#'he has some kind of other ethereal beauty'

[starlightlacrimosazpsff]

💠 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 💠

~ тнε συтℓαη∂εяs ~

『 Welcome us with your light 』

When existence takes form, light bursts forth.

Perception is possible with the existence of light, and life is breathed into existence with either belief or desire. Such radiance is accompanied by sublime darkness, the shadow which always follows. The universe is a blanket of void filled with twinkling light that each holds potential to blossom into life.

In the eyes of a child, the possibilities are endless.

SOLSTICE, the younger sister of Aether and Lumine, looks at the world with great curiosity. No matter where the twins take her, she would look around with eyes widely open of wonder. She never misses a chance to observe all the vibrant colors and forms of civilization. Before Solstice had been born, the twins were always out exploring the universe by themselves. With an infinite number of worlds to discover, the two have a vast variety of homes to choose as options to settle down.

This particular one is gorgeous in its simplicity.

The landscape is quite linear: green everywhere surrounded by oceanic blues, and very abundantly blessed by nature's touch. Its real beauty shines from the ethereal aura of the backdrops, emanating a sense of unity. From where they landed, they saw almost everything there is to be offered by this world. The twins smirked at each other, giddy to be able to explore every spot. Multiple sets of cliffs could be spotted along the coastlines, and a few tiny islands decorated the borders with beaches of white sand. On the horizon, they can detect a trace of civilization—but it looked more like ancient ruins now. At the heart of it all, one giant oak tree stood tall like a silent guardian.

Flower fields seem to never run out. Each plain has at least five different kinds of blossoms dancing by their feet, and every meadow is rich with splendor. Solstice loved them, squealing happily at the new colors and scents as her siblings carried her throughout their strolls. She definitely took a liking to grapes when her siblings found vines of them in a random nook of the continent. She was just as quick to get sick of it though, such is the ever frivolously fickle whim of a toddler. The continent seems to match that mood, carefree and wild yet a natural peace guiding it to order. Everything comes alive with every breeze as if this world breathes and speaks through them.

It was quite mysterious yet enthralling, as if they were being welcomed.

『 Grace the morning sky 』

AETHER looks back at his two sisters.

Solstice is sitting on Lumine's lap under the giant oak tree, gazing at the lush green hills. The tree itself reaches above the clouds like a wooden obelisk, casting a massive shadow on the land. It has been a while since the last world-hop, and he knows that they should plan a departure soon. Sure, this one has forests that are full of life and cliffs were no danger to an Outlander. He even saw a functioning windmill and manor estate in the remains of an ancient city. Life is undoubtedly possible for them, yet...something was missing.

Something is always missing.

After a while, he catches the gaze of Solstice who is reaching out to him by spreading her arms open nigh expectantly. He walks over to them and crouches down to her eye level, making her grin cheekily like a spoiled cat that got what it wanted. Her eyes beam at him while she holds her rattle out towards his twin sister, whom chuckles fondly.

"Perhaps, the next world would have some entertaining creatures for her." Aether mused.

As nighttime hit, pyreflies came out of hiding and illuminated the forest where they rested. Some have dared to go near the Outlanders, especially the ever charming Solstice. She stares at the floating lights, giggling whenever they nip at her nose. The oak tree granted them shade from the moonlight if ever they wish to sleep. Flowerbeds accompanied the grass on uneven terrain, soothing the trio into a free session of aromatherapy. The shades of midnight devoured the entire land, giving it a somber view that lulls its witnesses to slumber. A million stars twinkled mischievously from the sea of black that is the nightsky. Dandelions glided along the gentle currents of the evening breeze, swaying like a sweet windblume dream.

Truly, it is a quaint and lovely world.

『 Comfort Luna— 』

LUMINE smiles down at Solstice.

At this age, the young Outlander would not be able to understand words yet. Her twin brother points out his index finger towards their sister's nose, poking it with a gentle boop. For a moment, the toddler is shocked; but then, as Aether smiles, she laughs and reaches for her nose with her free hand.

Aether sits down next to his sisters, "What are you wishing for, sis?"

Lumine brushes away a straying lock of hair from Solstice's face and hums contently, "Anything."

The rattle in Solstice's hand makes a unique sound that was both magical and beguiling. It resembled the soft tinkling of windchimes, yet presents an imagery of sparkling stars due to its sustaining echo with every shake. The sound was something that gave comfort to the youngest Outlander, especially when it is accompanied by the changing of its color palettes to suit her moods. Its shape was also quite fascinating, as its translucent sphere held a tiny glowing four-pointed star. The surface seems to be made of iridescent crystal, gleaming like glass amidst a spectrum of dawn.

Aether takes Solstice when Lumine hands him their dearest little traveler. Her eyes glimmer as she looks up at her older brother. He leans down to give her a kiss on the forehead, soothing her. She once again shakes her rattle as her version of thanks, releasing sounds which further delighted the little girl.

When Solstice was born, the twins dutifully watched over her. Once she had enough energy to sustain herself, the siblings took it upon themselves to find a new home—a world suited for their baby sibling, as well as their personal desires. That is their current mission and why they could not stay on this world, no matter what beauty the place holds.

Therefore, at dawn, their time was up.

Aether and Lumine gave the world one last glance, melancholic to finally leave it. Solstice is held by her brother, snoozing on his shoulder. They chose a spot that gave them the smallest view of the old windmill, one of two things that remained in tact amongst the infrastructures of the desolated town. Amongst the sharp cliffs which cross over each other, families of tiny creatures seem to peek out from wherever they kept themselves hidden. As dawn arrived, the fog lifts like a curtain from the trenches and isolated corners. The waters began to clear, sparkling like liquid diamonds against the rays of a rising sun.

The Outlanders turned, wings spread as they jumped into the portal for their next quest.

The morning breeze bade them farewell.

『 —as she wanes from Terra's might 』

Even with millennia of experience, the twins have yet to find the "answers" to the universe.

All Outlanders were born in Cosmogenesis, yet none ever stayed. It was the same for Aether and Lumine, entitled by their peers as The Light Bearers through the names they were given. Both came to existence and then ventured out once they have grown old enough, all to find the world where they can settle down together. Alas, neither expected it to be as difficult as it had been. Some veteran Outlanders describe it as never knowing until you find that place, home. There is no logic behind finding one. It is a feeling that they can only hope to experience once in a lifetime. Even some Outlanders as old as time have yet to find theirs.

Aether and Lumine had visited many stars with Solstice, even before their younger sister had fully matured. One of the first worlds had been populated with dragons, a diversity of ecosystems as habitat to specific breeds. There were no other creatures aside from smaller animals that likely function as prey, deeming the world a perilous shelter for the siblings even if only temporarily. The twins would have hopped to another world the moment they arrived; yet Solstice, with her ever curious nature, made them stay. 

Perhaps, because dragons were the first lifeforms she saw outside of Cosmogenesis, she quickly took a liking to them.

『 Veiled in amber haze 』

Solstice giggles, reaching her hand out as far as she could dare towards the dragon.

Aether has her body securely wrapped in a blanket while she was hugged protectively to his chest, warm and safe. Upon first seeing a giant beast, most people would react with caution. The wise move is to slowly and carefully step back in order to not alarm or provoke it. However, his baby sister had the opposite reaction. Her ecstatic smile seems to intrigue the beast as well since it laid down. The new position made it appear small and vulnerable, an invitation for the Outlanders to come closer.

Aether and Lumine share a bemused look.

Solstice, in the bundle of blankets, continues to reach her hand out to the dragon. She kept her Primo Stella rattle close to her chest with the other hand. The dragon itself is smaller than others but longer, more like a reptilian drake if not for its obvious wings. It has an extra pair of legs to keep its elongated body supported. Its wings were brightly colored, from a golden rose tinting towards a gradient black like the void. The twins were not surprised that the young Outlander was so intrigued by the beast.

First, Lumine had walked closer to test the patience of the draconic creature. They needed to confirm how close it would let them get. It would not have been the first time that either of the twins saw a creature of this ilk. Sometimes, the dragons would be big and others much smaller; but all can still be dangerous in their own ways. Many differences in color palettes made them interesting as well, yet always recognizable as draconic. There are breeds which had been quick to rage, hence their worries.

The young woman stopped within arm's length and held her hand out, letting the wild yet wise creature approach on its own pace. After an intense glare, it acquiesced by nudging its snout towards her palm.

After Lumine had been able to pet it, Aether took the chance to walk closer. He still shielded Solstice's frame with his free arm, just in case. If something happened, both would be quicker than the dragon could attack. He knew this well, yet his protective instinct held his sister closer to his form. The young man lays his hand on the other side of the dragon's head once he was sure he had permission.

"You want to touch the dragon as well?" He asks Solstice gently.

Aether adjusts her position in a way where the little girl would be facing the dragon. Both her hands reach out to the dragon, even the one holding the rattle. Her hand makes contact with the scales and, as it does, she squeals with excited laughter.

For a moment, the twins heard the dragon purr.

『 Fueled by violent rage 』

During their time on this world, the dragon had kept them company like a silent guardian.

Besides dragons, the world lacked forms of human civilization no matter how far they sought. Not even anything that bear a semblance of ancient ruins, or even hieroglyphs of history could be found on any landmass. The caves in the mountains were enough for the dragons to call home. Furthermore, they come in all sorts of types: vishaps, wyverns, drakes, wyrms, lindwyrms, amphipteres, basilisks, hydra, bahamuts, leviathans, and of course the typical dragons. Each functioned as an independent unit or clan, while there are those preferring to go solo and hoard their treasures. Aether and Lumine had talked about staying since Solstice loved this world so much, but then decided otherwise.

Thus, the twins set out to other worlds. They were determined to keep trying to discover that feeling—the sensation which their fellow Outlanders often told them in stories. Solstice had been too young to understand the reasoning her siblings gave, but she nevertheless made no trouble as they left. While the twins searched for another star, she looked back at the small gathering of dragons. They watched the trio intently, as if bidding them a safe journey and a bittersweet goodbye. At the very front is the dragon which greeted them first upon their arrival.

Big round eyes shimmered with glee as they peek over Lumine's shoulder. A chubby fist waved and the rattle, which it held, chimed with a melodic echo.

The Twin Outlanders spread their wings as they left the world of dragons behind...

...and it faded with the mightiest of roars.

『 Dancing, discordant— 』

In Cosmogenesis, a star named Luciel dies.

Cosmogenesis is a vast space located at the center of infinity, the origin of the universe yet not quite the one that birthed it. The dimension has a plethora of stars and galaxies revolving around a group of levitating platforms, each designed as archaic suns and moons. They serve as welcoming perches for Outlanders to rest or stargaze. However, the widest one at the center of all serves as the universal chamber for newborn Outlanders. It can transform to properly accommodate those too young to leave and survive independently, whether as a cradle in a nursery or as an entire house floating through the cosmos. Directly across is a gaping maw that serves as a gateway wherein Outlanders can enter or leave the cosmic space. Sometimes, it even becomes an all-seeing mirror to view a specific galaxy or black hole from far away.

Now, at the peak of Cosmogenesis, the birth of Luciel's twins is about to occur.

From all across the universe, Outlanders gather to witness the birth of Aether and Lumine—the pair of siblings incubated by Luciel and now to be born from its timely death. It is extremely rare for twins to be conceived by the stars of Cosmogenesis, yet never really dangerous. Although, as two souls that shared one star, they will live with a connection that binds them for life.

It is a special bond that cannot be severed.

The Outlanders watch as the star collapses on itself, seeming to gather every wisp of its light. In seconds, the core of this star shrinks and takes the shape of newborns about to breathe their first. A supernova explodes with a flurry of dazzling light and stardust, covering the expanse of Cosmogenesis. Witnesses were blinded by the sheer brightness of nothing but white, a familiar ringing noise lingering in their ears.

Alas, the experience is always worth it.

After all, the birth of an Outlander happens only once every million years in Cosmogenesis.

Then, as color returned to their sights, they admired what seems to be the most beautiful supernova they have ever witnessed. The ivory haze fades out, making way to the colored nebula that remained. Clouds of various shades and hues float as stages to the multitude of dancing stardust, like galactic fairies doing an imperial ballet. From its core, Aether and Lumine slowly descend into the cradle of silk which rose and formed from the central platform.

With the birth of the twins, the star named Luciel was gone and only left a stellar nebula in its place.

The elderly Outlanders named it: Luciella.

In Cosmogenesis, nebulae are considered nurseries for future stars. Then, should a star die again after a million years or so, it shall give birth to another Outlander or two. There are certain conditions where a nebula would disperse into the maw and become a new galaxy instead, which will expand the universe further outward. It shall go beyond the wide scope of Cosmogenesis, and then possibly birth all sorts of species. This cycle of life and death has been on loop since the beginning of time; and it can only end with the death of the universe itself.

The Outlanders slowly leave their perches to check on the twins. One by one, they approached to impart their blessings in the form of welcoming smiles and well-wishes in different languages. The newborns responded with soft coos and huffing whimpers, still asleep. Like most newborn Outlanders, Aether and Lumine will likely not open their eyes until their first birthday. That is when they would have absorbed enough energy from the cosmos to enable their five senses to observe their surroundings.

『 —spinning in retrograde 』

Once an Outlander is born, the energy that flows within Cosmogenesis serves as their overall sustenance. A species known only in Cosmogenesis called the stardust pixies are also present to educate them, based on accumulated knowledge from all corners of the universe. Because of this, most Outlanders live without a parental figure. There are some that choose to personally mentor the younglings, but most just leave after witnessing the birth and let nature take its course.

Aether and Lumine remained in Cosmogenesis for a little over a decade. They spent that time gathering enough energy and training their powers with help from the pixies. A veteran Outlander will sometimes come to pay them a visit and give some helpful tips, preparing them for their own future travels. Those moments made the dimension less lonely, but the twins were eager to just leave it as well. It was too barren and too dull, even with the mesmerizing view of the cosmos. Even the flickering company of the pixies does little to soothe them.

Maybe this is the reason why no Outlander ever chose to stay here for long...

When they had enough power to fend off any dangers, the twins attempted their first world-hop.

It was an exhilaration like no other.

During the next few centuries, the twins jumped from world to world. They discovered new civilized species, new fauna, new flora, and cultures that are so inherently unique from each other. On the rarest instances, they would even cross paths with fellow Outlanders. Once, they were fortunate enough to meet those who found their true home; and these Elders managed to tell them in even greater detail when a world feels like their true home. Such tales inspired Aether and Lumine to journey even further, making them witness the rise and fall of countless stars in multiple galaxies. There were times they would stay longer in a particular world they both like, but it was never a permanent place to stay. It was not the home which the Elders told, and certainly not what their restless natures seek as Outlanders.

Although, there are times that the twins did find this quest tediously impossible.

"Home is when we're together." Aether would tell his twin sister with an encouraging grin.

Lumine would hold his hand in response, "We will always have enough time."

『 Born from the sea and the waves 』

Every Outlander is linked to Cosmogenesis.

Since birth, they all possess a homing beacon within their core that will lead them back to it. If there is an enemy they cannot defeat, the realm will always leave an open gateway for them to escape. If there is any adversity they can hardly surpass, the realm is a place for them to heal. It was odd how it can even operate as some sort of telepathic or empathic link amongst their kind. For this reason, news of any particular Outlander can be received from all parts and corners of the universe. On the other hand, Cosmogenesis can send visions that are treated as summons for special events that are too significant to miss. Examples are the formation of a galaxy after a nebula dispersed, or the discovery of another unnamed star. After all, one thing that unites all Outlanders other than finding their respective true home is the obligation to archive the truths of the universe.

The most common for these summons, of course, is the birth of a new Outlander.

When such an update reached Aether and Lumine, their first thought was that it made no sense whatsoever. It took a million years for an unnamed star to be born, and a hundred million more for it to die while birthing an Outlander—or two, in the rare case of twins like them. The timing was much too early. They were still so young compared to the rest of their kind, barely a few millenniums old. Both of them were still trying to find their own place in the cosmos.

Then, so unexpectedly, another was born.

Therefore, the Outlanders gathered once again.

It was certainly different from most births witnessed in Cosmogenesis. Admittedly, it was underwhelming compared to the surreal display that the recent birth of the twins had demonstrated. Nevertheless, there was a certain beauty to seeing a nebula swirl and converge. It was like a calm vortex before the eruption of a storm. Nobody can ever truly know if it will reach and hit them, or whether there would really be a storm to anticipate.

They all watched, patient and reassured.

"You know," an Elder addressed the twins, "since this child will be born from the nebula of your star, they are considered your sibling by Outlander standards."

Aether blinked confusedly, "Our sibling...?"

The Elder nodded, "You were both born from the star of Luciel, and this child will be born from the Luciella nebula. By that context, you share the same flesh and blood."

"Has there been an incident like this?" Lumine asked.

"Only a few," the Elder replied solemnly, "mostly because this case is as rare—if not rarer—as twins being born from the same star. Fitting, that the three of you will be tied together by destiny."

Those words filled the twins with a joyous sort of excitement, an anxious type of expectance.

『 From a cosmic array 』

Much like Luciel's supernova, there was nothing quite like the convergence of Luciella. There was no explosion, no blinding lights, and no obnoxious noise ringing in their ears—just the remaining dust and gas from Luciel which became Luciella. However, a sort of fascination brewed as these clouds of gas and stardust came together. They gathered at the eye of the storm, where light and heat was slowly building like flame in a hearth. Perhaps a forge is a more accurate comparison, wherein a simple ore can take a more concrete form. Nonetheless, the Outlanders all stood aside to watch as the colors of Luciella turns itself into a ball of light.

Then, a shockwave announced the birth of this unexpected little Outlander.

It was the birth of the twins' baby sibling.

A baby sibling.

Aether and Lumine mused in awed tandem. They could never ask for more. Amongst their fellow wanderers, they watched as the tiny infant made a slow descent. Remains of Luciella floated around them like a protective cloak, all fluffy clouds and sparkling dust.

The twins moved before any of their peers, standing upon the central platform before a cradle could even form. Their baby sibling kept floating down while wrapped in a bundle of silk manifested by the stardust pixies. They approached quietly, each planting themselves at one side of the fragile newborn. With a brief glance, the pair came to an immediate understanding.

Lumine was the first to hold the baby close, a girl as they discovered. She cooed as the little one fussed at the sensation of being embraced. Comforted by the humming and rocking of an older sister, she settled down with faint sniffles.

Meanwhile, Aether seems to know by instinct on what to do next as he stared up at the remnants of Luciella. He did spare a look at the Elders, whom nodded back to encourage his plan. There was no way that another star—let alone an entire galaxy—could be born from it anymore, yet a powerful resonance lingered as a thrumming of magic. The young man summons a relic in the shape of a crystal, and then seals it all away. He feels his twin sister assist him by lending her own power by holding his shoulder with her free hand. The relic transformed into a baby rattle, housing a small glowing star in its sphere and producing a soothing sound.

Primo Stella, whispered Cosmogenesis.

Its energy will stabilize their little one until she can fully harness its power with her own.

Aether gently tucks the rattle with his little sister, delicately petting her head. He presses a chaste kiss on her hand, so small and soft compared to his. A warm smile accompanied his tearful eyes. His chest swelled with adoration as he felt the tiny fingers squeeze his own single digit.

Lumine did the same as her brother, taking their little sister's other one. Like her twin, she tenderly kisses the dainty fingers so faintly squeezing onto hers. Her breath hitched due to the surge of affection that consumed her.

Solstice would be her name, they decided.

Their dear little sister.

Her birth was yet another miracle, and it would be their miracle to keep. Nothing in the world would stop them from loving their little traveler. Nothing in the universe could stop them from cherishing and protecting such a treasure.

On Solstice's first birthday, she opened her eyes for the first time like any other Outlander. She gathered enough energy to sustain herself, especially with the help of Primo Stella. Her eyes mirrored a thousand stars as she looked up at the twins, whom gazed back in breathless admiration. Light reflected as wisps of silver that gleamed like clair de lune, and colors blended as a symphony of worlds within a thriving galaxy. They twinkled charmingly, a play of enchantment that leads bystanders into a trance.

She was beautiful, and so very precious.

Aether and Lumine beamed proudly at their little sister as she laughed, rattle shaking in her hand.

Solstice understood. This is her family.

『 Of the colors in space 』

It was dark.

It was cold yet warmth lingers.

It felt like nothing at all, but there was enough of something for it to be called hollow.

Solstice forcefully extends her hand forward, trying to grasp anything. It was an effort that seems to take a lot from her, as if her soul was literally being pulled out of her body. When she leans forward, her hand meets a sea of darkness—an endless void of nothingness. She reels back and tries again, pushing harder and further through what seems like a veil of nonexistence yet an opaque blanket of obscurity.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The only thing accompanying her in this abyss is that familiar jingle, the faintest of chimes. A weirdly unique yet familiar sound...and no matter how hard she thinks, she has no idea where it originated. Her ears were so attuned to it, as if a habitual stirring from her soul which she always recognizes.

Solstice steps in the direction she thinks is forward yet had no way of confirming. How long has she been here? When she yells out for her older siblings, she is met by a deafening silence. For a moment, she doubts herself and halts in her tracks.

Perhaps, this is just a dream.

Aether and Lumine would never leave her alone, so it must be a dream. Yes, that must be it.

Henceforth, there is nothing to fear.

Again, Solstice tries to reach forward—failing, and then falling yet never meeting a surface. In a bout of frustration, she closes her eyes. She always took Primo Stella with her, the rattle Aether and Lumine gifted her at birth. If it was gone here as well, surely this was not real...right? 

Solstice shuts her eyes tightly and tries to calm herself. Breath in. Breath out. She tries to think about all the worlds she had previously visited, and then imagines the worlds she has yet to see. It had been some time since the twins took her to another world, so they should be hopping to a different one soon.

Then, she will wake up.

Right...? 

When the magical sound starts to fade away, the void started to feel like the closest corporeal experience of being able to breathe underwater. Solstice falls into a loveless embrace of darkness. An invisible weight makes her sink into the depths and she lets it, forevermore trapped in limbo. There was no cause for alarm, as she knows that her twin siblings would wake her up soon. They will take her to another world as they always did, together.

This is just a bad dream. A nightmare.

『 Nothingness erased 』

Lumine walks over to Aether.

"Isn't it about time you wake her up?" She asked.

The young lady puts the fruits she gathered in a basket next to her brother. He glances up from his makeshift workplace, humming. He then looks over to Solstice's figure, peacefully sleeping on one of the portable beds. Her rattle is tightly grasped and pushed against her chest. Sometimes, she would move and the toy would make a soft sound.

Aether shrugs, "I'll wake her up once breakfast is ready. She must be adjusting to this new world."

The sun was already up, as they were too after being trained as early risers. Both were ready for a new journey, yet neither of them woke up the little Outlander. Travelling across the mountains costs a lot of energy, especially from young Solstice who is yet to fully develop.

The three currently resided in a house the village had provided for them. The shelter gave them a chance to rest longer, and to bond with their little sister in-between commissions that earned them some coin for expenses. Solstice enjoyed spending her time with the villagers too. She was now able to properly communicate and spent her days chattering with them, kids and adults alike. Likewise, she listened to topics about their history and the tales they would spin playfully like straw on wheels.

It was no ordinary village either. The people all have tails and other animal attributes. As Aether and Lumine talked with the villagers, they got to know more about their transforming abilities. Most chose to show their animal attributes, even in humanoid form, and only a handful walked around without them. If the person is around a person they trust, then they are able to wholly morph into an animal as well—their true form, as they call it. That goes without saying, Solstice was curious and enjoyed the presence of these nature dwellers. She held a very particular fondness for the foxes and crows.

The sights also served as a pleasant playground, presenting a view of eternal spring. The blossoming trees never seem to run out of petals that rain down and flutter with the morning breeze. It was not odd to find a coat of pink somewhere as a result. Some would make piles of them and jump on it, laughing with resounding echoes.

The other day, Solstice had spent the entire noon running with the neighborhood's children. They had been showing off their animal forms, running faster than Solstice who would do her best to keep up; and when she got tired, the children would run back and sit down with her. She is now 3-years-old, and is able to do most things without any hands-on guidance from the twins. Outlanders adjusted fairly easily and she was no exception, thankfully. Solstice might be a petite young miss, but she was already quite adept at understanding adult conversations.

Aether puts the fruits he had cut in a bowl and then wakes Solstice up. He pokes her cheek gently, trying to coax her out of dreamland.

"Sol," he murmurs, "breakfast is ready."

She groans, nose scrunching in displeasure, but she still blinks her eyes open as requested. They squint at the ray of sunshine peeking through the windows, blinding her. As she moves to sit up, the rattle jingles again and her hand clutches it by habit. It reminds her of the stars she sees every night. No matter which world they greet, the stars always seem to be constant. They make it easier to adapt.

Solstice stretches her arms and yawns.

"Good morning." She says groggily.

"Put some other clothes on before you eat." Lumine says as she walks past. She ruffles her little sister's bedhead, making it even messier.

From across the room, Aether adds: "We're going to the other island today so try to hurry."

Solstice looks up, shoulders sagging as her brows furrowed together.

"Today...?" She parroted.

Her voice is quiet, hesitant and disappointed.

Aether crosses his arms over his chest, honey gold eyes stern yet soft. He knows that the villagers have grown on Solstice and vice versa, but it could not be helped. They cannot afford any more delays. Like the previous worlds, this one is not their true home and so leaving was a matter of time. They already stayed longer than usual for Solstice's sake, to let her play with kids around her own age.

"We want to explore this world a bit more before heading to the next. We talked about this." He ever so patiently explains again.

Every time Solstice had to leave people behind, she got sad. Both Aether and Lumine could understand the feeling, since they were the same when they hopped between worlds the first few times. It is what made an Outlander's quest difficult, especially on their younger days. Before Solstice was born, the twins settled down on the older stars until they died as if in sympathy. It was different now though, now that they have grown. In some way, they were more indifferent to the thought of leaving. They stayed detached from every world once they realize it lacks the aura of "home" which they sought.

Someday, their little sister will understand too.

Or, if they were fortunate, they could find their true home before that youthful wonder could fade from her eyes. Her older siblings certainly hoped for it.

After a while, Solstice smiles again.

"Maybe we can come back someday..."

The hopeful tone made it seem like a question, a bit more rhetoric and expected no answer.

Aether nods his head anyway, smiling back.

The pink petals and scarlet leaves from the trees outside blow through the open windows. The curtains fluttered, and the windchimes tinkled like a fairy's giggle.

"Maybe someday..."

The next world they visited was composed of a kingdom in endless winter. The terrain was basically just various states of frozen tundra, with wildlife along the botanic coastlines and amongst the cliffside forestry. Average weather was filled with long-lasting blizzards that hindered the three from adventuring outside for longer periods. If it was not for the village they had found, the twins would have moved on to the next world as soon as possible regardless of their depleting stamina. While the situation remained unpleasant, Solstice needed to rest and she always took priority above all else for the older duo. Thankfully, the people in the village were kind and offered to shelter the three for as long as needed. The twins accepted with humble gratitude in their hearts.

A jolly huntsman offered one of his unoccupied cabins so he was put in charge over their care. He wasted no time escorting them home, especially after seeing Aether holding a smaller body to his chest rather protectively.

"These will suit you three well." Their host said with a welcoming smile, holding out a pile of fabric.

Lumine took the proffered items, seeing that they were thermal clothing and hooded fur coats. There are also three pairs of warmed wool socks and indoor leather boots. A glance towards their front door revealed a few crates of food and coal.

She bowed deeply, "Thank you so much."

As soon as they were left alone, she took the clothes to her siblings. She let Aether get dressed first as she took over the job of changing Solstice. Their poor little sister was already too drowsy to move by herself due to the freezing temperature. Once she was all cozily tucked into the sheets of blanket and comforters, Lumine took her turn to switch to her own set of warmer clothes. Her twin brother exited the bathroom just as she entered, and cuddled their youngest to share some body heat.

