#i can't quite remember enough details to say for sure

[pasc4lfuzz]

me vuelves loco

pairing: javier peña x f!reader a/n: i've tried writing before, but every time i've tried and even posted, i've deleted it after less than a week because i didn't like what i'd written. I don't know if I'll regret this one-shot after a while and end up deleting it, but I hope you like it. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!!!! summary: During the DEA New Year's party in colombia javi can't take his eyes off you. rating: MATURE! MDNI warnings: flirting, heavy make out, alcohool, remembering sex (i think this would be the right term lol) word count: 3.5k dividers by @/saradika-graphics

December 31st and you and the DEA still haven't caught Pablo Escobar, and so goes another year of hard work, always getting close to the goal but never quite finishing. As always, on New Year's Eve, the DEA throws a party for its employees. Last year you didn't feel like going, you preferred to stay at home, you, a bottle of wine, a plate of pasta alfredo and the TV on. 

You were immersed in your own thoughts for a long time as you sipped your wine, reminiscing about everything you did last year, especially your mistakes, how many times you and your partners were close to catching the head of the cartel and something went wrong, taking you back to the beginning. But that didn't even come close to occupying your mind during the night, definitely not, in your head there was only Javier Peña, that man with the broad shoulders and slutty waist, the way his thight jeans hugged his legs and ass, the cheesy grin he did when he hears the sound of your heels through the office. But surely one of your biggest mistakes - or the one you try to convince yourself was a mistake - was having sex with Javier. You didn't want to be another notch on his belt, but (un)fortunately you ended up giving in, but how could you not? 

That night you were going over some files with Javi in his apartment, glasses of whiskey on the coffee table, some papers lying on the sofa and on the floor, Javis eyes every few minutes on you, admiring you, flirting with you until you couldn't stand it. Suddenly you remember Javier's lips where in yours kissing you hungrily, his tongue searching for yours while their hands stroked from your waist to your ass and their hands tugged at your hair. You remember everything down to the smallest detail, the way he kissed your whole body, the feeling of his tongue flicking your clit, he tasting your pussy like a starving man. The weight of his body on top of yours and how your inner walls hugged his cock in every thrust, his groans and whispers praising you were echoing in your mind, and you realize, you've got it bad for Javier Fucking Peña.

So this year you've decided to go to the party, maybe you'll meet someone important there, get more contacts to help with Escobar's case. Work, work, work, that's all there was to your life lately, stressing you to the limit many times, you saw things and situations you'd never forget, but in the end you told yourself the same thing, in the end I'll have helped a lot of people, and that's all you wanted. As well as thinking that going to the party will help you at work, a week earlier Connie Murphy was at your apartment, your partner Steve's wife met you by chance in the building that the DEA had made available to the agents when you were coming home from work with Steve and Javi, and since then you've become friends. 1 week ago, the night Connie came to your apartment to have dinner and talk, she mentioned the party and said she was going with Steve and asked you if you were going.

"I don't know Con, I was thinking of going but... it's not really my scene" You say sighing and throwing your head back on the sofa, wiping your hands across your face "Maybe there I'll be able to talk more to some people from the Embassy and-" You're interrupted by Connie waving her hands and starting to talk.

"No, no, no, that's enough work talk and work thinking" Connie puts her hand on his shoulder, making him look at her "You work too much, you put all your time and effort into the DEA, I understand that it's supposed to end all this madness once and for all, but I think it's best if you give it a rest, you know." 

Her gaze gradually calms you down, your shoulders relax and your posture is no longer rigid from all the stress you've been going through lately.

"Think of this party as an escape from your problems, there won't be any narcs there for you to worry about, and I'll be there too," Connie says winking in your direction, eliciting a huffy laugh that shakes your head.

"Yeah, I'll go, at least I don't have to drink my own wine" You shrug letting out a sly smile.

The atmosphere in the main hall where most people were meeting is buzzing with energy and excitement. The vast space is adorned with shimmering decorations, exuding a bit sense of luxury, besides this was a DEA party, some colombian politicians were there making presence. Soft, warm lights bathe the room in a flattering glow, casting a sophisticated aura over the gathering. Lively conversations fill the air, complemented by the soft tones of a electric guitar, bass and a woman singing beautifully playing in the background. You're wearing a pearly white satin dress that goes all the way down to your heels, your make-up is simple but your lips are a deep red.

You pass some of your coworkers doing a fast small talk in pursuit of your goal of getting to the bar counter. There are at least 3 people in charge of making the drinks and preparing the drinks that are ordered, you give a friendly smile to the man who approaches you on the other side of the counter asking if you would like anything. You quickly look at the drinks menu and order a Cosmopolitan. 

This isn't one of the best scenarios you could imagine yourself in, you barely enjoy going out for a happy hour after long hours at work, let alone a New Year's Eve party with almost everyone you've worked with. You blame Connie, who, by the way, you haven't seen until now, while your eyes slowly wander around the room watching the others chatting and smiling. One of your favorite pastimes is:

observing.

Many times have you found yourself late at night when you couldn't sleep at your window, feeling the soft caress of a refreshing breeze that carries a subtle hint of the surrounding nature. The gentle touch of the air eases the sticky, humid air that normally hangs heavily in the Colombian nights, providing a respite from the tropical heat that characterizes this part of the world. Colombia wasn't a city that never sleeps like New York or a night city like Los Angeles, but there was a bit of movement at night, and you love watching people pass by and guessing where they're going, who they're meeting or how their day went. And now it's no different.

You're immersed in your thoughts, your attention going from person to person analyzing their features and posture, some with fake smiles just to please the rest around them, others very excited about the turn of the year with a fresh start, and a good number of the people you work with exhausted, just wanting this drug war to end.

Your trance is interrupted when you hear a familiar voice in your ear.

You knew that voice very well.

A voice that sends your heart racing and your spine tingling with anticipation.

It's Javier, his voice velvety, sultry, and more than enough to send shivers down your spine, awakening a deep sense of longing that you find both thrilling.

“Hermosa, I didn't expect to see you here” 

You turn your head to the right and see Javier Penan, leaning slightly with his right arm on the counter, with that smirk in his face that drives you crazy- NO!

You hate it.

“Peña.” You give him a slight nod and pick up your Cosmopolitan, which should have been sitting there for at least two minutes while you paid attention to your surroundings. 

You feel Javier's gaze travel slowly from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, as if he were taking in every aspect of you. His eyes travel with an almost tangible intensity, like a physical caress on your features. You can practically feel the way his gaze follows the outline of your hair, pauses to appreciate the shape of your face and then moves down, lingering on the curves and lines of your body. The way he looks at you is almost hypnotic, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You look stunning,” he says, and you feel your heart skip a beat as his eyes meet yours once again. Those warm, brown puppy dog eyes that you had thought could see right through your soul.

You feel exposed, laid bare under his gaze, like a book open for inspection. There's a spark of mischief in his eyes, as though he's enjoying the effect he's having on you, and he leans in a bit closer, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“You don't look so bad yourself,” I reply, quickly looking him up and down. The suit he's wearing hugs his body perfectly, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders, and making it hard not to appreciate the way it shows off his physique. I can see the strength in his frame, the way his shoulders bunch up as he rolls them back, and the way the fabric stretches over the muscles of his arms. My eyes dart back up to his face, where his mouth curves into a small, wry smile, the look in his eyes almost smug.

“Like what you see?” Javier winks at you and you take a big sip of your drink, breaking eye contact.

“you wish” I roll my eyes placing the drink down ”have you seen Connie?”

“Hm yeah she’s actually with Steve talking with Noonan” He points to his partner and his wife talking with the ambassador.

“Excuse me Peña.” You say walking away from him, you can feel his eyes glued in your ass, watching the way your hips sway as you walk through the room.

As the night wore on,you were engaged in a conversation with Connie and started to question your decision to listen to her.

"Connie, I think I'm leaving now," you said, finishing the last sip of your drink as your eyes scanned the room.

She gasped, clearly not believing what you were saying. "No, no, no! We discussed this already. If you leave, you'll be all alone on New Year's," she exclaimed.

You nodded, replying, "That's exactly what I had planned, just like last year."

“No, come on stay for me, soon Steve is gonna start getting sleepy and i would get bored” Connie waits for your response.

You close your eyes taking a deep breath before answering a simple “Fine” and Connie smiles at you.

“I’ll get you another Cosmopolitan” Connie leaves towards the bar to get you the drink she promised.

As you patiently wait for your friend and your drink, you couldn't help but take another look around the room. This time, you noticed something you hadn't before - a nearly closed door. Intrigued, you couldn't resist exploring further, walking towards the door and gently pushing it open.

Behind the door, you found yourself in a cozy little library, filled with books and the faint scent of old paper. As you walked along the shelves, your eyes scanned over various titles until something caught your attention - your favorite book.

There it was, standing out among the others, and your heart skipped a beat out of excitement. You eagerly pulled it out from the shelf and held it in your hands, feeling a sense of comfort and nostalgia wash over you.

“That’s a good one.” A voice behind you echoes through your mind, of course it's Javier.

You turn around looking at him trying to hide your emotions from the guy that little by little was stealing your heart, and that scared you. You shouldn't feel that way about him, you know very well that Javier Peña doesn't do relationships.

“Didn’t know you read.” You say sarcastically putting the book back in its place.

“Oh please, I know I'm not the most intelligent man but sometimes I read.” He says while slowly walking towards you, it’s like your body is calling him.

"Anyways, it's a classic, of course it's good," you say with a hint of excitement. Without realizing it, you start to passionately ramble about the book, your words flowing effortlessly as you speak.

"I mean, just the way the author captures the essence of the characters' development throughout the story, the way the plot unfolds, the way the conflict is resolved - it's all so brilliantly done. And don't even get me started on the writing style!" As you finally finish your passionate ramble about the book, you suddenly notice Javier's gaze fixed on you, almost as if it was burning through your skin.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, taking a few steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I…” You can’t trust your own words at this point, afraid you’ll say something that will fell wrong.

A shiver ran down your spine as Javier spoke in a low, sultry tone, his words sending a warm sensation coursing through your body.

"I don't think you realize this," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "but you literally become ten times sexier when you talk about books."

“Stop right there Peña” You put your index finger in his chest “I know where you tryna get from this, and im not ending up in your bed” 

“Hermosa” Your heart skipped a beat as Javier pulled you closer, your bodies now touching, his whiskey breath hot against your face. "Believe me," he murmured, his voice dropping to an even huskier tone, "I'm not just trying to get you in my bed. You might not believe this, but I really like you."

A wave of heat washed over you as you looked up into his eyes, wondering if there was more to  his words than just a line. And he was right, you didn’t believe him at all.

“Doesn’t seem like it” You murmur

Javier's gaze deepened as he looked into your eyes, his voice still carrying that sultry undertone. "I like the way you prefer tea over coffee," he began, the words coming out slowly and intentionally, "and how you always drink your jasmine tea in our office. The smell of it wafts through the room, constantly reminding me of you. And your laughter, it sounds like a 5-year-old's - innocent and carefree. But it brings a smile to my face every single time I hear it."

As you giggled and shyly looked away listening to him list the things he liked in you, Javier's smirk widened, his fingers gently catching your chin and turning your face back to him.

"Yes, that's the laugh," he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice, "the one I was talking about. It's infectious, you know."

Your eyes get lost in his, it’s almost like you can see and learn everything about him just by looking at his brown chocolate eyes. Javier's lips left a trail of gentle pecks on your cheeks, while his words echoed in your ears, sending a surge of heat through your body.

"I like it when you let your hair down," he murmured, "but I also like it when you tie it. I like it when you speak in Spanish," another kiss on your other cheek, "and most of all, I love the way you talk about the things you love."

As his lips hovered millimeters away from yours, leaving you yearning for more, you couldn't resist any longer.

The moment your lips met, an explosion of sensation took over. It was a hungry and passionate kiss, filled with months of built up tension and desire. Your grip on Javier's neck tightened as you pulled him closer, your bodies pressing against each other. His hands found their way to your hips, holding you tight as the kiss deepened. Tongues danced in a greedy, desperate dance, exploring each other's mouths as if trying to devour one another.

It was like an explosion of feelings all together, you felt like your heart could jump out of your chest at any minute. 

Sure you’ve already shared a few kisses with him, but it was always with a second intention, just like that one night you never forget. But this is different, the kiss was slow and deliberate, every movement filled with emotion and desire. Your lips moved in tandem with each other, exploring every inch of the other's mouth. A soft moan escaped your lips as Javier's tongue traced along your lower lip, seeking entrance. You granted it willingly, allowing him to plunge deeper into the recesses of your mouth. The kiss was hungry, but it was also tender, a perfect blend of love and excitement.

You feel your back against one of the bookcases as Javier kisses you more and more. Your hands pull his hair and massage his broad shoulders.

As you pulled your head back, gasping for air, Javier instinctively tried to chase your lips, unwilling to break the connection. He opened his eyes and couldn't help but let out a low growl at the sight of you biting your bottom lip, your eyes still closed in the aftermath of the passionate kiss.

As you opened your eyes and caught sight of his smile, something in your heart flipped, and you knew you were in too deep. "I believe you," you whispered, holding his face gently in your hands, your thumbs gently caressing his jaw.

"But if you really want this," you continued, your voice firm yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "you have to try not to mess things up. I'm willing to give you a chance, but I need you to promise me you'll be careful with my heart."

Javier's smile widened even further as you spoke, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and affection. He leaned into your touch, savoring the feel of your thumbs caressing his jaw, and he nodded in agreement.

"Don't worry, hermosa," he murmured, his voice softer and more genuine than you had ever heard it before. "I won't mess this up, I promise. I'm all in."

Without missing a beat, your lips crashed into each other once more, the passion and intensity of the moment taking over. The world around you faded away as you both become lost in the kiss, the hunger for each other growing stronger with each passing second.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself pressed up against the shelf, Javier's body pinning you against it as his hands roamed over your body, touching every inch of exposed skin. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, hungry kisses along the sensitive flesh. Your bodies instinctively moved closer, creating a delicious friction that sent waves of desire coursing through you. The kiss grew more intense, full of passion and need, as your hands became tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

As your fingers tangled in his hair and he continued to kiss and bite at your neck, an unexpected moan escaped your lips. You tried to bite your lip to hold it back, but the sensation of his lips against your skin was too overwhelming to contain. This only fueled Javier's desire, and he let out a low growl in response, one hand on your hips and the other one on you inner thigh pulling your right leg up to his waist.

A shiver ran down your spine as Javier's breath tickled your ear, his hot whispered words sending a thrill of pleasure through your body. "I forgot one thing," he murmured, his teeth gently biting down on your sensitive earlobe. "I love when you moan for me."

His body was still pressed against you, pinning you to the wall, and you could feel the effect your moan had on him, the tension and desire in the air palpable.

Just as Javier's lips were about to descend onto yours once more, the sound of an unwelcome voice called your name, breaking the spell. You both froze as the door handle turned, the wood moving just a fraction before it swung open.

Connie stood in the doorway, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the scene before her.

"What are you doing - oh my god," she gasped, quickly shutting the door again.

Javier takes a few steps back running his hand through his hair as you smoothed your dress. “Connie?” you ask behind the door and open it seeing her holding your drink. “I… I took a little longer to grab your drink and then i was gonna hand it to you but you weren’t there anymore so i looked for you and-” She spoke nervously trying to process the moment she had just seen. “Ok hm thanks for it by the way” you grab the drink from her hands taking a sip before looking quickly at Javier.

“It’s almost midnight by the way” Connie says leaving the library.

You felt a pair of warm, strong hands gently gripping your waist from behind. Javier's hot breath sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in close, his lips ghosting over the sensitive flesh of your neck.

"Come on, I want another reason to kiss you," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

[appocalipse]

summary: you were way too drunk last night and said some funny things...so, of course, steve had no other option but take you to his place to take care of you. :)

read part 1 here

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Your head hurts.

