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katiexpunk · 5 months

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To Protect & Serve, Part 1 | Pairing officer!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a small-town reporter, living a life dedicated solely to your work and the relentless pursuit of truth. It's all pretty routine, almost too easy, albeit exhausting. Little did you know that the one thing you could never have predicted was the arrival of Officer Joel Miller. Suddenly, your story takes an unexpected turn, writing itself in ways you could have only dreamt of as he shows you what it really means to protect and serve. Part 1 Summary: You spent all day in the newsroom again, only to wake up at midnight. Your drive home is anything but smooth. You end up on the side of the road, freezing and wet from the relentless rain, struggling to change your tire. You're about to give up hope, that is until Officer Joel Miller shows up to assist. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~5.1K Part 1 Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. Honestly, you should just expect that from me at this point (Katie Core Slow Burn™). Set in 1994 because I said so. Reader has no major physical descriptions. Joel is literally a cop in this -- so typical cop references (guns, badges, uniforms, bulletproof vests, radios, a Crown Vic cruiser, etc.). Reader has a Nokia brick phone. Reader is a reporter, so heavy on the news and reporter references (her story and what she is investigating will come in future parts). Sarah is alive and well in this and is into art. Reader has a bad day. Blown tire. Rain. Bad luck. Competency kink. Uniform kink. Bad dad jokes. Flirting. Joel and reader share a piece of cherry pie. Officer Joel Miller is a gentleman. Authors Note: Happy 2024! My first fic of the year. Minimally edited, sorry if there are typos. This series will eventually be VERY heavy on the smut, and on back story, and will slowly build up the world they both live in. You're in this one for the long haul with me, babes. Buckle up -- it's the law. ;)

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January 1994

You blink your eyes open and groan, the aroma of stale coffee and the faint hint of ink lingers in your nostrils.

Your desk is strewn with stacks of notes, crumpled papers, and empty takeout cartons that bare the remnants of hurried meals consumed during your relentless pursuit of the truth.

Crime surely doesn’t stop for a proper lunch break, so why should you? It was your resolution this year to pack more healthy lunches, but here you are – not even three weeks into the New Year and already knee-deep in Pad Thai.

The soft glow from your desk lamp highlights the fatigue etched on your face as you rub your tired eyes. You check the strappy black watch on your wrist – just past midnight.

Another night of burning the midnight oil.

You stare at the computer screen, and the blinking cursor patiently waiting for you to pick up where you left off. You consider staying another hour, but think twice of it; sure that the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain on the windows in the newsroom would soothe you like a lullaby and you’d end up spending an all nighter in the newsroom. Again.

With a sigh, you gather the papers that have collected on your desk in masses as of late and stuff them into your briefcase in no real order. You know they’ll just end up fanned out on your desk tomorrow morning, anyway. You turn off the computer, and an audible mechanic sound of it powering down gives the impression that it’s grateful for the much-needed break as you are.

As you grab your coat and make your way to the exit, the newsroom seems to exhale, settling into a peaceful calm. The door behind you slams closed, and the distant echo of thunder snaps at the same time, causing you to jump a little at the sound. You really should lay off the caffeine. Navigating the dimly lit hallway, you reach the elevator, its soft chime signaling your descent to ground level. Each step feels heavy, your body pleading for rest.

Once in the elevator it hits you that you don’t have an umbrella.

Shit.

++++

You sprint to your silver sedan as fast as you can in the loafers you chose for the day. Cute and comfy enough, but not exactly ideal to relive your glory days on the track team. By the time you get to your car, you’re out of breath and soaked, your makeshift umbrella with your coat barely sparing you from the rain.

You slide into the worn driver's seat, and the familiar scent of aged leather and cigarette smoke surrounds you as you turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. You blast the air, but turn it off once you realize how cold it is. You decide to wait until the car is warmed up, not wanting to turn into a popsicle in your wet blouse.

You sit in the parking lot for what feels like an hour, holding your hands under your armpits for warmth, before deciding the engine is warm enough to turn the heat back on. You place one hand behind the passenger seat headrest and look over your shoulder as you pull out of the parking lot.

The rain continues to cascade down, and your shitty windshield wipers struggle to keep up, giving a deafening squeak with each pass across the glass. Annoyed, you turn the radio dial up just enough to drown out the sound of the whirring blades with Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

You try to focus on the poorly lit road ahead of you, the dashed white lines blurring behind the wall of water on your windshield as the downpour intensifies. Water congregates in small pools on the edges of the weathered road, occasionally splashing all the way up on the sides of the car, and under the tire wells.

A knot tightens in your stomach as the road becomes a murky blur, adding a layer of stress you most definitely don’t need right now. It’s nights like tonight that you wish you had actually gotten new tires, like you have meant to for the past four – okay, six – months. Your bald tires are barely hanging on like a thread. It’s really only a matter of time before –

Suddenly, a deafening pop echos through the car, startling you. The steering wheel transforms into a wild animal, one you struggle to wrangle back into submission. You grab the leather steering wheel with a death grip, and steer into the skid and pump your brakes, eventually managing to bring the car to a safe stop on the side of the road.

Your eyes fall closed as soon as the car is totally still. You lean back into the leather headrest and try to recenter yourself, level out the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. You silently kick yourself. Oh, they’ll be fine. I just drive to work and back, you reasoned with yourself, the guys at the shop are probably trying to get you to buy new tires before you even need them. Some shit-grinning, mansplaining mechanic sounds good right about now.

You reach into your briefcase for your Nokia, patting around the mix of papers for the device, but it’s nowhere to be found.

As if this night couldn’t get any worse.

Oh wait, it can. You’re at least three miles from anything. Most of the time you don’t mind living in a small town, but with the way tonight is going, you swear you’re gonna move East to some big city, live out your days with people on every corner, nary a cow or an empty road in sight.

But for right now, you’re on your own.

You’ve changed a tire before, sure. It was one of the first things your dad insisted you know how to do before getting your license. “If you’re gonna drive a vehicle, you gotta know how to take care of it, sweet pea,” he said. God, you hate it when he’s right.

Already drenched, you decide to lean into it, this time fully zipping up your coat for warmth, knowing it’s not going to really do much, but it’s better than nothing. You brace for impact as you open the car door and assess the damage – the back passenger side tire is shredded, and the vehicle leans at an awkward slant from the missing support.

You open the trunk and struggle to retrieve the spare tire, wiggling it out by the base. You roll it over to the blown tire and grab the rest of the necessary tools neatly packaged in a workbag.

As you work in the pouring rain, a chill seeping deep into your bones, you struggle to loosen one of the lug nuts. Your frustration only grows from the wet wrench that keeps slipping out of your hands. “Oh comeeeee on, you bastard,” you yell at the bolt, hoping it might somehow understand and decide to loosen. You pause, your breaths a little short and your fingers sore from your bruising grip. You give it one more go, letting out a loud groan as you put all of your strength into twisting the bolt to loosen it, but it’s a futile effort.

“Fuck!” you scream out, your hair tacked to your face, your knees and shins now muddy, your entire outfit drenched. You drop the wrench in your palms, and replace it with your forehead. You’re beginning to cry, when out of the peripheral of your vision, you see it – the flashing lights of a cop car rolling up behind your vehicle.

The beam of the headlights slightly blinds you as you watch a tall, broad man step out of the vehicle. You can’t really see his face, only his silhouette, but you feel your body warm by an entire degree when his voice, low and smooth, calls out.

“Having some car trouble here, ma’am?” he inquiries, a blend of professionalism and concern behind his tone. You blink up at him through wet lashes and watch as he strides closer to you. His heavy boots hit the pavement with a thud, and the raindrops bounce off the greased tops of them.

You scan him from the ground up; his fitted uniform pants, a duty belt with several accessories pinned to it, most notably the firearm holstered on his right hip; a bulletproof vest affixed tightly to his frame, a little bit of belly poking out between his belt and the edge of the vest. He’s clad in a warm puffy coat that seems to repeal the water still barreling down on the pair of you.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you scan past his badge, catching a glimpse of his nameplate that’s partially covered by his jacket. You continue up his firm neck, over the thin line of his lips, his aquiline nose, and pause once your gaze meets his. And whoa.

Even in the dark and the rain, you can tell he is dangerously handsome, which is saying something given his profession. His beard is threaded with lines of silver, and neatly kept. His skin is a little sun-weathered, but it gives him a warm look to him, one that you’d love nothing more than to dive into like a pool right about now. He has bold, deep brown eyes, ones that convey a mix of softness and a no nonsense demeanor. He has a commanding presence but somehow feels safe.

Still kneeling on the ground, you reflexively wrap your arms around your own body in an attempt to get warm. You’re positive you must look like a sad wet stray, all puppy dog eyes begging for help; helpless and alone.

“My u–uh, my, my tire blew out,” you stammer, your teeth clacking against one another as your whole body shakes. At least when you were dueling with the lug nut, you didn’t have to think about how cold you actually are right now. “Forgot phone, umbrella – bolt not loosening,” you try to continue, but your words aren’t really making much sense, too caught up in your body’s response to the frigid air. “Jesus, sweetheart. Gonna catch your death out here all wet like this. Come here, let me help you up,” he says as he offers you his large palm. You place yours into it and rise to stand, and even though his hands are just as exposed as yours, he radiates heat.

You sigh in relief as he guides you to the passenger side of his cruiser. He opens the door and encourages you inside, “watch your head now,” he cautions, as you sink down into the vinyl seat.

Water pools onto the floor beneath and you squeeze your own frame and try to ignore the sting of your cold appendages and your numb toes. He leans across you to turn the heat all the way up and he tilts the vents to face you. With him this close, you pick up the faint smell of coffee and spearmint gum. As he backs away, his eyes catch yours, and you don’t miss the way they flicker to your lips for a brief moment.

“Stay here,” he commands, before he’s rounding around to his trunk to grab something.

He returns with an oversized black sweater, a badge embroidered onto the breast of it. It’s a little damp from the short walk from the trunk back to your door, but certainly drier than any part of you. He also has a small towel in hand.

“Here, this should help you warm up a bit,” he says, and you greedily accept them. “I’ll see what I can do about that tire of yours” he offers, “can I have your keys, please?” he asks, and you reach into your pocket and hand them over to him. Before you can get in a word of thanks, the corner his lip lifts in a small smile and he’s nods before he shuts the passenger door and walks over to your car.

You hastily swap out your jacket and your damp blouse for the sweater and melt into the thick wool fibers of it, grateful for even the little bit of reprieve, even if the fabric is a little scratchy. You use the small towel to scrunch some of the water from your hair, dry your face, and clear the mud from your legs. Your bottom half is still drenched, but it’s considerably better than before.

With the hot air of the heater blasting on high, your skin slowly starts to warm and the goosebumps that once littered your body begin to recede. Now able to focus, you take in your surroundings.

There’s a thermos of what you can assume is coffee given the aroma in the car in the drivers side door. A blinking radio, mounted to the center of the dash, sits adjacent to the microphone next to it. To your back, the middle of the car is split with a cage, the back of the car looks cold and hard. There’s a series of switches next to the gear shift, the lights and sirens you assume. A lone chocolate Hostess cupcake sits in the center console cup holder, next to a pack of spearmint gum. Called it.

You bring your attention back to the windshield, watching the officer engage in the same battle you did with the wrench. You haven’t seen his arms, but given the general size of him, you wager he’s probably pretty fit, and yet – he struggles.

You’re not trying to stare, not really, but there’s something endearing about watching a man at work, not at all bothered by the fuss or annoyance around him, and if he is, he doesn’t show it. As he’s working with it, there’s another crack of thunder that causes you to jump, and the night sky illuminates with the strong strike of lightening for a brief moment.

You watch as he works at it for a few moments longer, before he himself eventually decides to give up. He makes quick work of putting everything back into the trunk of your car, and locks your doors before he does a little sprint back to the drivers side of his cruiser.

Once inside the car, he cards his fingers through his now soaking hair. He’s nearly as wet as you were, but he certainly wears it better than you, you think. You hand him the damp hand towel and he uses it to wipe off his hands.

“Sorry Darlin’, the bolts are on there pretty good. Couldn’t even get it to budge. Think you’re gonna have to call for a tow,” he says, his voice thick like honey.

“Ugh, I thought so. Thank you so much for trying, Officer –” you trail off, granting him the space to give you his name.

“Miller,” he adds, “at your service, ma’am” he concludes with a smile. He extends his large palm to you for the second time tonight. You return his kindness by extending yours and offering him your name. He holds it for a beat second longer than etiquette would say to, only breaking the grip once his attention navigates to the sight of you in his sweater.

He thinks about flirting with you, saying something along the lines of him having to cite you for looking too cute like this, but he thinks twice about it. He’s good at a lot of things, but his flirting is well out of practice. Instead, he says –

“You hungry? There’s this little cafe not too far from here – Jo, JoJo somethin’ or other,” he asks. You look at him and can’t help the little smile that curls on your lips.

“Joe’s Cafe,” you say, helping him out. He must be new here.

“That’s the one,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Hear they have the best cherry pie in the whole state, I’ve been meaning to check it out since I moved here. Beats waiting here in the rain for the tow,” he adds, trying to play it cool, but he thinks you might notice the eagerness in his voice anyway.

“Officer Miller, you’re really kind, but I’m sure you have better things to do than sit in a diner and keep me company while I wait for a tow,” you add. Your words don’t reflect it, but deep down you secretly hope he pushes further.

“Who said anything about me keeping you company? I gotta date with that pie, baby. Was on my way there when I ran into you. You’re just along for the ride,” he says with a confident wink. Okay, maybe he’s not totally out of practice.

“Oh great, a third wheel to a slice of a pie. Talk about a cherry on top of my night,” you say, a teasing tone behind your voice, a little too proud of your terrible joke, a little flustered by the fact that he called you baby.

He looks at you with a wide smile and shakes his head as he pulls out from behind your car, the wet gravel crunching under the tires as he does. You watch it disappear in the passenger side mirror.

“Names Joel,” by the way, he says, shifting his eyes from the road to glance at you.

“Joel,” you whisper, and the way his name rolls off your tongue is easy.

A little too easy. Warm and sweet, like the last bite of a cinnamon roll.

++++

On your way to the diner, you ask Joel to borrow his cell phone so you can call for a tow. The man on the other line sounds half awake when he answers, “Yeah? Ray’s Towing,” he says, a curt tone behind his voice. You tell him you need a tow, and Joel confidently tells you the mile marker your vehicle is parked closest to, and you relay it over the line to who you can only assume is Ray himself.

“You’re clear across town, not gonna be able to make it out to you tonight. Can swing by to pick it up in the morning, though,” he says. You try to protest, but it’s a pointless fight, you can already tell he’s not going to budge.

In the middle of your negotiation, Joel pulls up to the cafe and kills the engine as he waits for you to finish up. You notice the small crease in between his brows, now clearly visible under the illumination of the 24/7 red neon sign that hangs in the window. You don’t notice it right away, but the rain has eased up, now only coming down in a light mist. “Okay. Tomorrow then. Mile Marker 181, it’s a Silver Sedan – you can’t miss it. Tow it to Tess’ place, and I’ll meet you there,” you tell him. The man gives a gruff grunt of agreement, “8am,” he says, hanging up before you can get another word in.

You drop the phone from your ear, staring at it, slightly in disbelief. You look back at Joel, and hand the heavy brick back to him.

“He’s not gonna pick it up tonight, won’t come till tomorrow morning,” you say, and Joel senses the hint of concern behind your voice. “I don’t know how i’m gonna get to work tomorrow,” he says.

“I can take you,” he offers, a sincerity behind his voice.

“Joel, I can’t – that’s too much, no,” you respond, shaking your head side to side as you do.

“No really, it’s not a problem. My shift starts at 9, I can take you there on my way to the station,” he offers casually, reassuring; like this isn’t the second time he’s saved your ass and you’ve only known him for less than an hour.

You stare back at him, and you can tell from the way he looks at you, that he’s not going to take no for an answer.

“If you’re sure, then,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice.

“‘M sure,” he responds confidently. “Now c’mon, don’t want my date to think I’m late,” he jokes and you let out a genuine laugh for what feels like the first time in a long time.

“Can’t have that,” you retort. You go to pull the handle on your door, but Joel stops you. “I got it,” he says, opening his and quickly maneuvering around the front of the car to your door, pulling it open for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you tell him. You attempt to compose yourself – trying not to think too hard about the fact that you must look like a hot mess right now – as you follow Joel to the entrance. He opens the door for you, because of course, he does.

“After you, darlin’,” he says.

