#this warms my heart to the temperature of one hundred suns

[emptyultimatum]

SWEATER WEATHER

Avenger AU Loki x fem!reader In which Loki and his girlfriend (you) clash cutely over weather-appropriate clothing.

Loki raised his arms above his head, the shoulders in his scarred back rippling with muscles. His shirt lay on the floor, stripped off and sweaty from his work out. Facing the window, admiring the view of New York, he groaned as he stretched, pulling, reaching. Crrck, pop, crack! 

“Ah, that feels better,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders to settle them. He shook his black curls out of his bun, pulling the hair tie onto his wrist absently. “Darling, where are you?” 

She slid into the room, beaming absurdly at him, arms spread wide. “Look at my sweater.” 

It was July, and a heatwave was rocking New York with a vengeance. Signs sagged in the heat; cars were dangerous to the touch; the sun bounced off glass buildings with such aggression, Loki felt as if his eyes were being burned alive. Thank Odin for sunglasses, which he wore regularly. 

And despite this all, his girlfriend decided to buy a sweater. An overlarge, shapeless, lumpy grey sweater, which had sleeves so long they flopped over her hands like bunny ears. 

“You can’t be serious,” Loki said, staring at the sweater. 

She grinned. “I’m so serious. It’s so comfy.” 

She did look comfy. Absurdly comfy, in fact. The kind of comfy that winter and hot chocolate and fireplaces heralded. And the way that the tops of her thighs stuck out from the bottom, round and plump… He felt a strong urge to pull her onto the bed and cuddle into her for the next week or so. 

But then Loki remembered the hundred-two degree high they were predicted to reach today. 

“Take it off,” he said. “You’re going to melt.” 

“Tony can pay for AC,” she waved him off, bouncing to the thermostat and cranking it low. “Ahh. I love it.” 

He gave her a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re utterly ridiculous. It’s the height of summer, darling, and you bought a sweater.” 

“That’s the best time!” she argued. “Off-season sales! I got this for thirty bucks.” 

“Thirty bucks?” 

“The original price was fifty-eight,” she said stubbornly. 

Loki prayed to his mother. “At least put it in storage until the proper climate arrives.” 

“That’s in months,” she waved him off, sweater sleeve flapping. “I wanna wear it now.” 

“Of course you do.”

“We should make hot chocolate. I’m in a hot chocolate mood.” 

“Naturally, in summer, hot chocolate is a must-have.” 

“And watch Frozen!” 

“This must be some sort of joke,” he pleaded. “What insanity drove you to this? It’s a damn ninety-eight degrees!” 

She cackled. “I like sweaters.” 

“You don’t even wear them!” Loki cried. 

“Now I do!” She climbed into their bed, snuggled under the covers. The AC was properly blasting now, sending cold gusts of air down his sweaty, post-gym skin. She patted the space beside her, smiling up at him. “Come cuddle. It’s cold.” 

“And they call me the Mad One,” he muttered, climbing into the bed. She giggled, putting her arms around him, snuggling him into her chest. 

“Perfect,” she sighed. 

Perfect indeed, Loki smiled into her sweater, feeling its soft fibers tickling his cheek. She was warm, soft, and plush. The perfect place to rest his head, to ease his worries. 

They lay silently together, hearts beating in sync, the summer sun gleaming through their window as the AC pumped cold air into the room. She sighed, pleased, snuggled in her sweater. 

“We do have a mission brief in a few moments,” Loki murmured. 

“I know,” she said. 

“And you’re going to wear the—”

“I’m going to wear the sweater.” 

Loki hid his smile in her chest. “We’d best alert Stark, then, so he might prepare the room temperature for you in advance.” 

“How considerate,” she smiled. “You’d do that for me?” 

“Darling, I’d freeze the world twice over if you wished for snow.” 

She beamed at him, pure and unabashed joy. “Well, it’s a good thing I only want you.” 

Loki’s heart fizzled, his skin tingling with the closeness of her. 

“And hot chocolate,” she added. 

He laughed, and brought her in for a kiss. 

[planetkiimchi]

the first drops of rain | k.mg

summary — mingyu's your first love. your first date with him could be described as fairytale like, at least until it begins raining. even then, maybe the rain is a paid actor, teaching you to slow down in your fast-paced student life.

featuring: mingyu x gn!reader, highschool au

word count: 2729 words

a/n: first seventeen work! kinda thought my first svt work would be seokmin or minghao but HAHA we’re here instead with a mingyu work. it’s based off a very precious memory of mine, and i felt like mingyu’s personality was the most similar to the guy i went out with <3

mingyu: we’re meeting at the start of the trail at 9, right?

You react to his message with a thumbs up, pulling up your shoes and glancing outside. The start of the trail is only a few hundred metres away from your house, so you’re not in a rush.

Mingyu asked you out on this date a few months ago, but you were overseas during the winter break, and weren’t able to go out with him. After a few months of discussing where to go, you finally settled on going cycling with him.

The sun rose quite a while ago, and the temperature is rather warm, but you figure that it’ll all be fine.

You check the time again and head downstairs, cycling over to the subway station to meet Mingyu.

You’re a few minutes late, so you expect to see Mingyu waiting there when you arrive, an apology already on the tip of your tongue, but you’re surprised when he’s not.

In fact, you have to wait another ten minutes before he finally arrives, a little out of breath and completely lost, without a bicycle. He smiles sheepishly at you, tucking his hands into his pockets.

He mumbles a “sorry”, curly hair falling in his eyes as he looks earnestly at you, shoulders raised in his nervousness.

Your annoyance at his tardiness dissipates once you see him in this state, genuinely apologetic and well-meaning. You let a soft sigh escape your lips. It’s okay.

Mingyu raises his phone and hesitantly says he needs to pick up his bike.

You’re about to reply when an old lady comes up to you, one hand clutching her grocery stroller. She politely asks if you know where the Flower Market is?

You nod. It’s right next to your apartment block, and you often go there to buy groceries yourself. You point the lady in the direction of the market, turning back to Mingyu.

Once again, before you can speak, Mingyu jerks his head at the stairs that the old lady has to climb up to get out of the subway station and onto the pavement. She lifts up the grocery stroller, and you rush to help her with it.

She smiles at you. Thank you.

You smile back. No problem.

Tilting your head towards the stairs, you beckon Mingyu to follow. The bicycles are located at the lowest level of the apartment block directly opposite yours, so you’re heading in the same direction as the lady anyway.

Once you’ve helped the old lady get her stroller up to the top of the stairs, you wave goodbye to her, prepared to head back down the flight of stairs to get your bicycle.

Fortunately for you, you don’t have to. Mingyu holds your bicycle in his hands, setting it down at the top of the stairs, and your heart warms, just a little.

It takes a longer time to figure out how the bike sharing system works than you thought it would. Mingyu scans the QR code on the back of the bicycle, frowning as he navigates the app, trying to figure out how the payment works. You stand to the side, holding on to your bicycle’s handlebars, watching his eyebrows knit themselves into a knot, before the wrinkles in his forehead slowly iron out when he finally gets the app to work.

All set? you ask.

Mingyu nods. All set.

You climb onto your bicycle, eager to head off, and Mingyu follows behind.

With the sun beating down on your backs, the two of you start off on the trail, figuring out a pace that works for both of you. You haven’t cycled in a long time, and you can’t go too slow, or you’ll be too unsteady for both of you to ride side-by-side on the narrow path.

The greenery on both sides of the trail helps to keep the temperature down, and you’re grateful for the shade it provides in the heat of summer. Next to you, Mingyu asks how school has been. You reply with one of those blasé “school is good” type of answers, but he doesn’t accept that.

Mingyu keeps prodding.

And, with your feet pedalling hard underneath you and the glare of the blue sky overhead, you find yourself opening up.

It’s started drizzling slightly when you reach the bicycle racks, so you chain your bicycles up and head to the nearby subway station to seek shelter. While you’re standing there, you ask Mingyu where he wants to go.

Originally, you wanted to go to watch a movie, but since the date was so impromptu, you didn’t check the movie timings out beforehand, so now you realise that none of the timings are convenient for you.

It’s fine, Mingyu insists. He’ll figure something out.

It doesn’t take long before he’s dragging you down another path you didn’t notice earlier, one that leads to a train station that’s no longer in use. Two carriages of the trains are left on the tracks as a memorial to the old train station, and despite the red tape covering the doors, Mingyu climbs up into the carriage.

You’re standing on the edges of the train tracks, watching him grin at you from inside. He leaps from the seat with a yelp, almost knocking his head, and he quickly exits the carriage.

What’s wrong? you ask.

He lifts his hand to show you that the seat was wet.

You laugh whole-heartedly and he pouts, but the joy in his eyes betrays him. His poorly-concealed excitement only grows when he looks ahead to see a bridge, breaking out into a run towards it.

You attempt to follow him, still balancing on the edges of the train tracks, quickly giving up when he doesn’t show any signs of waiting for you.

He turns around at the start of the bridge, and you grin at him as you step up onto the train tracks. He steps onto the edge next to yours, your feet moving in sync along those parallel metal lines drawn across the wooden tiles, his arms waving wildly as he fails to keep his balance.

Mingyu shakes his head out when he’s fallen three times, running his hand through his hair, glancing at you with the widest smile you’ve ever seen.

Your sunshine. That’s what he is, walking alongside you as you tread across the train tracks, hands carefully tucked into his pockets, watching your every step.

He speeds up when you hop off the tracks, and you follow him into a neighbourhood with two-story houses. Plants line the sidewalks, with overgrown creepers crawling up the walls and trees overhead shading you from the sun.

He points at the sign and tells you he came here once before, after his mother scolded him. It’s dangerously close to his home, a place that contains memories you can’t be a part of, a place you’re not sure you’re ready to intrude into.

You do anyway.

Mingyu leads you to the playground he’s only been to once before, when he was running away from his mother, and you pass by the empty basketball court.

You love basketball, you tell him, your steps slowing down. He whirls on his heel, looking up at the hoops, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. Really?

Really, you say. You tell him how you used to play basketball during your half-hour long recess in elementary school instead of eating. Even though you were really bad and only played with a group of 5-6 other friends, it was still fun.

He understands.

You teach him how to climb onto the roof of the playground, your hands and feet making holds out of the railings and slides. You show him a view of the world that you loved as a kid, a view that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Like you’re unbeatable, invincible, and that the moment will last forever.

Slithering off the roof, you discreetly pull out your phone, but Mingyu spots you quickly enough. Don't film me, he pouts, eyebrows in a knot as his foot staggers around for a foothold.

You laugh and keep your camera pointed at him.

He hops down—ungracefully, you’d like to add; you think you were pretty graceful when jumping down yourself—and beckons you over with his hand.

Mingyu leads you to a sheltered area where the playground floor and gravel gives way to grass and soil, the trees overhead casting so much shade you get the impression that you’re in a rainforest. You can barely see past the crowns of the trees to the sky, which you’re sure is a shade of blue-grey. You can tell that it’s not raining, or the playground would be getting wet, but it isn’t quite sunny yet either.

The creak of a red swing brings your attention back to Mingyu. He smiles at you in warm invitation, and you take it, stepping up onto the swing. Your legs are on the left of his, your knees a fist’s width away from his. Opposite you, Mingyu lifts his eyes to yours and begins to speak.

How’s school, how’s life, how’s that toxic friend group in your dance club? he asks.

Stressful, interesting, shitty as ever, you reply.

He asks things like why, tell me more, is that leadership position working out for you?

You reply with much longer answers than you thought you would. The words flow from you like air leaking from a balloon with a hole. There’s so much pent-up frustration, bottled-up confusion, anxiety, envy, and even sadness you didn’t notice you were suppressing. They find their way out of your mouth in words you're surprised are coherent enough for him to understand, but somehow he manages it.

You’re not the only one telling stories, though. You ask Mingyu questions too, stuff like how’s being drama club president, do you like your juniors, what do you want to do at university?

And he, too, replies with amazing, I love them, I don't know but I’d like to be a counsellor someday.

And you learn.

From his smiles and nervous fidgeting and “um”s, you learn that he’s nervous. From the way he leans forward to talk to you and nods when you speak, you learn that his interest in you is genuine. From the tone of his voice and the smile in his eyes, you learn about his habits of joy and excitement. You pick apart his every move to learn something from it, absorbing a little more knowledge about him each time.

An hour or two passes. As it starts to drizzle again and lunch hour approaches, Mingyu gets up from the swing, not forgetting to hold it while you step off, and goes to the bench to get his tote bag before his things are drenched in the rain.

With a hand above your heads shielding you from the drizzle, the two of you half run-half walk to the mall nearby for lunch, raucous laughter echoing in your ears.

Mingyu offers to pay for your lunch thrice, and you refuse each time, reluctant to let him take money out of his allowance to pay for your meal. He insists you should let him pay for it, telling you that his father will give him more money. Still, you decline.

When he goes to visit the restroom, you quickly take your chance to buy your food before he gets back.

You take a seat successfully and wait for him to return, and he does—not without him trying to slide the bill into your bag first. After a while, he finally gives in, and the two of you settle down for lunch.

Lunch ends at around the same time the sky clears, and the two of you are rushing to climb onto your bicycles and leave before the rain starts up again. The weather has been unpredictable that morning, and you’re unwilling to take your chances. Instead of lingering around the mall, you’re unlocking your bicycle, fiddling with the stubborn lock, and Mingyu waits patiently beside you.

All set? he asks for the second time that day.

You reply the same way, All set.

Then you’re off, legs pedalling furiously, your balance miles better when you’re moving fast. In the morning, you had to keep swerving to avoid knocking into Mingyu at the slow pace you were going, but now you’re just trying to get home before it rains again. Your curfew is pretty early, and if you dally any longer, you’re definitely going to get an earful when you’re home.

Mingyu easily keeps pace with you, following your lead. From time to time, he’ll catch up and ride beside you for a stretch, and then you’ll pedal faster and he’ll fall behind again.

You feel the drizzle beginning when you ring your bell, bypassing yet another jogger on the trail. Cursing, you pick up speed, and Mingyu doesn’t question you as he follows behind.

The rain grows heavier more quickly than you’d expected, and soon there’s a steady stream of water raining down. You wipe futilely at your forehead from time to time, glasses sprayed with raindrops, and Mingyu calls out after you, laughing.

I’m not supposed to cycle in the rain, you tell him. My mum is going to kill me!

He seems to get it, but when you seek shelter under an overhead bridge to wipe your face with the remaining dry part of your T-shirt, he’s laughing at you.

You roll your eyes and point out the bits of water on his face, but he shrugs. You’re going to be cycling through the rain again anyway, so he doesn’t see the need to dry his face.

You clench your jaw, resolved to get home as soon as possible. The two of you climb back onto the bicycle, and start cycling home.

As if trying to deliberately annoy you, the downpour only gets heavier on your way home. It keeps coming down, and you fight to keep your balance and not skid on the watery path. You’re forced to slow down a little, your legs no longer pedalling as fast.

Your anxious heart begins to slow, and Mingyu's calm, sure voice carries over to you, despite the rain falling steadily around you. The sun is still high in the sky, and you wonder if there'll be a rainbow. That would be befitting for Mingyu, you think.

The whole way back, your mind is occupied by Mingyu's questions, his curiosity warming your heart. He genuinely cares about you, and this care distracts you from your fear of reaching home late. All thoughts of what your mother will say go out the window, until he's returned his bicycle and you've parked yours near the subway station, heading to the toilet to change into a new, dry shirt.

Mingyu didn't think to bring change, so he waits for you outside. He offers to help carry your bag, but you insist you can do it yourself. Just the thought that he's there, waiting outside, comforts you.

The two of you walk alongside each other on the way back to your home. You won't stop him from walking you home, especially not when you enjoy his company so much. He mentions something about his future family and you stiffen, afraid that he's jumping the gun. Your commitment issues start to resurface, your mind whirring as your heart jumps into panic mode, but you force yourself to take a few deep breaths and laugh.

He seems too happy to notice how forced your laugh is. Instead, he's asking for your mother's name, repeating it the whole way to make sure he's got it right.

Mrs? he asks.

Aunty, you correct.

Aunty, he repeats, and you nod your head. He asks for your father's, too, and he's still mumbling their names when you come up to the door. You ring the doorbell, and your mother comes to open the door, greeting Mingyu with a warm smile and a hearty welcome.

Come on in, she says. Mingyu shakes his head bashfully.

I've got to be going, he says. See you, Aunty.

You step into the house and wave at him until he's out of sight, your mother watching his retreating figure with you.

He seems like a nice boy, she says.

Oh, he is.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist Here

Tales the Songs Weave

Bonus: Wedding

Notes: This is from my long-fic, but can also be read as a one-shot. You do not need to know anything from that to be able to read this~

CW: 18+, Submissive Miguel, Temperature play (Ice), light bondage, oral (M and F giving/receiving), heavy teasing (Miguel receiving), praise kink, PinV, overstimulation, an overall sexy time~

Bonus Two: I Know I Don't Want Nobody Else but You

Word count: 4K

The honeymoon. The most intimate time after the wedding. The time where you and your new partner can enjoy each other's company even more, but in a different location.

