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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months

Text

Cramps

Summary: After going off of birth control, your periods have been a little more intense than you're used to. What starts out as a stressful morning between you and your husband, very quickly turns into a night that bodes very well for the both of you.

Paring: Husband Frankie Morales x Wife f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K on the dot (idk how we got here)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) PERIOD SEX, unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also they want a baby so), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving, again, you're on your period but our pussy eating king Fransisco Morales is an unstoppable force of nature), creampie, praise kink, big fat nasty breeding kink (it's who I am now, I won't apologize for it), Frankie's got a NASTY mouth, Frankie is the best husband, reader is on her period/has period symptoms, talks about family planning/not being on birth control, use of nicknames (hermosa, quierda, cariño), reader has no physical descriptions besides that she can wear Frankie's clothes

A/N: Well... This was gonna be a drabble... and then it was just gonna be fluff.... and then it was gonna be just some implied smut... and now, we're here??? Idk, don't ask me 🥴 self indulgent bc I just finished my period (and my periods have been whack since stopping bc) and what better way to heal myself than imagining what Frankie would be like taking care of you 🥺 also pls be nice to me this is my first time writing Frankie and I'm v nervous EEK I hope you enjoy!!! sorry Javi bby, I still love u

Bitchy.

You wished you had a better word to describe your mood for today, but truth be told, bitchy was by far the most accurate.

You and Frankie were hoping to start trying for your first baby soon, and had recently gone off your birth control after your doctor had told you it may take a few months for your body to regulate itself before you had a better chance at getting pregnant. Your doctor had also warned you about many of the symptoms and side effects that stopping the pill could have, one of those being becoming more aware of your emotions and mood swings throughout your cycle. That, you were prepared for.

What you were not prepared for, was to feel like an absolute psychopath in the days leading up to your period.

Your cycle had been wonky the past few months as your body began to sort itself out- you had a feeling your period was probably about to start soon, but hadn’t thought much about it, considering your terrible and grouchy mood had overshadowed it. You had tried your best to pull yourself together the past few days, chalking up your grumpiness to long hours at work, or just being in a weird funk, but today, you woke up with a fire in your gut, ready to fight, and poor Frankie was about to be your punching bag.

Sweet Frankie had been nothing short of a saint when it came to just about anything, but dealing with your newly heightened emotions right before your period really should have earned him some sort of Presidential Medal of Bravery, considering that your newly discovered highs and lows while PMS-ing were just as frightening as any time he had spent during his time in the military.

Unfortunately for your husband, despite his best efforts, he had been on your nerves all morning. Not because he was really doing anything wrong, but because the little things that you were normally so good about letting go, or the patience you frequently had seemed to have flown out the window, and you were convinced that if Frankie even breathed the wrong way, you were going to absolutely lose it.

So when unsuspecting Frankie decided to ask you a simple request about after work plans, there was very little he could have done to prepare for your response.

“Morning, Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, emerging into the kitchen, his hand rustling through his untamed, sleepy brown curls as he let out a yawn and a stretch, the slight softness of his stomach peeking out between his t-shirt and pajama pants as he raised his arms above his head before settling behind you. He wrapped himself around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss into your shoulder as you finished putting the last of your lunch in your bag for work, trying to force yourself to focus on his sweet good morning, rather than the empty bowl of cereal in the sink that had greeted you first thing when you woke up, already starting you off on the wrong foot in your already irritable mood.

“Morning, babe.” You grinned, forcing yourself to forgo the annoyance hidden behind your smile as you pecked a quick kiss on Frankie’s lips before gathering the rest of your things for the day scattered across the kitchen table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to make you breakfast this morning because I was running late, but there’s extra scrambled eggs on the stove if you want them. I’m really sorry, Frankie, I gotta head out, have a good day, I’ll see you later okay?” You sighed, slinging your work bag over your shoulder, your hands full of your coffee mug, water bottle and keys, your cluttered grip and running behind schedule only adding to your frustration.

“All good, Querida, no worries. Hey, actually baby, before you leave,” He paused, setting down the coffee mug he was just about ready to take a sip of, as if a little lightbulb had just gone off in his brain, “do you mind picking up stuff to make that really good buffalo chicken dip for Benny’s tonight? I told ‘em we’d bring like, an appetizer or something, if that’s okay.”

For Frankie’s sake, you couldn’t have been more thankful that you had your back turned to him, because if looks could kill, Frankie Morales would have been a dead man.

Every rational part of your brain knew that even though his request perhaps wasn’t the best timing, stopping by the store and making dip to bring to Benny’s for game night really wasn’t that much time or effort out of your day. But today, it seemed like every part of your brain but the rational one seemed to be functioning properly, and the raging, irrational part might as well have heard that Frankie wanted you to prepare and cook a Thanksgiving meal for 74 after you got home from work.

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening around the items in your hand, praying with every bone in your body that someway or another, you had misheard your husband.

“Tonight? As in, like, today, after I get home from work?” You questioned, trying to do your best to keep your tone from sounding too condescending.

“Yeah, we don’t have to be there until 7, I just don’t think I’m gonna have time to since I probably won’t be outta work until 6:30.” He shrugged nonchalantly, taking another swig of his coffee

Oh yeah, you’d heard him right.

You let out a deep sigh, even more over dramatic than you had intended it to be, arms crossed over your chest and stark frown spread across your face as you turned towards Frankie.

“Oh, perfect! That’s a great thing for me to find out about at 7:45 A.M. the day of, Frank!” Your voice oozed with ferocious sarcasm, now slamming your things back down onto the table to run your hands over your face. “No, that’s great, because there’s nothing I wanted to do more than to come home and make buffalo chicken dip instead of all the other shit I needed to do today before we left! Amazing! Thank you!”

At this point, you were almost positive that if your eyes rolled any further, they’d be in the back of your skull, letting out another angry huff as you shook your head at Frankie, who was looking absolutely petrified as he leaned back against the counter, eyes darting to the floor to avoid yours, running his hand over the wispy curls at the nape of his neck. Frankie began to stammer, trying to defend himself from your wrath.

“Hermosa, I’m- I’m sorry? I know it’s last minute, but you normally make it every time we go over there, I just- I figured it’d be easy for you to do? You can get something else, or I can try to stop by the store really quick on the way home, I just might-”

“Nope, you want buffalo chicken dip, apparently I’m making buffalo chicken dip!” You groaned, collecting everything back into your hands, swearing under your breath as you tried to balance everything in your grip. “Jesus, okay, I need to go to work, just- I don’t even know. I gotta go, Frankie.”

“Querida, I-” Frankie pleaded, beginning to trail behind you as you made your way to the front door.

“Frankie, whatever, it’s fine! I’ll make the stupid dip! I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” You could feel the muscles in your jaw beginning to clench as you gritted your teeth, trying with everything in you to keep from exploding as you headed out of the house. Without even a kiss goodbye, you left Frankie in the doorway, watching you throw your things in the car and slam the door behind you as you drove down the driveway.

But as soon as you were on the road and your house was out of view, you could instantly feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, slowly streaming down your cheeks as you began to sob, wondering why you had ruined the morning over as stupid as an appetizer, and even worse, that you had been a complete asshole to your husband about it.

You couldn’t have been more thankful that work had been quiet today- no meetings on the schedule, and no one coming to bother you, leaving you plenty of peace and quiet to continue sulking and brooding in your unpleasant mood.

Right around lunch time, you found yourself eating alone in your office, wishing your lunch was about ten times saltier and chocolatier than it was, crying to yourself as you watched a video of a dog meeting its new human sibling for the first time.

Just as you were beginning to pack up the rest of your lunch and start back up with your work, you felt a terrible twinge in your lower stomach that had you just about keeled over in pain, followed by that all too familiar feeling in your underwear.

Frantically scrambling, you reached into your bag to pull out a tampon, hurriedly shuffling to the nearest bathroom, only to reveal the murder scene equivalent as you pulled down your pants.

Your period had come.

In that moment, as much as you were dreading the pain and misery that was the next few days to come, you couldn’t also help but feel a slight sense of relief, realizing that you were in fact, not actually a crazy person for the way you were feeling, you were just PMS-ing out of your mind. You couldn’t also help but feel absolutely awful for your unjustified freak out at your husband this morning, your heart sinking with guilt as you made your way back to your desk, immediately grabbing your phone to text Frankie.

“Hey… I’m so sorry about this morning. What you were asking me to do wasn’t a big deal at all and I totally freaked out on you. My period just started, I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch this morning. I’m sorry, Frankie, I love you.💕 ”

It was almost instantly after you hit send that the reply bubble popped up in your message, your heart pounding anxiously waiting for your husband’s reply.

“It’s okay, I kind of had a feeling 😉 babe, you weren’t being a bitch- I should have talked to you about it sooner. Shitty timing on my part. I’m sorry. I love you too, Querida.”

Before you could even respond, another message popped up below his first.

“Don’t worry about going to the store or making anything tonight. I already texted Benny and told him we couldn’t come. We can spend the night in, just the two of us. I can pick up takeout on the way home if you want and we can pick a movie to watch.”

You could feel your frustrated facade beginning to melt away as your lips shifted from a pursed frown to a small smirk reading Frankie’s text, your thumbs quickly tapping across the screen of your phone to reply.

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

“Of course. Hopefully none of your co-workers ask you to make buffalo chicken dip before you leave 😘”

“Oh shut up, meanie.”

“Just kidding. Have a good rest of your day, love you. 💙

“Love you too. 🤍”

Although the rest of your day was nowhere near enjoyable, given the fact you felt like you were getting punched repeatedly in the uterus and your personality resembled that of Oscar the Grouch, you knew that your night in with Frankie was your light at the end of the tunnel, and only needed to make it a few more hours before there was at least some sweet relief finally headed your way.

Despite the constant stabbing pain in your lower stomach and back, your drive home from work had you in much better spirits than your drive there, now not only having an explanation as to why you had felt like such a mess, but also knowing the rest of your night was going to be dedicated to nothing but cuddling up in your comfiest clothes and snuggling up next to Frankie on the couch.

As you pulled down your street, you were surprised to see Frankie’s truck already parked in the driveway, wondering what he was doing at home almost an hour earlier than he had mentioned he would be this morning. Gathering all of your things out of the back of your car, you quietly entered your home, confusion scrunching in your brow as you called out for your husband.

“Frankie? Babe, are you home?”

Before you could even kick off your shoes or hang up your coat, Frankie had already appeared at the front door to greet you, boyish grin spread across his face as he grabbed your things out of your hand, carefully placing them on your entryway table before engulfing you in a bear hug, his broad arms wrapping around your body and pulling you closer into his chest.

You could feel all the muscles in your body instantly relax as your face rested against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, soaking in the familiar woody and savory scent of him, letting yourself be consumed by every ounce of his embrace.

“Hi Hermosa.” Frankie cooed, pressing a soft kiss against your temple, running his hands up and down your back as you looked up at his sweet brown eyes shining down at you.

“What are you doing home so early? I mean, not that I’m mad about it at all, I just thought you said that you had to work until 6:30 and-”

“Told my boss I had to head out early for a family emergency.” Frankie smirked, laughing at you playfully rolling your eyes from his so-called excuse.

“Last time I checked, your wife being a grump because she’s bleeding out of her cooch doesn’t classify as a family emergency, Fransisco.” You teased, giving him a little shove, making the two of you giggle in tandem.

“Eh, close enough. I’m really sorry about this morning, querida. I was a dick for not talking to you about plans beforehand and just assuming you could go do it. It wasn’t fair of me.”

“It’s okay, Frankie. What you were asking for wasn’t a big deal and I made it one because I’ve been a psycho all day. I’m sorry, too.”

“Well,” Frankie paused, pressing another kiss onto your cheek, the width of his palm gently cradling your jaw as you stared up at him and his sympathetic smile, “number one, you are not a psycho. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must feel right now, so even if you were, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. Number two,” he paused again, shifting his kiss from your cheek to your lips, his thumb delicately swiping across your skin, “you’re my wife and I love you more than anything, and if I can take a little time off to help make you feel better, it’s the least I can do. So, why don’t you go change into something comfortable, and when you get back down here, I will have pizza and ice cream, whatever movie you wanna watch, and a back rub ready for you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Frankie. God, you’re the best.” You grinned, pressing up on your tiptoes to let your mouth meet Frankie’s, the plush pout of his bottom lip swiping across yours, lingering just long enough to let the butterflies in your stomach begin to swirl, heat creeping through your cheeks in the tenderness of the moment.

“Of course, cariño. Te amo. Now go get changed.” With one last peck on his lips, you wiggled out of Frankie’s grasp to make your way up the stairs, grinning to see that your husband had already set out your favorite of his oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants, neatly folded on the bed for you to grab, quickly shuffling out of your uncomfortable work attire and exchanging it for Frankie’s clothes, your smile growing even wider at the feeling of perpetually being wrapped up in the essence of him.

As you made your way back downstairs to meet Frankie, you found your heart skipping a beat again to see that the better part of the living room had been turned into a cozy sanctuary- lights dim and candles lit, both parts of your couch squished together, filled with every pillow and blanket you owned, and Frankie sitting in the middle, giant box of pizza, tub of ice cream and your handsome husband waiting for you.

As if your emotions hadn’t already taken you on a wild roller coaster of a ride today, the adorable sight in front of you had you on the verge of tears again, wiping the wetness pooling in your eyes with the back of Frankie’s sweatshirt sleeve drooping off your arm before crawling into the blanket fort he had constructed for the two of you.

“Frankie… You didn’t have to do this.” You sniffled, curling up next to Frankie as he draped a blanket over your lap and his arm over your shoulder, passing you a plate with 2 large pieces of pizza.

“It’s the least I could do. I put on Hercules for us to watch, but if you wanna-”

Before you could let him finish the rest of his sentence, you were running your hand across the scratchy stubble of his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you planted a kiss on his lips, feeling your smiles melt into one another's as your mouths met. “That sounds perfect. God, how’d I get so lucky?”

“I could say the same thing, mi amor. You ready to start the movie?”

“Only if you also pass me that tub of Ben and Jerry’s to go with my pizza.”

“I think I can make that happen.”

About half way through the movie, pizza and tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, your and Frankie’s bodies were tangled together in a sea of limbs and blankets, contently snuggled up with one another as Frankie’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back and shoulder as you laid against his chest.

“You doin’ okay, querida? Need anything?” He cooed, his soft voice dancing in your ear. As if it weren’t enough that you had already been through the extreme highs and lows of almost every feeling under the sun today, the one you hadn’t been until this very moment was insatiably horny. While the mood swings you had mentally prepared yourself for with your new period symptoms, the constant other kind of ache between your legs you had not, and feeling the low rasp of Frankie’s words tickling your neck had been just enough to flip the switch to make you desperately needy.

Letting your leg slide over Frankie’s lap, you pushed yourself up to straddle his hips, running your hands through the dark curls of his thick, brown hair, and down his broad chest, your fists bunching the worn fabric of his shirt in your hands as your mouths became a mess of tangled tongues and teeth.

“I need- fuck- I need you, Frankie, please.” You pleaded between muffled moans, his tongue swiping in the parted space where your lips melted together as one, instinctively beginning to grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his sweatpants starting to grow beneath you.

“Fuck- You sure, baby?” Frankie rasped, reactively bucking up into you, making you whine as his hands dug into your hips, guiding you as you swirled over the tented fabric of his bottom half rubbing against your covered core.

“Please. Please, Frankie.” You were all but whimpering at this point, nodding frantically in approval as Frankie used the grasp on your hips to guide you onto your back, making you cock your head in confusion as Frankie scampered to the other side of the couch, back turned to you as he reached over the ledge, pulling out a thick, black towel with a smug grin on his face. “Did you seriously have a towel ready incase I wanted to have sex?” You snorted, shaking your head at Frankie, now crawling back to you, caging your body under his with an electric kiss as he shimmied the towel underneath you.

“Maybe.” Frankie smirked, breaking from your kiss to let his lips trail down your body, his hands toying with the edge of his sweatshirt covering your body as he pushed it up your stomach and chest, helping you to shimmy it over your head, leaving your top half exposed. He gently palmed at your breasts, taking each pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking at the buds with his tongue before letting his kisses travel down the soft skin of your stomach and waistband of your sweatpants. The clothes on your bottom half soon joined your sweatshirt in a crumpled pile as Frankie nestled himself between your legs, gently nudging your hips to let your thighs part, revealing your pussy, slick and shiny for him with your juices.

Even though Frankie would eat you out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late night snack, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that he still found himself between your legs during your time of the month, considering any other man probably would have scoffed at just the thought of going down on you on your period.

But, then again, Frankie Morales wasn’t just any other man.

“Frankie, baby, you know you don’t- Oh fuck!” You gasped, cut off in surprise as Frankie’s tongue licked a long, broad strip across your cunt, making you shudder in pleasure as his head perked up, revealing the devilish grin spread between his cheeks watching your chest already heave in heavy, shaky breaths.

“Oh I know I don’t have to, sweet girl. But I want to. Relax, baby, lemme take care of you.”

Before you could agree, protest, or anything in between, Frankie was back between your legs, arms wrapped around your thighs as they draped over his broad shoulders, digging his fingertips into the plush softness of your skin, dragging his tongue through your folds with the exact grace and precision that he knew made you fall apart in seconds.

With flat, firm presses of his mouth latched against your clit, you could already feel your bottom half writhing under him, the perfect pressure of his tongue dancing around your sensitive bundle of nerves making you moan in pleasure. As your head dipped back, falling into the couch pillow behind you, your hand shot down, fingers burying themselves in the wild curls of Frankie’s hair, tugging at the thick ends for any sort of release as he worked relentlessly at your aching cunt.

“Fuck, Frankie, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your praise only intensifying the way your husband drank every ounce of you up, two thick fingers now gently pressing inside your heat, curled deliciously as they rocked in and out of your entrance, nudging against your g-spot.

Frankie had spent enough time worshiping the altar that was your pussy to know exactly how to make you crumble beneath him, leaving you chanting his name like a prayer as his lips latched around your clit, ferociously sucking as his fingers prodded at the soft, spongy spot that made your cunt begin to clench and heat in your belly pool.

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. I’ve got you.” Frankie groaned, his words humming deep in his chest, placing chaste kisses on the inside of your thighs before drinking you up like a man starved, adding a third finger into your heat, the added fullness and stretch, combined with Frankie’s relentless pace, enough to have the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine now washing through every inch of your body. Your orgasm began to crash through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins, making you cry out Frankie’s name over and over.

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum again, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become, your pussy slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the Frankie and fucked you senseless with just his tongue.

Wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand, Frankie tugged the sweatshirt covering his own body over his head, followed by his pants and boxers, freeing his painfully hard cock as it slapped against his stomach, his tip red and leaking with precum as his broad body loomed over yours, sucking and nipping at your pulse point as you whimpered his name.

“Frankie, holy fuck.”

“Such a good girl for me, querida. You still want me to fuck you, baby?” He mewled, the metallic and tangy taste of you still lingering on his tongue as he kissed you, laughing to himself at the way you found yourself frantically nodding your head to tell him yes before your words could.

“Jesus Christ, yes. Fuck, please Frankie, I need to feel you.”

Reaching down to stroke himself, he lined his cock up with your entrance, easily sliding into your heat and brushing his tip against your cervix, taking a moment to let you adjust to his fullness. The whine you let out as Frankie filled every inch of you was nothing short of ragged, digging your nails into the skin of his broad back as he ever so slowly began to thrust in and out of you, dragging his length against the slick of your cunt.

“Oh fuck me- Fuck, you hear how wet you are for me, sweet girl? This what you needed, baby? To fill up that pretty little pussy of yours?” Frankie groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours, his sweaty curls now starting to stick to his skin as he pounded into you, rutting his hips at a faster and faster pace.

“It’s all for you, Frankie- Oh shit- only for you.” You moaned, your fingers wrapping around the width of his biceps, flexing deliciously as he hovered over you, sucking you in to a long, deep kiss, fucking into you over and over.

Even with the years between you and the ring on your finger, the possessive part of Frankie’s brain would never get over how the primal and all consuming feeling of knowing you were his, forever, your words shooting straight to his dick as a low groan rumbled in his chest, silently cursing to himself through gritted teeth, watching you fall apart below him.

Readjusting himself, Frankie sat back on his heels, hooking his arm under one of your legs to drape it over his shoulder, the new angle stretching you out in a way that had you seeing stars as Frankie rammed into your g-spot and began thumbing at your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm. You could already feel the heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, your leg beginning to tremble hoisted over Frankie’s shoulder as he dug into the meat of your thigh with a bruising intensity.

