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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 2

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the little time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

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There’s a knock on your door the next morning, but you ignore it- too consumed by the throbbing pain in your head and the feeling of tiny knives stabbing at the back of your eyes. This is what you get for crying yourself to sleep.

At some point last night, you had managed to pull yourself off the floor and into the bed, still wearing your gown. You had barely thought to pull the pins out of your hair before you were curling in on yourself under the covers, pillow dampening under your cheek.

But there are no tears left this morning, only anger burning through your veins.

Anger felt easy, anger felt familiar. Anger masked hurt and gave it a purpose. You were hurt by Astarion because he made you feel special and you were angry at yourself because you had been too caught up in the fantasy and believed him. The two sentiments twisted and warped in your mind until you were left angry at Astarion for tricking you.

There’s another knock at the door and it infuriates you. Why couldn’t you be left alone to grieve? These people would have the entirety of your life to bother you. Did you not deserve one day to yourself? You pick up one of your shoes from the floor and hurl it at the door as you yell at the person on the other side to leave you alone.

Thankfully, your message must have been received, because for a few moments, there’s nothing but glorious silence. You let your eyes drift closed again, but your mind is too quick to turn back to last night- how easy it had been to dance with Astarion, how his arm had felt wrapped around your waist, the solid line of his body as he had pinned you to the wall and threatened you. And through all those memories is your new fiancé’s stupid, perfect, beautiful, lying face.

The way you see it, you have two ways of getting out of this wedding. Either you manage to escape or figure out how to kill Astarion.

How do you kill a vampire, though? You try to pull the stories you were told as a little girl from the recesses of your mind to see if you remember any weaknesses or weapons you can use against him. You’re supposed to drive something through their heart- a wooden stake. The elegant wooden bed posts are perhaps the most reasonable candidate, you just have to figure out how to saw through the thick wood. At this point, you’re desperate enough to start gnawing on one like a beaver. You’re studying the posts and losing hope at the feasibility of turning one into a stake when the dark haired woman from last night bursts her way into the room.

“Get out!” You practically screech at her, reaching down to pick up your remaining shoe to throw it at her. The woman simply dodges the shoe and continues wheeling in a cart of food.

“You weren’t answering the door, my lady,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes you want to grab the butter knife from the cart and jam it into her throat. The way she looks at you makes you feel like you were the one inconveniencing her and not that she is complicit in your captivity.

The butter knife had you thinking again, though. It was not the best weapon by any means, but it was perhaps the best defense you would have access to. You rise from the bed and move toward the cart under the guise of investigating the food on it.

It is a lavish spread. Someone had obviously gone through great care to make sure you would find at least something on it appealing and your growling stomach is tempted by some of the sweet-looking pastries. Nevertheless, in your scheming this morning, you had already decided that one of your little acts of revenge will be to refuse food. Astarion can’t very well keep a prisoner who is dead. Or at the very least, it will be a great inconvenience for him and that thought fills you with the tiniest spark of joy.

You press your hands to the cart, continuing your fake investigation of the breakfast. The servant has her back turned to you as she remakes the bed and you take the opportunity to carefully slide the knife off the cart, concealing it in the pocket in the folds of your skirt.

“I’m not hungry,” you finally declare, as you settle at the little table in the corner of the room. You feel better, now that you’ve got your secret little knife with you- more prepared, and at least a small step further on your plot to get out of here.

“Lord Ancunin will be worried about you if you don’t eat,” the lady answers, but you can tell she is growing a bit exasperated by your antics. She prepares a plate of food anyway, setting it on the table in front of you. Passing over the food, you instead pick up the cup of tea she’d poured in an attempt to soothe your stomach.

“Astarion can worry all he’d like. I’m not going to let him fatten me up like I’m some pig he’s readying for slaughter,” you push the plate back toward her as you speak.

Astarion might have gotten what he wanted for now, but you were by no means going to make this easy for him. You were going to fight and claw and resist him in every way you knew how. A dark, vengeful part of you smirks at the idea of his pretty face marred by your claw marks.

“If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” the maid says, though her face does soften a bit, full of pity. You hate her for that, for pitying you. Had you really fallen so far that you were seen as nothing more than a helpless little snack for a vampire Lord?

“At least let me help you out of that dress. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes,” she says and even though you’ve decided that this woman is your new enemy along with Astarion, she might be right that you would feel better in new clothes. You debate whether you should accept this offer of help or not, worried that if she were to help you out of your dress, she would find your precious knife tucked in the pocket.

She seems to notice your internal struggle and offers, “Or I could bring you a new dress and you could change on your own?”

You do end up agreeing to those terms, but quickly discover that you have vastly underestimated the difficulty of removing a ballgown. You weren’t used to dressing by yourself and the tiny buttons down the back of your gown seem too slippery and impossible to manage on your own. For a moment, you consider giving up entirely and just wearing this dress for the rest of your miserable life, but now that the idea of changing your clothes has gotten in your head, you want out of the stupid dress that is so full of reminders of last night.

You quickly tuck the knife underneath the pillows of the bed so that the woman cannot find it in your skirts before you swallow your pride and hesitantly knock on the inside of the door. It whips open almost immediately, the dark haired woman looking at you curiously, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

“Can you help me? I can’t get this dress off by myself,” you say, but you can feel your voice is tinged with embarrassment.

She enters the room again and undoes the slippery buttons on the back of your dress with dextrous fingers. Her speed is irritating since you had just spent the past half hour hopping around your room with your hands twisted behind your back like a fool.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask, as she’s helping to undo your corset.

“Shadowheart, my lady.”

“That’s a…” you struggle with the words, trying to be polite, “unique name.”

Shadowheart snorts out a laugh and you appreciate that she seems to have a sense of humor. “I’m not from around here.”

The dress she helps you into is soft and simple. The pale blue cotton is light and will keep you cool during the warm summer afternoon and the thin lace trim around the neckline is delicate and refined, hinting at your fiancé’s wealth. It’s the complete opposite of what you would have expected for the bride of a vampire. A part of you had even considered that Astarion might keep you dressed up in gaudy ball gowns for the rest of all time. He did seem to have a flair for the dramatic. Your initial pleasure with the dress sours when you realize this dress was just another reminder that as your husband, Astarion could completely control every aspect of your life, right down to the clothes on your back. Or the lack of clothes, though you shudder at the thought.

“We can go to a dressmaker soon and get you new clothes,” Shadowheart says, when she notices you plucking sadly at the material. “Or we can try writing a letter to your father and organize having your old clothes sent here, if you’d rather?”

Her offer makes you question if you might have been too quick to judge Shadowheart, who has been nothing but kind to you this morning, even when you have screamed and thrown things at her. Perhaps you could manage to turn her into a useful ally in your escape, after all. You couldn’t allow yourself to think that you might grow friendly with her over time. No, right now, all your mental faculties need to be dedicated to getting out of here before the wedding, before you would be legally bound to Astarion.

“The dressmaker is agreeable to me- though, it would be nice to have some of my old items sent here. Personal belongings and books and whatnot,” you answer and she gives you a small smile. Truthfully, you’d rather not have your old wardrobe sent here, especially since you planned on leaving before it would arrive. Those dresses hold memories that at this point, you’d rather forget. But, if you were to be stuck here forever, you would certainly miss your little collection of books and you also long desperately for the necklace your mother had given you before she died- it would provide a small bit of comfort in this very stressful time.

You hesitate to tell Shadhowheart that the necklace is the real purpose of your request. If your father was given any inclination how much that necklace meant to you or how much it was likely worth, it would certainly be missing if your belongings ever did show up.

“That can certainly be arranged, my lady,” she gives you another sweet smile as she guides you to sit so she can work on your hair. She looks like she’s debating whether or not to speak for a moment before she says, “Believe it or not, but everyone here really does want what’s best for you. This was just the only way for Astarion to ensure you kept his vampirism a secret.”

You scoff, immediately dismissing her words. You hadn’t missed the way that she had mistakenly called him Astarion rather than Lord Ancunin. There was a familiarity that was suggested at her use of his first name and it sat wrong with you- this idea that Astarion could be respected or, gods forbid, friendly enough with his staff that they would feel comfortable using his first name.

“But what about the woman he was drinking from last night? Why does she get to leave with her freedom?” You snap back at her, the hypocrisy of it all fanning the spark of anger within you again.

“The Lord has a longstanding agreement with several local people.” Shadowheart explains and when you let out a huff of annoyance at her answer, she continues, “There’s a level of trust and predictability there that isn’t present with you. You’re a wild card.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” you grumble, though you aren’t entirely sure if there was any truth to your words. You hadn’t really had time to think about what you would do after the ball since you were too focused on trying to escape Astarion. Perhaps you might have told your father on the carriage ride home, but he would have probably used it as an excuse to send you to the nuthouse and finally be rid of you. You would have still ended the night locked in a room, though admittedly one with worse interior design.

Even after Shadowheart excuses herself from the room, you sit glumly over this realization. It seems predetermined that your fate was to be imprisoned- in the asylum, in this room, in a marriage to Astarion or a marriage to that rat of a man who had been with your father last night.

The escape efforts continue in your mind, but you grow half-heartedness as the hours continue to tick by.

Shadowheart returns a few hours later with lunch, a spread of meats and cheeses with breads and dried fruits. Your fingers pass reluctantly over the dates, which were always a favorite of yours, while you reach to pour yourself a cup of tea. It’s dark and rich and you only realize after you’ve drunk the whole pot that it’s filled the room with a hint of a lovely bergamot smell. Your heart twinges when you realize that Astarion has taken this from you now, too- that bergamot has become intrinsically linked with him in your mind

You spend time staring out the window at the view of the garden, watching the servants come and go as they clean up after the ball and you can’t help but wonder if your view is by design or if this room is just the most equipped to hold a prisoner. Since your room is on the top floor, the distance to the ground makes jumping impossible. The drop could potentially kill you or at least leave you so injured you wouldn’t be able to get very far. It takes about an hour to tie together the sheets from the bed and see how long you can fasten the makeshift rope, if maybe you can climb down the side of the building before you jump. Ultimately, you don’t have enough material and the drop would still be too far. You remake the bed, disheartened at your lack of viable escape options.

When Shadowheart returns a few hours later, she lets out an annoyed sigh at your uneaten lunch, replacing it with dinner, roast duck on a bed of fragrant rice. The aroma wafts through the room, but you hold strong, letting the bowl sit untouched on the small corner table. Once again, you greedily suck down the tea, grateful that you were given an herbal blend that smells of lavender rather than bergamot.

The lack of progress you’ve made in escaping today has you feeling defeated, and you resolve yourself to the fact that your only available option is to fight your way out. After retrieving your hidden butter knife from underneath the plump pillows, you wait by the door. Strength isn’t your strong suit, so the act of surprise will have to be your weapon. You aren’t entirely sure how much damage you can do with the dull knife, but a poor weapon is better than no weapon at all. Hopefully, you can subdue the next person who comes through that door and negotiate your way out. Shadowheart would likely be back to help you prepare for bed soon and as guilty as you feel at the prospect of using her as a hostage, your own well-being was paramount.

The doorknob twists and you pounce. It’s perhaps the worst or the best possible option of who has opened the door.

“Oh, I rather like being in this position with you. Tell me, dearest, what will you do with me now that you’ve caught me?” Astarion practically purrs with his beautiful, lilting voice.

You have Astarion pinned to the wall in the perfect mirror image of last night, your arm against his chest so that the knife is pressed firmly against the column of his throat. You don’t allow yourself to look at his neck longer than it takes to position the knife, too scared you will be distracted by the way the muscles curve and dip into that delightful hollow at the base of his throat.

But you do catch the two distinct puncture wounds on his neck. The crude markings looked as if a wild animal had ripped their teeth into him carelessly. They can only be one thing. Bite marks.

The twin scars were an obvious clue to his true nature, a birthmark left from when he was reborn anew as a vampire. The high collar he had been wearing last night had covered them but the scar tissue is jagged and rough against his pale skin and they stand out unmistakably now.

Ripping your gaze from his neck, you glare into his definitely-not-distracting eyes as he regards you with a hint of amusement that just serves to irritate you further. You were supposed to be intimidating here, not amusing.

“Really, what was the plan here?” Astarion seems to grow bored at your lack of a response, lips turning up at the corner as he lets out a breath of laughter, “To stab me to death with a knife that’s not even sharp enough to cut a slice of bread?”

Your arm holding the knife up to his neck wavers and Astarion’s fingers trace a gentle path across your arms until he grasps your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip. The pain makes you involuntarily open your fist and the knife clatters to the floor with a clunk. Astarion’s quick to move his boot to step on it so you’re unable to pick it up.

With the threat of the knife removed, Astarion still lets you keep him pinned to the wall. “I see you got at least something out of the breakfast I sent for you.”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in my room,” you snarl back at him.

“Yes, well, when you start to earn some trust, I’ll let you out. But you’re not off to a strong start with the knife, darling.”

Darling.

You think of how he had called you darling last night as he swept you into his arms and danced, how it had sounded like a hymn dripping from his lips that caused a sweet warmth to pool in your belly. Now, you practically hiss at him using the words, hackles raised in defense like a wild dog.

He pokes your cheek, lips curled up in a smile, “Very scary.”

“I hate you.”

“A shame, really. We could’ve had so much fun together,” Astarion’s hand sneaks down to curl around your back and rest against your hip while he talks, pulling you closer against him. The position is so similar to how he had held you while you danced last night and for a moment, you give in, letting yourself enjoy his touch rather than immediately shaking his hands off.

His voice is deep and sultry, hand tightening where it clutches against the fabric of your dress, “If only you hadn’t ruined my plans for last night… I would have come back from my midnight snack, satiated by blood, but starving for you. I would have taken you to stroll the gardens, fed you a line about how the roses were jealous of your beauty and I would have even cut one off for you for you to remember me by.”

You’re struck by how similar his plan was to your daydream last night, as if Astarion was intimately familiar with your deepest desires.

He’s leaning closer and the soft brush of one of his white curls against your forehead is nearly divine as his words continue to hypnotize you, “I would have kissed you, over and over and over again, until you couldn’t think straight.”

“I could’ve touched you,” he emphasizes his words by dipping the hand on your waist just a fraction of an inch lower. The warm smell of bergamot is flooding your senses and his mouth is moving so, so close to yours, only a hair’s breadth away from your own as he speaks in a rich, seductive voice. Your lips part in anticipation, breath hitching in your throat at the thought.

“Have you ever been touched before?” His gaze feels like a caress as it slides down your neck to your collarbones, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to refocus your gaze on his lovely face.

“No, not a proper little girl like you. I can’t imagine how pent up you are. I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.”

“Enough,” you shake your head, placing your hand against his chest to press yourself a step away from him. His eyes are dark and hooded as he follows your movement and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the flaming heat you feel licking at your face.

It’s cruel of Astarion to imprison you and then come in here and fill your mind with delicious fantasies. Perhaps this is his way of playing with his food- to visit you and shame you for how desperately you wanted him. It was cruel of him to demean you for your desire, not after he pretended to need you just as badly last night.

“You don’t get to mock me,” you say to him, once you’ve collected your composure.

“I’m not mocking, pet, I’m teasing.” He’s still leaned against the wall, arms casually crossed across his chest. “It’s what good lovers do to each other.”

“Lovers?” you splutter.

“I’m teasing again, dear. Gods, you make it so easy.” Astarion finally pushes himself off from the wall, leaning down to pick up the knife and tuck it in his own pocket.

You glare at him while he moves, attempting to assert your dominance over a situation that you were quickly losing control of.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Astarion breaks the silence, eyes softening a bit. He sounds genuinely concerned and his pretend sincerity has you wondering if you could be quick enough to grab the knife back out of his pocket and give him a good stab in the side. He doesn’t get to be concerned about you. Not when he is the one causing you distress.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by choosing that moment to grumble. You know Astarion heard it. Damned vampire.

“My, my. Well, you’re either lying or you’re dying of some weird stomach condition. And as much fun as the latter would be, I’d really prefer you stay alive until our wedding.”

Refusing to respond to his taunts, you cross your arms over your chest and continue glaring.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, darling. That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion says, rolling his eyes. You know that he catches how you stiffen at the mention of blood.

“Oh,” he draws out the word all long and self-important now that he thinks he has you figured out, “So that’s what you’re worried about, that I’m going to drink from you. Dearest, as fun as it was chasing after you last night, I prefer meals that are a bit easier to catch.”

You remain silent, still, and Astarion takes a step closer to you, his fingers brushing affectionately against your upper arm. It’s nearly impossible to hold back the shiver that threatens to run down your spine.

“Just promise me you’ll eat something,” his eyes have got that stupid soft-ness to them again that makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s saying just to spite him.

You remind yourself that you can’t believe a word he says. Astarion has proven himself as a liar and a cheat. In fact, his whole act tonight is probably a part of his masterplan to sacrifice you for your virgin blood or something.