You honestly didn't care if you and Miguel went on a honeymoon, but he insisted on a getaway to some fancy beach house. You were a bit surprised when he offered the beach of all places as he struck you as a person who seems to hate sand getting into places where it shouldn't be. But he really wanted to take you to this beautiful island with a private spot.

You agreed to go, and your only offer was for him to allow you to help pay for it. He tried to fight back, telling you that he had it all under control, but you told him that was his honeymoon as well, and you seriously didn't mind chipping in. He knew he wasn't going to win this argument and allowed you to give a couple of hundred dollars.

He wanted to transfer back the money the moment he received it but refrained. Asking for time off work and getting scolded by your boss for even bothering to ask because the answer was always going to be yes (you stated that you didn't want to just up and leave), you and Miguel booked everything and flew out for the trip.

The island was gorgeous. White sand with bits of red, luscious green landscapes, and the vast blue water in front that glowed at night. 

The house was stunning. It was two stories high, and there were windows seemingly all over. It was white with hints of gray, white, and seafoam green. It screamed luxurious on the outside, yet the interior held more of a comfy heart inside. With white wood flooring, open flooring, and a high ceiling, it appeared more like a cabin, but with beach-style furniture. And you both loved it.

Your favorite part of the whole place was the bedroom that led out to the balcony.

You two had an amazing vantage point of the ocean, watching the sun come up and absorb the night with its beautiful oranges and kissing golden rays. To it, retiring for the night turned the purples and pinks into dark blues, embellishing the sky with the twinkling stars and milky way dancing around the moon. There was something about the illuminating glows from both the sun and moon when they beamed through the curtains that made you feel warm and calm.

Maybe it was the breezes that would stream through, whistling a soft tune in your ears. Or possibly the ambience of the sounds of crashing waves or the tides ascending from the shore and back. 

Or maybe it was being near him.

Waking up to being entangled in each other's grasp made those emotions swirl deep. Seeing the beams hug his tan skin whether you were on the beach or in the house made you question how you were so lucky to end up with a man like him. And Miguel made sure to return the same sentiment. When you two weren't exploring the island or relaxing and enjoying each other's company, you two were all over one another. 

On the sands of the beach (Miguel made sure to lay out a huge blanket), in the kitchen, the dining room, the laundry room, even on the roof (though you were ready to get down after the first thrust). You found your bodies nearly all over the beach house and beach. 

Needless to say, hands couldn't be kept to yourselves for the first four out of the eight days.

It was all magical, and you were relishing every millisecond, but it got you thinking. You wanted to surprise Miguel. He would always catch you swooning over him if he was swimming or simply swinging in the hammock with a book that he would abandon a few pages in. He would instigate and lead you to any part of the house or wherever you were standing, and you both end up being sweaty, sticky messes.

But you wanted to throw him off track; you wanted him to sit back and enjoy himself while you savored every inch of your Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway, lover. You were going to find that way.

You and Miguel were snuggled up on the couch after coming back from a hibachi dinner that resided on the island, watching some movie, but you were barely paying attention to it. 

“Vale, has estado distraído toda la noche. Tell me what's on your mind, mi Luna.” He peppered kisses your shoulder and neck.

You bit your bottom lip and pushed your body more into his. “It's nothing. Just some prime time thinking.”

“Prime time thinking?” 

“Mhm.” You purse your lips and continue eyeballing the film.

“Mi Luna,” he said, tightening his grip and leaned in close to your ear. “Tell me what's on your mind. Now, mi corazón.”

A shiver spilled down your spine. You could restrain the temptation of wanting to give in, but you were always putty in his hands.

“Okay, fine. I'm only going to say this because you asked; it's actually been on my mind for the last day or so, and it's all I could ever—”

“Mi Luna, you're stalling.” His fingers brushed your hair. 

You figured you outwardly saying it wasn't going to help you in the slightest. Expressing your desires didn't come easy, and it amped up around him, but tonight you were going to do this. You decided to not tell but show instead.

“Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes.” You patted his chest and darted off to the stairs. “And don't come until I say, mi Estrella!”

Stunned, he listened to the bedroom door close and shut his eyes and opened them bewildered. “Uh, okay.”

He debated if he should settle more into the couch or not get more comfortable. Every second, he would wander his attention over to a nearby clock then divert it elsewhere as time purposely slowed down whenever he took a peek. He listened out and heard you moving. He took note of every step and tiptoe you made across the floorboards. When six minutes passed, Miguel had to fight with himself from jumping up and darting in the room when you finally called for him.

Not craving to prolong the wait, he sped up the stairs and into the room where you lay propped up on the pillows, your arms sprawled on the cushions and legs stretched out with one over the other. You were in a silk robe but left no room for imagination. You were only in your underwear, and a smile was gracing you.

Miguel didn't know how to react, so he allowed his body to do the talking for him. He took off his shirt and slipped his pants right off. You suspected he would try to go for it; it even confirmed your suspicion even more when he dipped onto the bed and crawled towards you with those starving eyes. 

“Mi Luna, you know I will give you anything to fill your urges.”

You shushed him and put your finger to mouth, winking innocently.

“I know, Miggy. But tonight, we're going to switch that around.”

He tipped his head to the side, trying to piece together what you meant by that, and that's when it dawned on him. “Mi corazón, are you wanting to take-”

“On the bed, and place your back on the headboard.” You rolled off the bed and stood by it and pointed at the spot where you were.

He was enticed and made his way over to get himself comfortable. Pleased, you discarded the robe, having it sink to the floor and straddled Miguel's hips. You were anticipating how far you could go. Wetting your lips, you began to roam your hands over his chest. You needed to see him squirm.

“Hands over your head.”

“And if I were to say no, mi Luna?” He gave a playful smirk and grinned harder when you rolled your eyes.

Taking his wrists, you shuffled up and pinned them above for him. “Now,” you locked eyes with him and followed his gaze whenever it went. “Webs. Let's go.”

When he didn't move a muscle, you knew you had to take matters into your own hands. Releasing him from your hold, Miguel went to lower his arms when you snatched one and planted it back on the wall. Quickly taking the free one, you angled it until it aligned with the other, firmly pressing his wrist so his web could bound it up.

“Mi Luna.”

“If you want to do things the hard way, then I can play that game too.” You repeat the process, moving his hand and shooting more to capture the other. “Much better.” You made sure to give him wiggle room on the first constrained arm, just in case.

Miguel balled his claw into a fist. He was curious to see what you had planned up. “You have me trapped. Now what?”

You kept quiet and pulled down his briefs to reveal his penis red and leaking the transparent liquid already.

“Mi Luna—ah! Oh, fuck.” 

Miguel arched his back when your tongue found the tip, lazily swirling it around. He wasn't expecting you to jump right in. You were concentrating on flicking your tongue and placing feathery kisses from the body to the base. You fondled his balls, taking a quarter of him and slobbering on it as much as possible.

He exhaled and rolled his hips along with your movements when you pulled away with a pop and pressed your hands harder to his thighs. “No. Moving.” You went back, licking the shaft before putting it back in your mouth.

Miguel froze at the command when a low growl escaped from his throat. He went back to bucking his hips, wondering how you'd punish him. That, and he was desperate to have you take more of him. His breathing grew when he found himself successful, until he heard an irritated grunt.

You removed yourself from him and glared. The dangerous look sent a shiver down Miguel's spine, but he held it in, returning his own surly gaze. He watched you sit up and move back from him to reach the edge of the bed. His eyebrows knit, examining what your next move could possibly be.

“That warning wasn't for nothing.” You stood and turned your back to him. “For that, you get a punishment.”

You make your way towards the door, and Miguel begins to slightly panic. “Mi Luna, wait!” But you were already out of the room. 

Were you going to leave him there like this? And for how long? He groaned out from the desire, his body burning with need. His eyes were locked on the door, growing more and more heated with every second that passed. He heard you shuffling around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the fridge. 

After a minute, he was ready to call out for you when you strutted back in, with a wine glass and four ice cubes in it. You sat it on the bedside stand and plucked one out. He eyed you intensely, wondering what your next move was going to be. You smirked at his expression, removed your dampened underwear, and sat across from him, making sure to keep your legs spread enough for him to see all of you.

Putting the cube to your lips, you lap at it seductively, letting the cool droplets drip on your chest down to your stomach. Miguel was fixated on the way your lips curled around the solid. He tried to control his breathing as his cock throbbed relentlessly. 

“Mi Luna...” he was already out of breath.

“Your punishment.” You moved the ice over his tip and let some drip on it. He groaned and threw his head. “Is to watch me please myself.”

You roamed it over yourself. Down your neck to your nipples. He followed your hands, ready to rip the bindings from his wrists, but kept himself at bay. He wanted nothing more than to replace that ice cube with his tongue. He was seriously jealous over frozen water; only you could get him to that point. 

You made direct eye contact; your sharp hisses and soft moans as you trailed the ice down to your needy cunt had Miguel moaning out. You rubbed the nearly melted cube over your folds and clit, making your back arch. Your free hand reached down, and you stuck two fingers in yourself. 

You made sure to scissor so he could adore every part.

“Por favor, mi corazón, por favor no hagas esto. Lo siento, pero por favor.” He begged as your pussy became wetter and wetter. 

“Miguel,” you gasped out. You kept going until it completely melted. You were glistening from your chest to your thighs, your vagina very puffy as the clit poked out.

“Mi Luna.” His voice was filled with nothing but lust and needs. “Please…”

“Now, Miguel, when I tell you to not move, do not move. Yes ma'am?” You crawled your way over to him.

“Yes.” He replied, nothing but a shaky arousal in his tone. 

You grabbed the back of his head and reeled him close to your face. “I said, yes, ma'am?”

Miguel almost came on the spot. “Ye-yes ma'am.”

“Good boy.” You placed your lips to his and went for another ice cube. You licked at it some, sucking it before moving it to him. “Lick.”

He did as he was told. You shivered when his tongue came into contact with your fingers, trying to stifle any sounds wanting to escape. You took it away when you were pleased with the size and began to pump his slick, veiny cock. It was hot and leaking out like crazy. You were a bit pleased with how well this was going. 

You went in and nipped at his neck, leaving a couple of nice hickeys for anyone to see. 

“All for me.” You purred right in his ear and placed the half-melted cube on the tip, sliding it down his length and then back up. 

You moved back to get a nice view of your treatment. Miguel thrashed at the frigid sensation, his cock twitching as you rubbed it on the swollen tip. The more pre-cum that welled out, made you more proud.

“You're doing so good.” You wickedly grinned and plopped the rest of the ice in your mouth, taking him back in your mouth all the way. 

Miguel moaned out, a string of swears in Spanish falling out. He looked down at your head, bobbing crazily, the sensations overwhelming his senses. His claws pricked his own palms, leaving indents in them.

Your whirling tongue and the slobbering made him want to cry. He desperately needed to release and wanted to buck his hips, but didn't want to endure another punishment, so he could stay still and watch your face and the copious amount of liquid spilling out from your mouth.

He glanced down when he saw you looking up at him through your lashes. The lewd sounds and the stare you were giving were enough to make him snap. 

“Ay, mierda- mi Luna- fuck. I'm going to- fuck—I'm cumming.” He groaned out, and you dug your nails into his sides, taking every drop of him.

You released yourself from him and lifted your head, mouth wide open. Miguel almost fainted from the sight, watching some of his seed drizzle down your chin before you gulped down the mouthful.

“So delicious.” You licked your lips and cleaned up the rest of your face. “You always taste so good.”

“Vas a ser mi muerte.” Miguel rested back on the headboard. You took pride in his sweaty, disheveled state, and your smile wasn't washing away.

“You doing okay, mi Estrella?” You brushed away a bit of sweat from his forehead and kissed it.

“Sí, mi Luna.” His eyes seemingly got brighter when he looked at you. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Any chance you get.” You went in for a kiss, letting him taste himself and taking the third cube. “Now for being such a good boy, let me reward you by helping you cool down and giving you something special.”

Miguel smirked and licked his lips. “What could be more special than what just happened?”

“You'll see.”

Lapping at the ice, you ran it over his pecs, abs, and nipples, circling around them before biting one of the hardened nubs. Miguel sighed out, eyes fluttering in the back of his head. It did feel nice to let you take the lead, and it really put it in perspective how kinky you could exactly get. He was certainly going to have you take charge more often. 

Nodding your head at the shine of his chest and stomach, you decided he was ready for the main course. You stood up on the bed, holding your arms out to balance, and moved your vagina a couple of inches in front of Miguel's face. You placed one hand on the wall near his arms and propped a knee on his shoulder.

“Now that you're cooled down, here's your reward.” You ran the ice over your folds. “Go ahead, Miggy. Eat me out.”

Miguel didn't hesitate on that instruction and took you in his mouth. His tongue darts in and out to taste you. He sucked and eagerly ran the wet muscle eagerly, not wanting to miss a single spot. 

You called out his name and immediately dropped the ice cube, not sure where it landed. Miguel growled out and made out with your honeyed pussy, wagging his head like a madman. You inclined more into him and the wall. Your hand gripped on his hair as you tried to maintain that balance.

Delving deeper into your core, he was letting not one drop escape from him. He worshiped every part of you; he loved the taste of you. The overflow of your moans sent him in a spiral. You bucked your hips whenever he plunged farther in.

You hissed and licked his arms, grazing the veins popping out, and felt yourself get closer and closer. You moved away and peered down at the trail of spit that was connected from Miguel's lips to your pussy. You whined and plopped back down on his wet lap from the ice you dropped before colliding your mouth into his, needing to taste every part. You sucked on his tongue, rubbing your wet folds along the tip of his cock, teasing him for your amusement, but even you couldn't take it.

“Mi Luna.” Miguel snarled, but you pretended to not hear and went to nip his neck.

The immense amount of foreplay made his dick very warm and firm. Feeling it pulsate against you had you shuddering. You brushed on him some more, receiving a jerk and bucking from the unceasing taunting. 

“Eag-eager, huh, Miggy?” You giggled when you faced him, but you weren't expecting the parlous glint in those eyes. 

You gulped. Goosebumps pricked all over your skin when Miguel freed himself from his webs, the residue floating in the air. You should've figured that him getting out of the bindings wouldn't take much of an effort. Placing his hands tightly on your bottom made you squeak. 

“H-hey! I'm supposed to be taking the lead.”

“You are, but this teasing is stopping now.” 

He forced you to take the head and stiffened his body. You bit your bottom lip and didn't move for a few seconds, and that evoked a strangled whine from Miguel. 

“Por favor, no hagas esto, mi corazón. I can't take the punishm- shit!”

You sank down on him all the way, your walls enveloping the burning cock. Squeezing his shoulders, you began bouncing in a rhythmic motion. Wet sloshes sprung from the puddle and your juices. Your voices were loud, calling out each other's names. You sharply inhaled, adoring how red Miguel had gotten. You rocked more into him, gyrating your hips to the point where he swore you were spelling his name.

An electrifying shock coursed down your back as a breathy moan left your lips. You trembled as an orgasm shook you.

“I love you, mi Estrella.” You whispered near his lips. “You okay? I wasn't too rough, was I?” 

“I love you too, mi Luna. And no, you were amazing.” He wiped away your tears and hoisted you up.

You were a bit dazed when he pinned you against the wall, placing your arms by the sides of your head and prying your legs as far as they could go. His webs flung over your body to keep you held up and sturdy. He dug his talons in and glared deep into your eyes. You were hypnotized by his lascivious red iris and whimpered his name. 

“Mine.” Miguel bit down on your neck and shoved himself in one motion.

“Yours.” You cried out as your body was going numb, the personal novacane rushing through your bloodstream, but you still squeezed every inch of him. 

“Feels amazing. Te sientes tan bien.” Miguel moaned and thrusted into your tight heat, loving every squelch and slurred speech emitting from you. 

The speed he was going was so insane that you swore you were going to fall through. He gropes your breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple; his grunts and soft groans sounded pleasant in your ears. The moonlight shined through, bathing him and complimenting his skin.

His hip bones smack into yours. The messy pool leaking whenever his balls slapped against your delectable, creamy pussy. He stroked your every inch, admiring your intoxicating face. Even though you were numb, every breech was wonderful. You were being split open, the engorged tip rubbing on your cervix, when another climax spilled out of you.

He didn't let up, dropping his head on the crown of your hair, taking in your scent. “Mi esposa, mía. Mi vida, mi galaxia, mi luna.”

Your heart was beating in your eardrums. Miguel's dick pulsed madly in you, his panting becoming irregular. 

“I love you. I love you. Te amo. Te amo.” Miguel convulsed and bit your neck once more. Shot after shot of his cum seeped deep in you, along with more of his venom. Kissing your sweaty forehead and lips, he smiled at your tousled state. “Thank you for taking charge, mi corazón.”