++++

The soft hum of the cafe’s neon lights casts a warm glow on the worn checkered tablecloth as you sit in the booth across from one another. The waitress doesn’t even bother to ask, she can tell from one look that you’re both in desperate need of something warm to drink.

“Decaf or regular” she says, setting the mugs down on the table. “Decaf,” you and Joel both say at the same time. She fills filling them both with a long stream of hot black liquid from the carafe with the orange handle before she turns around to place the pot on the table behind her.

“You ready to order,” she asks, pulling the pen from behind her ear, steadying it over pad.

“Well I think we’re still waiting on one more,” you start to joke, your eyes locked on Joels as you lift the ceramic mug to your lips in an attempt to hide your smile. A warmth creeps up on your face as he gives you a stern look.

“Don’t listen to her,” he tells the waitress, “we’ll take a piece of cherry pie, please.”

“Mhmm,” the waitress nods, annoyed that she even took out her pen in the first place for such a small order. “That all?”

“And a side of vanilla ice cream,” you pipe up.

“Got it,” she says, before walking away, leaving you and Joel alone in the booth. Given the hour, you’re the only ones in the restaurant apart from the waitress and the chef in the back.

“Ice cream?” he asks, one of his eyebrows raised. “You were just freezing like 20 minutes ago,” he says, confused. He fidgets with the spoon that rests on the white paper napkin as he waits for you to respond. You wonder if you make him nervous.

“Yeah, vanilla ice cream. It’s a must with this pie,” you say, reaching across the table for the sugar. You rip it open and pour in the contents of the pink packet into the mug and stir, “especially for your first time…trust me,” you conclude, letting out a satisfied hum at the sweet black liquid that warms your insides.

“I trust you,” he says with a smile, his eyes trained on your face. Finally seeing him under normal lighting conditions permits you to notice the flecks of amber around his irises, but that’s not the only thing you notice. A heat swirls in your belly, and not just from the coffee, once you see the single dimple on his right cheek.

“So tell me, Joel, where are you from? Cuz you’re certainly not from around here,” you ask.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, leaning into your playful tone, nursing his own coffee.

“Well, for starters, you didn’t know the name of this place, and it’s like an institution in these parts. And to top it off, I’ve lived here my whole life. You can’t have been here long or I’m sure we would have met,” you say, a confident tone behind your voice, like it’s a matter of fact.

“That so? Why’s that?” he asks, not denying any of your initial assessment.

“I’m a reporter for the Tribune. It’s my job to know things, to know people, especially hot mystery cops who like to fix tires in the rain for random women on the side of the road,” you say.

“You think I’m hot?” He asks, a blush to his cheeks. And shit. Freudian slip.

“No, that’s no – that’s not, I mean, you are hot, but that’s not what I,” but before you can continue, you’re interrupted by the waitress placing a rather large piece of cherry pie in the middle of the table.

“‘S alright, Darlin.’ You think I’m hot, you can admit it,” he says, grabbing the spoon, dipping it into the thick red mess of cherry and crust, the colors diluting to pink with the melt of the vanilla ice cream.

He takes a big bite, and groans in delight, letting his eyes close as he savors the taste. “‘Sides, you’re not wrong. I haven’t been here for long. Just got here last month, moved here from Austin,” he says, already digging in for a second bite by the time you’re going for your first.

You look at him intently, patiently, waiting for him to continue in between bites, “My daughter, Sarah, got accepted into a young artists program here. ‘S all she talks about. And well, I was able to make a lateral transfer to this station from Austin, so it was a no-brainer, really,” he says.

“How old’s your daughter?” you ask, your spoon dancing with his for the sweet goodness for a second as you do.

“14 going on 25,” he jokes, “keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. Keep hoping she won’t start bringing boys around for another, oh I don’t know, 15 years or so, but I feel like that’s a battle ‘m set to lose,” he sighs, as he takes the second to last bite of pie, pushing the plate to you, his eyes telling you that the last bite is all yours.

You can’t help but smile at the thought of Joel, a man who faces more frightening things daily, nervous for his teenage daughter to go on a date. You scoop up the final bite of pie and swallow it. You keep the spoon in your mouth, running the cool metal of it over your tongue, relishing in the way Joel can't seem to look at anything but the way it moves over your plush lips.

“What about you then? Did you always want to be a reporter?” he asks, finishing off the rest of his coffee.

“Since I was a little girl,” you admit. "I used to eavesdrop on conversations at family gatherings, sneakily flip through my parents' old photo albums, imagining the tales behind each photo" you continue, your eyes flickering with a spark of that same childlike curiosity you had then. "And I had this little notepad where I'd jot down my observations, like a tiny detective with a pen and paper."

Joel Chuckles, "Sounds like you were a reporter-in-training from the start."

You nod, a soft laughter escaping you. "I suppose you could say that. I loved the idea of bringing untold stories to light, giving voices to the unheard. It felt like a calling even before I fully understood what it meant,” you conclude, running the pad of your finger over your now empty coffee cup. Transfixed, Joel watches the simple movement. And once again, the waitress with her impeccably terrible timing, interrupts once again, stopping Joel before he can continue with his questions. You immediately dart your hand out to grab the bill, and he does the same, but you are faster. His heavy palm lands on top of yours, and your eyes lock in charged silence. "Officer Miller, you've been a real help. Seriously, let me cover this one. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me tonight," you insist, your gratitude evident in your voice.

"It's just Joel, darlin'," he replies, releasing your hand to allow you to grab the bill. "And thank you," he adds, a sincerity laced behind his words.

With a decisive motion, you throw a twenty on the table, checking the time. "Getting late -- I should probably head home," you say, and Joel nods in agreement. However, inexplicably, you both linger, anchored to your seats. It's as if the sensible part of your brain urges departure, yet your bodies resist the inevitable parting. The cafe's ambiance seems to cocoon you both in a lingering warmth, the afterglow of the moment refusing to dissipate.

Joel stands up first, and you follow suit. His large hand finds the small of your back, and he guides you back to his cruiser. He opens the passenger for you again, but this time he doesn’t tell you to watch your head, you already know. You give him your address, and you both ride in comfortable silence.

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent. You both pause in silence. He turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of I don’t want to say goodbye yet behind it.

He walks you to your front door. The tension in the air is palpable as you both stand there, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a simple white business card, and hands it to you. You look down and see the words Officer Joel Miller printed on it in dull black ink, his badge number and phone number under it. There's an emboss of a police badge to the right of the text, giving your thumbs something pleasant to glide over.

“You know, I’m not sure driving reporters around is part of the oath to protect and serve,” you say.

“Means a lot more than you might think, Darlin’,” he responds.

You fiddle with the paper card in your hand, before offering him a kind smile.

“See you tomorrow, then,” you say sweetly, before pressing the door open.

“Tomorrow,” he nods before heading back down your porch.

Closing the door behind you, you lean your back against it, feeling the solid support. A smile, blooms on your face, radiating a joy that mirrors the first buds of spring. It’s been so long since you’ve felt an excitement about something that wasn’t work.

As Joel walks back to his cruiser, he too, can’t help the cheesy grin that washes across his face.

He likes to think of himself as an intuitive man. It’s part of what makes him a good cop, and part of what he thinks will make him an excellent detective one day.

And if there’s one thing he can tell for certain right now is that you’re going to be trouble – lots and lots of trouble.

And fuck, he hopes you are.

TO BE CONTINUED

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yoimix · 2 years

Text

「 botany for dummies 」

TIGHNARI wishes once in a while, and once in a while only, that his ears weren’t so obvious.

the way they perk up at your name, twitch at the sign of your arrival and droop ever so slightly at your departure; tighnari feels uncomfortable. the movements are subtle, barely noticeable even by those closest to him, but they occur beyond his control nonetheless. as a researcher, though he disregards akademiya laws left and right, he believes this goes against his own code of conduct.

even if you are an old friend from sumeru akademiya who he had horrifically repressed feelings for. your refusal to leave him alone is like adding crushed harra fruit to a wound. it’s impossible to have peace of mind with you around.

you help him with the marana despite the rangers’ protests, you pick mushrooms for him to discern as sick or healthy, you bring him lotuses even if he never asked you to. to be honest, he’s flattered you remember his fondness of them. he could get used to this, he thinks to himself often on sunny mornings when you greet him grinning ear to ear. but parting is only inevitable in the flow of life. it’s hard to believe you’ll stay forever in sumeru, by his side in gandharva ville.

tighnari hates you especially when he’s sick. you don’t leave his side, stare at him longer than he can handle, and archons, you don’t need to touch his skin to map his temperature. he doesn’t need taking care of—and he’s not pretending to be strong, he just knows everything to make himself better. you don’t have to go out of your way; it’s incredibly stupid and time-consuming. even if the rainstorms worsen his sleep, even if the heat of day gets under his skin; why would he ever ask you to do anything for him? it feels strange to be taken care of.

tighnari gets up from his bed, still reeling from the sound of thunder. he clutches his head, a part of his senses dulling and heightening from the ringing. his ears bring certain curses.

“whoa there! who told you to get out of bed?”

ah, yes, of course. another curse for his ears had to materialize in front of him. you sit across from him and cross your arms, glaring at him till he sits back down too. it’s good to know the little quirks of your body language haven’t changed since your akademiya days.

“you... you really don’t have to.” he frowns. “this isn’t your job.”

“i know, i know.” you hum, a smile sneaking onto your face. “but it’s time i repaid you for giving me free medicine and... hm, let’s see. lending me your notes, that one time you cured me after i ate a suspicious mushroom and- and letting me tuck my hands into your tail when it was cold, allowing me to pet your ears-”

he coughs loudly, his discontent clear. “you can stop talking once in a while, (name). it’ll benefit everyone around.”

you roll your eyes. “if i didn’t open my big mouth, you would’ve never realized you’re sick. you can thank me now, pighead.”

tighnari makes a face. “you’re also the reason i ingested a poisonous mushroom.”

“that’s unimportant.”

he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“here,” you say, shuffling through your backpack. “nilotpala lotuses. i was right about your diagnosis!”

“you don’t know that,” he quips. “these lotuses can be used as medicine against a variety of ailments.”

“but these work, don’t they?” your eyes widen, brimming with genuine concern.

“yes.” he responds far too quickly. he can’t help it. “you have to soak them first and then extract the nectar under a presser- not now, (name).”

you sit back down, pouting. “but you need to get better! as fast as you can, tighnari. i don’t like seeing you like this...”

tighnari sighs, eyes closing. “i will. it’s not like one mushroom will have me coughing up blood... at least not this one.”

you bite down your lip and tighnari can’t help but tilt his head to the side, trying to decipher your whole expression.

“tighnari,” you speak up, not looking at him. “we’re friends, right?”

“yes. obviously. do you need official documents stating our friendship?”

tighnari expects a bit of snark from you right back—instead, he is met with your sudden embrace, your breath warming the spot by his neck.

“why did you have to eat the mushroom on my behalf?” you whisper. “i made that bet with the eremites, you know? it was stupid tavern talk.”

it’s not the worst thing you’ve done drunk. however, tighnari steps in each time with no questions asked. he realizes once again how obvious his feelings are and how restrained he is, unable to tell you just so. you’re too dense to understand the language of flowers, so even a gift of a sumeru rose would pass over your head. you’re quite literally the worst person to fall in love with.

tighnari believes time settles everything. then why does he feel so impatient with your actions?

“why did you make that bet, stupid?” he answers, his arms wrapping around you nonetheless.

“well... you know how i’m saving up?”

there’s a pause. are you hesitating?

“i want to... i want to travel.”

tighnari falls silent. he knows you cannot forever be his partner, journeying through the rainforests and surveying nature’s infinite wonders. you’ve expressed a longing for something else. he cannot deny it.

“do you want to leave?” he asks quietly. “i know being a researcher isn’t rewarding enough and... it’s hard to quantify knowledge. but...”

he trails off. there’s a spark of sorrow in his voice.

“i want to see more of the world,” you answer softly. your smile against his shoulder makes his face warm up. it’s not often the head of the forest rangers gets to feel this way. “but i don’t think i want to do it without you.”

his ears twitch before perking up. if you weren’t as observant as a shroomboar, you might have noticed.

“well then, you need to change your habits. don’t go around making bets, or diving onto a mushroom to jump higher, or touching and eating whatever plant you find,” he scolds. “i can tell you which plants are edible. i can teach you how to set up camp. you must listen to every instruction.”

“tighnari?”

“i’m saying, when the forest is healed, we can set out by ourselves.”

the last drop of rain patters outside his door. who knew the cure to a mildly poisonous mushroom would be the embrace of a loved one? perhaps those foreign fairytales you read to him had some meaning to them after all. perhaps the two of you would get to know soon.

(no, alright. that’s not true. he needs those nilotpala lotuses right now before he faints from overheating.)

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x you #genshin scenarios #tighnari x you #tighnari scenarios #genshin imagines #tighnari imagines #genshin headcanons #tighnari headcanons #yoimix.drabble #lost my 50/50 to tighnari but i got mr kreideprinz in the next 20 pulls so i think it's a win-win #i have not fought the dendro boss except for the achievements so hes stuck at 40 #i have no books either #q

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aki-shun · 1 year

Text

◈Stained Love◈ [M!Reader x YAN!OB!Malleus Draconia]

It’s hard to hit the submit button, not type this post 〒▽〒

Part-1「here」 Part-2

TW: somnophilia(?), some unauthorized things?? I don’t know what to write here but it’s not healthy （＾-＾) and no smut just little spicy…( a little?)

Sorry for bad grammar (English is not my first language)

Little lightning flashes around the island. The sounds of thunder echoed throughout the dorm. Ambiance was dark. A hum amongst the voices. The words of an old song. Bright lime green eyes scanned his surroundings. Lilia was lying on a bundle of thorn ivy next to his throne. Some of his limbs were wrapped in ivy. On the other side of the throne, Sebek and Silver were leaning against each other, and some of them had ivy on their limbs… Eyes wandered around the hall in front of the throne. All of his friends were surrounded by thorn ivy, but they still had a peaceful expression on their faces. After all, they were all living the dream of their happy ending right now. Happy endings that will last 1000 years. Finally, his eyes turned to you, who was asleep in his arms, unaware of everything. Unlike the others, you had a little more thorn ivy on your body. Parts of your clothing had been torn by thorns, leaving thin little red marks on the exposed skin.

He rubbed his cheek against your hair and inhaled your scent. Ahh, that unique scent that can change everything in the world, your scent. He brought his left hand to your cheek and stroked it lightly. He had always loved to feel your skin. To touch you, to feel you. He can do this forever. He can do anything with you forever…but then you

✶ ✧ · 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕡 · ✧ ✶

I’m going home, Malleus.

What do you mean ‘you going home’?

I return to my world, to my true universe. My home.

𓆩✧•═𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕡 𝔼𝕟𝕕═•✧𓆪

Why did you want to leave him? Why did you want to leave him alone in his coldness again? Don’t you know how lonely he is? Don’t you know how much he hates sitting alone in the cold? You know. How lonely he is. How much he hated it. How hard him tried just to make a friend.. And yet you wanted to leave him. With that smile that will make her heart beat fast. You said that to him with that smile of yours. You are really brave, aren’t you? You dared to think that after telling him that would let you go. You stupid human. Humans do tend to be really stupid. How pathetic that you are one of them. But it’s okay. He is here to guide you, to prevent you from doing things you shouldn’t be doing because of these stupid thoughts. So hug this sweet sleep and wait for it’s time to wake up. When you wake up, it will give you a more realistic and more beautiful happy ending than in your dream. So sleep now Darling.

His hold on you tightened as Malleus thought about this. Blot drops were dripping from your body all over you. His left hand was hovering over your body while his right hand was holding your body. If you were awake right now, you wouldn’t be mad at him for doing this, would you? Of course you wouldn’t be angry. You will never be angry with him. You always responded to him with the compassion and happiness he longed for. You would be kind to him as if there was a small child in front of you, answering every question he asked, and if he did not understand something, you would tell him with the same enthusiasm without breaking your expression.

You were different. You are not like the others. You’re not like the ones at school. You’re not like Sebek or Silver. Even if Lilia cares about being nice to him, it’s his duty. He trained and raised Malleus because it was his duty. Even though they were close, Lilia didn’t always cross the King-Commander relationship between them. It’s always been a distance. Nobody doesn’t even stay in the same room as him, and no one talks to Malleus unless they have to. But you are not like them. You didn’t shy away from it. You didn’t distance yourself. You invited him to events, even if you didn’t have a purpose. You gave him nicknames. You didn’t hesitate to talk to him at night. You were even willing to do so. You didn’t hesitate to touch him, hug him, dance with him. You responded with the same enthusiasm. You really listened when he talked about Gargoyes. You even asked him more questions about these topics. You joined him at club events. You once gave him a drawing of gargoyes from Noble Bell College. You are not like the others. You did not distance him like the others.

