#kindled reveries

[strxwberry-skiess]

zayne: your presence is already immaculate.

me:

[hananoami]

[riverstories7]

Reverie & Rancour Now Available!

Thanks to all of you who have inquired about R&R becoming an ebook. I'm pleased to say that it's now available for pre-order on Amazon. The book will be released on 31 January, and at that time it will also be included in the Kindle Unlimited program.

[theinvisiblemuseum]

favourite reverie quote GOOOOOO

“But as of that day, Regulus’ studio was a blank canvas, as were they.”

feeling ill i need to lie down

[exactlycleverpirate]

Rafayel REALLY Wants to Marry You

Spoilers below the cut for various Rafayel content.

My evidence:

From Anecdote 2:

From Tipsy Invitation:

You can't return him, and he has a LIFETIME warranty.

From Fireworks Vow:

Promises lasting hundreds or thousands of years.

From Kindled Reveries:

He straight-up dresses you in a white veil.

From the Myth:

He calls you his beloved bride. Apparently in at least one lifetime you were engaged and/or married!

And just to make it really clear, in Heartfelt Moment, when you ask what gift you can give him, he answers:

Thank you @haazellclouds and @poisonheart for reminding me of this one!

In Rainbow Strokes:

He considers it a plus that couples who stayed at the inn you are staying got married when they got back. 😁 And then in the follow-up, in Before Sunrise, they stay in the honeymoon suite of that inn.

Did I miss any? Share in the comments!

[comatosebunny09]

firestarter | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, angst warning(s): mutual pining, language, self-loathing, steaminess, terms of endearment (sweetheart), hurt feelings summary: “gimme a color,” he husks, his lips pressed to your neck as if to siphon the warmth from your skin. as if you could, his fingers tip-toeing down your sternum, stealing all coherency from your mind. music inspo: friends with benefits - tory lanez vete - bad bunny come alive - jackson wang notes: takes place in the same verse as kindle. thanks for reading, lovely! ❤️❤️❤️ part 2 coming soon!

It isn’t so much that you’ve been avoiding him. You just haven’t been able to look your partner in the eye since. Well …

The dreams started.

They began innocently enough. Sweet as cotton candy, soft like cashmere. Filled with gentle kisses and coos of I adore you pressed into the crown of your head as he stroked your back and held fast to you like you’d disappear in a plume of smoke if he let go.

However, your recent visions have taken a more sinful turn. Saturated with hot and furtive breaths against your neck and a hard, sweltering body anchoring yours to your mattress. With hands always so big, sending electricity pulsing through your extremities as they mapped out the contours of your body, stroking your thighs apart. And that goddamn smirk.

You shiver at the recollection, nearly dropping the manilla folders in your saturated palms.

Fuck. Maybe you have been avoiding him.

You chew on your lip while the carpeted floor swallows the sounds of your footsteps. Heart sits in your throat, anxiety spuming through you like a geyser as you near his office.

Leon had requested your presence earlier. Wanted to get to the bottom of your evasiveness. Was wary as he asked, placing a careful hand on the small of your back whilst you mulled over some paperwork. And naturally, you jumped some fifty feet out of your skin as if it were the first time he ever touched you—the dejected look on his face is permanently ingrained in your mind, causing you to sigh.

You’ve been jittery like this for weeks now. Been months since you and your partner regarded your relationship as anything but platonic. Because, of course, it isn’t normal for two friends to hold hands and cuddle and kiss with tongue like longtime lovers. And it for damn sure isn’t common for one friend to fantasize about the other. About their fingers and mouth and breath patterning the skin between their thighs, and—

You shake your head to ward off your reveries as the chilly metal of the door handle finds your palm. Heaving a breath, you prepare yourself for the inevitable. The inquisitive looks and prying questions. Leon can be infuriatingly persistent when he wants to be. He wouldn’t be your partner otherwise. Wouldn’t have wormed his way into your heart if not for that tenacity.  

You cautiously twist the doorknob, the swell of noise from the agency fading into a dull murmur as you quietly shut the door behind you.

Of course, Leon would be seated at his desk, looking like a goddamn Adonis. Poring over some reports, concentration etched onto his features. Hair combed back in that way that makes your knees weak, tie loosened.

The soft click of his door shutting captures his interest. A smile instantaneously touches his lips, wide like he’s the proverbial kid in a candy store, and you’re the jawbreaker he’s been blessed with the rare privilege of tasting.     

“Hey, you,” Leon greets, the low gravel of his voice reserved only for you.

Your back finds the glacial wood of the door, the folders clasped to your bosom as you look everywhere else but at your partner. Shiver when you feel his gaze sinking into you, stripping you down to the marrow, leaving you naked and exposed. “You wanted to see me?” you murmur, wishing you could melt into the floor.

Leon’s responding chuckle sifts through your bones. Heat overwhelms your cheeks, your heart working overtime. “What is this, a State of the Union Address?” He pokes at your formality, clearly knowing something’s amiss. The sound of his chair rolling and the rustling of fabric piques your ears. “Com’ere,” he husks, motioning to you in your peripheral, leant on the front edge of his desk.

You peer at your partner for the first time in what feels like eons. Ingest the boyish crinkle of his eyes and the muscles of his arms threatening to spill from his button-up. You swallow past the sand collecting in your throat. Drop your shoulders, conceding to your fate. Reluctantly pad over to him, the walk feeling like it stretches for miles. You take up the space he pats beside him, apprehension curdling in your chest.

The harsh edge of the oakwood digs into your buttocks. Keeps you somewhat grounded as you ingest the scent of teakwood and Bourbon, and fuck him for smelling so good. For feeling so good, the heat of his body permeating your attire, pooling in your loins. His pinky grazes the bone of your hip. A gesture of affection that causes you to jerk away from the static it invokes, sliding further toward the other end of the desk.

His expression is incredulous in the corner of your eye. A mixture of hurt and irritation swimming beneath the bows of his steely blues. “Okay,” Leon sighs after some time spent in rigid silence, folding his arms over his chest. You flinch at the weightiness of his voice. At the disappointment laced within, shrinking like a scolded child. “What’s goin’ on?” Never one to beat around the bush, always straight to the point.

Feigning innocence, ignoring the waver of your tone. “What do you mean?”

Another sigh. Another rustle. Eyes scanning over you beneath furrowed brows and dispiritedness. “C’mon,” Leon murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.” The pressure surrounding you shifts whilst Leon angles himself closer, willing you to just fucking look at him. Sounds wounded as he asks, “Did I do somethin’ to piss you off?”

You scoff aloud, more upset with yourself than anything. Of course not, you will your mouth to utter. Never. But these stupid dreams make it hard to look at Leon. To stare at those sinful lips and those work-worn fingers and—

“No, Lee,” you exhale. Feel his body relax at the use of his nickname. His gaze never falters, and you have this gnarling feeling in your gut that he won’t let you leave until you open up. With a surge of confidence, you look at him. Absorb the puppyish pout of his mouth and his hands twitching to touch you. To coax out your confession and stroke your downy skin.

You gnaw on your bottom lip. It’s now or never, says the distant throb in your temples.

“You haven’t … done anything wrong, Lee. I just … I’ve been having these … weird dreams about you.” Though meager, you’re relieved that your voice decided to work.

“Dreams, huh?” Leon taps his chin, your words churning through the cogs of his brain. He relents a throaty chuckle to the air after a beat, his muscles easing as he crosses one leg over the other. Cutely cocks his head to the side, saying, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, sweetheart. You know I’m too stubborn to die.” Accents his words with a playful jab to your cheek.  

An icy thrill shoots through your center. You’re not sure if Leon’s being intentionally oblivious or if he’s truly unaware of the weight of your words. “N-no, Lee,” you stammer, glancing at your feet. The cardstock of the folders bites into your palms as you strangle them for dear life. Try again. “I have dreams about you. Like, dream dreams.”   

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. See the confusion clinging to his visage, eventually morphing into realization. Leon’s mouth forms around a silent ‘o’. He blinks rapidly, dispelling the fog from his mind, his expression stunned as he beholds you again.

“Oh! Oh.”

You’re acutely aware of your surroundings in the following stillness. The distant buzz of your coworkers. The tick-tock of the clock mounted on his wall. The bob of Leon’s Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, and the uptick of your heartbeat in your ears as his eyes skitter away from yours.

You shut your lids against the epinephrine flooding your bloodstream. Feel so very stupid for opening your mouth, knowing damn well your relationship hasn’t reached that threshold of intimacy yet. That making love to you probably hasn’t even crossed his mind.

Sure, you adore your partner. Would rearrange the moon and stars for him if he asked. But you’ve intentionally moved at a snail’s pace, fearful of scaring him off. He’s confided in you before that he’s been broken. Used for his status, his money, his body. You want him to know your feelings are real. That the gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair is sincere, and the emotions you pour into his mouth as you kiss him so eagerly are raw and genuine.

Feeling you’ve overstayed your welcome, you clear your throat and begin smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothing. “I should get going. Gotta get ready for my next mission,” you quietly venture, straightening up. An assignment of reconnaissance on your own, much to your dismay. It may be a blessing in disguise, given that Leon still won’t look at you. You don’t think you could bear another moment of this, feeling as if you’ve thoroughly fucked up whatever blooms between you.