Just like he would never get over the fact of knowing you were his, Frankie would never get over watching you begin to crumble under his touch, taking the time to memorize every twitch and twinge your body made as you came closer and closer to your end, always savoring in the moaning mess you’d become as you fell apart around him.

“Fuck, Frankie, Fuck, oh my god- I’m close, baby.” You were all but rambling at this point, your brain barley stringing together coherent sentences as you felt your cunt beginning to clench around his cock, the lewd noises of your moans, wetness and skin slapping together as your hips met filling the room at a borderline pornagraphic rate.

“Meirda, I’m not gonna last much longer, hermosa. Fuck, where do you want me, baby?” Frankie growled through gritted teeth, his eyes locking on yours and telling him everything he needed to know without you saying a word.

“Inside. Fuck, please Frankie, I want you to cum inside me.”

Your confirmation was all it took to flip the switch in Frankie that sent him absolutely feral, the thought of being able to actually knock you up now that you weren’t on birth control anymore, giving you a baby, proving another way to the world to mark you as his? The thought alone was enough to have him bracing every bone in his body to keep him from cuming right then and there.

“Fuck me. You want me to fill you up, querida? Fuck me full of you? Fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, huh?” Frankie moaned, grunting with each thrust of his hips, his rhythm becoming more frantic and shaky as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him, pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit, swirling them in frantic circles to make sure you came before he did.

“Fuck, yes. I need you too, holy fuck- wanna make you a daddy, Fransisco.”

You could feel the tightly wound knot in your core starting to snap, your legs trembling and breath shaking as Frankie fucked into you, finding yourself on the verge of collapse- but not before Frankie’s filthy mouth got the last word in.

“Jesus, fuck- Fuck, hermosa. That’s what you want, pretty girl? I swear, I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into you it’ll fucking take. Get you fucking pregnant tonight.”

That was all it took to have you orgasm come crashing through you, every inch of your body radiating with pleasure as you came, crying out Frankie’s name as you gushed around him, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, your mind going blank and numb, the only thing grounding you were the incoherent ramblings of your husband as he followed suit behind you.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too, fuck, fuck-ahhhhhh.” With one final thrust, Frankie could feel himself spilling against your walls, coating you with his spend as his cock pulsed, making sure he milked himself of every last drop deep inside your cunt before even thinking about pulling out. Moving your leg, Frankie slumped into you, splaying himself across your body as your chests rose and fell in sync, laying in silence as you let your breathing steady, coming back down to Earth from your high.

With a shallow grunt, Frankie carefully pulled his softening cock out of your heat, leaning back to admire the mess he had made between your legs, his cum dripping down the inside of your thighs and pussy glistening with the mixture of your arousal. You let out a soft hiss at the loss of Frankie’s fullness inside you, only to quickly be replaced by a gasp as he buried his two fingers back into your cunt.

“Gotta make sure every last drop stays in there, hermosa. Gonna keep you full of me all night, baby.” He mewled, carefully gathering his spend and pushing it deep inside you, making you whimper as he slowly pulsed his fingers back and forth, pulling away his hand to lean back into your body, engulfing you with an electric kiss.

“Holy fuck, fuck me. Jesus, Frankie.” You laughed to yourself, your head dipping back on the pillow as you buried your face in your hands, at a loss for words at how euphoric you now felt in your post colital bliss.

“Wow, again, already? Gotta give me a few after that querida.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes at his joke as you playfully swatted at him, making him lean in to pepper your body with kisses, leaving you squealing and squirming in delight.

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Fransisco Morales. If you keep fucking me like that, then yeah, absolutley.”

“If I keep fucking you like this, I have a very hopeful feeling that next month, we’ll have something else to care about besides period cramps.”

“I swear to god, if one of my cravings ends up being buffalo chicken dip once I’m pregnant, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Taglist:

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wynnyfryd · 7 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 15

part 1 | part 14 | ao3

“Please please please please pleeeeease,” Dustin whines, tugging hard on the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“Dude get off me.” He slips the last of the leftover containers into the fridge, slams the door shut, and turns to glare at Dustin, who oh-so-conveniently had to step out after dinner to ‘walkie Lucas about a homework question’ and left Steve and Eddie to do the washing up.

In the absence of a Henderson buffer, the air between them had pretty immediately gone stale. Hesistant and charged, overly formal; fucking weird. Eddie moves like a weirdo, sways his hips out of the way of counter corners instead of walking a straight path, like some swaggering drunken pirate, and he spent the last ten minutes awkwardly traipsing around the perimeters of the kitchen as if Steve were a landmine he might set off at any time.

So yeah.

Steve’s feeling a little ungracious at the moment. “Seriously, what is so important that you can’t just show it to us tomorrow?”

“Ummm, scientific discovery? Wonder at the natural world around us?? Where’s your sense of adventure, Steve?”

“The last time I followed my sense of adventure out to your cellar I almost got—” His eyes cut sharply to Eddie, who’s doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop. Steve scrambles for a way to end his sentence that isn’t eaten by a creature with a razor flower for a face. “—uh, mauled.”

“Mauled?” Eddie asks, eyes bugging out. “Henderson, I’m not following you into the woods to get to turned into some feral thing’s chew toy, man.”

“It was fine,” Dustin insists, covertly kicking Steve in the shin.

Steve thinks of his NDAs and plays along. “Y-yeah. Totally fine. It was just, like, a rabid raccoon or something.”

“That… does not sound fine.”

“It’s cool,” Steve tries to reassure him (no idea why, really; that cellar’s nightmare fuel.) He throws a dish towel over his shoulder, nods his head decisively. “I’ll bring my nail bat with us.”

“You’ll fucking bring your what?”

—

Steve drags his nail bat through the leaves on the narrow trail, the wood thudding along behind him as they make their way to the cellar, a detached storm shelter at the far edge of the lot. It’s dark out here. And cold. His breath hangs in a puff of wet fog when he mutters, “Seriously, Dustin, this better be Noble Prize worthy stuff.”

“It’s Nobel,” Eddie says.

“Huh?”

“The, uh- the prize? It’s No-bel.”

“….Well, that’s stupid.”

“Why would it be Noble?” Eddie snorts, but his eyes are curious and kind.

“Because— because you have to be Noble to earn it? I don’t know!” Eddie laughs like he finds the answer cute. Steve doubles down. “That makes perfect sense, and you know it. A Noble Prize for a Noble Effort. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Dustin grunts as he unlocks the cellar doors. “Now come on.”

—

The cellar's just as creepy as Steve remembers: low ceiling, dusty cement blocks, a single, sad lightbulb dangling on a string. He eyes the dark corner on the far side of the squat room, bricked up now but it wasn't before; there were tunnels under here, once, vast networks like blood vessels to the beating heart of a monster Steve still can't fully comprehend. He grips the bat a little tighter.

"—Shit," Dustin says suddenly, cutting himself off mid-ramble about how cool his latest science project is, how it puts Cerebro to shame. "I forgot the remote." "You want me to go get it?" Steve offers. "No!" Dustin says it in a rush, then stammers, "No, that's okay. You won't know what to look for." He seems nervous. Jittery. Maybe the cellar creeps him out, too. "Be right back, just wait here."

"Grreeeat," Eddie replies as Dustin jogs back up the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth to call sarcastically after him, "We'll just be loitering in your murder basement, then; take your time!"

With Dustin gone, there’s nothing to do but stand there metaphorically twiddling their thumbs. Steve’s idly swinging his bat in a wide sweep around his calves, and Eddie’s staring at the ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe into a streak of dirt, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. He’s humming something that Steve can't quite make out, but it doesn't sound like the stuff he usually blasts from his van. It's softer. Easy. Almost pop.

“Hey, wait a sec...” Steve holds up a finger, turning his good ear toward the stairs. The leafy crunch of footsteps isn’t getting any quieter, and now it sounds like there are two pairs, getting louder; circling back. “You hear that?”

Eddie nods. Looks serious and spooked. Steve raises his bat, a sudden spike of fear; he creeps over to the stairs. “Hey,” he calls to the darkness. The rustling noise picks up, a swish of movement through the brush, and then the crrrrroak of something metal. Something heavy, groaning on its—

Hinges. Hinges. Son of a bitch, the cellar doors. “Hey!” he shouts, breaking into a run. “HEY—!”

BOOMMMM.

The doors slam shut with a heavy crash and the grating clink of more metal scraping metal. Steve bolts up the stairs, shoves with all his strength against the slanted doors above him. The doors don’t budge. “What the fuck?” Eddie shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

Steve pounds against the doors. “HENDERSON?”

Eddie comes up to join him, using his forearms like battering rams to try to bash the doors open. His voice cracks when he hollers, “Henderson, for real, man! I-if this is some kinda- some kinda sick fucking joke it isn’t funny!!”

“It’s for your own good!!” a voice that isn’t Dustin yells through the gap in the doors, and Eddie squawks, “MIKE?”

Mike?? MIKE?? Oh, that goddamned ungrateful, conniving little—

“We just wanted you two to talk to each other!” Mike says.

Dustin adds, “For real this time."

“Yeah, for real this time!”

Steve punches the doors, and Eddie bares his teeth like he can scorch a hole through the metal with the heat of his glare alone. “Wheeler, you are SO dead!!”

“So fucking dead!!!” Steve agrees.

---

part 16

tag list below the cut, comment if you want to be added tomorrow (or dm me if you want to be removed)

@acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @burymestanding @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cr0w-culture @cuips-not-cute @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @heartsong18 @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @novelnovella @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #st fic #my writing #my fic

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baeshijima · 2 years

Text

— only under the rain do we shine

just some instances wherein you’re caught under a sudden downpour and you find yourself joined by the company of a familiar man.

INCLUDES : alhaitham ; dainsleif ; diluc ; zhongli

reader is gender neutral w/ you/your pronouns !!

A/N : *gasp* sophie writing smth in canon timeline rather than an au ??? :shocked_pikachu_face: (blatantly ignores dains part while typing this haha,,,) i just love me some rainy (kinda) romantic moments ;w;;

likes and REBLOGS are appreciated if u enjoyed this !! <33

— alhaitham : kissing in the rain

“are you looking to catch a cold?”

“i’m not cold,” you huff out in response to alhaitham’s remark. “i’m feeling rather warm, actually.”

he blankly eyes your drenched form with scrutiny, and you fight the urge to shiver from the water droplets landing along the back of your neck. it’s not your fault the rain decided to pour when you decided to take a stroll! curse the weather and its unpredictable changes.

he gives a low hum after a few seconds of silence. “then why are your lips trembling?”

“i was just so excited to see you that my lips started to tremble— ack!”

the scribe stares blankly at you once more as he watches you try to rapidly blink away the raindrop that landed in your eye. he takes a brief glance at the downpour steadily increasing in strength before sighing to himself and stepping closer to you, lifting part of his cape to shield you from further onslaughts.

alhaitham had always thought rationality was the best and most efficient course of action. why should one prioritise fleeting emotions over sound evidence and logic? it never made sense to him, and he always thought it would simply stay that way.

well, keyword being “thought”, that is.

had he been told in advance that all sense of rationality would be promptly tossed aside when matters concerning you arose, he would’ve simply ignored that person and walked away. as much as he enjoys listening to others’ viewpoints and thoughts, some things are too illogical and farfetched.

but now he’s become a victim of irrationality and it’s all your fault. whether it’s the accumulation of time he’s spent with you that sparked this unyielding fondness or your terribly reckless habit of acting without much thought beforehand that makes him want to grovel, he doesn’t know. it’s simply a mystery to him how you’ve managed to weasel your way into his heart and plague his mind without much effort.

was it a year ago? no, it was longer than that. perhaps back in your student days? well, thinking back on it won’t change the irreversible. even when you smile at him like you are now, a sight to behold for his traitorous heart that only dares to pound so erratically when in your presence. even now the rain does little to deter him. in fact, it only seems to spiral him further, what with the way the raindrops drip off the contours of your face makes his mind shut down and fixate on the wet gleam along your lips.

ah. screw it.

in a deft movement he dips towards you, head angled and perfectly aligned with yours. something happens, and it’s only after his lips reluctantly part from yours do you realise what it was.

your lips tingle. is it from the kiss or is it from the heat steadily washing over you, the cold now drowned out?

“you’re warmer now.”

there’s something off about his tone — it’s filled with unspoken passion and void of his usual mechanical composure; almost as though he’s come to a groundbreaking revelation.

he stays close, lips barely a hair’s breadth away from yours. as much as you want to deny it, you can’t help but to agree with his statement. in fact, you’ve long-since forgotten the fact it was raining until now.

(mentally though, of course. you wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you openly admitting the affect he has on you. even if he knows a bit too well. but you can just ignore that.)

“however,” he continues in a mutter, and you suddenly find yourself at his mercy as his hand takes hold of your cheek in a gentle caress. “i don’t think you’re quite warm enough.”

yeah, maybe it would be a good idea to stop here and get out of the rain before one of you actually catches a cold. but alhaitham has only ever experienced irrationality and impulsive desires when with you, and this time is no exception.

— dainsleif : seeking shelter from the rain

sidestep to the left. duck. parry. clang! step to the right. clack! raise your arm—!

a resounding thud echoes across the training grounds. you catch your breath on the ground as you watch your training sword skid across the dirt before coming to a stop at the edge of the ring.

“you’ve gotten better, [name],” dainsleif states with a smile. he leans down with one hand stretched out towards you, the other clutching his own training sword at his side.

you huff lightheartedly and accept his hand. “i’m still light years away from your level of skill, captain.”

“what matters is your improvement. don’t be comparing yourself to others.”

you roll your eyes and walk over to the benches, guzzling down the contents of your water bottle and wiping away the lingering sweat with a spare towel. how typical of him. i’ll compare myself as much as i want just to spite him.

“and don’t drink your water so quickly. you’ll choke—”

his reprimands are cut short when you interrupt him with a slew of coughs, your fist banging against your sternum. immediately, he panics. he rushes to your side and hovers over you for a second or two before patting your back in hopes of alleviating your discomfort.

you settle not a moment after, and he would be breathing a sigh of relief if not for the cunning glint in your expression. if he didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t believe you nearly lost to a bottle of water mere seconds ago.

“y’know, captain, you’re a really clumsy guy.”

“and whose fault do you think that is...” he finds himself muttering. it’s moments like these he’s glad you don’t hear him, for the embarrassment would be too much if you saw the opportune moment to tease him.

“hm? did you say something?” your only response is him turning away and downing his own water. isn’t that hypocritical of him? did he not just see what happened to you, or does he want to experience it that badly?? “uh, captain? shouldn’t you slow down there—” drip. “huh?”

a drop of water hits the tip of your nose. just as you’re about to squint up at the sky, you find yourself being pulled along to the nearest sheltered area in haste. unfortunately, the tree your captain pulled you to does little to avoid the downpour now ensuing, but it’s the thought that counts.

the rain persists and you can just about make out the blurry figures of your comrades running under cover somewhere far off. from what you can see, however, they seem to be having about the same luck as you both.

(you could’ve sworn you saw one knight nearly face-plant if it weren’t for the saving grace known as halfdan, who barely managed to catch him in time.)

with no end in sight you turn to your captain wringing the excess water from his gloves behind you, only for the words you were about to say dissipate at the tip of your tongue instead and a new sound replace it.

it wasn’t intentional, but the laugh that slips by your lips is good-natured all the same. with how the rain made your captain’s hair all flat and stuck to his face, it was impossible to not find the sight at least a little cute. and so without much thought you reach up, brushing away the damp strands from going into his eyes with such concentration that you miss the way his eyes widen and quiver, his body stiffening in place.

his throat runs dry at the close proximity, and he would feel embarrassed by the heat engulfing his body if not for his brain short-circuiting.

“there!” you grin, eyes closing in tandem with your widening smile, and the twilight sword finds himself at a loss once more when before you. “now your hair won’t obstruct your view!”

you’re right. he can see you clearer than before. though that holds little weight when the rest of the world always seems to blur together and leave only you to stand unaffected in the centre of it all — in the centre of his world.

(to hope for this time with you to last an eternity… is that such a selfish thought?)

— diluc : lending the other their jacket

crystalflies had always been a fascinating entity in your eyes. its existence was something akin to that from a fairy tale, though you suppose with the addition of visions and elemental lifeforms anything could be possible.

perhaps it’s the way they always seemed to flock to and hover over you ever since you were young, always keeping you company when you were on your own. people have always said they disliked human interaction, opting to flee when a certain perimeter is met. but you’ve never encountered such an issue — maybe they are the problem.

you blink at the crystalfly sat in your cupped hands, the anemo particles shimmering gently in the darkened rain.

well, they’re cute at least.

a weight abruptly drops itself atop your head and the crystalfly resting in your palms flutters away. from the warmth and scent alone you knew who the culprit and owner of the jacket was.

you turn your head to glance over your shoulder with narrowed eyes and a petty heart. “you didn’t have to scare away the crystalfly like that.”

the winery tycoon merely sighs at your accusatory tone. “i think preventing you from getting sick is more important than a crystalfly getting scared.”

“i’m strong!”

“say that again after remembering the incident from last time,” diluc instantly retorts.

at that you fall silent, a defeated pout settling upon recalling your bedridden week during the last heavy downpour. actually, scratch that, you don’t really want to remember.

(both the incessant pain and diluc’s worried-sick expressions... yeah. you’d rather forget that time.)

hugging the coat to also cover your body you glance up from your crouched form to inspect the expression the man has right now. aside from his usual nonchalant expression there’s a forlorn glaze in his eyes as he stares into something inconceivable to your eyes, but you can hazard a guess as to what it was that caused him to fall into this stupor. (it was raining heavily like this on that day, too, after all.)

“and what about you? what can your short sleeves do in this weather?” you take a jab, and it effectively snaps him out of his daze. unfortunately for you, however, he makes one back.

“i, at least, have plenty of body heat to keep me warm, so i’ll be fine.” you’re about to let out a protest, but he cuts in before you can ever open your mouth. “that’s why i gave you my jacket. is it not warm enough?”

you can’t deny it. it’s warm — too warm, almost. but it’s comforting nonetheless.

diluc’s eyes soften when you bury your face into the warmth of his coat. that familiar flutter of his heart soars once more, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you even if he wanted to.

when he couldn’t find you within the manor he panicked, the dropping of his heart heavier than before. finding you crouched by the grapevines surrounded by crystalflies was no strange sight, but with the recent fluctuations of the weather it made him worry more. so he rushed, driven by the sight of you lying sick in his bed on a similar day to this to prevent you from being in such pain once more.

for you, who’s been by his side even through both his best and his worst, this is the very least he can do; diluc can only hope you accept his company into the unforeseeable future as well.

“come on, let’s go in. adelinde prepared dinner for us while you were out gallivanting in the rain.”

“wha— i was not gallivanting! the crystalflies called for me!”

“yes, yes. let’s hurry now or you really will get sick again.”

— zhongli : sharing an umbrella

liyue harbor always seems bustling, so much so that you can’t recall a time where it wasn’t throughout your years of living here. even when a steady downpour occurs, just like now.

“of course it’s just my luck the rain starts after i finish shopping,” you mumble. you’re grateful the shopkeeper lent you one of their spare umbrellas just as it started. if not for them you would’ve been sprinting through liyue’s streets just to get back home without too much damage done to your shopping.

well, life seems to enjoy spiting you.

a lonesome figure catches your eye amidst the rushing crowd, and it takes you a moment to realise it’s zhongli. you always thought of him to be rather otherworldly, but standing still in the middle of such a downpour is a whole new kind of, uh, otherworldly. can’t all be sane and good-looking, you suppose.

he’s someone you’ve come to worry about in the time you’ve known him (which, admittedly, isn’t all that long. it’s like he just appeared one day out of the blue and stayed ever since!). he’s rather wise and has a good head on his shoulders, but even so, there are moments where his expression shifts; like he knows something you shouldn’t even dare to dream of, or sees something far beyond your comprehension. there are times where even his shared stories and history lectures have an unspoken sense of experience.

in short, he’s an enigma. a bit of a weirdo sure, but not enough to the point you’d avoid him altogether.

and so it’s because of that very sentiment you’re changing course and heading towards him instead of the comfort of your home. can’t have one of the few good people you know catch a cold now, can you?

he’s lost in thought, zhongli is. the rain has minimal affect on him, the ongoing war raging constantly within his body being more detrimental than a few drops of rain. so really it’s easy for him to reminisce on days such as this — alone in dreary weather accompanied by a sombre mood... it’s practically the perfect setup.

idly, he wonders just how many rainy days such as this have gotten him so wistful. no, perhaps it would be best to not think too deeply on it and continue on his way.

a shadow hovers over him and he can no longer feel the dampness of the rain stain his clothes. he glances up — an umbrella? — and not a moment later does he turn, your narrowed gaze meeting his perplexed one.