That was the mistake you made. Distance, you did not put a line.

His hand travels over your body. His face is buried in your neck, inhaling your scent. His mouth opens slightly and he places light kisses from your cheeks to your neck. His kisses hardened and began to leave bruises on your neck. He pulled back and looked at the marks he had made. A dark smile formed on his face. He leaned over your face again and kissed you on the lips. Since he had not yet confessed his feelings to you, he would always come to your room at night while you were sleeping and give your sleeping figure light kisses. Every day, regardless of the hour, he watches you, he remembers everything you do. He was going to open up to you that night, but you gave him the disgusting news that made him nauseous. But it is no longer a problem. He may confess his feelings to you when you wake up. After all, 1000 years pass in the blink of an eye. He didn’t stop touching and kissing you while he was thinking about it. How could he stop though? He was completely dependent on you. The addiction he never wanted to let go. He used to have to leave your room before sunrise, but now he had a long time ahead of him.

But these simple kisses and touches weren’t enough during this time… He needs more. It needs more. Malleus needs you. And you are a good enough human to present yourself to him while you are sleeping soundly. Right?

◸Zelf’s cat was jealous. So you have to wait for more… ᓚᘏᗢ◿

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skazoo · 11 months

Text

still do.

↳ choi jongho x f!reader

he couldn't stop loving you, even if he tried. and he did try for some time. it just didn't work.

length. 3.7k

genre. exes (and friends) to lovers, fluff, crack and a sprinkle of inevitable angst (i'm sorry).

warnings/tags. language, mention of death, mention of illness of a loved one, implied depression, .

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. hello with another "this was supposed to be just teeth rotting fluff but somehow turned a little depressing and angsty on its own, i swear i didn't touch anything" do we see a pattern here? bc i do. i offer this lil jongho fic after sm time of absolutely nothing but i've finished my exams literally the other day, (DURING PRIDE MONTH!?!?? unacceptable) hope you like it!!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

it’s a well-known fact —to your friend group, to the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, to the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at— that choi jongho not only likes you but he’s irremediably and unequivocally in love with you.

and that is still not right because jongho doesn’t just love you, no, that would be too obvious, too easy. he still loves you.

if he goes back enough in his memories, jongho could say he’s always loved you.

he’s never been one to believe in love at first sight so when wooyoung drunkenly introduced the two of you at his birthday party, and he found himself unable to breathe let alone speak a coherent sentence to you, he immediately panicked. was he having a heart attack? a stroke? he was healthy, an athlete! how could this be happening to him!? he even made his own doctor hate him with all the panicked questions he asked the poor man on the phone but apparently, all he needed to relatively calm down was wooyoung’s loud laugh as he told him that he simply had a crush on you.

did he have a crush on you?

you, with your beautiful smile and melodic laugh and sparkling eyes and– okay, yeah. he did have a crush on you but who wouldn’t!?

strong argument indeed, he thought.

that fateful night was only the start of a happiness he didn’t know he was able to experience.

you became friends, then best friends, then something more and then you were kissing, sleeping, and cuddling in bed together, going on cute little dates, and showing more PDA jongho ever imagined doing.

he thought you were happy with him. navigating life with the same confused curiosity all young adults seem to innately possess.

then something happened that he couldn’t have ever predicted. and not because he wasn’t paying attention to you or because he was slacking off with his boyfriend duties, no. it came as a complete shock to everyone —you included, in a sense— because the signs just weren’t there.

out of the blue, without notice, you broke up with him. after a year and for reasons that are still beyond his comprehension.

questions thundered into his mind asking why you had come to the heartbreaking decision, why you had sent him a ‘we need to talk’ text at 2am in the morning, and why he’d later found you at the front door of his apartment with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, soft whimpers vaguely sounding like ‘sorry’ and ‘it’s not your fault’.

if he thinks back to that night, jongho gets chills from how scared he was; holding your body to his chest, not knowing what to do or what to say, not knowing who hurt you or why you were hurting.

when he thinks back to that night —something he finds himself doing more often than his heart can take— jongho clearly remembers the silent promise he repeated in his head at least a thousand times after you went back to your apartment. a promise he’s set on keeping.

and it’s for that very promise that he now sits in the crowded cafe downtown, drinking an overrated caramel macchiato and hiding behind a book he has no interest in.

at least it’s what he tells himself. that he came to the same coffee shop you told him you’d be meeting your date at because that’s what friends do. he tells himself he’s wearing a mask and sunglasses inside because he can and will love you platonically if that’s what you need or want. jongho tells himself a lot of things and he hopes he’s strong enough to believe in them in a way that will make them reality sooner or later.

but it’s not like two booths away from him you’re faring any better.

are people outside your friend group really this boring and uninteresting? have men always been this arrogant and full of themselves? was your current ex-boyfriend the exception that proves the incredibly unfair rule?

when you met jongho you knew you were lucky. hot college athlete with sarcasm to match yours and a badly concealed heart of pure gold? you knew you hit the jackpot. but you weren’t ready to realize that he really was one in a million men that actually put in the effort to go beyond the bare minimum.

why is it, though?

the question threatens to break loose all the pent-up frustration this date is generously providing you with and you opt to ignore it and hide it in the back of your mind for another occasion. one that includes cheap wine, pizza, and an equally bewildered yunjin sitting on your couch with funny socks and mouth full.

for now, you only limit yourself to throwing a fake smile at the obnoxious man sitting in front of you who’s spent the entirety of this heinous date talking exclusively about himself and his crypto-currency business.

he’s finishing what you think is a long rant about the stock market when he moves to get up.

you think you’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but he just lets out an annoying chuckle and looks at you with his small and pig-like patronizing eyes. “don’t worry, love. i’m not leaving you i’m just going to ‘powder my nose’, how you girlies say.” he winks and you resist the urge to gag at how… slimy he looks and feels.

as soon as he’s out of sight you let yourself slump on the small table, groaning a bit as you do so.

what were you even thinking? you tell yourself that today is going to be a well-suffered lesson for your future self: no dates with people that quote elon musk as if he’s some kind of greek philosopher.

your hands reach for the phone in your bag on their own. the last message you received was a sarcastic ‘have fun’ from wooyoung in the group chat but other than that everything is quiet, seemingly wanting to punish you for going against your friends’ advice to bail on the guy as soon as you saw him treat the barista like shit.

under the group chat, jongho’s name glares at you.

you would be lying if you said out loud that this date didn’t have the sole purpose of distracting you from the claustrophobic guilt you’re feeling lately.

jongho had never really cried in front of you but you swear if you could you’d erase the image of his damp eyes looking at you with confusion on that ugly night. and if you have to be honest you’d erase the encouraging but strained smiles he gives you now that you’re back at being friends too, because they don’t do anything but make you feel a shittier person than you already think you are. but maybe you deserve it. maybe this is finally going to be the occasion in which you understand that your actions have consequences.

your fingers work quicker than your brain can catch up, and before you realize it, you open again the conversation with jongho that ended before you went out and start typing.

> you: wyd?

> jjong: you’re on a date

> jjong: focus

> you: what is this an exam?

> you: nevermind this was a bad idea…

> jjong: texting me or the date?

> you: shut up

> you: the date

> jjong: aw i’m sorry i could have told you that like,, an hour ago

> jjong: oh wait

> jjong: i did!

another groan leaves your lips, only this time laced with a small chuckle at his antics. you mark the message as seen and throw your phone back into the bag.

you hope other people can't see how much you miss him.

while you’re too focused on burning holes in the bathroom door from how hard you’re staring at it, dreading the moment it will open to reveal your current problem, in the loud noise of the cafe you don’t hear the heavy stomps of someone approaching you from behind.

only when you feel two warm hands plant themselves on your shoulders and you hear a familiar voice muttering to itself something that sounds like ‘found you’, you’re forced out of your angry trance state and you’re asked to quickly choose between either your fight or flight instincts. you throw a blind punch and the person creeping up on you folds into two.

but that’s on him because who creeps on someone sitting alone at a table and touches them without making themselves known? what happened to ‘hello, what a coincidence to see you here’? what happened to manners?

you snap your head to the figure behind you and you let your panic subside but your annoyance rises.

“how– what are you doing here!?” your words come out in a hiss that makes the old couple sitting in the booth behind you turn around and look at you with judgy eyes but that doesn’t affect jongho in the slightest.

“saving you? duh.”

“who asked you that?!”

“what– Y/N, you texted me even before you met the guy, may i add. and the message said: ‘please end my suffering.’ in my book that’s a cry for help!”

he’s right but you let out an affronted huff anyway. arms crossed and lips in a pout you know is childish. “whatever.”

you feel him staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk that you, oh so badly want to wipe off his face.

“what?” you spat. your tone more embarrassed than you’d like to let on.

“what, what?”

“what the fuck are you smiling for?”

he throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “am i not allowed to be happy now?”

“of course you are, it’s just… you being happy,” you air-quote to punctuate your suspicions on his current joyous disposition. “usually means wooyoung fell or someone got hurt.”

he laughs. “do you think so lowly of me, Y/N?”

“shut up.” the napkin you’ve been fidgeting with because of the irrational panic rising in your guts is now messily crumpled on the table and you groan at the whole situation. head in your hands and eyes closed. you’re so bad at this.

what happened to moving on? what happened to leaving jongho alone because he doesn’t deserve someone treating him like shit? you broke up with him supposedly to save him, but, not even three months in, and now that your mind is clearer you think it’s okay to want him back? to feel full again every time you talk about the things you did together and bask in the silence that follows with a warm knowing smile? you think it’s good to let your eyes wander to his face when you know he’s not looking, falling in love all over again? to feel your face involuntary stretch into a smile every time you spot him waiting for you outside work?

whatever your fucking problem is, you’re scared that you’ll come to find out its only solution is the person you fought so hard to push away. because what if you managed to scare away the last source of happiness you had? it’s selfish, you know, but it’s also the only thing you can think about as he looms over you; body so dangerously close to yours that you can catch the flowery perfume he always wears.

you think he’s speaking to you because his big hand is outstretched in your direction and his eyes are looking at you expectantly, with a veiled urgency.

“sorry, what?”

“i said get up and let’s go.”

“go where exactly?”

he rolls his eyes and you keep to yourself the striking resemblance he has with a spoiled child right at this moment.

“c’mon, we’re living this tinder nightmare here.”

“oh, are we?” you ask equal parts amused and curious of where this little skit of his is going.

when his deadpan expression doesn’t shift into one of his gummy smiles at your slightly annoying antics you know something impulsive and possibly embarrassing is about to happen and you know you will be the only person who will have any sort of unnecessary remorse out of the two of you.

your hands fly to your parted mouth and you hiss at him again. “are you serious!?”

he smiles.

“jongho, no.”

jongho yes, the mischievous look he throws you seems to proudly announce.

he checks the toilet door one last time before gently grabbing your arm and not-so-gently yanking you out of the booth. a surprised squeal leaves your mouth but not a word of protest is heard from you.

“oh my god, i’m really doing this.”

his eyes are set on the door and he speaks without looking at you. “doing what?”

“leaving someone like that while they’re in the bathroom! that’s so… i don’t know jjong, that’s so rude!”

you see his shoulder shake and you know if he were to face you right now you’d see one of his shit-eating grins. what you can’t imagine is the softness in his eyes as you call him with your nickname for him. he missed it. he misses you. painfully, completely, constantly.

his wide strides are followed by your frantic steps as he maneuvers the two of you out of the door and into the busy downtown street.

“so what? do you wanna go back in there and risk being bored to death by a guy that’s not even a quarter of what you deserve?”

“wha– no! i just–”

“then why should you feel sorry for that sad excuse of a date, uh? like, really, he took you to the most overrated place he could think of, Y/N. he didn’t even know you don’t like coffee!”

you chuckle at the frown of deep offense that blooms on his face. his lips in an affronted pout. “but that’s what the date is for, jjong. he couldn’t have possibly known.”

he stops in his tracks when he’s far away enough from the crowd in line waiting to be granted entrance to the place you just left.

“i do, though.” an imperceptible strain to his voice as his eyes search yours in a way that’s almost desperate. “i know you don’t like coffee and that you like to sleep on the right side of the bed and that you just have to sing that ridiculous song to tie your shoes because otherwise, for some inexplicable reason i still have to understand, you can’t.”

has the world around you stopped? your ears are ringing from the deafening silence and you feel like everyone around you has stopped breathing and is waiting for you to say something to the boy in front of you who stares you down in determined distress.

“i know you, Y/N.”

you know he deserves an explanation. him more than anyone in your life. him more than yourself, even. jongho with his proverbial patience that let you cry and consoled you the whole night even after you’d told him you were breaking up with him. jongho that didn’t push or torment you with questions the days after. jongho who accepted —maybe in pure and raw self-preservation— to go back to being just friends, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips because that’s what you’d told him you needed at that moment. his kindness that, more often than not, you’re convinced you don’t deserve.

“i know.” you close on yourself, your arms coming to hug you tight so that he can’t see the cracks that constantly try to spread over your skin. “i know you do.” an imperceptible whisper that threatens to drown in the buzz of the busy city around you.

“then why?” his eyes are pleading and his voice is quiet when he speaks again.

“i know i should give you time and i know you’ll tell me one day but please–” he gulps down a lump that you know he’s had for at least three months. one of worry, confusion, and guilt. one you know you gave him.

“–please, give me something. anything.”

silence.

“Y/N, please say someth–”

“my mother was sick, jongho. she still is.” the line you’ve dreaded crossing for so long is no longer a line. the wall that’s been standing in between you and everyone else now has a hole in it.

“i was out of my mind just from the news of her condition, i– i wasn’t well mentally and physically just from that and i saw time slip through my fingers, felt every single second like a punch to the guts. i threw away all the clocks in my mother’s house, i started sleeping on the floor outside her bedroom, i– the week i told you i was busy with deadlines, we were still together, remember?” he nods, small but it’s there.

“i spent those days obsessing over something that was not yet real. my brother had to slip me sleeping pills to let me close my eyes for even a second.” your voice cracks because the guilt you get from just looking at jongho always has to be added to the guilt you feel when seonghwa kindly asks you how you’re doing lately.

“i-i was a mess just from that and i didn’t want you to be with me when what i was scared of was going to finally become a reality. i didn’t want you to see me like that because i didn’t think it was what you deserved. and you may be unable to understand and yell at me that it had to be your choice and not mine but i still don’t think that what i did was wrong, i’m sorry.”

the apology floats in the air between you. it’s not articulate or rich but it’s the only one you can get out at the moment.

“my psychologist says– he says i’m doing better now. we agree that the worst is over but there’s this… unknown that hangs over my head and every second that passes i don’t know if this guillotine will cut my head off or miss me by a hair.”

he just looks at you with that unreadable expression that scares you.

“i didn’t– i don’t want to go back to when the worst wasn’t over and i’m scared that if i give myself back to you i will take you down with me one way or the other.”

you don’t know what you expect him to say or do after you just vomited everything you’re constantly trying to keep hidden, on him, but his loud silence is starting to feel too heavy, unsettling.

he doesn’t feel present, his eyes unfocused and unblinking.

he shakes his head as if to wake up from a trance and looks at you with eyes too full of love. no pity in them and you want to thank him for it.

“ba– Y/N why didn’t you tell me?”

the simple question throws you off.

why did you do the things you did?

why does anyone do things?

you want to cry and tell him that not everything has an explanation. not a logical one anyways.

“i don’t know, okay! i wasn’t sure how you felt! god, i didn’t know how i felt and–”

“how could i have ever felt!? we were together for more than a year, Y/N. i loved you. i still do.”

“w-what?”

he lets out a chuckle that is not mocking or mean or condescending, not one you would’ve expected from anyone else. it’s kind and soft and a little bit amused, much to your irritation. “do you find it surprising?”

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it.