Your steps are soundless as you meander toward the entrance of his office. A cloud of despondency and drooping shoulders, reaching for the handle.

“Wait,” Leon cautions at your back, halting your escape. There’s a tenderness to his timbre buried beneath a current of hesitation. An inkling of his usual smugness. An attempt at normalcy despite the uncomfortable air swelling between you. “Can I come see you when you get back?”

Your vision ebbs in and out of focus. Eyes glass over, teeth grit. You’re appreciative that he doesn’t try to pursue it. “Sure,” you offer whilst the door slides open. Before Leon can splinter your heart any further, you disappear behind the door, your hands shaky and your stomach aching with indescribable pressure.  

You really fucked this one up, huh? You berate yourself on the way to the armory, the sight of a dumbfounded Leon still burned into your brain.    

part 2 [ incomplete ] >>

[hihello-pinky]

Sight (2)

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintarou had to learn this the hard way. 

WARNINGS: mentions of abortion, mentions of miscarriage (NO SMUT IN THIS PART!)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WC: 3.3k Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort Other Tags: Forced Marriage, Developing Relationship, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, References to Illness, Angst with a Happy Ending, + more to be added.

I know I mentioned I’m working on having a longer part 2 but I kinda like where this ended. Thank you all for waiting and for the love and support!!!

part one part two part three part ???

leave me love?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Looking back to it, everything happened so fast. As soon as your friends forced Suna’s name out of your mouth after they found out you’re pregnant, they pulled all their connections to get the two of you to meet... Only for him to question the fatherhood of your child. That’s when you first met Osamu Miya. You did not know back then that he was Rintarou’s best friend and as devastated as you were, you spilled your problems to him.

That’s how you found yourself next in the most stressful weeks of your life. Mr. and Mrs. Suna telling you that you are to wed their son. Rintarou telling you that you should get an abortion. And several nosy people telling you that you are a whore who got herself pregnant to get into the rich Suna family.

You tried to refuse the marriage, telling the couple (who, unlike their son, were the sweetest people you’ve met) that there’s no need for a marriage, you just need support to raise your child. They of course wouldn’t have it, and you knew it’s partly because they wanted to punish their son. You admittedly entertained the thoughts of getting an abortion but you just couldn’t do it... not after watching your sister struggle with multiple miscarriages in the past. And with the people spreading malicious things about you... you tried to ignore them, until a few days before the marriage where the gossips suddenly stopped.

Marrying Suna Rintarou brought a lot of changes in your life. First of all, you had to forego the post-graduate internship that was offered to you at the end of your senior year. Second, you had to move to a house gifted by his parents, which caused a rift between you and your sisters since you initially promised them that you’d be living with and helping them. And lastly, you had to live with Rintarou, who explicitly lets you know that he blames you for the forced marriage.

Another surge of headache breaks you out of your reverie. You straighten on your seat in the hospital lobby, waiting for the doctor’s secretary to call you. You had dropped off the kids at Sacha’s place right after confirming with the receptionist that there’s an available slot for a check-up. Last night, right after Rin left, you had a terrible headache, much the same as the ones you’ve been having for the past few weeks.

You look at the queuing monitor and notice that there are still a handful of people before your turn. You open your bag to get your Kindle but it grazes the leather bind of your journal. You must have taken it with you when you took your reading device from the bedside drawer. And just as you’re always inclined to do, you flip to the already dog-eared pages and read through your journal entries from years ago. It’s time to relive the memories.

You were in your fourteenth week of pregnancy. The new house’s backyard was as empty as you felt for the last two months of living with your new husband. He would wake up early and arrive home late. Thankfully, you have managed to befriend the housekeepers, Yuto and Jiri. It was one evening, though, that neither of them was home since the former was on leave while the latter was sick.

The clock struck ten and the main door opened, revealing Rintarou who looked visibly unwell. You rushed to him and he tried to swat you away, only for you to feel how his skin was burning. He must have been feeling too sick because after two more attempts, he finally let you help him into his bed.

That night, you nursed him to the best of your abilities, from changing his clothes to wiping his face with cold cloth. You even cooked soup for him, feeding him as his hands were shaking too much. As you were about to leave his room so you could go back to the spare one where you have been staying since you two moved in, his rough voice stopped you. “Stay.”

Your eyes widened, unsure if you heard him right. “Are you...?”

He groaned. “Or call Jiri. I need her.”

“She’s sick,” you replied. “I’ll just stay... if that’s okay with you?”

He was quiet for a while. “Okay.”

That night, you ended up staying with Rintarou, sitting beside his bed and barely getting any sleep. It went on for two more days. When you woke up on the fourth morning, you were surprised to find a blanket on top of you, much less feel the softness of a mattress below you.

You jolted awake and was surprised to see Rintarou sitting up with his back leaning against the bedframe and talking to someone on the phone. “Thanks, Kita. Yes, I’m feeling better. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.” He must have noticed you staring at him for he turned his head towards you, the look on his face unreadable. “Call me when something urgent comes up. I have to go.” After dropping the call, he moved to stand up.

“Are you okay?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Weren’t you eavesdropping?” He shot back. “I’m feeling better. Jiri’s coming in today by the way, no need to make your pathetic attempts of forcing yourself into my business.” Suna didn’t even spare you a glance before he marched off to his bathroom.

Despite the two months of living with him, his actions towards you still managed to hurt. You gulped and moved to stand up from the bed, knowing too well that Suna would want nothing but to see his room void of you once he comes back.

Two days later, you found yourself with a flu. You begged Jiri not to tell Suna or his parents. But alas, you should have known better that while she had become your friend, her loyalty was still with the Suna family.

On the third night of your flu, you heard a knock on your door. It was odd since it was way past Jiri’s and Yuto’s hours of duty. Sighing, you forced yourself from your bed, wrapping the fluffy blanket around your body.

I must be delirious, was your first thought as you saw Suna at the other side of the door.

“Did something happen?” You asked, trying to hold back a cough, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He looked every bit uncomfortable as he handed you a paper bag. “Here.”

You reluctantly received it and peeked inside. Care package. You looked up at him questioningly. “What’s this for?”

He broke the eye contact and mumbled something.

“Sorry? What did you say?”

He let out an annoyed sigh and forced himself to look at you eye to eye. “Jiri told me you were sick and that you probably got it from me. She scolded me that I shouldn’t have asked you to stay in the same room because it’s risky for pregnant people.” His eyebrows furrowed. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” you replied but you knew your smile was still on your face. “You didn’t have to go out of the way to give me this, you know.”

“Then what the fuck was I supposed to do? Jiri would have never let me hear the end of it.”

“Hmm... could have just said ‘sorry’, maybe?”

Suna rolled his eyes and opened his hand, palm up. “Forget it, then. Give that back.”

You clutched the care package against your chest. “No way! No taking back, this is mine already!” Before you knew it, a giggle escaped your lips. You immediately froze, realizing it was Suna you were talking to. However, when you dared to look at him, there’s a barely noticeable hint of a smile on his lips, the atmosphere between the two of you warm. “Good night, Y/N.”

It’s only when the sound of his footsteps have receded that you realized what happened: he just called you by your first name.

“Mrs. Y/N Suna?” The secretary’s voice brings you back to the present. “Please enter room 125.”

You gather your things and make your way into your doctor’s office. She greets you with a warm smile. “How are you doing, Y/N?” The doctor asks as soon as you’ve settled down on your seat. “You haven’t visited in a while.” Megumi Hirai is a nice lady who’s in her early forties and you’ve taken a liking to her in the past few years. “I take it you’ve been busy?”

You nod. “It was the kids’ birthday party yesterday. There was a lot of preparation that needed to be done.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How old are they now?”

“Five,” you smile proudly. “I feel like they’re growing up too fast. I want them to stay little for just a little bit longer.”

At that, Dr. Hirai laughs. “Every parent experience that. I see no reason for you to worry though, you’re still young. Isn’t it about time that you and Rintarou try for another child?”

The smile on your lips drops a little. “We’re too busy for that this time, I think.”

Sensing that you want to change the subject, Dr. Hirai moves on to another topic. “How’s work going?”

“Great,” you reply. “A bit stressful, but it’s all good.” Despite the Suna family saying there’s no need for you to work, you still got yourself a job at a local publishing company. You’ve been loyal to it, and now you’re one of the head editors.

You’ve always been passionate about writing and editing; you could say you were depressed when you had to let go of the internship at the global publishing company because of the sudden pregnancy. The memories of you sharing that to Rin and him reluctantly helping you find a job poke at your head.

You will yourself to stay at the present. “I’m still happy with my job.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Dr. Hirai smiles. “What’s your concern, then?”

“I’ve been having these extreme headaches for the past few weeks. Sometimes they last long, sometimes they pass quickly. The other night, I think I passed out.”

The doctor hums. “Any other symptoms?”

“Um, I can’t think of any…”

“Have you noticed any trend on the times when they surge?”

You shake your head no. “Not really. I honestly don’t think it’s serious but they’ve been becoming more frequent lately.”

