#so i may take some inspiration from that in my writing of this prompt

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 143

Adjective: Slow

Noun: Epoch

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Slow: moving or operating, or designed to do so, only at a low speed, or not quick or fast; taking a long time to perform a specified action; lasting or taking a long time; not allowing or intended for fast travel; (of a playing field) likely to make the ball bounce or run slowly or to prevent competitors from traveling fast; (of a clock or watch) showing a time earlier than the correct time; not prompt to understand, think, or learn; uneventful and rather dull; (of business) with little activity, or slack; created or done using sustainable or traditional methods, as opposed to those of mass industry, and intended to be appreciated unhurriedly or used extensively; (of a form of art or entertainment) inviting deep contemplation or quiet reflection, and having a subtle, minimalist style; (photography) (of a film) needing long exposure; (of a lens) having a small aperture; (of a fire or oven) burning or giving off heat gently

Epoch: a period of time in history or a person's life, typically one marked by notable events or particular characteristics; the beginning of a distinctive period in the history of someone or something; (geology) a division of time that is a subdivision of a period and is itself subdivided into ages, corresponding to a series in chronostratigraphy; (astronomy) an arbitrarily fixed date relative to which planetary or stellar measurements are expressed

[tempo-takoyaki]

From an anonymous freeform prompt for SVSSS Action, may I present to you... Delicious in the Abyss! A SVSSS x DunMeshi AU!

More info about the different characters (with some sketches) under the "read more" :

In Delicious in the Abyss, we follow various groups of adventurers as they explore the "abyss" a mysterious place filled with various fauna and monsters. No matter their race or age, most of them have the same goal: becoming the master of the abyss... However, some have a very different idea of how one should explore the abyss. Take for example a certain group led by an elf named Shen Yuan who desires one thing only... eat as many different monsters as possible!

Shen Yuan's party :

Shen Yuan: Elf, 87 y/o, Mage. His wish is to eat and study as many monsters as possible. He started exploring the abyss about twenty years ago, but had to stop abruptly after taking in Luo Binghe. On the surface, his studies seem to merely be for the sake of curiosity... But are they?

Luo Binghe: Tiefling, 63 y/o, Tank (and cook). Thrown into the abyss at the age of 38 (since tieflings are a long-lived race, it means he was about 14), he got stuck in the lowest levels for few years before Shen Yuan saved him. He regards him as his savior (and one true love) and would do anything for him... even if it means cooking the monsters (he hates it, he hates it so much).

Shang Qinghua: Gnome, 87 y/o, Healer. Shen Yuan's oldest friend and the author of many infamous books. He stopped writing them about twenty years ago though, after he started to explore the abyss with Shen Yuan. He seems to be looking for something in the abyss, or rather: someone.

Liu Qingge: Tallman, 26 y/o, Swordsman. One of Shen Yuan's friends. He used to be part of the Cang Qiong guild but left it after a disagreement with one of his colleagues. Now he works for Shen Yuan with his younger sister, Liu Mingyan. "Uh? My goal? Get stronger. Mh."

Liu Mingyan: Tallman, 24 y/o, Swordswoman. Liu Qingge's younger sister, she accompanies him on each of his missions. She got an offer to work with Cang Qion mountain once but refused it once she learned her brother had left the guild. She's quiet but efficient, however, Shang Qinghua suspects that she might stick around for other reasons...

Cang Qiong Guild:

Yue Qingyuan: Tallman, 48 y/o, Tank. The leader of Cang Qiong, he's a respected individual amongst adventurers. However, he seems leniant on the vices of his vice-leader: Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu: Tallman, 40 y/o, Swordman. Vice-leader of Cang Qiong. He's the reason Cang Qiong is exclusively made of tallmen, as he has a strong distate for any other races, especially elves. The only exception to this rule is his adopted daughter: Ning Yingying, a dwarf. He's the one who abandoned Luo Binghe into the abyss after discovering his true nature.

Mu Qingfang: Tallman, 29 y/o, Healer. The group's medic.

Qi Qingqi: Tallman, 31 y/o, Swordswoman. She wanted to create a branch specifically for women in Cang Qiong Guild's but because of Shen Qingqiu's veto on recruiting other races she couldn't make it work.

Ming Fan: Tallman, 19 y/o, Mage. A cowardly young adventurer. He has a crush on Ning Yingying.

Ning Yingying: Dwarf, 51 y/o, Tank. Despite being older than him, she's Shen Qingqiu's adopted daughter whom he took in when she was merely 30 y/o. She likes her father a lot, however she can't forgive him for what he has done to Luo Binghe. (She'll leave Cang Qiong to join Shen Yuan's part at some point).

(Side note, Cang Qiong is still specialized in cultivation, hence why most of them look so young)

The Tieflings hideout:

Tieflings are a race that I made up for this AU specifically, inspired by D&D. They're inhabitant of the dungeon, tall and sturdy, with pointy ears akin to elves, horns of various shapes and tails. They can also use magic like elves, tallmen or gnomes, however their magic rely on its own set of rules.

Mobei-Jun: Tiefling, 92 y/o, King of the Northern tribe. Leader of one of the numerous tiefling tribes hidden in the abyss, he met Shang Qinghua twenty years ago in the abyss and has made him swear his loyalty to him since then. He has sensed change in the abyss since Luo Binghe's arrival, and decided to trust Shen Yuan's party to solve this issue... With the compensation of Shang Qinghua.

Sha Hualing: Half-ogre half-halfoot, 15 y/o, Princess of the Eastern tribe. Adopted daughter of the king of the eastern tribe, she's a bastard born from the forbidden union between an ogre and a half-foot and was abandoned into the abyss at birth. Of short stature, with a short life spawn, she makes up for it with her keen senses and her strength. She later on joins Shen Yuan's party.

The first Tieflings:

Tianlang-Jun: Tiefling, ??? y/o, Master of the Abyss. The master of the abyss, his powers are beyond anything imaginable. He claims to have eaten what has given him those powers and since then has known hunger beyond what any mortal could endure. He has once fell in love with a tallman woman by the name of Su Xiyan, but she has left the abyss years ago, and he doesn't know what her whereabouts are... The only thing he knows is that she's the only one capable of satisfying this hunger that eats him from the inside.

Zhuzhi-Lang: Beastman (snake), ??? y/o, Guardian of the abyss. Tasked by the Abyss' Master to protect its inhabitants, he'll kill anyone who gets in his ways indiscriminately at the exception of Shen Yuan, who saved him years ago when exploring the abyss for the first time. He only obeys the Abyss' Master orders, and because of that, has forced the Tieflings deeper and deeper into the abyss regardless of how they felt about it. As a chimera, he's more snake than the tiefling his soul has been mixed with.

Other groups:

Huan Hua's guild (the governor's guild): The one guild financed by the governor of the state in which the abyss is located. Its members are from various races. Despite the guild stating they're open to anyone, only those from a wealthy background can become a part of it.

Zhao Hua's guild: Specialized in magic. They have rounds to reanimate unlucky adventurers in the abyss.

Tian Yi's guild: Specialized in training new adventurers.

And that's it for now! What awaits them in the abyss? Many adventures and delicious cooking, that is, if Luo Binghe can handle it.

"Freed from the abyss at long last... Forced to cook the monsters with seasoning this time. I've been cursed there's no other way to explain it... Damn it, it's good though, I really am a great cook."

[eevees-hobbies]

An Accidental 'I Love You'

Synopsis: Saying ‘I love you’ is difficult for some of the Wind Breaker boys (some more than others), but sometimes intimacy is all one needs to be inspired to say those sweet three words. Characters are aged up.

Based on prompt #16 from @prompt-heaven. Dividers by saradika. Story banner by me.

CW: Female Reader. Smut & Fluff below. MDNI

Word Count: 1.6K

Authors Note: I genuinely love the Wind Breaker characters, so I’m excited to write for them for the first time. Remember, my requests are open if you'd like something written! As usual, I always appreciate a like, comment, or reblog.

Haruka Sakura has his issues. If you asked his closest enemies—and some friends—to list his flaws, they’d rattle off: impatient, hot-headed, kind of clueless. But you know Sakura, and, sure, he can be some of those things, but the flaw that makes your heart ache the most is what he exhibits in his most vulnerable moments: insurmountable insecurity. 

When you start to date Sakura, you know that he needs gentle praise and reassurance to build him up to combat the years of abuse he’s experienced—and it’s a delicate balance of the right amount of praise without sounding insincere.

So when you finally reach the next level of intimacy in your relationship, which admittedly felt like a slow crawl, you start to see another side of Haruka Sakura.

You’re his first everything—-date, hand-hold, kiss, and sexual experience. One thing about Sakura is that he’s eager to make up for lost time, gingerly touching you in places that make your bottom lip quiver, licking you in a way that makes your pupils dilate and your mouth open in a breathless moan. Sakura buries himself in you because while he’s never outwardly expressed it, he feels safe, accepted, and loved when he’s with you.

And maybe you’re a bit surprised when his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling the hickey-covered expanse of your flesh as he whispers a quiet, “I love you.”

You both pause what you’re doing—your gentle scratching of his toned shoulder blades and his deep rolling of his hips. Suddenly, Sakura pulls back, beet-red and a horrified expression on his face. And you know him and his proclivity to shut down and run away when embarrassed, so you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him from leaping out of the room and bolting down the street.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, the internal dialogue you’re almost always attempting to fend off, contributing to a new narrative that you may reject him.

“H-hey! Look at me.” You reach a hand up and stroke his face, the heat of his cheeks permeating against your palm. 

“Haruka, I love you, too. I hope that you know that.” You look down between you both, your bodies still connected, which you hope clearly indicates the feelings you share for one another.

He bites his lip, following your eyes, taking in your naked form splayed out underneath him, fleshy thighs wrapped around his waist, the insides of those thighs coated in your slick and him still throbbing inside of you. 

You can see him doing something that he doesn’t do often—fighting back the harmful dialogue in his head that says he isn’t enough. 

Sakura leans down so he’s back to hovering in your orbit, his strong arms on the sides of your head and caging you in. His voice remains slightly above a whisper, but at least he’s now gazing into your eyes with his luminescent ones. “I got in my head…again.” 

