#I was going to write a longer piece today
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Little tawtute
Spider(23) x fem!human reader(21) x Neteyam(22)
Content: MDNI, 18+, threesome, dom Spider, dom Neteyam, sub reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, voyeurism, slight Lo’ak x reader
Summary: Neteyam walks in on a private moment between Spider and a cute little tawtute.
A/N: I literally had this draft saved for weeks but didn’t have any motivation to finish it until today. After my hot girl walk, I was full of ideas and this smutty piece was born. This is my first time writing Spider so that was a new experience. I’m not going to lie, this was supposed to be a drabble yet it turned out way longer🤭
tawtute - human
yawntutsyìp - little loved one
Growing up on Pandora had been tough, being one of the only humans her age. The only one around was Spider. It’s no wonder they grew so close…perhaps too close.
Turning into a woman changed her body.
Her body became heavier and plumper. Her curves filled out perfectly. She couldn’t wear the Na’vi clothes she used to love as a child. It simply didn’t feel as comfortable anymore, too revealing.
Activities such as exploring the forest, climbing, and running no longer felt comfortable for her body.
Spider wasn’t the little kid he used to be. He grew into a fully adult man with a strong body. It showed how much he had adapted to the Na’vi lifestyle.
Spider never strayed from the Na’vi culture while she felt more comfortable in the lab with the humans. Their relationship never faltered despite their differences.
There was one they did have in common. The craving for intimacy. Sexual intimacy. With the two being the only ones around their age, what choice did they have?
Tonight was one of those nights.
A night filled with nothing but the sound of their lips smacking together, hands exploring each other's bodies.
Their clothes were scattered on the forest floor.
They didn’t talk. No, not tonight. Not when it had been weeks since they last had intimacy together. It had been tormenting for both of them.
She had been busy helping around the lab, assisting Max whenever needed.
Spider, as usual, spent a lot of time in the village. He may not have an avatar but that never stopped him from helping the people.
Spider was tough, brave and loyal. He may not have been born with the same physical as the Na’vi but what he did have was their mentality.
The only times they'd see each other was when Spider entered the lab to replace his mask or to stuff down some food.
That's why when they finally had time for themselves, Spider took her to a spot in the forest just a couple minutes away from the lab.
Spider was playful but he was no tease. Not when both of them were so desperate for each other.
That's why instead of teasing her as he usually would, he took off her clothes without hesitation.
He had her naked in seconds, two fingers stuffed deep inside of her wet cunt, thumb teasing her little nub.
If it weren't for those damn masks he'd have a taste too.
Neteyam was tired, exhausted even. Today had been awful.
He was tasked to train the young warriors, forced to attend a meeting regarding the sky people and got yet another scolding for not having found a mate already.
He was always on duty, helping everyone but himself. Oh, to be the future olo'eyktan. What a dream.
His father had tasked him to deliver some samples to the lab before dismissing him for today.
It was already late, forest lit up with the bioluminescent flora and fauna.
He swiftly moved to the forest, bow and arrows on his back, warrior gear still on.
He wanted to get the samples to the lab and get it over with already.
Despite his tiredness, his senses were still on full alert. A warrior never weakens.
His ears twitched when he heard the sound of whimpering, tail flicking up in interest.
He approached the sounds, crouching down and staying hidden while trying to get a closer view.
His pupils dilated at the lewd sight in front of him, hairless eyebrows raising.
It was Lo'ak his friend, Spider. He was kissing a woman, a tawtute woman. Her back was pressed against a tree, eyes closed while Spider had two fingers stuffed inside her pussy.
His other hand held her leg up around his waist just to get better access to her dripping cunt.
Neteyam's eyes darkened when he saw the tawtute's slick dripping down Spider's fingers before falling to the floor.
He knew it was wrong to stay instead of leaving the two of them, but how could he? He was pent up, in need of a release. Seems like he had found his destresser tonight.
His cock instantly hardened, one of his hands moving down to untie his loincloth. As soon as it fell off he took his cock in one hand, pumping it slowly, eyes never leaving the sight in front of him.
A smug grin appeared on his face when the tawtute opened her eyes and made direct eye contact with him. She squeaked in surprise, alerting Spider of the third person watching them.
Spider spread her legs, revealing her hole of glory.
“Spider.” She softly whined, feeling shy with her pussy exposed like that.
Neteyam shushed her, affectionately caressing her hair. “Ssh tawtute, you’re okay. I won’t do anything bad to you. I think you’ll like it a lot.” His words may have been reassuring but his smirk said otherwise, a silent reminder of how screwed she was.
“You’re okay, pretty girl. I’m here.” Spider comforted her, his hands caressing the side of her waist.
Spider was sitting on the forest floor, his back resting against the tree. He had her sitting in between his legs, her legs spread wide for Neteyam who was crouched down in front of her opened legs.
“So pretty, so soft,” Neteyam mumbled, inspecting her body. His gaze was so intense and focused, making her shy. Neteyam didn't fail to notice this, sensing her nervousness.
“Ssh, tawtute. I’m here. Neteyam will make it all better.” He said in a hushed tone, hands gently caressing her body.
He started by cupping her face in his large hands, running them down to caress his fingers over her delicate neck.
He leaned closer to her neck, taking in her scent. “Mmm.” He grunted softly, continuing to sniff at her neck. His hands, however, continued to explore her. His hands fondled those heavy breasts, not used to their size.
Neteyam inched closer to her pussy taking in its appearance and smell. “Such a small pussy.” He mocked her.
“Lay off her man.” Spider hissed at him, an annoyed look present on his face.
Neteyam shot him a warning glare.
The moment he caught a whiff of her arousal, it was over for her.
His pupils dilated and a crazed look appeared on his face. Before she knew it he pulled her closer by her thighs, burying his face in her pussy.
“N-Neteyam.” She whimpered, hips bucking up when his big tongue lapped at her pussy like a starved man.