“Okay.” Dr. Hirai says, pulling out some papers. “I’ll be requesting for you to undergo some tests. Have them done as soon as possible so you can schedule another checkup with me.”

“Thank you, doctor.” You take the request forms.

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Hirai smiles kindly. “And Mrs. Suna?”

“Yes?“

“Don’t downplay the headaches you’re experiencing. You never know if they’re actually underlying symptoms of something serious. Have a nice day.”

 --------

“I’m sorry to be saying this, but you don’t look too well.” Osamu Miya is placing the take-out rice balls you had just bought in the paper bags as he alternately looks between his task at hand and you, who’s sitting at the counter.

You had decided to drop by his restaurant before picking up the kids from Sacha. His statement makes you bite your lip. “Is it that obvious?”

“That you look like you had no sleep and cried your eyes out for hours?” Osamu asks in reply, then takes a deep breath. “Yes.” The gray-haired man shakes his head. “Rin is so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize on behalf of him, Osamu,” you say. “He’s your best friend but his actions are all his own choices.”

The twin keeps quiet for a while as he finishes packing your order. In the meantime, you rub your fingers against your temple, symptoms of a headache beginning to manifest again. You close your eyes, hoping it goes away. Once you open them, you see Osamu staring intently at you. “I have a confession to make,” he says.

This piques your interest and you lean a little bit forward. “What is it?”

“It’s all my fault,” Osamu says, gulping. “After that first night we met, I went to Rin’s parents and told them what happened. He initially confided in me that he got someone pregnant and I wasn’t planning on getting involved until I met you. You were nice and kind, I couldn’t let Rintarou to just fuck up your life.

“I thought once he gets married, once he gets to know you... he’d grow and change. But I was wrong.” His eyes are now filled with guilt and apology. “I’m sorry, Y/N. If I had known that Rin wouldn’t change one bit during the past five years – ”

“Stop,” you cut him off, no longer wanting to hear more. “That’s all in the past now.” You contemplate your next words carefully. “Besides, it’s not like Rin was completely horrible to me during the time we’ve been together.”

Osamu’s voice is filled with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

It’s at that exact moment that the door of the restaurant swings opens and someone enters, your heart dropping once you see who it is.

Suna Rintarou. Your husband.

 -------

 Suna hasn’t seen you since the night before and he definitely wasn’t expecting to see you here at Osamu’s restaurant. Once you face him, he immediately notices the redness of your eyes that your makeup wasn’t able to cover. He chooses not to think about the reason behind them.

“Hey, Rin,” his friend waves at him from behind the counter. “Y/N is here.”

He rolls his eyes as he stalks toward the counter. “I’m not blind, ‘Samu.” He takes the stool next to yours and immediately notices you tense. He inwardly sighs, remembering what happened last night. He turns to face you and gets a little surprised when he sees you gathering your purse and the paper bag from the counter.

“I have to go. Bye, Osamu! Thank you for these!” And in a moment, you’re out the door.

As soon as you’re gone, he feels his best friend’s curious eyes on him. “What? Gonna ask me to go run after her?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “As if you would.”

While his friend is right, the statement still annoys Suna. “Why was she here, anyway?”

“As if you care.”

He tries to mask his annoyance as he clenches his jaw. “You’re, right. I don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence before Osamu speaks again. “Why are you here, Rin?”

Truth be told, Suna’s agenda was to force Osamu to join him on a night of drinking where he may or may not tell him about what happened last night. But seeing you here... and then Osamu’s rather irritating replies... “Forget it, I’m leaving.”

“Did you and Y/N fight?” His friend’s question makes him stiffen.

Suna rolls his eyes. “We often argue. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Osamu replies rather curtly. “But this time, it seems as if you’ve crossed the line.”

To his own surprise, Suna replies with, “Yeah, I think so.”

He doesn’t need to look at his friend’s face to see the surprise on it. “Wow, that’s a lot... coming from you. What happened? Please don’t tell me you hit her.”

He glares at the man. “I’m an asshole but I would never lay a hand on a woman, even if I hate her.”

“Why do you hate her, Rin?” Osamu asks. “What has she ever done to you? You still have your job and inheritance; you can still fuck around... I know she doesn’t demand much from you about the kids. In fact, she got the short end of the stick. Why do you hate Y/N?”

Instead of answering his friend’s questions, Rin adjusts his position on the stool and makes a fist against the counter. “She confessed to me last night.”

“And what did you say?” Osamu’s voice begins to become unreadable.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Suna shrugs. “We were having an argument so I figured she was just trying to fuck with my head.”

There’s a short silence that follows but it’s long enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Are you really that blind?” Suna prefers it if his best friend is shouting at him at the moment. But alas, Osamu sounds so calm and everyone knows that Osamu Miya is ten times scarier when he’s acting calm during moments that would call for him to be mad.

“What do you want to hear as my answer?” Does Osamu want him to admit that all these years, he thought your hurt towards his treatment was solely because you wanted to have a happy little family? That he didn’t think you actually fell for him in those few months that you were in good terms? But, admitting those would mean he needs to tell Osamu about that time, those five months where he opened his heart to you. Those five months that he never dared tell anyone.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Suna!” Osamu slams a hand against the counter, anger and frustration evident in his voice. “Anyone with an eye can see that Y/N is in love with you! Though it remains a mystery to me how she managed to fall for a dickhead like you, it’s clear that she loves you!”

Other explicit things leave Osamu’s mouth and Suna just stays there and takes them all. Once his friend is only heaving deep breaths, he begins to talk. His turn. “You asked why I hate her. Well, my answer is short.” He mentally sighs and, finally deciding it’s due time for Osamu to know, says the name that haunts him to this day.

Osamu’s eyes widen. “You mean...?”

“Yeah.”

He watches as a conflicted look dawns on his friend’s face. “Do you understand me now?”

“Kind of.” His friend’s gaze hardens a bit. “But you do know you’re being unfair to Y/N, right?”

Suna stands from the seat, retrieving the cigarette box from his pocket. “I know.” As he walks the short distance from Osamu’s restaurant to his car, all Suna can think about is, And I think maybe it’s about time I should apologize to her.

  ------

You’re inside the bedroom, just finishing up changing the sheets. Ever since Jiri left three years ago and you and Rintarou never hired someone new, you’ve been in charge of keeping the house tidy. In reality, you just had changed the sheets a week prior but what happened four nights ago just makes you want to change them, hoping that as they come clean, so does your relationship with Rintarou.

It’s been three days since the fight and oddly enough, Rintarou comes home on time and even doesn’t complain about sharing the bed. He barely acts as if you exist, cementing your belief that confessing to him was a totally wrong move. However, there are times when you feel him staring at you, as if he wants to tell you something...

You shake your head, reminding yourself that there are lots of things to do. First of all, the test results that you got yesterday after having the necessary check-ups from the day before. Second, the papers you have requested after a long call that you had last night.

You’re too engrossed in your thoughts that you fail to notice that Rin has entered your room. He’s wearing his work clothes which always make him look ten times more attractive. You straighten on the bed and try to look at his eyes. To your surprise, he meets your gaze. “We need to talk.” You both say at the same time.

You bite your lower lip, and seeing as he’s not saying anything, you take it as a cue that he’s allowing you to speak first. So, with a deep breath, you say the words you’ve been practicing in the shower this morning. “I want to file for divorce.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

[sincerelywhistler]

Ellis ✨🪐

This is certified Reverie Audios propaganda. Ellis, our bestest enby bookstore clerk, could recommend me a telephone book and I’d still fully trust their judgment.

Ellis headcanons under the cut!

- They have a rule that any time they go grocery shopping or run errands, Eggs is entitled to being brought a lil treat from the store, too. It’s only fair!

- They keep a list of dates they want to take Gem on in their notes app. It’s password protected, just incase Gem stumbles across it. Can’t have any surprises be spoiled hehe

- Ellis can appreciate Kindles and other reading tablets for their uses, but they’ll eat a bowl of staples for breakfast before they willingly choose that over an actual book with actual pages. That book smell is just too… booky… to pass up

- Jewelry lover! Necklaces, rings, bracelets— doesn’t matter. Adds to their ✨whimsy✨

- They’ve gotten pretty skilled in making their own jewelry, too. It was a trick born from boredom that they picked up while things were slow at the bookshop, bending paper clips into fun shapes to pass the time. Soon enough, it then turned into a full-blown hobby once they invested in getting the proper supplies and whatnot. They hand-make Gem, Cyril, their grandmother, and other loved ones something for their birthdays each year <3

- If you dog-ear/fold the corner of a book’s page around them, you better sleep with one. eye. open.

- Was on the debate team in high school for a year or two. Cool, calm, and collected arguments typically won the race.

- I also feel like they know a lot of random ass trivia, just because

- Weekly take-out and board game nights!!

[starqueensthings]

I was going to wait to post this until Mama Echo Monday, but fck it. Happy Star Wars Day, Pals!

Pairing: GN!Reader x Echo. No mention of Reader’s appearance/gender (with the exception of "an unladylike grunt" mentioned once to describe exertion). 

