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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Note

Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh

Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)

Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG

Word count: 3.7 k

Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.

A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕

"I'm tired of using those things."

Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft.

You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.

You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.

And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex.

Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?

"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.

"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.

You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean…?"

The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.

"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"

Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.

"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea."

"They are."

The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked.

And Simon never said he didn't want children.

It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch.

He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.

Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…

It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable.

And it did. It more than just did.

He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.

Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.

You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late.

It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.

But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.

He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby.

That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours.

Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon.

But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.

Until this night…

This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar.

You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.

And this time, he won't even let you play.

"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration.

As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do.

He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight.

Serves the damn thing right…

You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.

You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.

The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.

His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.

And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.

You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.

The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.

"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.

"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.

You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world.

He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear.

You two worship each other; there’s no question about that.

"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?"

"Hell yeah."

The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that.

You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.

A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.

His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.

And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts.

His little helper, indeed…

"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"

His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.

He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…

"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."

He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.

"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."

Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.

"I'll manage," you whisper.

"I know you will."

The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.

He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.

"Wait–"

"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.

"The–the boys?"

He had been discussing this with his workmates…?

Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?

"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."

This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.

"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.

"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."

The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting.

"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"

He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.

"Right back at ya, darling."

"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.

"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave.

"Love… fuckin' hell."

He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal.

But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.

"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."

Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want.

The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.

A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.

"Luv. You trust me?"

You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing.

"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.

Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.

"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"

"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."

He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.

Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force.

You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.

"Faster, Simon, please…"

"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "

And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped.

"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.

"Yes–give it to me, please–"

Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…

You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes.

Simon–fuck…

There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come–

Fuck–!

…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.

"Oh–oh fucking god…!"

He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.

And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears.

It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.

If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.

He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.

"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.

"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."

He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.

"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."

His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.

"Got a fair point there, love."

Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.

"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.

"That was the best."

He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.

"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."

"You think that did it..?"

He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.

"No half-assing with my sweetheart."

One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.

"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.

"I wouldn't say no to that."

You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.

And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."

Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.

And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"

After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...

There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.

"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.

"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.

"What if ice cream won't help?"

"I'll bring you chocolate."

You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor.

"You're really not afraid…?"

"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."

"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."

"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.

"Simon... What made you change your mind?"

He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.

"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."

You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.

"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.

"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.

"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.

"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."

He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."

You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two.

There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #soft simon riley #soft ghost #fluff and smut #call of duty #mw2 fluff

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minervas-hand · 5 months

Text

Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

#okay gonna go reread Spying Omens again because that's my headcanon now #I hope Azi tears out the Earth Observation cams or servers or whatever it is #where's Murderbot when you need a good hack #good omens meta #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens

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sonder-paradise · 1 year

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞 — 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤

◊ ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, gn!reader

◊ genre. fluffy fluff, potentially ooc, don't perceive me this is pretty on-brand

◊ shoutout to @planetxiao @starglow-xx @my-neighbor-todoro for enabling this 🤭

— 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐘𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

there's something about the way he hyper focuses on the screen in front of him. his lips purse in a sort of frustrated pout and his eyes analyze each and every one of the little players running back and forth on the laptop.

"isagi."

nothing. you repeat his name once more before he pries his eyes away. he blinks at you as if readjusting to the way you stood there.

but he flashes you this nervous, silly, little grin that has you filling with this horridly giddy feeling in the confines of your chest.

"sorry. what's up?"

"oh, you're so cute."

the words tumble from your lips just as quickly as you thought them and isagi stares at you, red-faced and unsure what exactly he did to illicit such a reply.

"w-wait, what??"

you scoop his face up in your hands which only makes his blush worsen. beaming at the poor boy, you give him a peck on the top of his head.

"nothing. what do you want for dinner?"

"no, no! let's go back!"

— 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

when he comes speeding back into the apartment with a wide grin on his face, you don't have a choice but to be the 'okokok' to his 'lalala.' if you get what i mean.

whatever it is he's found, he's bouncing and abound all while telling you about his little shopping trip.

"look, i found us matching cardigans!"

he puffs his chest, whipping out the two toffee-colored cardigan with pretty little stitches and flowers decorating the sleeves. you can practically see the stars in his eyes.

"do you like 'em?"

you laugh, "god, you're so cute."

without missing a beat, bachira smiles even more, offering one of the cardigans to you. "yeah, i know, but we could be cute together if you wear the cardigan!"

"alright, alright."

you take one off his arm and slip it on over your shoulders. the fabric eases onto your body and it envelops you in a plush hug. "how do i look?"

he nods, clinging onto you now. "see, now you look cute too."

— 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐢 𝐇𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐚

tumbling back into chigiri's arms, you drunkenly grin at the way he simply rolls his eyes at your behavior. after a splendorous night out, it seems you've come back a little more than tipsy.

"what did i tell you about pacing yourself?"

"pacing, smacing. i'm alive, that's what matters."

he sighs, smiling at you while you sunk down on the couch. bending down on one knee, he slips your shoes off one by one.

you find it a little amusing that the princess is the one taking off the shoes rather than trying them on.

at your giggling, he looks back up at you, reaching up to cusp your cheek gently.

"what?"

you take his hand in your own, smiling mischievously. "has anyone ever told you, you're the prettiest in the world?"

he pauses, turning as red as his hair. his eyes can no longer meet yours especially when you start peppering kisses on his fingertips.

"cause you are~"

"alright, alright, i get it! now let's get you some water...!"

he swears, you're going to be the death of him.

— 𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨

his breath falls gently against your skin. his arms envelop you in this warm bubble. with his chin resting atop your head, he's watching some video just behind you.

you shift, squirming underneath his arms and readjusting yourself just a bit away from his chest. he takes note of your actions, pausing the video to look down at you.

"something wrong?"

shaking your head, you take his face into the palms of your hands. a serious look crosses your face and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"i just realized something."

"what?"

"you... are incredibly cute."

no reaction appears from his sleepy expression and simply he stares at you before plopping his chin back on your head and unpausing his video.

"sei!! you're suffocating me!"

of course, he'd rather have you buried away while the pink in his cheeks fades.

— 𝐑𝐞𝐨 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞

what a peculiar sight. you stand at the entrance of the doorway, blinking at the figure currently wrapped up in a frilly apron and leaning against the counter.

it seems there's something in the oven that's enraptured reo's attention since he doesn't even notice your arrival. but you slink towards him anyways.

"reeooo...!"

he jumps, backing up and immediately going into defense mode. but upon noticing your grinning expression, he flattens his own.

"why didn't you say you were home?"

"i did." he flushes a light pink upon hearing that.

"where'd you get the apron?"

he glances away, crossing his arms over his chest as if to cover the little cutesy logo printed across it. the pink and white apron somehow matches him rather... perfectly.

you lean closer to him, foreheads kissing as he avoids your line of sight.

"it's cute." and just as he spots the teasing look in your eyes reo immediately snatches the apron off him.

"aw, wait no! put it back on, please!"

"nope! nope!"

2K notes · View notes

unofficial-writing · 6 months

Text

She Calls me Freddie (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, topics of pain and injuries (mostly burns)

Summary: The twins managed to buy another ticket to the world cup for you but after the Death eater attack, your trip was cut short

Word Count: 5k

Author’s Note: This series was originally from years ago and i’m so so excited to finally write and put it out. it’s so special to me and I hope you enjoy it! Welcome to part one of many <3

༺═────────────═༻

You were woken up that morning by Ginny shaking you. “Y/n.” She repeated your name a few times before she got a response. You groaned and rolled over onto your other side.

“We let you sleep as long as we could,” Hermione told you. You opened your eyes to see her sitting in front of Ginny’s mirror, doing her hair for the day. “But you won’t have any time to get ready if you don’t get up now.”

“And you will be left behind.” Ginny added with a laugh, taking her pillow and throwing it at you.

“Fine,” You said groggily, throwing the pillow back at her which unfortunately she caught. You sat up and stood quickly to avoid being tempted into lying back down again. If there was one thing you weren’t, it was a morning person. And that particular morning was the morning of the Quidditch world cup, which meant a long walk before the sun was even up.

Satisfied, Ginny returned to her mirror, standing behind Hermione to use the space above her. You walked over to your trunk, digging through it to find an outfit. Unlike the other two, you hadn’t had one planned the night before. You ended up pulling out a sweater and a pair of jeans.

“Are the boys up yet?” You asked as you got dressed, sleep still masking your voice even though you were starting to wake up. Ginny shook her head.

“We haven’t checked yet but I doubt it.” She replied, not bothering to pull her attention away from what she was doing. “I don’t think they’ll get up until they’re forced.” It didn’t take long for the three of you to be ready and leave your room. You split up to go wake the others, Ginny and Hermione heading to Ron’s room and you to the twins’.

You climbed a couple flights of stairs and strode down the hall to Fred and George’s room, giving a swift knock to the door. “Boys!” You called, waiting for a response. After a second knock and nothing, you sighed and opened the door. Both the twins were sound asleep, Fred covered with at least three blankets and George snoring.

“Fred, George, do you realize what time it is?” You asked and with a quick swish of your wand, the lamps in the room were lit. The sun was only just starting to rise, therefore it was still dark in the house.

George responded by covering his eyes, even though the lamps weren’t all that bright. “God, y/n.” he complained. Fred on the other hand was too buried in his blankets to notice.

You sighed and walked over to his bed, removing the first layer of blanket. “Fred, get up.” You told him, hearing only him mumble something inaudible as a response.

“Hm?” You responded. The boy grabbed onto your arms in an attempt to pull you down with him. He failed however, giving up since he was still half asleep. You were able to plant your feet and get out of his grasp. “Poor choice of timing to try and get me in your bed.” You huffed, pulling off the last blanket which got him up quickly. “If I have to be up right now, so do you.”

“Good morning to you too.” Fred yawned, resting his head in his hands.

Once they were both sitting up and looked like they weren’t about to fall back to sleep, you walked out their door, turning back around before closing it. “After breakfast, we’re leaving. And nobody is safe from being left behind.” You announced to them what Ginny had said with a hint of teasing in your voice, hoping it would be enough incentive to keep them awake.

─────────────────────────

Downstairs you greeted Molly, who was still working on breakfast. Since you were the first one down, you helped her finish. “Oh thank you, dear!” She said, giving you a warm smile.

Ginny and Hermione were next to come down, followed by Arthur, Harry, and Ron. It was only after you were all seated that the twins came down too. George was first and looked like he was still asleep. “Glad you decided to join us after all.” You said as he sat down across from you.

“Don’t you start, y/n” he groaned, leaning his head back in his chair.

When Fred came down he was wide awake, his long legs taking him out of the stairs and into the kitchen. He ruffled your hair and sat down beside you, close enough that you could smell the faintest scent of gunpowder off of him.

“So last night we were working on these fireworks.” He started to explain, confirming the smell. “We’ll have to show you.”

“Ohhh, is that why you wouldn’t get up?” You inquired with a smile. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh please, like Hermione and Ginny didn’t have a hard time waking you.” He returned. As you talked, you pointed briefly to his food, reminding him to start eating it before he got too distracted by talking. “Once you’re asleep— thanks— nothing can get you up without someone ending up injured.”

“No, that’s only when you wake me up.” You corrected. “And George.” The both of you glanced in his direction, only to see him sound asleep in his chair. Ron beside him slapped his arm, waking him up with a jolt. He sighed and sat back up, returning to his breakfast.

─────────────────────────

You left most of your belongings at home, bringing only what you needed for the game that night. The world cup was one of, if not the most important quidditch event in the world. You watch it remotely every year, but this year the twins surprised you with a ticket.