You struggled to give half a smirk, but the twitch was enough for him. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Want me to open the balcony door?”

Your eyes tried their best to narrow at it, and thankfully, he understood.

“Alright. I love you, mi Luna. You go ahead and relax. You deserve it.” He tore off the netting and carried you to the bathroom before letting the salty sea and sounds croon in the room. 

You loved this man with all your heart.

• • •

Miguel scratched his head and scanned the bathroom to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind.

The day before, you both ordered in some food, chatted, and slept all day after that intense round, deciding to use that day to merely relax and regain energy before heading back home today. 

Peeking in the shower to grab your body wash, his ears perked up to your voice.

“Miggy? We have a slight problem.” You called out. 

He strolled out to where you were facing a wall. Your hands were at your sides with a look of mild concern. “The wall.”

He furrowed his brows and followed your line of vision. “What happened to the wall?” And that's when he noticed the claw marks and cracks going from big to small decorating the light blue paint. “Ah.”

“I think we're going to lose that deposit.” You sighed and gazed up at him, smirking at his work. 

“I'm fine with losing it. And I'll do it again and again, mi Luna.” He kissed your temple then went back to packing, leaving you feeling extremely flustered and your face in your hands. 

This was undoubtedly the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with, and you weren't going to complain, not one bit.

[chronically-ghosted]

my home is you

rating: general

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 1.6K

summary: you warm frankie up after he stays out in the cold.

warnings: snuggling, neck kisses, absurdly large sweaters, family disagreements, mentions of financial hardships, the weakness of southerners when it comes to the cold, mentions of PTSD and treatment, discussions of a dead relative, but honestly just lots of fluff

a/n: @maggiemayhemnj it's here, thank you for your patience! and thank you to everyone who sent in prompts for my mini-challenge, Merry Thanksgiving Nonsense 2023 -- I had so much fun! this can be take place in the same universe as "in another life", but it doesn't have to!

also shout out to the boy irl who inspires all of this 🤍

There are certain things you pick up about a person after two years of marriage. 

In certain cases, you might learn how they prefer their socks to be folded up, or what brand of detergent they think smells the best. Maybe their eating habits after a bad day, or how quickly they go through shampoo. 

After marrying Frankie and listening to his endless business out and around the house, you can pinpoint his moods with startling accuracy based on what exactly he is working on. If it’s your car or his, he’s worried about something, more precise than any mechanic you could ever afford. If he’s working on rebuilding the engine Benny asked him to check out, then he’s focused, in a good but distant mood (you always get nervous when he hoists five hundred pounds above him with a crank) and you know he needs that time in his head. However - for some reason you may ask him about one day or you might just accept it as one of those things as he is the way that he is - when Frankie’s pissed, he works on the roof. 

Maybe because he gets to beat the shit out of something, but when you come home and he’s up there pounding off some rotten shingles, you know he’s had a very bad day.

Which is what you find after you pull up in the driveway from the grocery store one afternoon. Somehow in the hour and half it took you to get eggnog, butter, and melting chocolate (Santi’s annual Christmas bash only a week away), something had really set your husband off. You’d never seen someone so angrily staple down Plastic Santa and his reindeer before. 

So, you’d gone inside without calling out to him, knowing it was better to simply let him be.

That was over an hour ago. 

That was also when the temperature was in the sixties. The sun long gone, the air rapidly cooling down and with an oncoming and sudden wind, you wonder if it will be you who knocks some sense into him, or the weather. 

As you take your freshly-made eggnog bread out of the oven, you hear the clatter of his metal ladder sliding close. You rush to wash off your heads and clean down the counter as the garage door cranks up, his tool box jingling when it’s returned to the shelf. You hear the back door open and you sprint into the laundry room. He might head directly for a shower, in which case, what you’re doing will be rather irrelevant, but you desperately want that first smile, that thing that’ll make him grin and let the tension loose from his shoulders. On your toes, you move back a few towels and ugly Christmas sweaters you bring out only once a year in search of what you’re looking for that you bring out once in a blue moon. You find it and grin. 

You didn’t miss your chance. Frankie, with his head tipped back on the couch, eyes closed, arms locked over each other, is pink. Pink in the cheeks from exertion. Pink on his nose, ears, and hands from the cold. A true Floridan at heart, his body apparently shut down when exposed to temperatures below what you’d experience in the Caribbean. Couldn’t even make it to the shower to warm up, poor thing.

As quietly as you can, you sneak over to him, unfurling what you have in your hands. The instant before you sit in his lap, you see the tiniest quirk of a smile pluck up his mouth.

You open the triple XL sweater in your hands over his head. It practically falls over his shoulders so, without much difficulty, you curl up under the sweater and join him in the darkness. 

The enclosed space brings his cold nose close to yours and you kiss him gently, right on that pink flush. You rub your hands over his forearms, his skin icy to the touch. You can feel the chill under that ridiculously thin red t-shirt and you shuffle closer, hoping your body heat trapped so close to his will warm him up. In the half-dark, the scent of sticky, masculine sweat permeates the little air you have, dampening the pine smell of the sweater that you never can manage to wash out. 

You wrinkle your nose. “You smell.” 

Silence. And then –

He chuckles. “I know. But you smell like cinnamon.” 

Since you first pulled you both under, he moves. He unlocks his arms and you curl even closer. God, he smells much worse when you tuck your head into his neck, the curls pressed against his skin damp, the pulse in his throat strong, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. With a silent, long inhale, Frankie puts his big palms on your thighs, then your hips, and on an exhale, he pulls you into his chest, the bristles of his graying beard warm and scratching against your forehead. His fingers sit like external ribs – heavy, strong, protecting your heart. 

“Is there a reason you put your granddad’s sweater over us?” He asks after a moment, his voice rich and sweet like caramel. The sweater had been enormous on your granddad when he was alive, but he could never find a reason to get rid of it. You spent many Christmases making cookies or putting up the ornaments on the tree while he wore it and when he died, it was one of the only things you took from his house. 

“You looked cold,” you murmur into his neck. He hums his agreement and you get your wish: beneath your chest, you feel the anger and tension and shitty day he’s had flush out of him with every breath. 

 Your fingers, squeezed between his chest and yours, dig into that damp t-shirt. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Talking – never was Frankie’s strong suit, before and especially after he joined the military and learned to take everything on the chin. 

But, over the years and by carefully coming together over the landmines of the past, he started talking to you. And then he started talking to a therapist who specializes in PTSD. And then he started talking more and better and quite often with you. 

But it’s not easy. It doesn’t come naturally. He knows he’s safe, he knows you're safe, but there is an active choice made every time he opens his mouth. 

“My mom.” He says quietly. “She doesn’t understand why we aren’t flying up there for Christmas. And she doesn’t understand why I won’t let her pay for our plane tickets.” 

You squeeze your fingers, kiss his neck distractedly. Ever since you bought the house together, money’s been extraordinarily tight. You had suggested neither of you get gifts for each other this year, but Frankie wouldn’t hear of it. 

Frankie also loathes accepting money from anyone.

You inhale and Frankie does too, your minds silently on the same thing, the same anxious weight pulling you together in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. 

In your vows you talked about for better or worse. This is worse. 

Two years later, you redefine what partner means every single day with him. 

“I hope next year it’ll be different,” you say to his chin. You actually really like his mom, his family, and your stomach knots at the thought of them being disappointed in you. 

You’re starting to sweat beneath the sweater, up against the damp heat of your husband.

“It will.” Anger gone, he’s your sweet, committed Frankie again. The man that you put your faith and trust in time and time again, and would do it without question for the rest of your life. His palm rubs warm stripes up and down your back. “I know it will.” 

You sit in the darkness and the silence and the warmth of having a giant sweater tucked up around you and you listen to the beating of his heart. A sound you’ve found you can’t sleep without. 

“Thank you for checking on me.” 

He sounds so genuinely grateful your eyes flush hot for a moment. 

“Of course, baby.” You kiss his cheek, the wiry brush of his beard. “Always.”

He squeezes you extra tight when you make that promise. 

Always. 

Your heart beats, your eyes flutter shut. He breathes like he is at peace, with you wrapped up in his arms. 

Always. 

“I made an extra loaf,” you say after a long, content stretch of silence. You grin, even though he can’t see. 

“Yeah? The eggnog bread?”

“Mhm hmm. But you have to shower first.”

You giggle as Frankie pins your thighs to his hips as he swings onto his feet. The loose sweater finally falls over his head but you can barely fit through the head hole. 

“A shower it is, then.”

He walks on memory as you fight through the rolls of material. Finally and by some miracle, you get the sweater off you both as Frankie makes it into the bedroom. 

His hair is sticking up, sweat dried and statick-y, when he drops you onto the bed.

You didn’t know it is possible to carry the weight of the love you feel for Frankie and not burst into a million pieces.

You giggle as he pats down your own floating strands of hair and then tucks it behind your ears, his eyes finding yours. 

Beneath his gaze, you feel gigantic and small, shy and confident, terrified and pleased – all at once. You can’t possibly be the thing that fills his eyes with so much love.

“I love you,” he says, simply, obviously, so much and so little. 

“I love you too.” 

He tugs you to your feet and kisses you, a welcoming, familiar glide of his lips against yours. He keeps you close when he pulls back.

“I’ve had a very shitty day and you’re the only thing that makes it better. So, you’re going to take a shower with me and then we're going to watch any Christmas movie you want, okay, baby?” 

You swallow the tightness in your throat, the wetness in your eyes. His hands feel so big around your cheeks. 

There is quite literally nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Okay.”  

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

The First Time (Ryan Graves Imagine)

Here's my work for @gravestrain for @wyattjohnston 's Summer Fic Exchange! I was so convinced this was due today and it’s not, so I suppose I’m early for once!

Rating: T

Pairing: Ryan Graves/Reader

Words: 2290

Warnings: none

Summary: A few of you and Ryan's "firsts".

Becoming a bespoke tailor isn’t as easy or straightforward as one might think. It’s taken years of schooling, apprenticing, and doing too much for too little pay to get where you are, but you’d do it all a hundred times over again so long as you got to have this moment at the end of it.

You’re tired, sweatier than you’d like to be. The temperature is finally starting to drop with the setting sun, the sky dyed a pink and orange ombre, cut through with warmly-tinted clouds. There’s a breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees, the rustling sound of it hidden under the thumping music from the DJ situated halfway between the indoor and outdoor portions of the venue. It’s a love song, an upbeat one that you recognize but don’t pay too much attention to.

It’s impossible to pay attention to anything other than him.

The First Time You Saw Him

You’re not sure if you still count as an apprentice, technically. You’ve been working with Max for a good four years now, and you mostly work on your own projects without supervision. When you have an extra minute, or Max is doing something unusual or interesting, he’ll let you hover nearby and watch, but those instances are becoming less frequent over time.

You usually handle the front desk duties for the shop, greeting customers as they arrive and manning the register before they leave. This time, however, you’re at the cutting table when the bell above the door rings with movement, Max greeting the customer from where he’d been passing by.

“You must be Mister Graves,” Max says, shaking the hand of the man who enters, ducking through the door to avoid hitting his head on the small frame.

“Please, call me Ryan,” the man replies easily. Max keeps talking but you don’t hear what he’s saying, because the man– Ryan– looks over Max’s head to where you’re standing, and the first sight of his hazel eyes hits you like a punch to the gut. A warm smile spreads across his angular face, and you know with devastating certainty that you’re in trouble.

The First Time You Touched Him

It makes complete and total sense that Ryan needs a lot of his clothing tailored, considering his unusual stature. What doesn’t make sense is why your heart skips a beat every time you see his smiling face coming through the door. He’s had a couple suits tailored, a few pairs of jeans, two button-down shirts. Max takes care of him each time, but he always insists on making time to talk to you when he comes in. It’s sweet, and you appreciate him not ignoring you the way some customers tend to. Your conversations are light, congenial, and you definitely don’t replay them in your head a million times for a week afterward.

“Hi Y/N,” Ryan greets as he walks in on a random Tuesday, “It’s good to see you.” You shoot him a smile, noticing the neatly folded fabric draped over his arm.

“Hey Ryan,” you return, “How are you?” He comes to a stop on the other side of the counter, murmuring a gentle good, how are you?

“I’m good, thank you,” you say, taking a breath before giving him the bad news, “I’m afraid Max is home sick today, though, so he won’t be able to help you.” Ryan looks almost confused at the statement.

“Oh, I hope he feels better soon,” he says, fiddling with the hem of the shirt in his hand, “But I mean– you’re a tailor too, right? So you could maybe help me instead?” That is, of course, the most logical solution. But most people who only work with Max, well, they only work with Max. Ryan is the first one to seem interested in your services.

“Oh, of course! I can definitely assist,” you assure him, “But it’s okay if you want Max to do it. He has your measurements, so you could drop it off and he’ll do it when he comes back. Don’t feel like I’m the only option, if you don’t want me.” This only seems to confuse him more, and the way he tilts his head slightly is unbearably cute.

“I do want you,” he says, seeming to only realize what he’s said after it’s out. His cheeks tinge pink, but he doesn’t correct himself. You swallow hard and remind yourself that you’re talking to a customer right now.

“Well, I can definitely take care of you, then,” you reply. It, you should have said you can take care of it, fuck. Ryan just smiles a little more, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can,” he says. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, because it doesn’t. You extend your hand,  palm up for him to hand over the shirt. He stares at your outstretched hand for a beat, before placing his own free hand on top of it. You can feel your mouth drop open as you stare at the point of contact, his hand impossibly huge atop your own, the warmth of his skin radiating up your arm, his callouses rasping against your own. When you look back up to his face, his eyes are wide, searching for something in your own expression.

“The shirt, Ryan,” you force yourself to say. The words snap the both of you out of… whatever that was. His laugh is awkward as he snatches his hand back, replacing it with the shirt.

“My bad,” he says, clears his throat, looks anywhere except your face, “I’ll just, uh… go. It was nice to see you.” It feels mean to say he flees the shop, but he does almost run face-first into the door frame, so you think it’s the most accurate word choice.

The First Time You Said Yes

You know who Ryan Graves is, in theory: a defenseman for the New Jersey Devils. You also know who Ryan is practically: your super hot, incredibly sweet customer who sometimes brings you snacks and knick-knacks because “it made me think of you”. The fact that Ryan apparently thinks of you outside of your occasional interactions is a fact that you’ve been staunchly ignoring for the past two months. Then he’d come in and offered you his hand, and you were suddenly incapable of ignoring it any longer.

With the way he’d run away last time, part of you expects to never see him again. Sure, you have his shirt now, but he can definitely afford to give up a single standard dress shirt. Yet, he returns two days later, the bell announcing his arrival.

“Oh, hi Ryan,” you greet, trying to sound less surprised than you are. He smiles at you, but there’s something different about it this time. He approaches the counter, shoulders squared and back straight.

“I’m sorry, your shirt’s not ready yet,” you say, genuinely feeling kind of bad, “You usually pick up on Wednesdays, so I figured…” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, caught up in the determined expression on his face.

“That’s okay,” he replies, dark hair slipping from behind his ear and falling into his face, “I’m not here for the shirt.” You check his hands again, sure that you must’ve missed some new piece of clothing he’s carrying. There’s nothing. You return your gaze to his face, your chest tightening from the intensity of his stare.

“Um, what can I help you with, then?” you ask, turning your lips up the barest hint, knowing you still definitely look more confused than anything.

“I know this is your job, and you might just be being nice because of that, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, you can definitely say no, I promise I won’t be upset,” he says all in a rush, stumbles, continues, “I mean, I’ll be disappointed, but that would be my problem, not yours, I would never–” You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

“Ryan, what are you talking about?” you ask, stalling his racing run-on sentence. His mouth shuts so quickly his teeth surely click together inside. He clears his throat.

“Do you wanna go to dinner some time?” he asks, clearly trying so hard to appear more confident than he is. But he’s nervous. He’s nervous because of you.

“Like… as a date?” you ask, nearly struck dumb from even the implication of it.

“Yeah,” he nods, breathing deeply, “If you want.” Time stops around you, the constant thrum of the city outside fading away, and all you can see is his eyes, wide and earnest and hopeful. Everything you’ve been forcing yourself to not think of comes rushing back to mind, every conversation, every stupid joke and accompanying overly enthusiastic laugh, every shyly-offered treat. The time he’d given you a Devils beanie and told you, voice soft and reverent, that you looked good in his number.

“Yes,” you reply, finally.

“Yes?” he repeats, a huge toothy smile overtaking his face.

“Of course,” you confirm, grinning so hard your cheeks ache with it.

The First Time You Kiss Him

You aren’t in the habit of hiding things from Max, the man having earned your explicit trust long ago, but you decide it’s best to keep the four dates you and Ryan have been on to yourself. For now, at least. You’re not sure what you’re afraid of, but you don’t really want to find out if the nondescript fear is justified.

