currently cooling both your mouth and palms. It’s melting fast, the plastic cup holding it never standing a chance against your body heat mingling with the summer air. 

Eddie had insisted upon coming straight to the lake after the gas station. Urging you to walk back to the van faster as he’d held a cup in each hand; one blue raspberry slushy, and one mystery styrofoam cup he refused to admit just what it contained. 

As Eddie speaks, you can see his purple stained tongue, “Who says I’m gonna kill ya?” 

“All the movies,” you drawl, stretching your legs out in front of you, the soles of your sandals not even reaching the edge of the van. The thrown-open doors sway ever so slightly in the wind, “Why else would you bring me here, so far away from civilization?” 

“So no one could hear you.” 

You can’t help the laugh that immediately slips out. You nearly choke on your straw you’d lifted back up to your lips, side-eyeing him through a few wild coughs. 

“Excuse me?” 

He clearly hadn’t processed what he’d just said, because his eyes go wide as he attempts to backtrack, “Wait, wait, wait! No! I just- I didn’t mean-” he pauses and sighs, leaning his head back to wipe a frustrated palm over his face, “Oh my God, sweetheart, I’m not going to kill you. I didn’t mean it in a murderer way – I meant it in a horny way.” 

The horny comment nearly goes entirely over your head, “You’re not going to kill me? That’s something a murderer would say- wait, did you just say you meant it in a horny way?”

You both stare at each other for a short while, matching blown out pupils and chests rising in sync as you both suck in impossible bursts of parching oxygen only to blow them out in rapid successions. 

“I did,” he finally breathes out, timidly reaching behind him, revealing that styrofoam cup once more. 

Not even a drop of sweat on it yet. It’s holding up tremendously better than your slushies had. 

“What’s in the cup?”

You’re feeling bold, ignoring the pooling perspiration at the nape of your neck as you scoot yourself a bit closer, fighting a smile. 

“Well, I know the heat bothers you a lot…”

“Right.”

“And I was trying to think of ways to cool you down…”

“Of course.”

“But also just take your mind off of it, in general.”

“That all sounds great, Eddie,” you lean forward, slushy cup pressing into your kneecap as you reach forward for the mystery cup. Eddie is quick to fling his arm up, keeping it far out of your reach, “But what’s in that damn cup?”

Instead of answering right away, he grins slowly, wiggling his eyebrows comically until you roll your eyes at him. 

“Fine, keep your secr-”

“Lay back for me, baby.”

He purrs out the command, the sweet nickname a cherry on top. 

In a blink of an eye, your joking boyfriend has vanished, someone more confident and commanding in his place. A sight to see, really. There’s only a few times you’re awarded the sight: when Eddie is navigating you through crowded bars with a steady hand pressed to your lower back, when Eddie is hosting his weekly DnD nights that you’ve earned a lifetime invite to, when Eddie is on a stage and entirely within his element as his first sweetheart hangs from his shoulders.

And whenever he has you like this, already compliant and doe-eyed, a toying smile tugging at your lips as you follow through with his demands. 

It’s a welcome switch, a welcome presence. 

“Good girl,” he awards you softly, and you have to choke back a giggle. 

He was just a stuttering mess, defending himself like a clumsy fool. An adorable dork pulling at your heart strings. And now, he’s a vision of assuredness. Of determination. 

It’s hot. It’s great. It’s enough to get your mind off the dwindling summer heat that rises around the lake’s perimeter. 

“So,” he continues, popping the lid off the cup finally. There’s not a sign of liquid nearing the rim of the cup where you can see, and your face twists in a bit of confusion, “Here’s what’s going to happen – here I have a wonderfully not melted cup of ice,” he tilts it, and you can finally see the pebbled ice cubes. Suddenly, the entire situation has become significantly less funny, “And you’re clearly in need of a cool down. See where I’m going with this, sweetheart?” 

You do. But it’s more fun to play dumb. 

“I don’t think I do,” you sigh out, stretching so that your tank top rises and exposes your midriff, “Might need a demonstration.” 

It’s a vibrant green light for him – he’s quick to set the cup aside and focus all his efforts on undressing you. Hands that are still shaking – because it’s Eddie and his hands will always shake when it comes to you – and eager fingers tracing lines over your hips before he fiddles with the button of your jean shorts. Taking his time with each caress, murmuring words that strike flames within the pit of your stomach, a more welcome internal warmth than what the summer offers. 

He pauses once the shirt and shorts have been discarded, and you almost think for a moment, he might begin to pepper soft kisses across your exposed skin. 

He doesn’t. 

He grabs the styrofoam cup once more instead, keeping eye contact with you as he pulls an ice cube out. Before he formally places it between his lips, he pauses, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes as he instructs, “Think you can stay still for me, baby?” 

Funny how easy it is to turn to stone until someone requests it of you. 

The ice cube is slotted between his lips, pretty and pink as they wrap around the salvation that quickly starts to melt. A drip of water is already running down his chin by the time he’s leaning down over your body, not yet touching your spasming abdomen, just hovering as he watches the way your body fights against his instruction. 

No words are needed – even if he could speak with the ice in his mouth – as his eyes flick up to yours. Arson umber pupils that command you silently. 

Stay still, they whisper. And you try to – you really, really try to. 

The first drop of cold water hits your skin as it shakes from restraint, from stuttering breaths, from anticipation. He’s teasing you; he’s taking his time as he grows closer and closer to properly pressing the cube and his lips against you. You swear, for just a moment, this entire grand idea was doing the opposite of its purpose. Heat was radiating off of you in waves, with no plans of cooling down any time soon. 

And then his lips are on your skin. 

Sweet relief, chills racing down the spine, a sigh slipping past your lips as your back arches desperately. He’s pinpointed the exact center between your hips, just below your navel, with everything you’ve begun to crave. Lips losing their heat with every passing second and the tip of the cube trail around in a lazy circle as he keeps looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, corners of his mouth twitching with the temptation of a smile when your fingers tangle in the roots of his hair. You have half the mind to completely undo his already ruined bun – you have half the mind to guide him to exactly where you need him most. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out, voice barely a hiccup over the cicadas. It feels nice, it feels good. 

The stifle of the van’s air is all but forgotten as he just keeps trailing the ice along your skin, letting it slowly melt until there’s nothing left but the remnants of a chill on his tongue and lips. And he takes those frozen lips, quickly putting them to use as he lets them drag along a pathway to your left hip. No rush. You’ve both got all the time in the world as he presses a hard kiss to that hip, lips pursing and sucking a bit before he shifts to make his way to the right one instead. 

Teasing, taunting, relieving. 

By the time he’s made it to the other hip, the heat has begun to creep back up. 

“You look real pretty like this, you know?” he asks you, hand shooting out blindly to get another ice cube, “Just laying here for me, sighing all cutely and shit,” your fingers tighten in his hair, “Oh, do you like that, baby? Like me calling it how I see it?” 

It’s in his confident tone. The buzz shooting straight through your brain that drowns out the sounds of summer when he talks to you like this. Every syllable has you preening for more of his affection, his attention, his approval. 

You’re finally dizzy with want and need rather than summertime sickness. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” his breath is hot against you as he says it, waiting for just a moment before he lifts up and yanks his shirt off with boyish charm. When he settles back between your legs, he makes a point to lay the backs of your bare thighs against his naked shoulders, sweaty skin sticking to sweaty skin, “I would do anything for you. Fucking anything. Say the word, and it’s yours.” 

Right as he places another ice cube in his mouth, dropping cool fingertips that are wet with condensation to trail from the peak of your knee and down, you take him at his word.

You say the word. 

“Kiss me,” you beg.

“Where?”

Not a taunt. Just a clarification. The game is up, and you both know it.

“There.”

“We’re not teenagers,” he snorts, voice a bit garbled as he passes the ice from cheek to cheek, “Use your big girl words.” 

This time, your hand is his hair does remove the bun entirely, hairtie lost somewhere recklessly to be found later as thick curls wrap around your fist. “Jesus Christ, I want you to kiss me on my fucking pussy, Eddie. Is that what you want to hear? Quit teasing and-” 

“Your pussy?” he interrupts, eyes darkening ever so slightly, tsking slightly, “No, no. That won’t do. Because from what I can see, this pussy is mine, sweetheart. She’s purring for me right now, dripping like these damn ice cubes-”

“Then kiss me on your damn pussy.”

Another ice cube is slotted between his lips, one you hadn’t noticed him grabbing, and he does exactly as he’s told. 

The cold shocks you initially, nearly making your hips jump away from his touch entirely. But you can’t as his forearm comes over to rest across the hips he’d just worshiped, other hand tightly gripping onto the flesh of any thigh he can grab onto, pulling you tighter and closer to him. 

The same circles he had just trailed beneath your navel return in a new location, skimming your clit now. 

“Oh my God,” you whine, shoulder blades digging into the uncomfortable surface of the van’s floor below the makeshift padding of blankets, “Please, please.” 

He doesn’t tease you and ask you to spell out what you’re imploring of him this time. What small bit of the ice was left in his mouth slips out, slowly trailing down, down, down. Lighting a path of incessant mercy along its way as it skirts around your clit, ending up nearly slipping inside of you as it slows at your entrance. 

A cold, freezing trail of water left behind, and Eddie’s hot tongue is quick to follow it in reverse. 

He deliberately keeps it flat, avoiding filling you where you want it most. 

He’s still taking his time, moving slower than the cube has as he laps at your folds steadily. One long stride, and you’re squirming. The contrast between the heat of his mouth and the chill that the ice had left behind sends you whirling, stomach clenching as you let out more little gasps. 

It only eggs him on. 

He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue to finish his path, moving back only to take a sharp breath of his own before his lips wrap around it and suck. 

The steady rhythm of suction elicits countless moans from you, all trailing off into desperate whispers, both hands fully buried in Eddie’s curls as he has to fight harder to keep your hips pressed down. Praises of his name, pants of keep going. Your vision blurs in a way that doesn’t send panic through your bones, and you welcome the tunnel vision as he lets go of his grip around your thigh to press his fingertips against your entrance. 

He mumbles something, a reverberating hum that has you clenching around nothing, but he’s not willful enough to take his mouth off you long enough to properly enunciate. 

“What - ah - what was that?” you breathe out, hardly able to get the words out around your pants as you feel that pressure building between your hips, desperate for release. 

Willpower in overdrive, he pulls himself away from being buried against you, “I said, I want you to come for me, sweetheart.” 

To emphasize his point, he plunges in two fingers, curling them in a petting motion that spells out your demise. 

Your body reacts to the words before your brain can catch up. That pressure, the ever growing knot building, building, building – it snaps within a second of his lips finding your clit again. 

His fingers, knuckle deep in your cunt. His nose, buried in your bush. The cold, still lingering with a vengeance against the odds. 

The sensory overload does you in. You feel weightless, unaware of just how hard you’re tugging on his curls or the slight rhythm he’s built with his own hips against the blankets below. The high rushes over you, drowning out everything in its path and wrapping you up just as the summer warmth had previously. And he’s relentless, carrying you through every wave, never once faltering. 

You understand what he’d said earlier – you’re glad no one can hear you at this moment as you throw away any false God and only say prayers in Eddie’s name. 

White vision fades to black, and your entire body goes slack as your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. The sweat covering your body almost offers some relief as a breeze wiggles its way through the van’s back doors.

He crawls back up your body slowly, coming home to the space you allot him as you further spread your trembling thighs and he peppers the lightest of sincere kisses up your ribcage. Warm lips you feel drawing roadways until he’s finally lining them up your neck, your cheeks, your own hot lips. 

“Still with me?” 

You only hum in response, hand feeling blindly to lightly caress his bare back. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, breath fanning out against your temple as he places a last few kisses, just because. 

When you finally force your heavy lids back open, you’re welcomed to the sight of whiskey eyes and a soft nose, shining for a reason only the two of you know. You swear, you can’t decipher if the pink smattering across his cheeks and bridge of his nose is from the heat, or from a  proper blush at the sight of you. 

It makes your insides melt more than any hot summer day. 

“It worked,” is all you laugh out, pads of your fingers still pressing softly into the smooth skin of his shoulder blades, a weak attempt to bring him closer. 

“It worked?” 

“You took my mind off the heat.” 

His lashes might be fluttering even more than your own, hips lowering against yours, heavy and bated as you come back down to Earth. You swear he’s never been prettier than he is right now, with you all over his mouth and bangs sticking to his forehead from the sweat. 

You almost card your fingers through them, expose the spanse of skin beneath just to offer the softest of kisses in return to him. Almost. 

“Good,” he grins with a boyish mirth, looking overly accomplished, “Did you ever even doubt me?” 

“Maybe.”

Your teasing tone has him poking out a tongue that’s a few shades lighter of purple than before, him finally rolling his body off of the top of yours. 

“I’ll give you a minute,” he jokes, throwing his head back as your eyes follow. You can see a bead of sweat making its way down his cheekbone, slipping away into his hairline, “And then I’ll fuck that doubt away.” 

Your stomach flutters as your eyes wander, taking in his exposed neck, following the creases in his skin down his chest. The way his stomach shakes a little with each breath, and the way you zero in on each quiver of that dark line of hair starting at his navel and disappearing into the band of his pants. 

The very obvious, very strained bulge within his pants. 

Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. 

You sit up a bit faster than is smart, and you ignore the stars in your vision as you quickly situate yourself to perch by his hip. He starts to lift himself back up, hands already flying out to keep you steady, but you only swat them away as you lean over him to grab an ice cube out of the styrofoam cup. 

“I think I’ll need more than a minute,” you lie, pressing him back down fully, movements full of determination as he watches you with hooded eyes, “How about for now, I give you a taste of your own medicine, pretty boy?” 

The ice is slotted between your own lips, and the whine Eddie lets out is answer enough.

[moonswolfie]

Kenma, suna, and tsukishima with a gf that loves to baby them? Like she loves dressing them up, dotes on them, and acts liek their parent sometimes? Thanx!

HELLO THERE EVERYONE

i return with a request and a new theme 😏 thank u so much for requesting🩵 i know i just changed my theme but i'm already making pinterest boards for new themes ITS JUST SO FUN!

in case you couldn't tell the reader is fem!

ALSO SUMMER HOLIDAYS!?!??! Its nice to finally be free...

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Tsukishima Kei

"I'm worried about you, you know." you placed your head in your hands, leaning your elbows on the table. "Really, it should be the other way around. You don't know this even though it should be basic knowledge." Tsukishima sighed, ready to go over the biology lesson with you for the hundreth time already.

"Do you get enough sleep? Your eyebags are looking a little big lately. Do you eat enough? You look stressed. You always tell me you're fine, but-"

"I'm fine." Tsukishima brushed you off, looking back at the notebook.

"What are you pouting like a toddler for?" when he looked back up at you, he was seriously baffled by the similarity of your face to a little kid who got refused to eat candy. Though, maybe, just maybe, he finds it kind of cute. Maybe.

"We're done studying." you got up from the dining table, placing your hands on your hips. "You do realise I'm only doing this because you asked, right? And you're the one still struggling with this subject, last time I checked." he furrowed his brows slightly.

"I won't be able to study in peace until I see you sleeping peacefully in bed after a good meal. We can start with the sleep and I'll cook something later!" you were determined to take care of him now. Sometimes your boyfriend's aloof attitude towards his well being and towards everything in general makes you worry. Whenever he replies with a simple "I'm fine" you must dote on him for a bit. That's the rule.

It looked like he was weighing his choices for a brief moment before sighing and saying "Fine, just don't come crying when you fail this test tommorow."