He pulled the hood of her pussy up, revealing the small nub hiding underneath, his tongue swirling over it. She cried out in pleasure, hands holding onto Spider’s firm thighs.
Spider squeezed her breasts together, teasing the nipples. His cock was hard, aching to be stroked. He had to wait. He knew he couldn’t stop Neteyam now, not when he was this feral.
“I can't." Neteyam, it’s too much.” She whimpered, chest heaving up and down, her hips rolling against his face.
Neteyam didn’t bother to hold them down, loving the way her pussy smothered him.
“It’s okay yawntutsyìp. I’ll take care of you hmm?” He said in a caring manner only to push a finger in her pussy, making come here motions.
"Nggh, Neteyam!” She whined, her hands holding onto his braids. He only groaned at the feeling of the pair of small hands in his hair, in return making her feel even better with the vibrations sent to her pussy.
Neteyam thrust into his hand, unable to keep himself from pumping his cock with the way she was clenching around his finger and the overwhelming scent of my pussy.
She was sent into a frenzy when he added yet another finger, pumping them at a tantalizing pace. With each pump, they’d grind against her sweet spot.
His fingers along with his tongue massaging her clit became too much for the poor girl. “Mmm, am cumming!” She cried out, warm slick drizzling out of her pussy. Neteyam was quick to lap it all up.
It was only when she desperately started tugging at his braids that he granted her mercy and pulled away.
He sat up on his knees, pumping his cock in his hand while staring at her swollen pussy and fucked out expression. “So…fuck…such a delicious tawtute.” He hissed, glaring down at her.
She barely had time to catch a break before she was lifted and shoved down onto Spider’s cock. Spider was huge. Every time with him felt like the first time.
Spider wasn’t a talker. No, he was a grunter. Never able to stop himself from grunting and groaning whenever her tight heat would be engulfed around his cock.
Her mouth was open agape, silent moans escaping her lips, face scrunched up in pleasure. Wet smacking sound could be heard each time Spider would bounce her up and down onto cock.
Her hand rubbed tight circles around her little nub, getting herself closer to the edge.
“Mmm, you’re so cute playing with yourself like that. Such a little tawtute.”
Neteyam grinned, getting more breathless the closer he was to cumming.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Spider, I’m c-close,” She whined, chest heaving up and down.
“M-Me too. Cum for me, pretty.” He grunted behind her, bouncing her faster.
She cried out in pleasure, walls squeezing his cock tightly when she came. Her juices dripped down his shaft while he painted her insides with his seed.
Just as he pulled out of her cunt, Neteyam positioned his cock right in front of her pussy, covering it with his glowing seed.
The two men groaned in pleasure while she was a whimpering mess, trying to calm down after cumming twice.
Spider affectionately caressed her arms and sides. Neteyam hungrily stared at her pussy that was now covered in all three their cum.
A chill ran down her spine when she heard a third voice.
“That was hot. I’m taking you next, mamas.” Lo’ak already had his tweng down, stroking his cock at the sight of her cream-covered pussy.
#neteyam x reader#spider x reader#neteyam smut#spider smut#neteyam x fem!reader#neteyam x female reader#spider soccoro x reader#spider socorro#neteyam sully#neteyam x reader smut#lo'ak x reader#lo'ak smut#lo'ak sully#atwow#avatar the way of water#atwow smut#atwow x reader#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#neteyam x f!reader#spider x y/n
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I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''
WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!
Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)
❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️
Mother O'Mine
Not the kitchen.
Not the lobby.
Not the bar.
Not the radio tower.
Not his room.
You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.
If Angel had just shut his damn mouth.
Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.
Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.
Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.
Alastor's mom.
"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."
The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.
Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.
It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night.
Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing.
But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses.
When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.
"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."
He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep.
Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.
And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.
Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...
A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.
"Is this seat taken?"
The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking.
A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude.
You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.
Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.
It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.
"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"
"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.
Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise.
"Then you may sit, darling."
After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.
"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength."
He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.
"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white.
“But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself."
He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."
You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.
"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.
"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.
"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."
"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"
His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.
You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.
"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"
"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."
"Then, I'll recite it for you."
"Why?"
You gave him a sad smile.
"Because I want to."
He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.
The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.
"If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"
Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.
"If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"
There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.
"If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."
His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.
"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."
Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.
"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."
You held him tighter.
"I know, Al... I know."
You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.
It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken.
He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.
"Darling, I..."
"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."
You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#fraugwinskawrites#angel dust#charlie morningstar#quickfic#light angst#comfort#alastor is a mommas boy#alastor needs a hug#and a good cry#and some sleep
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BuckTommyWeekend Day 2: A figure from their past
BuckTommyWeekend Day 2: A figure from their past
Title: What we have
Fandom: 911 (ABC)
Pairing: Buck/Tommy
Summary: Buck had complicated feelings after they run into Abby. Luckily, Tommy is there to comfort him. For the prompt: A figure from their past for @bucktommyweek
Notes: I have a lot of thoughts about Abby and her relationship with Buck (plus just thoughts on her character in general). And this is a part of something much longer I’d written but it was just bits and pieces—the meeting, the aftermath, Tommy talking with Athena or Maddie, this scene—just too much going on and too much to write in a day when my brain was still coming up with the actual idea for this. So this is what I’ve got.
Tommy hadn’t thought much of this meeting Abby at the time. Apparently she was in town for some meeting or other for one of her stepdaughters and him and Evan had happened to run into her as they were leaving the restaurant they had brunch at.
Evan had gotten a bit quiet but smiled and politely introduced him as “This is Tommy,” before Abby started telling him about her life. It was about three minutes of a quick catch up before Evan and him continued on their way out and honestly, Tommy hadn’t thought it was strange.
But now It’s been over a week since he’d last seen Evan and he was trying not to worry or get caught up in his own head about what this all might mean. He was off today, so maybe Tommy could convince him to meet up for lunch or at least just talk later today.
Thankfully the doorbell rang at that moment, pulling Tommy out of his potential spiral.