“jeez, you’re such a handful.”

...he is?

with a sigh you take a step forward. zhongli blinks at the gesture, only noticing a second later your outstretched arm holding an umbrella between you both and connects the dots.

“there’s no need to worry about me,” he says, about to urge your umbrella back to shield you in your entirety. unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn.

“but you’ll get sick if you keep standing out here the way you were just now. we can just share.”

but i’m not a mortal like you, he wants to retort. he’s not like you, who can get sick without a moments notice. he’s not like you, who has only ever known life within the comforts of liyue harbor and its people. he’s not like you, whose blissfully radiant smile eases his weary soul. he’s not like you, who can effortlessly adapt to and understand human emotion. he’s not like you... you who deserves something meaningful in your fleeting lifespan.

he’s not like you, and you’re not like him. (oh, how he hopes you never have to face even a minuscule fraction of what he’s been through.)

it is only after your persistent stare does he eventually cave, a defeated smile resting helplessly on his lips at this situation.

“then allow me to at least hold the umbrella.”

and you beam at him in response, hugging your soggy shopping bag to your chest in delight.

“alright!”

he’s not like you, but maybe he can learn how to be while by your side.

(just for a moment, perhaps he can forget about the corrosion eating away at him. even if it’s as fleeting as the days that pass by.)

general taglist : @tiredsleep @hannas16 @volexis @ladycoleigh @sea-of-dandelions @fandangotales @absolutely-rational @starforecasts @lilikags @astranne @irethepotato @usertsubaki @0ni0m @yanderealm

(if u would like to join my general taglist, then pls fill out this form !!)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #dainsleif x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #zhongli x reader

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acourtofthought · 2 months

Text

I have no doubt that Lucien loved Jesminda with his entire heart. But in romance books, the author does typically want to write the endgame pairing in a way that lets readers know that their story is the ultimate love, something that could not have even been topped by a characters first love. I sometimes think on how SJM will go about convincing both Elain and the readers that Elain is his soulmate and not only because they share a bond but because of who Elain is as an individual and why she as an individual is everything he could want, why even if Jesminda were alive he would still choose Elain (something I do think Elain might have fears over). It's easy to see why Graysen was never going to be right for Elain, the red flags were already included in ACOMAF for us but Jesminda is on a pedestal for us, her death truly seems a tragedy for Lucien. However........ "She had teased him taunted him - seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn't wanted anything but her."

"She had chosen him."

I wonder if there is something in those lines because Lucien spent his youth being tormented by both his father and his brothers, he was clearly unwanted by 7/8th of the people around him and the one who loved him (the LoA) did not seem to have enough agency to prevent what was done to him. Lucien loved Jesminda, no doubt, but is she who he would have chosen for himself? We aren't given hints that he was initially drawn to her, we're told she was drawn to him. Was he overwhelmed by the fact that someone made him their priority, that they wanted him and him alone when he had spent so much time being unwanted and that is why he dove into their relationship with his whole heart? Jesminda was his escape from a terrible life and I can understand why he put his everything into it, she would have been the brightest light in the darkness. He would have been willing to leave everything behind for her, the court, his title, but that's because those things were his curse. Had he loved his court, his family, his brothers, would he have still been willing to leave that all behind for a female who was too wild and free to remain trapped in a life with structure and expectation?

I realize it's important for Elain to choose Lucien but I think it's important for Lucien to also choose someone who hasn't made it easy for him. He did not have to put effort into Jesminda to win her heart, Jesminda made her intentions very clear and all Lucien had to do was say yes. He was able to easily find female companionship even after that (though it's evident he never opened himself up emotionally to any of them). So yeah, I think the Elucien stalemate is actually a good thing for Lucien because it shows that he longs for Elain even when she does not seem to be reaching out to him, is not chasing him. She is not his current escape from sadness, from loneliness and he's not clinging to her because it's the one good thing in his otherwise uncertain life. He still wants her despite the fact that she's part of the reason he is struggling (the hallmark of all epic love stories, am I right?). Lucien has suffered in his life, no doubt. But he has never suffered for a female to earn her love and that is the one thing that Elain can believe in if she's ever in doubt as to his desire to be with her. She is the one person who he wanted regardless of what she felt for him. She is the one person who he waited for, regardless of how long it took. She is the one female who didn't fall at his feet, making it easy for him which is proving to the reader that he would stand by her side through the highs and the lows and I hope we'll find that it's because of who Lucien has seen Elain to be and how she is exactly who he would have chosen for himself.

#pro elucien #elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron

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winryrockbellwannabe · 10 days

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[25-31 may 2024] - no phone week 📵

Hello hello,

so, you may or may not have realized that I haven't post that much this last week. That's bc I've realized I've been spending a scary amount of time on my phone, and Im trying to reduce it in the most drastic way possible: deleting all apps from my phone

But, ofc, just switching to spending hours on my pc wouldn't be any better so i blocked some more distracting websites (i'm looking at you ao3), and got tumblr on the most agressive-towards-my-eyes theme possible so that I wouldn't be tempted to spend too much time in here.

This last week's screen time: saturday: 2h21 sunday: 4h04 monday: 2h20 tuesday: 3h50 wednesday: 5h53 - had a weakness moment and spent 3h10 on ao3 thursday: 3h35 (+ 4 hours on a video call, but I'm not counting that bc I was studying with a friend) friday: 3h30

So, what have I learned:

- First of all, I was originally low key unhappy about this, but then I realized my average screen time before this week was usually over 5 hours, which only happened once this week, so not that bad - this takes us to our second conclusion: I definitely spend too much time looking at this eletronic rectangle. And while I love it a lot for what it does for me - allows me to read about my blorbos, to talk to my friends and family, and a lot of other stuff, wasting regularly 5 hours on it is a bit too much for me personally

Where am I spending all this time?

- Shamefully, it's on ao3. Even on the lowest days, I spend at least half an hour in there. And while I love ao3, spending an average of over an hour and half on a daily basis during exams is a terrible terrible idea, but that is super hard for me to avoid. - The other problem is youtube. I am addicted to asmr to be able to fall asleep, but sometimes Im weak and I look at the screen during the video, and it makes me start reading or texting while I should be sleeping. And youtube shorts are also a problem.

Still, Im really happy with how productive I was this week and with my efforts to not spend that much time on my phone

Will definitely going to do more towards this during the next week, and I'll probably start posting daily again for accountability. And that's it, see you guyss <3

#studyblr #study blog #studyspo #stemblr #study blr #stem student #adhd studyblr #study goals #student life #college student

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cosmicdumpling · 1 year

Text

terribly so » jung wooyoung

SUMMARY: Tired and spent from work, you and your boyfriend share a calm and intimate moment after his bath.

PAIRING: wooyoung x gn!reader

GENRE: romance, fluff, a bit of humor?

WORD COUNT: 538

⚠ WARNING/S: none

THEME/S: established relationship, boyfriend!wooyoung

➺ MAIN MASTERLIST

At the sight of your boyfriend in front of the mirror, eyes slightly drooped from fatigue while he dries his own hair, you sigh and close the book that you’re reading, finally walking over to him.

He drops his arms for a bit and shakes them, probably because it's beginning to numb from all the manual drying he’d been doing with his towel... not to mention the exhaustion that he feels after a whole day of working out and practice.

So, the gentle touch of your skin is heaven to him— the pads of your fingers pressing on his bicep as you ask him to stop.

With a look of question, he turns to you, though he doesn’t say anything even when you’re taking the cloth from his hold and dragging him towards the sofa in your room. You urge him to sit down, and he follows suit, too tired to even question you. But when you straddle him and sit on his lap, his hands quickly and comfortably find purchase on your hips with familiarity.

Upon feeling your warmth, Wooyoung couldn't help but wrap his arm around your waist and finally rest his head on your chest.

“Babe, I can’t dry your hair if you’re going to lay on me...” A quiet chuckle escapes your lips, and you feel Wooyoung's lips stretch into a faint grin on your skin before he's sitting back up. His eyelids slide close at the feeling of you drying his hair very gently, and he lets out a low groan of approval.

Rarely do the times come when Wooyoung is quiet, and it often occurs only if he’d had a rough day at practice or if he’s extremely tired, both of which seem to apply today. It's not very hard to take notice when his mood is off, but you’re always quick to pick up on it even during the early stages when he's showing but mere signs of lethargy, so he’s more than grateful for that.

Once his hair is only a little damp, some strands already dry, you pause and cup his cheeks, still holding the towel against his head and skin. Wooyoung opens his eyes and meets your gaze, and he doesn’t even get to blink before you’re placing a quick peck on his squished, pouted, lips.

At the feeling, Wooyoung's gaze softens, his shoulders shaking as he begins to giggle. You place a few more pecks on his face, stopping only when your boyfriend shoves his face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, baby,” He murmurs, snuggling even closer to you, and placing a quick kiss on the skin of your neck. “I love you so much.”

Wooyoung says— he always does, and yet every time the words leave his lips, he means it.

Terribly so.

When you hum and only run your fingers through his hair, biting back a smile, he makes the effort to open his eyes and gaze at you lovingly even when he wants nothing else but to shut them close.

“I said, I love you so much,” He repeats in a whisper, less energetically this time as he falls further into drowsiness, though the whine is still evident in his voice.

Wooyoung doesn't budge, fighting the terrible urge to close his eyes until you reciprocate his words, which you drag on for a few more seconds until his eyes are drooping, fluttering close one by one and then popping open again.

“Are you not...” He breathes, blinking very slowly to try and draw out his remaining consciousness, “...not going to say it back?”

Giggling, you pull away slightly to kiss his cheek.

“I was just playing around, babe... I know, and I love you, too.” You whisper, smiling as an infectious grin begins to appear on his lips, even when his eyes are already beginning to flutter close upon finally hearing you say the words out loud.

“I love you, Jung Wooyoung. Terribly so.”

KIA'S NOTE: sorry for being inactive! had both a troublesome and busy week. here's a small read for you all before i return with the much longer fics! i'm still working on editing them hehe. still, i hope you enjoy this one! ♡ leave a tip?

TAGLIST: @foxinnie8 (send an ask to be added!)

#wooyoung fluff #ateez fluff #ateez wooyoung fluff #jung wooyoung fluff #wooyoung imagines #ateez imagines #ateez wooyoung imagines #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #ateez scenarios #jung wooyoung scenarios

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rainisawriter · 8 months

Text

Made With Love – Shibaman (PSF #10)

PSF Ficography | H&F Flash Ficography

Genre: Fluff, romance, slice of life

Prompt: Love of my Life (@flufftober) / Leaves dancing in the breeze (Fall Flash @slumberpartybingo)

Word Count: 5,249

Pairing: Reader x Shibaman

World: High&Low

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

If someone had asked you a year ago if you believed in love or soulmates, you probably would have said no. It just wasn’t something that ever crossed your mind, mostly because you just didn’t have the time. Between dealing with Kuryu trying to destroy Sword, then Housen and Oya going at it… It kept you pretty busy.

Things had been peaceful for several months now, though. Well, as peaceful as it could get at a place like Oya. There were still daily fights and arguments, but nothing that couldn’t be easily solved with a few punches.

With nothing else to worry about, you spent a lot of time with Tsuji, making fun of people’s poor fashion choices in magazines, and with Shibaman, listening to his favorite artists and talking about music in general.

If someone asked you to pinpoint when exactly it happened, you wouldn’t be able to answer because you simply didn’t know. You don’t know when you fell in love with Shibaman, you just knew that you had fallen hard. If you were being honest, it took you a long time to even realize it.

You started to feel nervous around him, worrying about how you acted or the things you said. You were afraid he would look at you differently. There were also the physical effects he had on you. Every time his eyes met yours, your heart would race. Hearing his voice never failed to make you feel calm and happy. His touch set butterflies free in your gut and when he spoke your name, you felt like you were melting.

You thought you were sick or maybe even allergic to him. It was so foreign to you that it was jarring, so you started to avoid him. He didn’t like this, of course, so he confronted you about it. You had no idea how to explain what you were feeling, at least not until Tsuji intervened.

He had noticed the change between the two of you – and he wasn’t the only one, either. To your surprise, Shibaman had been experiencing the exact same feelings. He loved you, too, so you started dating to test the waters. It was awkward as hell at first. It felt as if something had changed between you and you hated it.

It took a while, but you finally figured out that things didn’t need to change simply because you were a couple now. It took time, but the two of you soon fell back into the familiar groove you had sat in throughout your friendship and it was amazing.

Shibaman was the love of your life, you realized. All you wanted was to be near him and for him to be happy. You would do anything to make him feel loved, to make him realize how special he was to you.

With his birthday and Halloween coming up soon, you wanted to do something special because, this year, the two of you were more than just friends. It took you a while to figure out what you wanted to do and you weren’t even sure it was a good idea. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, though, so you knew you had to at least try.

You could only hope your efforts wouldn’t be wasted and that he wouldn’t hate it.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

“Ready to go?” Shibaman leaned toward you from where he sat on the couch, a smile on his lips.

You offered him an apologetic smile. “I actually have plans today…”

The two men exchanged a surprised look before Tsuji questioned, “Don’t tell me you’re cheating on us.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stood up. “No, never. I do need to get going, though.”

“Where are you going?” Shibaman stood up, reaching for your hand. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, you can’t!” You replied quickly, making his brow furrow. You mentally cursed yourself, scrambling for a believable excuse. “My cousin is coming into town today. I… haven’t seen her in a long time and she’s not really a fan of guys, so…” You mentally cursed again for choosing such a terrible lie.

Whether he believed it or not, he didn’t question it. “Be safe. If you need me, call me.”

“I will, I promise.” You cupped his cheek, pulling him down into a soft kiss that stole his breath away. “I’ll see you later.” You smiled at the two before rushing out of the room, unaware of the worried look the two exchanged.

It took a while for you to reach Housen, mostly because you were paranoid that the boys were following you so you took the road less traveled. The students looked at you strangely when you entered the school, but they knew who you were and had no desire to fight you. Housen and Oya had long since squashed their beef.

“Excuse me,” you called out, tapping a boy on the shoulder. When he turned, you recognized him instantly. “Ah, Sawamura!”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see Yuken. Can you take me to him?”

“Yeah, sure,” he motioned for you to follow before starting down the hall. “What do you need to see him for?”

“Ah, well…” you rubbed the back of your neck, offering him a sheepish smile. “It’s a bit personal.”

He hummed, giving you a playful smile. “I hope you’re not going to confess. You know he’s dating Meg.”

You laughed at the thought. “I would never betray her like that. Besides, you know I’m dating Shibaman.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that. Does he know you’re here?”

You frowned, lowering your gaze to the floor. You felt bad lying to him but you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“That’s a no, then,” he replied softly, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you, Sawamura.”

He led you toward a classroom on the first floor, sitting at the back of the school. The Four Heavenly Kings, along with a bunch of seniors, were crowded around the room, watching two students try to take down Jinkawa. The keyword there being try.

“Wait here,” Sawamura told you before moving farther into the room. Yuken was sitting at the back of the room with his girlfriend, the two watching something on his phone. Sawamura leaned down to tell him the situation, pointing over at you.

Yuken met your eyes and you smiled politely, waving your hand at him. Meg leaned to the side to see around the large boys standing between the two of you, a grin on her lips as she waved at you.

You waved back before forming a heart with your hearts. She pretended to catch it, holding it against her chest before both of you started laughing. Yuken shook his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek before standing up and approaching you.

“What can I do for you?” he inquired, a charming smile on his lips.

You glanced at the group of men gathered in the center of the room. Most of them were focused on the fight, but a few were sending you curious looks. “Can we talk somewhere more… private?”

He quirked a brow, glancing at the other boys before nodding. “Sure. Follow me.”

You followed him outside, taking a deep breath of the cool autumn air. “I need your help.”

“My help? Shouldn’t you be asking Oya?”

“This isn’t a problem they can help with,” you frowned, glancing around to ensure you were alone. “Is it true that you know how to crochet?”

Yuken scowled, a hand on his hip. “I told Meg not to tell anyone that.”

“So, it’s true then?” You gave him a hopeful look and he nodded. “Please teach me!”

He hummed curiously, folding his arms over his chest. “I expect diligence. No slacking off and no excuses.”

“I understand. I promise to be a good student!”

Yuken considered this for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Give me your number so I can text you when I get everything set up.”

“Thank you so much,” you grinned.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

For the next two months, you visited Yuken every few days to learn how to crochet and begin working on the sweater you wanted to make for Shibaman. You chose the softest yarn you could find, using black as the base color. It took a while for you to decide between cats and pumpkins, but you finally chose both.

In the center of the sweater would be a jack-o-lantern with a cat leaning the upper half of its body on top of it. You also planned to add a witch’s hat. You could clearly see the design in your head, but it was much harder to bring to life than you had anticipated.

“Damn it,” you cursed, scowling down at the design before you. The jack-o-lantern was misshapen despite having redone it about twenty times. If you couldn’t even get a pumpkin right, how in the hell were you going to get the cat done? You were getting frustrated, especially since his birthday was quickly approaching.

“Don’t get frustrated,” scolded Yuken, peering at you over his glasses. “It’ll only make the stitching look worse.”

“I know,” you muttered, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You carefully undid the stitch before trying again, slower this time, but it still came out looking funky. “Ugh! Why is this so damn hard?!”

“I did warn you that this pattern wasn’t beginner-friendly,” he tutted, sitting back in his chair as he worked on a pair of mittens for his girlfriend. Unlike your creation, his was pristine and well crafted, clearly made by a professional.

“Maybe I should have hired you to make one instead of teach me,” you sighed, sliding down in your seat.

“You’d regret it.”

“Huh?”

“You chose to learn how to crochet because you wanted to make something for the person you love, right?” He quirked a brow at you. “You wanted to craft something with your own hands, your own heart, to show him how much he means to you. That is the soul of crocheting – making things with love for the people you care about most. The feeling simply doesn’t transfer if someone else makes it.”

You frowned at the sweater in your hands, taking in his words. “You’re right, but… it looks god awful, he’s going to hate it. What was I thinking? Shibaman is into fashion and hip-hop, why the hell would he want a crocheted Halloween sweater? I’m so stupid!” You groaned, hanging your head.

Yuken scoffed, sending you an offended look. “If he’s not grateful for your hard work, then the problem lies with him, not you. Taking the time to crochet something for someone is the ultimate form of love and respect! And if he disrespects that, I’ll kick his ass myself!”

“You’re really passionate about this, huh…”

“Everyone needs something to be passionate about.”

“I thought that was fighting.”

He clicked his tongue. “Other than fighting. Come on, you need a break before you ruin the yarn.”

You set the sweater carefully in its box, closing the lid before following the male away from Housen and toward the local café to grab some lunch. The woman at the counter greeted him cheerfully, so you assumed he came here often.

Yuken sat down across from you, folding his hands on the table. “Tell me honestly, why did you choose to crochet a sweater for him? There are plenty of gift options that may be more… suited to his tastes.”

“Why?” You frowned at the table, scratching your cheek in thought. “As soon as I thought of the idea, it just felt… right, I guess. This is the first time we’re celebrating his birthday and Halloween as a couple, so I really want it to be special. I wanted to make him something myself because…”

“It feels more personal?” He guessed, quirking a brow.

“Yes.”

“The fact that you chose crochet over all other art forms tells me that you understand the craft at its base level. As long as you understand that, then no matter what you craft, no matter how imperfect it may be, it will be perfect in the eyes of the one receiving it.”

You didn’t feel entirely convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

“You’re the crochet expert, I guess.”

“Just… don’t go around telling people that, alright?”

“Sure, sure.”

While the two of you continued talking, Shibaman and Tsuji just so happened to be passing by. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to glance over, but his eyes fell on you immediately, widening in surprise. You had told him you were going to help your cousin get settled into her new apartment outside of Sword, yet there you were, sitting in a cafe with Housen’s Odajima.

Tsuji paused when he realized the taller male had stopped walking. He followed the male’s gaze, removing his glasses with a frown. “They are definitely not cousins.”

Shibaman frowned, feeling frustration and pain settle in his gut. Though he wasn’t fond of the idea of you meeting up with other schools, that isn’t what bothered him. Why had you lied to him about it? Why weren’t you honest with him?

Tsuji glanced at him, nudging his arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We should confront -”

“No,” Shibaman shook his head, beginning to walk away.

“No?” Tsuji quickly followed him, brow furrowed. “Don’t you want the truth?”

“Of course I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn’t want to demand answers from you, though. He wanted you to come clean on your own. “Don’t say anything about this.”

Tsuji had an idea of what his best friend was thinking, though he wasn’t entirely sure he agreed. “Fine, I won’t say anything,” he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

“Baby,” called Shibaman, slipping his hand into yours as he leaned closer to you. “Do you want to go see a movie?”

