#very little effort and there is a comfort in it i suppose but its not. A Design. okay

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (7)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, Azriel's POV and he is incredibly sad

a/n: Yay here's more <3 I promise it gets happy and there's a little teaser of what that'll look like in this part. Let me know what you think pleaseee :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

Azriel 

Azriel’s heart came to a thudding halt.

“What was that?” he asked softly, trying to play it off. Trying to pretend as if you hadn’t just asked him the one question he had hoped would never come. Because you were supposed to get better before it came to this. 

He had begged the Mother for any kind of reprieve.

She hadn’t listened, as Azriel had expected. 

“Mates,” you slurred, your head bobbing on his shoulder. The High Lords had exhausted you. “Helion said you… he said something about a mate. I can’t remember exactly… but no one’s told me what that is.” 

Pure adoration tore at Azriel’s chest. Your words blurred together as you sunk deeper into his arms, and Gods, did he love you. He let himself imagine that you were drunk—just for a moment. You were drunk and still his and he was carrying you home after a night at Rita’s. 

“Azriel?” 

The moment ended and panic replaced the temporary comfort that had consumed him. 

“Yes, my love?” It had slipped, a mistake fueled by his clouded mind. Azriel counted his footsteps and held his breath, but you only hummed in response, too drained to notice the endearment that had fallen with such desperation from his lips. 

“You were telling m’about mates,” you reminded him. Your arm slipped from his neck and landed in your lap. Azriel held you closer, feeling your body begin to lose its grip. 

“Of course,” he dutifully replied. “A mate is… it is a gift from the cauldron. An equal to share a bond with.”

“Like a lover?”

Azriel could hardly piece your words together with the way they tumbled out. 

That, and his stomach was twisting, reminding him of the very bond that was crying out within him. This was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to have this conversation with you last time; it had hurt you too much to even hint at the topic. 

Back then, Azriel had been so deep in anguish he couldn't keep food down, so desperate to just speak to you that his body rejected all else. 

This was somehow worse.

“Much stronger,” he whispered, pressing his nose to your temple in an act of weakness. You didn’t notice. “Our souls are linked—mates I mean. A mating bond doesn’t always lead to the pair being lovers, but if they choose to do so, it’s enhanced. It’s unexplainable, truly, having someone connected to you that you love so deeply.” 

“That sounds nice,” you mused, a melodic flow of syllables starkly contrasting the effort with which Azriel was trying to string his sentences together. 

“It is.” He gave in to his urges and looked down at you in his arms, your hair flushed against his leathers, your face soft and drowsy. “It is wonderful.” 

You cracked an eye open. Azriel had stopped walking. “Do you have one?” 

“What?” he choked out. 

“You speak as if you know the feeling well. Do you have a mate, Azriel?” 

“I—” There were no thoughts in his head, nothing but the sound of your voice and your question repeating itself like a bell tolling in a vicious pattern. “Yes,” he sputtered out. “I do, yes.” 

You smiled softly, but it was paired with a furrowed brow and a light sigh. “Good,” you nodded to yourself. “You deserve a mate.” 

Too much talking, too much thinking; your head lulled into his arm, face against his chest, and you were asleep. 

Yes, this was much worse than the last time. 

Azriel adjusted his grip and carried you back to the room you didn’t know belonged to the both of you. 

~~

The pounding in your head was your first indication that you were awake. You moved your hand to your hairline before opening your eyes, applying pressure in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there. 

Useless. 

A small groan made its way up your throat. The night before, or whenever it was—you had no idea how long you’d been sleeping—was a jumbled mess in your mind. You remembered meeting Helion, being told you were in love with him, being told that you actually weren’t in love with him, and then he and Rhysand had entered your mind and left you as nothing more than a vegetable. 

There were other pieces too, like Azriel carrying you back to your room and talking about… mates? Yes, that sounded right—the larger-than-life, effervescent partners bestowed upon fae by the cauldron. 

And he had told you that he had one. 

That was good. Great, even. Something stirred within you, an uncomfortable feeling, but you ignored it in favor of the pain radiating across your head. Gods, why did it hurt so much? 

Helion and Rhysand had been in your mind. They were going to discuss things with you. 

You shot up far too quickly, the motion sending shooting pains up your neck. 

“What?” you heard a voice panic. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

Another jarring look to the side and you just about passed out from the pain. You caught a glimpse of Azriel before you squeezed your eyes shut to try and manage it, his large form folded into a chair by the door that was certainly not made to accommodate wings. You lowered your head into your hands and heard the chair screech against the floor. 

“What is it, y/n?” Azriel asked, voice closer now. 

You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, just—it’s my head, give me a moment.” 

He didn’t speak, but the room became dark. That seemed like an impossible feat, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls and letting in the rays of the day court sun. But the pounding in your head receded a fraction, and you could tell it was dimmer even from behind your eyelids. 

“Does that help?” he asked, so low you could barely hear him. 

You felt his breath at your arm. 

“Yes,” you whispered back, and when you opened your eyes, Azriel was there. His wings had circled you, encasing you in a darkness that blocked out the world, his knees at the side of your bed. 

“You got up too quickly,” Azriel offered.

“I know, but I wanted to hear what the High Lords had to say about the witch and my memories and what I need to do to fix everything. Have you heard anything?”

“Very little. I’ve been here.” 

“For how long?” 

“You slept for a day and a half.” 

“And you stayed the entire time?” 

“You requested I stay by your side. You’ve been here.” 

You bit into your lip, the heavy weight of guilt loading onto your chest. Azriel flinched as if he felt it himself. “I wanted to stay,” he comforted. “It puts me at ease to… see you while we’re in this court. To know exactly where you are and who’s around you.” 

“Because of last time,” you stated, but it was a question that hung in the air. 

Azriel’s eyes tracked along the planes of your face. His hand twitched. “Yes, because of last time.” 

He looked so serious, bordering on forlorn. Despite the pain in your head and the conflicting emotions rising within you, you attempted to lessen some of the load that seemed to bogg the shadowsinger down. 

“You could have taken shifts with Cassian, you know. Or even, I don’t know, laid on the bed that’s the size of a small apartment. I was out cold the entire time—didn’t wake up once. I wouldn’t have noticed if you did,” you offered with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips. 

Azriel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his own expression lightening. “Cassian would fall asleep immediately. And, just to let you know, you did wake up. Several times.” 

You gave him a doubtful look. “I think I would remember that.” 

The shadowsinger bit back a smile and something within you shone at the playful look in his eye. “Right, so you don’t remember waking up and practically ripping that from my body?” 

His eyes shot down to your chest, an action which you followed to find a large, unfamiliar sweater swathing your body in warmth. You looked further down at your hands, only to find the sleeves of the garment covering your palms and fingers as well. 

An incredulous laugh bubbled in your chest. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t actually rip this off of you, did I?” 

Azriel shifted his knees into a kneeling position beside you, his wings shuffling and creating a sound you had begun to find comfort in. “Well, you didn’t exactly ask politely.” 

You groaned and shoved your face back into your hands. “Gods, that’s embarrassing. It’s because I was delirious, I swear. Those damn High Lords scrambled my brain.” 

“Y/n, you have a penchant for demanding things in your sleep. Food, water, clothing, more blankets. Once you woke up to ask me for an entire roast duck and in the morning you had no recollection. You were quite aggravated that night.” 

“No, stop, I can’t take this. I am melting into a puddle of mortification and you are making it worse.” 

Azriel chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it over the years. It’s almost charming, really.” 

You peeked through your sweater-clad fingers. “You can’t mean that.” 

“I mean it very sincerely. When you are sick or unwell, you sleep through the entire night. When you wake up and grab the neck of my sweater like you’re robbing me, I know things are okay.” 

You groaned again, this time tilting your head back and immediately regretting the action when a pulse of pain permeated along your temples. But it wasn’t so bad anymore; Azriel and his wings made it better. 

You took a moment to gaze upon his face in the proximity. He was smiling slightly, some humor still shining in his hazel eyes. The occasional shadow made a pass along his cheeks and by his ear, whispering secrets you weren’t privy to and then coming to wind around your body as well. His hair was mused and untamed, landing in soft patterns across his forehead. 

Azriel was so beautiful it hurt. 

“Does your mate ever get upset that we are so close?” you asked, the question not even fully formed in your head before it entered the space.

The smile slipped from Azriel’s lips and you regretted your impulsivity almost instantly. 

“No,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” 

“Has something happened? Between the two of you?” 

“Y/n, please don’t worry yourself over—” 

“It’s just—Azriel, I know how hard all of this has been on you. When you spoke of your mate it was the first time I saw you look at peace. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“You remember what I said?” 

“All of it,” you smiled, but Azriel only looked grave. “Az—"

The shadowsinger jutted back as the familiarity left your lips. He sent his shadows out, their configuring forms covering the windows and the cracks in the doors until it was dark enough for him to remove his wings from around you. With him went the comfort of night-kissed air and warmth and all of the things that made sense in this life you had been dropped into. 

“Rhys has requested that we meet in the study to discuss findings,” Azriel relayed, clearing his throat and standing from his place on the bed. “I laid out some of your things and a servant ran a bath when you started to stir. Do you need help—” 

“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, eyes downcast, feeling as though you’d ruined something that was already painfully delicate. 

“I’ll be here if you need me. Just outside the door.” 

You believed him—you did—but something was missing. Something you couldn’t keep up with. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was in love with someone. Mor, maybe? Or one of the sisters Cassian talked about on occasion? 

The thought of him with his mate made you nauseous. 

You shouldn’t have asked. 

~~

“A replication?” you asked, running a hand along the side of your head in an attempt to look casual about the throbbing taking place there. “So… it is like last time?” 

“Partially, but because the witch’s powers aren’t pure, she was unable to mimic what a full daemati can do. So, same outcome, fewer side effects,” Rhys offered, a calming presence across the table. “Witches often find sources to draw from because they don’t have access to their natural abilities any longer. Your source was—” 

“An opening in her mind,” Azriel concluded, expression guarded as he sat stiffly beside you. “There were remaining injuries in her mind. The witch found her weak points and used them against her.” 

Helion nodded, rounding one of the more ornate chairs and basking in the light streaming through the window. “Very astute. We thought there were no remnants of—” 

“Don’t say his name,” Azriel warned. 

“—of the attack,” Helion quickly corrected, obviously not in the mind to start an argument with the keyed-up spymaster. “But they must have been miniscule. We think she must have been an old witch, very practiced.” 

“So what do we do now?” Cassian gruffly asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the windowsill. You turned to look at him, but the sunlight casting his shadow sent your head ablaze. You quickly righted your gaze and squeezed your eyes shut to compensate. 

You felt shadows stalk beneath your feet and across the floor until they consumed the light of the window. If anyone had any comments on the shadowsinger’s act, they didn’t voice them. 

“Now,” Helion breathed out, dropping into a chair and interlacing his fingers atop the oak table. “We wait. Just like the last time, this kind of power is not something we can simply undo. We need a witch, and witches are incredibly elusive.” 

Trepidation gripped your heart, sending your lungs into a fiery descent. You were just supposed to wait? Wait and hope that maybe, possibly, they would find a witch and fix this before your life moved on without you in it?

Your breath came out in quick, uneven puffs, exacerbating the ache in your head. 

Azriel sat up in his seat, high alert and on the defensive. 

But Rhysand was quicker than his spymaster’s anger. “There is the possibility that this wears off on its own.” 

Your eyes snapped up. “Was that a possibility last time?” 

“No,” Cassian remarked, brows shot up to his hairline. “That’s why you were missing for so long and in so much pain after. You both made it clear that there was no moving whatever the daemati put in her head.” 

Helion and Rhysand shared a look, but your High Lord was the one to speak. “It was weaker this time, more permeable. We think, with time, the wall the witch attempted to replicate will break down and you’ll have everything back. She did only do this to you to flee from attack. It wasn't personal.” 

“How much time?” Azriel strained. 

Helion replied this time. “There is no way to know, shadowsinger.” 

“What about the pain? You said fewer side effects but I couldn’t even have light in my room this morning.” 

Rhysand looked sheepish, eyes darting over to the window still opaque with shadows. “Yes, well—we may have pushed you a bit too far during our assessment.” 

Cassian let out a disbelieving huff from the corner of the room. Azriel gripped the arms of his chair until they groaned. 

“So it’ll go away?” you asked, desperation trickling into your tone. 

The wood beneath Azriel’s hands splintered. 

“Yes, very soon. We can give you some tonics before you leave as well. They will help speed up the process,” Helion promised, eyeing his chair being slowly destroyed. 

In a motion that felt almost second nature, you covered the spymaster’s hand with your own, shadows wrapping around the press of your skin. It was then that you noticed the ring. Silver and unassuming, it took up residence on the ring finger of his left hand and looked like it belonged no place else. 

Our souls are linked, he had said, talking about his mate with such passion. 

You removed your hand from his. 

Azriel flexed his fingers upon your departure. 

“We were thinking,” Rhysand began after a pregnant pause that seemed to blanket the room. “With your pain, we might want to stay a few more days. Winnowing can add extra pressure to the body and flying would—” 

“No,” you were quick to dispute. “No, I want to go home. It’s lovely here, Helion, and I thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, but I want to go back to the Night Court. I want to try and live the life I’ve made for myself, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another pause. “If that’s okay.” 

“Of course that’s okay,” Azriel spoke from beside you. His words sounded dull, his fingers remaining outstretched on the chair. 

“We will continue looking for the witch on our side,” Helion nodded, pushing out of his chair. He came before you then, meeting your gaze. “I cannot apologize enough for what your time in my court has cost you. I only hope that all will return to you. I have missed you, y/n.” 

And then the High Lord of Day was gone, and you had no recollection as to why he would miss you in the first place. Everyone was saying they missed you, even as you stood before them unharmed and intact. 

A harsh reality slammed into you with the departure of the High Lord. 

If you didn’t get your memories back—if there were no witches or deteriorating walls in your mind—they would continue to miss you. You would forever be a husk of your former self, never understanding the full picture of who you were. 

But that wasn’t okay with you—not at all. 

[catmask]

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[skzcre]

12:15 am

idol!minho x nonidol!reader, established relationship.

warnings: breeding kink(!!!), minho calls the reader kitten. a little bit of dacryphilia. overstimulation.

minors dni :)

his room was dark, save from the shadows the moon casted through his curtains. a cacophony of heavy breaths and skin slapping skin filled the heavy air. minho said he needed to go to bed early tonight to prepare for a very busy day preparing for the comeback.

but you had the absolute audacity to be waiting in his room wearing nothing but one of his striped long sleeves, teasing him with the sight of your thighs just barely covered by his comforter. how was he supposed to be any sort of responsible when you looked this delicious?

“shit.” he practically threw the comforter off your sweaty bodies, not caring where it landed. he was back on you immediately, pushing your plush thighs upward to let your legs rest on his shoulders before continuing his descent somehow deeper and deeper into you. you couldn’t help but to cry out for him, gripping the sheets for dear life.

minho often fucked like his life depended on it. like it would be the last time he’d get to feel your warmth or hear you keen his name. like he needed to stamp his name across every section of your body, and you fucking loved it.

there were tears blearing your vision but even in the dark you could see him so clearly. the furrow in his brow, the sheen of sweat covering his face and body. the way his abs constricted with every thrust, how his biceps flexed when he gripped your ass. like a greek god, sculpted from the finest materials known to man, and he was all yours. absolutely whipped for you whether he’d like to admit it or not. the lengths he would go just to see you smile, the effort he put into your relationship even though you naturally couldn’t see each other as often as you’d like due to his profession.

“fuck, i love you so much, min.” you whimpered out, your brain reduced to complete mush by this point. “so fuckin’ good, feels so good.”

“mm, i know, baby.” minho let your legs fall, leaning down to leave his pretty marks over your neck and jawline. his voice was deep in your ear and it made you shiver every single time. “if you keep squeezing my dick this good i might have to marry you.”

he gave you one particularly hard thrust and didn’t move, opting to stay buried deep within you. this time you screamed, back arching off the bed while your nails scraped against his arms.

“nngh…t-too deep..!”

“i wouldn’t stop fucking you, kitten. i’d fill you to the brim every hour of the day, fuck you in every single room of our home.”

you began to whine next, squirming underneath him, trying to pull away to catch a single breath. everything was just too much to handle, he felt so good inside you that it was almost painful. but minho’s strong hands easily kept you right where he wanted you.

“c’mon, pretty, you can take more. i know you can.” he cooed, pressing soft kisses all over your face. your thighs began to tremble, toes curling as your nails dug into the skin of his biceps. “c-can’t…too much—ah!”

somehow his fingers found their way down to your clit, an electric surge crackling through your entire body. it began to move on its own, hips jutting upwards for more. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

minho drew circles around your clit, watching with adoration as you fell apart around him. “mm, that’s it. that’s my girl,”

“gonna fuck my babies into this pretty cunt.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Housepet.

Continuation of The Houseguest.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaveh x Reader x Yandere!Alhaitham (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.0k.

TW: Implied/Referenced Non-Con, Prolonged Imprisonment, Mind Break, Physical Abuse, Dehumization, Obsessive Behavior, and Delusional Thoughts.

You’d been shaking for the past two hours.

Violently enough for the tremor to be visible in your shoulders, in the jerkiness of your rare movements, but not so aggressively as to disrupt the path of the tears Kaveh would occasionally catch running down your cheeks. It’d started halfway through your tryst, while his head was still buried between the thighs he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for weeks, and the warm bath he’d run hadn’t comforted you the way he’d hoped it would. He thought that getting you out of Alhaitham’s clothes, Alhaitham’s colors might help, but even dressed in one of his shirts, your hair pulled out of your face by one of his jewel-studded clips, you shook like a leaf caught in the morning gale. When he tried taking your collar away, hoping that it’s absence would let you (however momentarily) forget Alhaitham, you broke your silence to beg him not to, and his bleeding heart won over his better judgement. You got to keep your collar, even if the sight of it around your throat sent a bolt of discomfort straight to the pit of his stomach.

Currently, he had you on his bed, curled up in a nest of his sheets and wrapped in his arms as he tried to tempt your permanently downcast gaze back onto him. It hurt him to see you in such obvious distress, as little as you seemed to care what he thought. He could only imagine what you were like when Alhaitham had his way with you, that brute. At least Kaveh had made an effort to be gentle with you. He was sure that, behind closed doors, Alhaitham wouldn’t so much as—

Speak of the archons and they will appear. As he rubbed shallow circles into your bruised hip, Kaveh heard the door to Alhaitham’s flat creak open, a series of familiar footsteps following shortly after. There was no pretense of a search – Kaveh could’ve counted the seconds it took Alhaitham to arrive at his door, to let himself into Kaveh’s room with the same irritatingly neutral, ‘I already know this will be a waste of my time’ expression he always seemed to wear. He didn’t even attempt to knock, but Kaveh supposed that was just karma. He supposed he wouldn’t be in this mess at all if he just tread a little more carefully around Alhaitham, around you.

Despite his brazenness, Alhaitham chose to linger in the doorway, his gaze flickering from Kaveh to you to the love bites littered down the length of your neck. Kaveh was the one to break the silence, eventually. “You’re supposed to be working.”

“And you’re supposed to be paying rent.” Then, resting his shoulder against the doorframe, “I left early. I wanted to see how you two were faring.”

Kaveh scoffed. “Don’t pretend you’re clairvoyant.” Alhaitham paid him a look, and he threw his head to the side, pulling you closer. “I’m only trying to some love to someone you’ve been neglecting for months. The poor thing’s so traumatized by your company, a little affection’s rendered them nearly catatonic.”

Alhaitham let out a dry laugh, his expression remaining completely unchanged. “That is not what they look like when they’re catatonic.”

Kaveh moved to spit out something accusatory and defensive, but Alhaitham only held up a hand. When Kaveh begrudgingly went quiet, Alhaitham took a step closer, positioning himself at the foot of Kaveh’s bed. He clicked his tongue and, with only the slightest amount of hesitation, you broke away from Kaveh and crawled to your keeper, head bowed and hands pawed. You came to kneel in front of him, your gaze never rising higher than Kaveh’s sheets. “I’m sorry, I tried to…” You trailed off, clenched your eyes shut. A flower, so meek and so delicate, it couldn’t help but close its petals for fear of being burnt by the sun. “I’m sorry.”

Alhaitham took on a look of pleased exasperation. “That won’t be necessary. You remember what I told you before I left, right?”

You nodded. “That it wouldn’t be my fault.”

“Close, but not quite.” He smiled, resting his hand on top of your head. You melted into his palm, although the sigh that slipped past your lips betrayed more relief than solace. “I said he wouldn’t be able to control himself. That’s the thing about Kaveh – no matter what I put in front of him, he’d be able to justify taking it for himself.”

Again, Kaveh tried to protest, to reiterate that he hadn’t ‘taken’ anything, but Alhaitham already going on, his hand drifting to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head back to better take in the hickey bruised into the corner of your jaw, the evidence of Kaveh’s teeth still embedded in your shoulder. “You should’ve seen what I had to deal with a few months ago. Fighting, scratching, and such a mouth – I’m glad we found a better use for it.” A pause, a glance toward Kaveh. “I’m sure even you can admit that this is an improvement. A little training goes a far way, when you’ve got the right handler.”

He felt something sharp and heavy fall into the pit of his stomach. “It sounds like you’re talking about an animal.”

Kaveh didn’t want to be strict with you. He didn’t want to be like Alhaitham; endlessly cruel, endlessly demanding, a void where all emotions more sentimental than lukewarm indifference were eradicated with the utmost efficiency. He wanted to be soft with you, a reprieve you could run to when Alhaitham proved unyielding. He wanted to love you, if only because of how much it hurt him to see Alhaitham failing to do the same.

“It’s not completely different. Give a subject the right incentive, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re trying to tame a student or a sumpter beast. This subject just happens to do well with direct instruction. I found that out early on, after a softer approach proved ineffective.” He snapped his fingers, and as if guided by a string, you straightened your back, your formerly divided attention now focused solely on Alhaitham. “I could teach you a few of their commands, if you think you could be strict enough not to undo all of my hard work.”

But, seeing you kneel in front of Alhaitham, staring up at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky – he couldn’t help but feel his heart ache at the memory of the state you’d been in only a few minutes ago, of the trembling doll who needed to be posed by hand. At least, under the weight of Alhaitham’s commands, you were more of a house pet than a toy, more of a flower than a block of crumbling stone.

The thought alone should’ve made him feel sick.

Should’ve.

He straightened, swung his legs over the side of his mattress. He looked at you as he spoke, only letting Alhaitham take up a fraction of his peripheral. “What do you mean by ‘commands’?”

Kaveh wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t have to be.

He could hear Alhaitham’s grin in his voice. “Come here.”

He took long seconds to push himself onto his feet, to find his way to Alhaitham’s side. With a soft hum, Alhaitham stepped back and brought a hand to Kaveh’s waist, another to his shoulder, drawing him forward until he was standing in front of you. He could see something spark in your eyes – not quite distress, but confusion. There’d been a change in the routine that you and Alhaitham had perfected, and you clearly weren’t sure how to react. To his credit, he wasn’t either.

“You already saw how to get their attention,” Alhaitham started, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Names haven’t had much affect since our time with the cellar, but most verbal commands are fairly straightforward. Kneel, sit, and stand all do exactly what you’d assume, and while they usually ask for approval to speak, they’re good at responding to direct questions. Aren’t you, love?”

Kaveh watched you perk up, looking towards Alhaitham for approval. He offered a curt nod, and with a few seconds of deliberation, you managed a small “…I am.”

“See? There’s still a brain in there after all.” Alhaitham flashed that awful smile toward Kaveh. Kaveh didn’t return the gesture. “We’re making progress, but due to prior incidents—” Alhaitham’s tone didn’t change, but you flinched. “—our outdoor privileges are still restricted. Kitchen access is limited, too, until someone proves that they know how to handle knives responsibly.”

You bowed your head, a scolded dog who knew better than to pretend it hadn’t learned its lesson. Kaveh interjected before Alhaitham could forget the point of his lecture. “That’s not what I care about.”

He could practically taste the smugness radiating off of Alhaitham. “And what do you care about, Kaveh?”

“I can’t believe you’d hold this over my—”

“Answer the question,” Alhaitham cut in. “If you want to use something that belongs to me, you’re going to have to tell me what you plan to do with it.”

It felt like something was attempting to crawl up his throat, one spiny leg at a time. It felt like his chest was about to split open. “I want to be…”

His eyes met yours. For a moment, he thought he saw something other than the dull acknowledgment of an unpleasant reality, other than the fear of punishment and the anticipation of reward. Something more visceral, more conscious than what could be ingrained into you by someone else’s hands.

“I’d like to be loving with them.” He saw it for a moment and then, that visceral something fell apart and disappeared. “I’d like for them to love me. Or, to act like they do, at least.”