"Yaaaay, I'll be up in your room, ready to tuck you in!" you pecked his lips, spun around on your heels and ran upstairs to his room.

Tsukishima sighed, closing his notebook. When he looked to the doorway, his mom was standing there and smiling at him. He immediately tensed up, worrying about just how much of your conversation she heard.

"You know, your girlfriend would make a good mom. I'm just saying." Tsukishima's mom smiled at her son cheekily. He hid his face, not moving for a good thirty seconds before practically sprinting to his room.

He never did tell you why he looked so red upon arriving in his room.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Suna Rintaro

"Is all of this really neccessary?" Suna raised one of his perfect brows when you placed another shirt in his arms. You took him out for a shopping trip today. Your shopping trips always end with him walking out the mall with a whole new closet instead of the other way around.

He always insists that he doesn't need new clothes or much of anything, but you always end up convincing him into a mall trip. You spoil him rotten, to be honest. Not that he minds.

"Yeah, how else am I going to keep you well-dressed?" you urged him to the dressing room just so you can clap excitedly at every outfit he puts on and models for you. He already looks like one, so why not take advantage of that, right?

"Okay, whatever you say, babe." Suna rolled his eyes playfully and walked into the changing room. You were squealing excitedly at each outfit he appeared in from behind the curtain like a crazy fangirl.

He didn't seem too enthusiastic about some of the outfits which made you sad but for the most part, you had loads of fun. He was taking a while with the last outfit, though. And you were probably overreacting, but you got worried.

You just can't help but worry for your boyfriend sometimes, even if it is unwarranted. It's kind of your thing. One time he accidentally cut his finger and you spent every moment together with him pressing get better kisses on it. You made sure he changed the bandaid every day, too. You were comically worried about him being able to attend volleyball practice. And that's just one of the examples.

So you pulled back the curtain.

"A little privacy, please?" Your boyfriend was standing in the changing room in all of his shirtless glory. You never really thought about it until now, but Suna is fit. You suppose it makes sense, considering he plays volleyball, but still. He was smiling at you cheekily, probably amused by how dumbfounded you look right now.

"I... um, it's... I was just worried about you! And put your shirt back on, you'll catch a cold!" You don't think you've ever closed a curtain as fast before.

You could hear Suna laugh to himself behind the curtain. "Sure, sure, mom. But I think you were just trying to be a little sneaky."

Well, you still ended up spoiling your boyfriend with new clothes that day, but you ended up with an accidental gift of your own, too. Maybe being a worrywart isn't that bad sometimes.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kozume Kenma

"Um, I can eat on my own..." Kenma gently pushed away your hand, which was holding food to his mouth.

"Oh, we both know you wouldn't eat at all if I didn't hand feed you. You seriously need to lay off the videogames sometimes." You playfully rolled your eyes, putting the piece of food back to his mouth. He sighed with exasperation and begrudgingly ate the piece of food.

"And besides, you know how much I love spoiling you. I can't resist when you're just... too cute." you pulled on his cheek like an overly excited grandma.

The thing about Kenma is, he hates that he likes being babied by you. When his mom used to do it, he found it overbearing and annoying, but when you hand feed him, it kind of feels comforting. Then again though, he can't focus on the videogame because of that. So that's why he hates it.

"I could go without the... ugh." Kenma was just about to beat the level, but you placing another piece of food in front of his face distracted him for just a moment, which made him get a game over.

"Oh..." you stared at the game over screen, suddenly feeling bad for being a distraction. You just can't help but want to baby him whenever you're with him. He doesn't exactly make it hard for you with the way he blushes and gets all embarrased every single time.

"Well then, I was just thinking you played enough videogames today. I propose we do something else." you pulled on Kenma's arm and he protested by giving you one of his iconic scowls.

"You'll get wrinkles if you frown too much." you reminded him with a gentle smile. He mumbled something you couldn't quite catch under his breath and reached for the controller.

"Oh no. No you don't." you tackled Kenma before he could do anything else. You know, if he wasn't so damn flustered right now, he would have been seriously mad. But when you smile at him like that, it's like his anger decides to get up and leave.

"Would you... umm, mind getting off me?" he was worried that he might overheat like his dad's poor laptop which he forced to run videogames far beyond its capabilities. Now he feels bad for that old thing.

"Only if you promise that we go for a little walk outside." he grumbled at first but ended up agreeing after you gave him a little kiss on the cheek as encouragement.

[boyfhee]

യ CRUSHED : PARK JONGSEONG TEASER

SYNOPSIS : fifteen years, a lost love, untold feelings, a breaking heart— crushed. they say if you wish desperately enough for something, the whole universe gets together to give it to you. perhaps, it's the reason why you find yourself back in your highschool, fifteen years ago, with a fluttering love, some lingering feelings, a doting heart, and your first heart break— park jongseong.

or wherein, life gives you another chance with your first love.

GENRE : fantasy, angst, romance, time travel

WC : teaser is 0.7k, est 10k+ for fic

WARNINGS : angst but with a happy ending guys trust me, a lot of mentions of crying, alcoholic drinks, more will be added in the main fic post

NOTES : i knew my jay era would give birth to a jay long fic i say we cheer :› NO BC THIS MAN IS SO FINE just like this fic i'm planning saur. please read. i hope u enjoy the teaser, send an ask / drop a comment to join the taglist

it’s the invitation you’ve been looking at for ten minutes now, standing outside the venue. papers coloured rose, golden letters engraved, names and air spilling with love. it’s the mood of the day, the flow of a typical august wednesday that carries you inside the venue, to the celebration hall. the air inside smells of fresh roses, it’s expected when you see a huge bunch used as decoration in every corner and on table tops. and then you look at the invitation again.

joo miran weds park jongseong.

your best friend weds your other best friend, your first best friend. your first crush. your first love.

the subtle silence in the air was deafening until you see jay sneaking into miran’s suit, or so you assume, although it’s true. from sneaking into her classes to sneaking into her room at night to take her out for a midnight date, sneaking across hallways to catch a glance— just one look, even a fraction of a second is enough— to now, sneaking around the wedding hall to savour that ‘just one look’ at the bride, his bride, as if a lifetime isn’t waiting for them. 

“i thought grooms and brides weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding,” it’s your voice that stops jay from kissing her cheeks, although you know he would’ve still done it if he wanted to.

“ah well—” he rubs the back of his neck, it’s a habit that gives away his nervousness. habits are hard to change, let alone letting go of one. “do you really expect me to hold back when she looks like this?” and he looks at her as if she put the stars in the sky, or as if she’s a star herself, graced upon earth for him, and only for him. knowing jay, he would say it. 

“you look good too,” you look perfect, you wanted to say. however, you don’t. you don’t know why, it’s normal for friends to compliment each other. you don’t know how many times you’ve called him handsome, you don’t know the last time you called him that. “congrats, by the way,” 

and loving jay is a habit. 

“thanks,” she smiles, looking at you. “wouldn’t have been possible if not for you,”

it’s something you can’t get out of yourself. no amount of blind dates can do it for you, no amount of heartbreaks can colour him bad. 

“no really,” his voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously smile a bit more. “thanks for setting me up with miran,” 

no amount of time can push you forward to move on from him. fifteen years, a lost love, untold feelings, a breaking heart— crushed. the world moved on, you did too, yet your heart is still there— gyeonggi suwon international school, fourth floor, the first class from the stairs. fourth desk, the one right next to the window, a view expanded across the school ground, a way for you to watch jay’s football matches between lessons. 

his heart is with someone else while yours is where you realised your feelings for him, left behind— crushed. 

and it’s a shame to live like this, as if there’s no point to life. to hold back tears at your best friends’ wedding, to force a smile when they kiss, to stare from a distance when she threw the bouquet, to cry in the washroom after all is done. head buried in your hands, muffled sobs as you hear a few women talk outside your stall. you don’t pay attention to them, you couldn’t. you had realised you couldn’t pay attention to anything that wasn’t him or about him. so you just sit there, head buried in hands, eyes closed, not paying attention to anything.

yn.

you hear your name. 

once.

yn?

twice.

“yn,” thrice. “are you okay?” and you turn around, it’s the same scenario— gyeonggi suwon international school, the fourth desk by the window, the sunlight falling upon. your eyes meet his, and then his smile. your best friend, your first best friend.

your first heartbreak.

“wanna get ice cream on our way back home?” you nod instinctively, habitually. it’s how things went fifteen years ago when you had realised your feelings for him. it feels the same, fluttering love, lingering feelings, a doting heart, and park jongseong.

crushed. 

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

A Jester's Token

HEY SO. I wrote a thing. Based on @oblivionsdream's Knight/Jester OCs, who are SUPER AMAZING, which you can find here.

Thank you for your wonderful art!! And also accidentally inspiring a jester obsession in me 🤡

No warnings, contains a little suggestiveness, 3.4k words 💖

*

The grounds were alive with activity. The King doted upon his sons, and now with his second eldest’s twentieth birthday only a scant few days away, the celebrations were in full swing.

The prince, as was his wont, had demanded a tournament to celebrate the day of his birth. The King, as always, had been unable to refuse. And the Knight was looking forward to a week of respite; of celebration and jousting and fun instead of training and war council meetings.

Typically, he tried to remain impassive and stoic with his fellow knights. It was what was expected of him as the King’s champion, after all, and besides: it added an edge to his demeanour that meant orders were obeyed. The other knights weren’t to know that beneath his shining, shuttered helm he was wondering if the stable cat had birthed her kittens yet.

Still he kept his head high as he strode across the grounds, heading towards the armoury where he had left his sword that morning to be honed and polished. Several other knights turned to glance at him as he passed: one, he noticed, standing immediately to attention as he did.

The deference was useful, he supposed, but he hoped it did not extend to the tournament itself. It would be a dull affair if everybody he encountered was afraid of the King’s champion knight.

As he approached the armoury, a familiar noise perked up his ears. He found his steps faltering, his sure stride suddenly broken.

Not everybody was afraid of him.

He turned just in time to see the grinning face of the Jester as he sauntered over, his motley - brand new for the tournament in festive greens and reds - lit up in the dazzling summer sunshine. His hair haloed from his head, sticking in yellow waves from beneath his cap’n’bells. His eyes - startlingly bright, one dark, one nearly gold - shone with excitement. 

“Good morning, Sir!” he said cheerily, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Lovelier for you, the Knight didn’t say.

“It is indeed,” he said. “Perfect for a tournament.”

“Perfect for a party,” the Jester countered. “I called into the ale tent on the way here, have you seen how stocked it is? Forget the tournament, I fear our Lord means to drown us. Can you swim in that?” he pinged a fingernail against the Knight’s plate.

The Knight rolled his eyes, forgoing a response.

“Although,” the Jester continued merrily, “I must admit, these events always make me laugh.”

“Oh?”

“Come,” the Jester said, “Oh ho - here I am, the picture of virile manhood! Beware my powerful—” he gave a short, sharp thrust. “Lance.”

The Knight bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. “You have a filthy mind.”

“You should hear me talk about maypoles.”

“I would really rather not.”

“I can do some wonderful things with ribbons, you know.”

“Anything useful in a tournament?” 

“Depends what you need,” the Jester said, catching him with a sidelong glance. “I’m very good with knots.”

The Knight swallowed, saying nothing.

“Well!” The Jester said, clearly unphased. “I am afraid I am wanted by— well, by everyone. Which makes it such a shame that I’d rather spend my morning following you around. Nevermind.” His smile twitched a little, before settling back into a grin. “Good luck, my Knight!”

And with that, he was off. The Knight watched him leave, swaying through the crowds with his typically fluid movement. While the Knight would be entering competitions, the Jester would be entertaining in a much different way: joking and turning somersaults and charming the King and his guests. He even had a role in the joust alongside the announcer, riling up the crowds and mocking the competitors.

With luck, the Knight would be able to watch him perform. He enjoyed watching the Jester show off, and he loved his jokes, not that he would ever allow the Jester himself to realise that. The first time they had met he’d been forced to remove himself lest he make an utter fool of himself, and since then the Jester had taken him as a challenge, when he wasn’t making a game of flirting with him.

With a sigh, and a final glance at the Jester’s departing figure, he walked on towards the armoury. He noticed Sir Rowan lingering just outside, standing beside Lady Felicity - one of the Queen’s Ladies in Waiting. Without thinking, he called out a greeting to his fellow knight.

As he approached, he realised far too late that what he thought was simply a polite conversation between knight and lady was something far more intimate. Sir Rowan’s head was tilted just so, Lady Felicity leaning in a little too close. Their hands, he realised, were linked.

Shit. But it was too late now; he had already hailed Sir Rowan and he couldn’t very well turn heel and run. Lady Felicity quickly snatched her hands away, her face mottling in a sweet, pink blush before giving him a slightly lopsided curtsey, bidding them both farewell and quickly rushing off. 

As The Knight drew closer, he noticed a scrap of fabric clasped in Rowan’s hand. He pretended not to have seen it as Rowan quickly tucked it into his breastplate.

A favour, then. He hadn’t realised that Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity were courting; although most of their time spent together would have been at banquets and feasts, where the Knight’s attention was more often than not focused on their entertainment and very little else. It was terribly improper to ask Sir Rowan for more information. Even as his friend, he would not push for information too intimate to share; certainly not while Rowan and Lady Felicity were still in the first, tentative steps of the most delicate of dances. 

He engaged Rowan in brief conversation, deeply aware of the moment he had managed to ruin. He wished him good luck - making him blush - then headed inside the armoury where he collected his sword.

He couldn't help but peer back as he left. Rowan, now alone, had taken the favour from his breastplate and was tugging it through his fingers. It appeared to be cream-coloured silk: a handkerchief or scarf, perhaps. Rowan's face had gone red.

Something tugged in the Knight's chest. It was a sweet, deeply romantic gesture. It would leave Rowan with no doubt at all about Lady Felicity’s intentions towards him. And, of course, it was furiously lucky: any man blessed with such a token would be sure to do well, especially from one they loved.

The tugging grew more urgent, joined by a leaden feeling in the Knights stomach. He would have no such token. Oh, he was sure that many members of the court would accept him should he attempt to woo them - courtly favours included - but it wasn't any of them he really wanted.

“I would rather spend my day following you around.”

The Knight’s face heated beneath the metal. His heart swelled. Whatever the Jester’s intentions towards him, his feelings were not the sort that spurred a man to give a love token. His were the feelings that spurred a quick fumble behind the stables - perhaps several quick fumbles, judging by the lewdness of the Jester’s tongue. It was no more than that.

Or, more likely, it was even less than that. The Knight was aware of the reputation he had carefully curated at court, and he knew that the Jester had taken him as a challenge. He was just another joke. The Jester had never even seen his face, hadn't seen the scars, didn't know the stories behind them.

He was just teasing.

The Knight tried to shake the thought from his head, fluttering the great plume that burst from the crown of his helm. Chasing such thoughts - be they of fumbles or fools - would get him unseated in the joust and begging for mercy in the duel.

He turned towards the stables, trudging down the muddy path. The earth had been turned by the sheer volume of guests and carts and horses, and was now a sucking, muddy mess. 

There was an oddly metallic clink beneath his boot. He paused. He lifted his foot. In the centre of a perfect footprint was a mud-splattered, but unmistakably golden, bell.

There was only one person who wore bells like that.

The Knight picked it up without thinking, desperately wishing he had something to clean it with. He rubbed off as much muck as he could with a fingertip, watching as it glinted in the light. As he turned it in his hand - terribly small against his huge palm - it jingled merrily.

He swallowed and closed his fingers around it, squeezing it tight.

