#this reads a little more melancholy than I meant it to!

[bisclavaret]

a day late to my 6 years on t anniversary ✨🏳️‍⚧️ a short comic about looking back

[lovelettersfromluna]

Supercut

Summary: “In my head, I play a supercut of us.”

an: halfway through writing this I decided that this isn't technically the finale hehe, more of cam girl!Ellie come, this is just the end of them being stupid. mwah mwah love you all more than you know.

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+, MDNI, angst, cam girl!ellie, Ellie is a real idiot in this one tbh, arguing, hurt/eventual comfort, toxic!Ellie, tribbing, making out, pet names, this one is a little short im sorry, lmk if I missed anything!!!

Read part 1 here, and part 2 here!

You know that gross feeling you get whenever you look back at old pictures or videos? You know, the one that you feel at the pit of your stomach, and it makes you really happy but also really sad? What's that called again?

Oh, right. Its melancholy

It's that feeling where you have a specific memory, and you know that no matter what, that time is gone. You can't replicate it, and the only place that it will live is in the confides of your own mind

And it sucks, because you don't even know when those moments are going to be made. There's no warning in your brain that the day you have planned is going to be so impactful to your life, that you will constantly chase that feeling, trying to replicate what it was that made that time so blissful so that you can feel that same warmth again.

You don't even get the chance to savor it while it lasts.

It almost makes you feel like you never wanted those times to happen to begin with, because you would have been fine without them. Sacrifice one of the times of your life so that you wouldn't have to spend countless nights laying in bed, only hoping that you will experience something that can even come close to how it all felt in the past.

Most of the time, it's easy to simply look back at those memories, feel that disgusting mixture of happiness and sadness, and then move on.

But for some god awful reason, you can't seem to do that this time.

This time, it lingers. It sits there, knocking at your chest, demanding to be acknowledged, to have all of your undivided attention, giving you no choice but to think about how fucked up this all is, how all of this was a complete and utter mistake, and how you have no way in taking it back.

It makes you wish time travel was real, yearning for some mad scientist to come out and say 'look everyone! you can reverse the mistakes you've made in the past!'.

But that doesn't happen, and you have no choice but to live with the icky feeling that settles at the pit of your stomach, and refuses to go away.

You weren't entirely sure what would happen after that night with Ellie, the night that she laid her weight on top of you, fucking you into her mattress over and over again, whispering the sweetest words into the nape of your neck, holding you the entire night through once you were finished, silence overcoming the space as you both fell into a blissful sleep.

It was hard to really tell where you both stood, but you weren't an idiot.

You knew, that you and Ellie had made love that night.

It was truly like nothing you had ever experienced. It was like you were constantly in that delicious state before sleep, where the world is soft, and everything is so comfortable right before you reach the point of unconsciousness, and everything feels so utterly perfect.

That's what it felt like, and you knew that from the moment Ellie had pulled you against her chest, and pressed a soft kiss to your head before you both fell asleep.

It happened, but God....you really wished it hadn't.

Because now? Things were so much fucking worse.

The feeling Ellie gave you scared you, and it made the ugliest thoughts fill your head when you woke up. You felt wrong, the skin on your body feeling filthy for doing something so intimate with her, with your roommate. You felt like you were taking something that wasn't yours, something that was never meant for you in that way.

So you ran.

Not far, of course. You were lucky enough to wake up before Ellie, gently peeling yourself from her body, your stomach sinking whenever she mumbled something gently in her sleep, her hands mindlessly reaching for your body before she fell back into her deep slumber.

You stood over her for a moment, watching as her eyes flickered in her sleep, lips parted as she snored gently. The feeling you had when you watched her sleep scared you, because you felt...like you wanted to stay with her, protect her, hold her in your arms and ignore the reality of how much this was fucking with your head, ignore the fact that she had simply wanted help with her work.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

You inhaled deeply before you left her room, closing her door gently before you quickly went to your bedroom, tugged on a t shirt and jeans before you grabbed your jacket and left the apartment.

You stayed out in the city all day, that day. You were like a ghost, trying to sort out the feelings that were settling in your chest, opting to simply ignore them instead. You made sure to leave your phone at home, knowing any texts from Ellie wouldn't do you any good with how you were feeling.

You didn't return home until later that afternoon, the sun setting, slowly casting the familiar darkness of night onto the city that you had come to know. You wished you could stay out longer, avoid the situation more, but it was only gettin colder, and you knew you had to go back to your apartment sooner or later.

When you got there, you were greeted by silence. You don't even hear Ellie's usual music playing from inside her room. You frowned softly, looking around a bit for any signs of the girl there. You looked down, finding that her leather jacket and helmet weren't where they usually were.

Ellie had left too.

You should've been happy at that, giving you even more time away from the girl than planned, yet you can't ignore the ugly tinge of sadness and annoyance that lingers at the back of your throat at the thought of here simply...leaving.

When you got to your room, you quickly grabbed your phone, wishfully thinking that there would be a string of messages from your roommate, asking you where you've gone, and if everything is okay between you both.

But when you unlock your phone, there's nothing there.

Not a single call, or a single text.

And you suddenly realized, that great minds think alike.

So, that's how things go with you and Ellie after that. There isn't a grand scene of love, where you both confess that you had both felt that way from the moment you set eyes on each other, there isn't a happily ever after where you become her girl, and she becomes yours. There isn't any of that, you two simply go from being friends, to barely being roommates.

You guys never speak about it. There's never a conversation that happens to even clear the air, pretending as though that night in her bedroom never happened.

There's a sense of hostility that follows after all of it happens, because Ellie won't even fucking look at you now, let alone stand in the same room as you. If you're in the living room, she's in her bedroom, and if you're in the kitchen, she leaves the apartment to go eat somewhere else.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, because you can practically feel the hatred she has for you radiating off of her body whenever she's around, and it's a shock to you that you two are still even living together. The Ellie that would once sit in the living room with you, practically tugging your body to sit on her lap, has succumb to someone who barely even exists to you anymore.

And it doesn't even end there.

Ellie never really had girls in and out of the apartment before, even before you and her started filming and having sex. She was pretty strict about letting others into her space, only ever bringing around girls she was dating long term, or her designated filming partner. You never had a problem with it, letting Ellie know time and time again that the place was half hers, and she could bring whoever she wanted.

But that seemingly changed after you and her happened.

Because suddenly, there's a different girl at your apartment every night, and Ellie is fucking them ten different ways into the next month.

And it always happens to be on the nights before you have to wake up early to go in and open the record store.

She becomes relentless.

You first noticed it happening when she breezed past you on a Friday night, clearly dressed up for a night out. You couldn't really ignore the way your core tightened at how fucking good she looked, the feeling quickly overshadowed by the way she yet again left the house as if you weren't sitting right there.

After getting yourself to bed for some much needed shut eye, you were rudely awakened by the sound of your front door slamming open, followed by the sound of tumbling and soft giggles..

Which then slowly turned into the sounds of Ellie fucking a girl in her bedroom that was directly across from yours.

And it kept going, night after night, the sound of Ellie pleasuring another woman was all that you were left with. Not even your headphones on full volume could drown out the banging of Ellies headboard against the wall.

You have never been a jealous person, especially when it came to Ellie and her sex life. However, after what happened between the both of you, and the very clear fact that Ellie was indeed doing it out of spite..

You really couldn't ignore the fire you felt at the pit of your stomach whenever you heard some random girl moaning out Ellie's name to the top of her fucking lungs.

It was then that you came to terms with the fact that enough was enough.

And you had to move out.

It wasn't long until you wouldn't leave your room.

You seriously couldn't stomach the way it felt, being ignored by Ellie, her constant avoidance a reminder of how much of a bad idea it was to agree to filming with her in the first place. If that wasn't enough, constantly seeing her leave the apartment to go meet up with another girl started to hurt even more.

And you really didn't want to face the truth behind that.

There was something unsettling that came with the feeling it gave you, because how could you go from not even batting an eyelash at Ellie walking out of her bedroom with Julia, to feeling tears prickle at the edge of your eyes every time you heard her fucking someone else across from your room.

Because it's cruel, and you know you were wrong to leave her the way you did, but she left too. You knew that what you did was wrong, but surely you didn't deserve all of this? And why would she even want to hurt you like this in the first place? Surely you were the only one that felt this ridiculous conflicting feeling that only brought you stress.

And yet, you only found new ways to torture yourself.

It happens one night after work, you're tired and all you want to do is peel off your clothes and hop into bed.

Opting to grab your laptop, wanting to watch some mindless video on the internet to lull you to sleep, you are suddenly faced with something that had been waiting to haunt you.

A link to one of your videos with Ellie was still on your browser.

She had sent it to you a while ago, wanting to show you how well it was doing, and all the positive feedback that it was receiving, you meant to watch it at the time, but never got around to it. Now, it was sitting there, collecting dust until you decided to open it.

And you knew you shouldn't have, because that chapter of your life has closed, and you intended to keep it fully closed.

But curiosity did kill the cat, didn't it?

You didn't think twice before opening it, the link quickly flashing across your screen and taking you to Ellie's page. The thumbnail is of the two of you, the last video you guys had filmed. Its you, straddling Ellie on her bed, her strong hands gripping your hips, probably forcing you to grind down on her lap.

You feel your core tighten at the sight of it.

You don't look at it much longer, or read the comments either, because you know they will all be asking where you've gone, and whether or not you were coming back.

Instead of closing your laptop and going to sleep like you should have, you kept scrolling through Ellies page. You come to find the usual, seeing that she had been live the past few nights, as well as posted a few videos for her viewers to catch up on, none of it out of the ordinary.

Something does catch your eye however.

Its a video that was posted a few nights ago, and you can barely make it out, but you can see a thumbnail of Ellies tattooed hand pushed between a girls thighs, doing what you can only assume to be fingering her.

And that girl is definitely not you.

She had found herself a new partner.

It’s no shock that she did. She’d been actively fucking other girls, someone in and out of your apartment almost every night, something that she had made sure to make very clear to you…

But there was just something about actually seeing it that hurt like hell

You slammed your laptop shut, a bit too hard, but you were suddenly filled with something foreign to you, something that you hardly felt for anyone.

Quickly grabbing you blankets and tugging them over your body, you squeezed your eyes shut to try and erase the image of Ellie with another girl from your brain, the image slowly tainting the deepest corners of your mind so that you won't ever be able to do just that.

You couldn't do this anymore.

Ellie was just as bad at talking about her feelings as you were.

Because the morning after you and her had sex, she wanted nothing more than to wake up with you, kiss you, hold you, move on from this agonizingly slow phase that you two were in, where she was allowed to do the things that she always wanted to do, just conditionally.

She wanted to wake up, and move forward whatever the fuck you and her were stuck in.

But you didn’t. You simply woke up before her, and left, leaving Ellie to feel like a fucking idiot.

Because maybe she read into the entire thing wrong, maybe you didn’t feel anything for her, maybe you really did only see her as your roommate and nothing more than that….

Maybe that look in your eye that she was sure she saw when she was fucking you, was all in her head.

So when you ran, she did too.

And soon, Ellie’s sadness turned into anger, and all she wanted to do, was hurt you the same way that you hurt her.

She wanted you to hear her with other girls, she wanted you to see her with other women on her streams, she wanted you to see what it was that you’d lost, what you’d stupidly lost when you decided to run away from her the morning after it all.

But maybe she’d taken it too far.

Because Ellie’s anger turned into something that she didn’t want, because no matter how much noise she made, how good she tried to look whenever she was getting ready to go out with some random girl, no matter what she did to make you jealous, you never batted an eyelash her way, you never once reacted to anything that she did that was directed at you for the sole purpose of getting your attention.

And not only did it further prove to Ellie that you didn’t give a fuck about her, but it also made her so much more frustrated with you.

Did you seriously not have a fucking soul? Could you not even acknowledge her? Hurt for her? Feel hurt by her? Why wasn’t it working? Why weren’t you…..why couldn’t you just…..

Why couldn’t you just fucking want her.

Ellie was truly at her last straw, because being with other women was something she already didn’t like doing, but it was slowly eating away at her, picking away at her insides and making her feel hollow inside, a shell of who she used to be when she was with you.

And when she didn’t think things could get any worse, she found you doing something she only saw in her nightmares.

She hadn’t really noticed it at first, but slowly, your belongings began to disappear from the apartment. Particularly in the living room.

Your stack of blankets would get smaller and smaller as the week went by, the dorky little figures you had littered around different shelves and the tv stand started to disappear too, little parts of you started leaving, one by one, and Ellie was too far up her own ass to even notice.

Maybe if she had, she could’ve convinced you to stay.

In all honesty? Ellie probably wouldn’t even have realized you were leaving until it was too late, the girl far too consumed in her little revenge streak to notice the slow but sure disappearance of you, the way the remnants of you slowly began to leave one by one.

It just so happened that on a day that you were packing up some of your boxes, you had left your door cracked open, thinking that Ellie wasn’t home.

She was passing by your room when she heard a soft huff, the sound quickly catching her attention as she slowly walked towards your door, catching sight of the various opened boxes scattered around your room that was already looking sparse due to packing it all the way.

That. That was the straw the broke the camels fucking back.

Because suddenly, Ellie is pushing your door open, the force from her hand making it slam against your wall, the loud sound making you flinch to look over in her direction with wide eyes.

“Ellie?” You question softly.

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue makes a shiver run down her spine, because god….had she missed the way you said it.

Her eyes are angry, eyebrows furrows together as her eyes scan your room, looking at the boxes, your half empty closet, your empty book shelf.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She spits out, her tone making you wince slightly. It’s the first time you’ve heard her speak to you in almost an entire month and it’s so fucking hostile, so pointed.

This really wasn’t how you wanted this to go.

You let out a soft sigh, bringing your palm up to ran along your face as you look down at the boxes as well, heart sinking at the thought of going.

“Look…Ellie…I was planning on telling you…I just-“ she’s quick to cut you off, walking further into your bedroom as her eyes scan the walls, watching as they began to grow emptier and emptier the further in she looked. She scoffs, her green eyes finally landing on yours, her smoldering grip enough to take your breath away.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t going to tell me anything, and you know that” she argues, nostrils flared as she stares at you with eyes filled with that same glare of hate that you saw every time she’d glaze over you within recent weeks.

And she was right. You had no intention of telling her anything. She would learn that you were gone once you were gone, because that’s what you did.

You always ran.

You let out a sigh of defeat before you step away from her, fully intending on continuing packing. You didn’t want this to stop you, or put anymore obstacles in your way of leaving. This was what you had to do, and you knew that.

“I can’t stay here anymore, Ellie…things are fucked up between us and I just…I won’t deal with it anymore” you mumble out, your voice tired, weak. A clear indication of how you felt towards the entire situation. It was draining you, and you knew that for your own well being, you had to get out.

The sight of you packing as if she wasn’t in your room, trying to figure out why you were leaving, makes her even more upset. It blinds her from your words, from the weakness in your voice, in your appearance. She ignores it because the anger she feels is much easier to indulge in.

"So that's it? You're just gonna leave? Without saying anything to me?" she barks out, her tone making you feel worse than you already do.

And then it all stops, because why the hell are you feeling bad when this isn't even your fault.

You slowly turn to Ellie, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare at her in disbelief, cocking your head to the side slowly before you start to speak.

"Are you listening to yourself right now, Ellie? Do you ever stop to think for one second that not everything is about you?" The tone of your voice is so calm, words so slow and articulated, it barely even sounds like you're mad.

And it scares you, and it scares her.

You don't stop there, you couldn't even if you wanted to.

"This wasn't my idea, none of it was. I agreed to help you because you asked it of me, and I clearly have no fucking sense of boundaries. I get that what I did was wrong, and I shouldn't have left you that morning, but no one is fucking perfect" You defend, your own breath become more shallow the more you speak, your anger and frustration finally rising to the surface.

"This isn't good for me. You aren't good for me, you've been fucking different girls every goddamn night just to hurt me, and you're a fucking liar if you deny it." you spit out, making Ellie wince slightly, yet her eyebrows never unravel from how furrowed they are, and the frown on her lips is still there.

When you said it out loud though, she realized just how bad it was.

"I did it to get your fucking attention...not to hurt you" She barely whispers, staring down at you. You can't help but laugh softly, scoffing at her words before you give her a gentle sigh.

"Oh it got my attention, Ellie. It got it so much, that I can't bare for you to have it anymore..." you mumble out softly before you turn away from her, unable to stare into her eyes for any longer.

"I don't know what happened between us that morning...but I want nothing more than to just..forget about it all" You let out meekly, feeling yourself reduce to that small ball of insecurities once again.

And Ellie finally softens when she sees it, because you never let your guard down this much.

She inhales deeply, taking a step towards you, trying to get closer to you. You don't step back, or flinch, you simply ignore her, carrying on to pack your things as if she wasn't there, standing above you.

"You hurt me too...you know" she mumbled out, her voice finally dropping that hostile tone that she had when she first walked in. You're quick to turn towards her, spinning around to set your eyes that were quickly growing redder by the second.