Everything feels a little weird, in fact, but especially your head, spinning and throbbing and, when you try to pry your eyes open, the sudden harsh light streaming into the room feels like it's physically boring straight through your brain.

"Fuck," you whimper pitifully, eyes squeezing shut once more. Your ears are ringing, there's a coppery film lining the inside of your mouth and, for a terrible second, your stomach churns dangerously. "Fuck."

Someone hums somewhere near your right ear. A low, gravelly, vaguely amused sort of hum. There is absolutely nothing and no one alive on this green earth that would hum in that particular fashion except your best friend.

You peel your eyelids apart with great difficulty. When you tilt your head to the right, you see Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at you with a soft look on his face.

Naturally, you proceed to freak the fuck out.

"Jesus Christ," you cry, scrambling backwards until you feel the back of your head slam against the headboard with a resounding thud. The dull throb in the back of your skull intensifies, and you have to fight back the urge to throw up. "Ow! Shit, I—What—what happened? Why are you in my—"

Hold on a second...this is not your room.

You cast an anxious, furtive glance around the unfamiliar setting of Steve Harrington's guest room. Panic floods your veins and has your heart hammering in your chest when you notice that you're clad in only one of his shirts and sweatpants that definitely don't belong to you.

Oh, Dear Lord.

Did something happen last night that you can't remember? Did something — oh, God, no.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you as though he can read your mind. "Relax. Nothing happened, relax, come back down," he coos gently, placing a placating hand on your arm. "And I...I didn't see anything, if that's what you're worried about. Nancy and Robin, uh...they helped you shower and get changed last night. Not me."

You cover your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan as your memories come trickling back in. You don't remember every little detail from the previous night, but what you do remember is already more than enough to fill you with mortification and regret.

"...you said some pretty interesting things while you were drunk, though."

"Shut up," you mumble, peeking up at him through splayed fingers, "go away."

"Really, though," Steve continues, the teasing glint in his eyes a sure sign that he is very much enjoying your suffering, "who knew you found me so attractive?"

"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, groaning as you slide down to hide underneath the comforter, "where are my clothes? I want to leave now."

Steve snickers but makes no move to get up from his perch on the bed. You can hear the rustling of fabric, like he's adjusting his position as he waits for you to come out from under the blanket. "Clothes are in the wash, sorry," he says, sounding very much not sorry at all. "You, um, thought it was a good idea to lie down on the grass last night."

"Kill me now."

"Nope," he chirps, quite cheerfully so, "can't do that, because then who would watch Back to the Future with me tonight?"

You part the comforter just enough to peer up at him from beneath the thick layer of blanket.

"'Back to the Future'?" you echo, trying to ignore the fact that you feel a little lightheaded when Steve smiles down at you.

He looks nice. He always does, but even more so now for some reason — you're guessing it has something to do with the fact that you just woke up and haven't had the time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing him up close yet.

"Mmhmm. You up for it?"

"I'm pretty sure that my head is literally going to explode any time now." 

It's really not that bad anymore, but Steve doesn't need to know that, does he?

He nods seriously in agreement. "Right, because you drank way more than you should've last night. Might have mentioned something about rules and...mhmm, what was it? Oh, yes, dying if I didn't let you touch my hair…?"

"No, I didn't."

"You really did," he tells you, leaning back on the heels of his palms, "but don't worry, it was cute."

"I am very much worried," you say miserably.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh and leans forward again, hands reaching out to tug the blanket down far enough to uncover your face completely. "Come on," he says, "do you need anything? Aspirin, maybe? Food? Water?"

You consider his offer, taking the time to mull it over while you avoid his gaze. 

"Why did you bring me home with you?" you ask, curious despite yourself. "Why didn't you just take me home?"

"You, uh...really didn't want me to. Pretty much refused to let go of me all night."

"Steve."

"No, really!" he insists, holding both hands up in surrender. "It was like trying to pry a koala off a tree. You even asked—"

You let out a helpless moan of protest and turn away from him as much as you can, hiding your face in the pillow. Steve laughs, clearly delighted by the fact that he's managed to thoroughly embarrass you in less than ten minutes.

"You asked me if I—"

"I don't wanna know!"

"—would sleep in your bed with you."

"Nope," you whisper, your voice coming out a little garbled due to the way you've pressed your face into the pillows, "don't wanna hear it. Shut up, Steve, oh my God. Please."

"It was very adorable."

"I was drunk."

"Still. Cute."

You prop your head up on your elbow so that you can see him a little better, keeping the blanket held tightly around your shoulders as you do. "Sorry I called you. I don't even remember doing it, Tina just told me to and…sorry."

Steve looks down at his lap, shifting a little uncomfortably on the bed.

"I don't mind," he says, lifting his gaze up to meet yours briefly. "You said you missed me. At the party."

A dry, humorless chuckle leaves you and you cringe when the sudden motion sends a sharp pain lancing through your forehead. "Ow. Of course you would remember that," you say, cheeks heating up.

"Do you...remember everything?"

You blink, momentarily confused by the sudden change in conversation. "Everything?" you ask, more to buy yourself some time than anything else.

"You, um..." Steve trails off, clearly unsure of how to broach the topic with you, "you said I made you feel…stuff inside. That you felt stuff. Or something like that. Do you...remember saying that?"

You can practically feel all the color draining out of your face, leaving behind a blank canvas that hides none of your inner panic. 

"Uh...no, no, I don't. Do you have a...I need to, um, use your bathroom, like, right now, if you don't mind."

Steve blinks. "Oh, okay. Sure. I bought you a toothbrush earlier, by the way. It's in the medicine cabinet if...if you want."

"Yep," you say, climbing out from under the blanket with as much dignity as you can muster (which is very little), "yep, okay, thanks. I'm...gonna go do that. Now. Okay, bye."

You spend a good five minutes inside the bathroom splashing water in your face while silently wishing for death to come claim you sooner rather than later. Then, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush Steve left out for you — which is totally not cute, it's not cute, why did he do that, ugh, damn him — before venturing out into the hall.

"Steve?"

"Kitchen," he calls out from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, "you want pancakes?"

You hesitate.

The idea of staying to have breakfast alone with Steve Harrington seems oddly intimate after last night, a dangerous prospect that will undoubtedly lead to awkward small talk and more teasing. However, he did go out of his way to buy you a toothbrush this morning...

You swallow down the nervousness you feel and pad barefoot down the staircase into the foyer, following the sounds of clinking utensils and soft humming to the kitchen.

Steve looks up from his place at the stove when you appear in the doorway.

"Hey," he greets, giving you a quick once over. "How's your head?"

"Feels like there's a little person in there hitting it repeatedly with a little hammer," you admit, grimacing a little as you come further into the room and sit down at the island. "Thanks, by the way. For helping me out last night. And today. I really am sorry for...um, you know, that."

"'That'?"

You purse your lips and Steve grins.

"Yes, that," you mutter, swiveling your seat from left to right while you watch him attempt to read a recipe on the back of a box of pancake mix. "Drunk me is like, twice as embarrassing as sober me."

"Embarrassing isn't the word I'd use."

"Please," you scoff, "I was pathetic. I could barely walk by myself."

Steve glances back at you. "I didn't think you were pathetic."

You raise an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Okay, maybe a little pathetic," he concedes with a little snort, "but mostly just…sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, sweet. Don't know if anyone's ever told you that before."

"Sweet," you say again, the headache suddenly no more than an afterthought. "That's how you'd describe me?"

Steve, apparently having given up on making sense out of the instructions on the back of the box, turns around to lean against the counter behind him and studies you with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head to the side a little. "Not the word you expected me to say?"

There's something about the way he's looking at you. It's warm and piercing all at once, like he can see right through you. It makes it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden, hard for you to do anything but gape at him like a goldfish that's been pulled out of water.

"Uh, I'm...confused."

"Me too," he admits with a little huff of laughter. "I was thinking about what you said."

"About your hair?"

"No, well, yeah, but—" Steve pauses, dragging a hand down his face with a weary sigh. "Look, what you said to me yesterday, about the things I make you feel, I—"

"I said I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Steve interrupts, shooting you an unamused look, "I'm trying to say something here, come on, give me a sec."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

"You're not supposed to apologize for apologizing."

"I'm s—okay, right. Mouth shut."

Steve purses his lips to stifle his amusement at your antics. You fold your arms in front of your chest and keep your gaze fixed firmly on the marble countertop as you wait for him to continue.

"I, uh," he says, pushing himself away from the counter so that he can wander over to the other side of the kitchen, where you sit, "I feel things too, you know. With you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he stops beside you, "'Oh'. Weird, right?"

You'd like to, but can't think of anything clever to say that would serve as a suitable response. You don't think Steve's looking for one, anyway, because he reaches out to tap his fingers lightly on the back of your hand, taking a seat on the stool next to yours.

"S'weird, 'cause I don't know if you meant what you said when you were drunk, or if it was just the alcohol talking, or what."

You shake your head quickly, and then wince because of the way the headache thuds behind your right eye.

"Robin says I'm an idiot and should stop being such a chicken," he continues, with a slight roll of his eyes. "And Eddie says if I don't 'shut up and tell you how I feel soon', he'll do it for me."

You nod, smiling despite your hangover. "Eddie's, uh, got a point, no?"

"Maybe," Steve allows, rubbing absently at the side of his neck.

He lets his hands slide down to the legs of your stool, fingers curling around the metal of each side. You don't quite understand what he's doing until he gives them a light tug, jerking you closer to him without warning.

You let out a little shriek of surprise as you reach up to clutch onto the first solid thing your hands find — his forearms. 

"Ah! What—Steve!"

He's got an amused smile on his face, but his eyes are bright and nervous all at once. Steve pushes your stool even closer to him, until your knees knock against his own and he's forced to lean down to keep his eyes on you.

You hold his gaze steadily as he edges closer. "What are you doing?" you murmur, watching his eyes flit downward to track the movement of your tongue as it peeks out to wet your dry lips.

"Not sure yet," Steve hesitates when your lips are a hairsbreadth apart. He watches, half-dazed, half-entranced by the way you stare back at him, unblinking. "But I've got a theory."

"A theory?"

He lowers his head toward yours. You press your hands flat against the hard plane of his chest to steady yourself, fingers splaying over the soft material of his t-shirt as you curl them around the fabric. Steve exhales, and you can feel his breath on your skin, a soft tickle that raises the goosebumps all over your skin.

"Wanna hear it?"

You nod slowly, aware of the way his eyes darken as they trace your face. He's so close that you can make out the fine dusting of freckles and moles that litter his skin, the long fan of his lashes as they flutter to a close. If you moved even slightly, your lips would brush against his.

"What's your…your theory?" you whisper.

You can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest as he releases his hold on your stool, lifts both hands up to cradle your face instead. He slides the tips of his fingers along the side of your neck, lets his thumb trace your jaw.

"I think," Steve says, and you can tell he's struggling to string two coherent words together when you feel his thumb quiver against your cheekbone. "I think that, uh, you're—Christ, I—"

His nose brushes against yours and you tilt your chin up instinctively, chasing the brief contact. You smirk. "Christ, you...?"

"Shut up," Steve huffs out a breathless laugh. "I'm getting to it."

"Are you?" you tease, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, your turn to pull him towards you gently.

Steve goes easily, moving his hand from your face to brace the back of your neck. "I think," he starts, eyes crinkling at the corners, "that I might be in love with you."

It's such an unforeseen, unexpected confession that your heart almost gives out in your chest. 

You gape up at him, at his crooked grin, at his rosy cheeks. "You think?"

He blinks and then squints down at you like he can't decide whether he wants to be annoyed at your antics or kiss you. You hope for the latter, but he says, "What're you, a parrot?"

Shrugging, you're unable to keep your lips from quirking into a grin of your own. "Rude."

Steve's head falls forward and he rests his forehead against yours. You can feel his pulse thundering wildly against the hand you've pressed flat against his chest, and it makes you feel a little better about your own pounding heart.

"M'sorry."

You smooth a hand over his shirt and hook a finger under the neckline. "Forgiven," you tell him.

"Good," Steve says, nudging his nose against yours playfully.

You want to say something else, maybe tease him about his hair or something equally as inconsequential, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he leans down and closes the distance between you with a slow, tentative press of his lips to yours.

Now, Steve's mouth is soft and warm, and he kisses you like he's got all the time in the world. You shiver when he drags his fingers up the back of your neck, tangling them in your hair so that he can pull you closer yet.

You only pull back when the need to breathe becomes too urgent, giggling at the little noise of protest he lets out as you do. But Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he pulls you back in almost immediately, the movement so abrupt that you nearly topple backwards off the stool.

"Steve—I..." you manage to say, between your giggles and the heated press of his lips against yours. "I still...need to breathe, mister."

He huffs out a little laugh against the side of your neck, nips at the sensitive skin in retaliation. You squeal in delight and jab him playfully in the stomach, laughing as he recoils in mock agony.

"Stop laughing," Steve complains, the warmth of his own laughter tickling the underside of your chin when he nuzzles his nose into your neck once more, "come on, you're ruining the moment."

"Wait," you breathe, right before his lips meet yours again, "so...no pancakes, then?"

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and shakes with quiet laughter."You," Steve mumbles into the side of your neck, "are something else, you know that?"

You grin. "Apparently, you like that. Love that...no?"

You can feel him smile, the stretch of his lips curving against the skin of your shoulder.

"Apparently...yeah, I do. I do."

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

May I request some full HCs of the M6 with an ex coliseum fighter MC?

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an ex-Coliseum fighter MC

Julian

His first thought when he laid eyes on you after he broke into your shop was "wow, they must have some stories to tell!"

Oddly enough, the physical (and mental/emotional) scars you carry from your time in the Coliseum are big reasons for why he chooses to trust you - and, eventually to cherish you. You've been through it

As someone who's had quite the wild life himself, he can trust you to understand how difficult experiences do and don't define who you are. He knows if he talks about life with pirates, you'll get it

If it's his turn to have a nightmare, he doesn't have to worry that talking about his bad dreams will expose you to new horrors. If it's your turn, he's a light sleeper for good reasons

Tends to pry for stories about your time there, but in a good way that pushes you to process what it was like

Checked over all the scars you accumulated there and regularly asks after any lingering chronic pain from the injuries

Once he's gotten past the initial flirtatious comments and the awkwardness of opening up, he'd be lying if he doesn't find the scars and background very attractive. Rough him up anytime ~

Asra

They're in two minds about the whole situation and they're not totally sure how to proceed with it when discomfort isn't their thing

He's glad you're not there anymore. He often wonders if you coming back without memories was actually a merciful thing, if it meant not remembering the details of your trauma

They hate seeing all the marks of pain and violence on your body, because it's like a reminder to them of one of the many ways they somehow let you down or left you alone when you needed help

Deep down, however, it's beyond comforting to him to know what you're capable of surviving without help, because he knows he can't always be there for you no matter how hard he tries

They know that if you're ever in a situation again where your life is threatened, you'll fight viciously to preserve it. They hate that you experienced it and hope you never will again, but they're relieved

All that to say, he doesn't know how to talk about it and he's not going to broach the subject unless you do

Still committed to loving you and being open with you. They know you, they know you're good, and they want you to know them too

Nadia

When she first met you, she assumed the scars must have come from fighting in a war. The Coliseum didn't occur to her

She doesn't even have the clearest memories of it, since she only really saw it after being married to the man who instated it. That doesn't stop her from feeling immensely guilty about it

This happened to you while she had the power to push back against it, and she didn't. There was so much going wrong that she never addressed because she was holed up in her tower, hiding

That only spurs her to try to make things right. You do receive a halting but heartfelt apology from her early on, and a respectful invitation to share your experience with her at your comfort

Just as you've helped her to move on and recover, she wants to do the same for you. You have a powerful skill set. To the extent that you're willing to, she'd love to see you put it to noble use

How do you feel about teaching martial arts? She'll put you in touch with Nahara, and will help you fund a teaching studio for anyone who could use the coaching

Or you could be her personal bodyguard ...