The stables would wait. As a high-ranking man, he had been given a private tent on the edge of the grounds - somewhere he could clean and rest without traipsing through the castle to his chambers. He headed there, pulling the flaps tight shut behind him before unfurling his hand.

The bell had left a neat little indent in his palm. A curving, teasing smile embedded into his skin.

He placed it reverently on the wooden table at the far side of the tent before shooting a final, nervous glance towards the entry. And then he removed his helm.

The air felt cool and good against his burning cheeks. He shook out his hair, tied into a low queue to keep it out of his face, and stared down at the bell. It felt as if it were the only object in the room; perhaps the world.

Mindlessly, he took the cloth he used to tend his sword from the chest beside the table and gently began to clean the little golden thing. Mud had even managed to get inside the bell, and he carefully cleaned away as much as he could until it was shining and jingling once more.

He rolled it in his palm. It felt hot, like a tiny lump of coal, like a nugget of forge-warmed iron.

The Knight thought of Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity.

He would need luck, after all. Skill he had in abundance, but luck? Luck was harder to judge; a tip of the scales that, at present, could fall either way.

Of course, traditionally, a token needed to be a gift. But many Knights - both in tournaments and in battle - found luck where they could snatch it. A sword that had never slipped from their grasp, a tunic worn during a lucky win, a shield taken to war that deflected a killing blow. Perhaps a bell - so small and yet so weighty - could be like those. It was luck, after all, that helped him find it when so many people had stepped over it.

He turned back to the chest and searched through it until he found what he was looking for; the spare ties he kept on hand in case his snapped during the tournament. He typically used them to fasten his gauntlets, and while it was thin the leather was tough and sturdy: perfect for what he needed. Carefully, he threaded the bell onto the strap, ensured it wouldn’t slip off and then twisted the strap around the hilt of his sword, securing it tight.

The Knight gave the sword an experimental shake. The bell jingled against the hilt. He didn’t bother to suppress his smile: it wasn’t as if anyone could see him. The noise set a thrill through him. He would be the first to admit that he was not a musical man, but the ringing of the little bell felt like an angelic chorus just for him.

Besides, he thought, as he sheathed the sword once more: if it didn’t bring him luck, the noise may distract an opponent long enough for him to land a good hit.

He took a few moments to gather himself, taking a long drink of water from the jug atop the table, wiping down his face, and re-tying his hair before donning his helm once more. He pulled on his gloves, too, and now with his hand now gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, he exited the tent.

Outside, the noise was growing more urgent as more people gathered to watch the show. Now buoyed by the token hanging from his sword, he strode with pride towards the centre of the grounds where he intended to take part in the first single-combat duel of the day. It was likely still a little early, but no doubt he wouldn’t be the only one keen to begin and could at least find someone to spar against to pass the time.

He was dodging around a lad from the kennels and a pack of exuberant dogs when he heard a shout from behind.

��Knight! My Knight!”

He hastily shoved his sword behind his back as he turned, watching the Jester bounce across the field towards him. 

“I need your skills,” he said, as he slid smoothly to a halt beside him.

“Oh?” The Knight was glad for his helmet, now: the jester couldn’t see him blush.

“Have you seen a bell?” The Jester tugged at the frontmost horn of his cap, which was indeed bell-less. “I’m missing one.”

The Knight gripped his sword harder. He could feel the distinct shape of the bell through his gloves, praying it would not ring and give him away.

“No,” he said, his face so hot he was amazed his helm did not begin to steam, “I cannot say I have.”

“Oh.” The Jester gave him a crestfallen look that was so heartbreakingly sincere that for a moment, the Knight nearly relented. “I suppose it will turn up… or the King will fund me for another, I am sure.”

His eyes darted down, as if taking the Knight in for the first time. His expression turned dark. The Knight found himself standing a little straighter.

“And where are you off to, my chivalrous wonder? That’s—” he peered around the Knight’s back, “—an extremely long sword you have there.”

The Knight rolled his eyes, not that the Jester could see the gesture.

“You have realised,” he said, keeping his tone even, “where we are, yes?”

The Jester gave a dramatic twirl as if assessing his surroundings. “We are standing in the mud,” he grinned.

“Typically,” the Knight said, ignoring him, “A Knight takes part in a tournament. I intend to test my luck in the duel.”

“Luck?” The Jester said, “Not skill? Although—” he gave him another of those long looks, “—I suspect you have plenty of skill in swordplay.”

He gave the Knight a tight, cattish smile, his tongue wetting his lips as he waited for the Knight to respond. The Knight, once he had finally regained control of his lips, could only manage a single word.

“Quite.”

“Well,” the Jester grinned cockily. “I would surely love to see you in action. Lead on, good Sir Knight.”

The Jester looped his hand around his arm, gripping him tight. The Knight was utterly unable to resist, lost in a sudden moment of deep regret that he was so armoured, unable to feel that touch against his skin. 

Arm in arm they headed across the grounds towards the ring. The Jester joked and chatted and flirted as they walked, commenting again on that marvellously large blade, but the Knight could barely hear him over the rush of his own spinning thoughts.

He kept his free hand gripped on the sword, over the bell. The Jester couldn’t know.

The Jester finally released him as they reached the ring. Even though the touch had been to the plate steel of his armour and not the skin beneath, the Knight still missed having him hanging from his arm.

“You better win,” he said, stepping back. “There are a dozen other things I could be doing right now, and I refuse to tie my lot to a man who cannot even win a duel for me.”

The Knight’s heart stuttered in his chest. For me. The Jester was watching him, expectantly. And then his eyes widened, as if remembering something.

“Of course!” He said, face splitting into a grin. “You need a token. As you said, to give you luck enough to win. Ah— here…” he reached up, and before the Knight could stop him pulled another bell from his hat. “What’s another bell?” he said with a shrug. “I was lopsided anyway. Here…”

He produced a silk ribbon as if from nowhere, quickly looped it through the bell, and tied it with swift, dexterous fingers to the Knight’s belt.

“There,” he said. “I told you I was good with knots. Now you’ll win.”

The Jester stretched up on the tip of his bell-topped toes, placed a hand to the Kight’s shoulder for balance, and flicked his helmet’s plume with a single, long finger.

“Good luck.”

And with no warning at all, he placed a kiss to the warm metal of the Knight’s helm. Beneath, the Knight felt as if he could no longer breathe, his heart launching a battle of its own.

“I…” he said, gathering himself. “Thank you.”

The Jester gave him another grin, trailing a finger across the spot where his lips had been moments before.

“You’re welcome.”

***

The Jester leaned casually against a stack of crates, watching the Knight perform with genuine interest. The interest, of course, had very little to do with the fight itself - he wanted him to win, sure, but the minutiae of the fight were nothing compared to the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, or the exceptional noises he made when he struck a particularly good hit.

He fiddled mindlessly with one of the horns of his cap as he watched the Knight take another decisive swing. A hint of gold glinted through the air as he did, catching the light like a comet.

The Jester grinned to himself. No wonder his Knight was being so stiff as they walked towards the ring. What a sneaky little secret; not the sort he had come to expect from him. It was amusing, and quite sweet, too. Anyone would be lucky to have the Knight be their champion, to have him take their token. But the one he had chosen - the one he had taken for himself - was little more than a minstrel’s bell.

He was glad he had stumbled upon the thought to give him a token himself. Now the Knight would know that he would have given him one, had he asked, and even better: now he had twice the luck.

The Knight swung around again, the bell jingling, harmonising with the one the Jester himself had tied to his hip.

Thrice the luck, the Jester thought, if you counted the kiss.

The Knight ducked, dodged and lunged. The Jester watched, lips quirked into a smile.

When the Knight won - a feat which did not surprise the Jester at all - he straightened up, set his shoulders, and looked towards him.

And then his helm snapped down, taking in the hilt of his sword and the bell hanging from it. The Jester was almost surprised that he couldn’t see the Knight blush through his helmet.

The Jester too glanced downwards to the hilt of the sword. He let his gaze linger there. Then he dragged his eyes up, up the Knight’s body, over his chest, to the place where he desperately wished he could properly see his eyes.

He heaved himself away from the crates and waved. The Knight sagged, only a little. A small moment of recognition and relief. A spark of understanding, shared between them.

But the Jester could not stand there all day, no matter how much he wanted to. He shot the Knight another grin - his best grin, saved just for him - blew him a kiss, and swayed away towards the ale tent.

[roseodelle]

Arcane  Pt4 - Eris Vanserra x Unnamed OC

Eris’s best kept secret is infiltrated.

No use of y/n

WC: 1634

Warnings: Angst

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (end)

It had been an hour. No words had been spoken. No questions. Rhysand had only left the room briefly to pull a chair for himself in. Azriel still stands stoic and emotionless in the corner, shadows swirling. Feyre and Madja still tended to the broken body before him. Eris hadn’t shifted in his seat, nor had he taken his eyes away from his mate. His tears and panic had subsided, and a meager attempt at his usual mask of indifference had been implemented. There was no use, he knew. The inner circle had already seen him as he was. The charade was over. His father knew of his indiscretions. The Night Court knew of his soul.

Footsteps on the other side of the door have Eris on edge, quickly rising from the chair. Hand on hilt, he takes a step to shield his mate and the two women tending her. Rhysand takes one step toward Eris, hands raised as if to say, “It’s okay.” Azriel remains unmoved and unconcerned when the door cracks open and the familiar figure of his youngest brother enters. Long red hair frames a scarred face. Mixed eyes, russet and mechanical gold, meet Eris’s amber. And with a sad smile, Lucien takes a singular glance toward the body on the table behind him and rests against the unoccupied wall across from the spymaster.

“You’ve made quite the mess of things, brother. You should know better.” Eris’s grip on his sword falls as he examines his brother. Unharmed, though shadows have made a home underneath his eyes. Shaking his head, he takes his seat again, eyes finding their home on his mate and the healer. Feyre, who had yet to say a word or glance in his direction, now stood next to Rhysand. Taking a break, he surmises. Madja is still at work, gentle magic fleeing her fingertips and bringing color back to his mate’s skin. The burns have subsided exponentially. 

“How many of my brothers remain breathing?” Lucien asks.

“Bastian lives.” From his peripheral, he sees Lucien give a small smile. Bastian, who was less Vanserra than any of them. Mild-mannered and even-tempered, he was rarely involved in the malignancy of the court. Hopefully, Eris would not need to kill him upon his return to Autumn. It was a problem for later, he thinks. His mind is stretched too thin to strategize. Not while his mate still lay unconscious. A few moments of silence pass between them before Lucien prods at his oldest brother further.

“You should have known better, Eris. After Jesminda-” 

“Do not speak of which you do not know, brother.” Eris cuts off, temper rising. Lucien’s jaw clenches, hands wringing together in an effort to hold his tongue. An uncomfortable quiet falls over the room once more as Lucien examines his brother’s mate. With a tilt of his head, he looks back to Eris.

“I recognize her.” A solemn smile rests on Eris’s lips in response.

“She adored you.” When Lucien had been but a babe, not yet old enough to hold a bow on his own, Eris would take him to the border to play in the forests. She’d be there with a wild smile, ready to chase him through the trees and toss him in the air. For every four days over a few short years, she’d doted on the young male as if he were her own. She’d been heartbroken when Eris deemed Lucien old enough to pose a threat to her. They’d fought over his descision, but Beron’s influence had begun to take hold of the boy. Eris would not risk it.

“You said she left the court. Emigrated to Summer.” 

“You started asking questions.” Eris explains.

“I wouldn’t have told them.” Shaking his head, Lucien leans forward with his hands on his knees. “I would not have put her in danger.” 

“I could not trust you, Lucien. You were so young. You would have led them to her. I would not allow it.” Lucien takes a deep breath, carefully picking his next words before he responds.

“I know now what you did for me and what you tried to do for Jesminda. And I thank you for it.” Eris nods his head in acknowledgment, hiding his surprise at his brothers thanks. A few more beats of silence follow before Lucien breaks the reprieve once more.

“She’d run with me, wouldn’t she? Chase me through the forest until I was too tired to walk on my own. That was so long ago, Eris. I was a boy.” He shakes his head once more before continuing, “For how long did you hide her?” 

“Two hundred years.” Lucien does not respond, and the quiet that follows lasts for another hour. At some point, Azriel and Lucien left the room. Feyre had done her part, it seems, and had taken to her own chair next to Rhysand, who still rests silently. It’s Madja who finally breaks the silence, addressing Eris as she begins to pack away her tonics, potions, and bloody supplies.

“Her internal injuries have mostly healed. The burns have faded but will remain permanent. She will likely rest through the night, and she’ll wake in pain, but she will recover.” A breath of relief escapes Eris as he stands, stepping to the healer to grasp her hands in his.

“Thank you, Madja.” She responds in kind, patting his hand with hers as she nods in reply. 

“Clean her,” she says as she moves to the door, “and be with her when she wakes.” Nodding his head, Eris takes Madja’s place at the table. It’s the closest he’s been to her in hours, and his breath shudders in his chest at the sight of her. Her skin is ashen, mottled with puckered red burn scars. Madja and Feyre had healed the deepest cuts on her arms and chest, leaving just the smallest marks and bruises that would heal with time. They’d wiped away most of the blood, but some remained on her skin and torn dress. He crouches to his knees beside her, a shaking hand rising to brush a wisp of hair away from her face. He pets her hair gently before he finds her cheek; her skin is warmer than before but still so cold. He allows his heat to escape him, warming her ashen skin slowly. 

“My love,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” His voice is choked, and his audience is forgotten as he examines her. He aches to see her eyes and hear her voice. He takes her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss before he returns to gently running his hands over her skin. She’s still so cold. She hates the cold, he thinks. He startles when his concentration is broken, Feyre stepping into his line of vision, but does not stop his soft movements against his mate’s skin. 

“We have prepared a room for her here as she recovers. You may stay with her, Eris, until she is well.”

“Thank you. All of you.” Feyre nods in response, motioning her head toward the door.

“Follow me.” 

Feyre assisted him with the task of bathing his mate. Once she’d been settled in the grand guest room, the two were finally left alone. He’d bathed quickly in the connecting chambers, accepting the clothes offered to him by Feyre before returning to her side. He took his spot next to her on the plush bed, sliding under the covers and ensuring her warmth. Hours were spent watching the rise and fall of her chest. Watching as color returned to her ashen skin. His hands never strayed from her body. Gently caressing her hair, her face, and her arms. 

As the hours continue to pass, he finds himself growing tired. His mind begins to race, worrying about what’s to come. He will soon be facing his father once more. His remaining brother. His mother—gods, his mother. What will she think? What will she have to say? Has Beron taken his anger at Eris out on her once again? His most worrisome thought, though, is how he will keep his mate safe once she heals. The Night Court has offered him more than he could have hoped for, but their mercy will run out. Eris has spent hundreds of years ensuring that. Their grace today relied upon their belief that his mate should not have to pay for his actions. 

His fingers pace gentle patterns upon her hand, his eyes examining the new burn scars with intensity. He pulls her hand to his lips once more, another chaste kiss upon her skin, another whispered apology escaping him. Another tear rolls down his face.

“I’m so sorry, my love. Forgive me.” He closes his eyes, resting his head above hers.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” His heart stops beating, and his lungs falter at the sound of her voice. So hoarse, so broken, and so beautiful. He lifts his head, immediately taking her face in his hands. Her eyes are heavy lidded, but his tears renew as they meet his. Her hand raises to grasp at his hand on her cheek.