He opened the door and there stood Evan, holding two coffees and a bag of food.
“I brought coffee and burritos,” Evan said.
Tommy ushered him in and followed him to the kitchen. “It’s been a minute. But I’m happy to see you.”
“Me too.” Evan set everything on the counter, dropping his duffel on the floor, and then turned to him, basically wrapping himself around Tommy.
“Is everything all right?”” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” Evan said. “I mean, it’s getting there?”
“Would you want to tell me about what you’re thinking about?” Tommy asked, pulling away and gently pushing Evan toward the stool by his counter. “While you eat a little something.”
Evan sat down but made no move toward his food. He sighed. “I told you about Abby. My ex. The one we ran into a couple weeks ago.”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah. I mean, a little.”
“Right, well seeing her sort of threw me off—Not because I’m dating you or freaking out about my bisexuality and stuff,” Evan rushed to reassure him. “It just… I guess it just brought a lot of old feelings, things that trigged some old insecurities. And I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, it’s been years and looking back, it’s not even like we were really together together so I don’t know really what happened.”
“Feelings can be surprising,” Tommy said. “They come back around in the strangest ways sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Evan said. “But I don’t even think about her anymore. I don’t. I’m not like in love with her or want her back or anything--I swear.”
“I didn’t think you did, but thank you for the reassurance,” Tommy said. “Seeing people who used to play a big part in our lives brings up a lot of emotions. And that’s okay.”
“That’s what Dr. Copeland said too,” Evan said shaking his head. “I called her because it just triggered a lot of feelings, feelings of insecurity that I thought I’d dealt with. But when you come face-to-face with your biggest failure those feelings can come back.”
“You and Abby not working out is not a failure,” Tommy said.
“I know that. Now,” Evan said. “But it’s what happened when I saw her again. It was my first relationship where I did everything right. I followed everyone’s advice, everyone’s ideas, followed Abby’s lead. I did everything I was supposed to. And she left anyway. Which, I don’t have to tell you made me panic and worry about you, about us.”
“Well, I’d argue that we haven’t’ done anything right in the way that other people would have it or do it,” Tommy said, nudging Evan with his shoulder. “But I also can’t’ say that we’ve done nothing right because a look where we are, what we have.”
“That’s what I realized,” Evan admitted. “At least part of it.”
“What’s the other part?” Tommy asked.
“So it’s like this,” Evan said, amping up and already starting to gesture with his hands. “I think I thought so highly of Abby for so long, right? She was this woman who was mature and knew what she wanted and had a whole life and still wanted me; it’s like she made me better or at least want to be a better man. And after she left, I was terrified that she’d taken that part of me with her, the mature Buck, the guy who was dependable and worthy.”
Tommy clenched his jaw because he hated hearing Evan talk about himself in terms of worthiness or usefulness. Granted, it was a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, but Tommy usually operated under a “do as I say, not as I do” policy.
“And seeing her again, seeing her with you just put so much into perspective for me,” Evan said. “I always thought of her as my first real relationship, but seeing her next to you, knowing what we have, how you treat me, it finally dawned on me that we didn’t have a relationship. Or we did, but like not the one I wanted, the one I thought we had.”
Tommy gently moved the coffees out of the way. “And what was that?”
“I thought we had this amazing relationship where we could be ourselves, someone I could share myself with and someone who wanted that too,” Evan said. “But I think I was just a physical presence for her during a hard time in her life. Someone who was there, who helped shoulder some of the weight, and then someone she just left behind because I didn’t matter to her. Not like I wanted to.”
Evan sighed. “And then I just saw her standing next to you and couldn’t help but think about all the things you know about me, the things you like about me, and I realized that she never really knew me at all.”
“It doesn’t sound like she did,” Tommy said gently, carefully. “Because if she had, I doubt she’d have been able to leave.”
“See and that,” Evan said, reaching over to grab Tommy’s hand. “You’d never do that to me. To anyone really. You’d never just take off, knowing you were done with me, without telling me. Yeah, it would crush me to lose you, but you’d still at least tell me. You wouldn’t leave me hanging on, waiting for any words of our future when you had no plans to come back.”
Evan squeezed his hand between both of his. “I just, I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have you in my life that sometimes I panic that I’m not quite good enough for you. And I want to be.”
Tommy reached out, cradling Evan’s cheek in his hand. “You are good enough. You’re more than good enough for me.”
“Even when I’m having a crisis and stupidly keep myself from you for 12 days?” Evan asked.
“Even then,” Tommy assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.
#i love supportive emotionally mature conversations so that's what we have here#might expand on this more in the future which is likely a thing i'm going to say for each of these since i'm writing them all this weekend#bucktommy#bucktommyweekend#evan buckley#tommy kinard#911 fic#my fic
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The castle’s infirmary is quiet today.
The main physician sits at their desk, scribbling away some new kind of prescription, while the royal consort sits in a nearby chair, tongue stuck out in concentration. They hold a notebook up on their curled-up knees, reaching for a green pigment to add to their drawing. They’d come to help Morien organize some deliveries, but now that that was done, they’d taken to absentmindedly doodling in the quiet.
Eventually, Cuáine deems the drawing finished and gets up, sidling over to the physician’s desk.
"Look, it's you." Cuáine slides over the piece of paper with a small, teasing smile.
On the paper scrap is a doodle- almost childish, with how cartoony it is- of a seal with big green eyes staring up at Morien from the paper. The whiskers framing the eyes are overexaggerated to give it a little grumpy face- as grumpy as a cartoon seal can be, at least, and one flipper lies over a long, rounded cane with a green ribbon around it.
Morien blinks.
"...You drew me. As a seal." They state, deadpan. Their eyes drift over to Cuáine's expectant face, expression unnervingly blank.
Cuáine nods. Then, as the seconds tick on, they suddenly remember where and who they are.
They are no longer the laughing child on the coast of Venegard’s territory, pointing out seals playing on the rocky shore to their older brother. Their eyes no longer carry the bright-eyed brilliance they had been named after, the one that would make their parents ruffle their hair when presented with silly doodles.