You rake the tips of your fingernails across his spine, earning a shiver and a low whimper from him—he doesn’t need much more of an invitation to recapture your lips in his own and continue to roll his hips into yours.

Hayato Suo is as calculated as they come; everything he says is said with reason—whether the other party knows that reason is another story. With that knowledge, I can’t imagine Suo accidentally saying those three special words. 

In fact, he’d never say those words if he didn’t mean it. So when Suo informs you that he loves you in a way that feels akin to asking you what you wanted for dinner on a random Tuesday, despite you both laying in bed, fully unclothed after a heated lovemaking session, you’re a loss for words. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places soft kisses against each of your knuckles, but you stare at him to make sure he’s not—excuse the language—fucking with you.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel you staring into his soul. A corner of his lips tilts upward in amusement. 

“Say it again.”  

And so he does. Every chance he gets, he tells you that he loves you, that he adores you, and that breathing you in sustains his very being. He not only whispers the sentiment during mundane moments like walking down the aisle of your favorite tea shop but also when you’re in the throes of experiencing his passion for you. 

Gentle caresses of your stomach as he delivers gentle suckles to your clit, devouring your essence one swallow at a time. And while what he says is muffled because his mouth is full of your sex, it’s clear to you that he’s showering you with praise among the sanctum between your thighs.

“I love you,” “you’re simply everything,” and “my pretty girl” consume the spaces you share, and no one can blame you if you develop a bit of a praise kink because no one has the unshakeable swagger that Suo does. 

Jo Togame has a feeling that there’s something about you when harmless flirting in the hangout turns into letting you wear his Shishitoren jacket to send a message that if anyone fucks with you, they’re going to have a massive problem on their hands. 

Among the stolen kisses, frenzied quickies in the cover of alleyways, and lazy weekends spent in bed with your legs wrapped around each other, it finally hits Togame as he’s drawing large circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. And it isn’t until one of the aforementioned lazy Sundays that he’s willing to share the revelation. 

You’re laying in bed with one another—-he, the big spoon to your little one, his cock buried deep inside of you as he rolls his hips in a manner that only Togame can—-in no particular rush to bring on his orgasm but having a preference to prioritize yours.

You’ve gotten used to the sensual lovemaking, the slow build of your orgasm bubbling deep within you as you tremble from the overstimulation.

Togame presses his lips against your neck, slowly trailing kisses near the edge of your hairline and upward until you can feel his tongue sucking gently at your lobe, and a deep, slow rumble emits from his chest, “God, I love you.” 

Togame says it with the conviction of someone who has resolved themselves to one person, his person, you, you, you. There is no room for doubt because once Togame commits to you, he’s simply committing to the destiny of your love story, which was always inevitable. 

Hajime Umemiya is also someone who would never proclaim his love for someone unless he meant it, but unlike Suo, his reasoning has little to do with a preference for remaining aloof and more to do with the fact that once he says, ‘I love you,’ he’s marrying that person.

In a perfect world, Umemiya would plan a romantic date somewhere where you’d be surrounded by blooming flowers, the rays of the sun beaming down on you, and creating a golden halo around the crown of your hair. You’d never looked as beautiful as you do now, and he was ready to express to you what you meant to him. Umemiya would be visibly nervous, and because you know him so well, perhaps this would indicate that something was amiss. 

Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t always go according to plan because one thing about Umemiya is that he can be caught in the heat of the moment. 

Umemiya has your hands pinned above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours because there’s not a world in which he doesn’t crave that connection with you. And as he slides into you—an unashamed moan escaping his lips, he takes in your smell, the way you murmur and sigh his name as he fills you up; he can’t help but sputter out a shakey, “I…i love you.”

Instead of being embarrassed that this wasn’t what he planned, he chuckles because this is as good a moment as any and says it again, and again, and again, while placing tender kisses against your lips, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

Ren Kaji has had quite the stressful day—even by Makochi’s standards. After throwing fists with thugs terrorizing the town's shop owners, he seeks you out, his anchor, the one person who can keep him from losing control and beating people within an inch of their lives. 

And you’re more than happy to take on that role, not only because you adore the sweet-toothed man but also because it results in some rough romps in the bedroom, which you could never complain about. 

Hard smacks to your bare ass, angry, dark hickeys littered across every inch of you, and a soreness radiating between your legs later warrants intensive aftercare, according to Kaji. So after he’s done massaging your scalp, helping you into your cute pajamas, and grabbing you a glass of water, he holds you. 

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the soft, rhythmic repetition of his beating heart as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

And in between soft snores and a relaxed dream state, Kaji utters a simple “I love you.”

You laugh softly so as not to wake him because, of course, he does, and this isn’t the first time he’s spoken those words in his sleep. But every morning, neither of you mention the confession. 

His actions are more than enough proof to show that he loves you, and you aren’t sure that he remembers, anyway. Regardless, you have no doubt that the day in which Kaji speaks those words to you will come.

[writingwithfolklore]

Writing a Story from Start to Finish - Guide

                I see you guys in the tags and reblogs talking a lot about how you have a desire to write, but have no clue what to write about, or where to even start figuring that out. While starting any project can be incredibly daunting, I wanted to put together a little guide to hopefully make it a bit more accessible. Be warned, this will probably be a long post.

Step 1: Form an idea

All writing begins with this: an idea. Ideas can start as small as an object, or as big as a world or cast of characters. What’s important is that your idea genuinely interests you, and makes you want to explore it more.

                There are a million ways to gain inspiration for ideas, but my favourite method is a sort of brainstorm/mind map of all the little and big things you find interesting. Any tropes, characters, places, concepts, objects, animals, other stories, etc. you love—write them down. Then, start connecting the pieces. Each connection is one concept or idea you could explore further.

                If this doesn’t work for you, try using some writing prompts or check out 15 ways to spark new ideas.

                If you are a planner, proceed to Step 2. If you are a pantser, skip to step 7.

Step 2: Create your Protagonist

Now that you have a sort of concept or inspiration to work off of, you need your main character. There are about as many ways to create characters as there are characters themselves, and each method is going to work better or worse for every writer.

                At the barest minimum, all your protagonist needs is a Goal to work towards, a Reason for wanting it, and a Flaw that keeps them from having it right away.

                These three things can form a baseline character. Consider what the thing they want, why they want it, and what’s keeping from it says about them as a person.

                Rapunzel (from Disney’s Tangled) wants to see the ‘floating lights’ on her birthday. She wants to because she believes she will learn more about herself through seeing them. Her fear over disappointing and disobeying her ‘mother’ keeps her from it.

                My favourite character creation technique is actually Here—it takes you through creating character in order to create story.

                If that one doesn’t work for you, try this one. It is more focused on defining traits and figuring out the personality of the character first.

Step 3: Your Plot is your Protagonist’s Arc

As stated in the character creation technique I shared in Step 2, character is plot. By that I mean, the character’s journey is the plot of the story. We’re here to see the protagonist transform because of the circumstances incited in the beginning.

                So to form a plot, we need to know who the character is at the beginning, and what they need to learn by the end.

                Your character’s arc is A but B so C:

                A – your character and their flaw

                B – The conflict they go through

                C – how they change

“Obsessed with success, Jenny Beech works tirelessly to earn the approval of her strict parents and graduate top of her class, but when the new girl in town pulls her into a whole new world of excitement and fun, she must stand up for herself against her impossible standards and learn how to be a teen again.”

                This one sentence has everything we need to know about this story and character: “Obsessed with success (character trait/flaw), Jenny Beech works tirelessly to earn the approval of her strict parents and graduate top of her class (goal), but when the new girl in town pulls her into a new world of excitement and fun (conflict), she must stand up for herself against her impossible standards and learn how to be a teen again (change).”

                If you have these three things, congratulations! You already have a story. If you’d like, you may begin writing it now (skip to step 8). Or…

Step 4: Theme

                I did a whole post on theme you should check out here. Essentially, the big takeaway is that your theme is a lesson to impart to the readers—which means it is not a question, it is an answer.

                For the example given above, our theme would likely be something like, “Teens need to balance their additional responsibilities as they mature into young adults with the joy of being young and having fun.” Or, “Friends and a close social network is more important than having the best grades.” Or, “It’s important to take frequent time away from work in order to maintain one’s humanity.” Etc. Etc.

                Theme is conveyed through what your characters need to do to succeed (or what they do that causes their failure). If Jenny lets loose and suffers consequences for it in the end, we’re saying that she should have stuck to her studies rather than letting herself have fun. If she lets loose and is rewarded with a greater relationship with herself and her parents, we’re saying that was the correct thing to do.

Step 5: Outlining

                Now that we have a plot and a theme, we can outline our story. An outline is like a roadmap of what you’re writing. It can be as specific or broad as you want. My outlines tend to follow this structure, and I improvise the little stuff in between, but if you need to get all your ideas within your outline, that’s good too!

                Just make sure your notes make sense to you so when you need to know where to go next, you have a handy tool just for that.

Step 6: Worldbuilding

                Worldbuilding is probably where you’ll spend the most time because there’s just so much. However, I also find it one of the most fun parts. The minimal thing you need to know is your world’s normal, and how that normal is disrupted in the inciting incident.

                Jenny’s normal is school work and trying to impress her parents. The disruption is the new girl in town.

                Rapunzel’s normal is the tower and her hobbies. The disruption is Flynn breaking in.

                I did a more in-depth post on worldbuilding here, but the basics is just ask questions, explore consequences, and do plenty of research.

                Which brings us to…

Step 7: Research

                This can also be done after your first draft, but can’t be skipped entirely. It’s important when trying to convey experiences that may not be wholly your own, or unique perspectives, that you understand the context behind those things in the real world.

                Once again, ask questions, talk to people, and remain open to what you find.

Step 8: We can start writing now

                Now that you have all your planning ducks in a row (or have a good inspiration to jump from) it’s time to start writing! Either go from the outline you built, or just try out scenes. I have some tips for actually writing the dang thing that I’ll put here:

                Let me know how your writing goes, good luck!