As it turns out, you don’t have to tell him.

The shop is open slightly later than usual on Fridays, so you’d asked Max on Sunday if you could leave a little early tonight. He hadn’t pushed for too many details as to why, but had turned those shrewd blue eyes on you for an eternity of a second before agreeing.

You’ve got the door halfway open on your way out, bidding Max farewell, when he says

“Have fun. Tell Ryan I said hello.”

You freeze with one foot on the sidewalk, turning your head back to gape at him. You fumble for something to say, to defend yourself, but Max just smiles, shaking his head and making a shooing motion with his hand.

“Old bastard,” you say, feeling terribly fond as you finish exiting to the sound of his laughter.

You’ve been to Devils games before, but you’re not used to… all of this. Ryan had insisted you use a ticket from him to sit with the WAGs, and you’d been too nervous to ask if that was his way of asking you to be his partner, but accepted anyway. The ladies are all so nice, immediately asking you about yourself and seeming genuinely interested in your answers. The game is great, though they don’t win, and the girls shuffle you around with them afterward, herding you to the tunnel to wait for the boys.

When the guys start filing out, your heart rate picks up a tad, breathing stuttering as you’re surrounded by even more strangers. Then Ryan emerges, his eyes finding you immediately, smiling wide as he waves, and something inside of you settles. Ryan is here, and he’s happy to see you. Ryan is here, and that means everything is going to be okay.

He introduces you to Dougie, whose hand you shake gladly. They guide you out toward the garage, Ryan insisting that he’ll give you a ride home since you’d walked from work. Dougie splits off to go to his own car, leaving you to finish walking with Ryan, swinging your entwined hands as you go.

You chat on the drive, fingers still tangled together on the gearshift between you. When the car stops in front of your building, you continue talking for a few minutes, until silence eventually descends. The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, and you can’t help but marvel at how quickly you’d gone from skipping heartbeats and strangled breaths around him to this calm certainty.

“Good night,” he says, so quiet he barely breaks the silence, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” He lifts your joined hands and lowers his head until they meet in the middle, not breaking eye contact as he brushes his lips against your knuckles. You shake your head with a grin, reaching across with your free hand to cup his jaw. You hold him in place as you dip in to press your lips together. When you pull back to rest your foreheads together, there’s a matching smile left on his mouth.

The First Time You…

There were a million other firsts from that point on. The first time he called you his partner, the first time you called him your boyfriend. The first time you spent the night, the first time you woke up in his arms. The first time you introduced him to your family, the first time you met his. The first time you fought, the first time you made up. The first time you took a leap of faith and followed him, the first time you stepped foot in the house in Pittsburgh that’s now your home.

The time he proposed. Not the first time you’d said yes to him, but possibly the most important.

And now, here, the first time you get to walk across the patio to where he stands in the suit you’d made, taking his hand and telling Dougie sorry, I need to borrow my husband for a minute.

It still seems like a dream, sometimes, the way your life has panned out. Even more unreal is the fact that it’s still going, that you have so many more years of life and opportunity and love left.

[cowboybrunch]

in my outline this scene is labeled "reckless flirting"

from chapter nine of Burden of the Reluctant Death:

I doubt that whatever bookshelf he owns has plenty of room, but I don’t doubt that he’d shuffle his own belongings around to make space for mine. Deciding not to open that particular can of worms, I instead say, “Uh uh. No, we’re not brushing past the whole mind reading thing.”

He sighs with his entire body like he actually was planning on brushing past the whole mind reading thing. “I do try not to eavesdrop. I’m dead, not immoral. And it’s not reading, not really. It’s more like… looking at the stars and finding constellations. Patterns.”

I sit facing him with my legs tucked underneath me. There’s a lightness in the crease of his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. “I don’t believe you.”

“Try me. Think about something. Not too hard, though. Don’t strain yourself.”

I smack his arm lightly. His answering laugh is like the glittering sun on a river, the kind of light that warms water to just the right temperature, the kind of light that makes you tilt your head back and hum a song you haven’t thought of in ages. I’d make a proper fool of myself to hear it again.

“If you want me to laugh,” he says, “I’ll laugh. You want me to dance? I’ll dance. You want me to juggle? Swallow a flaming sword? Say the word.” My tongue darts out to wet my lower lip. His eyes follow it, and his voice drops an octave, huskier than I’ve heard it. “Let me perform for you, petal.”

He must be able to hear my heart ricocheting against its cage. “I’ve only know you for a month,” I say, too breathless to be convincing. I clear my throat and try again. “You’ve been around for— how long have you been…” Alive isn’t the right word, but my hesitation doesn’t faze him.

“Three hundred years,” he answers casually, flicking his gaze back up to meet mine and offering a cool, familiar smile— not the one I crave, but part of the mask. “Give or take a decade. I lost count for a while.”

“Three hundred—! Okay, don’t think we’re not going to talk about that later because we absolutely are, but,” I inhale sharply, “my point is, a month to you is nothing. A drop in the bucket. You shouldn’t say such outlandish things.”

“Outlandish?”

“You know what I mean. The things you’ve seen, the people you’ve met…” I shake my head. “A month is nothing.”

He runs a thumb over his chin and makes the low sound deep in his chest, almost a groan, that means something heinous is about to come out of his damn mouth. Something like, “I would suffer through three centuries of silence so long as I could hear my name from your lips at the end of it."

The words hit me in a way that is wholly irrational and despicably thrilling. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

He leans towards me. A strand of hair falls into his eyes. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. “Do I frighten you, Rosalie?”

This is not a conversation we should be having, not with his face this close to mine, not in the middle of the night, and definitely not with Henry sleeping a room away. Still, I can’t bring myself to pull away, to widen the distance, to take my eyes off of his. “Not in the way you should,” I admit.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, now tinged pink. He exhales slowly and pulls back. “Right. This is not why I came here. You’re very distracting.”

[neonhairspray]

Pleasure Little Treasure.

Author's Note: I seriously don't know how did it happen and what is this. But it is ...something. I had to let it out of my system ok? I guess that's what being woken up from your nap + being horny does to you.

Even though it is not specified who I had in mind while writing about the male character it is very much based on a real guy. One of my crushes to be exact. There are clues that might tell you who it is, but if they are to subtle I'd say imagine whoever you want (;

Warnings: Bad grammar and punctuation, light smut. Quite suggestive in general.

*****

Cats are light sleepers. Even if it seems like they spend most of their time in this quite vulnerable state a mere scratch of a branch against the window on a windy day can wake them up in a heartbeat.

That's something she'd learned just a couple of days ago. It was probably in the early morning hours when she was up in the air, looking at the cloudy sky that looked eerily calming through a small window. Or during two hour train ride that took her to where she was now. Blinking her sleepy eyes that were trying to adjust to the dim light of late summer sun & bedside lamp.

Last days of August have brought some warmth to this piece of land tho she was still getting used to the climate that was a bit different to the one she grew up with. Sea was three hundred kilometers away & chilly winds would rarely grace that wooded area she called home. Warm season would continue longer with temperatures of +20C and more making late weeks of September feel like they had one bonus month of summer. Whereas the man that was sitting across her was used to the cold whispering of Northern winds, soft rain & silver colored sky. He actually enjoyed spending his time by the sea, looking at the big waves & breathing in the salty smell that came with it. Sometimes he'd jump into the same unruly waters to calm his forever buzzing thoughts, washing away some of the worries that would pile up through the week. At first it was a bit worrying to see him trying to play with the elements she liked, but was slightly scared of. But as the time went by he made sure to stay closer to the shore and she knew that he wouldn't put himself in danger. Because the image of her scared eyes was more painful than salty water in his lungs.

*****

The beating of her heart was getting quicker and quicker despite the fact that her eyes adjusted to the soft yellow light that illuminated the room. "I must have fallen asleep" she thought. Only to be awakened by a pen falling on the floor. "That's so ironic... Just like a cat, sleeping peacefully on a windowsill..."

She felt startled, heart racing like crazy making her head feel dizzy. Tiredness, excitement, lack of sleep, too much caffeine & too much of everything. It wasn't new & the feeling of overstimulation was something she had to learn to live with yet it was always draining, discouraging even. She clutched to a warm blanket that must have been draped around her shoulders when succumbed to sleep. By the same man that was looking at her with his muddy green eyes, asking something that she failed to register.

Baby ? Are you ok? he repeated

I...I don't think so, but I will be. she smiled I guess I'm still jet lagged.

Maybe... Tho I thought you slept quite well. Or at least that's what you told me this morning?

Not that we had much of it... Sleeping, you know. she murmured to which he sheepishly smiled knowing that it was the truth.

He took her hands in his checking for a pulse. The rhythm was steady, but he could feel her fingers slightly shaking and the whole body still tense. He knew her, that messy yet beautiful mind & the body that hosted it. As well as what to do when things like that happen.

Come here, darling. he said, making himself comfortable on a large sofa & opening his legs so she could position herself between them with her back to his chest. She smiled and took a large blanket with her covering their bodies with a soft material.

You feel so warm she said and turned her head to kiss him. When their lips met she could feel that it would not be enough & he seemed to think the same. Once you taste it you cannot get enough. It was deep and passionate, their tongues fighting for dominance & two hearts beginning to beat faster. A moan escaped her lips earning a chuckle from a man that was now sliding one of his hands down from her shoulder to where he could literally feel her heart beating.

Do you feel it? she asked, already struggling to form coherent words This... this is because of you.

And I feel honored, darling... Relax. I'll take care of you. he said lifting her shirt & exposing her warm skin to a cooler weather in the room. He cupped one of her breasts squeezing it just a little while his other hand found its way much lower, snaking into her underwear. He had her in his embrace, so vulnerable & exposed to him in more ways than one. This wasn't something to take for granted. And he felt grateful that he was the man that she'd given this gift for.

One long finger slipped through her folds drowning in arousal that was so evident. He went further & slid it inside earning another moan from her. It was quiet, but to his ears it sounded heavenly. The kind of music only he was allowed to hear, it was to intimate to share it with someone & frankly he didn't want to.

It feels so good... Ahhh! she yelped when his mouth found her other breast & began to suck her nipple. The pleasure was overwhelming & her moans were getting louder. He increased his pace while still keeping his mouth on her breast. The echo of hear heartbeat was ringing in her ears, the pleasure making her feel light headed. A second digit easily slid into her warmth & at this point she gave up and started bucking her hips, using his fingers to chase the peak that was approaching.

That's right, use me. Use my fingers for your own pleasure his voice sounded breathless. She knew he enjoyed it as well, his hardness was pressed to her now naked bum, hidden under thick material of his pants. Be selfish, baby... It's all about you now.

It was just a matter of seconds as he felt her soft walls squeezing his fingers. He moved his mouth to her neck, the hair of his goatee brushing her sweaty skin & his other hand joining the other one. She remembers hearing the faint sound of David Bowie's Ashes to Ashes coming from his headphones that were now laying on the table. His thumb circling her pearl & a feeling that it's here, just a breath away.

She let out a loud moan as she came, shivers running down her spine. A lone tear ran down her cheek leaving a trail of black mascara & she turned her head slightly only to be met with the same eyes, usually so warm & loving, now being consumed with something that combines lust and adoration. There were moments when he'd be in his element, so into what he was doing that nothing around him existed. Or rather he existed in parallel universe, unseen to the others. She'd look at him mesmerized & full of love. But this was different. This was the look reserved solely for her.

And then he took his fingers that mere seconds ago were inside of her & slowly put them in his mouth. Eyes still on hers, licking them slowly like he was savoring a gourmet meal. Her big eyes grew even bigger not being able to believe what was happening. In these six months that they've been together they were curiously discovering each others bodies, but he'd usually taste her right after her peak, cleaning what was left.

Open your mouth he whispered and as soon as she did it he slid his fingers into her mouth. She never tasted herself & with soft whimpers coming from his mouth it felt even more intimate. It was so raw & arousing, his fingers sliding out of her mouth, leaving the taste of her own pleasure to linger on her tongue.

You all right, baby? was his question that slowly brought her back to reality. How do you feel?

More than ok. Great, actually! she smiled while caressing his cheek. He leaned into the palm of her hand closing his eyes. Umm... Thank you, by the way.

For what? he opened one eye and smiled.

I mean... It's not only about today. But... You know... For being the way you are. In these intimate moments.

He shook his head Remember what I told you in the beginning? I am honored to be a part of this journey. you could feel that he meant what he said in the way how firm his voice sounded. I hope I'm doing my job well in showing how good can sex feel. And if I'm not please, do tell me.

She sat up and looked him in the eye, an array of thoughts and emotions behind hers. I am not as good with words as you, but I can let my body do the talking.

Is that a Depeche Mode reference? he said enthusiastically.

I can already see my influence & I am proud of it. she giggled & positioned herself once again between his legs, but this time she laid on her stomach, hands reaching for the button of his pants.

What... Hey, baby. You... You don't have to, you..

But I want to. came her reply as she tugged his pants a bit lower & tracing her fingers to the hem of his boxers. Her heart was full & her mind was still adjusting to what was happening. You probably had no idea of what you had awakened in me, but let me show you.

*****

[teacherintransition]

The Wordy Ramblings of A Weak, Weary, Wimpy Texan Wandering Winter

No, really …a REAL winter

Ahhh …how everyone tingles with excitement to hear the braggadocio and bravado of the Texas man! With rapt attention all humanity bends their ear and focuses full attention when a rough and rowdy Texan starts a sentence with, “by god …why back in Texas we got it all!” “We got us mountains and rivers and forests and beaches and deserts and wild horses and longhorn cattle and the ‘by damn’ Alamo and the best ‘by god’ barbecue in the whole damn world!” He won’t stop there; oh no …he will go on ad infinitum! “We got us Merica’s team …THE COWBOYS, we got us the Astros and everything is bigger in Texas!” And, with no forethought or sense of restraint will bellow, “AND ITS BY GOD 120° EVERY DAMN DAY!” It’s too late now, with foot firmly planted in the loud mouth, he must respond to the inevitable question asked by any thoughtful citizen of the forty nine other states or the rest of the Northern Hemisphere; “that’s amazing big Texas fellow, but how are the winters down there?’ “How do you fellas handle cold weather?”

At this point, excuse making and stuttering and stammering most likely follows. The bigger than life Texan will most likely be overcome with a sense of feeling inferior and attempt a subject change. I got them feels. I know that the entire state will panic and shutdown the moment a gray sky fills the horizon and a few gentle snowflakes make their way to the ground. Cars run off the road whether it be a farm road or interstate highway and sand is poured on aforementioned roads to avert vehicular disaster. It’s a real scene man and would be hilarious if it was for the mismanaged disaster of the 2021 “snowmaggedon” where hundreds of Texans froze to death. That’s all I’ll mention about the criminally bungled handling of our major winter storm; we can’t lose the light hearted frivolity of this article …what would the reader say? What would sensitive Texans say? What do I have to say beyond the rambling?

As a lifelong Texan, the last two weeks of our time in Kansas City, Missouri, I must say I’ve been humbled, nay I’ve been rattled, disconcerted, why in a tizzy even. We arrived January 5th to a light dusting of snow and we “ooed and awed” at the lovely sight. We were being set up for what followed; and what was that you may ask? Two weeks of -15° temperatures (I couldn’t bring myself to look at the wind chill factor) ice on roads an inch think and up to a foot of snow. It HURT, I couldn’t get a semblance of getting warm, my doggies wouldn’t step onto the iced over porch to do their business.(let your imagination wander on that one) Driving became precarious, cabin fever set in, I felt stir crazy, the sun disappeared; and, with proper …uh props to Dr. Peter Venkman, sleet and ice falling from the sky, rivers freezing, forty years of darkness, earthquakes, volcanoes, human sacrifice, cats and dogs living together….MASS HYSTERIA!* I exaggerate, but just a little because as I write this tale of woe, a gray squirrel just slipped off of an icy limb and fell twenty five feet into a snow bank. He brushed himself off and climbed back up the tree. Obviously not a Texas Squirrel. What is even more frightening to consider is that bar mates of mine who have lived in Canada, Nebraska, Iowa and Minnesota wave their hand at this weather saying, “oh,this is nothing!” It is beyond my comprehension!