Alhaitham let out a breath of a laugh. It sounded like nails against porcelain. You seemed to think so too. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Your voice sounded so painstakingly delicate. If he had a little less self-control, he might’ve taken you in his arms and whisked you away, taken you somewhere Alhaitham couldn’t follow. If he was a little less selfish, he would’ve. “It wasn’t.”

If Alhaitham heard you speak out of turn, he was willing to overlook the infraction. “Use the collar. Just make sure not to pull too hard – you won’t like what that means.”

It was Kaveh’s turn to shake, now. He tried to keep his hands steady, to touch you as carefully as he had when you were alone together, but his limbs felt disconnected from his body, his mind buzzing numbly with a static haze. The material was softer than he thought it would – not quite the silk he’d taken it for, but rather, a fine velvet, soft to the touch and bound by a small, metallic ring that rested over your throat. Two fingers slipped under the thin fabric, and as if you’d only just noticed what was happening, you looked toward Alhaitham, your lips parting and—

There was a blur of movement in the corner of his eye, a resounding crack that seemed to ring in Kaveh’s ears for seconds. It took him a moment to piece together what had happened, to associate your reddened cheek with Alhaitham’s raised hand, and another to realize Alhaitham was talking, to hear something other than the sound of his own heart racing in his chest. “Do not question the orders you’re given,” he said, his tone flat, unaffected. “If you act out again, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

There was no hesitation, no trepidation. Just a deep breath, a new slackness to your posture, and a smile terrible enough to match Alhaitham’s own. “I do. Thank you for correcting me.”

Kaveh couldn’t take it. He didn’t think, didn’t wait, didn’t give himself time to think better of being so rough with you – just took your collar in his fist and dragged you upward, forcing his mouth against yours. It was messy, clumsy, near violent. His teeth cut into your lips, your blood spreading over his tongue, but you didn’t pull away. Rather, you leaned into him, resting hands on his chest and doing your best not to jolt when he hauled you closer. He’d be gentle with you later on. He’d treat you like the delicate, precious thing you were later on.

For now, he just wanted to pretend he was telling himself the truth, when he said that.

[sillygoosealert]

LET ME COOK NEOW..What if Bi Han witnessed readers death in the most horrible way but..HE WAKES UP AND READER IS FR LAYING THERE KNOCKED TF OUT😭BACK FACING HIM LFMAOAOA. Anyways Bi Han realizes he needs to be more ummm, loving so he holds reader close and they wake up and are like “you good🤨”

WAIT, WAIT A MINUTE YOU’RE ONTO SOMETHING

Hey, are you okay? (◦˘ З(◦'ںˉ◦)♡

RAHH ANGST, however.. there IS comfort this time 💕, description of gore n stuff

Bi-Han is walking into your shared room after an argument

You were standing in front of him just a minute ago, but when he walks into the room, gore is splattered everywhere

He runs over to your body, shaking you as he tries to put your intestines back into your opened stomach

They keep spilling out, every time he tries to look into your eyes they look away, they won't face him

Then when he looks back to your stomach- your organs are..gone?

They're missing, there is nothing left

He has taken all you are, there is nothing left

He tries to look at your face but he can't, it's deformed beyond reconciliation. It doesn't even look like you anymore

He wakes up, your back facing him as he dry heaves

You are snoring, drooling on your pillow, legs spread out as you continue to stay in your own world

Sweat is covering him, but he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in

You wake up, to a very sweaty man shivering into you

‘What are you doing..?’

‘Please..please just give me a second..’ he's nuzzling into you, smelling you?

He calms down, keeping his head tucked into your neck

‘Bad dream?’ you are worried now, trying to pry yourself away

He pulls you back and grunts into your neck, so you stay like that for a little

Then he decides you won't die as soon as he lets go, so he retreats his arms and picks you up out of bed

Taking you with him, you dress together

Then he sits you down on the chair in front of the vanity and grabs a comb

‘What are you doing?’

‘Brushing your hair’

‘Why?’

Silence

‘I want to show you..my gratitude for your presence in my everyday life’

‘Why now?’

You think he's going to cry, he's slightly shaking, and he looks scared

‘Because I don't want your last memory of me to be of how much you hated me, and how you wish you were with another man. One that could keep you safe, that can provide for you better than I can…’

Now you're silent

But that's a pretty good reason, you think

‘Oh, yeah, you can brush my hair then..’

‘Okay..’

It’s awkward, and you don’t think he’s brushed someone else’s hair before

‘I can brush my own hair if you just want me to brush yours?’

‘I wanted to brush your hair, I want to be better to you’

You a take a breath, he's trying, for some reason..

‘Okay, take your time, thank you’

‘Okay..you’re welcome..’

It takes him a minute, but he gets out most of the tangles

Then you brush out his hair, giving him a man bun

‘This is..good..’

‘Thank you Grandmaster’

‘You are on a first-name basis with me now’

‘Oh, okay’

Wow, you've been upgraded

Throughout the day he makes an effort to make sure you are comfortable, and also near him

Then night creeps into the day, infecting it with its disease

You are both in bed, looking at each other

‘You were nice to me today’

‘I tried’

‘Thank you’

He says nothing, putting a hand on your shoulder

‘I had a dream..that I no longer had you in my life. It scared me, a lot.’

Oh

‘I won't be leaving you anytime soon Bi-Han, I promise’

‘Can you promise that?’

‘No, but I expect you to know I will try every day to come back to you’

‘Thank you..’

Of course, get some rest, we have another day together tomorrow..’

‘Goodnight..’

‘Goodnight Bi-Han..’

You fall asleep facing each other tonight,

This is SUPPOSED to be awkward and weird, but comforting, I hope that's how you felt 🎀

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 5

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

Azriel has a heart-to-heart with Y/N. Eris gets the cold shoulder. After a night out, Y/N learns that Eris has yet another secret.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual content

A soft rap at the door brought me to consciousness. Slowly I sat up, rubbing my palms over bleary eyes in an effort to wipe the heavy weight of sleep from them.

Azalea must have snuck out of bed at some point early in the morning. I huffed a laugh at the kid clearly valuing sleep as little as privacy.

“Come in.” My groggy voice rasped, barely more than a whisper.

A pause and then the door slowly opened. I knew this was inevitable but gods, first thing in the morning?

“Hey…” my father said, quietly padding in with a tray in his hands.

“Hey...”

With a shrug of his shoulders he gestured the tray toward me “I, um- I brought food.”

at least the awkwardness was mutual.

A half smile crossed my lips. “I see that.”

Sitting the tray down next to me, he looked down at the edge of the bed, “May I?”

Best get it over with, I suppose.

“Sure.”

He sat, situating his wings so that they wouldn’t knock over the tray. “I know chocolate croissants are your favorite. Your mom offered to make them but I know how much you love the ones from that bakery down by the Sidra so….”

“Thanks, dad.” Avoiding eye contact, I stared at the pastries before me.

We sat in silence for a moment, my eyes finally meeting his. “Want to share one with me?”

Relief crossed his features at the invitation. “That would be great. If you don’t mind.”

I rolled my eyes. “When have we not shared our croissants with eachother? Besides, I see you included two tea cups - or were you expecting me to dual-fist them? I typically reserve that for shots.”

He chuckled. “You used to have tea parties with your toy pegasus, you know. Your shadows would lift the tea cup and pastries to its mouth. That extra cup could have been for anyone.”

“Oh gods. How embarrassing.”

He stared off for a minute, a flash of longing overtaking his features before returning back to the croissants. “Not at all. Your imagination, Y/N, you’ve always known how to sprinkle joy into life. The bond you created with your shadows at such a young age is nothing to be embarrassed of. It’s so different than when I-“

His voice cut out, those damned memories too painful to verbalize.

I extended my hand, resting it atop one of his scarred hands. “I know. I hate them for what they did to you.”

“I don’t need you to hate them for me, love. I just love you and, selfishly, hope that a little bit of that joy was sparked by the environment you grew up in.”

“Are you fishing for a compliment, father?”

His lips quirked as he gestured toward himself. “Me? Never.” he mocked.

I squeezed his hand lightly. “I love you, dad.”

We ate our croissants in companionable silence. Once finished, he paused, taking a breath as if to brace himself.

Aaaand here we go

“So, you and Eris Vanserra?”

“Ugh.. do we have to do this?”

“Can’t we talk about it a little bit? I just want to know that you’re okay.”

Dramatically, I grabbed my pillow and let out an exasperated scream into it.

“I promise this is as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.”

“I really don’t want to discuss it.”

“Please, Y/N, don’t shut me out. You don’t have to give me details, I don’t think I can stomach details anyway. Just, please tell me you’re okay. That you’re safe and comfortable in his care?”

“I care for myself dad. I’m an adult female completely capable of making my own decisions. This was MY choice. He has never pressured me into anything that I am not comfortable with. Consent is very important to him.”

He sat contemplatively for a moment. He was carefully toeing a line that he didn’t wish to trip up.

Running a hand along the back of his neck with a wary expression. “As long as you are safe and happy. That’s all I can ask.”

“Happy.” I scoffed to myself.

Agitation immediately shifted my father’s expression “You’re not happy?”

“I’m fine dad. But, don’t expect him to come to family dinner anytime soon. I’m not sure that I’m going to pursue things further with him.”

“What happened?”

I looked to the side in an attempt to hide the hurt in my expression. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sensing the finality of my statement, he sighed. “Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

He stood up, kissing my forehead as he picked up the tray, placing the remaining tea on the side table. “Please talk to your mother about her vision. She’s worried about you too but isn’t as… persistent as I can be.”

“Spymaster, indeed. Speaking of - tell the sneak she can come in.”

“Wh-“ he began, clipping the question as he opened the door to find my sister’s ear pressed up to the other side.

“Azzy, we talked about this.” he chastised.

“I was just listening to see when I could come in! You said it’s rude to interrupt conversations.”

“Touché.” he called over his shoulder as he walked down the hall.

Azalea’s little feet padded over. “Are you okay sissy?”

“Yeah, Azzy. I’ll be fine. Want to have a tea party?” Her face lit up with joy at the question, little wings twitching in excitement.

——————

That evening I was reading a particularly salacious smutty novel and - as if he had a sense for such things - as my fingers dipped below the band of my silken shorts a note appeared on my night stand.

“I’m lonely without my favorite little Shadowsinger spread out on my bed.”

“I’m sure you are.” I muttered to myself, eyes rolling impossibly far back into my head. I chucked his note into the fireplace and did not deign to respond.

Two hours later another note appeared.

“Don’t be shy - come spend the night.”

“Awww. I’m sure your hand can keep you company. Get fucked, Eris.”

“Are you offering, little one?”

Why’d he have to fuck up our perfectly suitable arrangement with his scheming? Truly there was nothing more I wanted than to go bask in the warmth of his bed while he worshipped me from head to toe but…

Ugh. Once again, another note lost to the fireplace. Let the conniving prick stew on his choices. He’d eventually get the message whether I wrote to him or not. He can keep his secrets just as I can keep my hands and mouth among other assets to myself.

——————

Two days and five flirtatious unanswered notes later, I needed to get out of the house. Considering I was pissed at my obvious choice for release, I had to seek an alternative source of entertainment.

Unfortunately, Nyx was out of town “on emissary business” aka “fucking around in the Spring Court.” but at least Adish was available for a visit to Velaris. He winnowed in from Day bringing a gorgeous female with bronzed skin, braided black hair, and golden-brown eyes. A male with dark skin and braids accompanied them, his eyes appearing even more golden than the former, and muscles that could have been handcrafted by the gods. Damn. I had heard of these two, two of Adish’s close friends in his court, but he’d certainly undersold their beauty. Rhys must have approved them for a visit to Velaris with Adish. Luckily for me - I was suddenly available to mingle.

“Y/N” Adish introduced the female first, “This is Hemera, Hem for short.” The female held her chin high before giving a warm, confident nod of greeting. Gesturing toward the equally beautiful male, Adish continued, “This is Apollo - who is rivaled only by Helion in his reputation with the ladies and males of the Day Court.” The tall, broad male only grinned - a beautiful, devious thing - in return. Oh, he was well aware of the amount of eyes lingering on him in this establishment. I couldn’t blame them. Hell, I was one of them.

The night included many shots, mostly compliments of those hoping to garner the attention of Hem and Apollo. And maybe it was the liquor talking but Apollo only seemed to have his eyes on me. After several “accidental” brushes of our hands and thighs - I garnered up the nerve to pull Apollo out onto the dance floor, with Hemera and Adish closely behind.

The dance floor was a blur of colors and bodies and music and motion. My backside pressed tightly against Apollo as his considerably large hands gripped my waist. And unless he had snuck a large dagger onto the dance floor with him, something as hard as steel was pressed against my back.

Damn, those hands correlated quite nicely if my drunken assessment was to be relied upon.

Turning to face him I was greeted by his gorgeous smile and pupils blown wide with lust. The very evident scent of arousal flooding my nostrils. He wanted me, bad. And I just so happened to feel particularly uncommitted at this point in time.

We swayed against eachother for a while longer before Apollo tilted his head in silent question toward a dimly lit corner of the bar, a corner I knew quite well from past endeavors. I only smirked in return as he took my hand and led me over.

Nobody could see us as my shadows shrouded us effectively blocking any view that the darkened corner hadn’t already obstructed. His mouth was on mine in an instant. My hands roamed his broad chest as one of his hand found the curve of my ass and another caressed my jaw. I opened my mouth, allowing access. He was so fucking attractive. My body practically screamed for more but something in my chest pulled as a pang of emptiness tore through me. Fuck it felt so-

So…

Wrong.

“Wait.” I pulled away.

Apollo instantly pulled back staring at me in question.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Disappointment briefly flashed over his features before he gave me a sad, knowing look. “Adish warned me before coming here that you might be otherwise engaged - but when I saw you. Can you blame me? I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in a mirror. Please accept my apologies for taking it too far.”

Relief flooded over me. I owed this man nothing, but his understanding was reassuring. “I appreciate it and I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in the mirror as well. Can you blame me for falling into temptation? You have nothing to apologize for considering I was rather eager to sneak off with you.”

He only extended an arm, “Come on, let’s get back to our friends.”

We headed to the dance floor but that damned pang jolted through me again. Was it guilt? Fuck, I couldn’t feel guilty. Eris and I were not committed and he certainly didn’t deserve my guilt after keeping secrets from me.

The only logical solution to numbing this foreign feeling was-

“Another round of shots!” Hem called out, walking up beside me. She nudged me playfully, “You look like you could use one my friend.”

I fluttered my eyelashes toward the gorgeous female. “We’ve only known eachother a few hours and you get me! You really get me.”

The shots appeared before us and we cheers’d eachother before throwing them back. The rest of the night filled with dancing and more shots, until Adish proclaimed he was going back to the inn he was staying at.

“Why not just stay at Nyx’s place? He’s out of town.”

A gleam shone in his eyes that only meant trouble. “I don’t think Nyx would appreciate the activities that would be taking place tonight in his bed, among other surfaces.”

I looked behind him to see Hem and Apollo staring hungrily toward him.

Oh.

Oh!

“We’d offer an invitation but you seem to be missing a certain Uncle of mine too much to partake.”

“I refuse to respond to such nonsense. Regardless, you feel too much like family at this point. Which, gross, don’t read into that - but I’m going home. Thanks for coming out to cheer me up tonight.” I kissed my friend on the cheek before exclaiming loudly enough for his companions to hear. “As your High Lord himself would say: Don’t do anything Helion wouldn’t do!”

——————

Typically I would winnow home but alcohol and winnowing are not my specialty. I’ve ended up in too many wrong places over the years and had far too many shots tonight to even consider.

My body was overheated from the liquor and dancing and my heart still kept getting hit with waves of…. Ugh, feelings.

Like a raving lunatic, I strolled alongside the Sidra. Cursing Eris, bargains, feelings, great sex, and everything else that came to mind. Fortunately, Velaris has a very low crime rate and I wouldn’t have to worry about anybody with ill intentions approaching the sweaty female shrouded in manic shadows, stumbling around and talking to herself.

No matter how hard I’d try, my thoughts kept circling back to him. And I must have hit the alcohol way harder than I realized as a blur of red came into view, coming closer and closer to me.

“Adish?”

“Hello, little one.”

The unmistakable seductive voice that I knew far too well caressed my senses as a warm, muscled arm wrapped around my shoulder.

“Eris.”

“It appears you’ve had a lot to drink, darling. You’re literally stumbling in the wrong direction. Let’s get you home.”

Fuck. How much did I drink?

I opened my mouth to speak but pain tore through my stomach, nausea rolling through me. It was all I could do to turn away from Eris and puke onto the street.

“I…. I need to sit for a while. I can’t go home like this.”

“Come on Shadowsinger, we’ll go back to my place then.”

“Fuck.” I muttered. My vision spinning. “I can’t make it home! Let alone” I paused as another wave tore through me. “Back to the Autumn Court.”

Eris paused for a moment, seemingly in a moment of uncertainty before releasing a long sigh.

“I know love. We’ll go back to my apartment - it’s two blocks from here. Think you can make it?”

My only response was to turn away and throw up onto the sidewalk again before blurting out:

“What the fuck?”

———————————————

Tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy

[whiskersz]

Hihi I got a one shot request!! Vox x Reader where reader takes charge of date night! I feel like everyone headcanons, rightfully so btw, that Vox is 100% a fancy expensive restaurant for every date kind of guy. Maybe Reader takes care of date night for a change, opting for something more simple and comfortable over expensive clothing and expensive food. Fluff!!! I love the fluff (*≧∀≦*)

Hello there! Writing this was so fun, I might've not made it fluffy enough so feel free to tell me to change stuff or request something similar next time. Tried to make Reader as GN as possible too!

Have a nice time reading ^_^

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Vox x Reader - CEO of a Good Time

The moon shined brightly outside of the V Tower, its rays illuminating the rooms of the headquarters a bright red; you stared at your own reflection in the mirror of your room, the color of the pretty yet conservative outfit you were wearing contrasting against the red coming from the large window behind you.

A quick glance at your phone informed you that it was almost time to head out, so you grabbed your belongings and made your way towards the door. Opening it revealed the tall figure of your boyfriend, dressed in a dark blue striped suit with a touch of red from the tie neatly tucked into his blazer. You had told him to dress comfortable, and well, if this was his definition of that you couldn’t judge him, really.

A relaxed smile on his TV screen, he lowered the hand that was hanging in mid-air, ready to knock on your door;

“Oh, ready at the same time.” He pointed out, “I assume it’s time to get on our limousine then?”

You chuckled, linking your arm with his and walking towards the elevator.

“No silly, we’re driving there. It’s not that far anyways.”           

From the corner of your eye you could see Vox blink, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Still, for you he was willing to show his more gentlemanly side.

“Ah, I see...then let me drive.”

Once in the elevator you pressed the button supposed to lead you to the ground floor, opting to not say goodbye to the other Vee’s; Velvette was probably busy anyways, and Valentino...well, your dislike of him was apparent to everyone in the tower. Plus this was supposed to be a night for you and Vox alone, and a very special one at that since your boyfriend had allowed you to choose everything about it: the location, how to get there and what to do afterwards.

You set Vox’s arm free once you two reached the garages, letting him retrieve his black Pontiac Chieftain; he took the time to walk over to your side of the car and open your door, and once you were both inside he entrusted you his phone.

“Set the location to where you want us to go, hot stuff.”

“Gladly, princess.”

Vox glitched, choking on his own saliva.

“Told you not to call me that...”

“Yeah, in public!” you let out a chuckle, fiddling around with his phone.

Once the location was successfully set you placed it in your lap, as this car wasn’t equipped with a phone holder. Vox groaned as you blew him a kiss, and started driving and following the directions of the GPS.

---

The pizzeria you had chosen was humble, certainly not a place that Vox would’ve chosen had he been in charge that night. It was located in a cute little alleyway – well, as cute as those can be in Hell – so Vox struggled for a bit before he could find a parking space. When he did though, he once again made the effort to open your car door, earning a little kiss from you.

“I’ll trust that you’ve already been here and tasted the food, at least?” he questioned as you began walking towards your destination.

“Oh, don’t be so distrustful. My friends speak very well of this place!”

Saying the entrance was surrounded by LED lights would be an understatement; arrows pointing at the door and pizza-shaped lights almost blinded you, reflecting the light off of your boyfriend’s screen.

Once inside though, the pleasant smell of pizza immediately reached your nostrils and you were met with a quiet buzz typical of small taverns like this one. As your eyes adjusted to the dim orange lights, the owner themselves welcomed you.

“Greetings, greetings! We’re very pleased to serve a couple as grandiose as you!” She bowed, recognizing you and Vox. She then referred to you; “A table for two, like you said?”

“Yes please, and thank you!” you replied politely, letting her lead you to a square little table near the fireplace like you had asked earlier on the phone. Vox hesitantly followed the two of you, his gaze falling on the Imps sat at the other tables staring curiously, probably surprised that a couple such as you and your boyfriend would choose a place like this for a night out.

You sat down in front of each other as the owner of the pizzeria promised that a waiter would’ve been at your service in just a few minutes, and handed you two menus to choose your pizzas from.

“What are you going for?” you asked absentmindedly, scanning through the options.

“Well, I’d rather play it safe and get a Margherita, since we’ve never been here and all.”

You both ended up choosing your own pizza and letting it know to the waiter as they brought you breadsticks as an appetizer.

You stared at the flames flickering, the relaxing atmosphere of the pizzeria and the warm temperature embracing you like a fuzzy blanket. You think you would’ve fallen asleep if Vox hadn’t tapped his finger on the wooden table.

“Don’t sleep, the pizzas will be here soon.” He reminded you almost gently.

“I’m not sleeping, just resting. Isn’t this a nice change from the usual busy rich people restaurant?” you quickly realized what you said, stumbling on your own words as your boyfriend raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Not that I don’t appreciate it when you organize dates, it’s all very sweet...but this is cute, no?”

Vox scanned your face, your gentle smile and soft cheeks illuminated by the fireplace’s light almost making him short circuit. He cleared his throat and awkwardly adjusted his tie when he realized that he had been staring for a bit too long without offering you a reply;

“Ah, yes, it’s not...as bad as I thought it would be, how did you find this place again? Your friends?”

You explained that, while you were usually busy working at the V Tower, your friends had a little more time on their hands, so from time to time they’d organize little hang outs with each other in places they didn’t know. Vox focused on the first part of your sentence: you didn’t have much time to hang out with your friends. He’d make sure that this changed once back at the tower, or at least he was going to let you choose where to go a little more often than usual.

He listened as you complimented the ambience of the place, and took a moment to admire it himself, ignoring the curious gazes of the other demons sat around you. Maybe it was a nice change, especially seeing you this happy, yeah.

The pizzas arrived soon, the waiter placing a candle at the centre of your table.

“Romantic!” you commented, “Vox, take a picture!”

Vox did as you told him to, ignoring the notifications on his phone and concentrating on shooting the perfect picture of you, even telling you to strike different poses. When he did so you raised your eyebrows, your mouth slightly agape.

“What? Got something on my screen?” he asked, switching to front camera to check for stains.

“No, it’s just...you usually say you need to check your notifications and all first, so I was a little surprised is all.”

He stopped admiring himself and refocused his attention on you;

“...Oh. Well, can’t really be an asshole all the time I guess,” he smirked, taking a surprise picture of you. You barely restrained yourself from yelling at him for that – jokingly, of course – and instead opted for stealing his phone and deleting it immediately as he laughed.

The pizzas were delicious, both you and Vox practically devoured them and even offered the other a slice of each other’s pizza. He also decided not to order alcohol as he was supposed to drive you both back, and drinking is never a good idea in these cases.

He led you back to his car, an arm draped across the small of your back protectively as you passed various groups of ill-intentioned individuals; it was late at night when you left the pizzeria, after all.

This time you ran forward a little, opening the car door on the passenger’s side for him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“

“After you, sweetheart.” You teased, a smug smile plastered on your face. He rolled his eyes, taking you by the hand and letting you sit instead. “Aw, boring. I thought I was the one in charge tonight.”

“Maybe next time I’ll consider your strange proposals.” He said, walking to the other side of the car. Before he could start it you placed your hand on his, making him turn towards you.

“Thanks for...indulging in this. Next time the lead’s all yours.” You said sincerely. He smirked at you, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

“Nah, I can handle a little change.”

[daddy-dins-girl]

Talk Me Down

A fic requested by @anotherpedrolover

I was gonna wait until Frankie Friday (tomorrow) to post this, but this sweet human being has already waited like 2 months for me to finish this, lol, so here you go! I was asked to write a fic about insecure!Frankie who has some self-esteem/body image issues but after being with Reader (who is very appreciative of his body) he gets into it and develops a bit of a praise kink for it but but he hits a rough patch and gets into a dark place, feeling very undeserving of the love and attention Reader gives him. The person who made the request asked me to focus on his feelings and emotions when he is feeling bad and insecure (and specifically asked for some tears to be shed, lol) so I did my best to beat the crap out of Frankie (emotionally).