Tsuji glanced up from the magazine he was reading. “My uncle just recently started working at the theater. He can get us in for free.”

“Oh, uh…” you rubbed the back of your neck with a frown. “I’d like to, but…”

“You have to see your cousin,” guessed Shibaman, his jaw tensing as he turned his gaze toward the wall.

You could feel how tense his body was and you didn’t notice the way he tried to subtly shift away from you. Guilt pooled inside your gut. “I’m sorry…”

He nearly asked if you really were sorry, but he bit back the question, pulling his hand free as he stood up. “It’s fine.”

You weren’t dumb. You knew this man like the back of your hand and you knew it very much was not fine. He wasn’t the type to speak his mind, though, and preferred to bottle things up until he simply couldn’t any longer. It was obvious that he was getting fed up with your cousin and you constantly ditching them.

Tsuji stood up to follow but paused when you called out his name. He quirked a brow at you but you could tell his usual friendliness toward you was gone. He didn’t like it when his brother was upset.

You quickly shut the door in case Shibaman was still close by and you lowered your voice. “I know you’re mad at me -”

“That’s an understatement,” he scoffed, having to bite his tongue to stop from mentioning the cafe.

You chewed on your lip, having an internal debate with yourself about whether or not to tell him. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell Shibaman.”

“I can’t promise that.” He folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed from behind his colored glasses. “If you’re hiding something from him, he deserves to know.”

“And he will,” you promised him. “Just… I need a bit more time.”

“Time for what?”

You glanced at the door before leaning toward him. “I’m working on something for his birthday. It’s… taking longer than I thought it would. I didn’t want to lie but I want it to be a surprise.”

Tsuji felt surprised by this information. Why hadn’t he considered that you might be planning something? He felt a bit dumb for not thinking of it sooner, but he also felt a bit hurt that you hadn’t confided in him sooner. “You should have told me.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry…”

He sighed deeply, bringing his hand to his forehead. “I’ll see what I can do, but you better hurry up. He knows something’s up and he’s getting impatient.”

“I know…”

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

“Come on, you got this!” cheered Meg, staring at you with a grin.

“Just a little bit more,” encouraged Yuken with a nod, leaning toward you.

“Hurry up, you’re so close!”

“No, don’t hurry up! Don’t rush it now!”

You looked up from the sweater with a scowl, sitting back when you realized just how close the two of them were to your face. “Can you two give me some space?”

“Oh, are you having performance anxiety?” snickered Meg as she sat back down.

You scoffed, muttering under your breath, “Anyone would with you two breathing down their neck.”

“Hey, we’re just trying to help.” Yuken sat down as well, arms folded over his chest. He was watching you intently, his shoulders tense as he watched the way you were stitching the last bit of the sweater.

Meg noticed this and laughed, resting her hand on his arm. “I think you’re more tense and you’re not even the one making it.”

“Of course I am! This is the creation of my first student.”

“Your first student?” she grinned, quirking a brow. “Does that mean you’re gonna take on more?”

Yuken said nothing, though he’d be lying if he said the idea hadn’t crossed his mind. He enjoyed teaching you more than he thought he would, despite how frustrating you could be at times.

“Yuken’s Crochet studio,” you snickered, glancing at him. “Got a nice ring to it.”

“Focus,” he scolded, refusing to admit that he did like the sound of it.

“Alright, keep your panties on.” You did as he instructed, focusing on the last few stitches. A few tense moments of silence ticked by. “There… it’s done.” You stood up, holding up the completed sweater.

It was far from perfect, the cat looking a bit derpy and the pumpkin still misshapen, but it had its own unique charm to it. It was one of a kind, made with all the love you held in your heart for Shibaman. That made up for the imperfections.

“What do you think?” you questioned nervously.

“It’s super cute,” smiled Meg. “He’s going to love it!”

Yuken nodded, giving you a proud look. “I have to say, I wasn’t confident that you would stick with it until the end.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you did and I’m proud of you.”

You chuckled, feeling happy at the praise. “Thank you, Yuken-sensei.”

Yuken put his hands together in front of him and bowed, deepening his voice. “Now, go out into the world, my pupil.”

Meg snorted. “What voice is that supposed to be?”

“Yoda.”

“That wasn’t even close.”

“I tried my best,” he pouted, pulling her into his arms.

You carefully folded the sweater before placing it in the box and securing it with an orange ribbon. “His birthday is tomorrow… wish me luck.”

“You got this,” Meg smiled, offering you a thumbs up. “And if he doesn’t appreciate it, Yuken will kick his ass.”

Yuken nodded, pushing up his glasses. “I won’t stand for anyone disrespecting such a sacred art.”

“Thanks, guys.” You offered them a bow and a grateful smile before scooping up the box and heading home.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this nervous, your heart racing within your chest. You were honestly tempted to just drop the gift off and run away, not wanting to see his reaction, but you knew you couldn’t do that. It was his birthday, after all, and you wanted to make up for avoiding him lately.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door of his house. His older sister was the one who answered, looking tired. “He left already.”

“Eh?” your brow furrowed. He had always waited for you to arrive before heading to school so it was strange that he had gone ahead of you. “O-Oh, um… thank you.”

“Oi,” she called out, eyes narrowed at you. “He’s been moping around lately. If I find out you’re the reason, I’m gonna kick your ass.” And then she slammed the door in your face.

You scowled in frustration, though you weren’t sure if it was more toward her or yourself. You knew you were the cause and it pissed you off despite having done it with good intentions. Surely he would forgive you… right?

Holding the box to your chest, you rushed toward Oya high, keeping an eye open for the pair as you went. You entered the broadcast room with a smile, expecting to see your boyfriend sitting on the couch, listening to music. It was Todoroki who sat on the couch, though, reading one of his books.

Tsuji stood up when you entered, a frown on his lips. “He had already left when I got to his house this morning. I have no idea where he is.”

“Oh,” you frowned, chewing on your bottom lip. You thought about it for a moment before carefully setting the box beside Todoroki. “Can you make sure he gets this please?”

“Of course,” Tsuji offered you a smile, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. It did little to help, though.

“Thank you.” You offered him a bow before turning and leaving the room. Without Shibaman there, it felt pointless to stay at school so you decided to just leave.

Rather than go home, you chose to go for a walk around town to clear your head. The wind was chilly, making you retreat farther into the jacket you were wearing. It had originally belonged to Shibaman so it was quite large on you and it still faintly smelled of him.

A light misty rain started to fall from the cloudy sky, feeling cold against your face but you didn’t mind. The rain was peaceful and helped you relax whenever you felt stressed. It wasn’t heavy rain, anyway, so the likelihood of you catching a cold from it was slim.

Despite how peaceful and quiet the world around you felt, you couldn’t stop thinking about Shibaman. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he mad at you? Or was he just hurt by your lies? You wished you could find him and explain everything, but you knew he didn’t want to be found. He wanted to be alone so he could sort out his own feelings.

That was fine with you, you just wished it hadn’t fallen on his birthday. Today was supposed to be special for him, to be free of worry or want. You had royally screwed that up, though.

With a sigh, you plopped down on the wooden bench inside the makeshift park. Honestly, you weren’t even sure it met the qualifications to be considered a park because it was just a small strip of grass with trees planted at each corner. A sad-looking swing set sat in the middle, the metal rusted and worn.

You doubted it was safe to use, though there were few things within Sword that were. The city’s entire aesthetic was danger.

You slid down on the bench as thunder rumbled softly overhead, leaning your head back so you could stare up at the sky. The tree to your left was completely bare, its leaves scattered across the ground like discarded newspapers. The tree on your right, though, was still clinging to a few of them, as if desperate to not let go.

The wind picked up and they finally broke free, dancing gently through the air as they made their way to the earth below. It was such a simple thing, but it brought a smile to your lips.

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

You stifled a yawn as you approached your apartment, reaching into the pocket of the jacket for your keys. You hadn’t intended to spend the day at the park but time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and, before you knew it, the sun was setting.

To your surprise, Shibaman was pacing back and forth outside the building, running a hand through his red hair repeatedly. He looked distressed which alarmed you.

“Shibaman? What’s-“

As soon as he heard your voice, his head snapped up. In just a couple long strides, he reached you, throwing his arms around you until you were buried in the warmth of his chest. The smell of pine and cologne filled your nostrils and you smiled, fingers curling around the black t-shirt he was wearing.

“Where have you been?” He huffed, trying to control the light tremble of his voice. “I’ve been worried sick!”

You frowned, pulling back so you could see his face. “You’re the one who disappeared. You had already left the house by the time I got there and you weren’t at school, either.”

“My sister made me go pick up some food from the convenience store,” he scowled, clearly still annoyed by this. “I told her I was waiting for you but she wouldn’t stop bitching about it. When I got back, she told me you had stopped by.”

Thinking about it, it did make sense. She’s never liked you, even when you were just his friend, claiming that you were a bad influence on him. When you started dating, she didn’t try to hide the fact that she thought you weren’t good enough for her baby brother.

“When I got to school, Tsuji said you were looking for me then you left. I looked everywhere for you.” He cupped your face, brows punched with worry. “I thought… I thought something happened.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you, love,” you told him softly, resting your hand over his. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did. Many times!”

“You did?” Your own brow furrowed in confusion as you reached for your phone only to realize it wasn’t there. You had forgotten it this morning in your excitement to get to Shibaman’s house. You offered him a sheepish, embarrassed smile. “I, uh… I forgot my phone.”

Shibaman scoffed in disbelief, lowering his head until his forehead met your shoulder. The tension was slowly leaving him now that you were safe and sound in front of him.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you told him softly, running your fingers through his hair. “And on your birthday, too.”

He chuckled, arms encircling your waist so he could bring you closer, bringing his forehead down to meet yours. “You’re safe, that’s all I need.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, pressing your lips to his. “Stay with me tonight?”

He hummed, claiming your lips again. “Of course.”

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

“Baby, wake up.” Shibaman pressed a kiss beneath your ear, arms wrapped protectively around your waist.

“Five more minutes,” you mumbled tiredly, leaning into the warmth his body offered.

He chuckled, turning you over so you were on your back looking up at him. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“Did I?” Your brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“I’m gonna stop by my place to grab something,” he told you softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll meet you at school, okay?”

“Wait, I’ll go with you.” You forced yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I’d rather keep you away from my sister,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.” He put his finger beneath your chin, leaning down to press a soft, slow kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” You watched as he left the room, listening to his footsteps fade before the front door opened and closed behind him. Despite wanting to go back to sleep, you forced yourself out of bed and got ready for the day.

It was much colder out today than it was yesterday, the sky covered by light grey clouds that made it seem more like the afternoon than early morning. You didn’t mind it, though. The cold was a welcome change from the warm weather of summer and spring, plus it gave you an excuse to steal more of your boyfriend’s jackets.

When you got to school, you were surprised to find the boys gathered in the courtyard, snickering and laughing. Curious, you made your way through the crowd, eyes widening at what you saw.

Shibaman was leaning against the building, arms folded over his chest and eyes closed. There was a slight furrow to his brow as he tried to ignore the teasing he was receiving. The reason for this teasing? He was wearing the sweater you had crocheted him.

It fit him perfectly, showing off his toned body while still being comfortable to wear. It was warm, too, easily blocking the cold wind. When you looked at the design, it felt childish to you and you felt guilty for not just making him a regular, solid sweater.

“Did you get that from your granny?” Teased one of the older boys before bursting out laughing, his friends following suit.

Shibaman opened his eyes, narrowing them at the male.

You swallowed down the nerves and embarrassment you felt, stepping forward. “I made it…”

“You did?” snorted the male. “No wonder it looks like trash -“

A fist slammed into his face, sending him flying back into the crowd with a cry. Shibaman straightened up, fire in his eyes. “Don’t you ever say that shit again or I’ll kill you.”

The crowd grew tense, their previous jolly demeanors changing to one of fear. It was easy to laugh at him and not take him seriously when he was wearing that sweater, but it didn’t change anything about how strong he was or how protective of you he was.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, lowering your head. “I didn’t consider how Oya would react. You don’t have to wear it.”

He scoffed, resting his large hand atop your head. “Of course, I’m gonna wear it. You spent months working on this, didn’t you?”

You nodded, tugging lightly at the material. “It was my first time crocheting. Yuken did his best to teach me, but… it could have been better.”

Realization flashed across his face as he remembered seeing you at the café with said male. Everything made sense now and his heart was filled with warmth and love for you. “I love it.”

“Really?” You sent him a skeptical look. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. If I didn’t like it, I’d be honest.” As badly as he wanted to kiss you, he couldn’t bring himself to do so with the crowd that was still gathered in the courtyard. PDA was not something he enjoyed. “I love this sweater and I love you.”

You searched his eyes for any hint of a lie but there was none. “You really like it?”

“I do. Thank you, baby.”

Your eyes lit up, happiness filling you. “You’re welcome!”

───── ⋆⋅🍂⋅⋆ ─────

-> High&Low/Rampage Taglist: @kiraaaeon, @simpforchuchu, @star2fishmeg, @thatpoindexterpixy @manhwabtch

-> General Taglist: @asterhaze, @mrskenpachizaraki

#flufftober2023 #day 10 #high&low #shibaman #high&low shibaman #slumberpartybingo #halloween & fall flash bingo #jdrama #fanfiction #fanfic #rains ficography #reader insert #shibaman x reader #h&l #RFO - PSF #RFO - PSF23 #RFO - SPB #fallflashspb

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gothicscorpiohub · 9 months

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Lost you

Genre: Romantic–Thriller

Pairing: Marvel Loki x Reader

Overview: Just after Ragnarok happened, Loki along with his wife Y/n, who is pregnant for a while, is on his way to Midgard. What he doesn't know is the plan of Thanos in action against his to derive the tesseract.

Loki sits across the table on his cozy couch in his temporary room in the ship, rereading through the Hamlet, his gaze follows the distinct dark words the vintage papers of the book holds but his mind however isn't attentive of the fiction, rather it runs through the disturbing possibilities of the near future.

It was not more than a mere hour when he saw his sister Hela and Ragnarok burn his realm Asgard into ashes, he saw the place which holds thousands years of his memories, turned into ruins. Asgard was a place he never thought himself to be emotionally attached, regardless it was the not so un- unique place where he spent most part of his life into.

He, as an infant was brought up by Odin to Asgard, to his mother, Frigga. Asgard was the place where he learnt taking his first steps, it was the place within the walls of which the sounds of his first words echoed, it was the place which holds the memories of his first fight with Thor, which he lost badly, it was the place within where Loki learnt about his true heritage, within where he was broken, betrayed, lost, within where he collected himself, within where did he gathered the courage to win up against the injustices of the realm,

except the mother realm of his is no more.

He, after knowing his true heritage of Jötunheim, never considered himself an Asgardian, but now he can't help wondering how much he was attached with his realm Asgard.

The fight had an extravagant impact on everyone, it hurted that many lost their lives but more disturbing fact is that many lost their knowns, and many lost their everything.

The only and most important thing that mattered was the soundness of his wife Y/N. He was terribly terrified of her safety during the war, she was undoubtedly an incredible warrior but at present atleast, he couldn't take any risks, not when she's five months pregnant.

"Darling," he said relaxing his back to the couch, his deep honeydew voice rumbling through his chest like a melody as he felt an soft, firm hand squeezing his shoulder. He couldn't tell how comforting this small action of his wife Y/N was. "You're fine" she said through her quiet, soft, assuring voice while giving out a weak and tired smile. He smiled at his wife's understanding, she knew perfectly when he was feeling low and when he doesn't want to talk about it.

He stood up to her and guided her to the bed of their room, seating her back against the headboard and taking her feet in his lap while sitting in front of her in the suprisingly luxurious bed on the ship. He kept a soft hand upon her swollen belly and began stroking it lightly, a smile plastered on his lips.

"I wonder how well have I acquired the good deeds to have you as my wife, darling." He said softly to her, she smiled "I've to ask this very question to myself several times a day for you, my king" her stomach then grumbled slightly, enough for the young king to notice.

It was then it hit his mind, wide eyed he said "You, my darling, in the chaos of the war, haven't eaten anything in– in two days!" She chuckled slightly, feeling tired. She pulled Loki towards her with his hands (assertively not putting the slightest efforts in the process) and gestured him to sit beside her, he still objected, panicked from inside for this pregnant belly haven't had meals for two days. "Darling, pardon me, give a minute, I'll find something." Frantically, he said. Y/n couldn't help admiring the cuteness of her husband, before he could make a move, she held his hand firmly. "That may wait a while–" she spoke calmly, her calm demeanor always turned to calm Loki with the base of his heart, her voice makes him let go all of his problems, she makes him feel to let go of everything and just to live the moment, with her. "I want to rest, if I have your consent" she joked weakly, exhaustion dripping from every word she used. Loki, instinctively guided her to lay comfortably and covered them both while conjuring a warm fuzzy blanket.

Loki didn't remember himself relaxing his head on the headboard and absentmindedly stroking y/n's hair slowly while she rests her head on his broad leather covered chest, while she's on the brink of falling asleep, or perhaps in a deep slumber already. He smiled mildly at himself, taking in the sensation of being– saturated–with everything.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After a few hours, when he woke up, first thing his subconscious did was to take in the unfamiliar surroundings, it took him a while to remember he was inside a ship in space on his way to Midgard. Then, his gaze rested on the calm sleeping figure of Y/n curled in a ball, clutching her swollen belly and Loki's hands enveloping her securely.

Getting off the bed was quite an task if you didn't wanted your loved one who hasn't got real sleep in days to wake up from deep slumber. To be honest , Loki didn't wanted to get off the bed but, the circumstances weren't those to resemble rest, it was just not the time for it. He covered Y/n properly with blankets and instantly conjured the bag he had prepared with Y/n and settled out some packages of edible arrangements on the table, wincing at the remembrance of his wife not having meals for days and that too during her PREGNANCY.

"How's lady Y/n, brother?" Thor asked concerned. "She's resting" Loki answered

"Understandable, she's suprisingly very strong." Thor complimented, remembering her intellects while they were in the war.

"That she inconsiderably is." Loki spoke proud of her for the billionth time.

"I'd dare say, broth–" Thor stopped mid sentence, as if something has got his tongue. Loki looked up from whatever he was doing to meet the direction of his brother's eyes. Through the glass above the control panel, a space jet seemed to advance just against their space ship, protruding more and more with evey second passing.

Loki probably did knew what it was, and he wasn't proud of it.

He was here

To take the tesseract

To initiate a war

He was here,

Thanos.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Heya, it's my first Loki x Reader fanfiction. Do let me know of you like it. Shall I create a second part?

P.S. If you're wanting to talk to someone, I'm always here to hear.

Second part's out:

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pancake-breakfast · 11 months

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Thinking about this panel in Volume 5 of TriMax.

This is such a crazy question for Knives to ask. Knives hasn't bothered to get to know humanity. All he has is this impression he decided on around a hundred years ago, and it seems like every human he's brought into his circle since then has either been forced to match that impression, or was chosen because they already matched that impression, or some combination of the two.

Meanwhile, Vash has spent the vast majority of his time since the Fall interacting with all sorts of people. And yes, some of those interactions have been terrible. In fact, I'd say some of them are terrible enough that if Vash were to give Knives a negative answer, there's a chance he'd be lying. Not a 100% chance, since Vash seems to put an immense amount of effort into seeing people as individuals rather than lumping them all together as having a singular motive or outlook on life, but definitely a chance.

But for Vash to give Knives an affirmative answer would also most definitely be a lie. Not because he has or hasn't had such feelings, but because a simple "yes" fails to encompass the whole of his experience with humanity. He knows people are nuanced, complicated, hurt, and desperate, and he knows that if he answers yes, Knives will overlook every struggle of every individual that, while not necessarily justifying their actions, provides some some explanation for it. Struggles that may have driven them to do things they later regret. Struggles they might not even have if Knives hadn't crashed them onto this wasteland of a planet.

Knives would just use Vash's "yes" as further indication that humanity must be wiped out, that it's an us-versus-them dichotomy that only has one rather simple solution.

But Vash isn't the type to just focus on the lows and forget the highs, or to forget the nuance that makes people fall into grey areas far more than they fall into black and white. He's been hurt (sometimes terribly) because of this, but he's also seen how his efforts have not been entirely in vain. So long as that holds true, I don't think he could muster up enough hate to genuinely want to wipe out all of humanity. Perhaps he could for a moment (however long a moment may last), but if he actually took action toward it, he'd just end up with more regret.

Heck, only a few chapters back, he expressed that very sentiment to Hoppered.

So instead of giving Knives an answer that will just be misconstrued, Vash dodges the question. Despite Knives' earlier statement, Knives is clearly not in a listening mood, so what else could Vash possibly do?