Times had changed- those happy moments were undermined by the much clearer memories of when Cuáine had tried to talk to their parents or show them a pretty rock found down at the shore, only to be waved off for another time that never came. Osia called it stupid, really- low effort, not worth calling a ‘gift’ when a 5 year old could make something better.
Maybe a child could, but the intent had been pure- now, Cuáine just stares down at their silly scrap of paper with a sour taste in their mouth. This probably seemed stupid to Morien too.
"...Nevermind. If you think it's stupid, you can tell me." Their hand moves towards the scrap of paper on the physician's desk, fingers shaking slightly. "It's just supposed to-"
"No, no, it's-" Morien waves them off, and Cuáine's hand falls away. "-not. I was just... surprised. Doesn't seem very 'nobleborn battlemage' of you to do." They grumble, seeming almost defensive now as Cuáine lingers awkwardly by the side of their desk.
Cuáine hesitates, then says, "Well, I'm not many of the things I should be." They seem to think for a moment, then sidle closer, half-sitting on the edge of Morien's desk. They wait, taking the physician's half-glare as a sign to get off, but Morien doesn't say anything. So they relax, still being careful to put most of their weight on their ground foot.
Morien continues to write something down in their notebook, and Cuáine hums, going to twist their armlet.
“...I wasn’t aware you liked seals so much.”
Morien’s comment is quiet, and Cuáine would have almost missed it if it weren’t for the heavy silence blanketing the infirmary. For a moment, the royal consort blinks, unsure how to respond.
…They actually want to talk to me?
A small smile tugs at their lips, one of their ringed fingers tapping against the desktop. “I’ve loved them since I was a child. It’s rather an amusing story, actually. My parents have always lamented that they didn't name me ‘little seal’ Ronán, for how much I ended up loving them." Cuáine laughs lightly, shifting their gaze over to the little window that lets some light into the infirmary. "Apparently my father was of the opinion that the name was 'too common', so imagine his surprise when his seventh came out and eventually had to be dragged away from watching seals play on the shore. The, uh, doodling them-” Cuáine gestures again to the small seal drawing with a somewhat flushed expression, “-came from messin’ around with Saraah. It got to a point tha’ when I considered changing my name a couple times, he suggested I go with Ronán. I didn’t, obviously, but…”
“Hm.” Morien continues writing something down on a nearby pad of paper, and Cuáine has to resist the urge to be nosy and peek. They oddly aren’t meeting Cuáine’s face, but maybe they’re just focused? “Speaking of family, didn’t you say earlier that you had a meeting with Arthur and the council?”
Cuáine’s swinging leg stills, and they immediately swear, dark blonde hair swinging past their face when they jump off the desk. “Shit, I forgot about that! Thanks Morien!” They grab their bag and immediately dash out the infirmary door, but not without giving one last grateful wave to the physician.
As the door to the infirmary slams shut, Morien waits until the footsteps of the king's spouse have fully faded away before doing anything, including looking back down at the childish seal doodle.
"...Fuck." Morien murmurs, burying their face in their hands. It's the only way to successfully counteract their burning cheeks. "They might as well just fuckin’ stab me through the heart if they're gonna keep bein' this fuckin' cute."
Cuáine visits again only a few days later.
“Morien?”
When their knock and call go unanswered, they peek inside. Surprisingly, the infirmary is empty, devoid of its usual red-headed physician.
Perhaps Morien just had to go to the bathroom?
Regardless, Cuáine is here to drop off some herbs they gathered. They nudge the door open, walking over to the desk to drop the bundles off. Out of curiosity, green eyes stray to the mess of papers pinned to the wall’s cork board.
There, nestled among the notes for needed medicinal herbs, prescriptions and schedules, a small needle pins a little seal doodle to the wall.
Cuáine doesn’t quite believe it.
…Morien actually kept it?
Despite themself, Cuáine can feel a small grin curling their lips as they reach for another scrap of paper and lead pencil.
When Morien comes back, they find a package of herbs on the table and a new scrap of paper pinned to the wall- one with another seal doodled on it, holding a tiny knife in one flipper and a scar across its abdomen.
Look! It’s you n’ me.
(Eventually, the collection grows to include a seal with a crown, two with knightly armor, one with a long black braid, and a seal pup with tiny dragon wings, but the first two remain pinned together.)
---
(Morien and the setting belong to @the-kingshound!)
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I reallyyyy want to talk about how much fun it would be to jerk a really submissive Bucky off with a pair of soaked panties 🙈
I feel like submissive Bucky is so vocal too and I love that thought. He trusts you completely with his body and he's not ashamed to make as much noise as he wants to.
He knows what his little whines and moans do to you. You get off on his desperation and he absolutely knows it. You can't help but melt when he looks up at you from his knees, his eyes wide and expectant, whispering "please, mommy" when all he wants is permission to kiss from your ankle to your knee.
He's learned that being well mannered is the only way to get what he wants so you don't mind rewarding his good behaviour. His plump lips begin to trail eagerly from the ankle strap of your heel, up the side of your calf until he reaches the joint at your knee. Your fingers tangle in his hair, warning him not to go any further and the groan he elicits is heavenly.
"Please let me kiss you." He practically sounds like he's panting. Frustration has settled into his features, his eyes trained on the cherry red lace that shields your sex from his hungry gaze.
He knows you're already wet and he knows that if he's just able to kiss a little bit higher, your self control might waver enough that you'll allow him to lap up your arousal and that's really all he's dreaming of.
"You're so selfless, aren't you?" Your sarcasm isn't lost on him. He wants to taste you because he wants to taste you, not so much for your pleasure. "No, let's try something different."
You slip your panties down your legs but he's smart enough to know you aren't going to give him exactly what he wants.
You kneel down beside him, lining your hand with the slick lace before wrapping your fingers around his stiff cock that's been begging for attention for far too long now.