I hope this is somewhat what they had in mind and that they like it :) I've never really written anything like this (PWP queen over here) so I hope I got it right and didn't make Frankie too OOC. Hope you all enjoy it!

Page dividers provided by the gracious and talented @saradika-graphics

Ao3 link

My Masterlist Word Count: 9.8k Fandom: Triple Frontier (Frankie Morales x f!Reader) Notes: Pre/No TF Mission. Fic title is from the song of the same name by Troye Sivan. Warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. Angst. Drama. Body Insecurity/Self-esteem issues. Praise Kink. Smut (pretty tame and not a lot, considering its me lol, but its there). Sad!Frankie. Mid-Life-Crisis!Frankie. Emotional hurt/comfort. Eventual happy ending. Established Relationship. No use of y/n. No physical description of Reader.

“Babe, have you seen my -“ you cut yourself off mid sentence as you turn the corner and your eyes land on your boyfriend, leisurely sprawled on the couch with his legs up on the ottoman, ankles crossed over each other and television remote firmly in hand while a baseball game plays in the background.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Frankie asks, incredulous.

“We have to be at Will and Benny’s in like…” you pause to look at your watch. “Fifteen minutes! And what is that… are you eating the potato salad I made?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Frankie responds, forkful halfway to his mouth again already.

“Oh my god” You shake your head. You literally can’t with him today. You made that for the barbecue pool party today and now it was nearly half gone.

“Nevermind, let’s just go” you huff. You’re not in a great mood and maybe you’re being a little bitchier than usual thanks to this god awful heatwave but Frankie wasn’t helping matters any.

“I’ll be in the car” you grumble towards his general direction as you head out the front door. At least there’s A/C in the Jeep.

Surprisingly he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He’s shoving his slides on his feet as he hops down the front steps only a minute or so later and then jumps into the driver’s seat next to you, buckling his seatbelt and the two of you head out of the driveway.

“See, plenty of time” He grins at you when you pull up to the outside of your friends house a short while later with actually a few minutes to spare before your requested arrival time. You had attempted to stay mad at him, neither of you speaking more than one or two words the entire drive but now with that stupidly adorable smirk on his face you have no choice but to want to kiss it off of him. Despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“There it is” his grin widens as he brings a hand up to pinch at your cheek and you playfully swat him away, trying and failing to hold back a little laugh.

“Baby I don’t know what you think we’re gonna miss anyway. It’s my birthday party. They literally can’t start without me”

“Francisco Morales, you’re going to be late to your own funeral, you know that don’t you?” You shake your head at him but the smile hasn’t left your lips.

“Oh baby we’re gonna be real late if you keep that ‘Francisco’ talk up” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at you and reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your upper thigh. “Maybe we skip the party all together, you give me my birthday present early, hmm?”

“Get out of the car you perv!” You laugh, giving him a playful shove. “Are you sure you’re turning 40 and not 14?”

“All right, all right I’ll behave” He sighs, hands up in the air to signal his defeat.

You’re glad he seems like he’s in a better mood so far today. He’s been a little off the last couple of days and you can’t say why. You’ve asked a few times if something was bothering him but he kept shrugging you off, insisting everything was fine. You chalked it up to maybe just work stress and are hoping now that the weekend is here that he’ll be able to just relax and have a great time with his friends.

Despite you being early, the party is actually in full swing on your arrival. You and Frankie let yourselves in through the back gate where the backyard is filled with several of Frankie’s (and now yours, you supposed) friends milling about. The ones you recognize immediately are his old military unit; Santiago, Benny, Will and Tom, as well as Will’s girlfriend and Tom’s wife. There are a few other people around you’ve definitely met before but can’t place all of them. Either way, you’re glad to see so many people have shown up for Frankie on his big day.

The space is decorated too with balloons everywhere, a giant banner that reads “Happy Birthday Fish!” and a big poster board is taped up against the side of the house as soon as you walk in that has pictures of Frankie and his family and friends all over it with the title “40 Years In The Making” written at the top in huge block lettering. You and Frankie both take a moment to look over the board before anyone deeper inside the yard notices you yet. There are a bunch of photos from his younger military days and even a few from when he was just a boy that have you gushing over him, telling Frankie how adorable he was and pinching his cheek for good measure. You spot a couple of pictures of Frankie having fallen asleep at a party (something he’s been known to do) with his signature ball cap pulled down over his face and beer bottle loosely gripped in his hand and those give you both a good laugh. There’s two photos of you and him together, you notice, and your personal favourite picture of Frankie - him flying his helicopter wearing a pair of Aviators, looking so sexy it makes you melt each time you see it.

You safely assume the wife and girlfriends of Frankie’s closest pals were mostly to thank for the decorating. If it were up to the boys there would be a folded table in the middle of the backyard with a pack of cards and a cooler full of beer and that would be it.

“There he is!” Benny shouts across the yard the moment he spots you both just inside the gate. He dashes across the patio and throws his arms around Frankie, nearly knocking him over in the process before landing a few hard slaps to his back. “Happy birthday ya old fuck” he teases, grabbing on to Frankie’s shoulder and jostling him slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be your turn soon enough” Frankie reminds him but Benny just shrugs.

“Always be younger than you though” he winks and that earns him a little shove from Frankie.

The rest of the greetings go more or less the same way, playful teasing or ribbing on Frankie for turning the big “4-0”. It gets old quickly but if it bothers Frankie he doesn’t let it show, just takes it in stride as he makes his way through the small crowd and says his hello’s.

By the time you get home much later that night you’re exhausted. It’s late and the day had been long (and hot in that blistering sun). Add to that you’re sober whereas everyone around you had been thoroughly wasted which made the night seem to drag on even longer. You wanted Frankie to have a great time, it was his birthday after all, so you offered to drive you both tonight and somehow that had turned into you offering to be an Uber driver for half the party so instead of it taking ten minutes to get home it had taken an hour.

“I’m beat” you announce through a long drawn out yawn, stretching tired limbs over your head. “You wanna come to bed with me, birthday boy?” You ask playfully, walking up to Frankie and looping your fingers through the belt loops of his tan cargo shorts to tug him a little closer, hoping he catches on that you’re not that tired.

“Think I’m gonna shower, I hate smelling like chlorine” he complains, gently taking your hands and removing them from his waist. “You go on, I won’t be long” he promises before leaning forward and planting a kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” you whine, a masterful pout displayed on your lips. “C’mon upstairs with me, while it’s still your birthday” you try seductively, hand reaching out to brush over the outside of his pants at his crotch.

“I said I want to shower” Frankie replies back, a little too curtly for your liking and his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes your hand away a second time. You frown and the huff of disappointment you breathe out doesn’t go unnoticed by your partner.

“Baby come on, I’m sorry. I just don’t wanna go to bed smelling like chemicals. Go on up to bed, I’ll be right behind you” he says with finality and gives your hand a little squeeze before dropping it and heading off to the bathroom.

You sigh but let him go. Truthfully you’d been trying to drag him out of the party for hours, desperate to get him alone and all to yourself. You don’t know what’s come over you today but you felt downright needy for him, your hormones just off the charts and now he’s making you wait even longer when all you want to do is rip his clothes off and show him exactly how glad you are that he was born forty years ago today and by some cosmic twist of fate found his way into your life.

Once in the bedroom and settled into bed you hear the spray of water come to life in the bathroom down the hall and your mind can’t help but drift and think about Frankie, naked and in the shower. How the water is cascading down his broad shoulders to his soft tummy and strong, thick legs and a heat floods your body, going straight to the lower part of your abdomen. You loved his body and you weren’t shy about telling him either. You remember back to when you’d first started dating, the early stages of your intimate relationship. He was so shy around you at first, always insisting the lights be off or even leaving his t-shirt on when you’d have sex. It was all a mystery to you, how someone as gorgeous as Frankie could have self-esteem issues but you loved to remind him how crazy he drove you and how perfect he was in your eyes.

At first he got so embarrassed at your borderline worship of his body, refused to even believe you in the beginning but he warmed up eventually to the point where he loved it. Craved it, even, your praise of him. Though he’d never admitted to it out loud and always remained a little bashful about it, you could tell. Frankie was already a very generous, selfless and enthusiastic lover, but when you really got vocal with him (or better yet let your tongue and hands do the talking) of how much you enjoyed every part of his physical anatomy, Frankie could get downright animalistic with you and it brought the already amazing sex to a whole new level for you both. You had definitely uncovered a little praise-kink in your boyfriend that you don’t think he even knew existed in himself and honestly no sexual relationship you’ve had in the past could ever hold a candle to the one you and Frankie have created together.

You plan on using every weapon in your arsenal on him tonight to truly wish him a happy birthday he won’t soon forget. You’ll caress, kiss and lick your way from his prominent neck vein, his broad chest with just the lightest smattering of golden brown hair, take more than enough time for your tongue to appreciate each of his small dusty pink nipples before you continue down his sternum to where he gets a little softer. You’ll playfully nip and suck at the small expanse of flesh at his belly that protrudes just barely over his waistline, making sure to let him know with words how gorgeous he is, how hot he makes you, how he’s all yours. You just hope you get to have your fill before he takes his own. It had taken you a while to get Frankie to allow you to appreciate him the way you wanted to. He was always insistent on your pleasure and he still is to this day, but you’ve managed to strike a fairly delicate balance now for the most part, though you’ll admit there are days where Frankie comes home and he just needs you. You’ve come to recognize it on him and you’re glad to give him the reins when that happens, knowing that he’ll allow you to do the same when you need it. When you said Frankie was a generous lover you weren’t exaggerating. That man would spend hours with his face buried between your legs if you’d let him, and sometimes you’d let him do just that. But tonight was for him and tonight you need him. Need to show him how in love with him you are in a way that words just can’t do.

You have to press your thighs together just at the thought of him in the shower now, hoping he won’t be long so you can hopefully pull him out of this weird mood he’d been in most of the day. It started not long after you got to Will and Benny’s. Just silly, little things that just seemed to set him off to the point where he’d either pick a fight with you (or whoever else he happened to be talking to) or just get overly quiet and wander off by himself. You think back trying to think what could’ve started it all. He’d gone into the party in a good enough mood but soon after he started acting weird. The two of you barely fought, like ever, and here you were today in front of all your friends getting into a yelling match with each other about goddamn sunscreen of all things. And it wasn’t just you, he seemed overly quiet today around everyone, even his best friends who were more like brothers to him than anything and none of it made sense to you, you just hope now that he was home maybe he’d get out of his funk.

Your mind doesn’t have any longer to dwell however because Frankie emerges from the bathroom and into the bedroom, already changed into a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Your tongue absent-mindedly peeks out to swipe across your bottom lip at the way the wet curls stick to his forehead or how tiny droplets of water soak through the thin cotton of his dark gray t-shirt because he didn’t quite dry himself all the way off before tugging it over his head.

Not that it matters, you don’t plan on him wearing it long anyway.

“Finally” you smile at him from your spot on the bed and shuffle back slightly to pat down on the space next to you on the mattress. You pull back the bed covers to reveal that you’re wearing next to nothing, A black lacy bra and matching panties that really left nothing to the imagination. It was Frankie’s favourite on you.

“You didn’t have to wait up” Frankie says casually, looking down as he unfastens his watch from his wrist to toss it on the nightstand. If he notices your state of nearly undress during his brief glance in your direction he doesn’t say anything or even react. “Thought you were tired” he adds, feigning concern for your sleep habits.

“Read between the lines Morales, was just trying to get you into bed” you tease, sticking the tip of your tongue out at him playfully. He says nothing in response, just flips off the light and crawls in next to you but to your surprise just throws the comforter over you both and turns on his side and faces away from you as he scrunches up his pillow under his head until he’s comfortable and settles.

You frown, not that he can see you, but shuffle over to him anyway so you’re pressed up against his back and your arm slings around his waist. You stay still for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll take your less than subtle hint that you’re “not tired” but he just lays there, unmoving, and so you decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Your hand slips under the hem of his shirt to rest on his soft belly and begins to gently explore. Fingertips dancing along the smooth skin and sparse little body hairs and moving over to his hip where you grab onto the small bit of extra skin there and massage his side but before you can go any further he’s grabbing your hand and pushing it out from under his shirt. He brings it to rest on top of his chest over the thin cotton of his t-shirt and just holds his hand over top of yours.

“Baby?” You breathe out into the blackness of the room, worry evident in your tone. Was he angry at you for something else now? You hadn’t even done anything for him to be mad at you about, you’ve been in bed the whole time.

“Sorry, I’m just tired” he mumbles into the pillow but you’re not buying it. Frankie was a bit of a night owl, not to mention it was a Saturday night, neither of you had work in the morning and the two of you always made sure to make the most of your weekend nights together when you could really take the time to make love the way you craved to all week.

“Hey,” you call out softly, grabbing for his shoulder and pulling it towards you so he’ll turn to face you. He lets you, turning halfway to you, onto his back and craning his neck to face you.

“Is everything okay? Are you mad at me or something?” You ask genuinely concerned. You try not to make it sound like you’re pouting because you’re not, you just need to know what’s going on with him. Maybe he’s upset about something, or maybe just a little too drunk to actively participate the way he thinks he should but you wouldn’t mind too much if he was, you certainly don’t mind taking care of him and you know he’ll more than make it up to you the next time.

He lets out a sigh and tiredly rubs at his eyes.

“Of course not. Come here, I’m sorry” he sighs once more and lifts his arm closest to you so you can snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm drapes across his middle again. He tilts his head down slightly to kiss the top of your hair but otherwise makes no moves to initiate anything further physically with you, just holds you tightly to his body.

“Are you really tired?” You ask quietly, turning your face slightly to nuzzle into his neck and plant little kisses there. You feel the little shudder that runs through his body and a smile pulls at your lips.

Maybe he wasn’t mad at you.

“I haven’t given you your present yet” you breathe into the warm flesh of his throat, tongue darting out to give a tentative little lick to the underside of his jaw and he rewards you with the slightest little moan, but it’s enough that you heard it and it encourages you to continue.

You begin to kiss and lick your way down the column of his throat while your hand leaves his chest to come down and gently palm him over his boxers and he instinctively thrusts his hips into your touch and you moan into his skin. You can feel him beginning to swell under your touch already.

“Mmm, can I take you out?” You murmur against his collarbone and he nods his head.

“Yeah,” he lets out in a breathy whisper and brings his own free hand down to help you shove his boxers down his thighs until he’s able to kick out of them.

Your hand wraps around his impressive length the moment he’s free from the confines of his underwear, slowly pumping him with practiced strokes and it’s not long until he’s fully hard in your hand and quietly grunting and groaning, your face buried in the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You hate that his shirt is still on, your mouth not able to reach all the places it desperately wants to.

Your hand leaves him for a moment as you push yourself up onto your knees and swing one leg over him so you're straddling his hips, your hands resting on his chest overtop of the soft worn cotton.

“You can be tired baby, let me all do the work” you coo, leaning down to place another kiss to his jaw as you slowly grind your pelvis into his. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just too tired or drunk to have the full cognitive function he needed but that was fine by you, tonight was for him anyways.

“Shit,” he groans, hands sliding under the back of your panties to grope the globes of your ass in his two large hands and he presses you down even harder against his groin just as he thrusts his hips upwards, the delicious friction causing a moan to escape your lips.

“Mmm, you feel so good” you whimper against his heated flesh as you nuzzle the underside of his jaw and into his throat.

“Take these off” Frankie practically growls, impatiently shoving your underwear down and with his help you manage to wiggle free of them. You both moan in unison when your lower halves press together again, this time with no barriers between you as his throbbing member slides through your slick folds with every calculated thrust of your hips against him.

“Baby you make me so wet” you giggle, hands roaming his hard chest and broad shoulders. “God you’re so hot” you praise, mouth latching back onto his neck as you trail hot open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you reach the collar of his t-shirt.

“Off” you gently demand, hands going to the bottom of his tee and beginning to push it upwards. You need to feel all of him, his warm skin on yours. Need to lick and kiss and touch every inch of him. “Let me touch you”

“Mnnmm mnmm” he shakes his head and without warning suddenly flips you both with practiced ease until you’re underneath him flat on your back and he’s on hands and knees looming over you. He grabs your wrists and hauls them up above your head, bringing them together so he’s able to hold them down with one hand against the top of the mattress so he can have one free and you giggle up at him.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re supposed to be tired, old man” you tease him but there’s no mirth in his eyes after he hears your words, no lingering smile on his lips. There’s desire, sure, but something else on his features. Subtle, whatever it is, but it’s there.

“Do you wanna fuck or not? Jesus,” he snaps. “I can’t do anything fucking right”

Oh, and there it is. It’s anger.

Your face scrunches up at his little outburst. That was not like Frankie at all. Not your sweet, loving, caring Frankie who adored you, this was someone else, someone you didn’t recognize.

“Get off me” you huff, easily wiggling your wrists free as he wasn’t holding too tightly and you bring your hands up to shove at his chest. His yelling at you instantly taking you out of the mood.

He does, immediately. He rolls off of you, grabs for his discarded boxers near the bottom of the bed and shoves them on. You do the same with your own underwear and also pull the sheet up to cover yourself, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable in front of him than you already do.

You have no idea what in the fuck that was all about, snapping at you like that when you thought everything was going rather well. He really was in a mood today apparently, and you didn’t care for it one bit. You’re already feeling overly emotional today, your period must be just around the corner or something.

The room falls silent. Frankie sits on the edge of the side of the bed, hands on his thighs and head hanging low while you lay back against the headboard, fingers twisting into the sheets, holding them around you like a shield. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to fall but you quickly blink them away before you bury your head in your knees.

“Do you want me to sleep downstairs?” He asks softly, the gruffness gone from his voice now. He sounds almost apologetic, though he’s still yet to apologize. He's not looking at you either, but your grateful for that at this moment.

You say nothing. Not trusting your voice just yet but the tiniest sniffle from your nose is near deafening in the stillness of the room. You quickly clear your throat in an attempt to cover the sound but it’s too late. Frankie’s head whips around back in your direction and he’s suddenly scrambling up the bed to wrap his arms around your lower back. Your legs lower instinctively to let him in and he lies over top of you with his head resting on your middle.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes out, voice muffled by the thin layer of the bed sheet as he buries his face into your stomach. “I’m an asshole”

“You’re not” you sigh. “Just - tell me what’s going on with you” you say calmly, hands now petting through his hair.

“Nothin’” he grumbles into your tummy.

“It’s not nothing, come on,” you try, a little softer this time. “You can tell me anything, you know I love you no matter what”

“Why?”

It's so quiet, so soft, mumbled against you that your ears almost didn’t even pick it up. Your heart breaks a little at the single uttered syllable.

“Hey,” you frown, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. “Are you seriously asking why I love you? Where’s this coming from?” You ask, concerned. He’s been known to get down on himself from time to time but you’ve never seen him like this and it worries you.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rolls off of you, crawling up the bed to lay on his back next to you and rubs his hands over his face.

“Baby, talk to me” you press, turning to your side and curling up to his larger frame, hand stretching out to rest on his chest as your fingers play absently with the soft material of his t-shirt. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, 40 happened” he groans, hand doing a sweeping motion down his body. “I mean, look at this” he shakes his head.

“Oh baby trust me, I look at this every day” you counter, an appreciative smile playing on your lips as your hand gently rubs into his chest.

“This perfect,” you pause to press a kiss into his cheek. “Sexy,” another kiss to his jaw. “Man of my dreams”

“Stop” he huffs, gently pushing you away. “Just don’t… say shit like that. It’s not true” he argues, flipping over onto his side to face away from you.

You know when to push him and when not to, and now is not one of those times. You’ll let him have his moment, knowing if you get too in his face about it he’s likely just going to shut down and you need him to be open with you if you’re going to get anywhere. So instead you just leave him be, but stay nestled into his side, your hand rubbing small circles into his back and shoulder blades, just a soft gesture to let him know you’re here and not going anywhere.

Long minutes pass and after a while you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, until you hear it. It’s barely audible, but it’s there. The tiniest whimper falls from his lips, followed by a quiet little sniffle before he buries his face into a pillow in an attempt to cover it up and your whole heart breaks in two.

“Frankie, baby” you soothe, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards you. Surprisingly he doesn’t fight it, just lets you roll him over and he instantly buries his face in your neck once he’s facing you, unable to look you in the eyes. But you don’t need to see him, you can feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he presses into you and you wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head as he lets his emotions out.

“I love you, ok?” You whisper against his chocolate brown curls, your lips pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He says nothing, just nods his head against you that he knows you love him and he knows he’s being oversensitive but he just can’t help it.

“I wish you could see what I see” you murmur against him, still hugging him tightly to your body.

Franky gently pushes back from you slightly, quickly wiping at his eyes and collecting himself before his red-rimmed gaze settles on yours.

“I’m sorry I’m in a shit mood and taking it out on you, it’s not fair and you don’t deserve it” he apologizes, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just feeling down on myself I guess and I dragged you into it and I’m sorry”

“Is that what’s been going on all day?” You ask, genuinely curious. You’re starting to piece it together now, all the teasing he’s put up with all day, how he only seemed to be snapping at you when you complimented him or tried to take off his shirt tonight. Not to mention all his friends running around half naked in just their swim trunks all afternoon, most of whom kept themselves in very tip top shape. Maybe Frankie had grown a little softer since the two of you have been together but you loved it on him, his ‘dad bod’ physique. He has nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, as far as you’re concerned. But you suppose it’s hard not to feel self conscious when standing next to a shirtless Will, Benny or Santiago who all look like they could be models in some sort of hot firefighter calendar or something. None of them did anything for you though, Frankie would always hold your heart and your gaze, no matter who he was standing next to.

“I guess” Frankie sighs, fingers now picking at an imaginary thread on the blanket underneath you. “Sometimes I just wonder…” he trails off again and you frown.

“Wonder what?”

“Wonder what in the hell you’re doin’ with me” he sighs, throwing his hands up. “I’m a fuck-up. Forty years old and what have I accomplished in my life? I have a shit job, working for an asshole I can’t stand, flying tourists around and giving private lessons on the side to rich jerkoffs who don’t give a shit about learning anything about flying, just want a cool photo for their Instagram. Since I left the service I just feel like… Like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life anymore so I just haven’t done fucking anything. And you… god knows why you give me the time of day but you do and I just don’t ever feel like I’m enough. Least I could fucking do for you is go to the gym and take care of myself, god knows I need to eat healthier” He shakes his head and you’re unsure for a moment if he’s done beating himself up but before you even have a chance to articulate a response he starts up again.

“Like look at this!” He shouts suddenly, voice raised much higher than moments earlier as he rips his shirt off his head and sweeps his hand down his front. “How can you be in love with this, with someone who looks like this?! I… fuck’”

He doesn’t get any more words out, his hands flying to his face to hide his shame as he starts sobbing with how much hatred he apparently holds for himself and you can’t take it. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and holding him as tightly to your body as possible. Thankfully he doesn’t push you away, just grabs onto you like you're his only lifeline, clinging to you with desperation.

“Frankie, my love, oh Frankie” you’re in tears now too, holding onto him for dear life so he can’t slip away from you. You won’t let him. Not this time.

You crawl into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms still around his neck like a needy spider monkey.

“I love you, so fucking much” you clarify, because you need him to hear you. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable. I know I can get carried away sometimes but I guess I just thought you were okay with it, thought we were both into it. But I’ve never lied to you when I tell you how I feel about you or your body. Do you hear me, Francisco?” You ask and after a moment he nods his head just slightly, just once.

“I am crazy about you, whether you believe it or understand it. But if it makes you uncomfortable when I express my physical attraction to you the way that I do, then I'll stop. Or, you know, try to. Sometimes in the heat of the moment it might just come out but you can remind me and I swear I'll do my best. Just tell me what you need from me baby, whatever it is I’ll give it to you. I can’t lose you Frankie, I can’t!” Your tears flow even harder and Frankie’s grip around you tightens at your words.

“I know, I know” he murmurs softly. “Too fucking good for me” he reiterates quietly, but not in an argumentative way like he’d meant it earlier, more like he can’t believe you put up with his shit but he’s so glad that you do. You think maybe your words have sunk in because he's not arguing with you anymore, not berating himself, just absorbing everything. You decide to leave it be for now. You've said your peace, now you can only hope he'll believe your words and take everything you've said into consideration to fend off whatever demons are feasting inside of him. All you want is his happiness and you know that you can't be the one to solely give that to him, that he needs to find it within himself as well, but you're damn sure willing and hoping that he'll take the support you give him and that he'll let you be there at his side to continue to take on this journey of life together. If he wants to find a new job, or a new career even, you'd support him through that in every way you can. You'll do whatever is in your power to get him through this and you just hope now that he knows that.