For the rest of the visit, Solstice had been a lot less talkative yet retained her jubilance. Her tiny body does not have much resistance to extreme climates like this one. They had not been in the cold long enough to cause damage, yet she still needed to recover her energy. As she slept, she kept her rattle close to her chest to absorb more of its mana. Because Solstice needed to recover from the harsh circumstances, Aether and Lumine decided to delay the next world travel. The duo let her sleep as long as needed, and waited until their sister was ready to leave.

"I'll be back soon." Aether yelled with a salute.

Lumine waves him goodbye from a distance, silently wishing him a safe trip. Solstice timidly poked her head out from behind her older sister's legs, as she waved and grinned at their departing brother.

Aether had offered to help their host hunt down food and get some more supplies. He was now heading into Pinewood Forest with a borrowed hunting gear, and a huge husky acting as his guide. Because of Solstice's delicate state, Lumine remained in the village to look after her. She would be there for her if she needed something while their brother explored.

When the twins had set out to find a home, they knew that travelling dimensions might have a stronger and direr impact on the newborn Outlander. They had taken her out of Cosmogenesis earlier than most Outlanders would leave. With the combined powers of Aether and Lumine, they found a solution through Primo Stella. They had made that relic, her rattle, to seal the remains of Luciella. This way, she would have a reserve of cosmic energy to sustain herself while travelling from world to world. Then, on her 16th year, the power contained in the relic will permanently merge with her when she is finally ready. While sealing it was convenient, the two constantly worried about their sister's curious nature breaking it by accident and releasing the dormant power prematurely. 

Lumine watches Aether disappear into the forest with an eager pep in his step. She turns around and heads back into the house where they stayed, firmly holding Solstice's hand. The twins were used to doing commissions in other worlds as well so both were willing to help the villagers, especially ones so kind and generous. However, now with Solstice in their lives, they could not freely do these missions together anymore. It was fine with them. She has full faith in her twin brother's return, and he felt the same way whenever the jobs are reversed. Both would gladly protect the little traveler as long as needed.

As soon as they sat by the fireplace, the younger female yawned while rubbing her eyes.

Lumine smiled fondly, sweeping her sister's fringe behind her flushed ears.

"Do you want a naptime story?" She asks.

Solstice beamed as she snuggled up to her older sister's side. Her head rested on Lumine's lap, mumbling her soft thanks when she felt a thick fleece blanket cover her. A doting voice lulled her to sleep as it regaled her with tales about an ice queen and her eleven knights. Before she could succumb, a caring hand combs through the strands of her hair and massages her scalp.

Once again, Solstice was in deep slumber.

『 Come dance with her in the stars 』

It was the same darkness again.

Alas, something was different—not with the void, but with her own thineself. She could feel the thrumming in her veins and the soulfulness of her breaths.

Solstice sensed power within her.

The young Outlander was no stranger to power or otherworldly magic. She was a being born from the center of infinity, a fragment of cosmogony. Even if she has yet to learn how to channel it, she is more than aware that it has always existed within her. However, this time, it was practically tangible. She can envision that power and hold it as easy as lifting her Primo Stella rattle. It was the first thing that she knows she can legitimately grasp in this endless void, and so gripped tightly as if it was her lifeline.

Her ears perked up at the sound of familiar chimes, echoing in the depths. There was no source as the reverberation seems to surround her. It kept tinkling even before the preceding echo could fade, like the persistent ticking of an antique clock. The hypnotic rhythm allured her to its pendulum chant. Her body takes a fetal position, directing her hands to her chest. A ball of light takes form in her cupped palms, peeking from the gaps of her fingers. Her eyes remained shut as she begins to lose awareness the more she embraced the divinity which hummed in her veins.

One last chime resounded in the abyss before it stopped for good.

The little traveler gradually straightened her posture; yet now, it has become a mystery if she has fallen half-asleep. Her bare feet finally make contact with a surface, but it rippled more like water. It did not matter, since she stayed as upright and steady as if it was a cemented pathway. Her cupped hands pushed forward, and it unraveled like a spring flower in full bloom to present a radiant beacon.

Thus, Solstice decreed unto the darkness:

"Let there be light."

...and light was.

It scattered as stars from the beacon which shone vibrantly from her hands. Some gathered to become the moon and another cluster created the sun, born simultaneously amidst a sea of twilight. As all light did, it took more shapes and then life was breathed into each one by her spiritual will. When the last wisp flew off, her limbs began to move in a choreography that matches a melody only she can hear.

The Outlander danced with a serene smile, yet her eyes stayed close as if in slumber. Her hands waved and swayed, arms swinging gracefully as the waves that followed her bidding. Each step made the water ripple until it lifted her up, making the petals of a flower cradling its fairy queen. Her legs kicked up as she spun with mildly flawed yet nevertheless charming pirouettes. The stars danced with her, and pixie dust gathered like a mystic robe. Some stars gained a spectrum of colors, appearing to mimic glass prisms reflecting rays of light. They flew as crystal cores that grew a pair of large wings each, fluttering around their creator delightedly.

Beauty and grace, Solstice is the light.

『 Watch her transit afar 』

Solstice stares with unbridled awe, eyes wide open and mouth shamelessly agape.

Currently, she and her siblings are riding by gondola as they toured this new world. It is indeed a fortress that earned its title as a city of water. The state is structured by large buildings seemingly built straight from the ocean floor. A single yet solidly wide and long bridge was the only access by land to the main entrance of the city from the rest of the world. Small waterfalls circled it along the bottom, streaming from the rest of civilization. Every architectural work is a breathtaking masterpiece with clear intentions of representing the people's love for renaissance art; yet the subtle intonations betrayed their ambitious pursuits for technological advancement.

Aether curiously wondered outloud if he could take samples of a few gadgets, like the thing they call mobile phones. He thought it could be useful amidst their travels. Lumine was intrigued by the idea; but she also brought up a particular downside: this technology might stop working well when they jump to another world. They are not inclined to waste resources over something that will likely fail them before it could serve its worth.

It was, nonetheless, an interesting possibility.

Outside of the city, the entire civilization seems to run on water for everything. Within it, the towns did not disappoint at all. Rather than paths of cobblestone and concrete, most of the streets are either rivers that need a gondola to travel or bridges that entwine one harbor to another. The state was so big they can only reach this side rather than the elite capital that housed the aristocratic population. Their gondolier sang praises about it, calling the place the center of history enriched with ancient knowledge as much as material wealth. Although, he sassed that a few of the folks could use some attitude adjustment.

As the three arrive at the docks, they are met by a swarm of people leading into the urban area. It was the marketplace side of the harbor so the crowd was to be expected. There are also less towering houses which gave them a view of the distant mountains on the more rural islands.

When the ever curious Solstice asked what was out there, the gondolier hummed kindly yet firmly.

"Only adventurers dare to travel on those parts, dear little one." He said, "The aristocrats reach out to the guilds to commission them in harvesting the rarest materials from the mountains. Historians say it is a home to enlightened sages, whom helped push this city to its current glory and prosperity."

He playfully pokes her forehead with a scary face—

"Others believe it is a home for colossal monsters that sometimes lurk under our seas."

—but his countenance was so dramatic and comical that his words only amused the little girl rather than terrify her, much to her siblings' relief.

The friendly man chortled in tandem, beaming at Aether and Lumine knowingly.

"I think you two might be capable enough." He commented, "Those commissions fetch quite hefty prices. If you're interested in exploring while earning some quick money, I highly suggest taking a few of them from the guild. It's an automatic permission to travel the commonly restricted areas, such as the catacombs."

Lumine tilted her head bemusedly, "The catacombs, you say...?"

"You'll recognize them when you see them, milady~!"

Aether gives one last thanks to the gondolier, paying a good tip for his entertaining tour. He then heads for the city with his sisters, acting as the barricade between them and the strangers inevitably bumping into them. One of his hands was placed on his twin sister's shoulder to not lose them since her hands were occupied with Solstice, though he made sure not to put weight on it. His aureate eyes were kept sharp and alert, yet they also gleamed appraisingly while absorbing the magnificent sights. It has been a long time since he felt this childish excitement well up from his chest.

Lumine opted to carry Solstice on her back to avoid losing her in the crowd. She appeared just as gleeful as her twin brother, but retained vigilance. Her head turned to various stalls, selling everything from food to souvenirs. A mental note was made to buy new durable clothes for her little sister, whom is starting to outgrow her current sets.

"Look, look! Mimin, look there."

Solstice points with her rattle at the seagulls. As expected from a city of harbors, there was a great abundance of them gathering to fetch discarded morsels. No doubt, they were also being a bit of a nuisance to the tourists. The twins swore they even spotted a few pelicans hovering from the bright blue sky.

"Do you like the birds?" Aether asks adoringly before they passed by the avians.

Solstice hums affirmatively, giggling when some of the birds made funny faces at her.

For the little traveler, this was the first big city she has ever seen. The worlds they have discovered so far were usually centralized in nature, and the urban ones tend to be small towns rather than an evolved metropolis like this one. A perk which made the twins thank their lucky stars is that tourists are also quite common here. This fact effectively refrained them from sticking out and catching unwanted attention. It seems like the three could comfortably settle down here for a while until Solstice was ready for the next hop.

•

•

•

When first arriving here, the twins had been initially disappointed and a little depressed.

Once again, this world lacked the spark of "home" much like the previous ones. At times, Aether and Lumine would feel lost but still kept moving forward if only for Solstice. The small Outlander did not seem to mind the delay though, not at all. Instead, she seemed to enjoy herself in this world. The twins also took this opportunity to spend time with their baby sibling, cheered up by her optimism for life and adventure. Perhaps, that is why they decided to settle down in this world for a little longer. From a smaller town, they travelled on another boat to the capital city.

Fortunately, it was their lively gondolier again!

They even learn his name this time: Pierre.

"Good morn, my friends~!" He sang.

Aether and Lumine grinned at him while Solstice squealed, glomping the laughing man's legs.

Once away from the docks and into the actual city, the three could see bigger stands as well as more sophisticated shops that likely sell more exclusive wares. Almost everything is either an expensive boutique or a remote pawnshop. This part of the state have structures primarily made out of a white stone—resembling marble and jade—giving the city a clean and luxurious look.

Behind the city and separated by the ocean from miles away, the mountains are more visible now due to proximity and less obtrusive structures to block the view. Each is as high as the clouds, almost matching the castle towers and wealthy manors. Veiled by heavy mist, the eldritch silhouettes loomed from afar like phantoms with glowing eyes. Despite its gloomy outlook, the formation of the mountains were almost protective as they encompass the borders of entire city state. Once again, their gondolier told them about the rumored monsters. He speaks of how the ocean surrounding the city has been cradling beasts as big as these same mountains for millions of years. It is relatively debated whether some of them could be guardians of the fortress.

Since the city was surrounded by water, it was good for import and export trading as mentioned. Day in and day out, the city would receive goods from ships that would be sailing for weeks to trade. This is why the common grounds had docks scattered all over the territory. The capital was more formal since businesses are conducted through a schedule of meetings and the daily signings of orderly lawful contracts. Like they were told, commissions came easy through the guild and the merchants across the harbor. Both Aether and Lumine soon had gathered enough coin to live leisurely.

Once the twins had found an inn, they rented a room to leave some of their things. Then, they decided to visit the popular tourist spots and scenic routes to entertain Solstice. They took her to waterfalls, a smaller one where they can carefully guide her small hand into the flowing water. It never failed to make her laugh, which gained enamored smiles from her older siblings. The two had taken her on boat trips as well, sailing between the rows of houses in the rivers that crossed the city.

At one point, the twins followed the advice of taking commissions that let them explore the mountain islands. Sadly, Solstice had to sit out for her own safety; but she did not mind after getting bribed with a chance to spend a day in the capital's playground park. After hiring a trustworthy babysitter from the guild, they set off. Neither of the twins encountered any immortal sages, but they did feel many watchful eyes on them—wary yet not hostile—the entire time they lingered. They actually got lost a few times too, but trails of will-o'-the-wisps helped them get back on the right path. Aether even found secret passages that led to the infamous catacombs. As a lofty story to tell their sister, Lumine was more than excited to decipher the history behind them. It was a dark and spooky area but neither of the Outlanders were genuinely fazed by it.

They ended up discovering deep tunnels that went underwater. It was a series of coves wherein guild members are stationed at a checkpoint cabin if adventurers wish to scuba dive. Aether actually had fun with getting back to the city state that way, while Lumine opted to just use the transport they had upon arriving in the mountain isles. It will not do to neglect the sailors that helped them travel here.

Besides visiting these tourist spots, Solstice got to try out many delicacies as well.

•

•

•

Lumine walks back to the table once she finished ordering their food.

The twins had decided to visit a popular restaurant today since they will be setting out to another world soon. Before that, they wanted to give Solstice the opportunity to taste whatever she wanted. All three of them are quite the foodies, which makes gourmet their default bonding moment. It was hard to leave, especially when the twins have no idea what would come next. They could only hope that "home" is as fun for their little sister as this world.

"Don't let the bird bite you." Aether warned.

He watches guardedly as Solstice crouched down next to the seagulls. A piece of bread is in her hand, tearing it crumb by crumb to feed the birds. They can always find a colony of them in every tourist spot they visited. The youngest Outlander liked to befriend them but Aether disapproved. As she hears her older brother call out for her, Solstice stands up again and turns away. She shoots one last goodbye and returns to her siblings.

When Lumine sees her sister struggle to get on the chair, she helps by lifting her up.

"Did you make new friends?" She asks.

Solstice always had a soft spot for winged animals, specifically dragons. Birds would do just as well, especially colorful ones like peacocks or the dainty hummingbirds. She also likes a few insects such as butterflies, dragonflies, and bumblebees—as long as she keeps her distance to avoid giving the twins a heart attack. In response to her sister's question, the little traveler puts up two fingers.

"Two, eh?" Lumine teased playfully, "I think that makes it...twenty-one bird friends already?"

She turns around and grins mockingly at Aether, who just glared back at her. He somehow had managed to get pecked by the seagulls when taking Solstice away from them. Apparently, the things get moody when a third party tries to take their snack supplier away. One flock would peck and pull on Aether's braids, while another would act like perfect little angels by nuzzling Solstice for more food. Ever since then, he had held a grudge. The feeling seems mutual with how they tauntingly squawk at the mere sight of him.

During dinner, the trio listened to a storyteller who had been entertaining the restaurant regularly. Much like Pierre yet more solemn than comedic, the old wiseman recounts about ancient tales and stories of the ocean monsters. He also spoke myths regarding the sages in the mountains, about how they grant wishes and protection via lantern rites on the first full moon of the year. There are even tales of a clash between these sages and the ocean beasts so long ago, before ending on a treaty that paved the way for the age of contracts. His version had more details, focusing on facts with immersive flare than theatric entertainment. Solstice had been more intrigued by the storyteller than the food. Both of the twins had to remind her to eat before the food got cold and unappetizing.

The next morning, Aether and Lumine took Solstice to yet another world.

『 Crossing Sol's burning gaze 』

"Whoa!" Solstice exclaims, "What is that?"

Her mouth is parted in dumbfounded shock before just as quickly turning into an excited grin. Her eyes are focused on the erupting volcano in the distance, ashclouds and magma rising. In the middle of the night, a powerful shockwave was released by said volcano which then captured the attention of the three Outlanders.

Aether lifts Solstice up in his arms.

"It's a volcano." He replied.

Lumine walks up next to her brother and ruffles her sister's hair, a habit she had developed.

"No worries." She reassured calmly, "We won't feel its impact here. Most we'll notice is the shockwave that already passed."

The trio can see how the gray ashclouds invaded the previously clear blue skies. Its cluster is gradually taking over the territory around it like an avalanche of soot. The bright lava gave a beautiful firework show as it exploded into the air before flowing down like a slow stream of rio grande. As hypnotic as its beauty appeared, the people closer to the volcano are likely looking at it in terror.

Solstice's eyes are wide open, staring at the lava still shooting into the air. The glimmers in her eyes now stand out even more because of the bright light it casts. As she watched the force of nature, her twin siblings found it more fascinating and amusing to watch her reactions. They exchanged wide smiles before leaving their little sister by the window, now aiming to get some snacks. It was pointless to try falling back asleep by now.

The trio had been sleeping in a cottage built in an oasis on the other side of a jungle. They had seen the volcano but decided to move around it, travelling through the thick marshes and swamps. It was a bit troublesome for the twins, especially with a small child to carry the entire way; but it seems like they made the right choice in the end. A few insects and wandering wild animals from the unforgiving jungle were no match to a duo of protective siblings. They did spot treehouses spread out in the dryer parts of the forestry, but only few people were stationed. It was more likely a bunch of outposts than legitimate residences, but all of them look fortified as real functional shelters.

Solstice's eyes are still focused on the volcano. Its eruption lasted long, and it made her want to stay awake for the whole night. The lava had shone so brightly, an ominous glow that depicts beauty in a natural catastrophe. An adventurous voice inside of her said, "Touch the bright glowy thing!"

—but both Aether and Lumine had explained that it was dangerous. That is why they had taken a detour in the first place, which meant no touching.

The little traveler nods sagely, "I'm a good girl."

In this world as well, Solstice experienced many new things. First, they landed in a desert. There was sand everywhere, and it was too hard for Solstice to walk amongst the dunes. Luckily, there were friendly animals that she could ride as the twins guided it with a leash. The caretakers called them "camels" which resembled horses with lumps on their backs, and a relatively goofier face. Once out of the desert, they found signs of civilization. Unfortunately, the twins thought it was too close to the volcano as they ventured towards the jungle. Soon enough, they reached the oasis just on the other side of the jungle and renovated the cottage for shelter.

When the Outlanders had ventured further into the jungle, they had noticed its great food source and minerals; and if there was a lot of food, a village follows where the river runs. For the next few days, the twins had searched for another town yet they only stumbled upon this oasis cottage. Inside, there were maps and books which gave the two enough information about this world. From what they have read, the former owner must have been a researcher or perhaps even a fellow traveler.

It was no permanent home, everyone knew; but they decided to stay a few more days. Survival in this world was more tiring than usual, even for Aether and Lumine. Rather than earning money through commissions, they needed to scavenge for their own food and other daily resources. Thankfully, the maps aided them in finding the good spots and the notes told them what was safe to consume or otherwise better left alone. Solstice even found a hidden ledger for medicinal herbs and potion mixtures. There was also a chest of interesting clothes, looking like they belong to fairies due to how they sparkled. The style varies from tunics, off-shouldered crop tops, veils, turbans, harem pants, cardigans, shawls, scarves, and vests. The bottom is filled with gold accessories and gemstone jewelry, very priceless and heavy.

In respect to the former owners, Aether and Lumine returned the chest to where they found it.

Indeed, they will just spend a few more days here to recuperate and perhaps even train. After all, their youngest is at a good age to learn more about her powers and practice swordsmanship. There is no time like the present to seize the day.

Afterwards, they would venture out again.

Solstice is outside, playing with her Primo Stella rattle and unleashing its jingle. The unique sound has always somehow calmed her, reminding her of the realm where she was born—Cosmogenesis, the twins told her of its name. There are times in-between worlds where Aether and Lumine would take her for a short stop in the dimension. It was usually to ask for some advice from the older Outlanders. Meanwhile, she is usually left to play with the stardust pixies that take form due to the realm's cosmic energy. Then, her siblings would join her again and share some stories that the Elders had told them when they were little.

The innovative little girl wonders if she can make those same pixies with Primo Stella.

While she was playing, the twins are getting ready to leave the current world. They gather the few things they have in their possession, such as their swords and extra clothes. Their wings are out and openly exposed, ready for the flight to another star. Every now and then, the appendages would move to help them levitate and reach a higher shelf.

Lumine walks inside the cottage and checks it one last time for good measure. They could not afford to leave behind anything. Last night, both of the twins had returned the interior as they found it—a trivial thing they always did in courtesy, but also to leave no traces. It was an innate habit that most Outlanders develop, to never ever imprint signs of attachment to a world that is not their home. It helps deter them from looking back or having regrets.

"You ready to go, sis?" Aether asked.

He was already out of the cottage, stretching and keeping an eye on Solstice. His sword is in his right hand, swinging it a few times skillfully.

"I hope we find a nice world where we can celebrate Solstice's 6th birthday." He continues.

His aureate gaze focused on his baby sibling for a moment. She was completely enraptured by the rattle, which was glowing brighter than usual.

Aether returns his attention to Lumine, who was almost done checking. The tinkling sounds from the rattle fills the silence as he waits for his twin sister, just a tad impatiently.

Lumine walks out of the cottage, closing the door on her way out. She points the hilt of her sword towards her brother so he could take it. Last time, he carried Solstice; so this time, it will be her turn. Their sibling is a growing girl, and they needed both arms to carry her safely. They take no chances until her own wings could sprout, which might be soon.

Suddenly, there was a heavy silence.

Aether arches his eyebrow, looking over his shoulder as the incessant chimes had stopped. He wants to ask Solstice what was wrong, but he was interrupted by another shockwave. This time, it was way closer and filled him with wordless dread due to its catalyst. He heard Lumine exclaim something in alarm and distress.

Solstice had broken the relic's seal.

Horrified, both twins urgently reached out for their little sister. The Elders warned them that the seal should never be lifted prematurely, so they had implemented a failsafe for it. How did such a young girl like Solstice break it? Nobody knew what to expect. Most assume what would occur is nothing short of disastrous. They were so utterly terrified because they could not survive the thought of losing their sister, not now and not ever.

Alas, it was practically inevitable.

Because when the shockwave had passed, Solstice was undeniably already gone.

『 Venus sets ablaze 』

The first year of Solstice's life was spent sleeping in Cosmogenesis, as expected.

Just like any other Outlander, it was spent gathering enough energy to sustain herself. During this time, the twins stayed by her side and comforted the newborn in her sleep. They had told her all about the worlds they visited, and how they wanted to find "home" together with their new baby sister. It was a moment filled with innocence and warmth.

The first year of Solstice's life was also dark and admittedly dull. Dark, because she was not able to witness anything with her own eyes yet; and dull, because she could not do anything at all. The only thing she felt was the energy flowing inside of her, making her whole—as if she was a doll slowly being put together by an expert craftsman. It honestly felt peculiar, but also warm and comfortable. Perhaps, that was because Aether and Lumine were always by her side to keep the loneliness at bay. They had always assured she was kept healthy and secure.

Currently, Solstice is experiencing something similar yet also something different.

There was an immense amount of energy flowing inside of her and then back outside. It was like she acted as a medium in a cycling network. The clinical process lacked the familiar warmth and comfort from Cosmogenesis. However, it was not entirely unpleasant...but more so disorienting and confusing. This is new and unknown to her so she felt the need to be a little cautious despite her curiosity. Her siblings taught her to always practice that balanced mindset.

Solstice wondered if she was dreaming again. There are times when things took too much energy from her, so she would fall into a deep slumber. Still, there is a nagging at the back of her mind that tells her this time would be different.

Then, she gains an astonishing epiphany.

Usually, her Primo Stella rattle would give her energy in the form of mana. This time, it takes from her in a way that it was channeling her power. The star had synchronized with her will, especially her memories and her dreams, to create something. She had no idea what it could be but she wanted to see.

Ten years pass and at last—

on the eve of Solstice's 16th birthday,

TEYVAT was fully created.

As midnight struck and the day arose, Solstice has reached full maturity as an Outlander. Her power lets out a final surge across the new land. This celestial phenomenon created three realms coexisting in harmony, welcoming yet untouchable.

When dawn settles over Teyvat,

Solstice finally opens her eyes

for the first time in ten years.

『 Welcome us with your light 』

▪︎

• end title card •

#genshin impact #꧁cσηsтεℓℓαтιση sαgα꧂ #꧁cσηsтεℓℓαтιση gεηεsιs꧂ #collab fic #genshin sagau #genshin cult au #sagau #cult au #reverse harem #prologue #fem!oc protagonist #genshin impact fanfics

[inupibaldspot]

Even 12 years laters,your soul was in a color of kindness.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : purely self indulgent which I wrote when I was drunk so— some stuffs are funky

Gojo first met you when you where four.

He was five years old at that time too and was being escorted by a maid to go to the clan head meeting; he assumes you were also part of a clan brought by elders.

Normally, the white haired boy never really cared for other people. Why should he? He is the chosen one. He has the limitless technique plus the six eyes of the Gojo clan. He was the closest thing to God at this age. But today it was different.

He watched you turn your head around and stare at him, he could vividly remember the way your eyes shone with amazement either for something as superficial like his white hair or the fact he was recognized as The ‘Gojo Satoru.’

But after that amazement, you smiled. You smiled at him so bright, with the evening glow of sunlights made you so—so ethereal. Your smile was childish and that’s why it was simply pure; the white haired kid’s eyes silhouetted with the sunlight shone with surprise for he found you beautiful in ways he couldn’t describe.

Gojo looks away— he beat himself for looking away as that made him look standoffish. When he looks back, you were staring at him confused for why he didn’t greet you back.

The maid beside you turns and says something, as you nod and then walk away. Was it weird for Gojo to wish you would simply turn to him and introduce yourself? For years to come, he prayed that he’d love to hear your name; for your soul was in a color of kindness.

That chance came in twelve years later when he was a second year of his Jujutsu Tech. Him and his friends, Geto and Shoko wanted to meet the new first years. There is Nanami Kento, had a huge stick up his ass but that it self made him to be forever victim to Gojo’s pranks. Next was Haibara Yū, a bright eyed kid but Gojo found him to be a bit too— energetic for his taste.

And then you. I didn’t really need to describe Nanami and Haibara first because the first and only person he saw ever since he entered the first year’s classroom was you. Simply you. You sitting on the chair smiling bashfully at them. At him.

Ever since, every day. Without fail would rush to your side. At first you were confused as that is not the Gojo you remembered l; the one you saw and described to you by others were not this.

Nevertheless it warmed you up like a cool evening sun.

Gojo released quite early was you were kind, the type that would help others despite of her time , the type who would help every elderly by the street, the type who would feed strays and yada-yada-flowers and rainbows.

But that led to another realization. Had you truly different been treated differently?

Gojo's body tensed up. Any comfortable vibe he had felt before vanishing in an instant. He had known very well that you were a kind-hearted human being. Welcoming and warm. That made you so interesting. Your soul was so calm and simple and nice.

And even though he had observed you so closely before he wasn't able to recall any moment anymore where your own feelings had been obvious. You didn't stutter around boys.

You didn't blush. You didn't hesitate in a way which could be trailed back to her personal feelings.

Were you treating him like everyone else after all?

“Gojo?”

Your voice brought him back to sense, you were blinking curious, leaned close—so close.”what’s wrong?”

“Bring out your hand.” He smiles, as you did without question. “Guess the word I’m writing on your hand.” He smiles when the warmth from your hand soothe his nervous heartbeat.

“Eh—I’m not good at kanji!”

“That’s just too bad—!”

From then when ever Gojo feels anxious of everything—everything in this world he would play this game, with your fingers and her palm because his focus on you was more gravitating rather than that as you were simply too calming.

Geto felt slightly hesitant when he saw the type of Gojo he would become when he was by your side, he was a tad abit careless as if all of his six eyes were simply focused on you, he would be a tad bit kinder to the point Nanami gets the ick.

Where as Shoko had a blast!

She would make way towards you, give kisses on your cheeks gushing on how cute you were, wrapping her arms around you as she then sends a condescending look towards Gojo who was literally drowning in jealousy.

Shoko and you got close early on and more so because you two were the only two girls in those years. To the point where even a shy person like you was influenced to sneaking into a party with Shoko.

“Please don’t mess with my hair curler, Gojo.” You say as you look into the mirror, fixing your earring and from the corner of your eyes you could see Gojo holding up a lick of his hair into the hot iron.

Gojo peers over and immediately regrets it, you were in a short dress and high heel, hair curled so—cutely and boy, your face.

He looks away.

No, too cute.

He thought as he lets down the curling iron. Shoko peers out as she lets out a puff of smoke before passing it to Geto, who takes the cigarette in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want to come Gojo.” Shoko says. “I want a girls night.”