“i am in love with you, have been since the moment i saw you at that stupid party and when you told me you had to break up with me i just– Y/N, i couldn’t let you go or stop loving you, even if i tried. and believe me, i did try for some time, but it just didn’t work.”

with tears clouding your vision you’re surprised you manage to find the time or strength to tease him. “you tried?”

and apparently, it is those two words that make him break out of the containment chamber he’s forcing himself to be trapped in. he smashes through the protective glass in true jongho fashion. a well-placed punch and the chains that kept him away from you thinking that’s what you needed, dissolve into thin air as he closes the distance, messily rushing to you and caging you in a desperate hug that steals the air from your lungs.

you feel his hands claw at the back of your shirt and it’s the heartbreaking and deep affection that allows you to accept that you’re not difficult and you will not be. not to him, not to the people that love you.

he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in like he wants to absorb you forever, then everything that happens next goes naturally, smoothly, following a line that was always supposed to be the one and only.

it fits perfectly. when you kiss and it's like the universe, your friend group, the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at, knew it was meant to be.

you both stand with your eyes closed, embracing each other.

he wants to be a person who deserves you and whom you deserve. jongho loves you and he wants to be there, picking up your pieces, putting you together like a puzzle, taking his time.

you sniff, looking up at him with what you hope looks like a soft expression and not some sort of a pained smile. “hi.”

“hey.” he smiles back, thumbs caressing away stray tears.

“you know that i saw you sitting there the second i stepped foot into the coffee shop.

“you did not.”

“you were reading the book upside-down.”

he blushes but his arms tightens around you.

“i was not.”

#jongho x reader #choi jongho x reader #ateez x reader #k-labels #kflixnet #jongho #choi jongho #ateez jongho #ateez x you #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fluff

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oh-stars · 3 months

Text

Guiding Hand

Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1156 words | CW: PTSD | Rating: T

Thunder roars in the distance. It’s faint, barely noticeable over Eddie’s chords as he practices on his acoustic. “I’m off my game today,” Eddie groans, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other cradling the neck of the guitar still. “It sounds so out of tune even though I’ve…”

Steve hums as he grabs the candles and flashlights from under the entertainment center.

“Baby?”

The rains picking up, going from a pleasant steady rhythm, to a downpour as the storm grows closer. He’s thankful for the rain, a constant companion to the thunder and Steve’s biggest reminder that they’re in the right side up. It eases some of his anxiety, but the remainder is still too loud.

“I think you should kiss me.”

The thunder seems a bit closer now. He grabs the pack of batteries and the matches, his lighter already in his pocket. He hasn’t used the flashlights since the tornado watch two months ago, the last time the lights flickered. They should still have enough juice, but you can never be sure.

“Can we get a horse?”

Steve checks out the window; the rain’s flooding the driveway and soon they could swim through the lake of his front yard. At least its already late, so they can stay home – and if Eddie tries to go back to the trailer, he’s not afraid to tackle him.

“Do you think Henderson could find us a unicorn?”

They haven’t eaten dinner yet, should Steve heat up something before the storm gets too bad? In case they lose power for a while? The storm is coming quickly though. It’ll take too long to make something and he needs to pick up more canned goods. Do they have enough leftovers?

“Stevie, I’ve grown an extra head, but it’s not mine.”

He heads toward the kitchen and pulls out the casserole he made last night. There’s plenty. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t mind. He goes to ask, but a clap of thunder cracks through the air.

Steve drops the lid to the tupperware – it clatters to the floor as Steve jumps.

“Steve,” Eddie says, his hands on Steve’s hips, pulling him in close so he presses against Steve’s back.

He glares at Eddie over his shoulder.

Eddie raises his hands in defense. “Don’t get mad at me. That’s your name.”

“Not to you.” Steve turns around and crosses his arms.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while, baby,” Eddie says softly. He puts his hands back on Steve’s waist, their hips flush together. “Are you okay?”

Steve shrugs. “Just making dinner.”

Eddie keeps his face neutral; Steve cna see how much effort it's taking him.

“Are you okay with leftovers?”

“Sounds great,” Eddie sighs. “Can I do anything?”

Steve shakes his head and turns back to the cold leftovers. Eddie’s hands stay on his waist as Steve dishes out two healthy servings for their plates.

Another thunderclap and Eddie’s grip tightens. Steve’s entire body feels tight like he’s preparing for something. Which is just bull. He’s making dinner during a thunderstorm. There’s nothing happening. He’s being foolish.

A soft kiss to the side of his neck has Steve letting out a breath. Was he holding it? “I’ve got you,” Eddie whispers.

Steve leans back into him as the first plate heats up in the microwave. He closes his eyes and listens to the rain, to the soothing sound of Eddie’s breathing accompanied by the little gusts against his skin where Eddie’s nose is pressed to his skin.

For a moment, all is well.

With their dinner reheated, Steve takes their plates to the living room where the flashlights and candles wait for them.

“Dinner on the sofa?” Eddie gasps as they settle in. “What would your mother say, Steven?” His smile turns into a grimace. “Not feeling it?”

Steve leans into Eddie’s side. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” Eddie says, “it’s okay. I just want to see you smile.”

Well, that does work.

They’re able to eat as they watch Golden Girls reruns in companionable silence, with Eddie crossing his legs over Steve’s. It keeps him grounded as the thunder rolls on.

When the episode ends, Steve takes their plates to the kitchen and starts to clean up. Eddie’s right there with him, talking about the show like he’s gossiping about their neighbors. “And where does Blanche get off saying that shit to Rose?”

“I don’t kno–”

The lights flicker.

Steve shoves Eddie behind him, into the cabinet, as he reaches for the knife block.

He grips a steak knife so tight his knuckles pop. His senses are attuned to the world around them as Steve stands guard. They’re frozen in place, time still as they wait for… something.

No bulging walls.

No flapping wings.

No scratching nails.

All he can hear is rain, thunder, Eddie’s breathing and his own ragged breaths.

Then the lights go out all together with the next flash of lightning.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

Steve holds his breath until the next round of thunder has passed. “C’mon,” Steve says, reaching back for Eddie’s hand.

Eddie laces their fingers together with a self-deprecating laugh. “You’d think I’d get over this fear of the dark at my age.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “Kind of hard when you’ve seen what we’ve seen.” Carefully, he walks them both out of the kitchen toward the coffee table. “Don’t let go.”

“Right. Can’t be getting lost in your McMansion,” Eddie quips, as if he isn’t actively cutting off Steve’s circulation.

He kicks the coffee table and uses his leg to put some space between himself and the table to set the knife down. Then he makes quick work of lighting the candles with his lighter, flicking it closed once he’s done.

With that, he drags Eddie to the couch and sinks into the cushions. He’s too tense still, nerves frayed and muscles still fired up to jump into action. Eddie’s hand has eased, though, thumb running over Steve’s knuckles. Soon, Steve knows that his presence, his touch, will spell all of his built up tension – even with the thunder still going overhead and the rain still pelting the windows.

The walkie that lives on the side table clicks on, crackling to life as Max’s voice asks, “Does anyone have power?”

“Zoomer, you’re supposed to say, over. Over,” Henderson says.

“Answer or don’t, curly fries. I don’t have time for this,” Max huffs.

Steve raises an eyebrow at Eddie, only to find him looking back just as confused.

With their hands still linked, Eddie grabs the walkie, holds down the button, and holds it up to Steve’s face.

“Roll call, nerds,” Steve says, then with a sigh, he adds, “over.” He leans against Eddie, tucking himself under Eddie’s arm. He feels anchored, safe in the bubble of candlelight he’s made for him and Eddie.

After everyone else has checked in, Eddie presses the button again and says, “Babysitter and Banished, all clear.”

Thank you @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

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sorialice · 1 year

Text

Onceler x Reader Fluff!! (rainy day)

neutral pronouns :D

for @pinkystarwberry !! hope it turns out alright <3

ignore this i got it off google i have no clue who to credit ^^

You woke up to the sound of rain pattering on the windows of the Onceler’s wagon. You’d been staying with him every now and then after coming across him singing and dancing with a bunch of… barbaloots in the truffula forest? It was a strange sight for sure, as you had just been taking a walk that day only to witness such a beautiful scene. The truffula forest of course, not the Onceler! You didn’t have any feelings for him at all… Back then at least. The two of you had started dating after many weeks spent together supporting his thneed business. It hadn’t gone anywhere yet, but you were sure it would eventually. Probably. Sure hope it doesn’t go overboard and cause massive destruction to this beautiful forest!

Turning to face the interior of the wagon, you rubbed your eyes and stretched. The Onceler was probably already in town advertising his invention.

But it’s raining, isn’t it? So he wouldn’t be out… Does that mean?

Suddenly you catch the scent of something sweet in the air. Is that…

“Good morning Y/N! I made pancakes. Way too many actually. How many do you want? There’s gotta be tons leftover I won’t be able to finish.”

The Onceler was standing by his little makeshift stovetop, flipping pancakes and humming a silly tune. He was still wearing his blue and yellow bunny pajama set, but with an apron over top. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the apron was covered in little pink hearts.

“I didn’t realize you’d be home. Usually you aren’t back until a few hours after I’ve woken up. Maybe i’ll have… P/P/N?” (preferred pancake number. i don’t judge, i won’t pick for you! also can be pee-pee-nut if you prefer.)

The Onceler handed you a plate and flipped your pancakes across the room into a graceful stack on top. He then picked up an already pancaked plate and walked over, sitting beside you on the bed. The rain was coming down harder now. It must have been around noon, but it was still as dark out as it would be in the middle of the night. You noticed a flash out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly…

CRAZH BANG BOOM OH NO!!1!1!

The thunder surprised you, and you screamed a little, jumping from your place on the comfy orangey-red sheets. Onceler was startled too, but not nearly as much. You fell back into his arms, knocking your pancakes all over the place.

“Oh no… I’m so sorry Oncie. The two bites I had were really good…”

“Don’t worry about it Y/N! I did tell you I made tons.”

The Onceler sliced a piece with his fork and put it up to your mouth. You were hesitant and a little embarrassed, but ate it. CRASH BANG OH ITS MORE THUNDER HOW TERRIBLE!! You jumped a little again, this time closer the Onceler, and nuzzled your head into his chest. He reached for a blanket and wrapped it around you both. You looked up into his pretty blue eyes, and he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m here. The storm should calm down soon.”

He sliced another portion of his pancakes and fed them to you, stroking your hair and giving you occasional kisses anywhere he could reach. The two of you spent the rest of the evening cuddling, eating pancakes, and listening to the rain.

hope that was okay for my first fic! boy am i glad the onceler is real and i actually just made up the miserable life i’m living. i’m so glad i’m getting the physical contact i need! i love being healthy!! KEEP THE REQUESTS COMING I NEED IT

#onceler #fanfiction #fanfic #the lorax #the onceler #greedler x reader #greedler #onceler x reader #the onceler x reader #lorax fandom #fluff #fluff fanfic #fanfic fluff #onceler fanart #rainy day #someone please give me tips on how to have a good summer when i already know i’m gonna spend the whole thing mourning my breakup

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lovingmny · 8 months

Note

Can I request A Hyunjin fic he’s like going through a hard time and he just keeps crying over every little thing and y/n doesn’t know what’s going on LIKE?? But she decides to do her best to be there for him and cheer him up and do everything for him like helping him eat, brushing his hair, etc. And slowly he gets out of it and they make out (include as much detail here as you want!)

(This Is TOTALLY not me projecting) 😅💖

my home - request

🐸 synopsis: hyunjin keeps crying, and you have no idea why, but still try to comfort him. how will you do it?

🐢 genre: angst, fluff

🌱 pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

🍐 warnings: crying, anxiety, lmk if i missed any!

🦎 wc: 0.6K

🥝 a/n: thank you for this request! i’m SOO sorry this took so long😭please forgive me 😔🙏 also like doesn’t hyunjin look a bit like minji in that picture??? i hope you enjoy🤞🤞

m.list

you heard muffled cries from the living room. they sounded angelic, yet sad.

hyunjin went to the versace event, or whatever it was called. you weren’t really interested in fashion, as most of your outfits were just stolen from his closet.

the reason he was crying wasn’t something that you knew, but assumed it was about his english yesterday. learning a new language is hard, and you tried to tell him that, but he was still very self conscious about it.

the cries became louder. you practically sprinted there and saw him, just sitting there. he looked so expensive, yet here he was, crying diamond tears.

you grabbed him into a hug and tried telling him that it was alright.

‘my english was horrible‘ he muffled against your neck.

‘no it wasn’t, you aren’t just confident‘ i felt him smile a bit on my neck but the smile soon fell.

more cries could be heard as his tears stained your hoodie, actually his hoodie. you slightly patted his head and left the living room in comfortable silence.

you soon came back with chocolate muffins. his jaw slightly parted open and he signaled that he wants them. you placed a muffin in his mouth and watched him chew it.

laugher filled the room as you were feeding each other, both shirts full of chocolate stains.

night fell soon and you fell even harder for him.

THE NEXT DAY

you woke up with his hair slightly scratching against your neck. you giggled at his cuteness, which was literally out of this world.

you slowly got up from the bed, not wanting to wake him up as he was getting his beauty sleep.

you got ready and heard sounds from the bedroom. he was probably awake and still paranoid about his english, because obviously he is very dramatic.

you actually watched videos of him in the event and his english was good?? like what bae??

he peeked out of the bedroom and asked;

‘can we stay home today? i just wanna chill’

you hummed in response and he went back to the bedroom. after that you heard a small groan and got up from the couch to check what he was dramatic over now.

‘i don’t know what to put on’ he groaned in annoyance.

you picked an outfit for him and he seemed to be satisfied, as he put it on. hyunjin was very particular with what he dresses on but he agreed to your outfit. maybe you weren’t that bad after all??

you finished brushing his teeth and next up was brushing his hair. his hair was soft, silky, shiny, just overall very healthy because he rarely dyes it. he usually never lets anyone else touch his hair but he requested for you to do it and you felt honoured. <3

you put his hair in a half ponytail [a/n: the same as in thunderous m/v🤭🫶] and waited as he did his skincare.

later on he stepped out from the bathroom and climbed on you. his cologne immediately made you relaxed and that was when you realised that he was your home.

you snapped from your thoughts as you felt his plush, pink tinted lips on yours. your lipstick smudged lightly but that was the least of your worries right now.

his lips moved so smoothly on yours. you felt like you were on cloud 9.

he slightly bit your lip as asking for permission to enter your mouth. you nodded under his touch as his tongue was dancing with yours. your breath was now long forgotten, too deep in the kiss.

he pulled away though, looking at you with wide open eyes. he looked cute, yet surprised. he let out a small giggle as he hugged you.

💚 a/n: thank you for reading and thank you anon for requesting! <3 reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! hope you enjoyed <3

#kpop imagines #kpop #skz imagines #kpop fluff #skz fluff #lovingmny #hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin skz #skz hyunjin

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raayllum · 1 year

Text

In the two years since gaining his arcanum, Callum likes to think he’s gotten the hang of it.

He has his spell-book with plenty of runes and incantations, carefully jotted down by hand next to pictures of the runes; he knows how to elongate his breath and stamina; he’s better at hedging his weight and sticking a landing, winged or not. He knows the way rainy days made his mood pick up, blood thrumming in his veins, the way his body takes deeper breaths when it’s windy, the fact he can never sleep (or really need to) when it storms at night time.

He’s not nervous when the storm broils over the pirate’s boat. If anything, this’ll help them escape unscathed their belongings intact. He’ll be at the peak of his power in the centre of a storm. What could go wrong?

Callum knows the answer as soon as the rain hits his face, feet skidding over the slippery deck, and a fork of lightning strikes the a wave so close to him some of the resulting spray sloshes over the ship hull. It’s too much, out here, the rain pounding in his temple like the worst headache he’s ever had, the lightning shuddering in his vision, taking too long to fade for him to see properly.

It’s nothing for a dragon or an archdragon, but for a human - or an elf, unused to the sensation - he feels like he’s going to keel over and retch, too much air in his lungs to be healthy.

But there are at least twenty pirates, and Soren is off defending Ezran in the corner, Rayla slashing somewhere in the middle, and Nyx is picking off the crew with throwing knives up in the ropes, and well...

Callum hurtles out there, staff in hand, and does his best to block out the noise.

He clears a path to Ezran first, fulminis sizzling through his veins, and it takes little to no energy to channel the storm to his will. The rain bends. The lightning goes where he wants it to. He doesn’t even need his staff, even as it pulses with heat in his hand. The pirates are swept away into the seas, or too charred with his lightning to get up. The lightning flashes bright in his eyes, too reminiscent of Aaravos’ control to be comfortable, too encompassing for him to see clearly, and—

Something hits him hard in the back and he crashes, spluttering, hands splayed on the desk. He twists over onto his back, rain pouring down, and the captain leers over him, grinning while water runs down from the curve of her hat, her sword levied at his throat. Another wave rises up. The thunder echoes in his ears. It’s too much.