Muriel

More than anything, he's just relieved he never had to kill you. He already has so much regret to live with, and the thought of ending the person who would've made life good again is horrific

That doesn't make you easy to be around at first. Everything about you brings back the memories he wants to leave behind

The scars that match his, the way you react to movement, even the way you walk to compensate for the drag of chains you don't wear anymore. You're the un-hateable mirror of everything that hurts

And that's just after the first few days. Truthfully, you scare him, and even after building a new life with you there are still moments when being perceived by you terrifies him, because you get him

You don't need words or confessions to understand the hell that's shaped him so profoundly. And even when he can't stand to carry someone else's pain on top of his own, he still understands yours

It's precisely that forced vulnerability that makes loving you so profoundly healing. He loves you for you, he loves you for the pain you've experienced, and since it's the same as his own, he's learning to love himself begrudgingly in the process

Portia

Not put off by you at all, which is extremely rare for you

She finds it attractive if anything. You look like someone who's really lived. You look like someone who gives as good as they get

It makes her a little uncomfortable to be around at first. She's so quickly caught up in the coolness and excitement of your violent past that she can get borderline insensitive with her questions

What's it like to be in a fight? Who's the biggest person you fought? Did you really have to kill all of your opponents? How many did you kill? Was there a lot of blood? What weapons did you use?

Does a complete 180 the first time she sees the emotional and mental toll it's taken on you. She's so empathetic, it takes all of five seconds for her to understand this is trauma before she's weeping

So very happy to be your anchor and grounding presence. She will hold you and grieve with you and never, ever, ever look at you differently for what you were a part of. You're not scary to her

Almost overprotective when it comes to how other people perceive you. Someone's acting like you're the scariest person in the room and making you uncomfortable? She's about to prove them wrong

Lucio

After spending three years as a goat ghost, he doesn't care who you are, just talk to him - oh, his survival depends on your good graces? And he had you stuck as a Coliseum fighter? Hmmm

Tried to hide it, but he was scared at first. He was smart enough to know that you had good reason to dislike him, and therefore plenty of reason to further mess him up in such a vulnerable state

But you didn't. Which made him confused. And curious

Tell him about your time there, then! What was it like being in the ring? Being a participant in his favorite fight of yours?

Oh. Oh, it was that bad? ..... oh.

He carries guilt for every painful repercussion you experience. It was shame, and now it looks more like remorseful responsibility, but he doesn't need it rubbed in his face to know it was wrong

What he also knows is a valuable lesson you taught him, which is both the importance and possibility of making things right

You will never have a nightmare he won't be ready to comfort you for. You will never have an injury he won't be getting his clothes dirty for treating it. You will always, always have him by your side

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 2:

She dreamed of paradise

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Read part 1 here.

Warnings: explicit domestic violence and abusive relationships. Descriptions of physical violence. Reader is married and has a child.

Summary: Spencer sees a mark on you. He decides that if no one is going to do anything about it, then he will. If only he can convince you to accept help.

Steve was strangely calm on the way home. He had asked the sheriff for permission to take you and Willy away during his lunch break with the excuse that he was worried about the disappearance of women that had been happening in town, just like an ideal husband, but you knew the real reason, he wanted to keep an eye on you.

"Well?" he asked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at you.

You knew it was best to let him speak first, so you waited for Steve to start, no matter how tense you were.

"The FBI guy, what did he want?"

"Nothing much, he was just playing with Will, he knew magic tricks."

You didn't mention the terror you felt when you saw that your son wasn't by your side, he could never relate to that, he could never understand the deep emptiness that existed inside you when Will wasn't around. He was all the light you needed.

"And you let some stranger talk to our son? I can't leave you two alone anyway."

Sometimes you didn't quite understand Steve's intentions, even though you knew there was a reason behind everything.

"He's FBI, isn't he?"

It was a risky move, rebutting what he was saying. Luckily for you, it seemed to be a good day, because he did nothing but raise an eyebrow and snort.

"I don't want you two anywhere near that guy."

You just nodded, distracted as you wondered what was so special about Dr. Reid that Steve reacted like that, your curiosity piqued. Was he trying to push you away from one more person before any bonding had even begun? Surely he couldn't have been afraid that you would turn him in since you had already understood a long time ago that no one would help you or even give you a second glance. If I could go back in time, I would have run as soon as Steve showed interest in joining the police. A bunch of conniving vibrators, they were.

"We'll never see him again," you reassured him.

"Well," your husband muttered, "you know why I do it. I have to protect my family."

With a silly, fake smile on your face, you agreed as you stroked his arm, looking through the rearview mirror at Will sleeping in the back seat. You could do this for another 13 years, right? Just hang in there.

•••

Spencer gathered his things from the table, putting them in his bag as he prepared to go to the hotel, hoping to get a good night's sleep and work with more focus and renewed vigor the next day. He spent the rest of the day reliving his interaction with you down to the smallest detail, remembering and recalling her tone of voice, her posture, and her submission when her husband appeared. If was right, his name was Steve.

The policeman in question left the police station for an hour and returned soon after, casting long glances at Spencer, none like yours, who followed him to his hotel room, until he laid his head on the pillow and far beyond that, invading his dreams.

•••

5 days in the same city was a lot on the Spencer scale. Enough to make the UNSUB profile, but not enough to capture him. He lived in the shadows, preying on the most vulnerable people in that small, broken society that was your little town: the women. More specifically, the housewives. Spencer spent these days wondering if you had any job.

"What the hell?" He heard Morgan's voice exclaim with surprise, raising her head to look at the source. That's when spotted William, wandering around outside the glass-walled room they were in. The boy walked between the tables as if he belonged there, but stood out from his surroundings. "Who is he?"

"Cop Steve's son." Spencer murmured, attracting the attention of his colleagues.

"Do you know him? How?" JJ asked.

Spencer shrugged. "Kids like magic. He came here a few days ago, must have run away from his mom again. I thought Morgan had seen him before."

"Well, I didn't see. There's something strange about that boy's father-" Turning away as he spoke, Derek was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a child's voice shouting happily.

"Dr. Reid!"

As if it were second nature, Spencer rose from his seat to kneel in front of the child and greeted him back with a smile.

"Hey, Willy," he held up his open palm, which made the boy laugh and high-fived him, "What are you doing here, kid?"

"Mom came to bring Dad's lunch again, but I wanted to see you."

Spencer sighed with an understanding smile, looking around at his classmates who stared rather shocked at their very natural interaction.

"And does your mom know you're with me?"

The look he shifted to the floor said everything the doctor needed to know.

"You can't just disappear, young man. Do you know where she is?"

Will nodded. "In the big room with Daddy."

Spencer looked at Hotch, who understood immediately and sighed tiredly before nodding and nodding towards the door, permitting him to leave.

"Let's find her then, shall we?"

William walked out hand in hand with the man, leaving Spencer shocked that a policeman's son was so ill-educated, regardless of his age. Children could be sociable. They should be. That didn't exclude all the evil that lurked outside the house - or inside - the boy seemed the pure image of naivety. Worrying. He couldn't tell you why he cared so much.

"So, Willy, why did you split up with Mom? You heard what she said, she gets worried when you disappear like that."

"Because they were starting over."

"Starting what?" Reid asked, frowning and looking down to see the child's face, who didn't answer. "Starting what, William?" he asked again.

•••

"How did you manage to lose sight of him? For God's sake, this is a police station!" Steve exclaimed furiously, although he growled quietly. He didn't believe in announcing his problems to the world.

"I let go of his hand for a second and he disappeared!" You retorted, your eyes watering as you thought about what he could have gotten himself into this time. "It's not my fault," you continued, hugging your body as if trying to convince yourself.

Your husband snorted, scorn appearing on his face as he approached, and suddenly any courage you had was thrown out of the window. You looked around, at the walls that gave you so little privacy. We're in public, you thought, like a mantra. He didn't do anything in public. He didn't do anything in public. He grabbed your arm. Moreover, his nails dug in, forcing and tearing at your skin as his instinct acted and tried to pull your arm back, but he held back. As he always did. Apart from the pain, all you could think about was what a bad idea it was to wear short sleeves that day.

"What good are you anyway, if you can't even look after my son properly?"

Your eyes were injected with rage and you swallowed, watching the face of the man you once thought would make you the happiest woman in the world. The man who promised you the world while hugging you in a college dormitory bathroom and holding a pregnancy test with a small smile on his face. Eyes crinkled with joy as he stroked your still flat belly and whispered such sweet things. A time when you thought you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. You no longer saw any of that in the man in front of you. He ripped any last shred of hope from your cold, dead hands and then made you dig your own emotional grave, as deep as his nails could go into your skin. You barely felt the pain anymore. You didn't even feel anything, until you heard the familiar voice of the light of your life, pulling you out of that dark pit as it always did.

Quickly, Steve retracted his arm, taking a deep breath and swallowing as he turned to where he had heard his son's voice, his nostrils flaring as he saw who was with him.

•••

Spencer never got a verbal answer to his question from William, but he didn't need one. The scene in front of him said it all, and from the way the boy squeezed his hand tighter, he could tell that Will knew there was something wrong between his parents. Fortunately, the boy was too short to have the same field of vision as Reid. Luckily, he hadn't seen the terrified look on his mother's face, let alone his father's aggressive grip.

Will shouting "Mommy" and letting go of your hand to run to you provided him with a new horizon. It brought back memories. That of trying to be a mediator within a broken family, even in childhood.

•••

Steve never spent much time around William anyway, so when he left quickly, you didn't mind, you were relieved. Noticing that Dr. Reid wasn't going to move away, you sighed, hiding the nail mark against your own body as you watched him enter the room you were in.

"Hey, honey, want to play a little?" you asked, taking your cell phone out of your pocket and handing it to your son, who quickly agreed and went to the corner of the 'big room', as he called it, oblivious to the rest of the world.

"I never knew your name."

You snorted, wondering how that was the first thing he chose to say, but in the end, he did say your name.

"You don't have to hide it, I've already seen it." Spencer continued, making sure to speak quietly so that the child wouldn't hear them and to keep the anger out of his voice.

You swallowed, wondering what you had done to deserve two humiliations in a row on the same day, trying to force yourself to remain calm and expressionless, assessing how much of a risk the mysterious doctor could be to you or your child.

"I'm sorry about William again today, it'll never happen again."

Spencer couldn't stop himself from analyzing you, and what he saw brought him the most mixed emotions. You were profiling him too. You are a profiler for survival, someone who needs to know how to act in every situation so as not to get hurt. It made your head spin, your throat dry and your hands twitch. "It's called empathy. Use it to be a better person," Derek once told him.

"You know this is a crime; I can arrest him right now if you want; this room has cameras, and you're... you're hurt."

To his surprise, you laughed in his face. A bitter laugh. The kind he wished you'd never hear again.

"Are you an idiot, Dr. Reid?" you asked, without any humor. "Is that how you sleep best at night? Look around you, see where we are. In a police station full of men. Do you think you're the first to see something like that in me?"

Suddenly, it was as if a dam broke and you felt the uncontrollable urge to channel all your anger at Dr. Spencer Reid, pointing at the wound on his arm, the little blood already dried. This made the agent sigh. He had never really been able to understand how someone could hurt a person they had sworn to love so deeply.

"Well, the FBI wasn't here before."

You just sighed, pressing your lips together to stop a torrent of tears. He would never know that fear like you did. Even if Steve was still arrested, what would you do next? How would you be able to raise your son in a place like this, where your husband was the model citizen of the city and you were the bitch who put him in prison?

"You just don't understand. Please go away, Dr. Reid."

Go away, and don't you dare even try to give me false hope because I killed them all for my own good a long time ago, you thought.

Spencer couldn't accept that it would end like this. There had to be something, there had to be a way. Not for the first time in his life, he thought that people should come with a manual. It was time to do your job, even if you felt terrible about using your weakness against yourself.

"And is it worth it? Raising a child in such an environment?"

"I've managed to keep Will away for five years. So as long as he's safe, yes, it's worth it," you replied, your back to him.

Spencer sighed, squeezing his thigh as he cursed himself for influencing you like that. All for the greater good.

"Except that he already knows. Kids are a lot more observant than people think."

You turned like lightning.

"What are you talking about?"

You couldn't. You couldn't lose the only certainty you had in life. That Will was your sea of positivity, away from everything that was really going on at home, growing up happily, without any resentment. You swore that when he was born. It was the only promise it would kill you to break.

Spencer hated being the cause of the look of terror on his face this time, but like all the other times in his life when it was necessary, he took courage and started telling.

Taglist (if you want in or out, just let me know):

@yokaimoon @fanfic-viewer

A/n: I was wonderfully surprised by how well received the first part was. I hope you enjoy the second as much. Thank you for your support

[starleska]

Hello again!! I'm the anon from before (and I'm glad to hear you had a nice time yesterday!!!), and here's what I wrote.. I've been thinking a lot about the 'Wally eats with his eyes' idea, as many have been !!! I'm not sure how to warn for what this exactly so feel free to tag it with whatever you deem necessary. Wally just. Likes you a lot lol. i guess this is a little silly but i had a good time writing it haha

You are having a staring contest with your friend Wally.

You can't quite remember who started this, or why. Just that Wally had wanted to draw somewhere outside and you tagged along with him, until you were sitting somewhere in a field of flowers around the Neighbourhood.

Wally simply returns your gaze, unblinking, his hands folded over on top of his sketchbook. You think this has lasted long enough. What you want to do is crack a smile or a joke, but you find that your muscles are frozen stiff, and your tongue is so, so heavy.

His pupils expand.

You're supposed to panic about being this frozen up. Moving shouldn't be so difficult. But it's like your body feels like even stressing out about this is too much effort. You feel warm. Your eyelids tremble with the effort to blink. There is no movement, though your eyes don't burn either. You've held them open for so long that the world starts to gray out around you.

His pupils expand.

Wally leans his head to the side, little by little. You mirror his movements without thinking. The tips of your fingers are tingling, your feet feel numb as if fallen asleep. He smiles at you even more than usual. You think that this makes you happy. His lips part slowly, as if to speak, and-

"Hiya, guys!" Eddie calls out from the path to your right.

Your body jolts in surprise, and the spell is broken. By the time you whip your head around to look, Eddie has already continued his delivery route without waiting for a response.

Your returned awareness feels like breaking the surface after almost drowning. A weight disappears from your body, and you practically double over, gasping for air. Your shoulders are shaking, your eyes wide. When you squeeze them shut, it burns. You feel tired like you never have before.

"That was good," Wally says. For a moment, you are hesitant to turn your head back and look at him. You want to hide from his eyes. But you snuff that thought out as soon as it pops up, because that's just silly. You must've eaten something wrong, or have caught a cold. What else could explain this.

You look at Wally. He looks normal, and his eyes upon

"W-what did you say?"

"I asked: Are you feeling good?" Wally speaks even slower than he otherwise would, but his smile is as wide as ever. "You don't look good, friend."

"I don't… I'm a little out of it," you force out a laugh. "I think I'm getting sick."

Wally leans forward.

"You'll be okay," he says, and puts a hand on your knee. "Let's sit here until you feel better."

!!!!!! anon!!!! anon do you know how good this is?!?! oh my gosh!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 honey, i cannot express how much i adore this fic. it's such a wonderful blend of terror and intimacy, so frightening and claustrophobic yet warm and safe in a way you can't understand...ugh, i'm in love 🥴 your descriptions are so vivid - i could really feel Your panic and nausea. some real Lovecraftian horror stuff going on in here. and oh my God the little detail of him saying, 'That was good' and then switching to 'Are you feeling good?' absolute chills!!! 😱😱 if you feel comfortable enough, you should absolutely post your writing somewhere!! you've got such a talent for writing, Wally in particular, and i'd love to read more of your stuff should you be inclined. i'll definitely be taking some tips from this awesome little fic going forward 😉 thank you so much for sharing 🥰

[moodymisty]

Oh boy I have been waiting to be able to put in a request! Wanna start of by saying, love your writing and especially your Cato fic ^^ A joy to read.