Gojo remember almost comically crying into his pillows as Geto nags him on ‘how woman don’t like clingy guys.’ He decides to forget Shoko and join you guys anyways.

He remembers being strangled by Shoko while you him a nervous smile trying to diffuse the situation.

Your nervous smile which made the world freeze to him, Geto sighs at the love sick look his white haired friend was giving you, who seemed so obvious to.

But don’t you remember when I said you were kind. You were kind like to help the cornered kid, the type who would volunteer to be with the loner kid, the type that picked Geto Suguru’s side.

Gojo sighs when when remembers Shoko saying you said something along the lines of ‘I don’t want Geto to be lonely along the path he takes…’

How stupid!

Gojo Satoru where ever he went would go around town mentally keeping sense of any cursed energy which could relay you back to him.

He meets you again though.

12 years later, while him and now—principle Yaga were walking along the hallways they sense a breach in security. He rushes over to first, see his once best-friend Geto Suguru by his current first year Okkotsu Yuta and secondly, you. Your eyes we’re nervously flying around before it lands on him and once again he was yours; Geto scoffs at the sight of Gojo’s expression when he was looking at you. He was almost worried that if you said ‘let’s join Geto’ with a plea—se, he just might. You just had that effect on Gojo.

But too bad, Geto was here to request war upon the Jujutsu Tech. On the 24 December, Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Gojo rushes through curses as he makes his way towards you; and when he does, he feels as if he can’t breath. “Can you come back…?” He takes a step closer.

You smile nervously,shaking your head as you watch him take another step closer to you, you felt his hands reach out and cup your face. His face was so close to yours, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the cold winter air. “Don’t kill me for doing this.” You we’re reminded that you guys were enemies and in a battlefield.

His face was closer now, his blue—beautiful blue eyes were slightly closed. You breath out. “I can’t kill you through your ‘Limitless’ Satoru…”

“Say it again.”

“Huh…?”

“My name. Satoru…”

You breath out. “Satoru…” The name you accidentally let out, felt so right.

“Fuck… say it a million time more, love.” Gojo laughs, slightly hoarse. “My limitless is never activated when I’m with you…”

before you realize his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, as you hands were tentatively placed on his chest, as his hand trails along to your waist you parts your lips for him, sighs in his mouth, and that small sound of pleasure drives him crazy, floods his body with heat and desire so intense the strongest sorcerer can hardly stand.

Your are pulled away from him, when a darker and tall man goes by. “Miguel!” Gojo listened to you say.

“I need you to focus.” The man says smiling, before he takes a stance to fight Gojo. And to Miguel credit, he does fend off Gojo well, so— well that he was ‘recruited’ by him.

The day ends with Gojo losing two of his best friends in different ways. Geto would be gone, into the afterlife ended by his own hands.

But you?

Where were you? Would he meet you again 12 years later? Love?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo fluff

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Three.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky get closer. Your choice only gets harder.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au.

Word Count - 6.4k

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut. cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Author's Note - angels, i can only apologise for the wait!! i've had some stuff going on, and i was on vacation, so this has taken a while. thank you so much for your patience, kindness and support on Honey Girl - it means everything.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! i will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sunlight seeps through the stained glass windows, murmured chatter echoing off the stone walls around you.

You smooth down your dress and adjust your bracelet, smiling at the rare sight of your family and friends all gathered together in one place. Your parents are sat on either side of you, all of you eagerly awaiting the beginning of this exciting occasion.

Man, you love weddings. You always have. So much happiness and joy in one short day, everyone excited about the possibility of eternal love.

You're still sat waiting when you realise, with quiet uncertainty, that you're not sure whose wedding this is. All of your family is here, as well as many of your friends. So why do you feel so confused all of a sudden?

The Priest gestures for all of the guests to stand just as the first notes of the Wedding March begin to reverberate around the room. You turn around, craning your neck to try and get a glimpse of the bride.

You don't know her, but she's... beautiful. Long, dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, white silk dress hugging her frame perfectly, accentuating every dip and curve. She has kind eyes, warm and brown, and a blinding smile that's infectious and dazzling. Her skin glows in the stained glass sunlight, illuminating her in an ethereal radiance. She has a beauty that belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel.

You eagerly turn back towards the altar to find out who her lucky groom is. He has his back to you, dark suit stretched across his broad shoulders. He turns, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

It's Bucky.

You're panicking, suddenly. You want to scream, shout, run over to them and object in any way possible. Your Mom grabs your hand tightly from one side, as your Dad does the same on the other.

"Mama, I have to-"

"You can't, sweetheart. It's not fair."

"You made your choice," your Dad says kindly, not an ounce of malice in his voice. "Now you have to let him make his."

White hot tears drip down your cheeks as your chest rises and falls with frantic frustration. This isn't how you wanted things to go. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The lights in the church are suddenly too bright, the wooden pews too hard. There's an incessant knocking noise coming from somewhere in front of you, loud and overwhelming. You swear someone's shouting your name in the distance, among all of the chaos.

"Honey? It's Bucky. Are you okay?"

Why is he asking if you're okay? Of course you're not okay, you're in this living nightmare.

Nightmare.

You're having a nightmare.

You wake with a startled gasp, cheeks wet and warm, sweat dripping down your back. The knocking hasn't stopped, in fact, now it's even louder.

"Sugar? Are you in there? Can you let me in?"

It's Bucky. Bucky's here.

You throw yourself out of bed and race through your apartment, swinging open the door. Bucky is stood on the other side, still in his navy plaid pyjama pants, sweater thrown over himself haphazardly. You look down at yourself and see that you're only wearing an old t shirt, legs bare and feet cold on the wooden floor.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently, stepping forward into your space. "I had this horrible feeling. It was like... like I was panicking. I knew it wasn't me so I figured it must have been you. What's wrong, sweets?"

He snakes his fingers around your wrist and pulls you into him gently, wrapping his arms around you completely. You relax into his embrace, inhaling the warm, cosy scent of him. All the fear leaves your body, and you cling to him tighter, worried that he'll disappear any minute.

"I had a nightmare," you whisper into the soft cotton of his chest.

He pulls back to look at you, large, calloused hands cradling your tear stained cheeks.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You deliberate for a second before shaking your head softly.

"If you change your mind, you know I'll always listen to you. Any time. I mean it."

"I know," you say quietly. "Thank you."

You step away from him and towards the couch, where you curl up with your legs tucked underneath you. Bucky walks over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. He makes two mugs of tea, handing one into your outstretched hands carefully. He shuffles to sit next to you, pressed into your side, arm slung around your shoulders. You relax into the broadness of him, the comfort he brings, the safety. The two of you fall asleep intertwined, warm and content, wrapped completely in each other and the blanket of your love.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're both startled awake by a phone ringing. The unwelcome melody is coming from somewhere between where you're nestled together, limbs intertwined and bodies connected.

"It's-fuck- is that mine or yours?" Bucky's mumbling as he scrambles amongst the couch cushions.

"Yours, I think," you reply, finding your phone on the floor where you've kicked it in your sleep.

Bucky finally finds the source of the noise, trapped in the arm of the couch. He presses the green button reluctantly, still disorientated from being woken so suddenly.

"Hello?"

That deep, raspy grumble of his morning voice is enough to make you melt back into your original position, the tone golden and honeyed. You slide back towards him and tuck yourself into his side, the two of you fitting together perfectly.

You can hear muffled talking on the other end, which takes Bucky a minute to comprehend. When he does, his eyes widen, and he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

It's your Dad, he mouths silently, muscles in his body going rigid.

Fuck, you mouth back, praying that he can't hear the two sets of heaving lungs on your side of the line.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be there. Sounds good, man. See you then."

Bucky's about to hang up the phone, when your Dad makes a noise of complaint. You can hear your Mom yelling something at him in the background.

"They're coming here," he whispers to you as quietly as possible, covering the phone speaker. "Fuck, what do we do?"

"Tell them you're already here... borrowing something. Or giving something back."

You shoot him a look that says trust me. Trust you, he does.

"I'm with her right now. I can ask, if you want? Yeah, just dropping off a couple of tools - last time I saw her, she mentioned a few loose screws in one of the kitchen cabinets. Easy fix."

You can hear your Dad singing his praises and expressing his gratitude, and your Mom asking Bucky to put you on the phone. He passes it to you carefully, as if it's a bomb, bound to explode at any given second.

"Hi, Mama."

"Hey, sweetheart. Bucky get everything sorted for you?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been great. Fixed it in two minutes flat. I just didn't have the right kind of screwdriver."

"He's one of the good ones, huh?" she chuckles. "We called to tell you that you have to come to our get together later. I know it's a little impromptu, but we have so much produce from the garden, too much for just us. We'll have dinner in the backyard, and drinks, and play some games. And we'll tell you all about the wedding!"

Your Mother has a gift for hosting. She's a people person through and through, warm hearted and kind spirited in nature. She loves having people over at the house, loves cooking for them, loves choosing wine pairings for her dishes and explaining each one carefully. It's a gift. She's a gift.

"I'd love to come, Mama. Do you want me to bring anything? I can make desserts?"

"Oh, darling, would you? I'm making a strawberry and cream tart, but you know it's nothing compared to your talent."

"Oh hush," you chide playfully. "I'll see what I can conjure up. Maybe I'll even rope Bucky in to help."

You wink at him cheekily and he laughs, the sound settling gently in your ribs like a caged bird singing it's morning song.

"Glad to be of service!" he yells into the phone, his right hand moving to rest at the nape of your neck. He massages the muscle there gently, and the tension leaves your body just as quick as it arrived.

"What time, Mama?"

"Everyone's arriving at seven o'clock, but you and Bucky feel free to come any time. Did you hear that, Bucky? Any time!"

"Loud and clear," he chuckles. "See you soon, Lori."

"Bye, you two. Call if you need anything. Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too."

She hangs up the phone and you're plunged into silence, the two of you panting like you've just ran a marathon.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes.

"Yeah, fuck," you exhale. "Now my parents think I'm not capable of fixing a loose screw."

"It was the first thing I thought of! Sorry, honey. Didn't mean to undermine your DIY skills."

You fake angry, but you can't keep it up while he's looking at you like you hung the moon just for him. The corners of your lips twitch, and before you know it, you're grinning at each other like idiots.

"Now I have to make dessert," you laugh. "There go my plans for the day."

"You offered."

"I panicked!"

"I'll give you a hand, if you need it. I don't have to be at work for another hour and a half."

"It's okay," you reassure, reaching out to link your fingers with his. He's still absentmindedly tracing patterns across the back of your neck, the sensation almost soothing you back to sleep.

You relax into Bucky, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He's so warm, and soft, and broad. You realise that there's been two occasions recently where you've slept like the dead. Both were in Bucky's arms.

"You wanna help me make breakfast?" you whisper, careful not to disrupt the golden glow of the morning sunlight. The orange hue of the room feels fragile, sacred even. You don't want to ruin it.

"Of course. I can't bake, but I can cook. I have my uses."

"That, you do," you tease, leaning back into him as he places a tender kiss on top of your head. If you could bottle up this feeling of complete tranquility, you would. For a moment, everything else disappears. It's just you and your soulmate. Nothing else matters.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky, as it turns out, is a decent chef.

Sure, he's not Michelin star level, but neither are you.

You're sat on the counter, bare legs dangling over the side as you watch him move around your kitchen with ease, as if it's his own. You can't help but notice the way he belongs here. Like he's been here all along.

Bucky leaves everything cooking on the stove to come to stand in between your legs, warm hands splayed across your thighs. He rubs comforting circles into your skin while his steely blue eyes look at you intently.

"You okay?"

You smile at him softly, draping your arms around his neck to play with his hair.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine. The words California and Bakery and Dream Job and Bucky keep circling around your mind like horses on a fairground carousel. The more time you spend with Bucky, the more your Tethering makes sense. The two of you work. This connection you have is made of threads of gold, braided into both of your souls.

"You've been quiet all morning. And... I can feel it, you know. This anxious, sinking feeling, deep in my chest. There's something really bothering you, honey."

You take a deep breath and grasp onto his shoulders tightly, grounding yourself back down to Earth.

"I'm okay. There's just a couple of things I need to work out, and I think they're giving me some anxiety. I'm just stressed, I think."

"Are you trying to convince yourself, or me? Because you're not doing a very good job of either."

He's only teasing, but the way he's looking at you makes your breath hitch. It's as if everytime he looks into your eyes, he's also looking into your soul. It's like he can read your mind. Your heart is covered in braille and he's running his fingertips over it gently. You suddenly feel very exposed, shrinking down into yourself on the counter.

"Hey, pretty girl. Look at me. Please."

He uses his finger and thumb to tilt your face towards him, holding onto your chin gently.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you, or anything. I'm just worried. It's weird, being able to feel what you feel. I think I'm still getting used to it."

You smile at him carefully, running your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Buck. It's just... overwhelming, I guess. Nothing's a secret between me and you anymore."

You both know that's not true.

"You know, if there's anyone who understands how you feel... it's me."

"You're right," you laugh, "on account of the whole half-of-my-soul thing, I guess."

"Exactly. It's scary, but you're not alone in this. The two of us will figure it out. I know we will."

He has so much faith in you it makes you want to cry.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, firm and reassuring. It's like he's reminding you that he's right here, in front of you. He's not going anywhere.

You might be, though.

"We've got all the time in the world, remember?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"All the time in the world," you echo, tucking your head into his chest.

He holds you close until your breakfast starts to burn. The impending fire on the stove is nothing compared to the impending fire that feels like your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you eat on your balcony, tangled together on the love seat chair. The sun is beating down, beams of light illuminating Bucky, setting him aglow. He looks like an angel, the golden hue creating a halo around him. You wonder for a second if he is. An angel sent just for you.

"Oh hey, did I tell you?" he asks, turning as much as he can in his spot to face you.

"Tell me what?"

"Leonie and Eli are having a baby."

"No way!" you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his hands in excitement. "I'm so happy for them. Man, it feels like yesterday that they found each other."

"Right? Hell of a story, too."

"Rough one, though. I mean, imagine it. You introduce your brother to your new girlfriend, and turns out they're soulmates."

Bucky's laughing so hard that he's clutching at his stomach, shaking the chair and you along with it.

"That's fucked," he wheezes. "It's so fucked."

You can't contain your own laughter, not when his is so contagious.

"It's not funny," you breathe, but you're giggling so hard your sides hurt.

"Not funny at all," he chuckles, pinching your thigh.

"If you think about it, our Tethering is a little fucked up too. I mean, you're my Dad's best friend."

"Yeah... not ideal, huh?" he teases, still laughing.

"Not ideal at all, really," you agree playfully.

You sit in the quiet for a moment before you speak again.

"What do you think they'll say? When we tell them, eventually?"

Bucky thinks for a moment, cogs turning in his brain. He considers carefully before he answers you.

"...I think they'll be happy for us. Your Mom'll be excited. It might be a little harder for your Dad to navigate, I guess, but... he'll be okay."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

The rational part of your brain is telling you that he is. They'll be ecstatic that the two of you have found your person. The celebrations will be endless.

But there's a tiny, nagging piece of your mind that won't let you rest. It's taunting you, telling you that they're going to be confused, shocked, upset. That they won't accept the two of you. You can't lose them over a soulmate. You won't.

You clear your throat and stand from your spot, picking up your empty plates.

"Don't you have to be at work soon? I doubt you can show up in pajamas."

"I'm the boss, pretty girl. I can wear whatever the hell I want."

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he relents.

"Fine. I need to change. But I'll see you later? At your Mom's?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you there."

You walk Bucky to the door, opening it expectantly. He looks at you for a moment too long, still unconvinced by your reassurances from earlier.

"If you need anything, just call me. You know you can talk to me anytime, yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his t shirt. "I know, Buck. Thanks."

He leans in to kiss your forehead before leaving you in the doorway, more confused than ever.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You commit your day to baking your feelings away.

As soon as Bucky left your apartment, the space felt empty, incomplete. Much like you do. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel better when Bucky is around. You know it's the whole Tethering thing, but still. Your heart feels fuller, the world seems brighter, the sun on your skin is warmer. Everything's easier when your soulmate is next to you.

You click on the radio, a soft, jazzy melody filling your kitchen. You begin to measure your ingredients, picking up bowls, utensils and your piping bags as you go.

This is the only thing you've ever felt like you were made to do. Sure, you've had hobbies as you've grown up. You're a good swimmer, you enjoyed soccer, you weren't too bad at dance. But nothing compared to baking.

Which at first, sounded ridiculous. Grown ups would ask you what you wanted to be when you were older, and when you said Baker, they'd laugh in that patronising way that adults do. It didn't stop you, though.

Your Grandma bought you a half empty recipe book for your tenth birthday. You can create your own and add them, she'd said. You'll be publishing a book with your name on in no time.

Your parents took you on a European vacation when you were sixteen. In Amsterdam, you passed this tiny little bakery, tucked away down a back street. It was red brick with a big window in the front, showcasing the cakes and endless sweet treats they had to offer. When you peered through the glass, you watched as the woman who you assumed was the owner went about her day. She looked so happy to be serving her customers. You decided then and there that was going to be you one day. A Bakery of your own. A happy life.

Which is why you're having such a hard time. You haven't talked to Stella since she called you, and you're worried she's going to change her mind if she doesn't hear from you soon. You haven't talked to Bucky about it either, even though he presented you with opportunity after opportunity this morning. It's starting to feel like the walls are caving in.

So, you do what you do best. Bake.

The day passes by quicker than anticipated, lost in a cloud of cinnamon and powdered sugar. You're wiping down your counters when your phone rings, Bucky's name lighting up your screen.

"Hi, Buck."

"Hey, pretty baby. You want me to pick you up later? I'm passing your place anyway."

He's always thinking of you so selflessly. The thought makes your heart stutter for a moment.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Course not. I can drop by at six? Gives us enough time to help your Mom set up."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks, Buck."

"See you then, honey."

You hang up the phone and realise the hours have completely escaped you. You jump in the shower and do your hair and makeup in record time, miraculously. You're stood in a towel in front of your closet when you feel Bucky pull up outside. The tension in your chest eases a little, and you take a deep, full breath. He knocks on the door, and you completely relax.

"Hey, you," he greets, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

You take a step back to look at him, and almost lose your balance. He looks ridiculously handsome. He's wearing a dark short sleeve button up that hugs his biceps so tightly, you're worried it might burst open. His jeans cling to his thighs deliciously, and the leather jacket slung over his shoulder adds a ruggedness that most men couldn't pull off. Your eyes rake over him slowly, taking him in from top to bottom. He lets you devour him, smirk never leaving his lips. Eventually, you meet his gaze.

"You see something you like?"

"You clean up real nice, Barnes," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

You untangle yourself from him before you jump his bones, and walk back to your closet. He follows you and sits on the edge of your bed, watching your every move like a hawk.

You pick out a sage green sundress that skims your thighs and hugs you in all the right places. It's a warm night, and your Mom loves to start a bonfire when it's cold.

"Close your eyes, playboy," you scold jokingly, laughing when he flops backwards to stare at your ceiling.

You slip the dress on, and realise it has a zipper at the back that you can't reach.

"Buck? Can you zip me up, please?"

He rises from his spot on the bed and strides over to you, standing a little closer than necessary. He pulls the zip upwards ever so slowly, fingertips brushing your spine as he goes. He's so warm and so broad behind you that it sends a shiver through your body.

Bucky brushes your hair to one side and leans down to press a featherlight kiss the place where your neck meets your shoulder. You hum in contentment, which only spurs him on. He begins to leave kisses wherever he pleases - your shoulder, your neck, behind your ear. You practically melt into him, and he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You smile at his words, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder.

"Says the man that looks like a goddamn supermodel."

"Oh, angel. Now you're just lying to me."

His chuckle rumbles through the both of you, the sound lighting up your nerve endings.

Your eyes flick across the room, where you notice the clock on the wall.

"Baby," you whisper. "You gotta stop. We're gonna be late."

He groans lowly and lets his head loll into the crease of your shoulder.

"I was fine until you called me baby," he murmurs. "Now that's all I'm gonna be thinking about for the rest of the night."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"I'm not."

You both laugh and untangle yourselves, you moving to put on your shoes while Bucky straightens himself out.

"You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself, lover boy?"

"I'm gonna have to," he grumbles, trying to hide the smile that's fighting to take over his face.

You lean against him as you do up the straps of your shoes, dancing your fingers down his arm to interlink your hands.

"Ready?" you ask, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Ready," he confirms, leaning down to kiss you chastely.

"A night of pretending that we're not soulmates. How hard can that be?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Pretending that Bucky isn't your soulmate is one of the hardest things you've ever done.

You haven't even made it inside yet.

Buck parks his truck in your parents driveway and turns to look at you. You've been silent the entire ride over, and it's making him anxious. He reaches over and places a warm palm on your bare thigh, thumb rubbing patterns back and forth.

"You okay?"

You take a deep breath, which is all the answer he needs.

"It's alright, baby. I'm nervous too. We've got this. We're alright."

You look into his eyes for the first time since you were in your apartment, and have to fight to stop yourself from crying. You nod and bite your lip, inhaling and exhaling carefully.

"You're okay. I promise. It's me and you, honey girl. It's me and you."

You want to crawl over into Bucky's lap and bury your face in his chest. You want to curl up in his strong arms and let his scent envelope you. You want to tangle your fingers into his hair and smash his lips to yours, until you don't know where you end and Bucky begins.

Instead, you bring his hand from your thigh to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles tenderly. The gesture makes his heart beat so fast, he's a little worried he's about to pass out.

"Come and talk to me anytime tonight, okay? I've got you. I've always got you."

You nod again, and take another deep breath.

"I know, Buck. It's the only thing I'm sure of."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"My baby!"

Your Mom smothers you in a hug the minute you knock on the door, almost tipping you over in the process.

"Oh, you look so beautiful. This colour is gorgeous on you, sweetheart."

The heaviness of your heart gets a little lighter at the sight of your Mother. She's magic like that.

"Thanks Mama. Is your skirt new? It's pretty."

She gives you a twirl, the skirt billowing around her like a princess. Both you and Bucky smile when you catch each others eyes briefly.

"I got it on our trip! Your Dad got a new shirt too - he looks so handsome."

She's grinning from ear to ear talking about him. Your smile only gets wider.

Bucky gives your Mom a one armed hug, and hands her a white box with a bow on.

"I wish I could say this is from me, but I don't have nearly enough talent for that."

"You're plenty good at other things, Buck," she laughs. "What's in here, sweetheart?"

"Apple, carrot and cinnamon cake with cream cheese frosting. I piped little bunny rabbits on top, too."

Before she can say anything else, you take the box from her hands and walk into the house.

"We better put this in the refrigerator before the frosting melts!" you call as you leave.

"Come on Buck, let's get you a drink. Jack bought your favourite."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your parents backyard looks incredible.

Golden fairylights adorn the deck, illuminating the dining area that your Mom has set up. The table is covered with a white lace tablecloth, and littered with tea lights and candlesticks. Each place setting has a wine and a water glass ready, fringed cushions perched on each wooden chair. There's a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a stained glass vase as the centerpiece, more flowers scattered across the entirety of the table.

The sun hasn't set yet, and the entire garden is dripping with the glowing orange hue of the evening. The air is warm and calm, salty ocean breeze only disrupting the peace occasionally. If summer were to be summed up in a night, it'd be this one.

Your Dad is pouring water into all of the glasses from an ornate painted jug when you walk into the yard.

"Hi, Papa."

"Oh, sweetheart!" he smiles in surprise, abandoning his task to come and give you a hug. "You look amazing. I like your dress."

"Thank you - hey, is this your new shirt? It suits you!"

"It's nice, right? Your Mom picked it out. She said the colour brings out my eyes."

You look him up and down comically, crossing your arms over your chest like a cartoon detective.

"Hmm... she's right. It definitely does."

You're both laughing when your Mom and Bucky join you, the two men immediately smacking each other on the back affectionately.

"Where you been, Buck? Work keeping you busy?"

"Stupidly busy - you wouldn't even believe."

"Well, it's your night off, so no shop talk!" your Mom encourages, handing Bucky a beer.

"Easier said than done," he winks, and your breathing picks up just a little.

"Mama, do you need help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Oh, yes please, sweetheart. Come, let me show you what needs doing."

The two of you leave the men to catch up, walking inside to prep the appetisers.

You're slicing tomatoes carefully when you turn to watch your Mom for a minute. She's chopping up basil, completely engrossed. The evening sun beams in, illuminating her as she stands by the window. You love her so much it makes you unsteady on your feet.

"Hey, Mama? Can I talk to you about something?"

She turns and immediately stops what she's doing, giving her full attention to you.

"Of course you can, baby. Anything at all."

You take a deep breath, and carry on slicing while you talk.

"So, you remember Stella, right?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

There's good food, gorgeous wine and even better company. Your parents invited many of their friends, meaning twelve of you are sat around the meticulously prepared table. In between courses, there's conversation, laughter and games, everyone letting go of the stress of the week.

You're doing everything you can to avoid looking at Bucky. You're worried that if someone catches the two of you, they'll know everything. You're surprised you haven't confessed already, the weight of the secret too heavy to bear.

Your Mom is cutting your cake on the table when there's a sudden commotion.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. Shit."

"Is everyone okay?" your Mom asks, flitting to the other end of the table.

"I'm so fucking clumsy, my God. Dropped my wine straight onto Bucky," Jesse, one of your Dad's oldest friends, explains.

"As long as it doesn't stain my white tablecloth, we're fine," your Mom laughs. "What do you need, Buck?"

"It's only white wine, luckily, so no stain. I'm just wet. I'm gonna go dry off."

"I have a hairdryer?" you offer without thinking.

"Good idea, honey. Go help Bucky upstairs while I get some paper towels."

You rise from your chair and make your way inside, heart racing as Bucky follows you. You rummage around the drawers of your childhood bedroom, certain you used to keep all of your hair tools here somewhere.

"You got it?" a warm, whiskey smooth voice asks from behind you.

"Got it," you reply, standing up with the hairdryer in your hand.

Bucky kicks the door closed behind him, and takes a step into you.

"I can't focus on anything when you're sat there in that dress," he murmurs. "Look like a fuckin' angel, all pretty under the lights."

Heat blooms over your chest, and you pray he doesn't notice. Your breathing quickens, and you step forward too, now chest to chest with him.

"I'm so worried that I'm going to accidentally blurt it out," you confess. "You're the only thing that's on my mind."

Bucky leans down to press his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. You fist your hands into his shirt and pull him closer, snaking your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like mint and sugar and every kiss for the rest of your life.

He groans when you bite his lip, nipping yours back in retaliation.

"Easy, baby," he warns teasingly. "I can't go back down there black and blue."

You roll your eyes and kiss him harder, practically melting when he grabs at your ass roughly.

"What do you need, pretty girl?" he questions against your mouth. "I'll give you anything."

You're panting against him, vibrating with need.

"Need you to take the edge off," you whisper, hands shaking as you unbutton his wet shirt. "Can't carry on like this. Please, baby. Please."

"We've gotta be quick," he reminds, sneaking his hand under your dress to tease you over your underwear.

You grab at his shoulders for leverage, almost certain your knees aren't going to hold out long enough. Bucky doesn't even take your panties off, just slips his hand down the front. It feels filthier this way.

"Fuck," he groans. "This all for me, honey? You been thinking about this?"

"Yes," you whine. "All I've thought about."

Bucky wastes no time, slipping a finger into you easily. After a minute, he adds another, setting a steady rhythm immediately.

"Shit," you breathe, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "We're supposed to be taking it slow."

"You want me to go slow?"

"No, fuck," you say immediately. "Don't stop. Please."

He chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

"I won't, baby. Almost there."

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he can take you to the edge, but you don't care. This is what having a soulmate is. They know you better than anyone - inside and out.

"So close," you whisper.

"I know, pretty baby. I can feel it. Stay quiet and come for me. That's it."