His control falters. His world narrows, and Callum knows this is it. The rain is so cold, leaving him numb like he’s already dead. He wonders if he’ll even have the option to make a sound, as the Tidebound elf draws back her razor sharp sword and—

Then she drops her sword, a dark stain forming over the centre of her pale blue blouse, and the elf keels over sideways, hands scrabbling at her chest. A foot pushes her out of the way so she topples next to him instead of on him, and then Rayla—hair soaked, ragged, beautiful—lowers her own bloody blade and holds out her hand.

Callum manages to find the mind to grasp it. She hoists him to his feet, supporting his weight when he leans on her more than he meant to. He thinks she’s shaking too.

“Are you okay?” she says hoarsely, eyes scanning his face. The storm quiets, his breath anchored to hers. She’s warm, their sides pressed up against each other.

His gaze tears away from her face to the dead pirate captain at their feet, a pool of blood growing as her crew cries out angrily around them as Nyx and Soren step up and into the fray, Rayla’s sword arm braced along his back.

She’d killed for him.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but knows this isn’t the time—that this might not have even been her first, given her time away, but there’s a glassy look in her eye that tells him it is—even if his heart pounds in his chest. Her bottom lip never trembles even if her hand shakes from where it’s keeping his arm slung over her shoulders.

“Fine,” he says, his head clearing. He pushes himself up a bit more. Some of the pirates are starting to surrender. It’ll be over soon. He takes her sword hand as he straightens up, splattered with a bit of blood, and kisses her knuckles. “Let’s just get out of here.”

#can u tell i love magic that is overwhelming to the host #tdp callum #rayllum #s5 #s5 speculation #storm motif #ficlet #my fic #fic #headcanons #mage boy #tdp #the dragon prince #arc 2 #personal fave #i need you to kill me

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 1 year

Text

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

Post-Canon Headcanon: Reunite

(Listen, it’s pre-slash because I say so, but you can def read this as just very good friends)

So imagine you get an invite to a high school post-grad graduation celebration—they never got around to it after the worst of the Covid wave subsided, and now for some reason administrators seem to think people *want* to return to their high school days. Imagine you were just an average student back in the day who knew about this weird situation everyone talked about where the one intimidating hooligan kid who can’t pass classes has spent years cruelly attacking the highest achieving student in the grade, a frail-looking little nerd who everyone puts on a pedestal.

Now imagine you go to the reunion, you’re putting on a nametag and avoiding that prick from your history class, and suddenly the hooligan and the nerd walk in together, followed by the hooligan’s two old friends (one of whom is now a beauty YouTuber??) and they get the room’s attention.

Cao Guangyan is pink-cheeked but seems healthy and not with Pu Yiyong under duress (people still come over to not-so-subtly check). Yiyong seems his usual glaring and bored self, wandering around looking at the decorations probably casing the joint. They settle at a table near you. You observe.

Everyone who approaches Guangyan gets the exact same polite greeting from him and a withering stare from Yiyong. Word has it Yiyong has been in TWO comas over the years, likely due to his dangerous lifestyle. Some speculate medical student Guangyan is with him to ensure he doesn’t collapse post-coma—so sweet of him to volunteer, even if he’s planning to go into something weird like forensic medicine (probably for noble reasons). Everyone knows how things were between them at school.

But they aren’t fighting or glaring at each other, they’re sitting close together at the same table, casually stealing each other’s dessert and poring over what looks like a bloodstained manuscript Guangyan pulled out of his bag—which, obviously, it can’t be. The two other friends chatter familiarly with the pair, and often over their heads, which are bent close together reading something in that weird book.

The table’s members only get up twice—once to get more food (you spot Guangyan extracting three chicken wings from Yiyong’s coat pocket and pointedly placing them into a pastel pink Tupperware dish), and once for Guangyan to get an award (so deserving, it looks like a flower they pinned to his suit jacket for being Mr. Congeniality?), for which Yiyong very rudely doesn’t bother to clap, just smirks a little when Guangyan shuffles back to the table red-faced amidst thunderous applause. Their two other friends wander out soon after—calling out something about an upload schedule—and so it’s just them, they’re just sitting together, still talking. And you, watching because look, the reunion is boring and this is not, okay, you pay attention like you never did in school.

Something about their dynamic oddly reminds you of your parents quietly drinking coffee together the morning after a bad sickness in the family. That’s not to say the talk isn’t animated—you notice a squabble early on over what sounds like Yiyong saying “can I not get one day without the fucking ghosts”, followed by Guangyan’s sulky muttering for five minutes straight before they return to reading the book. It’s strange but Yiyong doesn’t seem very threatening right now. He takes some of Guangyan’s drink, which is further confirmation of his criminal lifestyle, but that’s it.

They leave together with a full bag (how much Tupperware did they bring??), and it’s probably a trick of the disco ball light overhead, but it almost looks like Guangyan has taken off his award flower and pinned it to Yiyong’s hoodie.

#whomst #oh no! here comes trouble

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Thaddeus | A Necessary Nudge | Romantic

Requested: Yes

Thaddeus rather keeps his feelings for you to himself, until Jesus sits with him to explain that he shouldn’t deny his chance for love despite the ministry always coming first.

Thaddeus’ heart flutters as he hears your laugh split the air before you call after John to cut it out, and a wistful sight leaves the former stonemason’s lips. Lovesick, he tries to focus on the task at hand – the simple job of patching up holes in his tunic – but he can barely manage to thread a needle, let alone set a stitch with the sound of your giggles making him weak at the knees.

It is just unfair, he thinks to himself, how John and Big James so effortlessly manage to make you laugh with just a few words. Thaddeus wouldn’t necessarily say that he is jealous, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy the feeling that is nagging inside of his gut as he witnesses you having fun with the two Sons of Thunder. Granted, Mary Magdalene, Ramah and Tamar are also present and participating in whatever game you’re playing, but his heart feels heavy nevertheless.

He’s certain you would never like him back. And why would you, he catches himself thinking bitterly often. After all, this camp knows men who voice their opinions way stronger, who stand their ground way firmer, who would be able to protect you way better. Thaddeus thinks of himself as meek, timid, a tad fragile, at least compared to the others.

Big James and Simon the Zealot could fight for you way better than him. Philip has way more knowledge on Scripture and would make a way more Godly potential spouse for you. Little James is gentle, and even though Thaddeus has this trait as well, James seems a thousand times more confident to even speak a word to you. Flustered, he tears away his gaze, for he will no longer allow himself to bask in your beauty any longer. After all, the last thing he wants is to bother you about his feelings.

“Thaddeus?”

The gentle voice of Jesus has him look up from his unfinished work, and he swallows hard when he realises that the Rabbi must have caught him staring.

“Are you alright?”

He nods, not keen on lying to the Teacher, but he doesn’t feel like talking about it, truth be told. And then, he is okay, isn’t he? Thaddeus’ mind races – he is healthy, safe and in the best company that one could ever wish for, in the very presence of the Messiah Himself. Indeed, other than not having you at his side, Thaddeus is certain that he is doing just fine.

Jesus hums and does not pressure the stonemason, though He keeps observing him closely as Thaddeus attempts to continue fixing his garment. When your laugh once again echoes through camp, Jesus sees how his entire body tenses up.

Before the Preacher can open His mouth to inquire about it, your voice draws closer, and once you arrive at the two men, you halt.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you quip, “Can I make you two happy with a nice piece of fruit?” You hold a basket out in front of you and smile kindly.

Jesus stands from the log He is sitting on and selects a bright orange persimmon, giving you one of His kind grins. “Thank you, (Y/n).”

You give Him a small nod before turning your attention to Thaddeus. “And Thad, what would you like?”

“I-I’m good, thank you,” he stutters, not even daring to look at you. You frown, stepping closer, slightly disappointed, for you’d much rather catch a glimpse of his soft brown eyes.

“Thad,” you query, “Are you alright? You’re looking a bit flushed, so perhaps that is even more of a reason to get yourself a nice apple, or would you instead prefer an apricot? Thomas just said that he selected the nicest ones he could find. Or, how about a pomegranate?” You take one of the fruits and inspect it closely, humming in thought.

Thaddeus shyly looks up at you and lets out a shivery breath. “Thank you, (Y/n), I’m fine. I don’t want anything.”

Your brow furrows together in worry, a slight pout coming over your features. “Promise me to take good care of yourself, okay?” you insist softly, “I worry about you sometimes.”

His eyes widen at the words and he gulps, nearly choking on his own saliva. You don’t wait for an answer, instead wordlessly put an apricot as well as a pomegranate on the log next to him and point at them, giving Thaddeus a strict raise of your eyebrow. “I’m going to return in a bit and one of these better be gone by then. Fruits are an important part of any diet.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out, and abashed, he nods meekly. Smiling, you continue your trip around camp to hand out fresh fruits, and he lets out a shaky breath once you’re out of his line of sight, his cheeks flushed bright red.

“So, Thad, are you going to tell Me what is going on?” Jesus queries after swallowing a mouthful of persimmon. “Let Me guess, you haven’t been hungry at all lately.”

Too embarrassed to look at the Teacher, Thaddeus stares at the two pieces of food you have left for him to select from, and he shrugs. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think…”

Jesus hums in amusement and takes another bite, thoughtfully looking at you across camp before He speaks up again. “You know, it sounds to Me that you’ve got some very strong feelings going on there.”

Thaddeus wishes that the ground would just open up underneath him to swallow him whole, a flush colouring his neck. He can barely hold onto the needle that he is still pinching between his fingers and his stomach spins in dangerous coils.

“I… Maybe.” he squeaks, trying to catch his breath. “She’s… (Y/n) is wonderful.” Sighing, he lets his gaze go to his lap, shaking his head slowly. “That woman could choose from any potential spouse she wants. Not only is she beautiful on the outside, she’s even more beautiful on the inside. To have a wife like her, well…” He pauses for a second before confiding the rest of the sentence, “I would be so lucky. Perhaps never complain about anything again.”

Chuckling Jesus, finishes the final bite of his fruit before narrowing His eyes at Thaddeus in pondering. “First of all, although I do not speak from experience, no marriage makes it so that no hardships will ever come your way again. Secondly, I think you and I are going to have a little talk.”

Mistaking the Teacher’s words for chastisement, Thaddeus’ eyes fill up with tears of embarrassment. “R-Rabbi,” he stutters, “I’m so deeply sorry. I know that I cannot let myself get distracted from the ministry. I know that I need to focus on Adonai instead, and—”

Jesus smiles and puts up His palm to calm down Thaddeus. “Easy there, Thad. This fellowship has nothing to do with you not being able to pursue a romantic relationship. After all, look at Simon and Eden. They’re married. Thomas and Ramah might also get betrothed very soon. Abstinence from love altogether is not a prerequisite, dear Thaddeus. After all, I will not be around forever. You’ll have a life after travelling with Me, too.”

A bit confused, Thaddeus frowns, unsure of what Jesus means with this. However, he isn’t keen on questioning it too much, either. Jesus sees the puzzlement on his face and hums. “Ah, you’ll understand it later,” He reassures him. “But regarding the matter at hand, you aren’t expected to remain a bachelor your entire life.”

Thaddeus lets out a shivering breath and rubs his hands together in discomfort, inhaling, exhaling. “I-I get what You are saying, Jesus, and I trust Your words, and-and I’m certain that I’ll find a wife someday. However, it can’t be (Y/n).”

“Why not?” Jesus muses, smiling.

“Because she’s…” he pauses before letting out a sound of frustration. “She is just everything I am looking for in a wife. (Y/n) would just be… Too beautiful to be true.”

Jesus hums, shrugging. “Well, do you feel like she is trying to deceive us all? That she isn’t as kind and sweet as she is letting on?”

Thaddeus frantically shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all!”

“Then what is the issue?”

The former stonemason’s face twists into something sadder. “Well… I’m just… Me, You know. I don’t… I’m not like the rest of them. The other disciples, I mean. They’d make way better spouses for her.”

Squinting in thought, Jesus lets out a noise. “Ah, I wouldn’t say that if I were you, Thad. I understand that sharing a space with so many men who might be potential competitors for you in the area of love might seem daunting, but it seems to Me that you’re not quite seeing your own potential as well. Trust Me when I say that (Y/n) looks at you in quite a different way compared to the way she looks at others, and well, since she insists you eat a piece of fruit, it is safe to say that she positively cares about your wellbeing. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have fed you so determinedly.”

Thaddeus’ heart skips a beat at the revelation – Jesus wouldn’t lie to him – and a large smile that he cannot fight spreads over his lips. “Oh…?” is the only thing he manages to breathe. “Wow… I-I mean… Master, I don’t even know how to begin with this. I don’t have a lot of experience.”

Jesus laughs lightly. “Neither have I, but I can give you advice. She already has her eye on you, so grabbing her attention wouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

Thaddeus’ nose dusts pink at the words.

“(Y/n) is a very caring person,” Jesus explains, “As you may have noticed by now. So, why not show her that you care about her in return? Make it clear that these feelings are reciprocated, and perhaps then express your interest in her.”

The stonemason could burst at the seams out of happiness. He puts a hand over his mouth to fight the beaming grin that threatens to build and he is too abashed to look at Jesus’ amused face.

“I trust You, Teacher,” he breathes, “I will give it some thought, and—”

Jesus’ eye falls on something behind him and Thaddeus can hear a twig snap underneath a sandal – your sandal – and you stand with the now-empty basket in your arm, staring at Thad with a playful look of feigned incredulity.

“I can’t believe it,” you breathe, “I thought I told you to select one of these fruits. Now I’m afraid that I can’t do anything else but to force you to eat them both, because you clearly cannot choose, for both are way too delicious to pass up on.”

Smiling, Jesus stands. “I will leave you two to yourselves.” He muses, stepping away from the pair of you. Not really understanding what He is trying to say, you watch the Rabbi depart, brow furrowing in question.

“What does He mean with that?”

Thaddeus swallows thickly in the hopes his throat will feel less dry, and he turns to you a little more.

“(Y/n),” he begins with a soft voice, and you find his gaze, warm and gentle. “I… Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Your eyes flutter in puzzlement, but you gather yourself quickly before nodding, taking a seat next to him. “By all means.”

Thaddeus reaches over to grab the apricot and pomegranate you had left for him there, showing them to you. “Since you need to eat something as well, and since I haven’t chosen one of these yet, how about we share them?”

A soft smile graces your lips. “I’d like that,” you pipe up, tilting your head slightly as you watch him take a blunt knife from his pocket and slice the apricot in half around the large pit, and he gives one half to you. Gratefully, you take it and sink your teeth down into the sweet fruit, enjoying the sugary flavour as well as the slightly sour tang.

“This is nice,” you muse after a few moments of silence. Thaddeus swallows a bite of apricot and nods in agreement.

“It is.” he acknowledges. Watching him from the corner of your eye, you smile a little.

“So, what were you and Jesus talking about, since He had to leave so suddenly once I arrived?”

Thaddeus nearly chokes on a bite of fruit and you give him a worried look. “Are you alright?”

“I-I am,” Thaddeus responds, coughing into his fist, turning away from you with reddened cheeks. “Excuse me.”

Once he calms down, he takes a deep breath and lets his gaze go across camp, where he catches Jesus’ eye almost suspiciously fast, as if He had been watching the two of you. The Rabbi gives him a reassuring nod, encouraging him to carry on.

“Ah, (Y/n),” Thaddeus murmurs, “I… I was wondering if you’re… Well, if you’ve got your eye on someone in our group?”

Flushed, he feels barely brave enough to look at you. You squint in question, not certain what he means. “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“If you’re… You’re not yet spoken for, right? W-What I’m trying to say is… If you’re interested in someone around here to become your potential husband.”

Now it’s your turn to become abashed, and you’re glad that you don’t have any food in your mouth right now, for you certainly would have spit it out in shock. “What?”

There is no way Thaddeus can beat around the bush anymore, so with a deep breath, he pops the question: “I’ve been sweet on you for quite some time now, and… I-I would be very honoured to have your hand in marriage, if you’ll have me too, that is. Would you— Are you interested in building a life with me?”

He has to resist the urge to squeeze his eyes shut whilst awaiting your answer with bated breath, but a soft noise from your side has his gaze meet yours, and his heart stutters inside his chest at the sight of your soft smile.

“Oh, Thad, I… I don’t know what to say! Don’t get me wrong, I would love to marry you! It’s just that it came out of nowhere, give me a second…” You overthink the question whilst Thaddeus gawks at you, his jaw wide open.

