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archaeren · 3 months

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How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

#creative writing #writers block #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fanfic writing #writeblr #writing advice

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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OMGGGGGGG

the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭

can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on

Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest.

A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more.

He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak.

“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost.

Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees.

“Morning,” you say, softer than soft.

“How’d you sleep, lovely?”

You shrug, not quite looking at him. “Fine. You?”

James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?”

Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?

“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.”

James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.”

He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside.

“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?”

“This is good.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.”

“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.”

You look like you stop breathing.

And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things.

He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his.

It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice.

“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.”

“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.”

James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room.

You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover.

“So, have any fun dreams last night?”

You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response.

“A couple,” you admit.

“Oh? What about?”

Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake.

James’ brain short-circuits.

“You were in my dream,” he blurts.

Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.”

You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?”

“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.”

James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze.

“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim.

You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home.

“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.”

“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.”

You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide. “Again?”

“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.”

You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue.

“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?”

Your voice is breathless. “Why?”

“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.”

You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.”

James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.

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appalachiancowboy99 · 12 days

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After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air. Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else.

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't respected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

#Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #grumpy #fluff #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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heartysworld · 2 months

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Love across the finish line// OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

W. C: 2.5k

This one is a request!

MASTERLIST

It was during the small hours of the night when the Piastri family home echoed with celebratory screams and sounds of glasses clinging against each other. Earlier, the same day, some inexplicable force had made you cancel your plans for the next day and join your boyfriend's family to watch Oscar's race in Hungary. Now, hours later, you were jumping around Oscar's sisters and his parents as they hugged each other, celebrating their boy's maiden win in Formula 1.

You couldn't help but tear up as memories from years ago flooded your mind. Little specs from when you and Oscar would talk about different dreams you wished to achieve one day. They all changed and varied as the years went by. However, for Oscar, once of those dreams never changed - reach F1, win a race, and become world champion. There he was now, a decade later, having achieved two out of three of those, making you prouder than ever.

As you watched the trophy ceremony, you admired Oscar's smile, it being one of the brightest you've ever seen. Despite what happened during the last minutes of the race, he was up there in P1 as the winner. A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. Looking up from your spot on the couch, you were met with Nicole's beaming smile.

"Honey, come take a picture of me. Can't let that moment pass without one!" She said, handing you her phone as she made her way towards the TV on the wall, waiting for the cameras to show Oscar again.

" Girls, I am happy to say we will not be attending our 6am pilates session. This calls for a celebration!" Oscar's mom said, earning a laugh from everyone.

You waited a few hours for all the commotion to pass alongside all of Oscar's post-race interviews and media obligations before you tried calling him. It took a while, and you were ready to hang up before your boyfriend's beaming face popped up on your screen, making your heart melt for the hundredth time in the past couple of hours.

"Oscar! You did it, love! I'm so happy for you! Oh my goodness, I still can't believe this happened!" You shouted, now in the confines of your own apartment where you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. " I'm so proud of you, baby! I never doubted your talent and determination to do this!"

"Thank you, baby! I still can't believe this happened. Oh, how I wish you were here." Oscar said, a tired smile nestling on his face.

" I wish I could've been there as well, baby, but you know how it is. Duty calls in hour of the day and corners of the world." You said, earning a chuckle from the tired man on your screen.

" I'll try to come home for a few days before Belgium, love. I need to see you as soon as possible. " Oscar said, his smile faltering a bit.

" I'll be waiting for you, baby, keeping warm hugs and kisses from when you arrive." You said, trying to lighten up the mood.

" I don't know what I'd do without you, love. I miss you so much, but I think I've got to get going. Celebratory dinner is impending. I'll try to call you again as soon as we're done!" Oscar said, blowing a kiss in your direction.

" And don't forget to ring your mom! Or she'll lock you out of the house the next time you try to come back home!" You added, returning hus gesture.

" At least I'll get to spend more time with you in your place then! I love you, I have to go now! " He said, you could tell he was in a rush now.

" Love you too, bye!" You said before hanging up and laying down on your couch. While your boyfriend celebrated his first win, you were in desperate need of a nap before the Piastri family rings your doorbell in a couple of hours to go celebrate Oscar's win as well.

You didn't expect to be woken up in the early hours of Tuesday morning, but alas, it happened. As you rubbed away the sleepiness from your eyes, you made your way to the entrance of your apartment, not even bothering to use the peephole first before swinging the door open.

At the threshold of your apartment stood your boyfriend, a goofy smile on his lips ,a suitcase in one hand, and a bouquet of white roses in the other.

" Surprise!" He said sheepishly, opening his arms to welcome your tired form.

"Baby..." You mumbled as your head found its way to the crock of Oscar's neck, your arms enveloping his waist as you pulled him in for a hug. " Don't think I'm not enjoying this, but...it's 6am in the morning."

" I couldn't wait longer to see you. I needed you in my arms, badly." Oscar said before placing a gentle kiss on the side of your head.

You lifted your head from its comfortable position, heading directly for his lips.

" I love you so much." You whispered, smiling gently as you looked him directly in the eyes.

Your tired ones were met with Oscar's, which were bubbling with love and excitement from the past few days' events.

" These are for you." Oscar said as your attention fell on the white roses he held in his left hand.

" Thank you, baby. They're beautiful, just like my Formula 1 race winning boyfriend. " You grinned as you accepted the flowers, their gentle fragrance touching your senses immediately. " You are the one who won a race, and still you are giving me flowers." You said, making him laugh

"Well, I had to make sure you knew how much I love and appreciate you," he replied, his eyes twinkling with affection.

"You're too sweet," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss deepened, filled with all the longing and love that had built up during your time apart. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, one of your hands now caressing the base of his neck, makjng him yawn at the soft touches. "But we should really get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

Oscar chuckled softly. "I am, but I just wanted to be with you. Let's go to bed."

You nodded, taking his hand and leading him inside. The bouquet found its place in a vase on the kitchen counter before you both headed to the bedroom. Oscar dropped his suitcase at the door, and you climbed into bed, finding solace in each other's arms. As you drifted off to sleep, Oscar whispered, "I love you," and you knew that no matter the distance or time apart, your love for each other would always prevail.

The next morning, the two of you were awoken by the soft light filtering through the curtains. You stretched lazily, turning to find Oscar already watching you with a content smile.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face before one of his hands cupped your cheek gently.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling back. "I still can't believe you're here."

"Believe it," he said, pulling you towards him for a quick kiss. "But we should probably get up. I think my mom will kill me if she finds out I'm back and we didn't go visit her."

You laughed, nodding. "Yes, we don't want that. Let's get ready and head over."

After a quick shower and breakfast, you both made your way to Oscar's childhood home. The door swung open to reveal Nicole, who immediately pulled Oscar into a tight hug.

"You didn't call me after your win!" she scolded, but her eyes were full of pride and joy.

"I know, mom, I'm sorry," Oscar replied, hugging her back. "but I called the most important person first." he added, glancing at you with a cheeky grin.

Nicole laughed, shaking her head. "Well, I guess I can forgive you for that. Come on in, both of you. We have so much to celebrate!"

The day was spent in a joyous celebration with Oscar's family. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the house, and the pride everyone felt for Oscar was palpable. As the evening drew to a close, you found a quiet moment with Oscar in the garden.

"Thank you for being here," he said, pulling you close. "I couldn't have done this without your support."

"You would have done it regardless, but I'm glad I could be here for you, even if "here" means on the other side of the world." you replied, resting your head on his shoulder as you felt Oscar chuckle at your response.

Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Oscar."

A few weeks later, the buzz in the paddock was different. You and Oscar made your way through the crowd. You had finally found a possible way to you to travel for a while and spend time with Oscar while still managing your workload.

As you walked past a group of journalists, one of them called out, "Oscar, what's your secret to staying so calm under pressure these days?"

Oscar smiled, glancing at you before replying, "I've got the best support system in the world. That makes all the difference."

He said as he lifted up your joint hands for everyone to see.

You squeezed his hand, heart swelling with pride and love. Together, you faced the world, knowing that no matter what challenges came your way, you would always have each other.

And as the race weekend continued, you couldn't help but smile at the whispered conversations around the paddock, all noting the same thing—Oscar Piastri was happier than ever, and it was all thanks to the love and support you shared.

The end of the race saw Oscar once again on the podium, and as he looked out into the crowd, his eyes found yours. He lifted the trophy high, dedicating hus success to you with a simple, heartfelt gesture that spoke volumes. It was a new chapter in both your lives, filled with love, triumphs, and the unbreakable bond you shared.

MASTERLIST

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weeknd-ogoc · 11 months

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4EVER・。.・゜✭・. LANDO NORRIS

SUMMARY: in which lando finally comes to his senses after seeing pictures of ferrari's golden boy and you. FACE CLAIM: claudia tihan CONTAINS: jealous!lando, unprotected sex, the guys being lando's therapist, some charles x reader, toxicness on both sides, some fluff and angst! AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's our king's 24th birthday! i felt like this was a bit messy but i hope you guys like it anyways!

lando had been in the worst mood all week after seeing photos on twitter of charles and you leaving a hotel in brazil, just last week. what makes matters worse was that you weren't answering any of his messages or calls and you hadn't stopped by to visit him like you usually did.

he kept looking at the picture of you on his lock screen of you smiling with a burger in your hand — he had planned to take you out to a fancy restaurant but forgot to make reservations so you guys ended up in a burger king parking lot, eating french fries and greasy burgers.

"this is like a date..." you had said as you shoved a french fry in his mouth.

he shook his head and finished chewing. "not a date, trust me i'd go all out for our first date."

that had been the very beginning of your relationship.

the two of you had started off as good friends — he had followed you on instagram after seeing a post of you modeling in lingerie for victoria's secret and just a few hours after you had followed him back.

a few months of talking nonstop, he had taken a serious liking in you so after a race he decided to hang around with daniel and he ended up showing him your photos.

"man if you don't fly her out for our next race, best believe i will." he had said as he continued scrolling through your photos. "how the hell did you pull her? if i wa-"

lando rolled his eyes and snatched his phone back from him. "first of all, you're so old you wouldn't even know what to do with all that."

two days later he had flew you to texas where lando spent most of the time showing you some cool places. he had invited you to stay in his hotel room and you gladly said yes since the two of you were friends but with all of lando's flirting he was finally able to pass the friendship stage.

after he had taken you to an amusement park, he had taken you to an empty parking lot where you guys found yourselves in the backseat of his mclaren — he had the top of your dress half off and his pants was unbuckled. "trust me when it does happens..." he mumbled in between kisses as he had two of his fingers deep inside you. "i'm going to rock your world."

a month later when the time came of lando “rocking your world” he had struggled to find a condom in his room while you were there laying completely naked, wrapped up in his blanket.

he went through every drawer he had but nothing. "i mean are you sleeping with anyone else?" he asked and you shook your head no.

"are you?"

"no, just you as of right now..."

"you don't have any diseases do you?" you now asked him and he shook his head.

the both of you stared at each other for a few seconds before he jumped into his bed and began roughly kissing you — he put the work in for a few minutes before busting a load right into you.

"that's never happened before..." he mumbled. "i swear i can last longer than that!"

“c’mon lando, i thought you said you were going to rock my world.” you giggled as he slid out of you. “pretty sure it’ll take longer than three minutes.”

“c’mon baby stop making jokes.” he whined as he hid into the crook of your neck. “give me a few minutes and this time i will.”

the both of you had considered yourselves as casual fuck buddies those first few months so whenever the both of you were coincidentally in the same town he was giving it to you raw since you were the only one he was being sexually active with.

“fuck you’re so wet…” he moaned into your ear as he thrusted up into you. "you feel that? it’s all for you, so hard just for you."

it was going good but then you started questioning the whole thing, making him also question if he was truly ready for a serious relationship with you.

"i just want to know if this will ever be serious..." you had asked him as you slid on one of his shirts and sat back down on his bed. "i mean its been a year already of doing whatever this is."

"i like what we have why ruin it?"

for months he was able to creep around that same question — until last week after you found out that he went to the club, which was fine you were able to go out also but he had a certain girl around him all night that wasn't you. by the next morning twitter had posted the pictures with this girl on his lap, kissing and hugging him.

when you went to go visit him later that morning he had a hickey on his neck that he supposedly didn't even know he had. "i was drunk but i swear nothing happened!"

he was lying and he truly felt bad for what he had done, you out of all people definitely didn't deserve that. he had tried to get close to you multiple times but you kept backing away from him.

you weren't dumb, you knew that he definitely hooked up with the girl.

after going back and forth you had began crying out of frustration. you wiped your tears with the ends of your sweater. "i mean i don't know, i thought i was the only one..."

"you are, y-"

he then received a call from oscar making him remember he had to go to the paddock for media day. "fuck, i have to go but please just wait for me here and i'll make it up to you."

you sighed as you grabbed your phone from his bed and stood up. "i'm actually meeting with someone later so i have to go but i don't know if i want to work this out this time."

unfortunately for him the conversation couldn't continue because he had started getting messages and missed calls so after his interviews he tried texting you whenever he could but you never replied, just leaving him on read.

he knew you probably needed some cooling down so he left it as is.

"i honestly think you fumbled..." max butted into the conversation lando was having with the group. "let it be known that before you y/n and charles had a little fling going on."

charles choked on the water he was drinking and glared at max.

"woah hold on, you and y/n?" lando asked charles as sat up straight. "has she texted you since we started talking?"

he cleared his throat as max smiled at him, already knowing the truth to that question. "um well it wasn't really anything too serious and we haven't talk-"

"but there was that time they hun-" max butted in again and earned an elbow to the arm from charles.

"there was a time that we hung out after some argument you guys had about you and your ex talking but nothing happened."

lando tensed up after that he remembered that fight, you had left his house that day and didn’t talk to him for a whole week. he made sure to send you flowers and gifts throughout that week as an apology.

he knew he had no right to be jealous of you hanging out with charles. you were obviously allowed to have friends and hang out with whoever you wanted but he now understood how you felt when he would talk to his ex girlfriend.

"she made me cookies once, i love her!" daniel then announced as he looked up from his phone. "and i think you love her too but you're scared of telling her that, why is that?"

"i'm not scared it's just cause she makes me nervous, she makes me feel things that i don't want to be feeling."