“I won’t promise you anything!” you cry, incredulous.

Astarion moves to leave but pauses in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob. If he would just open the door, you could try to rush out around him.

“How do you feel about a nighttime wedding?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“Whatever pleases you, husband.” You hiss back at him. “My opinion on our upcoming marriage hasn’t seemed to matter so far.”

“Yes, well, you do forfeit some right to make your own choices when you exhibit poor decision making capabilities and sneak around, following scary monsters in the dark,” he snarks, which sets off a fresh wave of anger within you.

Astarion closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. You feel a bit of pride that you seem to be getting under his skin just as much as he is frustrating you.

“You like roses, right?” Astarion asks.

“Yes,” you reply. The initial pleasure that he had remembered a detail about you from last night fades as you begin to grow wary about his motives in asking.

“Good, I’ve planned for there to be plenty at the wedding tomorrow night. I’ll be the handsome devil standing at the end of the aisle,” he shoots a wink over his shoulder before the lock clicks behind him. At this point, the familiar sound nearly makes you sick to your stomach.

—---

Shadowheart comes in to see you sulking a bit later and draws a bath for you. The warm water feels wonderful, but does nothing to tamper the heat that has been rising under your skin since the moment Astarion let you pin him to the wall.

You don’t sleep very well that night, anger and something else coursing through your veins. Astarion’s words from earlier stick with you in your dreams.

I would have kissed you, over and over and over again.

I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.

And a day ago, you would have let him, would have been driven half mad with ecstasy at the prospect. But Astarion had to ruin that. Astarion had to ruin everything. He was the subject of all of your daydreams and the architect of all your nightmares.

You do manage to sleep, eventually, but you wake up hot and sticky with sweat, the taste of Astarion’s lips still a whisper in your mind.

And yeah, okay, maybe you do snag a pastry at breakfast when Shadowheart isn’t looking. She doesn’t say anything, but you know she notices. You can only hope that she doesn’t report it back to Astarion.

In the morning, you watch the gardens as they’re prepared for the wedding, observing how the ornate flowery archway that you suppose will be your altar is constructed at a moment’s notice. You feel like you are marching to your death as the wedding crawls ever closer, your chance of escape slipping further away with every passing moment.

Shadowheart returns in the late afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony. The dress she carries with her is far simpler than you expected, less intricate even than your dress from the ball a couple nights ago. The dark material is offset with shimmery, golden thread embroidered into the material in beautiful floral patterns. You wonder if Astarion just kept this on hand or had managed to contact a dressmaker who could make this dress so quickly.

Shadowheart pins your hair up in tasteful braided style and you do have to admit that you look beautiful when you look into the mirror. That familiar rage is burning in you again. You don’t want to look beautiful for Astarion, you don’t want to drag this out any longer or harder than it needs to be.

You dread the thought of tonight. You were not as naive to the world as your father might have thought; you had heard the whisperings of other ladies when they discussed the horrors of their marital beds, heard the talk of greedy husbands and so much pain. On a normal wedding night, even the best of men could turn into a savage and you shudder to think what it might be like with a man who is already a beast. How much worse would it be for you?

But were you not a hypocrite? Had you not dreamt of coming undone on his elegant hands just last night? You force yourself to stop before you can continue down that train of thought and get carried away with silly, romantic notions. No, it was best to prepare for the worst. Tonight would be a worse torture than your two days locked in a cage. And you had to attend a stupid party about it first.

Shadowheart seems to be able to sense your nerves, probably because you’ve spent the whole afternoon alternating between fiddling with your hands and sighing.

She kneels down in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that lets you know her next words will be very important. “You know that I am your lady’s maid. That I default to serving you over the Lord, right?”

“Deep down, he is a good man, but if anything, and I mean anything, happens tonight that makes you uncomfortable, you call me and I will drag Lord Ancunin out of here bruised and bloody. I don’t care if it’s as simple as him attempting to hold your hand when you don’t wish him to.”

Her words comfort you even though you wonder how much time that would really buy you. After all, it was part of your wifely duties to satisfy your husband, to bear his children. Although you aren’t entirely sure if it’s possible to have children with a vampire, you’re going to operate under the assumption that it’s possible until you’re told otherwise as part of your ‘prepare for the worst’ strategy.

“Thank you,” you sincerely tell her because you want to let her know that her words have comforted you even if you doubt that she would be able to fight off a vampire.

“If you really wanted to help, you could get me out of this marriage,” you offer up, partially as a joke and partially to see if maybe the solution to your problems is really that easy.

“We both know I can’t do that,” Shadowheart says, because it never is that easy. Once again, she’s got that stupid, sad smile on her face again that makes you want to knock her pretty teeth out.

“Thought I’d try, at least.”

Your feet seem to have stopped working, so Shadowheart has to practically drag you out of the room and dump you in the garden. She’s, unfortunately, much stronger than she looks. Who knows, maybe she could take down a vampire?

The floral archway you had spent all morning looking at is even more breathtaking in person. The deep, red roses are braided in against beautiful ironwork. You hate Astarion for remembering that you liked roses, hate him for feigning kindness and trying to do something that you would like.

Astarion is standing at the end of the altar, as promised, and damn it all if he doesn’t look like Lucifer incarnate- the most beautiful angel hiding an evil and twisted soul. When you get closer, you can see that his waistcoat has matching floral embroidery on it.

So, you’re matching now? That’s what the world has devolved into. It takes everything in you to not rip the stupid dress off right then. But, you refrain yourself because you’re in public and you’re a lady (and definitely not because you were humbled by the button fiasco yesterday).

You practically snarl when you meet Astarion at the altar but he ignores you, his finger reaching out to trace along the petal of rose embroidered on your dress, right next to your collarbone. If he were alive, you would be able to feel the warmth from his hand.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“You have ruined roses for me,” you spit back at him. Astarion’s brow furrows for a moment before the man standing next to the two of you is awkwardly clearing his throat. You recognize him from the ball, as the man who interrupted your and Astarion’s dance. He must be Astarion’s valet, serving him as Shadowheart does for you.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” The valet tries to sound enthusiastic but he wilts a bit when you shift your glare to him.

You can feel Shadowheart standing behind you and you know that if you try to run, she’ll simply grab you and drag you back.

“The quicker this is over with, the better.” You say and can’t resist looking at Astarion and adding, “Though, I’m sure you know a thing or two about finishing quickly, darling.”

You can tell that Astarion’s valet is holding back a laugh at your comment.

“Continue, Gale.” Astarion finally instructs after a few seconds of stunned silence.

The man, Gale, holds up a stack of papers that he begins to read from. Oh my, were all of those pages filled with words? You might be here all night.

“What is marriage? A contract, yes, but also the blessed union of two souls, sealed together in eternal love. The marriage bond is sacred and divine, but we must not mistake it as pure. No, real love is never pure. It is messy and confusing and the both of you will make many mistakes as you grow together.”

Hang on, was this guy even married? Who the fuck is he to be out here spewing nonsense about the sanctity of marriage? And when did he even have the time to write this? You’re so confused by the situation that your anger at Astarion has managed to dissipate completely.

Gale is somehow still rambling on, minutes later, as you stare at him with an open mouth, “And although, the two of you are entering this contract under… less than ideal circumstances, we can only hope that your love will grow to flourish. In fact-”

Astarion finally cuts him off. “We can do without the fanfare, I think.”

Gale gives a disappointed sigh, grumbling about how he was just trying to make this a nice moment.

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

You slide the rings on each other’s fingers and Astarion’s cool skin against your hand feels wonderful amidst the balmy summer night.

There’s no after-party, no fanfare. You simply say the words and sign the paperwork and leave immediately, content to go wallow by yourself in your room as you wait for Astarion to consummate your marriage.

You’ve half sent yourself into a panic as you pace, even if Shadowheart’s promise from earlier rings comfortably in your ears. You wish you hadn’t already wasted your knife yesterday. It would at least provide some false sense of comfort for when Astarion came for you.

You sit and you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Astarion doesn’t come.

You feel your eyes struggling to stay open and only when you catch your chin falling down to your chest do you snap yourself awake. This isn’t like you, to just take something lying down. The only solution left is to confront him. You jump to your feet, crossing the room with the most determination you’ve been able to muster all day.

For the first time, the door to your room is unlocked when you turn the handle. Surprised, you poke your head out, scanning left and right down the hallway to check that there’s not some sort of booby trap. That seems like something Astarion would do- offer you hope of escape and then callously snatch it away at the last moment.

Candlelight flickers in the doorway a few rooms away. When you peek into the room, Astarion is reading something, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the desk looking like the arrogant asshole you know he is. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at all, just turns the page of his book.

“The door was unlocked,” you say, because you aren’t really sure of how else to greet him. Hello felt far too simple after you had spent the past two nights pinning each other to walls and playing mind games with one another.

Astarion hums in affirmation, eyes still focused on the book in his lap. “Yes, I only had it locked in order to keep you here long enough for us to get married. Do what you’d like now. You are the new lady of the manor.”

It seems unreal, that the past two days of torture were ultimately going to amount to… nothing? Perhaps this was just another one of his tricks to catch you unawares? If you stopped thinking of him like a threat, stopped expecting the worst in him, or gods forbid, if you lowered your guard, it would be that much easier for him to trap you.

“So, I’m free to leave?” You try asking cautiously, expecting his red eyes to snap up and for him to hiss out an angry no, for him to laugh at you and snatch away your freedom right after he had teased you with the unlocked door.

“I’d suggest you wait until the morning, but yes, feel free to leave and continue on with your life however you please. Or stay. I really don’t care.” He says instead, turning the page of his book again. Was he even bothering to listen to you?

“Then why did you force me to marry you?” You cry out because nothing these past two days has made any sense to you. Nothing has made sense to you since you saw Astarion standing in front of you like a holy angel who had been blessed with all of heaven’s beauty, when all you knew was that this man had been made to ruin you.

And now, everything about Astarion is a contradiction. You hate him and yet you crave him. He offers you hope while crudely stabbing through your back with a knife. He imprisons you and shackles you to him by law and offers to let you go free. Even now, as you stare at how the candlelight sends shadows dancing across his pale skin that make his jawline somehow appear even sharper, you aren’t sure whether you want to kiss him or kill him.

“Well, I doubt anyone would believe a new bride when she says her husband is a vampire. They’d chalk it up to a newlywed squabble or perhaps think that you just don’t understand the sensuality of a good bite. And if you do choose to leave, the longer we aren’t together, the more people will assume you’re spreading nasty rumors because we’re estranged.”

That… actually makes a lot of sense. You had been too caught up in your panic and your anger to look at this situation with any real rationality.

But now, faced with the choice, where would you go? If all the freedom in the world was yours, what would you do with it? Certainly, you wouldn’t go to your old home, with your angry father and unsympathetic brothers.

You would want a garden, you think, perhaps one to rival the Ancunin’s. You would want to fill your days with reading and gardening and walking. For the first time, you wonder if perhaps the life you’ve always wished for has been offered up to you on a silver platter. Your mind had been so tainted with your hatred for Astarion that you didn’t even imagine that perhaps you could be happy here. That perhaps you could be happier than you even were before.

“I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” your shoulders drop in realization, fingertips nervously running along the pretty embroidery of your dress. It feels like an admission of defeat as you stand in front of him, as if you’ve been eviscerated and are trying desperately to keep your insides from falling out on the floor in front of him.

“Stay here then,” Astarion answers and he looks so bored with the conversation that the familiar fire of anger is burning in your veins. How dare he callously act like his actions have had no consequence on your life? How dare he act like he didn’t have the legal authority to control you as your husband if he wanted to? How dare he act like he hadn’t flipped your world upside down the moment he first swept you into his arms?

You force yourself to take a deep breath, to soothe the anger that sits deep in your chest and you finally decide to bring up the issue that’s plagued your mind all day. “You didn’t come to my room tonight.”

“Do you want me to?” He looks genuinely shocked and finally closes the book and drops his feet from the desk. He takes a moment to collect himself before leaning forward, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I know I’m irresistible. There is still plenty of time tonight for me to ravish you, if that’s what you’d like.”

You know it’s an act, know he’s probably teasing to get a rise out of you. But you can help the panic that bubbles in you and you immediately shout a refusal to his offer.

Astarion leans back in his chair, hands coming to rest under his chin. His fingers are long and slender and oh, so elegant as they press together as if in prayer. This man, who could destroy faiths and desecrate holy ground with just the flick of his pretty wrist.

It dawns on you that the gold wedding ring you had slipped onto his finger hours ago has already mysteriously disappeared from his hands. And though it might be hypocritical of you, who removed your ring almost immediately, you can’t help but be a little hurt that he apparently wasted no time in casting you aside, either. Have you already been so cruelly disregarded?

“I don’t go where I’m unwelcome, darling.” He curls his lips up at the corner in a devilish smile, “I’d much rather wait until you’re so desperate that you beg me to have you.”

You’re determined not to give Astarion the shocked, embarrassed reaction you know he’s itching for.

“And what if I want you to be the one to beg?” you ask him instead. His eyes flash with a wicked gleam, so red you can’t help but remember the blood running down his chin in the moonlight.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged, darling.” Astarion keeps you locked in his fiery gaze for another moment or two before he sighs and breaks the tension. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, so I suggest you go to bed. Get some beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

And yeah, maybe you do have to hold back a laugh at that stupid line.

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to go back to your room.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” Astarion calls after you.

And for the second night in a row, you dream of crimson eyes and elegant hands that have you waking restless and unfulfilled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

For the record, I absolutely love Gale, but lets not pretend that he wouldn't go SO over the top if he was allowed to officiate a wedding.

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! ETA for the third chapter is next Sunday, 12/31.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #reader insert #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #til death do us part

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revrover · 1 year

Text

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

#namor #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x gen!reader #Namor x y/n #mcu namor #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #namor fanfic #namor imagine #k'uk'ulkan #black panther wakanda forever #namora #namor of talokan #Wakanda forever #fanfiction

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banquetwriter · 5 days

Note

hellooo! can i request johnnie x reader, where his tweets are about a song but the fans think they broke up because y/n also had a suspicious tweet like him!! thank you i hope you have a wonderful day!

୨୧ Assumptions ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ short (I'm sorry) fluff tbh

summary: ʚ the fans get the wrong idea when you and Johnnie tweet lyrics of his new song ɞ

Words: 1299

An: this is short but honestly it's so sweet and I loved doing this!!

You made sure to keep balance with the plate and cup in your hands as you approached your office room. You had finally convinced Johnnie to start editing in your office since he moved in. You both even set up a little recording spot for him complete with a spooky background.

You walked up to the door and knocked against it slightly using your foot. After a moment or two the door opened with a slightly worn-looking Johnnie. “Hey what's all this for?” he asked, opening the door for you. “Well you have been working so hard on your new song I thought I outta surprise you.”

You say with a big smile holding up his cup of tea and chips. “Eh, I'm really proud of this song. I just hope it, you know, does well,” he says with a short laugh at the end of his sentence. You smile while walking to the couch that is directly next to his editing chair.

The one you sat at and relaxed while he would stream. The whole world seemed so in love with you two dating. Everyone loved how well you two worked. And you loved it too. “I'm sure they will babe. I think you fucking killed it with this song,” you spoke moving your legs up to your chest and setting the food on the desk.

He smiles as you sit down in his chair and start to click around on his computer. You plucked a chip off of his plate scrolling around Twitter. “Hey, quit stealing my chips,” Johnnie said, staring at you accusingly.

You pause looking up at him, blinking slowly for a second. “When your dick gets bigger I will,” you said with a faux smile. He giggles at your comment, turning back to the computer, his fingers reaching for the coffee mug.

“Be careful, I think the tea is still pretty hot.” you half mumble the warning before putting the chip in your mouth. “I'll drink whatever the fuck I want bitch.” he says in a sassy, Timmy-esque voice. He takes a small sip of the tea before yanking the cup away from his mouth. “Fuck!” he shouts as the hot piqued burned his mouth.

You let out a loud laugh at his reaction, covering your mouth as you did so. “Aahh fuck you!” he yelps again searching for a drink of something colder. You snicker looking back down at your phone. Twitter was usually an awful place to be and it wasn't any different than this time.

You banned Johnnie from looking up his name on social media sites, and it wasn't good that you still did it but occasionally you liked to check in on fans and see what was popular amongst the fandom.

Most were hyping up the newest video you had posted this week and taking clips from it as reactions. Your fans were so funny, like genuinely. It blew you away that people found you so funny.

Of course, there were a select few that were not ideal. One about how You and Johnnie haven't posted in a while, and that you two must have broken up. They were not true by any means. With Johnnie's new song coming out soon it was easier for him to bulk-record videos so he had more time during the day to work on it.

Johnnie had finally calmed down from burning the shit out of his mouth. “How much of the new song have you teased?” you asked using your foot to spin his chair so he faced you. You continued to munch on a few chips, eating all the food you brought for your boyfriend.