[yoonia]

Ever A Never After — story masterpost

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Summary | Growing up in the fairy tale land, your whole life seems to have been written perfectly in the books, with the picturesque life and the Prince Charming that you can see yourself having your happily ever after with. But your entire world turns upside down when you are suddenly sent into a whole new world, a different kind of universe where happily ever after doesn’t exist. Thrust into a new challenge and shown a new side of life, you find yourself standing in a crossroad. When the moment arises, would you find your way back home to your true love, or is the universe trying to show you that sometimes happy endings don’t have to be written so perfectly?

⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Angst, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; specific warnings will be added accordingly on each published chapters ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Ever A Never After: Act 2 - Part 1 (Sept 16th, 2024) - 35,098 words of n/a words  ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion ⟶ Cross-posted in AO3 and Wattpad

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). In place of the coding, you’ll find a blank space as her name. Please also note that our main character/reader insert for this story has her own nickname that will be used in the scenes. While the story is adapted from the movie, Enchanted, with some characters and places that were mentioned in the movie added into this story, I will be adding changes in the story settings, characters’ names and background stories to fit the plot. That being said, as someone who has never set foot in the land of America, forgive me if there are some inaccuracies in the details that are being added here. I hope that doesn’t change your reading experience with the story.

⟶ Chapters

⇢ Act One. Andalasia, The Maiden, and The Dream Prince [“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” “It’s me. Your Prince Charming.” | Word count: 19,688 words | posted: May 21st, 2024 | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Two. The Alter World and The Saviour [“I need to find my way back to the castle.” “What castle?” “Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” “Huh, right. Why don’t I just call you an Uber?” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

— Part 1. Welcome to the Alter World [Word count: 15,410 words of n/a words - posted on: Sept 16th, 2024] — Part 2. The World Without Magic [Word count: — of n/a words - posted on: — ]

⇢ Act Three. Fairy Tales and Bittersweet Endings [“You forgot to say the part where you lived happily ever after.” “Happily ever after? That thing doesn’t exist, not in the real world.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Four. The Ball for The Kings and Queens and Dragons [“There is a ball for the Queen and Kings at the start of spring. Shall we go together?” “As your Prince Charming, I’ll be happy to escort you.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Five. Prince Charming and a Happily Never After [“Look at how the tables have turned, as now I have in my hand the Prince who is supposed to protect the princess.” “Come along now, dear. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⟶ Fic talk & references

⇢ image reference

⇢ readers feedback & discussions

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual inspiration board

⇢ fic commentary (coming soon)

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | It’s finally here! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one. Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your endless support. As mentioned in our last talk, there will be some changes from the original prompt/details that I’ve made to make the story work better, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it still. I have decided to release this one as a mini-series to present the timeline more appropriately and make the storyline work. Have fun reading!

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[runariya]

🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun. 

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil. 

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book. 

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe. 

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment. 

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you. 

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask. 

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you. 

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he’s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—? 

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival. 

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish. 

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

[botboots]

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

-----------------

Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

[thehistoriccemetery]

Hi!!! Absolutely love your writing :)

Idk if you’re taking requests but if you are:

Been having a tough time lately, would it be possible to have the female companions (plus Aylin+Isobel) comforting Tav/Reader during a panic attack?

Thank youuuuuu sending you all the love and good vibes

BG3 Ladies Soothe a Panic Attack

I was honestly unsure I’d ever able to do this prompt justice, especially given how differently every person’s needs are in such a situation. But I felt inspired to give it a shot anyway! I hope it’s alright!

I also send good vibes and well wishes to all my fellow panic attack having soldiers.

In the spirit of trying to keep it vague, this one is pretty short. But without further ado, here’s Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, Jaheira, and Isobel and Aylin!

Shadowheart

Shadowheart knows all the clerical tips and tricks that are gonna get you through this you through this.

As soon as you’re in full blown panic she’s got an ice spell at her fingertips, placing her cold hands on your face especially around the eyes.

She kneels down next to you. “Alright love, I need you to breathe with me,” she commands, modeling the most effective breathing techniques.

She’s very soft, nearly whispering so you have to really focus on her in order to understand what she is saying.

She’s very liberal with her praise, telling you how good you’re doing with every breath you’re able to match.

When the panic subsides, she instructs you to rest. She’ll lay with you if you’d like, but you need to rest for at least a few minutes before proceeding with life as usual.

She brings you food and water, taking the opportunity to make sure you’re taking care of yourself in general. You have to eat and drink at least a little bit before she’ll let you go.

She also wants to have a little chat about the root of the issue. What are some of your triggers? What are some things that help you specifically?

Next time, she’s gonna be prepared.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel is not the gentle type when it comes to these sorts of things, though it’s not something she’s entirely unfamiliar with.

When she sees the panic set in, she’s the first to pull you up to your feet and have you do jumping jacks or something.

While any observers might think she’s being heartless or unemphatic, the adrenaline actually works pretty well to pull you out of the panic fast.

She doesn’t make you feel embarrassed about it at all. She simply squeezes your arms and nods in understanding. It happens to the best of us.

Lae’zel is, shockingly, largely unfazed. You get the sense that she dealt with this before. Perhaps she even dealt with panic attacks herself in her youth.

She thinks it’s best to resume normal activities immediately, though she’ll secretly be keeping a special eye on you the rest of the day.

Karlach

In seeing your unbridled panic, Karlach starts to get a little panicked herself.

She just doesn’t really have any experience with this sort of thing and is completely unsure of what to do.

Her first instinct is to hold you, but if you put up any sort of resistance at all she backs off immediately.

Whether you are in her arms or simply next to her, she whispering words of affirmation. But she’s unable to come up with much more than “it’s okay, soldier. It’s gonna be okay. You’ve got this.”

When you’re no longer gripped by panic, she’s still not entirely sure what to do. She’ll take your lead completely. Though she’s not entirely convinced that a simple “back to business” is the best course of action.

She’ll probably want to cuddle or at least hold your hand for a while just to make sure you’re truly alright. If she’s being honest, the ordeal gave her quite a scare. But she absolutely will not make this about her right now.

She’s going to be checking in on you pretty consistently over the next couple days. She may even get some pointers from Shadowheart on what to do if it ever happens again.

Minthara

Minthara’s first priority is privacy and protection. Anyone who isn’t her isn’t allowed to come anywhere close to you. Not when you’re this vulnerable.

After everyone is gone and out of earshot, she asks “Would you like to be held?” She speaks with the same tone and cadence she’s always using. Nothing about her softens.

If you say yes, she’ll silently pull you into her arms, allowing you to sob and heave into her chest until you recover.

Pretty much anything you need is fair game. She will not stop you from clutching at her clothes or skin, even if you accidentally hurt her.

If you say no, she’ll simply sit next to you in silence, occupying herself with a silent menial task. She will allow you some space, but she will not leave you entirely alone.

Either way, anyone who values their life will stay away from you; she’ll make sure of it.

You expect her to lecture you about such a blatant display of weakness, but she doesn’t. And anyone who would dare even mention it will receive a glare that makes them think better of it.

Jaheira

Jaheira’s first tactic is similar to that of Lae’zel. She tries to get you moving until the endorphins help you overcome your panic.

It’s honestly frustrating how effective it is. The height of your panic subsides quicker than it ever has before.

She is, however, quite a bit gentler afterwards. She has questions. Is this a frequent occurrence? What triggers your panic? How can we avoid it in future?

When you express to her your concern about your anxiety making you a weak link, she is quick to shut down any doubt that you are less valuable for this.

She’s raised enough children to know it takes all sorts of strengths and weaknesses to round out a team. Even those on the softer side have their purpose.

She eventually convinces to start taking more days off, especially when the task at hand has a high likelihood to push you beyond your limits.

Isobel and Dame Aylin

Dame Aylin pulls you into her arms. Even if you struggle against it at first, she just holds you tightly against her chest and gently shushes your sobs.

Meanwhile, Isobel handles the situation very similarly to Shadowheart, bringing her clerical knowledge in to support you.

She strokes your face with cooled hands, not minding the way tears pour relentlessly down her hands. All while a strong Aylin gently kisses the crown of your head.

Aylin shields you from the world with her wings, only allowing Isobel close. Anyone else will receive a gentle yet firm “Begone.”

When it’s over, Isobel tells you to rest. She’ll probably insist prefer you came back to/stayed at camp with her for the rest of the day.

As loathe as you are to miss out on a day on adventuring, Isobel’s company makes for the best afternoon anyone could ask for.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 308

Adjective: Kind

Noun: Crow

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Kind: having or showing a friendly, generous, and considerate nature; used in a polite request; (of a consumer product) gentle on (a part of the body); (archaic) affectionate or loving

Crow: a large bird with mostly glossy black plumage, a heavy bill, and a raucous voice; (derogatory) a woman, especially an old or ugly one; the constellation Corvus; the cry of a rooster; a sound made by a person expressing triumph or happiness; a member of a North American people inhabiting eastern Montana; the Siouan language of the Crow

[moonlit-imagines]

No One’s Sidekick

Jason Todd x teen!reader

warnings: needles and guns and death mentions ya know

a/n: ok i was gonna do headcanons for this but honestly it sparked a lot of inspiration so im actually writing a oneshot for it this is a ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE bc im very picky about when to write oneshots ily. might do hcs also just cuz arkham knight is my passion. (honestly i should have just done hcs idk if i like where i went with this LMAO)

prompt: anonymous: “hi idk if you write Arkham Jason Todd but if if you do is it possible if you can do a Arkham Jason Todd x fem teen reader and reader is his sidekick”

Imagine a life where you had nothing, you were the lowest anyone could go, and you were just a kid. Now imagine that there was someone standing in front of you, telling that same story, and offering you a chance to turn it all around because they knew how it felt to be you.

That someone was Jason Todd. You found each other by chance, somewhere in the Gotham slums. He walked past you down a dimly lit alley full of used needles and rotting trash, noticing a kid just a few years younger hiding from the world. You noticed a guy in a hoodie hiding a nasty scar on his cheek.

He reached out a hand, hoping you’d take it. He saw a look in your eyes that you’d been like this a while. And you might have noticed the same in his. Which is why after trusting nobody for years, you took this stranger’s hand. “I remember when I was a kid waiting in shitty places woth the hope someday it’d change. And it did one day. Someone found me and changed my life.” He explained after buying you a burger and fries.