To get there you all would travel by portkey, but it was a hike to get to it. Now on that hike, you found yourself following Arthur Weasley on a wide trail through the woods. He was in an extremely good mood. Everyone was today. Even those who weren’t a fan of quidditch were excited for the event today.

“We’ll be meeting Amos Diggory.” Arthur announced. “And his son, Cedric, which you boys have met.” He gestured to Fred and George. You had met him once a few years ago as well, but you were in a different house and you didn’t get the chance to interact much.

The group reached a large tree where the two waited. “Arthur!” Amos greeted him, he carried a large pack and hiking stick. “It’s about time, son!” Cedric walked up beside him, sporting a smile. He was rather handsome, with friendly eyes and brown curls atop his head. You noticed that he glanced at you first.

“Sorry Amos! Some of us had a bit of a sleepy start.” He replied, turning to look back at his son’s. On cue, Ron let out a yawn.

“You’ve met my boys,” Arthur started and then introduced the rest of you.” This is my daughter Ginny and here is Harry, Hermione and y/n. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works with me at the ministry.” The man lifted his head in a friendly way. Arthur then turned to Cedric.

“And this strapping young man must be Credric, am I right?” He asked, shaking the boys hand.

“Yes, sir.” Was his response, that smile glued to his face. After introductions were finished, the group proceeded again down the trail. But Cedric stayed back to greet you.

“Y/n.” Cedric spoke in a charming tone, giving a polite kiss to the back of your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“You as well, Cedric.” You responded with a chuckle, wearing kind expression on your face. He mimicked it and walked back up to the front of the group. Hermione beside you nudged you with her elbow and gave you a smirk. Behind you, Fred and George exchanged a look, subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. But you hear one of them huff.

“I think he fancies you,” Ginny whispered in a playful voice, leaning in close to be unheard by the rest.

“Oh no, Gin. Y/n only has eyes for your brother.” Hermione added quickly, immediately receiving a glare from you. Laughter erupted from the two girls.

“Shush, both of you!” You told her, glancing back to see if anyone heard. The twins looked occupied with whatever they were talking about. “And I don’t like Fred any more than usual.” Which would normally be true. But there was a different dynamic between you recently. Nothing about your friendship had changed but you had certainly grown closer recently. But the topic wasn’t something you wanted to dive into at that moment, on your hike to the portkey.

─────────────────────────

After around an hour more of walking, you came out into a huge field of yellowish-green grass. You had felt the uphill climb for a while now and that was confirmed upon seeing a cliff that dropped downward a little ways off. Beyond it lay the sea, its blue surface darker with the overcast weather that morning. As you worked your way closer, you could taste the air develop a hint of salt and feel the wind pick up.

“It’s just up here!” Arthur called, pointing up the hill where an old leather boot sat. It stood up among the grass as if it was planted there, which it likely had been. As your neared it you were instructed to spread out so that everyone had a spot around it.

“Why are we all gathered around that manky old boot?” Harry asked. You imagined he’d never seen a portkey before before, given that he was raised outside the wizarding community.

“That’s not just any manky old boot, mate.” Fred started, settling into a spot next to you.

“It’s a portkey.” George finished, readjusting the bag he carried over his shoulder. Harry followed to find a spot around the boot.

“Time to go!” Amos announced and began counting. “Three..” you shared a look with Fred, placing your hand on the boot with everyone else. You knew what a portkey was, but you’d never actually traveled by one before “Two..”

“Harry!” Arthur called. The boy didn’t have a hold on the boot. He quickly grabbed it before Amos finished counting.

“One!” As he spoke the portkey lifted off the ground, taking us with it. It began to spin, fast enough that you closed your eyes to avoid dizziness. The spinning lasted somewhere around thirty seconds and once it stopped, you were dropped onto the ground. You groaned at the impact, opening your eyes to see the portkey had gone but the rest of the group was down around you. Arthur, Amos, and Cedric, however, had landed gracefully and now walked past you. Arthur beckoned you to follow.

“Come on, this way!” He called. You sat up, rubbing the back of your head. It had a dull ache, but it faded quickly.

“Plan on sleeping here?” Fred asked, making his way to you and offering his hand.

“Oh shove off, Freddie.” you replied, taking it. He pulled you to your feet easily and walked with you to the rest of the group. You climbed up a slope and when you reached the top, the game grounds came into view.

“Bloody hell.” Ron got out, taken by the sight. There were rows and rows of tents in the outer edge, all with different festive decorations. As you moved inward there were tents selling everything from flags to fireworks, which there were no shortage of.

As you walked through the tents, a few were set off right next to you. They stretch up and burst into colorful sparks, raining back down and forming different shapes and figures.

“Those are brilliant!” George exclaimed, lifting his head to watch as we walked. Smiled and laughter filled the group as you made your way through the maze of festivities. That’s when you parted from the Diggorys.

“See you later, Cedric,” George called out to him as Arthur led the rest in the opposite direction, eventually bringing you to a small tent.

“Don’t worry, it’s much bigger on the inside.” You elbowed Harry playfully after seeing his puzzled expression. You ducked into the tent, which opened into a huge space with multiple different rooms off the main.

“Ok, Girls on the left and boys on the right!” Arthur called out. On your side, there were three beds where each of you dropped your bags. You took out a small paint bag out and brought it into the main room.

“I have face paints for us,” You started, pulling the colors out and setting them on the table. “But I imagine we’ll want some other stuff too. Like hats and flags.”

“We can go get some then,” Fred suggested, stepping down into the room. “They have all the tents just a few down from us.”

“Yeah, let’s go now before it gets too busy.” You responded, abandoning the table and standing to head for the tent’s exit. George came into the room, crossing his arms.

“Be back in time to paint my face, y/n!” George yelled as you left the tent, followed quickly by Fred. You two navigated the area, starting to make your way to the shops. There was a tent for everything you could think of.

“Fred, let’s get a firework!” You exclaimed, taking his arm and bringing him to a vendor. Little sparks fluttered around his tent in all different colors and shapes. “Which is a good one?”

Fred looked about the explosives, eventually landing on a large circular one, with a long stick out the bottom. “This one.” He handed the man a galleon, taking the firework in one hand and your hand in the other.

“Careful where you light that thing!” The vendor called as you were led through the crowd and into a small clearing.

“This looks like barely enough room.” You told him, helping him set the rocket into the ground.

“As long as it’s pointed up,” He started, positioning it correctly. He held a hand out for your wand, which you offered to him. “It won’t bother anyone down here.”

He flicked your wand to summon a spark, which started to move up the little wick toward the firework. As soon as it was lit, Fred stood and pulled you back with him. It went off with a whistle, reaching a little ways above the tents before bursting into a huge explosion. Sparks danced above you before raining back down and eventually fading into nothing. Fred cheered and gave you a high five.

“Now that’s a firework.” He said with both hands still on your shoulders, flashing you a smile. It warmed your chest and gave you an almost giddy feeling.

Fred slipping your wand back into your pocket for you and then you were off again. You went down the aisle of tents, stopping here and there to pick up things like flags, hats, and scarves. You even stopped briefly at a jewelry tent after it had caught your eye.

“Oh, I love this one.” You said pointing to a woven bracelet containing small stone beads.

“Really? You’ve never been much of a jewelry person.” He responded, which was correct. You didn’t really have anything against jewelry, you just never wore anything except for earrings and the occasional bracelet.

“Bracelets are an exception.” You explained. “Maybe I can come back and get it after the game.” You moved on from the stand, continuing down the aisle. You now approached the stadium.

“We probably have everything we need.” You started. “Do you—” You turned around to find that Fred had fallen behind and was now walking to catch up. Once he reached you, you asked again.

“Do you want to go back to the tent?” You asked. He nodded in response.

“Yeah, you still need to paint my face.” The boy reminded you, pointing to his cheek. You chuckled and led him back in the other direction.

─────────────────────────

Once you were back at the tent, you broke out the paints. Ginny offered to help so you showed her the basics of it. She ended up doing Ron and Hermione as well as herself. You started with Harry

“Ok, which team?” You asked, prepping one of your brushes.

“I’ll go with Bulgaria.” He requested. “Just one flag though.” You painted the red and black onto his cheeks which he thanked you for. After that you did George, who wanted the same but with the Irish colors and a flag on both cheeks. Once he was done, Fred sat down in front of you with his legs crossed.

“Ok, I’m thinking a huge clover. Covering my entire face.” He gestured to his face, picking up the brush and handing it to you. You laughed, putting a hand onto the side of his face to hold him straight and painting with the other.

“I hope you’re not kidding when you say your entire face.” You said, focusing on what you were doing, which was difficult because the boy kept making faces at you. You had made his entire face white and the clover quite literally covered nearly every inch of it.

“I’m not.” Fred responded. He had given up on making faces and now just gazed at your eyes, which you would argue was even more distracting. Once you were finished, you handed him a small mirror.

“Exactly what I was imagining!” He said, taking your brush from you. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I can probably do it myself, Fred.” You replied, raising an eyebrow. If you knew Fred Weasley, you knew it was safer not to hand him face paint. He gave you a look.

“What? Worried I’ll put a giant clover on your face?” He asked sarcastically. You shook your head, absolutely horrible at saying no to him.

“Fine, just do a flag for me.” You instructed, handing him your paints, but you interrupted him before he could start. “But If you mess up my face, Fredrick Weasley, I’ll never let you touch it again.”

“I won’t! God, woman.” Fred laughed as he spoke. He put a hand under your chin, holding your jaw to keep your head still while he painted. To get back at him, you made direct eye contact with him, chuckling as he struggled to keep his eyes from drifting to yours.

After he finished one cheek he moved onto the next, but the brush strokes were definitely not making a flag. “Freddie?”

“Hm?”

“What are you putting on my face?”

“Just trust me, love.” He assured, glancing down to your eyes for a moment before continuing. You sighed and Fred tilted your chin gently to the side so he could see it better. Once he was done he leaned back to examine his work, taking a little too long before he said anything.

George across the room looked at Ron and started fake gagging, both of them laughing shamelessly. Fred rolled his eyes and handed you your little mirror. He had put the Irish flag on one side and three small clovers on the other. When you looked back up at him he had a smile, knowing you liked it.

“I’m impressed.” You said. “You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Told you, I’m a natural.” He replied, leaning back on the couch. You chuckled, setting the mirror back down on the table.

─────────────────────────

Once the sun went down, you and the rest of the group made your way to the stadium. Your seats were at the top level so it required climbing several flights of stairs that sprouted up just beyond the entrance. About one flight up you were stopped by the Malfoys, the father and son pair. You hadn’t really spoken to either of them personally but they had always seemed like prats from the interactions you heard about.

“Blimey dad, how high up are we?” Ron asked, leaning over the railing to try and see down into the stadium.

“Well let’s put it this way.” Lucius started, leaning into his cane. “If it rains, you’ll be the first to know.” Most of us ignored them and continued walking but Harry and Hermione stopped when Draco chimed in.

“Father and I are in the minister’s box.” He added, giving Harry a smug look. “By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself.”

“Don’t boast, Draco.” His father scolded, jabbing him with his cane. “There’s no need with these people.” Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm, turning her away from the Malfoys. Before he lifted his other hand from the rail, Lucius used the snake end of his can to trap it. Harry jumped at the sudden pain.

“Do enjoy yourself, won’t you? Lucius said. “While you can.” He released his hand and you reached down to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, turning him away from them again. This time they continued going their own way and you were able to make it up to your seats.

This was the first time you could get a good look into the stadium. Below you were an ungodly number of levels, stretching down to the bottom where the field resided. On either side of the green, three posts grew upward, the hoops at the top almost as high up as you were.