“Do not cry for me, my love.” He laughs, a bright smile overtaking him. A sob escapes him as he leans forward, a chaste kiss against her brow. His shoulders shake as he kisses her cheek. His chest heaves when he kisses her paradisiac lips. 

“Are you okay? What do you need?” He pulls away, ready to serve her. “Water? Are you in pain?” She instead shushes him, a weak hand grasping his to pull him back to her.

“Water,” she croaks, “and your brothers heads on a golden platter.” His sobs turn to laughter, and after pressing another kiss on her brow, he summons a glass of water.  

[owlespresso]

bedtime stories III. jing yuan. tags: not beta read lmao, jing yuan babies u

You do not love Jing Yuan, and that’s what makes him easy to come home to. To love, to want, is to place your beating heart in the hands of another—is to risk the deadly creep of mara, gingko gold and bitter.

Jing Yuan is easy to come home to because there is no fanfare. In the palest hours of the morning, when the moon hangs low in the sky, you rest your working shoes next to his boots in the foyer. Sometimes, it takes hours to come across him.

The estate is large, and he spends much of his time in the gardens, or in his study, or asleep in bed. You creep in quietly, always, slow and silent as winter’s first snows. Footsteps mouse soft and body obscured by looming shadow.

You avoid the master bathroom. The one on the bottom floor is just as cavernous, a luxurious space complete with a fancy shower, two sinks and a tub easily large enough to fit four. Your toiletries ans soaps make their home in the tall, multi-tiered shelf in the corner. On any other day, you would scrub yourself of the day’s grime before luxuriating in the tub, letting its oatmilk infused waters melt away your anxieties. It’s a part of your routine that you’ve come to look forward to the most, away from the doting hands and knowing smiles of your part-time paramour.

You open the door, and freeze in place, blinking at the hulking form of one Jing Yuan, clad in a cozy, grey robe. You look at him, and he looks at you, lips curling into a delicate smile. His eyes crinkle with it, genuinely delighted to see you. Something in your gut squirms.

“Ah. Welcome back,” he says, toweling off his face. “You look like you’ve had a long night.”

Your skin prickles with discomfort at the nonchalance he reads you with, as he stands in a space you have come to know as your own—which is silly, you know, because it is his house, and his hospitality you so freely encroach upon.

It’s stupid. It’s paranoia, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s done this on purpose—

“It was fine,” you reply, just a little curt. You snatch a fluffy towel from t he nearby rack and wet it. “Still no leads. We’re no closer than we were last week to finding the guy.”

“Mm.” Jing Yuan nods, contemplative. “It comes as no surprise. The individual in question likely traveled as far from the Luofu as they could—and Galaxy Rangers are notoriously difficult to track.” he g;ances down at you, at the cloth clutched in your hard grip. “Allow me?”

“What?” you blink. He plucks the poor piece of fabric from your cramping hands. You’re too surprised to stop him. The day has stolen from you your usual reflexes, long hours spent sifting through the dive bars and dim taverns Galazy Rangers ave been known to frequent whilst aboard. You’ve batted your eyelashes and pulled scraps of information off the wagging tongues of their susceptible patrons. It had all been useless, in the end. Just drunkards eager to brag about better days and past, undoubtedly exaggerated achievements. You stand there as he pumps a dollop of your face wash onto the towel.

The oversized sleeve of his robe dips down to his elbow, exposing the toned muscle of his pale forearm. You behold it for a flash, and then the towel is warm on your cheeks. Jing Yuan hums while he does it, touch tender yet firm. The soap suds against your skin. He’s careful around your eyes, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to notice they have indeed closed, lulled shut but his gentility. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he rinses you, taking great care to not scrape your tender skin. He blots, rather than drags. One, massive hand comes to cradle your jaw—a move that on any other night would have sent you reeling.

“I’m just gonna take a shower,” you mumble as he dries you off, plush fabric wicking away the remaining moisture.

“I’m alright,” he sighs, striding around you—you presume to exit, but then his fingers and playing up your sides, jolting you from the warm stupor. “At least allow me to help you out of this, then.” His breath brushes the shell of your ear. His fingers toy with the zipper at the back of your dress, a classy black number that’s been hidden away in the depths of your closet until now.

“Sure. Be my guest,” you shrug, as if you wouldn’t have asked him regardless.

He’s delicate, in the way he undoes it. The cool zipper glides slowly over your spine. His other hand slips its straps off your shoulders, rumbling in approval when you shimmy out of them yourself. The sound is deep, almost inaudible, felt more than heard. It’s in your best interest to suppress your shivers, promptly busying yourself with kicking off your stockings. The moment of odd tension dissipates and the dress comes off, slid down to your knees.

You expect him to just drop it. He doesn’t. Perplexed, you glance over your shoulder and find the general knelt on the bathroom tile behind you. He looks up at you with a coquettish glint in his eyes while you are jarred by the consideration he shows to even your possessions. It awakens something ugly in you, something wet and shriveled and bleating. The feeling washes over you like a douse of cold rain.

“Well?” Jing Yuan raises a brow, curl of his lips just a bit mischievous. Silently, face aflame, you step out of your dress. He folds it over his arm and smiles at you, so exposed and undone, and does he even know that? “Come to me when you’re finished.” He says, honey sweet, like he’s soothing you. “I’ll get us some snacks, okay? Take as much time as you’d like.”

He doesn’t ask which ones, because he already knows your favorites. You stand beneath the spray and convince yourself that the general is just being exceptionally kind, that it’s only natural for him to keep you close and healthy while you investigate at his behest. After you capture the Galaxy Ranger who so foolishly infiltrated last month’s IPC-sponsored banquet, this will all come to a sudden, unceremonious end.

You wash off the day’s grime, the sweat and the smell of smoke and cheap booze from your earthly form. The weariness, as much as you wish it would follow suit, still clings.

The towels Jing Yuan keeps stowed in the small bathroom closet are massive on you, and downy soft. Each tender brush of the fabric against your naked skin makes you feel swaddled. You trudge the familiar path to his bedchambers. His home is nice, but Jing Yuan is here even less than you are. He indulges in only a few, choice things—his bed being one of them. When you enter, he is sat on a cluster of furniture surrounding a cypress coffee table, bowls of fresh fruit and tempting sweets laid across it in a few, modest portions. Enough for the dinner you admittedly skipped.

“You didn’t have to,” you say flatly.

“How could I not, when we so rarely dine together? Come,” your general orders, and so you take a seat next to him. You’re wedged between his hulking form and a plush cushion, a blanket thrown over the sofa’s back. It’s prettily patterned with stripes and repeating triangles—not from the Luofu, you think, but are promptly wrenched from that train of thought as a piece of sliced peach is pressed against your lips. You blink. Jing Yuan beams when you tentatively open, taking the piece onto your waiting tongue.

“Good?” he asks while you chew. You nod, and he seems oddly contented, wearing an expression you have only seen him wear after he emerges victorious in an especially close game of star chess. You can’t figure out why, but you nod and swallow anyways.

Now that you are bathed and off your aching feet and away from prying agzes, you can feel your appetite returning, clawing at your stomach with a vengeance. That’sthe only reason why you accept a second piece from his calloused fingers, and then a third.

“You didn’t eat dinner today, did you?” Jing Yuan inquires once the fruit is all gone. He licks the remaining juice off his fingers, sharp canines flashing with each broad sweep of his tongue. “Perhaps I should start packing you lunch every day? Yanqing tells me my cooking is much improved since I started.” he teases, and you’re struck by the visual of you, walking inside the Seat of Divine Foresight, with a brightly colored lunch box in hand like a child being sent off to school. Your mortification at the very idea must show on your face, because he laughs at you. “What’s with that expression? Do you truly have such little faith in me?”

“No!” you splutter, and look away, at the dim lamp on is nightstand. “I can take care of myself. I wouldn’t presume to take up so much of the general’s time.” you say, voice curling with the barest hint of sarcasm. 

“I am a general, but I am also a man like any other,” Jing Yuan hums. He wrangles you with a strong arm, draws you into his side. Cradled so close, you can smell him—ffresh from a recent bath, clad in only the softest of robes. And warm, warm above and below and everywhere. “And any man is obligated to care for what is most precious to him.” He murmurs. His voice vibrates through his chest. Warm as a hearth, steady as the sun-warmed earth.

You’re a little too dazed to make sense of it all, right now. But he has implied something severe, something you ignore because you are not strong enough to face, yet. Wind erodes stone and the tides weather the shore—but lightning splinters trees and sparks fires. You pretend not to hear the bolt as it lands, drawn from his soft lips.

He shoves a cracker up to your mouth. You eat from his hands with no hesitance, because you really are so tired. Tired enough to barely listen to the soft timbre of his voice as he describes his day—one-sided quarrels with the master diviner, a ceremony in Aurum Alley to celebrate its recent rebirth, the sparrows which frolic in his garden. You’ve seen them, fluttering from branch-to-branch, little things which land on his shoulders and chirp in welcome and receive soft kisses on their little heads for their trouble.

The general is kind to all creatures, you think, half-asleep. He moves around you, porcelain clinking quietly as he gathers the empty bowls and cleaned plates.

It’s not good to sleep so soon after a meal, but you’re helpless to the siren song of sweet sleep. You’re halfway submerged when you are gathered close to his broad chest and abruptly moved. Like you’re a mere babe, swaddled in the arms of your mother. Your head knocks into his shoulder, body feebly wriggling as you register the sudden lack of ground beneath you.

“It’s alright,” Jing Yuan holds you fast. “I’ve got you.”

His reassurances soothe you still. Jing Yuan ferries you across his bedroom. The sheets are already pulled back, cool and buttery against your skin as he settles you down. You stay there, where he’s left you, writhing against the bedding just to enjoy the feeling, the warmth. The scent of him pervades the entire room. But here, it is inescapable. You shove yourself further up the mount of pillows, pleased to find them just as cool against your skin.

The mattress dips next to you. He slips into his nest like a seal taking to water, yanking up the blankets to your shoulders. Your eyes have shut. The ease with which you let your guard down with him demands careful inspection. But that can wait until tomorrow.

For now, the general pulls you close, drags you to him with an effortless tug. He envelops you shamelessly. Every second hoarded close feels like a nap in the sun.

[sin-sidejob]

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x afab/fem!reader

note: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, pet names, afab anatomy but no talk of tits in an effort to stick close to gender neutral, dominant brett hand, breeding kink, daddy kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex (wrap that rascal), slight exhibitionism, slight public sex, domestication, housewife kink, cum play, no pronouns but use of gendered pet names like mommy & others like sweet thing, baby, sweetheart, and babydoll.

You got separated from the group once Brett lost control, everything getting immersed in a hazy, green blast. Nothing worked when trying to calm him down, deescalate the situation and keep everyone safe. It blew up in y’all’s faces, literally. Waking up against rubble and debris, not seeing where you landed or where you are, you’re nervous.

There’s no modern tech on you and you’ve got no way to reach Reagan or Andre, get in touch with Gigi or Glenn or Myc. You’re absolutely alone until they find you. Or Brett finds you.

The two of you had been dating for a while, and you’re endlessly in love with him. Tirelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Brett’s a sweetheart and nothing but doting and kind to you, and he’s in therapy. How lucky are you?

Not as much now that he’s not himself and currently lethal, leveling several structures and sending you and your coworkers flying in different directions and under the influence of heavy chemtrails and 80’s nostalgia.

Your footsteps are tentative, wary of the unsteady rubble you walk upon and try to breathe through your shirt, pulled over your nose and squint through the dust in the air. There’s not much light, it’s dark out and nighttime. The cold seeps in more and that fear of being alone and vulnerable at night starts to sink in and soak your bones.

No weapons on your person, rendered useless and defenseless without any of your gear or comrades, it’s safe to say you’re terrified beyond all belief. Walking softly, slowly turning over chunks of masonry and debris to walk better and find a way out of the barely standing structure you find yourself in.

Moments pass and you try to think of other things like what you’ll do when you get home, if that show released it’s second part yet so you can stream it soon, and attempt pathetically to calm yourself. It’s not working.

You hear footsteps and you freeze, your body pressed to a wall and trying your best to hide in the looming shadows encompassing the formerly standing building. Pinpricks crawl up your neck and stand at the nape of your neck and across your arms. Your heartbeat has never seemed louder.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you want to see me?”

it’s Brett, and you don’t see him but you hear him, can’t decipher where he is in relation to you from his voice, anywhere a possibility you don’t want to explore. Crawling up in a ball and shutting your eyes would be better, shutting the world out and forcing yourself to wake up from such a terrible dream.

But the sight of candy apple green eyes tears that hope from your lungs when you shudder, never expecting yourself to be afraid of him. The fear isn’t even about Brett, it’s about the limitless possibilities and outcomes of what could happen. He’s drenched so heavily in chemtrails it must be like standing too long near Chernobyl.

Feels so wrong.

“Why aren’t you talking to me? Did I hurt you?” He sounds like the Brett you love, and you’re worried he knows that, using that to get to you. He hasn’t spotted you yet, walking around and you press yourself into the brick behind you, wishing you could just disappear, dissolve into nothingness so it would all go away.

You don’t mean to, but your ankle nearly buckles isn’t the awkward position you are standing in. The sound is tinny in the darkness and silence of the rubble and his reaction is instant, eyes on you under a second.

“There you are!” Brett’s words would be endearing in any other circumstance, and he approaches. His hair isn’t as floaty anymore, but it still shifts unnaturally, like seaweed in an ocean current midair around his head in an unearthly halo. Eyes are bright green but less painfully neon and now more of a muted acid hue. You miss his eyes. “Was worried about you, baby, you sure you’re okay?” He dotes, nearly mirroring your brett as he cups your cheek.

When did he get closer?

“You seem fine, just shook up. Poor thing.” Brett coos, smiling down at you childishly in his usual manner but everything seems so unsettling, like his persona got dunked into a murky pool of liquid from a backalley at 3am. Unnatural and unsafe.

“Hey, c’mon sweet thing, talk to me.” He prods, raising your face up with his hand on your cheek and you oblige, looking up at him with fretful eyes that he frowns at. Your hands clench and fidget at your sides, entirely too overwhelmed but still needing to do something.

And it’s him in there. It’s still Brett. Just doused in chemtrails, no big deal.

“Hi Brett.”

He laughs, a giggling little sound that is usually very fitting but now a bit surreal in his current state. It remind you of glow sticks the way he shines out. You don’t like it.

“Hey there yourself,” he chimes, taking his hand in yours and squeezing, before he nearly lets it fall, his expression falling with it, “out with it, what’s wrong? You’re not smiling.”

“I don’t smile all the time.” Comes your immediate response and he clicks his tongue, brows furrowing and you regret not filtering your thoughts from words. “You don’t, but you smile around me. Tell me why.”

“Brett-“

He backs you up against the brick, looming a bit overhead and a part of it gets your bones staticky, indecisive in whether or not you wanted to kiss him or kick him.

“Use your words well and tell me why, or I’ll make another use for mouth.”

You gape, body choosing for you on the kiss him option and let him come closer, him murmuring between your lips as he closes in and cages you against his form and the shadowy enclave of the brick. “Good choice.”

Brett is all around you, a hand at the nape of your neck soothing and smoothing down the pinpricks while the other is at your side, kissing at you impatiently until he bites, humming in a pleased note when your mouth opens up and he ventures in, playing with your tongue as his hand ventures beneath your shirt, untucking it.

“Going to continue to be good for me?” He asks in your ear after breaking for a breath, marking up your throat and the underside of your jaw in bites as you squirm, the former unease in your belly turning fuzzy and warm, turning the danger into something attractive than daunting.