"And Im sorry!" you shout, your voice going the loudest it had yet, it makes Ellie flinch.

You sigh out tiredly before you bring your hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "If I could go back and do it differently..I would..but too much has happened, Ellie...I don't..." you trail off, struggling to find the proper words before you sigh softly, finally speaking again.

"I don't see you the same way, anymore" you mumble out.

This makes Ellies heart seize up, because what do you mean by that? What are you trying to tell her?

You move to sit on your knees, you bare legs coming in contact with the cold, wooden floor as you begin packing more things in a different box. There's no more fighting, there isn't anymore arguing, or anger, it's just silent, the occasional sound of your clothes hitting each other when they hit you settle them in the box. You don't even bother to turn around and yell at Ellie, or even tell her to get out.

And maybe thats what's hurting her the most. You never yelled, you didn't cry or beg, you didn't do anything when she knew you heard her, saw her with those other girls. All of them were nothing to her, sorry attempts at trying to grab hold of your attention again, get you to show just a little bit of fucking anger, so that she knew you still felt something for her, so that she knew she still had you.

But it was clear to her with the way that you disregarded her after it all, as if she didn't even matter, that she didn't have you anymore.

Did she ever? Did she ever have a chance with you? Was she all in her head? Were you simply just a good friend? A decent roommate who promised to help her out when she needed help? Was all of it just....

Pretend?

She feels like she's running out of options, because she assumed that if anything, you two would fight and end up in a heated, passionate love making session where you two would admit what you had felt all along.

But Ellie was slowly coming to the conclusion that she was being fucking delusional.

Her decisions didn't let up thought, because soon, she's on her knees next to you, grabbing your wrists gently in her hands and pulling you to face her. She feels her heart break when you refuse, trying to pull away from her grasp, mumbling soft complaints of how you needed to finish packing.

When she finally tugs you a bit harder, forcing you to look at her, she feels the weight of her mistakes finally settle on her chest, because you're crying. Your eyes are puffy and your cheeks are stained, and it's all her fucking fault.

She bites back a whimper, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth as she feel her own throat burn with tears.

"Hey...look at me...come on...where's my pretty girl...come on.." She tries over and over again, voice breaking, making you whimper as you try tugging your arms from her grasp.

"Don't you see how fucked up this is, Ellie? We were just screaming at each other and now...now you're calling me your girl" you plead with her, the words bubbling past your lips as the mere sight of here forces more tears from your eyes, making it harder and harder to talk.

Ellie can't talk her way out of this one, not with you. She knows there isn't much she can do, or say, and she feels like she's all out of options, because you're right. All of this is so fucked up, and it makes her insides burn because she's hurt, and you're hurt, and it feels like there's nothing she can do to fix it.

She does the only thing she feels will work. She kisses you.

It's filled with everything. Passion, longing, happiness, sadness, anger, everything that had been pent up between the both of you is poured into the kiss, and it's enough to make you feel dizzy.

But you don't pull away, you melt into her, just like you always do. She feels it too, feels the way you let you defenses down, taking it as a chance to tug your wrists up and around her neck, her own arms resting on your hips as she pulls you closer, her lips working against yours.

"Im....fuck...im so sorry, baby....never meant to hurt you" She mumbles against you, her words coming out as a breathy sigh against your lips, making you moan softly against her. She pushes her tongue into your mouth, giving your waist a soft squeeze.

"M'sorry too..Ellie....shouldn't have left..." You whine against her, and she's quickly shaking her head, gently tugging you up to stand with her before she's pulling you too your bed.

"Just...lemme take care of you..alright" She hums against your lips before she gently pushes you back to lay on your bed, her own body crawling over yours, resting her weight on your body as she goes back to kissing you.

It's so slow, and sensual, and it feels like the entire world is quiet, like you're fading into her, and she's fading into you, and you both are becoming one. It feels so fucking right, and the hole that had been growing in your chest is finally filling up, the essence that is Ellie slowly acting as the medicine that you needed all along.

Ellie rolls over, gripping your hips and tugging you to straddle her waist as she lays back against your bed. Her green eyes eat you up, strong hands already running along your hips and thighs, giving you a squeeze before her hand creeps up your t shirt, pushing it up a bit before it slips under, grasping your boob and massaging it in her hands.

"Fuck...look at you...missed you so much, pretty girl....you can't even imagine.." She sighs softly under her breath, eager hands roaming your body hungrily, as if they've deprived of you for so long, missing the way your skin spilled out from under her hands, always so responsive for her.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch her practically worshiping your body with her hands, a soft whine leaving your lips as you rest your hands on her hips, pushing up her t shirt a bit as your thumbs rub small circle into her pale hips.

Her hands rest on your hips, forcing you to grind down onto her lap, making you whine softly, the feeling her her sweats bunching up right at your core, your cotton pajama shorts leaving much too room to be exposed by her touch.

She sits up, grabbing the hem of your shirt before she tugs it off your body, groaning softly as her lips immediately latch onto your nipple, biting and sucking. You moan softly, arching your back a bit and forcing more of you to her mouth, hands wrapped around her neck, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck.

Ellie pushes you back, resting you to lay down before she tugs your pajama shorts and panties off in one go. You promptly spread your legs for her, letting her settle between them, the small gesture making her groan, her strong hands gripping your thighs, grinding against your bare pussy.

"Fuck...such a good girl for me..." she sighs softly against your lips.

You whine, reaching down and tugging at her own pants, fumbling with the waistband of her shorts that hung oh so fucking low.

"Off..wanna feel you.." You moan softly against her, resulting in a soft chuckle from her. She presses one last kiss to your lips before she nods.

"Whatever you want baby...fuck" she mumbles softly under her breath when she pulls back to start tugging her own clothes off, catching a glimpse of your soaking wet pussy and naked body in the dim light of your room.

She looks so fucking desperate, nearly tripping over her sweats as she tugs them off, tossing them somewhere else in your room. It's like she can't get the clothes off quick enough, immediately settling between your legs again once she's naked, groaning softly a the feeling of your pussy against her body.

Her eagerness makes you giggle, and Ellie feels like she's on cloud fucking nine when she hears it, so soft and gentle. She pouts softly, staring down at you while she's already moving to position her pussy over yours, tossing your leg over her shoulder.

"What are you laughing at...hm?" She questions softly, her hips slowly moving against yours as she lets out a soft moan, eyes never leaving yours.

You can barely get the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel her slick pussy against yours, clits bumping together in a way that has you nearly salivating.

She chuckles above you, a soft groan following the noise as her lips graze along your calf.

"Thats what I thought...fuck....your pussy is too fuckin good, princess' She moans out softly, her hips moving slowly against yours.

You moan loudly, your hand coming to grip her thigh as you move your hips in tow with hers.

"F-fuck, Ellie....you...that feels so good" you babble out, your other hand gripping the sheets beneath you as she fucks her pussy down onto yours.

Ellie smirks softly as she watches you, watches the way you fall apart beneath her.

"Thats my fuckin girl....you're the only fucking one I need...fuck...." She groans, turning her head a bit to kiss your calf again before her teeth sink into you, biting and sucking your skin, making you moan loudly.

You feel her speed up, hips growing desperate as she chases both hers and your orgasm, making your head spin as your nails dig into her thigh, sure to leave marks in the morning.

"Im....god...Im close Ellie.....fuuuckkkk....dont stop" you gasp out, low, lust filled eyes staring up at her as she continues bullying your pussy with hers, both of your arousal squelching together, making the most explicit noise you've ever fucking heard.

"Come on baby...want you to cum for me...can you do that? Fuck...I feel it too....that's it, pretty girl.." Ellie is babbling too, her lust clouded braun barely uttering words that are comprehensible.

You see her eyes squeeze shut, her moans getting louder and more high pithed, sounding so fucking pretty above you.

You feel like you'll explode, your back arching as the familiar feeling settles in your core, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as you feel your orgasm grow closer.

"A-ah! Ellie!" You scream out as you come undone beneath her.

And she isn't far behind, leaning down and crashing her lips against yours, forcing you to swallow her moans as she cums hard against your pussy, the both of you breathing hard as her hips sputter, pussy sliding around sloppily against yours as she becomes so fucked out, that she loses her rhythm completely.

And just like before, she lays there, on top of you, trying to catch her breath, face tucked against your neck, hands keeping you close, as if you'll disappear in thin air at any given moment.

There's so much going through your head, trying to figure out what it is that happens from here, where you and here go, what steps to take after, all of which come up with blank answers whenever you try to figure out what to do.

You assume she will fall asleep on you as she did before, knock out immediately and leave you to lay there with your plaguing thoughts.

She doesn't, though. You hear a soft hum from her lips, her hands squeeze your waist gently, before she speaks against your neck.

"I love you...so much.." she sighs out, her voice breaking a bit as if shed break down at any given moment.

You aren't sure what you'll do from this point on, but you do know one thing.

You won't run away from Ellie, ever again.

[renecdote]

wedding bells

honestly I wasn't planning to post this because I thought it was too silly but @nymika-arts said I should so. if you like it you can thank her <3

[Read on AO3]

Buck’s feet are up on the coffee table, his head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed but not sleeping when Eddie sits beside him, mentally apologising to Hen and Bobby as he puts his own feet up on the coffee table and makes himself comfortable. The cushions bounce a little, tipping them towards each other, and Buck grunts at being displaced, then tips himself fully against Eddie’s side. It’s late. They should both be in the bunks trying to get some sleep like everyone else, but Eddie came upstairs for a glass of water and found the glow of the TV and his best friend on the couch instead, a lure impossible to resist.

“What are you watching?” he asks. The scene that is playing out is vaguely familiar but not enough that he can recall the name of the movie or even the actors starring in it.

Buck opens his eyes, head lifting just slightly to squint at the TV. “Um, something about wedding dresses? I don’t know, it was already on when I got here.”

They watch in silence for a few minutes, TV light playing across their faces, but soon Buck’s eyes are closed again, his head back on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie tips his own head back against the couch, too tired to figure out the movie’s plot when it’s already halfway through. Girl meets guy, falls in love with guy, denies that she’s in love with guy, guy wins her over in the end. Something like that, probably. Everyone lives happily ever after.

The background noise of the movie and the warm weight of his best friend against his side is lulling Eddie towards a nap when Buck breaks the silence.

“Do you want to get married?”

“Sure,” Eddie answers sleepily. “Fall wedding?”

“What?” Buck frowns, and Eddie realises: oh, he meant do I want to get married generally not to him specifically. Then Buck is asking, “Why fall?”

Eddie waves a hand: why not? “The leaves are pretty.”

“The leaves—” Buck stops, shaking his head. “We live in LA, Eddie, we’re not exactly swimming in fall vibes.”

Vibes, Eddie mouthes at the ceiling. He blames Ravi and whatever influence he’s had on Buck’s vocabulary. Then he stops, thinks about it some more, and mentally apologises to Ravi for blaming him. He’s pretty sure Bobby is the one who brought vibes into the firehouse.

“Fall has good weather too,” he says. It was summer when he married Shannon and a low pressure system brought down biting, heavy rain that soaked them through as soon as they stepped outside the church. “Not too hot, not too cold, less chance of rain…”

“Doesn’t that happen in a movie?”

Eddie’s turn to frown. “What?”

“There’s a movie where it rains during the wedding,” Buck says. “I can’t remember if it’s supposed to be a good sign or bad sign, though.”

“I think it’s just a sign that it’s raining.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “In the movie, Eds. Like a sign that she’s marrying the right guy or the wrong guy, you know?”

Eddie thinks about fat drops of rain smacking him in the face, his hair sticking limply to his forehead, Shannon shivering against his side, not noticing or not caring as the hem of her wedding dress turns black from the mud.

He thinks about Shannon, pregnant, and the way it felt like a sign. The way it felt like a sign the second time too, but was just the universe mocking him for believing in something like signs.

“I think Hollywood makes rain seem a lot more romantic than it actually is,” he says, shrugging the melancholy away.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, something distant in his eyes like he’s remembering some awkward relationship moment of his own in the rain. “And snow. It’s like they forget how cold and unpleasant it gets.”

He shivers as he says it, some phantom memory attached to that too. Eddie thinks about asking, but Buck’s past is a patchwork of old bruises and anything he doesn’t willingly share is usually one he doesn’t want poked at. If they were at home, on the couch or in the kitchen, nursing a six pack between them—maybe then Eddie would poke anyway, ready to soothe any hurt it uncovered. Now he just nudges Buck with his elbow and says, “So, fall wedding. No rain, no snow, we won’t sweat through our tuxes before we get to the end of the aisle.”

He catches it a beat too late—we—and braces himself for rejection, for laughing it off, for fumbling through an explanation. His heart is torn, hoping Buck will think he just meant they’d both be in tuxes and walking down the aisle because he’d be Eddie’s best man, and half dreading that that’s all Buck will think when he pictures them at the altar together.

Except—

“We could have a destination wedding,” Buck suggests, his fingers idly pulling a loose thread on one of Eddie’s buttons. Eddie swats his hand away before he can unravel it completely.

“Destination weddings are expensive,” he counters. “We should just get married at the courthouse and save all our money for the honeymoon.”

Buck snorts. “You want to pull a Bobby?”

“I didn’t say we wouldn’t invite anyone.”

He wants to say all I need is you, me and Chris but everything this conversation has become already feels too dangerous. Too close to serious. They’ve always been good at blurring the line between friends and whatever else they could be, but this feels too blurry even for them. Eddie wonders if he should pinch himself, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“And we’ll have a party too,” Buck adds. “Do you think Hen’s cake guy could do a wedding cake?”

“I think Hen’s cake guy can do anything,” Eddie replies, his mouth somehow still working while his brain is spinning, spinning, spinning. He doesn’t remember a lot of the time he spent under the influence of the LSD brownies, but he’s pretty sure it would have felt like this: everything heightened, one step to the side of reality, this unrelenting gravitational pull towards Buck even back then.

“I don’t know what everyone complains about,” Buck says, head tipped back to smile at him. “Wedding planning isn’t so hard.”

Eddie smiles back, like it’s just another inside joke between them. Like this conversation isn’t happening in the middle of a bubble, thin and wobbly and liable to pop at any moment. He wants to say you make everything easy but the edges of the words are too sharp, too real, and he’s not ready for the bubble to pop just yet. He wants to enjoy it, even though he knows it can’t last.

The music in the movie swells as the girl finally gets her Big Damn Kiss and the start of her happily ever after. Buck smiles twists into something wistful as he turns back to the screen and Eddie wants to hold him tighter, but he’s not even holding Buck so it doesn’t make sense.

“I miss kissing,” Buck tells him, quiet enough that it feels like a confession. “Not—I mean, I like sex too, obviously, but kissing just for the sake of kissing, you know?”

It’s late. Everyone else is asleep downstairs. The glow of the TV and the dim yellow light left on above the stove make the shadows feel deeper around them, the night fuzzy around the edges. The movie’s final scene is rolling into the credits, another love song playing quietly through the loft. Their bubble hasn’t popped yet.

Maybe it’s all of those things, or none of those things, that makes Eddie say, “I could kiss you.”

Buck goes still.

Eddie wonders if he could bite clean through his tongue so he can never speak again. Human teeth are crazy strong so it’s definitely possible, right?

Buck would know if it’s possible, he thinks, and then he really does have to bite his tongue so he doesn’t laugh hysterically. God, why did he say that? Just because he was thinking about kissing Buck—has been thinking about it for months going on years—doesn’t mean he should have said it. He’s halfway to an apology—an excuse, maybe, some way to laugh it off as practice for their hypothetical trip down the aisle—when Buck sits up, pulling Eddie upright with him.

“Okay,” he says. “Show me what you’ve got, Diaz.”

His grin is all bravado, but Eddie knows him well enough to see the nervousness at the edges. It soothes him, somehow, knowing Buck is nervous too. Not that this isn’t still a completely stupid idea, the kind of idea that they can never come back from and will probably regret in about two minutes, but—

He cradles the back of Buck’s head, holding him steady while Eddie tilts his own head to fit their lips together. Gentle at first, growing bolder when Buck’s hands curl in the front of his shirt to pull him closer, tongue running along the seam of his lips until they open to welcome Eddie inside. Buck tastes like coffee, a little bit sweet like the vanilla syrup he keeps hidden away at the back of the cupboard in the kitchen. His breath is warm against Eddie’s chin when they break apart just long enough to breathe, lips lingering together, noses bumping, one kiss made up of a dozen smaller kisses.

Eddie pulls away first, forehead resting against Buck’s just for a moment before he drops his hand from the back of Buck’s neck and makes himself sit back. His hands are shaking, he thinks, and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or desire.

“Oh,” Buck murmurs, reaching up to touch his lips, an absent kind of movement like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Eddie swallows, the taste of Buck still on his tongue. He should—say something, do something, probably not lean in and kiss his best friend again (and again and again).

They both jump when the bell rings.