You hold each other for several minutes, neither of you saying anything further, just taking whatever comfort you have left to offer one another. You don't push him for any more communication, assuming if he's not speaking it's because his thoughts are still a little all over the place and he still hasn't quite worked it all out for himself. He'll talk about it again when he's ready and whether that's tonight or tomorrow or next month, you'll wait for him. He's worth the wait, there's no doubt in your mind about that.

After a while Frankie shifts you both until he’s lied down on his back on the bed with you half draped over top of him and eventually sleep overcomes the tears and emotions and your breathing evens out as you both drift off within minutes of lying down, the full events of the day finally taking its toll on your weary bodies.

When you wake again the sun hasn’t quite risen to the sky but you know it’s only minutes away, not hours. You feel like you didn’t sleep at all. Your head is pounding like you’re the one who finished a gallon of tequila last night, not your boyfriend and his friends. Frankie is beside you, though you’ve more or less switched positions. You’re fully on your back with Frankie’s arm draped across your middle, his face buried into the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder and he snores softly. You’re glad he’s sleeping peacefully, god knows he needs it. You carefully extract yourself from him, needing to get up and use the bathroom, tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As you pad across the plush carpeting and out to the hallway your mind spins a hundred different directions as you think about yesterday, about last night. You were both highly emotional but truth be told you’ve felt off for weeks. More tired. Bitchy. And you know you’ve been taking it out on Frankie even when he’s the last person that deserves it and who knows, maybe he thought you’ve been trying to push away from him and last night he just tried to do it himself before you got the chance to and he let his insecurities get the better of him. Of course that wasn’t your intention, you’ve never felt for anyone the way you feel about him and you meant every word last night when you told him you can’t lose him. You’ve just been a mess lately and you can’t really explain it other than you know it’s nothing to do with Frankie and certainly not his fault, he just takes the brunt of your ‘crazy’ because he’s the closest person to you. You don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you unless…

Shit.

You practically sprint the rest of the way to the bathroom down the hall, tossing open drawers and cupboards and medicine cabinets in a flurry as you look for that precious little white stick that might explain a whole hell of a lot that’s been going on with you.

“Hey” you softly call out from the doorway of the bedroom, leaning up against it with a large glass of water in hand. Frankie slowly stirs. He’s on his stomach now and raises his head to look at you through sleep-bleared eyes, wayward curls falling across his forehead.

“Hey” he rasps out, voice no doubt shot from all the talking and yelling and crying from last night.

This is what the water was for.

You cross the room and he immediately throws the blanket open, inviting you into his warm cocoon as he slightly sits up against the headboard. You hand him the water as you settle in next to his large warm frame and he chugs the entire glass in record time.

“Ah, thank you, I needed that” he says, clearing his throat and then reaching past you to place the glass on the nightstand before he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur into his chest, hand coming up to draw small shapes against his clavicle.

“Like a bit of a first class idiot, if I’m bein’ honest” he sighs and you squeeze your arms around him a little tighter.

“Don’t, babe” you tut, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You were feeling a lot yesterday and it obviously needed to come out. I’m glad it did. We need to be honest with each other, you know?” You tell him, tilting your head to look up at his face. He flashes the tiniest smile at you and leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before you settle back against his chest.

“Some of the things I said last night though, I didn’t even mean. Not really…” he trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to get his thoughts in order.

You push back from him slightly and up into a sitting position and turn to face him so the two of you can have a real conversation.

“Like what?”

He shrugs shyly and looks away, fingers fidgeting with the blanket around his waist. You hear a mumbled ‘dunno’ fall from his lips. You have a pretty good idea what he’s getting at but know that he’s too embarrassed to say it himself so you help him out, scooting a little closer and placing a hand on his naked chest before you let it slowly drift lower, fingertips dancing across his warm soft flesh and his eyes close and he lets out a content little sigh as he feels your hands on his body again.

“Last night I thought that maybe… I sometimes make you feel uncomfortable when we’re in bed with the attention I give and show you... Was that just insecure Frankie talking?” You ask softly. His eyes are still closed but he nods his head. Your hand rests on his stomach and you slide it upwards again and wrap it around his neck, your thumb brushing back and forth behind his ear.

“Sorry I basically called you a liar last night. That wasn’t fair of me” He tells you sincerely, finally opening his eyes to look back at yours. “I know you love me. All of me. God knows why, but you do” he finishes with a teasing smirk.

“I do love all of you. Every inch. And sometimes I just love showing you how much I do” you shrug.

“I know. And if I’m bein’ honest… I do… y’know, like it. I really like it. I just, yesterday, I don’t know what came over me. Just feeling sorry for myself I guess and wasn’t feeling… up to par, for you, and I guess I got a little too much in my own head. Shit I don’t know, guys teasing me all night, I probably had too much to drink and looking at those stupid pictures of me from when I was much younger and took better care of myself just had me feeling not very good about myself”

“Frankie, baby,” you begin, shifting your position so you can swing one knee over to the other side of his hips so you’re sitting on his lap on your knees facing him while he rests against the headboard. His hands immediately go to your hips and rest there, just holding you, while yours go to his shoulders.

“You never have to doubt for a moment how I feel about you. How I desire you. I need you to hear me on that” you tell him, staring into his eyes in hopes he doesn’t get too embarrassed and turn away from you again. To your delight, he doesn’t. He holds your gaze and his thumbs absently draw small circles on your hips. “I am in love with this Frankie, the one right in front of me. To me he’s sweet and perfect and yeah, he turns me on. Like, a fucking lot. So sorry, but you’re just gonna have to face facts, and thems the facts” you conclude teasingly and he lets out a little chuckle.

“Understood” he nods once before he pushes forward slightly and his mouth latches on to the side of your throat, gently kissing at your inviting flesh. Your head falls back and your hands travel up to hold the back of his head, fingers running through soft chestnut curls.

“There’s something else you said last night…” you begin, trailing off slightly as Frankie’s hot mouth on your skin attempts to distract you.

“Mmm?” He mumbles into your neck, not letting up from what he’s doing as he licks and nips and sucks at the supple flesh of your throat.

Despite wanting nothing more than for him to continue, your hands go to his chest and you gently push him back. He falls back against the headboard with a quiet thud and looks at you with a hint of confusion and worry in his gaze.

“You said you haven’t accomplished anything since leaving the military and well… I just wanted you to know that I am currently in possession of evidence that you have accomplished something very special. Might even be the most important thing you’ve done in your life” you shrug and he raises a curious eyebrow at you.

“Possess… what? What do you mean?”

Rather than spell it out for him, you take his large hand in two of yours and bring it to rest on your stomach, his palm flat across the span of your belly. It’s probably too early for a ‘bump’ just yet but you hold his hand there all the same and within seconds you watch as the realization dawns across his face. At first his brow furrows like he’s confused but then they perk up and his face splits into a giant grin that reaches his eyes and causes them to crinkle at the corners.

“Baby are you… are you serious?” He asks for confirmation and you simply nod your head.

“I mean, I think so. I’ve been feeling kinda off for a while and you my dear boyfriend were too sweet to call me out on any of my crazy shit” you add teasingly and huffs a little laugh but shakes his head. “Then it all kinda clicked into place when I woke up so I took a test this morning and it was positive” you shrug. “I’ll have to make a doctors appointment to be su-“

You don’t get the rest of the words out before Frankie is on you. He surges forward pressing his mouth to yours in a firm kiss before he moves to start peppering tiny little kisses all over your face and neck until you’re bubbling over with laughter as his facial scruff tickles your throat with his frantic movements.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, eyes welled up with tears as he pushes back from you to stare into yours. He needs to hear you say it, make sure he’s not dreaming this moment. You had a close call together once before, hence the left over pregnancy tests in your bathroom cupboard but nothing came of it. Neither of you expressed disappointment or relief over the false alarm several months back, just kept on with your lives but now it felt different. At least for you. You felt… ready. Excited, even.

“We’re having a baby” you confirm, wide grin across your lips, ecstatic that Frankie is happy with this news.

“Oh my god” he breathes out, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly against his chest so he can bury his nose in your hair. “I'm gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be a great dad” you clarify.

“Oh my god” he breathes out again, pulling you back tightly against him one last time.

“I’m so glad you’re happy about this” you blubber through a few tears, squeezing him back just as tightly. You really weren’t sure how this news would go over, especially given the events of last night and how Frankie currently felt about his position in life but you are incredibly relieved at how happy this news has made him. You weren’t planning this, like at all, but you suppose when you have as much sex as you and Frankie do, no matter how careful you are, it’s bound to happen.

“Of course I'm happy” Frankie murmurs into your shoulder. “I’m so fucking happy” you can feel a few stray tears fall against your skin and you smile, holding him impossibly tighter.

You stay there for several long moments, just letting everything sink in before Frankie speaks and breaks the silence. It’s quiet, muffled into the warmth of your skin as his face stays buried in your neck, but you hear it.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” You breathe out in shock. You heard him, you know you heard exactly what he said, but… is this really happening?

“Will you-”

“I heard you” you quickly interrupt, gently pulling back from him enough so you can look at each other again. You put both hands on his face, searching for any traces of regret like maybe he just blurted that out because of the endorphins coursing through his body but he looks back at you only with pure love in those giant brown irises of his.

All the same, you need to be sure he’s absolutely sure and not just doing this because he thinks it’s ‘the right thing to do’. You want him to marry you because he wants to marry you, not because of any obligation he might feel. To be honest you’ve been waiting for a while for him to pop the question, you figured you’ve been together long enough, living together even for a while now but it hadn’t happened yet. You try not to feel too over excited that he’s asked you now, in case it’s for the wrong reasons, but you can’t help but feel how your heart practically soared the moment the words fell from his lips.

“And?...” Frankie asks hopefully and you realize it’s been several long seconds without you actually giving him an answer.

“Baby,” You sigh, your gaze glancing down for a moment and you feel his shoulders drop a little, like he’s already anticipating you saying no to him. “I would marry you in a damn heartbeat but… I just don’t want you to ask me now because you think you have to. This is a lot, I just don’t want to put any more pressure on you. I don’t expect you to suddenly feel ready to marry me because of this”

You try desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. If he agrees with you and takes it back you won’t be mad with him but you know your heart will be just a little bit broken.

“Wait right here” he suddenly pipes up, taking your hands and pressing them into your lap before he extracts himself from the bed and runs over to the closet. You watch him closely, not exactly sure what he’s up to as he scavenges around at the top of the closet for a moment, rooting through a box you recognize that holds some of his military achievements that he said he didn’t want to hang up or have on display, a chapter of his life he had closed.

He seems to find what he’s been after and scurries back over to the bed, crawling across it on his knees until he’s back in front of you again and presses a small blue velvet box into your hands. You flip the lid open and a soft gasp leaves your lungs.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this” he shrugs. “I bought it weeks ago and I wanted to, you know, plan something big for you and then ask you but, I mean, what’s a bigger moment than this, right?”

Your eyes well up again (happy tears this time) as you stare down at the beautifully crafted diamond engagement ring that sparkles brightly despite the low lighting of your bedroom. The band is a beautiful rose gold, your favourite, and the cut of the diamond and style of the ring is one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little girl. Clearly Frankie paid attention all those times you happened to pass by a jewelry store together.

“You’ve had this for weeks?” You ask through your tears, still not believing it, your dream actually coming true. Not only was Frankie asking you to marry him, but it was his idea and something he’d decided on long before he knew you were pregnant.

“Yeah I guess I’ll have to call off the marching band and the flash-mob dancers now though” he teases with a smirk. “Unless you want me to take it back and-” he goes to reach for the ring but you snatch the box out of reach, clutching it to your chest.

“Not on your life pal” you playfully threaten.

“Can I at least put it on you then?” he laughs. “That is, if you’re saying yes? Wait, let me…” he trails off and scoots off the bed again only to kneel down on one bent knee beside it. He reaches up and turns you so you’re facing him and a huge dopey smile spreads across your lips as you watch him want to do this at least somewhat properly. If anyone asks later you’ll leave out the part where he’s half naked when he popped the question.

“May I have that back, just for a second?” He asks and you oblige him, handing back the box.

He begins with saying your full name and your heart practically flutters in your chest as you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure and get through this without being a weeping, blubbering mess.

“Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” he asks, slight tremble in his voice from his nerves and all you can do is give him a face splitting smile before you frantically nod your head and yank him up from the floor, crushing your mouth to his.

“Yes I’ll marry you Francisco Morales” you murmur against his lips between hungry kisses. “About damn time” you tease and he laughs at that as well. He knows he probably should have done this sooner but he’d been waiting to save up enough money to get you the perfect ring he knew you deserved.

Frankie regretfully pulls away from your mouth to carefully pull the ring from the box and place it on your finger before he holds both your hands in his and lets out a big sigh of relief.

“You make me so happy” he confesses, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you any reason to doubt that, but you’re the best thing in my life. Best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure that you and this little one feel the same way about me”

“I will always feel the same way about you Frankie” you promise, eyes slipping shut as another tear escapes which Frankie gently brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re sure you’re still gonna love me when I’m even more of a pain in the ass in a few months than I am now?” You ask playfully and Frankie huffs a laugh but nods his head affirmatively.

“We’re locked in now baby” Frankie affirms, gently twisting the ring around your finger. “It’s you and me”

“Plus one” you add, looking down to your tummy and Frankie laughs.

“Plus one” he confirms. “And maybe down the line… more than one?” he asks playfully, moving a little closer and nuzzling into your throat before he begins to plant hot little open-mouthed kisses there. You laugh wholeheartedly, your head tossing backwards. Leave it to Frankie to learn five minutes ago that you’re barely pregnant and already asking you if you want another. You really did love him with all your heart and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier than in this moment.

And it turns out that was the truth, that was your happiest moment, until about seven months later a new one replaces it as you hold your beautiful daughter in your arms for the first time. Frankie is at your side with his forehead resting against yours as a tiny hand clutches around one of his large fingers, the one that happens to have a shiny gold band around it now, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. He’d barely gotten there in time for your unexpectedly two-week-early delivery, but he’d made it. Thankfully he was well enough known around the hospital by this point that they allowed him to land his bird on the helipad on the roof before he jumped out and let his co-pilot take over for him as he rushed inside to find you.

It turned out Frankie had found his calling not long after your little unexpected surprise all those months ago. His reflections on the direction his life was going, coupled with your exciting news of having an addition to your family, gave him the push he needed to have his career together in a way that was both rewarding and challenging to him and after a few months of long days and intense training he was accepted into the local Red Cross chapter’s Search and Rescue Program as a Lead Pilot. He loved his job again. He was proud of what he did and most importantly knew that his family could be proud of him too. It allowed him to give back and to serve his community and country the way he always felt he was meant for, except now he could do it and still be home in time for dinner most nights, not shipping out to god knows where for months at a time as he had done in the service.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Morales” the doctor beamed at the two of you, though neither of you could take your gaze off the tiny bundle in your arms long enough to look back at her. Frankie mumbled a polite ‘thank you’ towards her before pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You did it baby” he murmurs against your skin and you can feel the smile spread across his lips.

“We did it baby” you correct him, turning your head just slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We made this beautiful, perfect angel” you sigh, nuzzling back in towards your daughter, inhaling that euphoric ‘new baby smell’ you’d up until now only read about but now completely understood.

“My girls” Frankie sighs, heart swelling with content at how goddamn lucky he got in his life.

“Thank you for loving me” he confesses, lips pressed to your temple.

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @suzdin @iamasaddie @boliv-jenta @chronically-ghosted @vabeachazn @anotherpedrolover @axshadows @pedroshotwifey @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings

[shomixremix]

WEARING A PRETTY OUTFIT FOR HIM ♥︎

this popped into my head as i was cleaning out my closet. hope you lovelies enjoy!

tags: Arataki Itto, female! reader, fluff, teasing, lots of touching, smutty

-> you decide to surprise Itto on one of your date nights with a brand new, pretty outfit. however, the way it hugs your body makes him drool, wondering if the two of you should just stay home...

reqs open!

"itto? are you okay, hon?" you ask worriedly. as soon as you opened your door once the oni's heavy palm knocked on it, his jaw fell and his crimson eyes widened.

even when you asked him a question, no response came out. he continued staring quietly - which was very unusual. itto never did anything quetly.

"holy fuck, baby!" he suddenly exclaimed, wiping his face off shock. "you look.. wow. i mean, wow wow WOW!"

you chuckle at his praise, a soft tint rising in your cheeks. you catch one of his much larger palms in your hands, gently leading him inside your house.

as soon as he was inside, the oni made himself comfortable, sitting at the edge of your bed. that same dumbfounded yet extremely amused look still sat on his face as he looked at you, his demon eyes scanning the entirety of your figure.

"wow, sweets, ya' haven't shown me that one before!" he exclaimed with a large, toothy smile on his face, looking like a mesmerized puppy. if he had a tail, it would definitely be wagging.

but yet, his words were the truth - the silk, red dress you were wearing was purchased only the day before, and it was having its debut.

"oh, i got it yesterday at the market! this one was imported from liyue harbor, isn't that amazing? i love the gold details and this black bow on the back!"

oh, he loved them as well. gold, red and black were itto's favorite colors, of course he liked seeing them on you! especially on a short dress that barely covered your plump curves! hell, any color would look great on that perfect body of yours!

your hair was put up stylishly and elegantly, exposing your soft neck and that little almost-faded bite mark that itto left on you the last time you went out. the dress was short-sleeved, perfect for this early-summer weather, and so tight that it perfectly showed off your figure. and fuck, your slender arms that always eagerly wrapped around his biceps, and that beautiful waist he loved to hold, and those incredibly sexy hips he kneeded whenever he had the chance... and that beautiful plump ass that made him lose his mind, and holy shit, those heavy, pretty tits that were so beautifully framed by the heart neckline...

it was making itto lose his mind.

"it looks incredible, love bug! the dress is so pretty, but honestly, it's only that gorgeous 'cause you're wearing it, baby"

you smiled at his compliment, walking a few steps closer to him.

"aww, itto... you're so handsome too, you know? my big, handsome oni..." you say, your palms on his cheeks as you kiss the top of his head.

as soon as these words left your rosey mouth, his greedy hands grabbed your ass, sharp claws digging in the soft flesh. he looked up at you from his place on your bed, that same smile on his face.

"aww, sweets, you're makin' me blush over here! i try my best, ya know, gotta clean up a lil' if i'm takin' my girl out!"

clean shaven, with sharp eyeliner that for sure took him multiple tries (untill he just gave up and let Kuki do it) and a little bit of gel in his mane, you could tell itto really put in the effort in his appearance!

suddenly, he got up, offering you his hand: "c'mon, love bug, give me a little spin, yeah? go on, show off that pretty little dress, baby!"

you did as told, spinning around to give him a better view. he drooled at the sight, his hands instinctively grabbing your plushy tighs and running under your dress.

"itto!", you scold through a laugh, "don't do that, we're supposed to go out tonight!"

with a toothy grin on his face he pulled your bodies closer, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

"aaww, but- but, sweets! we don't have to go out, yeah? we could stay here, you know? get nice and cozy, have a night in? yeah? you'd like that, baby, hm?"

every word he uttered was followed by a squeeze on a part of your skin, your tighs, hips and ass constantly violated by his playful yet suggesting grips.

"no, sorry babe, i'm hungry! but we're definitely having a "night in" later..." you seductively say, batting your eyelashes at him. "plus, if you like this dress, you're gonna go crazy about what's under it, too"

his eyes go wide as you walk out the door, motioning for him to follow you.

"you're such a little tease, love bug..." he growled as he followed you, one muscular arm wrapping around your waist.

"and you have to promise me you'll give me a nice, long fashion show later with whatever's underneath that dress, 'kay? even if there's nothing there. especially if there's nothing there!"

[eluxcastar]

For the whole dottore basically adopting the reader, what would he do if reader got sick? And would reader call him dad, dottore or zandik?

Dadtore with his sick child

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: more dadtore but with germs this time (the first germs)

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, not proofread, also written at one am I'll edit in the morning 😭

୨୧﹑words :: 700

originally this was gonna be another ramble but I was like this could be cute let's write it. as for the name I actually have no idea largely because when I wrote child reader last time I wrote them intentionally without dialogue so I actually didn't even consider it but Dad feels like a very down the road choice

Zandik feels more familiar than Dottore but whether he'd want a kid running around calling him that to everyone is a different question. I think there's a definite Dottore to Dad pipeline

Perhaps you managed, no thanks to your infinite curiosity, to get into the things he'd tried to keep you from. Dottore thought he'd done everything he could possibly do, but children find a way. When you wake up in the middle of the night to him still up and about, he's surprised to find you look barely awake, unsurprising on its own, but you are unsteady and warm to the touch.

That's not good. You've never been sick before. Dottore pauses, hand practically glued to you as he tries to think of what to do. Should he run you a cold bath? Maybe he should leave you or warm you up more so that you can sweat it out easily. He's not even sure what's wrong with you yet.

You're sleepy, it seems, as you're passed out in Dottore's arms before he can even carry you back to your makeshift bed, breath softening against his skin as your head rests on his shoulder. It's such a natural way for you to settle by now, even after only a few months, that Dottore waits to let go. You feel too warm, too fragile. It is the polar opposite of how cold you were when he found you.

He sets you back in your spot on the couch and wraps your blankets tightly around you. Your face is flushed, and you still look far too addled.

Rest and a lot to drink are enough, but they certainly don't feel like enough as Dottore stares down at you, all curled up amongst your blankets. More than ever, you look like a pathetic newborn kitten stumbling about and too small to do anything but sleep and blink with great effort. It's all in an endearing way. Dottore can't have you dying on him, especially not to a fever, but there's little he can actually do to help you and little that says he should be. Fevers are the kind of thing you have to sweat out, often because they're fighting something else. Dottore knows that well.

"Did you touch anything you weren't supposed to?" he asks. Dottore doesn't recall a time at which you went poking around with a dedication to finding anything or that you didn't cut it out the moment he scolded you.

You slowly shake your head as you register his question. It reassures him, seeing as he can't find a reason to doubt that. You've had very few problems with honesty before today. You're trustworthy enough not to interrogate you.

"Then you got it from someone else," he concludes. "You're not uncomfortable?"

Again, you shake your head once the question sets in. That's the best you'll get as you are. Whatever this fever is trying to fight off is not something you found in a petri dish and probably came from your disagreeable habit of being far too welcoming to strangers in the lab. If nothing else, he can find comfort in the fact he won't spend the next few hours worrying if you've contracted a deadly disease or greatly repel properties of the abyss. You're still very safe right here where he's able to watch over you.

Dottore takes a moment to lay you down, a vaguely tender show of practically pushing you over as you've dozed off to sleep again in the time it takes him to act. Dottore collects the mess of blankets around you and pulls them over you, opting to keep you from getting cold unless you get worse or throw them off in your sleep. He finds his overcoat bunched at your feet and drapes that on top of the blankets too, your favourite item of comfort and what keeps you most warm.

Dottore sits beside you in the tiny space between your feet and the edge of the couch. There is just enough room for him. His hand rests against your leg as he waits, watching your chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. He is pleased to see you sleep well despite the circumstances.

That coat had once been wrapped around you, cold and shivering, and it engulfed you with fabric to spare. Dottore doesn't mind sharing it with you now.