“Was it for the better?” You asked him with a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know anymore.” He looked shaken himself, and you could tell by the bags under his eyes this may have been a subject that kept him up at night, maybe took up his waking moments, too. “How long have you been alone?”

“Practically forever. Every once in a while I felt like I was on steady ground and then…something always happens.” You sighed, taking a sip of your soda. “But I learned how to get by on my own. I had to. And I have to protect myself.” Jason raised a brow.

“You protect yourself yet you’re willing to go off with a stranger?” He asked, giving you a warm smile.

“Jason, right?” He nodded at the question. “Jason Todd?” His expression dropped. Before he could stammer out a response, you leaned back on your side of the booth and said, “everyone around here knows you one way or another, but everyone thought you were dead after you disappeared.”

“Did you know who I was when you came here with me?” Jason spoke lowly.

“Nope.” You flatly responded. “But I figured it out along the way. You used to live in my building when I was a kid, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“3B?” He asked.

“That’s the one. You remember?” You smiled.

“I remember a scared little kid with dirt all over their face no matter what time of day.” You both chuckled. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I guess I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“It’s nice. I just don’t know where to go from here.” You took the last few bites from your meal, averting your eyes from his gaze, nervous for what was to come, but also hopeful. At this point, you didn’t care what you did or where you went, as long as you had some kind of purpose. Spending your youth in sleeping in wet boxes or crashing on a sunken-in, stained couch was no longer something you could stand doing.

“I had an idea. A while ago. But I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He revealed with a long pause, mustering up better details to share. “I dont know. It sounds crazy, but maybe not anymore.”

“Can you get to the point?” You tilted your head, eager for a bit more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He gulped. “I talked to this guy, it was after some really bad shit went down,” he brushed his scarred cheek, “this high-profile assassin wanted to train me—work with me. There are some demons I have to face, but I need some help to get ready.” You stared blankly for a minute, fingernail scratching the tabletop as you thought about his words. “It’s out of the country, somewhere in South America.”

“You’re crazy.” You stated. “I’m in.” Jason’s eyes widened. “Anything to get me out of Gotham. And you’re Jason Todd, I’d trust you with my life, even after all this time.” His expression softened and he kind of chuckled, in disbelief of you and himself.

“I—I guess I gotta go make a call.” Jason knocked his hand on the table. “Go ahead and order dessert, I’ll be back in a few.” He stepped out the front door and opened his phone, scrolling down to a contact labeled “S. Wilson.” It rang twice. “I’m in, and one more will be joining us.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your travels, stay on the line.” Said Slade, there were faint keyboard clicks. “I have a private jet that awaits you at eight a.m. tomorrow. I will send you the address, don’t be late.” The phonecall ended abruptly and Jason went back to your table, finding you eating a slice of pie.

“Tomorrow morning we get to fly in a private jet.” Jason saw your face light up. “Never been?”

—————

Venezuela was incredible to you, even if it was a bit more humid than you were used to. On the plane ride, Jason told you everything. He didn’t spare one detail, he didn’t care. You were another Gotham City orphan with a dark past and a bright future. You two were ready for anything.

It was grueling. It was incredible. It was nothing you’d experienced before. Which was terrifying. But invigorating. You could tell Jason felt right back in his element, but you were desperately trying to catch up. He’d had much training before this, relevant to the current situation. You’re training went as far as standard Gotham Slums scuffling. Your skills included switchblade maneuvers, aiming for the crotch, running from trouble and climbing from trouble. Nothing like this ever seemed possible for you. But Jason knew what it felt like to be brought from your level to his. And as Deathstroke brought Jason to his level, he’d make sure you’d catch up.

—————

“I think you two are ready.” Slade announced as both of you stood before him. Straight backs, eyes forward, and arms behind your backs. “The plan is to be enacted soon, and you,” he turned his attention to Jason, “it’s up to you what we do from here. Gotham City finally meets its match?” He suggested. Jason nodded his head once and you followed. And so it began, the planning phase.

—————

You looked at Gotham from down below. Smaller than you remembered. The whirring of the helicopter blades lulled you away from reality for a few moments before Jason tapped you, motioning for you to come up front with him. You slid your headset on and heard him begin barking orders at the militia before setting your comms to private. “How’s it feel?” Jason asked you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You replied, doing a final check to make sure your guns were loaded and secured. “What about you?”

“It feels like I’m finally getting my revenge.” His voice modulator sent a chill down your spine and you soon landed in Gotham. The plan went off without a hitch. Gotham evacuated, scum running loose, Batman distracted, and his allies scattered. It was exciting, but something was off. Scarecrow’s plan didn’t sit well with you. It was gruesome, even to you. You never really cared about anyone but yourself, but as Jason lost his humanity, you gained it. “I’ve got your back, y/n. You got mine?”

“Always, Knight.” He chuckled as the chopper began to descend. “Let’s kill the Batman.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @deanzboyfriend //

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

welcome to the bakery

currently playing; the bakery by melanie martinez "pack it, box it, flip it, top it... the bakery, i'm tryna make some more"

this was inspired by @bunnys-kisses so go check out their page, such incredible stuff <3

when you request, please make sure to let me know if it's from my smut prompts or my soft ones [soft request prompts are still in the works]

hey lovely, how can i help? may i take your order? what do you feel like today? personally i'm in need of some iced tea and all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and server of your choosing please, please, please don't forget to indicate who you want me to write about!! also please keep in mind that i haven't written anything in a while so it might take a bit for me to back into the groove of it. <3

the bakeries i currently have open are: formula one, resident evil, bridgerton and criminal minds, just for now.[but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!]

the servers i'm currently writing for include; charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lewis hamiltion, pierre gasly, esteban ocon, oscar piastri, leon kennedy, carlos oliveria, chris redfield, anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, colin bridgerton, spencer reid, aaron hotchner and luke alvez.

i do also accept polyam relationships! [pairing + reader] but only three people just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @jude-duarte-wannabe and i'll get your order together when i can also let me know if you want your order to...

be extra hot; real smutty or have sweetener; extra fluffy

let me know if want to be added to my taglist by commenting <3 followed by the person.

the bakery menu;

pound cake; "i can be rough and i don't want to hurt you"

churro's; "does my sweet boy need comforting"

cheese scone; "let your brother find out, i don't fucking care"

mille-feuille; "that's it, shit, such a good fucking girl"

cinnamon buns; "no promises"

gingerbread; "i mean i would totally make out with her/him but like platonically, you know"

baguette; "give me a minute, i really need to tickle the shit out of you"

pretzel; "i was never meant to fall for you"

cornbread; "you taste really good"

strawberry shortcake; "he's so cute, i really want to bite him"

soda bread; "wait a second... am i your lockscreen'

focaccia; "i could beat the shit out of you" "i know"

choux pastry; "i can't believe i ever loved you"

pumpkin muffin; "shut up... my girls asleep"

dinner roll; "holy shit, you still love him/her"

cakepop; "goodnight to my future wife, fuck the rest of you"

pull apart bread; "i love you"

souffle; "i'll be gentle"

powdered doughnuts; "marry me"

s'more; "the accent got to you, didn't it"

waffles; "you spill a single fucking drop and we're starting again"

shortbread biscuits; "if he pisses me off again, i'm fucking his girl"

red velvet cupcake; "does he know that i cum deep inside his little angel'

pancakes; "no, we can't, not here"

coffee cake; "i need to breed you"

french toast; "i don't think it'll fit"

crepes; "go back to sleep, you don't need to be awake for this sweetcheeks"

sweet pastry; "i'm trying to get you pregnant, now shut up and let me concentrate"

butter tart; "stop, don't fake it"

sugar pie; "stop wriggling"

zebra cake; "i'll make it fit"

carrot cake; "dirty girl"

date scone; "i'm going to make you a mama and your going to make me a daddy"

cookie; "do you feel that, how fucking deep i am"

brownie; "no fucking touching"

cheesecake; "don't yell at me"

pumpkin pie; "are you nibbling on me"

chocolate cake; "i'll use protection, i promise"

spice pie; "i wonder if your brother know that i cum inside you"

apple crumble; "i can't do this while you cat/dog is watching"

sausage roll; "i hate being your secret"

blueberry slice; "but what if somebody see's"

mushroom pie; "that looks like it hurt"

apple tart; "what do you mean you want me to choke you"

lemon slice; "i forget how small you are sometimes"

swiss roll; "your glasses are fogging up"

truffle; "send me an audio of you moaning"

oaty slice; "you smell like me"

cream puff; "this ends when your pregnant"

custard slice; "no hiding your face"

victoria sponge; "you wanna hold my hand"

english muffin; "i could die between these legs"

bagel; "where you going, this ain't over"

banana bread; "i can't believe you broke my bed"

hot cross buns; "i'll pay for the damages"

apple turnover; "can you keep it down"

fudge; "what do you mean noise complaint"

peach cake; "i've never done this"

tiramisu; "how could you be so stupid"

crumb cake; "nobody has to know"

custard tart; "you gonna let me cum inside"

date pudding; "your going to let me rawdog you, oh fuck"

mince pie; "so fucking dumb"

angel food cake; "did you just squirt, since when could you do that"

savory scroll; "stop stressing, i'm not going to post it"

chocolate chip cookie; "did you just call me pretty boy"

croissant; "don't you dare"

elcairs; "don't, leave them on"

chocolate mousse; "i'm sorry"

boston cream pie; "fuck it's dripping down your legs"

and to drink;

coffee; somnophilia kink

tea; semi public

juice; breeding kink

mocha; daddy kink

peppermint tea; mommy kink

vodka shot; rough sex

sparkling water; gentle sex

oat milk; one night stand

soy milk; friends with benefits

coconut milk; friends to lovers

almond milk; grumpy x sunshine

energy drink; doggy style

turmeric latte; fake dating

cold brew; possessive

espresso shot; dirty talking

chamomile tea; choking kink

glass of water; aftercare

herbal tea; soft but only for you

milkshake; size kink

pina colada; pregnancy

matcha latte; mixed with smau

cider; body worship

mai tai; loss of virginity

margarita; unprotected sex

chai; biting or hickeys [please let me know which]

earl grey; big cock

tonic water; age gap

soda; protected sex

root beer; caught in the act

americano; oral sex

whiskey; degrading language

vitamin water; dom/sub dynamics

irish coffee; drunk sex

lemon water; secret relationship

dark roast; sub character

hot chocolate; sub reader

iced tea; accentally leaking relationship

flat white; brothers best friend

iced latte; best friends brother

iced mocha latte; plus sized reader

smoothie; belly bulge

doppio coffee; wall sex

green tea; spiting kink

cortado; belly kisses

affogato; a bet

lemon ginger tea; single mom/dad

berry smoothie; accidental pregnancy

sunshine smoothies; fake dating

cappuccino; secret baby

rice milk; baby fever

cashew milk; somebody flirts with your bf/gf

iced chai; forehead kisses

[syneilesis]

[fic] Coffee Break

Coffee Break

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 1.2k words ao3 link

You buy Xavier a new coffee machine.