"like?"

at this point lando knew he had strong feelings for you too, except his feelings might've been a little different than yours so maybe that's why he did what he did.

lando groaned before putting his head down into his hands. "well maybe because i love her and i feel like i could may- potentially marry her or something along those lines." he quickly muttered out. "i hate these stupid feelings."

daniel smirked and patted his back. "there you go buddy."

now he had finally realized why he was scared of commitment because you made him really think about his future with you, his whole life he wanted to be a formula one racer and he knew that getting married and creating a family was supposed to be for after but you made him change his mind about that.

that had been a week ago and since then lando was pissed.

"yes it was wrong for charles saying it was nothing serious and later that day bringing her to his hotel room but i mean she did tell you she didn't want to work it out anymore." max told him over the phone. "just let her go man."

max saw the way lando looked at you with hearts in his eyes whenever you were around but he also knew you were starting to get inside of lando's head, he was no longer thinking of his career the way he used to because of you.

"you're only saying that because you don't like her..." lando said as he sat himself on the couch and hugged on a blanket that you had gifted him for when he traveled. "if it was luisa, you would've told me to get her back."

"i do like her but i just feel like this is all happening so fast."

he continued to listen to max's rant as he went to go open the door after hearing someone knocking.

"just a few weeks ago you were just hooking up with her and now it's you're in love with her."

"umm max, i'll call you later."

before max could even register his words, lando had already hung up and was now looking at you standing in front of his door.

the both of you hadn't spoken for almost two whole weeks and now here you were — your hair was perfectly curled, you had on his sweatpants that he left at your place awhile back and a hoodie on.

"you look beautiful..." he mumbled as he opened the door wider for you.

and instead of going right in, you wrapped your arms around him and he immediately wrapped his around your waist. "stop lying, i look homeless."

he chuckled before hugging you even harder. "even so, you still look beautiful."

you softly pinched his back at his joke and after you guys ended up in his living room, he held onto your hand not wanting to ask you about charles because he didn't want to risk that possibility of losing you to him.

but he had to.

"i saw the pictures with charles in brazil, did you..."

the truth was that you had gone to charles's hotel room because he wanted to talk to you about lando and at the moment you didn't so you had kissed him — charles kissed you back but before it could have gotten any further he stopped it and rested his forhead onto yours.

"are you and lando over?" he asked you.

you shrugged your shoulders. "i think so."

charles had grown to love you in the short time of knowing you but he knew you always went to him to get back at lando in a way.

"you know he loves you right?" he sat up and sighed. "daniel was able to get it out of him."

when you didn't say anything, he knew you what you wanted in this moment. "go, i'm sure he's probably waiting for you."

yet, you didn't go and instead you kissed him again.

"if he did love me, he wouldn't have done what he did." you whispered.

charles knew that he shouldn't let it get any further since he knew you were most likely going to go back to lando after all of this and it'll leave him heartbroken once again but if he could have you for just this short time, he'd take it.

"no of course not." you told lando and he sighed before hugging you.

"promise?"

you nodded. "i promise that's all that happened."

lando wasn't dumb, he knew that you had definitely hooked up with charles.

he just wasn't going to say anything about it.

before the both of you knew it, lando was once again inside of you — one arm on the side of your head and the other on your waist, his hips moving in hard thrusts.

"i love you, you know that right?"

you moaned out a little yes. "i love you too, so much..."

"i'm going to marry you, i swear and give you babies..." you nodded along as he continued to thrust into you. "we're going to be together forever."

you nodded knowing his words were true while creaming around him and he pushed into you with a final groan. "forever."

thank you guys for reading, my requests are open!

f1 and f2 masterlist!

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ac3may · 9 months

Text

"One of us"

(Lando Norris x Fem!Reader)

F1 Requests = Open

It's a little later than I'd like it but here's a little Christmas something, something to kick off my F1 content.

Also first proper SMAU, how'd I do??

Description: "Reader joins the Norris family for their Christmas celebrations and realises just how much they mean to her through a few short days"

Masterlist

Who I Write For

Words: 1.8k

UrUsername has posted a story

“UNCLE LALA!”

A bright smile spreads across your boyfriend's face as he catches the small bundle of energy catapulting herself toward him. Mila’s legs fly behind her as he spins and she relishes in her uncle's attention.

Smiling softly at the sight, the Christmas lights decorating his parent's country home glisten in the background. You begin unloading your suitcases from the car as tiny footsteps and little giggles disappear across the sprawling gravel driveway.

Soon enough Lando’s arms sneak around your waist, halting any attempt at movement. “I can do that, Lovey.” His lips pepper kisses to your hairline as he inches you aside gently.

“I can help too,” you insist, stubborn words contrasting your actions as you grin at the roll of eyes and scoff he returns.

“You know that’s not how this works baby.”

Smirking a little to yourself you resign yourself to watching happily. The Christmas jumper spread taught across his back, muscles rippling through the knitwear as he works. Catching his eye with a wink when he turns.

When you pull yourself from focusing on the handsome man you begin working in tandem, unloading his packed SUV of presents and suitcases for your week ahead.

UrUsername posted on instagram

UrUsername: Ski trip? Completed it✔️ Bring on Norris family xmas '24

The home that greets you is warm, the air scented with a glorious mix of gingerbread and cinnamon. You manage a single step through the front door before Cisca immediately fusses over you.

Exchanging hugs, collecting coats and ignoring her son entirely. Which has you giggling as he huffs and grumbles behind you.

Further down the hallway Adam and Oli have gathered, baby Athena resting peacefully in her grandfather's arms. They let out much fuller laughs at your boy as the Belgian woman continues to dot on you.

Your hands emptied and you're ushered towards her daughters (and daughter-in-law), all watching on in amusement, hot drinks in hand.

Lando has lugged both of your large suitcases inside and is midway kicking off his shoes when his mother finally turns to him. A sassy remark falls from his lips as he embraces her tightly, a loving grin on his lips as he catches your gaze over her shoulder.

'I love you,' your lips form the words silently as you mouth your affections, and he returns the silent words as you're both swept in different directions. The Norris women surround you and drag you further into the open-plan kitchen, pressing a warm mug into your hold, desperate to hear all about the ski trip you had recently returned from. Meanwhile, Mila hurricanes into the entryway gaining the full focus of the Norris men. Cisca stands back, admiring her family finally gathered together under one roof.

lando.jpg posted on instagram

lando.jpg: 🦌☃️❤️

After a big family breakfast and a long thirty-minute attempt at getting the entire family out the door, you were squished in Lando’s backseat between his sisters. You had given up your passenger princess privileges so Adam could sit up front with his son. Who had adamantly refused to give up the control of driving to ride in his parent's backseat. The rest of the Norris clan follows behind you in Savannah’s car.

In following family tradition you’d all decided to spend Christmas Eve in the local town. You were beyond excited to see the small countryside town your boyfriend had been raised in.

Festivities were in full swing when you arrived. You were quickly informed that it was the last day of the holiday market, which annually caused the whole community to gather and have a collective celebration. With Lando’s hand wrapped warmly around yours, you gazed around in awe.

Music was playing from speakers throughout the small village of stands, all set up by local businesses. There was even a small petting zoo and stable where families gathered for a chance to meet donkeys, sheep, goats, chickens, and even reindeer.

What took your breath away though was the big, bushy, towering tree standing in the centre of the town square, draped in lights and baubles, a gold glowing star shining on top.

“Woah.”

You breathe the word almost silently, catching Lando’s attention his head turns to eye you adoringly. “Pretty, huh?” He offers, giving a squeeze to your hand.

You nod in return, childlike glee shining in your eyes as you peer up at him. Giggles escape as he enjoys your joy, tugging lightly to pull you with him into the maze of festive joy in front of you.

savnorris reposted UrUsername's story

The sun begins to dip beyond the horizon as the family gathers together, you among them. Empty hot chocolate cups littering the table in front of you. Mila perches on your lap, both tiny hands wrapped protectively around the carrot she had spent seven minutes meticulously picking. She had spent the whole time excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide, as she anticipated providing the treat for Santa’s reindeer that evening.

Despite the light tickles you leave up and down the sides of the tiring girl in your hold your focus is towards the curly-haired boy across from you. His attention is captured by the youngest Norris, little giggles escaping her as he pulls faces and blows raspberries against her rosy cheeks.

Moments later collective cheering distracts you and all heads turn towards the stage which has stood empty all day. The town band now stand upon it, jingle bells sounding as they begin to play. Folk around you start to dance and sing away. A bright smile beams across your face and the little girl in your arms perks up as well, jumping to her feet in front of you.

“Tee! Tee! Dance with me!” With her calling out for her aunts you direct your attention to the stage, but only for several seconds before an insistent hand is tugging at yours. “Tee! Tee! Dance!”

You look around for Flo or Cisca before your eyes meet back with the small ones honed on you, “… me?” You ask the girl, pointing at yourself, confusion laced in your tone.

“Duh!” You see your boyfriend in her at her sassy remark, feeling another impatient tug on your fingers. Scrambling over your shock you scramble to your feet, taking both tiny hands in your own as you jump, twirl, giggle and sing with the two-year-old.

Collapsing heavily onto the sofa beside you Lando grumbles, dramatically clutching at his stomach.

“I. Am. Stuffed.” He declares, shuffling around to get comfortable before draping his limbs around you lazily.

You laugh at the boy as he clutches to you like a child, still wiggling into the perfect position. He continues to groan in frustration before huffing and forcing your hand upon his head. “Scratch.” He demands.

Internally you can’t help but be amused and a little enamoured with his sass, loving his clingy moods and the fact he’s so comfortable with you in front of his family.

But outwardly you quirk an eyebrow, Lando puffs his lips into a pout giving you big puppy eyes as he adds a soft, “please,” to his sentence.

A little laugh escapes you and you concede easily to his wishes, watching the immediate way his face relaxes.

The TV plays low in the background as the family slowly filters through to join you lounging in the living room. Mila plays with a collection of toy cars on a mat in the middle of the carpet as you speak in soft tones with Flo and Oli as their brother dozes in your lap.

The matriarch of the family is the last to enter through the door of her living room, arms stacked high with gifts.

Adam jumps from the armchair he’d claimed, quick to help his wife with the wobbling pile. She smiles gratefully and leaves again only to reappear moments later with two boxes and a second stack.

Hearing the crinkle of paper your boyfriend's eyes flutter open and his head perks up, swivelling to face his parents as they distribute packages to the occupants around the room.

“Christmas Eve packages,” Lando informs you, “my parents have done them ever since we were kids, usually something matching just to ‘get us in the spirit’,” his explanation finishes with finger quotations, his reaction speed only barely quick enough to catch the present launched towards his face in the process.

“And this one’s for you darling,” Cisca’s motherly tone reaches you and her warm eyes meet yours. She hands the gift to you a loving smile on her face, one you recognise all too well from the way you saw it mirrored on Lando’s daily. Watching the shy smile that plays on your lips as you flip the parcel over in your hands Lando can’t help but press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re one of us now baby,” he grins, noticing the surprise tracing your features. His grin morphs into a smirk as a thought flicks through his head.

Linking your fingers together he raises them up. Lips brushing against your ring finger, “only thing left now is for me to put a ring on it.”

UrUsername posted on instagram

UrUsername: holiday dumps do it better🎄✨

“Hey, bubs?”

Lando hums in response, snuggling his nose further into your neck, as if he could get any closer. His position already left half your body smothered by him. Carding your fingers rhythmically through his dark hair you continue, your voice gentle, unwilling to break the peaceful bubble you’d created within his childhood bedroom.

“Thank you.”

His head pulls back from you, yours tilting down to meet his eyes. Lando rolls off of you but still manages to create no distance as he props himself on his side. “What for Lovey?”

Your eyes roam down his, now bare, chest to spy his plaid pyjama trousers as you are flooded with the recollection of your evening. Of how only hours before you had watched him stubbornly argue against the matching nightwear until you batted your eyes at him. Of the teasing he’d received for the quick dissolve of his resolve. Of Mila’s excitement as she placed her carefully selected carrot beside the cookies you’d helped her bake. Of Lando’s boyish grin as you dusted the crumbs of said cookies from his chin several hours later. Of the giggles shared over glasses of mulled wine and tipsy twister once the young ones were sound asleep.

“For everything,” you eventually respond, “for inviting me to spend the holidays with you, for your family accepting me, for you loving me, for everything.” The twinkle of love in your eye shines brightly, and is returned in his as he sees the emotion take hold of you.

“You never need to thank me for loving you, Y/N L/N. It’s an honour in itself for you to allow me the pleasure of loving you. And my family agree.” His palm raises to cup against your cheek, fingers tucking a few rogue strands of hair behind your ear as his lips tenderly meet yours, plushy and perfect.

(All pictures taken from Pinterest and edited for story purposes and fan consumption)

#ace writes stuff #f1 x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 smau #smau #f1 smau #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smau #f1 imagine #christmas imagine #christmas smau

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cheolaholic · 1 year

Text

ring of love; csc (01)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n; AND THE FIC IS OUT 💃🏻✨

ngl, i posted up the teaser at around 1am just to see how it'd go (was planning on deleting it right afterwards if nothing showed up). i woke up like 6 or 7 hours later and holy shit yall - i wasn't expecting it to get so much attention or blow up 😭 and it was just a TEASER 😭✋🏻 i've also gone through the small notes section of the taglist form (my favorite is the one that said they like my brain lol) either ways, i'm so glad you're all as excited as i am for this fic 🥹🫶🏻 it really means a lot to me <33

i'd also like to point out that i'm writing this fic as i go, kind of going with the flow, so, occasionally some things might not make sense but let's hope the flow goes well 🙏🏻

taglist at the end !

click here to join the taglist ♡

“hey there, babygirl,” vernon greeted as he took a seat in front of you at the library desk.

the nickname had you looking up from your laptop, shooting the boy a grimacing look.

“vernon, what the fuck?”

vernon chwe, an art major you had met on the first day of college during orientation, since both of you were in the same freshman group during said orientation.

you were entirely new to seoul, having spent most of your life in a small town in daegu (alongside your introverted nature, talking to new people while having to adjust to your new surroundings was basically an introvert’s nightmare).

when vernon approached you during one of the 30 minute breaks, he handed you a bottle of coke, a friendly gesture you appreciated a lot. that wasn’t what caught your eye though - it was his clothes. it’s not every day you’d see a college student wearing a bright neon tie-dyed shirt.

when vernon noticed your staring, he simply said “ah, yeah, the rest of my clothes are in the dryer. i’m vernon, by the way! vernon chwe!”