POV: 2nd person, 4641 words.

Summary: Echo and SquadMedic!Reader share their first kiss after he makes an unplanned trip to the MedBay.

Warnings: Slightly whumpy as Echo gets injured while completing some ship repairs, mentions of blood and medical procedures (stitches specifically), mentions of Echo's traumatic past, mentions of the anxieties he deals with regularly now in regards to medical treatment. 

Rating: SFW, fluffier than a fkn cotton ball

A/N: I am not a doctor. I’m not even close to a doctor. I don’t know if any of the medical words/references make any sense but I did my best with the tools I had LOL 

Huge thank you to the always incredible @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading, your time and feedback was so appreciated. 

You hummed quietly along to the song warbling from the radio in the corner as you flattened the last of the dozen cardboard boxes that had, up until this morning, housed the carefully packaged restock of your MedBay supplies. Hunter had long since asked you to start keeping the empty boxes, as they worked well for kindling and the squad had taken to settling down after missions with a bonfire wherever possible. But storing bulky boxes in your already cramped closet of a MedBay had proven a challenge in itself, as the only method for storing such clutter was to have them sandwiched tightly between the wall and the arm of your bulky treatment chair. 

“Don't get stressed, it's gonna get figured out…” you sang to yourself. The fluffy pop song filling the quiet corners of the room was not your regular cup of tea, but was surprisingly successful at pulling a small wiggle from your hips, and the occasional snap from your dusty fingers. “Deep conversations at the Waffle House...” You sashayed across the room to the beat of the song, heading towards the wall of cabinets opposite the door.  

“But you knowwwww it’s always love,” you chorused, holding an invisible microphone in front of your mouth with your right hand, while your left latched each of the cupboards closed. 

The clunk clunk of approaching heavy footsteps (the kind that could only belong to the large metallic feet of Echo) were masked by the reverie that the radio always seemed to put you in, and you were momentarily deaf to everything else.

“Um… Mesh’la? Mesh’la?”

A sudden sharp intake of breath tugged heavily at your throat as your body jerked in surprise. You spun around towards the door, ready to adorn the person who’d induced your cardiac arrest with the most vehement glare you could muster… but the distress on the face of the man slumped in the doorway wiped every ounce of ire from your mind immediately.

“Sorry,” Echo mumbled from the doorway where he had paused. “I didn't mean to scare you.” 

The urge to clamp your hand over your thundering heart was immediately robbed from you as your eyes registered his visible torment, and his even more obvious need for medical attention. “Maker,” you hissed, your eyes widening and your lips parting. 

“So it is that bad...” he grumbled, correctly reading the shock on your face and triggering his shoulders to sag. 

You closed the space between you in a brisk walk, your brows knitted tightly in concern and focus. Echo had his hand clamped over his right cheek, though the pressure he was applying from his palm was nowhere near enough to stem the flow of blood now cascading down his jaw and dripping onto his chest plate. 

“Let me see,” you instructed gently, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and slowly tugging his arm downwards.

You had no choice but to ignore the loop-de-loop that your heart did in your chest as a result of your contact with his skin; Echo had had that effect on you from the get-go. For obvious reasons (and not), he was unlike any man you’d ever come across before. Sure, his cybernetics and past experiences made him unique enough as an individual, but it was more than that. He had a distinctive, polite sort of grace about him; a warmth that emanated from deep in his person that you’d never encountered before. There was just something about the way his eyes seemed to caress your features as he listened to you ramble about whatever topic it was that you needed to vent about that particular day; something about the way that his smile tugged just a little more on his left cheek than his right when Wrecker got him laughing hard enough; something about the little smirk on his lips, and nod of his head that he sent your way every morning before he was awake enough to voice a greeting.

Simply having him in close proximity somehow simultaneously calmed and excited you, wiping your mind of all coherent thought, while your heart was jolted into overdrive. It was particularly bad in the moments like this one where your skin brushed against his, as your body always seemed to take it as a cue to throw composure out the window, doping your blood with enough hormones to make your hands tremble. And then there was the fact that time did not seem to be a concrete concept when you two were together; you could have happily spent a continuous decade passing tool after tool over his shoulder as he patched up the ship, or three weeks collecting firewood from the nearby forest, or simply reading side by side in the cockpit chairs.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying to rid your insides of the butterflies that had launched into a fluttering dance routine at his touch, so you could focus on his injury. “Tech told me to come see you,” Echo mumbled through an expression laced with fear as his arm fell to his side. “He said something about a flap being ‘full thickness’?”

Now free from the pressure of his palm, the laceration on his cheek began to leak freely the moment it was exposed. Barely a breath later saw your fingertips quickly cloaked in the same red carnage that had seeped through the cracks of his own fingers. As you gently pulled at the loose overhang of skin, you reached around to the waist pouch on your lower back, yanked the zipper open, and deftly retrieved a handful of sterile gauze packs. With a quick rip of the paper packet, you unfolded a fresh square of linen and immediately pressed it against his cheek. He winced lightly against the pain of the pressure you applied, but did not pull away from your touch.  

While one left hand continued to hold the gauze in place against the warmth of his oozing cheek, your other reached for his elbow, pulling on it gently until he took a step forwards through the threshold of the door and into the MedBay. Somewhat awkwardly, as you were walking backwards and at a drastically reduced speed, you guided him towards the treatment chair and sat him on the worn albeit squashy cushion on the seat (an addition you incorporated upon first seeing the cold and rigid equipment).

“What in the name of Mandalore’s moon happened to you?” you asked him, reaching for his hand again and gesturing for him to hold the gauze in place for you.

He swallowed with apparent difficulty, his eyes flickering anxiously around the room, glaring at each piece of diagnostic equipment mounted on the walls around him. The MedBay was Echo’s least favourite area of the ship, and he had already apologetically admitted that he only visited it when he absolutely needed to. “The machines and stuff kinda freak me out,” he had divulged quietly halfway through the generic physical you had put him through shortly after you joined the squad.

Thanks to your research and the details in his medical chart, you were well aware before joining the crew that he had had several limbs replaced by cybernetic machinery in the past, but it wasn’t until several weeks after, in a whispered night-watch conversation on the ramp of the Marauder, that Hunter explained how… and why. Echo’s recurring MedBay anxiety, or the “Med Dreads” as you had comically labeled it since, became immediately validated and unspokenly understood.

“Your cheek, hun. What happened?” you probed again when he failed to answer you, deliberately keeping your tone light and warm as it usually helped diminish his anxiety.  

“I… uh… got cut.” He answered your question in a mumble, forcing the lump of anxiety down his throat for a second time and sending you a fleeting glance.

“Well I can see that, Captain Obvious,” you quipped with a smile and a small eye roll as you took the saturated material out from under his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

After tossing the used fabric into the biohazardous waste bin beside the chair, you reached around your waist into the pouch again, this time retrieving the travel sized bottle of your go-to wound disinfectant: a neon orange effervescent solution that smelled strongly like iron, and worked remarkably well at cleaning superficial wounds with minimal pain. You held the gauze over the opening in the bottle and tipped it upside down thrice. Once satisfied with the level of saturation, you screwed the lid back on and returned the bottle to your pouch.

Your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist again, tugging it away from his cheek and collecting the soiled linen from his fingers. The bleeding had almost entirely subsided, blood now seeping out from under the flap of skin in droplet form, as opposed to the crimson river it had been when he first walked in.

“It’s… it’s Corporal.”

Had you not seen his lips move out of the corner of your eye, his murmur of words would have been completely lost amongst the incoherent chatter of the radio hosts.

“Pardon?” you asked him, stopping the movements of your hands to give him your undivided attention.

You were surprised to see a small smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to you. “It’s Corporal,” he repeated. “Corporal Obvious.”

The upswing in his demeanor took you by surprise, momentarily blanking your mind of a response as a smile worked its way across your own face. You peered into his twinkly eyes for a breath of a moment, basking in the warmth that they smothered you in every time that they fell on you. “Oh, my apologies, sir…” you chirred with a smirk, resuming your careful wiping motions across his injured cheek. “Apparently you’re Corporal Funnyguy today, too.”

A small laugh left his nose in something of a soft snort, triggering the butterflies in your stomach to resume their tortuous, internal flap-about. Your cheeks began to burn as the echo of his laugh; you loved when he laughed, particularly if it was you that had managed to pull it out of him.  

In an effort to keep the giddy smile off your face, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, deliberately keeping your eyes away from his until you could regain your composure. After discarding the gauze in your hands, you turned your attention back to the laceration on his cheek, prodding it gently and tugging on each end to observe its reaction to various degrees of tension. Now that the area was cleaned of the carnage, the injury was thrown into sharp relief, and you were internally grateful you’d removed the mirror from this room months ago. Echo was a tough cookie but was notoriously squeamish with blood and injuries, and whatever it was that had cut him, left a clean albeit deep wound, extending from his cheekbone outwards to his ear.

“Hmm,” you hummed, placing your hands on your hips and wiggling your nose as you thought about the best method to close the wound. “It’s definitely full thickness, unfortunately,” you intoned. “I’ll have to E-Mag stitch it, hun.”