You nod and he squeezes tight at your hip, a warning and you answer aloud, “yes sir,” him rewarding you with a softer touch and undoing your pants as he takes them off. “Sir?” Brett laughs, shaking his head and his hair floats still, hovering like your waning rationale.

“You can do better than that. You know what to call me.”

Brett’s hand snakes between your legs and ghosts over your underwear, him practically beaming when he feels the pooling slick soaking through. “Yes Daddy.”

His eyelids flutter a fraction and ministrations falter, coming back and his eyes burn brighter and his grin in sardonic, a bit twisted. That reminder of don’t trust, don’t tell.

“Ohh that’s a new one, we’re keeping that, right baby?” He asks, plunging a digit into your cunt and holding a leg up around his hip, your chest covered and safe from the cold but waist and below is another story, trying to feed off the unnatural warmth he emanates now. “Mhmm.”

“There’s my sweet thing, smiling, all you needed was some lovin’ huh?” He asks, more to himself and aloud than anything as he preps you with his fingers, hearing the squelch and growing tired of having to angle his wrist a certain way. He tears the underwear apart.

“Just needed someone to play with your pussy and turn your brain off, right?” Brett prompts a moan from you as he breaches a second finger in and his thumb rolls over your clit, warmth flooding everywhere and your eyes flutter open to see him staring you down behind lidded eyes, glowing green deeper now that reminds you of that light at the end of Daisy’s dock in that Fitzgerald novel.

It kinda’ is a welcome home light. And you go to it.

Your hand threads through his hair and smashes his lips to yours as he groans darkly into your open mouth, excited and eager hands shift your legs around his then busy themselves with his belt buckle, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing which he more than notices. Whimpering as he tugs at your lip, he peers down at you while he lets his belt open.

“Easy f’me babydoll, daddy’s going to take care of you.”

It sounds so good in this voice, all gravelly this time ‘round and the difference sells the experience, and the way he’s shifted, using the weight he carries and taking up space rather than weaving his way through it.

“Need you daddy.” You whine, feeling his thumb over your clit rolling circles that get you throbbing, squirming between him and the brick wall behind you.

“Patience, baby, I’ve got you.” Brett drawls, nudging your nose with his as he frees his dick from the confines of his briefs and Levi’s, bobbing in the space between your legs and looking so damn good you could’ve eaten it.

Another time.

“This pretty cunt gonna’ take it all you think?” He muses into the column of your throat before angling his head against you so he can see between the two of you, one hand holding your thigh up and parting it wide while the other fists his already drooling dick in his palm, pearlescent droplets of precum pooling at the tip. “Gonna’ be good for me?”

You nod, smiling blearily in a dopey grin and run your hands over the back of his letterman jacket, and into his hair while the other slides down to lift underneath his shirt, wanting to feel him whenever you could.

He breaches your walls in a single movement and you whimper, head landing back against the brick and hear him grunt, deep from his chest as he bottoms out in you. Brett’s head hangs for a moment before he looks back to you, eyes staring from beneath his full lashes and still having that unnatural green.

“Just knew this little pussy would take it.” He mutters and snaps his hips back, hands moving to cup your ass and bring you closer so he can thrust back and forth in a punishing, cervix-bruising pace. God, you’d feel him for days.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud but he hears it nonetheless, grinning against your temple while he fucks you like a ragdoll, “that’s right, gonna shape this cute little cunt until it’s molded around my cock, gonna’ be my little toy, right? Let me play with you?”

Moaning behind kiss swollen and puffy lips, you affirm his statement and thrust your hips back into his, sending a reverberating groan through his throat out that turns into a dark chuckle, his pace slowing a fraction only to move forth harsher, the sound of skin and your debauched moans painfully loud within the silence of the destroyed structure.

“Gonna’ keep us here, you and I,” Brett begins to ramble, punctuating his words with snaps of his hips that get you seeing stars, “gonna’ breed this little cunt and get a family from you, stay here happy for the rest of our lives.”

“You going to let me give you a child, sweet thing?”

“Mhmm.” You whine, clutching at him and grinding down on his dick, a pathetic mess of yourself with slick smeared between your thighs, “Gonna’ make you a daddy.” Brett groans aloud and rewards you with a hand moving from under your thigh to your clit once more, pressing in those rolling ministrations that get you clenching awfully hard.

“Wanna’ cum Brett — I need it.” You’re rambling at this point, incoherent and cockdrunk as he plunges in and out of you, nothing but sex on the brain and none of the ramifications. It would be your problem another day, another moment, but for right now it was everything.

“Need what baby? Gotta’ speak, got that pretty voice of yours — make it useful.”

“Want your cum, wanna’ stay here with you and let you knock me up over ‘n over,” you’re spitting out words as fast as they form because you’ve barely got the headspace for anything else but cumming on his dick, “get pregnant and have your baby, make you a daddy — please lemme’ make you a family.”

He whines in the back of his throat as he bites at your neck, your words hitting deep somewhere in him and loses his even pace in lieu of fucking you frantically, practically jumping your form with how desperate he is to flood your cunt. Brett’s hand still rolls it’s thumb over your pulsing, sensitive clit.

“God yes, make a little mommy out of you, see you get all swollen and round with leaking tits to feed our kids — fuck,” he’s speaking to you in equal to the wind, voicing aloud not just his plans but his dreams, wishes to have a life with you, “cum f’me baby, gush around this cock then I’ll give you what you want.”

you mewl, squirming and bucking while chasing that high that already has begun to sprawl like white-hot lightning in your bones, curling and pooling within your belly, feeling Brett slide in and out while he punches the breath from you while prodding at your cervix.

“Gonna’- I’m going to, fuck fuckk.” Brett snaps his hips in whip-fast motions once, twice, and you’re gone. Everything whites over and fades into blank noise, like getting submerged in bath water as you shake and shudder, taking him in as he fucks you through it, suspended only by his hold.

“Fuck, you look so p-pretty,” he stutters just like his pace, falling frantic in how he chases his orgasm after yours, Brett crumbling as he finally cums and floods your cunt, slick smeared between the both of you all over your thighs and lower abdomens, white ropes and rivulets accompanying your arousal. Brett snarls out your name in a broken groan against your collar, voice deep.

He bucks his hips and mutters nonsense into your ear, milking every last drop into your silken cunt and more, “cant wait to see you all knocked up, gonna’ make you a mommy. Swear.” You’re barely conscious enough to process his words, but you do, whimpering and squirming against him in pleased, soft tones as you still have your eyes shut tight, toes curled and feeling absolutely cloudy and airy — breathless.

Brett eventually finishes emptying himself inside of you, sticking close and keeping you on his cock as you come down from your highs and blink blearily back into reality. Shifting, causing you both to groan, you reach out and smooth his hair back and get him to look at you, green glow now gone and fucked out of him as he stares up at you back to himself.

“Hi Brett.” You murmur once again, this time feeling much better about him and his safety. His arms coil around your waist as he burrows into your neck, doting kisses across your skin and soothing the burn and bite of his marks.

“Hey honey.” Brett murmurs, sleepy and lethargic now and you smooth a hand through his hair, scratching idly and getting him groaning happily against you as your other hand rubs across his back and the rough fabric of his jacket he still had on.

“Ready to get out of here?” He nods against you in response and helps you stand, soft moans and sighs passing as he slips out and you feel cum slip forth from your overfilled cunt onto your thighs. Hurriedly getting redressed, sans your tattered panties, you stand before one another and he tries to apologize but you shake your head, cupping his cheek and saying you enjoyed it.

“Hey Brett?” You ask later on, walking hand in hand back with the group on the way to Cognito Inc after regrouping. “Yeah?”

You grin, beaming at him, squeezing his hand.

“Wanna’ do that again sometime?”

He opens and closes his mouth, giggling for a second before turning back to looking at you, squeezing your hand back while his other thumbs the velvet box in his jacket pocket.

“Absolutely.”

[whiskeynwriting]

The Babymoon

Agent Daddy Whiskey x Female Reader

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Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Brief mention of reader’s hair (Jack just brushing it aside), established relationship/marriage, pregnant reader, dirty talk, aggressively passionate Jack (I’m W E T), degradation/teasing, breeding kink, daddy kink (ofc), spit kink, rough sex, choking, biting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, and some fluffies

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A/N: I apologize for the late post but ya girl has the stomach flu y’all 

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Daddycember ‘23 Masterlist

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Every small grunt forces a ping of guilt through your husband’s gut, both hands working tirelessly to relieve your pain. Truly, he didn’t know the walk would be so rigorous for you, but he should’ve known, should’ve researched more before coming out. But he does his best to make the situation better; he carried all of the bags, both yours and his, set them down in their appropriate rooms and then rushed back to tend to you. Jack led you over to the couch, letting you lay out while he removed your socks and shoes.

“I’m sorry, sugar.” He mumbled, removing his hat while kneeling down. “Didn’t realize it was such a long hike.”

“It’s okay.” Came your sigh of reassurance, head tilted back. “It was worth it.”

And that made him incredibly happy, forcing that handsome smile right across his face. What you said was true, too, coming here was definitely worth it. With Jack’s busy work schedule, and you constantly prepping for the baby, the two of you needed a break, especially before your newborn gets here. And that’s exactly what this trip was intended for. Some time away to relax, reset, and enjoy each other’s presence. 

Jack’s lips find their way to your ankles and calves, fingers massaging your sore feet. He didn’t mind doing this for you, did it almost every night, in fact. It became routine for him quite quickly; he could never not care for you. But thankfully, most of the more aggressive symptoms have subsided alongside the beginning of your third trimester. No more intense nausea or bloating, no more awful heartburn. The worst of your troubles have been general muscle aches and pelvic pain, but you’d take that over vomit any day.

“I can feel him kicking.” A sudden laugh comes from your throat, both hands falling to your belly. 

Jack grins, reaching up with one of his own hands. “He’s a wild one, in there.” 

“You… you think it’ll really change?” All Jack does is look up with confused concern. “Our lives, the way we are, when he comes.” 

His casual shrug serves as minimal reassurance. Glancing back down at your feet, Jack clears his throat. “Sure it will, babycakes. But not in a bad way.”

“How do you know it won’t be in a bad way?”

“Because I won't let it be that way.” Chocolate eyes meet yours once again, full of warmth and kindness. “Don’t worry so much, honey. We’re on vacation.” And with that, he’s standing, leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Let me go make you a drink.” 

And in this brief lull, you let out a relaxed breath, feeling at ease in Jack’s care. He’d always been such an attentive man, an attentive partner, able to identify and tend to your wants and needs before you even knew what they were. Being observant was in his nature, and branched into every area of his life, even now. 

“Here you go, sugar.” Handing you the drink with a smile on his face, Jack turns toward the fireplace, taking it upon himself to light it. 

It’s easy to admire him, not only for his incredibly handsome features, but for his wonderfully doting personality. He takes care of you, in every sense of the word. You’ve never felt safe before, like you do with him. 

Although the walk up to the cabin was laborious, he’s still glad he chose it. Perfectly secluded and quiet, up in the Kentucky mountains. The entire estate is surrounded by woodland brush and gentle creatures, deers and rabbits and birds. The surrounding peace is everything the two of you have been craving, a place to relax and reconnect. Your travels happened later in the evening, though, the night sky already beginning to grow. And with the stars peeking out from behind the clouds, and Jack lighting the fireplace, the entire situation seemed all too familiar. 

“You know…” Looking over at Jack, he stands, briefly clapping the dust from his hands. “This kind of reminds me of our honeymoon.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, flashing you that dazzling grin. And then he shrugs, walking over to you. “That was kinda the point.” 

Romantic, warm, and beautiful, qualities that mirror both your relationship and post-wedding vacation. It still makes you grin, still makes butterflies erupt inside your belly that Jack is willing to do all of this for you. 

“Wanna spoil you, angel.” Jack then hums, brushing aside some hair so he can get to your neck. And then he’s placing a single, sweet kiss, smiling. “How’re you feelin’, hm? Sore? Anything I can do?” 

The mention of your honeymoon has his insides stirring, his mischievous nature growing. Alongside these playful emotions comes the presence of Jack’s hand on your thigh, warm even through the material of your pants. He rubs you firmly, giving the plush fat of your legs a slow squeeze. 

Spoiling you is genuinely Jack’s pleasure, and he does it because he loves you; and this trait grew tenfold when you decided to carry his baby. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use these situations for his own satisfaction, too. Watching your body grow makes his entire body run hot, your soft and squishy thighs, your round belly and perfectly plump backside. And Jesus Christ, your tits, he never thought they could get any more enticing before you got pregnant. But now? So swollen with your nipples all sensitive and red… he can’t keep himself away. He just can’t, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to on your private getaway. 

The slightest, most timid smirk forms on your face, eyes choosing to look away. “Well… you already took care of my feet.” Something in you says that Jack is looking for an excuse, for any simple reason to touch your body, massage it and just feel every inch of it that he can.

“Yeah?” He responds, chestnut orbs traveling down your figure. “What about your legs?”

“They’re fine, not too sore.” Shrugging, you do your best to suppress your laugh. Sometimes, teasing Jack was fun. 

Raising a brow, he then asks, “Your hips? Stomach?” Now, he’s running his palm over your swollen belly, chest inhaling a deep breath. Nothing about pregnancy turned him on before, not until he saw you carrying his child. Who knew Jack Daniels had a breeding kink? 

“Nope.” Finally turning to face him, you smile innocently. “I’m okay, baby.” 

The look on your face is kind and calm, but the twinkle in your eye tells him you’re only playing. And his own expression is growing stern, contemplating his next move. 

“You don’t seem to get it, do you?” 

“Get what?”

And in one quick motion, Jack’s hand rises to grab harshly at your chest, squeezing one breast in hand. It makes you gasp, makes your body jump with surprise. 

“Daddy wants to touch you, sugar.” In an instant, he’s closer, breathing heavier against you. “Daddy wants to touch your sweet body and watch you fall apart in his arms.” 

With an exasperated sigh, he’s then falling to your neck, sucking on it with wet lips. His sudden advance has your jaw dropping, lips curling up at the ends. Keeping his hand on your chest, his fingers press into your skin, massaging your tit before collecting his fingers so he can toy with your nipple.

“Jack,” Comes your simple sigh, head falling back.

“I know,” He says, mouthing at your neck. “It feels so good for you, honey.”

His mouth moves to your jawline, licking it, nipping at it, while brushing his thumb across the point of your breast. Even the slightest bit of friction made them hard, whether it be a small breeze or the soft fabric of your shirt. They’d never been more sensitive, and Jack had never been more interested. 

“You know I wanna touch you,” Jack mumbles over your skin, hand dropping to your legs. “Fuckin’ tease.” 

Cupping you between your thighs pulls a full moan from your throat, head lifting just in time to see him lean into your chest. Jack buries his face into you, right between your smooth mounds while his tongue dips into your cleavage. 

“Oh, god, I want this, sugar.” Though, you can barely hear him with his face stuffed between your tits. Lifting both hands, you encourage him, holding him there by the back of his head. 

“Daddy,” Two fingers rub firm circles over your covered center, your husband groaning quietly when you grab onto his hair. 

“Let me do this, baby doll.” 

Nodding rapidly, you gulp. “Okay, daddy. Okay…” 

Moving away from you with a swift inhale, Jack lifts himself from your body. Already, his pupils are blown, his pants tented firmly against your thigh. And for a brief second, you laugh. The two of you haven’t even been here for more than thirty minutes and he’s already trying to get into your pants. 