“...i’m ___,” came your response, “lee ___.”

from then on, you’ve both been stuck to each other like glue. always seen together to the point you both had been mistaken as a couple one too many times.

guess the saying of 'you're not real besties unless people think you're a couple' is true to an extent.

though you both have made it clear that the relationship between the two of you is strictly platonic.

the boy laughs at your reaction before shutting up as a few students shoot him a dirty look, a few others shushing him. “it’s fun messing with you, ___,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting to get on the nerves of the other students, “watcha working on?”

“just the usual presentation preparations,” you answered as you pushed back up your glasses and continued typing away.

“is this a group or solo project?”

“solo, which thank god. if this was a group and i had another bad luck on my groupmates, i was going to lose it.”

vernon cringes at the mention of groupmates. in your previous group assignment, you were stuck with not one, not two; but three parasites. he remembered how sleep deprived and stressed you were throughout the semester for said group project. he’d gotten you to submit an email to the lecturer in charge, writing out in extreme detail how you had to bear the responsibilities of the group members while they were out and about, partying, going out on dates etc.

however, you decided to go even further than just submitting an email.

it was the day of the presentation. as your lecturer sat in the front row seat alongside two other faculty members, you looked at your parasitic freeloading groupmates that were standing to your left.

“are you guys ready?” you asked in a quiet voice.

when they nodded their heads, you smiled as you pressed the clicker in your hand. anyone would have assumed your smile was that of an encouraging smile. you however, knew better.

as the first slide was projected onto the projection screen, the topic of the presentation was written in a big font while all four names of yours and your groupmates were written underneath it.

as you pressed on the clicker, one by one, the names of your groupmates began to be removed from the slide. the classroom was confused before catching on - you were calling out your group mates for being parasites.

your groupmates watched in a panic state as the students began whispering amongst themselves; the faculty members jotting things down on their clipboards.

once all the three names were removed with your name being the only one left on the slide, in a calm and collected voice, you said, “now, shall we begin the presentation?”

vernon remembered the proud expression you had when he met up with you the same day. “how’d it feel?” he asked, having helped you with your research and planned out the execution for the revelation of the free loaders.

“amazing!” came your reply with a beaming smile, satisfied.

“whatever happened to those three anyways?”

shrugging, you heard from some classmates that they had either gotten suspended or needed to retake the class. but, you didn’t care.

why would you?

if anything, you were glad you didn't have to deal with them for the rest of your studying years.

"hmm, fair enough," vernon responded before placing both arms on the table, leaning forward, "so, got any friday night plans?"

"if you're planning to drag me to a frat party-"

"not a frat party."

looking up from your laptop with an eyebrow raised, the boy just shoots you a smile - a smile that you can't help but feel suspicious of.

as you saved your work progress and shut down your laptop, vernon spoke again.

"have you heard of underground boxing?"

"i am not going to get in a boxing ring."

"you don't have to!"

once you've packed up your stuff and headed out of the library together, he explained more about the underground boxing.

it's a monthly event and is usually held somewhere in itaewon. when you mentioned that you didn't think vernon was the type to take part in these events, he replied with, "that's because i don't. a close friend of mine does and i usually go to support him with two other close friends!"

"and where do i play a part in this… support group?"

"don't hate me for this, okay? i just think that you could use some outdoor time, ya'know? i know you're introverted and want to hole up in your apartment the entire weekend, but it wouldn't hurt to try something new!"

you were silent for a moment.

"so, i'm a bore, is what you're getting at."

"what!? no! absolutely, not!"

when you let out a laugh at vernon's reaction, it had a few students around both of you stunned.

maybe it's due to your introverted nature that everyone assumed you'd be cold-natured too, black cat energy they call it.

but to vernon, he knew it wasn't the case. you just needed to be around the right people or in a setting you're familiar/comfortable with to be yourself.

'naturally introverted, selectively extroverted' as they called it.

"i'll go if you pick me up."

"does seven sound good to you?"

"yeap."

"aight, bet."

introverted ass: ik i should've asked this earlier

introverted ass: but is there like a dress code or smtg?

introverted ass: bcs i don't wanna show up looking extremely out of place

vrrnonie: casual should be okay

vrrnonie: maybe bring a jacket along

introverted ass: but it's a boxing match

introverted ass: wouldn't it be hot and stuffy from all that sweat

introverted ass: ?

vrrnonie: it's actually air conditioned, believe it or not

vrrnonie: and it's well ventilated too

vrrnonie: and there's not much people, dont worry

vrrnonie: the place can hold up to 100+ ppl

vrrnonie: but they usually only let in abt 70-ish?

vrrnonie: not wanting to be too stuffy, crowd control etc

introverted ass: so i'm assuming i can just wear my sweater and tights?

vrrnonie: yeapp

vrrnonie: reaching in 10 btw

introverted ass: wtf

vrrnonie: you can do your makeup in the car when we reach

vrrnonie: it doesn't start til 10pm so we can grab some dinner

introverted ass: again, wtf

vrrnonie: love ya bestie 😘

introverted ass: 🙄✋🏻

true to his word, vernon did show up ten minutes later at your apartment front door.

parking his mercedes-benz in one of the few empty spots, he then brought you to a diner he deemed to have the best burger in all of itaewon (of course that was after he let you finish doing your makeup, as he had promised you).

"so… how long have your friends been doing this whole underground boxing thing?" you asked, stabbing a few fries on a fork before shoving them into your mouth.

"oh, just one of them actually," vernon replied with his mouth half full of his beef burger. "wonwoo hyung acts as the manager while mingyu hyung and i are there as first aiders. occasionally, we'd help him train too. but, mingyu is the one he trains with since he works out more than i do."

"does this boxer friend of yours have a name?"

"i can't really say his actual name out here. but, his stage name is scoups!"

why does that stage name sound so familiar… you ponder.

it's now 1230am and you've been out way longer than you should be (technically, more like longer than you wanted).

by right, shou should now be on your bed, cuddled up in your blanket as you binge whatever series or movies are available on the many streaming platforms offered.

yet, here you are - in an underground boxing ring somewhere in itaewon all because your best friend had decided you should spend more time outside.

the match was nearing its final round and based on what you've heard from the people sitting beside you (vernon had left to go to the locker rooms where his friends were; but had assured you everyone is respectable and won't try anything weird. it didn't reassure you completely to be left alone in the crowd, but any kind of reassurance is acceptable at this point), it seems that the two final boxers would be JK and scoups.

(you had also taken a lot of toilet breaks due to the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd for an extended period of time)

you still ask yourself why the name 'scoups' sound so familiar…

it was only when the loud cheers snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to shift your focus onto the ring that you finally realise why that name sounded so familiar.

because right in that boxing ring, stood an old face you've been longing to see for years.

choi seungcheol.

taglist (i can't tag a few for some reason ㅠㅠ);

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwoo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock

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simpxxstan · 2 months

Note

hi i would like to req cheol x fem!reader with the song you are in love by taylor swift. thank you!

congrats on 500 followers btw 🫶🏼

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event (closed now)!

thank you for this request, really hoping you like it! i'm not a swiftie so i was unsure of how to interpret the song prompt. hope i did it justice! posting very very late, thank you for being patient for so long <3 happy bday month to cheollie!!! i love him so much and this couple too. i think i might write a few more drabbles for them later lol

genre: coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers, fluff

word count: 3.3k words

warnings: reader is fwb with an oc (not seungcheol).

"you are in love!" your best friend says. "yeah, i know." you sigh, "that's why i've been ranting for so-" "no, silly! not with jay. you're in love with seungcheol!" you had laughed off her words, wondering if she'd become tipsy way too fast into your girls' night.

but when you're lying in your bed later that night, the thought lingers in your mind- the alcohol clearing up and making you progressively more sober as the cold air from the open window hits you, while your friend snores soundly next to you.

"think about it." "i am thinking ab-" "no, you've never really thought about this before. think about it clearly." you'd laughed heartily at her faux-wisdom, which always appeared after finishing two cans of beer.

but she's right. you have actually never thought about this. you've been so obsessed with getting jay to like you that you've never really given a second thought about seungcheol... and what he really means to you now.

"i'd expect more from a stats major and a data analyst, honestly. aren't you supposed to be logical and rigorous-" you slap her arm while doubling over with laughter, knowing full well that she's imitating the words of an infamous professor in your college. "i am being logical. we're just coworkers."

were you?

now that you think about it, certainly not. you're more than coworkers. more like friends. more like best friends. in fact, he's the closest friend you've made since your days in college. just coworkers don't buy each other their favourite drinks when the other has a bad day. just coworkers don't hang out for hours after work nearly every other day. just coworkers don't invite each other to parties with their separate friend groups. just coworkers don't have inside jokes that prevent you from forming friends with anyone else in the office.

your mind travels back to last thursday, when seungcheol had saved your ass for the nineteenth time this year when you'd arrived late by preventing the boss from noticing.

and the thursday before that, when seungcheol had dropped you home after he'd found out that jay had made you cry during an argument in the break room just before work got over.

and the thursday before that, when you'd gone with seungcheol to taste the menu at three different banquets because he was busy planning the wedding of his best friend, joshua, and needed an unbiased taster.

did just coworkers know everything about each other? including his dentist appointment's dates, the last time you went grocery shopping, the last time he went to watch a movie, the vitamin supplements you eat after breakfast, and so much more.

you smile in the darkness. no, you and seungcheol could never be just coworkers. you're best friends, nothing less of that.

but love?

ah, no. you'll bet your life on this one. you've been in love before. and what you feel for seungcheol is nothing like it.

your heart hammers in your chest as you ring the doorbell again, the weight of the melting cake heavy in your hand. you distinctly remember jay telling you that he'd be home tonight, then why wasn't he responding to his calls nor opening his door?

you're answered about twenty minutes later. you're sitting on the stairs in front of his flat when you hear him walking up the stairs... and there's someone else's voice too. a female voice.

"y/n?"

words get caught in your throat when you see mina, the new intern fresh out of a college, walking right beside him, arm looped in his, a hickey prominent on her neck, freshly bruised.

"why are you here?" she asks you, and you wince.

"i wanted to surprise you... for your birthday! sorry, i- i didn't know you had plans."

jay smiles as he looks at mina next to him, and pulls her closer. "no, mina actually surprised me too. and we went out dancing. sorry, have you been waiting for long? you should've call-"

"i did."

jay pulls out his phone and checks it. "oh shucks. you've been calling for the last twenty minutes," he takes a step forward and leans in to kiss your cheek, lightly. "you can join us for dinner? i'm sure mina won't mind." mina definitely minds, because she looks like she's going to shoot you down in a matter of seconds.

"nah, i'll just leave. happy birthday though. i can see you had a good one." would you be petty if you didn't give him the cake?

"sorry for making you wait for so long, y/n-ah."

one year and four months.

"no worries, man. enjoy your night. bye mina!" and you smile, like the stupid people-pleaser you are. at least you brought the cake with you.

"what's up?" seungcheol opens the door and you smell the heavenly aroma of fried noodles from his kitchen greet you.

"thank you for opening the door."

seungcheol raises an eyebrow at you. "why would i not open the door? you're literally-"

"yeah no, that's cause jay didn't. he went out with mina, it turns out." you stuff the cake into his fridge and stand next to him where he's cooking in a wok.

"mina? intern mina?"

"yeah. they made out too... so i'm guessing it wasn't friendly."

seungcheol scoffs. "mina joined, like, last week."

"two weeks."

"he switched you up for her although he's been with you for a year and a half."

"she's twenty-two, cheol. i'm pushing thirty. i'm not sexy anymore." you bite your lip as you look at the word puzzle in the newspaper on the coffee table. seungcheol doesn't reply immediately, so your heart sinks a little further. even if he doesn't subjectively find you sexy, he could just say it to console you. well, but it's a stretch to even expect that from-

"you're the sexiest woman i've ever met." seungcheol says, his voice softer, as he plops down next to you, holding two bowls filled with the fried noodles. he begins to eat wordlessly, legs propped up on the coffee table, almost inhaling the food. if you move your leg a little, your bodies would touch.

you don't reply. you can't reply. you start eating the food too, relishing the flavours in silence.

"want some more? there's more egg bits towards the bottom, i know you-"

"it doesn't matter if you think i'm the sexiest woman. clearly he doesn't."

"is jay the only person whose opinion matters?"

"are you really asking me that?"

"what i am asking you is that you've wasted one year and a half pining over a man who doesn't care for anything more than sex, and you still hope he's worth your time?"

your breath stutters. seungcheol's staring at you, and you feel shameful and self-conscious suddenly. all the fire and rage from your earlier comments dissipate and you sigh.

"you think i don't have a chance at all?"

"jay is an asshole, y/n. i think that you shouldn't care about him at all. but that's just what i think. my opinion doesn't ma-"

"shut the fuck up," you extend a hand to grab his wrist and make him look at you again.

seungcheol does look at you again but doesn't say anything.

"my best friend says i like you."

seungcheol's fork clatters in his bowl and you both turn to look at each other.

you have no idea why you say that. sure, it's been on your mind all day, all evening, and suddenly you feel like you're on your toes around him through the day. even when you two sat together at work, you'd become oddly conscious of his presence in your periphery, which has never occurred to you before.

"do you?"

and you have no idea why he says it either. in all the million possible options of things he could've said right now, you'd never imagined him asking this to you right on your face.

so you have nothing to say, except a very shaky, a very feeble, "i don't know."

the next day, two things happen.

first, seungcheol isn't talking to you. well, he is talking. but not properly. talking like could you press the elevator button or do you want some grapes or did you read the mail.

second, jay's talking to you a lot. he follows you into the break room and apologises again for standing you up on his birthday night.

"it's okay really. i hope you had a wonderful time with mina." you don't make eye contact, not really interested in listening to his whining, instead more focused on making the espresso you know that seungcheol craves during the afternoon.

"i... just wanted to clarify. there's nothing between us, you know. nothing going on." "you don't have to clarify that to me-" "i know. but still. wanted to know if it's all good between us." you push your tongue into your cheek to stop a curse from coming out. finally you pick up the two mugs of coffee and face him. "yes jay, all's good." jay smiles widely. "so are we on for the annual company dinner for this weekend?"

shit. you'd forgotten about that.