“Eddie—” Buck starts, but there’s no time. Eddie’s fingers are tingling, his heart stuttering in his chest, but his feet are already moving, muscle memory carrying him while his brain buffers trying to catch up.

“We have to go,” he says, and he’s as grateful as he is irritated by the interruption of the alarm.

“Eddie,” Buck says again, catching his hand to halt him before he can climb into the engine. They’ve got seconds before Bobby sticks his head out the window to ask them what the hold up is, but it only takes a handful of seconds to say, “October.”

“What?”

Buck smiles, “Let’s get married in October.”

He ducks in close enough to kiss Eddie on the corner of the mouth, quick and lop-sided, and then he’s climbing into the engine with a bounce in his step, and—

Oh, Eddie realises, he did mean he wants to marry me specifically.

(“Soo.” Chimney draws the word out awkwardly, looking around at everyone crammed into the engine together. “We all saw that, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Hen answers, her eyebrows raised above her glasses. “We definitely all saw that.”

Eddie just shrugs, his knee pressing against Buck’s thigh, their eyes catching and holding, unable to help smiling at each other while everyone else looks on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There’s a round of “uh huh”s and “sure you don’t”s and a half-muttered “at least I’m not finding out about this one four months later” from Bobby.

“By the way,” Buck adds when it’s quiet again, “you’re all invited the wedding.”

They’re still smiling at each other like lovesick fools when the engine explodes into a cacophony of exclamations around them.)

[fleet-of-fiction]

Josh Kiszka // Female Reader

Summary: After meeting Josh at a spiritual development group, your friendship intensifies after an evening of intimate meditation. He insists on showing you the room where he likes to do most of his incantations. And there, what transpires is the most mind blowing sex you've ever had.

Warnings: Spiritual sex. Foreplay and penetration. A little dirty talk.

He just wouldn't stop talking.

You knew his voice was going to echo into your dreams that night, talking about the universe and how mankind simply hasn't tapped into the spiritual knowledge at its fingertips. He spoke fluently about opening consciousness to the vast spaces and dimensions of existence. It didn't seem impossible the way he said it could be achieved. But still, it had been almost an hour since he had first opened his mouth and you could feel your eyelids begin to grow heavy. Not through boredom, but for the fact the hour was almost at midnight.

"Well?"

Your eyes flutter open, as if straining against the need to close them. Josh is looking at you expectantly with all the enthusiasm he carried into the evening when it was a more reasonable hour.

"I'm sorry, what?" You muster, coming back to your senses.

He muses over you. With immediate realisation that you're exhausted.

"I asked if you'd like to meditate with me sometime." He repeated, in a quieter tone.

His face carried with it all the sweetness of a child-like innocence. A smile that shrouded a row of pearly white teeth and a solitary dimple in his left cheek. Whisps of hair above his lip sat, almost twitching, as his smile changed from child-like to coy.

"I'd love to." You respond, as excitedly as you can, given your tiredness. "When?"

Josh had crept into your life on tiptoes. His shy demeanour had meant you didn't notice him at first, sitting at the back of the Spiritual Development group you'd been attending in an attempt to combat the grief which had burdened you for so long. But when finally, he'd found the courage to raise his hand and offer his insight, you'd taken note of him in far more detail than you usually afforded.

You began to grow excited for each meet, your heart a beating mess as you realised that sometimes he would be there and sometimes he would be wholly absent. The days on which he was absent you sat in a melancholy you couldn't fathom, listening to the others in their wisdom and wishing it was his you basked in. Until, when you had given up on him returning, he appeared in the doorway in his usual white sweater and beige jeans and the universe spoke to you for the very first time.

Since that moment it had been a flurry of musings. You, hanging on to his every word and he in return giving you space to be vocal about your grief. Your friendship had been born through these tangible moments and when he'd asked you to start meeting up away from the group it was inevitable that you'd find yourself on the edge of love.

Josh was not a constant in your life, though. His absences were long and drawn out, peppered with long winded text messages from the road he travelled. You, staring at your phone in the dark reading them like a novel you never wanted to put down. If love was beginning to stir, you took the spoon from the pot and hoped it bubbled away to nothing.

"Not tonight." He said, breaking into your reverie. "I can see how tired you are."

He leaned forward across the table and began to blow out the centre candles. He gathered his books and went to return them to the shelf.

"I am tired." You agreed. "But I find myself not wanting to leave."

His bashfulness piqued. A rosy hint emerged on his cheeks as he put the books back onto the table and in the new darkness tried to seek out your face.

"You are always leaving." You add, the darkness giving you a boldness to speak more honestly.

You see his outline shift weight from one leg to the other. "I always return."

He seems to have retreated to his initial shyness. You hear his breath grow shallow and wonder if you should approach. You have never known Josh deny himself the touch of another, offering hugs and comforting arm squeezes to your fellow group members. If you approached him you were certain he wouldn't shrink from you.

"Why can't we meditate tonight, then?" You ask, rising from your chair with only the distant lights from the street outside penetrating the window blind to guide you.

He turned his head to watch your shadow. Josh had never given you any indication that he wanted more save for his requests that you join him at his home on evenings when you should have been attending the group.

He had welcomed you in and brought you a steaming bowl of soup that his brother had made over the course of three days. So the story went. You'd eaten together and discussed the vast differences between spirituality and religion. Even his text messages, as prolific as they were, included nothing but the thoughts which occurred to him on lonely nights in hotel rooms. None of the thoughts ever made you think he was anything but your friend.

You knew your feelings had come about completely unwanted. Sprung forth from him simply being who he was and your desire to attach yourself to him. Josh was a source of sunshine in dark times. Even as you stood together at the dining table, the darkness seemed to dissipate around him.

"I thought you might want to go home and get some sleep." He offered, stiffening against your movements around the table to stand at his side.

Your eyes adjusted a little. You could see him now, his face peering at you in wonder.

"The next time you go away I'll have to wonder if we will ever meet like this again. And I'll ache for you, as I have ached for you all the other times you were gone from me. So, if it's all the same, I'd like to meditate with you tonight. Just in case." Your words fall out without process.

His wonderment remained etched on his face as you notice his Adams apple move with a deep swallow. His brown eyes lift to meet your blue, the air between the two of you heating up as if the candles were still alight.

"You ache for me?" He asked, as if the notion had never occurred to him.

There was truly no way to ascertain if Josh was ever aware of how he made people feel. His vibration was love itself and you knew there were thousands of people in the world who saw him for precisely who he was, if only from afar, and loved him in return.

Because, despite the ache it left, Josh lived for taking his message on the road and the two parts of his life could meet for the briefest of moments. You existed in that quiet part of his life that he sought out when the lights went out and the crowds went home. You'd known for a long time that him being his brothers' band was his own little universe. You just wished, sometimes, that you could be a part of the loud in his life.

"If I confess that I do, will you leave again?" You ask tentatively.

He breathed in deeply and shook his head. "We're not due back on tour for another week."

That wasn't what you meant. But he seemed so bashful you giggled at his sentiment. Immediately he was put at ease and seemed to return to being the man you had come to know and love. Except, with an edge you had not expected.

He took your hand and moved you through his house, through the corridors and up a set of spiral stairs that wound up towards a room that sat at the top of the building. Adorned with a twinkle of fairy lights and plush bean bags, on the walls hung pieces of art ranging from things he'd had commissioned and pieces he had acquired from his travels. Your breath catches as you begin to understand the beauty of this room.

"I only meditate here alone, you're the first person to join me." He said, gesturing you to sit on the floor.

You catch his scent as he sits across from you, cross legged and your knees just grazing each other. The lighting is low enough to be able to discern his facial features, but enough to keep your confidence cloaked. He shakes his hands out as if his palms are sweating and you see his nerves for the first time.

"I'm honoured." You say, realising you haven't responded to him in words.

He nods absently. "Well, you know, it's a nice place. I like to come here when I'm home and just do some breath work or even just take a nap or something. I really felt like this room deserved to be a dedicated space, you know, when I bought it. I wish I could be here more often, but you know, it's probably going to get used a lot more once the tour ends."

His nervous use of 'you know' is not lost upon you. You watch him wipe his palms on his thighs and take cursory glances at you. Your honesty has only served to make you calmer. You are in no doubt, now, that he knows how you feel about him.

"Josh?" You say, placing your hands upon his.

His body flinches. A reaction so completely unlike anything he has ever shown you before that doubt begins to creep in. There is no way to take it back, no way to remove your hands without the action being felt. Whatever it was that you were about to say is immediately lost. You were going to comfort him and tell him that he need not be nervous with you. But suddenly you are in your own head, feeling nothing but his body stiffen against your touch.

"I'm sorry." He manages, reaching out to bring your hands further into his. "Please forgive me."

"Have I done something..." You begin, afraid now.

In the pit of your stomach a sickness begins to churn. Josh shakes his head erratically, frantically trying to find the words he needed but for the first time failing to form a sentence which made any sense. He looks at you as if looking at a starry night. Seeking out new points of light amongst the ones which have always been there.

"No, never." He says in a perfunctory whisper. "You have brought such peace to my life; I had never thought to try and break it. Perhaps I should have?"

Your knees were touching now. Your hands intertwined and the previous stiffness which had brought you to your doubts was now slowly dissipating. He eased into your touch like he had known it in lifetimes which stretched out long before this.

You smile at him in the twinkle of the lights above. "I'll always be your peace, Josh. I promise."

He closes his eyes against your words. "And I will always be yours."

You instinctively fall into a pattern of breathing that links the two of you into a trance like state. You feel his hands still within yours, but the room falls away until you are completely separated from your body. You hear the sync of his breath with yours, but from a position above. He is here with you in this space. You can feel that warmth envelope you. You can feel that familiar vibration hanging in the air above your connected bodies.

In this realm, he is free of his mortal coil and any part of him that knows fear. You can hear his voice, as you knew you would in dream, saying fuck fear... the echo of it resonating through you like mist on the city streets. All you can feel is him. All of him. All his rampant insecurities laid bare, telling you his love is yours.

You gasp as you feel him pulling you back to your body, with an urgency you had never known could be his. Opening your eyes, you realise your knees are no longer touching and both your legs are outstretched. Yours lay on top of his, open and your heart chakras level with one another. His eyes are seeking you out, as if he has brought you to this moment purposefully.

"You must know I ache for you, too." He says, keeping his voice low and soft. "Day and night when we are apart."

You feel yourself a little dizzy and he responds with a comforting touch, resting his forehead against yours in the most intimate way. You and Josh have never drawn yourselves this close to one another in the physical realm. Whatever words of wisdom you may have exchanged during the course of your friendship, it was nothing compared to the wisdom he shared with you now as he silently laid his hand against your pale cheek.

"If I didn't know it, I do now." You breathe.

He smiles that devastating grin, all teeth and solitary dimple. "I'd like to try something, if I may?"

You nod your approval, and he leans back, pulling off his shirt to reveal a sculpted chest and arms that you hadn't known he would possess beneath the loose fitted clothes he chose to wear. Immediately, your mind goes to where his has gone already and you peel off your halter neck to bring your flesh together as one.

His eyes move down towards your breasts. He makes no apology in the way he studies them. Taking in the gooseflesh around your nipples, the way you hope he is satisfied. He licks his lips and returns his gaze to your eyes, his breath laboured beneath half closed eyes.

"You know, there are several benefits to meditating naked." He says, almost playfully. "It can give you a much greater awareness of your senses."

You decide to edge towards him, bringing your breasts to his chest. "I think I read somewhere that being physically naked allows you to be naked in all other aspects."

He raised a speculative eyebrow, as if he knew where this was going. The two of you justify it in languid reasoning, until you are stood opposite each other with your hands tackling belt buckles and buttons.

Stripped of your clothes, you stand, taking in the sight of each other. You notice a trail of hair leading down from his navel that meets the rest of his pubic hair. You like the way it looks in the low light, the way he dresses to the right and it rests upon his thigh. His body excites you in a way you've never felt before, impulses of warmth and ecstasy rushing through your veins making your heartbeat faster.

His eyes rest on your core. He drinks you in, moving from your breasts to your hands which are clasped together in front of your vulva. He makes a cautionary gesture, to move your hands away, and you can't help but oblige. His eyes widen as your arms come to rest at your sides. He feels your nerves as he feels his own.

"Don't be afraid." He instructs. "I have thought about this from the moment I first saw you."

His confession felt like a blow to the abdomen. It filled you up with a sense of astonishment. That he had been able to hide such a thing was astounding. His melodic voice, his graceful movements and the way you never caught him looking at you unguarded. He was a careful vessel. Never revealing anything of himself until the precise moment he intended.

You knew yourself to be somewhat more of a creature of instinct. Your glances had been caught and measured; you were sure of it. You were unable to hide the intrinsic feelings that were forming for him. You could feel them now, moistening between your legs as he continued to look at you.

"Shall we?" You ask.

He bids you to sit back down in your former positions. Legs outstretched, yours upon his and your torsos unflinchingly close. Now that your bodies were laid bare, your opening rested against his hardness as you brought yourself as close to him as you could.

His mouth and yours sought each other out, your arms rested gently on his shoulders as his found their way to your waist. You'd seen this position illustrated in a book you'd read years ago. You recalled how it could bring your souls together, on the physical plane and the spiritual.

Josh was fighting against the urge to kiss you; you sensed it as his lips inched closer to yours under the guise of sharing breath. His lips parted, taking yours with them and without thinking the tips of your tongues collided. A delicious moan escaped your lips, and Josh took the kiss deeper.

With his hands on your hips, he helped you to begin moving against him. Back and forth, your wet parting sliding against his hard length. Not for one moment did he pull away from your first kiss. His arms reached up, pulling you in closer so that your lower lips were pressed against his pubic hair, his hard penis resting to the side. The feel of his skin against yours sent electrical pulses through your body.

There had never been a time when you had imagined how it would be with Josh that you could have ever known it would be like this. There was no part of you that could have been prepared for the complete breakdown of your senses that you gave to him willingly. There was no part of you which did not belong to him now.

"Beautiful..." You hear him say, breathless and between his mouth finding yours once more.

His lips move to your arched neck, craving his touch as you pull your hair to the side. The feeling that you can't bear to go another moment without him inside you begins to build. First in your stomach and then lower, as your clit begins to throb in anticipation.

This is not meditation. You don't care to give it a name as you push his body back, forcing him onto the palms of his hands. You rise slowly, careful to keep his gaze locked. He can't help but falter and trail a look down your body as you take his cock in your hand and feel him leak into your grasp.

"I want you inside me." You tell him, "Connected. Now and always."

He does not speak. There is an audible gasp as he tilts his head back, revealing his throat and somehow the sight of it spurs you on. As you guide him inside of you, his hands grip at your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. The sensations of him filling you is more than you can take.

You moan, not softly nor with caution, raising your voice until he sinks his teeth into your jawline. Your legs inch around, bringing you to your knees. You begin to move up and down, sliding your entire body against him so that your breasts ease against his neck and face.

Panting now, he makes tiny kisses against you as you move. Sweat building, you can feel it on your brow as you move your hair back and run an errant hand through his wet curls. His face is a joyous red, completely lost and bound to you now.

"Josh..." You release his name as if you have never spoken it before.

He responds in a way that takes the breath from your lungs. He thrusts upward, making sure his full-length hits you hard. Your name escapes his lips in a low, authorative hiss and you reel back so that he can look down and see himself pound into you.

He'd always called you something nobody else ever had. A name he created just for you, when he had caught you scouring the self-help books on grief in the library where the Spiritual Development group had their meetings.

"Goddess...."

You know he is nearing orgasm as he begins to move faster, his lips seeking out one of your breasts to suck and to bear his teeth against your hard nipple. You grind down harder, quicker and tell him to suck on you harder as you feel the stirrings of your own orgasm begin to build.

"Inside me..." You mutter, in a voice not entirely your own.

Your instruction leaves him without choice. His body shudders into another realm, taking you with him. You rise above your own body. He holds you close, spurting inside you. But all you can feel is his essence. Warm and comforting. You can feel your own wetness mixed with his, as you come down onto your knees and hold his heaving body to yours. He is not quite returned, and you feel his reluctance to let go.

"It's ok..." You whisper.

You're not quite certain if you are telling him or yourself. When finally, he looks up at you, covered in sweat, the sweetness of his face brings you back to that moment when you first laid eyes on him.

"Are you ok?" He asks, resting his hot cheek against your breast.

You nod and run sweaty fingers through his hair, cradling him to you as you calm down. You feel him swallow hard, trying to stabilise his breathing. Somehow it still feels as if you're not quite within yourself just yet.

When he pulls out, you feel your body jerk and the reality of what you have done hits. You begin to wish you had not opened that portal. You feel that familiar ache creep in, even though he is in your arms and not thousands of miles away.

He seems to pick up on your reluctance immediately and pulls you into a sweet kiss where you can taste the salt of his sweat.

"My Goddess..." He croons. "Don't pull away from me."