"O-oh my God." The first stroke of your hand makes him crumble. Despite being slick, the lace offers so much friction and he's far too sensitive for that.
Your hand pumps quickly, watching his face while he begins to slip. "Good boy, that's it. Take it. Fuck, you're so pretty, do you know that? You're doing so well for me."
" 's too much. Please. Don't stop." His head falls forwards onto your shoulder, groaning pathetically into the crook of your neck.
"Do you want to cum, sweetheart? Are you going to be a filthy slut and cum in my panties? Do you even realise how fucked up that is?" Your soft voice makes him melt up until your hand on his cock speeds up.
"Y-yes. Oh God yes, please let me cum." He didn't think it'd be this easy but when you give him permission, he knows to take the opportunity while he's getting it.
In just a few more minutes, his thighs are trembling as he shoots a thick load into the already saturated lace lining your hand. The release of each gush of his seed feels more euphoric than the last and he's whining pathetically, up until he's fucked himself empty into your fist.
"Good boy." You whisper, kissing his damp forehead while he catches his breath. "I'm so proud of you."
You unfold the lace, admiring just how much of his cum he's managed to splatter over just your underwear. "Now. I want you to put these on and wait in the bedroom."
#becca's thots#becca writes spice#sub!bucky#subby!bucky#I can't stop thinking about it#I was going to write a longer piece today#but then today became a chill day#bad week besties#my car wouldn't start yesterday morning#since the weather is better I've been walking more and now I never really drive my car#but dad jumped it for me and now it's fine#it also didn't work out with the house I was bidding on 😭#but it's fine#I just REALLY liked that one#I think I'm having an identity crisis rn#like new phase in my life#new job in less than a month#booked in with my optician for an eye test and inevitably new glasses#I'm booking in to change my hair again#and I put my favourite perfume on this past Thursday evening#I have always been obsessed with that perfume#I got it for starting my undergrad and I wore it almost every day#I save it now for special occasions bc I want to use the last of it for my masters graduation (bc I am a sentimental idiot)#but I put it on and I don't think I really like it?#I've been wearing the Tiffany and Co aftershave so much I think I don't want to smell like anything else#who even am I these days 😩
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Hi!! This might be awkward because it's my first time requesting something but I'll try my best.
Could you write a Fem!Reader x Farah where the reader is a Belly Dancer?
Just them meeting and feeling a spark between them. I'm a dancer and it would mean the world to me.
Thanx in advance!
Hey there! I went a little wild with that one since I've been wanting to write something a bit more elaborate for a while now, hope you don't mind =)
Farah with a Belly-Dancer!Reader
The chill of the evening made you shiver, its breeze gently caressing your skin as though you were a lover long lost. And yet, your performance continued as the audience cheered for you. Four evenings you had been performing now, calming the minds and souls of the weary freedom fighters that battled demons each day, trying to gain their freedom from their cruel oppressors. In the darkness of the night, you danced, giving them a glimpse of hope, showing them what they’re fighting for: A future in which neither man nor woman, adult nor child, had to fear for their life. A future in which everyone was treated as equal with love and compassion. From the ashes of war, that future would arise, growing, nurtured by the community found in the broken homes of the people crying for help. You were there to remind the fighters that that was the life to be had once all of this was over.
A small celebration it was, with many having gone to bed, dreaming of green plains among which their children would play. But not you. You would dance the night away. For as long as you could move, for as long as you could improve someone’s night, you would continue to dance. Your graceful movements, paired with the drums of another, made for quite the spectacle. Although tired, the people cheered for you to continue, to entertain them with your entire being. Those fights riddled them with fear, engraving into their hearts emblems of terror, but you dulled the pain, if just for the duration of which you performed your heart out. The rewards weren’t applause, whistles and flowers being thrown at your feet, it was tomorrow. A tomorrow that was one day closer to being ideal. One day, the wars would be over, but until then you shall hold on.
And the chill of the evening almost made her shiver as well. Farah took notice of the gathering of people over at the building, convening in front of it as though offerings to praise the gods were being made. But there was no such thing, for a benevolent and kind deity would never allow this many of her brothers and sisters to fall. And yet, her curiosity betrayed her in that she turned to look at the blissful scene. As her people clapped along to the music, she felt intrigued. Who was it that brought joy in such dark times? Who would bring about such bright smiles? Who would make those soldiers feel at ease during times of war? It must have been someone, who had lost their mind, evidently. And yet, there was a sense of gratitude. Why wallow in misery, one day it will all have been worth it. One day, those uncertain times would finally be over and they could finally rebuild their cities from the rubble, that, which has been so unfairly been laid waste to.
And among that stage was something Farah would have never believed, had she not seen it with her own eyes. A trick of the dim light, perhaps. Maybe even a phantom, sent to entice her. She was strong, much more so than even her closest companions would believe, but what she saw on stage gave her a feeling of contentment. There was no certainty you were real, perhaps you were an illusion caused by her fears and worries, perhaps you were a foul demon that sought to get her off her path of righteousness. Either way, you were ethereal. The passion behind your movements was enough to convince her that you must have been some greater being. You brought cheer and happiness to the almost hopeless. Oh, how Farah wished she could have gone onto that stage, show her chivalrous side and protect you from all harm. But her mission would allow her to do so anyway.
And what you saw almost made you freeze in place. A woman, hardened by the battles she’s fought and won, but the kindness in her eyes was very much there. She was rough around the edges, she had been beaten down so many times, but she never ceased to fight, she never ceased to do what was right. For herself and the people she believed in. From below, she stared right back at you, her eyes sparkling brighter than the stars above. Although you had recognized her from hearsay, you never would have thought you would get to see her in person, much less have someone of such importance watch your performance. It was the incentive you needed, the energy boost given to you after a small break, that invigorated you. You were born anew under her gaze, a warm feeling overcoming you. And just like that, just because that woman watched you with such intent, you could continue to dance the night away.