“Honestly not much just that I have a new song coming out, not even a date or anything,” he said, grabbing a chip too. “Mmm we should start doing more to promote it, well sorry, you should do more this isn't my song,” you murmur using your ring finger to tap around your phone with your chip-dust-covered hands.

“Mmm, I feel like it's both of our songs in a way, I mean yeah I performed it and edited it but you helped me write it. You're also helping me by taking care of me.” he gestured to his tea as he took a sip.

You smiled at his words. It was nice when credit was given for things like this. This was Johnnie's song but you did help him with the lyrics. It was about the heartbreak of getting older, the lyrics sounding like you were talking to time.

The idea simmered down into a few words; it was like breaking up with time. The lyrics were akin to a breakup song. It was a cool idea and one you dealt with as you grew older. You even starred in the music video as the “time” character.

“What were we thinking of doing?” he murmured with his mouth full. “Maybe tweeting a few of your lyrics? Something you wouldn't normally rant about I guess,” you suggested dusting your fingers off.

“That could be cool, we should do it from the chorus or something,” he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Yeah for sure,” you mumbled absentmindedly, moving the chair with your foot still.

Over the next few days you both tweeted lyrics from the song. ‘I will forever mourn the loss of us’ and ‘You can't stay innocent to it forever’ got the most likes. Unfortunately, you two were now trending. “What the fuck are we going to do?” you asked looking at the #Johnnieandy/nbreakup tag.

“Just ignore them? The song comes out soon anyway,” he reassured you, his thumb rubbing the side of your thigh. Your legs rested on his lap as you cuddled up next to him.

You still didn't like the idea that everyone thought you two broke up. You can see how someone might think that from your guy’s tweets. And yes you shouldn't assume something about someone online but that just means your fans care about you. Doesn't it?

After a few days, you both released another video on each other's YouTube channels. The entire comments were filled with asking where the other person was. If you two had really broken up this would have been awful. Thank god you hadn't.

You both decided that you two should make at least one video addressing the rumors. On one of your tik toks someone had commented ‘Did you and Johnnie break up?’ so you replied to the comment with a video.

“Hey guys so a lot of people have been asking if me and my boyfriend Johnnie broke up, so today we are going to go ask him,” you said holding the phone up to your face as if introducing a vlog.

The next shot was of your feet walking up to Johnnie sitting on the couch. “Hey babe?” you asked, pointing the camera at him. “Yeah?” he answered back looking up at you. “Did we break up?” you ask as if it was a normal question.

“Umm last time I checked no,” he replied back trying to hold his smile back. “Oh ok, sweat just checking. Love you,” you said back moving the phone down as he broke his serious face and laughed with you.

You posted the tik tok captioned “addressing the rumors”

You cuddled up next to him and read the comments. Most of them were making fun of others for assuming things. The other half was just talking about how cute the two of you were together.

The following day the song and music video were posted and the feedback was worth it. You were so proud of Johnnie and all he had done but this song meant so much to both of you.

#jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie x you

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marksbear · 1 year

Note

hello!

i personally love your energy, your posts make me smile frfr

how about ghost with a tattoo artist bf?

like general thoughts or their relationship, headcanons, something like that.

love your works, have an awesome day xx

Hiii and thank you Anon! Nahh you just made me smile from what you'd just said. I watch a lot of ink masters so I hope this fits!

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X TATTOO ARTIST MALE READER

-He loves you and your job, so hes more than willingly to stay hours on end at the tattoo shop waiting for you to be done.

-He doesn't care if he just wastes the few days he has off just being at your shop and watch you do tattoos.

-Definitely trust you enough to let you do his.

-Lets you doodle design on him with the marker to see how'll it look on skin before doing the actual tattoo on the client.

-Buys you whatever you need. Need another tattoo gun? He bought it. Need different color inks? He bought it. More gloves? He'll buy it. Just say the word he'll buy it.

-He's a bit shy to ask you to have matching tattoos.

-Gives you ideas about designs you should do.

-He spends so much time with you and the shop he basically could just do tattoos.

-Likes to criticize strangers tattoos to himself, since he basically learned what a good or bad tattoo is. "Look at that line work. Tsk tsk fuckin hell."

-He's a bit nosy so when your client is getting a cover up or something he'll make you ask them why.

-Hovering over you watching your every move while you tattoo.

-Most definitely isn't afraid to argue/fight someone if they talk bad about your work/ art.

-Puts cash in the tip jar randomly at moments while he's at the shop.

-Brings you and your client (depends how they're acting.) food and drinks sometimes.

-He'll try to distract your client from the pain as you tattoo them.

-Once/if you tattoo him he'll brag about it FOR DAYS. "Oh this... Just my boyfriends work." And he doesn't shut up about it.

-Probably would bring the team in for a matching tattoo.

-Ghost having his own little area at the shop right next to yours.

-He's so patient so he'll just sit right next to you doing whatever as you tattoo him.

-He likes to be the one who shows the client the design you and him agreed on to do. He likes to have a little say about what tattoo design you do.

-He probably learned how to draw and shade because of you.

-If you'd ever get tired or have an emergency he's more than welcome to step in and do it. I mean hes kinda qualified. He's been learning/ watching people do tattoos ever since you two started dating.

-Stops by at the shop randomly. Him just walking inside marching right up to your station and gives you a quick peck on the lips and then leave without saying a word.

Overall he's a great boyfriend to have if your a tattoo artist. 10/10.

THE END

#simon riley x male reader #ghost x male reader #modern warfare ghost x male reader #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #cod x male reader #cod mw2 #mw2 x male reader #mw2 ghost x male rwader #x male reader #male reader #the bear club

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satansaidnottoday · 7 days

Text

When you get sick

Based on the Uno reverse Beel pulled in the last post.

Info: Human AU, GN!Mc.

Summary: You've got the cold and now your boyfriend must take care of you.

Warnings: general talk of sickness.

Lucifer

Has "do what I say, not what I do" energy.

He urges you to take time off and rest. Says it's very important to relax for a timely recovery. Be sure to remember his exact words for the next time he is sick.

Will try to get out of work earlier so he can take care of you. He calls you throughout the day to see how you're doing and if you need anything. If you're in a really bad condition, he will take time off to take care of you.

He can't cook, but will order any foods you like.

He will cuddle you if you ask, but won't offer on his own. He is a little scared of it being contagious.

When you feel better, he won't expect anything from you but will accept any gestures of gratitude you give him.

Mammon

Whiny.

Thinks you're going to die.

You have to reassure him that it's just a cold every thirty minutes. I will try to get you to the hospital anyway.

He is completely at your service from day one. Do not dare move a muscle; the great Mammon has everything covered for you.

You have a fresh supply of hot tea always by your side. He makes sure you get all of your meals. He keeps a tally of every medicine you need to take. You basically have a personal nurse.

Lots of cuddles and massages.

If you're trembling at all because of the fever, he will hold you as if you were having a seizure.

He cries a lot when you're in pain, probably more than you.

When you're feeling better, he will expect at the very least a thank-you gift. A shopping spree would be preferable.

Leviathan

He doesn't know what to do.

Finds everything to be too overwhelming. He is really worried about you and wants to help, but he has no idea how to take care of a sick person. So, of course, he goes back to the person who used to take care of him when he was sick. Mammon.

He tries his hardest to be just as supportive, but it doesn't go well. The tea is always too hot or too cold, he only knows how to make ramen, and he keeps forgetting about the ibuprofen!

In the end, the best he can do for you is bring you more tissue boxes and lay down by your side while you watch movies. You reassure him that this is more than enough, but he still feels a little guilty.

When you feel better, make a great spectacle about how helpful he was. He did miss a butch of seasonal releases just to stay with you.

Satan

He will insist you take time off the moment symptoms start to show.

Shows up at your house with a butch of medicinal herbs. Mint to open up your nose, lavender to help with the headache, cardamom for... Something? He knows it had some healing property, but seems to have forgotten. He makes you some soup with it just in case it was important.

Won't go near you, even if you ask. Most he'd do is help you get around if your muscles are aching.

He will tell you about his latest read and how it made him feel. If you have read it, he will ask you to compare notes. Just trying to keep you entertained any way he can.

He brings all of his favorite tea blends for you to try out.

He won't expect anything in return for his care. He loves you, and that's just what you do for the people you love.

Asmodeus

Whiny 2.0

"My poor, beautiful thing."

He might not know a lot about caring for the sick, but he knows a lot about self-care. You will still have a runny nose, but your skin will shine, baby.

He will pamper you. Have all of the blankets. Sleep for as long as you want. Ask for any food, and he will get it for you. With unlimited snacks, you can even have his favorite chocolates. He will watch all of your comfort shows and movies with you.

Baths, many baths. They are really good when you're sick; they relax your muscles and help the bad energies leave the body.

As soon as you're feeling good, it's his turn to be pampered! So better be prepared.

Beelzebub

If nothing else, you're well fed.

All healthy meals, he won't let you indulge in sweets. Your body needs protein and veggies right now, and he will have them for you at every meal.

Will cut fruit for you as snack.

Pushes you to do some light exercises when you can. Sweat out the sickness.

He is very supportive, constantly telling you you're going to be okay. He will stay by your side every single minute.

He will carry you around if your muscles are sore.

When you're feeling better, he will make you desert. For the days he has you surviving on steamed broccoli and rice.

Belphegor

This is actually great news.

He gets to cuddle with you all day, and you won't be able to escape. He can even use you as an excuse to take a day off. No work, no school, just napping with his favorite person. Every day should be like that.

If only you didn't have to be sick for it to happen.

He doesn't know much about taking care of someone. Being the youngest one, everyone else always took care of him. But he doesn't like seeing you hurt, so he will try his best.

The best medicine he can offer you is a good nap in his arms, but he will try some of Satan's medicinal teas. If needed, he will get Lucifer to drive him to the pharmacy.

He doesn't know a thing about eating healthy, so you will get a diet of chips, pastries, and candy.

If you manage to get better, he will whine about not having your full attention anymore.

Thanks for reading!

#OB!HumanAu #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me nightbringer #om! shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me! headcanons

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auteurdelabre · 2 months

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A little Sun part 3.2

part one / part two / part 2.1

rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN' YOUR MAMAS)

Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, P in V, Dirty talk, Unprotected Sex, Romance, Oral (f receiving), Cigarettes, Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.

a/n: y'all I'm really annoyed because tumblr won't let me post the entire chapter in one post because of whatever reason. So if you wanna read it all in one go, I'm posting it to my A03 or just click the parts above.

dividers by @silkholland

Most days if you’re distracted you can forget that you’re pregnant altogether. That is, until Dieter comes home with a strange food from set that makes you run to the bathroom to vomit. Or when you try to fit into your favorite CCR t-shirt and break down into tears when it won’t go over your now fairly swollen belly.

Dieter is gone for the night tonight; he and Mia are at some fundraiser for one of the folks on set’s hospital bills. You know that Dieter will end up paying whatever the guy needs; it’s just in his character. He’s brash and annoying and childish, but Dieter is always the first person to pay for something. Magda needed surgery for her cataracts and Dieter paid for everything, plus a month long vacation so she could relax.

And here you sit on your sofa because you feel like you’re carrying a watermelon strapped to your stomach and you feel like shit. The only good thing is your hair looks amazing; silky and shiny and beautiful.

You decide a bath might be just the thing to turn your mood around.

You’re just settling into the large claw foot tub, bubbles up to your collar and closing your eyes when the door bursts open.

“Hey I need advice.”

You immediately start, almost splashing half the water out of the tub in the process. You cover your breasts with your arms, shooting your uninvited guest a glare.

"Dieter I'm having a bath!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says with a shrug before sitting next to the claw foot tub. He brings his knees to his chest before he crosses his ankles. "I want your advice."

"My advice is you get the fuck out of here."

"I can't see anything from here," he tells you with a pout. "But if it makes you feel better I'll turn around."

You watch him shuffle until his spine is kissing the side of the tub. You peek over to see his hands are nowhere near his cock and you relax back.

"Better?"

"What advice do you want Dieter?" You sigh, accepting that this relaxing bath will be anything but.

"It's Mia."

"Mhmm?"

"I...I really like her."

"She's very likable."

"She is, isn't she?"

From where you lay all you can see is the back of Dieters head, his full locks shifting as you imagine he smiles.

"So what do you want my advice on? If its relationship advice you're out of luck," you laugh humorlessly. "I've never had a relationship that lasted more than a year."

"Me neither," Dieter says, head tilting to the side.

You ponder on this for a moment. How two people with such opposing walks of life could end up similarly situated in terms of romance. You know why Dieter gives people at a distance, concern that they're only after him for his money or his fame. Concerned that they're only after him for some cache at stardom.

But in all this time, you've never taken the time to reflect on why you yourself shy from intimacy. On why school and working eat up so much of your time and your thoughts.

As you sit here now, stomach's swollen with child you're forced to accept the fact that perhaps you haven't just been shying from intimacy. You might have been running away from it full tilt.

Will your child be like this? Have you created a life in you and capable of finding lasting connection with another human being? Have you already saddled this child with a fate of loneliness? Guilt, this terrible guilt suddenly overtakes you.

You want to talk to Dieter about it, you want to question him and see if he has the same fears. But his thoughts are (as they so often are) frenzied and landing in an area of pleasure. His thoughts are of Mia, of her sweet face and even sweeter personality. He thinks of how she makes him feel, like he's capable of anything.

"I'm just.... I wonder if I should tell Mia about the baby."

You feel your heart skip in your chest and your fingers creep along the edge of the tub before curling.

"Why would you do that?"

Dieter shrugs. "Things feel like they could get serious."

"You haven't known her very long, Dieter."

"So?"

"So I think you want to play house with a girl that has stars in her eyes.”

You see his shoulders tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's a beautiful young woman at the start of her career," you sigh, popping some of the nearby bubbles. "Being attached to a single dad right now isn’t fair."

Dieter straightens at this. Single dad. He never really thought of himself like that. The concept makes him wince. He thinks of the nights here when you're busy or sleeping. The nights when his bed feels colder.

"I'm tired of being alone okay?"

"That's a shitty reason to do that to someone," you bite back. "Mia has her own life, her own career."

"She can still have that-"

"Not when she's playing Mrs. Bravo," you tell him, cheeks heating from the water and your irritation. "You think the media isn't going to be all over this? Hollywood’s Good Girl caught up with Hollywood’s Bad Boy? You think her career won't be in jeopardy when the tabloids find out she’s fallen into bed with her costar?"

Dieter goes quiet. You wish you could see his eyes. His eyes never lie.

"I think you're doing this because you finally realized the giant undertaking it is to be a parent,” you say softly. “I think you're hoping that somehow she'll be your partner in all of this and help ease your load. But this was your decision, not hers. You wanted to be a dad. You wanted to have this kid."

“I know I did!” Dieter snarls and now he whirls around to face you. “And I can do it by myself!”

“Then why-“

“Is it so wrong to want someone else? Someone who wants me?”

Before you can answer he’s pushed himself from beside the tub and gone from the room, slamming the door behind him. The force of it knocks one of the paintings from the wall, denting the wood frame of it. You sigh and lean back in your tub, wishing you could understand the pit that’s begun in your stomach.

You find it impossible to fall asleep later that night, not just because of the horrible way you ended things with Dieter, but because he’s been blasting his music all fucking night from his art room. He’s been in there since he left you in the bathroom, the scent of cigarettes and what you assume is one of his fancy whisky bottles seeping from under the door.

You eventually manage to catch a few hours of sleep but are awoken to a loud thump from the art room and Dieter’s muffled fuck this! The music is still going full tilt and this sends you into a fit of pique.

You manage to roll yourself out of bed with a huff before you march down the hallway and push into the studio, flinching when Dieter screams over the music at you before you've even made it past the threshold.

"You're supposed to knock!"

Since when?

He looks crazed. His hair is even more wild and unruly than usual, his t-shirt is covered in paint. You glance around to see the entire room is littered with papers, charcoal, pencils, paint tubes and more. It's like an art store exploded all over the room. He's standing behind an easel, his body blocked mostly by the large canvas he’s working on.

He moves to the door, quickly ushering you backwards out of the room before you can see what he's working on that has him so upset.

"Dieter what the hell-"

"That's my private sanctum," he tells you, pulling the cigarette from between his lips, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth as he glares at you. "You stay out."

"Sorry sorry," you say rolling your eyes at his hysterics. "I'm just trying to sleep and your music is so loud."

He blinks as if only realizing now that the sun has gone down. He scratches at his chest absently, eyes drawing to the darkened windows.

"What time is it?"

"Three in the morning. Don't you have work in a couple of hours?"

Dieter has a faraway look to his eyes and he finally nods. "Yeah, yeah I do. I should sleep."

He makes no move to leave the doorway. You roll your eyes before holding out your hand to him. Instinctively he moves forward taking it.

"C'mon Bravo. Let's get you to bed."