Tears begin to spill down your cheek. Unabashedly and without guilt. He holds you. You are safe. The grief you have been trying to combat takes its leave of you, in it's place only a sense of hope that wasn't there before.

You hear Josh tell you to stay with him.

"Where else would I be?" You ask, allowing him to wipe your tears with his thumb.

"I don't know." He replies, almost casually in a way that allows you to know that you are back in the reality of your everyday life. "Sometimes you go somewhere, and I can't follow."

There's a glint in his eye that wasn't there before as you meet his gaze as someone who now knows him a way no other could. The intimacy that remained let you know he had no intention of closing that opened portal. It was yours and his. To enter whenever you chose.

"Not anymore." You tell him earnestly, your previous tiredness returning to your bones. "I promise, I wont go anywhere where you cannot follow."

He planted a solitary kiss on the end of your nose. "I make that same promise."

You know of what he speaks, but the disbelief courses through you all the same. There's a wry smile brewing on his lips as he plants a succession of more kisses on the end of your nose.

"I quite like getting your text message novels." You say, "I can't say I won't miss them."

A laugh escapes his lips, throwing his head back in obvious joy. "You can hear me speak them instead."

You knew, in your heart, that he just wouldn't stop talking.

.

.

.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

[fatecantstopme]

Let Me Remind You

Pairing: Morpheus x reader

Summary: Morpheus believes you have forgotten how much you mean to him, so he endeavors to remind you…

Warnings: A little bit of angst, a moderate amount of fluff, and a whole lot of smut.

You wandered around the library aimlessly, gently running your fingers along the spines of the books you passed, your mind somewhere very far away. You'd been doing this every day for some time now, and others had begun to take notice.

"My lady?" Lucienne asked cautiously from behind you.

"Hmm?" you hummed in response.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked gently. "You have been spending much of your time in the library as of late."

You turned to face her and offered a soft smile. "I am quite alright, but I appreciate your concern, Lucienne."

The librarian nodded, but was not quite ready to back down. "If I may speak freely, my lady..."

"You may always speak freely, Lucienne. You know that."

She cleared her throat softly. "It is just--I have noticed you have not seemed quite like yourself these past few weeks."

"What do you mean?" You knew exactly what she meant, but you weren't sure if you wanted to admit it to her, or even yourself.

"You have seemed, pardon me for saying, but lonely, perhaps?"

You released a gentle sigh. "How could I possibly be lonely when I am surrounded by the lovely dream folk? By your kind presence?"

Lucienne nodded. "Of course, my lady. I only meant to say that I know Lord Morpheus has been quite busy--"

"Indeed he has, Lucienne," you said gently, but firmly. "He is a king, and as such he has duties he must attend to. I cannot, in good conscience, fault him for that."

Lucienne bowed slightly. "As you say, my lady. I did not wish to offend."

Your expression remained soft as you observed your husband's librarian. "Do not worry yourself, Lucienne. You have not offended me." You selected a random book from the shelf in front of you, not even bothering to observe the title. "I think I shall retire to my chambers to read."

Lucienne bowed again. "Of course, my lady."

You did return to your chambers, but you had no desire to read the book you'd picked up. In truth, Lucienne's uncanny ability to notice your emotions had simply made you uncomfortable. She was not wrong, however. You missed your husband dearly. He had been incredibly busy since he'd returned from his time in captivity, and you understood completely. Although, you could admit to yourself that you craved his presence, his authoritative voice, his loving touch. You had not spent more than 10 minutes with Morpheus in weeks, let alone made love to him. While his distance caused you pain, you would not, could not, tell him. It would not be fair, to him or to the realm.

**********

Morpheus was standing in his throne room, bent over a table littered with various papers and books. What appeared to be utter chaos to the untrained eye, was completely logical to him. He was deep in thought, eyes glued to the page in front of him, when he felt the presence of a certain librarian. "What can I do for you, Lucienne?" he asked without looking up.

Lucienne cleared her throat. "Good afternoon, my lord. I wished to speak with you about something rather personal."

That got his attention. He straightened up and his eyes met hers, confusion evident in his gaze. "Personal?"

"Indeed, sir. It is about the Queen."

Morpheus quickly stamped down the panic that threatened to rise within him. "Is something wrong? Is she unwell?"

Lucienne shook her head quickly, wishing to dispel her master's concern. "Nothing of that sort, my lord," she paused. "May I speak freely?"

"Always, Lucienne."

"Well, sir, I believe the Queen may, perhaps, be a bit...melancholy."

His brow furrowed. "Melancholy? In what way? She has been most pleasant around me."

"When was that, my lord?"

Much to the dream lord's surprise, he found it difficult to answer her question. It dawned on him that he could not remember the last time he had really spent more than a few minutes with his wife. His starry eyes met Lucienne's, her own eyes confirming his fear. "She is lonely," he said softly.

"It is not my place to say, my lord, but I do believe you should speak with her."

Morpheus closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out into The Dreaming, seeking your presence. When he found you, he opened his eyes and said in a hushed voice, "I must go, Lucienne. You are in charge until I return."

Lucienne knew he intended to be away for more than a few hours. She simply inclined her head and offered him a knowing smile. "Of course, sir."

Before his librarian was even finished speaking, Morpheus had disappeared from the throne room, leaving his work behind.

**********

You were sitting on the window bench in your room, gazing out at The Dreaming below. The sun had begun to set, casting a beautiful pink and gold glow across the land. You wondered where Morpheus was, as you often had in recent weeks.

As if the dream lord had heard your thoughts, he materialized just inside the closed door. "My lady," he said softly.

You turned your head to look at him, giving him a warm smile. "Do you have time to sit with me for a moment, my love?" you asked.

It almost pained him to hear you voice such a question. As if he could ever not have time for you. "I always have time for you," he said softly, crossing the room to sit across from you, his back against the window.

You sensed his mood, but you were unsure of the cause. "You are upset, my lord. Has something happened?"

He shook his head. "I spoke with Lucienne just now. She helped me realize that I have not been the best husband as of late."

You looked surprised. "You are an amazing husband, Morpheus. I could not ask for a better partner."

He looked at your face and saw nothing but sincerity. "My love, have I not been distant? Have I not left you alone for far too long?"

"None of that is true, my lord. Yes, you have been busy these past weeks, but that is the nature of your role. You are the ruler of this realm, its most vital piece, the essence that keeps The Dreaming alive. Your role as king will always come first. I have understood and accepted that from the very beginning."

Your words brought pain to your lover's eyes, pain you did not understand. “Have I truly failed you so terribly, my love?”

“You haven’t failed me, Morpheus," you answered in confusion.

“I must have, for you to believe, for even the slightest moment, that anything could possibly come before you in my heart.”

You shook your head. “The Dreaming is your creation, my lord. It must come first.”

“You are my love, my heart, nothing will ever be more important. No duty, no kingdom, could ever compare.” His eyes seemed to burn as he spoke, passion igniting deep within them.

You were silent, words failing to come to you. Your husband had changed during his time in captivity, but it was evident his love for you had only grown.

“It seems, my beloved, I must remind you of your importance.” His eyes darkened as he spoke and you realized how he intended to remind you.

“Morpheus,” you said cautiously.

“You deserve to be worshipped, my Queen, and that is exactly what I plan to do.” Morpheus stood up and slowly removed his coat before taking your hand to guide you to the bed. His touch was gentle and warm, as it always was with you. "Lay down, darling."

You did as he asked, as you always did, but there was something different about this moment. He was always authoritative with everyone, even you, but his voice had a gentle, loving quality that you had missed dearly, long before his absence. "Morpheus?" you asked softly.

His eyes met yours and you almost gasped at their beauty. It had been ages since you'd seen them shine so brightly, like stars against a velvet sky. "Yes, my love?"

"You have changed," you whispered, unsure of whether you should utter those words aloud.

His brow furrowed slightly, and a look of sorrow clouded his face. "I have loved you for ages long since passed, though I did not always treat you with the love and tenderness you deserve." He seemed almost heartbroken as he spoke. "I wish to remedy my mistakes. I wish to ensure you know how my heart craves you, how my soul relishes in your very essence, how my body craves the touch of your gentle hands. I wish to worship you, beloved, as you deserve to be worshipped."

Your lips parted and your breath caught in your chest. Never, in your hundreds of years of marriage, had he ever spoken to you in such a way. The loneliness you had felt suddenly turned to desperation. You needed him, just as he needed you. You reached out a hand, silently pleading with him to join you.

Morpheus climbed onto the bed, taking your outstretched hand in his, kissing it gently before placing it against his chest. You could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his skin. "My heart beats only for you, my love."

You were unsure where the romantic words were coming from, but you were not going to complain. "I love you, Morpheus," you murmured softly.

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against your soft lips. "I know, as I have always known." He kissed you again, a little slower this time. "My love for you is as endless as I myself, am."

You let out a heavy breath, desire sinking into every fiber of your being. "Please, my lord. I need to feel you."

"As you wish, my lady." He kissed you deeply, holding your body close as he pressed down against you. Your clothes faded away into nothingness, as did his; a wonderful trick of his you had always appreciated.

The moment you felt the smooth silk of his skin against yours, you released a soft moan against his lips. He responded by tightening his grip on you, long fingers digging into your flesh. Your own fingers clung to his shoulders before finding their way into his unruly hair. You gripped his black locks tightly, earning a pleasured groan from your lover. You had not forgotten how much he appreciated your fingers in his hair.

His lips trailed down to your neck, seeking your most sensitive spot, nipping gently at your pulse point. It seemed the dream lord had not forgotten what you appreciated.

Your moans were soft, but your hands were firm against his skin, a stark contrast to the way his fingers gripped your soft curves. He held on tightly, as if you would simply melt away in his hands if he let you go.

He was more gentle with you than he had ever been, more adoring than you knew him capable of. Each movement, each caress, each kiss was reverent in a way you did not expect from the King of Dreams.

It was not, however, his touch, nor his affection, that made you breathless. It was the way he looked at you, eyes deeper than the deepest oceans, as vast as the universe itself, and brighter than all the stars in the sky. Those beautiful eyes of his never left yours. It did not matter where he strayed, he could not tear his gaze away from your face. It made you feel like a goddess, to be so clearly worshipped by an Endless in this way.

His lips came back up to yours in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. When he pulled away, allowing you a moment to breathe, he whispered against your ear, "What is on your mind, beloved?"

"You," you whispered in return, hands snaking up his torso, appreciating every muscle and curve of his body.

"Hmmm," he hummed quietly, sending shivers up your spine. "What about me has captured your thoughts?"

His hot breath and soft lips against your ear sent waves of desire through your body. "Your eyes, my lord," you murmured. "It is your eyes."

"My eyes?" he asked in slight confusion, lifting his head to look at you.

Yet again, his gaze took your breath away, but this time he took notice of it. He saw the way your pupils dilated, the way your body reacted to his presence, the halt of your breaths...but what he noticed most of all was the way you looked at him. As if he'd personally hung the moon for you and you alone.

"Your eyes hold the universe within their beautiful depths, an endless universe filled with wonders beyond my imagination. They have a beauty to them, and a softness, that I have not seen in many years." You sighed. "They speak without words, my lord. They tell of your admiration, your affection, and your love...all for a woman who had long since forgotten how it felt to be under your gaze."

His eyes turned glossy with unshed tears as he listened to your words. He truly had neglected you for far too long, even before he was captured by Burgess. He had loved you from the beginning, but he had not known how to express that love, but in this moment, he somehow felt as if he knew, as if he had always known, somewhere deep inside himself. "You deserve more than I can ever give you, my love, but I promise to try. I make this vow to you, that I shall always, for the rest of my days, endeavor to show you the love, affection, and admiration I have always held for you."

You laid beneath him, silent and still, afraid that if you moved even an inch, you would awaken to find this had all been a dream. But the way he looked at you, the way his fingers grazed your skin, the way his deep, velvet voice covered your mind and body, all told you this was real. As real as the man hovering over you with nothing but an expression of deep, passionate love on his face. As real as the endless love you had for him. As real as the feeling of his flesh against yours and the beating of his heart matching the tempo of your own. This was love in its purest form. A love from which you would never recover, not that you wished to.

"Morpheus," you said quietly, gentle hands rising to touch his handsome face. "It has been ages since we truly made love. That is what I wish for this night."

He moved closer to you, pressing his body into yours. "Beloved, there is nothing I would rather do, no pleasure I would rather give."

This man, who of course was no mere man, made you desperate in a way you never imagined, and when he touched your body in your most sensitive spots, he made you see stars.

His lips and tongue were gentle at first against your core, a teasing sensation more than anything. You whimpered at the feeling, hips pushing towards him, begging for more.

Morpheus could not help but indulge you (and perhaps, himself). His mouth was expert-level perfection as he feasted upon you. Every flick, every swirl of his tongue, each time he sucked or licked, gave you incredible pleasure. You made the sweetest sounds for him, encouraging him to continue his ministrations. He loved the feeling of your hand in his hair, fingers tangled in the messy locks; your other hand gripping onto his forearm, the only other part of him you could reach.

The whines and moans he tore from your throat began to increase in volume and pitch, an indicator of your impending release. The dream lord tightened his grip on your hips, forcing his face even deeper into you, his own moans sending vibrations through your core. He was as desperate to feel your release as you were to have it.

You chanted his name like a prayer as he took you to the highest heights before calling out his name as you fell over the edge. Your fingers dug into his flesh and tugged on his hair even harder than before, eliciting a groan from deep inside of him. His gentle mouth worked you through your spasms of pleasure, only ceasing when you gave his hair a gentle tug and squirmed away from his lips.

He rose up to look at you, mouth covered in your slick. He licked his lips as he stared at you, enjoying the lingering taste of you. "You taste so sweet, beloved. I could stay here all night, if you were to let me."

You chuckled lightly. "I do think I would pass out from sheer pleasure long before the night was over, my lord."

He raised a single eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, my lady?"

You smacked his arm affectionately, a gesture you had not done since the early days of your marriage. For a moment, you worried you had crossed a line, but your concern was quickly dissuaded when the dream lord gave you a warm smile. "Perhaps another night, then," he said softly.

He crawled up your body, placing soft kisses on your skin as he moved.

"Mmm, perhaps," you responded, desire already digging its claws into you once more.

He paid special attention to each of your breasts, ensuring neither one felt neglected. "I have missed touching your body in this way," he said, almost to himself.

"Hmm?"

He seemed to realize he had spoken out loud. "I simply mean, I have not showed your beautiful body the respect it deserves in a very long time."

You sighed softly, hand slipping under his chin and gripping tightly. You gently pulled him towards you until his lips were mere inches away from yours. "Hear this, Morpheus, and hear it clearly. You have never shown me anything but love and respect in all our years together. Even when we grew apart, I always knew you cared."

He laid his forehead against yours, brilliant blue eyes swimming with emotion as they met yours. "I do like when you call me by my name," he murmured.

You turned your head to the side as you observed him. "As opposed to?"

"Words of formality or titles. I have always loved to hear my name on your beautiful lips."

You smiled and tilted your head up so your lips brushed against his. "Morpheus," you whispered against them.

He groaned softly and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss began as a gentle expression of his love, but quickly morphed into a passionate fire he could not douse.

There was something beautiful and new about this moment, this feeling between you both. Thousands of years of marriage, and yet neither of you had ever felt this before. It was a feeling you did not want to ever lose, nor would Morpheus ever let it die.

The kiss was all-consuming, a passion burning so bright it blinded you. You felt his hands caress your body, every inch of your skin set ablaze by his touch. Your own hands danced across his skin, sending ripples of pleasure through him.

Morpheus sat up, giving you a look you understood. You simply nodded and he wordlessly entered you in one slow movement. You sighed happily, the fullness a welcoming feeling you craved. As his hips began to rock, you moaned against the skin of his chest, teeth digging into his flesh gently as the pleasure overtook you.

He lowered his head into the crook of your neck and murmured his love for you against the sensitive skin. When your nails dug into his back, he gasped your name against your skin.

Everything about it was beautiful and raw, from the way he moved, to the way sweet sounds glided past your lips. Neither of you could breathe, the pleasure too great for any other sensation.

It did not take long for you both to reach your breaking point. The King of Dreams, however, was an exceptionally proud man, and he would never allow himself to feel his release before you. Your pleasure was paramount in his mind, nothing else mattered.

"I can feel you tightening, my love," he said softly. "I know you are close."

You nodded, unable to speak.

"I need to feel your pleasure, my darling, please. Let go for me."

As if all you needed was his permission, you suddenly tumbled into an ocean of pleasure, each movement sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body until your mind was clouded with nothing but him. "Morpheus," you gasped.

Your husband groaned loudly, the love-drunk way you spoke his name enough to give him his own release. His hips faltered and his breath caught in his chest as he emptied within you, giving you all he had to offer.

When he was done, he collapsed on top of you, covering your body in his own. Your arms wrapped around him instinctively, holding him close to you, one hand gently running your fingers through his hair. You kissed the top of his head and closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his skin against yours.