"umm-"

"but we go every year!" and jay throws you those puppy eyes that bring out the wrinkles next to his eyes that were the first reason you'd fallen for him.

it, surprisingly, doesn't make you feel weak in the knees.

"i'll confirm by tonight, okay? gotta go."

you head straight to seungcheol's desk and put down the cup of coffee on his desk, making him look up from his desktop.

"do you have a plus one for the company dinner?"

his eyes widen, and he responds after a moment's pause. "no. but-"

"will you come with me?"

"what?"

"will you be my plus one?"

"but you're going with jay?"

"who told you that?"

"you did, genius. that's all you could talk about on monday."

you cringe internally. you don't even know why you do that- talking so much about jay, thinking so much about jay, just... caring so much for him. is it a parasocial thing? like people crush on their celebrities and make imaginary daydreams about taking care of their crushes? because jay certainly hasn't recicprocated even a tenth of your affection.

or maybe it's because of the sex. it is natural for friends with benefits to end up liking each other. well, in your case, liking the other without the other liking you. perhaps it's the physical intimacy. perhaps it's the consolation that you may be pushing thirty but you're still attractive enough to be on the market. perhaps it's the attention he gives you during your hookups. and perhaps it's the lack of attention from anyon-

wait.

you don't have a lack of attention. you have friends.

so it's not the attention bit.

is it specifically male attention?

but seungcheol is male. and he gives you a lot of attention, but only as a friend. you may be the sexiest woman he's ever met but he would never hook up with you. he's way out of your league.

"i don't want to go with jay." you finally respond back, clicking your tongue.

"huh? isn't that like your dream?"

"seungcheol. don't push it."

"i'm the one pushing it? i tell you not to like him, and you're mad at me. i tell you to like him, and you're still mad at me. what am i supposed to say, y/n?" and he pouts. fucking pouts at you like a little boy who's not allowed to eat sweets, and your heart breaks into a million pieces. you know he's not even trying to fake his cuteness (like jay does sometimes) and yet there's something so adorable about him right now that makes you want to-

fuck.

"just answer me, cheol. please. yes or no?"

"when have i ever said no to you?"

your mouth twists as you nod. he hasn't. ever said no to you.

"i'll tell jay i'll be going with you then."

you turn around to walk away, but seungcheol pulls you back, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up close to his chest so that you have to tilt your head up to talk to him. "what?"

"is this some let's make jay jealous mission?"

"what?!" your eyes go wide and you scoff.

"of course NOT. what do you think i am? i'm not that desperate."

seungcheol sighs.

"whatever you say, darling."

seungcheol looks as good as ever when he comes around to pick you up and drive you to the company dinner that weekend.

"red suits you," he says, taking in the dress you've brought out from your mother's closet specially for this event. this dress is made to impress. it's the dress your mom wore at the party where she met your dad for the first time, and you've heard from dad countless times how enchanting she looked in the dress. you're hoping you'll do the dress half the justice, but clearly you haven't inherited your mother's body proportions, so it doesn't look as good as it did on her. and yet, the plunging sweetheart neckline allows you to wear pretty accessories that you hardly get to wear to work. it is really a dress to impress. somehow, something inside you wants to impress.... someone. and for some reason, you don't think it's jay.

the car ride is silent. it's extremely uncomfortable because you don't remember the last time you spent ten minutes in the same space as seungcheol without talking to him. you knew you shouldn't have raised the my friend thinks i like you shit. but you've raised it and now you can't go back. his question still lingers in your mind, and it feels like a challenge.

do you like him?

when you look at him in the moonlight, his jawline is shaved clean and his hair is slicked off his forehead. it's not like you've never realised before this how handsome seungcheol is. in fact, it was the one of the first things you'd noticed about him. he's got an aura about him that's so attractive from the outside. but as you grew closer to him, the attraction somewhat wore off into a casual comfort... where you can exist in the same space with him without double taking at his beautiful smile or wondering why his dimples are so cute.

but that's not to say that his appeal is lost on you.

under the moonlight, he looks godly.

''i heard jay's going with mina." he finally tells you when he parks into the parking lot.

"good for them." he looks at you and cocks an eyebrow, and you shrug.

you're about to open the door and step out, but he quickly grabs your hand across the car, and pulls you inside.

"umm. y/n, i don't know what you're doing. but i- whatever i said that day- look, i don't like jay because i think he's rude to you? but apart from that i'm sure he's a great guy and you should like him if you want to. and i have no right to say anything about it-"

"what?" you're so confused by his little monologue.

"sorry i'm saying this poorly. what i mean is, please don't let what i said that night make you avoid jay or anything."

"this isn't about that."

"it's not?" he tilts his head in query.

"no. this isn't about how i feel about jay."

"it's not?" he asks you again, his face more confused. you're tempted to smile at the cute confusion on his features, but you know it'll make him mad for spoiling this serious moment.

"this is about how i feel about you."

seungcheol does not utter any more words to you after that. there's still a very prominent confusion on his face, but he masks it well with his natural charm.

but you're not confused at all for once. everything seems to become clear to you with 100% HD clarity. for some reason, it all makes sense now. why your best friend thinks you're in love with seungcheol.

because you've never been in love before.

you've always fallen for the toxic type of person, like jay. relationships that are more about hookups and drunken fights than emotional bonds and care. and your past experience has made you feel that love is nothing smooth. it's always been a rocky path for you. push and pull, where you're both pushed around and pulled to meet to other's conveniences.

but being with seungcheol is so... different.

there's no loneliness. no push and pull, no compromise. only laughter and memories. he makes you smile you more than any of your love interests have made you smile. he makes you laugh ever so often. he takes care of you when you're sick. he cooks for you whenever he comes over because you can't cook to save your life. he wrote you a birthday card. he bought matching t-shirts from a thrift store because you both happened to like the design. right now, when you see the way he's talking to another colleague, his pretty lips articulating every word clearly, your heart warms with fondness. a stray hair sticks out, and you fix it back. he doesn't notice. or he pretends not to. when jay comes around within your periphery, he pulls you closer, and you can't help but smile again. something about everything he does is so endearing.

it's not a eureka moment.

and yet, it feels good to feel love for real for the first time of your life. you can die tonight happily, knowing you're capable of real love. because you know you do love seungcheol. for all his pouty tantrums and all his whining complaints, you love him the most in the world right now, and you simply cannot imagine choosing a life without him.

"do you want to dance?"

seungcheol's been deliberately avoiding eye contact, but now he looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

"no."

you giggle at the sudden reply. "why?" his frown deepens, and you tug at his lips with your fingers. "you don't look good when you frown." "it doesn't matter." "it does." "no one's looking at me." "no one's looking at me either." "shut up. jay's boring holes into your dress with the way he's ogling you." seungcheol's face flares up, and you're mildly amused. "and what about the boy i want to ogle?" "huh?" "you. you're so handsome, cheol." his eyes unfocus from jay and back at you, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

"what are you doing, y/n? why are you playing with my heart?"

"i'm not, though? i'm just telling you how i feel."

"and how's that?"

"i feel like dancing with you under the moonlight. i feel like going on a long drive with you. i feel like hugging you on the warmth of your couch until we fall asleep. i've never done these things, seungcheol, will you come with me?"

"never danced? fuck, you're not being treated right."

and he shows you. he takes you to the centre of the hall area, where the roof's glass so that it's slightly isolated from the result of the expanse, and the moonlight's shining in like a spotlight. there are only a few people dancing there, mostly couples. but seungcheol and you dance at the very centre, lost in each other's eyes, forgetting that this is a public place. it doesn't matter. nothing does. except him.

you are in love, your best friend's voice floats into your mind. and you smile as you look into seungcheol's eyes, realising she was right all along.

so you tell him.

"i love you, cheol."

seungcheol stutters in his step for a second. but it doesn't matter. your pace was anyway too slow. he pulls you closer against his chest, and cups your cheek with one hand. "what's that?"

"i told you this night's about you. and i've realised it now. i am in love."

and when seungcheol kisses you later that night, you're downright thankful you've finally realised your feelings. because how did you ever think you'd survive without his cherry kisses?

#simpxxstan #simpxxstan's 550 followers celebration event #request answered!#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt #svt x reader #seventeen x you #svt fluff #seungcheol imaqines #scoups fluff #svt imagines #svt scoups #choi seungcheol #scoups

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thehusbandoden · 10 months

Note

Can you do hcs about class 1-a with pregnant darling? It's fine if you can't!/Uncomfortable with it!

A/n: of course! I hope these were semi enjoyable lol <3

Pregnant Reader Headcannons Part 2 (Aizawa, Shoto, Shinso, and Tamaki)

General info:

Genre: fluff/slice of life \\ total wc: 1,876 \\ posted: 12/06/2023 \\ requested

Part 1 (Izuku, Bakugo, Kiri, Denki, and Sero)

Aizawa Shota (707 words):

Aizawa always works hard, as we all know.

He not only teaches, but he also works as a pro hero during the night.

He's sleep deprived and very grumpy.. but not to you.

He's sweet and loving, though sometimes tsundere.

He spoils you with gifts and affection whenever he can, trying to slightly make up for the time away from one another.

When he finds out you're pregnant.. he's honestly scared.

He works so much.. how could he ever take care of a child? Not to mention the long and hard nine months you're going to have to face practically alone.

He doesn't show his worry however, he holds you close and kisses your face, reassuring you that everything is going to be okay and that he's happy.

He tries to get paternity leave about four months into your pregnancy, but he didn't actually get it until six months.

And that was from teaching.. he was still working in the middle of the night until you hit eight months.

He was exhausted.

He would wake up at seven, prepare his lesson, make you breakfast, clean up the house, and write you a love letter for you to find. (He secretly placed them in places easy to reach/find).

Afterwards, he goes back to bed and cuddles you until he has to get up again in a few minutes.

Whenever he has to leave you get really sad and it makes him feel so guilty.. especially if you cried or begged him to stay.

He gave you lots and lots of kisses, holding you tightly against him as he apologized, telling you that he would be home before you knew it.

He taught as best as he could even though he hardly got a few hours of sleep, and he graded papers and planned lessons whenever he was on break.

Sometimes he didn't even eat lunch, too busy focussing on his student's papers.

After school he picked you up a gift and wrote you yet another love letter.

He usually returned home with a bouquet of flowers, a treat you've been craving, something to do with one of your hobbies, and a letter full of love.

He'd wrap you in his arms, coddling you with kisses and praise.

The rest of his day was full of you, and only you.

He held you, kissed you, spoiling you in whatever way possible.

He couldn't really sleep well, unable to rest his eyes when you were laying next to him so.. vulnerable.

He usually watched you sleep as he waited for midnight.

When the clock hits midnight he starts to get ready for work, giving you a loving peck every time he passes your sleeping form.

He'll gently shake you awake when it's time for him to leave, telling you that he'll be back in a few hours and that he loved you.

He embraced you tightly, littering kisses up and down your face before giving you a long, proper kiss. Smiling at how you sleepily kissed back.

He left with one more 'I love you', and then he was off to go patrol the streets.

He actually gets off work an hour before he says he does, but he uses that time to get the rest of the papers for his students done.

He gets home about six am, showering before embracing you tightly.

He'll sleep with you for another hour before getting up about an hour later to get everything else done.

All in all he does his very best for you, and absolutely spoils you when he gets paternity leave.

You don't have to do anything but sit there, look pretty, and let your body make that baby.

I'd say he's fairly protective. He doesn't like anyone but 'his' people, and you are the one person who he would do anything for... and maybe Eri, but she comes later.

He intimidates anyone who dares make you uncomfortable.

Though if you're handling well than he'll watch behind you, smirking slightly.

All in all he's a selfless husband. He'd do anything for you, and he doesn't care if that means he gets even less sleep..

(He'll lie about the hours of sleep he's getting so you don't have to worry about him)

Todoroki Shoto (537 words):

Shoto always wanted kids, but he was too afraid to turn out like his dad.

So he never mentioned them, and you didn't either.

Well until you found out you were pregnant.

You were kinda scared to tell him at first, afraid that it would trigger ptsd from his childhood or something.

WEll, luckily for you, he wasn't upset.. at all.

He was nervous, yes. Really nervous, but he was excited and happy.

After a few minutes of staring at the test, thinking about what it meant, he pulled you into a tight embrace, lovingly kissing the apple of your cheek.

He got paternity leave at about five months.

He followed you everywhere, too worried about the 'what ifs' to let you do anything by yourself.

He wouldn't let you carry anything if it was remotely heavy.

Very protective, but in a lot less obvious way.

IF he notices someone looking at you in a lustful way he'll pull you into his chest, placing a hand on your baby bump as if he was screaming at them 'she's taken'.

If it came down to it, he would physically defend you.

But unlike Bakugo, only if he really needed to.

He'll glare and he'll tell them that you're married, but he won't physically harm them unless they started it, or they touched you/got into your space.

He gets really clingy, but he only hovers over you because he's too scared to hurt you and baby.

He'll usually cuddle you if you reassure him that he won't hurt you -or baby-, but he does get really really insecure sometimes and starts to overthink.

Most of the time the only way to pull him out of that is to be upset about it.

If you get really sad/angry he'll hold you against him, apologizing softly.

He'll help you however he can.

But he can't cook..

He literally almost burned the house down... twice.

He tried and tried, but he just can't seem to make anything but cereal.

So instead he hires you a chef.

He massages your feet, shoulders, back, belly bump, anywhere you need it.

You get a daily dose of cuddles and kisses. That isn't negotiable.

One day you were feeling very uncomfortable and didn't want any touch.. you left bed before Shoto and rejected his kisses.

He literally thought that you hated him.

He let you have your space, but he was so freaking sad.

He was angry too, but only at himself.

He started overthinking, thinking that he wasn't good enough, that he worked too hard, and that you deserve someone better.

The thoughts went on and on until he couldn't take it anymore.

HE shyly went over to you, gripping the bottom of his shirt tightly like a child, his head downcast and tears shining in his eyes.

"D-do you.. hate me?" He asked quietly, a tear falling down his cheek.

Your heart broke and you burst into tears, pulling him onto the couch next to you, holding him close as you sobbed, apologizing and telling him how perfect he was and how much you loved him.

He didn't believe you until you repeated it like five times and gave him over three dozen kisses.

He's still partly broken from his past, so even little things like that can make his brain go into overdrive, and he starts to get insecure.