You can't hold out when he uses that tone with you. You're thrown over the edge, your climax running through you like molten honey, hot and delicious. Your knees buckle, and Bucky uses a strong arm around your middle to hold you up.

"There we go," he's murmuring. "Atta girl. That's my girl."

You wrap your arms around his waist and breathe him in, finally coming back to your senses.

"My parents are gonna wonder where we are," you realise. "Grab your shirt and the hairdryer. You're gonna have to do it while I recover."

Bucky smiles at you with so much affection, the world stops spinning for a second. This is a moment of bliss. The two of you revel in it.

Bucky dries his shirt while you go back outside, trying to keep suspicion to a minimum.

"Fixed, sweetheart?" your Mom asks, holding out a piece of cake to you. You take it gratefully and sit back down, relaxing into your chair.

"Yeah, it's basically dry. That hairdryer is old, so it's taking a while."

"Well you didn't miss much, other than Jesse telling the Joshua Tree story for the fortieth time this month," your Dad laughs.

"You love that story, asshole!" Jesse yells, just as Bucky re-enters the garden. He throws you a mischievous smile, which you reciprocate with ease.

Everyone is a little more careful with their wine as the night goes on, keeping all the glasses planted firmly on the table.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"So then I said, well, if you don't like it, leave!"

You're pretty sure you've heard your Mom's friend Cora tell this story before, but you're all laughing like it's the first time. She has such an animated voice, you're convinced you could listen to her read the phone book.

"Which, I mean, I didn't think he would. Imagine breaking up over a chinchilla! A fucking chinchilla!"

You're laughing so hard your sides hurt. You look over to Bucky, and see that he's grinning like a Cheshire cat. You could get used to this.

"So I watched him pack his shit, box by box. Which took fucking ages, by the way. He was using those big plastic boxes, you know the black ones? And he was filling them so carefully and so slowly, that I started helping him!"

You wipe a tear from your face, still doubled over in amusement. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, the way your abs hurt now.

"But I didn't want him taking those boxes, because they're nice, right? They're expensive, and they're mine! So I helped him move out, and then unpacked all of his shit so I could have my boxes back."

Your Mom, despite hearing this story before, hasn't taken her eyes off Cora the entire time. She's such a careful listener. It's one of the things you love most about her.

"Oh, I'll drop them off for you, if you like!" Cora yells, staring directly at you. Everyone turns to look at you in confusion.

"Why would she need all your boxes?" Jesse laughs.

"For the big move!"

Time stands still. The world goes silent. Your heart stops beating.

"...What move?" Bucky asks, never taking his eyes off you.

"To California! Her dream job, falling in her lap. We're so proud of you, babygirl. You've worked so hard for this."

Cora's tearing up now, the alcohol catching up to her. She raises her glass high in the air.

"To our little superstar. The best baker the world has ever seen! Cheers!"

Everyone clinks their glasses together in the middle of the table, except for you and Bucky. You haven't taken your eyes off each other. The world carries on, but you stay still.

You suddenly feel a cacophony of emotions - sadness, anger, betrayal, hurt and confusion settling like ten tonne weights onto your chest. Then it hits you - you're feeling what Bucky feels.

You feel a heart break.

You're not sure if it's yours or his.

tag list part one -

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#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader smut #dadsbestfriend!bucky x reader #dadsbestfriend!bucky #dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dbf!bucky barnes x reader #Honey Girl #soulmate!bucky barnes #dbf!bucky barnes #dad's best friend bucky barnes #soulmate!au #soulmate!bucky barnes x reader #dbf!bucky #bucky fluff #soulmate au

[baby-jaguar]

CoD Wedding Headcannons

Some sweet love for our boys, hoping to cheer anyone up after MW3. While the photos do have fem/wedding dresses in them, I tried to make it as gender neutral as possible!

I hope everyone can enjoy!

Price

Getting married to Price warrants an old Hollywood glamour, something more intimate and small for the people you both hold close, so you can make memories of the long-awaited night while being able to relax in good nature of the celebration.

You both decided to find a nice speakeasy for both the ceremony and reception, as Price had surprised you and rented out the entire venue. The soft and warm glow of candles and old lights casted a romantic light on you, showing the etheral glow to you.

Price is a traditional man, and decided to save his first look to seeing you walk down the aisle. As your eyes lock onto his, he sniffles and the distinct tell of his moustance twitching is what keys you in on him being able to feel comfortable showing his emotions as he hones his ice blue eyes on you.

He did in fact, make quite the show for your first kiss, taking you in his arms and giving you a gentle but deep dip, showing off the romantic (almost steamy) touch of your lips as you lock in your unity.

Your first dance is a slow sway in circles, focused on whispering sweet nothings to each other in between the kisses you reach up to give him. Saving the absolute last dance for both of you, as the clock strikes into midnight and the day is now Sunday, Etta James' Sunday Kind of Love plays out softly as you sway together before heading up to your honeymoon suite.

Vows:

"My angel, you have been everything I believed I never deserved. You have shown me what I have always been missing, the love that I never knew of. I know I will never be able to amount to the thankfulness of you sticking by me through and through, I will never stop thanking the heavens of the gold and glory that you are, as you run through my veins to find your home in my heart.

Just as I fought by your side on the field, I promise to fight for our love, to shield it from any harm that may come its way. Through the scars and wounds we bear, both seen and unseen, I vow to cherish every part of you. Your strength, your vulnerability, your laughter, and your tears - they are all precious to me. Our love is a force that any creature made by god would fear, as I know we are forever to be unstoppable together, through every small and great task.

Together, we will conquer any obstacle that stands in our way. I promise to never forget the sacrifices made; honoring our fallen, for they have paved and protected the way for our love. They watch over us, guiding us, and reminding us to cherish every moment we have. I love you, with every last being of myself, and even past my last breath. Forever and always, angel."

Gaz

Gaz has a flair for the dramatics and also loves a fairytale and nature aesthetic. He requested a fairytale wedding, and it was an extravagant night for the two of you. Gaz values some traditions but was ready to blow those to the wind for his excitement to celebrate your love. You did a first look, and he was rendered speechless as he took in your form, tears already pooling and beginning to stream down his face.

Gaz took the time with you to learn a ballroom dance for your first song, impressing your guests and even yourselves with how beautiful and magical the two of you are. Cutting the cake was a very sweet moment for the two of you, as you both happened to have the same thought and booped each other on the nose with icing at the same moment.

Your wedding was held in a mountaintop venue, the night sky showing all the stars that shined brightly and reflected on a lake, approving of your love as if the faries make an appearance for your royal court of a wedding. As you danced the night away, Kyle was sure to keep a mix of whispering the most heart warming sweet nothings, and making sure to catch your reaction by the photographers when he murmured sinfully sweet thoughts in your ear.

Vows:

"Through the chaos and uncertainty, you became my anchor, guiding me with your strength and infectious spirit. Together, we have faced the darkest of days, and it is in those moments that our love has grown stronger. When I look into your eyes, I see a reflection of my hopes, dreams, and desires.

Your love has breathed life into my soul, and I vow to nourish that love with tenderness and compassion. I promise to be your confidant, your partner, and your best friend, as your happiness is everything that can and will continue to let my heartbeat to our special song. I promise to be the keeper of your dreams, the one who will protect and nourish you from any challenges we face, always together.

You are my life; I will walk beside you, hand in hand, supporting you in every step. You are the greatest reward life has ever, granted me. With every beat of my heart, I will love you fiercely, unconditionally, and without reservation, for you are the missing piece that completes me."

Soap

Johnny was all for having a fun and colorful wedding, and a maximalist and retro decor was decided on. Because for a MacTavish? Go big or go home baby.

He never stopped smiling the day of your wedding, his astonishment at the environment and scene of your unity never leaving his face. You decided to read your vows privately to each other, holding hands and having your backs to each other while waiting to have your first look down the aisle. Under disco balls, your first dance felt like something out of a movie.

Johnny was one to always show off, and he was sure to spin and dip you around, his strength holding you as he even lifted you and twirled you around. Now as a real MacTavish, you both knew how to throw a party and made sure that your open bar helped your guests get as wild as you two are.

If you did decide to wear a garter, or simply put one on for the tradition, Johnny made a damn great show of taking it off; crawling underneath your dress/between your legs and made you squeak in embarrassment as his stuble tickled your thigh.

Vows:

"Today, I stand before you, to pledge my undying love. You, my little sparrow, have held my attention, obsession, and heart from the moment our eyes met. I promise to always have your back, whether we're dodging bullets or just trying to figure out what to have for dinner. With you, life is an adventure, and I can't wait to tackle it together.

I promise to be your partner in crime for life, always up for exploring new horizons and creating memories we’ll never live down, But as long as we're together, every moment will be an adventure worth cherishing.

You bring laughter and lightness to my life, even in the darkest of times. Your smile is like a ray of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. Life is too short to not enjoy the simple pleasures, and with you by my side, every moment is a treasure.

I vow to keep the flames of passion alive, As Our love is a fire that burns bright, even amidst the chaos. I promise to keep the spark alive, to always pursue you with the same determination and intensity that challenges the forces of this earth."

Ghost

Simon was enthusiastic to have a wedding that featured a dark and mystical aesthetic. He wanted something small and private, requesting that it be some of your closest friends and family to spend the special night together.

With a romantic and dark church, it was a powerful and mystical wedding that incorporates both of your energies. You both decided not to have groomsmen/bridesmaids and instead placed altars of your fallen teammates and loved ones under the arch with you two, feeling their love in your unity.

Simon waited for his first look down the aisle but began crying with a wavering voice during your vows. During the first dance, he lifted you to stand atop of his feet, holding you as he moved the both of you in a surprising fashion of a waltz, elegantly for the seasoned stealth veteran.

His eyes seemed to swim with tears, iris' almost as black as his pupils in the dark lit church and ballroom. His eyes were rarely straying from you, far to enamored with keeping every memory to be held in his soul- even in the next life.

Vows:

"From the darkness where death once consumed us, to the light that now shines through our love, I stand here today, my heart laid bare, to vow my eternal devotion to you. In the face of danger, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, our love has blossomed like a fragile flower, defying all odds. Today, I stand here, a silent guardian, to pledge my undying love and devotion to you. In our promise, my heart will always yearn for your touch, laughter, and the warmth of your presence.

Through the pain and loss we have endured, I promise to cherish every memory we share. Your laughter, your touch, your soul - they are etched into the very fabric of my existence. I will hold you as tenderly as the spirits did when creating you, as you are a gift that I will forever cherish. In this broken world, I vow to mend any pieces of your heart, to hold you close when the weight of the past becomes too heavy to bear.

I will be your strength when you feel weak, your rock when you need stability. With you, I have found a love that mends the scars of the past."

Graves

Phillip desired a venue within the wilderness and countryside, deciding that a farm with a Barn reception was perfect. His vows were as strong as his commands, his voice was deep and rich with honey, and maybe a few tears, as he spoke his heart out to you and let the crowd hear just how much you have changed him into a loving man.

You partook in “burying the bourbon,” planting a favorite bottle in the ground of your wedding venue, one month prior. Once dug out, you intertwined arms and took shots all night, the heat of the drink and your love enveloping you both. two-stepping through the night on the dance floor, he twirled you expertly and dipped you low to the ground before always leaving a kiss on your lips.

It was during the ceremony that he surprised you, having ordered a mechanical bull for you and the guests to ride. Taking you and himself on the first ride, you laughed so hard you cried at how silly, but fun it was.

Taking you to the airport after the wedding, he had a classic American car with a "Just Married" sign on the back. And of course, the Shadows were your escort to the airport.

Vows:

"My sweetheart, from the moment our stubborn hearts crossed paths, I sensed a connection deeper than what ties us to this life. I will be a guardian of our love, ensuring that it shines brightly in every step I take, and every breath I draw, as you are the whisper that breathes into my greatest devotion.

In the depths of my soul, and the depths of you, I promise to carry our love of shared laughter, whispered promises, and the unspoken bond that will forever be the piece that grounds me in this realm. I vow to live a life worthy of the love you bless me with, to carry forward the lessons you teach me, and to honor the sacrifices we have made to make it this far, together.

Your courage, compassion, and unwavering loyalty will forever inspire me, my angel, whom I vow to cherish and love and you beat your wings to the pulse of my heart.

As I walk this Earth with you by my side, I know that we will be forever united no matter the realm we are in. As our love knows no boundaries, and as we exchange these vows, we will be together, holding each other in a timeless embrace. To the moon and farther, you are my saving grace. ”

Alejandro

Alejandro was excited to celebrate your commitment and love to each other, already planning a massive celebration between each other's families, friends, and Los Vaqueros, who helped set up your beautiful wedding. In true Vaquero fashion, the Wedding Lasso Ceremony was incorporated.

By a thick cord of white rope, the priest tied it around you two in an infinity shape and blessed your unity to eternity. As he read his vows to you, Alejandro tried very hard to not cry but in the last paragraph (and from hearing his own mother’s soft sniffles in the crowd) he had a quiet sob while his eyes found yours, reciting the lines from his heart.

As the ceremony concluded, you and Alejandro rode your horses down the streets of the town, waving and smiling at all who had come out to shout and cheer for your parade of love in La Callejoneada, many throwing rice and flower petals towards you two in a token of celebration. Your wedding was held in an orchard of Mango trees, the meaning of affection and adoration not.

Vows:

"Mi Amor, as we stand together, I vow to be the person you deserve, to love you unconditionally, and to be a witness to your growth and transformation. Our love is a flame that burns brightly, illuminating the path before us, and I am grateful to walk it by your side.

In your eyes, I find the force that drives me to be what you deserve, as you are the most sacred thing to ever cross the path of my heart. Eres mi existencia, la luz que hace que mi sangre lata en mi corazón como siempre ha sido el tuyo. (You are my existence, the light that makes my blood beat into my heart as it has always been yours.)

Mi Vida, in you, I have found a sanctuary where I can be myself, unburdened by the weight of the world. I vow to be your shelter and support, and together, we will create a haven of love and understanding, where we can always find solace and rejuvenation.

Desde este día en adelante, caminaremos juntos por el sendero de la vida, enfrentando los desafíos con valentía y compartiendo las risas y los sueños. Mi amor por ti trasciende las palabras y se manifiesta en cada gesto, en cada mirada, y en cada latido de mi corazón."

(From this day forward, we will walk the path of life together, facing challenges with courage and sharing laughter and dreams. My love for you transcends words and is manifested in every gesture, in every look, and in every beat of my heart.)

Rudy

Rodolfo was ready for a celebration but wanted to keep it intimate to your closest family and friends, and of course, Los Vaqueros as well. You both chose a beautiful wedding venue next to the beach, having the white decorations tied into the beautiful white sand and blue ocean water.

Exchanging Las Arras matrimoniales proved to be heartwarming as the priest and los padrinos y madrinas made sure you felt the love as you became a Parra, a member of their family. You were surprised as Rudy managed to only have his eyes water during his vows but his voice wavered, and he had to clear his throat multiple times while reading them aloud.

That didn’t stop his voice from showing his conviction and devotion; entering the reception, Rudy placed you on a lone chair in the middle of the dance floor and lined up with his men and a mariachi band. Under the sunset, he serenaded you. His voice rang out richly and perfectly, causing tears to stream down your face as your hand laid over your heart to try and keep it still.

Vows:

“Mi Cielo, your presence in my life has been like a symphony, each note perfectly harmonizing with the next. Together, we have created a melody that resonates deep within me. You have become my muse, my inspiration, and the beat of my soul.

Mi Corazón, prometo nutrir nuestro amor como una flor delicada, cuidándolo con cuidado y devoción. Así como un compositor cultiva su obra maestra, yo me haré cargo de nuestro amor, colmándolo de cariño, comprensión y respeto. Nuestro amor florecerá, irradiando su belleza al mundo. (My Heart, I promise to nourish our love like a delicate flower, tending to it with care and devotion. Just as a composer cultivates his masterpiece, I will take charge of our love, showering it with affection, understanding and respect. Our love will blossom, radiating its beauty to the world.)

Our love is a masterpiece, and I promise to protect it with all my being. As we embark on this journey together, I vow to always walk beside you, hand in hand, navigating the twists and turns that life may bring. Our love will be the melody that carries us through, and with you by my side, I am confident that we can conquer anything. En este día y todos los días venideros, me comprometo a amarte con cada fibra de mi ser. (On this day and every day to come, I commit to loving you with every fiber of my being.)

Our love is a melody that sings of devotion and commitment, and I am honored to be the one who shares this beautiful symphony with you.”

König

While planning your wedding, König asked for a deal between you two for the ceremony. If you granted him a private elopement, he would deliver the wedding of your dreams. Deliver he did, as he picked a literal castle for your venue. An enchanting and historic architecture with plants adding to the mystical feel, he made you feel as decadent as two rulers who are together forever more and uniting two kingdoms.

He chose to speak his vows privately to you, with a camera pointed towards you to watch as you both had tears running down your faces at the words spoken softer than any feeling your heart has ever felt before. However, he knew that a party was needed to celebrate your love, so the reception was held in a ballroom that overlooked the forest.

As a man who values his heritage, you and König had a private ‘Brautraub’ where you hid within the castle, waiting for him to figuratively seek and kidnap you as a symbol of starting a new portion of your life with him as he (literally) swept you off your feet and into his arms.

Vows:

"Mein Schätz, our love is vital as the bond between two rulers has created a kingdom of love and unity that reigns within our souls. You are the crown of my life, the sun that illuminates my kingdom. With you, I have experienced the true meaning of love and devotion as you have captured my heart, forever I will honor and protect you, as you are my guiding star that will lead me to my heaven.

Mein Liebling, ich gelobe, unsere Liebe wie ein kostbares Juwel zu hegen und sie mit Hingabe und Aufmerksamkeit zu pflegen. Ich gelobe, unsere Liebe immer zu nähren und sie stärker zu machen als einen funkelnden Diamanten, denn niemand wird jemals meine Hingabe an Dich schmälern. (My darling, I vow to cherish our love like a precious jewel and to nurture it with devotion and attention. I vow to always nourish our love and make it stronger than a sparkling diamond, for no one will ever diminish my devotion to you.)

Meine Sonne und Sterne, I vow to cherish and nurture our bond with tenderness and care. Like a king protects his kingdom, I will guard our love fiercely, shielding it from harm. Our love will stand as a beacon of hope, one that is a testament of royalty, radiating its warmth and beauty to all who witness its majestic journey. Ich liebe dich für immer.”

(Meine Sonne und Sterne = My Sun and my Stars. Ich liebe dich für immer = I love you, forever.)

#task force 141 #cod mw2 #call of duty #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #john price #john price x reader #los vaqueros #phillip graves #tf141 #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle garrick #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #commander graves #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rudy parra #los vaqueros x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #modern warfare 3 #modern warfare 2

[sttoru]

LOST IN YOUR EYES !

ෆ sypnosis. your lover’s bangs cover most of his eyes and stand in your way whenever you want to admire them. you take matters in your own hands and find a way past that barrier to admire his eyes properly.

ෆ note. based on this anon request. thank you for the amazing idea bb! hope you enjoy. not proof read. this includes headcanons + small drabbles (below cut)

ෆ tags. blade / jing yuan x gender neutral reader (written with female reader in mind, however no pronouns used), fluff, reader gets referred to as cute/adorable in jing yuan’s part.

BLADE !

genuinely doesn’t even know why you’d like to stare into his eyes in general. blade doesn’t look much into a mirror, however since meeting you and hearing your kind comments about them, he’s started to secretly look more at his eyes whenever passing by his reflection.

blade does this out of pure confusion, because he fails to understand why you’d like his uniquely red and yellow coloured eyes. no matter how many times he tries to put his mind to it—your reasoning is impossible to comprehend. he just labels your comments about them as weird.

blade got a bit defensive when you first started to move his dark blue bangs to the side with the excuse of wanting to see his eyes. he’d swat your hand away in the beginning. though, slowly and surely, he got used to that habit of yours.

“again?” blade sighs with his arms folded over his chest.

he had been strolling around with you and the sun was setting, the orange sky making his eyes glow and seem even more ethereal to you. especially due to the gold hue in them which shone brighter than ever.

“please? just stay still.” you pout, putting on your best puppy eyes. that antic normally never works on blade for some reason; he’ll show zero reaction to your pleading. if he’s in a better mood than usual, he’ll glance at you and then nod at best.

“for me?” you add in a desperate attempt to get your lover to comply.

blade silently looks over at you. there was not an ounce of change to be seen on his cold face, yet you noticed the subtle flicker in his eyes. one that no other person could have spotted. you had spent enough time admiring his eyes to memorise every little detail about them. from how they’d look when he’s mad to how they’d look when he’s in a (rare) content mood.

you knew your pleading had finally broke through his hard shell.

“…” blade stops in his tracks and turns his body to you, letting his arms fall to their sides like you’ve won him over. it’s the most vulnerable he’s been with anyone.

you stood there with your mouth slightly agape at the beautiful scenery, including the man in front of you. the wind blowing through blade’s long hair and the way he’s standing so relaxed—it was almost an honour to see that view.

“i’m not going to stand here all day. come.”

you immediately went over to blade, standing in close proximity to his body. you carefully brushed his bangs to the side and looked into both of his gorgeous eyes. blade was staring right back at you, not blinking even once.

“incredible..” you admire him out loud as your thumbs graze against the smooth skin of his temples.

blade doesn’t utter a word and lets you do what you want to. he can’t deny the unfamiliar yet tugging feeling in the pits of his stomach. the one feeling he’s been trying to repress to not make the same mistake twice.

all he could do in that moment of vulnerability was accept the power you had and will continue to have over him.

JING YUAN !

is probably fascinated by your wish to look into his golden orbs. jing yuan, in contrast of blade, thinks it is pretty adorable of you. he won’t question your actions and just goes along with whatever you desire of him. the general is a fool for you.

jing yuan won’t even mind it if you do it in public. he’ll bend his head down a little to give you access to his face. but, don’t blame him if he has his hands on your waist or hips in the meantime. you being close to him while looking into his eyes is considered something romantic according to him.

be prepared for kisses to be stolen from you. you’ll be in such a trance, too enamoured by his eyes to even notice the strategy the general was planning. that strategy including all the ways he can have you close enough for a ‘surprise’ kiss.

jing yuan was staring back at you with a soft smile that reached his eyes, his arms wrapped around your waist while you laid on his bare chest, “are you having fun, dearest?”

it was just another lazy morning with the two of you cuddled up in his cozy bed. jing yuan, who was spared from his duties today, woke up to you playing with his hair. specifically, the light grey-ish locks that covered one of his eyes.

“mhm,” you hum, the soft sound of delight being jing yuan’s weakness, “you’re so pretty.”

you always tell him that. it was the truth and you simply wanted your lover to know how good he looks. no matter what he’s doing—whether it’d be sleeping, working, fighting or eating—jing yuan’s handsome looks were mesmerising.

your kind words earn a deep chuckle from your partner, sending vibrations through his chest, “well, thank you.”

jing yuan’s calloused hand cups one side of your cheek while your own hand held his bangs to the side. now both of his eyes were staring back at yours. you enjoyed jing yuan’s loving gaze that scanned your entire face in search of a perfect place to kiss.

the light streaming into the room between the gaps of your curtains made his skin glow and his soft yellow eyes more vibrant. they shone like valuable golden ores which mankind could only dream of witnessing.

jing yuan held onto the back of your head and guided your lips down to meet his in a kiss. a surprise kiss so romantic that it had you melting into his touch in an instant.

after you pulled back, jing yuan could easily spot the embarrassment on your face. he’s glad that his antics still have that effect on you.

“my love,” the general sighs in content, the pad of his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your right eye, “you’re so easy to catch off guard.”

and he loves you for it.

#sttoru writes. #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr fic #blade x you #jing yuan x you

[fandomxpreferences]

Man Eater (18+)

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x dark femme female reader (like siren energy)

TW: toxic, manipulation, smut, I think this counts as dub con, oral ( f receiving), I think that’s all but as always read at your own risk

Summary: Rafe can’t help but fall into your trap every single time.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: this is not my best work but I’m dipping my toes back in so please be nice to me

As much as he hates it, there’s something about you Rafe just can’t let go of. You're mysterious and seductive without trying; the most elusive woman he's ever met. You hold all the power, and for some reason, he keeps coming back for more.

Nobody knows what the two of you do behind closed doors. You show up when you feel like it, and every single time Rafe is waiting on his knees for you. Every time you leave he swears he's done, but then you call or show up and you're all he can focus on. You have a hold on him in a way that no one ever has before.

You don't think twice as you walk into the gala at tannyhill wearing a red gown; you smile and greet familiar faces just like usual. You're somehow kind and heartless at the same time, and Rafe has never been able to make sense of it.

He swears his breathing stops altogether when you make your entrance, but he remains stoic as he sips on whiskey. There’s something so powerful in the way you carry yourself; like you either own the place or don’t care who does. It draws him in and he can’t help but be mesmerized by just your presence.

He watches people move out of your way and men nearly break their necks as you float by ethereal and beautiful as ever. You’d think you’re a royal that should have a security team the way you command the room, and Rafe can’t look away.

You know he’s there and you can feel him watching your every move as you slink toward the bar and stop just a few feet away from him. While you may be sweet as sugar to most, Rafe gets to see the opposing side of you.

It's as if you're a siren; so beautiful and innocent one moment and sinister the next. He shifts closer so your shoulders are almost touching, and flags the bartender down with the subtle wag of his finger.

“She’s with me. Pour from our personal collection.” He instructs, and the man nods.

You glance over at him with a smirk and place your clutch on the counter before propping up on your elbows. You raise your eyebrows expectantly, and as if he has been perfectly trained, he orders your usual drink without further instruction.

“Always so eager to please.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your crimson-stained lips, and Rafe watches you with the same predatory gaze he always does.

“Only you.”

The way you stare up at him through thick lashes and winged eyeliner nearly makes him collapse, and he tries to calm the wild beating of his heart. You’re the type of beautiful that’s intimidating; so stunning that even the unshakable Rafe Cameron quakes in your presence.

You take a sip from your glass with a wink before strutting off, and he grins to himself. He knows how lucky he is to have you in any sense, and he also knows that you’re not in a place to be tied down.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from longing for more. He’s certain that you were made for him; and that there aren’t any other men in outer banks truly capable of keeping up with you the way he can.

As strong as he is, even Rafe falls victim to your spell. Anyone else would simply be steamrolled, and he thinks on some level you know that. He knows you two would rule Figure Eight together and be unstoppable, but he’ll accept what you give.

He’s not usually worried about you getting around because even if you aren’t exclusive by any means, you’re extremely selective. You don’t seek attention; that's why you get so much of it. Normally, you don't pay it any mind.

Tonight, however, Rafe clenches his jaw until it aches as you nurse drinks made from his liquor while rubbing another man's arm. He knows he has no claim to you; you’ve made that very clear. He isn’t even sure if you have his name saved in your phone.

Despite having that knowledge, he finds himself slowly maneuvering through the crowd in your direction. You lock eyes with him over the shoulder of the man sitting in front of you, and you quirk your brow just enough for Rafe to notice.

It startles Rafe sometimes; how your eyes sparkle with the same thrill and mischief as his. You’re easily just as crazy as he is and he’s absolutely addicted to the rush of being with you.

“My dad wants to say hello.” Rafe lies, not giving you a chance to speak. He can see the way you’re weighing your options in your mind. He knows there’s a possibility that you tell him to fuck off; despite your arrangement, going home together is not a given.

“Excuse me.” You politely smile, giving one last squeeze before releasing the man's bicep and stepping around him.

Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist instantly, with his hand splayed across your side and onto your stomach as he holds you close to him. You stumble a bit in your heels when he jerks you into him, but don’t show any emotion.

“Bit bold tonight, aren’t we?” You say just loud enough for him to hear, and his fingertips dig further into your flesh.

“Not bolder than wearing a dress with your entire back out and drinking my liquor with another man.” He bites, and you let him lead, not wanting to cause any more of a scene. He doesn’t stop until you’re standing in his room and shuts the door.