[1-800-kami]

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK .. feat. gojo satoru

.. two star-crossed lovers who make an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life.

content: 1.8k words, fem!reader, angst (with a little comfort), first half takes place during chapter 236, (so MAJOR manga spoilers ahead) character death, reincarnation au, gojo is a future lawyer, VERY bittersweet

author's note: it's been a minute since i've last uploaded a fic lmao </3 i've mainly been doing smau's (because they're very fun to do and take less effort) but here's a short gojo fic that's been resting in my drafts for a while. it's a reincarnation au that i wrote while listening to slow dancing in the dark..so enjoy! -kami <3

interact and reblog for a kiss ;)

it’s cold on the battlefield.

the wind nips at your skin until it feels like you’re about to freeze over. you feel the coldness seeping into your skin—entering and traveling up your veins until it eventually reaches your already ice-cold heart. 

the scene in front of you feels all too familiar. you’ve seen it a thousand times over in the past–the image plaguing your sleep, turning what’s supposed to be a time to rest into a time of nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat. your lover, gojo satoru, is on the ground, eyes on the precipice of losing its shine. and there’s red, fuck–there’s so much red. a pool of red lies underneath gojo and it’s all you can see.

usually, at this point, you’d wake up, mind all over the place and heart racing. satoru… where’s satoru? you’d panic, feeling the covers for your lover and exhaling a sigh of relief when you find him curled up next to you. 

he’d always get up after you, knowing that you’d experience the occasional nightmare of him leaving you. satoru understands this very well. he has nightmares of you leaving him too. he’d make sure to hug your shaking, crying form until your sobs eventually ceased. “i’m right here, love. i’m not going anywhere. i’m the strongest, you know? you should have more faith in me.”

wake up. y/n. this isn’t real, right? wake up. you pinch your skin and dig your nails into your palms, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. except, you don’t wake up, and with the newly made marks etched on your skin lighting your nerves on fire, you realize this isn’t a dream. this time, gojo’s not there to ease your worries and reassure you that he’s alive–that he’s never going to leave your side.

with that realization, you feel yourself moving again. you scream satoru’s name with a voice plagued with nothing but agony and despair. you run over to his side, panic filling your senses when you feel his body and get all the red on your hands. red. it’s never had a negative connotation to you before. there was red on the roses that satoru had given you on valentines day. red on the heart-shaped gold necklace he’d gifted you on your anniversary (that you’ve never taken off since). red on the box of chocolates that he’d given to you on an ordinary day. “what? does there have to be a special occasion to show my girlfriend how much i love her?”

now, your perception of the color red has been tainted for the rest of your life. it’s the only thing you can see, and you want to close your eyes forever just so you don’t have to see that crimson shade ever again. “satoru, you said you’d never leave... you lied to me!”

he coughs weakly, using all his remaining strength to weakly take your hands in his. there’s a small smile on his face, and his peaceful expression only makes you sob harder. an expression that shows that he’s accepted his fate. “gosh, i’m getting your clothes all dirty. i’m sorry, princess…”

“can you promise me something, though? before i’m gone…” he whispers, and you nod your head, ready to do anything for him. “promise me we’ll meet again, okay?”

that catches you off guard. “w…what do you mean?”

“we’ll meet again, in another life, and i’ll love you all over again.” he smiles cheekily, and you hold his hand a little tighter, sobs racking your core and making your entire body shake. “have you ever imagined living a normal life? a life where sorcerers and curses are all alien words, and i’m not “the strongest”?…a life where i’m just like everyone else, and i get to marry you because no shitty higher-ups are holding me back anymore. god, i think about that all the time. i’ve realized that i’d like that version of life with you more than anything.”

you think that everyone in the jujutsu society has had that thought at least once. sometimes, the idea of being an ignorant civilian unknowingly living in a world filled with curses and despair seemed preferable. and yet, you’ve chosen to be a sorcerer, and perhaps this is the worst part to it. constantly losing the ones you’ve held closest to your heart–all to protect a group of people who aren’t even remotely aware of the sacrifices that sorcerers have made so that they can live a normal life. 

“i’ve always wanted that too, s’toru.” you whisper, in fear of your voice breaking if you speak too loudly. “yeah… a regular life without curses. what do you think it’ll be like?”

“hm… let me think. i’ve always wanted to be a dad, y’know?” satoru teases, and the two of you are lost in your own world as you both envision a life where you can be together without any repercussions. “megumi doesn’t count, cause ‘m not his biological dad. i want a little me running around in a house that we’ve worked so hard to buy. and who knows? maybe we’ll have more kids. maybe one or two more-”

“three kids?! that’s a lot, satoru.” you say in mock surprise, though you can’t expect less from your boyfriend. “hey.. does that mean we’ll get married?”

“of course, sweetheart. you’re the only love i’ve ever known. ‘m sorry i have to leave you like this. but i’ll come back for you in our next life, okay?” he hisses as he uses all his strength to grip your shaky hands a little tighter. you can tell his adrenaline’s wearing off, but you’re not ready to let go.

i’ll come back for you in our next life.

every second you’ll spend waiting for satoru seems like an eternity.  “i’ll propose to you with a beautiful ring ‘nd you’ll be…”

he coughs up a little bit of blood, voice hoarse and barely holding on. yet, gojo persists on using whatever strength he has to talk to you.

“you’ll be y/n gojo. i like the sound of that…” he whispers, and both of you know that his time has run out. the red on your skin is beginning to dry, and it feels like it’s tainted you forever. “i love you, princess.”

“i love you too, satoru. i’ll see you soon.” gojo’s grip on your hands loosen. you whisper his name again, looking for a response, but you’re only met with silence. he’s left you alone just like how everyone else has left you. nanami, geto, haibara, and now satoru.

you don’t scream or sob once you realize that satoru’s gone. in fact, your tears have ceased, but it's instead replaced with this empty feeling—like a hollow hole in your chest that can’t be filled with anything to make you feel whole again.

the battlefield is cold, but gojo’s limp body feels colder.

gojo satoru is twenty-two years old. he’s a slightly above-average man (both figuratively and literally) standing at six foot three, boasting looks that’ll make anyone fawn over him. it took him almost two years to decide on a major, but after trying a little bit of everything (and falling asleep during every business class that he took with his friend nanami) satoru settled on choosing a political science major to become a lawyer.

despite having looks that grant him the ability to get any girl that he wants, satoru’s spent his whole life looking for a girl that he’s never even met before.

he remembers everything–and every part about you. sometimes, he thinks that all the memories he’s spent with you were just some sort of dream, and yet, they seemed so vivid. sometimes, satoru chastises himself, a part of him wanting to just move on from you because he doesn’t even know if you actually exist–and yet, he’s been trying his entire life to find you because his memories told him that “he promised he would”.

were they memories or were they dreams? he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

but then, gojo satoru finally gets his questions answered one spring afternoon.

he passes by a cute bakery while walking home from school, and feels his taste buds waking up as he stares at all the mouth-watering sweets displayed behind the store’s glass. the bakery has a wide variety of baked goods, as well as coffee. satoru’s so busy looking at the menu that the second he looks at the cashier, he feels his entire world stop.

it’s you.

and at that moment, satoru could feel all the memories flooding back in. no, they weren’t dreams. they were memories. satoru has lived a completely different life before this one, and this was a new life, a second life that was granted to satoru from whatever deity there was out there. all he ever wanted was to live a normal life without being renowned as “the strongest”, and most importantly, he wanted to live a normal life with you in the epicenter of it. 

you. his entire world. his lifeline.

and now, you’re right in front of him, and satoru feels like he’s sixteen all over again–the year that you met him when you transferred into jujutsu high. the year you turned his entire world upside down. the year you–as well as his other friends, taught him how to live for a moment without caring about the overbearing pressure of expectation that was ever-present on his shoulders.

a glimmer of gold on your neck catches satoru’s eye.

it was the heart-shaped gold necklace that he’d given to you on your anniversary. the heart itself was crystallized red, and when you asked gojo to clasp it around your neck, you’ve always kept it on you.

he wonders if you ever took it off after he died.

“y/n?” the whisper almost felt pathetic with how much emotion he poured into it. you look up from your phone and finally meet his gaze for the first time in years.

two star-crossed lovers who made an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life. the two of you have finally crossed paths again–but wait, there’s something terribly wrong.

“y/n? yeah… that’s my name.” you say, looking at your name tag that was pinned onto your apron. a look of confusion is etched onto your face–the man in front of you is looking at you with so much familiarity that you feel the need to know who he is. silvery white hair, cerulean blue eyes. his appearance makes him stand out so much that you would’ve definitely known who he was. you awkwardly adjust your name tag, unable to find any words to say other than:

“i’m sorry, but do i know you?”

[starks-hero]

The Beauty of Chance

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Dúnedain!Reader

Summary: Whilst finding respite in Beorn's home, certain relevations are had. Or; you and Thorin do a little more than just talk things through.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: feather-light smut, the reader smokes a pipe

a/n: Reader is Dúnedain because I'm physically incapable of writing a middle earth fic where the reader isn't Dúnedain. Once again I used Irish as a replacement for the Dúnedain's native tongue because trying to translate Númenórean Sindarin is a nightmare :)

Beorn's home offered a sense of comfort and safety of the likes you hadn't felt since leaving the Shire. The high walls eased your nerves and you found your hand no longer instinctively reached for your sword. It served as a quaint port amidst the storm, a chance to catch your breath. And it had come long overdue.

After a breakfast sweetened with berries and honey and made up of foods far finer than anything you'd seen since passing Bree, you decided on spending the morning exploring Beorn's home in all its subtle splendor.

Everything seemed to dwarf you in size, from the furniture to the settlement itself. It was an odd feeling, one that stirred up a strange sense of nostalgia; wandering into your father's forge as a child and toying with tools far too large for small hands. You supposed it also offered a glance into the life of your companions.

You reached to undo the lock to the back door, vowing to never poke fun at Bilbo's height again when the plank of wood fell snugly back into the lock despite your best efforts.

You passed through the stables instead, petting the manes of the mares that resided there as you did.

The gardens, just like the rest of the skin changer's dwellings, were evidently tended to with no shortage of care. A small warren of rabbits dozed comfortably in the ryegrass and blooming flowers brushed your knees. You simply stood among it all for a moment, feeling the soil beneath your feet and the sweetened air in your lungs.

The outskirts of the garden were bordered by two oak trees, mature and proud. Their canopy provided a small shadowed patch and you quickly found respite against its bark and beneath its leaves.

With the company out of sight, you breathed a pained sigh.

Your muscles ached and your body felt stiff. It was somewhat difficult to convince it to relax after so long spent prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Shifting against the tree bark, you undid your shirt enough to reveal the unpleasantly long gash that ran across your shoulder and coiled down your arm. The fine work of an orc blade. The bleeding had all but stopped now, but the wound's edges were jagged and an angry red. And the horrid stinging that accompanied such injuries was yet to go away.

You undid the bandages and bound the wound in fresh cloth. It was by no means your finest work but others in the company had sustained far worse wounds during the scuffle on the cliffside and Oín only had two hands and a very limited amount of supplies. You wouldn't seek out care when your friends needed it more.

Besides, the blade had caught your weaker arm. You could still hold your sword, still carry out your purpose.

You'd manage.

Relacing your shirt and silently vowing to put your stubbornness aside and seek help should a fever set in, you sat back against the bark, shifting until you found comfort.

It felt nice to finally rest. To close your eyes and not fear for your company's safety. You reveled in the quiet. For all of two minutes.

The sound of brambles snagging on leather and stones shifting beneath heavy boots had you up and alert and despite all logic, your hand still grasped at your empty sword belt.

You calmed when Thorin rounded the tree. He seemed startled at the sight of you.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude,” the dwarf said, words genuine. He stepped back, as if ready to turn on his heel should you ask him to.

“Searching for some peace and quiet?” You asked instead. Such moments were few and far between. “It would seem we both had the same idea.”

The king's head fell forward in a nod and when still he made no move to leave you motioned to your side.

“Sit.”

His hesitation was brief. He settled beside you, then all was quiet again. A sudden breeze, warm and tinged with the scent of autumn, rushed through the leaves. Thorin took a deep breath before releasing it in an uneven sigh.

It was an odd sight, seeing him at ease. You'd go as far as to call it unnatural. His relaxed shoulders and gentle expression seemed foreign and uncanny. But you couldn't deny the youthfulness that seemed to soften his features now. It was not unlike the glimpses you'd caught of him during your shared night watches when both of you were too stubborn to let the other stay up alone.

A quaint stillness began to settle and when Thorin still said nothing, you decided neither would you. You were happy to sit in silence at his side.

From your pocket, you produced your pipe, old and worn around the rims but still trusty enough to serve its purpose. You ran your fingers along the polished wood, all the way down to its blackened base. Generously stuffing it full, you held a match to the green leaves until they kindled and began to smolder.

Bilbo, bless his heart, had offered you what was left of his pipe-weed. ‘The finest you'll find anywhere south of Bree,’ he'd promised as he handed it over without a second thought after discovering yours has been lost to the greedy hands of goblins.

The first exhale of smoke left lips that were turned up in a smile. The generosity of halflings would never cease to amaze you.

The taste of tobacco sat heavily on your tongue as you blew out wisps of grey smoke and watched as they were carried off on the afternoon breeze.

“I owe you thanks,” Thorin said suddenly, shifting beside you. “The courage you showed on the cliffside, your willingness to help this company, it's not something I take for granted. You have done a great deal for us and we- I am grateful.”

“You don't have to thank me, Thorin.” You exhaled another flurry of smoke.

“But I do. When I called on my own kin for help they turned away. But you, a soldier of Man, a ranger, you answered. You didn't have to, by all means of sanity you shouldn't have. But you did.”

You chewed anxiously on the tip of your pipe. “I know what it's like to be without a home,” you said simply. “And it is not a faith I would wish upon anyone.”

Thorin only nodded in response. His gaze shifted to the tree roots beneath his feet.

You hadn't spoken much of your past, although by the way you carried both yourself and your sword, Thorin knew that your life until this point had not been one without hardship. The race of men were as dependant on each other as a fawn to it's mother; venturing out on ones own was strange for your kind. Gandalf had not indulged him with your story, only what he needed to in order to convince him to accept you as one of the company.

But Thorin knew what a renegade looked like. He'd lived as one long enough to know what the dreariness in your eyes and your indifference to battle and death meant. Part of him wanted to tell you that, to form that middle ground and hope it offered some comfort.

“Regardless, I am glad to have you with us,” he said instead.

At your feet, a lone beetle made its way through the undergrowth. You watched in bemusement, shifting your boot to clear its path. You turned to Thorin and found his own eyes trained on the bug as it continued on its journey. In an odd moment of catharsis, you saw the dwarf beside you not as a king, but a friend and fellow soldier. You offered him your pipe.

When the dwarf noticed your extended hand he smiled almost fondly. The sight made the aches in your muscles ease. He took the pipe in gentle hands, pressing the mouthpiece to his bottom lip and filling his lungs with the finest pipeweed the Shire had to offer.

He pushed the grey cloud past his lips in one deep breath, the smoke taking the shape of a perfect ring before disappearing above the tree.

You raised an unamused brow. “I would not have offered had I known you'd take the opportunity to show off.”

“Lying is not becoming of you, master ranger,” the dwarf responded smoothly, his eyes closed and lips turned up in a satisfied smirk. His hair splayed out around his head like a darkened crown, white strands catching in the sun like silver.

For no reason other than to make watching him an easier task, you shifted against the tree so that you faced the king. The resulting pain that lashed up your arm in doing so had you hissing through your teeth. Thorin's eyes were on you in a moment.

“I'm alright,” you dismissed quickly.

The dwarf looked entirely unconvinced. He reached for the collar of your shirt and when you made no attempt to stop him, pulled the fabric down.

“Mahal,” he said the word like a curse, low and rough. “How long have you kept this hidden?” Struggling to fall somewhere between a convincing lie and an honest under exaggeration, you decided against answering altogether. With a grunt, Thorin pushed forward and onto his knees. He took the hem of his undershirt in one hand and tore off a strip with less than a second thought.

Just as you hadn't answered him earlier, you said nothing as Thorin began to tend to you.

The bandages, already tinged pink, fell away easily in his grasp. A single line of blood seeped from the open gash and trickled down the swell of your bicep. Thorin swiftly decided the best he could do was simply rebind the wound. Despite their broadness, his fingers worked nimbly, carefully gracing over your arm and masterfully retying the bandages.

“You're a fool,” he said eventually, finishing the bindings with an unnecessary tug. “I believed your selflessness to be honorable, now I'm more inclined to think it idiotic.”

You huffed a laugh and winced.

Thorin took up the torn strip of blue linen from his shirt and carefully looped it around your arm, tying it taunt against your shoulder.

“Where did you learn that?” you asked. With the added support, the aching throb in your arm had all but ceased.

“I learned many things during my time in the Blue Mountains and in the villages of Man. How to properly dress a wound was one. It would appear that was a skill you did not pick up during your time on the road.” He answered with a smirk.

“Healers usually work in silence,” you reminded him.

He smiled at your words despite himself. He looked younger when he smiled. His eyes brightened and shone silver. You found yourself wishing it was a sight you could see more often.

There was something about the way he tended to you that set a deep ache in your chest.

He finished his work with one more tight knot and a satisfied hum. “It will do for now. I'll have Oín treat it once he has a moment to spare.” His hand ran down the length of your arm before falling away at the bend of your elbow.

“I'll manage,” you said. The words were almost second nature now.

“You always do.” Thorin's voice was soft. He regarded you in a manner so gentle the ache in your chest flared, a pounding against your ribs. But when his eyes caught your own, the look vanished and he stood. “I've intruded long enough, I'll take my leave.”

“Why not stay?” You were embarrassed by how quickly the words jumped from your throat.

“Because if I do I fear I'll do something rash.”

“Thorin–” you rose to your knees, reaching out and grasping his forearms. The action surprised you both.

You failed to find any words to confront him with, anything that would translate the fierce fire he set in you. How he regarded you not just as an equal but as someone to be respected, admired. How he tore the very clothes on his back to stop your bleeding. How the action was almost instinctive. Even the simplest things. Like how he hadn't complained once about how the earth dug into his knees as he tended to you. How he still hadn't pulled away from you now...

Gravity seemed to give way beneath you and you pushed yourself up on your knees further till your lips brushed his. Thorin was still for a fleeting, terrifying moment; before he returned your affection with a fierce passion.

The earth bit into your knees and you rocked forward. Thorin's hands grasped your waist and anchored you against him. The feel of his palms against your side was grounding. You swore the world had faded into the great void at the end of time and this moment was all that was left.

When you parted, a shaking breath passed Thorin's lips. “You are far braver than I.” His voice was quiet, hoarse.

“Brave?” you grinned. “I thought you'd settled on idiotic.”

The dwarf laughed, full and hearty, and gods what you wouldn't do to hear it every day for the rest of your life.

“I think, perhaps, both can be true,” he said, and his lips were on yours again.

His advance was softer this time, fixed on feeling you against him, marveling at your touch. He kissed your neck, just above the beating of your pulse. His lips turned up in a smile.

You watched him in absolute awe; a descendant of Durin touching you as if you were carved from gold, a king willingly on his knees for an outcast.

The ache in your chest seized your heart.

Your hand rushed up his arm, fingers running past the swell of his shoulders and gently catching in his hair. Thorin gasped sharply, the bridge of his nose pressing tautly against the curve of your jaw. In a single grounding moment, you recalled the significance of hair in dwarven culture as well as the boundary you'd just overstepped.

You rightened yourself against the tree, forcing Thorin to pull away in turn.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean–” you swallowed. “Thorin if you want this to end you need only say so. I won't take offense.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortably thick. You sat unmoving as the dwarf regarded you with something you couldn't quite place. It left you feeling uncertain whether he was going to reach for you again or stand and leave.

“Why do you do that?” he asked instead. “Doubt yourself. Ask for forgiveness as if you have done something wrong. Do you truly find the thought of me wanting to touch you, to be touched by you, so difficult to accept?” He caught your chin with gentle fingers and raised your head. “I can think of nothing I want more.”

His touch ghosted your neck and you shuddered. Words could not tell him how much he meant to you, but you hoped your lips against his own and your heart beating frantically against his chest would.

Thorins knees began to ache, straining and giving way. You pressed a steady hand to his back and guided him forward until his legs slot over your own and your height balanced out. He surged closer, you could feel the tree bark biting into your back. You ignored it with ease.

The kings hand ran along the underside of your arm and the feel of it drew from you a soft breath. Your hand brushed over his braid, gently thumbing at the strands. You combed your fingers through the knotted locks behind his ear; the knowledge of what the act meant to Thorin, the intimacy of it all, made your head light.

Then, your fingers tapped almost unnoticeably against the base of his neck, right above his pulse where the dwarf's blood rushed so fast he was almost certain you could hear it. Your mouth parted in an unasked question and Thorin grunted a low ‘yes’.

Your lips traced his neck, kissing down his collarbone and ensuring to leave each of your marks below the collar of his shirt. Thorin steadied himself against you, breathing a sigh against your temple.

“Tá tú go hálainn, a grá,” the words were so raw, came from somewhere so primal within you, you hadn't noticed they'd left you in your mother tongue. “Tá m'chroí agat.”

Thorin managed a shuddering breath, a weak sound that caught in his throat. “I assume you will not be telling me the meaning of your words.” His hands shook as they moved against your back.

“Consider it reparations for each time you have spoken to me in Khuzdul with no intention of telling me what it is you'd said,” you smirked against his throat, recalling each time he'd addressed you in his native tongue. How the words always seemed natural and unmistakably genuine. He didn't feel the need to tell you the meaning behind those words now. He felt you already knew.

Thorin chuckled, boyish and light, and it set fire to your heart.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains and turned the air cold. But with Thorin laying by your side and a bed of grass at your back you swore you had enough warmth to last you the night.

The dwarf's arm rested beneath your head, hand tracing patterns you didn't recognize against your bandaged shoulder. Even now, his lips still brushed your head.

His other hand rested against your stomach and you bid your time tracing his palm, slowly and with purpose.

Thorin shifted beside you. You could hear the careful workings of his mind as he forged his next words on his tongue. “Should we succeed in taking back Erebor, where will you go?” He asked. His words were heavy.

“I don't know,” you answered honestly. “South? Towards Rohan and then wherever the road leads.”

It took the dwarf a moment to respond. Your words hollowed out his chest and set an ill feeling in his stomach. The thought of you alone stirred up a deep sadness Thorin had not felt in an age. You, with your spark for storytelling and devotion to others and your incomprehensible ability to simply make a difference. To bring light to whatever situation you found yourself in, to join a company that was all the better to have you. To stumble into the life of a downtrodden king and singlehandedly remind him he deserved his throne.

“If we take back the Mountain, I want you to know that you are welcome to stay, should that be something you wish.”

You took a deep breath, holding it till you were certain Thorin's words had not caused your heart to cease beating. As the true weight of the offer set in, you released Thorin's hand.

“I would not think I'd be wanted. I have no right-”

“You have every right,” Thorin said, his words instant and forceful, convincingly so. “As much right as any dwarf that refused to help us in our hour of need.”

You huffed a sigh that fell somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“Someone like me staying in the sacred halls of Durin's folk. A lowly ranger...”

“You are so much more than that.” He said the words slowly, as if they were the most honest thing he'd ever spoken. “You are a descendant of the Men of the West, a member of this company.” He paused. “You are Amralimê. My love.”

You shifted to look at him. A dwarf who by all means of faith and sense you should never have crossed paths with. But by the beauty of chance, he'd entered your life and reminded you, in all his subtle ways, that it was worth living. That you were worthy.

You dared to retake his hand in yours. “You'd have me?”

Thorin simply smiled.

“Above all else.”

Thank you for reading! <3

authors notes:

Irish translation: tá tú go hálainn, a grá - you are beautiful my love. Tá m'chroí agat - you have my heart. Phonetic pronunciation for those interested - taw two guh haul-in, ah graw. Taw muh-kree a-gut.

[genshin-scenarios]

A Flower Made of Playing Cards (Lyney x Reader)

Summary: A highschool idol AU commissioned by a very kind and patient anon!

It's mostly inspired by this headcanon post, where Lyney spends his civilian life starting to pine after you (a classmate) while keeping his idol life as 'Felis' a secret.

Content warnings: reader is implied to be at a height where Lyney can spin them under his arm?? That's pretty much it! Still gender neutral as usual

Preparing for the Stage:

When Lyney was first asked what he wanted to base his idol concept on, he decided on the magic of luck — something unpredictable and frankly, he wouldn’t bet on most of the time — but if a black cat of all things could disguise itself as a charming magician who made dreams come true, Lyney thought that could be the truth threaded within his performances. 

His luck in gaining a family as supportive as his own. His luck in being chosen out of many candidates to debut, and…

Suppose a bit of rotten luck could play into his concept too. The kinds where props or staff go missing on the day of his nationwide tour, and miracles come into play to get him out of a tight spot.

But like a cat landing on its feet, Lyney — as Felis — would always come through in the end with a smile.

There is comfort in the mysterious and ethereal. The audience places their faith in idols to remain as an untouchable being, talented and charming till the end; while the idol repeats their tricks and illusions, learning them down to a science of well-orchestrated plans.

With the right people to support him behind the curtains, Lyney is sure there is little he can’t do.

But at the end of the day, Lyney is still just a teenager. And when faced with you, who’d unknowingly puppeteered his heartstrings to skip at the quirk of your lips, eyes crinkling with laughter from your seat a few rows away…

No one said that stars couldn’t fall in love. In fact, the ways they do so might be more beautifully devastating than ever. And Lyney is nothing if not someone who burns as brightly as he shines onstage.

-

On the other side:

You’ve always thought of Lyney as a regular classmate; one who gets along with others but otherwise keeps to himself. And sure, he’s also really cute, but Lyney’s always just been a nice presence to hang around with, especially after you learned he has a knack for magic tricks and was willing to teach you a few, skilled fingers sifting through a deck of cards.

You’re starting to think that Lyney’s not just a friend to you anymore.