We’ve had people question us with incredulity as to why in the world are we there? Geez, we’ve asked ourselves the same questions. It’s a metaphor for a life well lived …in a sense. Life ain’t always sunshine and warm tropical breezes my friend, sometimes it’s cold and harsh; but aren’t we better off for the experience? The experience… life is all the more richer when you have a variety of experiences. No one wants just vanilla all the time and the hardy nature of the folks we’ve met and the beauty of the snowy cold has been fantastic. We know we can handle it; another new challenge overcome, yea for us! Memories and stories and anecdotes will be packed away with the others we’ve collected since this traveling adventure began two years ago. Variety is the spice of life whether it’s served hot or cold. All of us on this world carry their own struggles, triumphs and challenges, with the more of them you see yourself the better human you can become. Look, it’s snowing again …

*From the lines of the immortal Bill Murray in GHOSTBUSTERS

[akinformation]

Page 284

energy. It is worth doing it. Then, you can sanctify spaces with this bell when needed. I think it is very cool. I was also researching sound in terms of how it spreads, how far it goes, how it can reflect and produce an echo when it bounces off various objects. I don’t know why I was given this information. Same for the sun and light, I had to study how to catch and accumulate them physically. I watched documentaries and saw an experiment they did with a sunbeam. They pointed a sunbeam on a spot, and it wouldn’t get warm, but when they took one hundred sunbeams and pointed them on the spot then, the power became very strong, and the temperature rose significantly. I like working with air, wind, and fire nowadays. I am immersed in the knowledge of these primary forces, and it is very interesting. I will tell you why later. I would like to make a very strong oven that could melt everything, based on the qualities of oxygen and air. A lot of oxygen and wind.

Besides that, I will be sharing more interesting information about the “aliens” and ancient civilizations, leading you to the truth. It is given to me, and I will pass it on to you. There are also some life hacks about nature and energy, etc., everything esoteric and magical. I am also now mining minerals. This is one of my latest projects. I’ve been studying precious stones and minerals for the past couple of years, and now I am living in a place where I have these elements scattered all around me. There is an emerald, and there is a quartz. Both are stones. Now, please try to hear and understand me. Simple and affordable minerals like rock crystal and quartz have a standard crystal structure. Let’s think about it as Ursula Major again. This cheap, simple, and affordable mineral captures, let’s say, up to ten percent of the capacity. Many people buy pretty crystals like rock crystal and quartz in esoteric stores all over the world. They buy a couple of these stones and hold them when they meditate. They feel cool. But what is the difference between quartz and emerald? Emerald has a much more complex structure. Therefore, the speed and rhythm of the movement of the light is much stronger. If I were to carry an emerald, then the formula inside the emerald would be conceived in me. This energy will turn my heart on and charge me. Are you with me? Inexpensive quartz won’t give me much. It emanates and is cool, but it doesn’t give any noble qualities, doesn’t turn you on, and doesn’t save you from anything. But I discussed it with my friend, and she

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (14)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: ~4.7k+

warnings: smut (18+ only): f!receiving oral, unprotected piv sex (wrap iT UP FOOLS), creampie. also: hurt/comfort, ptsd response, discussions of abuse/torture, language, x fem!reader

a/n: ah, i missed them. i missed this. 💛  

beta: @pleasedin​

DAY ONE-HUNDRED-TWO—LOCATION: ABOARD THE SUNDER

On Inora, there is a flower: the drooping bittercress. The drooping bittercress blooms in the middle of winter, taking the season’s cold wind and freezing rain and unfolding into a brilliant yellow-and-purple blossom despite it. It is a resilient flower, stalk firm and roots thick. Each year, the buds open beneath a pale, frigid sun; and the field outside your childhood home becomes a carpet of color. Once a season, on the night of the first crescent moon, Inorans gather bundles of the bittercress to place in their windows as a prayer of blessing over the coming planting season. 

Fall over my fields with your splendor. Purge the weakness from my soil.

You have become a drooping bittercress. You have purged the weakness from your own soil and bloomed beneath a pale and a frigid sun. You are resilient—hearty—alive. 

Jeelia, you think, would be proud.

/

You are somewhere between consciousness and oblivion when Mando carries you aboard the Sunder. The world is watery. Parceled sentences bombard your ears, but nothing breaks through the stone wall. You are present and yet you are not. There is safety in the in-between, and you aren’t sure you want to leave it. Try as you might, you cannot open your eyes. The last ten days carve through your body like a scythe. You are boneless and numb and weak. 

Mando says something to someone, and the ship whirrs to life. It vibrates in your bones like a song of reunion. Away—take me away.

There is a whoosh and then the click of a lock. The Mandalorian untangles your arms from around his neck and settles you on the lid of the vacc tube. He pulls the straps of your gown over your shoulders, one and then the other. 

He pushes a swath of hair away from your face. “Come on. Work with me, girl.”

You groan as your head droops to the side. You have nothing left to give.

Mando rids you of your gown and dirty underclothes, pulling you to standing by a firm tug on your biceps. He turns off the light, and the room descends into darkness. Armor falls to the floor— thud, clank. Metal on metal: the sound of him, of all people, forsaking his ways for you . It’s laughable. You aren’t worth it.

Still, despite your reticence to accept his sacrifice, you lean forward. Your forehead hits warm, tender flesh, and a rush of blood surges from your head to your heart. His skin—how long has it been since you felt his skin? Without asking, you slide your arms around his waist and press yourself close. He pauses, rests his hand on your shoulder blade. Something prickly—a beard?—pulls against your temple when he leans his cheek on your head. The helmet—he’s taken it off.

“I’m here,” he whispers, and you know it is truth in its purest form. 

A white light glows beneath the fresher sink, illuminating the clothes strewn across the floor. An emergency light. Steady, constant, reliable even in times of crisis—just like Mando.

Undressed, he ushers you into the shower stall where hot steam obscures any features highlighted by the room’s dim light. Though you know he stands behind you uncovered from head to foot, you don’t bother to look. You’re too tired, too weak. The ghostly silhouette of his fingers reaching around to fiddle with the temperature controls is enough for now.

He soaps his hand with a bar of lye. The lather smells fresh and floral, like jasmine and soft petals. You once had a similar bar; it broke months ago. You aren’t sure what became of it. 

“Can I?” He mumbles the words against your skin. 

You nod—of course, yes, touch me, wipe away what came before . The plea lifts in your throat, but your mouth remains shut. You nod again in earnest.

Mando glides his hand over your collarbones, down the sturdy plane between your breasts. He swirls his palm at either hip. His eyelashes brush against your neck as he watches the sudsy water fall between your legs. Soft, soothing. With his touch, he buoys you above the emotion rising in your chest.

Maker, you’d thought you would die. You’d thought Devaneer would kill you.

In some ways, you’d prepared yourself for death. You’d sat in your own filth, cheek bleeding, arm bruised. You’d lied and weaseled your way out of interrogation. You’d accepted Breeth’s torture as it came. Because for him—for Mando and Grogu—for them both—death would have been worth it. Death would have cleansed you. Maybe made things right again. The ultimate sacrifice, the ultimate atonement: for that stubborn Tin Can and his foundling, and for the family you destroyed all those years ago.

The tears begin, and they do not stop. Rivulets of selfish relief pour down your cheeks. Your chest heaves, and shuddering breaths push against tired lungs. To keep from falling, you brace one arm against the shower wall. The slick tiles and feel of Mando’s thumbs massaging your back keeps you grounded, keeps you from swirling down the drain with your emotions, but it isn’t enough. The horror of realization—of witnessing through your own memory what really happened to you in the last ten days—still looms.

Maybe some part of you did die in that place. Maybe Breeth did kill you. You aren’t yet sure what part of you has passed into nothingness, but there is something missing. There is a hole somewhere in your body, and it leaks onto the shower floor, draining your spirit into the pipes of the Sunder. 

The fear of discovery claws at your stomach. Who are you now? Now that you’ve failed so desperately? Now that you’ve pulled yourself out of the ashes by your own hand? You don’t want to know. You don’t want to look. It scares you. You’ve lost yourself already. The moment Jeelia fell to the ground with a thump was the first moment you died. The moment you ordered Mando to turn around and leave you behind must have been the second.

Your lungs ache. Are you breathing? 

Your throat is scratched raw. Are you screaming?

Blood lingers at the corner of your mouth. Are you dying for certain now? Has your mind at last given up? Released its hold on this pitiful life of yours? 

Mando pulls you from the shower when your body threatens to collapse to the floor. He towels off your face, dragging the water and tears and snot away from your mouth and nose. He makes quick work of pulling something soft and silky over your head. The fabric falls to your thighs, hugging the ins and outs of your body. Thin straps rest over your battered and bruised shoulders. He shucks on a pair of cotton pants then, bent at the waist, shoves his head in the helmet. In your clouded mind, you saw nothing—even when you stared at him in the face.

Gently, ever so gently, he leads you across the hall. You move as though through a dense fog. Your body gives out when you reach the side of his bed, and it is like falling in slow motion. Down, down, down until a firm mattress and crumbled sheets tangle around your heavy limbs. You roll to your back, fluffing the pillow beneath your head with a weak shove. 

“Will you be okay?”

What a fucking loaded question. It almost makes you laugh. 

But you don’t laugh. You turn your face toward the viewports on the wall. Starlight, brilliant and white and pure. You missed it; you just hadn’t realized how keenly.

Mando backs away from the bedside. A chilled breeze follows his movement, replacing his comforting presence. You twist in a panic and lunge to catch his wrist. Droplets of water dot his skin, sinking beneath your nails. Pale light hits the curve of his helmet, but the feel of his eyelashes on your neck, his mouth lingering on your shoulder, remains.

“Stay with me,” you whisper. It is a hoarse sound, cracked and tired. Human in all its fragility. “Mando…”

He is quiet. So quiet. That quiet expands, growing to a thick silence, and you remove your hand from his arm. An apology builds in your mouth, forming amongst your tongue and teeth and the long-neglected should-have-saids of the past. Maybe it’s too late for this, whatever this is. Maybe those ten days also killed whatever was blooming between you before .

But then—he lowers himself to kneel at the edge of the bed. He curls his broad palm around your wrist. “Din,” he says. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Oh.

Oh, his name.

Din Djarin.

You love it.

You think you might love him.

Tears flood your eyes, but the sting—this sting of happiness—isn’t so bad. You brush the back of your opposite hand over the jaw of his helmet. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

He laughs into the night, into the darkness and the uncertainty and the nothingness that still sits in your chest but somehow feels lighter. He lifts the edge of his helm to kiss your fingers. “And I you.”

/

When morning comes, there is no pain to rouse you. Gone is the past week of waking to the will of Breeth’s trigger finger. Your crown was lost, displaced in the escape from the mansion. There is no one here to shock you or contort your spine for his own pleasure.

When morning comes, there is no forcefield to keep you locked within a tower. You are no princess—never have been, never will be—but Breeth seemed to imagine you as one. The blue hue of your arm is a constant reminder of the twisted role you played, but there is no one here to restrict your movement.

When morning comes, there is only the comforting silence of space and the soft snore of the Mandalorian beside you.

You roll over, away from the viewports to face him. Din—Din Djarin. How sweet, the sound of his name. It flutters through your mind like the wings of a twittering bird or painted butterfly. If you spoke it aloud, you’re sure your tongue would dissolve into a sugary paste. 

You cannot make out his face in the room’s shadow. The Sunder hangs suspended in some inky part of the galaxy, where the stars hide from view. As a result, his cabin is darker than the visor of his helm. Still, you can feel him and his nakedness. The sensation of his openness washes over you in a wave, and you surrender to the surf with a choked smile.

Din Djarin. Fucking bastard. He was with you from the start, from the moment he sent a flower to your door at that ridiculous hotel and signed his own name. 

You lift a hand to search for his shoulder. You find warm, exposed skin. The flesh beneath your fingers is pliable to the touch; he’s less bulky than you might’ve assumed. Though you’ve fucked plenty of times before this moment, you’ve never had the opportunity to truly feel him, not so uncovered. You like his softness. He might appear so, but he is not all gruff and bluster and arrogance. You were wrong to assume it. There is a gentleness to him, and it reflects in the more delicate parts of his body.

Your finger dips over dozens of scars as you inch closer to his face. Short ones; gnarled ones; ones that should have received medical attention but likely didn’t. That skin feels unnaturally smooth and worn with time. You don’t like imagining him hurt. Not after everything he has done for you, risked and sacrificed for you. Peace is what he deserves now; not pain.

You skim your knuckles over the column of his neck and the straight line of his jaw. Patchy facial hair prickles your skin. Turning your thumb over, you find his bottom lip and—

A hand wraps around your wrist. “Keep going, and you’ll know all my secrets.”

You gasp, though you aren’t afraid. Not really. You’re safe here with him.

Mando—no—Din pushes your curious fingers away from his face. “I’m not—” He sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

He goes pensive—quiet, distant, a lonely cloud in a gray sky—then says in a hushed whisper: “You deserve more.”

“Din—” 

Oh . Your heart clenches at the sound, and your voice catches on the choked sensation in your throat. Your head spins. Sugar explodes on your tongue; his name tastes as sweet as you thought it would. 

You clear your throat. “Din, you’ve given me everything I need. You don’t have to give anything more…”

“Say it again.” He shuffles closer, his shoulders twisting against the bedsheets. “Forget about what I said before.” His voice is sleep-rough and divine; urgent too. “I want you to say my name.”

Avoidance—a tactic with which you are both well acquainted. You should push back, should draw his concerns out of him. But there will be time enough in the light of day to convince him of his worth. Time enough to mend your broken spirits together with a careful needle. You have nothing but time. And right now, in this moment, your time is best spent on obeying his every command. So—

You grin and purr his name into the dark: “Din.” He inhales sharply, and you laugh through smiling teeth. “Din Djarin.”

Grabbing either side of your head, he pulls your face forward. The air in your chest wrenches past your lips with a sputter. You plant a hand on his chest to keep from bashing your nose against his, and beneath the warmth of his skin, his heart thrums to a frantic pulse. Forehead to forehead, he drinks in your thin exhales of suspense. Kriffing hell, you can taste him on your tongue; like morning stiffness and a hint of mint. It shouldn’t taste good, but it does. You want more. You angle your lips upwards, near his, but he refuses to close the minuscule space between you. 

The end of his nose brushes yours in a feathery, evasive movement. “Let me kiss you when you see my face,” he whispers, explaining nothing more.

Eyes fluttering shut on the promise, you nod. “Okay.”

His lips to your cheek, a seal of commitment. He dips his head to the curve of your neck and exhales. Warm breath fans over your skin, and you shiver. “Okay.”

He remains there, tucked in the safety of your body, and you relax into him. You push your hand over his collarbone and around his neck to sift through the fine curls at the base of his skull. Brushing your cheek over his, you smile to feel the bristle of his facial hair. So many things you didn’t know about him, so many things yet to learn. The potential of the future unfolds like a map on your palms, as much a part of you as the beat of your heart.

He is a strong man, a good man, you think. His strength resides in the comfort of his arms around your middle and his hand splayed over your back. He is firm, unmoving. You can rest here. After so long—so terribly long—you can rest. 

“I thought I’d lost you.”

His whisper startles you from that place between waking and sleeping. You pull back slightly, tilting your chin inward as though it gives you a view of his face; it doesn’t. “What?”

He squeezes you close. “With that… monster… I thought you were gone.”

You realize then that he must have been as terrified as you. When you were far away and silent, he must have assumed the worst. Your stomach twists at the thought of him frenzied and afraid, ripping through the stars like a dog on a fading scent. But he found you.

You found each other.

“I’m here.” You tighten your arms around his back, smoothing a hand through his hair. “I’m here, Din. I’m not going anywhere again.”

He hums in approval—the vibrations of his chest rumble against yours—and then he lays a wet kiss to your neck. You stiffen at first, caught off guard by the swift change in the air, but when his tongue runs flat over your skin, you release your hold on the weight of moments past. You want this: him uncovered and laid bare in the darkness and safety of his room. After readying yourself to lose him, you want to revel in the feel of the very thing you’d prepared to forfeit.

Din lifts his mouth to nip at your chin before whispering, dark and loose, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You shake your head as you fit yourself more completely beneath his broad frame. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Moving his hands to your hips, he grips the flesh there, kneading his fingers in the supple parts of your body. He drags his tongue over your neck, from one side to another, pausing long enough to swirl the tip of the muscle in the dip of your collarbone. An anxious trill whistles down your spine. You forgot how good he could feel, and you certainly didn’t realize how patient he could be with his mouth. 

He teases you mercilessly. Down the length of your neck, he nips and bites, soothing each injury with the wet tang of his spit. He cups your breasts through the thin fabric of your nightgown and presses his tongue flat against the rise of your chest. You catch your lower lip between your teeth, arching into him.

“Missed these,” he murmurs. You can hear his smirk, and you smile in response, pressing your hand to the back of his head. 

“Have at ‘em then.”

Squeezing one breast with the full weight of his hand, he swirls his tongue over your opposite nipple. Saliva wets your nightgown until your nipple is a peaked bud pressing through the material. You whine as he switches to the neglected breast. He feels good—more than good. He feels electrifying. 

He sucks on your tits until you see stars. Heat pools between your legs, dripping onto the insides of your thighs. Touches so simple yet they pull you apart, turn your brain to fuzz, and set your heart on fire. Maker, you missed this.

Impatient, you part your legs and swing them around his back. You dig your heels into the meat of his ass, and his hips buck forward. His half-hard cock brushes your thigh, and he ducks his head on a shiver.

“Sensitive?” you tease.