He stays facing away from you for a moment, and you tap your shoe impatiently.

“Did you bring me up here just t-“ You’re cut off when Rafe tilts his head back and sighs with annoyance.

“Shut up and listen.” He turns around and you try to cover your shock at his forwardness.

“Are you fucking other guys?”

You open your mouth to answer but he takes a stride forward and grips your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“The truth.”

When you don't speak, he narrows his eyes and takes a step impossibly closer.

“Look me in my eyes. Are we ever going to be more or am I really just a hookup? I need to know.”

You give him a pointed look but he doesn't waver and you roll your eyes.

“Rafe, don't pull at this thread. You know what this is.”

He licks his lower lip and nods before pulling back.

“I can’t do this with you anymore.”

Without skipping a beat, you close the distance he created and run your hands across his chest and onto his broad shoulders.

“I know you like it when I dress up, Rafe. Let's just work it out with our bodies, yeah? Let me ride you and ease your mind.” You purr and with lightning speed, Rafe grabs your throat and spins you around so your back is pressed against the door.

“Don't.” He grits out, but you can see the will starting to crumble in his ocean eyes.

You push against his chest just enough to get his attention, and he keeps his hold on your neck as you slowly move him backward. You both know that this dance always ends the same way, and it infuriates him as much as it turns him on.

He crashes back onto the mattress and you stand between his knees while he peers up at you. If you asked him, Rafe would insist that you’re not real. He swears there’s a glow surrounding you as he finds himself succumbing to you once again.

You reach back and slowly unzip your dress before wiggling your hips dramatically and letting it pool around your feet. You leave the heels on and swing one leg up so you’re half straddling him, and he watches with lust-blown pupils.

As much as he hates this cycle, he loves it just the same. You’ll manipulate him and he’ll let you because that's how much power you have over him.

You slowly crawl up his body, dragging your hands across his twitching muscles until your fingers are laced over his head, and lower your hips until you’re sitting on his bulge.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, your lips brushing against his throat.

“No.”

You slowly push forward and brush your chest against his face, sitting up when he tries to nip at the skin. You guide his hands against your hips and shift slightly, eliciting a deep groan.

“Show me how to please you.” You whisper, and something in Rafe snaps. He doesn't care about the party downstairs, he doesn't care that he's giving in to you again; all he cares about is claiming you in a way that shows you he’s capable of taking the control back at any second.

Before you can process, he flips you onto your back and rips your panties in half. You gasp with wide eyes, and Rafe slips his hand behind you. You arch your back so he can unhook your bra while his other hand dips into your folds.

He sucks a hickey into the top of your breast while his nimble fingers slip your bra off with ease, and he licks a strip from the dark bruise to the column of your throat. He keeps his head buried there working on the tender flesh while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick.

You buck up when he curls into your g-spot, and he repeats the movement while gasps fall from your lips.

“I know, baby. I got you.”

He presses one last kiss to your collarbone before trailing his lips and nose all the way down your torso. He wastes no time, and you cry out when his lips wrap around your clit. His free hand settles on the inside of your upper thigh, holding it open.

He hits a spot that causes you to pull away from him, and a sharp slap rings out before he wraps his hand around the back of your leg and yanks you back into him. He moves with your body as you writhe around, and continues his brutal pace.

He has you approaching that high in record time and reaches up to lace his fingers with yours as your head flings back while you tremble against him. He carries you through it the entire time, not even flinching when your nails draw blood or when his signet ring digs into his finger.

As soon as your vision clears, you sit up and start ripping at the buttons on his tux. He smirks at how eager you are and watches the way you try to cover it up. Regardless of what he is to you, no man will ever have you the way he has and you know that.

His lips crash against yours while you fiddle with his tie, and he quickly removes his belt and pants before leaning forward until you're flat against the bed. He gently moves your hands away and takes over, taking off the layers of clothing the best he can without breaking the kiss.

The second you feel the heat from his body, your hands roam his exposed flesh. His large hand grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg around his waist, and you nod into him. He wraps his hand around his cock and pumps a few times, hissing at the sensation.

He breaks away and presses his forehead to yours before tilting his head down to watch where he presses into you. You both inhale sharply, and you cling to him for dear life as he eases In until his pelvis hits yours.

He rolls his hips, hitting that sweet spot while also brushing against your swollen bundle of nerves. It's a torturously slow pace as he fucks into you deep and slow, and your sweat mingles as your bodies start to fall into a natural rhythm.

You push forward when he pulls back, and he litters bites and licks across your neck. Your sweet moans mix with his deep grunts and occasional whimpers to make a hymn as you worship each other.

“Fuck, you feel too good.” He groans, and you whine into his shoulder.

“You always think you're this little minx that can get whatever she wants. I let you because I want you to be happy. Sometimes you just have to be reminded that you’re not the apex predator you think you are. Not with me.”

His hand wraps around your throat and squeezes lightly, and you grin at the feeling. You can say whatever you want, but Rafe knows you would never let another man have this level of control let alone smile at it. It's those little things that keep a spark of hope alive; moments where he sees you want him as much as he wants you.

He forces your mouth apart with his tongue before devouring you like a man starved. Your skin burns hot as the two of you tangle in the sheets, too lost in each other to care about anything else.

You leverage your weight and flip over, slipping back onto his pulsing cock before he can protest. His head falls back with a strangled groan as he reaches a new depth, and his hands instantly settle on your waist.

You rock back and forth a few times, testing the water before settling in. You note every little gasp and nose scrunch, making sure to make those movements again.

His fingertips dig into the flesh on your hips as he guides you and you watch him through hooded eyes as he attempts to maintain some semblance of composure.

The two of you writhe in unison as you chase your highs, beads of sweat glistening like diamonds as they trickle down your bodies and mingle together.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Rafe is barely within his right mind, but the statement still sends a paralyzing shiver down your spine. For the first time, you feel a tinge of remorse and it causes your movements to stutter.

You recover quickly and continue until you feel him twitch and ride him through his high. Your mind is racing at light speed as you quickly climb off and start dressing, eager to get away.

Suddenly the room feels suffocating as Rafe’s cologne engulfs your senses and you keep your eyes cast downward. You don’t want to see the lacrosse trophies or the framed family photos; reminders that outside of your arrangement, Rafe is a real person with a real life.

“Whoah hold up, slow down.”

Rafe’s voice is laced with confusion as he comes back down and notices you all but sprinting around the room.

His large hands wrap around your biceps in an attempt to stop you, and your heart lurches when you spare a glance at his cerulean eyes.

“You’re not staying?”

Admittedly, you’ve gotten a smidge too comfortable and it’s become somewhat of a routine for you to stay over and leave when the sun comes up.

When you don’t answer and instead try to side step him, his brow furrows and he matches your movement so you’re blocked. His hand comes up to pinch your chin between this thumb and forefinger, and you try to ignore the way your skin tingles.

“Look at me. What’s going on?”

It occurs to you that he isn’t aware of what he said, and you swallow before taking a deep breath and holding your head high.

“I think you’re right. We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

His hand drops in shock, and before he can react you slink around him and race downstairs straight out the door.

Rafe stands in place for a second trying to process what just happened. He yanks on some sweatpants and goes bounding after you, but by the time he makes it outside, you’re already gone.

He runs his hand over his head before taking off back toward his room. He ignores the odd looks he receives from Gala guests roaming the property and continues on his mission until he’s back upstairs holding his phone.

It’s muscle memory at this point, finding you in his favorites comes with ease and it only takes a second for his thumb to press the number that he’s committed to heart.

His heart thumps in his chest as it rings once, then twice.

The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try again.

He hangs up and calls back three more times only to receive the same dreaded message each time before he lobs his phone across the room and looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks smut #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine

[a-hazbin-reader]

I don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are can you do a Alastor x reader where reader had a hopper focus on Alastors life as a killer and such and when they die they go to hell and they meet al and they are like fanning out over him and Alastor is kind happy about it and reader is like talking about how they listen to his radio shows on repeat it can be romantic or platonic or be read as ether I don’t mind (:

I love this idea so much! Just two unhinged demons feeding off each other's energy~

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

❌️Romantic

✅️Platonic

TW: Murder, Obsession

Description: ⬆️👆

My snookums

Alastor couldn't even try to be humble about it, soaking up all of your attention and praise with a prideful aura

Husk is so fucking done. He needs a drink

Ngl tho-

He is genuinely mystified and curious as to how you found him out, both in life and death

He was so careful???? The police never found him out so how did some chump fan figure out that he was a serial killer???

Guess he was lucky that you turned out to be a fan and not a snitch

I mean- his handiwork is always beautiful so maybe that's what gave him away

Yeah sure

And then you figure out his identity in HELL and still follow his life like he's a celebrity??

You're making him blush~ Stop it, you~

You know things about him that he himself had forgotten, his earlier days of scrambling for power, his first battles and victories

PLUS you listened to all his radio shows???

Not only are you some sort of genius but you also have great taste 👌

He at least has the decency to blush a little while you fangirl over him and babble about how amazing he is

It's just so good to be properly appreciated

Everyone SHUT UP Y/N is TALKING don't be RUDE

Okay now Vaggie is out

Oh do go on~ He wants to hear more from you~

Would love to hear your early theories about when he was a serial killer, the steps you took to finding him out and what final clue gave him away

Go onnnnnn

Sips tea and kicks his feet when you get to the start of his early afterlife and you begin to figure out who he used to be

Keep goinggggggggg

Is nearly shaking with excitement when you start to theorize where he went for 7 years, nobody has ever granted him this much time and attention

YES

Neither confirms or denies the last part but happily invites you to tag along with him more often

Will literally bring you to places with him just so you can tell everyone around you how amazing he is

What can he say, he likes your style 😉

I hope you liked it 😘

#alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor x reader

[theminecraftbee]

Jimmy notices Scott sitting near the edge of the Ace Race launch. They’re both on the practice server; it’s a good place to hang out. Gets away from the kinds of lives they live elsewhere, even if Jimmy figures the one he’s got right now is good enough. Scott’s here a lot, Jimmy’s found; it’s probably some combination of whatever the weird messenger thing he has going on with Noxite is and the number of other lives he’s lived. Jimmy bets it’s just quieter here than, like, he doesn’t know, he’s heard something about pirates?

Anyway, he’s always down to say hi to Scott. Also, Scott looks—strange. Diminished feels rude. Not preening like a peacock? No weird ethereal glow? It can’t be that the romance has worn off, it never really did, not all the way, Jimmy’s always seen him as sort of made of lace and marble and beautiful things from the beginning and even now that they’re like, friends friends, it’s just—

Jimmy plants himself in the grass. He can’t find a poppy, but he can find a dandelion. Close enough?

“Flower for your thoughts?” he says cheerfully.

Scott looks up. He laughs. “You can’t be doing that, Jimmy. We’ll get double-married. I already have too many husbands, you can’t be on there twice.”

“I think I can marry my flower husband as many times as I want,” Jimmy says.

“We barely even do a romance anymore.”

“Well, excuse you for not being a romantic.”

“Me? I’m not the romantic? Me?” Scott says incredulously.

“Well I don’t know how it would be me,” Jimmy says imperiously. He pauses, huffs, and sits down next to Scott. “I mean, we can do romance if you want. Hadn’t done that the last few lives because, you know, work better as friends right now, but I can totally wow you. I can, uh. Uh. Make… chocolate? No, I can’t do that, actually, don’t hold me to that—”

Jimmy pauses.

“Scott,” he says.

“No, keep going,” Scott says weakly.

“Have I done something wrong?” Jimmy asks.

“No, no, it’s just—sort of being a messenger god, I get a feel for things, and—it’s gonna happen again soon, Jimmy.”

“Oh, okay,” Jimmy says. They both know what they’re talking about. “I’m absolutely gonna win this time, just so you know.” He says it with all the false bravado of a person who’s mostly just hoping he doesn’t die first again. This time, this time, this time. He’ll do it by his own merits, though; he’s not sure what he would have done if Joel had actually gone through with the halting plan to die for him that he’d told Jimmy about last time. Probably crowed on happily about it, honestly, but with needles in his stomach the whole time.

Scott hasn’t responded yet.

“You don’t have to worry. You’re way too good at this. Constant finalist, now that you don’t have me weighing you down,” Jimmy tries.

“I shouldn’t talk about this with you,” Scott says.

“Rude,” Jimmy says. “We’re husbands at least twice over.”

“Yeah, but do you ever regret it? Don’t you—don’t you regret it?” Scott bursts out. “Don’t you ever wake up and—and you weren’t good enough to protect them and you’re not good enough to be loyal to and frankly you aren’t good enough to follow the rules either and, and so you’re just constantly winning. And you aren’t trying and you just think, if you’d just—if you’d just fucking slowed down, figured out how to protect—this is stupid. I’m proud of Martyn. Got him to win, at least. I can’t regret him winning. I wouldn’t have wanted anything else. I never have. Forget I said anything.”

Jimmy stares.

“I don’t regret it,” he says, and he’s surprised to realize he’s telling the truth.

“Not even for all the mocking?” Scott says.

“I mean. Wouldn’t have teamed with Grian and Joel if…”

“Oh,” Scott says. He stares out over the practice server. Jimmy cannot guess what’s going on in his head. No matter how many lives they’re friends, husbands, lovers both star-crossed and casual, enemies, and friends again in, Jimmy has to admit, Scott’s kind of a closed book. It’s one of the character flaws he has to make up for being perfect at everything else.

It’s part of what makes him Scott.

“I don’t regret it,” Jimmy says, almost more urgently.

“Oh,” Scott says again. “I do.”

Jimmy’s not sure what to say to that.

He’s never been good enough at winning much of anything to understand that kind of regret, is the thing. Blessing, curse, whatever else, he just…

“Sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow. Not normally the kind of person for this stuff,” Scott says. “It’s not that I’m not confident, it’s just…”

That, though. That, Jimmy can understand.

He scoots closer to Scott.

“Let’s race. I’ll totally beat you so badly. I was watching CPK do skips. And, I don’t know about you, but…”

“Yeah, you’ll hit those in your dreams,” Scott says. Neither of them move to stand up, though. They remain sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, watching other participants jump off the launch. It’s nice here. Quiet. A place apart from all the lives they live. Jimmy wonders if that’s why Scott’s here so much. Jimmy might have to show up too; that’s what increasingly old friends are for, he figures.

#limited life smp #<- tagged as such for being the most recent #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #a bee fic #idk man I just wanted to write scott being a little insecure I can’t sleep and have been having fh feelings lately #for whatever else I think Jimmy doesn’t ever regret TRYING even given that it never works out #be it relationships or bad plans or the life series #scott though—it works out for him and he’ll always wonder. #flower husbands

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff

[sehya]

Hello! I just read your hcs about lingerie shopping, and I was wondering if you could do the same with Koko, Inui, Hanma and Chifuyu? I really liked your writing! Thank you very much ❤️

✧˖°. ࣪𖤐 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

✉ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ. ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴡᴀɪᴛ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴜꜱʏ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴅᴀʏꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ Qᴜɪᴄᴋ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ. (Q Q)

ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒚𝒖 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒐, 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝑰𝒏𝒖𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒖, 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒎𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒖𝒋𝒊 × 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

ᥫ᭡...𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐲𝐮 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐨

He thought you were joking, giving out an amused chuckle at first until he realized you were serious. Immediately, his face erupted into a crimson hue and he quickly tried to resist your request, too flustered to take a step in the lingerie store. He tried to give random excuses, saying how you two can eat first, with the hopes in his heart that a few distraction will make you forget about the store but unfortunately, you were already pulling him towards the direction. He can’t exactly stop you or use strength, no, he just can’t. You look so excited and somehow, you managed to easily pull at his heart strings by batting those eyeslashes of yours, using those eyes he was so madly in love with to shoot down any refusal he has. With an oblivious smile, you managed to drag your blushing mess boyfriend inside the store. He was silent throughout, not speaking much due to embarrassment caused by the inappropriate thoughts that’s starting to hunt his mind with every piece of lingerie you show him. God help this poor boy’s heart. His felt like he was going to faint when you actually decided to try it out in the fitting room. He was already having an overdose of dopamine in his system and you're adding more, do you want to kill him? It feels like a sweet, pleasurable torture. Especially when his eyes landed in the lace mesh lingerie that you’re currently showing him, the light blue article fits your body perfectly and Chifuyu’s eyes darkened. His eyes were focused on you, on the way your body looks so ethereal in that see through piece, and guess what? He’s already taking out his wallet, handing it to you entirely and telling you to buy that or else he won’t be able to sleep peacefully. Of course, that was an exaggeration. What makes you think he’ll let you two sleep tonight?

─────── · ·✧˖°. ࣪𖤐

ᥫ᭡...𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞

Koko merely raised an eyebrow when you mentioned you wanted to visit this store. While his reaction doesn’t give much, his mind is actually in a complicated battle. In one hand, he wanted to spoil you immensely, but on the other hand, he’s thinking visiting that store is a waste of money. Why would he bother buying you a set of clothing that he will end up destroying later? He finds your body sexy and attractive under whatever article of clothing, preferably none inside the comfort of your room. That kind of thinking soon take a drastic change when you happily drag him inside the store, your excitement rubbing on him when he saw your bright smile. The smug grin on his face transforming into a genuine happy grin and it went from you picking out some pieces from him picking out for you, asking your opinion instead of the other way around. When you pulled him to the dressing room, Koko couldn’t help the way his tongue pokes out, licking at his lips with unabashed confidence that every single one would fit you perfectly. The soft and velvety garments hugged your form, exuding allure and at that moment, Koko couldn’t help but let out a seduced chuckle because as much as that thing looks so enticing in you, his mind was starting to wonder how much force would it take for him to tug it away to reveal a more beautiful sight? In the end, Koko was still right. These beautiful pieces of garments is fated to be ruined by his extreme adoration of your body.

─────── · ·✧˖°. ࣪𖤐

ᥫ᭡...𝐈𝐧𝐮𝐢 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐮

Inui didn’t reject you in the slightest when you asked him to go to that store, and he walked with side by side with you with hesitance and anticipation in his heart. He was quite calm, but his heart was beating slightly faster. He was awkward at first, not really knowing what to say or do as he just follows right behind you. However, when you two got into the aisle of delicate brassieres, with you holding out a bluish purple piece with exquisite patterns, Inui doesn’t know what happened. He just snapped out of his bystander mode, taking that piece from your hand and imagining you into it. The thought was…exciting. The way his eyes showed anticipation despite the calmness of his face was apparent, and especially more so when he turned his back on you and started browsing the aisle for you, asking you if you like this and that. His arms was full of lingerie sets when he pull you hurriedly towards the fitting room, exhibiting a bit of impatience as he asked you softly if it’s alright for you to try all of it, and who are you to refuse? You tried one, the first piece you showed him, that is, the bluish purple brassiere. You found the full set and when you puled Inui in to show him, shyly asking him what he think, the first thought that entered his mind was you look precious. His adoring gaze travelled with love and adoration over your body and slowly, he started to feel a flicker of hunger as he appreciates how the set caress your curves. Inupi’s patience was very thin, and he couldn’t resist the urge to place his hand on your skin that seems to be inviting him. His hand hovers a bit, and with no resistance coming from you, his hands were quick to pull you against his body, callous fingers caressing your skin as he asked you if you can reschedule your date because right now, he wants nothing more but to buy these sets and go home. You can try them out later inside your bedroom where he can comment and admire you both verbally and physically.

─────── · ·✧˖°. ࣪𖤐

ᥫ᭡...𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐦𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐣𝐢

The very definition of menace. Start teasing you the moment you mentioned your desire to browse that store to him. You don’t even have to persuade him because best believe that this guy will be the one dragging you towards the store instead. He would be the type to shamelessly pick up things while commenting on it right away, his excitement a mix of curiosity and novelty given the fact that it was his first time inside that store. His teasing comments were enough to both amused you and embarrassed you, and you won’t be able to prevent following the urge to throw whatever is in your hand straight to his face, which in this case, is a purple undergarment. Hanma allowed you, and when the article of clothing hit his face and slid down, it revealed the hunger in his eyes. He merely comments that the one you threw at his face better be included in the one you’re trying because he has an inkling it’ll look amazing. His eyes rake over your body when you tried it on, the sheer purple fabric that embraced your skin draws his attention without fail, causing his finger to twitch, wondering if you’ll be offended if he slam you into the mirror and make out with you this instant because you look so inviting. Unfortunately, Hanma doesn’t have the patience to asked so he gave a quick “Sorry ‘bout this.” before slamming you to the mirror with his lips in yours, hands busy rubbing circles on your hips as he pulled away and whispered with hunger and excitement, “Babe, the parking lot was only one floor below.”

✧˖°. ࣪𖤐 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫

✉ Hope you enjoyed it ᥫ᭡

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #chifuyu matsuno #tokyo revengers chifuyu #chifuyu x reader #kokonoi hajime #tokyo revengers kokonoi #kokonoi x reader #inui seishu #tokyo revengers inui #inui x reader #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers hanma #hanma x reader #fluff #x reader #tokyo revengers

[luxurychristmaspudding]

you and your friends (tommy's party pt. i)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. but you've got a handle on it. haven't you?

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. idiots in love, split pov, lots of fluff tbh and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader pays a visit to benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. f&m masturbation, voyeurism, lots of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby etc. (platonic, of course))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 9.6k

an: *mc voice* let's get this party started!

part ii - tommy's party

When Frankie catches a glimpse of you from across Will’s crowded living room, he’s not so sure Benny’s idea is a good one.

The room is lit with yellow lamplight, heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol and cigarette smoke. There are people crammed in everywhere; slumped over chairs and sofas, leant against door frames, moving in and out of the kitchen with the click of the door beads. A sluggish bass thumps out over the party, the thrum of laughter and conversation cushioning any other sound. 

He stands at the back of a sofa which has been turned inwards towards the centre of the room, leaning over Santi and Will as they howl over some story they’re retelling for a couple of girls squished between them. Frankie had been quite happy listening and laughing along, but he’s distracted when Benny taps his arm with his beer bottle and motions over to you.

‘That’s her,’ he says, ‘The girl I was telling you about.’

And yeah, he’s very quickly sure that this is a bad idea. 

Because you’re beautiful. A gorgeous wrap dress clinging to your curves, each outline flowing like you’d been poured into it. Jewellery clinking and glittering around your wrists, neck, and ears, and your hair shining like each strand had been arranged by some ethereal hand. Your smile bands out around you, bathing your audience in a kind of glow, a reflection of your warmth. Frankie watches as you tip your head back slightly in a boundless laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the soft clasp of your hand falling on the forearm of the man sat next to you. Fuck.

Frankie swallows drily, and Benny places a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, Fish,’ he says, ‘I’ll introduce you. I’ve told her about you already.’

Frankie doesn’t want to move. He’d much rather watch, much rather have Benny do the heavy lifting here. He doesn’t think he can talk to you, much less make a good first impression. 

But his friend is guiding him forwards, and he can’t help but be shepherded. Panic rises like bile in his throat, and he thinks of turning around, excusing himself to go to the bathroom and just sitting in his truck for a while instead, but then -

Your bright eyes flick up to find Benny approaching you, and your face lights up. You stand from where you were perched on the arm of a chair and walk around the bundle of people whom you'd entranced. You place a gentle hand on a soft-haired woman’s shoulder, inclining your head to say you’ll be back in a minute, before you open an arm to Benny.

‘Benny!’ You call, squeezing his waist as the younger man presses you to his side, planting a kiss to your forehead. ‘How are you, man?’ You ask. Benny returns your greeting, answering your question, but Frankie can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying. You listen intently to his friend, smiling and asking a couple more questions, before looking properly at Frankie.

‘Sorry - hey,’ you say softly, ‘You must be -’

‘Oh god,’ Benny chuckles, ‘Sorry, yes. This is Frankie.’ Benny moves to press Frankie forwards, and he stumbles a little as he catches your outstretched hand. If you notice, you don’t say anything, just smile warmly at him and shake, giving him your name. 

‘It’s good to meet you, man,’ you say, ‘Benny here has told me a lot about you.’ Benny laughs, clapping Frankie on the back.

‘Only good things, Fish,’ he grins, ‘I promise.’ Frankie rolls his eyes at him.

‘So, you’re interested in the room?’ You ask, and Frankie turns back to you. He nods, swallowing.

‘Yeah, really interested. It’d be great to come over and take a look if you’re around.’ He surprises himself at how easily the words roll off his tongue. You offer him another kind smile, nodding encouragingly, and he finds himself relaxing. 

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘You’d be very welcome to. You have glowing recommendations from the boys, anyway.’ You lean in closer to him, lowering your tone conspiratorially. ‘I’d have you moved in tomorrow if I could. Sold on you already.’ Frankie beams bashfully down at the carpet and bites his lip, Benny’s idea straying dangerously back into good territory.

‘I wouldn’t believe everything they tell you.’ He says, eyes trailing over your neckline, the dip in your cleavage, the hollow of your throat, skin gleaming and a little damp with sweat. You reach out and tuck a stray curl peeking out from his cap behind his ear.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ you murmur, and your touch, the pet name, sends a shiver down his spine. ‘I think we’d get along just fine.’

Benny leaves you both soon after, in search of another beer. He asks if you want one and you politely decline. Frankie does the same. You lead him to a quieter corner by the back window and pull him into easy conversation. You laugh and tell him this is his ‘interview’, but confess that you really have no idea what that might involve. Frankie lets you ask him any question that comes to your mind, and in this pool of time, you discover everything you could need to know about each other. Where you grew up, what your parents were like, whether you enjoyed school, what you eat when you’ve had a bad day, how often you clean the bathroom, what you do now, and what your dreams are for the future. You ask tentatively, respectfully about Delta Force. Frankie appreciates the way you preface it with an out - you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to - but he finds that he does. He spares the details but tells you about training, about flying, about meeting the boys. He tells you about Tom, and as little about Colombia as possible. You nod, brow furrowing in sympathy, in feeling, and squeeze his knee in comfort. 

Frankie’s heart shouldn’t skip the way it does, but then you’re asking him more about what Tom was like, how his family are. When his eyes mist over, you take his hand. He runs a thumb over your knuckles. He tells you, cringing, about the coke charge, about his licence. About how he’s getting it back in spring. You grin brightly at him, congratulating him, sucking air in through your teeth and doing a little dance in your chair. Frankie laughs at you, heart swelling. He doesn’t know how you’re getting him to do this - tell you all this stuff, make it feel okay, make him feel great. But he loves it. He could get used to it. You’re sat close to his side, shoulder to shoulder, and you are so warm, your skin so soft. Frankie leans in closer.

‘How did you meet Benny?’ He asks, breathing the words into the shell of your ear over the music. You squirm, dipping your head away from him, and Frankie wonders for an awful moment if he’s misjudged the closeness, if he’s already overstepped your boundaries. 

You look at him sideways, your body angled away from him.

‘He didn’t tell you?’ You ask.

Frankie raises an eyebrow, mouth open, ready to apologise. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

‘No.’ He says. You smile at him, sighing heavily through your nose.

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ you say, avoiding his gaze. ‘We met at a bar. We got on really well, and -’ you huff out a breath, meet Frankie’s eye again. He’s still watching you, not having put together the pieces. You roll your head onto your shoulder, pick the label on your bottle. ‘We slept together, Frankie.’

Frankie’s heart drops.

‘Oh.’ He says.

‘Yeah,’ you laugh, ‘Oh.’ You’re quiet for a moment, Frankie scrambling for the right thing to say. He’s too slow. You clap your hands down on your knees and rise from your seat.

‘I’m gonna head outside for a bit,’ you say. He watches you disappear with a weak smile, an anxious feeling welling in his chest. 

Frankie sits for a few minutes, taking pulls from his beer, looking out over the crowd assembled in the living room.