Im curious about if you would write in more details how Cato is sweet for his lady? Or maybe is 'sweet' not the correct word, but I will love to read you thoughts about the relationship that is not all about sweaty action. Are the couple able to be subtle or sneaky enough to flirt out in the open? How are they acting behind closhed doors, is it then you will seen the Cato acting more bombastic on his feelings toward the diplomat?

I hope you will like this request ^^ keep it up with the great writing.

Author’s note: Sure, lets have some of that sweet Cato action <3

Relationships: Cato Sicarius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

Cato, once he gets over his constipated emotional crush stage, is a white knight. Maybe less so in the way Titus is, but he is still a bit dramatic. It's all in private though, or only around a few people he knows his reputation is safe with.

Offering his hand to help you down, shielding you from rain or sun with his cape are some examples.

But he does a decent job of making it just seem like he's being polite, abit perhaps having a bit of favoritism. So he isn't going to blow the secret by acting a fool.

In private, he's a bit more overtly romantic as you'd epxect. But he's also super confused and out of his depth; Being an astartes. The most he's heard about romance is from jokes from other astartes (not the best information source to begin with) of from the other serfs, whom he's found himself listening in on quite a bit more as of late.

That one male serf said that baseline women like...What? That doesn't sound right but maybe she will...

Though as sneaky as he is, he isn't totally perfect. Even his men, as emotionally stunted as they are have noticed the soft stares he'll give you while you talk, or while you're working on your dateslate and he simply watches. Similarly now you always sit right beside him, when before you would do anything to be away from him.

Loves to kiss your forehead. There's something about it that feels while romantic, also a bit protective. He is a captain yes, at times of your retinue, but he also is your protector at all times now.

He cannot flirt. It's not possible. You've tried to subtlety teach him but he is just not able to. The best you are able to get out of him is a 'your attire looks good today.', or that you look shorter than usual. You've just chocked it up to 'astartes speak' flirting and take what you can get. It's cute in it's own way, apart from the time Ventris told you that your small fingers would be good for poking eyes out, and Cato promptly smacked him? You assumed it must've been another weird astartes flirt.

You once joked with him while alone together that since he has two hearts, he must be able to love someone double the amount you could. It was a stupid joke and you promptly rolled your eyes at yourself and moved on, but Cato really liked it and always remembers it.

bonus: You begged him for like a solid 3 weeks straight to let you try a taste of his astartes gruel, before he finally caved and let you have a taste. You promptly threw up, making Sicarius laugh so hard the other marines though something was wrong with him, as they'd never heard the man let out more than an amused chuckle. To this day he still hasn't let you get over it.

"That tastes vile Cato! Why can't you just eat my food!" "Because you don't have 400 kilos of muscle and fat to maintain, my love."

[flaetsbnortoriginals]

I've just had a dream that was so steeped in Magic: The Gathering lore that I need to post it to tumblr on the off-chance that people who know enough to understand it will be able to read it, because if I tell it to the people I usually tell my dreams to they won't understand a dang thing. Sorry @one-time-i-dreamt

So. The dream was in Ravnica, and was about this planeswalker lady. She was white, with long straight blonde hair, and a fancy blue dress. I have the feeling that I was dreaming I was her before my dream remembered I'm a boring cis man without any amazing powers so as far as I can recall I'm just following her, like the main character of a story. I'm not sure I should call her my OC since she was created without any prompting of my conscious mind but none of the characters in the dream have names so I'll call her that.

OC was walking down a boulevard in Ravnica with this dude. They were pretending to be a couple, but the dude was actually a Dimir spy she had bested and was kind of her prisoner. Dimir guy wasn't very happy about it but wasn't too angry either, he saw his "custodianship" as a work thing and kind of respected OC, so they were chill.

OC saw a woman who she realized wasn't from this plane, although she was pretending to be a local. She challenged Dimir guy to point out what made them realize this. Now I expected this to go like a Sherlock sequence, with each one pointing out a detail in the woman's outfit or some very precise behaviour. Instead, OC starts by pointing out that this woman is wearing

A FRIGGING BRIGHT BLUE SOCCER JERSEY

and not only are soccer jerseys not usual clothes in Ravnica, (at least not until Hooligans at Rakdos Stadium is released), but it also has a giant number on it (77 if you're curious), except that Ravnica uses a different writing system, so any planeswalker would immediately clock her as an outsider. (I think that it's only sort of implied that each plane uses a different writing system, but in the dream that was settled truth.)

OC is so apalled at how poorly this woman - who needs a name, so I'll call her BadKellan for reasons that will soon become apparent - is at hiding herself, she decides to have a word with her. BadKellan realizes she's being followed and hoofs it - but OC and Dimir guy immediately use their Dimir crap to become invisible. BadKellan thinks he's shaken them off, but she's quite rattled, so she goes to her safehouse, which happens to be just around the corner. OC and Dimir sneak in behind her, then make themselves visible.

Now I should tell you that Dimir Guy does nothing else in this story. I was going to say that he's just Ken, he's just there, but it's actually worse - his presence makes the story make no sense, since OC is about to reveal some secrets to some random lady. But the dream didn't forget him: I vividly recall that he was still around all throughout this part of the dream, even though he does nothing else.

So. OC reveals herself and tells BadKellan that what she's doing is very dangerous. She tells her about the Dimir (the guild, not the random guy) and says that if they see her poorly sneaking around and think she's going to be trouble, or even can't figure out what her deal is, they're just going to kill her. Which means it's incredibly dangerous for her to go around like that.

BadKellan reveals a few things about herself. She's from Earth - yes, our real world. She's not a planeswalker. She was brought to Ravnica against her will and told to blend in and pretend to be a local. She doesn't feel comfortable revealing who told her to do that.

OC decides to give BadKellan a few pointers on how to lay low on Ravnica. She explains that she would dress mostly in gray, since colours are strongly associated with the guilds and she should stay away from them to stop making waves. She asks her to change her outift and she'll say if it draws attention.

BadKellan changes clothes. She's now dressed entirely in gray, which is good, except that her shirt

HAS A LARGE, GLITTERING PRINT ACROSS THE FRONT READING

girl

IT'S THE EXACT SAME THING AS BEFORE. IT'S A LARGE PRINT USING OFF-PLANE SCRIPT. It's not as large as the jersey number, sure, but I'd like to remind you that it's glittering!

OC is apparently as taken aback by this as I am, because she turns her into a squirrel.

In fact, she specifically turns her into the squirrel from Bloomburrow key art.

OC's logic is that BadKellan is so bad at blending in that this is the only way she can be safe. OC intends to release "squirrel girl" in a park while she tries to look into exactly whose plans she just ruined and how bad of an idea it was.

There was more to this dream, but my memories are fuzzy and it's (even more) uninteresting. I think it involves the Boros having a special currency that they gain when they help people but the Dimir also use it in a kind of ironic way? I don't remember.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Okay so I know you're a big Dadstarion fan. So what do you think of Astarion and Gnome! Tav having a baby. (I'm not sure if it is quite possible given the size difference but let's say it is.) I couldn't help but start thinking about Astarion and a teeny tiny gnome baby the other day. Doing headcanons for this would be interesting I think 🤔

OK, so, I did some research. Apparently, there is a half-official sex guide that says that gnomes don't mate with elves. But there are no breeding rules at all. So, people suppose that unless it's human x elf or human x orc, the mixed kid just ends up inheriting one of their parents' race (so in this case Astarion will probably have a gnome kid whose elven ancestry will manifest in some minor details).

When I write fantasy I usually stay firm on biology issues (some races can have mixed kids, and some can't have kids at all coz they are different species - so they can just fuck without contraception which is good), but it doesn't have to be the common rule at all.

Masterlist

Headcanons The image of Astarion's daughter is inspired by Leroy van Vliet from Art Station (I love the ears)

So, you actually were sure it wasn't possible to make kids.

He is a vampire and he is an elf.

Gnomes don't mate with elves, that's for sure!

Do they?

Right?

When you find out you are pregnant, it's the worst time in your relationship.

You are afraid you don't remember being assaulted. Astarion blames you for infidelity.

Then, you are just afraid you can't carry a bigger child without consequences (elven kids are small that's for sure but not small enough for a gnome).

You often quarrel till you end up in tears. Once to twice you hit his knees with all the strength you have while insulting him in gnim.

But to your surprise, pregnancy goes... normal.

You go into labor when it's due and give birth to a gnome, just like you and all your relatives.

But with very familiar silver hair.

A gnome with elven ancestry, that's how it's called.

Astarion feels uneasy holding such a small child. She looks like a toy in his hands.

But the girl grows up looking very similar to Astarion - his facial features, his nose, his hair color, his crafty hands.

Just a different race.

Astarion jokingly calls her his pocket princess since she is small enough to be put in a bag when he needs to go somewhere.

Often, when Astarion takes a job helping an unfortunate person with shitty supernatural contracts, people can notice a little gnome looking out of her father's traveling sack.

"Here, princess, have an apple - daddy is busy"

And the little gnome keeps chewing an apple while looking at the world with her big green eyes.

As she grows, her mixed ancestry shows off.

She is way taller than other gnomes. 4 feet tall! A giantess!

Thanks to that she easily wears armor crafted by gnomes and the swords are all light to her.

But there is some miscommunication since Astarion subconsciously believes his gnome daughter is a baby when she isn't.

She is short, but ferocious and gorgeous- and you know that at least five young gnomes (three girls and two boys) can't take their eyes off her.

Outsiders sometimes assume she is an elf though bigger palms and a weird shape of ears betray her true nature.

Sometimes Astarion misses the days when he could fit his daughter into a pocket or a bag because now she is an adult who fights monsters and dates humans (because she has daddy issues and a thing for tall men).

But he still can carry her around, placing her on his shoulder while she gets angry for "being treated like that".

She actually doesn't mind. There are not many people who dare pick her up.

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

@caitlincat-95  

@tragedybunny  

@valeprati  

@lynnlovesthestars   

@marina-and-the-memes  

@waking-eyes   

@ayselluna  

@connorsui  

@asterordinary  

@darkarchangel96  

@locallegume  

@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Okay, here me out, i can't stop thinking about demons and the fact that many of them can't spell

Crowley says that spelling is not their strong point, and we see this exemplified especially in Shax and Furfur, but now recently it occurred to me to look up how to pronounce food in Italian. Remember Hastur? If you look it up, you'll notice it's cibo, and if you listen to the pronunciation, you'll notice it's VERY similar to the pronunciation of ciao (what Crowley says in that scene, remember?).

Learning this is what gives me a start for what I had been thinking for quite some time, because at the beginning I thought that the spelling thing was something for only the lower level demons, after all, Shax and Furfur have leveled up, but initially they were at the bottom. But not Hastur, Hastur is a duke of hell.

And the confusion between cibo and ciao proves that he must likewise have some kind of problem with language comprehension.

Also, I want to add, I'm not entirely sure if this is a good point, because I may be influenced by the fact that I'm not a native speaker, but Dagon's motivational speech doesn't directly reflect poor language use, but I get a sense that it doesn't reflect great command of it either

And then we go to Crowley, I assume we all think at first glance that Crowley has no problem with language, right? But let me remind you of something: Crowley hates books.

Yes, he has books. But the one book we see, has pictures, lots of pictures. An illustrated astronomy book. In addition to this, Crowley demonstrates a strong dislike of books. Contempt. Hatred. Yes, we've seen him write things. Yes, they are well written. But it doesn't seem to be something he enjoys

With all of this information, I'm going to reach the conclusion that ALL demons have a problem with language, especially written language. Even despite the fact that they are able to speak every existing language.

And I feel that this is a curious detail, because taking into account the powers they have, one would think that they could compensate those difficulties by miracles, right?

They don't. They still have those errors, and you could say it's because none of them have thought of it but... Really? None of them have thought of it? In 6000 years? I don't believe it.

So it must be something intrinsic, there's something they can't change that makes it difficult for them to write/spell.

And we could even go further, because one of the things I find curious, is the fact that Shax has problems with sarcasm. A demon, problems with sarcasm. No one in 6000 years spoke sarcastically to Shax?

I don't have enough arguments to add this as a collective demon problem, since Shax is (I think) the only one we've seen with that problem, but it's something close enough to mention.

Mixing all this up, I should mention the big elephant in the room: Demons have written records of who enters hell

We've already established that the difficulties with language go as far as the dukes, and I feel it's not jumping too far if we say that Beelzebub and Satan possibly shouldn't be spared.

So, who are these reports for? It's not like they're going to read them, I know that's hell, but why would they force themselves to go through that torture?

The only thing that makes sense is that those reports are for someone external, and there are only two options: heaven, or directly God.

And both options seem pretty cruel to me, because we know one thing: angels can read.

Aziraphale can, Muriel can, Gabriel can, we don't have any example of an angel who can't read. Crowley had a book before he fell. So we can assume that demons could read.

They could, and the fact that now they can't makes me see only one possible explanation: Falling caused them those problems.

And I feel that if we mix my two conclusions, the ending is something very ugly. Demons have problems with language, especially written language. Those problems started when they were expelled from heaven. They make written records that are possibly presented to those who turned them into demons.

Basically it is a very strong level of cruelty.

Please recognize the demon's rights. They still deserve to have rights

[usedtobecooler]

Pairing | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), DUBCON, dark themes, monster fucking, cunnilingus, fingering f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild anal play f receiving, dirty talking, degradation, squirting, crying, pussy slapping, spanking, face slapping, creampie, praise kink, biting, blood play, blood kink, no aftercare.

Word Count | 3.7k

A/N | just a lil something since it's halloween, it's only fair we delve into something a bit spooky and out of the ordinary. can't lie i've mortified myself this time but i'm so into it.

"Where have you been all my life?" A figure slides up beside you where you stand at the drinks table, cup in hand filled with some gross 'Halloween Punch' that Harrington had promised tasted good (it didn't), some shitty Blondie tune playing loud in the background, mostly drowned out by the rowdy noise of the party.

You turn your head to glance at said figure, to find Eddie Munson standing there with a smirk on his red stained lips. He's a vampire (you think?), albeit a fantastic one. You had to admit his costume was great as you drank in his appearance. He really had gone all out, red horns poking out from beneath his bangs, large black bat wings fanned out across his back, fingers dusted charcoal and he'd even gone to the trouble of sticking on impossibly long talon-like nails.

His actual outfit could be considered normal, a black button down silk shirt on his torso, two buttons open to reveal a chain dangling from his neck, what looked to be fake bite marks chomped into the surrounding skin. A simple pair of ripped jeans and white trainers to finish the look off, but you could forgive him for the lack of detail in the actual clothes with how good his prosthetics were.

"What are you supposed to be?" You ask, furrowed brows as you brush your hand out to touch his wings, feeling the soft, leathery texture under your fingertips. It feels expensive, which was weird because you were so sure Eddie was dirt poor. Maybe you were wrong.

"I suppose you could call me a vampire-bat hybrid?" Eddie smirks, and you bite your glossy red lip when you see the two crystal white fangs sparkle in the light. Fangs had always done it for you, really, there was something about vampires that got you all hot and bothered.

"Looks good," You say eventually, voice strained as you bring your cup up to your mouth and swig a little of the absolutely vile concoction. You screw your face up in disgust as you swallow, trying to ignore the way the liquid almost comes back up as fast as it goes down.

Eddie crowds into your space, leaning over you to grab a bottle of Bud sat just inches from where you were. Your breath hitches at the feeling of him so close to you, his scent and the cold coming from his body enough to make you feel dizzy.

There was something off about him that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You admittedly hadn't seen Eddie Munson since you graduated in '84 and left Hawkins rather abruptly to study across the country. But you remembered him being a little warmer than this, a little shyer, a little more human.