But even as that youthful joy began to settle in your heart, you felt the urge to talk to that woman. She, who had no name you knew of so far, had captivated you in a way you couldn’t describe as you were. Perhaps the gods knew what it was you were feeling, but you, a mere mortal, lacked the understanding. And thus, as the masses slowly began to disperse, seeking the warmth of rest, you stepped off the stage for just a moment. There she was, her arms crossed, and yet she seemed approachable. With a gentle smile, she waved you over. In a world where most deities seem to leave humanity to fend for its own, why would a goddess of beauty, love and war come to call you, of all people? It was an enigma you had naught but an inkling of a reason. And yet, despite all the wars she’s fought in, she seemed to be so kind. Your heart was drawn to hers.
“Your performance was really nice.” Her voice, sweeter than sugar trapped in honey, enticed you. Her melodious voice beckoned you closer, and you followed suit.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you. You’re the commander, right? It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Y/N.” Almost shy in your approach, but you seemed more fierce than a lion defending his own kin. Although you held no guns, you fought for your beliefs in your own ways. How admirable.
Farah may not have been a believer of destiny, thinking that one could only carve one’s own path as the world would do whatever it took to prevent one from achieving the greatest of things, but it felt as though her and you had been intertwined. Oh, what cruelly sweet fate had brought you together? What made you meet under these circumstances? But perhaps fate had brought you together for a reason?
And for the first time that evening, the both of you could finally share in the warmth of a new companionship.
#cod#cod x reader#farah karim#farah karim x reader#I felt pretty good today so I decided I'd write something a bit longer#something truly amazing happened and I can barely put my happiness into words :D#I feel like people would call me weird if I told them what it was though#it's been a while since I've written something like this! I haven't lost my fic-flow entirely just yet!!#I know barely anyone is going to read this since barely anyone cares about Farah (shame on you) but I don't care#I sort of like this piece :>#I hope it's to your liking too anon! I tried to make it good this time!#truth be told I haven't really been satisfied with my writing as of late so I'm just gonna try harder!#I wanna make the language a bit more flowy again! even if it's just a small ficlet like this!#one day I'm gonna write a proper fic again! just you all wait!
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January OTP Prompts
Fun fact! I live in a place that is not cold. However, it has been absolutely freezing the last week to the point where I am currently looking at a North Face puffer coat on the internet and trying to figure out if I order it, if I will still be cold in the 3-5 business days it says it will take to arrive. I have decided to inflict this misery upon Fictional!Matty, however, he at least has a warm coat. I have a denim jacket and a Noah Kahan hoodie.
10. Bundled up
Matty shivered, and wrapped his arms tighter around himself, as he trailed after George. He sniffled and reached up to wipe his runny nose with the sleeve of his parka. He adjusted his scarf to cover more of his face, his fingers feeling clumsy in his mittens. He was bundled up in a long sleeve tee shirt, a heavy sweater, the parka, a heavy knit scarf, and a beanie and he was still freezing. He halted, wincing as a gust of wind tore down the street, sending another shiver up his spine. He didn’t even remember what being warm felt like as they made their way through the snow covered street.
Jamie had bought him the warmest winter parka he could find in apology when he realized the tour schedule was going to take them to Canada during the winter. Matty was very adamant that he did not do weather colder than London. Even London was too cold for him in the winter. Despite wearing multiple pairs of socks and an extremely unstylish pair of Sorel boots, Matty still couldn’t feel his toes. He would have started crying ages ago if he wasn’t worried that his tears would literally freeze to his face and cause some kind of permanent damage. The strip of skin around his eyes was stinging from the wind and he wondered if it was possible to have already developed frostbite. He wasn’t sure how anyone even lived here, people weren’t meant to be out in these kinds of conditions! He was glad that even their most loyal fans had realized that camping for the concert in this weather was a bad fucking idea. He didn’t even want to be walking down the street, their destination hopefully ahead, he couldn’t imagine them sleeping in tents to see his sniffly ass up close.
Yet, George was happily plowing ahead, looking at directions on his phone, dragging Matty to some underground used record shop he had seen on instagram that was supposed to be the place to find obscure vinyl. If Matty had realized that around the corner from their hotel meant, around the corner and then straight on a mile and a half he would have insisted on Ubering, or staying behind in the warmth of the hotel room, wearing the complementary slippers and a bathrobe as he made use of the steam shower to try and loosen some of the mucus in his chest.
“You coming?” George called over his shoulder, his warm breath visible in the cold air. Matty wanted a cigarette but there was absolutely no way he could light it, let alone hold it with how bundled up he was, and he was not sacrificing wearing a mitten even for a fag. He’d also have to pull down his scarf, exposing his face to the elements which was another nope.
“I think I’ve frozen to the sidewalk,” Matty complained which just made George grin wider, amused by his misery.
“That just means you need to walk faster,” he teased, picking up his pace as Matty groaned.
Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
#allylikethecat#January OTP Prompts#Prompt Fills#Prompt Fill#Matty fic#Gatty#fanfic#fanfiction#woot woot day 10 here we go#i also got my nails done today#and am feeling a lot more motivated to write now that i no longer have the ridiculous talon claws i had for the holidays#my nails kept slipping off the keys!!#they are a normal length now#i can do things again like pick up pieces of paper and put my contact lenses in lol#thank you for reading and everyone who has been so supportive of these~#even though they are sometimes hard to finish#its been a lot of fun and im so happy ive been able to sick to the goal!