“Did you… Did you just say yes?!”

You chew your bottom lip and nod, giving him a sweet smile. “Yes.”

The grin that spreads over his face is priceless, causing you to laugh lightly, and he wraps a hand over his mouth, still unbelieving of what you have just revealed to him. “I… Oh, (Y/n), you’ve just made me the happiest man alive!”

Laughing, you take the pomegranate that is still sitting on the log between you, and put a hand on Thaddeus’ shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that, Thad. Be aware, you will still need my abba’s permission, but I’m sure that I can convince him to agree upon this.”

Hugging you from the side, Thaddeus lets out a huff of relief, butterflies swirling through his abdomen at your proximity.

He searches Jesus and quickly finds Him, and the Man in question proudly grins, His dark eyes glittering knowingly.

Once Thaddeus pulls back from the hug, you hold up the pomegranate.

“Now, I’m still peckish for this delicious pomegranate. Would you mind sharing this with me, too?”

Thaddeus eagerly nods, taking it from you gladly to slice it in half, giving you a piece of the second fruit of the many that you’ll share.

#the chosen x reader #the chosen #x reader #reader insert #thaddeus x reader #the chosen thaddeus #thaddeus x you

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witch-and-her-witcher · 9 months

Text

Feysand | Rated M (Language, Implied DV from non-feysand relationship) | Rodeo AU

Feyre is a barrel racer who has been traveling with her bull riding boyfriend, slowly losing herself, until one night she gets herself into more trouble than she bargained for at Starfall Arena. The owner, Rhys, isn't going to let her fight her way out of this deal.

*Inspired by the beginning of ACOMAF, Feyre's other relationship is not depicted as a healthy relationship

Preview (full on ao3)

There’s only so much bracing that can be done against the impact of Tamlin’s fury on the road.

The trailer rocks as something else goes flying in the main living space - what could be left? The table maybe? If Tamlin was determined enough, he might be able to get it off the floor, the bolts had stripped from the last time he tried to wrench it free in a fit.

I squeeze my thighs against aluminum and metal, straddling the window I’m using for my getaway. Not daring to move, risk making a sound that will draw his attention.

“Easy, Tam. Easy.” Lucien is using that voice that always gets the nastiest of broncs to settle. “You don’t want to wake Feyre.”

There’s an animalistic growl in response.

Shit, he’s mixed his pain pills with liquor again. Tamlin always turns into the world's biggest asshole when he gets twisted.

The cool night air that half of my body is exposed to calls to me like wide open plains. Freedom . The bone deep need to feel it rip through my hair while I bury my hands in Suri’s mane, feel the power of her thundering hooves, her hot, surging muscles moving like one with me.

Facing everything and nothing at all. An unstoppable force that none of our problems can catch up to.

Suri nudges my left calf with her wet nose impatiently and does a little two step. I cut her a mean glare to be fucking quiet .

Hopefully she doesn’t hold it against me.

She doesn’t deserve any kickback from the one man wrecking crew I’ve fallen in love with - he does enough damage as it is outside of my control. The least I can do is protect Suri, keep it from her.

“Can you believe this shit? Who does he think he is, loading the shoots with low money bulls like that! How the fuck am I suppose to qualify!”

“Fifth in the nation, Tam. I’d say that’s how you qualify - ”

“Don’t. You saw what Rhysand pulled tonight, that arrogant prick, made me look like some two-bit sideshow in his podunk town.”

City. This is a city, and a big one with deep rodeo roots at that. It’s nearly the biggest I’d ever seen, except when Tamlin made nationals last year. The number of lights, people, cars, buildings - it had been overwhelming, like my head would come right off my shoulders from the amount of gawking I did, spinning around constantly in circles with my jaw hanging open.

A nobody girl riding the coattails of one of the biggest names in professional bull riding. I had looked just the part of my backwoods shithole of a hometown out in the holler.

keep reading

#feysand #feysandweek2023 #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing

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magniloquent-raven · 2 years

Note

Dig that prompt list. Super worried for the new episodes tho so maybe some Harringrove with feeling your partners pulse??? 🖤🖤🖤

ough i hope ur alright after vol 2 lol 💕💕💕 here's a lil fluff, cuz we all deserve some rn

“Would you stop squirming, I’m supposed to be checking your resting heart rate.”

“I’m plenty restful,” Billy mutters, shifting in his seat again, eyes downcast and pouting like a petulant toddler.

Steve huffs, adjusting his loose grip on Billy’s wrist. His pulse jumps under Steve’s fingers, and the muscles in his forearm twitch. “Right.”

It’s like this every time. Every goddamn day since Billy got out of the hospital. It should be getting under Steve’s skin by now, but it’s weirdly getting easier to deal with. Like Billy’s growing on him or something.

It was rocky at first. He knew it would be when he volunteered to take Billy in, but Max wouldn’t stop fretting over what was going to happen to her brother and Steve couldn’t stand the sad eyes anymore. It took some convincing, for some goddamn reason Steve couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his face when she told him no, like he actually wanted to do this. But he argued for in favor for so long he almost convinced himself as much as he convinced her.

And so here he is. Responsible for Billy Hargrove’s stubborn ass. Making sure he takes his meds and does his exercises, inspecting his shiny new scars for any signs of complications—whatever that means, half the shit the doctor told him went right over his head—and checking his stupid pulse because his stupid heart got fucked up by the stupid Mind Flayer, and now… And now Steve has to worry about him. Him and his damaged heart.

“It’s too high again,” Steve sighs.

“I’m tellin’ you, I feel fine. It’s fine.”

“Yeah my Uncle was fine too. Right up until he died of a heart attack when he was, like, fourty.”

“Jesus, Harrington.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” Billy pulls his arm away, tucking it close to his side, away from Steve.

Steve flexes his fingers, trying to subtly shake the weird feeling of loss. His palm is cold. Empty. He’s suddenly too aware of his own pulse thrumming, a poor replacement for the heady warmth of Billy’s skin.

Christ, he needs to stop. He really needs to stop. Billy took a risk trusting Steve with his care—something that still shocks Steve if he thinks about it too long—and Steve can’t fuck that up by perving on him while he’s supposed to be helping.

He’s not sure how to stop though. Billy started muscling his way into Steve’s space the second he got to Hawkins, but it was never like this. Quiet. Back when he was being annoying Steve was focused on that. Distracted by Billy being an asshole. Not sitting on their beat-up old couch holding his hand and his heart and trying desperately to keep the numbers in his brain when all his brain wants to do is remind him that Billy’s knee is touching his and he could be counting the freckles on Billy’s nose instead of his heartbeats.

Steve lets his head fall back against the cushions and stares at the ceiling. There’s a stain in the corner that looks like a whale.

“Fine. D’you wanna watch a movie or something?”

The next day is, to nobody’s surprise, no different.

Steve checks and double-checks the pamphlets he was given, just to make sure he isn’t misremembering what a healthy heart is supposed to sound like.

He wasn’t. Billy’s heartbeat is definitely racing. Again. Still? Maybe it’s been like this the whole time, thundering under the metal plate keeping Billy’s ribs in place, thumping so hard Steve doesn’t need to touch Billy to know how fast it is because he can see it.

He touches him anyways.

“Are you drinking buckets of coffee while I’m not looking? Jesus Christ, Hargrove.”

“Yes. Obviously. I’m surprised you haven’t caught me yet.”

Billy picks at a thread hanging loose from the bottom of his cutoff shorts. His other hand hangs limply in Steve’s grip. He stares at his own wrist with a furrowed brow.

“Very funny, smartass. I think I might have to call the doc, this isn’t—”

“I don’t need another fucking check-up.”

“Your BPM says you do.”

“Oh excuse me, Nurse Harrington.”

Steve blows out a breath. “C’mon, man. It could be something serious, don’t you wanna know?”

“I do know. I know that an appointment would be a waste of everyone’s goddamn time.”

“You—” Steve gestures helplessly with his free hand, fingers tuat and curled with frustration. “This isn’t normal, Billy!”

“It’s—”

“No, no, shut the fuck up, just—” Before he can actually think it through he pulls Billy’s hand towards him and holds it to his chest, wrangling him into position while Billy stares at him in blank shock. “This is what a normal heartbeat is supposed to feel like, alright?”

Billy’s palm is flat against his sternum, a warm weight between his chest and his hands, ragged, bitten down thumbnail catching on the material of Steve’s shirt. Crystal blue eyes bore into him, wide and unblinking.

He really should have thought this through.

No matter how much he tries to will his heart to stay steady, the longer Billy looks at him the more it trips over itself. The longer he stays, touching Steve’s chest, letting him hold his hand, the more anticipation threads itself around his lungs, taut and hopelessly tangled.

“...Is it?” Billy raises his eyebrows.

“Um.”

He should definitely probably be panicking right now. And he is, a little, except Billy’s sitting so close and he’s not moving away, and the look on his face is curiosity more than anything else. There’s something tickling Steve’s brain that he can’t quite pin down. It’s distracting enough to keep him from hitting solid ground, keep him looking up at least, ignoring the weird, awkward reality that he’s pushed a boundary that he told himself he wouldn’t.

Except Billy isn’t pulling away.

He’s…

Oh, wait.

Wait a second.

“Oh my god.”

Billy blinks at him. “What.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“What?”

There’s an unmistakable pink tinge spreading under Billy’s freckles, and Steve grins. “Holy shit, that’s why, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” There’s no heat to it.

“All this time I was worried about your health and it turns out you just have a crush on me, oh my god.”

“I—”

“Dude, that’s adorable.”

Billy lets out an embarrassed huff, “Shut up.” His gaze drops to his hand, still trapped against Steve’s chest. When he glances back up there’s something tentative about the way he does it. He opens his mouth. A beat passes. He closes it again.

“The answer is yes,” Steve says gently.

“You…”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“So…do you think you and your heart can handle doing something about this, or—”

Billy’s nails dig in as he lunges forward, crashing his mouth into Steve’s. It’s messy and enthusiastic, as much an oh god finally as a yes I can, Harrington, shut the fuck up. By the time they come up for air Billy is straddling Steve’s thighs, gripping the front of his shirt like his life depends on it.

And it turns out Billy’s heart is just fine. Especially when he has Steve taking care of it.

~~tag list ppls @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle 💕💕

#stranger things #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #billy hargrove #steve harrington #a raven's writing desk

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halogenwarrior · 1 year

Text

In response to the Needletail content I’ve been getting on my dashboard recently: the thing with Needletail is that 99% of the time, I really like and find her fascinating for her flaws and don’t like when people try to “soften” her as a character, except for one part which I would absolutely get rid of if I were rewriting the books, which I think is the main reason she comes off to some fans as less “tragically selfish punk” and more “gratingly selfish punk”. That is, the part in the Apprentice’s Quest where she is the first one to suggest separating Twigkit and Violetkit. This part just doesn’t fit with how she is portrayed, and particularly her relationships with Violetshine and Alderheart, in the later books (and given how Thunder and Shadow, where much of the “inconsistent” stuff appears, was written by a different author than The Apprentice’s Quest, this might even be a case of the author not even being aware of that detail).

Because the thing is, if you take away that part the relationship between Needletail and Violetshine is very tragic - messed up and not healthy for Violetshine in the end, but genuinely loving and with the society around them also being to blame for why it’s so messed up. If you just take Thunder and Shadow on its own: we have Violetkit, a kit who was wronged by her Clan by treating her as a political tool due to how they don’t care for outsiders unless they can provide some use to them, and you don’t need to love and pay attention to someone for them to be useful... and Needlepaw, who feels alienated by her Clan and rebels against it, also seeing them as not noticing her. If you just take this book alone, Needlepaw having to initially be cajoled by Alderpaw to pay attention to Violetkit doesn’t sound as damning as some Needletail haters make it out to be - she’s a teenager, of course she shouldn’t be expected to be the sole provider to a kit who the Clan has neglected, she’s not mature enough for that and she shouldn’t be expected to be, though the bond she later forms with her is genuine. And she genuinely relates to this kit for having similar disillusionment as her, her caring is completely genuine, but at the same time she is, again, selfish and immature, risking Violetkit’s life just to send a message to Rain and pushing her into joining the Kin (not because she just likes manipulating little kids into bad lifestyles but because she herself genuinely romanticizes them and her chance at finding a purpose through their violence and freedom, and in her mind Violetkit is just a mini Needlepaw, she must want and need the same things as her). The tragedy is that, as I said, she never should have had that responsibility in the first place despite her genuine love and devotion towards Violetkit, and her guilt-tripping and “you will only be happy with me” comes from genuine desperate loneliness rather than machiavellianism, is only reinforced by the outside environment as Rowanstar makes it clear he really doesn’t want or care for Violetkit, when he should have taken a stand agains this kit being left only in Needlepaw’s charge. And the tragedy is further cemented in Shattered Sky where Violetpaw, stuck with a caretaker figure who is not mature enough for the job and is now in the horrible situation of being trapped in a cult-type situation, losing the cats she loves and fearing for her life every day, recognizes Needletail’s immaturity and gets the horrible idea that she has to be Needletail’s caretaker, feeling like must be the martyr for her and even that Needletail would be within her rights to kill Violetpaw. And despite that it isn’t so strange that Needletail would sacrifice herself for Violetpaw, because the love still is genuine!

All of this is horribly undermined by having Needletail be the one to suggest separating the kits. First of all, it feels especially odd narratively to have this separation moment to set up Rowanstar as being cruel towards outsiders for an out-of-touch idea of political gain to explain why the apprentices are disillusioned, and then show the primary disillusioned apprentice be fully on board with the callous politics game and even having suggested it. Second of all, this is the reason that a lot of people read Needletail’s saying she relates to Violetpaw and they are both alone in the world as lies and manipulation, if she really related to her she wouldn’t be the cause of Violetpaw being alone in the first place and never show any guilt about it or even bring it up. And of course, Alderheart never brings it up either, the narrative treats it as if it didn’t happen and they are just a makeshift family who are trying in their own flawed ways to be a light in the kit’s life beyond the cruel games of their leaders. Having Needletail do that diminishes her character into “one-dimensional abuser who is just bad in every way”, except the narrative forgets she ever did that and does not treat her at all like a one-dimensional abuser, leading to a lot of people being frustrated with how she is treated by said narrative.

I genuinely think if they just got rid of this Needletail would have an argument for being the best-written Warriors character. (Well there would still be the issue of how her bonus story backstory tries to explain her alienation from her Clan with a single “folk-psychology” incident of being forgotten by them once in a way that doesn’t even sound unreasonable of them, rather than it being a more gradual and subtle thing she experiences throughout her life. But that’s another issue...)

#warrior cats #wc #needletail #violetshine

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misspearly1 · 2 years

Text

Self Love

Co-Written With @scorpio-marionette

Pairing: Marcus Pike x You (F!Reader)

Summary: Working alongside the one and only Special Agent Marcus Pike is both a pleasure and misery; pleasure because he is a beautiful man with a sweet personality that you’ve grown to love unconditionally, misery because you can never admit that you have a crush on him and can only yearn for him in secret, however one question from the man himself sets off the first tumbling domino in your life and everything changes - for the better.

WC: 6k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Anxiety. Self Consciousness. Nudity. Boudoir Shoot. Performing sex acts in front of a camera. Smut. Oral (F receiving). Dry Humping. Nipple Play. A little fade to black sex. Unprotected PIV. Fluff.

AN: Oh, Naomi it has been an absolute pleasure writing this story together, thank you so much for including me! Hope you enjoy our work my lovelies ❤️.

“Do you think I’m incapable of being loved?”

A roar of thunder rattles your apartment as Marcus asks you this. You’re unsure if the shiver you feel is from the sudden loud explosion of sound, or from the audacity this man has to ask you such a question. The calm white noise of rain fills the audible void as he waits for your answer. His body speaks to patience, but his eyes, shrouded in darkness, scream for reassurance.

Why did he have to ask you? Of all people, why did he have to ask his friend who harbours a silent crush on him and is hell bent to never speak of it? Of course he’s capable of being loved! You love him! Not that you’ll ever tell him. How could you? He came to you a broken hearted man. His fiancée of mere hours had called off the engagement. He was hurt and you were his landing spot. You became fast friends with you comforting him after their break up and he had told you time and time again that he was ‘so glad to have had a friend like you!’ Looking at Marcus, seeing everything you’ve come to love over the years you’ve been working together, you have to ask. “What makes you think that?”