It seems Knives has very much embraced the mindset of, "Well, if you've sinned once, you might as well just embrace your damnation." It might seem like a bit of an illogical mindset for someone who constantly calls humans "sinners," but Knives sits there for several pages telling Vash that if Vash has ever even once wished destruction on mankind, then he has everything to gain by embracing those feelings and releasing them in a way that takes humanity down for good.

Which completely ignores the Blank Ticket mindset Rem passed down to Vash. Knives denies the possibility of a different path both for himself and for everyone else. The fact that even after a hundred years, his brother still clings to such an idea is beyond upsetting to Knives, to the point that he stops using words to try and convince Vash and instead just resorts to force.

At this point in the story, it's a bit difficult to see how the resurgence of Vash's memories of July will affect him, but I'd honestly be surprised if they'd make him lose his faith in humanity. After all, he seems to be using them right now to help Hoppered understand, and as dedicated as Vash may be to saving Meryl and hunting down Knives right now, somehow I doubt he's sharing these memories with Hoppered simply to buy himself some time.

It might still be a bit before Vash remembers that he, too, has a blank ticket to the future, but even through all the scars and hurt and betrayal he's experienced, he hasn't forgotten that that ticket is something humans still have, even if Knives is determined not to see it.

#trigunbookclub #vash the stampede #millions knives #colored manga #trigun manga #trigun maximum #volume 5 #manga analysis #pancake thoughts

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starrysky28 · 3 months

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RE2 Leon Kennedy SFW Alphabet (N-Z)

A/N: You guys seemed to like part 1 so...Part 2 (N-Z) of the sfw alphabet is here!

Link to part 1

Warnings: None this time!

Enjoy!

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with him are pretty low-key. Most of the time, he likes to stay in and watch movies (he prefers them to TV shows).

After Raccoon City, he tends to get nightmares, and as a result, he gets a bit antsy at night. Because of this, he starts spending more time with you so he feels less stressed and uncomfortable.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

As much as he hates talking about things from his past, such as his parents murder, it's easier for him to open up about traumatic things the better he knows and trusts someone.

He'd reveal things little by little or very slowly, never all at once, and unfortunately, as time goes on, he becomes more closed off and private about these types of things.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He's not a hot-tempered guy by any means, so not very quick to anger. That doesn't mean he wouldn't get angry at all.

As for what makes him particularly angry, I feel like any sort of injustice or mistreatment of others would be enough to get him riled up.

I also think he'd often say things he wouldn't mean in the heat of the moment. He would always make sure to at least apologize if he said something he'd regret later.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He would have a pretty sharp memory. Can remember names, faces, an even dates without having to think about it too much. However, this doesn't mean that he doesn't forget every once in a while.

During the first year that you two knew each other, he forgot your birthday until you subtly reminded him that evening.

"OH! That was today???"

You tell him that it's okay and not to worry about it. The next day, he shows up at your door with a teddy bear, store-bought cupcakes and a birthday card ready to give to you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment was the moment he first realized he was in love with you. You happened to be out with a group of friends and you were the only one who laughed at his terrible puns.

He didn't realize at first, but after going home that night, you were pretty much the only thing he could think about.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

VERY protective of those he cares about. He managed to make a career out of protecting people (or so he thought he could), so he’s naturally protective in nature.

As for him being protected. He always tells you that he’s fine and doesn’t need to be protected.

However, even in dire situations, like when he’s hurt/injured, you’ve still got his back regardless of how he feels about being protected in the moment. He still appreciates you greatly for this.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Makes sure to put his best effort into everything he does. From showering you with gifts and affection, to making sure he does his job the best he possibly can.

Unfortunately, all this effort he puts in over the years will eventually come with the cost of stress and burnout.

Luckily, you and everyone else who cares about him in his life is there to help him and encourage him not to overdo things.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A bad habit of his is that he’s never been a very good driver. Sometimes you wonder how he even got his license.

One of the things that specifically makes him a bad driver is that he drives waayy too fast. Like you could look down at the speedometer and he’ll be going almost 90 in a 65 mph zone.

“OMG!! Slow down, Leon!”

He’ll just respond so nonchalantly like, “Hehe oopsie daisies”

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I think he’d be a little insecure of the fact that he’s got a baby face and looks very pretty for a guy.

But other than that, he’s very keen on keeping himself looking neat and tidy at the same time.

I also think he wouldn’t really have one of those 10-step skincare routines either. Like people are always asking him what he washes his face with and he’s just like “soap and water” lol

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He wouldn’t really realize it at first, but as time goes on. I think he’d really come to appreciate each time you’re with him and that he actually feels more content when he’s by your side.

So whenever you have to leave him for a while, he can't help but feel a bit lonely, or like he's missing something.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I headcanon that he's a music lover. Has a secret soft spot for 80s music, especially since he would have been a kid in the 1980s. It just reminds him of a simpler time.

When he got to be in his teen years, he definitely took a liking to 90s rock, specifically grunge. I also think he has a decent-sized collection of CDs, including some that he would keep in his car.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In terms of partners, he's not that picky. There are definitely things he'd find unattractive in a partner, but because he's still a tad inexperienced, there isn't much. I feel like he would be more about personality than anything else.

As for things he wouldn't like. He loves food and will basically eat anything, but he absolutely hates spinach (this is totally not me projecting lol)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

As mentioned before, he gets frequent nightmares after the events of Raccoon City. He's also a very restless and light sleeper and often ends up in weird sleeping positions.

On a cuter note, I think as a kid, he slept with a stuffed animal. Specifically a stuffed dog. He still has it in a closet somewhere, as he didn't have the heart to truly get rid of it.

And...That's it! I hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to request other characters for me to do hcs for if you feel so inclined to! (This also includes characters other than Resident Evil characters too!)

#resident evil #re2 #re2 remake #re2 leon #leon kennedy #resident evil headcanons #sfw alphabet #fluff #now its time for me to stop procrastinating and finish my post-re2 fic lol

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pleasestaywithmedarling · 2 months

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Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XVI

previous masterlist next

see end note for content warning

Growling into the coarse rag that filled his mouth, Anden tugged angrily at the ropes holding his arms suspended by the wrists. But as always, he was powerless to do anything but watch as a sobbing Kiri was half-carried back to the inner chamber, leaving a trail of water in her wake. He couldn’t even feel relieved that her part of the ritual was over, not when Edric was the one dragging her to her cell. The thought of her alone with that bastard, even for the few moments it took to cut her bonds loose, made his vision go red.

Of course, he knew wouldn’t have to think about it for long. He’d soon be in too much pain to think of anything at all.

With mounting dread, he watched as Emitis opened one of the cabinets lining the wall. After an endless moment, the High Priest selected a tool Anden hadn’t seen in months: a scourge of multiple thin, knotted cords attached to a single handle. At first glance it looked less intimidating than the whips or knives Emitis most often chose. But fastened to the end of each strand was a small stone, the edges harsh and jagged. There was a reason this particular instrument was used so sparingly; Anden’s knees nearly buckled as he remembered how little of his skin he’d been left with the last time.

The horribly familiar sense of shame rose up within him like bile. He hated this—he hated being so damn scared.

Forcing a scowl, he glared as the High Priest turned to him, but the man only smiled and stepped out of his line of sight. Though it was probably for the best that Anden’s words were lost into his gag when he told Emitis exactly where he could put that scourge handle, Anden still hated that he had no control over even his speech. But he knew that he’d be grateful for the thick cloth that cleaved his jaw soon enough—it was much safer to have something to bite down on other than his own tongue.

From behind him, Emitis declared, “You may begin.”

That night’s worshipper was a thin, reedy little duke, who’d spent his entire prayer of gratitude attentively observing Kiri’s torture as if she was the specimen of some scholarly study. Now he turned his attention to Anden, and began the prayer of confession in a bored drawl. But there was an ill-concealed fascination in his gaze that shone all the stronger as he reached the end of the first stanza.

“—that I may be deserving of my place in Ilyrna, the kingdom of Your rule.”

With an ugly thwack, the scourge fell upon Anden’s back, ripping through tunic and flesh alike. The pain struck hard and fast like lightning, before settling into a low, steady fire. A muffled groan escaped him, despite his best efforts to hold it in.

The duke continued reciting the prayer in a monotone, but his eyes gleamed with interest. The worshippers who paid for these private rituals were usually the kind of devout zealots who truly believed in all this bullshit; they paid Anden no real mind except as an object to be used in their prayers. It was always discomfiting, to be ignored as less than human. But to be seen, really seen, when he was strung up and bleeding and so fucking helpless, was so much worse.

The fierce burning down his back was almost a welcome distraction.

That’s what he tried to tell himself, at least, but his heart was racing in panicked anticipation as the second stanza drew to a close. Schooling his face into a neutral expression, he bit down hard on the gag and braced himself.

It was a terrible game he always played, refusing to react the way these sick bastards must want him to. It was a game he could never win; he knew that far too soon his screams would be ripped from him as violently as the skin was ripped from his back. But it was a game he had to play. He couldn’t just lose without a fight—he couldn’t give anyone that satisfaction.

The duke, though, was watching his attempts at stoicism with the same fascination as he had Kiri’s terrified cries. And Anden realized that whether he held himself together for another blow or fell apart, this man would enjoy himself either way. Anden had lost the game before it had even begun.

Another strike—the flash of white-hot pain drew out a low, anguished cry. He couldn’t get his feet back under him, and he couldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t hide how pathetic he was. It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter that he was losing control because he’d never had any to begin with. He’d already lost. But that thought was far from comforting.

With each new blow came a new wave of agony. Though he tried to keep track of how many lashes he had left to endure, he soon lost all awareness of the prayer—he knew nothing but the excruciating pain of sharp stone slicing his flesh to ribbons. When his bonds were cut at last, he collapsed to the ground and howled as the movement tore even further at his back. Panting hard, he squeezed his eyes shut and fought back his rising nausea. When he dared to open them, it was to the sight of the duke and the High Priest looking down at him, one in curiosity, the other in contempt. For one awful moment, their gazes pinned him in place, and for that one awful moment Anden wished he could die—anything to escape the sickening shame of his helplessness laid bare.

At last the High Priest and the worshipper were escorted out, and the two remaining guards hoisted Anden onto one of the stone tables. It took the healer priestess far longer to mend his back than it had taken Emitis to rip it apart, and her unsympathetic caretaking hurt nearly as much.

Gods, when would he ever stop hurting?

Flickering in and out of consciousness, he was prostrate on the stone table at one moment, and had been dragged halfway across the chamber in the next. And then he was jolted awake by his own sharp cry as yet another burst of anguish shot through him—through his tears, he saw that he’d been dropped to the floor of his cell. He was dimly aware of the guards’ taunting voices as he tried and failed to pull himself to his cot; their laughter seemed to echo through the chamber even after the thud of the iron door announced that he’d been left alone with Kiri.

Kiri—where was Kiri? He willed his fading vision to hold out just a bit longer as he sought out her form in the opposite cell. At last he could make out the shape of her, her hands clinging to the bars. He didn’t have to be able to see her expression to notice that she was scared for him. He wanted to reassure her, but first he needed to know—

“You okay?” he asked, his voice raw.

He passed out before he could hear the answer.

The next day was absolute hell. It was shamefully obvious to everyone that he wouldn’t be able to stand at attention for the entirety of the daily temple rituals, so the guards bound him to his pillar in the High Chamber. The scarlet cords wrapped tightly around him and the column in a series of loops running from his ankles up to his shoulders. It had been months since they’d needed to resort to such measures to keep him upright; it was just as humiliating as he remembered, and even more painful. His back was pressed so hard into the pillar’s surface that, even through the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, he could feel each stone ridge burrowing into his wounds. No sooner would the fiery pain begin to dull, than the slightest shift in his position would send it burning fresh through the latticework of torn skin. By midday, he was earnestly grateful for the padded muzzle that encased his lower face—he didn’t have the energy to even try to hold back his pitiful moans.

And then there was Kiri. He stole a glance at her twice that morning, before he could no longer afford the additional pain it cost him to turn his head. She was far from okay—she was too still, too unresponsive to anything around her. But her mind was often far away, or perhaps far inward, in the days after a private ritual. She always returned to him, he reminded himself. Something in his chest tightened, though, when he saw that even her endlessly-moving hands only hung limp at her sides. In his more coherent moments, when he wasn’t overwhelmed with the simple task of breathing through his suffering, he was all too aware that something was very wrong with Kiri.

But as the day went on, such moments of lucidity grew more fleeting. He was so exhausted that he felt like he was losing his grip on reality; his vision swam, and every worshipper who stood before him warped into something grotesque and inhuman. When he was at long last being half-dragged back to the Chamber of Vessels, he even thought he saw Omika passing through the halls, before he realized it was only a temple attendant.

The following two days—or was it three?—passed in the same endless blur. The one thing that kept it from being fully unbearable was knowing that this would all soon be over. Midsummer would fall in less than two weeks. He’d survived nearly a year—he ignored the way his throat tightened at the thought—so surely he could survive just a bit longer. And so could Kiri.

He had to remind himself of that last fact frequently. As the pain began to dull, somewhere around the fourth day, his concerns for Kiri only sharpened. His wounds were healing well, but she’d clearly found no ease from whatever was still plaguing her mind.

At least she didn’t seem to feel any compulsion to hurt herself. In the weeks following her mother’s execution and Edric’s assault—gods, Anden was going to burn down this place and everyone in it for putting her through that—he’d had to keep a close eye out for signs she was about to start scratching or biting herself. But even on the worst of those nights, when she’d seemed so wholly overcome with grief, he’d still seen her constantly combing through the end of her braid or tapping her thumb and forefinger together or flapping her hands at her sides. Yes, the endless movements were a heartbreaking gauge of just how distressed she was at any given moment. But they also showed Anden that some part of her was still seeking to comfort herself with her usual repetitive motions, however unconscious it may be. Some stubborn, beautiful part of her had always remained determined to help herself.

But now her hands were so still. And Anden didn’t know what to do.

That night was the first all that week in which he didn’t immediately pass out from pained exhaustion. Laying next to the cell bars, he slipped his hand out into the narrow hallway. He held back a groan as the movement pulled at his back, but Kiri must have noticed him wince.

“Don’t,” she admonished softly, even as she edged closer to her own set of bars and reached out toward him.

He clasped her hand and squeezed it tenderly. “Worth it.”

“But—” Kiri’s brows knit together in concern; it was the most emotion he’d seen her express in far too long. “How bad is it tonight?”

Pretty fucking terrible, he thought. But he only said, “Not so bad now. Healer says I’ll be fine.”

Her thumb brushed softly against the back of his hand, then again and again in soothing repetition.

Gods, he loved her.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded gently. “Please, I just—did something happen?”

Her hand stilled once more, and his heart dropped.

“I—I was just so scared. I've been so worried about you,” she said truthfully.

“Yeah, but you’re always worried about me. There’s more to it, isn’t there?” At her silence, he swallowed down his rising frustration. There was a whole city of people who deserved his anger far more than Kiri ever could.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he continued, as a reminder to himself as much as to her. “But I’ll be worried whether you do or not. I, uh, I’m always worried about you, too, you know?”

Something in her expression cracked. He pressed on. “That night, during that last ritual—”

“No.”

Anden froze.

Kiri wasn’t looking at him anymore. “No. No, I can’t—I—gods, please, I can’t—”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit—he’d pushed too hard. “Kiri—hey, Kiri, it’s okay.”

Her breathing was growing erratic. “I can’t do it. I can’t, I can’t do it.”

Her fear tore at his heart. Maybe he should forget the whole thing, just focus on helping her breathe and settle into the present. But damn it, this might be the only time he could get some answers.

“What can’t you do?”

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“What can’t you do, Kiri?”

“The—the water!” Shoulders shaking, she sobbed, “The water—I—I can’t, I don’t want to—”

The water. Anden was relieved to think that nothing else had happened that night—he’d been so worried about what Edric could have done to her in her cell while everyone else was focused on his flogging. But gods, did he feel like an asshole. He hadn’t even needed to ask her what had been troubling her because apparently he’d already known; all he’d accomplished in his ill-conceived interrogation was making her relive her torture.

Guilt gnawing at his core, he slowly coaxed her into matching his breathing. His arm ached from stretching it out into the hall for so long, but he would happily hold her hand for as long as she wanted him to.

When her tears ran dry, Kiri’s voice came out small and fragile. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Anden insisted. “I shouldn’t have hounded you like that.”

“But I made you worry. And you—you’ve been hurt so badly, you shouldn’t have to—”

“It’s fine. Really. Hell, worrying about you’s been a nice distraction from it,” he joked grimly.

Kiri clearly did not find it amusing. “Will you be able to make it through the procession tomorrow?”

“I mean, I’ll have to. At least it’s our last Fifth Day.” When he felt her stiffen, he was quick to reassure her, “Hey, that’s a good thing, remember? Means we’ll be out of here soon.”

She hesitated, then jerked her head in a nod. “I guess it’ll be easier to escape with everyone distracted by the Midsummer preparations.” Something in her voice sounded forced, like she was trying to convince herself—though Anden had the oddest, fleeting thought that she might instead be trying to convince him.

“I’m sure that’s what my brother’s been waiting for,” he lied.

He really needed to tell her.

For so long, he’d been telling himself that he could protect her from knowing what was coming, always just for a little while longer. And now they were running out of time.

But how the fuck was he supposed to tell her tonight? She’d only just settled into something resembling calm, after he’d made her hysteric at the thought of being forced underwater again.

Her hands were so still.

His thumb brushed softly against the back of her hand, then again and again in what he hoped was soothing repetition, until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next day’s holy procession was by far the most difficult he could remember. He could still barely walk on his own as it was; pulling Kiri in that damned chariot she was always displayed on, through the entire city, seemed an impossible task. But he plodded on, trying to ignore the way the harness straps that pressed into his barely-healing scars. Nearly a year’s worth of experience had long since taught him that if he collapsed, he’d only be beaten for it later. He couldn’t afford any more injuries right now, not with so few days left till Midsummer.

Because they would escape on Midsummer.

They would.

And so he followed the vanguard attendants bearing the hideous statue of Vato, step by painful step. He pretended that he didn’t know how many thousands of people lining the streets could see him in such a pathetic state. He pretended that he couldn’t feel the revolting shame that welled up from his core. Even when he happened to spot that thin little duke, studying him with those same gleaming eyes with which he’d studied the flogging so few nights ago, Anden pretended that it didn’t bother him in the least. Why would it, with escape so near?

Escape was so near.

It was.

As they passed out of the craftsmen’s district, a familiar whistle, so low he nearly missed it, rang out from his left. And there on the sidewalk stood Antoni. Their twin green eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Anden returned his brother’s subtle nod, and continued on as though his heart wasn’t pounding in his ears.

There was still plenty of room for worry; there were so many ways something could go wrong. But a tightness that Anden hadn’t even noticed had been building in his chest for months, suddenly eased. The plan really was still on.

And he really needed to tell Kiri about The Seaman of Oshna.

That night, after the healer priestess finished repairing the stitches he’d pulled and he was left alone with Kiri once more, he told himself that he had to do it. He had to tell her. And to his own credit, he would have, if he weren’t interrupted by the hideous creak of the outer chamber door.

Fear and fury warred inside him. It was too soon; he’d barely recovered at all after the last private ritual. They couldn’t do this to him after all he’d suffered today—he truly didn’t know if he could take any more. And Kiri—he met her gaze and his heart ached at the primal terror he saw there.

It was for the best, he tried to tell himself, while he watched her dark eyes turn glassy as Edric took his time winding rope around her chest. He had to trust that her mind knew how to best protect her from what was coming; if that meant hiding her away somewhere deep within herself, that must be what would keep her safe. He couldn’t help but worry that she was in more than the usual danger, though he couldn’t have said of what.

Because no matter what Kiri had said, and no matter how much Anden wanted to believe her, he couldn’t quite shake the thought that something else had happened last time, something she wasn’t telling him. And he knew it was too much to hope that tonight would be any less a nightmare for either of them.

I am apparently incapable of writing in any state other than an absolute frenzy; I was wildly unproductive for a couple of days because I could not think about anything other than this chapter. I clearly need to make sure that my next one comes out in a more timely manner, cause I think the gaps in my wriitng time are doing weird things to my brain.

I can't say enough how thankful I am to everyone who's stuck with this fic, y'all have made this process so much more fun!!!

We're about to get into the chapters I've been most excited/most dreading to write, so...brace yourself I guess lol

taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @little-peril-stories @monarchthefirst

Please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!

content warning: captivity, religious abuse, restraints, torture, flogging, mention of self-harm, mention of sexual assault

#whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump writing #captivity whump #fantasy whump #religious whump #multiple whumpees

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solomonssock · 1 year

Text

I Know Joy Because I Know You

I didn't specify the type of alcohol so imagine whatever you'd wish! I imagine I’m enjoying a nice Shirley Temple to my heart’s content, cherries courtesy of Luce

Pairing: gn!reader x Lucifer (at last, an established relationship!)