Cheers and whoops came from every direction, filling your ears with the sound. “When does the game start?” You called out over the applause. Fred leaned down to answer but was interrupted by the formation of brooms speeding by above, seeming to just barely miss the top of your heads. White and green clouds trailed behind the players as the flew toward the center of the stadium, creating a firework display there.

Then the Bulgarian team entered, crashing directly through their show and throwing off the display. They flew in a triangle formation, sporting their red and black colors. At the front, the team’s seeker led the group, showing off as he passed through the audience.

“Who’s that?” Ginny asked.

“That sis, is the greatest seeker in the world!” George answered. His voice nearly drowned out by the crowd. Somehow the applause managed to grow lauded than it was before the seeker, Viktor Krum, had made his entrance.

The game lasted for a long time, only coming to an end when Krum caught the snitch. His catch handed the win over to the Irish, who ended up with around twenty more points in total.

─────────────────────────

Back in the tent you all celebrated, giddy on the excitement of earlier in the day. You found yourself wrapped in the Irish flag that Fred had picked out, watching them goof around. A loud explosion went off outside, sounding like one of the larger fireworks you had seen.

“There’s no one like Krum.” Ron started, standing up on the table. “He’s like a bird the way he rides the wind.” Fred threw another flag at him, which he caught and balled up in front of him.

“He’s more than an athlete, he’s an artist.” Ron continued, clearly infatuated with the quidditch player.

“I think you’re in love, Ron.” You said, earning a look from him.

“Viktor, I love you!” George sang, taking his brother’s arm.

“Viktor, I do!” Fred added, taking his other one.

“When we’re apart my heart beats only for you!” Everyone finished, being cut off by another big firework going off, followed by shouting from a ways away.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on.” Fred stated, smoothing his hair out of his face. Arthur, who had been gone for a few minutes, entered the tent again, grabbing his son’s shoulder.

“It’s not the Irish.” He said in a tone that made your smile drop. He crossed the tent to reach Ginny. “We’ve got to get out of here, now.”

The scene outside was completely different from what you thought you had heard. The fireworks really had been big explosions. Tents were on fire and people fled screaming.

“Get back to the portkey everyone, and stick together!” Arthur commanded, turning to the twins. “Ginny is your responsibility, do not lose her!” He handed her off, George taking her arm and keeping ahold of her.

The chaos had delayed your reaction time while you tried to process the sudden terror. It took another explosion and more screams to break you out of it. George began running with Ginny in tow and you watched them weave through the mess.

“Y/n!” Fred yelled, taking your hand and gripping it tightly. He dragged you through the tents, following quickly behind George. He hadn’t accounted for the height difference and that you would be slightly slower than him because he continued to lead you through until you started to trip.

“Fred,” you managed to get out, the smell of smoke and burning fabric climbing into your throat. He slowed down a little, probably just considering picking you up at that point. As you passed a larger tent, you suddenly tripped over a pile of debris and Fred quickly turned to grab you. Another explosion hit, sending the tent up in flames and you two to the side. Burns tore at your leg.

The flag, which you didn’t even realize you still carried, caught fire and pain seared through your shoulder as you tried to rip the slip of fabric off. Fred hauled you to your feet, yanking the flag away and tossing it to the side.

“Are you ok?” He yelled above the chaos, his eye darting to your arm and then your leg. You winced but nodded and continued moving. Finally both of you came out onto the hill again. It was dark, but you made it to the bottom where the portkey was.

You had to stop there, gritting your teeth from the untreated burns. Fred slipped an arm around your waist to help support you. After looking around, you saw that only George, Ginny, and Arthur had made it back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere in sight.

“Where are the others?” You asked. Arthur looked around the incomplete group.

“Stay here!” He ordered, heading back up the hill. “Whatever you do, do not go back in there!” He disappeared back into the chaos.

“Are you ok?” Fred asked his siblings, who seemed shaken but unharmed.

“A couple scratches but nothing severe.” George replied. You patted Fred’s arm so he’d let you sink to the ground. He took your hand to help you get there, unintentionally letting out a wince. You let go to see a nasty burn where he had grabbed the flag.

“Fred, your hand.” You pointed out, but he shook his head and pulled it away.

“Don’t worry about me.” He replied quickly. Then Hermione and Ron came running down the slope. But Harry wasn’t with them. Hermione landed beside you, setting down her smaller bag which she had managed to save.

“Y/n, what happened?” She asked. the burns were painful but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off so they weren’t yet unbearable.

“Where’s Harry?” You asked her, ignoring her question. She looked around, finding that Harry wasn’t there. She then frantically dug through her bag, pulling out a roll of bandages and some sort of cream. They were muggle supplies, which you had some knowledge on since one of your parents was a muggle.

“Ginny!” Hermione called to the girl, who was looking much younger now. “Wrap her burns, like I showed you!” She turned back around and headed up the hill with Ron, despite George’s protests.

“I’ll show you, Gin.” You said, gritting your teeth. She came over, kneeling down beside you. “Rip the pant leg.” Ginny was able to tear it easily since it was mostly singed anyway. Fred and George grimaced at the burns it revealed.

“Put the cream on and then wrap it.” You instructed, trying to speak calmly through the quickly growing pain. You held your burned arm in your uninjured, the whole side of your body now stinging. She did as you said, the cream bringing some relief to your leg.

Under your instruction, she took of your jacket, decently wrapped your shoulder and arm, and then got your jacket back on to shield the injuries.

“Thank you, Ginny. That was perfect.” You assured her, the stinging was now muted but still very much so present. You heard her sigh in relief at your words.

With your burns covered for now, you took Fred’s hand and wrapped it carefully, apologizing with every sound he made. After a while the screams and explosions had died out, leaving the black, smoky remains of the festival grounds. It wasn’t until about an hour after Arthur had left that he retuned, Hermione, Ron, and Harry now following behind him.

“Is everyone ok?” He asked, making his way through the group. Fred and George helped you onto your feet.

“Y/n got the worst of it,” George explained, leaving you with Fred. “The rest of us are ok.”

“Ginny bandaged everything.” You said, heaving a sigh. “I’ll be alright.”

“Well done, Ginny.” Arthur praised, putting a hand on her shoulder. After a final headcount, you all grabbed ahold of the portkey and took it back home. The walk back was brutal, but both Fred and George helped you and once you were there you received better medical attention. By the next morning you were nearly back to normal.

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked as you walked into their bedroom, noting that you were no longer limping. You expected George to be sitting there too but he wasn’t in the room.

“Better now,” you told him, sitting down on his bed with your back against the wall. “Your mother fixed me right up. But I’ll probably have those scars for a while.”

He chuckled, coming to sit down beside you. Fred pulled you into a big hug, sighing. “Sorry you tripped, I was just trying to get you out of there.” He apologized, releasing you from his embrace. You sat back against the wall again, wanting him to hold you for longer.

“I know, Freddie. Don’t worry about it.” You assured, giving him a soft smile. He returned it. His green eyes gave you that same look they did while you were painting his face.

You sighed. School hadn’t even started yet and you could tell this wasn’t going to be a quiet year. But not even those burns could make you trade it for anything else.

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Click here for part 2!

#She calls me Freddie #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fluff #fred wealsey fic #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #weasley twin fanfiction #weasley twins #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts

216 notes · View notes

lizaluvsthis · 8 months

Text

"I... -Love-Y-ou... Three..."

BLOOD WARNING!

"I had no choice four..." the spark on his eyes remained unseen, showing out his alter side, his 'careless' side.

"Your time is up." SMG4 looked at the gun, pointing at his chest. Then into Three's motionless eyes... oh poor red, the shot of a bullet, to a soul, to a partner.

Four believed to himself, he can never stand to think. He knew that someday... this... will happen to him... that three himself, would be the one to shoot Four. Coming back to him. As the person he knew back then. The "old" three...

Four just stood on foot, he wasn't angry for this. He wasn't mad at three, because he has the rights to know it'll end up being his own nightmare of killing him. Even when after, he completely destroyed everything that three had.

He accepted his faith.

"Then my last words..." he frowned, with a heavy emotional blow from his chest that poured down every moments and adventures he had with three. It was all too good to be true...

He smiled within the response, eyes softened drowning Three emotionally with tears holding from his eyes. "I love you Three..."

SMG3's motionless eyes gave back an act of a stunned expression, been drowned by his deep sea blue eyes overflowing his heart. That can't be true...

That. CANNOT. be true...

Four would never say such thing like that, why now? Why when the most heaviest part of this way when you're about to die. You put this word out?

Lie... Liar... LIAR!

"TO DETERMINE TO DIE WITH A LIE ON YOUR LIP?!" Three points up his gun and pulled the trigger, sending shocks of the sound filling the room with the echo *BANG* SMG4, who'd been shot from his left. Remains standing until his very final breath.

He will never stop, until he admits everything...

Blood splattered around the floor, coughing the heavy feeling from his chest. He was loosing alot amount of blood, feeling the damage from his organ.

It was very hard to breath, but Four didn't care if it hurt... what mattered... was three... struggling to put up the words t'ill his final breath flows away...

He looked up at three's red motionless eyes, with tears finally coming out. "I...-Love-Y-ou...Three..."

"Always and forever..."

Muttered words by four, slowly losing his balance sending his head through space as everything around him spin around in circles...

Hitting the ground, his blood poured out from his chest. Surrounding his whole body and the floor with red stains..

Eyes dull, with a final exhale, he stopped.

...

"Oh God..." SMG3 finally came to his senses, he had realized what he had just done. And he could never forgive himself. "Four... I... I'm sorry..." Three dropped his glock to the floor, knelt down on his knees. Holding his corpse with uncontrollable tears swept to his face.

"It was all too good to be true... to be real... to experience... to feel... to... have..."

Three hugged him closer, seeing by now from what he had just done. He killed his one and only partner... the one he loved... the one he wanted to be with... the one he went... soft because of... everything... about four...

Out of all hope thats lost. He lost four even after with saving him and causing his own life at risk to save four by bunch of times... he protected the man... but in the end...

He ended up killing him instead...

Losing four felt like he had lost every remains that could function his life. He felt lost and dead... why must this happen to him...

*sniff* "I... I... I-I'm sorry four... I'M SORRY! I'M VERY SORRY!!!"

He hugged his body, staining the blood from his clothes. Crying endlessly from the intense pain he felt right after hearing those final words...

How could three have been such a fool?

"Hoo hoo good job, guess I underestimated your evil intentions 3. I'm glad my old evil buddy is still-"

Eggman wanted to continue, but to be stopped by seeing Three holding his dead partner close. Crying...

"You've changed..." Eggman eyed down from the blood. "I see... you've grown soft because of him."

"Why does it all matter to you now- I F-CKING KILLED THE ONLY PARTNER I HAD..."

Whoopsies :3 (oh no dont give me that lo- *RUNS*)

#lizaluv #smg34 #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #my art #my animatic #smg4: you used to be cool

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

Text

Poor Boy

Alright so, apparently the rule for me is going to be that I have to watch every Only Friends episode multiple times. Because the first watch through is just vibes and pure, unadulterated emotional reactions to whatever is being laid in front of me; and the second watch through I have to keep pausing the show every thirty seconds to make another observation.

I don’t know what it is about Episode 4s but they are always where everything starts kicking in to high gear for me. Now, not sure how many more academic papers I am going to be able to write for the bit for this show, but there are so many things about body language, about hands, about relationship dynamics, about drug use, etc that are swarming in my head at this point.

In constantly talking some other tumblr users ears off about this show, @lurkingshan tasked me with writing a post about Only Friend’s seventh main character.

The POOR BOY shirt.