His spots Benny lent against a wall, held up by an arm outstretched beside a girl’s head. A tongue of fire licks up through Frankie’s belly, and he has to sit with it for a moment to work out what it is. Jealousy. He’s jealous that Benny has already touched you, has already heard you. Jealous that Benny has already crossed that threshold, and now he has to be the one to move in and keep his distance. Arbitrary rules, he knows, rules which have been disregarded before. Already, you’d be more than a quick fuck. It’s crass, but Frankie knows you should be more than someone you take home from a bar. Maybe you are - you’re here, after all, clearly invited. Frankie’s mind rocks with the notion that Benny is saving you, keeping you around. It would be cruel of him, but not impossible. Benny had a bad habit of getting what he wanted. 

Frankie grinds his teeth, tears his eyes away from his friend. Stupid, stupid. You’re someone he’s only just met, someone he might be living with. Whatever weird thing this is going on in his brain, he needs to fix it quick. Thoughts like these are not suitable in situations like living together.

Frankie stands, but instead of speaking to Benny, instead of getting to the bottom of why you’re here, he follows you through the door beads into the kitchen and out the back door.

You’re sat on the porch swing just below the kitchen window, and the surprise of finding you so easily brings Frankie to a sharp halt. You look up from your bag, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in the glow of the porch light. 

‘Hey,’ you say softly, ‘Are you okay?’

Frankie breathes out heavily.

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘Sorry about that - in there,’ gesturing over his shoulder, back into the house. 

‘Oh,’ you say, shaking your head and bringing out a small plastic baggy from your purse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not a thing. There’s no -’ you wave a hand around your head, ‘Feelings there or anything. We’re just friends now.’

Frankie nods, leans against the doorframe. Hums a response.

‘You wanna sit?’ You ask, scooching over on the swing, patting the space next to you.

Frankie pushes off the frame and comes to sit next to you. He rocks the seat slightly with his feet, yours dangling a little too far off the ground to move it. 

You grin at him, delighted with the movement. You shuffle to tuck your legs under you. 

‘Amazing,’ you grin, ‘See? Already a dream team.’

Frankie grins back at you and watches you take more items out of your bag. A small, circular grinder, a tiny rolling tray, pink papers. You pop open the baggy, and the smell of the dried plant seeps through the air, rushing up his nostrils. Frankie breathes deeply, watching you sprinkle some of the bud into your open grinder. You close it, and look up at him.

‘You a narc?’ You ask, lips still quirked.

‘No.’ Frankie chuckles. You bite your cheek, shrug your shoulders.

‘Ya never know…’ you coo, and Frankie grins.

‘I got busted for coke, baby,’ he reminds you, ‘I’m not gonna rat you out for weed.’

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

‘Fair enough.’ You say. Frankie watches as you twist the grinder back and forth over the bud, entranced by the motion of your hands. His lips part, watching the strong flex of your wrists. 

‘Do you smoke?’ You ask. His tongue dips out to lick the pillow of his lower lip, and you trace the movement with your eyes, fascinated. You swallow, clearing your throat softly. ‘Frankie?’

His eyes dart up to yours, embarrassed, flushed. 

‘Yeah?’ He says.

‘Do you smoke?’ You repeat. He looks away from you, shy, shaking his head.

‘I used to,’ he says, ‘But not for a long time.’

You nod, looking out over the garden with him. The cool wind brushing through the trees, the luminescence of the town beyond their feathered tops.

‘You wanna share?’ You ask. He looks back at you, surprised, eyebrows high on his forehead. You shrug. ‘Don’t have to, of course. Especially if it’s not gonna be good for you. Just that - if you wanna move in, I’m afraid it’s a habit I won’t be quitting.’ You raise an eyebrow at him, half apologetic, half warning. He swallows visibly.

‘What if I get too high?’ He says, breathless. You snort, balancing the rolling tray on your knees as you separate the hash out onto the paper, on top of the lavender you’ve pulled from your purse.

‘It’s okay, sugar,’ you say, ‘I’ll look after you.’

Frankie stares at you, eyes wide.

You snicker at him, finish rolling, and lick the paper. Frankie watches the swipe of your tongue, its slow draw along the edge, and feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea -

He watches as you perch the joint between your lips, put your shit back in your bag, and pull out a lighter. Your eyelashes flicker down to rest on your cheeks as the lighter clicks and you cup your hands around the flame. You take a deep breath in, hollowing your cheeks, lost to the sensation, the taste. Frankie’s jaw flexes, and he has to look away again. You exhale the thick smoke, blowing it away from him, taking another drag before knocking your hand against his arm.

‘Want some?’ You ask. 

Frankie mutters a thanks and takes the joint clumsily in his fingers, rotating it until it’s comfortable in his grip. He brings it to his mouth, and you watch as he sucks in and immediately sputters out again. He bends over his knees in a hacking cough, and you gently take the spliff as you pat his back. 

‘You okay?’ You ask, taking another draw for yourself. Frankie leans back against the seat, sucking in great breaths of air, eyes watery, his body still twitching. He gulps and nods, not looking at you. ‘Good.’ You say, softly. 

Frankie tries again a few minutes later, and is a little more successful. You finish the rest of the joint together before you flick the roach off into the darkness. Your body hums with the crickets and the static of the night air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face.

‘This is nice.’ You say dumbly, turning to face him.

His arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched again. He breathes deeply through his nose. You scrunch your face up at him, and he notices the movement out the corner of his eye. His gaze slips to you for just a second, and a large smile slips across his features. You giggle at him, heavy and giddy. The urge to take the hand folded closest to you strikes, and when you do, he turns to look at you properly.

‘You have really nice hair,’ you say softly. Frankie chuckles, unable to help himself. You grin at him. ‘What?’ You say. ‘You do.’

Frankie laughs harder, and you reach over to take the cap off his head. He makes a slow, unconvincing grab for it before you settle it on your own hair, kneeling up to swipe a hand through his curls. He watches you, unable to look away, and you gasp at the feeling of it carding through your fingers.

‘So soft,’ you breathe, delighted. You look into his eyes again, one hand cradling the back of his head. His eyes dart down to your mouth, and you lick your lips before starting to giggle. ‘Anyone ever told ya you got baby cow eyes?’ You say.

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly. His words are slow and slurred. ‘What?’

You giggle harder and move your hand round to cup his cheek, looking at him very seriously. 

‘Your eyes,’ you say, ‘Are like a baby cow’s.’ A slow spread of joy glows across Frankie’s features. His eyes scrunch up with his smile. ‘Nooo,’ you cry softly, ‘Now they’re all happy. They’re not all big and brown anymore.’

Frankie laughs with unbridled amusement, his head dropping from your hand as he clutches at your knees.

‘A baby cow?’ He gasps. You nod quickly, enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, Frankie. You got real pretty eyes.’ Your own are wide and earnest, and that seems to convince him. He raises an eyebrow before grinning goofily at you, lifting a finger to tap your nose.

‘You think I’m cute.’ He says, and you snort, which only sends him off into a flood of more giggles.

‘I didn’t say that. Only said you got pretty eyes.’ 

It’s only a little, tiny lie. And you think it’s for the best.

You spend another hour out on the porch before returning to the party, and though you don’t stray far from each other, you make a point of finding Frankie before you leave. You hand him your phone, and he stares at it, confused, before you roll your eyes playfully and say -

‘I need your number, dummy. For the room.’

He taps his number into your phone, and you save it with a little cow emoji next to his name. Frankie bites away his smile. 

When he’s lying on the sofa in the dark later, surrounded by bottles and cans and ashy cigarette ends, he can’t stop grinning to himself.

You text him early the next morning, giving him a time and a date to come and see the flat. Frankie replies with so much enthusiasm that he flushes when he reads the message back, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he stretches out on Will’s floor. He sacrifices his spot on the sofa to Will and Benny, Santi beside him as they watch Face/Off over breakfast. 

He doesn’t see your reply until the movie ends.

Can’t wait! So excited to see you!

He sets his phone back down with a happy sigh, so loud that Will and Santi, and then Benny, ask him what he’s so pleased about. 

He only gets them to stop probing by smacking Will in the face with a cushion.

---

Frankie moves in a week later, while you’re at work. 

You think it’ll be much easier for you both. If you were in the flat you’d only be in the way, and he probably needs the space and time to figure out where he wants to put his stuff. Plus, the idea of seeing him all hot and sweaty is one that, quite frankly, you’ve been trying to avoid.

Benny had told you all about his friends on that first date at the bar. You had been taken with the way he’d talked about them, so fond and positive. You’d enjoyed asking him so many questions, and were delighted when he asked you so many in return. And Benny was cute - he was hot. Enthusiastic and giving and good. But you knew, even laying next to him, both panting, turning your heads to grin at each other at the same time, that it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

He had been your type on paper. He’d ticked so many boxes, and you had both fallen into that first date with such excitement - but there was just something missing. There was no burn. You had a good time, you wanted to see him again, but you didn’t yearn for him the way you wanted to. You didn’t miss him when he wasn’t around, you weren’t worried about him fucking other girls. 

It hadn’t been a difficult conversation to have. Benny took it better than you’d hoped, and once it had been established, friendship came easily. You met Will, got on well, and the three of you would go for drinks. Benny would come over to watch a film and eat takeout, and you never touched each other. Sure, you thought about it. But you were on a mission to make life easier for yourself. To not fuck around and get attached to someone you shouldn’t get attached to.

So you should have known better when he introduced you to Frankie. Should have made up some excuse, even if he pretty much had the room after all the boys had told you. Should have backed out as soon as those beautiful brown eyes blinked at you, at that first curve of a shy smile, as soon as you’d tucked that curl behind his ear. Because Frankie was someone you could get attached to. Watching him cook, watching the steam trail out behind him after a shower, watching him stretch out on the sofa with a book, having him crinkle his crows feet at you from across the kitchen as he sips his coffee, the low timbre of his voice reaching you across the floorboards, none of these things are something you needed to know, to see. You should have known better.

Work has been busy, long. 

So busy you had to stay behind for a couple of hours to make sure the late shift got set up properly, and then you could trudge home. The bus journey, the walk up the hill, the clamber up the stairs to your front door. 

When you make it halfway up the stairs, you can smell it. A delicious, warm waft of heady spices, of richness flowing down through the stairwell. You breathe deeply, aching feet pausing on the concrete just so you can tip your head back and inhale. Your stomach growls loudly, and you wish whoever is cooking a good meal, because it sure fucking smells like it.

The smell is stronger on your floor, and you’re still taking deep breaths when you push open your front door. There’s the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen, the low hum of the radio playing. You toe off your trainers, leaving them next to a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes, splashing your keys into the bowl on the sideboard.

‘Frankie?’ You call. There’s no answer.

You move towards the sound, and push open the door to the kitchen. 

Frankie is stood with his broad back to you, stirring something in a pot. He bops his head and hums in time with the radio, unaware of you behind him.

‘Holy fuck, Frankie. That smells amazing.’

He turns with a wide smile, a spatula in his hand.

‘Welcome home. I made enough for us both.’ 

You grin at him, dropping your bag and shucking off your jacket, coming to stand beside him. You ask about what he’s cooking, and he talks you through each step, the ingredients he’s used, and finally, blessedly, tells you it’ll be ready in five minutes.

You eat across the table from each other in quiet, easy conversation. Even with it all so new, with so many of his unpacked boxes still dotted around the flat, it feels like Frankie has always been here. 

You wash and dry the plates side by side, laughing and happy and full. You retreat to your respective bedrooms to change into your pyjamas, and then you prop your door open for Frankie to come join you if he’d like. You flick on an episode of Adventure Time and dig around in your bedside table for your rolling stuff, sitting cross-legged and giggling at the cartoon as you grind, arrange, and roll the joint. 

Your roommate appears in the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

‘Come in,’ you say, beckoning him closer, shuffling on the bed to make room for him. He eyes the spliff in your hand. ‘Wanna join?’ You ask. He hesitates.

‘Just a little.’

You nod, stretching off the bed towards the window, grabbing your lighter from the ledge. You flick it to life as Frankie watches from the bed, your legs bare below your sleep shorts, your nipples hard beneath your t-shirt in the cool night air. You jerk your head at him as you exhale, and he crawls over the bed towards you. You try not to think of the way he moves as you hand it to him. 

Frankie puffs from the joint a couple times, and passes it back to you. You continue the routine until there’s nothing left, finishing the last couple of tokes before flicking the roach onto the street below.

‘What do ya wanna do?’ You ask him, closing the window. Frankie’s settled back on your bed amongst your pillows. He frowns at the ceiling.

‘Watch a movie.’ He says, and you giggle at the tacky sound of his speech.

‘Come on then, buddy,’ you say, taking his hand and pulling him from the mattress. ‘We’ll watch it on the sofa. You need some water,’ you sing, leading him towards the kitchen. ‘And we’re gonna need snacks.’

Frankie chuckles at the way you say it, a faux accent twanging at your words. He lets you push him down onto the sofa and watches you dopily as you busy yourself with refreshments. You dump everything on the coffee table before turning on the TV.

‘Help yourself,’ you say, gesturing to your stash, and Frankie leans forward in slow motion to grab a can of coke. You giggle at him. ‘What do you wanna watch?’

Frankie cracks the can open and shrugs.

‘Don’t mind.’ 

You think for a moment, roving through Netflix before slapping his arm.

‘Oh my god!’ You laugh. ‘Notting Hill. We’ll watch Notting Hill. Holy fuck, it’s so bad when you’re stoned, you have no idea.’

Frankie groans beside you, leaning forward again to grab a bag of chocolate pretzels. He rips them open and offers one to you.

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ He smiles.

Halfway through the film, Frankie’s eyes begin to seriously droop. You can’t blame him. It must have been a long day.

When his head drops to your shoulder, you let him cuddle in. He stays there for a while, but when he wakes with a start at the soreness, you manoeuvre him to turn and lay with his head on your lap. He’s pliant and soft in your hands, sighing with relief as he settles. You run a hand through his curls, scratching at his scalp, twisting strands gently around your finger. You stroke and scratch absentmindedly, watching Hugh Grant’s dramatic confession, only remembering what you’re doing when a deep snore resonates from below you.

You look down to find Frankie sound asleep, peaceful face turned up towards you. You admire his silky hair, the scruff of his beard, the heart shaped patch on the side of his face. His soft, full bottom lip, strong nose, the slope and sweep of his brow. You smile at him, something stirring in your belly.

‘Little baby cow.’ You murmur to yourself, and bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider.

---

The first weekend you have off together comes weeks after Frankie moves in. 

You have a long, cosy lie in before running your respective errands in the morning, planning to reconvene in the afternoon with food and movies and your other favourite pastime. 

By some miracle, you get home before Frankie, and unload your bag of snacks and oven food onto the kitchen table. You’re just organising it, putting away what needs to be in the fridge, when Frankie steps through the front door with a crate of soda and your favourite flowers in his other hand.

‘Hey,’ he grins at you, kicking the door shut before stepping into the room and holding out the blooms. ‘These are for you.’

You take the flowers carefully, admiring the colours, the form, the texture. You look back at him with shining eyes, and Frankie blushes.

‘How did you -’

He shrugs, moving to put the soda in the fridge. With his back to you, he says -

‘You mentioned them once, ‘bout a week after I moved in.’

Your heart melts a little, touched at the care, the thought. 

‘Just thought, ya know - don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just nice to pick something up and say I thought of you.’

You blush at his words, just as he turns back around and spots on the table -

‘Holy shit,’ he says, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels. ‘I was just thinking of these! I didn't get any while I was out and they’re my -’ He looks up at you, a knowing smile creeping across his lips.

‘Your favourite,’ you say. ‘I saw them and thought of you.’

Frankie laughs, stepping forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘Dream fuckin’ team.’ He says.

You’re both back in your pyjamas within ten minutes, sat on Frankie’s bed, a joint on the bedside table ready to go.

He flicks through the home screen of his Playstation, settling on Red Dead Redemption 2, starting up the game as you lean out his window to dispel the first stream of smoke. You pass it back and forth between you, and when it’s done Frankie chucks the roach in his bin. You climb underneath the duvet and watch Arthur Morgan’s adventures through hooded eyes, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He’s warm and solid beneath you, and you wrap your hands around his arm, breathing him in. You watch in rapt fascination as he tracks down carvings in the mountains, giggle and scold him when he barrels down the wrong side of the roads, and swat at him when his horse gets hit by a train. He loads back up his previous save to get her back, and you visit a time traveller, hunt for vampires in Saint Denis, and squeal when a UFO appears over an abandoned hut filled with rotted bodies. He tells you the stories of the characters in a spaced out slur, and you immerse yourself in the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the mists. You close your eyes to the sounds of hooves, of birds, of nature, of Frankie’s strong heartbeat and his deep breathing.

At some point in the evening, you wake again, sitting and stretching. Frankie smiles sleepily down at you.

‘I’m gonna head to bed in a bit.’ He says, and you smile at him, kneading your neck. 

‘No worries,’ you mumble. ‘I’ll head to mine, too. Catch you in the morning.’

Frankie fist bumps you as you stumble towards the door.

‘Thanks for hanging out.’ He says. You snort at him before opening the door.

‘No worries, Fish,’ you say, ‘I’m sure I was great company.’

He grins back, and you blow a kiss before snicking the door shut.

Your own sheets are blissfully cool, and you turn on a little quiet music to get yourself off to sleep. The soft, slow jangle of guitars and low voices do the trick, and if you turn your head just so, you can still smell Frankie on your pyjama top.

---

When you come through to the kitchen the next morning, Frankie is already cooking breakfast. He looks cosy in his old Lakers top and sweats that only just cling to his hips. It tightens something in your belly.

‘I’m making eggs and bacon,’ he says, before gesturing with a spatula to the percolator. ‘There’s coffee over there if you want some.’ 

‘You tryna seduce me or something?’ You ask, waggling your eyebrows. Frankie laughs at you, gorgeous little crows feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes. You have to look away quickly to hide your own gooey expression. 

‘No,’ he says, voice grappling with something of an edge - laughter, a little teasing, ‘I’m not in the business of fucking my friends.’ You flash your eyes back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and he’s peering at you from below his eyelashes, biting his lip. A grin blows out across your cheeks, and you bite your lip back.

‘Unfortunately for you, I am,’ you sigh, sweeping your hand across the edge of the kitchen table before glancing at him, his attention turned back to breakfast. ‘Santi still single?’

Frankie freezes over the eggs he’s cooking. He looks up at you slowly. Your heart dips in your chest, legs flooding with the feeling that you’ve definitely said the wrong thing.

‘Are you - are you… interested?’

You feel your cheeks heat.

‘I -’ you rub your face, trying to organise your thoughts. Frankie feels something like a freight train headed towards him. ‘No,’ You say, turning fully towards him, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m not. He’s great - he’s a lovely guy, but no.’

Frankie nods, once, twice, before staring back down at the yellow in the pan. He can’t remember what he was doing. Frying or scrambling? They’re too far gone now. He’ll have to try and pass them off as an omelette.

‘It was a stupid joke.’ You mumble, and Frankie shakes his head at the pan.

‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I just, ya know, if you were -’

You smile at him. 

‘You’d set me up?’

Frankie shrugs. You smirk.

‘Well then. If you’re patient, sugar, I might make my way through everyone. Finish with you, of course, make sure we last a little longer.’

Frankie’s head whips up, jaw dropped. He breathes your name, and you laugh.

‘My god, Fish. I’m kidding.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, relieved, disappointed. You dance around the kitchen table towards him, reaching out your hands to squish his cheeks, chanting got ya, got ya, as Frankie curls the dish cloth from over his shoulder to whip you with it.

You shriek and leap out of his way, running from him.

Frankie makes no move to follow you, turning off the stove instead, plating up the eggs and bacon. You’re still giggling at him, now armed with a dish cloth of your own. He points at you with the spatula.

‘Sit.’ He says, and you laugh again, taking a seat as Frankie brings over the plates and cutlery. As he settles, you leap up. Frankie watches you.

‘Where are you going?’ He says, spearing some egg with his fork. You return to the table with two mugs of coffee. 

‘Can’t forget the most important part of the meal.’ You say, sitting and slurping loudly, winking at him over the ceramic.

Frankie laughs at you through a mouthful of food.

‘You coming to Will’s tonight?’ He asks, swallowing.

You hum a little. 

‘Yeah, guess so.’ You say.

‘Boys’ll be there,’ he says, ‘So you’ll know a few faces. Not sure who else.’

You nod, shovelling bacon into your mouth. Frankie smiles.

‘Sure,’ you say, ‘I’ll come.’

That night, you find yourselves round at Will’s again. What was supposed to be a relatively quiet poker night has inevitably turned into too many people drinking too much booze, but he never seems to mind. 

Frankie is back leaning on the sofa, listening to Santi and Will talk. He’s laughing, thinking he should go and grab you in a minute - he doesn’t know how many of these stories you’ve heard, but he’s sure you’d enjoy them. He has a compulsion to watch you laugh, to see you enjoy the people around you, to feel the shine of your company, to see the way you look at him, eyes dancing with amusement, always as though there is some kind of joke you’re thinking of that only he will understand. 

When he looks around the living room, he can’t find you. It’s not unusual. He knows by now that you’ll be off chatting to whoever is lucky enough to find you, and he finds himself moving in the direction of the kitchen, pushing through the door beads. When he doesn’t see you in there, he catches Benny at the sink, asking if he’s seen you.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘I was just with her. She’s out on the porch swing.’

A muscle flexes in Frankie’s jaw as he moves away from Benny, that familiar creep of possessiveness crawling up his throat. Stupid, stupid. He’s already asked him, knows that he wants nothing from you. So why does it irritate him so much?

You’re outside on the swing just like Benny said, gazing up at the stars as Frankie slumps down beside you. He bounces the chair, and you giggle at him.

‘Having a good time?’ You ask. He nods. 

‘Yeah. You?’ 

You nod, tilting your face to look at him. Frankie doesn’t know when he decided it, but he’s sure your eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen. He loves the way they shine out at him now in the glow of the porchlight, warm and kind and soft. That sunny feeling he gets as he watches you moves something silken and deep within him, something lonely. 

I was just with her. Unfortunately for you, I am -

‘What?’ You say softly.

‘Nothin’,’ he shrugs. ‘Just glad I met you.’ 

You scoff lightly at him, knocking your head against his shoulder. 

‘Glad I met you, too, sugar.’ You murmur, and when Frankie meets your eye, his breath seizes in his lungs. 

You are so close.

Your eyes dart between his own and his mouth, lingering on the shape of his lips, the flecks of grey in his moustache. He can’t move as you lean closer to him, as you ghost two fingers over his wrist. Your eyes are burning, teasing, curious as he stares down at your lips, soft and inviting, curved around so many wonderful words, wrapped around the end of a joint or a beer bottle - 

‘There you are,’ Will says, bursting through the back door. You startle away from Frankie, and he feels dizzy at the change, at the rush of what was about to happen. The warm press of your body against his. ‘C’mon,’ says Will, ‘We’ve got a poker game to win.’

You watch as Frankie hauls himself away from you, settling back in the swinging chair. When the door shuts behind the two men, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the rattle of your heartbeat.

---

You wake as though through fog, to a noise you can’t quite place.

It’s quiet, but almost right by your head. A slick, rhythmic sound, heavy breaths, quiet groans, curses. Through slipping sleep, you process them, too tired to be embarrassed, to be thinking straight. The sounds of Frankie jerking off go straight to your core, and you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as you listen, as you slip your hand beneath the elastic of your panties and join him, careful to muffle your own sounds to hear him better.

You become frantic as he grows louder, as he mutters to himself, as his bed moves just enough to squeak. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he looses a particularly loud fuck, and then a strangely familiar word, followed by a long, low groan. You come hard on your fingers, panting as the heat subsides, as you hear Frankie leave his room and head to the bathroom. 

Languid and liquid in the sunbeams on your blankets, it takes you longer than it should to decipher what you’d heard. Longer than it should to wonder if it really was your name he’d gasped as he came.

Frankie needs air. 

He needs to get out of the apartment, so while he’s drinking his morning coffee, he drafts up a list of things to do. Parcels to return, small things to buy, a new coffee shop he’d like to try out. Anything to try and clear you out his head. The feel of your body pressed against his on the seat, the ghosting of your fingers on the inside of his wrist, the flame in your eyes. The way you’d jumped when Will found you, whether you meant it, whether he was imagining it, what he was going to do, what he was not going to do -

You shuffle into the kitchen still in your pyjamas, stifling a yawn behind a hand. You help yourself to coffee from the percolator, and Frankie tells you he’s heading out. You nod and give him a squeeze, saying you’re off to the gym, anyway. Frankie tries not to think of how your ass looks in your blue leggings, and sets off down the stairwell.

He stays out for as long as possible, breathing in the fresh, spring air, looking into shop windows and petting passing dogs. He only decides to call it a day when his stomach starts growling and his feet start aching. 

He feels good, energised. 

Maybe he should get out more often.

Frankie shuts the front door gently behind him, placing his keys in the bowl. He says your name, only half expecting a reply. You didn’t say when you were heading out, or when you’d be back. 

He yanks his boots off by the shoe rack you set up last week, and tucks them away neatly. His feet carry him towards the kitchen, fingers itching to hold a cup of coffee and sandwich before a soft sound stops him. His heart leaps in his throat, and he freezes, not daring to take another step. 

He registers the soft sound of the running shower, and anticipation lodges itself in his belly. He waits, heart hammering in his chest, and almost moves before he definitely, definitely hears it again.

You moan softly on the other side of the bathroom door, and Frankie’s eyes flutter shut. 

He should go. He should absolutely go, but he can see from here in the hallway that the bathroom door is open just a crack. And he has always been a flawed person, which is why it doesn’t surprise him that when he goes to shut it, to knock, to move past, he can’t keep himself from looking. Can’t stop his eyes from finding you, back against the tile, hair dripping down your shoulders, water spattering across your skin as you stand with your legs apart, one hand spreading you open, fingers moving fast across your clit. Frankie grips onto the door handle as his eyes close again. 

Because he knows what’s about to happen. Hot shame floods through him as his cock hardens embarrassingly fast, a thin ringing in his ears as he opens his eyes again, takes in the soft flesh of your thighs, the flow of water, the rivulets tracing your skin, your glistening core, the way your fingers move so desperately - 

And Frankie can see it, can feel it, can taste it when he imagines opening the door and climbing there with you, not giving you a chance to be surprised before he sinks to his knees and replaces your hand with his mouth. 

With shaking fingers, he unbuttons his jeans, unzips his fly, and begins to stroke his cock.

He has no idea how long you’ve been in there for, but he watches closely, ravenously for your tells. It’s not gonna take him long, but he wants to watch you fall apart first. 

He watches you move your weight so you slump a little lower on the wall, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. He watches as your hips twitch and roll forwards as you slow your pace, rubbing harder instead of faster, and he barely contains his own moan as you whine, high-pitched and needy, echoing off the walls. He watches your tummy clench with each stroke of your fingers, stares with drooling amazement as you snake a hand up your body to grasp and play with your tits, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between your fingers, pinching them as hard as you can. Frankie grunts when you gasp out a fuck, and for a long, heart clenching second, he thinks you hear him. You slow your movements, trying to peer through the dark crack in the door. 

Frankie can’t move, can’t stop fisting his cock as he watches you, precum dripping through his fingers, the dirty thrill of getting caught spurring him on. 

You listen carefully, turning your head to the side to see if you can catch any more noises. Satisfied you’re still alone, you continue, this time quickly finding a pace which Frankie can tell will send you off the edge. Your wet skin, the slick sounds of your fingers even over the running water, and your moans, gasps, curses, getting even louder. 

Frankie stares still, enraptured by the goddess in front of him unravelling herself, and he wants nothing more than to touch you, taste you, smell you. He tries not to think of what he’d give to be inside you, but a soft moan escapes him anyway. Imagining the clench of your warm, wet cunt, hearing you make those noises for him, the slip of your wet skin in his grasp, your tits in his hands, the bite of your teeth on his shoulder sends him rocketing to his orgasm. He barely has time to wrap the bottom of his t-shirt around his cock, biting his fist as he empties himself, opening his eyes just in time to watch your body spasm and clench, your back arch, your head knock against the tiles as you cry out oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god. 