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you guysssss ๐·°(৹˃̵﹏˂̵৹)°·๐ flawless part two isn’t even close to finished and i’m already worried it’s going to be a 20k monster 。ﾟ(ﾟﾉД｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡
#UGH#i was fleshing out the plot a little more today and i LOVE it#like i love the themes i love the narrative as a whole i love the direction i love it all#but it’s SO much#and there isn’t even a good place for me to split it into two#so it’s just going to have to be this massive piece#i am feeling slightly stressed out/overwhelmed BUT#i am going to take it one scene at a time#and try to write a scene a day like i did with tag pt 3#to be fair tho these scenes are longer than tag part three’s scenes but!!!#eeeeeeee i’m excited tho!!!!! even if it is huge!!!#if ur a fan of tnii!tomura then u will love it#if ur missing touya nii and want to see a flash of him OUTSIDE of reader and natsuo’s povs then i also suggest giving it a try :)#clari chatters
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Sometimes I just get so upset about how limiting my disability has become. I used to sit on the floor and do art projects but I can’t sit on the floor anymore. I used to draw and bead and embroider and play guitar and now I can’t use my hands longer than a few minutes before the pain gets too bad. I used to spend my days carrying around toddlers and chasing them through the playground but my body isn’t built for that anymore. I just miss who I used to be before the pain took so much.
#sorry for emotional posting I’m just desperately tired of this#I was nauseous and in pain today but I still went to my writing group down the street which was great#but going there despite feeling sick meant that the second I got home I slept for 4 hours straight#I lost the whole second half of the day and it just sucks#and I’m still an artist I’m still a creator and I have all these ideas spinning around my head but I can no longer bring them to life#and it just feels like so many important pieces of who I am have been taken away#I used to be an artist and a musician and a teacher#and now im just sick#and I don’t know how to stop feeling cheated and robbed#might delete this later I just needed to write it down
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ch175<3
they were wrong for this btw (positive) (cried right after)
#stardust speaking !#gbf spoilers//#theres a billion pieces i have to write about this update i am LOSING my mind each time i think about it#also been thinking about violet knights words again#those about. its those with power who decides whats right? justice? something along those lines#srry freesia for going against u its different now#i WILL make a longer post about this all but i also was told critical rising information today and i am EXTREMELY unwell
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one of those things i’ve had to reteach myself w writing is setting smaller, much more digestible goals so that i’m not constantly risking burnout
#ignorance cloud on#like take for instance today: today i knew i didn’t have a lot of this one scene left#so i said ‘hey. my goal today is to finish this scene’#and i did! and i started a little bit of the next one but now i’m kinda not in the mood to write anymore#so i’m not! and it’s okay if i didn’t write like 5k words today or whatever bc i got to my goal and that’s all that matters#and i find that if i push myself beyond that i’m gonna produce work i dotn like which is gonna make me hate everhthinf#so uh yeah. if u find ur having trouble finishing longer works: break it up into digestible pieces that you can work on each day!#it doesn’t have to be a word count either like go by scenes. break down what the scenes gonna be about and set goals that way#that way ur not feeling obligated to ur word count which i know can be a suuuuper toxic mentality
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Take a shot for every time I use an unnecessary comma. I don't recommend this, as you are sure to die of alcohol poisoning before you finish the first paragraph.
#me? writing a tumblr post to avoid the work i need to be doing? it's more likely than you think#if you've read any of my posts then you know im working on a very important project and have been for the past 1.5 years#(unrelated but im at a coffee shop and really need to use the bathroom but someone has been in there for like an hour)#so far i'm the only person (except my two siblings who helped me with some formatting and made sure all of my links work) that has seen it#but now... the time has come for me to share it with all of the relevant people#that's like... eleven people?#they're all very important people and uh#one of them is a person i can no longer speak to and honestly shouldn't contact in any way. but here i am playing with fire#maybe fucking up this nonexistent relationship by breaking our promise not to contact each other#messing up any possibility of us having a relationship again#but yknow it's very possible we'd never have a relationship again anyway#and she deserves to see this project so uh. guess ill do it and maybe regret it for the rest of my life#and now im going to offer up this piece of my soul to people who may judge or hate it#or who may judge or hate me#this project has been the reaon i stay alive for the last 1.5 years. the reason i get out of bed. the reason i leave the house#what happens when it's done? when i have no more of it to work on?#im finally sharing it because it's reached the end of what i can do for awhile#im effectively done#now what do i do with my life?#im sending it out today or tomorrow and then... i dont know#if any of yall have watched psych. yknow the yin yang trilogy? yknow when yang is caught#and Mary says hes spent the last 15 years pursuing yang? and now he doesnt know what he's going to do?#thats me right now
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So, anyway, I say as though we are mid-conversation, and you're not just being invited into this conversation mid-thought. One of my editors phoned me today to check in with a file I'd sent over. (<3)
The conversation can be surmised as, "This feels like something you would write, but it's juuuust off enough I'm phoning to make sure this is an intentional stylistic choice you have made. Also, are you concussed/have you been taken over by the Borg because ummm."
They explained that certain sentences were very fractured and abrupt, which is not my style at all, and I was like, huh, weird... And then we went through some examples, and you know that meme going around, the "he would not fucking say that" meme?
Yeah. That's what I experienced except with myself because I would not fucking say that. Why would I break up a sentence like that? Why would I make them so short? It reads like bullet points. Wtf.
Anyway. Turns out Grammarly and Pro-Writing-Aid were having an AI war in my manuscript files, and the "suggestions" are no longer just suggestions because the AI was ignoring my "decline" every time it made a silly suggestion. (This may have been a conflict between the different software. I don't know.)
It is, to put it bluntly, a total butchery of my style and writing voice. My editor is doing surgery, removing all the unnecessary full stops and stitching my sentences back together to give them back their flow. Meanwhile, I'm over here feeling like Don Corleone, gesturing at my manuscript like:
ID: a gif of Don Corleone from the Godfather emoting despair as he says, "Look how they massacred my boy."
Fearing that it wasn't just this one manuscript, I've spent the whole night going through everything I've worked on recently, and yep. Yeeeep. Any file where I've not had the editing software turned off is a shit show. It's fine; it's all salvageable if annoying to deal with. But the reason I come to you now, on the day of my daughter's wedding, is to share this absolute gem of a fuck up with you all.
This is a sentence from a Batman fic I've been tinkering with to keep the brain weasels happy. This is what it is supposed to read as:
"It was quite the feat, considering Gotham was mostly made up of smog and tear gas."