His shoulders sank dramatically, and a heavy sigh left his mouth as he tipped his head back in exasperation. You swallowed against the sadness and empathy building in your chest, placing what you hoped was a calming hand on this shoulder. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip before looking back at you, his eyes now framed with small creases of suppressed fear and contempt. 

“Can’t you just use a bacta patch?” he asked you, failing to entirely stifle the desperate plea in his tone. “Or some of that fancy tape you have?” His eyes darted around the room again, this time almost frantically, as if visually finding the tape would be enough to convince you to use it, but his silent petitions were met with nothing but a poignant shake of your head. The inevitable, and likely infinite, list of alternatives he was sure to propose, as he so frequently had in the past, were no match for the dismissive explanation waiting patiently on your tongue.

“Echo, hun, we've been over this before. Bacta is a great tool, but it isn’t the end-all and be-all.” You spoke quietly, trying to catch eye contact again by shifting your weight and tipping your head until your face was in his line of sight. “The laceration is deep into the epidermal layer, and skin always heals from the bottom upwards. If we put a patch on, it will limit the amount of breathing your wound can do while it’s healing, and the chance of forming a compound infection increases pretty drastically.”

You watched the ghosts of unvoiced arguments shift his expression as he turned his face away from you again, his amber eyes flickering back and forth between the rebuttals that only he could hear; sorting through the rolodex of bargaining chips in his mind, searching for anything to help him obtain a fast pass out of this chair, and away from the prospect of foreign tools near his body. But despite the crease between his heavy brows deepening to that of dark chasm, he remained quiet, the only motions of his mouth being the mollifying nibble of his bottom lip.  

“I promise, once the stitches dissolve, we’ll put some bacta gel on to prevent scarring, and you’ll never know it happened,” you offered warmly, standing up straight and retracting your hand from his shoulder. “But for now, I’ll give you a pain injection to numb the area and you won’t feel a th—”

“No pain injection,” he interrupted, snapping his head around to stare at you. 

You stifled your sigh just enough for it to leave your mouth as nothing more than a poignant exhale drenched in sympathy. “Echo,” you started, cowering only slightly under the intensity of his stare. “We've been over this too. You know the stitcher is more uncomfortable than the injector. It'll be more comf—”

“No injection. I don’t need it, or want it.”

“Come on, Corporal Toughguy,” you pleaded, hoping that adding a dash of humour to the situation might soften his refusal. “I’m a whizz with the injector, ask anyone! And you can even load the vial yourself, if you want, so you know exactly what’s going in—” 

“Still no, and always no.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and challenged your pleading eyes with the flick of a dark eyebrow, wordlessly reinforcing that this was a battle you were not going to win, and he would out-stubborn you into the ground. Little did he know, the intensity of his warm eyes directed at you so piercingly, had almost entirely diminished your resolve, and a smile was working its way back across your face before you could stop it. 

“Fine,” you conceded, sticking your tongue out at him fleetingly before turning around and stepping away from the exam chair.

With an unladylike grunt, you retrieved the heavy durasteel case that held the E-Mag stitcher from one of the lower cabinets on the opposite wall. The Republic Cog logo on the lid was almost entirely faded from the constant friction of your hand opening and closing it, but the tool inside was measuredly kept in good repair. With the prod of the button, you brought the stitcher to life while simultaneously doing your best to hide the tool behind your back as you crossed the room towards where Echo sat watching you.  

His glazed eyes focused again as you approached, flickering only fleetingly to your hidden hand before another heavy sigh stole over him. You steeled yourself against the dread building inside of you, reminding yourself that your discomfort in this moment was nothing compared to his, and despite the awareness that you were about to cause him moderate to significant physical and emotional pain, this treatment was necessary.

“You sure no pain injection, hun?” you asked him when you returned to his side.   

“I’m sure,” he answered with a stoic nod.

“But are you sure sure? For sure, sure?”

“I’m sure sure… for sure… sure?” he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled into a smile. “Maker, that word sounds weird when you say it so many times.”

A huff of a laugh poured from your mouth as you nodded. “I did that to Tech the other day too,” you said with a grin. “I somehow got him to say ‘tinkle’ three times in a row and I think he almost had a seizure.”

Another laugh forced Echo’s injured cheek upwards, though you were pleased to see the creases around his eyes were momentarily free of pain and tension. The look of neutrality, hell even joy on his features was a welcome change to the subdued and forlorn demeanor that the Med-Dreads drowned him in.   

You know you let your eyes linger on him for just a little too long, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same euphoric pull towards you, that you were feeling towards him in the span of that shared laugh. Father Time had launched into his usual cruel tricks the second that Echo’s crinkled eyes met yours, and suddenly moments could have been hours; years could have been seconds; an eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, for his eyes on you made everything around you make sense, and at the same time, irrelevant.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, apprehension ghosting behind his eyes as he clutched the armrest of the chair tightly in his pallid hand. 

“Okay,” you answered in a determined whisper, gathering the remains of your resolve, and finally pulling the E-mag stitcher from behind your back. 

The wad of boxes wedged between the chair and the wall was, unfortunately, precisely where you needed to stand to hold the stitcher at the optimal angle, but you had no intention of delaying or drawing out Echo’s torture any longer than necessary. Eager to start and to finish so that he could be free of the mental and physical turmoil, you opted to lean across his body instead. You heard his breath hitch in his chest as you stepped in between his knees and leaned into his space, but whether his alarm was triggered from the feeling of your body against his, or the fear that enveloped him upon seeing the stitcher, you were not sure. 

“Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed him, giving him one last smile before turning your attention to his cheek.

And he did. And it almost killed you. Watching his eyes water and his muscles tense with each stitch that you guided the tool to feed through his skin sent a wave of guilt and remorse crashing through your stomach to the point where you began desperately searching your brain for something to distract him with. 

“I think I’m going to try and get Hunter next,” you declared after the 6th stitch had wracked his tense features with another wince. You paused, offering him the moment of pain-free peace that he refused to verbalize. “What should I try and get him to say? Something attainable... but I kinda want to be on the raunchy side. Any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Echo considered after a long, slow exhale. “How about something like nipple?”  

“Nipple!” you chortled. “That’s perfect.”

“It’ll be hard to get him though,” he added against another wince as the tool in your hand threaded another stitch through his skin. “He’s too aware. You’ll have to get him nice and distracted first.”

“Kinda sounds like you’ve done this before,” you suggested quizzically, glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow.

Echo shrugged a shoulder and let the ghost of a smirk work its way across his lips. “My brother and I had some prankster tendencies back in the day,” he answered cryptically. “Though he was a natural at it, so I always took his lead.”

“Tell me about him,” you probed, grateful for the opportunity of a lengthy and important topic; one that might be enough to steal his awareness from the present pain that you were putting him through.

A surprisingly sad sounding sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly against unspoken thoughts. “Maybe another day,” he eventually mumbled with a small grimace.

Every cell in your body urged you to protest; to argue with him; to reassure him that you truly did want to know everything about the brother that he only ever mentioned fleetingly; to remind him that you would eagerly listen, with open ears, for as long as he was willing to talk, like he had done for you only countless occasions. But you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into anything at this moment; not while he was already uncomfortable... already desperate to escape this room and the pain you were putting him through.

You sighed quietly to yourself, making a mental note to prompt again later, and pushed the 11th stitch into place.

“Okay, deal,” you answered. “Maybe you and I can take down Hunter as a team? I’ll bring nipples up in a conversation because, let’s be honest, it’d be weird coming from you… but you’ll have to think of a way to get him to say it multiple times.”

“Deal,” he agreed with eyes clamped shut. “What about Cross? Have you managed to get him, yet?”

“No,” you grumbled audibly and dramatically. “I can’t even get him to say one word, let alone the same word repeatedly. I don't think he likes me much to be honest...”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Echo assuaged, opening his eyes again and directing them on to you. “We all love you. Crosshair’s just a severe guy. It takes him a little longer to show his colours than everyone else.”

“Yeah well… so far the only colours I’ve seen of his are ‘snipey’ and ‘cranky’,” you chuckled, shifting your weight slightly so you could rest your elbow on his shoulder. “Oh… and ‘morning-breathy’.”

Pride welled inside of you as Echo laughed again, his chest vibrating below yours with every snicker that left him.

“He does have bad morning breath,” he agreed with a grin. “Not as bad as Wreck though. He could kill a man with that toxic morning gas.”

“Good thing Tech has the cabin ionizer on full blast at night or I think we’d all be dead.”

“That’s why he has it on full blast at night.”

Two things happened in the subsequent moment of shared laughter: you pushed the final stitch through his skin, but before a suppressed sigh of relief could even think about leaving your mouth, Echo’s hand shifted from the arm of the chair and landed gently on your side. He placed it there so softly that, in any other moment, you may have been able to shrug it off as an unprovoked shift of your waist pouch, but being so close to him had increased the sensitivity in your skin- in your very awareness, and there was no denying that was his hand clasped timidly, yet purposefully on your clothed rib cage.

You froze, turning your head slowly to face him. His eyes were fixed on you, and his face donned an expression that you’d never seen on him before: a juxtaposed blend of confidence and apprehension. You slowly straightened up, the breath in your lungs stalling as you watched his eyes dart from your left eye to your right.