"I could stay here until the end of time," he whispered.

You smiled. "I would allow it."

He chuckled and kissed your skin softly. He seemed to realize suddenly that his full body weight was on top of you and he lifted himself up slightly. "Am I hurting you, my love?"

"No," you insisted, tightening your grip on him. "I quite like this feeling."

He smiled and settled back down against you, content to let you hold him close. He preferred to be the one holding you, to always be the one in charge, but in the comfort of his own room, he dropped his guard and let you take the reins. It was yet another way he reminded you of his love. There was no one else in existence with whom he would show such vulnerability, and it was a gift you cherished more than anything else he could ever give you.

[lunargrapejuice]

nothing between us

aka skin to skin cuddling <3 ayatos kinda got away from me so sorry that it's longer than kaeyas glkshdl

kaeya alberich + kamisato ayato (seperate) x reader with no pronouns used

warnings: hurt/comfort themes, skinship, nudity but nothing sexual, needy kaeya, reader being injured (ayato), i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed something!

kaeya

a hard knock followed by many softer ones against your apartment door pulls your attention away from the pages of your book. you might have been upset at the hour this visitor decided to stop by, late into the night long after the sun had set when only silver moonlight and golden flickers of flames are left to light your room, but if it was who you thought and wished it to be you could hardly find it in yourself to be angry. not when your heart longed to see him on his way home from the tavern and you wonder if somehow, in the tangle of your souls, he had heard your call for him.

the story you had been reading was once again hidden within the bound parchment as you lay it closed on your nightstand with the bookmark your knight had gifted you holding your place. sliding from the warm sheets of your bed and into the cooling evening air you don’t waste a moment hurrying to the door and can’t help but chuckle at his cute drunken pleas for you to let him in. 

“snowdrop, have you gone off without me?” he pouts while you unlock the door, a hint of.. actual sadness in his tone that you hadn’t expected to hear and question if you had imagined it in the first place.

“my sleuthing knight says as if he wouldn’t have already known had i ‘gone off,’” you smile and tease, opening the door to your beloved bathed in moonlight and resting against the doorframe looking as beautiful as an archon; hand crafted by celestia itself and smelling of sweet wine but still you felt that melancholy in the air around him. even through his soft skin and deep azure eyes he couldn’t hide what he normally kept so tucked away from others, not from you.  “and there is nowhere i am going without you my love.” 

without thinking your hand reaches for him, the pads of your fingers brushing along the tanned and heated skin of his cheek, his uncovered eye softening under your touch. even intoxicated he’s quick to react, his hand grabbing yours and skilled fingers curling into your palm before using his strength to pull you close, your cheek resting against his exposed chest, his other arm wrapped around your middle to keep you pressed so tightly against him. the suddenness of it steals your breath and has you clinging to him for stability.

“you also said you wouldn’t keep me waiting but here i was all alone in the cold,” he whispers quietly; almost as if you weren’t meant to hear it, like he had wanted to say more or perhaps something he couldn’t quite voice. he squeezes you hard, letting go of your hand and resting it against his chest so he can pull you closer into him, not even letting the wind between you.

you can feel the hard thumping of a heart, can hear it in your ears but there was no telling if it belonged to you or him.

“kae..”

with his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck that familiar flirty tone returns to him but his grip on you doesn’t lessen even a little. “aren’t you going to invite me in, dove?”

even though it’s only for a few moments you hate to part from him and he seems just as reluctant to let you go but with a loving smile that has his chest skipping far too many beats, melting the worries that he draped around his heart like frozen rain, you lead him by the hand through the door, down the hall and into the place kaeya had found himself constantly wanting to be; the room that held your trinkets, your favorite books, the blanket thats fibers lingered with your familiar scent and reminded of him of home.

he doesn’t speak a word as he follows at your heels, nor as he sits on the edge of your bed and begins to take off his boots. you watch with soft eyes, taking in your every inch of handsome knight, thinking about how he looks and smells like the normal kaeya you saw everyday, the kaeya he showed most people but still you couldn’t help that feeling that tugged at your soul and told you something was wrong or how badly you ached to take away every bit of his worries, his uncertainties.

resting on your shins you take a place next to him and stop his movements with a light tug to his sleeve, your fingers barely holding onto the fabric but he was always so focused on you the lightest of touches from you would have been enough to have his full attention.

“is everything okay?” you ask, your tender eyes full of love, your tone unwavering even though you’re unsure if he will let you in and allow you to share his burdens. you know it wasn’t like him to speak out his weakness, though you wouldn’t call them that but it would never stop you from offering to help in any way you can.

“now, now, you don’t need to worry about me doll,” he avoids your question with a smile and a bat of thick dark lashes that might have worked as they intended had you not been so determined to remind him that he was not alone in this world and never would be again.

“that doesn’t answer my question, you know.”

he gazes into your eyes and you swear you see the unease within him vanish the longer he looks at you, the closer it becomes to nothing being between you as he closes the distance. chilled fingers half goved reach out for you and still without answering your question he guides you into his lap with a quiet ‘come here’, your legs straddling his, his arms around your waist. once again he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he hesitates to speak.  

“.. everything is fine now,” he whispers and you can hear the truth behind his words, feel the way his body untenses under your touch. you feel his hands slide under your shirt to feel your bare skin against his hands and you lean into him to provide him with every bit of you. “can i.. just hold you for a while?”

“of course you can. you never need to ask,” you reply, your heart feeling as though it might burst right out of your chest at the shyness he hardly showed to anyone. you held him tighter then, the smell of his shampoo filling your senses, your nose tickling against his soft blue locks.

your chest immediately blossoms with heat when you feel the upward tug of your shirt and even though you aren’t entirely sure why he was undressing you when he asked such an innocent request, you easily follow his movements and lift your arms to let him take your oversized shirt off of you. 

“what ar-”

before you can say anything more his face is pressed against your exposed chest, the intoxicated heat of his cheeks making you feel like you might be seconds away from melting but his cold fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your back keep you from slipping from his grasp, freezing you in this moment and his next words, muffled against your skin like a child trying to subtly ask for help even though it is desperately needed, bends you to his will.

“.. want to be closer to you..” 

without asking or saying anything more, with loving and chaste touches, sweet kisses and fluttering eyes, you help each other out of your remaining clothes. your hands gently mapping out the scars on his skin as you unfasten the belts of his outfit, let your fingers slide against him when guiding off his shirt. his lips place the evidence of his love, his need, for you onto each place he uncovers, his skilled and calloused hands running over every dip and curve of your body until you’re both bare and your bodies are pressed impossible close under your duvet.

skin to skin. heart to heart. breaths as one.

his hands and lips never wander or ask for more than the feeling of your skin and they never once leave you. he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to share what weighed so heavily on him tonight but you didn’t need to know to give him every ounce of your deviation or truth of your feeling for him and you do just that, as you wanted to for the rest of your life. 

each moment that passes, the night growing darker, he returned to his smiling, teasing, slightly tipsy self and it isn’t long before you’re sharing giggles, deep kisses filled with the taste of the wine he drank at the tavern tonight and reminders of your love for one another until your words become slow, your breath fanning against him becomes deep and you drift to sleep in his arms. 

the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of your skin against his without a single barrier between you. the way you hold him, the smile on your sleeping lips. all of it solidifies in his weary mind that it truly wasn’t a lie when he told you everything was okay and without warning your sleeping visage begins to pull him into a sweet dreamland of a future filled with your boundless love for one another, a love that tonight he so deeply felt he didn’t deserve and nearly convinced himself it was slipping right through his fingers until he saw you smile at him, heard you call him yours.

in a tired voice he whispers against the crown of your head and closes his eyes, letting the last of his anxieties go, “as long as you are by my side it will always be okay..” 

ayato

the yashiro commissioner usually didn’t pay much mind to the late hour of the evening. it was pointless to watch the clock tick by slowly when there was so much paperwork to be done and he would be up late doing it regardless of how far the night drew on but today he could hardly keep his eyes off of the clock arms slowly moving to later and later hours without your return.

he wasn’t particularly fond of your plans today, going on a commission that would likely require you to fight simply because the requester asked for you by name. there was no need for you to work, not with ayato as your fiance and the thriving kamisato estate as your home but, in your spirit to explore and use your skills to help others, your thoughtfulness and splendor - which he loved so dearly about you - of course you agreed to take the commission. 

with his own duties it was near impossible for him to join you but that didn’t stop him from dispatching a top member of the shuumatsuban to go with you in his absence, even though you had argued that it was unnecessary. in the end you had wiggled your way from what you called ‘far too many ninjas’ following in your shadows to just the one, one ayato trusted very much but still, the longer time went by without word of your return, the more the unease began to bubble within him and eventually, as the sun began to set behind the waters that surrounded narukami island, he decided to take matters into his own hands. 

he was in the courtyard adjusting the strap on his shoulder plate, telling thoma and another retainer of his plans to head to the place you were commissioned to go when he heard a guard yell your name and saw a flurry of purple armor run towards the gates of the estate. the commissioner was quick to follow after them, looking so elegant and collected in each step he took as the guards parted for him but inside it felt as though he was moments from losing himself to the way his heart pounded so hard against his rib cage and his wandering mind bringing him to scenarios that were normally reserved for his dreams and yet were still so familiarly apart of his reality; where everyone he loves has and would be taken from him. where his power, his honed strength, his unmatched cunning, everything he ever has been and ever would be, would not be enough to save any of you.

you finally come into view, the dark armor of the shuumatsuban on your back nearly engulfing you as your tired legs struggled to keep you both upright, the ninjas larger motionless body weighing you down, his arms slung over your shoulders and ayato runs faster than any of the guards. if they had gotten a glimpse of his visage as he ran past they just might have seen his agony turning his violet eyes a deep royal purple.

he catches you both against his chest just as your legs give away, a mumble of his name falling from your chapped lips as your head meets his chest, relief and happiness behind your heavy breathes. his black dress shoes scrape against the carved path under the weight of you both against him but it’s only a split moment before the hands of the other guards are lifting the seemingly lifeless ninja off of your back and your beloved scoops you into his arms.

confirming words that the ninja was alive, that healers were on their way and that you had been secured by the commissioner all rattle loudly in front of ayato but he hardly hears any of it as he looks down at you, eyes hidden from the rest of the world by light blue bangs. they scan over every inch of you, noting every bruise, every cut, every patch of dirt on your sweat beaded skin. all while he lets his muscles still pulsing with adrenaline guide you both back to the safety of the estate.

“it’s okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him with a smile that meets your eyes, even though the constraint of speaking on your burning lungs makes it hurt to get the words out. ayatos tight and trembling grip on you isn’t helping the pressure against your aching body but you don’t ask him to stop, not when he’s looking at you like you might be leaving him behind in this world when in fact you were just exhausted beyond all belief. it hurts to lift your arm but you use the last bit of strength you have to do so and let your shaking fingers caress his cheek, finally bringing the violet eyes you love so much to look into your own. “i’m okay.”

“it appears our definitions of ‘okay’ are not quite the same my dear.” it’s the first words he’s spoken since he caught you; the only words he could find at your ridiculous notion of what ‘okay’ meant, at the relief within his own being at hearing the words despite not totally agreeing with them.

“alive and not seriously injured sounds pretty okay to me,” you say with a chuckle, trying to hide the way you wince at the pain of it. but you meant it, you really did, even if he didn’t believe you yet. 

with your head resting against his chest, his strong arms under your legs and at your back keeping you safe, the sleeves of his coat fluttering behind him, he makes his way through the doors of your home and down the hall to your shared bedroom with attendants at his heels awaiting orders.  

thoma disperse them the deeper into the estate you go, the man holding you never once taking his eyes off of you as the housekeeper delegating tasks to keep the estate running smoothly and soon, when the door to your bedroom closes quietly and thoma leads the remaining worried attendants away, you’re left in the care of your beloved.

he doesn’t miss a moment of your recount of the events that you tell while waiting for the healer, how everything had ended well but the fight to get home was overwhelming. you swore the amount of enemies was never ending and told him of how it had resulted in your ninja companion being knocked out cold. ayato holds you the entire time, piecing together every bit of information you provide him to ensure that one, this does not happen again and two, that those who laid their hands on you would be paid back tenfold.

he only lets you go, albeit reluctantly, once the trusted doctor of the kamisato estate arrives and begins to look you over. while the doctor does her work you watch ayato shed his gloves and see how his hands no longer shake but behind his eyes each time he glances back at you, you can still see his worry. you watched as he took off his coat that was now sullied with the same dirt on your own clothes. slowly, meticulously, he takes off the other many layers he wears until only his light purple undershirt remains and he rolls the expensive fabric up to his elbow before disappearing into the bathroom.

the doctor chuckles low hearing the noises coming from the other room; running water, the opening and closing of many drawers and different boxes, the tapping of ayatos shoes as he makes his way from place to place.

“lady kayo would fuss over their father just the same whenever he got hurt,” she says with a nostalgic smile but doesn’t make any further comments as the current lord of the estate returns to the room to hear confirmation of what you’ve been trying to tell him; you’re okay, just a bit, okay maybe more than a bit, beat up and in need of rest. 

you feel your chest warm at her words as she talks to ayato about your condition and for a moment you forget about your aching bones or dirt covered skin, all that lingers within you is your fluttering heart at the thought of the love he holds for you. 

ayato is attentive to every word the doctor says, every recommendation to help ease your discomfort, the information about the medicine she’ll prepare and have sent to your room, all the while his eyes are focused on you and you alone. eventually you have to look away from him, feeling your entire body grow weaker under his gaze and your breath become harder to catch. you swear you see a smirk on his lips the last moment before your eyes focus on other familiar fixtures and trinkets in your room.

when it’s just the two of you once more, he returns you to the place within his arms, strong muscles flexing underneath you as he effortlessly lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom that was steaming with hot water from the shower and smelling of sakura blossoms and a hint of tea tree coming from the open medical container. he sets up down on the counter next to the many supplies he had laid out and even though you swear your body aches in a different way than fro your wounds when he lets you go, you know he has important duties to return to.

“thank you ayato, i’ve got it from h-  oh -,” you try to tell him you’ve got it but you are cut off when his pale gloveless fingers reach for your shirt and somehow he feels closer than he did when he was bringing you in here, his deep breaths fanning against your skin, the rise and fall of his chest almost deep enough to touch you, the heat of his entire body mixed with the steam from the shower making your mind fuzzy.

“am i not allowed to care for you now, hm?” you can hear the smile he wears even though there’s evidence of his unease behind his words.

“no! no, it's not that!” you protest all too quickly and imagine it likely made him smile. it did. and you get to see his pink lips and pearly whites showing in a tender yet teasing smirk when his index finger touches your jaw and pulls your gaze to meet his. you stutter under his unbridled, undivided attention, focusing on the mark resting below his lips rather than his eyes. “it’s just.. i.. you have more important things to attend to and i- i’ll be f-”

he interrupts you again but this time with his words and your heart stalls at the conviction behind them. “there is nothing in this world that is more important to me than you, my darling.” he thumb ghosts along your bottom lip and brings your eyes back to his, leaving you on bated breath, your hands reaching out to him to help keep you upright. “so i will not be going anywhere.”

it makes you want to cry, his words, the way he so tenderly removes every bit of your clothes and then his own before carrying you into the awaiting shower. its as if the events of the day were finally catching up to you and now that you were here, safely with the arms of ayato, warm water running through your dirty hair and over your bruised skin, his thoughtful hands cleaning every bit of you with the utmost care, you could finally let it all out.

“i’ve got you,” he hushes you sweetly when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, pressing your body closer to his so that not even the smallest droplets of water could get through, in a grasp that told you he needed it just as badly as you did.

you hold onto him, your arms painfully protesting from the force you put behind it but the pain is dull compared to the love that flows between you, like rain filling a once bare lake that held your two beating hearts within its now overflowing depths. 

and like the purest of rain water that he himself had created just for you, his love continued to pour over you, keep you cradled within its waters. he carried you from the shower and dried your body with such gentleness and the softest towel he could find, not letting you lift a muscle. his fingertips ran soothing ointment over every scratch and cut before wrapping them in soft cotton and placing loving kisses to every single injury.

your entire being was filled with comfort and rupture by the time he was finished and as he yet again scooped you into his arms, you melted into his exposed chest and traced the lines of ink on his skin with tired fingers, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your touch. 

“thank you ayato,” you whisper, feeling the sands of sleep lulling you in a welcoming embrace, the familiar scent of your beloved lingering within the threads of the bed sheets filling your nose. he might not have said it but you know how important the work he needed to attend to was and how much more work he would need to put in to catch up. all just so he could look after you.

“i was simply doing what i would alway do for you, my love. there’s no need to thank me,” he says earnestly, setting you into the plush sheets and following after you not a moment later, his touch unable to leave you and you’re thankful for that too. 