You stand there awkwardly for a moment longer before excusing yourself to the bathroom, feigning that you needed to rearrange your costume - a party city zombie cheerleader outfit, not exactly enough to leave much to the imagination, and not really an outfit that needed fixing, but Eddie takes your word for it, and you bounce off without another word.

Knowing Steve well enough, you sneak into his room to use his own private bathroom, any party goers being schmucks and using the main bathroom that had a queue the size of Hawkins outside of it. You were surprised he wasn't in there himself with some girl, the room completely void of human life.

You give yourself a second, brushing out your skirt and pulling your ponytail tight. The costume wasn't a far cry from your days at Hawkins High, you were an it girl in those days after all. Not head cheerleader, but on the team - people had liked you more for other reasons.

You unclick the lock on the bathroom door, pulling it open to come face to face with the person you'd ran away from. You jump out of your skin a little, Eddie's face lit up with a little smirk at the reaction he elicits from you. You furrow your brows and shut the door behind you, making to leave without a word, but he won't let you.

It truly was dizzying being up this close to Eddie, his body crowding in on yours and backing you up against Steve's door, and you swear you see his wings curl in too but that could be from the one too many drinks you'd plied yourself with.

"Are you scared of me?" Eddie asks, picking up on the way your heart races and thuds loudly beneath your ribcage, making his fangs ache and his head cloudy with need to sink in and taste the wet, metallic gush of your blood.

"N-no," You stutter, head lulling to the side a little to invite him in, to let him nuzzle his nose in and smell you properly, which he does so gratefully, the pointed edges of his fangs sliding out to graze at your goosebump riddled skin, making you shiver, "does... does anybody know?"

Eddie huffs out a little laugh against your skin, fangs disappearing so he can press a sweet kiss to your neck, "Know what? Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

You gasp out loud at the feeling of Eddie's lips on you, the way his big hands come out to grasp at your hips and hold you in place, "I don't - I don't know, Eddie. You don't seem like yourself. You're not the guy I remember."

Your head is hazy, a mixture of alcohol and whatever weird spell Eddie was putting on you enough to have you confused and doubting yourself. Maybe you truly were just crazy and making this up in your drunk brain, but you were almost positive you knew what was going on here. It terrified you, and you wanted to back away, but it was like your feet were planted firmly in their place, glued down and rendering you unable to run.

Eddie smirks against your neck, hand running from your hip to brazenly slide under your skirt, and you can't help but notice his nails have somehow disappeared, soft pads of his fingers running along your clothed folds, "Your soaking wet pussy tells me you like this though, sweetheart. So wet you're drenching your panties for me."

You shiver, a moan escaping your lips as he moves your panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cool air. His cold fingers expertly find your clit right away, rubbing it in slow, hard circles that have you mewling.

Your whole body feels like it's on fire, a sensation you've never felt as Eddie assaults your cunt with his fingertips, you're trapped in a trance that you can't pull yourself out of, all of your senses rushing with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Your hands come out to grip at his hair, fingertips accidentally knocking one of his horns and he growls, snapping back from his place in your neck to stare you down with hard eyes, fingertips stuttering on your clit and suddenly he's slapping your cunt hard. You let out a shocked, high-pitched moan at the harsh sting vibrating through your folds and your bundle of nerves, leaving you in a cold sweat and your legs almost buckling.

"Hands to your fucking self, I'm in charge here." Eddie's voice is quiet, but his words come out so harsh and venomous that it frightens you, though your cunt clenches uncontrollably, like it has a mind of its own, "Go lie on the fucking bed and spread your legs like the whore you are."

You do it wordlessly and without question, your legs moving before your brain can comprehend it, like you're under a spell. At this point, you're wondering if you are, because the real you wasn't like this - she doesn't let herself be bossed around, she doesn't allow men to touch her without her say so. You know it's bad, yet you can't stop it, because it doesn't feel wrong in the way it should.

Steve's bed is big and plush, nothing less could be expected of him really, and you sink into it, propping yourself up on your elbows so you didn't feel so vulnerable, spreading your legs wide like Eddie commanded of you. He creeps towards you like a predator stalking his prey, his dark eyes almost black now and something behind them that you can't quite pinpoint.

In the dim light Eddie's skin appears to be flushed a deep red that almost looks supernatural, like he'd covered himself in oil paints. He grabs a tight hold of your ankles and pulls them, yanking you down the bed until your ass is almost over the edge. You watch him in awe as he kneels on the floor in front of you, head going under your short skirt.

"You won't be needing these." He mutters against the insides of your thighs, then you feel and hear him ripping at the lacey material of your panties. They fall in tatters to the floor, discarded to be long forgotten about.

You gasp as he plants wet, sloppy kisses to the insides of your thighs, and you feel the points of his fangs brush the skin just hard enough to feel like a papercut. Your fingers clench into the sheets, blown away by how even the slightest touch has you a wet, whimpering mess for him.

"Your cunt smells so fuckin' good," Eddie groans, nestling his nose in between your folds and inhaling deep, "so sweet, just like the rest of you. Good enough to eat."

"Wha-" Your voice dies in your throat as Eddie's long pointed tongue comes out to lick a stripe up the seam of your pussy. He finds your clit as fast with his tongue as he did with his fingers, latching on and suckling at it hard.

The noises escaping you are sad and pathetic, truly, for all it is he's actually doing. You're moaning like you'd never been touched in your life, begging and pleading, "Eddie, please, fuck."

Your hips buck into his face of their own accord and Eddie growls against your cunt, his big hand coming up to shove your hips back down, forearm laying across the width of your pelvis to hold them down so you couldn't move. You can't even focus enough to brace yourself for two of his fingers from the opposite hand circling your entrance and sliding in to the hilt until it's too late.

The slick sounds of your wet cunt being assaulted by Eddie's mouth and fingers fill your senses, making you gush even wetter and clench around his thick fingers. They're so deep you can feel his rings catching on your hole and breaching slightly, it's enough to have you feeling dizzy with want and need.

Your arms finally give out and you fall flat against the bed, mewling and eyes pricking wet with tears as the pads of Eddie's fingers run along your spongey spot and don't let up. You can feel your orgasm building quickly, tummy winding tight and the hot heat spreading through your whole body.

Eddie's mouth is utterly sinful, his tongue working your clit expertly like he'd done this a thousand times before, like something straight out of a porn flick. Your body succumbs to him like you're his for the taking, like his fingers were meant to be buried deep in your cunt forever and his mouth was made specifically for you.

You come so hot and fast you're crying, sobbing wetly, moaning and thrashing uselessly as Eddie's fingers are forced out of you from the sheer power of it - all he does is bury his face harder in your cunt in retaliation. You gush wet and hard enough that you hear it trickling onto the hardwood floor in front of Eddie's knees, feel it run down your ass.

Eddie licks you clean, sharp tongue running all the way down to your asshole and even sucking you dry there, big hands moving to spread your cheeks and shove his face in. In your state you can't find it in you to be embarrassed or feel disgusted, your body feeling like jelly and placid enough that Eddie could do whatever he wanted and get away with it.

You're so out of it that you don't realise Eddie moving you up the bed and tearing your shirt off until he's hovering between your legs and your tits are on full display. He leans down to lick and bite at the round of your left breast, his large hand grabbing the other and kneading it. His wings are encasing you both now, enough to shield you from view if anyone were to walk in.

The wetness of your tears roll down the sides of your face and pool in your ears and hair. Somewhere in your subconscious you're begging him to stop, but your body is keening into him, and your lips betray you with the noises of content that fall from them.

You make to lift your hands up to shove him away, but Eddie's reflexes are incredible and his own hands come out to grasp at your wrists and force them down onto the bed, holding you down tightly. You try to thrash around but it dies when Eddie bares his fangs and sinks them into the flesh of your tit.

The feeling that overcomes you is something you'd never felt before, your body flushes hot like you have a high fever, your skin prickling with want as your tummy coiled up in knots. Eddie drinks from you in silence, the only noises to be heard are the slight slurp of wetness from your dripping blood and the moans escaping your lips.

You come again. Hard, hot and fast. Not a single part of Eddie's body near your cunt, yet you're shuddering and gushing wet on the bed, enough to soak the comforter beneath your legs and ass.

It feels wrong, your pussy clenching around nothing and your body wracking with aftershocks. Eddie's fangs retract and he's smirking against your skin, tongue lapping up the blood still trickling from the wounds on your breast.

"Dirty fuckin' slut, coming just from my fangs in you. You're so fucking easy for it, what a silly little girl." Eddie laughs at you and you're crying again, squeezing your eyes shut as he mocks you, but you like it, you're so ashamed you can't stop the tears from falling.

Eddie roughly grips your chin, shaking you a little until you open your eyes. You're mortified by the sight in front of you, your blood dripping down Eddie's chin and neck, spreading down the open neck of his shirt.

He looks like a monster, the facade gone and his true form on display in all of its glory. He looks deranged, eyes as black as the Devil's, skin flushed crimson and his fangs on full display. The only thing reminding you that it's Eddie perched in front of you is his curly hair, looking out of place on his body. You should be scared, turned off, trying to back out of the door and run for your life.

Yet, you still lie there, with your legs spread for him and refusing to budge. You hazard letting your hands come out to grasp at his silk shirt and he surprisingly lets you, lets you unbutton it with nimble fingers until the front is open and exposing the bites in his toned chest and stomach.

Something had done a number on him; you know that much. Chunks of flesh are missing, deep enough that he should be dead. Through the fog of your brain, you're aware now more than ever that he probably is in fact dead - the undead.

Time was a mere concept to you in your hazy state, as you watch Eddie unbuckle the belt on his jeans, sliding them down his thighs with his underwear to expose himself, hard cock springing out into the cool air, making him hiss.

You shoot up from your place on the bed, sitting up properly to get a good look at what was in front of you.

It was like nothing you'd ever seen in your life.

It was a dick, that much was obvious, clearly. But it matched the rest of his undead body, flushed deep red from base to tip. Where there should've been veins, there were now symmetrical ridges, all the way down to the fat head. The head itself was curved upwards, almost like it was made for stroking a gspot.

And, to put it bluntly, it was fucking huge. Your mouth watered uncontrollably, the urge to reach out and touch it tugging at your gut.

Eddie reaches out and slaps you with a flat palm against your cheek, the connection loud enough to snap you out of your trance, "I said, get up on your knees. Be a good girl and ride me."

Your body moves subconsciously, trading places with Eddie and swinging your leg over so you were hovering just above his hard cock. You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. At this point, you're so far gone that even the voice niggling at the back of your head had died down, leaving you a wanton, submissive mess.

He makes the first move, grabbing his cock by the base and running the head between your folds, getting himself nice and wet. Eddie makes no noise as an indicator as to whether he's genuinely enjoying this or not, just breaches your cunt with the tip until you're gasping and rocking your hips a little.

It's wide, a ridiculous stretch that you're not used to and probably could never get used to. Eddie grips onto your ass with his free hand, slapping it hard enough that you slide down another inch, your back arching a little and tears forming in your eyes.

"Little baby can't take my cock, how cute," Eddie's voice is condescending, mocking you enough to have your cunt clench around him, eliciting a hiss from his lips, "you're gonna take it all like a good fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

Another slap to your ass has you sliding down again, taking in another inch. You can feel every ridge of his cock, every weird texture, the fat bulb of the head already abusing your soft spot. It hurt, but it hurt so good, like you were being stretched apart from the inside.

Eddie grows impatient at how slow you're going, grabbing a tight hold of your hips and impaling you on the last of his cock until you're screaming, fingertips gripping at his mauled shoulders as you cry, cunt gripping sporadically around the length of him.

You feel so full it's pathetic, if you poked your tummy you'd be able to feel him nestled in your stomach. Could probably see it if you wanted to hazard a glance down.

"You're such a whiny little thing, aren't you? Crying for me," Eddie coos, bucking his hips up a little for emphasis until you're biting out a wet sob, "your little sobs sound like music in my ears, sweetheart."

He doesn't let you become accustomed to the size of his cock in you, lifting your hips up as if you're weightless and shoving you back down to the hilt. You moan in between your cries, body going lax in his hands as you let him do what he wants with you.

Eddie's demeanor breaks eventually and he moans into the expanse of your throat, massive cock fucking into you relentlessly from below and there's nothing you can do but take it, feeling every bit of him consuming your body, "Such a good little slut for me, taking my monster cock so well. You love it, huh? Love being treated like a little fuck toy."

You nod, tears streaming consistently, "Y-yes, Eddie. F-fuck, m'so full." You cry out, the sounds of your soaking wet cunt sucking his cock in making you clench impossibly tighter around him, "Bite me again, aah, wanna come again, please."

Your wet sobs are almost enough to have Eddie folding, sinking his teeth into you without a second thought, but instead his large hand comes up to grab your ponytail, pulling your head back until you're looking at the ceiling as his hips snap up into your own, "Scream a bit louder. Want everyone at this party to hear you cry and beg for me."

The head of Eddie's cock is relentless on your spongey spot, his hips snapping into yours hard enough you're going to be left with so many bruises, "Eddie!" Your voice is primal, you'd never heard yourself sound like this before, "Pleasepleaseplease, m'begging, let me come."

"Atta girl, begging for me all sweet." Eddie smirks, pulling your ponytail impossibly tighter until your back is arched, he leans over and bites into your neck, sinking his fangs in to the hilt as his hips continue to fuck up into you, the brutal assault feeling like it's never ending.

The hot waves of pleasure wash over you so quick you barely comprehend it, the feeling of Eddie feeding from your veins making your cunt clench around his cock as you come again, squirting wet and hot all over him, drenching his balls and his thighs.

Eddie shoves you onto your back without pulling out, driving into you deep and impossibly fast with his fangs still in your throat. He comes not long after, succumbing to the feeling of your tight pussy and your hot blood dripping down his throat, a deep groan escaping him as he buried himself in to the hilt as your clenching cunt helped work him through, "You're mine now, sweetheart. Don't think I'm done with you, I'll be back."

You pass out with his words swimming in your head, for how long you're unsure, but when you wake up Eddie is gone, the fog that clouded your brain leaving with him.

Your aching neck, leaking cunt and bruised body the only reminder he was ever there.

You wonder if he meant it, if you truly would ever see him again.

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 15

Summary: You've had your fill of studying with Jamil. Now you just want to bother him a little bit. Embarrass him a little.

(So, I ended up relapsing back into my sugar addiction, which has obviously caused my writing high to vanish. So! I am trying to limit my intake once again. It will be a painful journey.)

It wasn't anything too tough, what you asked of Jamil. It was nothing more than just a review on what is the basic of basics, things that little kids and other young ones would know by heart without having to think too deeply on it.

"Quit with the judging silence, Jamil," you said when that look of exasperation briefly crossed his face, "did you forget? I'm not from here. Born in a world of exactly zero magic. Not hidden. Nothing."

You were being a bit rude at the time but you couldn't help it. Everyone around you constantly forgets this fact about you. Whenever you end up flubbing up a simple question that apparently everyone else could answer, your little group of first years either snort, actively laugh out loud, or baby you like you weren't a full adult.

So you figured, with all the approachable and semi-approachable people you knew, you may as well ask Jamil to teach you all about the basics. At least he'll have the sense to keep his frustrations with you inside himself once he figures out just how little you knew.

You were more than ready for him to reject you on the spot and say things regarding his chores and duties to Kalim. For that case, you were ready to just ask if he could write down some notes for the questions you had written down. A sort of pen pal situation.

But, to your pleasant surprise, Jamil nodded then texted you the details later of when the first tutoring session will be.

And so here you are in Jamil's room, sitting on the floor, doodling and highlighting away as you're being told how these magical gems form, how they interact with magic, how they help beyond just collecting that noxious blot, along with subjects beyond that.