That aside, he's a very sweet, thoughtful, and loving husband.

Shinso Hitoshi (165):

You both already stayed indoors most of the time, but this just cemented it.

He was a protective overthinker. He didn't want anything bad to happen to you.

He doesn't like many people, but when it comes to you he would literally kill for you.. even if that ruins his newly gained reputation.

He got paternity leave about four months into your pregnancy, spoiling you for the long five months afterwards.

He'd glare at anyone who stared at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him.

If it came down to it he would use his quirk to get any creep far away from you.

You usually cuddle all day. It's actually pretty calming.

He takes care of you entirely, cooking, cleaning, the works.

He's amazing at foot massages.

He gets more sleep now because all he does is cuddle you.

He's not very good with helping you with your hormones, but the affection make up for it.

Amajiki Tamaki (430):

Tama is so freaking cute.

He's still shy ofc, but he musters up the courage to protect you.

He will get physical if it comes down to it.

But only if they start to try and touch you.

He's honestly so sweet.

He's so happy and yet so scared.

Out of everyone, he's most definitely the one that over tinks the most.

He worries about everything from him being a terrible parent to his kid getting his anxiety and hating him for the rest of their life because they're being bullied.

He starts to think about birthday parties and prom. What about his child's wedding?! They're father is going to be a mess!

Not to mention labor?!

What if he passes out?

What if you start to hate him?

What if you leave him? What if he fails you and your child?

His thoughts grow darker and darker as he falls into a pit of despair.

He'd probably grow into a depressive and if you don't snap him out of it.

Pull him into your arms, give him a long, proper kiss, and then just cuddle him.

Hold him to your chest, whispering sweet things in his ear.

He'll be better within 5-40 minutes.

Whenever you breakdown because of your hormones he'll break down with you.

He tries to be strong but seeing you cry breaks him.

He'll hold you, trying to reassure you as he's breaking down too.

He'll get your cravings whenever he can.

Even if it's two in the morning, or in broad daylight where he has to deal with a lot of people..

Like Shoto, he thinks you hate him if you get upset with him.

Though unlike Shoto, he won't come to you. He continues to take care of you, but he's obviously reserved.

He won't ask for cuddles, or even move to lay beside you.

He keeps to himself and when he's not taking care of you he's across the room, staring at the floor.

He could go on for weeks if you don't catch him.

He's a sensitive sweetheart, and he does need to be taken care of too.

Oh oh, he's also super good at cooking.

Due to his quirk, he's tried a lot of meals and cooks often.

If you want to try another recipe he'll secretly work on it for days, before shyly giving it to you to try.

He's very very insecure, so he trusts you a lot to let you try new recipes of his.