Once you finish riding it out, whimpering and twitching, you close your eyes and breathe heavily. Frankie feels feverish, head tipping forwards onto the door frame as he tucks himself gently back into his boxers and pulls his jeans back up. He takes one last breath before a short, shrill beep echoes throughout the apartment. 

Your eyes snap to the door again as you jump, and Frankie flinches, slowly backing away as you cock your head at the gap. Beep. Frankie can feel his pulse in his ears as he reaches the front door with soft treads, managing to open it quietly through his blind panic just as you turn the shower off. He slams it shut, calling your name from the entryway, cringing at the breaking huskiness of his voice. He waits a few seconds as though he’s taking off his shoes before running to his room, hearing the snick of the bathroom door closing just as his shuts behind him. 

Frankie leans against the wood, forcing short breaths in and out his nose. Beep. 

The smoke detector again, on the other side of the door. It shocks him back to life as he rips his shirt off, stuffing it deep in his laundry hamper before scrambling for a new one, praying to whatever god is out there that you hadn’t just caught him in such an obvious lie. That you hadn’t just caught him jerking off to you masturbating in the shower.

Frankie leaves his room as quickly as possible, knowing that the longer he stays in there the more likely it is you’ll know something is wrong. He yanks the door open, stepping out into the hallway, stopping to listen on the hardwood floor. There’s not a peep from the rest of the flat, but the door to the bathroom is now wide open, small tendrils of steam slipping out into the hallway. Frankie takes a deep breath and steps lightly down the hallway to the kitchen, intent on coffee this time, on something to distract him, something to do with his hands. Beep.

He works on autopilot as he pours the grounds into the percolator, throwing up a mental wall every time a glimmer of your body passes through his mind. When he sets it over the stove top he grips the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing his cheek as he breathes heavily through his nose. This time, the beep of the smoke detector makes him jump, and he swipes a hand over his mouth.

‘We need to change the batteries in that.’ You say, and Frankie flinches as you breeze past him into the kitchen. He can’t look at you, shame and arousal colouring his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He makes a noise in his throat, and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

‘You okay?’ You ask. He swings his eyes to you, and you look back at him the same as always. Warm, kind. You can’t know. You must be oblivious, and somehow that makes it worse. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, and tries to smile, ‘Just need a coffee.’ 

His eyes try not to linger on your body, try not to linger on your lips, your hands. He grips the countertop harder. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

You smile back at him.

‘If you’re sure,’ you say, sidling closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze and wink up at him. ‘Can you make me one? I’m exhausted.’

Frankie tries to muffle his sharp intake of air with a cough. I’m exhausted. How long had you been in there? Had you even been to the gym? Or had you just spent the morning grinding and moaning and coming -

‘Sure.’ He croaks, and you frown at him.

‘You’re really feeling okay?’ You ask, bringing the back of your hand to his forehead. ‘Might be coming down with something. Tired and coughing.’ 

He shakes his head a little too enthusiastically. 

‘No, I’m fine.’ He says, interrupted only by the beep of the smoke alarm. You pull a face at it, and he moves to take the coffee off the stove.

‘Go get the ladder,’ he says, ‘And I’ll change the batteries.’

You swish out of the kitchen, and Frankie scrubs his face with his hands, groaning out a god before taking two mugs from the cupboard and filling them. He’s just finished pouring in the creamer when you struggle back through the doorway, huffing under the weight of the stepladder.

‘Coffee’s there.’ He says, jerking his head in the direction of the mugs as he takes it from you. Frankie sets it up under the detector, stepping up the first couple of rungs before you stand in front of him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you tighten your hands around the ladder’s sides, holding it steady.

‘Don’t want you doing any damage to yourself.’ You say softly.

Frankie nods and continues climbing, trying not to think of how close you are. He focuses as he reaches the ceiling, stretching up to unscrew the device.

You swallow as you’re exposed to the slither of skin the action reveals, golden in the afternoon light, and the dark hair which trails down, down, below the waistline of his jeans.

‘Take it for me.’ He says from above you, and you drag your eyes away to meet his, flushing as you reach up to grab the alarm, fingers brushing. You watch as Frankie’s gaze darkens, as he takes you in, flushed, lips bitten, standing at the perfect height. The greedy way you’d been looking at his stomach, water, thighs, fingers -

‘Thank you.’ He says, and you take the detector away to replace the batteries, your fingers shaking. Frankie watches you hungrily, the curve of your jeans, the slope of your neck when you flick your hair behind you. He’s still watching when you turn back to him and hand him the device.

‘Good girl.’ He says. Heat rushes through you at the words, your breath catching in your throat. Frankie’s movements falter only slightly before he’s reaching up again to screw the detector back in. You stare at his belly, the coarse hair, and try to think of anything but nuzzling your nose against the skin, breathing him in, unbuttoning his jeans, taking his cock in your mouth, thinking about what he’d look like, what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, whether it would be as good as what you’d imagined in the shower -

Frankie steps down from the ladder, prizing your hands off the metal, folding it shut and carrying it back out the room.

‘All done.’ He says.

You run a hand through your hair, pinching the bridge of your nose. Jesus.

You take a seat at the dining room table, and when Frankie joins you, you drink your coffee in near silence.

At work, later that evening, you shut yourself in the bathroom during your break. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds when you make yourself come, embarrassingly quick, to thoughts of what might have happened if you’d kissed Frankie’s stomach on the ladder. The uncomfortable ache in your core barely sated, your panties soaked, you try to do anything to distract yourself for the rest of the shift. Anything to keep your hands busy.

And in his bed, later that night, when he’s sure you must be asleep, Frankie takes his cock in his hand again. It doesn’t take him long, guiltily indulging in what he’d seen from the crack in the bathroom door. He comes with a quiet groan and a whisper of your name, wishing that you were there to lick the salt off his chest. 

He falls asleep to thoughts of you, like he has done from the night you met.

---

A week passes, and Frankie's pretty sure he's going insane. 

He can’t shower without picturing the way you had stood there, moaning and gasping. He can’t stop thinking of the way you had looked at him on the ladder, the way you’d looked at him sat on Will’s porch. He has to jerk off at least twice a day, and aside from it being a fucking inconvenience, he’s beginning to feel like a creep.

He thinks he needs to get laid.

There’s a girl you work with - Tasha - who gave Frankie her number not long after you started living together. She was pretty, nice enough, but Frankie hadn’t been looking for anything, and he certainly didn’t want to shit where you ate. But he texts her anyway. It’s late and sleazy, but she says yes. They meet at a bar, and when they stumble through the front door, you’re already home. 

You’re sprawled out on your bed, a joint already rolled, leftovers from work in the fridge, ready to hunker down and fill Frankie in on your day, ready to hear him tell you about his, watch some shit on the television. Tonight felt like a David Attenborough night.

You jump as the front door bangs open, as two sets of feet come tumbling in. Your heart beats loudly in your chest at the noise, at the intrusion, unsure whether you should leap up to defend your roommate or hide. Then you hear the wet sounds of kissing, the low mumble of Frankie’s words, a high-pitched laugh you recognise as the front door shuts and Frankie’s opens. 

You wait with baited breath, somehow unable to believe what is happening. Your fingers flutter on your chest, anxiously pressing the skin there. 

Frankie’s never brought anyone home before. You don’t quite know what to do with yourself.

You’ve also never quite thought about how thin the wall is between your bedroom and his. 

The realisation makes your skin flush, heated even more when you hear the mumbles and groans from the other side of the wall. Frankie saying something in a language you don’t understand, and Tasha’s breathy reply. 

You don’t know how long you listen for, frozen on your mattress as you listen to the creak of Frankie’s bed, the whines and moans falling from them. The low timber of Frankie’s speech sinks itself into the centre of your body, heating and melting. You close your eyes as you try to pick out what he’s saying, as you listen for his panting breaths, his low moans. You can feel your underwear growing wet with slick, your body tightening - hot - and then Tasha cries out. 

The sound shocks you from your reverie, shame, annoyance imploring your body to move. You raise up on your knees and pound your fist against the wall. Everything falls silent.

You breathe deeply for a moment before Frankie says something quietly, answered only by Tasha’s low giggle. Your tongue feels like ash in your throat as they both say a couple more things, more laughs pouring through the wall before you’re up, pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, leaving your room. 

There’s another shock of silence as Frankie and Tasha hear you moving, but you’re already pulling your trainers on. You can hear Frankie say something on the other side of his door, can hear it getting louder as he moves towards it, but you’re slamming the front door closed before he can intercept you.

Your Uber ride is quiet, seething. You chew your lip, clench and unclench your fists. Your phone buzzes in your grip several times, but you don’t check it. 

When you reach the low, suburban house with the cacti out front, you waste no time worrying about whether you look pretty enough. Because he’s always said you are on the nights when he’s had too much to drink.

You should know better before you raise your hand to knock. But you don’t spare a second thought as your knuckles rap against the wood. You shut down all other thoughts as the door swings open, him knowing exactly when to expect you as soon as you’d called. Something about military training and timing.

‘Hey.’ Benny says, standing in the doorway, moving aside to let you pass.

‘Hey.’ You smile back at him as you step into his house, toeing off your trainers, stripping yourself of your hoodie. 

Benny eyes you hungrily as you stand before him in your tank top. You feel the heat coil in your belly again as he steps towards you, the slick in your underwear pooling as he kisses you hard and hot and open mouthed, as you tangle your hands in his hair, as you scratch at the bare skin of his hip beneath his top. You moan against him when you feel him already hard at your stomach.

‘Bed.’ He growls.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal x reader #peach pit #tommy's party #you and your friends #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #Spotify

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae. 

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home. 

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!” 

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera. 

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary.  Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally.  By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain,  was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters. 

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way. 

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame. 

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed.  He is typically privy to smaller prophecies,  glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field.  The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago. 

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose.  Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together.  Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic. 

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds.  He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance. 

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him.  Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long. 

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance)  In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~ 

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates.  Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone. 

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

#wondering if i should do one for my oc too #monster au #pack 141 #poly 141 #poly task force 141 #fae!soap #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #soapghost #captain john price #soapgaz #pricesoap #soap x gaz #soap x ghost #soap x price #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty

[moody-bloosh]

Reincarnated as the Male Lead's Tragic Love Interest Prior to the Events of the Game

Summary:

Title explains it all. Alternatively, an overworked employee, also known as you, gets isekaied into their favorite dating sim. Unfortunately, your favorite character isn't acting as he should.

Pairings: Neuvillette/ Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Yandere

This situation is as familiar to you as the back of your hand. It is unsurprising. After all, before your untimely demise, you were working on a manhwa with a similar premise to this. When you awaken in the opulent room, dressed in finery that you would ordinarily never be able to afford, you already know what has happened. Now the only question was, what kind of story had you been transmigrated into? 

You rise on shaky legs and make your way to the mirror to the other side of the bed you had awakened in. The short walk had winded you already. It seems you were not the picture of health you hoped to be. Well, you weren’t exactly a paragon of healthy living in your old life. Nevertheless, as you approach the mirror and you take in your appearance, you find that you are still yourself. This relieves you somewhat but at the same time, it did not seem to answer any questions you held. You still had no idea what sort of story you had found yourself in. As you ponder over the possibilities, recalling the different summaries of manhwas and webnovels you read in your life you hear the door open. You turn to the sound. 

In walks a man with such an ethereal, seemingly unearthly beauty. You know him very well - one of the characters you had adored so much in your past life as a weary, overworked typesetter. This is the Chief Justice Neuvillette, a man who held enormous political power within the realm of this fantasy world that you had been reborn in. Just his presence already answered some of the questions in your mind. 

You had been reborn into Teyvat, the setting for an extremely popular dating sim. You recall fond memories of yourself playing the game late into the night after a tough day at work. Neuvillette had been one of the romanceable love interests that the game had to offer. His route had been a delight to play through and you considered him as your favorite character. You internally thanked all the deities that you could think of as he rushed towards you and wrapped you in a tender embrace. You swore you could feel his tears soak into your hair. 

This reaction of his could only mean one thing. 

In the game, there was no rival for the player character to steal Neuvillette from. This was because according to the game’s setting, Neuvillette had just lost his beloved betrothed. It would have been up to the player character to help him heal from his grief as he allowed himself to fall in love once more. Neuvillette loved his betrothed dearly and with the way he was reacting to you, the way he was holding you then that probably meant you were his betrothed, right?  

When he’s done embracing you, he cups your face in his hand. He holds you gently, lovingly. 

“It’s really you,” he breathes, the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of his eyes. 

He wouldn’t have known what to do if that really was the end of you. He had already been consumed by his thoughts of what he would do. The undeath that he would have to endure if you really had passed. You looked so close to death, ashen and trembling. 

But you were looking better now and to Neuvillette that was nothing short of a miracle. He would not question it anymore. Still, he kept a careful watch over you. It was all for your good, he rationalized. You were not permitted to leave the manor without his permission. And for the poor overworked you, in your past life, that was a-okay. 

Nevertheless, there was still something disquieting about the way he regarded you. There was something dark and unknowable about him, as deep and as fathomless as the ocean. When he looked at you, you didn’t feel like just his lover. 

Neuvillette looked at you as if you were his only reason for living and he would take very good care of you. He would make sure that you were very well-taken care of in this life. 

“Love, I’d like your leave to go out to town today,” you told him one fine afternoon, “the maids told me there was a lovely new pâtisserie that opened up recently. I’d like to see it for myself.” 

Neuvillette had put aside his work, as he always did when he met with you. Anything he was dealing with at the moment paled in importance to you. He closes the gap between the two of you quickly as he rounds upon you, “could they not simply fetch the pastry for you, love?” 

“They could but I suppose, I just wanted to see it for myself. It’s been a while since I’ve ventured outside the estate.” 

“We walked around the gardens recently, has that not been satisfactory?” 

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings and based on the knit of his brows, you were getting close. “I love walking with you! I love spending time with you. I simply want to be allowed to experience things for myself. I - I’ve missed out on much due to my illness and I would like to make up for lost time.” 

You take his hands in yours to try and assuage his fears. You do not know that this will not do you any good. You explained yourself well, you assured him. Surely, he would be reasonable!

“I see…” Neuvillette murmurs and a small smile blooms on his face as he considers you, as he cups your face in his hands. “Of course, you can go. I would not begrudge you anything, my beloved.” 

You were enjoying your little day off, accompanied by your maid, you visited the pâtisserie and gorged yourself on all manners of wonderful and delectable treats. You were beginning to feel more and more at ease in this strange new world. Perhaps this was heaven, your reward for enduring all that you did in your first life. 

You should have known better. 

You and your maid had been headed home. It was supposed to be nothing more than the conclusion to a wonderful day spent. Instead, it had turned into nothing short of a horror movie. As you rounded the corner, so close to getting back to the estate, you felt yourself being grabbed by someone. 

Their touch was violent, so unlike your gentle betrothed. You try to fight and you do your best to fight but your attempts to struggle are silenced when you watch one of the ruffians take their knife and slide it cleanly across your maid’s throat. 

Your maid, she had been the one who cared for you since you arrived. She’d been the one to suggest this whole escapade… and now… Her eyes are blown out in fear, fear for you, fear for herself. Her body splays out against the cobbled path, her blood painting stone. 

And you are frozen. The scent of her blood hits you with the weight of your own impending mortality. It reminds you of that night that had started it all. When you scented your own blood, felt it waft through your nostrils. 

You should have known better. 

You are being carted off. The ruffians are chiding each other, then they’re consoling each other over their accident, it would just mean they could up their ransom for you… An accident? Her death was nothing more than an accident to them? 

You can feel yourself go away, hide within yourself as they cart you away but they don’t manage to get far. 

You are without comprehension for a little while, all that replays in your head was the memory of your own death, before you were carted off to this place. But then you begin to register the scent of more blood, can feel the warmth of it seep into your clothes and crust against your skin. 

Then. 

His touch. 

So familiar, so warm. 

His voice. 

So sad but not just sad, worried, relieved too. He sounded just like that when you first met. 

Then you see him. 

Neuvillette. 

There is blood on him. Did he take care of the ruffians? You don’t really care because all you know is that you must get to him. 

Oh, he must have been so worried. He must have been so worried he would lose you again. But he got there in time to save you. What a relief. You push away the thoughts of your own suspicion, chalk it up to nothing more than some sort of trauma response. 

You cling onto him just as he hugs you back, in that familiar embrace. This time, he holds you like he’s keeping you from falling apart. 

He always knew what to do. 

Forgive me . 

He thinks as he holds you. You were trembling. His poor beloved. That piece of scum’s blood was still warm and it stained the two of you but he tried to pay it no heed as he continued to comfort you. 

His only regret was that you had been so frightened but soon, you would understand that this was all for your own good. So that you would see just how dangerous it was for you to leave whenever you pleased. As Chief Justice, he had plenty of enemies after all. Now you would learn that only he could protect you, only he would be capable of keeping you safe and maybe this would lessen your desire to leave the estate. It could just be the two of you. 

It was by his own weakness that he had to resort to these measures. Because, if anything happened to you at all… He would surely lose himself. 

He feels the first flecks of the rain as a downpour begins to fall over the two of you. It washes away the blood and everything else. 

If he were to lose you, he would drown the world in his grief, that he knew very well. 

#neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #yandere neuvillette #play

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 13.

Summary: As you promised, you spend the morning with Farleigh as moral support for Oliver's upcoming visit. Perhaps getting reasonably high and discussing your sex life wasn't the best move, all things considered, but it definitely seemed like a good idea at the time.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, kind of explicit discussions about sex, reader gets high and is high for the second half of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 6673 words. OH WE ARE SO BACK. we get to spend more time with farleigh this chapter, i love him so very much omg. also the reader's experiences/behaviour while stoned is definitely reflective of my experience, and everyone experiences these things differently so that's that. also felix being down So Bad for the reader when they're high because of how fucking adorable he thinks they are??? man is In Love. but please, leave a comment letting me know how we're feeling about getting back into it after a break for some AU and oneshot shenanigans! next chapter will be from oliver's POV and im THRILLED about it.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

On your first morning back at Saltburn, you wake to the smell of cigarette smoke. Felix is beside you, sitting up against his headboard, cigarette in one hand and book in the other. Groggily you lean over, bumping your forehead to his lowered elbow, and he smiles down at you. In the morning light, Felix is ethereal; at Saltburn, in his element, completely relaxed and at home, he glows.

You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up next to him, it feels like hundreds, possibly thousands at this point, but something about this, the thousand and first, is different. Is better. Soon enough this dream-space will be broken by the idea of breakfast, and the anticipation of Oliver arriving, but right now you bask in this one, tiny piece of perfect.

Your room.

"My Felix," you mumble mostly to yourself in the morning light. It's more like a sigh, like a dreamy reminder of the Summer to come. Felix goes pink, which you don't even see, eyes closed and wearing a blissful, sleepy expression, half pressed to the pillow by his side.

You'll never be entirely privy to the ongoing thoughts of Felix Catton, no matter how well it may seem that you can read them. But you've always wondered. Sometimes you ask, and you know he wouldn't lie to you, but you always find yourself curious about the things he leaves unsaid. Not now, of course, now you're falling back asleep, but it's moments like this, moments you wonder about how he perceives the vague, offhand possessiveness - or overt possessiveness, if that afternoon you'd spent meticulously marking him said anything - you so frequently display. It's not always intentional. You wonder if he's ever found it off-putting.

It's never been a conversation the two of you have outright had; why not me? Why not only me? It's never had to be asked; beautiful, fanciful people should not be confined. What a shallow answer. Because you are the home I will always come back to, I promise, I promise, I promise. But there's no way to say that out loud. There never has been, even if you've both known it for years.

But none of that plagues you now; the bed and the early morning are both pleasantly warm. The heat from Felix sitting beside you is as comforting and familiar as is the smell of his cigarette amongst the fresh air from the open window. You're drifting back off for what little more sleep you could capture before the day begins, and you don't see the way Felix is watching you in this moment.

There are no eyes on Felix now, no-one to watch, no-one to judge. No-one else who knows how you smile when you sleep next to him.

Breakfast has everyone else in the house buzzing. Venetia's hungry-eyed across the table from Farleigh, her food practically untouched as she demanded as much information from him as possible after complaining about you and Felix being stubbornly tight-lipped. As you hear them gossip, you and Felix share an exasperated look at the edge of the room, you with two plates of food and him with two steaming mugs, before you both head back to the table.

"Y/N, dear," Elspeth cuts over Farleigh's sarcastic remarks about Oliver's fashion choices the minute you settle yourself down. Looking to her with a polite smile, as was custom, she smiles back, "Duncan has put together our Summer event schedule for you, would you still like it to be left in the lilac study?" You nod, quiet and grateful, trying to start on your breakfast before she adds, "as always we've made particular note of the events which your parents have been included as part of the guest list for, so please do just let us know ahead of time whether you plan to be in attendance also -"

"Mum," Felix hissed, to which Elspeth looked rather confused and startled, as if she couldn't understand what she'd done wrong. Pamela, as ginger as you'd ever seen her, and clearly having come back to the house despite not having been here over Christmas, looks to you with that doe-eyed softness that she always seem to have.

"Darling, I didn't know you had parents," she mused with her trademark far-away tone of voice. Her words, however, set off both Farleigh and Venetia, who couldn't help but laugh, and even Felix was grinning behind his mug.

"Of course they have parents, Pamela," Elspeth whispered loudly to her, clearly embarrassed on the woman's behalf, while you just tried to enjoy breakfast, and the absurdity of it all.

"No, I always thought-" Pamela frowned for a minute, looking between Elspeth and Sir James, "aren't they one of yours?" Her gaze turning back upon you, then to Felix next to you, "I recall something about you two being twins, isn't that right?"

"No, dear, that's not -" Elspeth is desperately trying to salvage the conversation despite Venetia all but crying with laughter. Both yourself and Felix, after sharing a vaguely horrified look about the whole situation, try to focus on your breakfasts, even as Elspeth continues, "Pamela please don't say something so crass at the table."

"What's crass about the idea of Y/N and Felix being twins, Auntie Elspeth?" Farleigh asks, wearing a smile that's all teeth as his Aunt freezes momentarily. Venetia's laughing has gone past the point of being audible.

Felix chokes on the coffee he's been trying to hide behind, right as your eggs go down your windpipe and send you into a coughing fit.

"When was Oliver set to arrive again?" Sir James asks like he's absolutely oblivious to the situation that has arisen at his breakfast table, instead lowering his paper to smile brightly at his son.

"Um," Felix takes half a moment to compose himself once more, before levelling a weak smile at his father, "I believe his train gets in at three."

"Wonderful," ever enthusiastic, James nods, "we'll have a car sent out and waiting for him." As if the Cattons have ever made anyone catch a taxi if they didn't have a town car of their own. Forever eager to be the perfect hosts.

"Do you think he even knows what a town car is?" Farleigh asks disdainfully, which sets Elspeth off and cooing about the sorry state of their upcoming guest, while you attempted to swat Farleigh's arm for his comment.

"Hey, no," he leans out of your reach, all but oozing contempt at the reminder of Oliver's impending arrival, "you're my ally in this today, you promised; no being bitchy about my opinions just because I don't want to save a horse, ride a pauper like you do -" even as you snap at him, the eyes of most of the table are on you in an instant.

"Farleigh," you snarled under your breath, feeling yourself growing flustered.

"You're a dreadful fucking pest," Felix frowns at his cousin around you, but Farleigh merely shrugged without even a shred of remorse. Several pairs of newly intrigued eyes are still fixed on you.

"Felix had mentioned that you were fond of Oliver, pet, isn't that right?" Elspeth began tentatively. You kind of wished your chair would spontaneously collapse beneath you, if only to give everyone something else to talk about. Alas, it remained sturdy, and you remained pinned like a butterfly beneath Elspeth and Venetia's gazes, "I never really thought to ask what you thought of the boy, which is foolish of me, he's your friend too, is he not?"

"Clearly," Venetia said, smile surprisingly wolfish.

Oliver's constantly searching eyes shine blue as the sky in your mind. Everything Oliver Quick says, does, and is, seems so deliberate; he's constantly a man with more thoughts than words, so you know that what he chooses to say always has meaning. You love that he's capable of directness that so many others will shy away from, but is able to chatter through small talk if it's to be had. He can read a room and let it affect his approach without feeling the need to change himself; that's why so many of your friends back at Oxford found him so off-putting. It's one of the things you loved about him.

Oliver is Oliver at the club, at the pub, walking to class, in the grocery store listening to you and Felix argue about pasta sauce, in your bed, smiling at you and kissing you and murmuring the kinds of things to you that none's ever taken the time to say, the kinds of things that makes your heart beat hard against your ribs and in your throat in a way that you don't get from people who aren't Felix anymore -

"Uh, yeah, he's a good friend," you shrug and try to seem as nonplussed about the discussion as you're able to, while your eyes are all but burning holes into your plate, "he's really quite lovely, and he's got such a beautiful, unique face; I think you'll be very charmed by him, Elspeth." Beside you, Felix coughs very deliberately to cover a laugh.

Chancing a glance at him, you're both pleased and vaguely mortified to see, not the jealousy you would have seen perhaps a week ago during a discussion like this where he is privy to far too much information about your feelings regarding Oliver. Instead, you see your best friend trying not to laugh at your casual act knowing your casual 'he's a good friend' and 'he's really quite lovely' actual means 'I've been absolutely railed by the young gentleman coming to stay at our house, so yes you could say I adore him'. This is much better than the jealousy. This is one of the many reasons you love having Felix as a best friend. You also desperately wished you weren't at the breakfast table with the entire rest of his family.

Elspeth, however, seems pleased enough by the answer to let you finish your breakfast in peace. Felix does too, but he's wearing this amused little knowing smile the entire time. Okay, if it means Felix isn't being weird and jealous about it, you'll take it.

After breakfast, you allow Farleigh to pull you outside to the picnic table you'd had installed in the middle of your favourite flower garden. He'd asked you to paint his nails, promising to return the favour, claiming to desperately want to spend his last hours of freedom surrounded by beauty while he could.

"You're mad at me," he says bluntly as you're concentrating on painting the nails on his left hand black. Like Freddy Mercury used to, he'd told you.

"No..." you murmured distractedly, trying to wipe carefully at where you'd gotten a bit on his skin.

"You don't have to be here," Farleigh could be heard rolling his eyes, and as you dipped the brush back into the bottle, you paused for a moment, looking up at him in genuine confusion.

"You asked me to spend time with you today," like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You are aware that you're not actually a robot, right?" It surprises you how genuinely concerned he looks in this moment, leaning forwards, as if proximity would better impart the importance of his words, "you don't have to do just what everyone says; you have free will."

Looking down at the bottle, as if to continue your work and not to hide your expression, you once again tell him that you know. You move onto the next nail, and Farleigh falls silent.

It is beautiful out here. The garden itself that you found yourselves in was actually considered to be yours. It had been a birthday gift from James and Elspeth after hearing some of your idle musings as a late teen. It was an overwhelming offer, one you'd tried to turn down countless times; there were books about the Saltburn Estate as it was, they shouldn't allow you to alter it in any way! But they'd been terribly insistent. Our home is your home. You won't even lie; you started crying on the spot at that.

They'd asked you if you wanted to hire people to get it all taken care of, and while you'd accepted in part, the actual planting and initial maintaining of the garden itself was something you put an entire Summer into.

A circular design with a beautiful vine-covered arch as it's entrance, two thick rows of flowers in various shades of pinks, blues, purples, and whites bordering the outside, with a bubbling stream separating them. Smooth stones lead through the arch to a circular opening of lush, green grass, itself encircled by another small stream. The picnic bench sat at the back of the inner circle, while several small white chairs and benches with ornate tables between them sat either side, still leaving a generous patch of grass that you'd often had picnics on in the years since it's creation.