"And this is where the equations come in," Jamil leaned down and tapped at the various magical sequences you wrote down to remember later, "See, magic is very tied into the imagination of its user, however, imagination as we know it isn't enough to truly draw out all of its potential. Think of it as, imagination being a basic soup broth, and magical equations are the spices that go into it. Magic itself would then be the taste of that dish."

You've been tapping your pen against your knee for the later half of the hour. It's interesting stuff, you won't lie. It's all easy to understand at least, but you can't help the boredom that crawls up after studying for over two hours already. You're very sure Jamil isn't aware of the time, simply caught up in his relaying of knowledge as you continue to absorb it.

Kind of strange to you, honestly. You'd think Jamil would be aware of it considering how he acts and deals with Kalim. Perhaps he's enjoying himself too much, being your tutor?

You look to his face, then see that were was weight to that little theory. Jamil was leaning forward, his own pen in hand as he scribbled down his own little notes in your journal, drawing arrows this way and that to help guide your eyes when you eventually need to look back upon it.

He didn't even notice how into your personal space he was. You could sigh and your breath would brush his hair.

You waited, just because you wanted to see if he would notice. But no, he didn't. He continued to scoot closer, adding in even smaller notes as he goes down the rabbit hole of basic information being broken down into even more basic part.

"Jamil." You leaned against your hand.

You can see the way his thoughts swirled to a stop. "Hmm? What is it? Did I lose you somewhere?"

"Nope," you lightly chuckled out, "Haven't you noticed? You're getting very cozy in my space. Practically sitting on my cushion."

Just to make your point known, you tapped your pinky against Jamil's own.

He blinked, looked down to your hand, to his legs leaning against your cushion, then to your face that was inches away from his own. He seized air into his lungs as he flung himself off. He scooted himself way farther than he needed to, would've probably hugged the wall if he didn't pride himself in his quick and near unbreakable composure. His face was pulled back in near horror at what he's done.

You laughed and leaned back on your palms. "Come on, I don't mind. Be as close as you want."

Jamil was quick, as always, to put himself back together. He smoothed down his hair, did some breathing exercises, then blurted out, "Let's take a small break before we continue. Please."

"Alright, alright," you waved. And Jamil fast walked right out of his own room.

Did you tease him too much? He was practically sweating under the collar. Couldn't even look you directly in the eye. If he can't handle this much teasing, you can only imagine how he'd be if you were to be merciless.

Well, hopefully you don't give him a heart attack.

[vulpixisananimal]

Loop Number 3

(You look awful.)

(No, really, you look absolutely terrible. You're in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror. Baggy eye, hair's a mess, You somehow look even paler than normal.)

(You were forced back to front suddenly. You were around that morning chatting with Isa and the others, things got blurry after that. You do remember some things, but not really remember, more just know. You know that you and Odile went to the library again, found some things on wishes, Bonnie ran to them... And then... Then... Then you woke up again!)

(You looped again.)

(Would this make it loop three then? Tee-hee~)

(... Eugh...)

(Either way, looping back a second time had drained you a lot. You had to run to the bathroom to throw up, probably woke everyone up in the process.)

(Oh Stardust where aaaare youuuuu~)

"You alright, Sif?"

(It was Isabeau, that wonderful Defender. Maybe you could have hid your condition if you hadn't been so loud, but no chance about it now. They've all been much more perceptive of you.)

"Never better, Isa!" (You said, your words dripping with sarcasm. You hoped for a chuckle. He didn't.)

"Well, if you need a hand or, or if I need to get you anything, just let me know okay?"

(You breathe in, and out.)

(Eugh...)

(After gathering yourself, you leave the bathroom. Isa was waiting by the door, instantly springing into Isabeau-like action.)

"Sif! Are you sure you're alright?" (He leaned down to your level. You could hear a sizzling from distant cooking. The others were deffinatly up already.) "I was about to get out of bed and I heard you, uh-"

"I'm fine Isabeau" (You said with a smile.) "I'm just a little... I just had a nightmare is all!"

(Stars, you were trying to think of a pun! And you couldn't! Oh you were loosing your touch alright, and now Isabeau was looking at you even MORE concerned.)

"... If you want to talk about it we can."

"Nope!" (You say, almost on instinct.) "Just some loopy stuff, not that bad, I'll meet you for breakfast!"

(Smooth, Loop. You really made him feel reassured. You waved and walked away back to your room to get properly dressed. It took a minute, but you got your old outfit together, hat included. Isabeau was able to make you a replacement after Siffrin lost yours. Not that Siffrin wore it much these days, but you still liked it. It was more yours than his now.)

(You met up with your party for breakfast. Quesadillas, same as last loop. They were pretty good. Good morning, How are you feeling Siffrin, oh I'm feeling great, what's for breakfast? Etc. you could feel yourself zoning out already.)

"You sure you're alright?" (Nille asked, handing you a plate and taking a seat. Alright, maybe things were a bit different this loop) "Can't go investigating when your sick."

"Oh it's nothing." (You say with a smile. Please be convincing.)

"That's not very convincing, Siffrin." (Odile was glaring you from behind her book.)

(You wince, you were out of practice.) "is it convincing enough to eat breakfast first?"

(Nille chuckled at that, Odile huffed. Isabeau chuckled too, but his heart wasn't in it.)

(Ouch...)

(You take a bite out of your quesadilla. Nice and cheesy, as tasty as last time)

(Why ARE we keeping it a secret anyway?)

(Oh good morning to you too stardust~)

(Hey Loop. What happened to us? I only have bits and pieces.)

(Oh quite a bit, but our dear third friend isn't sharing some of the details, tee hee~)

(In the time it took for you to take a bite of your breakfast to putting it back on the plate, you had already told Siffrin as much as you knew happened at the library. One of the advantages of sharing a head, information doesn't need to travel far.)

(So, should we keep this a secret?)

(That's your choice, stardust~)

(... You breath in, and out.)

"Ok! I can talk about it now." (You say with a smile.)

"After one bite?"

"It was a very good bite, tee hee~"

(Another look from Odile. You don't go tee hee, remember? A few moments later, Bonnie came through and sat down as well, having finished whatever was being done in the kitchen, Mirabelle joined soon after. They were all looking at you.)

(How do we do this...)

(We could be a bit cheeky about it.)

(Cheeky?)

(Cheeky. You lean back, trying to look as relaxed as possible.) "We shouldn't bother with the library, it wasn't very useful~"

(Their looks changed from concern to confusion, and very quickly to realization.)

"You looped again!?!?" (Mirabelle exclaimed.)

"Maybe."

"What happened?! Are you hurt? Did you get attacked?!? Or maybe-"

(You reach over and put a finger over Isabeau panicking mouth.) "I'll get to that, Beau~"

"Slip on a fruit peel again?" (Bonny said, smugly. You shouldn't have told them that part. You roll your eyes.)

"I'll look for one of those next time." (You paused for the chorus of "No!!!" From your party before continuing.) "Well, if you must know this is the second time we've done today. Me and Odile went to the library, and you four to the defenders."

(You tried to keep your smile going.) "We didn't find much, and something happened at the defenders, because Bonnie came running to us."

"... And..?" (Odile prompted you to continue.)

(We're, doing better at this and I expected.)

(Oh Stardust please, I'm sick to my stomach right now.)

"... Mirabelle was being framed for trying to kidnap Bonnie. Stars knows why."

"!?!?!?"

"I- I wouldn't do that!!! Why would they-"

"THAT'S CRABBING STUPID!!!"

"Language!"

"There must have been some kind of mistake!"

(You nod) "that's why we're all going there together today."

"Are you sure that's smart?" (Nille looked doubtful.) "If it goes bad then we'll all be in one place to get caught. Or.."

"Then I'll just loop back again, simple!"

(That didn't seem to relax Nille as much as you thought.)

(. . . She'll be fine.)

"As long as you know you can loop back." (Odile commented.) "That might also be why you've been so sick these past two days."

"Oh! That's right!! The Head Housemaiden did say using a lot of crafts can make you sick." (Mirabelle was thinking.) "And if time craft is supposed to be impossible it could be really draining you!"

"Not like I should be able to use it still anyways." (You say, slightly dejected. You were supposed to be DONE with the Universes silly little game.)

"But you can like, control now, right?" (Bonnie chimed in, curious.) "I mean not like forever school, now its like, like being able to take a big test again, but you don't need to keep doing it!"

(You all chuckle at that.) "Yeah, I guess it's like that."

(Even though you shouldn't have any more tests left.)

[jellieland]

Gem Cleo watches Scott leave. He's throwing wary glances over his shoulder at the tower that has what looks to her like a big red curly moustache on it.

It's always nice to see him, and this is a bit different to their usual encounters, which is really refreshing every now and then.

She pulls out the pufferfish he gave her and smiles at it brightly. "Hey there little guy!" She says. It stares back at her with unblinking black eyes.

"Dunno if you can call me a little guy when you're on a team with Bdubs, but sure, hey Cleo!"

She startles slightly. It's Martyn. He's not actively stabbing her, and apparently they're allies, so she turns to face him without much concern. "Hello Martyn!"

He's leaning against the rocky wall of the clock tower. He grins at her, and for a split second, his gaze flashes over to where Scott is disappearing into the trees across the river. "You still remember that thing I told you about last time, right?" He asks, giving her a meaningful look.

"Oh, yes, of course, absolutely!" She nods enthusiastically. "How could I forget!" It's funny, no-one else has really prodded at the details of Cleo's, uh, "amnesia cold", as much Martyn, although he's for sure just completely making things up to ask her about.

He looks highly amused. "Right, right, good. Just checking."

He glances over at the treeline again.

"So!" He says, and it's so very casual that it's a little bit concerning, "Don't suppose you'd let me know if Cleo's listening along or not?"

"Martyn!" She exclaims. "I'm-"

"Yeah, you are Cleo, I know, I know. Just." He pauses.

There's something in his eyes, suddenly, that gives Gem the impression that if she says the wrong thing here, something will be lost. She can't tell what, or why, or how. But it's a feeling she can't quite ignore.

After a second, Martyn shakes himself slightly and continues. "Actually, you know what, it doesn't matter. I-"

"No. She's not." Gem watches curiously as he goes very still. "I'm gonna tell her about it later, though."

"Huh." He says. It sounds very nonchalant. "Right. Well. Don't suppose I could tell you a secret, then?" He gives her a conspiratorial look. "Just you, I mean."

Gem leans in a little, intrigued despite herself. "I shouldn't..."

"Oh come on, you know you want to."

"Weeeeell..." She jumps in place a couple of times, and then nods quickly. "Alright, go on then!" He opens his mouth, and she quickly raises a finger to point at him, narrowing her eyes. "But! If it's something Cleo would want to know, I do have to tell them. It wouldn't be fair otherwise."

He considers for a moment, and nods. "Sure, seems fair enough to me. Trust me, though, Cleo would not want to be bothered by this. They have better things to worry about."

"I'll be the judge of that!" She pauses for a moment. "Because that's me." Another beat. "Because I'm Cleo."

He chuckles. "Well, Cleo, I just wanted you to know that I get it now." He says, lightly.

A few seconds pass.

"Um. Ok?" She says, because he seems to be waiting for her to respond. "Uh, I mean." She goes back to her perfect and beyond reproach Cleo impression. "Right. I understand what you're saying completely, Martyn."

He raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Well that's impressive. And here I thought I was being pretty cryptic."

"Oh. Um, I mean, what are you talking about? Explain yourself!"

He laughs, expression almost nostalgic. "Ah, I just meant I get why you chose him, last time." Once more, he looks over at where Scott disappeared from view. This time, he doesn't look back.

Gem frowns a bit, and stays silent. It feels wrong to speak.

"I wondered about that a lot, you know." He sounds vaguely wistful. "But I get it, now."

There is quiet for few more seconds before Martyn looks back at her, and the spell is broken.

He looks cheerful. There's nothing in his expression to suggest that he isn't.

"I think it's mostly that you and him are the only two on the server who have the slightest bit of common sense, honestly." He says. Something suddenly seems to occur to him, and he snorts. "Pretty sure he's alright at math, too."

"Oh, really?"

"...You know, I'm not sure actually."

He meets her eyes. His are just starting to turn the bright red of danger, the colour creeping in at the edges of the blue.

"He keeps his allies alive." He says. "For as long as he can. Even when it hurts him. Wasn't even a choice for you, really, when you consider that."

There's obviously something here she doesn't understand, but what exactly it is she doesn't know. "Good for him." She says awkwardly.

"It's not, really." He says.

"Oh. Um. Bad for him?"

He laughs at that. "Sort of, yeah." He looks down at the pufferfish she's still holding. "Alright for you though, right?" Before she's decided how to respond, he continues. "I just thought you'd like to know that if I were you, I would've chosen him too."

Gem frowns at him. There's something here. There's something here, but while she can certainly guess, she just doesn't have the context to know what that something is.

She listens to the noises of the river for a while before she speaks.

"Are you sure Cleo wouldn't want to know that?" She asks softly.

To his credit, he does appear to consider it, staring out over the river and frowning slightly.

After a minute, though, he looks back at Gem and shrugs. It almost looks resigned.

"Cleo already knows." He says.

She opens her mouth, but he keeps talking.

"Plus she would not appreciate being reminded of how similar we are." He grins, his expression suddenly sly. "And anyway, I completely made all that up. That was a test to see how good you were at being Cleo, and you failed."

"Hey!" She yells indignantly. "What! No! That's so rude!" She draws her sword and he cackles, dancing back.

"Ha, you should've seen your face!"

She glares at him. "Why are you so good at acting, huh?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Aren't we all?"

"No!"

He snorts. "Yeah, I guess not. Just pure skill on my part, then."

Gem shakes her head at him, exasperated. How much of that was true, she has no clue. But if that's how he wants to play it, that's ok. "How about this: I won't tell Cleo about any of that so long as you don't try and mess with me again."

"What?" He gasps and claps a hand to his heart. "I thought you were Cleo!"

She narrows her eyes and raises her sword, and he hurries to continue, holding up his hands in surrender.

"By which I mean yeah, sure, sounds good to me am I right?"

"Good." She nods firmly. "That's what I thought you meant."

He nods back at her a couple of times, then starts to retreat towards the river, still facing her. "Well. See you, Cleo!"

"Bye! If you see Etho tell him to be afraid!" She shouts after him.

"Will do!"

And he disappears into the trees after Scott.

What an odd man.

She wonders if he knows that she wouldn't have told Cleo if he'd just genuinely asked her not to, without the deal or the confusion or the trickery. She's genuinely not sure if he realizes that.

She still doesn't know how much of all that was genuine.

She wonders if he does.

For some reason, she suspects not.

[steventhusiast]

STWG daily prompt 3/10/23

prompt: rehab

pairing/character(s): steddie

-

Steve walks toward his two o'clock appointment with a slightly curious expression on his face. It's a new patient, which already usually has him quite curious and slightly nervous, but this particular new patient is one who could afford to pay the clinic to keep the physical therapy room empty for his session.

And Steve had been required to sign an NDA before being allowed to pick up the patient. Which had honestly offended him. The NDA just went over not telling the press any details about his client, which, hello? HIPAA? But he's also confused about why his patient would need him to sign an NDA like this. The name Eddie Munson doesn't ring any bells for him.

So, yes. He's very curious.

Before opening the door, he puts the effort into making his expression friendlier and more open, and straightens his back before pushing the door open. There, sat on one of the cushioned benches, is a very attractive man. One that he still doesn't recognise? Even though he must be famous? Or something?

He's got long, wavy hair, with a fringe hanging down in his face a bit- just enough to slightly cover his grumpy eyes and add to his generally unhappy expression. The t-shirt he's wearing looks artfully ripped to reveal tattoos underneath across his ribcage and stomach, and it contrasts the grey sweatpants he's wearing. Steve remembers that a knee injury is why Eddie's here in the first place, and figures that's what's causing the slightly odd outfit. He spies a pair of crutches leaning against the bench Eddie's sat on, and then his eyes trail over a little further to see a woman stood beside them.