Why? Because god are there already some juicy literal and metaphorical character dynamics at play with this shirt, (at least in my perception) and I have been commanded to discuss them, and if you have not realized it by now I love discussing my silly little gay shows.

What is initially and primarily intriguing to me is the fact that the Poor Boy shirt ends up making rounds in the show. Sand gives the shirt to Ray → Ray keeps the shirt rather than returning it to Sand → Ray gives the shirt to Mew.

To each of these characters, the shirt means something different, not only from a place of sentimentality, but from a literal, textual meaning.

Sand

Sadly, we have not yet seen Sand wear the Poor Boy t-shirt, but he is the original owner. From my view, Sand’s relationship to the t-shirt is fairly simple. It is a literal translation of Sand’s own economic status. Sand is poor, and the Poor Boy t-shirt speaks directly towards his everyday reality.

Sand’s decision to put Ray in this shirt feels petty. Sand is very aware that Ray is rich. (I mean, his first words to Ray when they wake up the next morning are “you’re up, rich boy?”) Now, obviously we cannot peer in to Sand’s mind about the fashion choices he is making, but the entertainment value of seeing this rich boy in a poor boy shirt was there. In this capacity, the Poor Boy shirt serves as a physical manifestation of the wealth disparity between Sand and Ray. Sand owning that shirt is a literal statement, Ray wearing that shirt is hilariously ironic.

Or is it?

Ray

We know (or at least can suspect) that Ray has some sort of alcohol dependence from the very first moment we meet him, based on his ascribed role as The Drunk. On the off chance the initial reaction was not “oh this kid is an alcoholic” the narrative continues to build that aspect of Ray’s character when his second trip to the bar also results in him getting plastered, and when he drinks from a flask in the middle of the day, and when he is constantly seen on screen with a whiskey glass in his hand.

Now, I will not say that everyone who is an alcoholic drinks as a trauma response, but I will say that there are many people who use substances to cope with life stressors. So, when I see Ray with alcohol constantly, that is an indication to me that there is maybe something more beneath the surface of his party boy aura.

We learn in Episode 2 that Ray’s mother died and he was present for her death (#trauma). [In case you didn’t notice, Ray’s mother died with an empty glass in her hand and empty liquor bottle at her side.]

Sand jokingly calls Ray out on his motivation for paying Sand to hang out with him: “Now I know. You’re a lonely spoiled rich brat. Your friends left you because they have lovers. That’s why you need a new friend. Your life is dramatic. Poor you.”

Sand says it teasingly, with a smile on his face. But Ray? Ray turns his back to Sand, takes a long pull from his glass, and heads over to the record player.

Perhaps you know where I am going with this already, but I want to just take a second to review the order of events by which I am going to make my final conclusions about this shirt in relation to Ray.

Episode 1

Ray is introduced piss drunk and hanging on to the edge of the toilet for dear life, he is quick to anger, he gets drunk at the bar again, he tries to drive home, Sand drives him back to his apartment, he wakes up in the Poor Boy shirt, he gets kicked out of Sand’s apartment for being a #rudeboy, Ray calls Mew, Mew wonders how he got to Sand’s place when Boston said he would take care of Ray. In short, Ray gets extremely drunk, is abandoned by all of his friends, taken home by Sand and as a result is adorned with the Poor Boy t-shirt.

Episode 2

Our first Ray sighting in Episode 2 he is sitting outside drinking a nip, alone. No one inside the hostel even questions where he is. Mew is the one that goes outside to check on him, calls out his drinking habits, and tells Ray “I can’t be your emergency staff all the time”. Ray sees Sand selling something on campus and follows him around. He breaks Sand’s plum wine bottles and then offers him 10,000 bhat to just hang out, drink, and listen to music. Sand learns about Ray’s dead mother. Ray goes wakeboarding with the rest of the college pals, Ray tries to help Cheum, makes her ankle hurt worse, and literally the only person that talks to him besides to tell him to stop (Chuem) and to question his ability to help (Top) (aka the only person who engages in casual conversation with Ray) is Mew. Ray has his second hang out with Sand, Sand calls out the fact that Ray’s friends have abandoned him because they all have lovers, he says he will be friends with Ray, and Ray and Sand fuck.

Episode 3

Episode 3, Ray clings to Sand the morning after, offers to drive him to school, volunteers to handle the music for the pool party (much to the surprise of all of his friends). Ray then spends most of the rest of his screen time either flirting with Sand or simping over Mew. Top belittles Ray, Boston calls out Ray’s crush on Mew and calls Ray’s life dramatic, Ray is left alone at the party and runs in to Sand, offers to take Sand home, starts making out with Sand, and then interrupts the guaranteed dicking down that he just convinced Sand to make an exception for when he pulls himself fully and instantly out of that make out session to answer Mew’s call, pissing off Sand.

Episode 4

Episode 4 opens with (yet another) show stopping performance by Khaotung (seriously this dude is a powerhouse) where we learn that Ray was at one point actively suicidal and made an attempt. We learn in a very short period of time there that Ray does not have a lover, a sibling, or family that he feels like he can rely on. Mew is his emergency contact because he is the only person who is consistently taking care of Ray. On the phone with Mew, Ray says “If I’m gone, I won’t be anyone’s burden anymore, right?” When Ray breaks down sobbing as Mew holds him, Ray says “No one loves me. I’m all alone. Everyone hates me. My mom never loved me. Her life was ruined because of me. She died because of me. She never hugged me like this, you know? I’m bad luck, Mew. No one loves me!” and it is at this point that we can look back at all these other interactions Ray has had over the three prior episodes and see that two years after his suicide attempt, he is still being called a burden by friends and strangers, he is still alone.

[As an aside: I want to make it extremely clear that there is a lot of juicy complexity to Ray’s dynamic with his friend group. I am not saying that his friends are inherently bad people for the distance they place between themselves and Ray. First, they are college students, second Ray has a lot of mental health and addiction things going on that they are not equipped to handle, and having to constantly manage a friend with an addiction, especially one that can make them escalate situations really quickly (see Ray ready to fight Sand in the bathroom within like, thirty seconds of talking) is challenging. But I am also not going to absolve them entirely of the kind of statements they make about Ray, when they don’t return his ‘i love yous’ when he’s drunk and when they call him a burden, because these are things that were such a strong part of his belief system that they are part of the driving thoughts he verbalizes when he tries to kill himself.]

While it took us fully four episodes to get there, we find that the Poor Boy t-shirt that Ray wakes up wearing in Episode 1, while inaccurate for his literal financial reality, is incredibly, aggressively precise and accurate to Ray’s emotional reality.

Mew

Cutting back to present day in Episode 4, Mew has been picked up by Ray and brought over to his house to spend the night. Ray’s first action in the scene is to turn to the coat rack he has in his room, pull a white shirt from it, and hand it to Mew to change in to for pajamas. Ray asks Mew why Top didn’t pick him up and Mew states that he did in fact call, but Top was busy fucking Boston helping his dad at the hotel. Ray makes a comment about being a substitute and feeling forgotten when Mew is with Top, Mew tells Ray that he is his most beloved friend, and then he looks at the shirt, turns it around to show Ray and asks:

“Is this yours?”

Now, I assume Ray is aware of what shirt he gave Mew to wear, but there is something disconnected in what I am reading from Ray’s reaction to seeing Mew hold up the shirt.

To me it seems a bit like Ray is...not surprised, but perhaps uncertain? He knows that shirt is Sand’s but he has spent all this time at the party trying to convince Mew that he isn’t interested in Sand, that there is no attraction between them, because Ray is still hung up on Mew and some part of him is hoping there is a chance. Ray lets Mew tease him “Poor boy, seriously? How dare you wear this?”

Ray remains quiet, until Mew once again presses Ray about getting together with Sand.

“Why don’t you hit on Sand? I think he’s lovely” (preface- I do not know Thai, but I do know that ‘narak’ typically means cute. Mew definitely says ‘narak’ when he refers to Sand, but it is translated as lovely so the caption may not be completely accurate). “I want you to have a boyfriend. Dating a musician is freaking cool.”

Now, there are a couple things I see at play in this moment. First, I am pretty certain that Mew is still very much aware of Ray’s crush on him. I think the casual comments Mew makes about Top being the first person to make his heart tremble and how heavily he is pushing Ray to ask Sand out or even to just try to figure out if Ray does genuinely have interest in Sand are ways for Mew to kindly, gently remind Ray that he does not reciprocate any romantic feelings.

Secondly, Mew is and will be commenting on traits that apply to either himself or adjacently to Ray. When Mew says dating a musician is freaking cool, we know he is referring to Sand who is actually a musician. But for Ray, who is desperately in love with Mew, is it too far of a stretch for Ray to believe that Mew’s sentiment may also apply to people with really strong tastes and interests in music?

Third, Boston has stirred up some resolve in Ray from the party, trying to convince him that he needs to tell Mew that he is interested, to even have a fighting chance at maybe getting Mew to date him. So he lies:

“No. I don’t want to be in a relationship just yet. Besides, Sand isn’t my type.”

Something I absolutely love about Only Friends so far is that no one is telling the truth 100% of the time, but also no one is lying 100% of the time and we don’t yet know enough about most of the characters here to be completely certain which parts they are being truthful about. Nick is lying to Boston, or at least keeping secrets from him (he did not tell Boston he bugged the car), but he will fully, easily, and readily admit to Sand that he bugged the car and recorded Boston and Top having sex. He will fully, easily, and readily admit that he is nasty and also that he isn’t trying to blackmail Top. Top will omit the information that he slept with Boston, but he will admit to drug use and pull a baggie of coke out of his pocket to show Mew. Some of my mutuals are still in debates around how much Top is lying, including whether or not he is telling the truth about the fire he was in as a child, etc.

In this case for this scene with Mew, we know Ray is lying about not wanting to be in a relationship. He does want to be in a relationship…with Mew. But is he lying about Sand not being his type? It would certainly track, considering Ray was the one that initiated the sexual relationship between them and continued to pursue it. Yet at the same time, Ray is stopping in the middle of a make out session, disregarding Sand’s feelings entirely, and taking Mew’s call. And Sand’s lack of wealth is something Ray has exploited or tried to exploit on multiple occasions. (Which is in part why it is very important to recognize the second Sand realizes he may actually be enjoying Ray’s company, that he rejects all offers of money from Ray).

As Mew continues to talk, he continues to state advice that could apply to himself: “Don’t set your standards too high.” Ray is a drunken mess of a college boy, and if Mew is telling him not to set his standards too high, wouldn’t it also be possible that Mew could see Ray as a lower standard and still decide to date him?

“Just date someone who loves you and takes care of you.” Mew is the only person that really seems to take care of Ray at this point. Boston abandoned him, Cheum doesn’t really interact with him all that much, Top hates him, etc. When Ray attempted suicide Mew said he loved him, when Ray attempted suicide Mew said he would always be there for him. Mew has supported Ray for so long, Mew has taken care of Ray for so long. And now Mew is casually naming the qualities of his good friendship to Ray as a recommendation of how to find someone to date.

So to me, it makes total sense that Ray would try to kiss Mew and admit his feelings.

But why is the Poor Boy shirt relevant to Mew?

Because there is someone else we have seen take care of Ray multiple times already…

Sand.

The OPB (original poor boy).

Sand says he can differentiate between love and lust, but the ease at which he relents to Ray’s puppy dog eyes, the speed by which is is made upset at being abandoned by Ray, the safeguards he has in place that he is constantly undermining, we know that if Sand is not already in love with Ray he will be getting there fast.