Despite your best efforts to keep your feelings at bay, you’re more than aware that the nerves building up in your stomach whenever he’s near spells out a crush. As you get to know him, Lyney’s somehow went from cute to pretty, and you know you're not crazy when you notice his quiet charm shifting into something more extroverted. 

There are no seating plans during the breaks between classes — particularly if it’s this week, where your science teacher has packed off to accompany a sports team to a tournament — so you spend the hour finishing your substitute work with Lyney by your side. Except once you’re both done, he takes to scrolling through his phone and showing you the posts on his feed every now and then, and you swear his chair has been shifting closer and closer every minute.

With quiet words, Lyney leans towards you with a quirk to his lips. You wonder if he realizes how dangerous this is to your wellbeing. 

“This cafe’s menu is themed after wizards! See the cauldron?”

“Maybe you could get a part-time job there as an entertainer.” You suggest.

Lyney hums. “But I only like to perform magic for my friends. Which totals to three people, including you.”

“Are the other two Lynette and Freminet?”

“Bingo!”

“I don’t know if your sister would be happy to hear that.” She’d probably say he sounds like a loner.

“Nevermind if that makes her cringe — she’s stuck with me anyways. But I’d like to think at least Freminet would be happy.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” You try not to get distracted by Lyney’s hair tickling your shoulder. “Maybe you should take him there with you.”

“Just between us, I think Freminet would be more comfortable if you were there too.” Lyney shrugs, eyes meeting yours with a clarity that tells you this is a genuine offer. “He’s a bit more chatty around you, which is saying a lot.”

“Maybe that’s just because you’re too much for him?”

“Whatever do you mean? I’m nothing if not quiet, introverted, shy…”

“Shy.” You repeat in disbelief. You might’ve believed that once upon a time, but certainly not now. “A shy person wouldn’t offer to teach a stranger how to do card tricks.”

“Maybe I was just enchanted by you.”

“You avoided me unless we were talking about magic.” You remind him, to which Lyney bumps his shoulder against yours with a huff. “Maybe at that time you were a little shy, but I highly doubt you’d be like that towards your brother.”

“I’ve let you talk too much to my siblings…” He’s pouting. “Your impression of me is ruined now.”

“There’d be nothing to ruin you with if you haven’t done anything.” You tap your chin. “Is there another big secret that I should ask them about?”

You don’t notice, but Lyney’s eyes widen before he tears his gaze away from you, trying to stop the blush rising on his cheeks. If he wasn’t sitting so close, he’d probably slap his face to snap out of it.

Which secret? His crush — or idol career?

Just the thought of you knowing about his feelings is enough to make him combust, but the idea of you realizing he was the idol Felis? You’ve already told Lyney you weren’t that interested in idols since they were real people, compared to 2D characters who you could headcanon about to your hearts’ content. 

A part of him is relieved this means that if you fell for him, it’d be for himself. But another part feels like it’s a waste of the possibilities floating around his head; what if he surprised you by inviting you to a concert, then watched as the understanding enters your face when he steps onstage? What if he dedicates one of his performances to you, or asks you to sneak out with him after a show?

He’s even wearing just one side of his earphones so there’s an opening to offer you the other; it’s less about the music at this point, and instead the little gestures that tell him he has a chance.

He’d take any interaction if it has to do with you, but only within the safety of his own home would Lyney allow himself to daydream — his imagination causing a burn on his cheeks.

Lynette tells him he’s been reading too many mangas, but an idol can dream. Lyney just hadn’t expected you to become one of said dreams so fast.

-

Rehearsals:

Somehow, practicing how he’d confess to you is harder than any other rehearsal Lyney’s done. Perhaps it’s because he knows he looks like an idiot, speaking to the wall-length mirror after he gave up on Lynette and Freminet as helpers.

…The things he’d like to say to you remain private, anyways. There’s no way Lyney could bring himself to sound so sappy to anyone’s face but yours.

Seeing as it’s off-season, the only idol work Lyney has is related to magazine and advertisements shoots. It’s nothing much compared to when he first did an overseas tour, so he has the chance to steal some time for himself — going for a coffee run after he dons a mask and large sweater, then a cap which hides most of his hair.

Today Lyney had to model for a limited-edition pocky series. It’s strawberry and something-flavored, so the dress and makeup people had the bright idea to add a ribbon to his hair. It’s fanservice, it’s cute, and Lyney doesn’t think much of it seeing as he can’t see himself, until he spots you outside of the cafe where he’s waiting for his order. 

He’s always been light on his feet, but Lyney doesn’t think he’s ever ducked into a corner so fast, quieting himself in an attempt to become invisible.

You haven’t seen him without his glasses before, so maybe you wouldn’t…?

“Order for Felix!”

Of course it’s his turn now that you’re here. He considers taking off the ribbon before thinking better of it, hoping it isn't visibly poking out from underneath his cap.

“...Here!” Lyney tries not to cringe as he goes up to the counter. On most days he gives the cashier a random name — sometimes ‘Felix’ because it could be his idol alias read wrongly — but right now it almost gives him a heart attack when he hears his not-name, because it’s followed by you accidentally bumping into him and apologizing for almost spilling his coffee.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“It’s alright, nothing’s spilled.” Lyney realizes too late that you might recognise his voice, and starts to speak in a muffled tenor. “No worries at all. Thank you for your concern.”

“...Felix, was it?” You look at him in confusion. “Is your throat okay?”

Before you can look at him any closer, Lyney’s turned away from you and started to speed-walk out of the cafe like his life depends on it. 

“Perfectly fine, enjoy your day!” He says a bit louder to not appear too rude. He’s quite sure his ears are red as he makes his retreat, and by the time he makes enough distance between himself and the cafe, Lyney realizes something.

He didn’t even get to hear your coffee order!

-

Back to your side:

Out of all strange incidents that could happen over the weekend, you didn’t expect an encounter with some ‘Felix’ guy to linger in your mind until now.

To be honest, it was less about the stranger and just the ribbon you spotted in his hair when he ran away. As you listen to Lyney ramble about a magic trick he’s figured out recently, you watch the way his ash-blond locks sway with every motion.

…That pink ribbon from the stranger's head might look cute on Lyney. With how the breeze is playing with his hair, you can imagine the ends of the ribbon floating, threatening to fall loose and fly off the school rooftop you’re loitering at.

Lunch finished and forgotten, Lyney stands up as he’s reminded of something. He spins on his heel to look at you, hands linked behind his back.

“You know, over the weekend I saw a dance go viral.”

“The one on tiktok?”

“Yep! Want to try it?”

Lyney’s not usually this energetic, but it’s not so out-of-character that you’d start to find it odd. Instead, you’d like to preserve the easy smile on his lips while you still can — it’s a rare sight to see him this excited, steps light and gaze playful.

“I’m not a good dancer, though…” You hesitate, before Lyney comes closer to pull you to your feet with both hands — and how could you say no when your fingers are still loosely linked between you?

Lyney’s cheery demeanor slips into something more calm. With a content hum, he takes a small step away from you and positions his feet. You mimic him as he explains each move.

“Okay, so now you have to do a turn from this side.”

“How should I when you’re still holding onto me?”

“Like this,” Lyney urges you to turn, and as naturally as momentum brings you, he lets go of one of your hands to twirl you under his arm. “See? It’s easy!”

“I’m quite sure the dance didn’t involve a partner.” You can’t keep your smile down, peering up at Lyney when you stand in front of him again. “Trying to set a new trend, are we?”

“Only if you’ll let me record us. I won’t post it anywhere though, since my manager might get mad at me.”

“Your manager at work?” You ask, confusion furrowing your brow. “Did you accidentally sign an extra clause or something? They shouldn’t be able to control how you act outside of your shift!” Lyney bursts into laughter, earning a light hit on the shoulder from you. “Hey! This is serious — what kind of part time job did you get yourself into?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a regular side-gig.” Lyney calms down, expression dusted with a pink blush as he looks at you fondly. “I’m a bit of a public figure, though I don’t normally dress that way when I’m at school.”

“Well then, Mr Popular.” You play along. “What should I be calling you instead then, when I see you during your job?”

“...Most people call me Felis, if that rings any bells.” He glances away. “It’d be pretty embarrassing if you didn’t recognise my name. But I do have to sing, dance, and…”

“You’re an idol.” Your eyes widened, the words spoken so quietly, you had to repeat them just to make sure they didn’t slip away. “You’re that idol, aren’t you? The sparkly-looking guy on the billboards!”

“Not so loud!” Lyney hushes you, grabbing your shoulders in reflex before stopping. He clears his throat, taking a step away. You would’ve minded the distance more, if it were not for the sight of Lyney bashful in front of you. “...It’s a bit of a secret, just so I can still live peacefully as a civilian. I asked Lynette and Freminet to make sure no one could overhear us here. They might be as nervous as me about your reaction, I’m sure.”

“I find that a little hard to believe.” If anything, they might be more worried about Lyney recuperating. You speak tentatively, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Now that I’m checking properly though, you do have the same look.”

It takes everything in Lyney to not squirm at your touch, and it’s even more terrifying that he wants to keep you there. “I would hope so, seeing as we’re the same person.”

“I bet Felis doesn’t spin his fans under his arm,” You quirk a cheeky smile. “Unless there’s something else you have to tell me?”

“Of course not, that’s only reserved for the best of…” Lyney trails off, the word ‘friend’ dying on his tongue. Not that you aren’t one, but— “I thought it’d be important to tell you about my job, before I ask you the real question I have on my mind.”

Giving him a nod, you tell him you’re all ears.

“...If you’re free next week, would you want to go somewhere together? As a date, I mean.” He lets the question sit in the air. “I understand if not, of course, whether it be because you just see me as a friend or find the whole idol thing too much—”

“I’ll make sure I’m free.” It takes a moment for your answer to register in Lyney’s head before his eyes light up. “Rather, you might have to make sure I don’t mess anything up for you. Like… should I call you by another name? Do I also need to wear a disguise?” If you had a net right now, it’d be very helpful in catching the butterflies in your stomach, to keep you focused on what you’re saying.

Just you would be perfect. “As long as we dress casually, it should be fine.” Lyney’s smile is contagious, now that he’s settling into the fact you said yes. “Sunday afternoon?”

“Sounds good!” You’re cut off by the bell. Remembering that you have PE and haven’t changed yet, you curse under your breath and quickly apologize to Lyney. “I’ll see you later— or text, if not!”

By the time your sentence ends, the door to the rooftop has shut, and Lyney is left standing with the tiniest of smiles, looking at the ground to try and control his expression before his siblings can bombard him with questions.

Lyney has never felt nervous while singing love songs before, but his manager recently commented that he feels younger than usual. Like an actual teenager in love.

It checks out, considering how fast his heart races when he starts to associate lyrics with you. Gone is the Felis who shines like an untouchable star, and here enters an idol who might just be human.

He enjoys it, as afraid as he is at the same time. To place one’s heart in the hands of another is terrifying, but he’d rather it be you than anyone else.

…But maybe you shouldn’t attend any of his concerts for now. He doesn’t know what he’d do if his brain short-circuits at the sight of you within the crowd. 

His own little secret within a sea of people entrusting him with their dreams — what a thrilling thing indeed.

-

Speeding up:

After that day, you noticed that Lyney has loosened up more around you — in a way that means he’s more likely to smile and cling to you during conversations. If he had cat ears, you can imagine they’d be standing proud every time he managed to fluster you, watching for every micro-reaction as if his career depended on pulling that expression from you as he might with a crowd of adoring fans.

Except you think that Lyney’s adapting to this too quickly. How is it that he was the nervous one that day at the rooftop, but has been going on the offense ever since the next morning?!

Lynette apologized to you in advance, telling you that once Lyney has his eyes on a goal, he’d be merciless in trying to charm your heart. You just didn’t think it’d affect you this much, though that might have more to say about how quickly you’re falling rather than Lyney’s approach. 

Every time Lyney calls your name and decides it’s time to hang around you like sunshine to a flower, you’re reminded of the clips of Felis you’ve watched after learning of his job. It was a mix of curiosity and puzzling out what Lyney’s other side might be like…

But god, does he have to constantly sport a smile like that? You find out through a promotional video that the coffee shop stranger actually was Lyney, and the ribbon does look very cute in his hair.

It’s a shame you’re only seeing the whole design through a screen. And even worse is the way he’s blowing a kiss to the camera in this one music video—

“What’re you watching?” Lyney’s hands rest against the back of your seat as he leans to look over your shoulder, prompting a panicked noise from your throat. You fumble with your phone, flipping it over so he can’t see. The little smile Lyney’s wearing tells you he has an inkling, but he does you the favor of not spelling it out. “Must’ve been a pretty good video if you didn’t hear me coming over.”

“You snuck up on me!” Sending him a glare, you power off your phone protectively. “...And if you must know, I was just listening to a song.”

“Can I hear?” Despite his playful tone, Lyney does give you the space to deny him as he adjusts his glasses. “But of course, I understand if you don’t like to share headphones.”

“I don’t mind, but there’s something else I’m wondering about.” You tilt your head up to peer at Lyney more closely, reaching a hand out to graze against his fingers. “Are these real?”

“My hands? I’d hope so.”

“Your glasses.” You retort quietly, trying not to roll your eyes. “Despite how I had to make a reality check about you too, I do know in fact that you’re real.”

Lyney laughs, raising a fist to his mouth. “You flatter me. But to answer your question — yes, these are actual glasses. Though the prescription isn’t too bad, so I only wear contacts if needed elsewhere.” With a serious pause, Lyney meets your gaze. “I wear these to school though, because I need to look at the board from behind and admire you clearly.”

You prop your chin against your palm. “I’m starting to think you’ve gotten too flirty recently.”

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve been holding back?” He hums, pulling a chair to sit beside you and mirror your pose. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with me romantically at first, but after that…”

“...You’re lucky I find you cute.” You sigh in jest. “At this rate, you might wear me down before we even go on a first date.”

“There’s still a lot about myself I’d like to share with you.” Lyney quietly admits. “I just hope we’ll be able to talk with more freedom. And if you decide you still like me after that — I suppose I’d feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”

The softness in his words somehow hits you harder than his previous flirtations. 

It’s me who should be feeling incredibly lucky.

Rather than one persona being more genuine than the other, you were starting to understand Lyney’s balance between the schoolmate you knew and the charming idol onscreen.

You see the truth of his smile underneath the blinding lights and exchanges in the hallways; the adorable way he fiddles with his pen during class versus his confident choreography.

It’s all Lyney. You just have to learn more about him and put his trust to good use.

He’s not the type to pull just anyone into his world, after all. Lyney has always held back just a little, so as to not let his secrets show from behind the curtains to even his familiar friends.

And now that he’s allowed you in, how could you possibly take his excitement for granted? You’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to it too.

-

The date:

When Lyney greets you at the start of the date, the last thing you expected is for him to sneak a pink rose into your hair in place of a bouquet.

He claims it’s more discreet, especially considering the way he’s dressed with a mask and hat to hide his features, glasses also present. Despite these, Lyney is expressive enough that it doesn’t affect your conversations, and you allow him to take your hand as he leads you to the aquarium. It’s lunch time, so you’re going against the regular flow of people and enjoying the exhibits while it’s less populated.

Beneath the walkway tunnel where various rainbows of fish swim by, you gaze up in wonder at the shadow of a shark passing through.

Fontaine is nothing if not abundant in sea-related attractions, even if the main city is on land. You haven’t visited this aquarium since you were a kid, so it was nice to relive traipsing through a world washed in soothing, gentle blue.

“I think when we were younger, me and Lynette would talk about catching these fish if we were allowed into the tanks.” Lyney muses. “Perhaps that’s why our father says we’re like cats.”

“If we were in the wild though, catching fish for dinner would be a pretty good idea.” You gaze up. “But… if I was able to breathe underwater, I think I’d just spend all day escaping my troubles.”

“Would you have space for a partner in crime?”

“Only if they’d be able to help, by whisking us away from pursuers, for example.” You smile when Lyney starts swinging your hands lightly between you. “It’s stressful business when I have to worry about two of us getting caught, instead of just one.”

“I’d take the heat so you can get away first.” The conversation is childish, but Lyney’s sentiment makes a frown pull at your lips.

He’s confused when you stop walking and turn to face him. “No self-sacrifices! We either run together or get caught together. Nothing in-between.”

Something flickers in his eyes before he replies, tone warm. “Alright then. I’m at your mercy.”

“A bold claim, when you surprised me with this in my hair.” You point towards the rose Lyney’s managed to secure to your shirt with a pin, after his initial sneaky reveal. “...I’m just trying to make sure you’re not the only one giving between us, but it’s hard to keep up with all…” You gesture vaguely at him. “This.”

“You just signaled to all of me.” 

“That’s right!” You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. Lyney resists the urge to reach out and entwine your fingers again. “You’re too pretty, and nice, then I find out you can sing and dance too—”

“But I like surprising you.” Lyney chirps back, a laugh in his voice as he notices the way your face is darkening with a blush. He does you the service of hiding this from passersby — if any actually entered the walkway now, empty as it is — with his hands cupping both of your cheeks. “Maybe it’s because I’m a workaholic, but I want to make sure your eyes are only on me.” It’s the most dangerous thing he could say to you, in public or not. “So maybe I should apologize for dragging you into my selfish whims.”

“...But you don’t intend to stop.” You say, feeling lightheaded.

“Of course not.” Lyney hums, eyes bright with a smile. “There are a lot of stars to compete with in the night sky.”

And you said we're in this together, did you not? It's not the first time someone's told him he doesn't have to do things alone, but… it means a lot, coming from you.

“I hope you don’t say this to all your fans,” you sigh, relaxing into the softness of his palms. They’re smooth, and you realize Lyney’s always felt a little warm to the touch. 

“You’re a fan?”

The lilt in Lyney’s voice tells you you’ve made a mistake in your choice of words. He’s much, much too happy that a previously-disinterested person like you has now seen enough of his idol content to make such a slip.

“A fan of Lyney Hearth.” You try to salvage your pride, gaze trained onto the ground.

“Oh… I see.”

Lyney’s eyes widen before he catches himself, suddenly glad he’s wearing a mask for a different reason.

God… What is he going to do with you?

-

After attempting to feed penguins, seals, and exploring the open pool where you’re allowed to touch reef creatures, you and Lyney make a beeline out of the aquarium and towards the main shopping street, where many cafes are abound.

Since you were working against the usual rush schedule, you managed to grab a seat at a local favorite which also served meals; corner of the cafe and out of sight.

The meal passes by without issue, and next you browse some stores nearby while slowly heading towards the park. You were in a hobby shop when a group suddenly exclaimed the name Felis, causing Lyney to flinch and pull you with him behind a shelf.

“Oh my god, they do have idol stuff!”

“Yeah, but we already have this! It’s not new merch, y’know.”

Lyney lets out a relieved sigh, slumping against the shelf of comics. “Nevermind, false alarm.”

“Are you always this jumpy?” You whisper back, resisting the urge to look around him and see what said Felis merch was as the group moves to another end of the store. Lyney doesn’t seem to realize his arms are still wrapped around you, and that if you simply tilted your head a little, your faces could touch.

“Only because I’m more distracted today.” With you. “It’s nice to know that people are having fun though. My manager would classify that as a good review.”

“Yes, but also, um…” You clear your throat, causing Lyney to finally turn his head and freeze at your proximity. “Not that I mind, but you’re still holding on to me.”

“...Am I too close?” He sheepishly asks.

Yes.

“Not at all.” You swallow your nerves. “But if the staff find us like this, we’re definitely going to get kicked out.”

-

One shared crepe and a walk in the park later, you reach a quiet area hidden between the trees that’s lit by the evening light. Lyney explains that he and other trainees would often come here to hide out and practice choreography together, when the training rooms became too suffocating. In hindsight, he’s quite sure this spot had eventually been bought out by their company, seeing as they never ran into any press or strangers here.

“We’d prop our phones on water bottles and record ourselves, since there was no mirror.” Lyney recounts. “It was mostly to catch our mistakes, but some managers encourage us to pretend we’re doing vlogs too, to get used to presenting our personalities to the camera. Whatever does get uploaded is screened, though.”

“Do you still have those videos?” You’re sitting on a bench, legs crossed and facing one-another. “The ones that didn’t get posted, I mean.”

“...Maybe? They’re really embarrassing though.” He chuckles, and almost moves to take off his mask before he thinks better of it. “And I think I only did those to update my family on how I was doing. They don’t believe my words entirely when I say I’m fine.”

“You are too good of a talker, so I’d be wary too.” You laugh, glancing up at the sky. The clouds are parting for purple and orange. “I think once upon a time, I might’ve dreamed about doing something creative too. Like singing, fashion, or etcetera.”

“Not every interest has to be placed in the public eye.” Lyney takes off his hat, giving you a wink. “Guess what’s inside.”

“A dove? More roses?”

“Take a look.”

Once you lean closer, Lyney raises the cap to shield your faces from one side, then pulls his mask aside to block the other. It’s over in a moment, but he brushes his lips over your cheek, and the one image that clings to your mind is the blush adorning his face and the clear look in his violet eyes.

Eyes that are trained on you — holding your attention until something flickers in the corner of your vision, and Lyney reveals a rose made of playing cards.

You look down to check for the flower pinned on your shirt: no longer there, and presumably transformed by Lyney’s trick of the senses. He allows you to take the handcrafted rose with a satisfied smile.

“I was nervous it might’ve fallen apart after walking around all day.” He admits. “It’s not as romantic as a regular rose, but I hope it holds its charm all the same.”

It’s very him. Lovely and careful in the ways he opens up his petals to you, but hiding a puzzle of spells underneath.

“It’ll last a lot longer, too.” You smile, storing it carefully to take home later. “How long did you spend on preparing that?”

“What do you mean? I transformed it in a second.” He muses. “Besides, I don’t want to spoil the magic. It took a lot of practice, but normally just with an audience that looks at the hat, instead of…” Lyney trails off, clapping his hands together as if to signal the next topic. “I can teach you to fold a flower like that though, if you’d like.”

“In the library as usual?” You allow the shift in conversation, if only because unlike Lyney, you do not have the solace of hiding your expression behind a disguise. “I’m starting to wonder if your skillset will ever be exhausted.”

“Well, I’m quite adept at interviews, modeling, and learning things by sight.” For his idol work, he means. “But I will admit I’ve been curious about baking. Maybe one day we could try that together.”

“Collecting points in more categories, I see. Maybe you can teach me how to dance, too.”

Lyney surprises you by swinging his legs off the bench and standing. He gives you a little bow, a glint in his eyes as he extends a hand towards you. “One of Felis’ you mean? I could do that now.”

Right now?!

“Don’t you trust me to?” Lyney pouts. “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“M… Maybe next time?” You’re not too sure, suddenly feeling intimidated by the idea of proper choreography. By instinct, you still take Lyney’s hand and get to your feet. “I need to mentally prepare— Whoa!”

Before you can finish, Lyney’s spun you around and lowered you into a dip, hands supporting you at your back and waist. He keeps it shallow and helps you back up — lips quirked as you’re suddenly pulled closer to him with the momentum, bodies and faces inches apart.

His pupils are dilated.

Your indignation quickly forms into surprise. There’s a quiet tension surrounding the air — a question asked, and your hand reaches up to take off Lyney’s mask in reply as he steals your breath away straight from your lips. 

You’ve been wondering when you’d finally get the chance to stop his honeyed words with a kiss.

After you get home, you find a playing card that Lyney’s slipped into your pocket. On it is his familiar scrawl, and a few simple words:

‘Thank you for today.  Love — your number 1 fan.’

You get a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time you exchange messages upon a suit of hearts. Maybe you’ll start investing in a deck of your own, just for him.

[lvieee]

5,200.04 km away | shen ricky

pairing : nonidolricky x reader

genre : fluff, angst

sypnosis : being in a long distance relationship can be difficult at times, communication’s the key to the problem, but what happens if you don’t?

staring at your phone, his contact name flashed on your screen. isn’t he supposed to be in class right now? why’s he calling you all of a sudden? you hesitated for a moment before swiping to answer, “hey, what’s up aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” you ask him.

he sighed at the other end, the weariness evident in his breath as a result from a long day “my professor called in sick so he gave us shit tons of assignments to do instead, starting to question my life choices to be honest.” he says from the other end.

leaning back on your chair, you let out a chuckle at what he said “hold on a little longer, it’s almost sem break.” you tell him trying to lift up the mood a little.

“i miss you” he confesses out of the blue. the words hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of the distance that separates the two of you. you could tell from his voice how tired he is.