He loves you a lot, and the one thing he wants is your happiness and love.

~~~~~

Part 1

Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here <3

Aizawa's masterlist | Shoto's masterlist | Shinso's masterlist | Tama's masterlist

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <33

~~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

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escelia · 2 years

Text

I took a prompt from @ghostreblogging and ran away with it. I have other parts in progress that I'd be willing to post if you guys are into it. I'm not saying it's good, but I definitely had fun with this and got wild with the next part.

Danny Fenton-Wayne: Big Brother

To say Danny was excited to be a big brother was an understatement. He was so ready to finally be the older one, in a position where he was allowed to be protective but not overbearing. Jazz had trained him well for this. And Damian was just the perfect little brother to him, though he was sure that was weird to everyone else. It was so refreshing to have a sibling that didn't treat him like glass. He reminded him a lot of a smaller, angrier, less tech oriented Skulker. And it was great seeing the others' confused but entertained expressions.

"I will slit your throat while you sleep," Damian had glared at his new big brother. "You are not my big brother!" He insisted. Danny thought it was so cute! Skulker would love him. The other Wayne's had looked mortified as though the comment would scare Danny away. Really, the threat was weak. Slitting Danny's thought wouldn't be nearly as effective as Damian was hoping, and it wasn't even that creative. But Danny was a good big brother, and rough housing was a great way to let off steam and get in exercise, so Danny just laughed and responded,

"You could sure try!"

Damian lunged at him in rage. The kid was fast and efficient; he'd give him that. But Danny had faced things much worse than a 10 year old with a penchant for violence. He dodged and snagged the back of his shirt, scruffing him like an angry kitten.

"Damian! No! Bad!" Tim scolded. "Danny, I would tell you not to take it to heart, but he really will stab you, so please be careful?"

"Stab me? That's adorable!" Damian squirmed in his hold while Danny manhandled him into a hug. This didn't really count as being overbearing if it didn't last too long, right? Besides, with Damian fussing so loudly about it, he was sure this was exactly how Jazz felt when she smothered him. It was amazing. Being a big brother was the best.

He eventually let Damian go and he sped away like Pariah Dark was personally nipping at his heels. No doubt to go plan Danny's demise. He was kind of looking forward to it actually.

~~•○•~~

Dinner that night was eventful. He'd learned that Duke was a meta with an ability that affected his sight. Not that he'd outright said so, but Danny could tell. He also gathered a few inklings about his family being the freakin Bat Brigade? They were all vigilantes, and they thought he was some normal civilian! So was Damian being protective of his family in the face of some stranger? That was understandable. Respectable even. Jazz would have said that he was a newcomer in their space and that he needed to respect that. He wouldn't pry if they didn't want him to. Across the table, his baby brother waved a fork at him menacingly. Danny snickered.

"Damian…" Bruce warned. Dick tutted at him from his seat.

"Sorry about him, Danny. You can just ignore him," Dick assured. Danny found he really liked Dick too, what with his similar penchant for puns.

"Thanks, but I think I can handle him. He's what, 10 years old?"

"I'm clearly 12, you imbecile!" In the next moment, Damian was scrambling across the table embedding his fork into the back of Danny's chair, but Danny was no longer in it. Damian hadn't even seen him move if his stunned blinking was anything to go by.

"Trust me, I would not be good for your diet," Danny joked.

~~•○•~~

Danny had gotten a great idea when several days later Damian rushed him with a whole sword. Even as Phantom, Danny was never familiar with traditional weapons. He'd always wanted to learn, but knew that with Fentons it just wasn't a safe idea. So when Duke came running to reprimand Damian and the child saw an opening, Danny redirected the blade down and out of his hand, offering it back with a question about lessons. Perhaps he could bond with Damian by letting him teach him about his favorite weapon.

Their "training," as Damian put it, was going well. Danny genuinely felt like he was learning a lot from him as well as about him. And even with his ghostly enhanced speed the brat was keeping him on his toes. When Damian nicked him with his blade for the time Danny had been so proud. He knew he wasn't easy to hit.

"Say cheese!" Danny exclaimed, shoving his uninjured cheek up against Damian's for a photo. It had turned out amazing, with Danny pointing to the oozing scratch on his face while Damian scowled at him for enjoying himself.

"Please desist. You're taking all the fun out of trying to kill you." Danny just laughed

~~•○•~~

Damian's new brother was just weird. And apparently Damian was the only one who really knew it. At first he'd thought the fool was underestimating him, but boy was he mistaken. He was a civilian, right? Then why could he not land a hit on Fenton even without the interference of his inferior siblings? The wretched thing was able to snatch him mid air and wrestle him into a hug like it was nothing. He was a professionally trained assassin! This was embarrassing! The others thought Fenton just had decent reflexes and a lack of self preservation instincts, but Damian knew better.

The day Fenton disarmed him quickly went from infuriating to intriguing. His brothers had admonished him for attempting murder again, but Daniel had stood up for him and handed his precious blade back to him, going as far as asking if he was willing to give him lessons. Tt, at least one of his brothers could tell he was a superior warrior. He obliged, eager to show off his skills with a sword. And Daniel wasn't actually bad at it per se, but it was clear he wasn't versed in swordplay. After a few sessions with Daniel, he noticed something odd. Not bad, but odd. The room was always cooler when they sparred, and he found that he didn't often overheat. Daniel was a quick learner and very light on his feet. So light, in fact, that he sometimes seemed to float. And Damien would swear on his grandfather's blade that when Daniel got serious, his eyes would flash a bright, toxic green. Damian was determined to get to the bottom of this, and because he was, in fact, the smartest of the Wayne's, he would do it on his own!

Turns out, he didn't have to try that hard.

Damian woke with a start at the knock on his door. He didn't have patrol so he'd tried to turn in early for the night. Grumbling, he went to see who it was. He swore, if it was Drake and he wasn't sleeping even though he'd been kicked off the schedule for sleep deprivation, he would strangle him. He cracked the door to see glowing green eyes. But Danny didn't seem irrationally angry like Todd did when the Pit Rage consumed him.

"Can I come in please?" Danny pleaded. "I had a nightmare and don't wanna be alone, but the others are out and Tim needs his sleep…"

Damian sighed and opened the door for Danny to come in. He sat at the foot of the bed and curled his knees to his chest.

"I don't know what you expect me to do for you. I'm not some counselor." He closed the door and crossed his arms with an annoyed huff.

"I don't need a counselor, I just need my brother." Danny's tired smile was soft.

"Why? I've been told I don't have a comforting personality." Damain took a seat next to him.

"I don't need to be coddled, I'm not a baby. I really appreciate that you're straightforward and rough toward me. I'm traumatized, but like, I'm not gonna break, ya know?"

"You… like that I'm rude to you?" This had to be the first time anyone had ever said that to him.

"Do you know why I'm here? Why I was taken in?" When Damian shook his head Danny continued. "My parents were always pretty careless when it came to raising my sister and I. Their science always came first. We had to grow up pretty fast. And once you grow up, it sucks to be treated like a kid again. It's what got my sister into psychology, and she was constantly trying to psychoanalyze me. Well, I'd had a lab accident that… changed me. When my parents found out, they vivisected me. Bruce found out and got me out of there, but Jazz was already 18 and in college so she couldn't come with me."

Damian was horrified. Even the League with their harsh rules and cruel nature would never do something like that. Even so, it did explain a lot, and Daniel seemed to know how to handle his trauma. An accident in a lab would definitely explain Daniel's more meta-like features as well. He wondered if his father knew, but figured he didn't because the boy had been very secretive about any abilities he might have gained.

"So to summarize, your parents were atrocious to you and now instead of being coddled or analyzed, you prefer to spend your time with people trying to stab you? I tried to kill you." He pointed out.

"Yea, well so has everyone else in my family at one point or another. It's sort of like a rite of passage and you're the only one that's done it," Danny smirked and nudged Damian. The younger boy could admit he found the humor in that, dark as it may be. "Besides, you get it: not wanting to be underestimated or looked down on just because you're young even though you've been through hell." Damian couldn't deny that. Maybe they were more alike than he had anticipated. Interacting with him didn't grate on his nerves like the others did at least. He sighed.

"So, what now Daniel? We sit in silence until you feel safe enough to go back to your own room?"

"I strongly prefer Danny for reasons I'm not willing to talk about yet, but I get the feeling this is as good as I'm gonna get, huh?"

"Correct."

"Well then, do you mind if I call my dog? He's a good boy, I promise," Danny pleaded.

"I do like the company of animals. I didn't know you had a dog, I haven't seen a new one on the grounds." Danny took this as a go-ahead to summon Cujo.

"I don't take him many places, he can get rowdy and protective sometimes. But I'm positive he'll love you." He let out a sharp whistle and the green ghost puppy phased into the room from under the door. He trotted over to the boys, tongue flopping as he did. He pounced excitedly on Danny before giving Damian a thorough sniff and deeming his presence safe and acceptable. He happily let the boy scratch his belly.

"He's… uh, green. What breed is he?"

"The ghost kind," Danny replied sadly. The implications were heartbreaking. "My accident turned me half-ghost so now I have a ghost puppy," he said as if that explained everything. "You uh, won't tell the others about this, right?"

Damian tilted his head in thought while he scratched Cujo behind the ears. He'd definitely want more details on what exactly Daniel meant by "ghost," but for now, he felt pride at being the one family member Daniel actually felt comfortable talking to. He could lord that over his siblings later.

"We'll, you're no longer in any danger, and your past is none of their business unless you want it to be, so I don't don't see a reason to tell them."

Danny grinned at his little brother. He knew Damian would be his favorite! He already knew he would do anything for him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #fanfiction #crossover #damian wayne #batfam #big brother danny au #dannys a good big brother #he learned all he knows from jazz #damian respects the crap out of danny for not treating him like a child all the time #but like he also wants to snuggle his brother

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elronds-meleth-nin · 2 months

Text

Ancient Script

This is for my dear friend @bigblissandlove1! Thank you so much for putting up with me screaming about this brainrot! I hope you enjoy this fic, my friend.

I'm not tagging anyone else in this, because the taglist I set up was for a whole other fic outside of RoP. If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics from The Hobbit, LotR, or RoP, please let me know! This is an AU fic in 2 regards: 1.) Soulmate AU 2.) it's set in the early Third Age - Adar is presumed dead by Sauron who has taken control of the Uruks, and he's biding his time in a small village while he concocts a plan.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Adar (RoP) x Reader

[A/N: This is fluff with a couple of mentions of violence, but nothing graphic.]

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Uruk/Human romance, kissing, soulmarks are your soulmate's name in their handwriting, he falls first, he kills a man to protect her but it's not graphic.

~*~

The shop selling arms and armor had been around in our village longer than I'd been alive, and certainly longer than the seven years I'd lived there. The shop owner, a rather private Ellon, wasn't exactly outgoing, at least, not to most people in the village.

But me...he would actively ask how I was when I passed each morning on my delivery route from the baker's shop. Perhaps it was because the scent of freshly baked bread was irresistible. Or maybe his lack of conversation with the others had made him lonely and desperate enough to try and interact with the one person who had never been rude to him.

The others seemed to find it acceptable to be less courteous just because he was different. I never did, though. My parents had taught me to be kind to all, even before we'd picked up and moved from the next village over for an opportunity for my father's business to grow.

So, every morning as I made deliveries up and down the main road, I eagerly looked forward to the moment when he'd open the door to his shop and allow me a brief conversation - that was more than most people got when they weren't discussing the particulars of a transaction with him.

This morning was only slightly different. Usually, I delivered to his end of the road first, but today I needed to make sure I ended there, instead. So, in reverse order, I made my way steadily toward his shop, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw his door open as usual when I was only a few steps away.

"There you are," he rasped as a small smile stretched his lips. "I had begun to wonder if you had forgotten me this morning."

"Oh, no! Never, sir," I said as I pulled his usual weekly order out of my basket, neatly wrapped in baker's cloth and tied with a little string. His fingertips brushed mine as he took it, and I let out a huff of nervous laughter. "Actually, I had a reason to save you for last, today. Assuming that your shop is already open, of course. If not, I can always come back later."

"For you, my door is always open, my lady," he said taking a step back and gesturing for me to come inside. I'd never actually been in his shop before.

"Thank you, sir," I murmured slipping in and trying to stay out of his way.

The scent of leather and metal, polish and grit permeated the air within the store, giving the whole place the feeling of an army at rest. Gleaming plate armor, razor-sharp swords, knives of nearly-infinite variety, and bows that looked lethal even at a glance were all neatly arranged on shelves and wall hooks.

I should've come here sooner.

"Now, what was so important that you felt you must rearrange your entire morning?" The Ellon asked as he laid the wrapped loaf of bread on the desk where he changed coin and made trades.

"Ah, 'tis twofold," I said as I opened my bag and pulled out my small, sheathed dagger. The shimmering blue stone laid into the hilt glinted as brightly in the morning light as it did the day my grandfather had given it to me. "The lower priority of the two would be my dagger. I lent it to one of my neighbors, and, well..."

Carefully unsheathing it, I showed him the now-split blade.

"If it is beyond repair, I certainly understand, but..." I shrugged, and he lifted the blade, inspecting its surface with his experienced eye.

"Not at all. This is easily fixed. I can have it for you by tomorrow morning," he murmured, laying it gently - almost reverently - on his desk and looking at me curiously. "And the second of your needs, my lady?"

Subconsciously, I ran my thumb over the cloth that covered my illegible soulmark. I knew whoever it was likely couldn't be entirely certain that I truly existed or, like me, could not read my name where it was inked upon their skin, but touching it even indirectly was still a comfort.

"I need to find a gift for my father. His birthday is in a fortnight, and I was wondering if, perhaps, I could examine your bows?"

He smiled at that.

"Certainly. Come with me." The Ellon led me to one of the large displays at the side, adjusting the sleeve of his tunic as he did so. When we reached the long line of curved and carved wood, I felt an answering touch through my soulmark - something so delicate that I could never be certain if I was just imagining things or if it was real. "If you already have a particular style in mind, then pay me no attention, but I must admit I am familiar with your father's current - let us say 'well-loved' - weapon. This, perhaps, might suit his needs and accommodate his firing style."

Lifting an intricately-carved bow from the rack, he strung it in one much-too-smooth movement that made my breath hitch. Clearly Elvish in design, that bow was finer than any that either my father or I owned.

"I know that you are an archer yourself, my lady. Come, feel the flex," he said moving around me and coaxing the carved grip into my hand. His chest pressed lightly against my back as I gave the string a pull mimicking aiming an arrow. His breath fanned lightly over my scalp, and when he spoke again, I fought not to blush. "You have excellent form. Anyone who opposed you would be doomed from the beginning."

His voice was low and gentle...intimate, in a way. I tried not to think about how luxuriant it would be to hear that soft, raspy voice murmur my name on a cold winter's night when we were curled up in front of a crackling fire.

A familiar shard of guilt wound through me. What would my soulmate, whoever they were, think of me fantasizing about someone else?

Slowly releasing the bowstring, I tried to tamp down my thoughts.

"This will be perfect." Thankfully, my voice betrayed none of my internal conflict, and I was gifted a small, pleased smile as he led me back to his desk. I'd never seen him smile at anyone else. Solemn yet polite, the Ellon before me seemed rather detached from everything in the village save his work, as if he was waiting for something...as if we were a mere respite from a path he must sooner or later traverse.

Fifty years was a long time to wait, but to him, I supposed, it must be a mere blink. Lives like those around him in the village must be barely worthy of his attention.

I'd be forgotten as quickly as wind whispered through the trees.

What must it be like to be significant enough to warrant even half that recognition in the eyes of one as long-lived as he? I heard my father and one of his business associates discussing the topic over mugs of ale one night in the tavern. Each believed he was several hundreds of years old. My father with all his knowledge of Elves had mused aloud after his friend left that he would not be surprised to find that our resident Ellon merchant had accrued over a thousand years of life.

"Scars like that," he'd said, "are the kind one gets in great wars. The last of which was a very long time ago, indeed."

I was inclined to agree, but where others saw a fearsome, intimidating being not to be approached unless necessity demanded it, I'd found a kindred spirit. He might not be outgoing and overly cheerful, but he was kind. His strength was beyond that of a mortal's, yet he could hold freshly-baked bread so gently that his fingers left no impression.

Even as he wrapped my father's new bow, including a few extra neatly-coiled bowstrings, I couldn't help but wonder how many people had judged him so harshly over the years? How many had feared him so severely that nobody even knew his name? It was true that I knew it not, but that came rather from a sense of embarrassment than fear. After all, what is a tactful way of asking a person's name after years of trying to be respectful without prying into his business? Admitting that nobody in the village knew it would only emphasize how different he was...how lonesome and separate he appeared compared to everyone else.

Oh, damn my fears! I was going to ask him, even if it took all my courage. He deserved to be called by his name as was respectful. For the moment, though, I drew my attention back to the present.

"What do I owe you, sir?" I asked as I reached in my satchel for my little drawstring bag of coins. I'd saved up for long weeks. A quality bow like the one he'd shown me could easily cost fifteen gold pieces. Taking on extra work and small tasks outside of the bakery, I'd managed to save seventeen gold pieces and a few silvers - enough for the bow and repairs for my dagger.

As he tied the wrapping with thick twine, he glanced up at me and, with an entirely straight face, muttered "three gold pieces."

I froze. That couldn't be correct!

"Forgive me, sir, I...I believe I misheard you–" I stammered, but he cut me off.

"No, indeed, my lady. You heard correctly." He looked as serene as the morning dew, green eyes giving away nothing.

"B-But, sir, if I paid such a low price, that would be tantamount to theft! I could not possibly abuse you so!"

He lifted an eyebrow at my assertion.

"Have you, or have you not been instructing the baker to take half of the price of my regular order of bread out of your wages for the last seven years, my lady?"

I blinked, and words failed me for a long beat.

"How did you...?" He gave me a knowing look even as my tongue trailed uselessly off into silence.

"Did you think I would not notice that the price I'd been paying for years was cut in half after a mere week of your employment?"

As a matter of fact, I'd hoped he would assume it was a mere coincidence.

"I have been, but–"

"Then, my lady, please allow me this small liberty," he said walking around his desk to stand before me. "You surely have paid for this bow several times over by now."

My cheeks burned under the intensity of his gaze, but I persisted.

"I did not do so with the expectation of repayment–"

"Very well, then," he murmured, "two gold pieces."

My lips parted in surprise.