In my opinion, the Poor Boy shirt acts not as any form of physical or emotional commentary for Mew’s state specifically, but serves instead as Ray subconsciously projecting Sand on to Mew. Despite how quickly and strongly Ray has been drawn towards Sand in recent episodes, despite the good vibes, and good sex they’ve had going on, despite their mutual attraction to one another and some matching interests, Ray has given this reminder of the first care Sand provided (despite throwing him out after Ray gave him an attitude) to Mew. And it’s not like Ray hasn’t had the opportunity to give Sand back his t-shirt. Ray and Sand have hung out there at least twice and fucked each other in Ray’s bedroom. But Ray hung on to the shirt, why?

Sand’s shirt on Mew’s body is misplaced, either as a subconscious acknowledgement of his growing interest in Sand or as a way for Ray to physically place reminders of the care and attention Sand has been giving him on to Mew, who Ray is still crushing on, even as Mew has slowly started to pry himself away from the responsibility of taking care of Ray.

And as we approach the end of Episode 4, we see Ray start to realign his expectations, settling in to the reality that Mew has not, does not, and never will like him romantically. We are introduced for the first time, to a physical, tangible object that Ray owns that is connected to Mew and to Ray’s relationship with Mew as a result. Ray sits in the tub, the same tub he tried to die in two years ago, the same tub Mew held him in two years ago and told him he loved him and promised to always be there for him.

Ray thinks about what this pendant symbolizes, the words Mew told him when he gifted it to Ray: “You are the brightness, you are a ray of sunshine. You should be hot and lively.” Ray says at the beginning that his friends hate him, that he is all alone. So I don’t think it is a far stretch of the imagination by any means to say that Mew may be one of the first if not the first person in years to make Ray feel like he was loved, valued, supported, and understood.

And it is not surprising as a result of that that Ray would fall in love with Mew, especially if Ray’s addiction has been ongoing for years and he has been a difficult person to maintain friendship with.

Ray has crossed boundaries and suffered immediate consequences as a result, but those consequences included finally hearing directly from Mew that his feelings have not changed over the last two years. Ray is drunk 99.9% of the time, that doesn’t mean he’s blacked out by any means, but it does mean that frequently his judgment is going to be inhibited. It is highly likely, in my eyes, that Ray needed the direct admission rather than Mew’s gentle rejections over the last two years.

With Mew finally voicing his regard of Ray as only a friend, Ray is now able to re-evaluate the advice Mew gave to Ray at the beginning of the episode, and consider who else (besides Mew himself) Mew’s statements might apply to. The answer, of course, was staring him in the face the entire time. With the Poor Boy shirt removed from Mew’s back, Ray is forced to understand the shirt more as a physical tie to Sand, like the keychain is a physical tie to Mew.

(hehe this angle makes it look like it says Poo Boy or Poop Boy)

Ray looks at the shirt and thinks back to the record shop not-a-date with Sand, the honesty Sand had with him, the ease at which Sand shared information about himself, his interests, the gentleness with which Sand treated Ray, even just placing the headphone on him. Ray thinks of the song they listened to together, titled เรา which translates to “we” and he makes his choice.

Looking forward: I am curious if this shirt will continue to make its rounds, with Top having recently fucked Boston, there is also a total possibility that Mew is being branded as the Next Poor Boy whose life will fall apart as truths are revealed and consequences enacted.

Thank you to @lurkingshan for edits and observations!

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #sandray #raymew #firstkhao #firstkhaotung #first kana #khaotung thanawat #book kasidet #jojo tichakorn #ninew pinya #gmmtv

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nathabat · 10 months

Note

Can you write about how Syzoth and the reader meet and eventually fall in love? Thank you!

oh my god YES ofc anon, this fills my brain w so many thoughts™,,,

✰ content: ## SFW , fluff with light angst (mention of Syzoth's previous family, his loss, Shang Tsung's bullshit no offense baby girl) , probably barely proofread. I speak more casually here because it's a lot of personal hcs LOL. GN!reader, you/your pronouns used.

Syzoth's romance would be THE definition of a slow burn. Meeting him with Cage and the others doesn't really speed that up, but he certainly learns to really appreciate you as a fixture of the group when you help him mourn and wrap his head around his loss. It's really abrupt, so he needs to take his time coping with the knowledge before he even thinks about taking someone else romantically. So he'd value someone with patience and boatloads of empathy. Even if you were a bit awkward when comforting him, he'd manage to find a bit of charm in your ramblings in attempt to soothe his troubled mind.

Of course it's not like you seek him out right off the bat either, so it's a lot of mutual pining as well when yours and his feelings come to light. Syzoth would feel a little guilty, like he's betraying the memory of his lost loved ones by seeking out a human of all things. I like to think Cage plays wingman- and his version of that is forcing as much proximity as possible. Like orchestrating plans just to ditch you two so you're alone for HOURS, and when he comes back he coughs really loudly to announce his presence.

"What? I didn't know what you two love birds would be getting up to while i was gone! Just had to make sure I wasn't walking in on anything scandalous-" (please hit him for me)

Jokes aside, he does really well at teaching Syzoth about "human courtship" and dating culture, and to boost the poor guys confidence. You're like a beacon of pure light and joy to Syzoth, you picked him up when he was down, how could he ever be worthy of you? How could he even repay your kindness at all???

Syzoth does his best at dropping hints after he realizes you've been oblivious to his courting and attempts at wooing you. Turns out, offering you a piece of his roasted swamp creature snack isn't the sweetest gesture- cut him some slack, he's still learning. He'll lay compliments on HEAVY, and he's surprisingly keen to most details of you as a person, but also generally of your appearance. Like if you trimmed an inch off your hair, he compliments how much shinier your hair is after the loss of your split ends. Ignoring the fact that it sounds slightly backhanded

New shirt? He wants to know why you got it. He thinks that certain colour brings out the hues of your eyes! (he thinks that with everything you wear. I think he's just in love with your eyes) New tattoo or piercing? He really wants to take a good long look at it, hear your thoughts and what drove you to such artistic choices, and gushes about how much he adores your self expression.

"It is a beautiful thing, how open you are I mean.. It's like you bare a piece of yourself to the world. I really like it."

He is always so incredibly sincere, flustering the second you also get embarrassed by his words. He isn't a poet, you just make him feel profound and beautiful things.

The first time he properly asks you out, he's nothing short of a nervous wreck. With his clammy hands and shifty eyes, quietly asking if you'd like to accompany him to an Outworld festival. The second he hears a yes from your lips, he's brightening like a star and thanking you. he's not sure why, but he just feels so grateful and lucky for such an opportunity!

Th evening is nothing short of perfect, Syzoth glued to your side like a protective force, his tension easing only when you grasp his hand and point excitedly at some merchant stand that's boasting the cutest trinkets ever. He's smiling wide under his mask as you tug him forward, squeezing your hand gently as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. His heart is melting in his chest when you make him try on a hair pin. His hair is much too short to hold it, and it almost clatters to the ground if you two didn't fumble to catch it- it's a pretty ornament, but he ends up getting you a gorgeous hand crafted necklace.

A beautiful white jade circular pendant held to the chain by a silver frame of koi fish. He thinks it's stunning, even more so as you bite your cheek to contain your excited ramblings as the cold metal grazes the skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his careful hands as he fastens it in place <3

Maybe you don't kiss on the first date and that's more than okay, because the mere second you had kissed him for the first time, you swore he turned bright red and looked rather faint... It's probably best to ease him into such affectionate gestures.

☄. *. ⋆

#🫧. sfw #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #syzoth #mk reptile #syzoth mk #syzoth mk 1 #syzoth x reader #reptile x reader #mk x reader

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mehiwilldoitlater · 1 year

Text

"He's lying to you."

You turn around, finally facing Zhongli.

"...Come again?"

Despite your initial stubbornness to not even look at him, your eyes lock with each other. His golden eyes were fueled by his last resort to convincing you to finally come back where he thought you belonged, alongside your people, the people of Teyvat. Besides him.

"WuKong is lying to you. I'm not sure what he even promised you or told you about us, but I'm sure that everything is nothing but a lie."

Or at least, that was what he thought. 500 years was the period of imprisonment that he had held the Sage hostage on the mountain, or at least it was the right amount that had passed. Zhongli believed that the ape was everything he hated at the time. While he tried to create order, WuKong craved chaos. While he wanted to use contracts to create peace, WuKong believed in freedom of choice. And while Zhongli preferred to be steady as the mountain, WuKong preferred to be like the clouds in their everlasting movements.

But what Zhongli really hated most about that monkey was the fact that he wanted more for himself and was actually able to get it. That creature gained immortality, a taboo for many, and somehow he survived the erosion of the mind that creatures like the Archons were supposed to fall for. He hated that he laughed in his face when Zhongli asked him to become a protector of Liyue, preferring to be an enemy for the nation rather than a slave king.

Only he and the creator themselves were able to free him from his captivity, and there you were. Your poor body is still covered in the scars that Liyue and the other nations caused. It was natural for you to prefer the Sage rose. To have him as your favorite and as your protector.

But Zhongli couldn't. For him, that was the last reason for him to despise the monkey more and claim his head. You chose Wu Kong over him.

For him, it was reasonable to reach the island in secrecy, where you, Wu Kong, and his generals lived. It was reasonable to sneak into your room and try to convince you to leave your friends. But you weren't reasonable, not to him.

"He's not lying to me. He would never!"

"Why? Because he gave you his word? Trust me, that monkey word is nothing! You're just another god to use for his own ambition."

"No! I know it's true! We're friends! You were the one that hurt me!"

Your words were swords in his heart. He knew that he could never apologize enough for your atrocity, but the idea of you with him was unbearable.

For every word you said, a new crack in the stone pavement appeared. He didn't back down.

"I know that the evil that I committed could never be forgiven, but trust me! I will make it up! Just please, come with me!"

"NO!"

More cracks. A rumbling in the sky.

"I'll never, EVER follow you! I prefer to die here right now than spend a single day with you!"

He fell to his knees, his head touching the now-cracked pavement.

"He will never care for you in the same way I do! Please I-"

"Oh really? You think so?"

His tail movements were a clear sign of his irritation at the presence of the Geoarchon there. His body backed on the window; he must have climbed there from outside. He was ready to kill whoever decided to cross his territory, but since it was his longtime friend Morax, he wanted to hear every little stupid sentence about him. Pathetic, that's what he thought.

Zhongli and WuKong's eyes crossed. The Archon distraction gave you the chance to run to your friend. WuKong reached out his hand, grasping you before Zhongli could even get the chance. holding you close to him. He was guarding you.

"First you tried to kill this innocent small flower, and now you're trespassing into my house? You have fallen from high status, old man."

"This is not the place for them, not with you!"

"Oh? So it is with you? With the follower that tried to kill them, tortured them, and then tried to kidnap them because he realized how stupid he was?"

Zhongli's eyes were filled with rage, but he couldn't act, not when you were so close to his enemy. How much he hated that scene—you so close to him, searching for his protection in his arms, his tail wrapping around you in a possessive way.

"Go back to your city, old one. Before I really got mad."

Despite being the god of war, WuKong had many tricks up his sleeves, one of which was you. It was natural; the ones that are the Creator's favorites had access to great powers. Silently, the Archon withdrew, while your eyes followed him with such venom in them.

You two needed five minutes to finally exhale a sigh of relief. Wu Kong gently caressed your head.

"Are you okay?"

You nodded silently, refusing to loosen the grip on his nightrobe.

"Let's stay together for this night. Just in case, uh?"

"Yeah, just in case."

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #zhongli #sunwukong #creator!reader

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owlbee-writing · 1 year

Text

TheArchivist: my three archival assistants,

And yes, they smoke weed

Michael distortion: do they smoke weed?