You could have sworn you had heard music playing mere seconds ago, but it didn’t seem like your mind was presently able to register anything other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could have sworn you were just laughing about something… but that couldn’t be true, as there was absolutely nothing inherently comical about the way he was looking at you, nor did there seem to be any air left in your lungs to spare on laughter.

“Thank you,” he breathed, using the gentle hand on your side to pull you a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“For… for what?” you somehow managed to ask.  

Hesitation stilled him for only a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between yours again. “For being… you. For being so... you know... awesome.”

If the butterflies rearranging your internal organs like furniture wasn’t enough to end you right then and there, then the addition of his gentle touch under your chin would certainly have been your demise. Tingles radiated from the place where his finger rested on your skin. Your hands, still limply holding the stitcher at your side, began to tremble in anticipation as a force more powerful that gravity pulled you closer and closer to him. Your lips parted slightly as his gaze darted between your eyes again. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed.

A cannon went off somewhere in the depths of your stomach as his lips brushed against yours, testing the waters of your approval; offering you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted, but there was simply nothing else in the entire galaxy that you’d rather be doing. There was simply no better feeling than this; than transferring every ounce of desire in your body into his through means of a kiss.

You pressed your lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss while the stitcher fell to the floor at your feet with a clunk that no one heard… forgotten, irrelevant.  As he probed your lips further apart, your right hand snaked its way up his chest to cup his jaw just below his ear. His hand returned to your side, brushing his thumb tenderly against your ribs, as his tongue made a hesitant entrance into your mouth. You welcomed it immediately, pushing your chest right up against his, impervious to the uncomfortable rigidity of his armour.

“This does not seem an appropriate treatment protocol for a level 2 subdermal laceration.”

You and Echo broke apart immediately, both of you turning deer-in-the-headlight’s expressions to the door where Tech stood wide eyed and slack jawed in the threshold. Echo blushed and hung his head to his chest, as a nervous giggle left your lips.

“Um…” you started, your mind frantically searching for a valid excuse as to why you and Echo had just been unceremoniously draped all over one another, all the while somewhat distracted by the large smears of engine oil across Tech’s forehead. “Well I stitched him first… and then… shifted focus...” Tech deadpanned you, his expression unreadable, and his magnified eyes blinking intermittently behind the lenses of his smeared goggles. 

“What was your method of choice?” he eventually asked you, when not even the radio in the corner could puncture the awkward silence in the room.

“S-sorry?” you stuttered. Echo scratched his nose in your peripheral vision but you refused to look at him, lest you return to pieces and pounce on him again.

“What was your chosen method for the laceration repair?” Tech clarified, shifting his goggles on his nose.

“Oh… um. The Electro Magnetic stitcher. It was full thickne—”

“Then I was correct in my initial diagnoses. Good for me.”

He turned and left without another word, his gaze immediately redirected back downwards to the datapad clutched in his dirty hands.

When the sounds of his footsteps faded to nothing, you finally risked a glance back at Echo. His smirking face pulled an embarrassed smile from you immediately, but his eyes remained locked on you as he stood up and reached for your hand.

“Come on,” he spoke quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

.

[thezeninclan]

it’s like he’s afraid to touch you, to break you—

even as you ease down into his lap, your bare chest slick with sweat and tacky as it presses against his, your belly flat against his clenched stomach, so close that you can feel every flex, every pull, every undulation of firm muscle that adorns his body from head to foot. even as you ease yourself down onto his cock, he remains frozen.

“you can touch me.” you say at first, holding his big hands in yours. the size of his hands, of his body, dwarfs you, and you’re reminded that even in his human form its likely that he could crush your bones like flower stems. his palms are hot, so hot, against yours, like kindling rising to a burn in the grate of a great fireplace.

but still he’s hesitant, his big thighs flexing flexing flexing against the back of yours, his strong jaw tight as a bowstring, showing the restraint he’s putting himself through. you can feel the jump of his cock inside of you, a frisson of pleasure twisting through your belly as you feel the bare skin of him against you, inside of you.

“reiner-“ you call, voice a distant whisper, the tone carried by a kind stranger calling out gently to a small creature, offering food or shelter to a scared rabbit, an abandoned kitten. you can feel his cock against the curve of your ass as he rocks you gently in his lap, and you nearly moan at the feel of it alone. “touch me.” you beg. you want to feel him, need to feel him. “please, please…touch me.”

only then does he seem to come back to life. a warm hand falls to your hip, pushing gently, so gently, as a sailor testing out rough waters. only when you don’t break, when you moan out in soft pleasure, does he seem to realise that you want this as much as he— that you aren’t so delicate a flower as to bend in the winds of a rough storm.

his other hand rises to your waist, sliding high enough that his thumb can brush against the underside of your breast. his eyes widen as they’re drawn to the way the skin jiggles as it’s touched and he can’t help but do it again and again, until you jump, startled, at the accidental touch of his cold fingers to the sensitive bud of your nipple. his hips flex and you let out a little whimper, so small small small that he can’t help but sigh in ecstasy.

he looks up at you in awe, in reverie, watching the way your body twists, your back arches, as he continues to touch, pinch, press, pull, working your nipples between each thumb and forefinger until you’re nearly panting. he can feel you trembling under his fingertips, pulsing, skin itching, nails clawing, as you wordlessly beg for him.

“reiner, it’s...” you begin, clasping one of his big hands in yours and bring it to your chest so he can feel the way your heart hammers against the cage of your ribs. “i’m so-”

“I know, baby.” he whispers. his hips jump, he can’t help it— not when you’re looking at him like that. “just- just-“

“big.” you moan.

you loose your grip in his shoulder and fall backwards suddenly, so fast that reiner has to jump a little to catch you and you let out a scream as his cock slams fully into you.

he knows everyone can hear you, hear him, knows everyone knows exactly what you’re doing in his quarters, knows that zeke is out there smoking another cigarette, knows that porco is glowering at the table, knows that pieck is no doubt listening in curiosity— and reiner couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

he grips your hips, eyes sweeping over your shaking body, as he rolled his hips tentatively. he gasps, eyes suddenly drawn to the way your belly undulated as his cock went deeper inside of you. his hand slides across the curves of your belly to rest upon it and you moaned.

“it feels so good here, baby.” he grits, drawing your hand beneath his and pressing down. “do you feel me, baby?” your eyes roll back in your head, gasping for air, struggling to breathe and moan in one breath. you nod feverishly, bobbing along with the way he moved in and out of you, completely mesmerized by the meeting of your bodies.

“c’mere.” he says, hefting you up into a sitting position.

he wraps your arms around his shoulders, adjusts your body by the meat of your thighs until you’re sitting fully on his lap, until he can plunge his cock into you with abandon. a switch inside him has been flipped, been turned on in a way it hasn’t before, but you don’t mind, don’t mind the manhandling, the changes, the pleasure.

he wraps his big, muscular arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his bare chest as he struggles to pull off the tunic still gathered up around his shoulders. you need his skin on yours and he’s more than happy to satisfy that need, satisfy every need. his feet are properly planted on the floor now, and he can wedge his hips up against yours, thrusting his thick cock in and out of you, regulating the speed to match the way he shifts your hips down onto his.

you feel your orgasm approaching swiftly, suddenly, slamming into you as fast and rough as he was. reiner gasps out a moan as he feels you contract around him, tight as a fist around his cock.

it’s good, it’s so good, that for a moment you can’t even speak, can’t even breathe, can’t do anything but clutch onto him and sink into his touch, letting yourself succumb completely to the pleasure he brings. it feels good to let him turn you this way and that, to move your body in his arms, to let him take order of your body, and you ceded control easily. it brings another layer of pleasure, to both of you, to know that you trust each other so completely, so unfalteringly, that you can let the other person control your heart, your soul, your body.

you loop your arms around his strong shoulders and bury your face into his neck, hearing the slap of his naked hips against your ass. your tongue traces the sculpted lines of his throat, following it across to his ear, laving your tongue across the shell of his ear where you know he is particularly sensitive.

“I’m-” he chokes out, but he doesn’t even have time to say anything else before you can feel his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you to him, burying himself as deep inside you as he could as he came, filling you with so much warmth from head to foot that for a moment it felt as though you were burning hot, burning inside and out.

you find his lips, sloppy, messy, giving him a kiss that encompassed a thousand words of affirmation, a thousand words of love, and felt him lean into it. “I love you.” he whispered, holding you tightly. it was as though the words couldn’t stop, pouring from him like the emotions he so often repressed. his eyes were bright, wet, as he spoke. “I love you. thank you. I love you.”

you touch his face gently, feeling his cheek sink into your palm. “I love you.” you returned, uttering it firmly, gently, like a promise. “always.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Wolves At The Door; Prelude

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: It started small, or as small as a gargantuan man stuffed into a traveling cart could be considered.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our prelude! We will begin in earnest next Wednesday but until then, the prelude 💚 Enjoy!

Tag List:  @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @baby-lisuga @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @zombiexbody @silver-quinn01

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood. Stay safe!]