When you had come back over the following break after the garden had been completed, you see that a single statue had been placed flush against the back of the picnic table, between it and the edge of the stream, fitting perfectly. Far more understated than most of the other statues littering the Saltburn estate, it was of a young woman, her hair tied back and looking even to be quite short if you looked at it the right way, in a surprisingly shapeless toga, arm raised, hand poise to her mouth as if she's about to eat whatever's in her hand. Four large seeds. The figure looks gleeful at the prospect of eating them. The figure kind of almost looks like you. But you've always brushed it off; you're not that vain.

The Cattons have always had loved their mythology.

The family called it the Fairy Ring Garden, and Elspeth especially enjoyed hosting gatherings there.

Now, it was peaceful, just as Farleigh had hoped, smelling sweet even when the flowers weren't all in their full bloom. You cap the bottle, reaching for the top coat.

"They're not going to kick you out," Farleigh breaks the silence as you're shaking up the formula and waiting for his nails to dry. But his words have you stopping dead.

"I never said I thought they would..." you say slowly, while something uncomfortable begins to gnaw at your stomach. Farleigh's expression, while unimpressed at what he knows is a lie, is still full of that concern.

"But you do think it."

Logically, rationally, you know they won't. But you also know that you can't even bring yourself to say it in a way that was believable. Farleigh's looking at you like you're a puzzle he can't even being to solve, a friend with a problem he doesn't know how to talk through. So you ignore the comment altogether.

"I am mad at you," you say instead, looking up at him with a humourless smile.

"About... this?" He frowns.

"About implying that I have the hots for Oliver at the breakfast table, you dick," and you got back to shaking the nail polish as Farleigh laughs in that sharp and familiar way that breaks all the rest of the tension.

"I was not expecting breakfast to be such a shitshow," he wheezes with laughter, his free hand coming to rest on his chest as he kept his hand with it's black nails still on the table for you, "Pamela is a riot, God I love her."

"Where did she get the impression that Fi and I were twins?" You crows with amusement, which just set Farleigh off again, "and Elspeth's horror at the thought - did you see her face?!"

"I'm not even lying to you, I didn't realise she like, actually knew you and Felix were boning until she made that comment to Pamela -" Farleigh grinned with a scandalous little gasp.

"I hardly did either, except yesterday she got all weird about Fi and I officially sharing a room while Oliver was here, and it was clearly because she knew we sleep together; I have no idea how much she knows, or how long she's known, but she definitely knows," you offered with a smirk, while Farleigh ate up the gossip with glee.

As your focus returned to your work on the final layer of polish on his fingers, the conversation died down for several, serene minutes.

"Felix is going to show Oliver to his room when he arrives -" Farleigh's voice was unfortunately once more laced with disdain.

"Can I ask what your genuine problem is with him?"

It's quiet, but there's a distinct, irate hum from across the table after half a minute. Farleigh, when you glance up at him, is frowning down at his fingers, at you painting the final one, carefully cultivating his thoughts.

"There is an inherent unwillingness to engage in the stylistic aspects of, well, everything, despite how he is a constant, lurking watcher of the world, and must still see the value that is placed on it, that I find... off-putting," he says very carefully, and the minutes you've finished his nails, he picks up the base coat from the table and starts shaking it, waiting for you to present your hands for him to return the favour. "He acts like this weak, little mouse, but he's the cat, always watching every fucking thing, judging all of us but pretending like he's not and he's innocent. He's like you, but at least you're upfront about it," it's not a surprise when he finishes your first hand and looks up to gauge your reaction.

It's the second time someone's compared you to Oliver. Somehow you think you like this comparison better. Still, it feels strange to hear. Farleigh only waits for half a second, however, before he starts on the next hand.

"You..." you too carefully pick your next words, "have clearly put some thought into this."

"Adriana is going to hear a lot about Oliver tomorrow in our session; I'm trying to put some of the work in before I get there," he says flatly, though you can't help but genuinely smile.

"Adriana?"

"Therapist; phone session scheduled for tomorrow. Organised it before I knew about yours and Felix's little coup of my Summer, but I'm more than glad for it now."

"You're still going to those sessions? Good for you, man."

"Yeah, mom and Uncle James thought it might help me stick it out at Oxford," he sucks his teeth loudly for a second, "guess they were right." Then, without even looking up, "she still think you need therapy too," he practically sings, and you hum noncommittally. Farleigh's mentioned once or twice that the few times he'd brought you up in his own sessions, his therapist had seemed reasonably concerned about you. You had chosen to ignore it before, and you would continue ignoring it now.

"You brought weed, right?" That was the other thing about the Fairy Circle Garden, it was tradition to get high if it was any combination of the four of you children. Farleigh grins as he finishes off your left hand, both because your obvious attempt to dodge his statement, and because yeah, obviously.

"Let me finish your nails first; did you bring your iPod?"

"Of course."

You'd chosen a pale, gold polish, something almost close to a cream colour, that sparkled in the light, and spent the entire time Farleigh was furiously searching his pockets for his lighter admiring them.

In the afternoon sun, you and Farleigh lay in the grass of the Fairy Circle Garden, sharing a joint and listen to a shuffled mix of Queen songs. Elspeth had put one of their albums on after dinner, which the whole family let themselves enjoy, and it had been on all your minds ever since.

"Can I ask you something?" Farleigh mumbles, holding his hand up to the sky to admire the shiny, black polish adorning his nails.

"My dearest Fars," you grinned widely at him, "you can ask me anything ever in the world; it's me, you know this, but -" you turn faux serious, though only for a second, taking back the almost finished joint, "now you can ask me anything." And you breathe deeply, letting the smoke sit in your lungs, passing the last of it back to Farleigh. He takes his time, however, and your head swirls the longer you let the smoke settle in your lungs.

"I genuinely cannot picture Oliver being any fucking good in bed," he blurts out, and turns to you; unfortunately there's a look in his eyes that's genuine rather than disdainful, "granted," he amends, seemingly actually reasonable about this, "sometimes my mind does replace him with the puppet version of Pinocchio, from the cartoon - I'm actually not trying to be mean here, my brain just does that -" while you're actually rolling on the grass with laughter, both from his apparent situation, but also because the weed has definitely already hit you.

"Farleigh, oh my god -"

"Stop it," he's starting to sound genuinely distressed, "I've had sex with you, I know what you've got going on down there; I can't stop vividly imagining you getting puppet dick!" Your attempts to comfort him aren't particularly successful when you're still cackling even as you try and hug him. At least he accepts it, returns your hug despite sulking at your continued laughter. Then, and you can actually hear him getting over his distressed bit as he adds, "it's wooden, right? And it grows like his nose?"

It takes you a full five minutes to calm down from your laughter once more, but at least this time Farleigh's laughing too.

"Christ, Fars -" you're wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, sitting up, your legs crossed. Farleigh is still stretched out, lounging on his side and propped up on his elbow, "I'm never going to be able to watch Pinocchio again."

"Now you know how I feel," he shrugs, "and that was before I knew you'd -"

"Whatever weird, possible puppet-based euphemism -"

"Oh, you know me so well," he smirked, though the look in his eyes is warm.

"- I'll pass on," a lull comes in the conversation, and you lay yourself back once more. Checking your watch, you're surprised that there's still quite some time before lunch, "why would I lie?" You lower your arm, and prop your hands behind your head. Farleigh makes a confused noise, "about Oliver; do you think I'm lying?"

"My dearest Y/N," he echoes your tone and affection from minutes earlier, before sliding to his more familiar cadence, "you can, will, and have gotten in bed with every person who's caught your fancy. I have watched you transcend sexuality literally all over the globe, and I know from countless personal experiences - thank you by the way - that you rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel," he looks up at you for just a moment where he's laying on his back like he's remembering those countless personal experiences and you do not have the self restraint to not roll onto your side to face him, to watch him. Farleigh both knows what you're doing, while also finally making his point; "I don't think Oliver Quick is good in bed, I think you just made that man find God."

It's quite the compliment, and if it were anyone else, he'd probably be right.

"Fars-" your smile widens bashfully, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

"Don't say my name like that, you're derailing the conversation," he mumbles, sounding rather bashful.

"Like what?"

"The way you do when you're high," he huffs an embarrassed breath, cracking an eye open to look at you. You hadn't realised that there was any special way that you would say it, but you apologise faintly, shifting yourself to lay at an angle, your head on his chest, facing him. Farleigh closes his eyes again, wearing a faint smile as he runs his fingertips up and down your arm in a soothing, repetitive gesture. Which does nothing but feel like teasing in your current state.

"Why do you care so much about Oliver's dick-game?" You try and focus. It catches Farleigh off guard, judging by his bark of laughter.

"As you have so thoroughly pointed out at least twice by now, the man has a limited number of features that would be arguably hot on someone with a better personality -"

"Oh, right," you nodded, "your repressed crush on my poor friend who you hate," tone flat, you brace for whatever response you know you will get, but still yelp when you receive a hard pinch on the arm. "Those are some big words, by the way; Adriana should give you a gold star - ow! Fine!" You pout, doing your best to cross your arms despite not actually moving yourself from Farleigh. It takes a few beats, but you hear the faintest laugh echo in Farleigh's chest, and moments later he returns to idly running his fingers up and down your arm.

The moment settles around you both, and you let your eyes fall closed. This moment of contentment almost mirrors the one from this morning, but your head swirls too much for it to be entirely perfect.

"I'm not lying," you finally say. Farleigh makes a noise of interest. Eyes still closed, you're kind of willing to bet his are too, "you said so yourself; Oliver's like me, he... watches," you wet your lips, hesitating for a moment, "he listens."

"But you listen," Farleigh says like the equation isn't adding up in his mind. God why did you have to talk about this in the first place, now all you can think about is Oliver, Oliver, Oliver -

Harder, he'd actually listened. Hold me here. Listened. This angle. You can bend me like this. Pull. Bite. Move. Fuck.

You had to open your eyes; Farleigh is watching you, half seemingly aroused by whatever picture he has in his head, half still relatively confused. Every sensation in your mind feels tenfold right now, you could have said any number of things to prove your point, but there's one that sticks. Slowly, you sit up, half bracing yourself over Farleigh, hands planted in the grass either side of him as your silhouette blocks the sun from his face.

"Fars," you've already forgotten that there's something about that nickname that always gets him, even soft and serious like this, "Ollie's the first person outside of Felix who's made me cum before they've gotten the chance to finish in my entire memory."

Farleigh, who'd been grinning up at you, gently running his fingertips across your cheek and down your jaw, actually looks a little stunned.

"That can't be right." He mutters faintly. Your answering expression is grim and telling, "oh my god," with the exact tone of someone discovering shocking, world altering news about situations far less trivial, but the apology in his eyes and faint horror in his voice is rather amusing.

"Doomed to the life of a - what did you call me that one time?" You grinned despite yourself, sitting back a little, "a service bottom?"

"Oh my god I definitely did!" Farleigh lights up at the memory, glad too for the breaking of tension once more, and you rather eagerly add.

"So it was nice to be, you know, be listened to, taken care of the way I kind of take care of people?" You try to put it to words, "but I still- uh, I think I was just a regular- um -"

"Oliver Quick; service top," Farleigh muses like it's of great importance, which is enough to make you laugh once more. But your arms are getting tired of holding you up, and your self restraint is worn past the point of no return, so finally you lean down to kiss him. Farleigh grins against your lips, "hey."

"Hi," you murmur, everything about you radiating a syrupy kind of fondness, "I'm not mad at you."

"Clearly," Farleigh chuckles faintly, pulling you back in. The second day of Summer and it feels like freedom already, and of Summers long passed. Getting high and making out in the Fairy Circle Garden is not an unfamiliar experience, and you'd always considered it a good way to pass the time. In your mind, it seems like a great idea at the time to share another joint together; you end up with Farleigh's knee between your thighs by the time you realise that you're almost late for lunch.

"Oh my god, Fars, they're going to kill us," you couldn't contain your laughter as you briskly made your way back to the house.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Farleigh called out from a few feet behind, and you stopped, looking at him with concern for his urgent tone. Instead, he swooped in with a grin to give you one more kiss before passing you, "they're not going to care," he adds.

"They're so going to care!" You hissed, voice a guilty mix of concerned and amused as you stepped into the house. Then, after a moment, "I care if they know!"

"That is not something I can help you with, pet," Farleigh shrugged, "but I think they might care about the grass stains on our clothes." And with that he swans away, radiating a bright confidence that you can't help but be endeared by in this moment, that distracts you, if only for a second, from your nerves.

Back in your room, the nerves set in tenfold when you find Felix to be there as well.

"How's Farleigh coping?" He asks with a pleasant smile.

Be totally cool and stealthy and not high right before Oliver's meant to arrive. You can do this.

"Surprisingly well," you responded cheerfully, raising your hands to show off your nails, "we listened to Queen," maybe a non sequitur, but not an incriminating one, you tell yourself, "and..." frowning for a moment, you pull at the shoulder of your shirt, trying to examine it for the grassy faux par Farleigh had been accusing you of. As you're trying to figure out if you really do need to change, it appears that your mouth takes on a mind of it's own, adding, distractedly, "... grass stains. Fi-" you look to him with sudden intensity, not having realised that in your attempt to see the back of your shirt, you'd tried to turn to get a better look, like a dog chasing it's own tail, "Fi, is there grass on me?"

Felix, taking you by the shoulders to steady you, is giving you a truly bemused look. It's enough for you to already be pulling away from him, stripping off your shirt to look in your drawers.

"I'm going to kill Farleigh," but you can hear his exasperation is highly coloured with amusement. He chuckles faintly, "and you, probably."

"Ooh~" you mused mostly to yourself, "see, I told Farleigh this would happen," you clicked your tongue as you squinted into the drawer for the perfect replacement. Then, very suddenly, you processed all of what Felix had said; "and boo, don't kill me," you pout, pulling out a button down and taking a few moments to check the size on the tag to see if it was yours or Felix's, "I'm capable of a great many things, Felix," you tell him matter-of-factly as you pull the shirt on. Satisfied with your change in wardrobe, you look to see him sitting on the end of the bed, looking thankfully endeared by your antics, "and we're late to lunch, almost," despite how you strode over to him with purpose, standing yourself between his legs, arms draped around his neck, "poor form showing up late, covered in blood, and with a dead friend in the other room;" he can't help himself, he laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist, looking up at you with the most loving exasperation in his eyes. However the sound of his laughter is absolutely what you would consider a victory, "see, don't kill me I'm occasionally funny."

"You're so fucking high." He laughed a little helplessly. Drat. At least he seemed to find it funny, leaning forward to press his face against your chest for a long moment as he let out a faint sigh. Felix is warm, his breath on your skin through the fibres of your shirt, his arms around you, knees pressed against your legs; Summer is sweltering, and if he were anyone else you'd be extracting yourself in an instant, but you want to melt into him in this moment.

"Shh," you stage whispered, petting his head, "don't tell Felix, we've got an important guest arriving today," and he looks up to see the apologetic smile you wear as you run your fingers through his hair. You drop the bit, "it seemed like a good idea at the time, then I..." you hummed for a moment, frowning, "lost track of... it. Time."

Felix's gaze softens as he looks at you, eyes shiny and pupils blown wide, holding him so tenderly. Does he even know that he looks at you like that? Does he know how much it means to you?

"You make it frustratingly difficult to - we have lunch-" he has to firmly remind you, even though he is grinning and endeared by your antics, as you bring one leg up over his, knee settling beside him on the bed. Your smile is only guilty because you know it should be, not because you feel any kind of actual guilt. You bring your knee off the bed, but are now straddling his thigh.

"We have lunch," you parrot back with a nod. But Felix's hands are still on you, still wrapped around you and holding you to him, watching you with this look like he's endeared, like he's almost mesmerised by you in this moment; you, who keeps echoing 'we have lunch' until it starts to lose all meaning, and you kind of forget that you're still just standing in your room with Felix, until you're chanting those three words under your breath like a little song that you're bopping along to. Any real thoughts had absolutely left your head about a minute ago.

Felix is watching you with that look in his eyes like he's never loved anyone more in his life.

"I am so hungry," you finally broke out of your little, strange trace, before lighting up, "oh my god we have lunch!" Suddenly enthused, as if you'd forgotten the entire few minutes that had just passed, you step back. Taking Felix's hands, you pull him to his feet as he laughs sweetly, "come on," tugging him through the halls, he lets you lead him by the hand, "once we finish lunch it means its almost time to see Ollie, and we love Ollie!"

Very suddenly three rooms away from the dining hall, you stop. The pace you'd set was eager, so Felix practically crashes into you without a warning, and has to catch you both on a doorframe. You've got your hands flat on his chest, the airy, pale linen shirt he'd chosen for the warm day, staring at them as he's braced over you. Then, very suddenly, your focused expression breaks into a smile like the sun from behind a cloud, looking up at him with absolute joy.

"We match."

He looks down; your nails, his shirt, almost identical shades, though your nails still sparkle faintly.

"I should have said I was stopping," you added, though neither of you had moved. You were still looking at your hands; "I should say more of the things that I think in my head out loud." Then, after a long few moments, and Felix continuing to indulge you, he hears you mutter, "I can feel your heartbeat in my hands."

You should definitely move and go to lunch and not stand here and be close to Felix for an infinite amount of time even if you know that Felix loves you and would definitely indulge you and would let you stay in this space and this moment and this close to him forever and ever if you asked. None of which you say out loud. Instead, what comes out is -

"I like that we match," and you drag your hands down his chest to take the hem of his shirt between your fingers, momentarily tugging on it as Felix finally stepped back.

"You're an absolute terror," he says fondly, taking your hand.

"Yes, but I'm your terror, fuck-o," you tell him with a childish kind of glee, and Felix was rather glad you couldn't see the way the silly little sentiment had made him melt.

As much as he adored the way you became overwhelmingly talkative, loving, and bold whilst high, he still had to stop you both outside of the dining hall to remind you to tone it down.

"Mum and dad can't know," Felix insisted, and you nodded very seriously.

"Mum and dad can't know," you agreed in a whisper, collecting your composure as best you could. For the record, you did pretty good; you didn't serve yourself an ungodly amount of food despite how hungry you were, you used the correct knives and forks even if it took you about twenty seconds of squinting to identify which would be best, and you made a point to be pretty much monosyllabic in conversation. It was working. For the most part.

"It's such a wonderful day, such a lovely omen," Sir James cheerfully gazed through the large windows in the dining hall, clearly glad for the sun.

"Yes, I forgot how beautiful it is to see you all taking advantage of the grounds on days like today," Elspeth added, "I think I saw you two heading out there," looking up, you see her gesturing to yourself and Farleigh with a polite smile, "how was it?"

"A beautiful place to cope with Oliver's impending arrival," Farleigh says through a humourless smile. Venetia leaned over her plate to leer at you both.

"Fucking in the Fairy Garden again?"

"No," you replied arguably too forcefully, mouth half full of food and gaze focused on your plate, terrified of giving away your state right now. Pamela, across the table, spluttered into her tea.

"Venetia," Elspeth admonished, scandalised. However, as much as you were trying to act normal, considering your relationship with three of the individuals at the table, it didn't register until it was too late that your normal may not be everyone's normal at the table -

"It's the middle of the day, Ven, I have a sense of propriety when the sun can see me," then, clearly losing your grip on self restraint while Venetia grins upon seeing her mother's exasperated face momentarily in her hands, you leaned a touch closer to Farleigh, "oh, and Felix is going to kill you."

"I'll add it to my calendar," Farleigh rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I'm going to kill you both," Felix himself chimes in blithely.

"See, I told you so," you again leaned in to Farleigh, who just gave you a fond, amused smile in response.

"What?" Comes Elspeth in the lull, unsurprisingly befuddled, "Felix, darling, why are you killing your cousin and Y/N?"

"No reason!" You respond jauntily with a sincere, sweet smile. It seems like Elspeth's trying to decide if she should be concerned or not. After a long moment, she decides to accept that it's a joke.

"Well don't do it where I can see," she sits back primly, "or if you must, I request it not be bloody."

"I'll exsanguinate myself in preparation," Farleigh says flatly without missing a beat. No-one at the table had been expecting anything like that, and the mood breaks, turning as light as the sky outside, with the sound of everyone's laughter.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Laormoch, Archfey of the Wild Unknown

Embodying the primal awe and terror of those places beyond the edge of the map, this ancient spirit of the land exists to test and torment those who stray too far from the safety of the familiar.

Though the old stories call him the" thane of the faroff" or an "invisible giant as big as the sky", it is hard to put Laormoch's physicality and the fear it evokes into words: How do you describe being lorded over by ancient trees, or the scornful glare of unfamiliar stars? His shape is only ever suggested by how it bends the natural world, but he is always distant, though always so immense that it feels like he may reach out and crush the viewer.

Adventure Hooks

The party stumble into a village to find its inhabitants struggling to recover after a disastrous hunt. Some wretched beast tore through some weeks ago and was only dispatched with great effort. It was a cause for celebration, at least until the thing was seen stalking in the woods, reading for another attack. To prevent it from assailing their walls and destroying their homes the village's best hunter leads the village's strongest on a sortie, downing the beast only after injuring many and losing a few. This has happened three times so far and the village's defenders are wearing thin. Perhaps the party could lend their aid once the beast is spotted again, and perhaps spend the intervening time trying to find its obviously supernatural origins.

Almost inconsolable, a great lord calls for the party's aid in rescuing his son and heir, who he claims was stolen by the sky itself: snatched out of his tower window by a great hand and carried off into the clouds. The servants and courtiers are skeptical, everyone knows the lord was so protective of his son he barely let the boy leave his rooms, let alone the castle, and it's likely the lad finally managed some means of escape. While they're considering exactly how to search for the lad the party will be approached by the Lord's bastard daughter, she was denied her inheritance by her father's traditionalism, and sees the opportunity to have herself recognized if the true born heir is never found. She'll ask that even if the party does find her younger brother, they either help him escape or leave him where he is, as it would be better for the both of him if he doesn't return to the castle.

Backstory:

Seeking to prove herself against a boastful rival, a hunter ventured far from her village into the deep wilderness, where she found and slew an elk of ethereal beauty, eating its flesh to sustain herself and taking its antlers as her trophy. Though she returned in glory, the beast had been marked by the Thane of the Faroff, who has raised its butchered body as a reverent and gifted it bloodthirsting branches to replace what was taken. The revenant won't stop until it's killed the hunter and torn her body to shreds, which will likely be sometime after she's gotten a good portion of the other villagers killed because she's too good at hunting and too stuborn to die without a fight. The revenant has more than one trick though, the branches animating its body bear seedpods which it scatters as it dies or gores others to death. These seeds eventually grow into twigblights, which are slowly massing in the forest waiting to overwhelm the village's defenders and open the gate for the revenant's final rampage.

Wishing more than anything to get away from the suffocating confines of his home, the young heir has found himself on the wrong end of a fairy bargin. Whisked off by Laormoch to his castle beyond the horizon, the boy has been forced to serve as the archfey's cupbearer as repayment for his captor's "kindness". The party will need to dig deep into the local folklore to figure out how and why the sky might snatch up a forlorn youth, potentially missing him entirely until they run into him while visiting the feywild for a completely different adventure.

Artsource

#villain #villain fey #archfey #wilderness encounter #encounter forest #encounter village #rescue mission #monster hunt #Laormoch

[hon3yteddy]

꒰ things that make nct dream flustered 🍦 ꒱

synopsis: flustered dream ? and they're all a bit pathetic in a cute way genre(s): established relationship, romance, fluff, stuff that could make you cry if you were just that tiny bit insane warning(s): insanity, cheese author's note: double post !?!?! i feel like my writing style is repetitive which puts me off

for mark it's definitely pet names. things like “love”, “sweetheart”, "darling” and especially “baby” but it has to have the “y” at the end. normally you’d say them so naturally, not thinking too much about it, mark on the other hand is a mess. a simple question could be asked with the additional “baby” at the end and he’s praying for strength as he tries to answer with incoherent words. he'll always try to argue that he doesn’t like it, but he’s in fact proud of the fact that he’s simply yours. it’s adorable to say the least, the way he’s simply at the palm of your hands, compliant to your words just because of a simple word.

if renjun catches you staring, he’s over the moon. hearing a “pretty” slip out from your lips as you admire him. you’re shameless about it, not bothering to look away after you’ve been caught. it’s more embarrassing for him than it is for you. your gaze is so attentive and so soft he swears he’s blushing and on the verge of passing out. he’ll give you a “what do you want?” but never gets an answer as you carry on admiring his ethereal beauty. he was never one for attention, and having your attention just seemed to have more of an effect. renjun's got such a soft spot for you - he’ll never admit it though.

jeno is a dead man when you feel him, but not in that type of way. you’re simply just feeling him up out of pure curiosity. yeah, you’ve felt the man a lot but you can’t help but poke, pinch, squeeze at his muscles. you’re practically in awe of his build. obviously, you don’t like him for his body only. it's just fun to just squeeze his muscles every now and then and watch how he reacts to your ever so curious touches. you’re soft and careful, but tend to be calculative, eager for a reaction out of him. you like how he’s shy under your touch, the way he tries to ignore it all, but you can tell, anyone can tell that he’s enjoy it despite his want to not do so. jeno's fingers fidget, his face turns away from yours to avoid your gaze, sometimes you can feel him become tense as you drag your hand along his bare skin. be careful of the power you hold over him because he might just lose all sanity.

your compliments have got the lee haechan ascending into another galaxy. he’s not necessarily flustered by your side comments, he’s actually rather cocky about it, whispering for you to say some more or pretending to tuck his hair behind his ear and bat his eyelashes at you as a joke to hear you laugh. yet internally it's utter chaos, he’s on his knees in tears, screaming in pure joy. he definitely giggles about your kind words later, trying to remake the whole scenario just to feel something again. he could never let you see how much of an effect you have on him with your words. he’s a lot better when it comes to the banter you exchange on a daily basis so he’d treasure your words forever.

jaemin adores it when you become a bit whiny, not in a slap deserving way. he’s normally the whiny one, begging for attention, a kiss, a cuddle, so when the roles reverse he’s simply gone and under your command. you want to hold hands, he’s dropping everything in his hands for you; you want to cuddle, he’s diving into your embrace with no questions asked. he gets giddy when you ask him for the most simplistic of things. he adores how vulnerable and cute you sound, whining for his attention, outreaching your hand for him to hold. it’s even worse for his heart when you’re doing it half asleep, calling his name as you lay side by side, asking for a hug to nestle yourself in. jaemin would do anything you asked of him, anything at all.

if there’s one thing chenle would say he loves about you most, it’s got to be your laugh. he doesn’t care if you don’t like it, every time he hears your laugh it seriously takes his breath away. he hates the way you’ll try and hide it, he loves it so much, and he definitely loves to hear it when he’s the cause of it. he likes the one where you’re fighting for your life in tears, laughing your ass off at a joke he’s made. chenle takes pride in them every single time. he’s normally laughing with you, glancing towards your beautiful smiling face. that is, until you're laughing at him. then he’s pouting and shying away. but he could never be angry for too long seeing you so happy. if chenle could, he’d get you to laugh everyday, simply because he loves you that much.

anything can mess with this poor boy’s heart. You don’t even need to be there in jisung's presence to have some sort of effect on him. a simple text message gets his heart flatlining. texting you has got him using all of his brain power to send the perfect text only for him to regret everything he says. he can be a bit more confident through the screen, using how you can’t see him act embarrassing in the comfort of his room to his own advantage. yet a “good night <3” has got the 6ft grown adult rolling around his bed, kicking his legs, crying and screaming into his pillow awakening everyone else. it gets worse when you send a picture of yourself just because you can. the rest of nct might as well just prepare for his funeral at that point. He’s just a lovesick loser but you can’t help but love him anyway.

jan 2023 © hon3teddy

#nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct blurbs #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #nct x gender neutral reader #kpop #mark #mark lee #nct mark #renjun #huang renjun #jeno #lee jeno #haechan #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #jaemin #na jaemin #chenle #zhong chenle #nct jisung #jisung #park jisung #nct fanfic #y/n got rizz #🍯🧸