He silences you with a quick thrust of his hips upward. Your cocksure attitude melts as his body grinds into yours. Oh stars above, even with your clothes on, he feels like a miracle. You fasten your legs around his hips, pressing your core against whatever flesh or material you can find. Din chuckles—fucking chuckles—and it only makes you all the more desperate. You want him; you need him; to wash away the past week and a half with his cum in your cunt and his mouth anywhere on your body. 

“In me,” you pant. Careful to avoid his lips, you press your mouth to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. You are frantic to feel him as close as you can, to merge your body with his. “Inside me. Please, Din.”

As hurried as you are, Din is the opposite. He removes your arms from around his neck, securing both wrists with one hand, and shuffles out from between your legs. He anchors your wrists above your head and hesitates, lingering at your mouth. His hot breath mingles with yours. So close, close enough to practically taste. If you concentrate hard enough, you can imagine his lips descending to touch your mouth. You wonder how soft his lips might be… 

A sliver of light peeks through one of the viewports on the wall. (You vaguely wonder if he lowered some shield to darken the room, and if he were to open those shields, if the light of a thousand stars would paint him to look like an angel.) That light carves over his nose and the purse of his mouth. It is more than you have ever seen of his face, and to you, he appears as a god carved from marble. You close your eyes—out of necessity. Out of respect.

When he is ready, you will look.

“There’s something I want to do first.”

You frown, having been so focused on the nearness of his face that you forgot what was said before. “Huh?”

Releasing his hold on your wrists, he smooths his hand down the length of your arm. His eyes remain on your face as he pushes himself lower, lower, until his mouth hovers over the space between your legs. In the shadows, you watch him as he grins like a fiend, his fingers inching toward the hem of your nightgown that barely covers your modesty. You watch him as he pushes that hem up and over your hips and the smell of your arousal pours from your dripping body. You watch him as he skims his fingertips over your mound. 

His fingers—his uncovered, ungloved, bare fingers. You saw them once in the glistening lights of Xaxeris. The dark ink on the knuckles of his left hand, the trimmed nails, the width of those digits. You’d almost forgotten… 

He presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, and any distracted thought fades to a sparkling mist. Never before has he touched your warmth with his bare hand, and each brush of his skin against your most intimate parts sends you skyrocketing to oblivion. Gentle, slow circles on your clit—around and around and around. Your legs fall open, knees hitting the firm mattress with a thud. You drag a hand through your hair. 

From between your legs, Din huffs a laugh through his nose. He drapes his forearm over your hips and presses down. Your pussy flutters, but your mind is slow to catch up. It trails behind, pausing to sift through the roses of Din’s consistent offerings: his name, his hands, highlights of his face. You watch as though from above, peering down as he moves his face closer and closer to your heat. You cannot—will not—believe it until it happens, until you feel it for yourself. Yet even so, your body reacts and spills forward with excitement. 

When it happens—when he angles his tongue against your cunt—it is as though you are reborn. You are a block of marble on the bed, immovable under the carvings of your artist. Din is that artist: he carves through your center with careful, generous movements. Jagged pieces of stone fall from your senses as he sucks your clit between his teeth. You gasp, thighs buckling inwards, but he moves both hands to separate your legs from around his ears. He takes from you more incessantly, a water-catcher at the well. Feral sounds betray your shared excitement; the suck of his mouth on your juices is obscene. It is wrong probably—to enjoy those sounds as much as you do—but it propels your hips upward on their accord. You’ll ride the high till it bursts. 

Din groans in delight, and the vibration nearly sends you over the edge of orgasm. You release a whiny moan; and you would be embarrassed, but not with him. Instead, you accept the desire to sink into the bed and release your inhibitions. If he can do it—if he can give you so many sacred pieces of himself—surely you can do the same. 

He slides a spit-slick digit into your cunt at the same time as he flutters his tongue over your clit. Oh shit. You grab a tuft of his hair between tight fingers as your limbs go taut with starlight. Keening, you dip your head back into the pillows, swiveling your hips in time with Din’s mouth and finger. He matches your pace, and it isn’t long before you tumble into release with a pitiful moan and gush of liquid. Electricity unlike the sort Breeth subjected you to zings through your muscles. You spasm, and a drop of sweat slides down your brow. Heartbeat pulsing in your cunt, you move Din’s face away from the heart of you. Your cunt is swollen, glistening with spit and your own cum. 

Din pushes himself forward so that either hand rests alongside your head. He drags the back of his wrist over his mouth. “You taste good, mesh’la.”

It takes effort not to pout and ask for his lips on your pussy again. It takes even more effort to not wrap your arms around his shoulders and taste yourself on his tongue. To avoid either action, you reach between your layered bodies and find his cock warm and wanting. You grin as you brush your fingers over his weeping tip. 

“I’m sure you taste good too,” you whisper. “But right now, I’d really like you to be inside of me.”

Din smiles (you know the shift in energy when his emotions play out on his face now), and he dips his head as though to kiss you. But he stops himself a hair’s breadth away. Your hand stills on his cock, your breathing gone tight. He hesitates—openly warring with himself and his principles. 

“Inside me,” you urge, giving his length a firm stroke. “Please.”

He nods, and you feel his smile fade. He grumbles something as he pushes your hand away from his cock, fisting himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. You slide your hands over his arms, his muscles, turning your face to kiss the skin you can find.

He sheathes himself inside of you in one shift thrust. You choke on a gasp, and he shudders, pressing his face into the curve of your neck. So thick and long, so filling. You shiver.

“Maker.” Din withdraws far enough to tease the head of his cock on your clit. “Such a good girl.”

When he thrusts into you a second time, you twine your arms around his neck and your legs around his middle, and you fall into a rhythm beneath him. In a way, you are separate entities searching for release side by side. He is quiet as he drives his cock into your body, and you keep your moans to a minimum. There is no excitement here; the mood has shifted. Instead there is relief and safety and purpose. Each thrust claims you for himself; each squeeze of your cunt around his cock is a sign of commitment. 

Din smooths his palm over the sweat-matted hair on your brow. He leans his forehead on yours, huffing with each thrust. “Gonna—” He grits his teeth. “Gonna cum soon.”

You touch his cheek. “Please.”

“Want you to first.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

His hips stutter on a hard thrust. He shakes his head. “Want you to first.”

Din makes good on his word, determined to the last. He angles his hips just so and grinds his pubic bone into your clit until you come high and crash fast. You spasm around him, and it sends him over the edge and spilling into your cunt with a guttural sigh. His warmth washes the inside of you, washes you clean. He kisses your neck—soft and sweet as he pulses within you.

In the afterglow, he slips from your body and falls to the other side of the bed, arm tossed behind his head. His chest rises and falls in a deep breath, and you curl onto your side to face him. The sliver of light highlights the sweat on his chest, but hardly anything more. He is but a shadow. Still—maybe—just maybe—you might love him, shadow and armor and all.

“Where is your home, Scout?”

The question catches you off guard. You frown. “What?”

“Your home, your family. Where are they?” He asks without looking at you.

You resist the urge to speak your heart’s cry: Here, my home is here, my family is here.  

“Inora,” you say.

He inhales and turns to caress your face with his knuckle. When he speaks, his voice is an even rasp. “Let me take you home.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[lale-txt]

❀ summer trade: making ice cold cocktails w/ Shanks & OC

a/n: for the sweetest @pebbsie ♡ i was so excited when i drew your name because i love Shanks, i love your OC and more than that i love you! hope this little fic makes you dream a little.

word count: 1.3k

“I think you should take them off.”

Shanks spins around and looks at Pebbsie in pretended indignation, dramatically brandishing the paper fan he was holding that did nothing but move warm air around in their shared cabin. He points to his patterned pants that hang loosely from his hips.

“You always said you liked my pants, petal. Was it all just a lie?”, he questions, clutching his imaginary pearls before he does another dramatic spin and leans closer to his partner sitting on their shared bed, tilting her chin up with the fan. Where did he take all this energy from? “Or do you mean…”

He wiggles his eyebrows and gets smacked with a pillow in the face. Laughter fills the cabin and would easily have turned into a pillow fight if it wasn’t just so hot outside. The island they currently resided clearly was a summer island and the sun shining from above burned without mercy. 

“I just think you should wear some shorts for once instead of long pants, considering the outdoor temperatures.”, Pebbsie points out, her fluffy mauve hair in a messy bun. The stephanotis and baby breaths growing out of it were folded into buds from the heat and opened up every time she sprayed a light mist of water in the air for a few seconds of coolness.

She is wearing a light summer dress in a soft shade of green, getting her bare shoulders covered in kisses from her husband which made her melt; as if she wasn’t feeling hot enough already – but no matter how sticky they felt in the summer heat, she just couldn’t resist the the affection of the love of her life. 

After Shanks held up almost a dozen equally questionably patterned shorts for her to decide, they settled on one pair that matches her dress, tiny daisies printed on them. A soft breeze comes through the open window and both of them sigh in relief, grateful for the air cooling their skin even if it’s only for a few heartbeats.

“Hey doll, are you drinking enough water? You’re the beautifullest plant of them all but I don’t think this water spray bottle alone is enough to keep you hydrated…”, Shanks asks, slight worry in his voice as he reaches for the jug on the bedside table only to find out that it was empty.

Pebbsie rolls over to his side, propping herself up on her elbows. Tiny strands of hair fell from her bun which Shanks tucks gently behind her ear as he places a kiss on her forehead.

“How about we make some drinks against the heat?”, she asks, pulling on the sleeves of Shanks’ unbuttoned linen shirt, looking at him with pleading eyes. Water was fine, but what she really craved was some sweet cocktails with fancy straws and cut fruit, lots of ice on top. And she knew her husband would never say no to some booze – it was what brought them together in the first place, back when she was a barmaid and he was a pirate that stumbled into her simple life, only to sweep her away from that place not long after they met. 

It’s been so long and still her feelings for him have stayed the same; if only they grew bigger and bigger, the love they held for each other shining brighter than the summer sun. They exchange soft glances, understanding each other without words. They always did. Subtle gestures between them could tell a hundred stories, a kiss could say more than any words could ever say. What they had was rare and they both cherished it, knowing a love like that happened once in a lifetime – when you’re lucky. Maybe that’s why they made every second count, sticking (literally) to each other despite the summer heat, because they both had known loss and how easy a heart could shatter.

After a dozen more kisses peppered across Pebbsie’s face the couple gets up, slowly, Shanks giving his lover a little twirl before he offers her his arm so she can link it with his and together they make their way towards the ship’s kitchen. The rest of the crew was out and about, doing some shopping and exploring the island, some just napped in the shadows of a sun umbrella on deck. Pebbsie always liked how easy-going they all were; the warm welcome they gave her is still one of her favorite memories ever since she stepped on the Red Force for the very first time. 

The couple stops at Pebbsie’s garden for a moment where she collects various blossoms, already thinking of how she could make use of them in the drinks they were about to mix. Maybe some sakura martini or lavender paloma… She can’t help but hum a little melody in excitement, clinging closer to her husband who gives her the warmest smile; he was the happiest when he saw her floating on cloud nine like that.

They tiptoe and dance together towards the kitchen, passing Benn who was shaking his head with a slight smile; the first mate gave up on wondering how those two lovebirds could still act like love drunk teenagers after all this time, but he was glad because Shanks was much more balanced ever since he gave his heart away. He asks them to make him a drink too, but they might not have noticed him considering how they only had eyes for each other.

In the kitchen they do a small fridge raid, gathering every ingredient and liquor they could find. Shanks gets out the good glasses they kept for special occasions (granted, everything could be a special occasion – one time they celebrated Yasopp for finding his missing sock again after six months), all while Pebbsie already starts cutting up fresh fruit and crushing ice with a surprising strength that made her husband whistle. Her bounty sure didn’t stem from nothing and he felt so proud of his tiny wife.

Between dozens of kisses and hugs from behind the couple experiments with different liquors and syrups, letting each other have a taste of their creations that resulted either in a surprised look and an approving nod up or a grossed out face (Shanks drank it anyway because why would one let booze go to waste). Every now and then a crew member pops in and is offered a glass and soon they’re all gathered together in Shanks’ and Pebbsie’s test kitchen, the glasses wandering around because everyone was eager to get a taste. If they weren’t too tipsy (the heat didn’t help with that at all) they would have come up with a rating system for each drink, but now it’s just various roars in different octaves – oddly enough that was more convincing than any sophisticated survey could ever be. 

Shanks and Pebbsie clink their glasses together, exchanging some deep glances and smiles over their found family. The kitchen was the place where the party happened after all and they were more than happy they could battle this hot summer day with a spontaneous mixing class, treating everyone to some floral cocktails instead of their usual booze. Shanks leans down to his wife’s ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it so she could understand him better as he whispers: 

“You’re the love of my life, petal. You have my whole heart. I will love you as long as the sun keeps on rising.”

[ravenrune]

I missed you

Something short I wrote because writer's block is killing me. Carlos x reader. No warnings. Word count: 878. Came up with this when I saw the word 'cattle' somewhere. Hope you enjoy...?

He shielded his eyes from the sun as he attempted to get the cows to go back into the barn. It was starting to get a bit cold at night, and the farmer preferred her cattle inside whenever the temperature started to drop below a certain degree.

Carlos sighed. He liked the cows; he honestly did. They were cute, they were funny, they were surprisingly smart and surprisingly curious… but damn, were they stubborn sometimes.

He’d managed to get most of them into the barn, but one of the ladies wasn’t in the mood to spend the night inside. She was still relatively young, and really enjoyed running away from Carlos. Sometimes she’d even jump around a bit, almost like she just wanted to play.

There was no time for that, though. Carlos was starving, and he should’ve been done with work half an hour ago already. Working on the farm was great, but a lot more exhausting than he’d expected when he asked the farmer if she could use an extra pair of hands around the place.

After five more minutes of chasing after a way-too-happy cow, Carlos finally managed to get her to go into the barn. He laughed as she reluctantly went through the doors and gently slapped her ass. “Now there’s a good girl,” he muttered, as he closed the barn door behind him.

“You always do that to girls when they misbehave?” A voice suddenly came from behind him.

Carlos turned around quickly, slightly startled as he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be around. For a brief moment, he wasn’t too sure who he was looking at, but when he realised who was standing in front of him, his heart skipped a beat. “What the fuck, Y/N, is that you?”

You smirked. “Yeah, I’m… me.”

With two large steps, Carlos closed the distance between the two of you and placed his arms around your body. “I can’t believe it. How did you… When did you…? I can’t believe it!” Carlos tried to say something sensible, but he was a bit too overwhelmed with happiness. It had been years since he’d last seen you, and for all those years, he thought he’d never see you again.

You smiled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his arms around you for the first time since 1996. He smelled different than he had a long time ago, you noticed. Like hay and cows and aftershave. Not unpleasant at all, really. He looked different, too. Taller and older, but with the same open and warm expression on his face that you’d never forgotten about. The same expression that had driven you to find him again after finding out he was still alive despite having been sentenced to death all those years ago.

“Hey, you in there?” Carlos asked, sounding a bit worried. “I’m not imagining you, right?” He held you a little tighter to his chest. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

You tried to shrug, but it was too hard with him holding you like that. “I missed you,” you just whispered instead. “And when I found out where you’ve been hiding, I had to come to see you…” For a second, you thought you were going to cry. “Is that okay?”

“Hah…” Carlos himself sounded like he was about to cry. “Of course that’s okay, you dork. I tried to find you, but I never managed to… You’re nowhere to be found, not even on the damn internet… And you moved, and no one would tell me where you’d gone…” He sighed. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Slowly, you pulled away from him. “Can we just go somewhere quiet? Somewhere we can talk? I have a lot I want to say, and hundreds of questions for you.” You rolled your eyes to prevent a tear from escaping and flashed him a crooked smile.

He nodded, staring at the dark clouds rolling in as if he was too overwhelmed to look you in the face. “Yeah, babe, I’d like nothing more right now. We’ll go to my place. I live pretty close. And we’ll just order some food and maybe something to drink.” He smirked at the sky.

“That sounds good,” you replied softly, “my car is parked near the entrance.”

Carlos grabbed ahold of your hand and gently squeezed it before leading you back to your car. “Fucking hell, I haven’t been this happy in a long time,” he said, trying not to raise his voice too much.

“You and me, both I guess.”

Carlos found it hard to stop smiling as he climbed into your car. It was a bit on the small side for him, but he couldn’t care less. He waited patiently as you got in yourself, fastened your seatbelt and started the car. For a moment, he waited for you to look at him. When you finally did, he could feel something melt in the pit of his stomach. Something cold that had been there for ages. “Well, Y/N? We goin’, or not?”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

[sparktls]

Concerto of Snowmelt with the Fortune Tellers ~Northern Country & Southern Country~ 9-10 | Event Story Translation

Translation under the cut!

In my currently pitch-black world, I hear the whistling of fierce winds.