You know it’s an open invitation for him to go on about his exes. It’s hardly healthy, but it’s better than him bottling everything up, but as per usual, you listen as he rambles and even tears up a little. The void fills with anguish and sorrow before emptying out again. What’s different this time is now you have questions. Sure, you’ve questioned him before on his mental health and motives to determine if he has the right ideas. These however have nothing to do with dating this time. “Marcus, have you ever thought of doing a boudoir shoot?”

“W-what is that?” The cute little tilt of his head and slightly concerned face make you all the more excited to share your idea with him.

“A boudoir photoshoot is a personal shoot you put together with a trusted photographer to help boost your confidence and give a little love to yourself,” You explain, watching his face shift with intrigue. “So what do you do? Dress fancy? Costumes?” He asks.

“You can, or you can wear nothing.” You snicker at the blush that blazes across Marcus’ face. The man may be a connoisseur of fine art for the FBI, surrounded by statues and paintings of nude men and women, but you don’t think he’s ever thought of people taking nude photos personally. Nevertheless, you carry on explaining how women like these shoots because they feel sexy and can then see themselves in an alluring light, therefore expressing that you want him to have the same opportunity as well. While the colour on his face never seems to fade, the more you talk about it, the more Marcus seems up for it.

“If you’d like, I can set up an appointment with a company for your birthday. That way it won’t seem weird for you to take the day off?” Marcus doesn’t answer right away and you begin to worry that this might be too much for him. Perhaps this was a mistake. Why would Marcus be into this? He’d probably prefer a museum trip or something.

“Why don’t you do the shoot?” His question takes you by surprise just as you reach for water to calm yourself. This is worse than the one that started this conversation! And why would he want you? You dabble in photography. You’re not a professional. “Marcus-” You begin, but he cuts you off.

“Before you tell me no, hear me out! No you’re not a professional, but you said I do this with a trusted photographer. Who could I trust more than you?” That makes sense. Marcus can see it in your face that you want to argue but you can’t. He knows you can’t. You two have been as thick as thieves since he arrived in D.C. and it’s something he adores you for. You’ve never judged him. You’ve never dismissed him or his feelings. Hell, he hasn't even dated since he got here. Far too occupied in doing his job and hanging out with you, he’s been hoping that you’ll notice this. That all his spare time is yours. Marcus has been slowly falling in love with you since day one and he couldn’t be happier for his affections to be tied to yours. If this photoshoot is his way to get you to really see him, then he’s all for it.

After some time thinking about it, you relent and agree to be his photographer. Marcus insists on buying anything you need for the shoot as a form of payment, but when you ask what kind of photos he wants taken, you nearly choke on the water you have once again tried to consume. “I want to recreate paintings and sculptures, like the David and the Venus of Urbino.”

He can’t be serious. He actually wants to pose nude - in front of you! Your brain nearly short circuits at the thought. It can’t actually be the nudity he’s drawn to, right? It’s the era. It must be. It has to be. You’re going to be soaked by the end of this if it isn’t. “Fully nude or… partially covered?” You mumble in an effort to wave off your blush.

“Full nudity.” Marcus nods, his tone serious. “I want it to look almost exact. I’m not as good looking as David is after all.” He chuckles at his lame self deprecating art joke while you contemplate what you could’ve done to deserve divine punishment. You were going to see more of the man you love than you ever thought you would and you can’t even have him.

Some deity somewhere must be laughing at you.

In the weeks leading up to Marcus’ birthday, you both secure the day and a couple after to truly celebrate. At the moment, you didn't think too much about it. After all, Marcus is still your best friend, however word of this boudoir shoot begins to circle the office, causing many to feel the need to ask if you two have finally started dating. The use of ‘finally’ being tossed around here and there leaves you confused, but you ignore it. You’re much too concerned with the growing anxiety of actually doing the shoot to focus on the office chatter right now.

Of course, Marcus has been the sweetest man alive. Making sure you have everything you need to function as a true professional. He’s even been setting up the guest room in his house for you to stay the weekend. How sweet of him. A friendly gesture yet your mind rushes elsewhere, thinking about staying the weekend in the man's house after doing a rather intimate photoshoot.

What could possibly go wrong? You think to yourself. Oh, that's right. Your raging hormones could lead you to ruining your friendship. You've thought about backing out. You know you can't though. If you did, it'd just be another blow to Marcus' self esteem. Terrified or not, you don't have the heart to do that to such a sweet person. You're just going to have to hang in there and hope it all doesn't blow up.

Tomorrow you will celebrate his birthday, but today is the day you spend one anxious morning preparing yourself before driving to Marcus’ house. A drive you’ve done a thousand times before when hanging out with him, however today is different because you know you’re going to see him nude.

Midway through your panic, you got a surprise phone call from the man himself. You didn’t expect him to call, but found yourself smiling at your phone screen lighting up with his name and little avatar that you created for him. Picking it up and swiping the green bar along, you bring the phone to your ear and greet him - acting like everything is okay. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey.” He says softly, his voice like sweet honey. “I’m just heading home. I grabbed some last minute essentials and I’m going to make sure everything is in order for when you get here.”

“O-okay, sounds good.” You speak enthusiastically, hoping that the slight tremble in your voice isn’t giving away how nervous you truly feel. “I’ll see you in a little while, just going to take a quick shower and gather my things then I’ll leave.”

“Ok. See you soon.” Marcus replies, thankfully oblivious to your panic, before you return the goodbye and hang up the phone. He didn’t pick up on your anxious state. You wish that you weren’t nervous and you truly believe that you wouldn’t feel that way if you didn’t have a crush on him. He’s counting on you to be the supportive friend that you always are, only this time is different because you’re already heating up and squeezing your legs together just thinking about seeing him nude.

Thinking about a shower, about how you need it to wash away your fluster, you make your way to the bathroom, shaking off your clothes hastily along the way. Once the water runs hot and you stand under the steady spray of water, your worries seem to ease off a little, as if they swirled their way down the drain. Only if it were that simple and easy!

After climbing out of the shower and getting dressed, you grab your packed bag and car keys, and the worries worm their way back in. You’re mostly worried that Marcus is going to see through your emotional wall and the cat will be out of the bag. Him posing nude in front of a camera will shine a light on your feelings for him and you are worried of what the outcome of that will be.

Will he still be your friend? Or will it only make things too awkward between you and him?

Dragging out your car ride as long as you could, you arrive at Marcus’ house and take a deep breath. All worries aside, you are actually looking forward to the photoshoot and spending time with your friend. The confidence that it will give Marcus is going to be great and you’re certain that the man will finally start to see his own self worth when the images are done. Who knows, maybe it might actually be fun? If Marcus remains oblivious like he has done since your crush started to blossom, then you both will actually enjoy yourselves.

You step out of the car with that hope in mind and grab your bag from the backseat to make your way over to his front door, knocking twice. And that hope disappeared when you saw Marcus’ face. Why are you so handsome? You ask yourself, instantly mirroring his smile as he greets you. “Hey, come on in. I have everything ready for us.” You enter his home like you have done a thousand times, but with anxiety hanging above your head.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” Marcus asks, sensing a nervous energy around your silence. You’re only nervous because the temptation to confess is too much; taking with it your anxiety of embarrassment. “Yes.” You say convincingly. “I’m okay with this so long as you are too.”

“Okay.” Marcus breathes. Shoulders relaxing with a smile appearing on his lips, he strolls over to his sofa to check over the silk sheets that he draped over in an effort to make it look similar to the painting. The two of you have amassed a rather large roster of potential paintings and statues to recreate. The perks to being art majors. In an effort to keep you moving through them all, you have a couple of sets around Marcus' living room that allow you to roll from one shot to another with minimal breaks. It's an impressive set up for an amateur. You're still proud of it though.

Feeling satisfied that everything looks ready, the man closes his eyes, takes in a breath before untying his robe and letting it fall to the floor around his feet. He lies down on the sofa to pose as the Venus of Urbino painting from 1534. Your eyes are hidden by the camera, so your reaction to seeing him naked for the first time is a mystery to him, but he hopes that you like what you see.

The two of you had agreed to recreate the Venus of Urbino first rather than the David because it felt like a solid midpoint in exposure and a good starting point. Should Marcus feel too exposed then you can dial it back. The position is slightly concealing as he drapes his right hand over his crotch, covering some of his manhood, however something was a little off as you compared him to the painting that you had up on your phone. “Your legs.” You mumble before moving your face away from the camera. “Right leg straight, your left leg bent at the knee and your calf tucked under.”

Using the camera to shield your face again, you risk falling into a trance as you watch the man reposition himself. Marcus is both heaven and hell to gaze upon. He is an absolute beauty beyond comparison, but you can’t admire him how you really want to. Even behind the camera, you fight with yourself not to stare at his most private area.

“Is this better?” He asks for your reassurance to which you lift a hand and give him a thumbs up. Snapping two photos and then checking them over before continuing, you notice that the lighting wasn’t quite right either. “Hang on, I think it’s too bright.” You say, stepping away from the camera and adjusting the studio light behind you.

Marcus, however, stupidly lowers his gaze to your behind, his eyes locking onto the perfect roundarture of your ass. It was a second at most, but he felt the blood rush somewhere that he didn’t want it to at that moment. Focusing his mind on something else while you dimmed the lights a little, unintentionally making the setting a little more romantic, you turn back to the camera and snap one shot before reporting that the lighting was better now. You were being professional and an apropriate friend, while he was thinking about sexual things.

With the image of the painting in his mind, he tilts his head towards the arm of the sofa and looks at the camera as if he was looking directly in your eyes. Marcus thinks he must have done something good as you hum and click excessively, taking lots of pictures. It took him a moment to realize that he was smiling. You were capturing that. Thinking about looking into your eyes and not into the barrel of the lens made the man relax in the purest form. He hopes you’re relaxed too, even though you’ve said you’re comfortable with this, he still has that niggle of doubt eating away at his mind.

Relaxing doesn’t even cut it close to how you feel right now. You are far from relaxed. Squeezing your thighs together when Marcus looked in your eyes. He was looking at the lens, not actually looking in your eyes, but it didn’t matter much because the feeling it sparked in your nether regions made your heart skip a beat. His eyes are like pools of dark chocolate, deep with lust and desire. That’s just a pose though. For the camera, not you. However as you kept snapping the shots, you absentmindedly lick your lips when your gaze lowers to his chest. You’ve always admired how broad he is, but seeing him nude and bare like this sends waves of arousal to your core.

You’ve dreamt of gliding your nimble fingers along the expanse of his chest, quivered at the thought of holding onto his shoulders as you kissed him on the lips. Just imagining his perfect lips, full and pouty, kissing you back sends a ripple of goose bumps across your lower abdomen. The man is posing for a photoshoot to gather the confidence he lost from the split with Teresa and here you are drooling over him!

Maybe a break would help. Marcus bought some wine and you could definitely use a glass right now. “Want a glass of red?” You ask as you step away briefly. Heading into the kitchen as he calls out ‘yes’, you retrieve two glasses from the cupboard and bring them back to the lounge. Marcus sits up, the silks sheets drape over his lap to hide himself but your arousal didn't waver. You still want to kiss him. You always want to kiss him, but that means confessing. Handing the glass over with that thought, you try to not let your emotions show through with a smile. “The photos are really good, Marcus. Would you like to see?”

“I don’t know.” He laughs, nervously running a hand over his neck. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see myself just yet.”

Can’t you see how beautiful you are Marcus? Nodding to him with understanding, what you understood is that his confidence still isn’t where it should be, and simply thinking that the man doesn’t see the beauty in himself is angering. “C’mon stand up.” You order, finding a sudden surge of confidence in yourself and acting like you were in charge. “Let's try and capture you doing the pose David does.” Walking over to the corner of the room where Marcus had set up a blank sheet, you wait for him to follow and ask that he bring his glass of wine too. “You can use it as a prop.”

Standing up and still using the silk sheets to cover himself, he walks over to stand in front of you, waiting for your next order. You look him in the eye, smiling warmly before putting your hands on his shoulders and moving him into place while asking. “Do you want to keep the sheet or pose fully nude?”

Marcus did originally, but now he isn’t too sure. Your proximity awakens something and your touch weakens his ability to keep his composure. You’re so beautiful and all he wants right now is to tell you that and kiss your lips, but he can’t. You’re just his friend and he doesn’t want to lose you by making things awkward.

“Keep looking at me.” You say reassuringly upon sensing his hesitancy. “You remember how the statue of David looks, don’t you? Relax, take the same pose and then I will drop the sheet, okay?”

“O-okay,” Marcus stutters. You're so close to him. Too close, and you’re taking the sheet from his hands. He can feel some part of his body begin to stiffen and before he could even think of a way to get out of this before he embarrasses himself, you drop the sheet. The man didn’t even have to look to know that he had a growing erection, he could feel it growing.

“You’re tensing your shoulders. Stay nice and relaxed.” She hasn’t noticed?! Your soft whispering was soothing his ears, but alarming his mind. You haven’t noticed yet but you’re going to freak out when you step back and see. You’ve been respectful thus far, not looking at the most private part of his body, but when you step back to grab the camera, you’re going to see how disrespectful he is.

“Just relax, Marcus. It’s okay.” You reassure again, turning around swiftly to grab the camera, and with your back now turned to the man, he chances a quick look down to assess how bad the situation really is. Eyes widening with shock, Marcus cringes over how hard he actually is. Stiff as a rock and red angry at the tip, he had a raging-uncontrollable boner, one that can only be fixed if he relieves himself, or if you… No, stop! She’s your friend! Marcus chides himself for even thinking about you relieving him and bends down, placing the glass of wine on the floor and grabbing the sheet to cover himself, but to his absolute surprise, your voice penetrates his panicked state with yet another reassurance. “It’s okay, Marcus.” Actually, you giggle, the sound was giddy and innocent to his ears.

Looking up and meeting your gaze, he felt a warmth spread across his chest and a pulse in his member. Your eyes, Jesus your beautiful eyes were bright, shining just pure lust and desire, and your cheeks were rosy red in color, as if they were flushed with arousal and your lips, oh wow your lips rolling together in an effort to stop you for licking them rendered the man weak in the knees and he swears your legs squeeze together, especially when your eyes dart down to his hands held over his crotch, which were doing a terrible job at hiding his erection, but you already knew about it. Marcus can tell. “It’s okay.” You say again, confirming his thoughts while looking in his eyes now, yet still trying to hide how seeing his erection really made you feel. “I’m really flattered Marcus and don’t feel bad about it. I promise that it’s okay.”

She’s flattered?… Marcus breathes a heavy sigh of relief, his chest expanding with pride as he stands tall and completely forgets about the sheet to cover himself. Leaving everything on show for you to see, the man breathes another heavy sigh of relief while watching you lower your gaze just slightly and smile. A blushing smile. Subconsciously, you lick your bottom lip as your thoughts take a turn. Marcus could tell that your mind went elsewhere, somewhere intimate and sexual, and that made him all the more confident to say what he has been yearning to say all along. “You’re beautiful Y/N and I’m really attracted to you.”

Watching your face drop stabs Marcus in the gut. Shit. Was that a mistake? He worries, instantly cringing with doubtful thoughts. Maybe she just likes what she sees when I am naked. The man feeds those doubts even more, but the corners of your mouth turn upwards into another smile. "Do you really mean that?" You ask, and Marcus nods rather cautiously. He doesn't want to scare you off, doesn’t want to overwhelm you and come on too strong, but you stride across the floor quickly. Landing your face into his chest with an audible thump as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Oh Marcus.” You breathe happily, but shake your head with disbelief. “I thought you’d never say that.”

“Oh fuck-” He chokes, instantly grabbing your hips to steady you as his erection was poking into your stomach. “You didn’t? Y/N, I’ve always thought you were beautiful, and I’ve been attracted to you for a long time.” Pulling back to look down into your eyes, Marcus cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he smiles. The way your eyes close slowly and your breath blows out onto his palm screams relief to the man. You smile too, tilting your head into his hand and reopen your eyes to say, “I’ve been attracted to you for a long time now too, but I was too afraid that if you didn’t feel the same way, then I’d lose you.”

You witness his face soften and his shoulders slump as he breathes. “I felt the same way too. Losing you would be a lot worse than rejection.”

Dropping one of your hands to his chest, his heart was beating erratically under your palm as you lean up on the tips of your toes to close the gap. Eyes closing as he puckers his lips, Marcus tilts his head to one side and practically pulls you in. Your lips connect with a spark of desire coursing through your body, eliciting a moan to bubble up from your throat before running your tongue over his bottom lip as a request for entry. Which he answers by slipping his tongue in your mouth first with a deeply satisfying groan, therefore causing you to moan once again. If things weren’t already sexually heated before, then they certainly were now as you carefully began to walk backwards, leading Marcus to the sofa.