Hand in hand you make your way to the hallway, guiding him through the grainy darkness that your eyes are more adjusted too. You stop in front of his room, dropping his hand gently and turning away, ready to pad to your own bedroom down the hall.

"Will you sleep in my bed? With me?"

You're about to laugh at him at the suggestion but when you glance over your shoulder you see his eyes are glazed. They have that little boy lost quality that peeks out every so often. When you can see past the bravado of too cool for school Dieter and see the scared boy from South America who got teased for having an earring.

"Yeah, sure." Your eyes drop to his paint-splattered shirt. "Take off the shirt unless you want your sheets ruined."

He strips it from him without question, watching you enter into his bedroom ahead of him. His heart pounds painfully as he watches you slip under the covers as if you've always belonged there.

He clamors in, trying not to stare at the soft mounds of your breasts underneath your sleep shirt. Before his courage leaves him he tilts forward onto his palms towards you. He sweeps a kiss across your brow bone before retreating back to his side of the large mattress.

He rolls facing away from you, thankful that you're here with him in his bed. He feels so much calmer with you here near him.

He doesn't want to crowd you and he knows if he sleeps facing you he'll be unable to keep his hands to himself. Every day you look more and more pregnant and it makes him want you so badly his stomach aches.

He thinks of earlier, and the way you’d called him out on his every insecurity. Sometimes he hates that you know him so well. Most days though, it warms him from the inside out to be so known and seen.

“I’m sorry I yelled before.”

He's shocked when he feels your body press up against his back, your belly pressing tightly against his spine. When your arm slings itself over his waist he has to swallow the unexpected tears. And then he feels it, the soft whisper of your lips against his shoulder.

"I know. Go to sleep, Dee."

The weather is unusually warm when you wake up the day of your ultrasound. Dieter has been bouncing off the walls all week, desperate to "see his child". He wanted to do a 3D ultrasound but you begged him to just stick with the normal kind.

Because the truth is you're sort of terrified to see the kid.

A lot of your time is spent trying to forget that you're pregnant, despite the evidence that makes you take out the waistband of your favorite sweatpants. The thought of seeing him or her in 3D freaks you the fuck out. You don't want to know exactly what's growing in there.

Dieter fights every instinct in his body to take your hand as the two of you pull up to the private clinic. You’re taken to a large exam room filled with sterile equipment and plus seats. You’re instructed to lay back on a chaise that probably costs more than your first apartment.

Dieter looks down at you looking so frightened and feels a pang of care go through him. He sees you absently stroking at your stomach and feels such affection for you in that moment it takes everything in him not to kiss you.

“Can you pass me my bag?”

Dieter nods, handing you the purse on the chair. He watches panic cross your features as you dig around in your ridiculously oversized purse. He’s about to ask you what’s going on when a serious looking woman with white-blonde hair enters the room.

“Bravo family?”

“Yes,” Dieter replies before you can explain that you’re not a family. That you’re just a surrogate. But you’re still digging around in your bag growing increasingly stressed by the moment.

"Fuck I forgot my headphones, did you bring yours?"

"No." Dieter is distracted by the implements this woman is pulling out. He's eager to see his child. He takes the purse from you, placing it back on the seat and out of your reach. You fix him with a desperate look.

“Dieter I need-“

“I’m pushing the shirt up,” the woman orders.

Your shirt is tugged up officiously, exposing the round swell of your stomach. Dieter is fucking feral for it, his eyes raking in the naked flesh with a mixture of desire and a pride that nearly buckles him.

This woman isn't patient like Judy was back in the states. She doesn't wear a name tag. She doesn’t care about you being comfortable or wearing headphones. She's just squeezes the jelly as you and Dieter bicker about the headphones and the wand is quickly pressed against your belly.

You make sure your head is tilted as far from the screen as possible, not wanting to see anything. You still want to pretend that there’s nothing in there. That you’re a rented womb. That this thing growing inside you has nothing to do with you.

"Do you want to know the sex today?"

"Yes," Dieter nods and you wish more than anything that you hadn't forgotten your headphones. Learning this will make it more real, more tangible. Then he looks down at you, eyes soft. “Is that okay?”

You consider plugging your ears with your fingers but it won't do any good. Dieter won't be able to stop talking about it until you give birth. For a moment the severe woman pauses, cocking a brow in your direction before you finally give her a short nod. She looks back to the ultrasound, confirming before telling you both.

"It's a boy."

Dieter is sure he can feel his heart overflowing. He's going to have a son. This will be the only performance he cares about: that of good father. Without thinking he clutches your hand in his, overcome.

You go to pull back, to pull away and then you hear it. This steady, soft thudding that makes you pause. A strange hypnotic sound as ancient as time itself.

Your son's heartbeat.

Dieter watches the way you slowly blink. Your head which is always tilted away from the monitor now slowly drags to look over at it.

Your eyes are wide, and your body tenses as this being, this life becomes real to you. He’s right there. As you see his coiled, sleeping frame in the monitor and know that this life is inside you now. That you are his home, his protector, his love.

"Hi," you whisper to the tiny being on the screen. "Hi little boy."

That's your son onscreen. You made that child together with the man clutching your hand.

You made this. You made life.

It's so real. He's there, this child you thought of as a commodity, as something you were merely the vessel for. How could you have been arrogant enough to think you wouldn't grow attached? How could your hubris have convinced you that you could separate yourself emotionally?

That’s him. He’s right there. You look at your stomach, amazed that while you were busy pretending he didn’t exist, he was there growing so close to your heart. He was there sleeping and eating and living. Tears dot your lash line and you turn to Dieter, his face so close to yours. You see the tears glossy in his eyes. Affection deep and abiding fills you and you can't stop yourself from pressing your lips against his. He’s immediately receptive, his hand going to your cheek.

The previously stern nurse smiles softly before excusing herself to get a copy of your ultrasound.

At the sound of the door closing behind her it’s like you both remember who you are – boss and employee. Surrogate. You’re being paid for this. His eyes go wide as you abruptly pull back, realizing too late that you've stepped over the line.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "That was-"

"It's okay," Dieter says warmly. "It's emotional."

A short while later you're still mortified about what just happened inside. Dieter is uncharacteristically quiet as you both hear towards the towncar. The day is beautiful, sunny and its like the world just got brighter because of what you’ve just learned.

"I can't... I can't believe," you say softly, your mind still back in that room.

"I know," Dieter says, smile wide. "Fucking unbelievable. I'm gonna have a son."

I'm. Not we.

"Yeah, you are."

You walk slowly back to the car, taking your time to bask in the warmth of the day. He longs to take your hand in his but he knows that’s not what you want.

The kiss inside hadn’t been romantic. It had been emotional, the result of sharing something few would. You created life, even if you weren’t together you were forever tied to this tiny being within you.

He can see your eyes are distant, unfocused. He has a pretty good idea about what.

"Got regrets?"

"What? About giving away the... Bubble? No." You shake your head forcing a laugh. "Never wanted kids."

"Yeah you've said that a few times," Dieter observes, eyes stuck on you. He carries his coffee cup loosely in his fingers as you stroll towards the car. "But I mean, people can change."

"Not about this," you tell him. The tone is frosty, but you're holding your mouth in that way he recognizes now. The same look you had that first night in Ireland when you talked about your dad. You're trying not to cry.

Dieter feels his chest constrict.

"Listen, yes I'll have sole custody. But if you wanted photos and shit? I'd understand. It could be like the app. I'd send you updates. Photos, videos anytime you want. I know you’ll be busy with school, but maybe I could bring him up for visits if you feel like it?"

Your heart leaps at the thought.

Yes.

But that's what you say to a hormonal woman, you reason. You tell her what she wants to hear. Not what's practical. Dieter is going to be a father to this child and if he has it his way, Mia will probably be sticking around to be the mom. You’ll be a third wheel, a confusion for your child.

"That's not necessary," you say with a shrug. "This is just all hormones. I'll be f-"

You break off with a gasp, your hand balancing against the towncar for purchase.

"What?" Dieter looks terrified.

"I... I think he just kicked!"

Before Dieter can stop himself his wide hand is over your hand on your belly, cradling it. You both wait a moment and then yes, Dieter feels it, a tiny flutter against his palm. His eyes fill with tears.

"Holy shit!" You both exclaim in unison.

Then you both giggle like schoolchildren that have just learned a new swear world. A breathless giddy laughter that seems to go on forever. You let Dieter keep his hand on your belly, the other over his mouth in disbelief.

"Thank you for doing this," Dieter finally offers thickly, staring at you in a way that warms you from the inside. "You're changing my life. I feel like the money isn't enough."

"Just don't name him Lemon-Pillow Bravo and we'll be square," you say with a laugh that he returns, eyes crinkling in the corners. He stares at you, looking at the softness in your face pregnancy has brought, the sweet way you’re smiling at him. The position your hand is in resting gently over his on your belly.

Dieter can’t help himself, his head tilts towards yours precisely the same time yours moves towards his. His mouth finds yours, kissing you softly as he cradles your pregnant belly. Your hand goes to the back of his neck, holding him loosely there as you kiss him back, eyes shut, tongues dabbing gently. The cameras catch it all.

#pedro pascal dieter #dieter bravo smut #dieter x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal #smut #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic

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clarks-letterman · 1 month

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cherry on top | Johnny Slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — 1000% cheesy dumb self-indulgent birthday nonsense. wasn't gonna post because I honestly don't like this fic but the lack of Johnny stuff makes me want to just to put out something for the guy

words — 1.9k (the smut is short sorry, wanted to get this out on my actual bday!)

warnings — smut (not very graphic but still 18+), nipple play (Johnny receiving), food play, whipped cream, strawberries, implied cannibalism for both reader and Johnny, not proofread! consider y'alls birthday gift to me that i get to post one bad fic this year <3