“no clothes?” you question when he pulls the covers over your both still naked bodies and presses himself flush against you, mindful of your injuries but still so incredibly close, like he knew it was exactly what you needed and craved. you didn’t mind of course, but it wasn’t what you had expected.

the smell of fresh sheets and your shampoo fill the space, warm and soft skin melting against your own, familiar but not something you get to feel nearly as much as either of you wanted, cradling you in the embrace of your beloved.

“not tonight,” not when i need to feel you against me. and though it wasn’t what he voiced, the emotions behind his words, the way his arms wrapped around you and held you against him, feeling every last bit of you, proof that you were okay and still beside him, said it all. 

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Shadow of the Past

"The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf." Whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a Disturber of the Peace...

Something about "but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable" cracks me up

I love the fact that Frodo kept throwing birthday parties for Bilbo after he left. It's so sweet.

I would much rather go to Frodo’s Hundred-weight Feast than Bilbo’s Party of Special Magnificence, actually; twenty guests and several meals “at which it snowed food and rained drink” sounds much more my speed X-D

“Bilbo isn’t dead.” “Where is he then?” “🤷‍♂️”

F in the chat for Folco Boffin, who was mentioned like once in this chapter and never comes into the story again

"Merry and Pippin suspected that [Frodo] visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done." TEA???

Frodo's wandering in the autumn has such an evocative and melancholy feeling to it. So much so that I wrote a poem about it last year...

Part Two of me wishing the movies could have shown the Dwarves passing through the Shire on their way to the Blue Mountains

Sam be like "Dragons and Ents are real, I tell you!" and Ted Sandyman like "press X to doubt"

Our first glimpse of Sam's unassailable trust in Frodo and his wisdom 💚

And now! Exposition dumping, with Gandalf.

I hate the fact that I can't see or hear the word Eregion without getting war flashbacks to Amazon's Rings of Poopy

Ooh, remind me to write an essay about the invisibility power of the Ring(s)...

"[Bilbo] would certainly never have passed on to you anything that he thought would be a danger." Oh boy, would you look at the time, it's Crying About Adoptive Relationships O'clock

"'There wasn't any permanent harm done, was there?' asked Frodo anxiously. 'He would get all right in time, wouldn't he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean.'" OH BOY, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME—

Literally Gandalf: "Hobbits are my special interest"

"It is quite cool." It sure is, Gandalf. Wicked. Radical, even.

Low-hanging fruit, I know, but I had to 🤣

Speaking of low-hanging fruit, here's a joke I made two years ago about the "until Spring had passed into Winter" line:

He threw a luau barbecue one breezy summer night/Invited all his turtle pals to come and have a wiki bite/The turtles started walkin' there as Lance began to swing/The one that lived across the street arrived there in the spring...!

"I wish it need not have happened in my time." "So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." Still a line that goes so, so hard, right in the middle of this exposition dump.

I like how in Gandalf's story, he makes Deagol talk normally, but Smeagol still has all those verbal idiosyncrasies that are iconic to Gollum.

I'm still trying to remember who it was that pointed out that the last syllable of Smeagol is the first syllable of Gollum. Blew my mind when I saw that, I tell ya.

"I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought." "It is not." 🤣🤣🤣

The thought of Gollum creeping through a window to snatch a baby from a cradle and eat it is at least seventeen different kinds of Not Fun. Thanks, Tolkien.

I have very little to say about Gandalf's retelling of the Ring's story—and Frodo's frightened and naive questions—except that it's almost as hard to tear your eyes away from the book as it is for Frodo to throw the Ring into the fire.

"I do really wish to destroy it! Or, well, to have it destroyed. I am not made for perilous quests." Oh, Frodo, bby...

I love how Sam's spying is so artfully foreshadowed here X-D You just go whistling away down that path, buddy! Nobody suspects a thing!

All Frodo has to say is "I suppose I'll have to go running into danger alone to keep everything and everyone I love safe, even if it means never coming home again; it's a pity, but I'll do it" and Gandalf is like "Frodo have I mentioned lately how much I love you and hobbits in general". Which. Mood! Big mood!

SUDDENLY, SAMWISE GAMGEE!

Good gracious did I need Sam and his comic relief after this heavy chapter X-D Bless you, Sam, you loveable dummy

I wonder what hobbit idiom Tolkien "translated" into "Lor bless you, sir". I'm not sure the hobbits have a concept of Eru Illuvatar as a benevolent God who hands out blessings; and if they do, I somehow doubt they'd have quaint little figures of speech like this. But I'm just nitpicking at this point because it's fun.

"There ain't no eaves at Bag End, and that's a fact." SAM 🤣🤣

"Mr. Frodo, sir! Don't let him hurt me, sir! Don't let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so." Have I mentioned that I love the heck out of Sam?

Frodo is "hardly able to keep from laughing", which, MOOD!

Sam heard that Mr. Frodo was going away and audibly choked. GAH I love him so much

Frodo sure knows how to threaten Sam LOL

"If you even breathe a word of what you've heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes." 🤣🤣

"'Me, sir!' cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. 'Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!' he shouted, and then burst into tears." Oh, Sam. I love you.

[beneathashadytree]

CLUMSY LOVE - LEON DOMPTEUR X READER

Warnings : mentions of injuries, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : This was born after seeing @leonscape ‘s posts, reminding me of how criminally underrated this man is in the fandom. His kind of safe, warm love is right up my alley, because I can’t imagine anything more comforting.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

Leon Dompteur was a prince in all but blood. He had the refined poise and power over every room he walked into, the indelible charm that pulled everyone in, the wicked spirit that thrummed underneath his skin and fought to make it out, and the bravery to serve one’s country as one would lay his own life down.

But one thing he was not even remotely princely in, was fine motor skills. With big calloused hands, long and thick fingers, and hardened palms over the years, so used to handling roughness and sharpness, it made perfect sense that he would find it difficult to handle the smaller things that required immense concentration and deftness.

That, however, did not necessarily stop him from trying. For what it’s worth, it seemed that he was hellbent on changing that one shortcoming of his, constantly trying to do things his hands frankly weren’t meant to do.

Many a time did the kitchen staff stumble upon the fourth prince trying to pipe saccharine icing ontop of the cookies Yves had just pulled out of the oven, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to scribble sugar lines. In the end, they always looked wonky, but Yves helplessly sighed every time and patted him on the back for trying.

Sometimes, Jin would be nursing a bottle of expensive wine in melancholy, a despondent look on his face, and Leon would then offer to take his paperwork and finish it up for him. Though he tried his best to imitate his eldest brother’s manner of writing, he simply wasn’t made for the tiny, neat calligraphy that Jin often resorted to, and his attempts at doing so only made the writing all the more illegible.

And though Licht was adamant to always hide his countless injuries from his brothers, Leon’s keen eye always caught sight of at least a few unhealed wounds littering his pale skin. It was up to him as his caring older brother to offer to patch up his bloodied forearms (something that was always met with a bit of push and pull), but he probably did more harm than good, what with all the loose tiny bandages and squiggly lines of ointment on the infinitely small wounds.

Still, nothing seemed to deter him from trying, even if he knew that—realistically speaking—his chances of success were incredibly low. Leon best expressed himself through actions that bared his big heart, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. If anything, his failures only made him more determined to try and share his brothers’ burdens even more.

And that little quirk of his also extended to his beloved, of course. After all, in his eyes, there wasn’t a single person in the world more worthy of his attention and care. To others, it was a great shame for a prince to supposedly “debase himself by serving another”, but the mere idea made his blood boil. If anything, he—a prince made of nothing—would give the world to them should they show a sliver of interest in it.

In a less dramatic manner, he resorted to doing little things, like that he did on one particularly pleasant spring manner. The weather was too good to pass up on a nice stroll in the gardens with his lover. Said stroll slowly crumbled with the temptation of laziness, and soon turned into lazing around in the freshly cut grass in the midday sun.

Their hand was brushing through his ebony locks, twirling strands between their fingers as their other hand flipped page after page of their book. With all the duties planted on their shoulders, they had little time left to read and relax like this. Thankfully, that meant that they paid Leon no mind as he fiddled with something.

A few minutes passed, maybe half an hour (they did have a habit of losing track of time while reading), and he turned to face them in their lap. His bright smile was almost as blinding as the afternoon sun above, and when he tugged at their sleeve, they didn’t know what to expect—but it certainly wasn’t whatever it was that he presented them with.

Curiously inspecting it for a beat or two, they didn’t know what to call it. After all, Leon was never good with his hands, and that was common knowledge by now. Anything he made was practically unrecognizable without an introduction.

“That’s a…?”

He took their discontinued sentence as an invitation to elaborate. “A ring made out of flowers.” He grinned even wider as he pointed at it. “See. All daisies.”

“Well, they’re not very… sturdy, I think,” they laughed out, turning it around in their fingers. “It’s the thought that counts though. So thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Leon shook his head, before he took their hand gracefully in his, slipping on the makeshift ring with less than half of that grace. A quick prayer was sent above to whoever was listening, hoping that it would not fall apart—and, much to his relief, it stayed in place, wonky daises with half-broken stems and all.

“Is this a proposal?” They jokingly nudged him with their newly-adorned ring finger, not expecting the soft look he returned them with, nor the gentle kiss he pressed against their knuckles.

“A place-holder, until I find you the perfect ring.”

And though he was never quite good with small things or fine skills, he clearly was well-versed in the art of getting their heart to pound furiously against their ribcage, threatening to spill into his hands; for him to have and hold. Only he—and no one else—had the ability to make them fall head over heels, over and over again, slowly and then all at once, just like it were the first time.

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[ken-dom]

Come Back To Me

Holland March x Mrs March

Summary: Nightmare or dream? Why not both.

Author's notes: Written as part one to @heresthestorymorningglory's heartbreakingly gorgeous Holland x reader fic, Of Dreams And Dances, which came about after she had a dream that eerily coincided with the contents of a deleted scene I was watching from what turned out to be one of our favourite films. Of which the main theme is coincidences. Coincidence or not, it resulted in us teaming up to explore Holland as a husband and a father, and what his future could look like.

Warnings/content: fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy (and conception — one nsfw line from holland midway through), alcohol

It had been a quiet Saturday. All three of them, taking advantage of some rare time at home to relax together.

Holland had a case. Technically. It wasn’t one he was particularly worried about, just a simple problem he could string out for more cash while doing the bare minimum. And with a relatively new baby at home, who could blame him?

Well, Holly wasn’t really a baby. Holly was three and a half years old now. But he still called her his baby, wishing the time hadn’t moved so fast since she was born, hoping that she wouldn’t grow up too fast and have to take on the horrors of responsibility in the real world too soon. He wanted to protect her for as long as he could, be a better dad to her than his own father was to him. Let her have the childhood he wished he’d had.

So he would take the money, regardless of the morals involved, and use it all for her, to build her a future.

He still remembered the moment in the hospital when his wife had looked up at him, glowing after a horribly long labour, and said, ‘She’s perfect. I want to name her Holly. After you.’

His heart broke every time he remembered that moment, because already, at three years old it seemed too long ago. But he wanted to live in it forever.

Today had been almost as perfect, the entire world shut out as they enjoyed their perfect little bubble in their perfect little house, Holland not even bothering to dress properly and his wife feeding him chocolates and making him tea “the English way” — whatever the fuck that meant — reading to each other and to Holly, playing hide and seek with her between naps and lazing around. It was heaven. He was in heaven.

‘Holland, darling, put some music on!’ His wife cooed when she appeared from upstairs, finding Holland slumped over the kitchen table. She tugged at his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s dance.’

Holland didn’t budge for a moment, lost in a haze of melancholy nostalgia. His life was completely perfect, he knew that, so why couldn’t he live in the moment and just fucking enjoy it instead of lamenting how three years had passed so suddenly? Four, if you counted the pregnancy.

‘Holland, darling, what’s the matter?’ his wife pressed, sitting down on the chair beside him and laying her head on the table too.

He loved that about her. She always got on his level, always managed to soothe him back to her so easily.

He slowly lifted his head and his big, round, blue eyes locked on hers, glistening with something unreadable. ‘I wanna have another one.’

‘Another one what?’

‘Another baby.’

‘Oh-’

Before she could even really answer, he had sprung up, his chair crashing to the floor behind him, and he had offered his hand out, pulling her close to him when she took it, and breathing her in as she pressed close. She felt so warm against him.

‘You can’t name the next one after me, too, though. It’s gonna get silly.’

She chuckled against his chest, swaying with him. ‘Why, how many little Hollands are you planning?’

‘Oh, hundreds. I was thinking, we should try for twins this time, get two in one go.’

‘Steady, Holland, you’re not the one carrying them. Besides I don’t think it works like that.’

‘I’m serious — what do you eat to get twins?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Whatever it is, I'll find out and I’ll make it for you every day,’ he leaned closer to her ear, whispering, ‘and I’ll pump you full of me every night until your belly is full with our children.’

She giggled, slapping him playfully on the chest. ‘I would have a hundred children with you, you know that?’

‘Wanna start tonight?’

She looked up at him, smiling at his dumb but seductive expression. ‘Yes I absolutely do. And I’ll do my best to get you twins.’

He kissed her tenderly, arms tightening around her shoulders as they swayed.

There was no music. There didn’t need to be. He hummed, though, low against her ear, the tune of her favourite song, gradually adding in the words until he was serenading her.

‘Dad-’

Holland looked up, toward the stairs but Holly hadn’t appeared at the top, looking for him.

‘Dad.’

‘Honey? Was that-’

But his wife was silent, face buried against his chest.

‘Dad!’

Rubbing at the wedding band around his finger with his thumb, he closed his eyes, it was there. It was safe.

When he opened his eyes again, Holly was in front of him.

He grasped for his wife, arms flailing in front of him, but there was nothing. She was gone. So was the ring.

And Holly was… older. Almost ten years older by the look of her. 

Had he fallen asleep dancing with his wife? He needed to get back to her, needed to snap out of whatever vision this was.

‘Dad, wake up!’

‘Believe me, I’m trying,’ he slurred, mouth struggling around the words. ‘Why am I wet?’

‘Because you’re in the tub again. I told you to get undressed next time. You’re gonna ruin all your suits!’

Holland groaned. The water was cold and he was shivering. It felt real. This was no vision, no dream. This was real.

‘You need to get up, Mr. Healy’s here to see you.’ Holly growled with frustration and turned on her heal, storming out of the bathroom to carry on making breakfast.

‘Tell him I’ll be out in ten minutes,’ Holland grunted, flopping back into the cold water and closing his eyes. ‘Come back to me,’ he breathed, her song playing on loop in his mind all the while, ‘come back to me. We were gonna make twins, come back-’

[klutzyroses]

Could I please request something with Leonardo, Comte, Theo, Arthur and Shakespeare's s/o who starts to pull away from them because she feels fat/ugly/stupid/too inexperienced to be with her suitor?

IkeVamp HCs: Distant Inexperienced S/O

How do they react to their s/o pulling away because she feels she is too inexperienced/stupid/ugly for him?

Suitors: Leonardo, Arthur, Theo, Comte, William

Leonardo

The inventor very quickly caught on that something wasn't right with his love when she started acting a little strange.

It was little things at first, from her demure manner, to her uneasy glances, but little by little, he could feel his Cara mia started to drift away.

It hurt. Alot. To feel her gradually start to slip through his fingers was a fate worse than death.

A fate he was not about to allow to befall him without a fight.

There was a slight idea of what the issue COULD be, but he didn't want to make any assumptions about her feelings. Even if she was that easy to read.

At least, to him

So of course, he hunted his principessa down whilst she had thrown herself into her work. It took some level of convincing, before the inventor opted to simply scoop her into his arms and carry her away, despite the lovely lady's embarrassed protests.

Once he coaxed the answers out of her, it made perfect sense. Actually the more he thought about it, the more he feels he should have expected it.

"Leonardo...you know I'm nowhere near your level, don't you? I'm not as smart, innovative, and...I'm not going to even talk about experience. Don't you want someone more-"

"Like you? Course."

He cuts her off before she can imply anything else he, very likely, did not want to hear. He slips his hand behind her head to hold her still as he, very gently bumps her forehead with his own.

He wants to understand, he loves her, ALL of her. He chose her for a reason, a very special, undeniable reason.

"And that's because you're you."

Arthur

The ever perceptive author noticed almost immediately something was wrong with his beloved.

Her slowly diminishing mood was obvious of course, he was, after all, the most in tune with her, the one who loved her most. So of course he knew something was wrong.

He can easily estimate what may be troubling her, but he can't be entirely certain until he asks her himself.

Though he does notice that she is particularly quiet when he is approached by one of his admirers. Not necessarily moody just...subdued....distant.

That's why he sits her down in his room and brings it up over cuddles.

"What's going on in your pretty little head, luv? You've been so melancholy lately..."

He twirls her hair between his fingers as he listens to her concerns, though what she has to say is a bit...sore.

To hear she was so concerned over being inexperienced...to hear that she thought herself unattractive...especially in the presence of his beautiful devotees. His heart ached to hear that, and he partially blames himself for letting his darling think like that. After all, he even told her, when they first met, that he preferred experienced women. While he had been flirtatiously teasing...it seems those words had a very negative impact on his beloved.