It started small, or as small as a gargantuan man stuffed into a traveling cart could be considered. He called himself the Duke, and would sometimes appear in your front yard on clear nights when the moonlight was bright. He was pleasant enough, if a little strange, and seemed to enjoy making idle conversation while his horse grazed.

You, for your part, didn't get many visitors (none at all actually), so you were more than happy to indulge the strangeness of your large guest in exchange for tidbits of news from the outside world. 

"Stocks are down, you know," he would often muse whilst rummaging through a drawer beside his head in search of a cigar.

"Which ones?" was always your question in response. 

Then the rumbling, mischievous chuckle. "All of them except mine, my dear."

He styled himself as a merchant of some kind, occasionally showing you odd trinkets with a fair amount of pride. He never explained his acquisitions and you never asked, too enamored by the clearly-arcane objects to be inquisitive of their origin.

You made the mistake of joking once, "hope you don't sell these to the Hobby Lobby." 

He had blinked at you, obviously confused, bloated fingers cradling the midsection of a carved goat. A smile tugged at one side of his mouth abruptly, and he was laughing when he replied, "my dear, they could not afford my wares."

Neither could you, of course! But the Duke didn't seem to mind overmuch that you were strapped for lei, the man clearly content to entertain his audience of one. 

There were rare occasions where the Duke brought what he called "guests" to your property. Injured animals seemed to trust him infinitely more than you did and you would soon find yourself bemusedly following the Duke's instructions to mend fractured wings or free tangled limbs. And if the animals were a bit more…monstrous than you were used to, well, it may just be a quirk of specialized evolution in this specific neck of the woods. 

You tried not to dwell on the topic while you foraged alone on your property, and you made a conscious effort to not venture past your front door after nightfall. The howling and snarling you heard in the night kept you safe behind your locked door, comforted only by the strange charms the Duke hung on your fenceline. "Free of charge, part of our first class customer service," he had said without a hint of irony.

Everything was normal (or as normal as you were used to) until one particular, stormy evening…

…

You had been rushing most of the day just to get the firewood cut and stacked. That's what you got for procrastinating, you supposed! The logs had been seasoned for ages, you really should have gotten to it beforehand. But now here you were, sky rapidly darkening while you lugged armfuls of wood into your home to place them in the firebox beside the door. The smaller pieces you relegated to the kindling basket, where they resided with the pitch-rich pinecones. 

The sky finally opened up as you were stoking your evening fire, another early spring deluge drenching your home and the surrounding woods. It was shaping up to be a quiet night.

You had just your dinner and settled into a chair beside the fire to get some reading done when a forceful knock at your door pulled you from your reverie. You blinked owlishly at the door. Nobody ever came to visit, and the Duke had never deigned to venture so far onto your property. Even if he did, however, he never visited on rainy nights in the first place. 

Slowly you reached down beside the kindling basket, your fingers grazing the handle of your shaving knife. Before you could pick it up though, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. 

"My dear, I understand it is far past calling hours, but would you be so kind as to humor me?" The Duke queried through the door.

You bolted out of your chair, stumbling into your shoes and then rushing to the door. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you undid the lock, most of them concerning whether the large man had been injured by the shadowy creatures that lurked in the woods. He seemed unharmed when you jerked open the door though he looked a touch perturbed, rainwater dripping from his pale forelock. Somehow he had managed to get his cart practically inside your meager porch, his nearness more startling than anything else.

At the sight of you, his broad face split into a grin. "Ah, there you are! I saw the smoke from your chimney and hoped I wouldn't be dragging you from your bed. How are you this evening?"

"G…Good?" You answered hesitantly, realizing as you did that this was stupid of you. This guy was huge and knew from previous conversation that you were very, obviously alone. He hadn't given you any reason to distrust him before, but-

"Excellent to hear, my dear. I've come to you with a bit of a conundrum, I'm afraid." The Duke leaned down and you steeled yourself from recoiling, trying to keep your fear at bay. The merchant studied you for an eternal moment, swollen hands clattering together absently with the metallic jangle of jewelry. "I have a request, my dear."

Oh gods, here it comes. You kept your tone civil. "How can I help you, Duke?"

"You may, of course, feel free to decline this request." He continued, a furrow creasing his brow. "A request is only a request, I assure you. I have a gentleman here who is very, very ill. Indeed, he is on the brink of death."

You felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs. "Oh?" You managed weakly. 

The Duke nodded. "I will not impose upon you, but I must ask for your assistance. If you could, er, be my hands in this endeavor." He gave you a helpless little shrug. "I'm afraid I'm not quite as maneuverable as I ought to be."

Your stomach flip-flopped. The enormous man simply continued to wait, seeming preemptively resigned to whatever your answer would be. "Where is he?"

…

The process was not simple. Not that it ever was, of course. The Duke spent more time rummaging through the drawers of his cart than actually instructing you, coming up with various jars bearing smudged labels. "Salves and balms, for the soul of course." He chortled while you tried to decipher the writing on the labels, "Don't concern yourself with that, my dear! Simply put the green salve onto the open wounds."

"On them?" You asked incredulously, twisting off the lid and then snorting as an overpowering odor of rosemary wafted past your nose. "Normally you try to keep wounds clean, not season them like an Italian dinner."

The Duke glanced at the braids of garlic hanging by his head, almost as if he was pondering their application in this endeavor. "No, no, too spicy." He muttered, half to himself.

The man in the Duke's cart, whoever he was, was in a bad way. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and his clothes were tattered and filthy with a combination of sweat, blood and rainwater. You were directed to peel fabric back where you could, exposing the broken skin so you could liberally coat it in that strange salve and then wrap it with cloth bandages. 

"I am uncertain of its efficacy, my dear, but we must remain optimistic." The gargantuan man encouraged you once you settled onto your knees for a moment. 

You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, squinting up at the Duke. "Who is this guy, anyway?" 

"Ah, well that is an interesting tale. Suffice to say, he doesn't know. I'm afraid all he can recall is his name." The Duke leaned in, first glancing around as if he was concerned someone was listening nearby. His voice was nothing but a whisper when he stated, "Karl Heisenberg." 

Part One

[muiitoloko]

DUTY AND DESIRE

(The GIF belongs to: @filthyfirth )

Author's Note: I've been wanting to write something about Harry's perspective. Thanks for the 30 followers!

Summary: In a world of espionage and intrigue, Harry Hart, codenamed Arthur, grapples with the intoxicating allure of his secret lover, Bedivere. As he leads the elite Kingsman organization, his thoughts are consumed by forbidden desires, blurring the lines between duty and passion.

Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem!Reader

Warning: mentions of sex, but nothing too explicit.

In a world where secrets and danger intertwine, Harry Hart, codenamed Arthur, bore the weight of Kingsman's fate. In his opulent office at the Kingsman mansion, surrounded by mission reports and intelligence files, he struggled to maintain focus. While the room was quiet save for the hum of electronics, Harry's thoughts were far from the realm of espionage he oversaw.

His mind was consumed by you, codenamed Bedivere, a younger woman who held his heart in a vice grip. Their clandestine affair was a high-stakes dance, where duty clashed with desire. The memory of their morning encounter lingered, their passion etched deeply into his mind.

Lounging in his leather chair, Harry's fingers tapped absentmindedly on the desk's wooden surface. Thoughts of Bedivere's moans and the sensation of their bodies intertwined consumed him. His imagination ran wild, envisioning her lips on his skin, her touch kindling a fire that blazed within him.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he surrendered to his desires. His eyes closed briefly as he conjured an enticing image of Bedivere, her captivating allure overwhelming him. The boundaries of reality blurred as his thoughts painted vivid scenes fueled by his longing.

His sigh carried both satisfaction and frustration, his thoughts dominated by Bedivere's presence and the intoxicating sensations she stirred within him. His gaze shifted to his office table, becoming the backdrop for his fevered fantasies.

In a whispered voice, he gave voice to his yearning, his tone low and commanding, "I want you, Bedivere. I want to make you mine in every way."

In his mind's eye, the table became a canvas for their shared desires. He saw himself bending her over its surface, the polished wood cool against her heated skin. His fingers traced her spine, his breath hitching with the imagined sensation of her grip around him.

He imagined the anticipation building, a tension filling the air as he prepared to thrust deep inside her. His fantasy unfolded like an erotic dance, his mind captivated by the allure of their connection.

As Harry's thoughts spiraled further, a knock on his door jolted him from his reverie. He straightened in his chair, the interruption unwelcome as he called out, "Enter."

Merlin, his trusted colleague, walked in with papers in hand. "Arthur, I've brought the latest mission updates from Cairo," Merlin announced in his usual professional tone.

Harry nodded, his gaze returning to the mission reports. His mind remained a battleground, part engaged in the conversation while the other wrestled with his insatiable desire for Bedivere. The tension between his role as Arthur and his fervent longings pulsed beneath the surface.

As Merlin continued discussing the mission details, Harry's focus faltered. Bedivere's sultry moans seemed to echo amidst the room's businesslike atmosphere. The tug-of-war between his roles as a leader and a lover intensified, drawing him further into a realm where their connection was paramount.