“i miss you too rui” you reply, words hanging a bit uncertain, unsure of how to offer comfort across the distance.

you and ricky were what people would call high school sweethearts, you would have lunch together with his and your friends, walk together to class, have study dates—he’d tutor you in subjects you didn’t do quite well in which you are still amazed at how good he is at it, and you’d do the same for him to return the favor. but all changed after graduation, when the two of you seperated going on different paths.

the both of you have talked about this a few times before, even when you two were still in what people usually call the “talking phase”. curious you’d bring up this topic to him as you two would be graduating not very long later.

you both knew the consequences of getting into a long distance relationship, the hardest one being not being able to see each other face to face for a long period of time, feeling lonely even though you have a partner. but hey it’s not like we’re living back in the days like before, even then people would send out letters to their loved ones, you can still talk to him through messaging and calls.

but its not so easy sometimes seeing not just your friends but also everyone on social media doing regular couple stuff, going on dinner dates, going to the movies together. sometimes you just wished you could smash through whatever’s keeping you and ricky from doing the same.

despite all the challenges, you two were the ones who agreed to continue this relationship in the first place, hoping that all efforts the both of you put in at the moment will one day pay off.

“anyways, any plans on sem break?” he asks you through the other end breaking the silence “haven’t really thoufht about it yet, what about you?” you respond asking him back

“same, just want everything to be done honestly. so much things to do, i’m gonna go crazy.” he rambles

“when’s ur break starting?” you ask him pulling your back up from the chair fixing your posture to sit up straight.

“in about three weeks i guess?” he responded back, crossing his arms placing it on the table, head leaning forward closer to his screen to get a better look at you. “what are you doing?” he asks you.

you then take your phone, bringing your camera to show him what you’re working on — “oof, 加油” (jiā yóu — good luck)

putting back your phone to where it was earlier, still showing your face, you suddenly yawned, reminding you of how late it is and how you should call it a day and go to sleep.

“go to sleep dear, it’s already so late there.” he reminds you — though he still wants to spend more time with you even through the phone, your different time zones don’t allow you to.

“10 more minutes” you responded eyes still glued to the screen not wanting to sleep yet with the amount of undone tasks you have.

you can’t deny, the time you two are spending on each other are getting lesser day by day, assignments adding up as soon as you finish one, different time zones — him wanting to stay up to talk to you on times you are free, but you not letting him cause he has class the next day even though you know deep down how much you want to spend time with him, but you don’t want to be the reason he’s tired the next day. and the same goes for you as well, you wanting to stay up late to talk to him, but him not letting you do so for the same reasons.

its usually times when you’re free, he’s either sleeping or he’s at class. so sundays it is when you two could catch up after a busy week.

despite all its negatives, there were also times when he would ask you out on “virtual dates” like watching movies together, playing games late at night screaming and laughing at how dumb the both of you are at the game, there were also times where he would match up with your time just so you two could have a meal together just like how it used to be back in the days—and by that i mean he would not eat for a couple hours to match up with your time just you two could dine together even through online. he’d set up his place, place candles on his desk, get a wine glass just to fill it with anything but alcohol.

“what’s with the candles?” you ask him laughing. “omg is that wine?” you say noticing the wine glass filled with what you thought was wine. “its grape juice.” hearing him say that it’s not made you laugh even more continued by him showing you the bottle of grape juice and suddenly making tapping noises on it “asmr” he smiling as he whisperes to his microphone only making you burst out laughing even more at his acts.

“did you change your lights?” you ask after noticing the change of ambience in his place which wasn’t usually this warm. “yeah isn’t it nice” he responds to your question while looking around at his surroundings. “what are you having for dinner mr shen?” you ask him teasingly. the effort he put in to make the it feel like a fancy restaurant while you’re in your room, dressed in loungewear and just a cup of cup noodles in front of you cause you didn’t feel like cooking or ordering from outside save money.

he then shows you the meal he cooked just now, he’s definitely improved his cooking skills after living alone for a few months now. “oooo looks nice, how long did it take you to make that?” you ask him, trying to keep the conversation going.

he takes a bite into the chicken he made “hmm about 40 ish minutes, it wasn’t as difficult as it thought it would be.” he said after chewing on his food. “i should add more pepper wait here i’ll go grab it.” he says before leaving to grab the seasoning and continue to have dinner with you after months of being away.

not only virtual dinner dates, he would send you gifts, buy you things out of nowhere and it suddenly arriving at your home. he would also send you packages from his place filled with snacks you’ve always wanted to try, snacks he recommends, random things he bought, and we can’t forget; his hoodies or sweaters that he made sure to spray with his perfume before sending it out to you.

not only him, but you too would send him packages filled with snacks you want him to try, random things and hand written letters you write on your freetime. sometimes, you two would wait for the package to arrive at your homes, and unbox them on facetime together to get each other’s reactions.

you could be doing the dishes or even your laundry while talking, rambling about your day while he sits there watches and listens to you rant about your teammate not doing their part on the group assignment.

he could be cooking, or even cleaning which he still hasn’t gotten used to since he used to rarely do housework back then before college, he’d call you, asking you what to put in his soup, how you cook certain meals or sometimes at days when he’s not in the mood to cook, he’d just order takeout and would still call you, have you decide on what he should eat.

as the end of semester came rolling round, you two found yourselves swallowed by the relentless tide of responsibilities. what used to be daily messages and calls that bridged the distance became less frequent, late night calls where either him or you used to talk, relax and do anything turned into brief and hurried messages of words of encouragement, pushing each other to do their best on their examinations.

ricky : still alive?

you : barely

ricky : goodluck tomorrow, don’t stay up too late.

you : you too ❤️

you : totally bombed the test

hours later

ricky : hey, sorry was studying just now.

ricky : bombed mine too

you : oh shut up, you say that then end up acing the test.

ricky : not this time

you : still up?

late night cramming, and early morning revisions and also time zones left little room for the usual routine that you used to have, past messages and call histories turned into bittersweet reminders of what once was.

as the last exam wraps up, a heavy silence settled between the two of you. weeks of stress and exhaustion left little to no energy for the emotional reconnection the both of you desperately needed.

you : good luck on your last exam!

ricky : thanks, you too dear 🤍

each passing day bringing more tension. both survived the exams but it feels like you’re slowly loosing something in the process.

after days of suffocating silence, you reached your breaking point. the weight of unspoken words and the distance became too much to bare. feeling even more upset after the way he responded to your message; like he was in such a big hurry. how he wouldn’t start conversations without you talking to him first.

ricky : what are you up to?

ricky : i miss youuu

ricky : wanna call?

reading his message felt like salt on an open wound, he’d just text you like as if the past few days of no contact hadn’t bothered you.

seeing his name pop up on the side of your screen, you think about it for a moment before picking up. in the dimly lit room, his face glowed softly, illuminated by the bright computer screen in front of him.

“hey” he says while adjusting his thin framed glasses he usually wears. “what are you up to?” he asks you. you didn’t feel like giving him a long answer on what you’ve been up to these days when he hadn’t made effort on contacting you. “nothing much” you say nonchalantly hoping he wouldn’t question you even more.

“oh” was all he let out to your response. you two then stayed there in silence, not saying a word to each other despite being on call. he’s doing whatever he’s doing on his computer and you’re scrolling through your social media not really wanting to start a conversation with him.

you know it is quite unreasonable that you picked up the call with zero intentions on talking to him just to get his reaction but you hadn’t gotten one so far. it was like he was fine with you two not talking.

this made you even more upset. “i need to go, talk to you later bye.” you said before hanging up on the call. he didn’t even have time to respond before you hung up that quickly.

but on his side he found it wierd that you changed all of a sudden, you suddenly not talking as much. daily updates from you became less often, almost none ad the day passes by. assuming that you were busy and he didn’t want to bother you. he decided to wait for you to initiate contact then go with the flow.

as hours passed by without your usual updates and messages, he began contemplating the silence. maybe you truly were busy and had no time to talk. hesitant to disturb your presumed busy schedule, he refrained from reaching out, leaving the the distance even more quiet. with each passing hour, it felt like the uncertainty was getting even cloudier without the usual chitchat.

they say communication’s the key to a healthy relationship. right? so then why are you so persistent on not talking to him, basically giving him the silent treatment. waiting for him to make the first move. you very badly wanted the silence to end, but why are you so hesitant on reaching out? the questions flood in your mind—does he not care? does he not find it wierd that you’re not reaching out as much? is he seeing someone else? does he still wanna be with you? frustration creeps in as your thoughts spiral.

as days go by, still no contact. admist the chaos of your thoughts and the akward silence, there’s this tiny hope—maybe he’s going through the same uncertainty. then it hits you that this isn’t a solo mission and that you should communicate through problems like this.

you : still up?

you shoot him a text, hoping he’s still up wich you were pretty sure he was. you knew his sleeping schedule, especially during breaks when he’d stay up till the crack of dawn, either glued to his computer or just chilling. late night talks, scrolling through social media, gaming. he wasn’t exactly an early bird.

so you sit there, waiting for his response hoping he’d reply quicker. then you see those three dots pop up—he’s typing. feeling even more nervous, wondering what’s on his mind in the middle of the night.

ricky : yeah, can we talk?

surprised at his response. it was like he could read your mind even through the distance. getting up from your bed, sitting on your chair you turn on your laptop to video call him.

waiting for him to pick up, you scroll through your phone to ease your mind. you then hear your laptop notify you that he’s picked up. “hey” he says breaking the silence.

“hey ricky” you greet him back. which was unsual—you’d always call him by nicknames, babe, dear, love etcetc. him hearing you call him by his name sounded wierd.

“so…” you say after taking a deep breath. “how’ve you been?” he asks you but it was akward this time. “nothing much, you?” you respond, asking him the same question. hearing him click his tounge you could tell he was frustrated “look, i- to be honest with you im pretty sure you’ve noticed already, we haven’t been talking as much.” he says straight to the point, quickly which he does when he’s nervous.

you stared at your screen for a second not knowing how to respond. but part of you felt relieved that he also felt the same way. “i know this might be wierd for me to say all of a sudden but did i do anything wrong? it’s killing me that we’re not talking.” he asks you genuinely confused.

your heart skips a beat hearing him say that. his unexpected honesty catches you by surprise. “i- it’s just that i noticed you haven’t been very active these past few days you don’t respond to my messages like how you used to, i know you’ve been busy with exams and all, i understand that but it just kind of continued till after exams which kind of confused me to be honest. i assumed you really were busy so i thought it was better for me not to bother you so much.” you explained, coming clean to what you’ve been feeling lately—“and…to be honest with you too, i have been wanting to talk to you about this past few days ago, i just hadn’t got the courage to.. i’m sorry.” you apologized.

giving him the silent treatment wasn’t going to solve the problem. so you thought it would be best to be honest with him and talk to him about what’s been on your mind.

taking a deep breath, processing what you just said earlier “i actually thought the same about you, you haven’t been very active. and i figured you were caught up in stuff” he says feeling bad, all this happened because of miscommunication.

“yeah, i get that” you acknowledge, feeling relieved that you’re both on the same page, getting what each other’s saying in your conversation. “we totally should’ve talked about it sooner, huh?”

you chuckle softly “yeah, maybe we’re not so mind reading savvy as we thought.”

“promise me you’ll talk to me if we have any problems?” he asks you putting up his pinky making a pinky promise. “yeah” you reply also putting up your pinky.

as the conversation continues, you both realise you’ve been on the same tricky journey. it’s like a lightbulb moment, and you feel the tension melt away replaced by a sense of connection after confusion.

the chat goes on, it’s like the fog lifts. back to goofy emojis, jokes, and laughs. leaving the tension an issue behind.

“any plans yet?” he asks you thinking about going to yoir place this sem break. “no not really, you?” you ask him back.

“should i go to your place?” he asks you, tilting his head slightly while looking at you through his screen. surprised, “what really?” you ask him getting excited over the thought of being able to see him again after months being away from each other.

“it’s up to you, you know” he says making it a choice for you to decide. “yeah of course” you say excited. “when tho?” you ask him while thinking of what you two should do when he visits, food he needs to try, places you two should go; places you wanted to go but couldn’t cause you didn’t want to be alone, no. cause you wanted to go with him.

“next week? tuesday or wednesday?” he replies while looking at available flights from his to your place. “tuesday, tuesday aahh im so excited.”

“right, then tuesday it is”

part 2

[eddiemunsonbignaturals]

just a pinch

summer ends way too fast; you and Eddie surprise each other.

includes smut, as in 18+ 6k words somehow lmao? most of it fluff  best friends to lovers, and it gets a little gross in an arguably unsexy but very intimate way. you're not supposed to put anyone's mouth on your new piercing until at least two weeks out don't be dumb listen to your piercer

content: boob fondling, dry humping, jean nutting, some mild threats of violence, mentions of piercings but not piercing play to my understanding

reader is described as fat, dark skinned, and referred to gender neutrally, mostly (tough guy, man, angel, sweetheart).

comments (yes, even short ones,) reblogs all v much appreciated, take care :*

So, the heatwave had been a fake-out. 

You had both expected more swim-days. Just a few more sweaty, sticky nights— sat too close and tangled together sharing a bowl of Moose Tracks by moonlight, in as little fabric as you could manage and with as much ice as one freezer bucket could hold.

But alas, the fall sneaks in one cloudy morning and makes you regret ever even thinking the word “winter.” 

You’re shivering as you shock awake and roll clumsily to the nightstand. Reaching blind for the blaring landline, your hand cringes away from too-cold plastic, and you groan long and low in mourning— it's definitely over.  While you were asleep, Summer had packed up her bag and ducked off in the dark before you could send her off properly. Goodbye, dog days.

Hello, caller. You know it’s Eddie before you pick up; he knows it's you before you speak.

“Can you believe this? Shit fuckin’ sucks,” he croaks, right off the bat and into the receiver.

“And blows—“ you sigh back, punching one satin-covered pillow and your headscarf off the bed. “We couldn’t even get, a like, temperate couple of days? It had to go straight to freeze-my-dick-off immediately?”

“ha! Please. The end is nigh, sweetheart. You know it better than I,” he almost sings. His sleepy lilt catches on the pet name, and that gravelly morning timbre gees up your morning wood like nothing else can. You kiss your teeth, honestly annoyed at how he affects you this early, and when Ed’s answering chuckle rumbles through your ears and down your jaw, it's like you can feel his breath through the phone. 

God, he sounds good. You hum into a long sigh as he talks. It warms you, everywhere, hearing his voice first thing, and if your non-phone hand drags down your chest and reaches lower to rearrange the pillow between your legs, he doesn’t need to know.

You hear Eddie fidget, as he does, and he switches the phone to his other ear. Then, there’s the rattle of the earrings against plastic– a few chunky hoops he got at your suggestion, and one with your first initial that he definitely plucked off of your desk, though he had lazily denied it. You feel a smile fight its way to your face, suddenly giddy about him, about his call. 

A snapshot of him talking himself awake is as clear in your head as the grey in the sky: a grumpy Munson, emerging from the mess of gifted homemade blankets and ancient, flat pillows. Just a pair of doe eyes, framed by a cluster of chocolate curls and a scowl. Picture-perfect.

You’ve been nursing this damn crush forever, and with the effort of punching it off the bed and out of sight with that headscarf, you’re long past exhaustion. But, in the safety of your chilly room, and with the comfort of his voice in your ear, maybe you’ve enough strength for now to entertain a butterfly, or ten.

You had worn his ring to bed— a little bat hugging your ring finger the way it had been hugging his before you’d snatched it off as payment for a dare gone unfulfilled–and you’re twirling it now, like some lovesick sap. You’re written all over each other, and you’ve been itching to do something about it. But, that’s not the issue right now.

Right now,

“I know, life is over, the globe is warming, there are only a few summers left, et cetera. We’ll still have fun.”

(the dare? you had challenged him to snatch some Hawkins PD pig or another’s goofy little ranger hat as he had passed the two of you on the street. Eddie had suggested maybe he couldn’t float past an arrest on boyish charm this deep into his twenties, and acquiesced without a word when you had held out your hand for his own. 

You’d pretended not to notice the blush creeping up his neck; he had let you hold his hand a bit longer than necessary. It had been an even trade, as always.)

Across the line, Eddie’s still snickering at you, voice fathoms deep– all crackly– when he speaks again. 

“Hold on to your dick, angel, I'm pretty sure there’s options. Like, uh, maybe clothes? Clothes usually work for me.”

“Don’t get cute! I'm fat, you clown, I sweat-- I don’t need clothes. And, I belong in the water, Munson. Its beyond fun, its—“

He cuts you off completely, ignores your scoff, and finishes for you.

“—fulfilling, healing, its what and where you were in every past life, the brain sludge is already building back up as we speak, and ‘I’ll die, I'll just about fuckin’ die, Munson,’ once it drops below 40, I know, stop bitching,” he laughs. His tone? Pure fond; your stomach somersaults. 

You hear the smile widen when he goes on to remind you, “but I guess it's fall now. IE, your favourite.”

“Say ‘bitch’ to me again, I’ll shave your peanut head.”

He takes it back, giggling something about his favourite tough guy, but you know he’s got you there. You definitely are bitching, and—

Halloween month, cider season, big soft sweater weather, rain? It is the best, but it's never too early to argue. 

“You’ll love it, angel.”

You give up, melting again at his affection verbalized. You’re humming assent as he keeps the ball rolling, asking what you’d like to do today instead of going for a swim. Come over and take turns reading the new discount novel he found? Start that mead recipe you made last year? Drive over to Stobin’s—see who can sneak in and scare the shit out of them first? 

All great ideas, you assure him, but you decided long ago that the End of Swim also marked the beginning of piercing season. Your safety moratorium on body mods of all kinds has been lifted, now that you can’t dip your fresh wounds into scummy lake water. 

You've been planning a particular pair for some time. You also decided that it would be a surprise. Your Eddie is observant, dialed in, and sure, maybe you like to play the odd game here and there. He notices you, and you notice right back.  How long, do you think, will it take for him to note a new set of nipple piercings if you don’t warn him first? You figure it’s time to test it.

So, you break his heart a little, and decline to hang out today after all. You’ll see him on your next day off, you promise, and make plans for “four days hence, Munson, quit bitching. I just remembered something else I need to do,” before hanging up on his protests and pulling on your first pair of sweats in 4 months. 

ID, water bottle, and a sweet breakfast in tow, you head for the best (note: only) tat shop you know, braced and ready for a world of pain, going boldly into the cold.

—---------

And there had been almost no pain, at first. You had yelped girlishly before the first needle went in, then felt embarrassed about how easy and quick it had been. Before you had even realized, it was over, and you grinned big at the unique beads framing each pert, dark nipple. You loved them. You loved the piercings, and more than ever, loved your tits. Couldn’t wait to go home and check them out from every angle, actually. 

Then, a malicious towel snag, a careless door-jamb bump, and a hateful sweater-thread later, you were fearing for your life. Over the last few days, you had taken to crouching around them a bit, arms wrapped loose around your stomach as a reminder and for protection. Your nipples were insanely sensitive, now more than ever, and you had never understood ‘til now how often you simply walked through and into things instead of just around.  

But, they were calming down, and with each prescribed saltwater soak you breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of visible irritation. The standard piercing boogers notwithstanding, they looked hot, you felt hot, but found yourself nervous for the big reveal. You thought you would hide them well, your mission made easier by the cool weather and baggier shirts it allowed. 

You’re in his room now. Eddie’s ideas had been good, but you had both decided on the usual– you, rocking up to his trailer and spending the day with him throwing food and trading theories, hours whiled away in artistic pursuits and cat-naps, never too far from one another. It’s been a good day– you’re doing such a good job with the piercings, you forget to hide how entranced you are by Eddie's hands. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

You count the veins and tendons as they flip pencils and drum against whatever surface they encounter, try to guess how long he can go before he bites that right pinky nail too short again, wonder if he’s running hot today. He’s tactile, your Eddie, but you’re sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, and yeah, a little too warm in the hoodie you came in as he lounges on the bed– too far for his idle touches to distract you into admitting anything. 

You love those hands. You want to taste them one day. He’s looking at you.

Fuck, wait, he’s looking, and you haven’t answered him. You cut your eyes away, to the floor, to your nails, like an idiot. That wasn’t at all suspicious, sure. You’re reasonably sure Eddie hadn’t noticed the piercings themselves yet until, as you snack and he chats again about his sketch, he suddenly drops the pink eraser you’ve been watching his square fingers systematically tear apart.

“N...Noooooo.” He takes in your belated answer and eyes you for a second, then starts talking again. You tug your hands gingerly into the hoodie you’re in and slide the thing over your unwrapped cloud of hair without snagging anything, then toss it away, wiping the light sheen of sweat you realize is cooling on your nose.

 Fuck, here we go. You hadn’t considered you’d have to hide in conversation, just that you had to keep him from seeing. You try to keep your cool, but answer too quickly. This wouldn’t last long.

“Have you been eating weird shit again?” Eddie asks, cutting himself off from explaining the lore of his latest campaign villain. He’s sitting up more since you last looked at him– leaning back on one elbow as the other arm drapes comfy across his belly– and watching you fidget in that weird posture you’ve adopted since the piercings. 

“Eat– We–, me? Weird? What’s– What?” Nailed it. Smooth, like butter. Too player. You thank God or Dolly or whoever’s watching that your blush isn’t visible, because you can already feel your face heating up.

He stares, eyes squinted. You watch your plate, then look back at his lovely hands, fingers pale and impatient, thr-r-r-rumming in sequence against his now-closed notebook.

“What’s with the air-head act? And why are you clutching your tummy and moving like you fell down the stairs?” Okay, that one’s easy.

“Cramps.” Your reply is stiff, but reflexive. The pink in his fingertips as he drums is entrancing. Maybe you’ve saved it– you think you sound sure. He’s silent for beat, and you pick up a cracker and look out the window. Maybe you’re a genius. The fuck’s he gonna do? Argue?

“Hm. Bullshit?” You look up to challenge that, and catch him peering behind you to the stuffed possum you had gifted him when his favourite, real, live, wild possum friend stopped her brief shuffle through the fire pit behind his trailer one drizzly day. 

(Eddie had called it the best week of his life, then declared that he’d never love again.)

After another beat, as if the scruffy thing has read the room and confirmed its answer, Eddie nods once, curls bouncing, then swings his neck dramatically back to you to assert, “bullshit.” 

It's panic creeping up your throat now, because he’s going to see you,  see them, this isn’t– well– it is– but you didn’t think it through, and you aren’t a good enough liar to dodge the impending question. You hem for another moment, hands hovering over your torso, and he looks between them and your face before snapping his bulk upright so fast that the bits of pink littering his lap and thin muscle shirt fly up in the flurry.

“What’re you hiding?”

A frown tugs your lips down before you can stop it. You watch Eddie toss the notebook and, with a loud thump, collapse off the bed boneless into your nest of blankets and towards you like a mad slinky before you can finish saying, “nothing! I’m not– hiding–, wait a second!” 

In that second, Eddie has slithered the 4 feet between him and you, kind of flinging himself on top, landing more gently than you expected in a straddle and pinning your now-closed thighs under his seat before you can wiggle back and away in time. 

“Did you get a tattoo without me? You fucking did, didn’t you?” He might be verging on genuinely hurt, by the sound of it. You’d promised after he’d started his stick-n-poke journey that he’d be your first, (tattooer, that is), once he got some training together. Had swore to him–

“Le’me see– what, is it that shitty? Who the hell did you go to? You can’t be–”

“Ow, Eddie, stop!” Your screeching protest belies real pain this time, curling in on yourself and to the side as much as possible. He bumped a piercing in the shuffle, the pain expected but still shocking, and he backs off a bit and coos in sympathy, all his next words coming out in a frantic rush.

“Fuck, oh no, I’m sorry. I’msosorry, Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, breathing deep through the stinging. As it subsides, he ducks his head to meet your eyeline, his paint-stained palms up, promising no contact. He’s still straddling you, most of his weight on his heels. Still locking you under him, where its very warm.

If you looked down and saw your heart itself beating its way out of your chest, you wouldn’t be shocked. You’re almost choking on it, and plotting how to get him off you without knocking the new piercings again. Its enough to spin your head, to think you’ve been found out this soon, that the bravado in your spirit has fled so quickly at the reality, not just the idea, the real life prospect of showing Munson your tits. 

But it's thrilling, him on top of you. It's always thrilling, a dream fulfilling itself, isn't it? Even if the context is off. This isn't the first time a bout of “weird” from one of you or the other has ended up in a fact-finding mission– sometimes wrestling match, or pillow fight, or wild, short chase through the woods. 

But every time he gets this close, it's like the path between your head brain to the other brain is cleared– heat is flooding the thin cotton that separates you from his well-worn denim faster than ever. He has to get up, right now. You have to keep him there forever. 

You relax as the sting subsides, uncurling and groaning a bit as those strong, clever hands fall to bracket your head on either side. Eddie leans down, sounding the creak of floor beneath you,  and scowls, bathing you in his radiating heat. Studying you, taking in your full lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, your brows turned up where they’d meet, betraying distress. 