He holds her face in his hands, stroking her soft cheeks with his thumbs

"Luv, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry darling, I never meant to for you to feel this way. You have to understand how wrong you are to think that. I love your innocence, there is nothing wrong with it at all, please believe me when i say it makes you all the more precious. And... even when you're upset you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, remember?"

He presses his forehead to hers.

"All of you is perfect to me...Absolutely flawless."

Theo

The man may be busy but his hondje always comes first. So when she starts acting strange, he notices.

Her half hearted retorts to his teasing and her gloomy disposition would've been noted by a blind man.

He observes her for maybe a day or two, to actually confirm if this was going to be a problem, or just a passing mood.

Once he sees that this wasn't going away without being confronted, he drags her off somewhere private and gazes at her with a severe frown on his handsome features.

"Talk hondje. Something's wrong and you're going to tell me what."

She could deny anything being wrong, but then they would be here all day...

So she tell him the truth. That she felt dumb, stupid next to him, who was so sharp and intelligent, that she was no match for him, to the point she would rather keep quiet, lest she embarrassed him with her supposed ineptitude.

Theo...was not pleased. But at the same time, he can't help but wonder...did he lead her to think like that, through all his teasing. A small part of him can't help but worry a little. Which is why he can't help but take her chin in his hand and make her look into his strong blue eyes.

"The only dumb thing about you is thinking like that. Don't underestimate yourself, and don't even think of selling yourself short. Because...you are smart. The brightest woman I know."

He softens a bit more as he never breaks away from her sparkling eyes.

"I mean it. You really do shine in my eyes."

Comte

Comte could easily tell something was on her mind. How could he miss it? He pays such attention to her, it would be impossible to miss a change in her behaviour.

He especially notices it when he takes her with him to one of his events, surrounded by the aristocracy and nobility, she seems even more ill at ease.

He wonders if she would rather not accompany him, but she agrees wholeheartedly everytime, he couldn't bring himself to question her too much...

However, when he was surrounded by his male and female admirers, the noble, sophisticated men, the beautiful, seemingly flawless women, his cherie would just...shrink.

She seemed almost frightened to be there and rarely spoke at all. She just silently drifted away from the nobles....and from him.

It wasn't until one night that he escorts her to a balcony after all greetings are out of the way. He takes both her hands in his and peers into her puzzled eyes.

"Tell me, mon Coeur, what's been troubling you so? You seem so distant lately?"

He rubs the back of her hands soothingly, listening patiently as she speaks.

"...Aren't you embarrassed to be seen with me? I'm not as good at being a noble and...I'm not even half as stunning as any of the other women here and I...I.."

She pauses when she feels his finger on her soft lips to gently hush her.

"Ma cherie, you must understand, there is no woman who can outshine you, not by any stretch of the imagination. You bring me so much pride, to be able to bring such a diamond with me is nothing short of an honor."

And he means every word of that. She is special, perfect, breathtaking. And he would always be proud of her, whether she be in a ballgown, or in a potato sack.

William

Ah, if his fair maiden thought she was concealing her anxiety well, she would have to try harder than to fool this playwright.

This master of masks could easily tell his muse was starting to distance herself, whilst also hiding that fact and her snowballing anxieties.

And...well, he wasn't well pleased with this.

Yes, he took note of how she behaved in his presence, and how she often began to evade him, trying to not seem obvious, but the man was not fooled. No, not in the slightest.

What a playful little trickster, to think she thought he would allow her to leave his side this way. He could chance a guess upon what is troubling her, but to confirm his suspicions...

He beckons her to him, under the guise of a mere conversation he would like to start but when the poor girl came within arms reach, she found herself in an inescapable embrace, which only heightened her trepidation when she also found her wrist inexplicably bound to his with bright red ribbon.

"In this manner, you shan't find thyself able to escape me, slippery nymph."

He seems to be playful but he is serious. He is going to get to the bottom of her behavior, and she was going nowhere until he did.

So of course, he listens silently, patiently as she explains her feelings of insecurity, of feeling inadequate, unintelligent, essentially a complete airhead next to him, the brilliant William Shakespeare.

He doesn't interrupt her until she is finished speaking, and only then does he stop to chuckle lightly, and then laugh. It is not necessarily a derisive or mocking laugh, more of a teasing, affectionate laugh, like a parent listening to their child proudly explain concepts to them that they already knew.

"It seems I have neglected thee for far too long, should my fair one find time to allow such thoughts to cloud her head."

He presses a kiss to her wrist, still wrapped closely to his, before nipping it.

Oh, he will definitely ease her worries. She won't have a second to think of them when he is done with her.

🌸

[mudhamster]

CHWHWN: 03. December - "useless fact"

Kacchan: *image attached* impress me Deku: Interested in a particular area? or topic? thing? Kacchan: Bold to assume I would be interested in something useless at all Deku: but! ╰(°ㅂ°)╯ sometimes things you thought were useless turn out to be quite useful Kacchan: uh huh Deku: You remember that rice-cooker thingy? The one that goes in the microwave? Kacchan: no Deku: Everyone and their mama laughed at me. But fact is! I'm the only one in the dorm who can cook perfect rice in 13min Without actually cooking! Kacchan: ... was that the useless fact? Deku: carrots were once purple Kacchan: ..eew Deku: Imagine a soup with purple carrots (° -°） ︵ ┻━┻ Kacchan: no thanks Deku: AWARD UNLOCKED: YOU USED ⋆*✩>>T H A N K S<<✩*⋆ FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! Kacchan: fuck you deku Deku: AWARD UNLOCKED: YOU USED ⋆*✩>>F U C K<<✩*⋆ FOR THE 10000th TIME!!! ok sorry. want another one? Kacchan: no

Deku: Dr. Seuss invented the word nerd in 1950. It meant comically unpleasant creature Kachan: actually laughed at that Deku: (´◡`) Kacchan: yea, good one enough for today G'night comic ugly thing Deku: lol Night, Kacchan ♥

For a split second, Izuku saw three dots, Kacchan was still writing something - but then that was it and the chat went silent.

Nevertheless, Izuku lay on the bed, heart pounding, cell phone still in his hand and the chat open. That was what he wanted. Contact, he thought with a small smile. In the last three days, he had chatted more with Kacchan than in the whole last month. It felt new and good. But most of all, right.

He had made him laugh. He rubbed his face deep into his pillow at the thought. Even in front of the posters, he was a little embarrassed by his bashful grin. He'd given anything to hear that. Was Kacchan already in bed? It was late, after eight, which was a pretty good indication.

It meant that he was in bed chatting with Izuku.

The thought of Kacchan chuckling in the dim light of his bedside lamp prevented his ribs from taking another breath, as if huge hands were wrapped around his chest and squeezing him. It felt like longing. Melancholy and a little bit of greed. To finally see Kacchan laugh again because of something he had said or done… a real laugh, … and not the spiteful cackle. A real, honest laugh. He wanted that. And more. All of it.

Izuku blinked down at his cell phone. He re-read the chat with forced calm, the evidence that they had kept in touch for three days without interruption. That was more than a beginning.

Piece by piece, but with composure.

There was no guarantee that he would be able to make him laugh in the next few days - who knew what Kacchan would draw tomorrow? What if it was the hug?

"Please, please let it be something harmless," his muttering died away in his pillow, "I need a little more time, just a few more days."

[seiya-starsniper]

In Places No One Will Find

I meant to post this for Femslash weekend, but absolutely forgot! I bit off way more than I could chew since it was also NYCC weekend as well ahahaha. But still, better later than never!

Dedicating this fic to @tryan-a-bex, #1 stan for this ship <3

Ship: Gault x Lucienne / Gaulcienne

Tags: mentions of Jessamy's death, angst, hurt/comfort

Fic below the cut, or you can read it on AO3 as well!

The Library is trembling.

It is a curious phenomenon, and not one that Gault knows how to handle. She walks slowly through the stacks, careful to keep her wings folded so she does not accidentally brush against the rare and delicate volumes that line the shelves.

The books themselves rattle and shake, the movement causing tremors to reverberate throughout the walls, the floor, and even the chandelier that hangs high in the center of the ceiling.

When she reaches the heart of the Library, Gault finds the reason for the disturbance in the normally calm and peaceful space.

Lucienne is bent over a table and crying.

The sight is so arresting, so unheard of that Gault can do nothing but stand and stare for a few moments. She has never seen Lucienne cry, not once in her many millennia of existence. Lucienne is one of the core facets of the Dreaming, strong and unwavering in her dedication to the Dreaming and to Lord Morpheus. Even when the Dream King himself had wavered in his duty, too caught up in emotional distress and heartbreak, Lucienne had always been there to set him to rights, had always been the more levelheaded and stoic of the two of them. Gault had once thought she felt little to no emotion at all. 

But Gault now realizes this is a foolish thought. Lord Morpheus would not have kept her by his side first as his raven, and then as his second in command, if it were so. 

“It is impolite to stare, Gault,” Lucienne calls out, breaking Gault from her thoughts.

Gault does not startle, does not hiss in surprise, but it is a near thing. When she was a nightmare, she had always prided herself on her excellence as a hunter and stalker. The only other nightmare who could best her in that skill was the Corinthian. Her footsteps are still silent even today, and they should have been further hidden by the rattling of the books. But Lucienne is older still, and the Library is still her domain, so of course she notices all who enter and leave.

“This is the first time I have seen you cry,” Gault says, her tone gentle and non-threatening. She has gotten good at sounding reassuring in her time as a dream. “Forgive me for my indiscretion.”

Lucienne nods, her back still crouched as if she is hiding something from Gault’s view. “Forgiven. Was there something you required of me?” she asks. 

Gault shakes her head. “I have followed the path of despair to this place,” Gault says, then smiles a little self-deprecatingly. “It is a habit, I’m afraid.” 

Lucienne huffs a broken laugh. “Some things never change,” she replies, and were it not for the melancholy in her voice, Gault would almost think she sounds fond.

“What has hurt you so, Lucienne?” Gault asks, hoping that her bluntness will not be rebuffed. Lucienne’s body begins to tremble once more, but the Librarian breathes deeply once, twice, thrice before her breathing evens out.

“Alex Burgess has died,” Lucienne finally answers.

Gault is…confused. “Is he not the one who imprisoned Lord Morpheus?” she asks. “Why do you mourn him then?”

Lucienne shakes her head. “It was his father that stole Lord Morpheus from us. But his son—” Lucienne then steps aside, revealing the figure she had previously been hiding.

Jessamy. Or rather, her stuffed and taxidermied body. Gault hisses.

“It’s barbaric,” is all she’s able to say as she slowly approaches the table. So little of Jessamy remains in this trophy, this mockery of life. To the untrained human eye, her plumage looks much the same, but Gault can see that few of her original feathers are attached to this body, filled in instead with pieces from other birds and plastic. 

“Jessamy was slain by Alex Burgess’s hand when she attempted to free Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne says, nodding when Gault raises her hand in question. When Gault touches Jessamy's body, she sees the last moments of the raven's life. She sees the fire Jessamy set to the mansion as a distraction, feels the hope in her tiny body at the chance to free their lord, all the way up to the shock of the shotgun that tore her to pieces.

“How did you come upon this?” Gault asks. “Does Lord Morpheus—?”

Lucienne nods shakily. “Lord Morpheus was previously unaware that Jessamy—that Alex had—” she pauses and shakes, and Gault realizes that she is no longer shaking with sorrow, but with rage. “He was not aware that her body had been desecrated in this manner until he glimpsed her figure in Paul Mcguire’s dreams. He had been planning to sell her at an estate auction.”

Gault inhales sharply. “Does the man still yet live?” It is a harsh, but honest question. Both Gault and Lucienne know that the Dream King does not take any slights against him lightly, even accidental ones. But for a crime like this, she would not be surprised if Lucienne chose not to hold the Dream King back should he choose to punish Paul Mcguire for his lover’s sins.

Lucienne sighs, but eventually nods again. “He has been punished enough, and he did not know the significance of Jessamy to our lord. He gladly handed her over with no fuss.”

Gault’s wings droop in relief. “That is good to hear,” she replies, staring mournfully at the body of someone she once greatly admired. “Jessamy deserves to be at home where she belongs.”

“She does,” Lucienne agrees. “I am glad she has returned home. But I—” she pauses, unsure of how to continue her thought. “It is difficult to look at her like this. I do not know what to do.”

Gault nods, and realizes that while there’s nothing that can be done for Jessamy now, there is something that can be done for those she left behind.

“Lucienne,” she says, taking a small step towards the librarian. “I’m going to hug you now.”

Lucienne’s breath catches in her throat, but she does not otherwise move to indicate that this is an unwelcome gesture. Gault tugs the other woman into her arms and embraces her fiercely, not just with her arms, but her wings as well. It isn’t long before she feels Lucienne’s arms slowly lift to return the embrace. 

They stand like that for seconds, minutes, hours. Gault does not know. She does not care. What she does care about is that Lucienne’s body is warm and soft in a way she had not thought possible. That shortly after their embrace, Gault can feel the tension bleeding away, bit by bit, piece by piece, from the other woman’s body. That Lucienne is here, alive, and vulnerable with her, and how that makes Gault feel vulnerable too. 

Eventually, they step back from one another. Gault already misses the warmth of Lucienne’s body. 

“Thank you,” Lucienne says. “For coming to check in on me. I—I very much needed that comfort Gault.”

“Of course,” Gault answers, feeling flushed suddenly and not knowing why. “If you ever need such a thing in the future—”

“I will call for you,” Lucienne replies, a bright smile overtaking her features. Gault realizes she likes making Lucienne smile. She thinks she’d like to do it again. 

[lurkingshan]

Shan! One of the things that I’ve loved learning during my Old GMMTV Challenge project is discovering filmmakers and watching through their project lists. Do you follow specific directors or screenwriters for Asian dramas? If so, who are they, and why? And which dramas of their do you recommend?

A fun one, and an area where I know we actually differ in our approach. In short, my answer to your first question is yes, but also no. :)

By which I mean, I generally do pay attention to who creates the shows I watch, because when I am impressed or infuriated by a drama I like to know who is behind it so I can look into their other work, either to pursue or avoid it. Sometimes I have to go looking for that information, but there are some creators who have such an obvious style that it sets them apart and makes it near impossible to miss the connections between their shows (Kim Eun Sook in kdrama, Aof Noppharnach and Jojo Tichakorn in tbl, Hwang Da Seul in kbl, Lin Pei Yu in twbl, etc). With those I might start something unknowingly and then be like wait a minute is this X’s work? I do maintain awareness and keep creators’ other works in mind when I watch something new because it's fun to look for themes across a body of work, and frankly, to know where the pitfalls are likely to come in.

That said, I do not feel any need to be a completist about any one auteur's resume, I don’t intentionally sit down to watch a creator's work in an organized way, and I actually prefer not to know that much about their personal lives, because I like to focus on the fictional stories without too much real world gunk getting in the way and clouding my reads. I am a "let the art speak for itself" girlie; I'm less interested in authorial intent than in allowing stories breathing room to be interpreted by the audience. I do believe in the Death of the Author school of thought and I don't think it's great when creators try to do too much to control how their work is perceived. One of my current beefs with the Only Friends watch experience is that there is so much real world gunk (branded pairs, shipping and actor stanning, creators posting on social media with context that is not included in the actual canon) getting in the way and messing with interpretations of the show.

Once you get into a fandom at all you will inevitably be exposed to a ton of this kind of thing whether you like it or not. And it comes up a lot in bl because so many shows are adapted from pre-existing source material and rely on known actor pairs, which inevitably affects discourse because people come to these shows with a lot of baggage even before they begin. But I am always interested in story first. I dove into I Feel You Linger in the Air and Absolute Zero with zero hesitation because timey wimey soulmate shit is my jam, not because these shows were made by Tee Bundit and New Siwaj (in fact that would be more of a deterrent than anything if I let it dictate my viewing choices).

So while I am interested in the undercurrent of melancholy across Aof's works, and Jojo's devotion to messy ensemble pieces where everyone is a little bit of an asshole, and Kim Eun Sook's uncanny ability to tap into the zeitgeist and create banger after banger across a range of genres, I don't need to know too much about why their areas of focus are important to them or how it relates to their personal experiences. I prefer not to use fiction as a means to psychoanalyze the real people who create it; instead I just try to engage with and appreciate their art as art and afford them respect as creative geniuses without making assumptions about how each work is meant to reflect their real experiences. Understanding some basic demographics about creators (as in, do they have the appropriate lived experiences to be telling the stories they choose) is about as far as my curiosity goes.

Question 1 TL;DR: I do like to pay attention to who creates the shows I watch so that I can follow the themes in their work, but I am not interested in following the creators themselves closely.