Her expression is a lot more serious than Eddie's, and she's wearing an outfit that can only be described as business casual. Her blonde hair is up in a perfect ponytail, and once Steve's closed the door behind him she gives him a pinched smile. When Steve expects Eddie to introduce himself, the woman speaks instead.

"Hi there, you must be Steve. I'm Chrissy, Eddie's manager. He did not want to come today, so I'm just here to make sure he's behaving."

Steve raises an eyebrow at her words, and her speech seems to finally prompt Eddie to stop glaring daggers into the floor and look up at his new physical therapist.

But when Eddie's eyes snap up to Steve's, the glare leaves them immediately as his eyes widen a little. Steve's very confused by that, even more so when the wide eyed look transforms into a pout.

"Hi Eddie, I'm Steve." He greets with a lopsided smile, hoping that would make Eddie drop whatever his face is doing right now. But instead Eddie literally lets out a huff and his pout intensifies.

"Dammit. Why do you have to be hot? Chrissy dragged me to this stupid rehab centre and I don't want to be here because I'm supposed to be on tour, so I was supposed to be broody and moody all session to defy Chris's demands. But here you are. Real prince charming with a nice smile and hot voice to match." Eddie complains, and Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times at that.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and tilts his head, eyes slightly squinted.

"I'm.. Sorry? About that?" He tries, and Eddie laughs a little.

"Can I get a different therapist for this? Preferably an uglier one?" Eddie tries, and that actually shocks a laugh out of Steve as Chrissy (somewhat violently) shoves his shoulder and hisses out his name.

"Unfortunately you're stuck with me. And I can't date patients." Steve says bluntly, and Eddie's pout is back.

"But," He starts, and quirks a smile at how Eddie's back straightens at his words, "You're very pretty. So how about you actually try at what I have planned for you, and when you're done with the outpatient programme, I can take you out for dinner?"

Chrissy sighs next to Eddie at the words (looking quite done with the entire situation and the fact that she has to be there), but Eddie's eyes have glazed over into something determined, and he nods once.

"Eight weeks is a long time, but you're like Adonis level hot. That works for me. Show me what you got, Stevie."

Steve finds himself quite excited to find more out about Eddie. The next eight weeks will fly by, and hopefully after that... They can see how it goes.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

saying goodbye

(cw: age gap 25/41; mndi, slight nsfw; angst, brief discussion of loss and fear of death)

the part before: comforting him

I wanted to do something nice for König before he goes on his next mission, before he has to leave. Which is quite the challenge to make it a surprise from him when you’re living together. Well, staying together, but it doesn’t change the fact that we spend most of our time with each other.

Another reason, why this doesn't feel like dating anymore. It doesn't feel like just being exclusive. It doesn't feel like a living arrangement because he broke my bed. Also, he seems to be doing better again, after the little downward spiral that plagued him at the end of last week. At the same time… I can't shake the feeling that he's a bit more closed off than he was before.

I sigh. He’ll leave in only two days and we agreed that I would go home tomorrow because, well… it can’t be postponed any longer.

I already knew he has to sort out some stuff today before being deployed, driving into the city, getting a medical check-up and also arranging the details for my new bed to finally be delivered. But this gives me the chance to pack up most of my stuff and prepare what I wanted to surprise him with while he is away for a few hours.

I went grocery shopping after work, got everything that the recipe called for, and started as soon I was back at his place. I cut so many onions for this, I’m all cried out, but I still can’t help the little lump sitting in the back of my throat, closing it up, which has nothing to do with the cut vegetables

He comes back earlier than I anticipated, mumbling something about an incompetent doctor and how he doesn’t like to have his blood drawn. But I shoo him out of his own kitchen with a few comforting words, tell him to sit in the living room and read something. And not disturb me.

“Aye-aye, Ma’am.”, he says, an amused smirk on his face as he jokingly salutes. I roll my eyes and laugh a little, patting his butt, to make him hurry along.

I still need to prepare the sidedish and let the stew cook for a little longer to make sure the meat is tender and the sauce is thick enough. At least that’s what the recipe said. And I need to make sure I do everything right.

When it’s finally done, the kitchen looks like somebody threw around food, although I did my best to clean up as I go.

I fill one of the soup dishes with the stew, putting the Nockerl in there as well, the dough already soaking up some of the sauce. I compare the dish in front of me with the picture from the recipe and I’m actually content with how it came out.

I set the plate down on the island where the seats are and call for König while I get myself a smaller portion. I hear his steps before his huge stature appears in the doorframe.

“Uh, dinner is ready.”, I say wryly smiling at him, with my plate in my hands. I set it down next to his.

“I can see that and I already smelled the cooking in the living room, it smells deli-“ The words gets stuck in his throat as he comes closer, stopping in front of the plate. He drops onto the seat, the furniture aching under his weight. The smile he was still wearing when he came into the kitchen has dissipated, his mouth hanging open, when he looks up from his plate, his eyes finding mine. He looks almost in shock.

I sit down next to him, suddenly very unsure if this whole ordeal even was a good idea.

“You cooked Gulasch?”, he asks, his voice wavering.

I nod. “Yes, I remember how you said that you liked it, so uh, I tried to make it.”

“But you’re vegetarian.”, he adds.

“Yes, but you aren’t. And the original recipe calls for beef.”, I explain, putting the doughy pillows that the Austrians call Nockerl onto my fork, scooping up some of the sauce. I just want to try a bit of, tasting a part of his origins.

He’s still staring as I put the fork into my mouth, and well, he didn’t promise too much when he was talking about his favourite food because that’s really delicious. Though I’m unsure about how authentic it is.

His gaze moves from me to the plate in front of him, finally picking up the fork, and he digs in, taking the biggest bite. I wait to see what his reaction would be like. He shovels two, three forkfuls into his mouth, chewing, tasting. And then suddenly just stops. Goes completely still. And I don’t know what’s going on as his head drops forward, his hair hanging in front of his face.

A small silent sob shakes his chest and a stray tear falls from his face into the stew. My heart drops to my feet. Fuck.

“We don’t need to eat it, if it’s no good.”, I say lightly, trying not to let it affect me. When I go to grab his plate, his head whips in my direction, and I finally get a good look at his face.

“What, no?! I-“ He takes a deep breath, his hand wiping over his eyes quickly, like the tear was never there. “This is the nicest thing somebody has done for me in a long time.”, he finally says. “And it reminds me of my Oma.” A deep sigh shakes his tall frame. “So, thank you, okay? It’s delicious.” He takes my hands, softly pulling them towards him, pressing a kiss on each palm.

The sadness in his eyes isn’t completely gone when I look into them, and I didn’t anticipate that this simple gesture of cooking him his favourite meal would have him in shambles like that. But the smile that turns up the corners of his mouth is a warm one, thankful and happy.

“You’re welcome.”, I simply tell him. “I’m glad you like it.” I press my lips to his, reassuring the big giant that it was okay, without saying it out loud.

When I pull back, he lingers, his hand shooting up to the back of my head, stealing another kiss. Long, deep and oh so soft. Another “thank you”, without saying it out loud.

“What was your Oma like?”, I ask him, taking a forkful of my sauced-up Nockerl. He talked about her before, but it might keep me from tearing up as well.

The smile on his face gets wider and he starts to tell stories about her. Leaving the other people in his family out of it, for the most part.

How she always asked him to get the stuff from the upper shelves because he was already taller than her at age 12. How he sat in the kitchen doing his homework while she cooked. How she stopped pestering him about going to church on Sunday eventually, but still almost smacked him in his head when he turned the cross in the living room upside down as a joke. How she cried when he joined the military because that was the last thing she wished for him. How she still let him go and how he had to promise her to come back – or else. How he helped her in the garden every time he came home and kept doing that well into his 30s. And how he nearly missed her funeral because he almost couldn’t get permission to leave for a few days.

König takes seconds and even thirds, eating almost all of the Gulasch I cooked. I’m already done sitting over my empty plate, listening to him talk, getting us something to drink. When he is done as well, he grabs the plates to wash up, not letting me help in any way, because “Oh no, you already cooked and everything”. He tells me to pick out a movie I’d like to watch, the glint in his eyes telling me that it’s probably going to get cut short again, so I put on Pulp Fiction, a movie we both have watched countless times before.

He laughs as he comes into the living room with a beer in his hand and sees my choice on the flatscreen, taking a seat at the couch and I hop onto his lap when his ass barely touched the cushions. We’re entangled, as close as you can be. And it doesn’t take long for his hands to wander. Squeeze, caress, stroke over my body. Teasing me with soft kisses against my neck until a heavy sigh leaves my lips. He takes that as an invitation to finally take me to the bedroom where he lies me down on the mattress to eat me out, while he kneels on the floor. Messy, sloppy licks and nibbles, his fingers methodically filling me until I cum for him, my thighs pressing together around his head.

He crawls over me, pushing into me with his dick, after teasing my clit some more with his tip, the piercing deliciously pressing into the sensitive nub.

Slow and sweet doesn’t mean less intense, the soft stretch with every sensual roll of his hips sending sensations over my body, making me pant and throw my head back with pleasure.

His hand on my chin compelling me look at him while he is fucking me like this… until it doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore. When I come again, this time around his dick, it feels like a soft wave washing over me, his name on my lips, and he doesn’t stop pushing into me, prolonging my orgasm and chasing his own until he spills inside me.

He presses kisses to my cheek, pulling me into him, and we snuggle up against each other to fall asleep. My back is against his front, the heat of his body warming me, that I don’t even need a blanket. Feeling the comfort of his embrace a little more clearly than usual.

And the realisation hits me that he is going to leave. And I’m gonna go back home, to my apartment. No more König when I come home from work. No shared meals in the kitchen, no sitting in his lap on the couch. No laughing fits in the middle of the night when one of us says something so stupid that the other can’t comprehend. No filthy sex and tender kisses. No calling him “old man” to get a rise out of him. No dirty punishment for my bratty ass. No feeling him inside me, his brows turned up, his eyes rolling back in ecstatic expression as he comes. None of it, at least for some time.

I push those thoughts away, pulling his arms tighter around me as if I could keep him like this. I close my eyes, ignoring the one stray tear that rolls down my cheek, and drift off into sleep.

And with this the day I have been dreading the whole week is finally here. The day when I return to my own apartment after staying with him for weeks. I even took a day off of work for this.

I’m trying not to let it show too much, because it’s a bit stupid. This living arrangement always was meant to be temporary and I always knew he was on leave, needing to go back to his work at some point sooner or later. But now that it’s here… I kinda don’t want it to happen at all.

The coffee tastes a little bitter as I sip it, even though he added just as much milk as usual, with the typical joking disgust while diluting the tasty elixir, that always makes me chuckle and shake my head.

The sunlight streaming through the big windows in the living room blinds me as it reflects off the shiny couch upholstery when I go to collect Mimi from her spot, putting her in the cat carrier.

The book I finished reading on the weekend gets caught when I push it into its place on the shelf, some of the pages creasing. I curse, showing König and apologizing. He takes the book from my grasp, straightening out the crinkles, and puts it back. “Don’t worry, Liebes, it’s just a book.”, he says, his arm coming around me as he pulls me against his warm body and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

I get the rest of my stuff, seeing that one of my yarn balls has tangled into a net of knots, and I curse again. Of course, it did. I put my crochet bag into one of the boxes and carry it outside.

With a sigh I look back over my shoulder one last time and close the door behind me, placing my stuff in the trunk and climbing into the driver’s seat of my own car. Starting it and driving after him, and it’s weird not to sit right next to him in his car.

It’s weird being home again. Letting Mimi out of her carrier, the little kitty running around, brushing against his legs. And he picks her up, carrying her around, just like they always do. The small creature is purring against his chest as he shimmies her around, humming some tune I can't place.

It’s weird standing here in my apartment with him, waiting for the bed to be delivered. I can feel my bubbly yapping coming back, not being able to shut up, and König is listening like he always does. Short, one-worded answers while his hand is petting Mimi, scratching between her ears and under her chin.

The doorbell ringing tears us from our conversation. The delivery guys are handing the packages over, asking if they should help bring them in, but König declines, giving them a tip and sending them their way.

I’m not as easily deterred from trying to help with the packages, although König is carrying most of them, barely breaking a sweat, while I struggle with the smallest one.

Sitting on the bedroom floor, his tall figure still reaching up to my hips before I get down next to him. He’s glancing at the instructions, squeezing his eyes together, but I can tell he’s having a hard time seeing the illustrations of the steps correctly.

And of course he is too stubborn to ask for help. I grin to myself and shake my head. “Forgot your glasses?”, I ask him, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”, he says wryly, and I extend my hand, suggesting silently he’ll hand over the instructions and he does, with a sigh and a little smile.

While I’m still studying the instructions, he’s laying out the pieces and already putting the first parts together. Of course, he is choosing the hands-on approach, even with stuff like that, figuring it out as he moves along, and I chime in with a few comments here and there, guiding the construction.

His long hair is getting in the way and I lend him a hair tie, and I don’t think I’ll ever manage to get over how meticulous he puts his hair in a ponytail. I mean, he probably has done that same move for years, his hands collecting all the stray strands, the band snapping around them with two quick motions and then it just sits perfectly at the back of his head.

We spent so much time together and I realise that I’ve never seen him do that. The whole time he was always wearing his hair down, some strands hanging in front of his face. Sometimes he put them into a lose bun when he was working out, but never like this.

“What?”, he asks me, a hint of uncertainty on his face.

I shake my head. “Nothing, your hair looks good like that.”, I say, clearing my voice when it dares to break off, but I save it with a smile which gets mirrored by his, and I can’t help but put a kiss onto it while a pang of something spreads in my chest. I feel like I know him so well, and yet I keep learning parts of him I’ve never seen before.

“Come on, Hexe.”, he says when I linger, prolonging the kiss, caught in my thoughts, his hand patting my hip which makes me giggle a bit, but I can't shake the feeling that's settling in my stomach. Fuck, he's gonna leave.

Pretty quickly we construct the bed, it’s easy enough, especially when you’re following the instructions – a sentiment I say out loud after he managed to stick two pieces together who fit, but actually belong like that. He just grins and pulls them apart easily, his muscles flexing for just a moment.

“Show-off.”, I say, sticking my tongue out at him.

Finally, the frame is done, the slats already fitted into it and last but not least, we hoist the mattress onto them.

“You didn’t need to buy me a new one, you know.”

He shoots me a look. A knowing one.

“Really, it was fine. The old one would have sufficed.”

“I have slept on that mattress. You needed a new one.”

“Oh, that's just your old bones.”, I quip, and I know how ridiculous I must sound telling that to a soldier who can probably sleep anytime anywhere.

He pinches my nose. “You're not getting younger yourself, Missy.”, he answers. "Your back will be thankful."

“Yeah, yeah.”, I say grinning and bump my hip against his, rather hitting the burly thigh, before getting some bedsheets.

The fresh sheets match the nice dark wood of the bedframe, the bed now looking so much nicer than the rest of my furniture pieces.

“Thanks. For the new bed.”, I tell him, smiling up at him, getting on my tiptoes.

“No need to thank me, Liebes.”, he answers, leaning down and meeting me halfway for a kiss. “It was my fault you needed a new one in the first place.”, a wry grin accompanying his words.

“Well, this looks much sturdier like the one I had before.” I tap the wooden frame, a hollow knock resounding.

“Well, I needed to make sure that it wouldn’t break that easily again.”, he says, smiling down at me, a twinkle in his eyes. A reminder of how we broke it in the first place.

“Care to test that theory?”, I ask him cheekily, although I’m not really in the mood right now. My heart is way too heavy.

Before I can say anything else, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me up on the bed, the mattress dipping down under my weight. His hands are steadying me when I start to jump up and down, bouncing on it. Damn, it’s really nice. And I don't dare to ask how much he spent on it.

“Sturdy enough, you think?”, he asks me.

I nod. “You wanna come up here too?”, I tease him.