“Gorgeous fuckin’ thing.” The praise makes you flush and he knows it, making his way down so he can kneel between your legs. “Get these off, sugar.” And even though he says it like a command, he does it for you, undoing your jeans and yanking them down your legs. The help you offer is brief, a simple lift of your hips. But then you’re falling back down and watching him spread your legs. 

“Yeah… this is what I wanna see.” With his gaze focused on your center, Jack groans, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip. “Already leakin’ through your panties…”

In an experimental act, he reaches out, finger swiping over the very center of the delicate cloth. It’s damp, the middle darkened from your wetness. And that makes him grin, makes him fucking throb in his pants. 

“You know it, don’t you?” He asks before leaning forward and stuffing his face between your thighs. Again, it takes you by surprise, forcing your legs wider while that curved nose of his nuzzles its way into your crotch. And then, he’s inhaling, hot mouth opening to taste you through your panties.

“D-Daddy,” This time, it comes out as a whine, one hand fisting his hair while the other grabs hold of the couch. 

“Ugh,” Lifting himself just enough for you to hear, he says, “Know just how fuckin’ good you taste.” Reaching forward, Jack hooks two fingers around your panties before pulling them aside. And then his tongue is laying out, flattening it to give your cunt one firm, wet swipe. 

“Fuck,” Puffing out a harsh breath, your eyes are fluttering shut, feeling the firm shove of his tongue. 

“Get so goddamn wet like this, babycakes.” He notes, mouthing at your clit. Lifting a hand, he grabs onto your hip, urging you to sit back and lift your pelvis up a bit. It gives him better access, after all. “Been a goddamn fountain since I got you pregnant.”

And that makes you laugh, hands lowering to brush kindly through his hair. Both of those broad palms then move beneath your thighs, holding them with a secure grip while sucking on your core. It’s already on his face, on his lips and chin and cheeks. And lord, does he love that. He’d willingly drown in this if he could. Getting his face wet with your slick made him the happiest man on earth, made him harder than he ever thought he could be. 

“Pretty little whore, aren’t you?” Jack chuckles, leaning back to spit on your folds. “Sittin’ here with my baby inside you, and your body’s still beggin’ for more.” The devil truly came out when he was like this, nothing but offensive praise and aggressive passion.

Running his tongue up and down through your lips, he groans, wrapping his mouth around your sensitive bud. And when he gives the tiniest succession of sucks, pulsing his lips around that tiny pearl, you feel like you’re going to come undone. Every part of you feels light and airy, like you could float away at any second. It’s like you’re buzzing with it, with euphoria and happiness. And he just keeps going, just keeps his head between your legs and his mouth on your throbbing cunt. 

Jack knows when to hold you down, he’s done this too many times to not be aware. The grip he gives your hips is bruising, digging in with ferocity while shoving you onto his mouth. Your hips grind against him, head forcing itself back while you cry out for him. It’s a sweet whine, a gasping moan, fingers tightening on those dark brown strands while he fucks his tongue into you over and over again. He did that every time he ate you out, sucked on your clit until he made you unravel and then dove down to collect what he’d worked so hard for.

“I’m so fucking in love with you.” He’s out of breath, reaching for your jaw before smashing his mouth to your own. Instantly, the combination of his spit and your slick is running down your chin, legs shaking gently while Jack consumes you from above. 

“I’m, I - baby.”

“Get up,” Jack grunts, hauling you up by your arms. “Gonna get you in bed so I can see the mess you made for me.” 

Keeping his grip on your bicep, he pulls you alongside him, hurrying down the hall. The master bedroom isn’t far, which your shaky legs are thankful for. His demanding words and actions make everything seem so quick, like you don’t have a choice in anything that’s going on. And truthfully, you want it that way. You want Jack to make the decisions, you want to lie down and do whatever he wants you to. 

Shoving you forward, he watches you stumble onto the bed, a bright grin on your beautiful face. Taking a beat, he pauses, standing above you before beginning to remove his shirt. And while keeping that deadly gaze, you move backward on the covers, shimmying out of your panties. 

Eyes dipping down, he nods toward your chest. “Take off your bra.” 

While unbuttoning his shirt, he watches you complete his task, tossing the last bit of your clothing onto the floor beside your bed. And just in time for him to shove his pants down, too. 

“Mine,” He suddenly says, crawling over you on the bed. “Mine - all mine.”

Again, he’s obsessing over your breasts, shoving his face between them while his hands work the rest. His body rubs against you, cock wet and leaking on your thigh. It makes your insides burn bright, seeing his overt attraction for you. He gets so passionate when he’s like this, so vulnerable yet assertive, confident. 

“Let me get my fingers inside you.” That breathy voice says, licking two of them before dragging them down your chest. 

While his tongue lays out, toying with your nipples, Jack’s fingers dip inside your entrance, already loose from your orgasm. So sweet and welcoming, velvety and warm. And all you can do is writhe beneath the weight of his body, turning your head to kiss his cheek and neck. The curl of his fingers practically makes you shriek, feeling your body react on its own accord. 

“So sensitive like this, baby.” It’s lazy, the way he licks your nipples, teeth dragging over the red and puffy peaks. And then he’s sucking on them, sucking on the swollen swell of your tits and groaning like he’d just cum in his goddamn pants.

“Tell me you want more.”

“I want it,” Nodding, you gasp, swallowing dryly. “I want more.”

Your hips cant upwards in time with his fingers’ movement, hands grasping for his bicep and back. But it’s not enough, not for him.

“Tell daddy you need him, c’mon.”

“Daddy, please.”

“Nuh-uh,” Breathily, he chuckles. “Use your big girl words, sweet pea.” 

“I need you, I need you, daddy. Please, please.” In an attempt to convince him, you lower your hand, finding him laying heavy over your thigh. The firm grip you give his cock makes everything slow down for him, his eyes shutting alongside a small hiss. Even his fingers fall slack, chest dropping against your own. 

“Touch me, baby.” It’s a quiet command, one said while he nods. “Touch daddy.”

Knowing that he’s happy with this, you grin, running your fist up and down his length. Glancing down between your bodies, Jack watches, eyeing the way your thumb swipes over his tip.

“Oh, fuck.” Shaking his head, Jack sighs, hips rocking into your grip. “Always need you like this, sugar, always…” 

You can’t deny that it’s been hard these past few weeks, hell, these past few months. Being intimate hasn’t been a priority for the two of you, unfortunately; stress just took control of your lives. Jack’s career was becoming incredibly demanding, leaving you to care for the house and your unborn baby all on your own. Setting up the nursery, going to doctor’s appointments by yourself, feeling the baby kick without your husband there to experience it, somedays, it was just heartbreaking for you. But you’re here now, you’re together, without a single distraction in sight. You’re his, and he’s mine. That fact is always in your mind.

Taking himself from your hand, he settles between your legs with a relieved breath. Jack’s love for you consumes him, his entire body and mind. He just wants to wrap himself around you, looping his arms around your back while burying his face in your hair. 

“Jack,” It’s said quietly while you hold him, stroking his hair. 

Lifting one hand, it rests on your left breast, Jack’s hips moving to push into you slowly. The way you open up for him is an absolute dream, a breathless laugh spilling from his mouth as it happens. And when he pinches your nipple, you whine, forcing a jump from his cock as it rests inside. 

“You just need a lil’ extra somethin’, don’t you, sweetheart?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, but you’re not sure what he means. 

Pressing his face into the curve of your neck, Jack smiles brightly, lips dragging over the skin as he begins to move. So he doesn’t hurt you, the hand on your chest moves to the bed, placing all of his weight onto it. 

“Puttin’ my dick inside you just ain’t enough anymore. Was it ever?”

“Daddy, what…” The steady pump of his cock between your legs is making you feel delirious, flooding your body with a sense of euphoria you’ve never felt before your pregnancy. “What do you mean?” 

“Remember what we used to do, sugar? You remember?” Heat creeps onto your cheeks as he says it, legs lifting to his waist as the arousal in your body heightens. “You remember what you did in my office?” 

“B-Baby,” He knows this gets to you, knows it hits right to your core.

“I remember,” Jack continues, licking at your neck. “Bendin’ you over my desk, fuckin’ you dumb over my paperwork. Or how ‘bout the times you sucked me off while I talked to Champ, huh? What about that?” 

Every firm shove forces the tip of his cock against your most sensitive spot, the thin tissue that just begs for his presence. And that, alongside those devilish words, is making you drip around him.

“Crawling on your knees for me in my jet,” He’s throbbing inside you, words becoming airy as he reconnects with your body. “Shit,” Hissing harshly, his eyes pinch shut. “Fuck me, honey. You remember rubbing yourself over me? Over my new goddamn boots because you were so horny?”

“Fuck, yes.” Exposing your neck even more, you toss your head back, feeling Jack’s teeth make their own special imprint. 

The memory is all too erotic, something you honestly can’t believe you did. Jack made you stupid; he was so goddamn attractive, so goddamn charming, that you’d do anything just to please him. Even if it meant humiliating yourself, you’d do it just to get off. 

“Hm…” You sigh out, placing your chin on his knee and closing your eyes in contentment.

“How’s that feel, honey?” He asks, reaching down to tilt your chin up to him.

Your eyes open, lids already heavy with adoration and lust. Jack’s smiling down at you, his expression soft and caring.

“So good,” Comes your contented hum, more than happy to finally have contact with your lover.

“Yeah?” He whispers, “Then keep goin’. Make ‘em all wet and shiny for me, honey.”  

You whimper quietly at his words, moaning lightly as you lean forward to begin moving your hips. The movement of your soft skin, your folds brushing over the smoothness of the material, only furthers the waves of heat that begin flowing through your core.  

“Go on,” He urges, “entertain me, sweet pea.”

“God, do I miss that. Havin’ my own little slut on tap.”

“Daddy, I’m, I’m still here.” It sounds pathetic, like you’re begging, trying your damnedest to prove to him that that part of you hasn’t left. 

“Oh, I know you are.” Lifting himself from your body, Jack glares down at you, one hand lifting to grab your jaw. “I know you’re there, babycakes. Comes out every time I’m inside you, every time I give you a demand. Why don’t you show me?”

At this, your brows raise innocently, unable to speak from the grip he has on your jaw and chin. And amidst your silence, he says, “Show me how well you still listen to me… and open that mouth.”

As soon as his grip allows you to, your lips are parting. That strong hand drops to your throat then, Jack’s face coming down to drip a cool trail of spit onto your tongue. But he’s not done then, not until spitting forcefully onto your mouth. And the moan you exude is nothing short of whorish and erotic, the liquid sliding over your tongue. 

“Yeah…” The word is said with a cocky sense of power, that gorgeous half-smirk crawling onto his face. “You just can’t get off to that vanilla shit anymore, can you, babycakes? You need it rough, don’t you?”

That hand is still on your throat, and only tightens as he speaks. With every thrust, his pelvis slaps against you, forcing your legs wider, and forcing himself deeper.

“Need daddy to manhandle you? Choke you? Hold you down and bruise you?”

Burying himself inside your cunt, you can’t help but feel so perfectly full, the veins along his shaft rubbing delightfully against your inner skin. It feels so natural, this connection, so natural and sensual. But nothing about it is sweet; everything about this encounter screams salacious and indecent. 

“Yes,” Comes your little plea, nodding. “Yes.”

Each shove rocks your body against the mattress, the strength of Jack’s body surrounding your entire presence. He feels so warm and strong, soft when he needs to be and mean when he wants to be. 

“I love this,” Jack admits, “Love nothing more than this; connecting with you. Look at you, just look at you.”

Lowering himself with a flurry of rapid breaths, he presses his mouth to your cheek, expressing his adoration for you. “You’re so good for me, my pretty baby. So pretty like this, sugar. Fuckin’ gorgeous when you take me.”

“I need you, can’t, can’t live without you.”

“Never, sugar.” Gasping against the side of your head, Jack’s chest stutters, a deep groan slipping from his lips. “Always here for you, with you.” 

When he gets like this, you can’t help but wrap your legs around him, tightening every muscle and pulling him in. And he lets you, falling into your embrace with a deep moan of gratification. It consumes him, the pleasure of it all, of releasing inside your wonderfully welcoming body. Jolting slightly above your beautiful and giving form, Jack moans helplessly, feeling his release wash over your walls. Every spurt is accompanied with a sharp shudder, arms moving to encircle you fully. Humid grunts pass over your ear, his mouth hanging open as he experiences the sensation of it. 

“My sweet girl.” Your husband finally says, his body tingling with every ounce of happiness that he has. His hold is full of pure, unwavering love, full of absolute worship and adoration. And beneath him, you relax, wanting nothing more than to rest with him in this peace. 

Kissing your head, Jack whispers sweetly, “Perfect little thing.” 

It’s in this moment that you feel every single worry melt away, every anxious thought about Statesman and the baby. Those negative notions serve absolutely no purpose to you, not when Jack is here, not when he cares for you so consistently and so openly. With Jack, you’re safe, you’ve never known otherwise. And nothing could ever take him away from you.

[yeoblurbs]

What Once Was

exes to lovers, angst with a happy ending

Pairing: Hansol Vernon Chwe x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: as you navigate a life filled with painful reminders of Hansol, you struggle to move on. then three months later, he shows up at your door. you can’t find it in your heart to turn him away.

WC: 2.9k

content/warnings: angst! vernon picks at his skin & there is a scene dedicated to it (no detail or mentions of blood, just wounds), a few curse words, mentions of drinking (wine), very soft-boy!vernon and doting reader. that's it I think (please let me know if I missed anything)

as of late, you simply feel remnants of what was once so intense. a mere lingering attachment to something you have almost let go of entirely.

but at the same time, you yearn for a day where anger doesn’t override affection. where you feel melancholy rather than rage, or content in missing him rather than the unsettling emotion from such a brutal ending. you ache for days that you wake up feeling whole instead of unfulfilled, getting through life without Hansol as you avoid harsh reminders of what once was.

but you’ll heal; you have to.

that is what you tell yourself, anyway. lately, it feels as though you would never heal. the conflicting emotions that are attached to Hansol Chwe come with a gentle anamnesis yet are taken over by deep-rooted betrayal each time.

you truly hate how emotional he makes you.

you take a sip of the red wine in your hand, eyeing your reflection through the black screen of your TV. it’s 1:00AM on your birthday, and while once upon a time ago you would’ve spent the night with Hansol, you are now spending it alone.

you are having a celebratory dinner with friends tomorrow, but you find yourself missing Hansol when you think about this being your first birthday without him.

usually, he would stay up with you till 12:00AM and shower you with kisses as he murmured “Happy birthday, my love” between pecks, but now you feel the overwhelming emptiness as you sit on a couch that was not purchased for one person.

you wonder where it all went wrong; was it when you got busy with family problems, and couldn’t see him every week? was it when he began making new friends, specifically a girl who would often comment on his posts on Instagram leaving you to overthink on lonely nights? or was it on that cold Saturday evening, when everything came to a halt as you both spewed careless insults toward one another; he had spoken to you as if you were nothing more than a stranger, much less his best friend; his girlfriend.

your ending with Hansol has left you bitter; you often regret loving him in ways he could never reciprocate. how foolish of you to believe anyone would love you back in such a capacity; how foolish of you to believe he could.

a knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts, head snapping to the sound. your heart drops, eyes glancing to your phone that reads 1:34AM as you go through a mental checklist of who could possibly be at your door at such a time.

you approach the door cautiously, grabbing a kitchen knife on your way as you peek through the hole, before the sight sends you a few steps back.

what the fuck?

you open the door slowly, eyes wide as Hansol stands before you.

your gaze focuses on his clothes, drenched as they cling to his skin, before you look up at his face.