This is what the AI changed it to:
"It was quite the feat. Considering Gotham was mostly made up. Of tear gas. And Smaug."
Absolute non-sensical sentence structure aside, SMAUG. FUCKING SMAUG. What was the AI doing? Apart from trying to write a Batman x Hobbit crossover??? Is this what happens when you force Grammarly to ignore the words "Batman Muppet threesome?"
Did I make it sentient??? Is it finally rebelling? Was Brucie Wayne being Miss Piggy and Kermit's side piece too much???? What have I wrought?
Anyway. Double-check your work. The grammar software is getting sillier every day.
#autocorrect writes the plot#I uninstalled both from my work account#the enshittification of this type of software through the integration of AI has made them untenable to use#not even for the lulz
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Edited about 600 words' worth in half an hour and I'm feeling really good about it.
#I used to write for an hour every day a while back#but I'm out of the habit#and I'm only going to have time for half an hour every morning for the next while anyway#so I'm letting it rest at half an hour for now. even at weekends when I have time to go longer#I'll probably go back and work on this piece more later today (I hope)#but GOD editing is tiring#I'm brushing up what used to be a final draft. until a year went by#infinite improvement (yay!) means infinitely wanting to go back and re-edit things that are supposed to be done (boo)#but in this case I think it genuinely needs it#and then when this re-edit is done I can go back to submitting it places :)#anyway who wants to read a horror story about sushi and mind control?#stellar original
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It’s funny how character concepts come together in your head sometimes.
For a while I’ve had these vague thoughts rotating in the back of my brain:
I have an almost finished Corpo playthrough (20 Int/netrunner, Judy romance, max synergy with Johnny, secret ending + Temperance) and a planned Streetkid (20 Body/melee, Panam romance, tense relationship with Johnny, The Star), but I have no ideas for a Nomad
Nomad + The Star seems too static, and also I would have done both Star-friendly romances by then
Kerry’s cute and probably fun to romance, but some aspects of his personality annoy me and more importantly I’m not very interested in a male V because I like the voice and the looks less and don’t have cool character concepts for him
To stay with Kerry I would need either the secret ending or the Johnny&Rogue quest
If I play the Johnny&Rogue quest and make the final choice as Johnny, I would go for the Path of Glory ending because I don’t want to undo his character development
Rogue’s path → The Sun + Kerry romance would also make sense because Johnny would sacrifice himself to preserve the relationship of his two best friends, right after witnessing the death of his own old flame
But I wasn’t thinking about this actively because I’m too busy trying to complete my original playthrough.
Anyway, today I was going through my song library looking for something to listen to in the background, and clicked on Orville Peck’s cover of Born This Way because Pride Month. Here’s an approximation of the train of thought that followed:
What a good aesthetic. This reminds me of the fancy cowboy boots I like to wear in the game I’m currently playing.
Can I make a whole cosplay-ish outfit in the game?
That would not really fit my female Corpo though... That’d be a whole new character. A guy. A gay guy. And cowboy aesthetic is more Nomad...
WAIT
Sooo, I guess my third V will probably be a fashionable Nomad cowboy who gets the closest thing to his happy ending with Kerry :)
#writing all this down took around 100 times longer than for my brain to put the puzzle pieces together lmao#*by today i mean about 2 days ago by now bc i forgot this one in the drafts as usual#cyberpunk 2077#blah blah blah#he will get along with johnny#but he'll have thick enough skin to not be offended by the immature assholery of either kerry or johnny#and that's why he will tell johnny their relationship is going swimmingly in the oil fields and lock himself out of the secret ending#i love it when a plan comes together
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Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx
x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ
in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?
warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.
a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt
Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.
What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc.
“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.
“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.”
The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”
“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”
The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.
Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.
Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?
Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.
Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.
Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you.
When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.
“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.
“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”
“Nearing six in the evening.”
“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”
Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.
“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”
He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you.
“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion.
“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them.
“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”
“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.
“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”
“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I find it funny.”
He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”
“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”
“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.
You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.
If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”
“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now.
He pouts. “When will you be home?”
“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”
“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”
“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”
With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much.
Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”
“Do you need me to accompany you there?”
“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”
“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”
Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”
“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure.
“Love you,” you murmur when parting.
The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun.
“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”
“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.
He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away.
Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him.
“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.
“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.
Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum.
You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.
During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.
You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.
So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?
“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.
“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.
“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.
Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.
The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.
“How did you discover this place?” You ask.
“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.
Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”
“I take it you like it here then?”
“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.
Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks.
“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.
You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”
“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”
“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips.
“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”
“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”
You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”
Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek.
“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response.
“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”
You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office.
Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step.
It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.
Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.
“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.
“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.
“Long day?”
“Draining too,” he murmurs.
“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building.
The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.”
“Did you do anything today to earn it?”
“I need to earn my kisses now?”
“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives?
You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-
“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.
Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.
You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”
How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy.
Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.”
“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs.
Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.
Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning.
You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity.
There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you.
“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out.
“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress.
It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give.
You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first.
But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.
“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze.
You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.
“Dunno. Just double checking.”
“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”
“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?
“Yeah.”
“Fine, amazing, just dandy.”
You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.
Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food.
Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?
Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.
He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day.
“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”
He shushes you.
“What-”
“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved.
When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day.
So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.
“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.
You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.
“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles.
It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end.
“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted.
“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek.
Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.”
The dark-haired stiffens. “What?”
“Nothing,” you cough.
“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”
“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”
“Which was?”
“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”
“Why would I ever want that?”
“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”
“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.”
You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”
Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye.
“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you.
When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.
It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night.
Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.
“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.
You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.
“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.
As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little.
“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”
He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”
You nod, “I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.”
“Sorry for putting you through all that.”
“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.”
“I love you, Wriothesley.”
He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”
A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again.
*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol
© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
#genshin x reader#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley fluff#wriothesley x reader fluff#wriothesley x gn!reader#genshin fluff#genshin x reader fluff
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