summary — Johnny lets you take the reins for your birthday.

~~~

The door to Johnny’s shack shut with a bang, followed by a mumbled curse. From his bed, your eyes fluttered open. Between the mess of flower-patterned sheets and pillows you were buried in, you could see the man of the house take a step back to the door, then his eyes flicked to you to see if he had interrupted your sleep. You shut your eyes, too tired to take in the dreaded sunlight pouring in; you were so well-rested that you could fall asleep all over again—the feeling of sleep was addictive to your tired body. The only energy your body had was to pull the covers of his linens over your head with one hand. The earthy scents of him filled out the absence of his actual presence.

Your mind slipped away for a second, back into the dreamy state of consciousness where responsibilities didn’t exist and life had no issues. The man entering your cabin could solve about ninety-nine of your problems, though, and you slowly started to realize that you had an increasingly worrying problem on your plate. You peeked through the slits of the blanket at him. Even without looking at him in a clear view, he still looked like Adonis in your crooked and half-obscured-by-the-pillow perspective. Covered in his prey’s blood, his hunt was successful. But, hunting? Johnny usually woke you up at five in the morning, when the creatures of the night were heading to bed after a night of existence. You hunted in the realm of the crepesculars, operating on the thin line between night and day, all to maximize the hours you had to hunt and he was already coming back from it? It couldn’t be that time already, could it?

Johnny heard the sheets ruffle, and your breath hastily drew in with a panic. You had overslept. He let his knife clatter in the sink, turning to face you while leaning back against the counter. You could see the blood more clearly, it was smeared all over the front of his body. Staining his jeans—his favorite pair, the ones you said made his ass look the best—and trailing all over his torso before ending with a bloody handprint across his face. “It’s just me.”

“How fucked am I?” You asked, knocking the sheets off your body. Being a part of his family meant you had to contribute to the dinner at the end of every day, to make sure that everything was functional since you were Johnny’s piece—his pride. He provided less than a solid answer as you took a moment to acclimate yourself to the day. Ever since you moved in with Johnny, you had never really had a morning like this; a morning where your day started so late. Nancy liked when Johnny’s partners would accompany him on hunts and his more normal errands like getting car parts from the mechanic a few towns over and getting fruits from the market a few miles down the road, and she was too unpredictable to not heed the warnings of. Most of them came from Johnny, so that’s why you knew to take it seriously. It’s why today needed to be just like the rest, regardless of whether or not it was your birthday.

“Happy birthday, sweetness.” He smirked, knowing that even in the real world, you wouldn’t have any responsibilities today. “I woulda woken up right next to ya, but I was out huntin’ for your birthday dinner… and doin’ a few other things.”

“So, you did the hunting, tidied up around here, and went into town?” You asked, drawing near him. The blood had yet to dry, its sheen shining strong with the cracks of sun peeking through the window. He must have purposefully gone out hunting while shirtless, too. “What exactly is my present? A whole new Johnny?”

He let his head drop down and looked at his feet, rubbing his boot a little harder into the floor. “Something like that.”

It had only been a few minutes but the position you were in changed drastically. Johnny gave you a rundown of everything about your gift, including the various items that were included in it. One of which was a can of whipped cream that he picked up with the fresh fruit and placed it alongside them in the fridge—strawberries were in season, so two small wooden crates filled the space in his fridge next to the canister. The second thing was Johnny himself, which came as a shock. His first gift made sense because it was a sweet retreat from the many meals of savory meat from your hunts being fashioned into the three core meals one must eat every day, but the second was new. Different. Sensitive. He proposed it without looking you in the eye, so you didn’t believe it at first.

“I figured I’d be nice and give ya’ full, unlimited access. Get yer fix for the rest of the year so you stop chewin’ my damn ear off.” He sounded hesitant to offer it up, the fatigue in his tone from hunting as well as having to hear your incessant cries about wanting to experiment with him rang through. But today was your birthday, so he wanted to make it special.

Even if he didn’t want it at first, his tone shifted when your lips finally collided. You had been moving closer to him since you left his bed and now you were finding your way back to it with him in your arms. Your attempts to stay blood-free worked until you went to push him by the shoulder and back onto his bed, some of it smearing over your hand. Johnny’s legs hung over the bed and nearly touched the floor, placing his head around the upper middle of his bed and giving him room to lift his arms above him. This gave you the perfect access to get to work.

“Hell, I think this’ll be more than you can chew,” he teased. He cocked his head to look at where you were headed, your body was noticeably gone just as the fun was starting. But then, Johnny saw you return from across the shack with the whipped cream in hand.

From there, he became your already-painted canvas. The blood on him was the first coat of paint—still setting, still drying. Next in the assemblage was a healthy layer of the sweet foam. The cap came off with ease and you started coating him in it. You drew a heart over his chest first, then followed by swirling the foamy cream over his nipples. Johnny moaned at the cold sensation against his hot body. The way the can inconsistently sprayed droplets outside of your designated whipping area to add to the mess of red all over him. Johnny was already starting to feel desperate to the point that you had to shoo away one of his hands from knocking the cold cream off his sensitive nipples. You had never seen him like this before. Different. Sensitive. This was such a fast way to make him cave, and you had barely done anything at all! He must have insanely delicate around his buds.

You pulled back to admire your work. He noticed your puzzled look as you scanned over it like an artist who nearly had everything put together the way you liked it. “What’s wrong, sweetness?”

“It’s missing something.” You pouted. He had the perfect milky base, a cavalcade of saltiness topped with the sweet cream and bloody cherry drizzle. Though, something was amiss. The final thing to adorn him with that would make the centerpiece in the middle of the bed complete; something that would win the county fair. It wasn’t there. No, it was still sitting in the fridge.

You followed a loose path back to his fridge, swinging the door open and grabbing the strawberries on the shelf. Setting them on the counter, you grabbed two—one for you, and one for Johnny—and made your way back to him. He was still untouched, still perfectly in place without a hair moved for you. If he thought the sweet cold ivory was painful on his marinated skin, the cold sensation of chilled strawberries sent him over the edge. You ran it over him like an ice cube, watching it pick up some of the blood and whipped cream, cutting right through the heart you carefully drew over his chest. The strawberry was run across his body like the last bite of a meal with a sauce that you really want to get the flavor out of. Then, you lifted the thing to your mouth, taking a bite and savoring the bitter and sweet combination of flavor. The notes of metal in the blood were hidden and blended into the oncoming notes of sweet cream, followed by the tart taste of the berry.

Johnny’s face lightened as he watched you go in for seconds, dipping the rest of the strawberry in the sauce spread all over his body. You did the same with the second one, making it with the same amount of gore-soaked toppings and twisted dabble of whipped cream as the last.

You offered the decadent strawberry to Johnny, but made one condition clear, “Bite down on this for me. Don’t eat it yet.”

His face twisted into one of confusion, but he didn’t question you. He let out a soft, “Aw, hell…” His mouth stayed open, waiting for you to bring the fruit to his lips. He accepted it when it was placed to his lips, wrapping them around the fruit, and, from the inside, he ran his tongue over the parts he could taste and lick at. He wanted to pierce the berry’s flesh, to make its flavor bleed into the rest.

While he was distracted with that, you took the opportunity to get to work. You lowered yourself back down so that your face was level with his pecs and started lapping at the dollop of whipped cream swirled around one of his nipples. You licked the soft peak away until there was only his hard pebbled flesh, so red and sensitive from just a few presses of your tongue. Johnny squirmed, a moan being muffled by the strawberry in his mouth. Things only got worse when you moved over to his other bud, doing the same motions to wipe away the cream and get to the really sensitive part. He struggled not to bite down on the strawberry, or to end this little reverie of lenience he offered for your birthday. He gave you so much power and he hated you for it. He hated that you made him squirm and buck his hips with need, desperate to pull you off his nipple and guide you to his waiting dick. But he fought the urge for you, to give you the control you deserve on a day like today.

All he knew was that the feeling was too much, the juxtaposition of cold cream twirled around his rosy tips to your hot tongue leaving them a wet and sticky mess was much too much. In what was probably one of the fastest instances ever—he came. His jeans darkened with a soupy mess of white just like the melted remains of cream running over his chest and onto the bed. If this was desert, you couldn’t wait to get to dinner.

#x reader #x male reader #fanfic #johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter x you #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny slaughter tcm #johnny tcm

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accio-victuuri · 3 months

Text

selfie points, custom red envelope, joint celebration rumors & AU pairings 🧧🎉🎉

happy CNY to all of you! it’s a happy day for the fandom and not even because of candies— but due to fans making so many content as new year gifts. i have personally enjoyed the photos and video edits of AU pairings. you can check this round-up for the links of those posts so you can enjoy all of it 🫶🏼

the best way to start this post is to clown over xz’s CNY selfie. this is usual for zz, posting one during this day and every year, we tend to speculate over it so this is a tradition already. lol. anyway, i wanna explain more on the caption and the exclamation he was using: 龘龘龘龘！

thank you to baidu for explaining and it makes sense now why he used it: 龘 (pronounced as dá, ㄉㄚˊ [7] ) is a Chinese character with the radical dragon, a variant of "龖" , and the meaning of the character refers to the shape of a flying dragon.

dragon fits because it’s the year of the dragon and he also used an emoji for that. his hand was also posed as the claw of a dragon. 🐲

now back to candies related to this selfie...

people are saying that this was taken using his wechat camera and in selfie mode. which, like what we usually cpn, is because he was sending it to someone else. what we got is another leftover selfie. another one is what’s drawn/reflected in his eye? if you’ve been here long enough, you may be familiar with people saying that ZZ will edit his eyes to show something else. there were examples before that were kinda believable but i personally think it’s a stretch. xz is definitely an artist who loves to hide things in his art, which includes his photos so it is probable. i just don’t know how far he will take it. what fans are comparing it to as possible reference are the two: happy camp hand stand or a photo of wyb in SDC 6.

my favorite part tho is the second photo shared. i always feel like if xz is only giving us 2 photos, then it means something. the selfie makes sense— but the other one? i actually expected him to share a photo of food that he is eating. anyway, it’s a winterberry ( one of it’s names ) and is a known means health and longevity, no illness or disaster, suitable for decorating during spring festival it is believed to bring happiness and good luck.

this is seen frequently in relation to ZZ:

One old cpn we have is that WYB gives him this in bouquets for his filming wrap up events knowing that he likes it. maybe not exactly how it looks but what it means. most popular being during OOL. He posted a different bouquet from what was given to him by the crew as per the wrap up bts video 👀 so why? what’s so important? was he trying to make someone happy? that is mostly explained in the last part of this post.

the speculation is he included that because wyb gave it to him. or that he gifted it to WYB, who took a photo of it and sent it back to him so he is sharing as well. wait… where did we get that idea? 🤔

again, another galaxy brain observation… the wall. it’s not the most unique kind of wall and it’s hard to tell in wyb’s video— but this video went on HS today as wyb’s new year greeting. so it kinda makes sense that gg will use that clue. wherever this was taken, probably wyb’s office, that’s where he placed the flowers. mister photographer wyb then took a photo and sent it to zz to show his appreciation for it.

lastly, a tiny clue from yibo-official is the emoji they used for their cny greeting. does it look familiar????

AHHHHHHH! What a coincidence!!!! 👀

to add this “emoji clue” in his photo that includes this hat. this freakin hat that launched a ton of cpn posts. interesting….

NEXT IS YBO’s custom red envelope cover for this year. They also did this last year, which we also clowned over.

black panther is something that in this fandom is widely accepted cpn was made by xz. and it’s still there. the panther looks like he has something that looks like what xz wore and drew before. also those personal connections to wyb like the 85 and skateboard, which i understand is a common yibo element and anyone can just add it. personally, i think xz did the panther on the shoulder only. 🤍

I will lightly discuss the rumor going around cpfs, especially the morning of 2/9 when cpfs have noticed that both zz and wyb have turned off their ip address locator on douyin. this usually means they don’t want people to know where they are. there are rumors that zz’s parents already arrived in Hengdian the night before 2/8 and that wyb + his parents are also going to HD so the whole joint family can spend CNY together ♥️

tho i have to say HD is a populated place, but i feel like most people will have the day off and the two are so careful so they won’t get caught. Treat this as fanfic for now. if this is true, we will clues in the next months. that’s just how turtle cpns go.

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #i miss doing round ups like this #cause it’s been kinda quiet #i’m gonna regret saying that lol

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splendidnothings · 1 year

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Is it in your opinion that Peter would be able to manage suddenly coming into tens of millions of dollars?

We've actually seen exactly what happens when he comes into tens of millions of dollars (and his own company) post-Superior Spider-Man. And let’s just say it did not end well--

("Now, let's tear it down!" Amazing Spider-Man #31 (2015))

Truly, the man did not last more than a couple months, in-universe, before force-ejecting from the entire enterprise, super-villain plot notwithstanding. Even without Otto forcing his hand Peter was routinely giving his money away or using exorbitant amounts for the benefit of his family and friends. His philanthropic work with the Uncle Ben Foundation. Helping out May, Flash, and Carlie. Generally, giving his money away at any opportunity. He bought the Baxter Building for Johnny!

("Everyone was trying to buy this place...and I outbid 'em all..." Amazing Spider-Man #3 (2015))

Peter during Parker Industries didn’t “manage” this money at all. He spent and spent and the only reason he didn’t eventually run out was because his corporation imploded first.

So, I think the easiest answer is if he suddenly came into a lot of money, like for example, if he won the lottery, he would not so much manage the money but just use it until it ran dry and then find a gig to pay next month’s rent.

Now, Parker Industries is a pretty on the nose example so if we disregard that run I still think it's clear that Peter would manage a million dollars just as well as he would ten dollars and that is to say quickly and/or probably for the benefit of someone else. Peter genuinely just does not care about having money just to acquire wealth.

(“I don’t value it.” Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #10 (2019) I personally think this is a clunky panel because it’s telling us instead of actually showing us he doesn’t value money but alas it suits my purposes for this post.)

This is obviously not to say he doesn't know the value of money or that he is oblivious to the fact that he needs money for rent or that having money makes life easier. Most of his struggles come from a lack of money. But he doesn’t view money in the long term, he’s not thinking of it as a potential investment but merely a tool to solve immediate problems. Even when he comes into a bit of surprise money he needs it all just to cover bills (Thanks Robbie!)--

(“I have [a savings plan]?! You mean when Robbie made me sign all those forms last year?... That’s just enough for my back rent and a pizza!” Spectacular Spider-Man #126)

Peter and his relationship with money is established early as core to his character and in connection with his economic status. When you are poor any money you earn is for immediate necessities, not something to be saved and managed.

("Without Uncle Ben, we've no money to pay our bills." Amazing Spider-Man #1)

He just needs to make enough to pay rent, for May's medical bills, for food. Maybe he wants to get something nice for May or Betty, Gwen, or MJ. Later on, his money worries are in relation to being able to support a wife (this occurs with both Gwen and MJ). But it's all short-term and a means to an end. Past the immediate obstacle where the money is needed, he doesn't care about money at all.

His very first superhero team-up was less of a team-up and more of Peter thinking he could make money by joining the Fantastic Four!

("There's the way I can make some money--by joining the Fantastic Four!" Amazing Spider-Man #1)

I’ve been using multiple panels from Amazing Spider-Man #1 so far because I think it’s important in showing how ingrained Peter’s overall views on money are to the character. This is his second appearance ever (after Amazing Fantasy #15) and not only is his socio-economic class crystal clear but so is how he handles and thinks about money.

Canonically, almost every time Peter does come into a little extra money he gives it away. This is also a pretty consistent trait of his. He's just not one to keep extra cash around unless he's specifically saving for something. Why would he hoard money when he can help someone he loves or give it to a New Yorker who needs it more than him at that moment.

(...other people need it more than me, right?)

Further, he doesn’t view Spider-Man as something that holds monetary value.

(Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #1(2019))

And he knows how important money is for the average person--

(“If that money isn’t recovered, what happens to relief payments this month?”)

And--let’s be clear here--Peter could very easily make all the money he wants. He could easily make loads of money. Whether it be because he is a certified genius. Or because he has superpowers and could employ them in a variety of different ways to get money...and he knows this.

("If money's a problem, then I'll just get money." Amazing Spider-Man #542)

(“I can go anywhere! No one, nothing can stop me! Any amount of money could be mine...” Amazing Spider-Man #1 (ASM #1 really doing the most work in hammering home so many core character traits huh!))

But, Peter is just not a character who aspires to be wealthy. He wants to be comfortable. He wants an apartment with a tiny skylight so he can easily sneak out and be Spider-Man. He wants enough money to take care of the people he loves. But that's it.

In fact, the jobs that have made him money usually become a problem because they get in the way of him being Spider-Man. He values being Spider-Man over making a name for himself, finishing grad school, making big science lab money, etc., etc. or he wouldn’t be dropping these pathways to a better economic status. He's had many well-paying science jobs throughout canon and he doesn't keep them because he eventually stops showing up. He's a flake who at the end of the day doesn't value that work or that money more than being Spider-Man and helping people Grad school meant so little to him at one point that he full-on dropped out, in part, because he thought he needed to make money to pay for Felicia's medical bills--

(“I might not have quit school to devote more time to making a living...OH WELL...”)

Pulling back a bit we also have to look at Peter and his purpose as a fictional character that requires thought and consistent theme-work. A Peter who acquires wealth. Who hoards such a valuable resource is kind of antithetical to his whole deal. Arguably, his most well-known villain is Norman Osborn the literal embodiment of what an evil man with lots of money and no responsibility can do. So, it really doesn’t make for a character like Peter so rooted in the lower class, so known for helping the ones who truly need him for him in his civilian life to be a well-off guy. Spider-Man is THE street-level hero dealing with street-level crime. At his best he is stopping muggings, beating up unfair landlords, or wealthy people taking advantage of the unfortunate. He's a man of the people and doesn't like when people misuse power and what gives people power more than money?

("...I had the most money!" "Oh, give it a rest." Spectacular Spider-Man #145)

Wrapping this up, I also think a big reason Peter never feels so beholden to money is because he knows how self-sufficient he is. He invents his own webbing, web-shooters, is shown to be extremely handy, and is a genius. Why should he care about money beyond his basic needs? He can figure things out as the situation calls for it even if all he has is $23.50 in his bank account :p

#peter parker #marvel comics #marvel #marvel meta #long post/

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friendly-neighborhood-furry · 2 months

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sometimes the state of the world makes me want to go outside and scream as loud as i can for help. sometimes it makes me want to crawl deep into a hole and never come back out again. sometimes it makes me want to fall to my knees and sob uncontrollably. sometimes it seems so hopeless that i cant see any better alternative other than just disappearing.

so much evil and destruction and suffering-- and for what?

what is it all for?