TW: Alcohol use, some brief discussion of Devildom politics, some intense wooing, very brief mention of violence, uhh let me know if there's anything else, ty!

Word Count: ~4,400

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Now then, MC." A faint click sounds behind you as Lucifer locks the door to his office. "What have you brought for me tonight?"

"Something I hope you'll enjoy." You spare him a coy glance over your shoulder, raising your brow with a knowing smile. "You're a fan of classical, no?"

The iron railing underneath your palm is cool to the touch as you begin to journey downstairs. Your hand drags against the grooves, feeling how some of the iron has dimpled in its wear over millennia. You hold a flat brown paper bag that you've tucked into your arm against you as you descend, trying to minimize the inevitable crinkling sound that follows every step you take.

You peer over the railing to the space below. The fireplace crackles every so often as it casts its light across the room, bathing everything before it in a warm orange glow.

“That, I am.” You shiver at the gruff timbre of Lucifers voice, his footsteps trailing close behind you.

He sounds as exhausted as you expected him to be after a full day's work. How he even remains upright among constant chaos forever remains a mystery to you. Really, you had insisted you two meet another night. Insisted that he rest with what little free time he was granted.

But his pride wouldn't have it.

"Don't be absurd." He had said then, will unyielding. "Such time would best be spent in your company. I am not so fallible as to push myself beyond my limits. I assure you; I have tested them enough to know them well."

At the bottom of the stairs awaits your shared reflection, crystal clear imitations in the perfectly polished tile. You've long forgone your uniform in favor of loungewear. Lucifer, however, remains as pristine and presentable as ever. At the very least, he has freed himself of his coat and gloves.

He comes to stand beside you, placing a bare hand onto the small of your back. The touch warms your skin as he rubs away the tightness he finds there in small, tight circles. You too, are quite terribly exhausted.

He presses a kiss upon your head.

"Please, have a seat."

He nudges you forward, toward the pair of chairs turned away from the fireplace. You set the bag onto the low table before plopping down and reclining into the plush red cushions. You can't see him, but you can feel Lucifer standing behind you, his presence heavy over the backrest.

"Thank you for joining me."

The indistinct sound of shuffling catches your ear, but the comfort of your current position persuades you from peeking. "The past few weeks have been stressful, I'm sure. Midterms at R.A.D., for a human no less, are no easy feat."

"Yeah." You hum, eyes drooping at the pleasant warmth prickling your skin from the flames flickering behind you. "They were tough, but everyone was helpful in reviewing all the material."

"Everyone?" You're well acquainted with the suspicion underlying that tone.

"Yes, Lucifer. Everyone." Your eyes slip shut. "Even Mammon and Leviathan." He huffs somewhere above you.

"I'm certain their motivations were more in the interest of monopolizing your time than in helping you succeed." You can feel Lucifer bend down behind you, the force of his breath rushing against the shell of your ear. "However, it seems their efforts have paid off."

"You have done well, beloved. Nearly perfect marks on most of your exams."

You take a deep breath, fighting the blush threatening to spread across your cheeks at his praise. You're still not quite used to these pet names.

"I'm just glad it's over with. It was a lot, but I bet it's nothing compared to what you've been dealing with on a daily basis."

Your eyes shoot open as you feel Lucifer's hands latch onto your shoulders. You groan at the pressure built in there as he prods at the space with his thumbs, mapping out all of your tension. Slowly, but surely, his fingers begin to press into the skin there, unrelenting on the sore muscles that lie beneath. Unable to hold your head up any longer, you flop backwards and peer up at the demon.

With his back to the fireplace, a darkness overcomes his features. The shadows fail, however, to mask the sinful gaiety swimming within his eyes. From this position, you watch as the warmth awaiting behind him twists and turns, fighting against itself. Flames flickers to and fro, as if his presence alone commands hellfire.

You're pinned down by his gaze. His heady eyes are like a glass of full-bodied red wine, and being their sole focus makes your head all hazy. Yet, you catch on to how they crinkle at their corners, accompanying his wicked grin as you become all but pliable in his hands. As your head rolls a bit to the right, you note the lack of strain that accompanies the action.

Lucifer is a damn good masseuse.

But really, he should be the one receiving such lavish treatment. Hopefully, you think, he'll come around to taking pride in your desire to care for him so that you can return the fa-

Your heart nearly leaps into your throat as you catch a glimpse of bare forearm in your peripheral. You conclude that must have been the shuffling you heard earlier - the rolling of sleeves. A snort of amusement sounds above you in response to your shock.

"Are you so easily distracted by the sight of bare skin?"

Well, no, you think.

"Just yours."

You curse your loose lips and brace yourself to be lectured by your lover. But nothing comes. A small "hmph" draws your attention towards Lucifer and your pulse quickens at the captivating sight before you.

His brows pulled together, eyes flickering between you and the wall, and a blush warming his pale cheeks makes you swoon. You coo internally at the pout that pulls at his lips; the same one you had mistaken as a frown for so long. You reach up and place your hands upon his forearms, hands squeezing the skin tenderly.

"Beautiful." You mumble.

Had you not been watching him so intently; you'd have missed how his eyes had widened. As they come to settle once more onto your own, you still. You're not sure what to make of the dangerous glint bouncing within them. Lucifer smirks as his hands pause in their task.

He cocks his head before he descends upon you. You breathe him in, the familiar scent of frankincense and leather leaving you dizzy as his lips brush lightly against your own.

You close your eyes, lips pursed.

"While I appreciate your admiration in all its forms." Your breath hitches as Lucifer's form shakes above you with a snicker. "It is well beneath you to undermine your achievements."

As you feel his form recede from you, you sit up, mouth agape. That's what you get for teasing him, you suppose.

"Seriously though, Lucifer. Such stress can't be good for you." You had found him nearly half asleep at his desk at least two times this week.

Lucifer waves off your concern as he saunters over to his desk. Papers are piled into neat stacks, an open envelope can be found here and there, and within the coffee mug that holds his pens you find one you'd gifted him from a museum in the human world.

"We have already discussed this at great length. Unfortunately, there are some roles which only I can, and must, fulfill." Bending over his desk, you watch Lucifer reach for something on the seat of his chair. When he turns to face you again, a large wicker picnic basket dangles by his side. In just a few strides, Lucifer comes to stand before you. He reaches a hand out to your cheek and you hold it there, leaning into his touch.

"I only ask that you humor me in these moments when I have the rare occurrence to mix business with pleasure."

Pulling away from you, Lucifer uses the space beside your package on the low table to lay out what he's packed for the two of you. You soon recognize the assortment of treats to be your favorites from Hell's Kitchen. You gasp when your eyes happen upon the wrath beast tartar. You'd only had the privilege of tasting during the very far and few private dinners between you, Lord Diavolo, and Lucifer himself.

"Lucifer." He simpers at the way you call out to him, looking quite pleased with himself as you gaze in awe at the spread before you. "A few treats are fine, but this is too much. At least let me pitch in next time."

"You will do no such thing." You know better than to push him when his tone is so firm. "Such costs are miniscule in the face of your accomplishments this semester. " He lays out one final dish, giddy goop pie, before closing the basket and resting it on the floor beside the low table.

"Your grades are impressive. But your ability to corral the others is an achievement all of its own, especially on days when they insist on being endlessly troublesome. Such order seems beyond my means without disciplining them." On a plate, Lucifer piles a couple of pickings for you to partake in before he hands it to you with a soft smile.

"I hope they are all to your liking."

Sauteed wild hare liver, shadow goose meat, egg lasagna, and so, so, much more. Every bite goes down smooth, flavor bursting across your tastebuds. There's no way you'll be able to work through every course, so you ponder over what you'll pack into a plate or two to stash away in the private mini fridge hidden within your room.

"Ah, it's all so good!" You murmur absentmindedly, stabbing your fork into another piece of whole roasted havoc devil and popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

A chuckle to your left catches your attention. Lucifer sits in the seat beside you, reclined against the cushions with an arm resting over the backrest. Despite the feast before him, his gaze consumes you whole. You begin to chew slower, feeling self-conscious that you are the only one eating.

"Do you not want any?" You set your fork down and face him more fully.

"If it pleases you, I'll take a plate. Although," you fidget in your seat as his eyes rake down your form, "I am sated as is. Indulging you is quite filling."

"O-oh." You smile shyly before looking down at your plate. You lift your fork, using its prongs to poke at the egg lasagna. "I'd like for you to enjoy this with me, not, you know, just me."

"As you wish."

Without another word, Lucifer stands and prepares a plate for himself. Steadily you two work through the dishes, never finishing, but at least sampling each plate.

"I am grateful, really," you laugh, belly full, "but why buy this much? You must have known we wouldn't finish it all."

"Well," you flush at the fondness with which he takes you in, "I was unsure which you would prefer more. It would have been a shame to lack in anything you might have desired." You are humbled by the admission. All of this, just for you, so that there was little chance you'd be disappointed.

"No matter. Whatever we do not finish, will be finished, eventually." The amusement in his tone makes you giggle.

"Yes, I'm sure the others will be all too happy about this." Lucifer sits up and begins to re-package the dishes. Although he protests, you join him and soon enough develop a rhythm that has the low table back to its original state in no time. You go to sit down again as you hear a ping echo in the room.

Lucifer reaches into his back pocket, fishing out his D.D.D. He heaves a heavy sigh as he looks over the screen.

"Back to business?" You see the briefest hint of annoyance overcome his features.

"I've been tasked with surveying candidates to fill a vacant teaching position." Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "There is a high volume of applicants. However, I must ensure that they are capable of honoring Lord Diavolo's demands and are up to standard before I pass their files over to Barbatos."

"Up to standard?" You tilt your head to rest it against the cushion. It's rare for him to divulge working matters to you.

"Whoever is selected will be within close proximity to the future king." He answers, clicking off the phone and shoving it back into his pocket. "Credentials are important. But my concern lies with their motivations for teaching at R.A.D. now that we've begun this exploratory program."

"Because of Solomon and I?" You feel a small pang in your chest. You know you're not to blame, but you hate creating more work for him, even if unintentionally.

"It is a matter beyond the students currently in attendance. This is, of course, only the initial stages for our Lord's desire to begin open communication between the three realms."

"As one can imagine, when such channels become open, problems will arise. Those in opposition of current leadership are likely to rebel and having connections within the school will only further increase their chances of contact with the Student Council, or worse."

Your mind spins with the revelation that even your relationship with Lucifer carries a political undertone. You know not all demons have been favorable of the program, but having witnessed the strength of the Avatars, the thought that any of them could be defeated, that Diavolo could be defeated, had escaped your mind. Your shoulders curl forward as dread begins to seep in. It's a terrifying realization and a reality you hope this timeline will never face.

"Calm yourself."

A finger hooks beneath your jaw, lifting your head to meet Lucifer's brooding gaze as he appears before you on one knee.

"I do not wish to instill unnecessary fear within you. I will not allow any of us to be put in such a precarious position. Of that, I give you my word."

You nod, reaching up to take his hand within your own. You and the others have been up to your usual antics, unaware of the potential severity of internal conflict brewing under Lucifer's watchful eye. The weight he bears is more oppressive than you could even begin to understand. You can't imagine a single soul who could handle the immense pressure of such a grave task in stride as he does.

"I don't fear for myself." You press a kiss to the back of his hand and feel his fingers wrapping tighter around yours. "But that does put me at ease. Thank you, Lucifer. I know..."

You do not doubt where you stand in his heart, but often question your place in matters dealing with Diavolo.

"Know what?" He asks. You take a deep breath, and steady your gaze upon his. You want him to take this seriously and know that you mean it.

"I know there might not be much I can do for the time being, and you have done well on your own. But, if there comes a day when I can help you, regardless of the task, I ask that you don't hesitate. I understand these matters are way beyond my understanding, but I want you to place your trust in me."

Your chest seizes as silence fills the room, but Lucifer is merciful enough to stop you before you can stew in your anxiety. Carefully, he pulls your hand within his to his lips, pressing a kiss of his own onto the skin.

He says nothing as he stands, but that is much better than rejecting you outright. He's acknowledged your request, and that is enough for now.

"Since we have finished dinner, shall we move on to a review of your performance? I would also like to set aside some time to address expectations for the remainder of the semester." You perk up as he steps over to the liquor-lined shelves.

The actual reason you'd been called to his office had slipped your mind. Each semester, Lucifer conducts a one-on-one midmester progress check-in with each brother. Having come to live under his household, you have not been spared from the formality.

"Is that what I hope it is?" You'd agreed to the meeting, but that didn't mean you two couldn't enjoy it thoroughly. Lucifer shakes his head softly with a snort.

"If you are suggesting that it is your favorite alcoholic beverage from the human realm, then yes. That is what we agreed upon."

You feel excitement welling up within you as he walks back with two glasses. You've wanted to drink with him for some time, but demonus has no effect on humankind. So, he had proposed an exchange in preparation for your meeting: human liquor for acceptable grades.

You spare a look to the bag that sits on the table.

You couldn't just leave it at that though, so, you had asked that he allow you to put in a private request. You've selected something else to exchange with him, something you have wanted to share with him after your time back in the human realm.

You two sit for some time, sipping on your drinks as you go through the usual routine. With each course and thorough grade evaluation, time seems to slow. Warmth bursts from within your chest, whipping wildly throughout your body, and radiates from your cheeks. Having paced himself, Lucifer appears much the same as before, but his face is not unaffected by the same flush that has overcome you.

"It pleases Lord Diavolo that you have adjusted so well and have decided to continue your studies here in the Devildom." He sets your report down onto the low table before reclining back into his seat.

Oh. It seems you two have finally finished. How lovely.

"You have made a rather fine impression for humanity, despite this unexpected arrangement. Such performance bodes well for us all."

"It pleases just Lord Diavolo?" You quip, raising a brow at him over your glass.

Lucifer turns to you, a wry smile on his face as he takes a swig of demonus.

"You would have me put my praise into words when I've already laid it out for you here," he motions to first to your glass, then to the basket still resting upon the floor, "and here?"

When your eyes have finally caught up to his motions, you look to him, a wicked grin rivaling his own.

"Would that be so terrible, Lucifer? I do love the sound of your voice." You tease, brain unfiltered as you sway in your seat.

"How brazen of you to question my opinion of you. Do you not wear my mark upon your skin, Master?" A pleasant shiver crawls through you as he purrs the title only reserved for moments like these, hidden away from world.

You reach for your collar. Beneath it, a thrum of magic buzzes against your fingertips. You can only make out the faint glow of royal blue, but do not doubt that Lucifer can see his pact mark in all its glory as he calls it forth.

Even so, you pay it no mind, gaze unflinching as you keep your attention on him. You do, however, trace your finger over the markings you have memorized. Beneath Lucifer's black buttoned up, skin starts to glow.

Lucifer sighs heavily, but his tone is filled with adoration. "You are insatiable."

You scoff. "And you're not?"

Your mind flashes with all the stolen kisses the demon has sneaked in between meetings, in hidden hallway corridors, and on early morning walks through the garden before the others have risen. With the countless days you've found notes hidden within your room wishing you a good morning, in the kitchen to remind you to eat, and in the common area requesting that you not stay up too late on the days he is called away on business.

Your favorite, however, are the late-night texts he sends when you are out for the night, always wishing for your wellbeing and safe return to him.

Your jaw drops as Lucifer combs his fingers through his hair, chortling in amusement all the while. The unrestrained display assures you that he is tipsy.

"Yes, as am I. There is much to do with so little time. It has kept me from you longer that I find acceptable most days." He muses as you finish the last sip of your third drink, quickly moving on to melting the ice that remains in your mouth.

"As selfish of me as it may be, I'd like nothing more than to keep you by my side."

Your focus returns to him alone as he leans forward towards you on the chair, forearms resting upon his knees. The image feels absurd as Lucifer's tie, loosened from the confines of his half-buttoned vest, simply dangles in the air. Truly, you laugh to yourself, it looks as free as he must feel right now.

"You think my desire for you to be insincere? Were you not the one clambering for my affections?" Your eyes widen and you try to suppress another laugh at his defensiveness to your personal amusement.

"Clambering?!" Yet, you go quiet as Lucifer stands and stumbles over to you. Once more, he kneels before you.

"I will make it certain that you never doubt my feelings for you." He sets his glass onto the table before his hands come to cup your face. You feel yourself burn up at his touch, and it only worsens as he begins.

"I adore you. I would rather be torn apart limb from limb than ever have to watch you leave my side. There will never be a day that I stop loving you and never will I cease my desire to pass the rest of my existence within the comfort of your embrace."

You feel faint.

"The thought I may ever disappoint you destroys me; that you might ever be angry with me causes me to lose all reason. I would live for you, die for you, kill for you if you ever wished it."

Your heart feels as if it's going to burst if he looks into your eyes like this any longer.

"I know joy because I know you. I loath to ever be apart from you and think only of how quickly I can return to you when I am away. Your mind, body, and soul have bewitched me for all eternity. I am forever devoted to your happiness, as it is my own."

Oh yes, you really think you might faint.

"We could rearrange this space." You have a brief respite as Lucifer's eyes flitter around the room in contemplation. There is no doubt in your mind that he can feel the warmth emanating from you, and not just from the liquor. "Maybe a desk to join mine so that I might have the pleasure of your company for as long as I'd like."

"Lucifer!" You whine, but he hushes you with a tender kiss.

"Yes, I'm quite taken with the idea. To gaze upon the holder of my affection as I wish with little interruption from others. How does that sound?"

You're breathless as he gazes into your eyes once more. You chide yourself for ever having questioned the depth of his affections in the past. All he does, he does for his family. A family that has claimed you as their own.

You are too tipsy to pour your heart out in a dignified manner, so you tuck away the idea to do so properly when you are sober. But you cup his face in your hands as he holds yours.

"Wonderful." You reply. "Nothing would make me happier than to love you, forever, and be loved by you, forever." It's not as grand as his prose, but it is enough to make Lucifer purr some. The quiet rumble shocks you. Rarely does he allow himself to be so carefree.

You are reminded that he has in fact had at least four drinks as his head droops down onto your shoulder. You hold onto him so that he does not fall, content to remain in this peaceful moment that belongs solely to the two of you.

After some time passes, Lucifer lifts his head off you.

"Might I confess something to you, my love?"

"Yes, Lucifer, dear. What is it?" You think you might like the way the term of endearment rolls off your tongue.

He glimpses to the low table beside the two of you. "This request of yours has tormented me for some time. Finally, will you share what you have been keeping from me?"

"Don't misunderstand me." You murmur, smoothing a finger over his brow before it furrows further. "It was never something to be kept from you."

You move to stand, and Lucifer rises. Upright, you pick up the package off the low table.

"It was always something I planned to share with you." You turn and hold it out to Lucifer.

"A trade is only fair if what is exchanged is of equivalent value. You brought me entertainment I am only ever able to enjoy in the human realm. So, I thought to bring a form of entertainment you could enjoy."

He takes the paper bag from you, raising a brow as he feels around inside.

"Could it be?" He pulls out a record sleeve.

Lucifer looks at you with a pleased smile. "How considerate of you." He leaves the bag back on his desk as he walks over to the record player.

"As much as I am dying to hear your cursed record collection, I have no desire to actually put myself in mortal danger." Gently, Lucifer pulls the record out from the sleeve.

"It's a copy of a classical jazz record I have at home in the human realm. While I was gone, I would listen to it a lot cause it reminded me of you."

Lucifer places the record, lifts the stylus, and sets it down onto the record to cue. It starts off with a ballad.

He walks back to you, finally flipping the record sleeve over to check the playlist. You're sure he's seen your note when he comes to a stop just before you. You wrote it in blue ink to make sure it stands out from the sleeve's white-gray coloring.

Thinking of you too <3.

Your heart stops as his eyes soften, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. Was the message too much?

"I-" You step towards him.

"As expected of you, to do the unexpected. Whatever will I do with these unfamiliar feelings you stir up within me?"

"Well, first, you could kiss me?" You're giddy with the mirth that lights up his eyes at the suggestion.

"That's true, isn't it? Yes, I think I will kiss you." Closing the gap, Lucifer reaches for your hands and holds them in his.

"I think I will kiss you, and then you and I will dance. I think I shall have you recount just what it is you thought of while you listened to this record, and that I will share in kind just what thoughts the music brings to me."

Lucifer guides your hands, placing them where he would like you to hold onto him.