TheArchivist: yes, actually.

Jane prentiss: You mean they aren’t just smoking cigarettes? But weed cigarettes?

TheArchivist: it’s called a bunt… not a weed cigarette… and yes, it’s a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we read statements. (They are my archival assistants.)

Helen distortion: they don’t look like they smoke weed

TheArchivist: Fuck You.

Fuck You.

I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking archival assistants are researching statements to calm me down I’m so mad.

Melanie: Your “weed smoking archival assistant” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on his belly. The one in the middle.

TheArchivist: I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Martin or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on him ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING

Basira: Well that escalated quickly……

TheArchivist: What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *martin grabs my shoulder* Come on Jon, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking his off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my archival assistants struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

Elias: haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE ARCHIVAL ASSISTANTS”, “THEY ALL RESEARCH STATEMENTS”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Martin” and his “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jonathan, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

TheArchivist: *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…

*leaves with my three weed smorking archival assistants to go hold hands and research statements.*

Daisy: this dude playin omg

TheArchivist: Come again? *The institute falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the institute is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Archivist publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Martin…. Sash-sasha… Tim… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see Beholding looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*

Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

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voraciousvore · 11 days

Text

Giganterra (Chapter 54)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (53) | Next (55)

Content Warning: NSFW/18+!! Sex, mouthplay, vore mentions, and the writer's blatant horny self-indulgence <.<

Word Count: 3.5k

------ Chapter 54: Romantic Fantasy ------

Martin woke up in the middle of the night. For a moment, he couldn’t recall where he was—until he felt Candy’s tiny limbs brush across his bare chest, tickling his mane of hair. He lifted his head to catch a glimpse of her. She was still fast asleep, with her cheek resting on her hand, her long blonde hair trailing down her back, and her legs folded at the knees. She was adorable; Martin’s great heart pumped faster just from admiring her.

Her face, serene with slumber, twitched, and her arm shifted again. Martin realized she was dreaming and monitored her with interest. She rolled over on her back, fitting neatly into the valley formed by his pecs, before flipping onto her side. Her microscopic fingers gripped his chest hair and she mumbled incoherently.

Whatever dream she was having, it seemed to be a troubled one. Martin debated whether to wake her up or not, but before he could decide, Candy’s verbalizations became distinct enough to distinguish. “Let me out!” she murmured. “Don’t leave me trapped in here!” Her limbs flailed weakly. “Martin, help me!”

With that plea, Martin raised his hands around her and encompassed her with his fingers, caressing her body gently. “Candy, wake up,” he cooed softly.

She drew in a sharp breath as her eyes shot open and she recoiled into a sitting position, her back hitting Martin’s cupped palm. Dew sparkled on her cheeks as her eyes roved wildly around the room. Her spine slackened when she met eyes with the gentle giant. “Martin…” she whimpered.

“Shhhh, it’s okay sweetie. You were only dreaming.”

“Thank goodness,” Candy sniffled. Relieved, she hugged his pinky, which he curved around her diminutive body. “I dreamed I was inside King Richard’s intestines.”

“What?” Martin verbalized with bewilderment. He grimaced. “That sounds revolting.”

Candy nodded. “It was. Hot and slimy and absolutely vile. I never want to go back in there again. When he ate me and didn’t let me out that one time, I really thought I was going to die…”

The giant blinked. “Wait. You mean in the dream, right? He didn’t actually…”

“He did,” she answered quietly. “As a punishment.” She shuddered and huddled into the plush comfort of Martin’s palm at the reminder.

“Oh God.” Martin’s features twisted up with pain. “That’s unbelievable. That’s horrific! Candy, I’m so sorry you had to go through that…” He cradled her in his hands in a hug, pressing her to his chest. He couldn’t fathom the living nightmares the poor woman had been forced to endure. She was light as a feather, yet the guilt he felt over her suffering felt like an elephant stomping on his ribcage.

“Candy, how do you not hate me?” the knight asked, the wretched question burning like fire on his tongue. “This is all my fault.”

Candy averted her gaze shamefully. She figured she ought to be honest with him. “I did… resent you for a while. When I believed you abandoned me,” she admitted. “It hurt. A lot. Especially to see you wearing the king’s colors and taking his orders.”

Martin wanted to break down sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” he choked. “I have no excuse for my behavior.”

“And I came here to be with you. You’re why I volunteered to come to Giganterra in the first place. I believed… I was fated to you. And I knew we had a special connection.” Martin bit his lip. She was right. Ever since their first fateful meeting, he did feel a connection to her, as if an invisible thread tied them together, regardless of the physical distance between them.

Candy stood up, crawling out of his hands, and approached his face, stumbling slightly over the uneven surface of his squishy skin. “But that’s not fair to you. It’s not all your fault. You didn’t make me volunteer—that was my choice—and you’re not responsible for what the king did to me.”

She reached up to his blocky chin and ran her fingers over the forest of stubble. “You made a bad decision, but… I understand. You were in a difficult position. That was asking a lot from you—to throw everything away that you’ve worked so hard for. Your knighthood, your prestigious post, your influence at court—worth a lot more than a little thing like me.”

“I shouldn’t have even hesitated,” Martin stated firmly. “You’re worth more than all of that nonsense.”

Candy blushed. “Thanks…” She held the edge of his chin with both hands. “You still rescued me. Late, but better than not at all. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve been able to stay alive…” She trembled violently. “You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

“You owe me nothing. If anything, I should spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” the giant declared. As he spoke, Candy watched his huge plump lips move above her. She was inflamed with an irresistible desire to touch them, to bury herself in their softness. She desperately needed him to comfort her physically, to kiss her, to express his love for her. She clasped his stubble and hauled herself onto the slab of his chin. Martin froze up, unsure what she was doing.

“I’ve dreamed about this—about you—for so long,” Candy confessed. “I wanted you so badly, it hardly feels real to be here with you right now…” She touched his lower lip, rubbing her hands over the pink surface. Martin slowly released the strain in his neck, lowering his head back to the couch cushion. Candy used the opportunity to climb up onto his lips, sinking her body into them like a mattress. She kissed him on his upper lip, tracing her hands along the Cupid’s bow with delight.

The giant’s face heated up underneath her like a furnace. Candy reveled in his plush warmth. He was so different from the giant king, so much gentler, so careful not to move and send her tumbling down his face. Even the natural fragrance of his body, of his breath, the exhalations from his nostrils above her, was radically different—pleasant and alluring, awakening a strong carnal passion within her. Emboldened, she stood up on the curve above his lips and scaled the tip of his nose.

She laid down on the bridge of his nose and stared deeply into the stormy sea of his beautiful gray iris. He stared back, the black hole of his pupil dilating. “Martin,” she purred, dangling her hand down to his cheek and stroking it. “Can you do something for me?”

“A-anything,” Martin stammered faintly, cheeks flushed.

“Cast aside your guilt. It won’t change the past, and it won’t do either of us any good. Live with me in the present. Take care of me and love me. Can you do that for me, my handsome knight?”

“Y-yes. Absolutely, my darling,” Martin panted. She was bewitching in her beauty, her sweet charm, her forwardness, her sexual seduction. The giant found himself abruptly intoxicated with lust. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move a muscle, as if pinned by her hypnotic enchantment. She smiled down at him and he felt like melting into a gooey puddle.

Candy laughed softly and stood on his cheekbone, planting her miniscule feet below his eye where he could still see her. With a single smooth motion, she swept off her dress and tossed it away, so she was standing stark naked, where he could get an intimate view up her slender legs. He blinked and his mouth dropped open.

“C-Candy…” he stuttered, flustered. “W-What are you doing?” She did a flirty little twirl and Martin thought he would burst. He had seen her naked before, but never so close, and of course he didn’t feel it polite to ogle her. Now, he could appreciate her nudity in all her feminine glory. Her form was lovely, despite being marred with bruises.

“Do you want me?” she asked. Martin could only whimper. “Take me then. Have me.”

Martin flapped his jaw wordlessly for a moment before he could contort his tongue to form proper words. “Are you sure?”

Candy nodded. When Martin still didn’t move, she walked down his face, trailing her hand down his lips when she passed his mouth. She lowered herself from his chin to his neck, then confidently sauntered across the gargantuan plain of his chest. She could feel his immense heart hammering hard and fast underneath her soles, enough to make her lose her balance if she wasn’t careful.

“You don’t have to do this,” the giant uttered nervously. “Don’t feel obligated or pressured.”

Candy stopped her advance momentarily to face him. “I know. I want to do this.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully and tried to elaborate. “I’m not the innocent girl I once was, Martin. But for once, I want to be in control. I want to do this for myself, for my own pleasure. I want to experience the love and romance and intimacy I’ve been craving so badly, pure and unsoiled. You understand?”

Martin gulped, then nodded with amazement. “I see. Proceed then, by all means.” Candy smirked teasingly, flipped her silky hair over her shoulder, and continued to stroll along the hill of Martin’s belly. She followed his happy trail into his shorts, crawling under his waistband without hesitation. Despite Martin’s bashful ambivalence, his body had physically responded with enthusiasm to Candy’s captivating advances. He had a massive boner.

Candy wound her arms and legs around the enormous monument of manhood and stimulated it with experienced, vigorous strokes. Martin gasped; his pounding heart nearly exploded out of his chest. He didn’t expect her to feel so good. He let out a soft moan as he shifted his huge legs. His sensitive nerves could detect her tiny fingers caressing his skin, her tongue working miracles, her plump breasts and hips grinding on his shaft. She was positively magical, a miniature succubus of sexual gratification.

Candy smiled as Martin’s low moans rumbled through her. She could tell her labor was paying off, with how his breathing deepened and the vein on the side of his penis pulsed with blood. She jumped up, clasping the thick mast securely with her legs, and began to scale his colossal erection. Martin whimpered with pleasure, begging for more. When she neared the top, she reached up and rubbed the tip of his penis with her hand, sliding generously over the responsive area. The giant hit his peak when she fingered his cock slit. He couldn’t hold back any longer and gushed cum like a fountain. Candy hopped down to his pelvic area, expertly avoiding the milky stream dripping down his cock.

“Oh my...” the giant puffed, laboring to catch his breath. “Candy!” He reached down and gently wrapped his fingers around the tiny woman, rescuing her from the smothering confines of his shorts.

She giggled. “It’s fun when I get the chance to do it with someone I love,” she chirped, hugging his finger.

Martin saddened when he thought about what she had been subjected to, but he didn’t want to remind her of her ugly past. As he held her ravishing form in his hands, he brightened with an idea and gave her a mischievous smirk. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Huh?” Candy tilted her head with confusion.

“It’s time for me to pleasure you.” Candy’s eyes widened. The concept had never entered her mind that her personal arousal mattered in doing the deed; King Richard had given her needs no consideration whatsoever. Her heart beat faster as Martin changed his position, laying on his belly on the couch so he loomed over her as he held her in his hand.

He set her down on the cushion in a sitting pose, cupping his hand around her back for support. With his other hand, he gently nudged her legs apart using his pinky and sensually rubbed her clit and labia as best he could. Candy blushed like a rose as something unfamiliar awakened inside her. The ridges of his fingerprint and the tip of his nail felt highly pleasurable in such a sensitive spot. Martin smiled as he felt a dribble of moisture on his fingertip.

“Do you like that?” he murmured softly, his voice vibrating with rich tones. Candy nodded wordlessly. The giant removed his finger and lowered his head down. He planted a tender kiss on her breasts and stomach, nibbling her nipples playfully with his lips. He moved lower, kissing her hips and thighs. His tongue emerged, spreading her legs further apart, and licked her center. Martin was surprised by a burst of sweet caramel flavor, arousing his visceral appetite. He doubled down, sliding his tongue over her thighs and genitals with passion as he continued to press his lips into her. She was delicious in every possible way.