Akira: (What should I do if everyone ends up frozen…)

I grip Snow’s hand tightly despite my lack of sight.

I feel him gently give my hand a squeeze, as if telling me that I had nothing to worry about.

Snow: Gerda. Your anger does not only stem from the fact that we damaged your castle, correct?

Snow: You are in actuality angry about how we have injured that dragon.

Gerda: …

White: Hohoho. That reaction… That appears to be correct.

The temperatures changes.

Snow & White: Just as we had prophesied, you obtained it.

Snow & White: During your eternal sleep, what you truly desired.

Akira: …Desired?

I hear the quiet sound of something purring.

Gerda: …Children with their eyes still closed. It is fine. Lift your heads.

A calm voice urges us on. While wondering whether to do as she says, Snow whispers to me.

Snow: Do not fret. A special blindfold shall protect you.

I touch to confirm what Snow had said, and I feel a strange cloth wrapped around my eyes.

I slowly open my eyes. A transparent film is placed over them, and it’s as though I’m looking through a window.

Akira: (...Oh.)

I see a white witch and a white dragon nestled up next to each other.

She pets the injured dragon - kindly, how one would take care of one they care greatly about.

Gerda: My power to freeze those who looked into my eyes protected me. …Simultaneously, it stole much away.

Gerda: No friends to exchange banter with. Nobody I could understand and have understand me in return. No matter how much I loved somebody, all it would take was for our eyes to meet, and they would freeze, turning into a wordless doll.

Gerda: I keep on trying and trying, but to no avail. So I thought to simply love my frozen dolls instead.

Gerda looks up at the dragon huddled beside her.

Her gaze was soft as the sun in spring. It was difficult to think that she froze hundreds of people into ice sculptures.

Rutile: That dragon…

Gerda: I had helped it once before. It wasn’t that injured - only a little scratch. I felt willing to heal it at the time, and so I did.

Gerda: You must think there is something else to it, don’t you? But that is all. That is all I did, and yet this dragon has continued to protect me throughout all of my frozen years.

Gerda: Despite its old age, despite how much it must long for sleep, it has never left me, not even for an instant. For five hundred years…

Gerda presses her cheek against the dragon covered in burn marks and blood. The wounded dragon doesn’t protest and simply watches her quietly.

…No, the dragon was looking next to where Gerda was.

It was similar to how Cain would look at someone when he wasn’t sure of where they were.

Mitile: Can it not see…?

Gerda: Yes. This one has lost it’s sense of sight. It must be telling us apart by presence and magical power.

Gerda: So no matter how much I look at it, it will not freeze.

The dragon is calm, in stark contrast to the aggression it was showing just a short while ago.

Its white body curls around Gerda to protect her, or perhaps to embrace her.

Mithra: So that dragon was one of the witch’s underlings.

White: Not exactly. It is not obeying her, nor are there orders given.

Snow: They simply have each other, and are each others’ irreplaceable friend.

Snow looks over at Gerda and the dragon.

Snow: Even if you had frozen over the entire world, the emptiness inside of you would not have faded away.

Snow: Your cold dolls, no matter how many of them you had, would never be able to become the light that would clear your loneliness.

Snow: Gerda only had one thing she desired. If she was to obtain that one thing, even if her body was frozen, her soul would stay warm and alive.

Gerda and the dragon appear to be rejoicing their meeting, but also confirming that this was in fact the one that they had been so familiar with for so long.

—Irreplacable friend. The words Snow had uttered before spread through my heart like melting ice.

Akira: (...Their friendship has been built over the course of five hundred years…)

Rutile: Um, Gerda!

Rutile runs over to Gerda and the dragon.

Rutile: Although we weren’t aware of your circumstances at the time, I’m so sorry for doing such terrible things to the dragon.

Rutile: Healing magic is my specialty. Please allow me to help.

Figaro: I’ll lend a hand, too. My way of apologizing on the behalf of these kids.

Mitile: Uhm, uh, please let me help too!

Mitile follows after the two, mustering up all of his courage.

Mitile: I’m still not very good with magic, but the medicine I make should work…

Gerda: I’ll allow it.

Rutile: Ortonik Sutamaoge.

Figaro: Possideo.

The dragon is enveloped in a pale colored light from their magic and Mitile’s medicine.

———————————–

Thanks to Rutile and the others, the dragon fully recovered. The burns and lacerations disappear, and the dragon regains its snow-white body.

But the castle, which Mithra and the others have made an absolute mess of, remains the same.

Gerda takes a look around and coldy accuses them.

Gerda: How dare you ruin my castle like this.

Gerda: If you value your lives, leave immediately.

Snow: We have indeed overstayed our welcome.

White: It is time we take our leave. Mithra, Arthim…

Mithra: Are you two hurt?

Rutile: Thank you for worrying about us. But we’re alright, neither of us are hurt. Right, Mitile?

Mitile: Yep! I got a little scared, but I don’t think I’m hurt anywhere. Since Dr. Figaro protected us!

Mithra: Really? Rutile, is your arm still attached?

Rutile: Uhm, Mr. Mithra. It’s still attached, see? So don’t pull on it… Ow!

Snow & White: Mithra, Arthim!

Mithra: Ugh… You work me too hard.

A portal appears as Mithra lazily chants his spell. One after another, we all go in.

Owen: Weren’t you going to flirt with the witch?

Bradley: Good men will read the situation.

Snow: Farewell, Gerda. Enjoy your freedom for the first time in five hundred years.

White: If you stay alive, we shall surely meet again. I am not alive, though.

Gerda: I have no intention of getting along with you two. If I must meet you again, I’ll freeze you once and for all.

Snow: Hohoho. We’ll do the same.

White: We will not be merciful next time around.

Mithra: Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind.

After their frightening exchange, Snow and White run into the portal.

Gerda: Wait.

CHAPTER 10

As we go to leave, Gerda throws over at us a box made of ice. Snow catches it.

Gerda: Take it. In return, never set foot here again.

Though her words were cold, she appears to be smiling a little.

Akira: (Their prophecies really are always accurate. But…)

The witch who wanted an irreplaceable friend. She didn’t believe in her fate, went against the twins, and ended up frozen.

I wonder whether she would have ended up with the same result if she had believed in them, if she had waited for her fated friend in this castle.

Gerda: …

The beauty known to enthrall is regal and whiter than snow. The eyes known to freeze those who look into them are as clear as a sunny winter’s day.

Cold and beauteous, the queen of ice. The sight of her huddled up with the elderly dragon was similar to a piece of artwork carved into the snow.

———————————–

Lennox: Perhaps it’s because the dragon was protecting the witch in that castle that the jackrabbit population increased.

Figaro: You’re might. With its predator gone, those rabbits must have led quite the relaxing life.

Figaro: Their aggression might have more to do with the calamity, though.

Rutile: Enough of that; look at this beautiful box! I wonder what’s inside.

Now that we had all returned to the manor, we had formed a ring around the box Snow had received, curious yet wary.

Snow: Hm… We must keep in mind the sender.

Mithra: Maybe it’s some cursed skull.

Owen: Maybe it’s a rotting severed head.

Akira: Yikes…!

White: Let us open it.

Mithra: You two, stand back. We don’t know what’s in it.

Mitile and Rutile try to cautiously sneak a look at the box, but Mithra grabs them by the neckline and tosses them behind him.

Snow & White: …We shall open it. Here!

They remove the lid with a little shout.

Snow: …Hm?

White: This is…

Akira: W-what was it?

Owen: Yay, it’s candy.

Rutile & Mitile: Huh?

Bradley: Not just candy. A icy tiara, rings, necklaces…

Figaro: Mana stones, too.

After flipping the box upside down and shaking it, out comes tumbling sugar, magic tools, and the clothes we were wearing before we changed using the mirror. One after another, items come falling out.

Mitile: Wow, there’s so much…!

Rutile: Are all of these gifts from Gerda?

White: It is more of a bribe than a gift. This is her way of striking a deal with us to make sure no longer interfere with her and the dragon.

Snow: She was frozen for five hundred years and yet she has not changed at all. What a pity, she could use some mellowing out.

Bradley: Mithra, damn you. Don’t rummage around like that. Why’re you putting a necklace on!?

Mithra: I worked the hardest today, so I thought it was okay. Does it look good?

Owen: Of course it doesn’t. Anyways, give me back my candy. Do you want to be eaten by Cerberus?

Mithra & Owen & Bradley: ….

Mithra & Owen & Bradley: I’m going to kill you.

Snow & White: ….

Snow & White: Maybe we should freeze those three for a hundred years or so, too.

Figaro: That was supposed to a quick mission, but it turned into a grand adventure. Mitile, you alright?

Mitile: Yep! My heart was racing a little, but… I didn’t know dragons were that big.

Mitile: I have to go tell Riquet about today. I bet he’ll be really surprised!

Rutile: I got really excited too! Mother had told me a bit about it, but to think I got to see one that up close!

Lennox: I was surprised as well.

Figaro: Leno, you were surprised?

Rutile: It didn’t seem like it.

Lennox: Really?

Mitile: Anyways, when the dragon attacked us, it was amazing how Mister Leno and Dr. Figaro and brother all reacted so quickly! It was amazing!

Mitile: And Mister Mithra and Bradley were more trustworthy than usual while they fought the dragon… They were a little cool.

Bradley: Haha, right?

Mithra: I’m the coolest.

Mitile: Y-you both were only a little cool!

Rutile: You were all very cool.

Rutile: I hope that one day I’ll be as strong as you, Mister Mithra. I felt a little inspired.

Mithra: I understand why you would think that. I don’t think you’ll be able to, though.

Rutile: That may be true! But you don’t need to tell me straight up…

Mithra: It’s fine as long as you have me. You should focus on improving your own strengths.

Mithra: Like your relaxed smile.

Snow looks at the wizards excitedly chatting together. He has a smile on his face - the same as one would have after a successful prank.

Snow: Behold, Sage. Our prophecies never fail.

White: Now, do you also wish to know of your future?

The memory of the moonlit scene from yesterday’s not-exactly-a-dream comes flooding back.

———————————–

Snow: Times like those, I get the same feeling I get after a successful prank. I grow happy.

———————————–

Snow: If you wish for it, I shall teach you.

Snow: The good, the bad, what you wish to know, what you wish to not know.

Snow & White: ‘Tis all up to you, Sage.

The twins eyes, looking up at me, shine like the moon reflecting in a cup of tea.

I think for a second.

Akira: (All of Snow’s prophecies ended up being true. But…)

I slowly shook my head from side to side.

Akira: …I think I’d like keep on not knowing for the time being.

Akira: I think it’s nice to be able to experience the good and the bad with everyone and learn a little bit about it every time.

White: It appears we were given the cold shoulder.

Snow: What a way to make a fortune teller cry.

The two laugh together.

They say fate is unchangeable. Perhaps my future is already decided for me. Perhaps I cannot deviate from the path set out for me.

But I wanted to believe Snow’s words, the words he offered me along with a cup of tea on a moonlit night.

Like how there are stars in the sky, fate is not all darkness.

[cinebration]

Too Young (Forrest Bondurant x Reader) [Request]

I’m fine thank you can I describe my request because there is a no word for this at least i dont know I’m 21 so if you include this in imagine i will be really happy i love forrest bondurant he is shy caring strong and little bit mad giant bear a i want it fluffy and little bit angst I thought forrest wouldn’t want to love younger than him. I hope i can tell what i request because english not my native thank you so much again not much forrest imagine i really love this — Requested by @shooterere

This turned into something more than I expected. I had fun!

Warnings: none

Gif Source: fandomfatale

Pa operated one of the smaller bootlegging businesses in the county, but the moonshine he made was worth a hundred of the bottles being churned out by other operations in the immediate vicinity. People paid good money for your pa’s moonshine, though you wouldn’t know it to look at you and your family.

You lived in a ramshackle house on the edge of a farm known for producing one good crop for every five. You had just as many siblings, all of them younger than you, racing around the house like demons and driving both you and your beleaguered mother to wits’ end. So when Pa asked you to make a delivery, on account that the oldest of your brothers was a scant fourteen, and the fact that no one would stop you, you leapt at the opportunity. You put on your Sunday best, though it wasn’t much, and drove the old beat-up Ford truck down the country road into town.

It was there you met Forrest Bondurant. He operated the gas station you pulled up to after you delivered the moonshine. The smell of pie wafting from inside the restaurant behind the station was too good to resist.

He sat alone, his hat resting on the table in front of him. Glancing up when you entered, his brow furrowed as you slowly walked through the restaurant and up to the counter. You ordered a slice of the pie and a small cup of coffee, no cream, no sugar.

“This ain’t the watered-downed stuff,” the waitress told you.

“I know.”

The apple pie was thick and rich with apples and cinnamon flavoring. As you sat eating it, you swept your gaze around the room. There weren’t many people inside, but as soon as you fixed on Forrest, all else fell away. He met your eyes levelly, a frown pulling on his mouth. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear nervously, you returned to your meal.

He approached you a moment later, the scrape of his chair back against the wooden floor alerting you to his intentions. You swallowed thickly, working up your courage as your heart fluttered with hope.

“You Frost Farm’s oldest?” The way his voice purred made a shiver roll through you even as disappointment followed it. He wasn’t interested in you, only in who your pa was.

“Yeah,” you answered, looking down.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Making a delivery.”

“Your pa sends you off to do that yourself?”

“My first time today, but he hurt himself, so I figure I’ll be doing it for some time.”

“How’d he hurt himself?”

“He fell,” you lied.

Forrest’s gaze burned through you. Standing firm, you ate the last of the pie and swigged it down with the dregs of the coffee, the bitter mingling with the sweet down your throat. Excusing yourself, you slipped off the stool and kept yourself from sprinting away to the beat of your thumping heart.

~~

Forrest showed up the next day at the farm. You were out in the field, elbow-deep in the dirt, when the truck engine chugged up the dirt road. You recognized it vaguely as one you had seen parked outside the Bondurant gas station. You didn’t see who exited the vehicle.

Turning back to your work, you yanked out another weed and ignored the beating of the sun overhead.

When your stomach rumbled as the sun reached its zenith, you rubbed off the dirt on your apron and headed back inside for lunch. The truck was still parked outside the house.

As you neared the front door, it opened. You froze in your tracks. Forrest Bondurant stepped across the threshold, bidding your parents goodbye with some mumbled words. He paused when he saw you.

“Mr. Bondurant,” you said, nodding nervously.

He nodded back, putting the hat firmly on his head. His gaze swept over you. You became painfully aware of the dirt across your hands and knees and how it stained your apron and dress.

“I’m taking you for your other deliveries,” he mumbled suddenly. “’Til your pa gets better.”

You blinked in surprise, tried to find words. “Thank you.”

He nodded and stepped past you, leaving you stunned on the porch.

~~

The first few deliveries, made in your truck, not Bondurant’s, passed in awkward silence. You didn’t quite mind it so much, if it weren’t for the fact that being nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the man was sending your senses quite mad. Not even the Franklin boy from the farm next door had made you as deliciously nervous as Forrest did. Your head swam with it.

But the trips after that improved when you began talking to him. You didn’t say too much, because he seemed too quiet to listen to you ramble on. Rather than complain about your siblings or the lack of help for the farm, you focused instead on the moonshine business.

“I dunno know if Pa told you, but we got into trouble with the law,” you said after a delivery. “They wanted our earnings, but Pa told ’em that we don’t have enough to pay. They broke his leg for that.”

“Were you there?”

“Outside, looking between the slats. I waited ’til they were gone before I went in to help Pa.”

Forrest frowned. “Why were you there?”

“I work the stills.”

He fixed you with a stare.

“It’s nothing,” you assured him. “I like the work, honest. It’s very methodical, and I like that.”

Forrest remained silent for the rest of the drive ’til you neared town.

“Show me,” he said.

You hesitated. “But you’re the competition.”

“I won’t steal your secrets. I just want to see.”

You wanted to show him, to impress him, but the idea of the Bondurants taking over your stills or trying to use your methods nagged at you. The desire to please him won out. You turned the car toward the farm and drove well past it, deep into the woods extending beyond it. Then you hooked a right and stopped the truck.

From there, you walked Forrest all the way down into a small ravine that led to a cave in the hill swelling behind it. The cave smelled cool and a bit damp, but you had remedied that with some techniques to moderate the temperature. Forrest made a circuit of the room, eyeing your still critically as you walked him through parts of your process.

“Figure we could make gin this way eventually, too,” you said, “when they lift the Prohibition.”

He looked at you keenly.

“They’ll do it,” you assured him. “Otherwise we’ll have ourselves another war.”

He grunted noncommittally and took a swig from a nearby bottle, testing the quality of the moonshine. The soft light from the oil lamp you had lit bathed his face in warm golds. Caught up by the vision, you reached out and gently touched his cheek.

He froze, turned woodenly to you. The guarded look in his eyes discouraged you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“You’re too young.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

He shook his head.