"After, I think we will have another drink or two, pick at the food even, if you wish. Then, before it is too late in the evening, I will take you to your room. It is only a Thursday night, and you must be up early tomorrow."

He steps back, and you two stumble into a waltz that carries you throughout the room. He leans in and presses his forehead against yours.

"And I hope that then, you will grant me the pleasure of a goodnight kiss."

You grin, leaning your head onto his shoulder. Work prevents him from being as selfish with your time as his brothers are. But he makes the most of these moments he shares with you.

"Yes, dear. As many as you'd like."

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

Dance with me ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Three little words, with a lot of meaning and implications depending on how and where they are said (Angst)

Note: This is the version with Tommy. Those with John and Arthur can be found here. Here is my [Masterlist].

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: PTSD, Depression, low self esteem, period confirming misogenistic thinking, possible infertility. Some swearing. It's Peaky Blinders. As I am an adult, all my writing I share is unless explicitly stated for adults (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Wordcount: 2858 words

If she hadn't been so tired, she would have been ashamed.

She had every reason to be, after all she had failed, failed in the single greatest task bestowed upon her. The only task, really.

In the eyes of God and men.

Being a wife was the pivotal role in her life, after all, she was not a mother.

Nor likely to become one anytime soon.

Because she had failed.

(Y/N) must have done- no, she knew she had failed.

Something somewhere had gone terribly, horribly wrong and every attempt, she started to try to somehow fix it, had come and gone without even the slightest hint of an effect. Or it had made things worse.

When she noticed that Tommy didn't eat much, she had tried first cooking his favourites and then new recipes, even if they were always those with the most expensive ingredients. She had been content with eating something else to balance the cost, if only he'd eat. But still, he either came late and said he didn't want to eat anymore, or he was on time and claimed a lack of hunger. The sandwiches and tea she brought to his office when he missed the meals once more often only resided in his office until she cleared them the next morning or were eaten by the others.

When she noticed Tommy had trouble sleeping, she offered him tea which he never drank, and put lavender under the pillows, which he chucked out, while brushing off any attempt at a soothing touch after his nightmares.

When she noticed Tommy no longer sought out her company the way he used to, she tried. She tried coming to him. She wore the things he used to like seeing on her and did the things that used to work, only to be rebuffed before she got far. She then tried putting in more effort, bought makeup to hide the changes the last four years had made on her, even bought lipstick because that was what the other women said did the trick, only to be met by irritating gazes that made her cheeks burn with shame.

When the sunsets came and went without any trace of him, she waited up, even if her eyes threatened to fall close- only to be met with a gruff remark that it wasn't necessary.

She had spent four years missing him, praying for him, fearing for him and his brothers, and yet she had never felt his absence more prominently than in his presence.

They had, of course, tried to reassure her- the women from work, Polly, John, even Arthur and Ada- had told her to give him time, that she was a good woman and that one day everything would be fine.

Once upon a time she had even believed that.

But every plate of food or cup of tea that had stayed untouched, every attempt at affection which had been shut down, every question he had refused to answer, every gentle touch he had shrugged off, every night she had waited up only to be met by stoic silence- bit by bit they had worn her down.

And somewhere along the way (Y/N) Shelby had become too tired to care.

Ironically that was what Tommy noticed, after all these weeks and months of trying to get his affection, his attention, his anything.

Not that it was enough to prompt much more than lingering looks when she no longer got up in the mornings with him, or didn't bother asking if he too wanted some tea, or when, in the rare instances where they went to bed together, she did so without making conversation, or trying to help him, or hold him, or kiss him goodnight.

Then, when she just silently went about her business, picking up his clothes as well as her own without a word, only to lie down on her side facing the wall- then, she could feel his eyes.

The truth was, that (Y/N) no longer knew where she was headed. It would be foolish to still believe there was a 'they'. But she had been so drained by four years of war, and three months of trying, she didn't even have the energy left to think about the future. If there even was one.

She just went about her day, day by day, hour by hour, going to work, doing her chores, keeping Finn entertained, and going back to sleep in an icy cold bed despite the warmth of the person, who was lying right next to her, and yet worlds away.

The doors of the church squeaked slightly as they were pushed open. By the time it had slammed shut again, without any attempt to stop the force of the impact, she already knew who had entered the otherwise deserted church at this late hour.

She knew the rhythm of his steps the way she knew that of his heartbeat, the way she knew the lines of his palm and the freckles on his cheeks. Well enough to tell them apart from thousands.

But (Y/N) did not turn.

The realization made her heart clench.

She must've forgotten something, some family event, some big night at the betting shop. A cold spread through her, as if a thin layer of ice sought to cover her skin from the inside. It hurt, but it would make the few barked words thrown in her direction more bearable and the sharpness of his tongue less biting.

In the end, she knew she won't get more than a sentence or two- an order, a demand.

But she could only feel his eyes, and hear the distant sound of his breathing as he watched her. Then, to her surprise and confusion, he sat down in the pew right next to her, leaning forward and staring at the gilded altar room.

The old wood creaked as if knowing that the person it now supported saw no value in this building and what it represented.

"Polly says you used to come here every day to pray for us to come back.", Tommy told the figures at the altar.

By now she was used to being stared at without being talked to and being talked to without her presence being acknowledged.

"I did.", She admitted, seeing no point in denying, even if she hadn't come to pray today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that.

"We are back."

To that, she had nothing to say, which only made him sigh. Then, he reached up and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look,", he began, taking a deep breath and still refusing to look at her. "I know things aren't good between us, not the way they are supposed to be and not the way they were. But I need you to know that it's not because of you."

(Y/N) almost smiled at his words, at his meek attempt to cushion his request. But she had already felt its force.

"It's alright.", She told him. "I have been expecting this."

How could she not?

But it was ironic that he did it here, in the church of all places where they had become man and wife all of five years ago. Half a decade since the day she had felt so close to the pinnacle of happiness, after which had only come a lifetime of misery.

They had stood right there, in the golden glimmer of the candles and the morning sun, and had said their vows.

Until death do us part.

Death had parted them- a thousand times over. All the loud and screaming death he had seen in France, all the quiet and suffocating death that occured here. Somehow they both had died along the way, at least a little bit.

"I'd prefer it if you wouldn't use infidelity.", She asked. "We could use impotence on my part. They might try to make us wait a year with the war in between, but I don't think they won't believe you, especially if I don't try to argue against it."

As much as that reason hurt- and it did hurt- there was still some truth in it. While she had never, even once, wavered in the loyalty to the man sitting right next to her. He could acknowledge that at least, that even if she had failed to become a mother, had failed to be a good enough wife, she had been a loyal one.

"What are you talking about?", Tommy demanded to know.

"Divorce."

She had expected that saying it would hurt, like ripping out her heart with her own bare hands and tearing it to shreds herself, and maybe it would have done once. Now, she felt nothing.

"What?", He snapped. "Why would you think I want a divorce, eh?"

In his anger, or his surprise, he had finally turned to look at her and (Y/N) met his eyes. She was impressed by how unaffected her voice sounded when she spoke.

"Because you don't want me to be your wife anymore, Tommy."

His lips parted slightly as his eyes, his bright summer sky blue eyes burned into her.

Then, he dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. A few strands of hair fell into his face but he made no attempt to push them away again. He just sat there, his head low, and his hand shielding his face from her eyes.

Tommy made no sound, but she could sense the turmoil inside him, feel the screaming of emotions, even if she had no idea what they were, as not a muscle betrayed him.

His other hand was braced against the back of the row ahead of them, his knuckles turning white from the pressure he applied to it.

Then, after half an eternity, he took a sharp breath.

"I don't want a fucking divorce, (Y/N).", He hissed through clenched teeth. "I don't, alright?"

Now that did come as a surprise to her.

He ran his hand through his hair, making even more strands of his hair come loose.

Shaking his head, he looked away, somewhere to the empty rows behind her. His eyes shone and his jaw muscles worked.

"I still want you…I still need you to be my wife."

Those are two very different things, she thought. And it wasn't like she hadn't been useful, to him and the family. Undoubtedly Polly would have told him that.

Yes, divorcing her would be very inconvenient indeed.

"Look, I know. Alright? I know.", He continued, his voice trembling. "I want to-"

He broke off and shook his head again, fighting for words.

"I need more time, (Y/N). To get used to…used to this again."

"This?", She asked.

He sighed and forced his eyes shut.

"When you do what we did…what we had to do for four fucking years-,", he began, his voice dangerously low, and quaking with something between sorrow and rage.

"It doesn't just stop because someone somewhere decides it's over. You can't just stop. It's not- it's not that simple."

Shaking his head, he looked away again, and she could see his hand muscles coiling and uncoiling into a fist.

"I want this, you know,", he mumbled, staring at the hand which was still marked by the ring she had put there. "I want…I want us."

His voice broke on the last word and so he took a deep breath to steady it.

"I just need more time."

And I have nothing left to give.

It almost made her sad, and that was the most heartbreaking thing of all.

Almost.

A small, lingering part of her wanted nothing more than to reach out and dry his tears, to wrap him in an embrace and sooth his words away with gentle touches and softer words, but she had tried that, had tried time and time again, only to be pushed away in more ways than one.

Tommy noticed too, and he nodded solemnly. Running a hand over his face, he gathered himself once more and then stood up.

"C'mon. It's late.", He said.

Slowly, with the aching joints of an old woman, (Y/N) stood and followed him out of the pew. But he just stood there, his back turned to her and the altar, without any attempt of moving.

Then, slowly he turned, his hand outstretched.

"Would you dance with me?"

"What?", (Y/N) asked, not sure if she had heard him properly. She can't have. Not truly. Why would he ask her that now?

But he repeated his request.

"Dance with me."

"Why would I do that?", She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

His own arm was still outstretched in the no man's land between them, attempting to bridge a valley of darkness.

"So I know that it's not too late. That there's still a chance."

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

What a coward you are, Thomas Shelby, she thought bitterly.

After all this, after everything he still put it on her, and for what? To ease his conscience? To tell himself he had tried everything?

It was almost laughable, but she no longer remembered what it was like to laugh.

She should have told him no, but somehow the words didn't pass her lips.

Somehow ending something outright seemed infinitely harder than to let something wither and die in the absence of care.

"It wouldn't be appropriate. This is a church, Tommy.", She reminded him.

"I don't care."

"We can't dance in a House of God. It's not proper.", She argued.

Still his hand was outstretched.

"Do you remember what I said to you when we got married?"

"You said a lot of things.", She said.

He nodded slowly, seemingly lost in the memory of times past.

"And I said I don't believe in God. But I told you that I made those vows to you. I meant it then and I still do now."

There was a determination in his voice now, a certainty she hadn't heard all day.

"For better, for worse, eh?"

She scoffed as she glanced up to meet his eyes.

"And this- is this better or worse?"

"Better than France.", He admitted. "Worse than before. But a lot worse than we will be."

He seemed so sure of it, as if saying it out loud made it true.

"Please.", Tommy whispered, nodding towards his hand.

What good will it do?

But then again, he was talking, listening, acknowledging her for the first time in weeks - maybe even months.

Perhaps this was her chance, perhaps it was her last chance to experience a glimmer of what they had once been.

One final chance.

One final dance.

As soon as she slipped her hand into his, he closed his fingers around it and drew her closer. His hand found the back of her shoulder while she leaned into his arms.

They stood so close now that she could feel his breaths in her forehead.

For a while they just stood like that- closer than they had been in years, both equally familiar and foreign with the sensation. And both frightened.

Slowly, he began to move, with soft, small steps in the narrow space of the aisle. Each soft step echoed in the empty church, bouncing off of the tall ceilings.

"I have plans, you know.", He whispered. "For the business. For us. Had four years to think about them."

When she didn't respond, he took it as the incentive to continue.

"I'll make us legal. Then, with the new money, after a year or so, I'll buy us a house. A big one, with lots of rooms and running water. And a fireplace, a proper fireplace in every room."

She allowed her eyes to flutter close, as his heartbeat became the rhythm she could move to.

"There'll be a garden, with fruit trees. And when we have children, we can hang swings from the branches for them. One for each child."

"If.", She said softly.

"Hm?"

"If we have children."

It wasn't for lack of trying in the time before the war, and by logic, she should have gotten pregnant then, ten times over. Martha had gotten pregnant after barely a month. But nearly a year hadn't been enough for them. And the years since wouldn't have done anything to help with their changes.

"We will.", Tommy said, his thumb brushing over her fingers which he held in his hand. "One day, we will."

He seemed so sure, but that wasn't a luxury (Y/N) allowed herself.

She had spent years hoping and had gotten nothing for her efforts but pain. She wasn't foolish enough to start again, to believe him and his big plans, to let his own certainty become her own.

No, she wasn't foolish enough to hope, but perhaps she was foolish enough to doubt- to doubt the knowledge that had built up over the last weeks, that whatever they once had, and might have had, was completely and utterly lost.

Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself a little doubt. At least for the moment.

End.

Thank you for reading. I'd be very grateful for comments or feedback of any kind.

#valentineswritings #Tommy Shelby x reader #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby oneshot #Thomas Shelby one shot #Tommy Shellby imagine #Thomas Shelby imagine #peaky blinders

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wizzard890 · 1 year

Note

Regarding the repeating outfit: How do you keep clothes in good condition after repeated wear? they get very worn out after awhile :(

There are a couple answers to this, but please take them with my supposition that you’re not talking about hard-wearing clothing for specific work/activities. I assume that if you're some hottie in overalls at a wolf sanctuary or whatever, you're probably not turning to a fancy femme on tumblr for garment maintenance advice.

First off, where you buy your clothes is important. Fast fashion is not made to last, it is made to degrade like so much spider silk and to be thrown out with each trend cycle. It can be cared for (see my next point), but it takes effort, and you are actively resisting entropy. Buy well-made clothes secondhand, particularly vintage clothes, and you'll be better off. And when I say vintage, I don't mean pinups and victory curls, I mean good solid mall brands from the 90s, like Nine West, Anne Taylor, Old Navy and Gap. The quality dip in many consumer goods over the past twenty years has been horrifying to watch, and all the brands I listed have been victims, but there are still a lot of old, well-made pieces out there in the thrifting market. Or see if your parents / older family members or friends have anything similar in their closet that they wouldn't mind parting with.

(But ALSO even fast fashion used to be better. I have a sweater from Zara that I bought in the year of our lord 2013, and I wore it to dinner just this week. I've spent years making sure it didn't shrink in the wash and hanging it up and spot cleaning it, and it looks as good as it did the day I bought it. On that note --)

Please please please take care of your clothes. Read the labels inside them for washing instructions, go online to learn more about how to launder the specific material, make sure you don't tumble dry things that will shrink or melt, hang them up so they don't wrinkle, iron them carefully, take in buttons to be repaired at your local seamstress or laundromat, the list goes on. It's a little time consuming, but not complicated.

You'll also be more likely to put in the effort if you get a lot of use out of a garment, and don't feel like a dummy for steam-drying a trendy item that's going to be passé in a few months. Think judiciously about trends - will you be able to incorporate a piece into your personal style once the girlies on tiktok stop wearing it? If so, great. If not, you don't want to be stuck hand washing a popcorn crop top. (Idk if those are back in on the y2k train yet, but as a millennial who shopped at Limited Too, I advise my gen z followers that it's only a matter of time.)

Constant trend cycles, low-quality clothes, items sold for loose change during Shein or Fashion Nova sales, a generation brought up so the idea of "outfit repeating" has any social weight whatsoever: this shit is bad for the planet, and TERRIBLE for exploited workers across the world, particularly in the global south. We can all try for a better reality than this; your habits of personal consumption matter.

#other things you can do depending on your pocketbook: commission seamstresses for garments #stop buying shoes made of plastic #get used to repair #and to taking time to make sure your clothes (even your zara sweater from 2013) aren't treated like disposable goods #you only imagine they are because somewhere in china PEOPLE are being treated like disposable goods #emily: high femme cyborg stylist extraordinare #replies

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agoodfictitle-shadowban · 2 years

Text

The Fate You Fight - Pt. 3

Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

[TFYF Masterlist]

Tags: soulmate AU, telephatic link soulmate, architect!reader, jewish!Wanda, post-MoM, hurt/comfort, no proofreading

Warnings: mention of abuse, description of violence, language, mention of attempted suicide

Summary: You never wanted anything to do with your soulmate, but when you find her in an advanced state of distress you had to help. After that, it becomes hard to let her go.

A/n: okay, now we've caught up with what ive written so far, and im replenished in serotonine (your comments give me so much of it you have no idea), so it should make it easier for me to finish writing this piece. Although stressing out because im getting my wisdom teeth removed soon so rip me. Anyway, love you guys, i hope you like this chapter! <3

Taglist: @red1culous @yenmaximoff (since you said you wanted more)

A few more days went by, and Wanda assured you she was fine with you going back to the office most of the day. She seemed to really be doing better now that she had people who supported her, but she seemed bored. You quickly discovered that her life before all this rarely gave her time to find a hobby outside of watching old tv shows. When with the Avengers she spent most of her time training, and before that she was a lab rat, so that wasn't fertile soil to develop interests.

Still, she made an effort to find an occupation, she started reading, tried Anath's video games, even played around with some old art supplies you bought once upon a time and never truly picked up later on. But nothing seemed to really scratch the itch.

Then one day, as Anath was home - she had inherited a week of night shift - and watching the news, a report came about an ongoing battle in the center of Manhattan where the newest members of the Avengers were fighting some terrible danger and were in a really precarious position. Wanda looked at the report in horror, then outside the window from where she could see a column of smoke rising. Before she had even time to think about it, she went to the balcony and jumped into action.

Immediately your best friend called you to inform you of what just happened, and you had to excuse yourself as you went to the closest computer near you, pushing the hands of its user to take control.

"Hey! What's wrong with you Y/ln?"

"Shut up, Dave."

You pulled up a live news feed and looked as your soulmate just arrived on the fight scene just in time to save the new Black Widow and Hawkeye from being crushed by debris. She then flew to the danger and what looked like a very violent battle started while the news anchor commented on the witch's return.

You had a bad feeling about this.

At least the fight didn't last since Wanda took care of the threat in a few minutes, top, before taking off into the unknown. You bolted from the office, trying to get a hold of Wanda's phone, unsuccessfully.

Shit.

Was she going to be okay? She hadn't used her powers in a while, and after the Sokovia Accords she kept a low profile since she was a fugitive. Her appearing out of nowhere like that was bound to bring some unwanted attention.

That was bad.

Finally, she answered her phone.

"Wanda, where are you?"

"The outskirt of the city. I didn't want to go back to your place and risk bringing attention there." That was actually smart.

"Okay, ping me your location, I'm picking you up. In the meantime, stay hidden."

She did what you asked for, and after a while she was climbing in your car. Immediately she noticed how white your knuckles were on the wheel.

"Y/n…"

"Not now." Your voice was strained and dry, trying to hide any form of emotions.

Wanda recoiled in her seat while your eyes stayed glued on the road. The way home was quick but heavy with what you left unsaid, but what worried her even more was the lack of your voice in her head. Were you truly not thinking anything, or did you cut her off? She had no way to tell, so when you closed the door behind you she turned to face you, eyes already filling with tears. But before she could say anything, you crashed into her in a crushing hug.

"I was so scared, Wanda, so scared." You plunged your face in the crook of her neck, taking deep breaths. She smelled like sweat and smoke after her fight.

"I'm okay Y/n, I'm good," she reassured you as she finally laced her arms around you, rubbing your back in slow circles. "I don't even have a scratch, I swear."

You actually took the time to examine her, backing away, your eyes roaming her in search of any visible wound. You nodded. Good. That was good. Still, you brought her in your arms again. You wanted to feel her against you, solid, there. When you finally let your arms slide off of her she took your hands in hers, her fingers still black at the tip but slowly going back to normal with time, and squeezed them gently.

"You feeling better?" She asked and you nodded.

Everything was good. There was just a question burning on your tongue but you had no idea if you should ask it. It was none of your business, you thought. On the other hand…

"Are you going to get back into superheroing?" You asked in a worried whisper.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question as if she didn't think about it. And she didn't. "I don't know," she answered in a confused tone, because she truly had no idea. "I… I acted on instinct. They were kids. I had to do something."

You thought about it, pinching your lips before you nodded. "Okay."

"You're not mad?" She tilted her head at that, some more confusion etched on her face.

"No, no, I'm not mad. I–" you stammered and looked up at the ceiling as you looked for your words. "I was worried, but also… you're a kickass hero, and I kind of told you to do good. And if for you it means going out there and fighting, so be it."

"O-okay, that's… I'm… I don't know yet if–" she breathed out shakily. "I don't know if I will do that too often."

"That's good, I mean, fine, you know. Do that as often as you want," you rambled a bit and she laughed, and you did too. "God, you were so cool out there!"