for the latest popular billionare to take a 13 minute flight? for the newest remake of a movie that changed my life to get turned into mindless sludge? for a never-before-seen species of animal to be discovered, then pronounced extinct the very next week? for millions of people to go broke for having cancer?

i tell my mother that i wont be able to afford a house. she says "no, you will." i tell my counselor that my government wants to kill me. she says "that's not true." i tell my teachers i don't see a point in doing well in school because i wont be able to get a job anyway, even if i have a college degree. they tell me "no, you'll get a job. school is still important." i email my senators begging them to stop funding the genocide in Palestine. i get a copy-pasted email back with a history lesson about why that wont happen. one million people died from COVID last Christmas and i'm the only one at my school still wearing a mask. my future as an artist was ripped from my hands in less than two years and pretty soon i wont be able to share anything about my art at all. i'm half mexican, but everybody says i'm "too white" to be a "real mexican". its been four years and i'm nowhere closer to understanding my gender identity than i was at the start. tumblr has been my only safe space for three years and now that KOSA might pass this week, where will i go?

and all the while, through all of this conflict-- people are still falling in love for the first time and rescuing kittens off the street and watching their children take their first steps and getting married and making fun little indie games and building elaborate cosplays of their favorite character and making the most heart-touchingly beautiful pieces of art you've ever seen and meeting lifelong friends and cooking amazingly delicious food and playing children's games and weaving baskets from pine needles and taking care of livestock and collecting little knick-knacks and having the best day of their lives and writing their first line of code and learning to play instruments and hatching baby birds and posting a 100K word thesis about a show they really like and uploading song covers for 19 people on Youtube to listen to and pushing the boundaries of what science can accomplish and discussing moral philosophies in the comment section of a Reddit post and feeling truly seen in the eyes of another human being for the first time in their lives and growing old surrounded by the people they love.

the future is uncertain, but the world will go on. the winds will still blow and the tides will still flow. people will continue to find joy in this hell and fight for it with everything they have.

so don't give up.

"don't give up," i tell myself.

"don't give up," i tell you.

"don't give up," i scream into the sky.

there is always something to keep going for. if you cannot find it in yourself, find it in others. find it in the people in your life and the people you see online. find it in the good of humanity you know to exist.

find it. keep fighting. don't give up.

#at the end of it all i do consider myself a poet #if this reaches even one person #and gives them the strength to keep going #i would consider it a success #tomothy rambles #serious post #gen z #capitalism #climate change #palestine #free palestine #lgbtqia+#queer #trans #vent #mental health #anxiety #depression

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vin-taege · 1 year

Text

Neko

Summary: You introduce Chishiya to a cute cat-collector game despite him insisting that he wouldn't like it.

Genre: fluff, post-borderlands

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 800+

Note: This is totally self-indulgent after the last mega angst fic lmao

"What's the point of that?"

Chishiya stared at your phone, the screen lit up by a bright cartoon background and cats lounging on the toys you've set out.

"They're my friends and I love them," you hummed, eyes fixated on the screen. You tapped on a white cat—Snowball—to take a picture of him.

"It isn't the most..." Chishiya paused, trying to find the word he deemed most appropriate. "... riveting gameplay."

"Well, it's not supposed to be riveting," you replied, exiting the app and shutting your phone off. You took a sip of coffee before continuing, "It's just something that relaxes me."

You expected him to tease you in his usual sarcastic way, but to your surprise, he lifted his chair and scooted it closer to yours. "How does it work again?"

He didn't want to concern himself with such childish things-he thought they were pointless and a waste of time. But the way your eyes lit up each time you opened the app made him want to know more about this. It felt like getting to know you more by association.

"You just leave food out like this," you said, turning your phone back on to demonstrate. "Exit the app then after a few minutes, some cats will come."

You turned the phone towards him to show the current state of your yard. Though he didn't show it, Chishiya was actually a bit impressed. There was a giant cat tower in the middle, surrounded by smaller toys like a dainty glass vase and an opened treasure chest. You pointed to a black cat with white markings, busying itself with a red ball. "This is Gabriel. He gave me a raffle ticket yesterday."

Chishiya gently took your phone, pupils seemingly dilating. You watched him poke around the cats to read their names and descriptions, his poker face unmoving. You chuckled lightly, leaning towards him so you can brush some of the bleach-blond hair back.

"You could get this on your phone, you know," your fingers combed at the loose strands. You gathered them into a tiny ponytail before securing them with a hair tie. "It can help you feel less lonely during long shifts."

He quirked an eyebrow in question.

"You know, since you'll have some kitties waiting for you when you get back."

He smirked, handing you back the phone. "What a silly thought," he murmured against your cheek. With one hand, he turned your face slightly so his lips could meet the softness of your skin.

"You love my silly thoughts," you brought your hands to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your lips connected with a soft kiss, and you could feel him grinning against you.

"I suppose so," he teased.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Chishiya munched on some biscuits, content with the silence of his office. He was relieved to have caught a break, especially since it looks like he'll be on call until well past midnight. He had already texted you to sleep without him, but he knew you'd stubbornly stay up for his arrival.

He decided he'd finally had enough of looking through the mountain of reports sitting on his desk. His eyes drifted to a framed picture of you two instead. You were wearing a lilac sundress, a huge smile plastered on your face. Next to you, Chishiya sported a white sweater covering the hem of his beige slacks. A red plaid blanket was sprawled underneath you, weighed down by snacks, a wicker basket, and a chessboard.

He grinned to himself, reminiscing that day. It made him miss you more, made his heart hurt because he couldn't come home earlier. Sighing, he brought his phone out, scrolling until he found an icon of a white cat.

The chirpy background music greeted him, alongside a morbidly obese feline lounging by the food bowl. His eyebrows raised in surprise—his first time encountering this specific cat.

"Well aren't you a greedy one."

He wouldn't be caught dead checking out this game. But god, he just missed you so much and maybe you were right—he did feel just a little bit lonely.

Still, he'd never admit that to anyone, not even to himself. In his mind, he's only playing this game to understand you better. Psychoanalysis—not because he genuinely enjoyed a silly game with silly cats.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

"Nice," he muttered to himself. It was three in the morning, and you were sleeping soundly next to him. On the other hand, Chishiya was sitting against his pillows, face illuminated by his phone.

Tubbs—the obese cat he definitely did not learn the name of—had finally given him a memento. That fat bastard made him wait a month.

"Chish?" You stirred next to him, eyes squinting at the faint light. Your voice was groggy, mind still hazy from your sleep. "What are you doing up?"

"Nothing, love. Let's go back to sleep." He quickly turned his phone off, getting back under the covers to wrap his arms around you.

"Were you playing Neko Atsume?" you sleepily mumbled into his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

#alice in borderland imagines #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #aib imagines #imawa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #aib x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #asks

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arcane-apathy · 3 months

Text

Chapter 10

Prologue | Previous | Next

AN: No you are not dreaming, I'm actually posting another chapter. Thank you all for being so patient with me this past year. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. 🌻

Warning(s): Brief talk of self-mutilation

It only took a week for Talnir to lay down the first layer of snow. The tan of the dying grass was sprinkled with snow and frost. Only to be turned into mud beneath people’s feet that same day. Despite being from a considerably warmer climate, the horde was not deterred. They donned extra layers without being told and helped the rest of the camp as they prepared for winter. The beginning of the winter rush was nothing new to you. And like most years you busied yourself with making tinctures, salves, and medicines. Making sure to use all ingredients you know would spoil if not used soon.

While you were busy preparing for a winter full of illness, Kurakh started a project of his own. He would leave once his food was devoured every morning and wouldn't return to your shared quarters until the last meal. You barely saw him around camp, nor did either of you speak unless necessary. It took five days for you to lose your mind because of the silence. Opting to work in the main hall with other camp members who wanted to hide away from the harsh wind.

The main hall always brought a small smile to your face. The rebel's and the horde's children play together in the middle of the room. An Orcish woman helping braid the tail of an older Centaur. The Dwarves assess broken blades of all kinds. An Elven man was teaching a group of teenagers how to build arrows. Everyone sat in groups, no matter their race. Across the hall, you could see Schelura doing the hair of a younger Orc woman. The intricate style was already full of beads by the time you made your way over.

“Oh hello,” Schelura smiles and motions to an empty spot on the table, “have a seat.” You set your tools on the table and sit down, openly staring at Schelura’s handiwork. “Do you want to be next?”

“It’s tempting, although that’s a lot of beads…”

“She’s trying to catch a young warrior’s eye… Maybe you need this style too,” she teases.

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes.

“And you’re blind,” Schelura scoffs. “This is a more traditional plait since his parents are more set in the old ways. I’d give you something different… What do normal Vorren women do with their hair?”

"We usually just weave ribbon into our braids. Our hair is usually covered because you're clergy, or due to the cold."

"Such practical people." You roll your eyes at her comment and begin measuring out your ingredients. Schelura and the girl start to gossip while you ignore them to focus on the task at hand. "And Kurakh is away checking and setting up traps all day. I wonder what he's trying to catch, he comes back nearly every night looking frustrated."

"Wait that's why he's gone all day," you look up from your herbs.

The younger girl turns her head as much as Schelura would allow, "you didn't know?"

Schelura laughs, "somebody might be getting a gift soon"

"A courting gift, now that's romantic," the younger orc swoons.

"Oh I don-"

"He hasn't told you about it, he's gone all day, and he's constantly frustrated things aren't going as planned. If it isn't a courting gift, I permit you to cut off my hand," Schelura deadpans.

"You know I wouldn't do that unless it was at serious risk of infection or severely mangled ."

"Maid, that is not the point I am trying to make," she scoffs at your logic. You didn't even get to properly glare before she scolded you, "don't even look at me like that! Kurakh is one of the easiest men to read, like a warg pup."

"I don't even know what a warg pup looks like Schelura," an exasperated sigh leaves your lips.

"Cuter than you'd expect," the younger girl smiles while Schelura repositions her head. "I also heard he threatened a Tiefling in the courtyard yesterday for disrespecting you."

"That sounds likely,” Schelura smirks.

"You've made your point very clear Schelura," you roll your eyes and refocus on your craft.

"Then you should make sure Kurakh is aware that you know. He needs to know if you reciprocate or not. Not knowing is currently driving him crazy. And if you don’t want his advances he should know before he goes too far.”

“And how do I do that?”

Schelura smirks, “you can start by letting me do your hair.”

"I'd rather not think of my hair, it has been so long since I washed it last. "

"You haven't gone to the hot springs yet?"

"And have strangers see me bare," you flush at the thought.

"The girls and I could go with you, and if we go in the evening there shouldn’t be that many people."

"I would appreciate the company," a rare smile graces your lips.

"We'll go tonight, I've been dying to wash off with something other than cold water." That evening you dropped Mazna off with Roldza, luckily without much fuss. And you left a note for Kurakh since he had yet to return. With your only clean change of clothes and bath oil in hand, you meet the girls in the hall. Maaga and Galta were both equally excited to relax in the warm waters that lie further within the former mine. Like Schelura said there was hardly a soul in the springs. Only a few elven girls sat in one of the smaller pools, applying oils to their hair.

With the safety of only being surrounded by women making you more confident you begin to undress. Schelura was the first one in, with a massive smile on her face, "definitely better than cold water and a bucket." You slowly follow in behind her, minding your steps on the slippery rocks beneath you. The water was certainly warmer than any water you bathed with before. After waiting a few minutes, thankfully there was nothing within the water that would irritate your wound. You take the chance to properly inspect it, not having to hide in the shadows from Kurakh.

"Is it still bothering you," Maaga asks concerned.

"Not as much as it used to, it'll be an awful scar."

"There is no such thing as awful scars in our culture," Galta chuckles. "I mean just look at Kurakh. Blind in one eye from one and littered with dozens smaller than that. And Orkisch women swoon over him every day... Well, the ones who don't know him like we do."

"Men can be scarred all they want in my culture, but for women it's unsightly."

"The more I learn about your culture the more it pisses me off," Maaga groans.

"How do you think I feel," you scoff and sit on a rock in the water. The warm, mineral-rich water goes up to your shoulders. Galta dunks herself beneath the water with a smile. The whispers of the Elven girls were welcomed in comparison to the noise of the main hall, or Mazna throwing a fit. You slowly sink below the surface after getting more accustomed to the water temperature. The voices above you became louder, and you could practically feel the grime melt away.

The light burn in your lungs prompted you to stand again. The water trickled down your back as you wiped your face. The cold air of the cavern causes goosebumps to bud across your skin. Once the water was out of your eyes you refocused on the rocks ahead. Trying not to stare at anyone in particular. Schelura scoffs and moves beside you, trying to run her fingers through your soaked hair. "This won't do... Don't worry I brought tools for this." She reaches for her comb and motions for you to sit on the rocks again.

"I can brush my hair."

"I'm aware, but I need to prep it for braiding tomorrow."

"Fine," you sigh and try to relax as she works the comb through the ends of your hair. Luckily it felt much better than Mazna playing with your hair at night. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Schelura reach for the pool edge again, followed by a light herbal smell. "What's that?"

"A hair oil," she hums as her hands gently massage your scalp. "Your hair is damaged from the fabric of your headcover. It is too rough... I might need to make you something stronger. You also need a trim; your ends are a mess."

"I get it, my hair is awful."

"It just needs more than a hairbrush," Schelura chuckles. "Don't worry, you're in good hands," she emphasizes by massaging the back of your neck. You couldn't help but hum in relief, fighting not to melt into her touch. "your muscles are just as stiff as the warriors. You know, for a healer you are terrible at taking care of yourself."

An ache settled in your stomach. Schelura was one of many people to point it out to you. Usually, you'd be able to blame it on your duty. The life of a Maid of Eia was busy, even before the King declared war. Maaga seemed to sense this ache, moving closer to the two of you, "so how long until we have snow up to our knees?"

You smile softly as you welcome the distraction, "I'd say another month. It's supposed to be a late winter this year. Or as we say in the clergy, Talnir is lazy this year."

"Talnir?"

"The Spirit of Winter, son of Sokastr and Sala."

Galta laughs, "because that explains so much."

"The number of deities your people have is ridiculous," Maaga chuckles before dipping her head below water.

"It's a lot to remember," you sigh as Schelura's hands leave your scalp. "Honestly I forget most of it now. Just the stories we were told as kids. And the weird stuff you can't forget how much you try."

"How weird," Maaga looked apprehensive to ask.

"Eia's parents are aunt and nephew."

"That's not too bad," Galta relaxes against the pool's edge with her eyes closed.

"When creating their children, the elder gods forgot about procreation. So, the new gods had to create their genitalia. Eia took it upon herself to create the females by cutting herself open. Using her muscles to create a womb, and cutting between her legs. Hence the monthly cycle and the pain of childbirth." Galta and Maaga wince, and Schelura groans. "Want to know how Lantes created male gen-"

"Absolutely not."

"Don't even dare."

"I'm close enough to push you underwater." Despite the threats you all laugh. A rare deep belly laugh escapes you. It has been so long since you've laughed like that it almost scared you. The good mood carried through as the four of you finished bathing. You felt the most relaxed and clean you've been in ages. The clean change of clothes felt heavenly against your skin. Per Schelura's orders, your damp hair flowed down your back as it air-dried. The only bad thing was that you now needed to launder your only other set of clothes.

You returned to your quarters with your things in your arms, greeted by the smell of food cooking. Kurakh looks up from the pot but doesn't say anything. His good eye was looking you up and down. His silence was killing you, “is something wrong?”

“The scouts spotted a battalion just north of us. We'll ride out before dawn to intercept them."

"I should probably pack my supplies-"

"You're staying here."

"Kurakh, I can be careful."

"You are what they want. It would be surrender if you came with." You knew this tone well, Kurakh's words were final. And you didn't want to ruin your evening by wasting your breath. "That was easier than I expected," he smirks.

"I don't feel like ruining my good mood," you set the dirty clothes in the corner. Hopefully, you won't forget them come morning. Kurakh doesn't say anything, choosing to stare at your hair instead. "Will you at least wake me up before you leave?"

"Of course, Odmili," he motions for you to sit. "The stew is almost ready."

"Rabbit?"

"They are plentiful here."

"I fear you will run out of recipes before you run out of rabbits," you sit cross-legged beside him on the bedroll. He breathes out a laugh while handing you a bowl. A plate of Freronbrod on the ground beside the two of you.

"Your kingdom will run out of rabbits before the horde is full."

"Your fault for coming in the winter," you snicker as you dip your bread in the stew. Kurakh elbows you in the rib playfully, his worried expression having finally worn away. You smack him in the chest as retaliation, a challenging look in your eyes. For once you didn't recognize the expression on his face. He looked conflicted like something was holding him back. His eye goes back to your hair, nose twitching. "What?"

"It's nothing."

"Considering the face you're making; I highly doubt that. Is it my hair?"

"Not necessarily... What oil did they put in your hair?"

"I don’t know. Schelura only scolded me for how unhealthy my hair is."

"That makes sense. I think Schelura is trying to make a fool of you."

"What do you mean?"

Kurakh sighs, "Orcs have a stronger sense of smell. Because of that, hair and body oils tend to have different meanings. And the one Schelura used on you… Well, it’s supposed to be seductive."

Immediately blood rushes to your cheeks, “you can’t be serious.”

“I wish I weren’t,” his lips parted as he tried breathing more through his mouth.

“I can go sleep with the girls tonight, considering they’re the ones who got me into this mess.”

“No,” Kurakh said rather quickly, “I can handle it.” He smiles sheepishly and continues to eat his soup. You decided not to press any further and do the same. Once the two of you finished eating you took it upon yourself to clear up the dishes.

“Do you have anything that needs to be laundered? I’ll be cleaning my spare clothes tomorrow.”

“I’ll leave a few things on the pile you’ve made. I know Mazna has a few tunics as well.” There was a quiet hiss of a blade leaving its sheath from behind you, soon followed by it scrapping the whetstone. “Do you not have any more clothes?”

You glance over your shoulder, hands still in the tub of cold soapy water used for cleaning, “I do not.” Stew was easy to clean off the wooden bowls, you hardly needed to look at what you were doing. “Clergy life is not as luxurious as people think. I had my own room, but it was tiny and drafty. The library barely had anything other than medical tomes. Three flavorless meals a day. We had no days off because ailments and childbirth don’t care for the calendar. And I would be lucky to get a new apron for my birthday.”

“Just enough to keep you from complaining about working for no pay I presume?”

“A twenty-pence on high holidays, which there are five of in a year,” anger made itself known in your gut. Stomach turning as you tried to ignore it, “it would take me three years to make enough for taxes. Luckily I don’t have to pay taxes. But I do have to catch a deadly disease, get robbed while traveling from town to town, never see my family again, or get captured by the enemy in a pointless war!” The scraping of the blade stops and so do you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Kurakh motions for you to return to the bed roll. Patiently waiting as you dump the dirty water into the floor drain. “I wish you would stop apologizing for being your true self.” You pause and open your mouth to rebut, yet nothing comes out. “It is as if you are playing a character,” he gently takes your hand to pull you closer. “When I see that fire in your eyes, I’m reassured that there is a real person hidden within. You need to break free.”