"Sir–" Silencing me with a raised hand, he smirked.

"The more you argue, the lower my price. I believe we are currently at one gold piece. Shall we descend into silvers?" Mischief danced in his eyes, but he was serious in his assertion.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked before I could think better of it.

"Because it pleases me," he said looking at me with a steady, constant expression. "Does one need a reason to be kind?"

I felt as though I'd been struck. I'd asked him the same question less than a month after beginning my job with the baker. He'd remembered! I'd thought it was a trivial sort of question at the time, but I suppose if he'd remembered it, I must've struck a chord within him.

"But I don't even know your name," I stammered in a last ditch effort to convince him I wasn't worth his losing so much money.

"Do you think I am unaware of that fact? I have not told it to anyone in decades. None here know it, yet you are the only one who cares that you do not know." He brushed an errant strand of hair behind my ear with the sort of delicacy that one would not expect a weapons merchant to possess. "You see me. That is why it pleases me to make this easier for you."

It took every ounce of self-control within me not to tilt my head and lean into his touch. His gaze dropped to my lips, and he licked his own - a barely-there flick of his tongue that I would've missed had I blinked but an instant earlier.

"If...you still wish to know my name when you retrieve your dagger in the morning, I shall tell it to you, my lady," he murmured even quieter than before.

"Surely you will allow me to pay the correct price for that, sir?" I asked, and a measure of mirth flickered across his expression as he lowered his hand.

"The correct price for you, my lady, would be absolutely nothing. In that regard, yes, I will be charging you the correct price," he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "I look forward to seeing you come the morn. You may wish to take your father's gift home before he returns so that it might remain a secret."

Nodding silently, I laid three gold pieces on the desk and picked up the wrapped package. Thanking him, I made for the door, hoping that he would not notice the extra coins - surely he knew I couldn't allow him to undercharge me so severely? Before I'd made it more than two steps, however, one of his arms slid around my waist, stopping me in my tracks like a bar of steel.

"Not so fast, meleth," he breathed against the shell of my ear, and I heard the clinking of two coins as they dropped back into my bag. "A valiant attempt, I must admit. I shall see you on the morrow."

Throughout the long walk home, I could not rid myself of the sensation of his lips brushing against my ear nor his breath slightly stirring the hair upon my scalp. The ghostly memory of his arm catching my waist stayed with me until I fell asleep at nearly midnight.

Adar could remember the day her name appeared on his arm more clearly than almost any other - a feat for a being with many thousands of years under his belt. He'd been preparing to open his shop for the day when pain lanced across the inside of his forearm. His scars ached occasionally, but this pain was so sharp and different that he'd nearly dropped the newly-forged sword he was preparing to put on display.

Tugging his sleeve back, there it was: her name written in curling, shaky, yet careful font - the way her handwriting would look. He'd been so amazed that he had been given a soulmate after so long that he'd simply dropped onto a stool and stared at his arm for a time. Before her name appeared, he hadn't even been certain that his heavily scarred skin would allow him to see a name should one choose to appear, but now that he had his answer, he faced a new problem.

Should his soulmate have to face the burden of his existence when he was so twisted and broken? Morgoth's scars marred nearly every inch of his body, his face inspired fear in everyone he encountered, and he'd even failed his children. They'd fallen under Sauron's control again, and as they believed him dead, there was no chance they'd listen to him. They'd sooner believe he was a fraud than their father.

For several years, he'd covered the mark, barely daring to check if it was still there when he washed himself. Eventually though, as the years passed, he noticed that his soulmate would touch her own mark almost compulsively. Perhaps she was nervous and simply attempting to calm herself...

The first few times it happened, he ignored it, believing the gentle touch to be no more than a figment of his imagination, but after a while, he ached with the thought that she might believe that she was not wanted. He began following her caresses with a gentle one of his own. He hoped that it was enough that she would not give in to that fear.

Her existence was a miracle to him, even if she could not read his name. He knew she would be unable to, for the language to which he was accustomed had not been written in many thousands of years.

The day he first saw her, too, was vividly embedded in his mind.

A knock had sounded at the door to his shop. He'd ignored it the first time. The baker's delivery boy - unreliable as he was - typically knocked, leaving his wrapped bread upon the doorstep before scurrying away from his threshold as if it was diseased. Adar assumed that it was he who knocked that morning, so he went on as usual. After a few seconds, however, a second knock sounded, accompanied by a feminine voice.

"Delivery from the baker," came the call though the wooden door. Adar had been so surprised that he laid aside his work and opened the door without any further hesitation.

She was beautiful. The early morning sun illuminated her kind, smiling face in a manner befitting one of the Valar. Expecting her to flee upon her first glance at his face, the Uruk was stunned when her nervous smile widened a fraction.

"Good morning, sir," she chirped happily as she pulled his wrapped loaf of bread from her little basket. "I kept everything well-covered, so it should still be warm from the oven."

Accepting the bundle from her with a quiet, stunned rasp of 'thank you, my lady,' Adar couldn't help but watch as she gave a little curtsy and headed on toward the next shop. The cool, gentle breeze had teased her hair and skirt, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his softest blanket so that she would not feel the chill.

One as radiant and lovely as she did not deserve to live in anything less than the most luxurious sort of comfort. His heart had not stirred like that in...he could not remember the last time it had.

He'd heard someone call her name that afternoon - the same name that was etched indelibly on his forearm - and that had startled him more than anything ever had before. This warm ray of light was his soulmate? What had he done to deserve her? He, who was cracked and broken, scarred and burned...none could ever be worthy of her, most especially not him.

A servant of darkness, one marred and twisted by its shadows, should have nothing to do with such a being of light and joy.

Merely a week later, he'd placed his usual order with the baker, and he'd been asked for half of what he usually owed. At his own prodding confusion, the rotund little Man behind the counter had told him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that someone thought kindly of him. It was not difficult to guess who it was. With all of her smiles and kind words, her unfailingly cheerful greetings whenever she saw him, Adar knew at once that it was her.

She tried to keep it secret, never once bringing up the topic, but he tried to repay her kindness with conversation. He'd been rusty, at first - he still was - but he didn't know how else to show her his gratitude.

Then, one day, he was afforded an opportunity to do so. Traders came through periodically, both seeking and offering wares. Most were well-behaved, exhausted people who wanted no more than to earn a living, but occasionally, there was an outlier among them. A trouble-maker.

One such passed through barely a year hence, and Adar had not liked the way his gaze lingered upon his lady as she made her morning rounds. He watched her too intently and for too long a duration for one with innocent thoughts in mind. No, the Uruk had seen too many over the years with such a glint in their dark, soulless eyes.

When she reached Adar's shop that morning, he'd glared at her evil shadow before gently grasping her hand and suggesting in a low voice that she keep her dagger handy until that particular caravan had left. She'd given him a reassuring smile and pulled the edge of her shawl back just far enough to show him the hilt where it was already strapped at her waist.

He'd never been so proud in all his life, but that didn't stop him from keeping a close eye on her for the rest of the day. None had noticed that his shop was closed with freshly-scattered alfirin seeds before it that afternoon, nor had the filth watching her seen that he was being followed by death's ruined right hand. The trader had followed her halfway back to her home and had begun to catch up with her when a flash of black and silver tugged him silently behind a tree.

The only sound that heralded the scum's death was a snap. She'd turned to look for what had made the noise, believing it to be a branch, and when she found nothing, she made her way safely home.

Her Uruk protector had disposed of the body beside a field where wild horses grazed, laying an empty bottle of spirits beside him. The next morning when the corpse was found, it was obvious to all that he'd gotten drunk, tried to ride one of the beasts, and had been thrown to his death. Adar guarded her door each night until the caravan left. The alfirin seeds had sprouted within mere days, and if any in the village had known their true meaning, the white blooms would have screamed his deed to the world.

But none were the wiser, and his lady was safe. That was all that mattered to him.

Fixing her dagger now was nothing less than a privilege. He'd told her it was easily repaired. In truth, it needed to be reforged. He'd shut his shop for the day and rolled up his sleeves to begin the work.

In the morning, after sharpening the blade's edge, he unlocked his shop door and awaited her arrival. He'd told her that she'd have his name today if she was still interested, but...he was tempted to give her more than that...to show her his mark. His self-indulgent moments when he showed her the bow and when he'd returned her coins had carved themselves upon his heart, stirring within him the desire to hold her again and never let go.

He'd been alone for so long that he now felt like a drowning man each time her eyes met his. She was so close, yet just out of reach. Could she see how much she meant to him? Could she tell that he would save, burn, or change the world entirely at her behest?

The door creaked inward, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was back. He stood straighter as she approached.

"Good morning, my lady." The tentative smile she gave him showed him all that he needed to know. It was time that he told her everything. If she rejected him, well...he'd come to expect pain. It would not surprise him, though, it would be worse than anything he'd yet experienced.

"Good morning," I murmured in return. My heart raced in my chest, and I hoped that my voice didn't sound as nervous as I felt. Smoothing my dress a bit further, I approached his desk. "I hope I haven't put you to any trouble."

"Not at all," he answered with a small smile as he lifted my dagger from his desk. "Come, let me show you what I have done."

I did as he asked, moving closer and paying entirely too much attention to the way his large hands dwarfed my little blade. He pulled it carefully from the sheath, showing me his handiwork. He'd polished it, too. The scent floated through the air in a familiar curl.

"Oh, it looks as good as new!" I exclaimed as he handed it carefully to me. The leather grip on the hilt had been replaced and even the balance had improved! "I cannot thank you enough, sir, truly."

"It was my honor, my lady," he said as I passed the blade back. He slid it neatly into its sheath. "Do be cautious. I gave it a quick pass over the whetstone this morning. 'Tis sharper than before."

"Are you sure you won't accept at least some sort of payment?" I asked, and he gave me a mock-stern look. I raised my hands in surrender. "My apologies."

"Gladly accepted."

After a long pause, I finally asked what I'd wanted to.

"May I still ask your name, sir? If your mind has changed, or if you simply do not wish to reveal it, I swear I will not press you on the matter."

He was quiet for a long enough moment that I nearly began pouring forth apologies.

"You are the only one I have wished to tell," he admitted. "You may call me Adar."

Adar. I knew that word from somewhere, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Thank you, Adar. I shan't tell a soul without your permission," I promised, and with an appreciative nod, he held out my sheathed dagger.

"Tell me," he rasped, not relinquishing his hold on my weapon quite yet, "why do you keep your forearm covered?"

I gave a nervous laugh, unable to maintain eye contact with him.

"I...My soulmark is there. I can't read it. Never have I encountered a language quite like it...whatever it might be."

He gave a small smile.

"I can read it." Adar's assertion snapped my gaze up to meet his once more.

"Sir?"

"If you would prefer that I not, that is entirely your prerogative, but I can almost guarantee you that I will be able to read it." When I hesitated, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me help you, my lady."

Quickly stowing my blade in my bag, I began to unwrap the fabric I kept tied over my arm. As I did so, the need to explain myself pulled a flood of words from me.

"I'm not ashamed of my soulmate, whoever they might be, but after a while, the looks I got when people glimpsed the writing...the pity, the confusion...the explanations became a bit tiresome. Besides, it is nobody's business save me and my soulmate," I murmured as the last bit of the cloth came free and fell away revealing the stark, black marks on my arm. Adar moved just a bit closer, a small smile stretching his lips as he caught my arm gently in his grasp. "Can...? Do you recognize it?"

For a moment, he was silent, only nodding his head in response, but that was enough to send my heart racing in my chest. That was more than anyone had told me about my mark in all my years.

"I have not seen this language written in an Age," he breathed, and after a long moment, his eyes met mine. "I am certain that if you knew the answer, you would regret inquiring about your soulmate's identity."

I couldn't hide my confusion.

"What do you mean? No matter who they are, if the marks are any indication, I can handle it. I have never known them to be wrong," I said, and he looked back down at my arm. "Please. You are the only hope I have of ever being able to read it."

His grip on my arm loosened somewhat, as if he was expecting me to tear myself from his grasp.

"I...have not used this name in thousands of years," he whispered tracing the first half of the dark runes, "but it was still mine. I prefer Adar, now, but...your mark seems to have taken that into account."

My lips parted in surprise, but I was frozen as he traced his fingertips lightly, carefully over the rest of the marks near my wrist.

"Just after that slight separation is the name you would now recognize as mine," he murmured, then he lifted my wrist and placed a kiss onto my mark, reverent and affectionate. The ancient writing tingled and sparked over and beneath my skin, sending a wave of pleasure through me.

He released my arm and tugged back his own sleeve, showing me my scrawled name on his scarred forearm. Carefully, afraid that he'd disappear, that this would turn out to have just been a dream, I touched him just as he'd done.

"For whole Ages, my arm was blank. There were others whose marks were slow to appear, but those whom I knew waited mere centuries. I was convinced that I was not destined for that fate," Adar admitted as I touched the first letter of my name. "I wondered...if I would even be able to read a name should it appear on my skin, or if it would appear as twisted as my scars."

As a tear slipped down my cheek, I kissed his arm as he'd done to mine. The slight gasp that escaped him was like ambrosia for my soul.

"I'm so sorry. You waited for so long, and all you got for your trouble was a mortal with terrible penmanship..." I trailed off with a sniffle, but he tilted my chin up with his free hand and shook his head.

"It is beautiful, because it is yours. It tethered me to you. This mark meant that I was no longer alone." His soft, rasping voice was filled with emotion. "Do not apologize for giving me hope when I'd dared not cling to it for such a long time. I should be begging your forgiveness, my lady. You do not deserve one as unworthy as I."

I shook my head in protest.

"Only I decide what I deserve. If anything, it is I who does not deserve you," I murmured. "You who have lived so many lives...having seen and experienced things I could scarcely imagine..."

I reached up slowly so that he could stop me if he wished, but he made no move to do so. My fingertips brushed his cheeks as lightly as was physically possible.

"I could want no other but you. I have felt guilt for so long. I could not read my mark, but I felt when my soulmate touched his. And yet, I knew that I had lost my heart to you the day we met." My confession felt like the sweetest relief. "If that name had belonged to any other, I would have been distraught."

Adar leaned into my touch, closing his eyes and drawing a slow breath. Twin tears escaped, dripping down his face in an asynchronous race.

"Now that I have you, I cannot give you back, meleth," he warned as he stepped closer and rested his forehead against mine.

"Then, keep me," I whispered, and his lips finally, finally met mine.

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1

#elronds-meleth-nin fic #Adar x Reader

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squinch-depraved · 11 days

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got rlly inspired by @mister-sandwich's post about schlatt pissing you off and then just burying his face between your legs and i think i'm gonna continue off of the other oneshot i posted today bc something ab it was kinda yummyyy wrote this all in one sitting so i hope it's okay anyway can you tell i'm high and have the munchies 🤭

a few days later, still chuckle week, still sweltering, you sit in front of a fan on the bed you're staying in, legs hanging off the side and slightly leaning back onto your arms. eyes closed, waiting for your best friend(?) to come back so the two of you could start watching another movie. it was your new favorite activity to do together; he hadn't seen many and you got to show him your favorite films. doesn't matter that it usually ended with someone going down on the other, or that you both were too electrically aware of the other's presence to actually watch the flick. things between you two were certainly different than they were at the start of this trip, but at this point, it was a bit too late to care how relationship dynamics had shifted, what with the shoving of his cock down your throat all the time and that stuff. and when ted joined you guys, it was even more intense. the three of you definitely had something incredible, and you planned to all discuss it at the end of the week, when all the filming was done and you guys could finally relax. but for right now, ted was out with tucker hunting down some stuff for a video they were going to film together, and then they were going out to dinner with a group of friends not well known to the two of you left. it was just you and schlatt for the rest of the day and night, and you were thrilled. not that you didn't love having both boy toys, just that you were excited to have some time alone with him again.

"this fuckin' loser only keeps some weird bougie caramel top ice cream in his freezer, so i guess that's what we're having," his voice echoes down the hall until he's finally visible in the doorframe. he continues to approach until he's standing in between you and the fan and holding out a spoon.

"that's my ice cream, j," you reply tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. "i bought that for us to share tonight because i thought it looked good. you think i'd just tell you to go steal ted's ice cream?"

he's silent for a moment. "i think if you wanted to be cute and have a little ice cream date, we could have used ted's ice cream maker and made it a whole thing."

you whip your head up to glare at him. "are you fuckin' kidding me?"

he laughs. "what? mad i came up with a better date than you? in like, two seconds?"

"no!" you lie. "get out of the way of the fan, it's so fucking hot in here." you try to push him, or even move him at all, really, but you fail. "schlatt, i'm fucking serious. move. and give me that spoon."

he yanks the spoon back before you can reach it. with a simple, "nah," he opens the ice cream and begins eating it, much to your dismay.

"schlatt! stop it! that's for-"

"our cutesy little movie date? nah, toots, i'm gonna eat all this while you sit there and bitch about it, and then maybe, if you're cute enough, i'll eat you."

a stunned silence hangs heavily in the room before you finally regain the ability to speak, jumping up to grab at his hands (which he pulls out of reach as he continues to eat with a small smile on his lips). "sch- i actually don't even fucking know what to say," you fumble, growing more and more pissed. "i don't know why you're being like this?? what did i do?"

he sniffs.

"there's no way you actually eat that whole pint." your hands are on your hips now as you shoot daggers at him. his eyebrow cocks, as if to say, wanna bet? "i hate you so much."

he grins and goes in for another spoonful.

"you're such a dick, you know that?" you speak sharply, sinking back onto the bed.

"last spoonful. you want?"

you quickly look up at him to see him offering it to you, spoon in outstretched hand. you nod greedily and open your mouth, causing him to cackle and eat it himself. your eyes go wide, and then narrow to squint at him. "YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING- WHY WOULD YOU EVEN- I CAN'T FUCKING-" you stutter, starting time after time only to stop a few words later because your anger feels like it's consuming you. "WHY???" you scream. he simply continues laughing as he leaves the room. you sit there, fuming, unable to even move as you process everything that just happened. the rage makes you blind to him coming back and standing in the same spot. a moment later you look back up at him. "get out of the way. of the fucking fan. or i swear i'm going to-"