You laced your fingers with hers and leaned forward so your foreheads touched.

"It felt good to help again."

"Okay, how about celebratory take out? Chinese?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head when another voice sounded from the living room.

"I'm open to chinese."

Anath smirked at you and you blushed. You had completely forgotten she was here, and apparently Wanda had too since she was getting almost as red as her hair.

Your best friend laughed, and you took your phone out to get the food.

"Sooo, Y/n," Anath started and you could see she wanted something.

You raised your eyebrows. "Yes, Anath?"

"Wanda hasn't been using the guest room for a while." Where the hell was she going with this? "And my dad is coming to town for a conference soon."

Ah, that's where she was going. "And you want him to stay here."

She nodded sheepishly.

"I'll talk to her about it." You didn't even know what you were supposed to talk about exactly. You narrowed your eyes at Anath. "When is he coming?"

"In two days."

You drank your coffee. You were not looking forward to having that conversation.

"Sooo, Wanda," you started in a very similar way as Anath did earlier. Wanda frowned and let you continue while she steered the food in the pot.

"Anath's dad will be in town, and she'd like him to stay here. And you know. You've been sleeping with me. I mean, in my room, I mean, you know." You were feeling so flustered, it was getting ridiculous. Lately you had found yourself more nervous than usual around Wanda, your heart beating in your chest stronger than ever.

"Are you asking me to move in your room?" She was now arching an eyebrow and you felt dumb with your sweaty palms.

"It's just temporary, then–"

"Okay." Your eyes widened. "I'll move to your room."

"Oh, good. Huh. Temporarily?"

"If you want it to be."

You looked to the side, a hand on the back of your neck. "Let's try it out before we make any big decision."

It doesn't have to mean anything, after all. You would be fine, right? You were not at all developing a giant crush on Wanda after all, mhm, nope, never.

Two days later, you had emptied a few of your drawers for Wanda to fully move in your room for the week to come. It felt oddly natural to have her take up more of your personal space, but it also left you feeling uneasy, trapped by an all knowing universe, and it bothered you deeply. But as usual, you repressed your emotions as deeply as possible so you wouldn't have to think about it. So when Anath's dad, Ephraim, finally arrived, everything was ready.

As usual you spent a good five minutes listening to them exchange in Hebrew from the kitchen, not understanding anything until a translation seemed to pop in your head in Wanda's voice. That made you frown pretty deeply and you glanced at her as she seemed to follow the conversation along as she snacked on cashews - yours, by the way, apparently now she was okay with just stealing your food. Finally the man came to say hello to the both of you and was pleasantly surprised to hear Wanda speak Hebrew to him.

Anath threw a questioning look your way and you just shrugged. You had no idea she spoke the language or if she had any religious affiliation to begin with.

The rest of the day flew by, and you actually learned that Wanda was jewish, which, good for her. You already knew a bit from Anath but never truly took the time to study the matter that much. She admitted she didn't practice anymore, but she still received an invitation to join Anath's family during important holidays - along with the one you received every time one of them came around. You had a feeling this time you might actually take it if Wanda's thoughts were anything to go by.

The next morning as you were taking breakfast with everyone, a golden magic portal opened in your living room and Wanda immediately jumped on her feet when Dr. Strange and Wong came through. This was bad, you could tell, so you stood up too.

"Do you often have wizards coming through portals here nowadays?" Ephraim asked in a whisper towards his daughter and child-in-law.

"It's honestly starting to feel like a Tuesday," Jamie answered, Anath simply tilting her head, unable to deny it.

"Strange, what are you doing here?" A very nervous Wanda challenged, hands at the ready to use her magic.

"I could ask you the same question, Wanda. More so I should ask you the same question. I thought you died at the top of Wundagore," Strange answered, while Wong behind him was also assuming a fighting stance, just in case.

"I think I want that weird man to answer first," Anath piped up, drawing attention to her.

"I'm sorry, who, who are you?" He asked, looking at her.

"Dr. Anath Weiss. This is my apartment."

"Mine too," you added, while Jamie mumbled it and raised their hand to say they were an inhabitant too. Strange looked at the older man in the room.

"I'm just visiting, don't mind me."

He actually had a better look at him. "Are you Dr. Ephraim Weiss? You're the current director at UC San Diego Health, aren't you?"

"Oh, Dr. Stephen Strange! You used to be a prick."

This made Jamie spit out food everywhere on the table. Wong behind him seemed conflicted. He wanted to say something, but seemed to agree to a certain degree.

"Well, I'm not here to be disrespected, so, Wanda. Come with me."

You could hear a lithanie of 'no's coming from her mind and her eyes started to turn red. That was your cue to step in, so you did, taking a step to move in front of Wanda, between her and Strange.

"I'm sorry buddy, but she's not going anywhere."

He rolled his eyes, this was getting old. "And who are you?"

"Y/n Y/ln. I'm her soulmate."

He blinked at that, looking between the both of you. "But I thought–" he started, confusion all over his features, but it was quite clear what he thought for Wanda.

"You thought it was Vision."

Wait, what? Vision as in… The Vision? Hiding what you felt right now was hard, but you managed well enough since the wizards didn't seem to notice. Wanda shook her head.

"It was complicated," she said, and boy, it sounded like that. Maybe it was time to ask her some questions.

"Alright, so I take it you won't…" Strange had a look towards you, then your friends. "How about we talk about all this at Kamar-Taj?" He opened a new portal to the temple.

Wanda came closer to you and you extended your hand behind you to grab hers.

"I just want to talk," Strange assured her, "and why don't you bring Y/n with you? As a sign of good faith."

You gave Wanda an interrogating look, and after a few seconds of impossible to grab thoughts, she finally nodded. "We'll come."

He stepped aside to allow you passage and you walked in the portal with Wanda. Wong came next, and then Strange. The three left in the kitchen looked at the golden ring which disappeared.

"Your place is very lively," Ephraim commented.

Anath drank her coffee, not answering to that. She liked it like that.

As you entered Kamar-Taj, you looked around at everything. There must have been a tornado going through recently with all the damages you could see around here.

"Where are we?" You reached to Wanda in your thoughts - it was the first time you were trying something like that - and she quickly answered, giving you the rundown on Kamar-Taj. Then she added the smallest details at the end.

"All the destruction is my fault."

That was a frown worthy moment, and you felt like you really needed a catch up. When you glanced at Wanda, she was looking down in shame, a slight tremble on her lips. You squeezed her hand reasuringly while you were led to a room. There you side down across Strange and Wong.

"So, let's start with the beginning. What happened after Wundagore."

No playing around with Strange. Wanda decided to simply comply and answer so it would be over faster.

"I survived, I wandered around and arrived in New York. I don't really remember how."

"Alright, then what?"

"I just…" she looked away. "I stayed around. I didn't know what to do. I really thought Wundagore would kill me."

"We thought so too."

Listening to that was painful, but that last part made you tic. "Wait a second," you intervened. "What's Wundagore?"

"It's the place of origin of an ancient powerful book of magic, one that corrupt people and that Wanda had in her possession until recently," Wong answered before Strange would keep him from doing so.

"Is that why…" you wiggled your fingers under the very annoyed look of Strange that you interrupted his interrogation.

"Can we keep going?"

"No, we can't." You snapped at him, your voice starting to fill with anger.

"What?"

You leaned forward and even if you had no power, no magic, no training to look even remotely menacing, the man still felt threatened somehow.

"You knew what she was attempting to do, destroy an ancient site of corrupting magic," a look at Wong and he nodded to confirm it, "and that she would supposedly die from it, which was clearly her goal from what I'm hearing, and you let her do it? Suicide by heroism? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Your voice went up and up with anger as you talked and everyone in the room looked at you like two new heads grew on you.

"Well, there was the whole Westview incident, and she just had killed a few people. And then tried to kill a kid," Strange explained, not liking the tone you were employing with him. "And the Darkhold is not really something you come back from."

"You kind of did," Wong pointed out.

"Yes, because it got destroyed."

You looked at the two men in front of you. "Weren't you supposed to be friend at some point? Or at least on the same team with the whole Avengers thing?"

"We weren't exactly– Yes, we collaborated."

"And you didn't stop five seconds to– to just–"

"We tried to give her an out. She was never coerced into attacking that kid, or into attacking here."

"You just fucking said that the magic book corrupted her! That the only reason you're okay is because she destroyed it! You got fucking lucky, because she managed to break the hold! AFTER IT CORRUPTED HER!" You stood up at that, already halfway there since you kept straightening from anger at each of your words. You couldn't take anymore. Wanda looked at your extended hand. "We're leaving. Do your magic thing so we can go home."

The blackened fingers found yours and pulled the witch up. Strange tried to keep you from going by standing in your face. At this point all you could hear was your blood pumping in your temples and before you knew it you punched him.

"Fuck!" That hurted more than you thought it would. Wong decided it was time to take the wheel and opened a portal for you.

"We will visit you again once you've calmed down," he still let you know and you sent him a deatly glare. "Not as enemies."

Once you went through the portal it closed behind you and the others - who were finishing breakfast - looked at you. Wanda bolted for the freezer and took out a pack of peas.

"Shit, what happened," Anath asked looking at you. It was the first time she saw you so mad.

"She punched Strange," Wanda answered and came back to you - you had collapsed on the couch - to press the peas to your hand through a hand towel.

"Good," Ephraim said under the disapproving glance of his daughter who was getting up and approaching you to examine your hand. "What? It's true."

"What did he do?" Your best friend asked, and you glanced at Wanda. She looked scared that you were going to say anything.

"He was just being a dick," you dismissed and as usual, Anath respected your boundaries, Wanda able to breath again.

She looked at your hand that was already bruising. "The last time you picked a fight was warranted, so I won't say anything. Plus your hand is fine, so, no worries. Just keep icing it for now."

You nodded and your friend assembled her side of the family to go out while Wanda stayed next to you, worry in her eyes. Gears seemed to turn in her mind about what just happened, so you were hardly surprised when she finally talked about the whole ordeal that happened.

"You know, they're right. I was beyond redemption at the time…" she looked at her own hands.

"Come on Wands, that's ridiculous. Look how far you've come."

"I tried to kill a teenager, Y/n." Her eyes full of tears found yours. "I wanted to steal her powers for selfish reasons, and for that I killed countless people. And the worse is that I didn't care."

"That wasn't you, that was the– the Darkhold." That was the name of the thing, you thought.

"No. It's not just that… I–" she blinked a few tears away, looking up at the other end of the room. It was time for you to know everything.

It took so long for her to tell you everything, from Vision's death to Westview and finally to the dreamwalking and Wundagore. You listened, never saying anything. There was nothing for you to tell anyway, it wasn't your story. From time to time you would give her a squeeze of the hand to help her continue, until finally she reached the final chord. It was all a lot to digest. By the end of it your legs were crossed on the couch and the peas were on the coffee table.

You needed some time to think but you could feel Wanda's expectant gaze shifting continuously between you and her hands, so you still wanted to say something.

"I can't find it in me to blame you, Wanda," you finally said. You refused to absolve her, but you couldn't condemn her either.

"You should. I told you I was a monster."

"You're not. You're only human." That seemed to get her attention for good, her eyes hungry for more explanations. "If I, if anyone, really, had your powers? And if I were in your situation? I'm not sure I would… I'm certain I wouldn't have done better. From Westview to Wundagore."

The red rim of her eyes shined with tears that should have already dried after she told you her story. "I'm destined to destroy the world, Y/n."

"Screw destiny!"

Your sudden fire made her jump. In all this story she gave you, you finally realized how much destiny, fate, whatever you wanted to call it, counted on you never being there for Wanda. Because of course someone who was left alone would want to destroy the world, would want for all of it to end even if it meant taking everyone else with them. And that gave you a real choice, and her too. You would fight so she could have it.

"I mean, fuck, you can't condemn someone because you think that one day they might do a bad thing. No, you help them, until they get better, and until you know they're not a risk anymore. You don't let them try and commit suicide." Your voice became weak under the heavy weight of your words. "People should have helped you."

"I didn't want their help."

"They should have still tried." I should have tried, you thought bitterly. But it was too late to change that now. "I want to try." That was the best you could offer, because you truly believed Wanda was good, that what happened was a fluke. And you also believed she had to make amends, do better.

"I'm not worth it."

Gently, you took both of her hands between yours. "I choose to believe you are."

She looked at your linked hands, and at the way your eyes were burning with so much hope and trust. Trust in her despite everything she did and everything she could still do. It was something she missed, that feeling that someone had her back no matter what. It was something you chose for yourself too. You chose to be there for her, and that alone made it all so much easier.

"How will I ever be able to thank you for everything?"

A warm smile spreaded on your face, a love - not romantic, not yet - evident in your eyes.

"Get better."

And she did. A few weeks went by, during which she came into contact with various people - the most notable being Clint Barton since he knew better than anyone else in the old team how she felt after everything she did, and she started seeing a therapist - one from Kamar-Taj who renounced her old life but agreed to use her knowledge for this very specific case. It helped ease Strange and Wong too, and even if they kept checking on Wanda, it was more in the spirit of making sure she was okay than real surveillance.

Jamie made good on his idea and every week they would select a special dish to cook for Wanda - sometimes with her too. She went ahead and helped the new Avengers from time to time when Clint was busy with his family, and you had the occasion to meet a few of them when they needed patching up and Anath was home. Your place was quickly becoming a secondary med bay for them, and you had to remind them that it was still your place of living, so from time to time they would bring food and drinks and impose a game night.

The friendship between you and Wanda grew, and so did your crush, but you were still hesitant to act on it despite your best friend's sporadic remarks that she clearly liked you too.

"It's not the problem, An'," you told her one day. "It's that I'm not sure if she's ready for a relationship. Hell! I'm not sure if I'm ready."

"Sounds to me like you're just avoiding your feelings."

"Which kind of proves my point, doesn't it? If I were ready for a relationship, I wouldn't feel the need to avoid my feelings." Anath sent you a weary look.

"Why are you like this?"

"Years of unresolved trauma," you answered as you picked up a bag of potatoes to throw in your shopping cart. "And I just… I don't want to rush. Plus it's not because we're soulmates that we have to be together that way."

"But you want to."

You did. Sometimes it would keep you up at night, and you'd have to stay in the living room until she fell asleep so that you wouldn't keep her awake by admiring her - yes, it happened often enough that it became a problem.

"That's irrelevant. She had a husband and kids that she lost inside a month of time. I can't just spring my feelings on her like that."

Anath sighed and gave up. She knew that even if you were now more open to the soulmate subject, your situation was still hard to deal with. If anything were to ever happen, it probably would come in time. You were certainly in no hurry.

"So, anything new with Y/n? Maybe a date or two?" Clint asked while he was checking the breakfast aisle with Wanda. She acted like she didn't hear the question, but the blush on her face showed otherwise. Sometimes even just thinking about you would elicit very strong reactions from - and within - her. "Come on kid, it's obvious."

"Well. No, nothing happened. We're just friends." A very sad truth if there ever was one. You had a few 'moments' where there had been a spark, where eyes fleetingly found the other's lips, but neither of you ever acted on it. It was always a bit awkward after with the tension in the air, but it was all but forgotten the next morning when you would wake up in each other's arms. Which might also be something you needed to discuss, because for all accounts and purposes, you were a couple in a lot of aspects of your life. "I don't think she wants more."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if she did, she had plenty of occasions to show me. Or tell me." She picked up a box of cereals - Kate's favourites - and put it in her cart.

"Have you thought that maybe she's trying to give you space and time?" Clint pointed out in all his wisdom.

"What if I don't want space and time?" She walked over to the next aisle. "What if I want more?"

"Well, then you'll have to tell her." He put some boxed mac&cheese in the cart for Yelena - Jamie hated it. "I know she can literally read your mind, but maybe she has a reason not to act on it."

"What would that be?"

So many answers came to Clint's mind, but he decided to keep most of them for himself and instead impart some wisdom. "What you want is not always what you need, and maybe she thinks that even if you both want each other, you both need to take some time before you rush into anything."

Wanda considered his words. He was probably right, you had always been very attuned to what she needed. She actually talked about it with Therese - her therapist - and pointed out pretty much the same thing as Clint did. You both had heavy trauma, and rushing might cause more damages than anything else. It could cause one of you to panic, or trigger unexpected trauma.

"I don't like it, but I see your point," she said in a careful tone. Clint smiled at her proudly - he could see how far she'd come, all her progress, even if she still had a long way to go.

"I'm glad you do." He looked over her shoulder at something on the other side of the store. "Now I suggest we go, I think Yelena just broke something."

Wanda turned around only to see the assassin and Kate trying to hide their latest catastrophe.

Days went by, then weeks and months, and the more time went by, the harder it was to resist your feelings and the way Wanda would look at you, full of hope. It was one you gave her, that now had grown to be her own. It wasn't just hope to be with you, to find a shoulder to cry on so she would feel better, it was all she aspired to do in the future, with or without you by her side. And it was beautiful, but you still wondered if you could do it.

"Wanda!" You heard someone call as you were walking with her towards the portal Wong made - you had taken a habit to take tea with him while Wanda had her therapy session after you helped with Kamar-Taj rebuilding. You turned around to see a young woman with a jean jacket. Wanda recoiled against you, a panic you hadn't seen in her eyes in a while taking over her.

She's right here, everyone trusts you, Wanda, it would be so easy to just take it. Take it. Take it.

The life she dreamed of with her boys had lost some of its appeal to her - maybe because of how heavily she associated it with Vision -, but from time to time, she still heard that voice inside of her, still saw their faces, and heard their voices calling for her. But she kept fighting it, saw it for what it was now, grief appropriated by an evil she was still fighting. Nowadays, her fingers barely showed any signs of the corruption she went through, but she still felt its effects in those moments.

The young woman - America, you guessed - stopped in front of you both, so you took Wanda's hand in order to reassure her.

"I'm joining the Avengers!" She exclaimed excitedly.

"Are they running out of recruits? Between you and Kamala, you're gonna bring the age demographic through the ground," you commented. You loved Kamala, but she was way too young to fight crime. And from what you saw, America was too.

"Well, I'm not joining-joining, but I'll be helping during minor crisis! And if I'm supervised by a senior Avenger, sooooo…" her eyes fell on Wanda once again. "What do you say? Want to team up?"

"I– I'll have to think about it," she answered, her voice wavering.

"Sure! Oh and don't worry about the whole trying to kill me for my powers thing. I talked with Strange and Wong, and they say you're cool now! And I trust them, so, I trust you too!"

That made you wince, and a quick look at Wanda told you all you needed to know without even hearing her thoughts.

"Anyway, gotta bolt, see you soon!"

And with that she left as fast as she came. Wanda and you finally went through the portal and soon enough you were home alone. You turned to look at her, make sure she was okay, but as you did, you could see that she was anything but. Slowly you guided her to the couch and sat her down, doing the same with one leg under you so you could face her.

"Wands…?"

"I– I can't, Y/n," she murmured when she finally dared to glance at you.

"That's okay, you don't have to accept."

"I don't even understand– why would she ask me? I tried to kill her."

You thought about it. "Maybe she feels like your set of powers make you the best candidate," you shrugged. That was the only explanation you could conjure up. If Strange were here, maybe he would suggest that it had to do with the both of you reminding her of her mothers. "I don't think it really matters why, just that she asked and whether or not you feel up to it."

"Do you think I should do it?" She asked you. She would do it on occasion, ask your opinion on matters she had a hard time resolving. She liked that your perspective was usually more global than her, as you would look at the problem from a more distant eye.

You blew up your cheek before you let out a deep sigh. "I mean… you're an exceptional witch, and maybe spending time with the girl might actually help you heal from what happened with her."

Wanda clearly still felt guilty about it, as she should, but if America was ready to forgive her and even work with her, then maybe it was a good occasion to show that she truly changed.

She followed your train of thoughts and nodded. "That's a good point…"

"But you still need time to think about it." That made sense, it's not like it was a small decision to take. She nodded in answer.

"When she approached us, I… there was this voice in me–" she started, and you knew what she was talking about. She had revealed to you at some point how sometimes she would feel tempted, how she wanted to use her powers to make the universe bend to her will, and how hard it was to do so. The first time she told you, she cried so much about it. To her it was proof she was a bad person, but to you it just showed how much of a fighter she was.

"That voice isn't you, you know it," you said as you wrapped yourself around her and she sank into you.

She never answered your statement, but she didn't need to. You could hear her loud and clear, fighting her doubts with your words.

"Why don't we watch something so you can clear your mind a bit, and we can talk about it again tomorrow morning?" You offered.

She nodded and you took a better position on the couch, allowing her to lean against your front, and you put on her favourite show.

#wanda x reader #wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #tfyf fic #idk how to tag

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