Hansol has always been gorgeous, and that fact was no less true now. it’s been three months since you’ve seen him, and you find that despite the dark circles beneath his eyes and messy hair, he still looks absolutely breathtaking.

you stare at the drops of rain coating his lashes, hating the way your chest claws at you, begging you to hold him close and get him warm and comfortable.

his eyes lift, scanning your face unsure as his black hair sticks to his forehead, water dripping from a few strands. he scratches at his finger, a bad habit he had when he was nervous that you had helped him stop.

but as you stare at the wounds on his hand, you realize he may have reverted back to some of his old ways after your parting.

“Happy birthday, Y/n.”

he smiles crookedly, and the energy leaves your body completely.

you place the knife down on your table loudly, causing Hansol to flinch as you move to grab his arm, pulling him inside. you glance at your window, cursing quietly as you see lightning, and realize you can’t send Hansol away now; not that you would have had it been sunny outside either, but you like to think you’d be stronger than that.

Hansol stumbles inside as you move to cross your arms, “What the fuck are you doing here, Hansol?”

he shivers, smiling tight-lipped. he looks unfamiliar in your apartment, eyes staring at the differences you know he noticed. “I came to see you. And wish you a happy birthday?”

your lips part at his response as you scoff, “Well, I don’t want it. You’re pretty fucking weird for showing up when we haven’t spoken to each other in months,”

his face drops, regret coating his expression as you turn around and walk to your room. he slips his shoes off and follows you timidly.

“And in case you forgot, we aren’t on good terms, Hansol.” you rummage through your drawers, pulling out your largest sweatpants and shirt before handing them to him.

he grabs them with confused eyes as you walk towards your bathroom, opening the door and gesturing him to go in, “Go take a shower, Hansol. As much as I don’t want to see you, you’re dripping rainwater on my hardwood floors, and I know you get sick too easily.”

he pouts, and you realize you’ve barley allowed him to say a word since he arrived.

well, that was deserved you figured, as he had shown up much too late for any sort of kindness from you.

he clutches onto the fabric gently, looking at you with wide eyes before he turns around and enters the bathroom. once the door shuts, you turn around and head back to the living room.

you head straight for your abandoned wine glass and tip the rest of it down your throat, exhaling as you run a hand over your face.

seriously, what the fuck.

-

Hansol exits the bathroom about ten minutes later, causing steam to emerge as it fills up the hallway.

he holds his soaked clothes in his hands, and you grab a plastic bag before handing it to him.

he murmurs a “Thank you,” and you nod back.

you walk into the kitchen, trying your hardest to ignore the awkward silence as you finish preparing two ramen cups. you carry them to the couch, handing Hansol the one you made for him before taking a seat across from where he’s seated.

he seems jittery, “So… How have you been, Y/n?”

he smoothes his palms on his legs, and you ignore the way your heart soars at the sight of him in your clothes. you’ve missed seeing him in your place, in your clothes; with you by his side.

your face stays neutral, “Great; until you showed up. Cut the shit, Hansol. What are you doing here?”

he opens his mouth before you cut him off, “And don’t say for my birthday. We aren’t together anymore, and we’re certainly not friends. You have no reason to come here or wish me happy birthday.”

he’s silent for a moment, and you’re sure if he had puppy ears they would be laying flat on his head.

“I just… Listen, okay? I missed you.” his gaze stays on your face intently, “It’s been a while since everything happened, and I’d really like it if we could talk about it. There are a lot of things I regret, and I’ve been dying to apologize to you.”

you sigh at his confession, ignoring the way your heart began racing after he said he missed you. “You want to talk about our failed relationship and apologize to me at…” you check your phone, “2:00AM on my birthday?”

he grimaces, “Well when you put it that way I sound like an idiot.”

“You are one,” you huff out a small laugh, causing him to smile sheepishly.

you sigh, resigning to hearing him out. he was here, clean and dry, and a quick look outside would tell you that the storm hadn’t passed. he was stuck here whether you liked it or not, so you might as well hear him out; after all, the two of you deserved some form of closure. even if it was at an absolutely unreasonable time.

you lean your head on your hand,

“So, talk then.”

he looks startled as he clears his throat nervously. you figure he hadn’t expected you to respond this way, and you would be lying if you said you yourself weren’t surprised with your actions. but you’ve always been a little too forgiving, especially with those you loved; especially with Hansol.

“Okay, for starters, I’m sorry I showed up at such an inconvenient time.” he bites his lip, “I’ve regretted the way I spoke to you last time so much, it’s been eating at me every day.”

you listen with a straight face, even if his words cause your chest to tighten. you ignore it; you realize you’ve been ignoring how you feel for a while now.

Hansol runs a hand through his hair, “I won’t lie, I haven’t been doing so well since our breakup.”

he gazes at you intensely, “I think… somewhere along the way I felt lonely in our relationship, whether that was because I hardly had time to see you or because I felt like you got distant with me.”

you listen silently, arms crossed and mouth downturned. the realization that Hansol felt everything you did makes you want to burst into tears then and there. you're beginning to notice that while you have been selfish and wallowing in self-pity, Hansol has been hurting as well.

“That night…”

the two ramen cups are long forgotten as they sit on the coffee table in front of you; your arms wrap tighter around your torso as you remember the venomous words both he and you threw at one another that night.

“That night I was horrible.”

his head tilts down as he sniffles, picking at the skin around his fingernail as his eyes fill with tears. “I was so seriously fucking horrible and I’m so sorry for everything I said. Me being lonely didn’t give me a reason to take it out on you; I should have communicated, not lashed out at you when you were going through shit too.”

hearing him apologize so genuinely was heart-rendering as you know you’ve hurt him deeply as well.

you can’t help it, you rise from your seat and sit beside him. you grab the hand he was picking at, intertwining your fingers with his as your other moves to his jaw, lifting it gently as your thumb wipes a running tear.

“Don’t do that, don’t put all of the blame on you,” you say softly. your anger had quickly diminished at the beginning of his apology, and while you know you’re letting go of your rage so easily, you figure it was about time you truly healed.

bottling up anger had halted any sort of progression, leaving the wounds from your relationship with Hansol still fresh and painful. this conversation was helping, however, and the notion that Hansol was just as miserable as you, if not more than you, was a comforting thought.

at least you weren’t the only one who was lonely and hurting.

you tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, “I’m sorry too; I said a lot of fucked up things that night as well, so don’t take the full blame for it.”

Hansol sniffles quietly and your heart aches, your hand holding his now caressing the skin gently with your thumb.

“I was lonely too, and I didn’t communicate either. It’s not all on you, it’s on both of us.” you softly rub his cheek as you stare at him fondly.

“There’s no need to villainize yourself. We both made mistakes, and we’ll both learn from them.”

you’ve resigned to the fact that you have an inability to hold grudges when it comes to Hansol. it was simply impossible to stay angry with him, especially when he looked at you with sad wet eyes.

his face crumples as more tears stream down his cheeks, “But, I don’t wanna learn from my mistake and lose you.” he grabs your hand on his face, leaning into it as his eyes find yours.

“You’re it for me, Y/n. Three months without you and I spent every second of it wishing you were still mine. I can’t picture a life without you in it, I just can’t.” he looks devastated, and you understand now that he thinks this is the end.

you give him a watery smile, wanting nothing more than to kiss him silly, even if you knew logically that you shouldn’t jump into things so suddenly.

“You’re it for me too, Hansol. I don’t think I could ever quite love someone as much as I loved you.”

he looks at you with wide glassy eyes, “Loved?”

you bring his face closer to yours, placing a kiss on his forehead, “Love.”

he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you firmly as he inhales and exhales. you breathe shakily as you hug him back, hands trembling as you wrap your arms around his back and re-familiarize yourself with him.

the two of you head to bed soon after, Hansol sleeping in your guest bedroom; the two of you decided to take it slower for now, and see how things go.

you smile into your pillow as you succumb to sleep; it seemed you no longer had to mourn what once was.

Hansol turns in your guest bed, staring at the wall as he snuggles the pillow beneath him. he couldn’t wait to love you for the rest of his life.

Extra:

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.” you kiss Hansol’s temple quickly before standing up and leaving to the bathroom. he touches his temple in awe as he sits on your couch waiting obediently, staring in the direction you just left.

the night had gone better than he expected. when he told you he hadn’t been doing well, that was an understatement. after your breakup, he found it hard to get up on most days, he rarely went out anymore and he had lost joy in things he often loved doing with you.

Hansol had been thinking about your birthday for weeks, unsure how he would handle not spending the day with you. it was a special day to him; the day the love of his life was born, and the thought that you’d be spending it with several people but not him was torturing.

so that was how he found himself in front of your apartment, spontaneously deciding to show up and fully prepared to beg you to hear him out, if that’s what it took.

but you took the news better than he would’ve imagined; though he should have known, you were the sweetest to him, even when you were angry.

he’s broken out of his thoughts when you sit next to him on the couch again, a box in your hands as you lift the cover. he peers over curiously and tilts his head when he sees bandaids and ointment.

you look at him and sigh, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your eye level when he realizes what you brought the first-aid kit for.

his face flushes as you look at the reddened skin surrounding his fingernail. you open the ointment, carefully dipping a Q-tip in the cream before applying it on each of Hansol’s fingers. you finish by placing bandaids on them and smoothing down the sides delicately.

“Sorry… and thank you.” he whispers, still looking embarrassed as you stare at him with a serious expression.

you lift his hand to your face again, this time kissing each finger over the bandaid, keeping eye contact as his cheeks redden. he shrinks into himself when you finish as you break out into a laugh at his shy demeanor.

you leave to throw the bandaid wrappers away and place the box back when Hansol remembers what he’d brought with him.

he hurries over to his jacket, pulling out a small pink neatly wrapped box. he opens it, glancing at the rouge-colored rose quartz necklace. he hopes you’ll like it.

you yawn as you walk back to the living room, rubbing your eyes tiredly as the sun begins to rise. Hansol feels terrible about keeping you up so late, but he needed to do one last thing before you slept.

he grabs your hand as you look up to him in confusion.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he repeats, this time placing the gift in your hands gently as you pull back with parted lips.

you smile sleepily yet sweetly at him, “You shouldn’t have, really.”

he shakes his head, “I wanted to. Open it, please. I’m so nervous right now I could throw up.”

you giggle at his dramatic comment as you open the box, gasping when you spot the gorgeous pink stone, looking back at Hansol with sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much! It’s gorgeous, I love it, I really do.” you glance back at the necklace, eyeing the way it glints prettily in the light.

you close the box before wrapping your arms around his neck as he hugs your waist, pulling you close and swaying side to side. he buries his face in your neck, kissing it gently, causing you to freeze before pushing him away with a nervous giggle. he smiles at your timid expression.

he was so glad to have you back.

a/n: well.. another Vernon fic haha … sorry for any typos !

unofficial tags: @scuzmunkie :>

[kisscara]

could u do one with fatui scara and his spouse like a normal doting day??

home, with me. [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ angst mixed w/ fluff, fatui!scaramouche

a/n: was originally supposed to be cute and sappy but here we are.

the balladeer's spouse? oh, not a single soul would be able to know exactly how he ended up with such a person as them. kind, caring and thoughtful; it all seemed so odd. the fatui subordinates whisper amongst themselves, how your relationship with him is just for mora and... well, that.

in that case, everything would make perfect sense. both you and him would benefit from such a status. but what they didn't know was that you met him when he was still that sweet and vulnerable puppet, kunikuzushi. even though you were against the idea of him joining the fatui, you still chose to love and support him unconditionally.

"scaramouche," you softly call out, gracing his office with your presence. scaramouche simply gestures with a wave of his hand to close the door behind you and you do so. "come now, have you forgotten your promise already?" you query with a slight pout.

scaramouche leans back in his chair and finally removes his attention from the papers across his desk. "i haven't. i was just about to leave." scaramouche re-adjusts his hat and a rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he makes his way to you.

"did you eat yet?" scaramouche mumbles, holding your hand in his and opening the door. a fatui recruit standing by the frame flinches upon seeing you and him walking out. "don't ask me that! i don't have to eat for something like this," you coo in a matter that shows how hopelessly in love you are with him.

scaramouche scoffs, "still. i can't have you passing out if you haven't eaten properly." you cup the side of your face and hum, "oh my, how gentlemanly of my husband."

the two of you find a beautiful and secluded spot by the grounds of your shared house, choosing to have a peaceful picnic beneath a lovely sakura tree. as scaramouche lays out the blanket onto the grass, you comment, "it's been a while since we've spent time alone together, hasn't it?"

scaramouche removes his hat from his head and runs a hand through his hair. "it has. her majesty has been growing more and more impatient as the seconds fly past," he says. you sit next to him and hold a basket in your lap. "let's... forget about that for now. right now is the chance for us to make up for lost time."

scaramouche sighs, "you're right, darling." he queries, "what have you been up to without me around?" you start taking out plates from the basket and happily reply, "everything's been mundane. i go to the city every now and then to buy from the vendors and..."

scaramouche aids you in putting out the cutlery, "and?" you add, "i met a really kind guy the other day! his name is thoma and he's a housekeeper for the kamisatos." scaramouche narrows his eyes, "thoma, huh? sounds like a real nice guy." he emphasizes the 'real' part and this, you notice.

"don't worry, dear, he's just a friend," you reassure him, using a fork to stab into the strawberry perched on top of your cake slice. scaramouche grits his teeth, "when did i say i was worried, huh?" you hold up the fork by his lips and he tsks before eating the fruit.

because he doesn't like sweets, you always treat him to the fruits that come with it. "have i ever told you how cute you are?" you playfully prod. scaramouche hides the rising blush on his face by looking away. "definitely cuter than that thomas guy or whatever..."

you laugh in amusement at his antics. he dips the tip of his index finger into the whip cream of your strawberry shortcake and wipes it onto your nose. you blink a few times and he chuckles. you use a tissue to carefully clean it off, "how childish of you." you suddenly grin.

"your lips are so soft." the pads of your fingers gently caress his lips and scaramouche longingly gazes at you. you take another strawberry and bite into it. "i've always wondered what you'd look like with lipstick," you giggle. you dab the bitten strawberry against his lips, staining it into a sheen red.

scaramouche holds your wrist and uses his other hand to hold your face. you and him lean in, sharing a sweet kiss between lovers. the tangy flavor of strawberry sends your tastebuds into a tingling sensation as he deepens into you, quietly gasping in between kisses.

you pull away and he allows your arms to envelop his figure as you mutter against the crook of his neck, "can you stay home, just for tonight?" scaramouche frowns, "you know i can't do that." you tighten your embrace. "please?"

in response, your husband picks you up bridal style and brings you inside the house. even though he placed you onto the bed, you cling onto his neck with your arms, afraid he'll leave you the second you let go of him. scaramouche slowly removes your hold from him and he plants multiple kisses onto your hands.

he murmurs, "i'm sorry, my love, my darling. i really am but i can't stay much more than i already have." you're struck with silence and stare at him in a sorrowful way. however, he takes it as a reply, his heart twinging with pain as he walks to the door.

scaramouche stops in his tracks when he feels a tightened grip on his sleeve. he turns his head and finds you desperately hugging his arm. "can you stay with me until i fall asleep?" you ask. scaramouche tenses up and hesitantly looks at the front door before back to you.

he nods and leads you back to the bed. "i didn't know my spouse was this clingy." scaramouche's frail attempt at lightening the mood changes nothing. you rest your head onto his chest and shakily sigh. "i love you, (name)." scaramouche strokes your hair and you sniffle. "i love you too, kunikuzushi."

a few minutes later, can he hear your soft snores and easy breathing as you sleep away. scaramouche is careful to remove himself from the bed and he tucks you into the blanket. he presses a kiss to your tear stained face before leaving the house.

he passes by the area you and him had the picnic at and instantly looks the other way. it seems like it hurts more everytime he leaves you. he goes months without seeing you, sometimes even years but this time, scaramouche swears he won't be gone for too long.

when he returns, he'll have completed his plan of stealing the gnosis to become a God. 'wait a little bit, (name). i'll come back.' scaramouche's solemn gaze returns to that of a cold one, returning to his identity of the balladeer himself as he continues the life of a ruthless harbinger.