A warm shiver tingles across your back as his gentle fingers slip under your shirt, yet he waits before going any further. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you pull your shirt over your head and kiss him again while he carefully lowers you down to the plush surface of the sofa. A slow hand maps the side of your body at a delicate pace, but the way he breathes into your mouth screams to the desperation of his need. Marcus needs to touch you, needs to pleasure you, but he wants to take his time and savor every passing moment with you under his touch. Starting with fondling your breast over your bra, he grabs gentle handfuls while grinding his hips into your core. You meet halfway by bucking your hips upwards off the sofa.

Your shifting movements beneath him draw his attention away from your breasts and he looks down to see you removing your pants. You apologize shyly, your cheeks blushing for being desperate to feel his grinding movements more directly. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he reassures you with a smile. Hooking your leg over his hip after helping you remove your pants, he holds an arm across the sofa above your head and takes pleasure in watching your face contort in bliss as he rolls his hips forward again. This time his cock pushing into the damp fabric of your panties, providing you the exact contact you were seeking over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Marcus is a pleaser, and he takes great pride in pleasing you exactly how you like it.

While you whimper beneath him, he works on the hooks of your bra. Soon after he unclips them, the man admires your breasts bouncing up and down from his movements before ducking down and taking your pert nipple into his mouth with a grunt. His eyes roll shut from the sweet taste of your skin on his tongue. Your moans from above are delectable to his ears. After releasing your nipple with a soft pop, he moves over to provide the same treatment to your other breast, watching you with attentive eyes. Your eyes have fallen shut with focus, your chest rising and falling deeply with what he knows is your growing orgasm. Your soft whimpers tell him as much, and if there is one absolute rule that the man knows, it’s that when you moan to him ‘please don’t stop’, he does not stop.

Marcus continues doing exactly what he is doing. Sucking your nipples softly and occasionally rolling the bud between his teeth while grinding into your clothed cunt. Your underwear is soaking now and he can feel you clenching around nothing through the fabric with each roll of his hips. He’d be damned if he is going to fuck this moment up of watching you cum from this contact alone. Jesus! If you’re falling apart for him just like this, imagine what you’re going to be like when he is inside of you. That thought alone made his cock twitch with a shuddering inhale of breath. He too was building an orgasm, and he too was close to coming with you.

“Marcus.” His name slips through your lips breathlessly, and he quickly releases your nipple to kiss you. Swallowing your moans as your legs clamp around his back, he groans too as his oragsm reaches its peak. You feel his warmth spilling out onto your underwear and that alone pushes you over the edge. Mewling into his mouth with your climax, a blanket of white static erupting behind your eyes while he continues to roll his hips into your core, prolonging your blissful high. Forehead flushed with sweat and heart hammering in your chest, your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure and Marcus slows his movements down, but his breathing still comes hot and heavy.

Breaking the kiss to look you in the eye, your beautiful eyes that were blown wide with lust and post-coital bliss, an endearing smile spread across his face with an intense amount of love and adoration for you. “I want to say I love you right now, Y/N.” Marcus admits with hesitancy. He’s hesitant to say it so soon, even after the intimate moment you have just shared together on the sofa, the man still doesn't feel as confident as he should be.

You tilt your head, hoping that one simple question would banish any and all doubts still left in his mind. “If I felt the same way, what would you do after?” Marcus didn’t understand your reasoning for the question, but he answers nonetheless. “Take you to bed and make love to you. Properly and all night long up until sunrise.”

“Well then, take me to bed Marcus.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips once. “Because I love you too.”

One year later

After recovering from your third fit of giggles, you ask Marcus once more if he was ready, to which he nods and answers with the same reply. “Yes baby, I’m ready.” Only this time he was serious as he peers up into your eyes with a warm smile on his lips.

Today marks the one year anniversary of that day in his apartment where you shot his boudoir shoot for his birthday, where you both professed your love to each other, and what better way to celebrate the year of love and adoration that you have for one another by doing another boudoir shoot, but this time the both of you’re also posing in front of the camera fully nude. Marcus is on his knees, his face mere inches away from your heat as he was supposed to look away, just like the sculpture does, but the man kept deliberately ticking the insides of your thighs with his beard, causing your three rounds of giggles, however now that he had his fill of teasing you, he was ready to pose just how Gustav Vigeland sculpted his artwork to be. With your knees bent slightly, his hands lay on your calves, as if hugging your legs while you looked down at him, your hands placed on his head.

Upgrading your camera since last year, Marcus has a remote in his hands easily hidden behind your legs so as to not ruin the shot, but all he has to do is hit a button that captures the image you’re both trying to recreate, the sculpture by Gustav known as ‘Male and Female, Adoration’. Marcus wanted to recreate this one because he adores you. His subtle kisses to your thigh say as much, making you smile and hum from above with closed eyes. It makes you wonder what the sculpture Gustav was trying to convey. It’s a beautiful pose, an intimate and vulnerable moment between two lovers, but Marcus took it upon himself to enact his perception of the sculpture. As you wait for Marcus to take the photo you feel a warm and wet sensation to your clit, eliciting you to gasp and open your eyes. “Marcus!”

Gripping the back of your legs tightly so you don’t fall, he looks up at you with wanton eyes and continues with his actions. Delving his tongue into your folds, he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks softly, making you toss your head back and mewl his name. Fully aware that he intends to make you cum like this in front of the camera, you felt him clicking the button on the remote and it made you feel even more aroused. Marcus wanted to capture this moment, a memory in picture form of when he made you cum on his tongue, whimpering his name from up above. Painting your very own pornographic image together, your legs shake with your peak and Marcus only hums, the vibrations sending sparks through your body. You were on fire. Ears, neck and chest flushed hot with desire, you breathed heavily and looked down to Marcus with pleading eyes. “T-too much.”

Your deft fingers thread through the curls of his hair, looking down at him with a smile on your face, you bite your lip when watching him lick his. The sight was truly immodest. The man was licking the remnants of your spend off his lips, holding your gaze while he did so. Heart picking up again when he parts your legs, you look down to see his cock hard and glistening. He came too. It was drooling down the side, coating his balls and leaving a little mess on his stomach. Bending at the knees, you lowered yourself and inserted the tip of him at your entrance, then Marcus hooked his arms under your legs and held your weight before slowly pushing his hips forward. The first stretch was most pleasant, making you and Marcus open your mouth with a breathless moan. “Fuck.” He breathes heavily.

Twitching in tandem with your pulsing walls, Marcus was satisfied that you were adjusted and pulled back to slowly roll his hips into you again, burying himself to the hilt. Over and over again, he repeated this action accompanied with a slow grind each time he thrusts forward, providing your clit some attention from the hairs on his mound. You made the most prettiest sounds, small and soft, directly into his ear, making the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head with a shudder running through his body.

Feeling the burn building once again, your skin stuck to his and you wiped away the sweat gathering on his forehead followed by a kiss on his beautiful pouty lips. You then swallow his moans when deliberately clenching, your warmth tightening around the base of his cock to draw out the dirtiest sounding grunts he can produce. A sound that’s like music to your ears. “Y/N.” Shaking his head, he opens his eyes to look at you and moans desperately. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“Then do it.” You whisper, holding onto his shoulders for leverage. “Cum inside of me, Marcus. I want you to.” His pace never faltered, never sped up or slowed down. Marcus kept with the same rhythm, groaning deeply while trying to keep his eyes open to look at you with a bead of sweat rolling down his temple and you praised his actions. “Just like that, baby. Nearly there Marc- Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Burying himself deep and holding you against him with two gripping hands placed to your ass, both you and Marcus orgasm at the same time. Your cunt clenched around him hard, then pulses when feeling his seed coat your walls, the sensations prolonging his climax and drawing out every last drop that he can provide. And boy can Marcus provide. It was dripping down his thigh, a mixture of ejaculate from you and him oozing out of you. Yet, his cock still twitches. You can feel it inside of you, feel his warmth spreading, thus making you moan softly into his neck with aftershocks of pleasure. Then, the camera clicks and you giggle. “Marcus! You are so crude taking a picture of this.”

“I am indeed.” Chuckling into your hair as he carefully stands from the floor with you still held in his arms, he walks towards the bathroom. “And I’ll look at the photo every time we’re apart from each other.”

Still giggling as he turns the shower on, Marcus climbs inside and carefully lowers your wobbly legs, but still holding you close. Kisses were shared under the warm spray, as well as sweet whispering compliments. The man has found his confidence since last year and it still grows with your love and adoration.

It was with you that Marcus found his self love.

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sneezyminniejo · 10 months

Note

Hi i would like to request a beomgyu fic where he caught a cold but still managed to get rained on and he just couldn't get warm so the members are all taking care of him

Here it is, hope you enjoy

Cuddle Pile

Beomgyu has been sick for three days at this point. He had spent his week-long break hanging out with his family, and went to a family reunion. Unfortunately for him, a couple of his younger relatives had had a cold and he caught said cold from them. He hadn’t started showing any symptoms until the day after the group’s break ended. Since then he’s been fairly sniffly and congested, with a lot of coughing. He never developed a fever, so there wasn’t really a reason for him not to work. The near constant coughing was just a nuisance.

However this morning was a little bit different. Beomgyu was still in bed with Soobin standing over him, holding a thermometer. The leader sighed before he spoke.

"No work for you today Gyu. You have a fever. 38.3." Beomgyu groaned before coughing harshly into his fist.

"Well that's just great." The younger said just as Taehyun came in with the cold medicine. Yeonjun was trailing behind him, carrying a tray with Beomgyu's breakfast.

"Look on the bright side, Gyu. You've been complaining about how exhausting it's been to be coughing all day along with vocal and dance practice. Now you only have to worry about the coughing." The eldest grinned and swiftly dodged the pillow that was thrown at him before placing the food tray on Beomgyu's bed.

It wasn't much longer before the four healthy members had to leave for the company building, leaving Beomgyu home alone. He finished eating his breakfast and got up to take the tray to the kitchen. He then decided to go to the living room to watch a movie he'd been meaning to watch for a while.

A couple hours later, it started raining rather hard, and Beomgyu was able to hear the rain as it pattered against the window. The sound of the rain plus the fever he was sporting eventually lulled the sick member into sleep. Beomgyu slept for a good hour, until a loud clap of thunder startled him awake.

Unfortunately, while the thunder woke Beomgyu up, he hadn’t actually woken up. He groggily stood up from the couch and went to the bathroom. As he was in the bathroom, another clap of thunder could be heard.

"I'll be out in a minute, hyung." Beomgyu called before quickly finishing up and leaving the bathroom.

Beomgyu was one hundred percent operating on autopilot while he got ready for the day. Due to the fever induced brain fog and his still half asleep state, Beomgyu didn't realize that none of his members were in the dorm. Nor did he realize that it was still pouring outside. As Beomgyu left the dorm to leave for his schedule, he made sure to lock the door behind him.

"Ugh, why isn't the van here? Manager-nim should be here by now." Beomgyu said to absolutely no one. He decided to walk closer to the street to see if he could potentially see the car coming down the street. This of course, caused him to go from the cover the dorm’s awning provided to getting full on rained on.

The act of getting rained on is what finally brought Beomgyu to some level of being coherent and awake. Whether it’s because he’s suddenly getting really wet, or the rain is lowering his temperature, it doesn’t really matter. What Beomgyu does know is that he is now very wet.

The sick member turned around to go back inside to change his clothes and get warm. Unfortunately, he hadn’t grabbed an umbrella, nor had he grabbed a rain coat, so his clothes had gotten drenched in the time he had been outside. Even more unfortunately, when Beomgyu tried to open the door, he found that it was locked. And as if Beomgyu had somehow summoned Murphy’s law to be enacted, it didn’t take him much longer to figure out that he didn’t have his keys. Or his phone. Apparently, he had grabbed the one pair of pants he owns that doesn’t have pockets, and the fevered brain fog didn’t allow him to think of grabbing the items he now needed if wanted to get into the dorm or contact a manager or one of his members. Beomgyu was stuck outside.

After one more futile attempt to open the door to the dorm, Beomgyu sat down on the cement, clothes soaking wet. He was beginning to shiver. Because he didn’t have his phone, he also didn’t actually have any idea as to what the current time is. The rain and dark cloud cover gave the sick man absolutely no help in trying to determine whether it was afternoon, evening, or night. Beomgyu coughed harshly, but didn’t do anything to cover. It’s not like there was anyone in the vicinity to potentially catch his germs anyway.

A couple minutes later, his nose started running. Normally since he's not in the dorm, he'd be using a tissue. But he has no tissues. Beomgyu pulled his jacket sleeves over his hands enough that he could blow his nose into that.

"Fuck. I don't feel good." Beomgyu said as he did his best to curl into a ball. His teeth begin to chatter from being cold. He sniffled and wiped the wetness from his philtrum, but he honestly wasn't sure if it was rain water or his own snot.

Some time later (it was only like half an hour, but no one knows this), a van pulled into the driveway. Beomgyu raised his hand in front of his face to block the headlights from shining into his eyes. Next thing he knows, the car doors are slamming shut and there are four bodies running in his direction."

"Beomgyu, what the hell are you doing out here? You should be in bed." Beomgyu recognized the voice as Yeonjun.

"I don't have my keys." Beomgyu coughed before getting wrapped in a hug.

"Geez hyung, you're soaked and freezing. Let's get you inside and warmed up." Kai said. The front door was quickly opened and Beomgyu was ushered inside. One of the members ran ahead to get a hot bath running.

Soobin and Yeonjun worked in tandem to get Beomgyu into a warm bath. Since they weren’t actually sure how long Beomgyu had been outside, they decided to run a warm bath instead of a hot bath. Taehyun had gone to the kitchen to make some tea and soup for his sick hyung. Meanwhile, Kai had dug around Yeonjun’s closet for his warmest pants and sweater, because, in the maknae’s opinion, the oldest had a tendency to buy super comfy clothes.

After half an hour in the bath, Beomgyu was dressed in warm comfy clothes and seated on the couch. Taehyun brought over the soup. Beomgyu gratefully took the bowl and slowly began to consume small spoonfuls of the hot soup.

“Thanks guys.” Beomgyu sniffled. He briefly put the bowl of soup down so he could blow his nose.

“So Gyu,” Yeonjun began. “Why were you outside anyway?” Beomgyu shrugged in response as he put some more soup in his mouth.

“I don’t really know hyung. I fell asleep earlier, and I think the storm woke me up. Everything’s kind of fuzzy and I somehow wound up outside without my keys or phone.” The room fell silent as the others tried unsuccessfully to fill in the missing pieces. Over the next couple of minutes, Beomgyu continued to eat as the others sat in silence.

Eventually, the silence was broken by Soobin turning on a movie. All five members gathered in the living room with Soobin and Yeonjun sitting on the couch on either side of Beomgyu. Taehyun and Kai were sitting on the floor.

About five minutes later, Beomgyu finished his soup. Roughly five minutes after that, the sick man began to shiver slightly. “Hyung,” Soobin said. “Gyu is shivering, do you think he has hypothermia?” The leader asked with concern in his voice. Kai paused the movie and everyone looked at Beomgyu, who had curled up against Soobin.

Yeonjun frowned and got up, returning a few seconds later with three thermometers. One oral, one ear, and one forehead. At one point the group hadn’t owned any thermometers, and individually three of them had decided to purchase one. This resulted in them owning one of each. Yeonjun frowned as he took Beomgyu’s temperature three times.

“No. He’s just got a fever.” The eldest showed the readings to the others. Kai grabbed a kind of thin throw blanket they own and threw it over Beomgyu. Taehyun pulled the coffee table away from the couch, so the ottomans could be moved closer. Soon, the fen essentially had Beomgyu in the center of a cuddle pile.

“Mmmh, thanks guys.” Beomgyu seemed to mumble in contentment before drifting off to sleep.

“I think I’m going to have our manager rework our schedules so that at least one of us can stay home with Gyu until he’s better.” Soobin said. The other three members agreed. It had honestly been very concerning to see Beomgyu sitting just under the awning of their apartment building soaking wet.

The four members continued to watch the movie that was playing while Beomgyu slept. When the sick member woke up an hour and a half later, Kai made sure to get some cold/flu meds into his hyung.

Even though Beomgyu had stopped shivering and was now awake, the group continued to sit in the cuddle pile. “You know we’re all probably going to get sick now right?” Taehyun asked, only to get shushed in response by one of the others.

#tomorrow x together #txt #sickfic

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