“What is going on in there, man?" He's really worried now. When did you start keeping secrets?

“It’s…not a tattoo?” You purse your lips and scrunch your nose, and the sweet smile that flows like syrup across his face seems involuntary.

“Then what else– huh?” Eddie is trying to keep eye contact, but the wheels are turning, and his lovely smile drops. He glances at your arms crossed over your chest, and his jaw falls open, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Not a tattoo. Not ‘a’ anything, actually. Two things.”

“No, you didn’t. No way, not a chance.” Eddie seizes your wrists and ignores your protests, pinning each arm by your ears where his once were, and tries to x-ray inspect you through your shirt. It's dark, but not thick enough to weather this kind of scrutiny. Those telltale bumps are right there in front of him, the middle of each trio hardening as he inspects. So, you give up trying to argue, and shrug, suppressing a smile. 

“With— wha?” Eddie’s looney-tunes double-take makes you hoot a laugh as he swings his head and bouncy curls up and down, looking at you, glancing back at your chest, and up again as he processes what he’s hearing. What the fuck is he hearing? 

Your eyes stay low but your brows arch together as you scoff at him, dork. “You’re really telling me you hadn’t seen them?”

“I’ve– not–wha– I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But, you had been talking shit. He couldn’t have seen anything in the dark shirt you had been wearing all day unless he’d been staring when you weren’t looking– had he been staring at your tits anyway?

 Did he do that often? Your jaw doesn’t drop so much as glide mischievously open. Surprise dawns and Eddie realizes he has, in fact, given himself away too quickly. Coolest dudes in Hawkins, you two.

He changes tack, slapping the floor by your head, still a little shocked.

“You got your nipples pierced? I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you! You’re full of shit.” His voice is almost petulant in its disbelief, high and tinny.

Your eyeroll is audible, “I mean. I can prove it, Munson.” 

“When?” He gasps, indignant, and slaps the floor with the other hand. 

“You barely have your ears pierced-“ he exaggerates. “Who the hell did ‘em? Was it a guy? You let some guy–”

“Please, some professional? Can you be serious?”

“You can’t take the pain, angel, not without my moral support, there’s no way. You’d have been whining about them being sore all fuckin’ week if you’d gotten your—“ 

He looks at your tits again, jaw slack, but in his shifting sends them undulating with the movement. His whole body goes still, except to inhale very slowly.

You’ve maybe never been this self conscious in your life, but his distraction emboldens you.  

“The idea was ‘surprise’, not ‘ambush’. But,” you drawl, smirking as you twist a wrist easily out of his now slack grip and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Do you—well.” Your eyes falter when your voice does. You want to offer proof. You’re not that bold yet, but you’re working up to it. 

He gives you room to sit up completely, hovering over your calves, back almost on his haunches. His heat leeches into your legs, swells in your chest and behind your eyes.

You want to touch him, like you always do. Eddie's deep brown eyes are wider, his mouth slack. His breathing is a little harder too, and you wonder for a second— do you want to un-ring this bell while there’s time?

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, I—“ He rolls his plush lips into his mouth and then parts them, trying to work out how to ask. It’s not a dare anymore, and you feel a shyness completely unfamiliar, laid out in front of your best friend in the world. 

You wilt a little; Eddie finds his courage.

He swallows, and you watch his throat work while he figures out what to say, maybe as nervous as you are.

“Can I see?” He sounds hopeful, gentle, but to soothe you or himself, you can’t tell.

You dont quite answer with, “I’ll have you know, they didn’t hurt. At all, actually. It was...cold. Uncomfy, totally, but not painful— just a bit of a pinch? The last week has been worse than the actual needles were.” 

Eddie seems to realize he’s really staring, and cuts his eyes to the left, almost shy, and he seems to wipe sweat from his palms down the length of his strong thighs.

Your own hands pick at the hem of your shirt, and his gaze is split between your mouth and chest. Then, he shifts his weight, leans back like he’s about to give you space, when you reach for his warm, toned tricep, his skin shifting over muscle as he fidgets, and you’re ready to tell him the rest of the story. You can’t bear to miss his warmth on top of you, you realize. Now or never, you think. 

“I…” you croak, “I thought of you.”

 You hear him choke, like actually choke on his spit, then watch him shake his head like he’s rattling himself out of a haze. Eddie’s locked in on your eyes, searching for even the hint of a joke as you lift the shirt up just your stomach, exposing all the graceful cresting hills of your soft middle to his hungry gaze.

“When I picked them out, I mean.”

“Youf, you– fuc– You did this for me?” He sounds so absolutely incredulous, and breathless, all bravado bled out, or rushing to his reddening cheeks. It's like Eddie opened the next Discworld and found a dedication in his name, like the heavens have opened above him. For him? For him?

“Not for you, you clown, of course not. But like, maybe I wondered which ones you’d say I should get. And maybe... I thought you’d appreciate my pick.” Your crooked smile feels small, and you feel like offering something more substantial. 

So, you do.

“Appreciate..? I. Oh, god, Jesus, I.” You had been lifting your shirt so casually as you spoke, palms sliding up across your skin and dragging cotton with them, a caress so careless it seemed incidental. But you avoid hitting the new bars through each hardening nip, chills putting a mild tremble in your hands that he first catches, and is then distracted from. You watch Eddie’s short-circuit for a bit, feel his thighs tense around yours. You decide then that boldness is the only path forward. 

At the last rounding, you let them hem of the shirt catch on the underside of your bust, and just before its dangerous, lift them up by the hem and then drop them a bit, so they bounce for him, putting on a little show, posture straighter than before in presentation.

You’ve killed him. His plush lips try and fail to form a word, any word, as he lets out another shakey breath and leans back in to you by centimeters.  

“Eddie?” you prompt at his silence, voice quieter now. He’s still a little wide-eyed when he gasps out,

“What. Appreciate? Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. Jesus Christ, I never thought— Are those bats?” He’s moon-eyed and gaping like a dry fish, and you’re too keyed up to even tease him about it. You didn't just think of him, you conspired to match with him, to carry a little bit of him with you.

You know he wants to see you, more than just the piercings, and that teasing smirk is a distant memory, much like your patience. 

“So you hate them, huh?” He’s shocked into laughing before you can finish the question, restoring the quiet to something like normal as he raises his ringed hands to frame the low curve of your breasts. But he takes them in only with his eyes, flitting back and forth between them.

“They look, so so good, so good, god. The color you picked, even,” a warm gold that picks up the warmth in the soft creamy brown of your skin, “it glows, like, perfect. Gold’s your color, Sweetheart. It's all your color.” 

Bravado is fickle. You order him through barely parted lips, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, then almost slur the hasty backtrack, “touch them. If-you-want, I-mean, if-you—.” 

In Eddie’s mind’s eye, gold falls from the sky; from his mouth tumbles a bewildered, “'If i want?' Are you insane?” 

As he reaches, you nod and sit up a bit straighter, feel heat rise in your cheeks, and take his confession with a crooked smile.

“I dreamt this.”

Here’s you, insufferably coy through a giggle: “Yeah? How’d it go?”

 His own knowing smirk is back, and you shiver, wanting fathoms deep as Eddie's hot hands envelope the heavy mounds of your breasts from below, cupped in the way he had threatened before you granted permission. Eddie seems to weigh them as he holds you, committing to memory how the plush fat of them sits in his palms, how they pebble across with gooseflesh at his very gentle fondling. 

You’re so soft, and warm, and he’s touching you; his mind splits in two. Some of him prays to any god for escalation, the rest could die happy right here.

On contact, you sigh together. Heavy, whispering things— you were both holding your breath— and inhale together, too. Your eyes flutter closed at the the drag of each body-warm ring as they poke into you. His calluses are almost sharp against you where they glide, some of the time ghosting over your skin, but mostly kneading you warmer.

It's your soft little hum of pleasure, how you arch, helpless, into his touch— the indiscreet rub of your knees together, and your thighs into his seat, the way you fight the smile back— these bring him back to himself,  and he checks your face again, watching the small smile grow as your eyes flick up to his. 

“Different,” Eddie intones, low and slow. “We’re out of order.”

You’re watching his pretty mouth again while he feigns serious, but as he moves just one hand to the floor behind you and leans in close, warm Cheez-It-breath tickling your face, setting alight every nerve that wasn’t already screaming for deeper contact. You meet his penetrating gaze and gasp at the pleasure-pain of that ringed thumb finally, finally, swiping up along one pert nipple. 

It's a shocked moan, not a gasp, that opens your mouth as he collides with it, timed perfectly with the upward jolt of your hips into his hardening cock. It's Eddie’s turn to gasp— his rushes out hot and quick, as if from a gut-punch. 

He's fighting for his life trying to steady his voice, act casual. “Usually, I get my mouth on your first.”

With that, he closes the gap again, but this time pulls away with a wet smack, a kiss so brief you’re compelled to chase him and get your licks in.

“Then, my hands,” he says, as he closes his fingers around as much of you as he can grasp with each hand to squeeze. Its at once electrifying and comforting, leaning into him and running from the cold. You want him pressed against you completely, but he's focused on the pillows of supple skin and heat in his hands.

“Promise,” he chokes, “ahhh, promise to tell me if it hurts, angel?”

“Eddie, touch me— I promise— touch me,” you positively beg, and your Eddie, egged on by your fingers now pulling deliciously at the hair on his sensitive nape, recovers fast. He’s on you before he can take his next breath in, and bites down around your bottom lip, pushing you with him gently as he leans forward, mashing your noses together.  

And you kiss Eddie back, hard, sucking his trembling lip between yours and earning yourself a groan that sends a lovely buzz through your jaw where you meet. That fucking noise, and his hand still on you, now not as gentle, sending little shocks of pleasure as he swipes gently along the outer dark ring crowning your nipple. The skin there is tightening, growing impossibly sensitive, and each brush and nudge shocks you between your clamped thighs, makes your body rock a little, sending kinetic energy across you that has him enthralled. So much evidence of his effect on you, the movement anchors him to reality.

"Good?"

"Really good, Eddie, yeah." You squirm under him as he massages one side, then both, then rests his forehead against yours to gaze down, intent on his project. 

“You feel good too, angel,” Eddie groans again, enjoying himself in earnest, crowding you gently together, then letting each breast roll in his hands, rough digits brushing in tandem against beads so taut it almost hurts, so intense its almost too much, but you need more.

“You know what’ll feel even better?” You ask him in a pant, breathless and focused– you need him between your legs too, and desperately, so you nudge one of his, asking to widen so you can rearrange. Eddie obliges, planting one solid knee right against your aching core and letting you fall back, propped up on both elbows. 

Neither of you wastes a second. This kiss is a hot, wet collision of sighs and spit, grinding sloppily into each other through just too many layers of sweet, stiff friction, whining into each other’s open mouths. 

While you nearly lift your hips off the floor, chasing the worn denim between your legs, tension in your lower gut building faster than it ever has alone, Eddie rides your linen-covered thigh just above your bent knee, murmuring between love-bites to your chin, the chubby apple of your grinning cheek, then the crook of your neck, where he finds and then latches onto a spot that makes you seize under his weight, clamping your thighs around the one at the very center of your focus. 

You clasp a hand at the back of his head again, scratching a bit at his neck and forcing a long shaky sigh out of his mouth as the rhythm of his swirling hips grows rough, devolves into a stuttering staccatto race to the finish, and he’s talking himself through it into your shoulder as you barrel him down.

Ed's heaving whines are gorgeous, ragged, as he sighs into your neck about how good you feel under him. He can’t finish a sentence as he groans into your shoulder, all about how good you smell, how he can’t believe you did this for him, how badly he wants to taste them. 

“Taste? I,” you cut yourself off with a near-panicked whine when his leg slinks heavily down, the relief of his wet but still straining crotch-tent another brief sliding kiss against your now soaking cunt, and you resist seizing him by the scalp, to keep him up with you, but only just. You’re both so close; he’s stalling?

No, tasting.

Through your horny fog, your mind starts to process his goal. Eddie works his body down yours urgently, never really breaking contact, and as he slips away all you can do is watch him watch you.

In a thrall, as he draws a scalding trail of open-mouth kisses down the heaving swell of your exposed breasts. The wet kisses cool fast in the chilly air of his room, and it feels so good you don’t care how needy your sighs sound, how obscene and high your breaths echo in your own ears. Then he pauses in his descent to admire you again, breaking eye contact for a few awe-struck moments, dropping a chaste peck just left of the left nip, then resting his forehead on your sternum. When he fully squishes your tits into his cheeks it makes you laugh out loud, and you feel his smile and then chuckle against your stomach.

He seems to paise there for a few moments, content to nuzzle, and your high whine-sigh takes even you off guard. Eddie looks up at the sound but stops himself saying whatevers on his mind. Instead, he double-takes between your mouth and chest once, and again, then and finally asks, “sweetheart?”

He’s got that look like he’s up to something, and you can’t say you mind it. 

Eddie drags his lovely nose across the wide valley between your bust, your shoulders cave a bit with the shiver, and he continues, “can I?”

Taste. Yes, “please, Eddie, yeah,” and he closes his hot mouth over one hard bead, swirling that devilish tongue around and over, knocking it roughly enough to pull a harsh hiss from between your clamped teeth. Your hands are both in his hair again, and in a little pain you pull at his sensitive scalp and feel the buzz of his moaning around you, closing the little pleasure circuit between you.

You feel every wet swipe of tongue like a brand, on your sensitive chest and melting, shocks of heat driving down in your sex, chasing the pressure and pushing your body into his chest where he lays against you. 

One of his hot hands mimics his mouth’s rhythm on the other tit, and the lewd sounds of his deep moans around you are only matched by the obscene slick of his hand finding the soaked core of you under his torso, his fingers tingling over the used cotton.

You nod assent before he can even ask, catching his eyes as he pulls away from your chest to check on you. He finds your open pant, you low lidded attention on only him, and smiles. Then, he grinds his own hips into your leg where he straddles it, lower than before, moaning again around your mound and sucking this time, a new kind of pressure that pulls the neediest cries from you yet. His fingers finally breach your underwear from the side, and the calloused contact jolts you to the precipice, climax just within reach now that your clit has direct, emphatic attention. 

His tongue swirls faster, and Eddie matches that pace with his slick fingers between your cunt lips, circling the trigger and nudging just the top of your gasping hole, pace quickening, just what you're begging him for. Your free leg hitches around his back and pulls him into you, then you clamp up and pull hard at the hair in your grasp, gasping his name over and over as you come shaking, curling around his head, pussy drooling on his rings and wrist, hips frantic in their desperate chase for friction. 

Eddie’s not far behind, rhythm incomprehensible as he’s distracted by his own big finish. He bites down almost too hard around your breast and fucks down onto your trapped leg, groans buzzing through you as he drools and sputters and comes a warm wet mess into the washed-out black. 

The grey light is blinding, you can’t open your eyes at first. But you start to collect yourself when you feel him pull off, sliding his hand slowly out of your panties. You open your eyes to him watching you again, eyes half closed, to him catching his breath, and with no regard for the mess on his hand he gathers your collar in his fist and hauls you forward for another kiss, other hand tucked in the soft folds of your waist, grasping, clutching, pulling you in.

“Ouch.” You say, with no heat at all. 

As he scoffs, Eddie slinks back down again to kiss it better, another gentle peck just to the side of the most sensitive bud of your breast where he sucked and nibbled hard enough to bruise. Just a pinch, indeed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” he promises, only a little sarcastic, and finally rounds his mouth around your right nipple, which he had neglected until now. 

Then, you hear the slightest crunch. Like crumbs rubbing together.

Eddie smacks his lips a couple times, tasting, considering.

"Salty," he says. No way.

Oh, god, no. No fucking way. He still licking you clean but you freeze, then he does, but Eddie, knowing exactly what he just set you up for, loses it. He buries the cackle in your tummy as it dawns on you, and you do some quick math– you last showered this morning, which means you last soaked your piercing this morning, maybe 10 hours ago.

Eddie crawls back up your body as you wail, “ohhh, my God, Munson, why would you—? I cannot–” and lands eye-level, with you spent and boneless on your back, him in a table-top pose, arms propped by your shoulders. 

He hadn't been neglecting your other side, he had been saving it.

10 hours. More than enough time for new “crusties” to form, so more than enough time to build your own nightmare from natural scratch. And he didn’t hesitate, or mention it at all, that your piercings were clearly crusted over as part of the usual healing process, he just sucked them off anyway like they were in the way.

“You– absolute– freak! Eddie what the fuck! Did you fucking eat it? Are you insane?”

“What? I helped! And it’s probably, like, I don’t know, nutritious somehow. Protein?” He shrugs, smirking in the face of your horror, your embarrassment. You hadn’t thought to look at your own tits when the idea of his eyes on you had been more than enough to deal with.

You punctuate every few words with sharp shoves, which barely register as nudges to him from your angle, still under him, fighting his weight and gravity itself. Little by little, he sinks against them, and you tire yourself out before his chest traps your arms between the two of you.

“You– sicko, I didn’t– give you permission– to snack on me.”

“You even said ‘please,’ sweet heart, no take backs. I believe they’re my boogers now.” His smile is just content now, mischief subsumed by all the love in his eyes. You were in his mouth; now you’re on your way through his system. He thinks its romantic.

He ate it. Like a weird pet left unattended too long, he saw something new and simply put his mouth on it. Your-- friend? hardly, you think-- Eddie Munson just ate the new piercing boogers off you, straight from the source as he came in his jeans. You don’t even know what to do, so bewildered you shove his shoulders and chest as rough as he’ll allow before he seizes your wrists and pins you again, only this time, your tits are still out. 

“Without full knowledge, that’s twisted– you’re sick.” Your smile betrays you. What a weirdo, sure, but who else would full-send like that? You can’t think of anyone you’ve dated– anyone you’ve let touch you– that has ever been so close, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. 

God, what a freak– your freak, you think with a thrill.

“Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Its quiet for a bit as you stare at each other, smiles crooked and soft.

"Well. Cat’s out of the bag?”

“Seems that way.” So, there's your "what are we" convo' all sorted.

“Good. So you know— " Eddie ducks his head to tap his nose against yours, then pulls back again to hover a little closer than before, "clothes are no longer an option.”

“What. The hell are you saying.”

“I'm saying,” he whispers, suddenly against your ear, dragging out each syllable, and slides his thumb and it's cool bat ring now poking out of a soft fist across your collarbone and up your shoulder, just to see you shiver again, just to watch you shake.

“hu-.. what, Munson, spit it out!” Now, you grab him by both wrists, and the quick movement brings his eyes to your tits again, gold titanium winking in the gray light. The soft wave of your body warms his core. He's half-hard already just watching you move.

“Too late, ha.” You groan, still grossed out, and anticipating this, he groans with you, mocking. You feel it through your own chest, feel it down your pinned leg.

Then, Eddie’s voice is soft too, at once dreamy and deadly serious, when he says, “You,” drops a kiss on one shoulder, “were so, so right,” and another on the other, “you won't need clothes ever again.” 

—--------------—

Its only days later, your next day off, when your favorite metalhead greets you at your front door. You don’t even have time to say hello before he’s flashing you; Eddie yanks his shirt up, fast as he can, to show off two glinting barbells, twin gold angel wings framing each nipple, still red and a little swollen from the piercing.

He beams at you, proud of the shock written all over your face, and before you can recover, cradles your face with one ringed hand and swoops in to plant one on your open mouth, grinning all the while. 

[manias-wordcount]

Could I request a part two for your Ganondorf wedding night story? I loved it a lot… Tysm <3

Wedding Night (Ganondorf x Reader) PART TWO

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶𝗺 𝗻𝗴𝗹,,,, 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

It’s a monstrous thing, you can’t help but think as soon as your husband lowers his bottoms and reveals the rest of himself to you. It’s a monstrous thing and you have no idea how that’s ever supposed to fit inside you.

  “We’ll go slow,” He promises you as his eyes meet your nervous expression. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. You have my word, my dear.”

  You nodded, your chest heaving up and down as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest. But to his credit, he absolutely does everything in his power to keep you comfortable and turned on despite his hulking figure and intimidating size. His voice got even quieter after you orgasmed. His touches got even gentler too. And everything he did was nice and slow and steady as if not to scare you. Including when he pulled his fingers out from inside of you before bringing them to his mouth and licking at them sensually. 

  But even so, you still can’t stop thinking and thinking and thinking about…about it…

  “It’s big…” You murmur breathlessly, eyes darting down to look at your husband’s member. It’s your first time seeing one. And although you’ve had a few people share some descriptions of what to expect, you still feel a little bit blindsided. After all, nobody ever told you that it would be like this. “It’s…it’s really big.”

  It’s just longer than you expected it to be. And much, much thicker. It’s a shade darker than the rest of Ganondorf’s body. Towards the very top, it takes on a very distinct mushroom-looking shape. But it seems just about as big and intimidating as the rest of his member. But despite its heavy and full appearance, it seems to almost stand up by itself with the slightest curl towards his body. Almost like it had a mind of its own.

  Another thing you noticed was the distinct, slightly raised lines that seemed to bulge every now and then lining his member. They reminded you of the lines on your husband’s arms- the veins on his muscles that seemed to ripple and move as his body naturally flexed with each action. Could that be what it is? You’re not quite sure. You’re still not quite sure of a lot of things when it comes to this.

  “It is.” He agrees, amber eyes looking deep into yours with a serious expression. He leans down to get a bit closer to where you’ve propped yourself up on the bed before speaking and trying to ease your concerns. He must have noticed your expression getting increasingly frightened, despite your best efforts to hide it. Sure, your mother had taught you the basics of what to expect. And some of your already married friends had shared stories between giggles and with hands over their mouths. But when the indicated size, they never said it could be this! And yet… “And we don’t have to do this tonight if you-”

  “NO!”

  You still really, really want to try.

  At your outburst, you immediately feel your face burning up with embarrassment. Your newly appointed husband just raises his eyebrow at you, but you can tell that there’s an amused smile just waiting to spread across his lips now that you’re starting to look as needy as you were back when he was curling one of those big fingers of his inside of you. 

   “No…I…um…”

  You start to speak again, but immediately trail off. You try to think long and hard about what to say and how to say it. You know what you want. You know exactly what you want. You want him! There’s just no easy way to say it without vocalizing something you’ve never said in the company of someone who wasn’t one of your closest friends. And although he’s now your husband, you don’t know Ganondorf very well. 

  He’s been great to you thus far. Perfect even. But he’s also done everything for you. Undressed you. Initiated every kiss. Explored your body and explored it well. All without asking for anything in return. But this is your chance- your chance to give him something in return. To make him feel as wanted as he has made you feel thus far. But how do you express something like this? How do you say it without sounding too demanding? Too inexperienced? How could you even begin to find and form the right sentences? He seems so much more experienced than you. So, so much more. 

  That’s why it doesn’t even surprise you when he managed to take control of the reigns again. He was born to be a ruler, after all. It’s only fair if he starts with you.

  “What is it?” He asks you, voice firm with a sliver of authoritativeness seeping. He still has that gentle look about him. The one that makes you feel comforted and safe and secure despite not knowing him all too well. Yet now that he’s leaning in so close, there’s a part of you that knows deep down inside that you should be hanging off of his every word. That you should be listening to what he has to say. Opening your legs a little wider. Rubbing at that extremely sensitive spot a little faster. And spreading your lower lip. All for him. Only for him. “Use your words.”

  “I want…I want it inside me…please?”

  But for yourself too.

  “Oh, my dear~” Your husband purrs, his grin widening as amber eyes narrow in something a little more dangerous. “Is that so?”

  Lust pours from his voice as if it were sand being dumped out into the desert. More onto of more. But there’s there’s no better way to describe your new husband’s growing excitement. He looks proud- regal even- as his hand starts to ghost over your lower lips once more. In an instant, you’re back to being breathless as his fingers brush against your most intimate parts. But you’re feeling a little more sure of yourself. A little more sure of what to say. And how exactly you should say it.

  “I want you…my husband.” You tell him finally. And for the first time tonight, you don’t avert your gaze. You don’t try to be a blushing bride. You be yourself. You become yourself. Just a girl who wants the man in front of her. The man who will do absolutely anything to make you feel safe. To make you hot and bothered and desired. So you tell him that. “I want you.”

  And honestly? You couldn’t be more glad you did. 

  Because you’ve spent countless nights dreaming of this. Imagining what this would feel like as you writhed around your bedroom sheets and conjured up a lover. And maybe you’re not in love yet. Maybe you’re too naive, and this relationship is far too young for you to fall in love yet. But your mother said that said if your husband was kind to you- if he was good to you, you would have nothing to worry about. Because love can grow. And so can attraction. And so can confidence.

  But right now? You don’t need anything more. Because you’re sure that what you’re working with? What he has to offer? What he has done for you so far?