A/N: I am so in love with this man. Day 2 of the closed beta test and here I am writing fic lmao. God, I love Shen Xinghui so much. This fic is inspired by his Shimmering Sunlight story. Some spoilers about the main storyline and character-exclusive stories, though nothing too significant. Though I frequently refer to his CN name in my other posts, in this fic I use his EN version -- Xavier.

The box is light in your hands, but the salesperson assured you that weight does not equate to quality. Price, too—because although the Hunters Association is generous with their pay, you don't want to raise flags by taking missions incessantly. Tara's nose for intrigue, of course, is well-known among your circles.

It would be all the worse if Xavier gets in on the gossip too. (You'd have to thank the stars for the man's indifference to workplace drama—and to most in general. Xavier may be airheaded at times but when he's focused on something he is monstrously focused on it. It's impressive, and—well—cute.)

The recommended beans are secured inside your messenger bag. You don't call Xavier this time to give him a heads up. He had, a few days ago, granted you the privilege to enter his home whenever you like, his hand tracing the book spines on the shelf, all the while saying it. He wasn't looking at you, but his tone remained light, playful even, that it prompted you to tease him by pointing out that if he merely wanted an efficient alarm clock, he could just buy one of those state-of-the-art ones sold in major stores. That's when Xavier whirled around to look at you, mirth in his eyes but with a secretive, scheming tilt on his lips.

“I'm coming in,” you announce, regardless, by the door, pushing it in with one hand, and Xavier's voice floats across the hall.

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh.”

“Well, a wise man once said that one must seize every opportunity given their way.”

Xavier emerges from a room in all his cardigan-and-sweatpantsed glory, hair mussed enough to indicate that he's just risen from his bed.

“Good morning!” you chirp.

He glances at the clock—two in the afternoon—and eyes the box in your hands. The caution—and curiosity—is obvious in the lilt of his question. “What's that?”

“For you.”

He takes the proffered item and inspects like it'll explode at any moment. You sigh and retrieve it again, and he follows you when you make your way to the kitchen.

“I already have a coffee machine,” he says, confused, as you begin to clean the gift.

“And it brews bitter coffee.” You spare a glance at him to find that he's watching you. You tap the lid of the machine. “This is a more recent and an undeniably better model.”

“I don't recall asking you to buy one for me.”

“That's because you didn't.” There's a pause where you deliberate telling him your next sentence and facing him directly as you say it. You go for it, in the end. “It's a gift. This is a gift from me to you.”

It doesn't register to him at first—it's as if he's waiting for an explanation that requires the mention of Captain Jenna's orders. But after a blink and a shuffle, it clicks, his eyes widening and he's fully awake all of a sudden.

And when he responds, it seems urgent: “What's the occasion?”

You shake your head. “Nothing—or rather, it's the occasion for drinking good coffee.” The coffee beans make their appearance. “Go sit on the sofa or something while I work this thing out.”

Xavier chuckles. “What—now you're ordering me in my own home?”

“And making you good coffee!”

“You're a guest—even I know that it's rude to have the guest make food or drinks for the owner of the house.”

“It's fine! And besides, I'd like to test this out as soon as possible. Refund and exchange policy only lasts for seven days from the date of purchase. I'd want to know if this works just fine.”

Xavier attempts to protest a little more, but you hold firm. Once he trudges back to the living room, you concentrate on the coffee. The salesperson seemed trustworthy enough when pitching the product, and you really can't forget the time Xavier served you a cup of bitter coffee. Not even three sugar cubes could salvage that unholy concoction.

When it's done, the heavenly aroma wafting along your nose, you test a sip from your own mug. It's a success. Placing the mugs on a tray, you head to where Xavier is.

He's reading a book. Though 'reading' seems to be a stretch because his head bobs twice, his eyelids drooping, the edge of a nap threatening his posture.

“Xavier,” you call him, and his head snaps back to attention. You bite your lip to stave off a laugh. Sitting next to him on the sofa, you put the tray on the table and hand him his own cup. “Try this one.”

A sniff and a tentative sip. And then he hums in approval, now drinking it normally. You smile around the rim of your mug, your eyes falling on his book.

“This is good,” he comments, wearing a smile of his own when he turns to you. “Did you use another kind of coffee beans?”

“Yep. The salesman recommended me another one, and it was the right decision. By the way, why are you reading an instruction manual on building a claw machine?”

“It's nothing,” he says, swiping the item away. There's another book on the table—a collection of short stories—and he snatches that up instead. You recognize the title.

“Oh! I've read that before.”

“Is it good? I haven't read it yet.”

“Yes. I particularly loved the titular story. The suspense buildup was done skillfully and the payoff was perfect.”

“I see, then I look forward to starting it.”

Surprisingly, Xavier begins reading it then and there, occasionally sipping his coffee and turning the page. You, beside him, are minding your own cup, thoughts drifting here and there. Your next mission. New strategies in battle. Your next appointment with Dr. Zayne.

It's when a weight has plopped down your shoulder that you jolt out of your musings: Xavier falling asleep on your shoulder, mug empty, the coffee residues pooling at the bottom, book opened in the chapter of your favorite story.

“Xavier?” you murmur, careful not to startle him if he's truly asleep.

He doesn't stir—only burrows further into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, the puffs of his breath close and warm against your skin.

It would've been cruel to push him away, not when he looks comfortable. And besides, you're afforded an opportunity to study him—so you let him as he is.

From your angle, staring down at his sleeping face, you note of his eyelashes, long and thick and seemingly soft, slightly curved upwards, hovering over his smooth cheeks. They frame the blueness of his eyes very well. They make him even prettier under daylight. You're reminded of the time you and he strolled under the blooming peach blossoms, the pink backdrop highlighting the radiance of his presence, statuesque. He as sublime art itself, rivaling that of Rafayel's paintings—or better yet, surpassing them. And when he smiles—

Unbidden, heat crawls across your cheeks and settles there. Oh no. Oh, no no no.

Oh dear, this won't do.

You swallow, and turn away. Against your neck, Xavier sleeps on, unaware of your unfurling realizations. By the window, a familiar bird perches, twittering under the afternoon sun, a small but melodious background song.

[whatsnewalycat]

mindfuck

Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Dave hypnotizes you.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warnings: hypnokink, not entirely good praxis of hypnosis, humiliation, implied infidelity, praise, smut, unprotected piv, D/s dynamic, dom dave, literal mind fucking so like a bit of body horror get into it

Notes: For @iamasaddie kinky May writing challenge. Prompt was hypnosis + Dave York. I found a lot of inspiration for this from a post in r/EroticHypnosis about mindfucking (can find again if anyone wants the link - lemme know!). Posting this in a hurry bc I am late to a thing so hopefully not tooooo many missed mistakes. OK THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

[ my masterlist ]

-------

All your life you wished you could turn off your thoughts at will. 

Growing up, on those nights where your crowded head wouldn’t let you sleep, you would imagine twisting off the top of your skull like a jar lid and plopping your brain on the nightstand. It even worked sometimes, too, if you tried hard to convince yourself. When reminders of an upcoming math test or images of that cute boy in class crept into your purview, they had nowhere to go. They evaporated, and you slept. 

Dave says you’re too smart for your own good. Sometimes when you’re lost in thought, he tells you he wants to empty that pretty little head of yours. Not in a condescending way, although you can see how someone might interpret it like that. 

What he means is that he wants you to be with him when you’re with him. What he means is that he wants you to be present. Not thinking about the past or the future. Not reminding yourself of deadlines or analyzing the data stored in your brain or wondering what you mean to him exactly. 

The first time he suggested hypnosis, you balked. Even after he explained how it worked, you were hesitant enough for him to drop the subject. 

When he brought it up again, though, your skepticism swayed. You asked him for more details, so he dispensed the pros and cons and the step process. He could do it for you, he said. He knew how. He said he could rattle the bees from your buzzing honeycomb brain. All you had to do was trust him with this power. 

So you did. 

And you do. 

Your valiant beekeeper meets you at this hotel every other Tuesday night, except on holidays. This isn’t the only one-on-one time he dedicates to you, but it’s by far the most reliable. He doesn’t always hypnotize you, either. 

Regardless of whether he puts you in a trance or not, this standing date always starts the same. He slips you the keycard at some point throughout the day, only after he’s adorned it with a vase full of seasonal blooms and laid out something for you to wear. 

Tonight he left you lilacs and matching lingerie. Intricate floral appliqués embellish the pastel nightie he laid out on the bed. 

Opulence becomes you when you slip it on and pour a glass of champagne from the bottle Dave left to chill on ice. You mosey around the spacious high-end suite, sipping frosty bubbles as you admire the birds-eye view of downtown, the tall buildings and bustling city life all drenched in golden light from the setting sun. 

As the time nears eight o’clock, you empty your champagne flute and make yourself comfortable on the plush bed. Crystals hanging from the chandelier fragment soft white light into dazzling tiny spectrums, sparkling rainbow when the door to the suite opens, then closes. 

Dave enters the room with an air of authority that makes you straighten your spine and draw back your shoulders. After chucking off his jacket, he empties his pockets on the dresser and loosens his tie, then turns around to meet your gaze. 