"shut the fuck up," he says.

you go silent for a few seconds before you ask, "where did you go?"

"throw away the ice cream. i told you shut up," he says. "can you just do one thing you're told?" his voice is sickly sweet, mocking you.

"i'm gonna punch you in the balls live on the podc-" you start, but are cut off by him pushing you back down onto the bed. "wh-?"

he wedges himself between your legs and rips the clothing off your lower half. you shriek slightly in surprise, and he buries his face in your cunt, immediately swirling his tongue over your clit, sliding a finger in. his face pulls back and looks at you, staring at the ceiling, lost in the whirlwind of things you're feeling, and says, "fuckin' knew you'd be soaking for me." he punctuates his sentence by spitting on your clit and you moan. "you taste so much sweeter than that stupid, fancy fuckin' ice cream." this makes you scream through gritted teeth (really, it was him slipping another finger in and working them inside you just right, but he doesn't need to know that) and you bring your legs to wrap around his head, fingers intertwining into his hair.

gasping and squirming under him, his tongue continues to dance all over your sopping pussy while he pins you by your hips down against the mattress. he's sloppy, borderline making out with your sticky sweet folds and you can see your essence all over his chops. his eyes, dark, drag up your body to meet yours and it triggers something in your stomach. a knot, forming and growing as he works now three fingers in and out, in and out, and curling them in all the most delicious spots. you're screaming now, his name, obscenities, how much you just hate him, how good he feels. the knot in your stomach has spread throughout your entire body, enveloping you in a warm embrace as fireworks explode everywhere, and you scream more, announcing your arrival at what feels like heaven's gate, but he just keeps going. sensitive, every nerve in your body feeling like it's being abused by this man (and truthfully, they are), tears begin to flow down your cheeks as you try to pull his head away, to no avail.

"please, j! i can't handle it! 's too much!" you cry out. he hmmphs on your clit, making you gasp loudly. something is building again, but it feels different. almost wrong. still pleasureful, but in such an intense way that your legs begin kicking, trying to get him off. but schlatt holds fast, mouth glued to the bundle of nerves that makes you move under him like this. he knows you're close, and by god is he gonna get you there. something resembling fire rips through you like a shockwave, and you release all over him, babbling something about a mess and tears falling from overstimulation.

finally, he pulls back, looking up at you while you regulate and come back down to earth. when you finally speak, your voice is hoarse. "why did you do that?"

he shrugs. "you were bein' a brat."

you nod, looking at the time.

"i'm gonna doordash that ice cream, by the way," he mumbles, grabbing his phone. " it was really good and you deserve some after all that. you still up for a movie?"

#jschlatt #chuckle sandwich #jschlatt x reader #x reader #schlatt #jschlatt smut #jschlatt x you

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drgrlfriend · 1 year

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Comments versus Bookmarks on AO3

A few people seemed appreciative of my post about how to use AO3's Marked for Later feature, so I thought I'd follow up with another tip about comments versus bookmarks. As part of the amazing @justleaveacommentfest I noticed a few people mentioned leaving nice comments in bookmarks, and I thought it might help to have a little info about how comments are different from bookmarks, and why it's better to send a comment if you want to make an author happy or make fandom friends or have an interesting discussion.

Bookmarks *are* viewable by everyone, unless you make them private. If you plan to say anything negative in your bookmark, please make it private. It's not really the flip side, however, that leaving positive statements in your bookmarks will reach the author, though.

Most authors are alerted when they get new comments, either through their dashboard or via email if they choose, or both. Yay! Serotonin boost, and also the ability to reply back and start a conversation! Plus, readers can have great discussions with each *other* in the comments section of a fic! If you're super into a fic you can read comments on the chapter even years later, and sometimes find the author adding additional thoughts or discussing their thought process while writing! It's like DVD extras for fanfic! (Do kids these days know what DVD extras are any more? Damned if I know).

You don't really know, as an author, when someone bookmarks one of your fics. Some authors, particularly when they are feeling low (cough cough) may also look at bookmarks to see if there are nice things there. This would basically just involve clicking on the bookmarks for each of your fics individually to see if there's anything a.) new and b.) nice in them.

This is an act of desperation. It's not really a wise thing to do, as 99% of bookmarks have no comments, or just list the title and author in fear of the fic being deleted some day and not knowing what you're missing. Even worse, if you, as an author, get desperate enough to cruise your bookmarks, you are as likely to see someone say something like "Meh" or "This got boring so I stopped reading at Chapter 5" or "Too many werewolves 3/10" in a werewolf fic than you are to see a nice compliment.

So, if you loved a fic and want to memorialize your love in a bookmark, be an extra super-duper sweetheart and cut and paste that into a comment for the author! Make the AO3 environment enriching for both authors and fellow readers in the comments section, and protect your friendly local author by not providing intermittent positive reinforcement for the negative behavior of scrolling through bookmarks!

I still recommend bookmarking fics. Bookmark those favorite fics you want to come back and read later, or use bookmarks to leave yourself little reminders if they are nice or in private bookmarks if they are not nice. Bookmark good resources, like how to code things in html or how to use AO3 filters most effectively. Find awesome new things to read by looking through the bookmarks of your favorite authors, because if you vibe with someone's writing you may also vibe with their favorite fics to read!

#archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #authors #writers #readers #bookmarks versus comments #how to ao3 #ao3 tips and tricks #ao3 how-tos #ao3 resources

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hgfictionwriter · 5 months

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Handy - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie isn't done helping you with household projects. In fact, she helps you undertake your biggest one yet. But can she finally tell you how she feels? To be determined.

Warnings: None other than it's sickly sweet.

A/N: Thank you SO much for the response to the original post. I'm excited to share Part Two with you all. I hope you enjoy! Part One is here if you need it.

"Good morning! How is your day going?"

"Morning Jessie :) My morning's going okay. It's still early, so not much to report yet lol. I have a couple of meetings later though. How is your morning going? Let me guess, even though you have the day off, you've been up since pretty much sunrise, you've probably fit in a run, a couple of chapters and had breakfast haha."

"Why do I feel like you're making fun of me? lol. And you may be right about all of those things."

"Not making fun - it's really more admiration. If I had the day off I'd still be fast asleep lol."

"There's nothing wrong with that either. For the record."

"I appreciate the sentiment lol. Very generous of you. So, what do you have planned for your day off?"

You leaned back in your chair and waited as the three dots faded in and out in sequence. A frown crossed your face as they disappeared. Before you could think too much about it they came up again. Another frown creased your forehead as they disappeared once more. You sat up. What was going on?

A few moments later the dots reappeared and shortly after a text mercifully came through from Jessie.

"I'm running some errands in the SW today. I probably won't be too far from your office. If you're not too busy or don't have plans already, maybe we could go for lunch?"

Another text came through a moment later.

"No pressure though."

You leaned back in your chair and smiled. She was really so cute.

It had been a couple of weeks since your impromptu night over at Jessie's. You'd seen each other since, including when Jessie did in fact come by your apartment to patch up the drywall.

That said, lunch together mid-week was something new.

"That sounds great. I'm in a meeting until 11:30, but can meet you after."

"Okay! You know the area, so you pick where and I'll meet you there."

The morning went by quickly and before you knew it you were walking into the restaurant and wordlessly searching the tables until you saw Jessie. If she saw you, she was making a point of not showing it. Instead, she leaned into the menu, studying it rather determinedly.

"Fancy seeing you here," you teased as you grabbed a seat. She looked up, eyebrows high in surprise and greeted you.

"Oh hey!"

You resisted the urge to blush as she - inadvertently or not - looked you up and down.

"I feel like I'm underdressed," she muttered, giving a nod to your business attire before leaning back in her chair and tucking her hands into her hoodie pocket. You gave her a look.

"Don't be silly. You look great." She gave you a dismissive frown and you went on, shrugging off your jacket and picking up the menu. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, no," she dismissed readily as she began reviewing the menu once more. "Gave me time to figure out what I want."

"Okay, good. I always get the poke bowl," you told her and a wry smirk formed on her face as she looked at you over the menu.

"I knew it," she said in a very self-satisfied way.

"You know me so well." You rolled your eyes with a short laugh. "What kind of errands were you running in this part of town anyway?"

You frowned as she lifted her eyebrows high again, forehead creasing as she worked to respond. She didn't avert her eyes from the menu in her hands.

"Uh, just picking up something for the team," she relayed evenly.

"Oh. What was that?" You asked, curious and truthfully a bit skeptical.

The blush she'd been fending off broke through and her cheeks began to glow pink under your scrutiny. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Just some gear. Nothing exciting," she said with a laugh, her voice slightly higher than normal.

"Oh, I thought equipment staff would take care of things like that," you said lightly, immediately seeing her readying a rebuttal. You cut her off with a cheeky remark. "I would've said otherwise that if you just wanted to have lunch together you could simply ask."

Her face grew red and she subconsciously sunk into her chair a bit before righting herself and frowning at you.

"I know that." She nearly pouted before huffing exaggeratedly. She shot you a look and spoke pointedly. "Anyway, I have those new hinges for your cupboard. Does Friday still work for you?"

"It does, thank you," you said, allowing her some reprieve.

You enjoyed your lunch together, and although you wanted it to last longer, you had to be back at the office soon. You'd excused yourself to the washroom and when you came back Jessie was hunched over the table concentrating on something. When she heard the scraping of your chair on the floor she looked up.

"Good timing," she said with a quiet smile as she held out a small folded item for you. "His name is Bernard. He's for you."

The puzzled look on your face was quickly replaced with a wide smile as you realized what it was.

"An origami dinosaur!" You exclaimed excitedly as you looked it over. "The best use of a napkin I've seen yet."

Though Jessie wasn't outwardly beaming, the lift in her shoulders and the brightness in her eyes told you she was pleased by your reaction.

"He's awesome," you told her as you began to tuck him into your bag.

"Oh, I was just kidding, you don't have to keep him. I was just messing around," Jessie said, belated embarrassment now encompassing her. You stilled your movements and shot her a look.

"Throw Bernard away? And you kidding me?" You asked in mock offense. "He's mine now. For good."

Her cheeks were bright pink, but she laughed as she stood.

"So...Friday?" She asked again, a hint of nervousness sneaking back into her voice despite how nonchalant she was trying to make herself look. You nodded decisively.

"Friday."

"Alright. Well," Jessie stalled momentarily scratching her temple idly, her gaze focused elsewhere before she looked to you again with a small smile. "Thanks for having lunch with me. I hope your afternoon goes well."

"Thanks for meeting me. Let me know if you have to run anymore errands around here," you said with the faintest hint of teasing. It was enough to get Jessie to look away and blush once more.

"Yep. I will."

"Bye, Jess," you said easily as you stepped towards her and pulled her into a hug. Though her hold on you was still a bit tentative, like she didn't want to relax into it too much, it was still a far cry from how she'd been that first night.

When you pulled away, her hands went behind her back immediately and she went up onto her tiptoes. "I'll walk you to your car."

------

"What's this?"

You looked over with a frown. You cracked a smirk as Jessie stood there, looking at you accusingly as she held up a paint swatch as if it was a piece of evidence.

"A paint swatch," you replied slowly.

"I'm aware," she said in exaggeration before looking a bit disappointed. "Why didn't you tell me you were planning to paint?"

You shrugged, really more distracted by how cute and endearing she looked as she pouted.

"Um, I'm sorry?" You offered with lackluster earnest.

She rolled her eyes and walked over to your wall with the swatch. You watched her as she frowned in concentration, lifting her other hand up to rest on her chin as she studied the colours in front of her.

"I think-" she started before turning her head to you. "Wait - do you want my opinion?"

You laughed. "Of course I do. You're my resident handyperson. Personal reno expert. Whatever title you prefer."

Jessie's lips pulled into a tight, shy smile as her cheeks began to grow pink. She turned her attention back to the swatch.

"I like this third one. I think the one above it will just end up too washed out and the one below will make the space feel closed in and small."

"Well, we're in luck, because that's the one I was thinking of."

She gave you a nod of approval before walking back over to you. She folded her arms across her chest, planting her feet and exhaled briefly. She took a moment before looking at you.

"Well. You're going to need a lot of supplies. So, we could go together and get them," she trailed off, her gaze following before resetting. "And it'll take you ages to do this whole place on your own, so," she waved her hand aimlessly for a few seconds, "I can help."

"Jessie." You gave her a pointed look. "As much as I appreciate that, painting is a big ordeal. You've already done way too much for me."

She surprised you by looking nearly hurt by the sentiment.

"I don't mind. Seriously. I told you I was happy to help and I meant it. Mean it." She gave a listless shrug. "I like painting."

"A whole condo?" You scrutinized, arching an eyebrow at her.

She blushed a bit, the smallest of smiles sneaking out as she shrugged once more. "We make a good team."

————

It should've been no surprise to either of you that it didn't take much convincing for Jessie to get her way. The following week you were driving around town together picking up paint and accompanying supplies.

Again, you had to give yourself a reality check when you and Jessie were wandering the paint aisle of the hardware store together. It was too easy to think of yourselves as something more as you controlled the list (though curated mostly by Jessie...) and she pushed the cart and dutifully retrieved items.

It was pathetic, really, how you were fighting for your life, trying not to smile as you two were leaned in together as you compared and debated two types of paint brushes. You had to roll your eyes at yourself. You were in way too deep.

To make matters worse, Jessie - after bouncing her knee all through lunch and determinedly avoiding eye contract with you - offered to have you stay at her place while painting was under way.

"I'll take the couch again. You really can't stay here with the furniture all awry and tarped, and the fumes."

She was going to be the death of you.

"Okay, so everything's set - we've moved everything, things are tarped, supplies are laid out-"

"Meticulously so," you interjected with a teasing smirk. She shot you a mocking glare.

"We can get taping," she announced patiently.

You walked over wordlessly and removed her hat. You saw her swallow as she looked at you with wide, brown eyes.

"Not your nice hat," you told her as you tucked it away and retrieved a hat of your own. "I don't want you to get paint on it. Here, you can wear mine instead." You placed it on her head with a gentle smile, sure not to laugh at how her cheeks were now burning red.

She cleared her throat and adjusted the hat. "Okay, well, let's get started."

It was only a few minutes in when Jessie interjected.

"What are you doing?" She asked, clearly aghast and not hiding it particularly well.

You sat back on your heels and looked at her.

"Cutting in?"

"Freehand?" She said, her voice rising and narrowing her eyes in sheer disbelief. "That's what the tape-" Jessie's words trailed off as she examined your work. "Oh," sounding nearly deflated. "That's actually quite good."

You gave her a teasingly scrutinizing look as you did air quotes. "'Actually quite good.' Wow. The disrespect." She rolled her eyes at you with a laugh and nearly stamped her foot.

"Come on, you know what I mean."

You shook your head at her. "You're not the only one with skills here, Fleming."

You bit back a smile as her cheeks started to darken. She distracted by readjusting her hat, tucking her hand into her pocket and idly shifting her weight from one foot to the next.

"Is that so?" She asked.

"It is. I just haven't had my chance to shine," you continued cheekily as you stood up.

"Well, what I'm hearing is you don't need my services," she said, a glint now in her eyes.

"Jess." Her name came out like a pout and you gave her arm a gentle shove. She grinned before lifting her chin haughtily and giving a shrug.

"I mean, I can go."

"Jessie," you protested once more, jostling her a bit this time and pulling a wide smile out of her. You gave her a look of warning. "Don't make me beg you to stay."

That glint was still in her eyes as she leaned in and gave you a soft nudge with her shoulder. "Fine. I'll get back to work," she deadpanned.

You worked steadily for several hours, you and Jessie finding a good cadence and coordinating seamlessly early on. You nicked the baseboards and doorframes on a couple of occasions, but it was Jessie's fault. How could you be expected to remain steady and focused when you could see the muscles in her back flex and her calves pop as she maneuvered herself along the wall to paint. And her t-shirt sleeves rolled up onto her shoulders? A little too attractive. Never mind her biceps being on display.

The other close call was when you nearly dropped the roller when you felt her hand on your back as she shimmied past you and around the furniture at one point. The contact was feather-light, but it sent a shiver through you nonetheless.

Eventually, you both took a break, sitting flush against one another on the tarped floor, your backs against the couch that had been moved into the center of the room.

You were taking a sip of water when Jessie's phone began to buzz. You saw her look at it and you told her to take the call.

"Mm. It's just my sister. I'll call her back later." Shortly after the buzzing stopped, a text came through. Jessie read it quickly and sighed before calling her back.

You rose from your spot, aware of Jessie's eyes on you as you did so. You retreated to the other room to give her some space. However, you could still overhear Jessie despite how hushed she was trying to speak. You weren't intentionally trying to eavesdrop, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious.

"...I can't right now...I'm out..." A huff. "I'm...at a friend's...No...No...No." Then, in an even more hushed tone. "Y/N's..." Another exasperated huff. "I'll call you later. Yes! Okay. Bye!"

You gave it a few moments, but couldn't resist much longer and came back into the living room to see Jessie looking flustered and a blush lingering on her cheeks. She met your eyes before her gaze darted away.

"Hey," she nearly mumbled before standing up and brushing off her shorts needlessly. You, again, tried not to get distracted by her paint-covered hands. "Shall we continue?"

You worked late into the night finishing a first coat across the rooms before packing it up. Your body ached.

"I can't believe you have a game tomorrow. I'm so sorry," you told her, guilt creeping in.

"What for?" Jessie looked genuinely puzzled.

"Aren't you sore? My back is killing me," you asked incredulously.

"Oh, no, I'm feeling fine. It's good conditioning," she joked. "We'll get you a heat pack when we get back to my place."

You were going to need a hell of a lot more than a heat pack, but you gave her a grateful nod nonetheless. You bent to pick up your overnight bag, but her hand shot out and grabbed it before you could. She stood and swung it effortlessly over her shoulder.

"Ready?"

A/N: You all have me so into this now that I couldn't fit everything I wanted into two parts. Third part is available here.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #jflem #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #woso

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