Candy was overwhelmed with new sensations. She hadn’t imagined such an act in her wildest dreams. She stretched out her thighs to give Martin maximum access, only to find he had slurped her legs entirely into his mouth like noodles. He sucked on her like a lollipop, caressing her lower half all over, from her feet to her groin, with his tongue. She was distinctly aware of his gigantic teeth and lips on her skin, encasing her with the upmost care within the hot, wet flesh of his maw. If she was with Hardon, she would’ve been terrified of having her legs bitten off, or being swallowed whole, but she trusted Martin, her savior, with her whole being.

The stimulation brought her to climax in a burst of passion. Martin released her legs from his mouth, licking his lips with satisfaction. His Maneater blood was surging inside him, but he knew better than to eat his lover. He cleaned her and himself up with his torn shirt that was laying nearby and settled back down on the couch with Candy cuddled on his chest. Despite throwing away his career and ambitions, he was happy, happier than ever, with an unburdened conscience. Like Candy, he was free.

“Candy... you’re amazing,” Martin uttered. “Truly a remarkable woman. You deserve the world.”

“Thanks,” Candy giggled. “You’re pretty awesome yourself.” They shared a quiet moment together, with Martin stroking her spine with his finger. She gradually nodded off on his chest, soothed by his massive comforting presence.

The pair were awakened a few hours later when Milton emerged sleepily from his bedroom, Millie in hand. “Good morning,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes. Millie waved.

“Good morning!” Candy chirped back, sitting up on Martin’s bulging pec. She gazed up at Milton’s lofty figure and furrowed her brow. “Where’s Iris?”

Milton’s face fell. “Oh. She’s... still not entirely comfortable around me. So I leave her alone, and let her stay in the spare bedroom.”

“She needs time,” Millie added solemnly.

“I’ll make breakfast for everyone. Can you two ladies bring it to her for me? Help make her feel more welcome here?” Milton requested. Candy and Millie assented, and Milton whipped up a steaming pot of porridge to share. He didn’t have human-sized bowls, so he spooned minute portions into the smallest acorn caps he could find that he’d collected outside yesterday. He took Candy and Millie in his hand and deposited them outside the door, which he left cracked just enough for the teeny folk to squeeze through.

“Iris, we brought you breakfast!” Millie announced as they entered the giant room. Iris lay curled up on her side facing the wall, in a nest made from a huge blanket that Milton had arranged for her to sleep in. She didn’t turn around or respond in any way to their arrival. “Iris?”

“Is she still sleeping?” Candy questioned with confusion.

Millie shook her head. “She tends to retreat into herself to cope. It’s a habit she’s yet to break.” Millie set down the porridge and hiked over the canyons of fabric. Candy watched as she whispered soothingly to Iris, rubbing her shoulder. At first, the limp girl didn’t react, but Millie was patient, and did not leave her side.

Finally, Iris rotated her head languidly. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.

“You need to eat,” Millie pressed. “You’re wasting away to skin and bones.”

“I don’t care.”

“Iris, please…”

“Leave me alone.”

Millie sighed. Before she could respond, Candy clambered up alongside them, clumsily balancing all the acorn hats in her arms. “We’ll eat breakfast here, Millie.” She sat down next to her friends, slurped some of the porridge from her bowl, and engaged in idle chatter with Millie, since she knew Iris wouldn’t want to talk. Millie drank from her bowl politely, impressed by Candy’s ability to converse so much while saying so little of substance—a useful talent when discussing anything of gravity might upset their dreary friend. Iris listened for a while until, defeated, she reached for her breakfast and mindlessly picked at it. Candy and Millie didn’t acknowledge her progress, but they were heartened to see her get some nutrition and became more animated as a result.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Milton offered a bowl of porridge to Martin. “I apologize for the gruel and humble accommodations,” he said with some embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re accustomed to more lavish arrangements, but this is all I have to give…”

“No need to apologize!” Martin assured him warmly. “I’m famished!” He dug into the porridge greedily, shoveling in huge mouthfuls. “If anything, I’d hate to be a burden on you.”

“Oh no, not at all! To be honest, I’m very grateful you’re here. As a mighty warrior, you can protect the small maidens from danger if they are discovered. It puts my mind at ease.”

“Indeed,” Martin managed to enunciate as he inhaled the rest of his meal. He held out the empty bowl. “Is there enough for another serving? I’m sorry, I burned a lot of energy yesterday.”

Milton chuckled. “Of course.” He served up another portion for Martin to dump eagerly into his hungry mouth.

“Ah, much better!” Martin sighed with a hand on his belly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed.” Milton laced up his boots and put on his coat. “Well, I’m off.”

“Wait, you’re leaving? Where are you going?” Martin asked, suddenly nervous. “You’re not just going to leave me here, are you?”

“I have to teach the royal children. You know that,” Milton answered, puzzled by Martin’s abrupt shift in demeanor. “I have to keep up the act so nobody gets suspicious. Why? Is there a problem?”

“Erm… well… I guess not,” Martin responded evasively. Milton raised a brow. Martin flushed. “Um… the thing is… what am I supposed to do while you’re gone? I mean… how am I supposed to entertain three ladies by myself? Especially... tiny humans? What if they’re afraid of me?”

Milton let out a hearty laugh. “Martin, are you serious? You can’t tell me you’re intimidated by a handful of human women? You’re a charming, courtly gentleman! I’m sure you’ll have no trouble!” With that, he waved a farewell and left.

Martin stayed seated on the couch, twiddling his thumbs in worried thought. He felt awkward, especially as he was still bare-chested and didn’t even have a decent shirt to wear. He was too broad in the chest and shoulders to fit into any of Milton’s shirts. He debated with himself whether to check on the girls or wait for them to come out. He didn’t wish to scare them, especially not Iris.

Before he could commit to a course of action, he spied Millie and Candy emerging from the hallway. His pulse quickened. He stood up from the couch and lumbered towards them, feeling like a brutish ogre as he towered over them. Millie flinched slightly and he stopped, backing up a substantial step.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

Millie recovered with a demure smile. “It’s okay.” Candy placed a hand on her shoulder for support.

“So, uh…” Martin began as he squatted down slowly, so he wasn’t so tall. He paused, unsure how to continue.

“Can you take us outside?” Candy asked sweetly. “I’d love to spend some time in the garden and enjoy the sunshine.”

“Absolutely, my dear!” He held out his hand, and the two humans climbed up into his palm. Martin felt an excited spark at holding them. They were so small and cute.

As he gradually raised his hand up, his eye caught movement in the hallway. He was surprised to see Iris cautiously creeping towards him. “I’d like to go too,” she stated quietly in a scratchy voice.

“Of course. You’re welcome to join,” Martin agreed. He lowered his hand again. Iris gulped, but with encouragement from the other two girls, she joined them in Martin’s colossal palm, which was roomy enough to hold all three of them.

“Everyone good?” Martin checked. They all confirmed, and Martin flashed them a winning grin. “Alright then, let’s go!” He gingerly lifted his hand, stood up, and carried them into the bright sunshine of a beautiful new day, full of light. He was determined to keep them happy and safe.

Chapter 55

Tag List: @maybeiamdownbad @tinycoded360 @yummynomms

#nsft #macro/micro #micro/macro #macrophilia #microphilia

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elcpsstuff · 1 year

Text

The Summer I Remembered You (C.F) (Part 18)

your words, baby, how they mean so little when your just a little to late.

—

A/N: I’m sorry y’all… 🤞🏻😔

Synopsis: bunch of hurt feelings that no one can explain

—

“Are they here yet?”

“shhh, be quiet.” I put my finger to my lips as Frankie rolls her eyes at me.

“Listen, I have to interject,” Taylor begins, “This is why Conrad is lame. You two need to stop fighting over him and let it go! He just strings people along. Let’s not act like his feelings for you are real, yn.”

I know she didn’t mean it in a mean way, but it hurt. Because no one actually believed Conrad felt that way about me, and I was starting to believe it to. What about all those stolen kisses? The cuddling at night and when he would mumble words into my ear so I would forget about the rain. Was it even real? That night?

I didn’t have time to respond to Taylor because Jeremiah is getting out of the car. “Oh my God, Belly are you okay?”

Frankie scoffs, “Yeah, we’re fine thanks for asking.” And I can’t help but laugh a little at Jeremiah’s blatant forgetfulness of anyone who wasn’t Belly.

Conrad trials behind Jeremiah and Taylor and Frankie pounce at the chance to question him, “What are you doing here?”

His adam’s apple bobs up and down before holding a bag in front of us, “Nicole.. she uh— gave me these.”

Taylor takes it quickly, “You better tell her to watch her back.” Me and the rest of the girls get in a line and Jeremiah and Conrad awkwardly hold the towel up after a couple of seconds. They better not look.

Belly shakes her head, “Hey uh, do you guys mind if I go with Jeremiah?”

“Yes, 1000% yes.” Taylor adds quickly.

“So we have to go with Conrad?” Frankie breathes the words out like there’s no tomorrow. Truthfully, I don’t want to go with Conrad either but what choice do we have since Belly and Jeremiah want to get down at 11 at night.

“Seriously?” I say but it comes out like more a whisper.

“You’ll be fine, yn. Nothing you haven’t done before.” The words come out sharp like knives to my heart. Thought me and Belly were over that but we might need to talk more.

“Ignore her, yn.” Frankie whispers in my ear and we all finish changing. Jeremiah throws the covers to the side and Belly awkwardly shuffled towards Jeremiah. He puts a hand on her back as they walk to his car.

Conrad grabs his shoulder and rubs it, but the rubbing became more aggressive the more nervous he got. “So, you guys all coming with me?”

“Sadly.” Frankie whips out.

“Let’s not make this a thing.” Taylor adds and for the first time her and Frankie start laughing. With each other and before I can question them they’re getting into the back seats.

I sigh and get into the passenger side and like always Conrad’s staring at me. I’m over it at this point.

“Crazy night guys..” Those words, they make we want to slap him. Over and over again. Does he even realize what he’s done? We were naked because of him. That’s the second time he’s the cause for me being naked. Shamefully.

“It didn’t have to be like that, if you would just stop texting yn and pretending to like her.” Taylor shoots the words right at Conrad’s throat and I can almost see the stab mark in my head.

“Taylor—”

“No, i’m serious. Maybe if you actually liked her this wouldn’t be a problem. But you don’t. So let’s just.. go.”

I can’t look anywhere else besides the window because I know if I face Conrad my heart will break into a million pieces. All the i love you’s and the promises will be broken. Our friendship lost in the cracks as well.

—

Age 14, Summer

“Jere, please?”

“Mom, I promised Belly I would take her to the boardwalk, I can’t stay with yn.”

There was one thing that was worse than leaving the summer house. That was getting a cold during the summer. Right now, that was me. Poor yn, stuck inside away from the daylight like Susannah claimed.

Their voices chirped in the background which I faintly heard, but my ears were way to clogged to fully understand.

“Why can’t Connie stay home with her? He’s obsessed with her.”

“Jere, Connie is practicing for a sailing competition, ie would you please—”

After minutes of bickering it was clear Jeremiah was not going to stay inside for me, but it was nothing personal. Even if he had decided to give in I would have felt guilty for prying him away from Belly.

Susannah came over to hand me a glass of water when Conrad walked in the room, surfboard in hand ready to catch some waves. His face went from excited to worried within milliseconds.