His stern expression melts as he looks you over, seeming to appraise how your body fills out the lilac nightie. Heat sparks in the middle of you when he greets you, “Hey beautiful.” 

“Hi.” 

He approaches your side and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt, “Comfortable?” 

Nodding, you sit up to pull him in for a kiss. His plush lips respond without hesitation, firm but generous as he slips a wide palm around your body and brings you even closer. 

When he pulls back, he asks, “Are you ready?” 

“Ready.” 

He cradles your jaw, searching your face with blatant admiration before separating his body from yours. You lay back into the soft embrace of the pillows and wiggle around until you find the sweet spot of comfort while Dave drags an armchair to your bedside and sits down. Once you’re both settled and still, he begins. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You close them. 

“Take a deep breath in…”

You take in air until you can’t. 

“…and slowly release it.” 

You exhale, rationing your metered breath through a straw-sized ‘o’ formed by your lips. 

“Good. Take a deep breath in… two three four… and slowly release it. Deep breath in… two three four… now slowly release it.”

Behind closed lids, you concentrate on the rhythmic ebb and flow of your lungs contracting and expanding. His warm voice surrounds you. Envelops you. 

“That’s it. Keep breathing just like this. Each time you inhale, draw the life from your breath, and exhale the rest. Notice how cleansing it feels to let it go. How the tension melts from your muscles every time you take a deep breath in…”

You inhale. 

“…two three four…” 

Hold it. 

“…and slowly release it.” 

Then exhale.

“Perfect. Keep doing that. Now imagine that every time you take a deep breath in, a warm wave washes over you… and as you slowly release it, the tide carries away tension, allowing your muscles to soften and relax…”

Each big lungful heats the tar holding your body together. You dissolve into the mattress as Dave’s deep, honeyed voice resonates through you. 

“Again, take a deep breath in as the warm wave of relaxation washes over you, two three four… and slowly release it as the tide carries away your tension, allowing your muscles to soften and relax. Concentrate on my voice. Recognize it as a touchstone. If your mind starts to wander, have it return to the touchstone, return to my voice, and relax even deeper.” 

Trees tower above you, stretching high into the pale blue sky. The moss-covered rock before you glows as he speaks. 

“Notice how relaxed you feel. Notice that every time the warm wave of relaxation washes over you, two three four… tension melts from your body as you allow yourself to sink deeper and deeper into the sensation. Allow the relaxation to seep from your muscles into your bloodstream… to course through your veins and calm every cell in your body.

“Focus on your face. All those tiny little muscles in your forehead and around your eyes, notice how relaxed they are. Notice how the relaxation melts the muscles in your cheeks and jaw, letting your mouth go slack. You might feel as though you want to speak, but find yourself so relaxed that you can’t. That’s ok, because it feels good and safe to let the words dissolve on your tongue. Doesn’t it?” 

When you try to respond, your lips don’t move. This fact doesn’t bother you. It feels good and safe in the forest, staring up at the treetops. 

You realize you’re floating in a pond. You hear birds peacefully chirping and know it’s just you and them and the touchstone for a million miles. 

Everything feels profound, but simple. You are small and big like a speck of dust or a galaxy. You are safe. You are at peace. 

“Doesn’t it feel so good to relax, darling?” 

Your fingertips rest against the soft moss of the touchstone. 

“Yes, it does,” you tell it. 

It glows with a satisfactory hum that vibrates through you.  

“Perfect. Continue to focus on my voice. Soon, I will ask you to open your eyes, then close them. When you close your eyes, you’ll notice a warm wave of relaxation washing over you, turning knots into snarls and snarls into strands, every muscle in your body gently untangling as you allow them to go limp and heavy…”

You understand and follow his instructions. 

“Open your eyes and take a deep breath in, two three four… and slowly release it, closing your eyes, letting the warm wave wash over you and pull you in deeper. 

“Soon, I’ll ask you to open your eyes again. When you close them, you’ll notice the warm wave of relaxation wash over you even stronger than before, pulling you even deeper. 

“Open your eyes, two three four… and close your eyes, sinking deeper and deeper. Good job. We’ll do it one more time, and when you close your eyes and relax, sink as deep as you can, all the way to the bottom. Open your eyes, two three four… and close your eyes.” 

You’re lying in a meadow of wildflowers outside the forest, looking up at the serene blue sky. The earth beneath you is solid and brings you an immense sense of comfort. 

“I want you to think about desire. Think about that warm, lush longing inside you. Concentrate on how good this sensation feels in your body, pleasure swelling thick at the center of you.”

His voice surrounds you, but you don’t see its source. The soothing timbre resonates from the wildflowers and the earth and the sky, from everywhere and nowhere all at once like how you imagine God sounded to Old Testament prophets. 

You bring your focus to desire. It does feel good. Amazing, actually. Tangible like a glowing ball of heat between your thighs that throbs with each syllable he speaks. 

“Allow the sensation to grow. Let it stretch and pulse and heat your skin. Let your mind empty of everything except this arousal. When thoughts arise, you let them fall away and arousal fills the empty space. You’ll let this happen over and over again until your head is empty of everything but arousal. Do you understand? You can speak now, darling, go ahead and answer.” 

“Yes.” 

“Try it for me.” 

You acknowledge the cognitions that populate your mind. When you think about how you need to put gas in your car, you imagine the reminder dropping away, then imagine the warm wanting glow of desire branching up through your body to take its place. You think about a work project, but it loosens and falls into an abyss. Desire floods the space in its wake, a thick hot liquid that glows with light like lava, spreading to each new vacancy with ease as the thoughts drop from your consciousness. 

“How does it feel?” 

“Good,” you breathe, voice faint on your tingling tongue. 

“Do you like how it feels, being horny and mindless?” 

Your husband’s face appears, taking up your whole mind, then falls away. Rich, bubbling pleasure surges through you to fill the gap. You have to suppress a moan to respond. 

“I like it,” you nod, “Fuck, it feels amazing.” 

“Good girl. Now, you might notice something interesting happen when I ask you a question. You might notice that when I ask you a question, you’ll try to form a thought to answer. When you do this, you’ll feel my cock enter your mind. It’s bigger and harder than you’ve ever seen it, swollen and thick and so fucking ready for you, darling. When you try to form a thought, it pushes forward into the wet hot folds of your brain, severing the connections that typically allow you to think, preventing a response from forming. My cock pulls out, and slowly thrusts forward again, pushing out the thoughts, over and over for as long as you consider a response to my question. It becomes impossible to focus. You might notice that this penetration feels like it would in your pussy. My hard cock rutting in and out, sending waves of arousal through your body, fucking the thoughts from your head. Every time my cock moves, you’ll try to respond but cannot make yourself focus. It feels amazing. You give in to the sensation, allowing it to overtake you completely. When you’re fully saturated with arousal and nothing else, my cock pulls out of your mind.” 

Your skin feels static and warm when you imagine him pushing his smooth, throbbing length into your brain. A shaky whimper croaks in your throat. Your heart thuds heavy within your chest, circulating desire, warm and wet, to every cell in your body. 

“You might notice that when I ask you another question, any attempts at thought or sensations that come up except arousal will be fucked from your head until you surrender to the arousal. It feels good to be dominated in this way. To let pleasure consume your entire being.” 

Licking your lips, you nod to show you understand.  

“Now when I ask you a question, you’ll allow your subconscious to follow my instructions. Are you ready, darling?” 

“Yes.” 

“How was your day?” 

When you try to recall your day and formulate an answer, the tip of his cock pierces the equator of your brain, splitting the hemispheres. He drives forward slowly, steadily, making you moan as he stretches you apart and tears all those delicate tissues that generate thought. Still, you try. 

My day, how was my day…

He drags his cock out, then drives it deeper inside you. 

Day… how was…

Your nerve endings buzz as he pulls out, gooey arousal shines on the shaft of his thick cock. He plunges forward into the hot center of you. You work your hips and whine. You can’t remember what he asked. It doesn’t seem as important as the pleasure clinging to your insides as he fucks you, so you give up. 

His cock pulls out of your mind completely. 

“What’s the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?” 

You consider the question. The tip of him breaches your brain, forcing out forecasts and clouds and sunshine. Fragments return as you attempt to answer again. 

The weather tomorrow…

He pumps in and out of you, obliterating whatever it was he wanted to know. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the insatiable pleasure thrumming through you as he rubs against all your hungry nerves, giving them what they want. 

“Oh my god,” you hear yourself gasp. 

“How often do you think about fucking me?” 

Seeds of embarrassment sprout the tender beginnings of thought, then he fucks them out of your head until you’re rolling your hips, moaning and nodding for more. 

“Do you make yourself come when you think about fucking me?” 

Only a loading screen appears before he’s inside you again. His perfect, thick cock pumps you full of this throbbing heat. You wish it would never end. You want to feel this and only this forever. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So horny and mindless for me. Letting my cock push deep and hard into the folds of your brain, fucking out all your thoughts, leaving your head empty to stuff you with arousal until you’re swollen and ripe, nothing else left but how fucking horny you are.” 

“Sssooooo fucking gooood,” you slur. 

“How would your husband feel if he saw you like this? In this hotel room, all dressed up in lingerie I bought for you, moaning and writhing on the bed?” 

A thought starts, and he pounds it out of you, merciless in its rhythm as each thrust pushes you higher and higher. Horny and mindless, that’s all you are. Nothing matters except this.

“Do you really think we’ll run away together? Do you really think I’d leave my wife for you?” 

A rotten sensation tingles in your chest before you feel him enter you from both ends, the cock in your mind working in tandem with the cock in your pussy. You choke out a moan and nod, body vibrating with a thick, hot sensation you can’t find the beginning or end of. 

“Fuck fuck fuck, holy fuck—” 

He groans, rolling his hips faster, fucking your entire being so hard and fast that you become pleasure itself. It’s everything and everywhere for eternity and you gladly accept this fact, wanting to forever exist in this moment. 

“That’s so good, darling. So fucking good. You want me to let you come, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically as the edges of you start to fray.

“Go ahead, come for me.” 

His permission completely unravels you, ripping away the last delicate thread holding you together. You sob as you fall apart into a thousand pieces. His hips stutter and he moans, giving you a few deep thrusts before pulling out. 