Frustration welled up within you. You glanced up at him, your hand clenching into a fist at your side. “Too young. Too female. Too fragile. You sound like every other man I’ve ever talked to.”

He blinked in surprise, taken aback by your sudden emotion.

“I can do more than you think I can, and I’m not that fragile. I’ve had to grow up fast, because Ma’s too weak and Pa’s not got enough boys yet to help him.” You grabbed his hand suddenly, pressed his palm flat against yours. “Feel that? I don’t have soft hands. Those are working hands. When I’m not in the fields, I’m in here, making the best goddamn moonshine in the county. I don’t have time, you see, to waste on being young.”

Forrest stared into your face as the wind died out of you. You turned away, suddenly embarrassed by the outburst. “Get out of my workshop.”

He didn’t even hesitate. He walked right of the cave. You waited fifteen minutes before realizing that it was rude to let him walk all the way back to town on foot. You raced to the truck and drove down the road until you found him lumbering across the dirt. You drew up beside him and wordlessly opened the door. He hesitated before climbing up into the cab.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

You felt his eyes on you the entire drive, as though he were trying to keep you rooted to the spot. At last, you arrived at the gas station.

“You don’t come with me on deliveries anymore,” you said.

He didn’t get out of the car. “Who else has said those things to you?”

“What things?”

“About you being too weak.”

You shrugged. “Everyone. Probably your own damned brothers, for all I know. ‘Waste of a pretty face, making that girl work the fields. She ought to be providing a family.’ But I like the work. I like working.”

The cab filled with silence as Forrest stared out the windshield at the dark restaurant. Exhaustion settled in your bones from the emotional outburst and the pain of rejection.

“If you worked here,” Forrest said suddenly,” your hands wouldn’t be so rough.”

You frowned. “But I don’t work here.”

“I could get someone to work for your pa on the farm,” he continued in a low rumble. “And you could work here and your workshop.”

“Are you offering me a job?”

He grunted.

��Why?”

He shifted uneasily on the seat. “To keep you around, if you won’t let me make deliveries with you.”

The pieces didn’t quite fit together. “Why would you want to keep me around? I’m too young, you said.”

“I did,” he agreed.

“Then why?”

He fixed his eyes on you with a look that said, Do I really have to say it?

You met his gaze for a long while before slowly nodding, feeling something like hope flutter in your chest again. He nodded back, grunted quietly, and wished you a good night as he climbed out of the car.

[lewdbabies]

~The neighbor ~

part 1

part 2 posted on my page 💗

Warning: MDNI, 18+, Language, Smut, Masturbation, sexual situations

Nanami KentoXReader smut

~

“ Wet wet wet wet!” Ashiniko plays loudly Making you shoot up in a panic. You scramble around the bed searching for your Iphone, You quickly slam on the snooze button. You groan rubbing your sleepy eyes, “Ugh another work day, yay” you mumble to yourself. Throwing the covers away you slide to the edge of the bed throwing your legs over. Sliding your fluffy slippers on you trudge toward the bathroom.

After Giving yourself a sluggish once over in the mirror you reach for the shower faucet Turning the water to its hottest temperature. Your blue lace night gown falls in a puddle around your feet as you step into the tub. The hot water beats down on your skin the streams tickling your puckered nipples. Your head falls back at the sensation hands sliding over your wet skin. It had been so long since someone had touched you, After your last bad break up you lost interest in sex all together.

You were sexually frustrated and it showed the slightest touch to your flesh turned you on. Something as simple as a shower stream had you squirming. Your hands slide up cupping your breast, You pinch the hard bead biting back a moan.

Your legs feel weak as you tease yourself the room fills with whimpers and steam.

“N-Nanami...” you breath slipping your fingers between your thighs. You imagine his tall slender body pressed against yours water droplets falling from his blond hair.

You can see it, his dark chestnut eyes staring down at you, taking in every inch of your trembling body. Just the thought of him throws you off balance teetering on the brink of climax. “Ah fuck-“ your fingers slide against your clit teasing the bundle of nerves. You’re soaking wet, your palm slick with your arousal. You rub faster needy for a release, your legs shake as you cum, you reach for the shower wall to support your shivering body.

“Ah Nanami!” You call one final time as you ride out your orgasm. You’re panting trying to catch your breath as you reach for your bath puff. You wash your body quickly, giving your hair a wash as well . You rinse all the suds away leaving your body smelling like a bouquet of flowers. You push the shower curtain open grabbing your bath towel from the hook and wrapping it around your torso. You do your everyday routine, brushing your teeth, Combing your hair into a neat Low bun, moisturizing ,the usual. The sun beams through your slightly parted linen curtains as you walk towards the closet. You live in a small compact city everything is pretty much right next door including apartment buildings. Your high rise view was a clear shot into your neighbors bedroom window.

Movement catches your eye, you peer curiously out, hidden behind the drapes.

Your neighbors window is wide, his back is turned, white bath towel wrapped around his waist. The muscles in his back flex as he rotates his wrist massaging his temple. He looks stressed, it’s clear he isn’t to happy about his early morning either. The sun dances on his golden locs as he pushes his hair back before retreating out of sight.

Nanami Kento. he’d been your neighbor for the last 2 years you didn’t know much about him apart from his name. You were lucky to even know that much, you learned that small piece of information by chance. He is a regular at your job, a local coffee shop a few blocks from where you both live. He came there every single morning on his way to work in the inner city. You weren’t sure what he did exactly but it seemed important by the way he dressed, Every Day he wore his signature suit and tie.

You sigh touching your warm cheeks, you walk to the closet pulling the double doors open. You grab your work uniform from the hanger throwing it on in a haste. You tie your apron and slip on your shoes, you grab your purse from your desk and Scurry out the front door locking it behind you. You speed walk to the elevator pushing the number 1, your foot Taps impatiently. You’d swear this Elevator had a hundred floors by how slow it is. The doors finally open with a ding and you step inside.

“ Please hold the door!” You jump, Reaching a hand out to hold the doors from closing. Footsteps run towards the opening and you’re face to face with Mr. Nanami himself. How ironic. He walks into the elevator panting, he leans over hands on his knees from exhaustion.

“Thank you I hate waiting for this elevator it is very inconvenient “ he pants.

Your heart is beating like a stallion, You give a nervous laugh smiling like an idiot.

“A-Ah it’s nothing” you stutter.

You curse yourself internally ‘really it’s nothing is that the best you can think of Y/N’ you think. He stands up straightening out his suit jacket with his free hand, the other holds his large black suitcase. He quickly gains his composure a stern sexy look rest on his face. You shift side to side anxiously keeping your eyes cast on your shoes.

This is the first time you two have been alone together it was nerve racking. You could smell him, he smelled of luxury cologne and fresh shampoo. Hes so close that his shoulder brushed against your own, there was plenty space and yet he chose to stand just inches from your body. Your imagination was running wild envisioning him slamming you against the elevator wall and crashing those soft lips against yours.

He reaches up trailing his bottom lip with his fingertip, your cheeks heat up.

“Y/N?” You’re snapped from your daze.

“Huh uh I mean yes how did you know?”

He points “ Your name tag, I see that same name tag every morning, you’re the coffee shop girl” he states.

Your heart sinks, ‘oh god not coffee shop girl’ you nod your head, pulling your lips into a strained smile.

The elevator dings the doors open.

“Well it’s only fair I tell you my name since you rescued me from the agony of waiting, I’m N-“

“Nanami “ you interrupt.

“How did you-“

“I see that name on a coffee cup every morning” you mock earning a chuckle from him.

“Now that we’re better acquainted call me Kento” he shoots you a devilish smirk before turning and walking towards the parking garage.

~part 2 coming soon stay tuned~💗

[mandospace]

Personal Sun (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

Summary: Beach day with your Frankie and the boys.

Word Count: 2,042

Warnings: A few swear words, slight allusion to some ~grownup activities~ but only if you squint.

A/N: Hi so I know I said that I was going to post my PrincessBride!DinDjarin AU first but then the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog’s Writer Wednesday (and compiled by the amazing @clydesducktape !) for this week popped up and I was just struck by inspiration so I had to write it. This is my first time ever participating in Writer Wednesday and also my first time writing for Frankie Morales (whom I love dearly). I hope you all enjoy it and if you want more Frankie, please let me know and send in some requests!

MASTERLIST

It was too beautiful of a day to spend inside.

After weeks of storms and being cooped up all day, you were ready to feel the sun on your skin and breathe the salty air of the sea. You weren’t sure when the last time it was that you had gone to the beach, but your body ached to feel the cool breeze and warm waters. Your mind was made up as soon as the sun shone through your window— you were going to the beach no matter what today.

Sending out a quick text to your boyfriend and the boys telling them to meet you there, you practically skipped to your closet to pick out which swimsuit you would wear. Your phone pinged with their excited answers and them deciding who was bringing what to your impromptu beach party. Frankie, your boyfriend, texted you separately from the group chat to let you know that he would pick you up. Just as it always did when his name flashed across your screen, your stomach filled with butterflies and warmth.

Frankie was on his way and would be at your place within a few minutes so you quickly grabbed a random swimsuit from your closet. By the time you slipped it on and pulled your dress over your head, you heard the creaky doors of his old truck slam shut.

You had nearly tripped over your spare shoes that were scattered throughout your home in your haste to reach the door. When you pulled it open, you were met with his kind smile that set your soul aflame.

Frankie let out a low whistle whilst his eyes trailed over your figure. “How is it that you get more beautiful every time I see you?”

Your cheeks flushed with the heat of his compliment and you playfully slapped his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Now quick, get into my car before your boyfriend catches us.” Frankie pulled you behind him and you couldn’t help the giggles that slipped past your lips at his goofiness.

He swung open the passenger door, holding it open for you. “But seriously, you really do look beautiful today.” His hands gripped your hips and he hoisted you into his truck, but before he could walk away from you, your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close.

“Thank you, Frankie,” you said and placed a sweet kiss to his lips, smiling at the soft breath he let out. He placed a few more pecks to your lips before pulling away and hopping into the driver’s seat.

“Anything for my girl.”

~~~~

“Fish! Come on in, the water’s great!” Benny yelled from the ocean, splashing at Santi who had tried to jump on his back.

“I’m good from over here!” Frankie yelled back, content to just lay on his beach towel next to you as he read his book. You were doing the same, leaning against your boyfriend’s shoulder and soaking up as much sun you could possibly get. For it being such a nice day, the beach was practically empty, leaving you and your small party to spread out and enjoy the waves.

“If you wanna go in you can, Frankie,” you set your book down and touched his warm chest that was slowly getting darker as the day went on. “Don’t stay back just for me.”

Frankie grabbed the hand that rested on his chest and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “For your information, I am not staying back just for you.”

“Oh really?” you quirked an eyebrow up at his teasing tone.

“Really,” he briefly took off his hat and ran his fingers through his soft curls. “I happen to be reading a very good book and the fact that I have a beautiful woman lying next to me has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not going in the water.”

“Mhm,” you tried to hold back your smile. “Well, I’m going to go take a quick dip and cool off.” You stood from your towel, brushing off whatever sand that clung to your skin. His eyes were on you when you pulled off your dress, revealing the black swimsuit that was underneath. You could practically see his eyes darken in the bright sunlight at the image before him. “Care to join?”

“Well, I’m sure I can finish this book some other time,” he put down his book hastily before scrambling up to join you. Frankie interlaced his fingers with yours and the two of you leisurely strolled to the water.

As soon as your feet touched the water, you let out a sharp yelp in surprise. “Benny, you fucking liar!” You could feel the goosebumps erupting over your skin. “It’s freezing!”

“Just gotta get used to it, babe!” he shouted back through his laughter.

“It’s okay, honey,” Frankie’s grip on you tightened and he began to pull you further into the water. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Begrudgingly, you let him pull you deeper into the ocean which only got colder the further you went. Your body eventually became used to the cold temperature and reached equilibrium, but you weren’t about to tell your boyfriend who held you close to his chest that yet.

Frankie was like your own personal sun, radiating warmth and happiness into your life. No matter the surrounding temperature, he burned hot and pulled you in with his sunny disposition. He was your walking heater that gladly wrapped his arms around you whenever you wanted him and his warmth. Whether that be on a chilly day when the layers weren’t enough or in the middle of the night when your hands were freezing and you placed your icy hands against his warm belly. He was your heater now as the two of you slowly drifted in the waves, arms wrapped right around your waist to pull you close against his wide chest.

“Better?” Frankie’s voice interrupted your thoughts of him.

You hummed in agreement, turning in his grasp so that you could loop your arms around his neck. You rested your forehead against his chest, pressing a light kiss over his heart. “Much better.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, slowly swaying alongside the waves as you both enjoyed the sun. Frankie’s hands kept drifting lower and lower, until eventually he was kneading the soft flesh of your ass. Just as you were about to make some teasing remark, his hands moved so that they cupped the soft flesh of your thighs and tugged you up until your legs were wrapped around his waist.

“Frankie!” you said his name in shock whilst dissolving into laughter at the new position. His hands remained firmly on the underside of your ass, holding your weight and tugging you impossibly closed. The new position left you slightly taller than him and he had to tilt his head back to meet your eyes.

“Just wanted to hold my girl, s’all,” he shrugged before pouting his lips for a kiss. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend and placed your hands on either side of his scruffy face, tilting your head down and his back so that you could press your lips against his.

No matter how many times you had kissed your Frankie, each felt like the first. You’ve had ones that felt sweet and tasted even sweeter. You’ve had some that were all teeth and broken moans of pleasure. But the kind that you were sharing with him right now was your favorite. It was the kind that took your breath away with a sharp gasp, leaving you to breathe in as much of him as possible. It was the kind where his tongue lazily grazed over your bottom lip, teasing you into wanting more. It was the kind where your fingers tangled into his chocolate curls and pulled those sweet noises that you oh so loved to hear from him. It was the kind where his touch left sparks in their wake; where you swore you could feel your heart threatening to leap out of your chest because of the insane amount of love and adoration you held for this man.

“Hey!” Benny yelled from the beach where his brother had begun stacking wood for the bonfire that was happening later. “This is a public beach so you two can’t be doing that!”

Rather than breaking your kiss, Frankie extended his arm out to the side and flipped Benny the bird in response. You managed to see Benny get all red in the face when you peaked your eyes open, causing you to giggle against his lips.

“Seriously, man!” Will joined in. “There are kids around!”

That one caught your attention and the two of you pulled away and saw a mother of two shaking her head at the both of you, dragging her small children behind her to the car.

“Oops,” you winced, trying to wave at the poor woman and her children in apology. Frankie’s cheeks were tinged with embarrassment and he dropped his forehead to your chest to try to hide his face.

“We just emotionally scarred some 4 year-olds,” he mumbled into your skin.

“I’m sure they won’t even remember a thing, Frankie baby,” you smiled and placed a small kiss to his hairline. Wiggling from his grasp, your feet met the soft sand of the ocean and you took his hand in yours. “C’mon, let’s get back on the beach and dry off before we emotionally scar some fish.”

“Oh God, do you think we did that?”

~~~~

The rest of the day at the beach passed in relaxation between periods of sunbathing and swimming. The sun was finally setting over the horizon and your little party of five made their way to the bonfire that Will had built. You all sat around the fire, soaking up its warmth while you ate the packed sandwiches you had thought to bring this morning. It was peaceful, just your little group around the fire telling stories everyone had heard hundreds of times already. The teasing eventually shifted from you and Frankie over to Benny who had forgotten to put sunscreen on one spot of his back and was now sunburned.

Frankie and you were leaned against the log you had found, his arm thrown over your shoulders and tucking you into his body. He had thought to grab the blanket he always kept in his truck and draped it over your laps bringing extra warmth that was much needed during the chilly night.

His thumb was lazily tracing shapes and patterns into the skin of your arm and the repetitive movement was putting you to sleep. The boys had moved on to talking about something else now, all four of them animatedly expressing their opinions. You could feel Frankie’s deep voice rumbling through his chest from where your ear pressed against it. The noise and vibrations were soothing and the overall scent of the salty ocean, fire, and something just Frankie had you falling asleep in his arms.

Just as you were about to nod off, Frankie’s hushed whisper tugged at the edge of your consciousness. “Go to sleep, honey.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to your hairline.

“M’not tired,” you mumbled, burying your face into his shirt.

“Sure you’re not,” he chuckled, lips kissing your hairline. His free hand tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear and caressed your cheek. “S’okay, I’ll wake you up when we are leaving.”

“Promise?” It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious; you were just so comfortable and at home in your Frankie’s arms.

“I promise,” you could feel his smile against your scalp. “Now get some sleep.”

“Frankie?” your voice was sleepy and you could barely think.

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you couldn’t keep your mind awake any longer and began to succumb to sleep.

“I love you too, honey.” You didn’t see Frankie’s responding smile as he repeated your words, but it could have easily outshined any sun in any galaxy.

You may call him your personal sun, but you were the one that ignited the fire within him.