“Kurakh, I hardly know how,” the words barely above a whisper.

“We can teach you. Remember you are one with the horde now, and we take care of our own.”

#male orc x female reader #tpow series #my writing #m orc x f reader #orc x reader #exophilia #fantasy #tpow #orcs

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geminijade · 5 months

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A/N: I'm so excited to post my first request from @reelovesbuckybarnes !! I hope this helps you feel better 💕 💓

Trigger warnings: language, smut, absentee parents, underage drinking, light angst and sex. P in V, oral and fingering. Minors are not allowed. All mistakes are my own and I am so very sorry that it took me this long to deliver but I'm excited for you to read it. As always likes, hearts, comments and reblogs are absolutely appreciated. Happy reading! 📚

Hot Summer in the City

"Welcome back, everyone. It's officially the first day of summer in NYC. It's shaping up to be one of the hottest summers on record..." Y/N groaned and rolled over to turn off the alarm. Today's the day. The day that's supposed to be dedicated to you. Your birthday.

You slowly opened up one eye and sat up in your four poster queen bed and threw the covers off and made your way to the bathroom, grabbing your phone on the way. You sat down and started going through all of the birthday messages and reacted accordingly. Not seeing any messages from the one person that you've been waiting for you put your phone down and make your way to the kitchen, expecting to see your parents but the only person who you see is one of your parents staff. You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and saw a note from your mom telling you that your dad had an important business meeting in the Hamptons and couldn't reschedule and to use your father's Amex Black Card and celebrate your birthday in style. "Happy Birthday to me."

You went back to your room and flopped onto your bed and brought up the menu from your favorite restaurant and ordered the most expensive breakfast item. While you were waiting for the food to be delivered you got a text from your boyfriend Carter. It immediately brought a smile to your face, he told you that he'd be stopping by to spend the day with you. While you waited for your food to be delivered you decided to book a dinner reservation at the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the Upper East Side for your birthday dinner. A romantic dinner for you and Carter, all on Daddy's dime.

As you were on hold with the restaurant you heard a knock on your bedroom door, figuring it was your food being delivered you told whoever it was to leave it by the door but the knocking persisted. You huffed and rolled your eyes, putting your phone on speaker in case the restaurant picked up. You opened the door to find Carter standing there holding your food and a bouquet of your favorite flowers with balloons that said Happy 18th Birthday! You squealed and threw your arms around your boyfriend and started peppering kisses all over his handsome face. "You just made my day infinitely better, you know that?" You took the flowers from Carter and waltzed into your en suite bathroom looking for a vase.

Carter followed you into your room and shut the door. You filled the vase halfway with water and rearranged the flowers to your liking. You set them on your desk as it got the most sunlight, you looked over and saw Carter laying in your unmade bed. He looked so handsome in a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, grey slacks and designer shoes. He had a tray of your favorite blueberry crepes with fresh fruit and jam drizzled with chocolate and cream cheese with a whip cream topping but the best part of it all was the candles Carter stuck in the whip cream.

Carter was looking at you like he wanted to eat you for breakfast and you felt the weight of his stare on you. "You look beautiful, birthday girl." His words causing you to blush because you probably had bed head. Carter patted the space next to him and you crawled into bed next to him and he kissed you gently on your lips. He tenderly cupped your face bringing you impossibly close to him and you smiled into the kiss whispering "You taste like coffee. "

That made him laugh "I had meetings all morning but I told them that something more important came up. Go ahead and blow out your candles and make a wish, Princess. " You closed your eyes and thought about what you wanted to wish for and you blew out the candles. You picked the candles out and set them to the side as Carter fed you a piece of the crepe and it had you moaning as it practically melted in your mouth. You dipped your finger in the whipped cream and put some on his lips.

You gently pushed Carter down on the mattress and straddled him. He put his hands behind his head and you kissed him again, the intoxicating mix of whip cream and Carter had you gently rolling your hips over his and his hands settled on your waist guiding your movements. You began unbuttoning his shirt and kissing your way down his chest, the sound of your harsh breathing mixed together as it filled the quiet morning air. You lightly dragged you fingers down his abs and started to unbuckle his belt and he lightly took your hands in his. "What'd you wish for?"

You sat up and looked down lovingly at him as you took his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers "I can't tell you otherwise it won't come true but I will say that you just being here with me means everything. " Carter sat up and caressed your cheek and chased your lips for another kiss. You played hard to get but ultimately let him win because he was just too damn tempting. His lips were so soft and you opened up so that he could taste you, tongues chasing each other as it grew heated. Carter started kissing your neck and you rocked your hips against his and he let out a throaty groan.

"Baby, we gotta stop." He moaned against your neck, he kissed the tender part of your throat and you whined as he pulled away. You looked at each other with lust in your eyes and you placed your hands on his shoulders. "Party pooper, " you pouted down at him and he kissed your lower lip. "Today is your special day and I want to take you out and celebrate you and everything that you mean to me. " You felt your eyes well up with unshed tears and you felt your throat tighten up so much that you couldn't speak.

"How's that sound to you?" You nodded your head enthusiastically and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I love you, Carter Baizen. " A megawatt grin appeared on his face "I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N. Go get yourself ready, we're going to spend all day together. Doing whatever you want. " You clapped your hands together and gathered your stuff together and jumped in the shower.

Carter waited until he could hear you shut the glass shower door and the water start to run. He watched as you stepped under the spray of water and he turned his back to you and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He made a couple of phone calls and set up the latter portion of your date night. He wanted it to end on a high note because you deserved every second of it. You stepped out of the steam filled bathroom wrapped in your fluffy purple bath towel with a matching towel wrapped turban style over your wet hair.

He watched as you walked across your room to your walk in closet. You turned on the light and stood there with your hands on your hips. It was already scorching outside so you decided to wear something light and airy. You pulled a white cotton sundress off of the rack and laid it on your bed. You then went to your shoe closet and found the matching pair of espadrilles and set them at the foot of your bed.

You sat down at your vanity table and turned on the mirror lights. You started to moisturizer your face and apply a light coat of makeup, keeping it summer appropriate. You turned to find him watching you with a weird look on his face. "What's the matter?" Carter shook his head to snap himself out of his thoughts. "Nothing. I just realized that I have the prettiest girl in all of New York. "

You blushed as you grabbed your dress off your bed and went to your bathroom to change. Carter couldn't help himself as you walked past, he reached out and slapped your ass. His big palm stinging you. You gasped at the sensation and turned around to look at him he shrugged sheepishly. "One down, 17 to go."

You tenderly rubbed the spot and playfully stuck your tongue out at him and locked yourself into your bathroom so that you could get ready in peace. You carefully pulled your pajama shirt over your head so that you didn't mess up your hair and makeup. You slid into the dress but couldn't reach the zipper at the back. Giving yourself a once over in the mirror to make sure that nothing was smudged, you opened the door and called out "Could you please help me with my zipper?" Carter came up behind you and brushed your hair off of your neck, his fingers causing goose bumps as he lightly grasped the zipper. He kissed your neck just under your ear and pulled the zipper along the track.

"Up, not down." You felt him smirk into your neck as he brought the zipper all the way up. "Now you're being the party pooper Y/N." You turned in his embrace and his hands slid down and he gave your ass a quick squeeze.

"Anticipation makes things better." You sat on the edge of your bed and put your sandals on. You stood up, running your hands down the bodice of your dress checking for wrinkles. Finding none, you were ready to begin your birthday. "What's first on the agenda for today?" You asked as he took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers.

"I thought that we'd start with a gondola ride in Central Park, how does that sound?" Carter ushered you outside and into the waiting town car. He leaned forward to let the driver know where to go. As the partition rolled up, you kissed Carter on the cheek and rested your head on his shoulder, he dropped a kiss on your forehead. You rode together in comfortable silence and arrived at Central Park and you went to open your car door but Carter beat you to it. He held out his hand for yours and you gently placed your hand in his and let him help you out of the car.

He placed his hand at the small of your back and steered you towards the waterfront. Carter payed the gondolier and he got into the boat first and then helped you in. You sat down next to him and he placed his hand on your exposed leg. You smiled at him as the boat ride started and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "Thank you. "

"For what?" He asked as gently squeezed your shoulder. "For this" you motioned to your surroundings. "For today. For getting me out of the house. For everything. "

"It's your day and as long as you're happy that's all that matters to me." Carter brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "You make me very happy." The gondolier steered the boat back into place and Carter helped you out and you watched as he tipped the man for his services. You linked arms and started walking down the shaded path.

"Are you ready for your next surprise?" You nodded your head and let him guide you further down the path to where there was a horse and carriage waiting. You gasped and turned to him and he knew that he had succeeded. "Can I pet the horse?" You asked the gentleman who was standing next to them. "Of course you can, I even have some sugar cubes that you can feed her." You held out your hand and he placed the two cubes in your outstretched palm.

Carter watched as you fed the horse it's treats and he held out his hand for you. "Your chariot awaits." That got a giggle out of you and you let him help you into the carriage and he placed a light blanket over your knees. "I can't wait to see what else you've got up your sleeve." You waited until Carter got himself situated and he sat down next to you.

"I hope that it lives up to your expectations, we've got the whole day and night ahead of us." You looked up at him and kissed him not caring who could see. "I'm the luckiest girl in all of New York." You whispered against his warm lips and he felt your smile and he deepened the kiss as he wrapped you in his arms. "That must mean that I'm the luckiest guy in New York."

He helped you down from the carriage and you had some extra sugar cubes for the horse. You thanked them both for the ride and watched as Carter tipped the man and walked towards you. He led you to a quiet, secluded spot by the water and saw that he had a picnic all set up. A blanket layed out over the grass with a picnic basket set to the side. He took your hand in his and led you to the spot.

He stretched out over the blanket and you sat down next to him. He popped the champagne; your favorite Strawberry Moscato and handed you a glass. The bubbles tickled your nose and you took a sip of the fruity drink. You watched as he laid the food out. Freshly cut strawberries with chocolate to dip them in.

Watermelon, southern style potato salad, mini cold cut sliders, pasta salad, strawberry lemonade, peach cobbler and a cupcake with your initials on it. "Carter, this is an insane amount of food, there's no way that we can eat all of this." He shrugged nonchalantly and popped a strawberry into his mouth and saw you watching him. You watched as he took another strawberry from the glass dish and brought it up to your lips and you opened up for him and moaned as some of the juice from the fruit trickled down your lips and Carter leaned in and licked it off. He kissed your lips and you let him deepen the kiss, your tongue clashing with his.

He smiled into your lips. "Good enough to eat." You felt the blush creep up your neck and you hope that no one saw or heard you. You glanced around and saw that it was just the two of you. "I can't wait to see what you have planned next. The boat ride, the carriage ride. You definitely brought your A game."

Carter started packing up the food and you folded the blanket. "Nothing but the best for my girl." He slung his arm around your shoulder and you held his hand as he kissed your forehead. You walked towards the waiting town car and he opened the door for you and handed the food and basket to the driver. Carter joined you in the back as the driver put the food and blanket in the trunk of the car.

You let out a yawn and rested your head on his shoulder. Carter chuckled as you shut your eyes. "Worn you out already? It's not even 2 o clock yet." You opened one eye and peeked up at him. "I'm just recharging for the rest of the day, I promise."

You dozed comfortably until you felt Carter gently shaking your shoulder. You rubbed your eyes and sat up as Carter opened his door and you slid out on his side. You held his hand as he dismissed the driver until later tonight. He talked to the doorman for a few seconds and then led you inside his apartment building and into the elevator. It opened up on the top floor to the penthouse.

You stopped in the foyer to remove your sandals and with bleary eyes you could see that he had arranged for a masseuse to give you a hot stone massage. Candles were lit and placed around the apartment, and you could faintly smell lavender as the masseuse handed you the fluffiest robe to change into. You looked for Carter and saw him leaning against the door, "Inga is the best at Swedish massages. You enjoy your massage and I'm going to make some phone calls. After I have some people coming over to do your hair and makeup for tonight. And they'll have some dresses for you to choose from."

You squealed with happiness and threw your arms around his neck and leaned into him. "You definitely will be rewarded handsomely for spoiling me today." His hands settled on your waist and he gave your hips a gentle but firm squeeze. He kissed the tip of your nose and looked at you lovingly. "Enjoy your massage, I'll just be in my office if you need me for anything."

You nodded and made your way into Carter's bathroom to change into your robe. It felt like heaven on your skin and you neatly folded your dress and left it sitting on his bathroom sink. You walked back into the living room where Inga was waiting with a white linen sheet held up so that you could take the robe off and lie on the table. She adjusted the sheet so that it covered your lower half, leaving your back exposed. Inga poured some baby oil onto your back and began rubbing your back and neck.

You didn't think that it was possible for you to be any more relaxed but you felt yourself melting into the table as she released all of the tension from your back and shoulders. You must have fallen asleep because the next thing that you knew was that there was a knock on the door and Inga was blowing out the candles and cleaning up. You grabbed the robe and tied it around your waist as Carter entered the room and answered the door. As Inga was leaving the makeup people were setting up to do your hair and makeup and the apartment doorman rolled in a rack of designer dresses and shoes. Carter was instructing them on where they could set up.

He went to your side and you leaned into him. "I'm going to take a quick shower and wash off the baby oil. Is that ok?" He kissed your lips quickly and smiled at you. "Of course it is. Take as long as you need to. I'm going to get changed and finish up some calls. I can't wait to see what you pick out for tonight."

After your shower you put back on the robe and sat down in the makeup chair as the young lady stepped behind you and began to blow dry and straighten your hair. "I'm Miranda and I'll be in charge of your hair and makeup tonight. You tell me what you want done." You introduced yourself as well, "I'm Y/N and I honestly don't know where he's taking me tonight so I think that we'll keep it simple. I'd like some loose curls and I think that I'll go with a smoky eye and nude lipstick."

Miranda nodded her approval and began to work her magic on you, asking you what the special occasion was and you filled her in on today's activities. "Well, happy birthday to you Y/N." She finished curling and styling your hair as she moved onto your makeup. "Thank you. It's been a really good day. I feel like that's not an accurate description but I don't have the words to describe how wonderful it's been. "

She applied the makeup and spun you around in the chair so that you could finally see the finished product. You couldn't believe that it was you staring back in the mirror. You loved how you looked and thanked Miranda profusely. "You're so very welcome and I'm happy to be a part of making your day special." You hugged each other and she began to pack up her makeup and supplies.

You walked her to the door and thanked her again. The apartment was empty besides for Carter who you could hear talking on the phone behind his closed study door. You went to where they left the rack of clothing and started looking at the various dresses: some long, some short, some mid length. All different colors: vibrant reds, charcoal greys, pretty purples, too much to choose from. You felt overwhelmed and hesitantly knocked on his door.

You heard Carter end the phone call and he opened the door to see you standing there looking beautiful in your bathrobe. "I know that you want everything including tonight to be a surprise but can I get a little hint about what we're going to be doing so I kinda have an idea on how to dress." You finally got a good look at him and saw that he had changed into a nice pair of designer jeans and a black button up shirt. "Something that you can wear a jacket with. It might get a bit windy. " You took that into consideration as you settled on a navy blue Herve Leger bandage dress that you paired with a pair of Louboutin stilettos and a tailored jacket.

You put the finishing touches on your look by spraying some Chanel No. 5 on both of your wrists and behind your ears. Carter slipped on a black leather jacket that matched his designer motorcycle boots and took your hand in his as he led out of the penthouse apartment and you got into the service elevator that took you all the way up to the roof. You gasped as you saw a helicopter waiting with the door open. You were speechless as Carter shook hands with the pilot and beckoned you over. Carter helped you inside and handed you the headset as you buckled yourself in.

The megawatt grin on your face made it all worth it. "We're going to have a romantic flight over New York and have dinner at the best steakhouse in the upper east side. " The pilot started the helicopter and took off over the city. You were mesmerized by the city lights and you couldn't believe that this was your life currently. You leaned over and kissed him as a thank you and couldn't help but pointing out things in excitement.

15 minutes later the pilot landed on top of the building where the owner of the restaurant was waiting to lead you inside. You held onto Carter's hand as you followed him down the dimly lit stairwell. Inside was a lone table with two chairs and candles on every imaginable surface. Carter pulled out your chair for you and sat across from you. The waiter brought over the most expensive bottle of champagne and poured two glasses and handed each of you a menu.

"Cheers, Baby. I hope that everything has lived up to your expectations." You clinked the glasses together and both of you took a sip. "Do you remember when you asked me what I wished for?" Carter nodded and waited for you to continue. "Everything has been pretty much what I wanted. Just to be with you. It wouldn't have mattered what we did."

Carter winked at you as the waiter brought out the hor d'oeuvres. Everything smelled delicious as you helped yourself. The next course was a caprese salad and prosciutto wrapped melon that had you salivating. The main course was a pork tenderloin that was cooked to perfection with grilled vegetables and stuffed cherry peppers. You couldn't take another bite and thanked the owner for everything.

Carter settled up on the bill and led you outside the restaurant to a waiting stretch limo that would take you back to his penthouse apartment. Your feet were killing you and Carter pulled your feet into his lap and took the heels off of you and gently started massaging your feet. You let out a moan as he rubbed the bottom of your feet. "That feels really amazing, I can't thank you enough for everything. The whole day was everything I could have wanted and more."

"I can think of one way that you can thank me." He gave you a cheeky grin and you lightly slapped him on the chest. The driver pulled up to the building and Carter stepped out first and turned to pick you up and carry you bridal style as your heels dangled from your fingertips. He carried you inside until you were in the elevator. He pushed the PH button and the elevator began it's slow ascent. You were beginning to feel the effects of the champagne and couldn't wait until you got to the apartment.

You started kissing his neck and he smelled like Calvin Klein and tasted even better. He let out a low moan and tipped his head back to give you better access. His hands tangled in your hair and brought your lips to his as he deepened the kiss. He spun you around so that your back was against the wall and he gripped your hips, bunching up your dress as he slid his hand up your thigh, he was almost at the junction of your thighs when the elevator doors opened and you jumped as if struck by lightning. The only sound was both of you breathing heavily.

He lightly grasped your hand and led you into the dark apartment. The only light source was coming from the huge picture window that looked over the city. He set your shoes down in the foyer and helped you out of your jacket and took his off and tossed it on the back of the chair. He toed his boots off and picked you up and put you over his shoulder. You gasped and swatted at his back.