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. You float in the peaceful pond, staring up at the towering treetops that kiss the sky. 

“Now in a minute, I’ll bring you back to your normal state. When I count to four and tell you to wake up, you’ll come out of the trance relaxed and refreshed. Your mind will feel spotless. You’ll know that I adore you and hold you close to my heart.”

You hear birds peacefully chirping. You know it’s just you and them and Dave for a million miles. You are small and big like a speck of dust or a galaxy. You are safe. You are at peace. 

“And one two three four… wake up.”

[tonixe]

Hiya babes hope you’re doing well I’ve had this idea for a young Coriolanus Snow where he’s fresh into his presidency and runs into a maid in his room putting his clothes away. He thinks it’s just some avox but it turns out to be and old classmate (she was in the grade a year younger than but he’d seen her passing in the halls and she came from quite a respectable lineage). He becomes infatuated by her and why she’s working for him and not living some life of luxury, it becomes months worth of cat and mouse where Coryo tries to buy her love with gifts and she tries to stay strong. But finally she gives in and they start an affair (he isn’t married it’s just he wouldn’t want to be caught dead having a relationship with a servant girl). Normal he just tells her he wants to see her and that night they do an assortment of nefarious things, but one night he asked her to say instead of kicking her out like he usually does. She thrown off by this and after a little hesitancy she agrees.

So that’s all I really have feel free to make the rest up, but also don’t feel obligated to write about this it’s just something that’s come to my mind. I didn’t mean for this to be so long sorry. Love you loads hope you have the best of days and I hope you’ll find inspiration from this prompt. Okay kisses and hugs this is me signing off.

— Dirty little secret

WARNING: Unprotected sex, implied mudpie, fingering, implied affair, groping.

PAIRING: President!Coriolanus Snow x maid!reader

WORD COUNTER: 1.8k

Days for Coriolanus seemed to tick on longer than he bargained after getting elected and inaugurated to the office of Panem. Being the President of Panem wasn't a joke, nor did it have any time to just sit around, he was a busy man with a country behind him and leading the future of his people and generations. It was tiring for him, sometimes he would just accidentally sleep in his office rather than go to his bedroom. After piles of documents and papers were placed on his desk, finding more time to complete them if he locked himself away in his office.

On top of that, he had to make speeches and host future events. He just didn't have any time for self-pleasure with all the work on his desk, but he was dutiful and a studious worker. He did his usual routine after finalizing some paperwork and handing it off to his secretary to press. Dragging his feet against the delicate and pleasant tiles, tiredness drowned his vision, as he opened the door of his chamber spotting a dainty maid in his room. Your eyes widen at the sight of the President in front of you, immediately bowing down, before lifting your head slightly up. "Mr. President, I was just delivering your clothes" You curtsy at him, Coriolanus originally thought you were just an avox until you spoke, but now a mere maid hired by his secretary but once he got a glimpse of your face, a flash of simple memory ran through his mind. You started taking steps away from him trying to get away from the brewing tension, "Stop" You turned your body to him, looking at him with your full attention.

The sounds of the heel of his shoes on the bedroom flooring, feeling his soft hands on your jaw, slowly lifting your head up, taking in the scene of you. You held your breath as he simply inspected you, feeling your heart pumping against your chest. His azure eyes stared into your own, for a moment..before he withdrew his hands away from you. "You may go" he finished, you watched as he turned his body away from you before you scurried out of the bedroom.

But Coriolanus couldn't help but look back at you as you ran away, the sense of familiarity when he saw you was haunting his head. He pondered about it, putting his hand underneath his chin as he thought about you. The passing days were just Coriolanus watching you as you worked around the manor, his eyes never leaving your form. He managed to gather some information on you, by looking through your files, after all, he is the President of Panem it's his job to know everything, right?

His hands flipped through the dainty white pages, your headshot on the first page as he read through the private information, finding out that you were from Capitol blood, and ended up in the depths of middle class maybe even lower instead of luxury. Curiosity filled his mind about you, questions flowing through his mind with no answer to them. "What really are you..Y/N" he whispered under his breath, examining the photo of you. Most of these days were now mostly spent with him staring at you doing chores around the household, hanging up laundry, washing clothes, and cleaning the floors.

He likes how you laugh and smile when talking to your co-workers while you work. Every time he sees your smile, it makes some of his problems melt away, if he is stressed, he completely forgets what he was stressed about. He would purposely order you to his room to clean or arrange something in his office. Over a few months passing, he would continue asking for you, so adding little gifts and necklaces. For you, it was a surprise, certainly. Who expects the President of Panem to gift a simple maid a luxurious, expensive necklace, priced at a high price, more than you get paid. So you would send them off, at first you were confused thinking it was a mistake he sent the luxurious package to you, then it was sent back to you, this time a different gift, more beautiful and elegant. So you sent it back again, he began to be more curious and furious why you didn't keep and accept the gifts he sent, were they too ugly, an eyesore or indifferent to you.

So he orders you to his room...

It was the middle of the night, being pulled out of the servant quarters by the headmistress, ordering you to serve Coriolanus, and you obeyed. Your body is still engulfed in your flimsy nightgown and your flats on the floor of the manor, as you walk down the hallways. You opened the door to Coriolanus still in his attire, leaning on the bedframe. His eyes darted at you. "Mr. President, you requested of me" You held your hands together, looking him in the eyes. You hear his footsteps inching closer to you, his hands on his hips, "Do you hate them?" he asked, his eyes never leaving your frame, cocking your eyebrow, confused about what he was asking you.

"Hate, what, Sir?" you questioned, "The gifts" he walked closer to you, "Do you hate them, Y/N?" he looked at you, his eyes attentively staring at your own e/c. You felt sweat pending up on the palm of your hand as you began to clear your throat, "No—I just thought you sent them by mistake, sir" You said, you looked away from him, feeling flustered at how close he was to you. 'Y/n, do you think I'm an idiot to send something three things to the same person?" He gently lifted up your chin, making direct eye contact with you. "N-no, sir!" You exclaimed, "Then why, my sweet dove?' he questioned, "What have I done to deserve them" You mumbled,

"Every time I saw you, you have been pulling the strings to my heart..." He whispered, his deep voice resonating through your body, sending chills down your spine, you were hesitant to respond to him. The few moments of silence were unbearable, it felt like his eyes were tracking your every move. "Would it, not be improper for you to date a servant woman like me?" You murmur, and he immediately takes your face into his hands, "I will trade all of Panem just to have you in my arms" You parted your lips, staring at him in shock. Before he took your lips, kissing you. His hands touched against your skin, making you whine, his fingers slowly taking off the strings of your sheer nightgown. Immediately the cold air hits your bare skin making you moan, his hand trailing against your sides. He withdrew from your lips, his eyes clouded with lust, his pupils dilated. "W-we can't", looking away from him in embarrassment, trying to cover yourself up from his gaze.

He picked you up by your thighs, immediately putting your arms around his neck. He carried you towards the bed, dropping you onto the mattress, you instantly tried to cover yourself until he ripped your hands away as he stared at you beneath him. He took off your panties, slowly, his eyes staring at your slick coating your panties off, making you flustered. He started taking off his belt, you watched as he took his trousers off along with his boxers. His length springs out, pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock, feeling yourself getting wet underneath him. His eyes were heavy with lust, impatiently to have you, taste you, and fuck you.

He slowly inserts himself into you, a moan being ripped out of your throat, holding him by his biceps. "Itis' too big" you groaned. You tried to adjust yourself around his cock, you bit the bottom of your lip simmering the pain. Before he started moving, his pelvis smacked into your cunt as your breast bounced in impact.

You pushed your head back in pleasure as he forced himself into you, he groaned into your ear. "You're taking me so well, dove" he whispered, kissing your collarbone. The sound of wet skin clapping resonating around the bedroom, his hands moving around your body, rubbing the nipples of your breast, moaning in response. "Your so warm" he groaned, moving his hips against you, you felt yourself inching near your release.

He place your leg onto his shoulder, moving your body to the side as he thrusted inside, feeling his cock deeper inside you.

His hand groped your breast, abusing your nipples as he plunged into you deeper. Before feeling yourself coming undone, squeezing down on his cock. "Fuck" he groaned, pushing himself into you. His fingers trailing down onto your pelvis, he rubbed your clit, making you whine. Breathy moans echoed from your lips, and you looked through your lashes at him. Your walls massaging his cock, his thrust getting faster and into an animalistic pace.

His groans became frantic, as he fucked himself into you, before he pulled out and cummed onto your stomach, the white sticky load coating your body. Feeling your legs shaking, and your chest heaving. Staring at him, tiredness in your eyes.

"You did so good, dove," he said, kissing the corner of your neck.

Soon this moment happened time and time again, mostly during the nights when everyone was gone or sleeping away. He would call for you, knowing what would happen at the end of every night, you on his bed either coated with his cum or filled with it. Usually leaving before anyone can get suspicious of you and Coriolanus. Always wearing a nightgown, Coriolanus purchase for you. Looking into the mirror with the rich, satin fabric on your body, hugging your curves and bosom.

He would surprise you with special things mostly material things but you were grateful for them.

He would buy luxurious lingerie and jewelry for you. You were getting ready to meet Coriolanus as he called for you again, wearing the special red lingerie underneath nightgown, you obeyed. Walking down to his chambers, in the end, the precious lingerie was ripped and your nightgown on the floor stained with cum. His hands on your waist as he thrusted into you, he was close and you were already done and tired. His hands explored you, before he spilled himself into you. Pulling himself out of you, your legs were shaking, holding yourself up. Feeling him leaving a kiss on your cheek, he put himself into his pants.

You walked towards your discarded nightgown, taking ahold of the material, and slipping it on. There was a moment of silence between you and Coriolanus. Getting yourself busy, fixing the fabric of the nightgown, pulling it down carefully.

"Wait, Y/N" you turned around at him, "Yes, Corio" you responded, he loved it when you used that nickname with him, he walked forward to you, "Stay" he paused for a minute, "Stay with me for the night" He finishes, your eyes slightly widen. "What if, we were caught?" You whispered, "Nobody could come in without my permission, Y/N" he pushed a strand of your loose hair over your ear, "Just stay" he whispered, his hands trailing down to your waist, rubbing them in reassurance. You cleared your throat, putting your hands on his chest, and parting your lips.