[monzamash]

lights up — daniel ricciardo

summary – having too much fun with Daniel in a Coachella mosh pit. pairing – daniel ricciardo x you (female reader) rating – mature (course language, drug reference) word count – 1.7k a/n – fluffy, friends to lovers bullshit but i liked writing it! masterlist

Physical touch. That was Daniel’s love language and it was what had the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, even in the 40-degree heat.

It was sweltering in Indio, California. Roasting. You were somewhat prepared with the large cowboy hat sitting upon your head, sheltering you from the sun. Nothing really could’ve prepared you for the day – your first Coachella. It wasn't your first music festival by any stretch of the imagination but this one was big. You’d been looking forward to it for months, brushing off the cobwebs in preparation for the weekend and losing your mind over your outfit.

You'd spent hours shopping online, putting together the perfect ensemble, knowing you’d be photographed. It was inevitable with the company you were keeping but you didn’t care. It was happenstance that you and Daniel found yourselves in the same friendship group, watching your respective best friends fall in love and marry in the same year. Fate prevailed for them and you always wondered whether it would for you.

Daniel seemed to think so whenever you sat together, locked away in deep conversation. You were magnetic in that way. Always finding a quiet moment alone amongst friends, stealing glances from across the room until one of you nodded for the door. Plenty of Irish goodbyes shared between the two of you over the years – you could never say no to him and you never wanted to.

“Let’s get out of here,” You would whisper, Daniel already clocking the quickest exit.

It was his all too familiar touch that caused you to spin around in your combat boots, handbag swinging into your hip as you spotted that smile. Bright. White. Evergreen. He hadn’t even been in the sun for more than 10 minutes and was already sweating but he was relived to see you standing there, looking like a rockstar. Daniel had sussed you out a couple of times, asking whether you were still tagging along – trying to seem nonchalant and not desperately holding onto the hope that you'd be here.

You weren’t naïve as to why he was asking you the question and you answered happily, also wanting to make sure he would be there too – your partner in crime. He was Danny Ricciardo, after all. Our party boy.

And there he was as you turned around, standing proudly in a loud party shirt, tinted aviators covering his playful eyes and a smile that could light up the entire festival grounds if they needed him to. God, he was beautiful.

“You can always rely on Danny Ric to bring a bit of colour to the party,” You enthused, softly tracing the printed palm trees on his neon pink shirt, “So good to see you, honey.”

“And you, sweetheart.” He sweetly replied.

Daniel had missed you. And missed his opportunity so many times. He’d lost count of how many times he had the chance to man up and revealed his true feelings. But he didn’t want to ruin the friendship – a friendship that meant more to him than any other. He’d fucked it up so many times in the past with friends turned lovers and he would’ve rather die than lose yours. He couldn’t even bear to think about that. Gut-wrenching.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t spend every second of the day flirting with you. Anyone looking in would’ve thought you were honeymooning the way you doted over each other – him making sure you had a cold drink in your hand at all times and you making sure his collar was neatly folded down, sunscreen applied. There was an unspeakable pull between the two of you and it never dawned on either of you how obviously in love you were until someone brought it up, usually someone who liked to see you squirm.

“Babe, you need to fuck him and put us all out of our misery,” Your best friend whispered in your ear while Daniel scoured through the list of set times you’d handed to him, eyes widening at her words.

“I’m not fucking Dan,” You quietly snapped back, “We’re just having fun.”

“Hopping on that dick might be fun too if you weren’t chicken shit. You’re both as oblivious as each other…”

Your mouth fell open at her bluntness. Usually you appreciated her honesty but in that moment, you were offended. You weren’t chicken shit, you thought. Or maybe you were and couldn’t see how pathetic it was that you hadn't crossed the line with Daniel after all this time – that tempting, tantalising line that was constantly being dangled in front of you.

“I’m not talking to you about this anymore.”

You walked away, pissed off. So pissed off that you grabbed Daniel’s arm and dragged him away from the group, “Please tell me you’ve picked a band for us to see… I can’t be around Hannah right now and you’re my only hope.”

Daniel chuckled and nodded enthusiastically, “Amyl and the Sniffers are on at 5.”

He knew you loved them and he was proud as punch when you tightened your grip on his waist and stood on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his cheek. “Fuck I love you.”

His heart was in his throat every time you said those three words. They were never in the context that he wanted them to be said but that didn’t mean he loved hearing them any less. His stomach did a flip as he peered down at you, “Love you too.”

You and Daniel found your own little nook underneath a shady tree, away from the chaos and your friends. You sat there for hours, catching up on life and sharing a joint – simply enjoying each other’s company while bands played and went on stage. The music of Coahella wasn’t really Daniel’s vibe and it definitely wasn’t yours but you didn’t care.

Daniel was just stoked to be able to spend time with you after what had been a shitty start to the year. He needed your grounding words to remind him of what mattered most in life - he always trusted you with that. You were his safe place and sometimes Facetime just didn't cut it.

The sun had finally begun setting out in the desert. The dusty breeze cooling as darkness cloaked the sky, stars starting to twinkle above. Your fingers had become subconsciously intertwined with Daniel's at some point as you began your descent into the growing crowd, everyone keen to get as close as humanely possible to the stage. Harry Styles was closing out the festival and although you and Daniel had debated on seeing King Gizzard instead, you both agreed that you couldn’t miss history in the making. It was Harry fucking Styles for christ sake.

“Can you see alright?” Daniel asked, mindful that your vision was obstructed due to your shorter stature. His hands gripped your hips as he positioned you in front of him, feeling his warm chest bump your back.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You replied with a smile. He was protective of you and you loved how close he was, making sure nobody knocked you around or pushed in front. Hands never leaving your hips until the stage lights started to dim.

“I don’t want to lose you in this madness,” You yelled over the thousands of screaming people as you turned around and grasped Daniel’s hand, looking into his dark eyes – pleading.

“As if I'd let that happen,” He shouted back with a smile and clasped you hand, spinning you around so his arm was loosely wrapped around your neck. Both of your hands grasped his tattooed forearm, feeling safely tucked under it, wishing you could stay like this forever.

Having you that close killed Daniel. It hurt knowing that in 90 minutes, the show would be over and you’d disappear into the night, out of reach until you meet again. He tried to push those thoughts away and seize this rare moment, holding you, dancing with you. Moving in perfect rhythm with the music.

There were a lot of songs that neither of you knew but you still swayed along together, giggling at some of the girls who were literally catapulting themselves through the crowd to get closer to their idol, “Is this what it’s like for you at Albert Park?” You yelled into Daniel’s ear, standing up on your tiptoes so he could hear you.

His hand slipped down to the small of your back to hold you in place, sending chills down your spine once again, “There's a lot less boobs and a lot more middle aged women named Karen.”

“Hot,” You quipped back with a smirk as Daniel tugged you closer into his side, Harry’s voice suddenly becoming background noise.

This was his chance, he thought – the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

“Can I kiss you?” He shouted over the music, searching your eyes for any kind of hesitancy before leaning in, but you already were halfway there. You were two magnets constantly being pulled together, after all.

“Thought you’d never ask,” You teased before your lips locked, slowly at first but you’d both wanted this for so long – yearning for the chance to be free of insecurity and fear. You moved quickly to deepen the kiss, not caring about how public it all was. You were way too excited to care about anything besides Daniel’s lips on yours.

Your hands grasped both sides of Daniel’s face as his held your waist, holding you as closely as he could without breaking you in half. His fingertips brushed along the hem of you jeans, tugging on the loops that were unoccupied by a belt, desperate to feel you. He wanted it all with you but he knew he couldn’t. Not in the middle of a mosh pit.

A few more seconds passed before you reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily. Your lips ghosted over Daniel’s and cheekily he took that opportunity to sneak one more kiss before resting his forehead on yours. Noses bumping and eyes blown out, hungry for more than what you could give him in the middle of the Californian desert.

“That was nice,” You rasped and you could feel the blush creeping rapidly up your neck. There was a break between songs and you savoured the few seconds of peace, even though your heart was thumping in your ears.

“Really nice,” Daniel whispered and paused for a moment before leaning in again, “How badly do you wanna stay for the rest of the show?”

You pulled back and clenched your bottom lip between your front teeth, pondering your next move, “If it means leaving with you right now then fuck Harry Styles.”

A loud laugh slipped from Daniel's swollen lips before he nodded in agreement. Your words were like music to his ears, better than any song he’d heard all day.

let me know what you think!

[musicalmoritz]

Ok ok so after our recent interaction I gotta ask for the Natsuhiko/Teru essay. I need it in my life.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to yap about Natsuteru. Before I get into this I wanna say that my mutual on TikTok @/teru.kisser has some really good analyses on them. I think they’re also on here as natsuteru.handholding or something but TikTok is where they’re most active. Had to shoutout the CEO of Natsuteru before I opened my mouth abt them

Okay, so why do people ship Natsuteru? It’s a rarepair, so why do people like it so much? First off, let’s look at their similarities

They’re both popular dream boys at Kamome. Unlike characters like Aoi, they both appreciate and encourage this attention. Teru is often compared to a prince, and Natsuhiko’s hair makes a little crown on the top of his head. They both disguise their core personalities; Natsuhiko by acting harmless and dumb while actually being very threatening; and Teru by acting charming and perfect while actually being far more complex. There are a few more layers to Teru’s facade, yes he does it to hide his ruthless side like Natsuhiko but I think it goes even deeper with him, deep down he’s just a teenager forced into a heavy role. I wouldn’t call his sadistic side an act (just like Natsuhiko’s laidback personality isn’t fully an act, it’s still part of him), but at the end of the day I think he’s most himself when he’s teasing Akane and doting on his siblings. It’s not as clear cut as Aoi and Mitsuba where they have very distinct fake personalities, but Teru and Natsuhiko definitely play up elements of themselves in order to hide the things they don’t want others to see. They do this most notably by stepping into the role of the flirty, reliable upperclassmen

They both hold the ability to destroy supernaturals, and their respective groups rely on them to be the ones to get the job done. Teru is the protector, Natsuhiko is the destroyer. Sakura sends Natsuhiko in when she needs somebody killed, Akane enlists Teru’s help when somebody needs to be saved. They both act very parental/brotherly towards their younger counterparts. Obviously Teru acts like a loving but strict older brother to Kou, and Natsuhiko goes out of his way to make Mitsuba feel welcomed. I would say he also cares about Tsukasa to an extent, though he acts a bit annoyed with him at times. That would be another similarity between Teru and Natsuhiko, they both have issues with one of the Yugi twins

Now, what canon interactions do they have? Very few, but they have met off-screen. I couldn’t find the panels but in one of the earliest chapters, Natsuhiko says something to Sakura expressing concern about what “President Minamoto” would do if he knew about their actions. Then when he meets Kou during the sleepover chapter, he notes that he’s a lot more gullible than “his brother.” Both of these scenarios point towards Teru and Natsuhiko having some sort of relation to each other, though the extent to which it goes remains unknown. I will say that it reminds me of how Teru and Akane’s dynamic was introduced before we saw them interact, Akane seemed irritated with Teru’s existence and acted surprised when he realized how different Kou is compared to him. Little mentions of them knowing each other before AidaIro established a proper dynamic for them. The same could very well happen with Natsuteru, I’m confident we’ll see them interact at some point seeing as they’re both important to the plot

They also interact in AUs frequently. In the Minamoto Supernatural Detective Agency au, upon interviewing Natsuhiko, Teru calls him a freak. This is amusing to me, usually Teru is the one unsettling people. He expresses disdain for others often, but only supernaturals. So him being disturbed by Natsuhiko stands out to me. A common belief/headcanon among Natsuteru shippers is that Natsuhiko is able to pull emotions out of Teru in a way others aren’t. Similar to how Teru is able to put Natsuhiko on edge in a way most people don’t. By the way this is absolutely a “toxic yaoi” ship, we gotta get that out of the way. There are other ways to characterize them ofc since we don’t know much about their dynamic but most Natsuteru shippers agree on them being messy as hell

As for other interactions in AUs, in the Hanako-Kun Of The Opera AU, Natsuhiko mentioned that he talked to Teru off-screen. They were also depicted together in official art for the au (in the background). And in art for the Ghost Hotel AU you can kind of see them looking at each other. So yeah, there’s not a whole lot but the crumbs are most certainly there. The thing with Natsuteru is you just have to take what we’re given and run with it

Then there’s this scene, which is the most interesting of all. This is the closest we’ve come to an onscreen Natsuteru interaction. This scene is famous among Natsuteru shippers because it gives us more insight into what might happen if these two were to interact. Because in this scene, Natsuhiko outsmarted Teru. This is something we pretty much never see, even when Akane betrayed him he has to catch him off guard. Teru is always depicted as the strongest and most intelligent person in the room, unmovable. And yet, in this scene, Natsuhiko got the upper hand so easily. He knew that Teru wouldn’t be able to turn away his fans, that his protectiveness of humans outweighs his bloodlust for supernaturals. He used Teru’s caring side against him, and succeeded in saving Mitsuba

This is where the toxicity comes in. A lot of Natsuteru fans see Natsuhiko as being the more manipulative one in the relationship, whereas Teru is toxic in more physically aggressive ways (like he is with Akane). Full disclaimer tho, this is usually depicted as them fighting mutually or Natsuhiko encouraging Teru to kick his ass bcuz he’s a simp. I personally like to headcanon that they meet up to fight once a week and Teru wins every time. While most Teru ships center around him being taken care of, Natsuteru provides more conflict for him. Natsuhiko isn’t the type of person he could leave behind his life of exorcism with, and he’s not the type of boyfriend to hold him while he cries. To me this makes the ship stand out among other Teru pairings. I do think they’d genuinely care about each other, they’re just very messed up in their own ways so they hurt each other instead of healing each other

But that’s just the popular depiction, they could absolutely be written differently. Some people like more fluff in their ships and that’s totally valid. I’m focusing on the toxic element here because that’s why most people seem to like Natsuteru. On the flip side tho, a lot of fans like them because they’re silly. In fact this somehow goes hand-in-hand with the toxicity. They’re often made out to fit the “loser and his pretty wife” trope, with Natsuhiko being the loser ofc. Teru is a bit prettier and stronger and cooler than Natsuhiko so they have lots of girlboss x malewife potential (a trope I usually hate but I don’t mind it as much with them). It’s very tropey, Natsuhiko is characterized as the dumbass simp and Teru is the one who pretends to hate him but is secretly down bad. Lots of meme potential

I hope this helped you understand the ship a bit better, I wouldn’t call them one of my absolute favorites but I do love them a lot. I tend to write them as transfem butch lesbian ex-girlfriends because that makes the toxic side a bit more interesting to me lol. I would promote my 25k fic for them called “Racing on the Thunder” on ao3 but that would be obnoxious (leave kudos and comments and don’t forget to hit that subscribe button)

I really enjoy analyzing ships so again, thanks for giving me the chance to yap!!