Question 2: who are the creators I recommend following? I have mentioned a lot of them above, and my overall recommendation is that if you are invested in a show, you should look to see who writes and directs it, not just who stars in it. Actors are of course important but usually it's the creative team behind them that really makes or breaks a drama, because they are the ones ultimately in control of the story. Having that grounding can be really helpful for setting expectations and in interpreting and processing what you watch, and also just for helping you find more of the kind of thing you will probably like. I’m extremely glad, for instance, that I watched Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends, because it gave me a framework for understanding the themes they were likely to dig into. I also just finished watching Rainless Love in a Godless Land, which I was interested in due in large part to it sharing the same screenwriter as my all time favorite Taiwanese drama, Someday or One Day, and being able to pull out the similar themes and ideas across the two projects made it all the more interesting for me.

[princesssarisa]

The Most Common Types of Cinderella in "Cinderella" Adaptations

After reading @ariel-seagull-wings's great post about the most common portrayals of Cinderella's Prince, I thought I'd take a similar look at the different versions of Cinderella herself. As with the Prince, we've seen very different portrayals over the years to suit each time and place's ideals of what a fairy tale heroine should be like, and while each one is unique, certain patterns do reappear. These are the six most common Cinderellas in my experience.

The Waif

This is the most traditional Cinderella – the type seen in virtually every adaptation until the 1950s. She's a very young, innocent, fragile girl, and her rags are especially ragged and smudged with ashes. In effect, she's like an older version of little Cosette from Les Misérables. She lives in terror of her Stepmother, quaking at any sign of anger from her, and is often implied to not just be insulted and forced to serve, but physically abused. And though she tries to be content with only her dreams and accept her hard life without complaining, she's still a deeply melancholy little figure. She can often be found sitting by the fire and singing a wistful folk tune. The audience wants to rescue her, and so does the Prince after her innocent, artless demeanor, her instinctive kindness, and her natural grace and beauty win his heart. Standout Cinderellas of this type include those from the two classic opera adaptations, Rossini's La Cenerentola and Massenet's Cendrillon, as well as those from the two Russian film versions (the 1947 live-action film and its 1979 animated remake), and Lesley Ann Warren in the 1965 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical.

The Girl Next Door

Like "the Waif," this Cinderella is very young, sweet, innocent, and vulnerable, but she's less battered and melancholy. She's capable of quietly standing up to her stepfamily, or at least trying to, and capable in lighter moments of being playful and clever, with a gentle sense of humor. Her Prince tends to be as much of a friend as a lover to her, bonding with her over shared dreams and longings, and seeing her as a someone he can "really talk to" as an equal. She's also more likely than other Cinderellas to have a real character arc, struggling with fears and self-doubt at first, but ultimately growing in self-respect and inner strength, and realizing that even in rags she's worthy of her Prince's love. She's clearly not just meant to be touching, or just a role model, but a person whom the average young viewer can identify with. Brandy Norwood's 1997 Rodgers and Hammerstein Cinderella is of this type; so is the heroine of the 1996 anime Cinderella Monogatari, Jennifer Beals in the Cinderella episode of Faerie Tale Theatre, and Emilia Schüle in the the German anthology Märchenperlen.

The Idealist

This Cinderella comes across as more mature than the first two: a young woman, not a girl. Even in her rags, she's as neat, clean, and well-put-together as her hard work allows, and from the start she has an air of dignity, clearly having been taught to be a proper lady by her parents before they died. She usually has a sunny, cheerful disposition too, although like every other Cinderella she has moments of despair. At the core of all this is a profound idealism, just as staunch as Don Quixote's: a vision of who she wants to be and what she wants to believe, which she follows like a graceful lady knight on a quest. The word that best describes what she does is "maintaining": in the face of all hardship, maintaining her cheerfulness, her dignity, her kindness, and her faith in her dreams of future happiness. The classic idealist Cinderella is the Disney Cinderella, both in her 1950 animated form and in Lily James's 2015 portrayal, while another example is Julie Andrews in the Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical's original 1957 version.

The Tomboy

This Cinderella is more of a gamine than a waif; more of an Éponine than a Cosette. She puts up with her stepfamily's abuse because otherwise she would be homeless, but she handles it with a feisty attitude, sassing back when they insult her and standing up to them with real rage when they push her too far. When she's not working, her preferred escape is into a forest or some other wild place, where she can ride a horse, climb trees, swim in a river, or just be free. The Prince is usually drawn more to her strength of will, her passion, and/or her sarcastic wit than he is to her beauty. A subtype of this Cinderella is the gritty outcast: an angry, unsociable girl who wears her grimy, unfeminine looks with pride and masks her pain with rudeness, until a kind, perceptive Prince sees the princess within her. Cinderellas of that subtype are Leslie Caron's Ella in 1955's The Glass Slipper and the anti-heroine of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 2021 musical. Meanwhile, more conventionally charming tomboy Cinderellas are Libuše Šafránková in the Czech cult classic Three Wishes for Cinderella, Christianne Tisdale in the lesser-known musical A Tale of Cinderella, Aylin Tezel in the German anthology Sechs auf einen Streich (who skirts the edge between "the Tomboy" and "the Girl Next Door"), and Drew Barrymore's Danielle in the 1998 classic Ever After: A Cinderella Story... although she combines this with a different variation of the character, outlined below.

The Activist

This Cinderella's hard life has made her an advocate for others who are abused or oppressed. Whether these others are the kingdom's ordinary poor and working classes or magical creatures who face discrimination from humans, she'll do all she can to help them, even if it means getting into trouble with authorities. You can expect her to be more intellectual than other Cinderellas, to be a lover of socio-political books, and to be close friends with fellow servants, beggars, or even revolutionaries. She also tends to have a low opinion of the Prince at first, as he starts out as either a bit of a snob or else too sheltered and blind to social injustice; their romance arc revolves largely around her teaching him to be a better future king. Without a doubt, this Cinderella will be a an outstanding queen who improves her subjects' lives. As far as I know, this characterization first appeared in Ever After: A Cinderella Story, where Drew Barrymore's Danielle combines it with "the Tomboy"; in her footsteps followed Anne Hathaway's Ella in the 2004 film version of Ella Enchanted, and the Cinderella of the 2013 Broadway version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical.

The Artist

This version of Cinderella has a special talent that she wants to share with the world. Maybe it's fashion design, like in the 2021 Sony/Amazon film; maybe it's composing music, like in Alma Deutscher's opera; or maybe she's an inventor, like in Betsy Cornwell's YA novel Mechanica. Hardly anyone knows or appreciates her work, but every moment she can spare from housework is spent pouring her heart and soul into her talent. Her dream is to use it to earn an independent living, free from her Stepmother, who will stop at nothing to thwart that dream. The Prince in this version helps to support Cinderella's work, either at the ball or beforehand, and her main reason for going to the ball is to showcase her artistry. Of all the Cinderellas, this one most typically doesn't become the future queen in the end, because her ideal ending is to gain fame and fortune from her talent. If the responsibilities of the crown would interfere with her goals, then either the Prince abdicates his throne to be with her, or else they decide they're better as friends than as a couple.

Which type of Cinderella is your favorite? Or what do you like best about each one?

@ariel-seagull-wings, @faintingheroine, @superkingofpriderock, @the-blue-fairie, @themousefromfantasyland, @storytellergirl

[kitchenisking]

Happy Friday😍

Later, mate! by Smowkie - (Rating: T, Words: 9627, sterek)

Derek looked at the time and sighed. One more hour until he could go pick up Alex and go home. It was Friday, and Fridays were their nights, so they were going to eat Chinese food and watch Beauty and the Beast for the thousand time and probably play a game together, and he couldn’t wait.

Someone knocked on his open door and he startled a little as he was pulled out of his head. Stiles smiled at him from the doorway.

”Hey, professor Hale,” he said.

”Mr Stilinski,” Derek said and tried to keep his smile professionally polite.

Every time he talked to Stiles he had to remind himself that he was his student, that while he was 18, and legal in that aspect, he was still ten years younger than Derek, Sheriff Stilinski’s son, and again, his student.

It's Always For You by S_Horne - (Rating: Mature, Words: 5373, sterek)

There in the drawer lay an envelope which suddenly caught Stiles' attention with its capitalized text. As he brought it closer for a better look his brain shut down for a second. That was his name. His name and his husband's... Reading the top form with utter disbelief, Stiles pulled out the other pieces of paper with shaking hands and a heart that threatened to beat straight out of his chest.

/

“I won’t sign. I promise you right now, I’m not going to sign them.” When he got no reply but a shake of the head, his voice broke with his heart. “Please, don’t do this.”

My Hands are Greasy (he's a mean, mean machine) by Jmeelee - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2938, sterek)

Stiles is a famous Supercross racer, Derek is the wrench in his pit crew, and this is just porn.

Suddenly You're Standing Still by hazelNuts - (Rating: Mature, Words: 4020, sterek)

anonymous asked: "Stiles wears hoodies and is super quiet. Derek is a jock who is crushing on Stiles, and goes to a club to forget him because he thinks Stiles isn't into him. At the club there's a guy with a fox mask. Fox and Derek go to Dereks place, where Derek figures out the Fox is Stiles just when things start happening"

Derek hates clubs, or any party that combines alcohol with loud music and a lot of people he doesn’t know. He likes dancing, but the bodies are packed so tightly together the only way people can move is up and down. Not that he is dancing. Braeden tried to pull him further into the crowd, but they got separated, and Derek just let himself be shoved to the side, out of the mass of bodies.  Going out was Braeden’s idea. She thinks that letting loose for a night, dancing with hot people, possibly making out with hot people, will help him drop the torch he’s carrying for one Stiles Stilinski, smart, a bit of a loner, beautiful, and not interested in Derek. So far, it hasn’t worked.

Lord knows it would be the first time by uraneia - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 12287, sterek)

Stiles is home from Berkeley for the summer, but only because he promised the pack. He'd rather not see Derek, because whatever the thing was that they were doing, they're not doing it anymore, and it sucks. 

Unfortunately, he doesn't have a choice. The betas tried a magical remedy for Derek's melancholy, and now Stiles has a three-year-old who looks like Derek. Stiles doesn't know how to deal with that, and he definitely doesn't know how to tell the betas he and Derek were secret fuck buddies for a year and a half.

Happy Birthday, You’re Legal Now! by Anxiety_Baker02 - (Rating: G, Words: 5979, sterek)

“Derek?”

“That girl. Maria. You know you can…I mean, you…the girls seemed to think...” Derek broke off with a huff, looking annoyed with himself. He glared up at the ceiling before he lolled his head back down. “Do you like her?”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “No!” He exclaimed, louder than he meant to. 

...

“You know,” Stiles said. “My birthday’s next week. I’m going to be eighteen.”

Derek chuckled slightly, and Stiles couldn’t help the shiver that left him at the sound. 

“Believe me, Stiles,” Derek said in a low voice. “I’m well aware.”

Assault by Littleredridinghunter - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 71327, sterek)

Stiles is tortured by Gerard at the end of season 2, he doesn't realise that the events of that night will start a chain of events that will push him to his limits.

With mysterious deaths plaguing the town, his dad barely speaking to him and Stiles reeling from Scott's betrayal, is he strong enough to make it through the events that will change him forever? Will the pack be there to catch him when he starts to fall? Or will he be alone and in more danger than he thought ever possible?

The summary sucks because I can't write summaries, but hopefully you'll be willing to give it a read!

No Rest for the Wicked by the_deep_magic - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 27438, sterek)

Stiles is an IT genius, Derek is a PR rep, and they’ve been happily married for five years. Except none of that is actually true.

In the New Old-Fashioned Way by linksofmemories_archive - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1970, sterek)

“Is this a sin?”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles.”

“It feels like a sin.”

“We’re making out under a tree, how is that sinful?”

“It’s a Christmas tree; Baby Jesus might be watching us.”

Puppy Separation Anxiety by KaliopeShipsIt - (Rating: G, Words: 9188, sterek)

Derek and Stiles' three year old daughter is completely fine with Derek dropping her off at Pre-K, but has a separation anxiety induced meltdown every time Stiles does. 

Naturally, Derek jumps to conclusions that couldn't be farther from the truth if he'd tried.

[ophelian-darling]

omg hi, you have such a beautiful blog, i like the aesthetic sm and your writings are gold ! i hope you are having a really nice day. <3

okay so, of course only if you want to do it, what about fugo with the prompts 20, 22 and 60?? i love him sm sorry hHAJDJF.

again have a nice day, and thank you for reading this !! ♡

"I'm nothing without you"

"You're acting ungrateful and keep ruining everything I do for you..."

"Don't ignore me, you know that I don't like this"

TW: Toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, Obsession, light swearing.

enjoy ♡

"I really don't know, mother…he's feeling even worse now and I can't let myself do this to him" 

"You've been with Pannacotta for years honey… years in which you stood by his side, endured his tantrums and showed him nothing but love and support so he could hurt you even more! you deserve so much better than to remain stuck with someone like him"

You stared at the thrown suitcase across your bedroom floor. you were about to defend your boyfriend and repeat those old promises of faithfulness and affection you swore to him, but her words took a shorter time to be processed as true when you thought about it. 

Maybe your affair with Pannacotta wasn't meant to be? you thought that the connection between you was too strong to be broken, only to be proven wrong when you felt your love for him drain like water from the pieces of a shattered vase.

"Do you… think it's right? I don't wanna be the villain here and I-" 

"Why are you so hesitant?" she scolded through the line "This is the hundredth time I tell you that it's totally okay… don't feel bad for this happening darling, he'll understand"

You hoped so. 

"You're caring too much for his feelings that you forgot about your own, you aren't happy anymore with him so why put the blame on yourself?" 

"Stand your ground Sweetheart, don't let him have his way again"

You threw another glance at the suitcase. you've had enough. Pannacotta's ways -whether they are through words or actions- were raising your hackles. It was crystal clear that he had issues and you excused him for them (Starting from the ruthless circumstances he was put through as a child, to when his outbursts made him this way with you) in addition to him promising you to be better for the sake of your relationship. 

Well, six years with him wasn't enough for him to change- in fact, he'll never do.

"Are you going to abandon me?" the unmistakable voice of him, doubtful and faintly wry. 

You didn't reply. The lack of response urged him to continue, taking slow steps towards your sitting form on the bed "Have you had enough of me? Am I a nuisance to you?"

You are. That's the first answer crossing your mind. That's what you're supposed to say now. He is indeed a nuisance and he had to know it, that if your tender side didn't intervene and force you to choose a more gentle excuse. Fuck.

"Don't ignore me, you know that I don't like this" He pleaded, despair masked by an angry octave of voice. During these years with Pannacotta, you've learned and memorized his tones: the anger of frustration wasn't the same as the anger of melancholy. You only had either to endure his mood, or comfort him depending on the situation and protest with no words. 

"I think we're too different to remain together, Panna." you said, clearing every word, not like He needed a clarification of how much you need to get away from him, forever.

His tight expression fell a little, but you carried on nonetheless "I'm afraid that I don't feel for you as much as I used to feel for you before, Pannacotta. it's no use continuing this" 

"Was it your mother who told you to do this?" The look on his eyes nearly cracked your resolve. 

"It's not like that-" 

"You've been waiting for a chance to leave me all alone! I've built so much into being with you only to know that you were ready to forsake me when I'm in such a need for you!" He was practically screaming, raising his hands and waving them around. you're too familiar with this scene.

The atmosphere felt heavy suddenly; your heart clenched at the strange aura around him. not too wrong to assume that something is off and this is not like the previous times you tried to break free from him.

"Panna please calm down! I just want to-" you tried to pacify him, getting closer to his rigid body with caution before being interrupted harshly. 

"You just want what?! to simply throw away all of my love behind you as if it was never a thing in your mind?! I've suffered for you while You're acting ungrateful and keep ruining everything I do for you…" 

Was it so? your heart sank at his words. all of the letters were lost on your tongue, you merely couldn't respond or know how to ease him.

"Can't you see you're hurting me? have I done something so sinful that you were so quick to leave?" Panna seemed to relax a little, His shoulders loosening up hopelessly. 

From red to blue in minutes; your 'boyfriend' (does this term still apply to him? it seems that a change of heart is stirring inside again) had the same pattern of behavior for the very obvious reasons, in addition of holding tight to you and not showing any understanding of what you may feel. 

"Panna…" gently as a breeze was his name slipping off your lips, hands over his, trying to appease him unconsciously. 

He took it too, unconsciously basking in the contentful gesture. you'd never imagined that you would hear the soft confession out of his mouth. 

"You mean everything to me… I have no one else to be with after I lost everything…" 

Memory of his sobs on your lap flashed in a second. the day he made his worst mistake- and it'll a sharp wound in his heart to realize he abandoned his dearest friends, a fate he didn't want to have himself.

"I'm nothing without you… and I've never been a thing until I met you…" 

Silence.

That was enough to convey his message to you; you wouldn't dare to leave your dear Pannacotta a broken mess all to himself to fix, that if he was even able to.

What was even our argument about? thinking now, until it went to the back of your consciousness just like your mother's words.