"Alright—I will..."

[nico-di-genova]

Prompt?? Request?? Idk what this is but it’s been stuck in my head and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it!!

——

Frat boy au where lance is super straight passing and acts really frat bro-y. But it’s Outside POV from another person in the college who assumes he’s probably homophobic and doesn’t treat women well/ all that stereotypical frat boy stuff. They complain abt fratboys all the time to their friends too and it’s this whole known thing in their friend group. Then they see him get into this super fancy car with a hot older man (nando ofc) and is like what’s up with that. Person keeps trying to ironically figure out if lance is part of the mafia or some other mystery. Turns out he’s in a loving relationship with his sugar daddy nando (person sees them kissing at a gay bar one night, among other things 😏) and after that they’re like damn wtf and have a change in perception of lance and can’t shut up about it and tells everyone “did u know lance is gay?!!” Other shenanigans ensue.

Bonus if they become friends in the end and lance tells them all the different ways and places nando fucks him.

I need you to know that this has unlocked something that I have been talking with my irls about for literally a month now. I will write this whole thing for you, but right now please enjoy this snippet and some Lore ™.

Also this may be so uniquely specific that no one will enjoy it, but I need everyone to know this has been my secret passion project for weeks now.

Logan absolutely despises group projects. He especially despises them when he’s partnered with perhaps the worst possible group of people you could be partnered with on an assignment that is responsible for a quarter of their grade. Other than the girl sitting to his left, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, spreading out notes in multi-colored pen and highlighter, their table is the least inspiring of the lot. For one, there’s him, who had barely passed elementary calc. last year and was on his way to failing macroeconomics this semester. But it’s the two sitting across from him that instill a particular sort of dread.

“You going to Rusty’s tonight?” one of them asks, Esteban, tall and lanky and slumped so low in his chair that Logan can almost touch his feet even though he’s clear on the other side of the table.

The other one, Lance, broad and just as long as his friend, shrugs, “I don’t know, man. Getting kind of bored of it.”

Logan watches as Lance takes off his backwards cap long enough to ruffle at his hair before sliding the hat back down onto his head. There’s Greek lettering embroidered along back for some fraternity Logan doesn’t know the letters of, but is sure they’re assholes, nonetheless. He’s seen the way Lance strolls into class enough times, backpack slung over one shoulder, if he even bothers to bring it, his phone in the other. He wears his AirPods during class, which easily outs him as the elitist snob he is – the type of student who’s here partying on daddy’s dime, who wouldn’t know what the term ‘work study’ meant if it ran him over with the  bike Logan knows Lance keeps in the University Village parking lot. Logan couldn’t afford off-campus housing, but he knows Lance can, the bike is always parked in a resident spot.

The girl beside him shifts her notes closer, he turns his attention to her, so he doesn’t have to hear Lance recount his exploits at the local bar that is known for serving underage undergrads.

“You took all of these?” He asks the girl, mildly impressed. Her handwriting is neat, so neat it almost looks unnatural. She’s color coded them, bolded certain words and underlined others. Logan is suddenly ashamed of the chicken scratch in his notebook that’s tucked beneath his arm.

For those that don’t know, Florida Gulf Coast University is a school in Fort Myers (in south Florida, on the opposite coast of Miami). Their big draw is being “close” to the beach, realistically it’s like a 30 minute drive.

They typically attract local kids on scholarship, or rich northerners who are just looking for an easy education. But they do offer a unique golf management degree, and their claim to fame is that they’re sometimes decent in the basketball department (like 1 time in 2015 but they just will not let it go). They also somewhat have a reputation as a party school (tho I think Miami definitely more than them).

Being built predominantly around preserved land, FGCU also has a big “eco-friendly” outlook. So lots of walking paths, a course called colloquium that all students have to take, and the one everyone dreads because you have to walk through the swamp for part of it. Lucky for Lance, he would have attended during the COVID years, and thus could avoid the swamp walk because all courses were virtual.

He’d probably be a member of Alpha Epsilon Pi, the Jewish fraternity on campus. They’re lowkey, but also kind of throw the best parties, off-campus of course because FGCU doesn’t have official fraternity or sorority housing. In this world Lance has definitely drank jungle juice from a trash can with a nozzle cut into the base. He is aware of the existence of “Saturdays are for the boys” flags, frat boy Lance is something that can be both repulsive and endearing.

He has a car, but most the time he opts to take his bike places. Fernando first runs into him when he’s in his bike gear actually, which, you know, hard to resist that. Plus, picture Fernando being Lance’s backpack. Please envision it, it’s a very important image. It’s definitely happened in this universe.

Strollonso beach dates??? Yeah, 100% happened here too. One of the reasons Lance even ends up at FGCU is because of the beach, so you know his ass is there most weekends. He forgets sunscreen frequently, Fernando is used to applying aloe to his back after they’ve spent a long day on the boat. He probably has that sunburned warmth to him like 24/7. He never forgets his sunglasses though, so he also maybe has raccoon eyes.

Oh yeah, and Logan, being a South Florida boy, probably would have attended FGCU too. His tinder profile unfortunately probably does feature a photo of him holding a fish. Just Florida boy things.

Anyway, this maybe is nothing. But if you want to talk more about this au please feel free to message me/send an ask. And I will 100% be ready to ramble more about this ultra specific fic. A chapter coming after keep to the line this weekend maybe.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

An Extra Step

Eddie Munson x Bilingual! GN Reader

AN: Heyo! So, I was randomly inspired to write this little blurb. I'm sorry for being AWOL so much, grad school has been kicking my ass. I promise to update my current WIPs as soon as I can. Anyways, this is based on myself being bilingual :) In the blue text is when the other language is spoken. I kept it vague and not specific so that other people who may be bilingual or have English as a second language could relate.

CW: mentions of food, mentions of family, mentions of childhood, no gender mentioned, pet names, kissing, emotional, fluffy

It started as a tiny thing, a little nudge from deep within. It was a warm summer day in Hawkins, you and Eddie relaxing in the trailer. Wayne had given you two your own trailer (right next to him, of course), and you had a jar on the table, coins and dollar bills stacked up in it, determined to get your own place one day together. Preferably a house or apartment, but that was a worry for later. You and Eddie were lounging about, you perched at the kitchen while Eddie was sprawled out on the sofa, attempting to cool off. You leaned against the counter, reading a postcard you’d received from a family member. You giggled at the message they wrote, peaking Eddie’s interest. He smiled, turning to you, sitting up a bit. 

“What’s so funny, babe?,” He asked, cocking his head in that golden retriever way, his eyes curious. 

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain. “Uh well… my cousin wrote me a postcard,” You explained, shrugging. 

Eddie walked over, looking over your shoulder at the note before he deflated a litte. “Oh. It’s not in English,” He stated, a bit disappointed. 

You nodded, biting your lip, thinking. You explained the joke briefly, giggling while doing so, but Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed and you felt your heart sink a bit. 

You never told Eddie, but sometimes you felt like you lost yourself little by little without your first language. Jokes translated incorrectly, you were unable to express certain things in English, and you felt like a part of yourself was dimmed. You wished Eddie could understand your family and even your own moments of frustration, when that little piece of you slipped out, only for him to look a bit confused.

You shook your head, smiling awkwardly, and putting up the letter. “Nevermind…It’s not as funny in English.” You put up the card, taking Eddie’s hand over to the couch. “C’mon. Let’s watch a movie.” 

Eddie could see the pain in your eyes when he didn’t understand your native tongue. He felt his heart squeeze each time, cursing himself for not learning it the moment he learned you had another piece to your puzzle. 

Which was what prompted the secret research. 

Fuck, Eddie had never even studied for school exams this hard. 

He started his search at the library, asking around and trying to see if there were any classes nearby. He learned there were some lessons and books around, though they had to be ordered and the meetings were three towns over. But anything to see you smile. 

Eddie poured over the books, kept a secret journal with all his notes from the clubs he attended (which truly were just people who spoke the language getting together to talk and exchange snacks, some of the older ladies pinching Eddie’s cheeks and smiling over at him.).

He knew you were suspicious, consistently glancing over at him confused when he would show up from the meeting late in the night, lying to say it was extra work hours. 

He poured over cassettes you had in your native tongue when you weren't home, learning the lyrics to your favorite songs. 

Hell, he even began trying to think in the language. (Easier said than done, he had no idea how you balanced the two)

But it was all worth it for that night. 

Eddie had taken the day off, gone to the international grocery store that was miles away, only to drive back, and begin prepping. He was making a meal he remembered you saying you missed, something near and dear to your heart and childhood. He knew it would take a bit of prep work and sweat, but Eddie was willing. 

He grinned to himself, heart swelling with pride. 

He couldn’t wait. 

When you walked through the door that night, you felt your heart stop. Familiar smells that you hadn’t smelled in years floated through the kitchen, your heart racing. You heard Eddie singing along softly in the kitchen, your native tongue clumsy on his lips, but making your heart swell, your eyes water a bit. 

“E-Eddie? What’s all this?,” You asked cautiously, eyebrows furrowed, eyes watering and blurring your vision. 

“It’s your favorite…I figured you deserved a treat!,” He replied…in your language. It was clumsy, the pronunciation not perfect. But your breath caught nonetheless. 

“You did all this…for me?,” You whispered, clutching tightly at your heart as tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Eddie smiled softly, walking over, softly running a finger under your chin to look up at him. “Of course. I love you,” He whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. 

Tears streamed down your face, vision blurred as you threw your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder, your heart overflowing with emotions, your hands clutching at him. You whispered ‘I love you’ over and over, sobs racking your shoulders as Eddie held you, rubbing your back, kissing the top of your head. It meant the world to finally hear those words in your tongue and being able to whisper it back.

That night was filled with warm and full bellies, laughter and leading Eddie through pronunciation, learning of his secret little escapades (So that’s why he hadn’t been as hungry! Those little grandmas were stuffing him with food…) and showering Eddie with kisses. 

Never in your life had you felt so seen and loved. 

Eddie Munson was it for you.