He shakes his head, just grinning, following my movements up and down with his eyes.

“Oh come on!”, I exclaim, not ready to stop this sillyness.

He pulls up his eyebrows. “I don’t think that would be wise, we don’t need to push it.”, he grins, when all of a sudden, there’s a faint cracking sound, and I stop, almost toppling over trying to hold my balance on the wobbling mattress.

“Point and case.”, he remarks as his arms coming around my waist as he lifts me off the bed.

“Okay, okay…”

I hold onto him like a little spider monkey, my legs closing around him, my cheek pressing against his shoulder as I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. Like I could keep him here like that. Or he’ll just take me with him when I stick to him like a limpet. Maybe I’m small enough to fit into his pocket.

My fingers get caught in his hair as I try to run them through it like I always do, and he pulls the hair tie from them, putting it away, letting me play with the long strands, as he goes to sit down.

The couch in my apartment is way smaller than his, his frame fills the cushions easily, so I have nowhere else to sit but his lap. Like I would have sat anywhere else. Trying to be as close to him as possible.

We’re not saying anything, just sitting here. My head rests against his shoulder, his scent all around me. I can hear his heart beat, feel it beneath my fingertips resting on his chest. Steady and strong, but a little too fast.

His hands are gently caressing my thighs and back, and even though I feel the sadness seep into me, the soft touches ground me.

We sit in silence for what seems eternity while at the same time lasting barely more than the blink of an eye. And I wish we could remain in this moment, frozen in time, but well.

He sighs softly, the deep sound pulling me from my thoughts, and I lift my head, to look at him.

“We need to say goodbye.” He slumps back, his shoulders hitting the backrest. “I wish I didn’t need to go.”, he exhales. Saying what I was thinking.

"Don't worry, I'll still be here when you're on leave again.", I tell him, softly kissing his cheek. He turns to me, the expression on his face serious and... a bit sad.

"But you shouldn't be.", he says, calm and steady.

"But-", I want to protest.

He shakes his head. "No, you should be with somebody your age, someone who can give you stability." He sighs. "Someone who can guarantee you that they'll come back to you. Every time they leave."

And the realisation hits me. He isn't saying goodbye for now. He's saying goodbye for good.

“I see.”, is all I manage because my feelings come crashing down over me with a vicious fervor. I thought I was going to have to deal with him leaving for weeks or months. With him being gone for a while. Not with a breakup.

“I’m sorry.”, he apologizes and starts to explain. “I never meant for this to go this far or… this deep.” The admission in his words makes my stomach flip upside down. I actually feel a little nauseous as my hands grip my own thighs, trying to hold onto something. “And I should’ve maybe said something earlier.” He swallows hard.

“The truth is that I had the best time this leave, and that was solely because of you.” He finally looks at me again, the raw emotions in his eyes almost scaring me. But the resolve in them is clear as well. “I couldn’t get myself to break it off. But I can’t make you wait for me either. Because I can’t even promise you that I will return.” His voice is shaking now and seeing him like this makes my lower lip tremble as I just try to breathe.

“And I can’t do that to you. The thought of you waiting for me at home and only a casket coming back… has been killing me inside these past few days.” The words come out choked and I can’t look at him anymore, my head snapping to the side as that image fills my mind. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, okay?”

We sit here like this for a moment longer. His hands stopped caressing my thighs and back, and I want to scream. The cold feeling of loss grips my heart, a viciously clawed hand leaving gaping wounds as it was making its way up my chest. He’s still sitting underneath me, but I feel like he’s already gone.

“I get it.”, I finally say, my voice trembling and hoarse. Still not able to look at him because I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my tears.

“I knew you would.”, he says, the words breaking up as he speaks. And I think back to when he told me that he couldn’t have a partner or family because his job won’t allow it. And I finally get why he thinks like that. At least I guess so. The big house devoid of any life but him, his own little safe haven, and I only now understand how temporary this whole arrangement really had been. I just didn’t see it. Maybe because I didn’t want to.

While I still try to process everything, he lifts me up and sets me down on the cushions of the couch. Like he did countless times the last few weeks. In his living room. And a sob tears from my chest because the gesture reminds me of so many tender and filthy moments at the same time. I hug my knees, pulling them close to me, already missing the warmth of his body. But that’s the way it is now, I guess.

He crouches down, coming face to face with me, and it just hurts to look at him. The bandshirt he bought for the concert we went to together. The tattoos on his knuckles, straining from the tension in his balled-up fists. The long dark hair, pushed to the side, falling back down his shoulder. I don’t need to touch it, to know how soft it feels. The mouth that smiled at me so often. The lips I have kissed countless times and that have kissed every inch of my body. The furrowed brows. The slack expression on his face concealing the laughlines. And for the first time since I’ve known him looking into his eyes doesn’t give me comfort.

He carefully takes my chin, the pads of his fingertips rough against the skin, softly digging into my jaw, like he likes – liked to do. He leans forward pressing a kiss to my lips which almost makes the tears drop from my eyes. A kiss to say goodbye, gentle and bittersweet.

"Stay safe, okay?", he whispers, his eyes looking intently into mine, but I can only nod. My throat is closed up because I know he won't be safe. Not saying anything because I don't want to cry in front of him. Because that will only make it harder, on both of us.

He straightens back up and leaves. The door falls shut behind him.

And I finally let the waterworks flow, sobs shaking my chest as I throw myself into the couch where he sat just a few moments ago.

Mimi’s meow pulls me from my crying fit when she jumps up onto the couch, her little head bumping into me, and I pull her against my chest, the tears rolling down my cheeks. And the odd thought crosses my mind if the crinkles in the book on his shelf are the only remainders of me in his house. While I have this new bed.

How did we get here? Masterlist or the next part

a/n: i have been working on this chapter for months and i knew what was coming and now that it's finished, i can't help but still feel the sadness hitting me 🥲 - and no, this is not the last chapter (in case you were fearing that rn) take this recipe for authentic austrian beef gulasch as a token of my apology

[lightlycareless]

I'm sorry for sending you a lot of ask 😭😭😭

I found this one tiktok vid and i want to share it with you

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFWmwA37/

I imagine this with naoya and naomi 🤭

Hello!!

UGHHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE I TOOK TOO LONG AND NOW THE VIDEO ISN'T THERE JESUS 🤬😭😭😭😭

But I remember well what it was. It was essentially a daughter receiving her father (dress up as a princess) giving him a rose, and he's really moved by the gesture :')

And of course, my version of it :3 Thank you so much for waiting for me 🥺💖 And I'm sorry it took me a while to reply :'( but I still hope you like it!

warnings: none. fluff. Naoya loves his family.

Happy reading!

Dressing Naomi up comes as one of your many attempts to show how much you appreciate Naoya and all the things he’s done for his family.

You do it quite frequently, whenever possible (and as secretive as you could—you don’t know how he manages to always figure out your surprises! Could it be the bank statement?) for there’s no one else that knows better than you about all the things he’s had to sacrifice to do his duties.

But up to that point, you really hadn’t involved Naomi—outside of phone and video calls, photos here and there of the cute outfits you’d put her in for the day or places you’d visit with her, her participation in such gestures is often limited.

Perhaps it’s because she was still too young and there wasn’t much that she could do besides well, being cute and existing.

However, now that she was a bit older, 3 years to be precise, Naomi had become a bit keener to help you out! And such, your mission to do something father-daughter related begins.

It took you a while to settle into something that would wow Naoya (far more than the usual)— at first you considered dressing her up as his favorite character from that one anime you recalled he particularly enjoyed—Neon Genesis Evangelion.

But complications would arise soon enough, beginning with Asuka’s hair color which you initially thought easily fixable with a wig… until realizing it was too itchy for your poor baby, at one point she simply gave up, swiftly pulling it off her head and throwing it away.

The other option that ensued was temporarily dying it, but you wouldn’t dare ruin her precious dark hair, never!

So, you ruminated on your options. Continuously wondering what kind of surprise would blow away Naoya, far more than the others!

…

…

Why not go dressing her up as what she was? A title that once belonged to you, but now you were more than happy to pass down onto your daughter: A princess.

With a cute pink, puffy dress, little pink flats and of course, those chubby cheeks that lightened up with her toothy smile! Accompanied by her now classic two ponytails always adorned with ribbons. She’s just gotten enough hair for you to style her like that, so there’s no way you weren’t going to take advantage of it!

And finally, but not least, her pacifier. The eternal struggle of whether to slowly start detaching her from it or let her keep it for a bit longer always plaguing your mind.

Her doctor says it’s ok if she keeps it for a bit longer, she’s still around the age where kids use it…. At the same time, she tells you to not fret too much—you and Naoya had unwittingly become the type parents that ask her just about anything regarding Naomi’s safety, continuously worrying that the slightest action might harm her to the point where she had to remind the two:

“She may be a baby, but she’s still capable of doing things.”

Well, the pacifier will remain then, a pink one to match her dress!

“Are you ready, mochi?” you ask after adjusting the last details of her dress, Naomi responds with a curt nod and the serious look on her face she always had whenever sucking on her pacifier. It’s as if she was determined to do so, and nothing else! How adorable! “Now remember, when papa arrives you gotta run to him and hug him! Hug him as tightly as you can and never let go! He’s been away for so long and misses us terribly——so be sure to remind him how much we love him, ok?”

Naomi didn’t need to be told twice to know what she needed to do, for her sentiments aligned exactly with what you told her. The video calls were not cutting it anymore, all she’s been wanting now was to see her papa again and be pampered by him!

So, when the fateful day arrives, you and Naomi eagerly stand by the entrance, giddily waiting for the moment his car drives past the gates, subsequently steps out it and heads over to the two to be promptly received with a big kiss from you, and of course, a tight hug from his baby daughter.

But more than that, you wanted to see the kind of reaction he’ll have upon noticing his baby all dressed up as the princess she is. The culmination of all your efforts to make this father-daughter moment happen!

And thankfully, it was all that you imagined, if not more.

Naoya’s heart was always a mess whenever he knew it was time to come home. There mere thought of seeing his family again, especially after weeks of absence, was enough to have him in a frantic state.

It was almost impossible to believe that the always level-headed Naoya, the collected, assertive heir had sweaty hands when driving back to the estate. Something that began when he saw the familiar trees of the nearby forest appearing on the horizon, worsening at the sight of the gates he both loved seeing when returning, loathed when leaving.

In just a matter of minutes he’ll be walking onto the estate, to his home. But even when it was nothing that he had to wait, he couldn’t do it. Naoya couldn’t take it anymore—He needed to see his family, now, which he knew were anxiously waiting for him on the other side of those doors!

So, before the car even came to a full stop, Naoya swiftly prompted the door open and jumped out, ignoring the nearby staff which asked him to be careful and heading straight towards the loves of his life, to embrace them and shower them with his affection—

Only for Naomi to win him to it, dutifully obeying your request by bumping into him first, a small pink flurry tightly holding onto his leg and snuggling against it, her way of telling him welcome back!

Naoya tried his hardest to not pass out at the sight of his adorable doll-like daughter tackling him, though he later thought that if that was the way he’d leave this world, then it wasn’t that bad.

Of course, he wouldn’t desire that, for there is nothing more than he wished than to be with his family right now.

“Princess!” He eventually manages to exclaim once snapping out of trance, a wide smile, slightly teary-eyed look on his face as he swiftly scoops her up and places kisses all over her cheeks—something she would’ve gladly accepted per usual, if it weren’t ruining her look! Naomi soon tries to push him away, effectively letting him know of her discontent. “Oh dumpling, what’s wrong?”

“You’re ruining her makeup” you giggle, walking closer to the two and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Makeup?” He repeats, leaning a bit backwards to get a better look at her face, smiling when noticing what you meant.

From subtle glitter on her eyelids, to a tint of blush on her cheeks (not that she needed it anyways, she was naturally rosy most of the time) Naomi was fully committed to the role of princess, naturally. And of course, it made her look even cuter. Though you and Naoya knew she didn’t need much to look good, for in your eyes she was perfect.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to ruin it, pumpkin.” He chuckles, kissing the top of her head as an apology. With this her frustration ceases, completely succumbing to his embrace. “You’re very pretty, as you always are—did mama dress you up?”

Naomi shakes her head, you and Naoya laugh.

“Ah, so you chose this yourself?” She nods. “You have good taste then, as expected of my daughter.”

Naomi’s eyes glisten, flattered by his words as her cheeks warm up before hiding her face at the crook of his neck, seemingly embarrassed. Naoya likes that she reacts just like you whenever shy.

“Did my princess miss me?” He asks, she nods again. “I missed you too, very, very much.”

“Welcome home, Naoya.” You finally say, stepping on your toes to give him the customary, much necessary, kiss on the lips which Naoya gladly reciprocated—unless Naomi was to protest, feeling left out and demanding she’d be included. “But you were just kissed, pumpkin! I need a bit of papa’s kisses too.”

Dejectedly, Naomi ends up relenting… for now.

“It’s good to be back.” Naoya smiles, taking in the warm company of his wife and daughter and what it represented: he’s finally home. “You don’t know how much I missed the two of you.”

“We can imagine—we missed you so much too.” You respond. “Specially Naomi, she’s been nothing but talking about you!”

“Really?” Naoya breathes, imagining her cute babbles intertwined with papa’s here and there—and how much he wished to hear them! “Then I guess a reward is due. And thankfully, I brought enough toys for that.”

Naomi’s ears perk at the mention of toys, as they always do, followed by a prompt attempt to escape his grasp and reach for the back side of the car where she expected them to be.

Her father would’ve not wasted anytime at this point to give her such gifts, for her reactions were always endearing to see…

But first, there was something else he needed to do.

“Actually, my love, can you hold Naomi for a second?” Naoya asks you with an uncharacteristic shyness, followed by a subtle redness forming in his cheeks that naturally has you growing inquisitive.

Until seeing him take out his phone, that’s when it became clear what he wished to achieve, and thus, continued to happily do what he requested.

“Naomi, look at papa.” You say, softly gesturing at the lens. The way Naomi quizzically looked up at him made his heart swoon, unwittingly giving him the perfect shot.

It’s rare to see Naoya taking the initiative when taking pictures, he just… never liked doing so. Made him feel embarrassed by it for some strange reason, but you never pushed him about it; and why would you? He did enough for the two! Surely one thing he didn’t want to do would be ok.

Instead, you gladly took on the role of designated photographer, the one in charge of captivating these moments and subsequently sharing them with Naoya for him to take as a reminder of home when away.

But this was too cute to pass up that no amount of shame could make him lose this opportunity. And such, after taking his phone out and focusing the camera on his wife and daughter, he takes a picture: the one that would become his new wallpaper, replacing an equally adorable picture for an even better, newer one. Showing how much his daughter has grown.

“Thank you so much, pumpkin.” Naoya coos, proceeding to take Naomi from your arms and giving her another kiss on her soft, round cheeks. Naomi sighs, accepting his gesture as she closes her eyes, letting him continue peppering her face. “I don’t know what I would do without you in my life. I love you.”

“Hmm!” Naomi whines, her version of the same words, which makes Naoya melt as well as remember why he’s doing all this for.

Why he spends days, weeks, if not months away from his home, sleepless, dangerous missions where the slightest mistake could potentially lead to his death…

To see his family happy, warm, fed, safe.

Things that he would do over and over again, forever if needed, just to see them smile.

And there you have it!! More fluffy moments between our favorite family 💖 gjkasjgkasjg whenever I get asks involving Naomi and Naoya I smile, I really, really like enjoy writing things for them. Even though I get angsty sometimes hahaha

Well, once again, thank you so much for sending me this 🥺💖 I'm a bit sad that the video isn't there anymore, or maybe it's an error from my part? AAAAA ANYWAYS 🥺 I'm happy with this. And don't worry, you can send all the asks you want :> .... I might just take a while to respond with all them requests💀

Once again, thank you so much. Take care, and hope to see you soon!!