“What’s wrong with yn?” He looks at Susannah and I suddenly feel like a child. Like i’m not even here. I certainly look like one though in my shorts and sweatshirt. My hair was up in a high bun and sweat was dripping off my face.

Susannah’s eyes light up and I know now i’m going to have to sit through another 10 minutes of a fisher brother rejecting care to me. I would get up but I feel to sick to do anything.

“Oh, poor yn, has a summer cold. Threw up this morning.” Susannah runs a hand through my hair and another horrible, burning sneeze comes from my mouth. I can see Susannah wince.

“Oh.” Conrad whispers and I know he’s contemplating it. I don’t want him to though, he deserves the right to go outside and have fun, do whatever he wants. I’m not worth the time.

“Connie, could you, maybe—”

“I’ll stay with her. You can go to the store and run some errands mom.”

That feeling, that the girls say they feel in fairytales, I think I just got that. Leave it to Conrad Fisher to make a girl feel like the only fucking girl in the world.

“Don’t you have to surf?” I say and after I realize how desperate I sound, it’s sad. Almost like i’m begging him to go the ocean and forget about me. For now.

Instead of the response I thought he was going to give, he waves his hand and shakes his head, “It’s okay, I’ll go change.”

Before I can protest, Conrad’s up the stairs in a heartbeat.

“See,” Susannah begins, “He’d do anything for you.”

I laugh, a little too hard which results in me coughing and Susannah hands me my glass of water. “That’s funny.” I say once my voice clears.

“It’s true, yn. You’re his weakness.” The words came off Susannah’s tongue like a prayer, a promise. A promise in my heart that maybe one day, I would believe her.

Minutes later, Conrad came downstairs in shorts and a sweatshirt. He had also brought down with him and extra pair of sweats and an ice pack.

“uhm- i brought you these.” He motions and Susannah looks at me through a grin, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” And with that, she’s off the couch and I swore I heard her whisper something to Conrad. Maybe I was so sick I was hallucinating. All of this.

Conrad sits down next to me and I felt guilty. Nobody should have to be by me right now. Not even Conrad who was my best friend, my other half.

He noticed my shift and tapped my arm, “Hey, how about you put these on?”

“You can go, Conrad.” My voice is barely above a whisper but his face conveys pure confusion. “Please. I’ll tell Susannah you stayed.”

“Woah woah yn—”

“Just go.” I shake my head and cough into my hands, feeling it cut into my throat. I groan at the pain.

“I’m not going anywhere, yn. Don’t be a dummy. I didn’t do this for my mom.”

Me. Your his weakness.

“But surfing?—” I go to question but he puts a hand to my lips.

“Surfing could wait, this can’t. Your a mess, yn. I’m not just gonna watch while my girl coughs her lungs up out her body.”

My girl? I think I might die, all for him to bring me back to life. He had that sorta effect on me. All these years I had been obsessed with someone noticing me, maybe Jeremiah. I thought one day he might, but not Conrad. We were best friends, but I never thought he saw me that way. If I had known sooner, maybe things could have been easier.

Instead of saying what I want to, I nod and grab the sweatpants from him, throwing them over my body. For some reason, I still felt cold as hell.

“Here, come on..” Conrad opens his arms for me and the only thing I wanted to do was hug him for eternity. Instead, I stupidly say: “You know you’ll get sick?”

He smirks, “Shut up, Conklin. It’s not my fault if you decline my warm chest.” And that was it. I caved. I wrapped my arms around his torso and nuzzled my head into his shoulder. My body still twitched from the aching and cold, but Conrad knew all the right things to do.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Relax.”

“Kinda hard to do that.”

Conrad stroked the hairs on my head, and I couldn’t help but blush. He was so tender, so kind, and all I wanted to do now was be sick forever, as long as he was here.

“Your very warm.” I mumble against his chest.

“I know.” He says and by the tone of his voice I know he’s smiling.

For the rest of the day we stayed inside watching shows and I never let go of Conrad besides when he got up to get me more medicine and water. As soon as he sat back down my arms were around him. I even felt him kiss my forehead once.

My eyes were sagging, and sleep was about to take over me. The last thing I heard was a soft voice whisper to me.

“It’s you, yn. I wish you could see that.”

I didn’t respond, because he probably thought I was sleeping. Honestly, i’m beginning to wonder If i was.

—

Present Day:

The eerie noises of the night kept me up, not allowing me to fall into a deep sleep I needed.

After the most awkward ride with Conrad and the girls, we all went to our separate rooms. Frankie was already fast asleep and I couldn’t blame her after the events that occurred today. It’s not everyday you get stranded naked by rich kids.

Just as my thoughts began to wind down, my phone buzzed a couple of times and I instantly grabbed it, with every bone in my body telling me not to i still did.

Conrad: u up? come down please?

I tell myself this is it, the last thing I do for Conrad Fisher. I’ll walk downstairs and tell him this is the end, of everything. Not just this love and fling he’s strung in my face all these years. This friendship. This pure friendship that got caught between the lies of our real feelings.

My feet tread across the wooden floor and lightly make my way downstairs. Conrad is by the docks. Hesitantly, I slip out the back door praying I don’t wake anyone. When i’m certain I don’t, I head for the docks.

He looks at me for the first time with an expression I can’t seem to recognize: Hurt, anger, love? I cant tell.

We’re inches apart as I stand at the dock where our childhood memories once lingered, and I think they still do.

“You came.”

I scoff, “You texted me.” I wave my phone in the air motioning at him, “can you please stop doing that?”

He’s taken aback by the harshness in my tone, “I’m sorry, stop texting you?”

“Yeah. I- I think so.” No. I don’t think so.

He reads right through me and grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. At this rate i’ll break in a couple of minutes if he doesn’t stop this, touching.

“Conrad.”

“I don’t believe you, you know.” His free hand trails up my arm and slowly grazes my neck. “When you say that type of stuff.”

I wanna hate him so bad, but I can’t find it in me to do so. Every fiber in my body is telling me to walk away, and never look back, but I can’t. My eyes are glued to Conrad Fisher, and my heart belongs to him.

“Conrad, please.” He grazes my jaw and that’s when i’ve lost. Lost this battle between us. If he wanted me in this moment, I think I would’ve let him take me. It was bad, but so true.

“It’s selfish, what i’m doing.” He whispers against me. “Because I haven’t been fair. You know it.” My head is against his chest now and I feel his every breath. I have to stay strong, remember that this is it.

Why can’t the words come out of my mouth?

“This was the last thing I wanted. I never wanted you to regret what we did.”

That’s when I pulled my head out of his chest and shook my head, “What? Who said I regretted it?”

Conrad let go of me and ran a hand through his hair, “I- i don’t know.. I just like thought maybe.. you didn’t—”

He would never get it. If anything, this summer should be an indication to him that you very much did not regret what you two did, in fact you wanted more. I suddenly fell out of the trance Conrad had placed me in.

“This is it Conrad. You don’t get to have me anymore.”

To my surprise, he nods his head, “I know.”

Wasn’t this what you wanted? For him to let you go?

So why do I feel like my heart is ripping out? Why do I want him to fight for something that’s already gone?

“Bad things happen, when we try and… fix whatever this is. We were just two friends- best friends who got tangled into each other. It’s not like it was real.” The words burn my throat and tear at Conrad’s heart as I see them. It wasn’t true, I wanted to tell him.

“I.. yeah.” Conrad trails off.

“So please, let it go. Let me go. It’s too painful.”

Conrad only nods and pulls out a black little bag from his pocket. I already know what it is, and my heart throbs at the thought. “This was yours.”

“No, Conrad—”

“It’s for you. I can’t just give it to someone else. Throw it away, burn it, just.. I cant keep this. It’s a memory of you. You know that.”

“Conrad i’m—”

“Like you said, it wasn’t real, right?” His words sting me even though I had told him it wasn’t real. But it was, to me it was.

“Night, Conrad.” I place the little velvet bag back in his hands before turning to walk away. I even think I heard a faint ‘wait’ before leaving, but I was too dazed to tell.

—

Frankie and Taylor both left the next day. After our little wood’s experience, they had seemed to go from hating each other to tolerating each other. They even agreed on some things.

Susannah was in full deb mode. Since I had no date, my last resort was to text the one and only Josh. Of course, I had thought about asking Conrad but after our talk from the previous night I doubted he wanted to talk to me.

Luckily, Josh said he would be happy to take me, as a friend, which made me chuckle a little bit.

I walked into the living room mid afternoon, scrambling about things that needed to be done. Josh was a late entry, and I couldn’t exactly talk to Nicole about that considering she left me naked in the woods the previous night. Susannah told me she would go to the club and get it sorted though.

“What’s up with you?” I hear a voice and turn around only to be met with Belly. She’s sitting at the counter, looking more solemn than ever.

“I should be asking you that.” I pour some orange juice into my cup before placing it back in the fridge.

Belly shrugs, “I’m just thinking, I guess.” I nod and we stay silent for a little while before Belly plunges my heart a little more, “Why didn’t you tell me, about Conrad?”

I shake my head, “It’s over now, in the—”

“No. Before. When you liked him. All those years that I did?” I swallowed bile that was sticking to my throat and the walls felt like closing in. I knew why I didn’t tell her. If I did, it would ruin that perfect older sister image I wanted her to have of me.

“Did you always like him?” She asks, and her tone suggests she almost doesn’t wanna know the answer.

“I think.. yeah. The first time I felt it was when I was 11 years old. I tried to cover it up by saying I liked Jeremiah, but that wasn’t true. I just.. how could I say a thing? Not when you were—”

“Desperately in love with him? Yeah.”

I shake my head, “No. Not that. I should’ve told you.”

She nods, “You should’ve.” There was a slight pause and I wondered for a moment if this was it, I had already lost Conrad. What’s one more to add to this shit show of a summer?

“But I mean.. I guess I always knew. It was always there in the back of my head, you and Conrad. I could always see it in the way he looked at you.”

“Belly—”

“I just- always wanted that chance with him, you know? It was selfish, but sometimes I wished you weren’t here. You weren’t supposed to be. I don’t think that now though, you know I wouldn’t.”

Those words coming out of Belly’s mouth made me want to throw up but this is the closest we’ve been in a year so I can’t take this for granted. I lean over and squeeze her hand, “Belly, I’m sorry about this year. I wanna be close again, and Conrad never should’ve gotten in the way.”

“I guess I wouldn’t really wanna tell you if I had sex with him, so I get it.” I couldn’t tell if she was taking shots at me anymore or being nice but I smiled anyways. This was a new start, me and Belly. Boys or not, it was me and her through the long hall.

After we let go, the question that had been burning my body to ask finally arose, “So, Jeremiah?”

Belly’s cheeks turn a crimson red before stuffing her face with a muffin. “I don’t know, he’s.. it’s different. Conrad didn’t feel real, you know? But Jere is real, and it’s scary.”

To me, it was the exact opposite. Conrad felt very real, so real that my brain wants to explode when i’m next to him. He makes me forget everything and everyone and it’s just us in a world of bliss.

I pinch my arm, coming back to reality. I really have to stop thinking about Conrad.

—

A/N: Pain Pain Pain!! We good? You guys only 2-3 more chapters left I can’t my heartttt :(

tag list: @kkrenae @callsignwidow @drikawinchester @johannelis2302nely @allnrsnz @galaxy13sworld @paytonloiselle @i-think-you-are-gr8 @imaspecialpersonwhoneedshelp @awatt31 @user0440822 @jackierose902109 @chocolatefartstrawberry @whoisjellyellie @apollo3475

(tag list for some reason won’t tag some people)

#the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher #jeremiah fisher #team conrad #belly conklin #conrad x reader #team jeremiah #tsitp #love #summer love

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