With a determined sigh, Harry refocused on the conversation, pushing aside the forbidden desires that threatened to consume him. The responsibilities he bore as Arthur clashed with the overwhelming pull he felt toward Bedivere. The weight of leadership paled before the intensity of his affection and craving for her.

Amidst the world of secrecy and danger, Harry Hart—Arthur—navigated the labyrinth of his emotions. His thoughts straddled the fine line between duty and desire, a balance growing ever more precarious. The realm of Kingsman was fraught with peril, and his connection with Bedivere introduced an unpredictable layer to his already complex role.

As the meeting concluded, Harry's thoughts remained entangled in his reveries. The allure of Bedivere flowed as a constant current beneath the surface, a secret that fueled his passion. The dynamic of his position as a leader clashed with the vulnerability he experienced as a man consumed by longing for the woman who held his heart.

Ultimately, Harry Hart walked the tightrope of his emotions, traversing the delicate terrain of love and espionage. His heart remained divided between his responsibilities and his yearning—a testament to the intricate dance of his dual existence.

[lishens-macarons]

Love and Deepspace (恋与深空) Translation Masterlist

❖ Personal Masterlists (including birthday, exclusive, top-up, etc., cards):

Xavier

Zayne

Rafayel

❖ Veiled Whispers Event

Xavier - Kindled Reveries Prelude | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | The End.

Xavier - Tender Night Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 & The End

Zayne - Kindled Reveries Prelude | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | The End.

Zayne - Druken Intimacy Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | The End

Rafayel - Kindled Reveries Prelude | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | The End.

Rafayel - Tipsy Invitation Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 & The End

❖ Rafayel's Birthday - Wish Granted

Miracle Voyage Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Rafayel - Unforgettable Adventure Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | The End

[laluvlidovezgal]

✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄.

.𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ✦

✦ 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍.

.𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ✦

✦ 𝐈𝐌.

.𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ✦

✦ 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

𝑨𝑰𝑲𝑨 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑰 ⎯ 𝘚𝘏𝘌/𝘏𝘌𝘙

hi, hello, heyo!

a stranger amongst many. sincerest of greetings from me to you!

a teen astray the infinite void, aimlessly adrift the tremous journey of studying ⎯ a newfound author, honoured to make your acquaintance.

have you ever felt that hefty feeling, so overbearing that you wonder as to endeavour a charade ⎯ a deceitful escapade from reality?

why, darling, fret not!

please, if you may ⎯ i humbly encourage you ought solitude within my abode ⎯ now a shared sanctuary ⎯ to ensure a tapestry for us through a mutual desire of a longing to infinitely be enveloped in a mesmerizing reverie, by the means of our limitless imaginary.

despite a majority of society potentially deeming it all a mere delusion — i yearn to grant me and you boundless indulgence in our false reality.

seek refuge in our fantastical daydreams. manifested as I weave mine to words, laid to the utmost flare of my capabilities, to gift a safe haven for you and me.

in this station specifically, i’ll be primarily concentrating on short stories.

such as scenarios, oneshots, hcs, etc…

i tend to harvest in the realm of many themes.

yet even still, i’d prefer to keep mine mature—pardon, not in that explicit way, however.

it is merely themes centering with ones such as gore, violence, harsh language, etc…

nonetheless, i am open with engaging in multiple fandoms.

ɴᴀᴍᴇʟʏ…

tdlosk/sknpn.

tbhk/jshk.

╰ var. (requested)

ds/kny.

var. (crossover)

var. (isekai)

t. muichiro (short story)

╰ t. giyuu (oneshot)

╰ t. muichiro (ramble)

╰ t. muichiro (oneshot)

╰ t.muichiro (requested)

thh & sdr2 & drv3.

jjk.

╰ g. satoru (oneshot)

gi & hi & hsr.

var. (crossover)

╰ scaramouche // gi. (drabble)

bsd/lsd.

pjsk/cs.

snjc.

kcc.

aot/snk.

fbje/snf.

onk.

hazbin hotel.

soe/ons.

sxf.

sec . acc (do check it out! this is where i post my artworks and stuff)

any of you’re radiant displays of endless support,

evokes a heavenly bliss within me.

kindling a whimsical jubilation,

i had not fathomed remained.

as serendipity intertwines our paths,

my fervent aspiration is to adorn you

with even the most delicate semblences,

of that ineffable warmth.

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

Nusta On Watching The Leaves Fall

in the delicate dance of leaves that fall a subtle rebellion stirs each descent ~ a whispered proclamation that even in the hushed surrender there lies an ember yearning to be kindled "ought they not to birth fire from the stoic stone," she says a testament to the unseen sparks within

the world, it seems, hinges on the precipice of our descent as if our fall could orchestrate a universal symphony in solitude, our contemplation becomes an affair of interest to the butterflies delicate creatures entangled in the intricate lace of our musings and there...amidst the lost gold of afternoon rays we find a currency of moments each one more precious than the last

the fawn and cobalt walls witness the fading peaks of ancient volcanoes silent spectators to the eons that have passed sunlight, ever the audacious adventurer plunges beyond the hills awakening leaves to their arboreal reverie it's a waltz with the wind a dance with destiny as the world unfolds in hues of twilight

"to discover, my people, that a world yet remains to be crafted on the canvas of a sunset is a revelation that sobers even the stones" she says the weight of existence lightens and in the quiet surrender of the day we find the brushstrokes to paint our world anew

in the cadence of our presence the verses of life find resonance as the sunGod dips below the horizon know that it is not merely the leaves that fall but the barriers between us and the uncharted realms of passion and possibility our world a canvas of shared dreams awaits the strokes of our creation

[kitkatscabinet]

hii can i just request a lil something with Nick from The Quarry? i’ll take anything fluffy but i’ve got zero ideas other than that i’m sorry 😅 i’m just desperate lol. thank you i’m advance 🖤

Ngl Nick isn't my favourite but I tried my best, feel free to request again if it's not what you wanted.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 673

“Staring again?” Emma’s voice broke you out of your reverie, forcing you eyes to move from their laser focus on your fellow counsellor to the influencer. Knowing to do better than try and deny your blatant staring, you took in her annoying grin and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, tease me all you want. Doesn’t change the fact you do the same for Abi” you jabbed back, motioning for her to sit on the steps beside you. It was Emma’s turn to flush now as you spoke up again “guess we’re both pretty useless,” your statement was punctuated by a playful punch to her arm. Engrossed in your conversation, the pair of you failed to notice a jealous Nick watching on.

Initially he hadn’t taken much notice of you, outshined by Emma’s vibrant personality and even Abi’s shy girl persona as weird as it sounded. You on the other hand had noticed him immediately, intrigued by the stoic front he seemed to put on and wanting to get to know him better. You weren’t sure you fully bought into the shy and awkward persona and forced repeated exposure to you had the man slowly lowering his walls. You had done everything in your power to make him laugh and your naturally approachable nature had worked greatly in your favour as the two of you found yourselves spending hours discussing anything and everything. From favourite movies to childhood dreams and you found yourself slowly falling more and more, unaware that Nick was doing the same, only much faster.

After spending time with you Nick found himself cursing that he’d initially brushed you off so soon. Your presence was mesmerising, the way you smiled, laughed hell the way you walked all causing him to swoon. It had only taken a week for the man to notice the tell-tale signs of a forming crush whenever he was around you. Unfortunately, Dylan had also picked up on it and now his days were spent split between organising kids, staring at you and enduring Dylan’s teasing.

And now with only a few days left of camp Nick watched as you laughed with Emma, kicking himself for not making a move sooner.

“Duuuuuude, you got it so bad” Jacob laughed, bringing his arm around Nick’s shoulders “It’s getting a little pathetic, just ask her out already. You know she likes you too right?” and as much as Nick hated to admit Jacobs words started a kindling of hope in his chest.

“He’s right you know” Kaitlyn said “why else do you think she’s been spending so much time you?”

“Oh my god!” Nick yelled out, drawing yours and Emma’s attention from the steps. “Does everyone know?” he whined.

“About your pathetic puppy love crush?” Dylan chimed in out of nowhere. Nick was getting seriously annoyed at everyone’s sudden intervention.

“10 bucks he never tells her” Kaitlyn interjected, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance, her words fuelling the fire inside the heavily annoyed man. Everyone watched in amusement as Nick marched straight over to you brain stalling as you stared up at him. Shit, he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Could I speak to you, in private,” he emphasised, offering a hand that you eagerly grabbed and leading you off and away from the watching peanut gallery. Reaching a clearing Nick turned ready to pour his heart out, only to have his mind blank upon seeing your expectant smile. Noticing his sudden nervousness you decided to take the initiative, stepping forward you took his hands in yours.

“I like you too” you grinned out, stunning him and causing all the air to leave his lungs. Elation filled Nick then as he brought you into a crushing hug causing you to let out a peal of laughter. Pulling back Nick brought your face into his hands, glancing down at your lips in a silent question. Smiling you leaned in first, hands moving to cup his neck tenderly. Running out of air you separated, only to have Nick lean his forehead against yours as your shared a giddy smile. Glad you'd trusted your gut and gotten to know him better.