He pushed open the bedroom door and gently set you down next to the foot of the bed and you felt yourself sink into the plush carpeting. He made his way around his California king size bed and took his Rolex off. Your breathing was coming in rapid bursts and you watched him as eyed you hungrily and stalked back over to where you were standing. He stood in front of you and began rolling up his sleeves so that you could see his tan, toned forearms. He sat down on the bed and motioned for you to come over.

You did as he asked and he ran his hand up the back of your thigh. "What are you doing?" He could barely hear you and he leaned forward to whisper "I'm delivering on my promise to give you the rest of your birthday spankings. Come here, sweetheart." He took your hand in his and pulled you forward and helped you lay across his lap. You nervously complied, gulping as you laid yourself across his long legs.

He gently and reverently ran his hand across your plump backside. "I want you to count for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?" You nodded your head yes and bit your bottom lip. He saw your hesitation and pulled your lip out from in between your teeth. "What's your safeword Y/N?" You looked over your shoulder at him and whispered "Daisies. "

"Good girl." He praised you and it went right to your core. You moaned out and he began rubbing your butt. "I bet you're fucking soaked for me." He lifted his hand and you winced in anticipation.

He brought his right hand down on your ass with a sharp crack. "One." You whispered. He smacked you again and again, you counting out each time. By the time he was finally finished both of you were breathing erratically.

He helped you stand up on shaky legs. "Lift your arms for me." You did as he asked and he knelt in front of you. He ran his hands up your long legs, bunching up your dress as he went. He noticed the wet spot on the front of your white lace panties and he groaned at the sight of you.

"I fucking knew it. Goddamn." He leaned forward to kiss your mound and your hands automatically dropped down to his hair and pushed him to where you needed him most desperately. "Ah ah ah," he tsked. "Good girls keep their hands up."

You whined and reluctantly did as told. He stood up and pulled your dress over your head. He tossed it to the side and looked you up and down. You shivered, partly from the central air conditioning and partly from the anticipation. You nervously played with the lace edge of your panties.

He reached out and hooked a finger in the edge of your underwear. He pulled them down your legs and you held onto his broad shoulders as you stepped out of them. He kissed your lower abdomen and stood up, "lay down for me on the edge of the mattress and spread those pretty thighs for me baby girl." You did as he said and he groaned at the sight of you glistening in the psle moonlight that was filtering in the room. He dropped to his knees with a heavy thud and his tongue shot out and he licked a strip up your core.

Your back arched off the mattress and you pulled his hair in an attempt to control the out of control feeling as he devoured your pussy. "So fucking sweet." His dirty words had you gasping for air. He sucked on your clit and gently inserted one finger, and then another. All in search of your sweet spot.

He curved his fingers and hit that exact spot. It had you thrashing your head back and forth as he mumbled against your pussy lips," fucking found your sweet spot, I feel you gripping my fingers so fucking tight. You wanna cum for me?" You couldn't speak it felt so good you just barely nodded your head yes. That sent him into overdrive, adding another finger and sucking your clit like it was his last meal. You gripped his head with your thighs, not caring about anything else except your release.

You came all over his face and you collapsed into the mattress a sweaty mess, your hair plastered to your forehead. Your chest rising and falling as you came down from your high. He groaned at the sight of you like that, he began unbuttoning his shirt and he whipped it to the side. You heard his belt buckle as he undid it and tossed it to the growing pile of clothes on his bedroom floor. His jeans came off next, his black boxer briefs barely containing his rapidly growing length.

He shucked his underwear off and spit in his hand as he began to rub it up and down his length. His breathing matching yours as he stroked himself. "Carter, please. I need you." You practically begged him.

"Fuck, " he muttered under his breath. "You sat up on your elbows as you looked up at him. "What's wrong?" You asked hesitantly, hoping that you didn't do anything to make him mad at you. He saw the worried look on your face and quickly assured you that it has nothing to do with you at all. "I don't have any condoms, " he looked down at you sheepishly.

You smiled at him sweetly, "is that all? I'm clean. I'm on birth control. I'm ok with it if you are." You held your breath as he let his breath go. He grinned down at you and crawled into the bed with you.

He kissed your lips and you could taste yourself on his lips. You moaned and he stuck his tongue into your mouth and you met him halfway. You gently guided his massive length to your entrance and he dropped his head into your shoulder and groaned. He gently pushed his full length into you and bottomed out. He began to thrust lightly as you gripped his shoulders, your fingernails digging into his back as he began to pick up speed.

The headboard was bouncing off the wall and you were both grateful that he has no neighbors. He brought his right hand down and found your sensitive bud, he had you gasping against his lips as began to play with you. His hips began to stutter erratically as he was getting close. "I need you to cum for me, Y/N. Cum on my cock. "

You felt yourself getting closer to the edge and he could feel it as you gripped him as tightly as you could and he was pounding into you. Sweat dripping from his forehead onto your bouncing chest. "Give it to me, fucking cum on my cock baby. " You felt yourself fall over the edge and he came quickly after you. He collapsed onto you and he kissed your forehead.

You looked up at him with nothing but love in your eyes for him. He gently brushed the sweaty hair off of your face as he whispered quietly to you in the still of the night, "happy birthday, Y/N. I love you so fucking much. "With tears in your eyes you whispered back to him, "I love you too. With everything I have. "

He rolled you over so you were laying on top of him, he covered you with the blanket and you snuggled into his chest as he wrapped you up in his arms. You put your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat as it lulled you to sleep. You faintly heard him whisper that he loves you and you let the darkness claim you, knowing that he loves you. You drifted off just having had the best birthday ever.

~fin~

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surfinminhos · 10 months

Text

especially in love with you ♡

hwang hyunjin x female reader (fluff)

requested! ---- Lrei

!! fluff au, kissing, mentions of stress, work. 2ND PERSON POV, cuddling, clingy bf, tiny fake text part, everything fluff! microscopic angst part !!

word count: 1,073

synopsis: You and Hyunjin have been dating for 8 months, The two of you haven't parted ways since. One day you went home exhausted from work. He was clearly worried about you and let you sleep for the rest of the night. The next day you woke up to see your boyfriend out of sight. Little did you know, he was planning a little gift to remove a little bit of your stress from work. It was the best gift you'd ever received from anyone. You both love each other dearly, but this day was really 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭.

-author's note: this is my first time writing something like this, ever so you can spot a lot of mistakes throughout my posts. I would love some tips on writing on Tumblr, overall tysm for reading.-

It was a scorching hot day and you were with your boyfriend that was going to drop you off to work. You two usually walked to your workplace every morning but considering the intense heat outside, you both decided that he'll just drop you off to work in his car. It was a pretty short and quiet ride. You both liked the comfortable silence that comes every once in a while. You two reached the workplace, wiping a little sweat dripping down your forehead from the hot temperature. You said goodbye to your boyfriend and kissed his cheek."Why can't you just take the day off and spend more time with me and Kkami?" he asked, frowning. "You know I can't do that Hyune, I have to work. Speaking of work, I gotta go, I don't want to be late. Bye," you kissed his cheek again and sent him multiple flying kisses on the way to your office's entrance. You walk inside your office as a bunch of your colleagues greet you and you greet them back. "Omg, I love you hyunjinnie baby mwa mwa mwa" your best friend, (y/f/n) stated mockingly. "Oh shut up (y/f/n), you're just jealous I dated someone longer than 2 days." you scoffed, making her blush a little from embarrassment. "Whatever, I still don't trust that guy." she ranted. "Well you should 'cause I don't think I can ever leave him," you stated. You organize your stuff as you mentally prepare yourself for a long day of work.

You went home, exhausted. You plopped down on your couch, not wanting to stand up, maybe it was because of the extreme heat, or you were too tired to do so. "Hyune! I'm home!" you exclaimed as you watched your boyfriend run down the stairs to check on you. "Hey jagi, how was work?" he asked as he sat down beside you, looking like a disaster compared to him, it seemed like he had just got out of the shower an hour before you arrived, you were lying down, limbs everywhere. "It was the most tiring 5 hours of my life," you answered. "Missed me?" you asked with a cheeky smile, trying to cover the fact that you were really tired yet failing miserably the moment you heard your boyfriend's response. "Of course I did," he cupped your cheeks as he kissed you. "I know you're tired, stop trying to cover it up jagi, I've made you food, eat up and change into your pj's and I'll get ready to cuddle you to sleep," he instructed."Alriiight, help me get up first," you blurted, causing both of you to laugh as he pulls you out of the couch. After you did everything he told you, you rushed to your shared bedroom and saw Hyunjin laying down in his pj's. He was shocked seeing you've done everything he asked so swiftly. "Staring is bad y'know," you said jokingly. You ran over to the bed and lay down beside him. He tucks you in the blankets, legs intertwined as he cuddles you tightly, while you smile at his actions. "Go to sleep now, dream of me cutie" he smirked, causing you to smile and blush even more as you drift away to sleep.

*bzzzt, bzzzt* you woke up to your phone buzzing loudly, you picked it up and glanced at the time, it was 7:23 in the morning. You grunted as you stretched your arms and saw the empty space on the other side of the bed, your boyfriend had woken up earlier than you. You wonder where he could've gone as you stand up and walk lazily to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After, you hear a sudden *ting!* from your phone, indicating a message. You check your phone and see it was from your boyfriend.

"Hm, I wonder what his surprise would be" you mumble, running down the stairs. Just as you said that, you saw what he meant in the text. He made a lot of paintings, of you. He made a cake for you with something written on top "I love you jagiya!", He made a whole interactive card origami filled with letters for you and your pictures together which takes hours to make. You swore you were going to cry 'cause of all the efforts he gave making all of this. You truly didn't deserve him. He was beside the cake, he flashed his smile at you and you smiled back. "You made all this? For me? Why?" you asked, feeling flustered. "Because I saw that you were exhausted from work yesterday and I wanted to make you feel relaxed since you've been stressed the whole week," he answered. Feeling butterflies in your stomach. You two spent the whole weekend together. If only you could live in this moment forever. Night came, and you two were on the balcony, enjoying the view. "I have told you this a billion times already, but I'll say it again. I love you. So much." you stated, breaking the silence. He smiles at you and lifts your chin up to face him with his thumb, "I love you too, so, so, so much. You're my favourite person ever. 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲." he says, and kisses you under the moonlight.

-END-

-author's note ~ IT'S FINALLY DONE! I sacrificed my sleep for this. send some requests! sorry if it's kinda cheesy, I tried. Stream 5 Star for 5 days of luck-

#hyunjin #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin au #hyunjin fake texts #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #surfinminhos

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strawberryya · 1 year

Text

loving you is so easy

Minghao x reader

request: 13, 14, 28 with Minghao ? I think it would be so cute and funny I can’t

13: “my head hurts.” “that’s just your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.” 14: “Well, my middle finger salutes you.” 28: “Oh god, that was cheesy.”

synopsis: a simple art museum date with your boyfriend along with a very serious arts-and-crafts competition can be exactly what one needs every once in a while.

currently playing: loving you is so easy - HONNE

word count: 2.9k

genre/contains: fluff, mentions of food and headaches, banter and art-talk

rating: sfw, all ages

a/n: helloooo, so I wrote this forever ago and just never posted it TT sorry anon for this slow response!

.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.

It was amazing, you thought, how a person could have something like this existing solely in their head and then make it appear in our reality, visible to not only oneself but many others for many years to come. In front of you, was a field of tiny flowers on a huge canvas. Stuck in time, forever blooming.

“I like this one,” you said longingly.

“I think it captures the sadness of spring very well, it’s good,” Minghao agreed, adding his own interpretation of the painting as well.

You nodded, not wanting to admit that you hadn’t understood the actual concept until he said it and that you had pretty much just liked the pretty colors used in it along with the feeling it gave you. Of course, the sheep did add to it, placed sporadically throughout the landscape filling the inside of the frame.

Beside you, Minghao was standing, now turned to you and grinning behind his mask. His giggly voice startled you in your wandering train of thought, “It’s because of the sheep isn’t it?” he asked. You looked at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly agape behind the mask covering your face.

“How did you know?!”

“You had a goofy smile, you always have that goofy smile when you see something cute that interests you,” he said, still giggling as he explained.

“You can’t even see my face Hao!” you exclaimed, wondering how the hell he had been able to read your mind like that.

“It’s the same expression you have when you look at me most days…” he teased and turned his gaze back to the framed canvas.

Giving him a small bump to the side you too turned back to the flower field. “So annoying,” you mumbled, “but yes… I like the sheep…”

This time it was you who got a small bump to the side, and as you stabilized yourself Minghao bent his head just enough to be able to bump his head with yours. There was no way you could hold onto your forced pout any longer after that. In response, you unraveled the arms you had crossed and let them drop to your sides, the one closest to Minghao’s open and welcoming hand reaching over discretely and embracing it, intertwining your fingers with his and feeling him squeeze your hand.

You knew what he meant by it, and the butterflies in your tummy fluttered up and warmed you up from the inside.

The next painting was one that Minghao knew more about. Apparently, it was rather famous, and he spoke about what he knew about the artist and how they were one of the people reimagining how to use the mediums popular during that time. When he was done with that one you continued over to a much bigger canvas, portraying some kind of mermaid. She was rather beautiful you thought, and when you said so Minghao agreed wholeheartedly.

“She is beautiful, but she also seems so unfulfilled, something in her eyes seems to be longing for something,” he said, articulating things you had only felt but not seen clearly until then.

You nodded thoughtfully, “At first it looks like she’s staring at the audience, but the more you look the more her gaze seems so distant like she sees right through us and past us into something we can’t even fathom,” you continued, and Minghao seemed entranced by your words, listening to you figuring out what the painting meant to you.

The two of you continued like this for hours, wandering through the giant rooms decorated and embellished to match the frames and art they housed. Some of the paintings made you reflect and speak about what it could mean. Minghao had more knowledge than you ever thought possible about some of them and you listened to everything he had to tell you about what you were looking at.

Other paintings you both just looked at, and some you found hilarious. The ones with owls were especially funny to you for some reason, so every time you saw one either in the background of the painting or smack dab in the middle, the person who noticed it first exclaimed a hushed kind of “Owl!” and the other then has to respond with a “Hoo,” and of course, the other is required to say “No, it’s just an owl I don’t know it by name,” making you both giggle and move quickly away from the turning heads wondering what was so funny about the picture that it had you two laughing your lungs out.

The day had been passing like this and you were starting to feel tired from it all, a headache making its way to your head, causing you to lose more and more interest in the beautiful art all around you.

“My head hurts,” you said, rather emotionlessly, as you stared at an abstract painting mainly in primary colors that looked a lot like a pile of messy blobs to your tired eyes.

Minghao assumed you were joking and commenting on the painting and decided to take another playful shot at your statement.

“That’s just your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity, don’t worry too much about it,” he said, bumping your arm to rile you up and make you fire back your usual retaliations.

However, you just shook your head, “Hao, I’m serious. It’s pretty bad,” you said as you looked at him, your ailments showing in your eyes; at least to his eye, trained to spot any and all things going through your mind through your face.

“How long has it been this bad?” he said, his tone shifting into very worried and cupping your face in his hands.

“It’s been creeping up on me but I didn’t think it would become this bad,” you admitted, making Minghaos eyebrows knit together in worry.

“Come on,” he said, taking your hand in his again, leading you away from the art in the big rooms, “let’s see if water and food will help, and if it doesn’t we just go home.”

The theory of you being mainly dehydrated and crashing with your blood sugar was proven correct when you began feeling better immediately after you got something in you along with an entire bottle of water and a second one that Minghao told you that he would be carrying around for the rest of the day just so that this wouldn’t end up happening again.

When you were done and just sitting and chatting about this and that, the headache was pretty much gone altogether, which was a huge relief since you had wanted to try out a thing they had at this particular museum that you two hadn’t gotten to yet.

“Should we just wander a bit more and see if we can find something interesting in the ancient sections, or would you rather we start heading home? We could always order in and have a movie night,” Minghao proposed, trying to figure out how you saw the rest of the day going.

“I actually had a thing in mind that I’ve wanted to do this entire time,” you said, shocking Minghao who had no idea you had something up your sleeve that he didn’t know anything about.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise!” you said with a sly smile.

.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.

You had figured out exactly where the location was when you got to the museum that morning, waiting for the right time to bring him there and surprise him, but walking around had been too much fun that you had kept waiting for the right moment, and here it was.

In the room you had just entered stood multiple tables set out, some smaller and some bigger, perfect for groups and couples with any number of people. There were children and their parents, couples of all ages, and a couple of friend groups set up at the tables all around the studio. On the empty tables were just simple placemats laid out, waiting for someone to come around and create their art above them.

Art, yes, art was what you came here for. However, there wasn’t only art made by professional artists in this particular museum. There was also this art that was being made here every day, a new stream of creativity coming alive within this place of ancient relics thorugh ordinary people.

When you had seen the info about it on their website you had immediately decided that it was something the both of you had to go try out.

“What do you think?” you asked excitedly, almost jumping in your spot waiting for his reaction.

“Are we going to make something?” he asked, still not sure where you had led him.

You nodded, “They have this workshop a couple of days every week and you can choose what you want to do, you can paint with a bunch of different mediums and you can even paint pottery if you want!”

“Okay, alright, that sounds fun,” he said, looking around the room and the many shelves showing previous visiting artists’ work along with all the materials and tools available for the people coming there to use.

You were smiling and almost skipping into the room with Minghao after you, “I wanna paint on pottery!” you told your boyfriend.

“Oh, you’ve already decided? Hmm, what should I do then?”

With renewed energy, you saw your chance to get back at him for his comment earlier about you being an idiot, and you knew you had to take your shot.

“Give up. Because you will never make something prettier than the cup I’m going to make.”

It wasn’t a perfect comeback, nowhere close to perfect, but you still felt smug knowing he hadn’t expected you to return to the regularly scheduled teasing so soon after having miraculously recovered through inhaling some water. However, he was glad, which was evident in the way his face crinkled up showing you once again his cheeks rising and crinkling his eyes and telling on his mood while he slowly put up his hands in fists.

You knew immediately what he was doing when he began slowly backing away while spinning one of his hands, keeping the other still with the back facing towards you as his middle finger slowly rose to flip you off

“Well, my middle finger salutes you,” he said in a teasing tone you both used way too often.

He was about to back into a table when he turned around while you were both still laughing over your combined childishness.

“It’s on!” he exclaimed as he went to gather the tools he was planning on using and you headed off to do the same before you both convened at a table for two.

You with everything you needed for painting your premade mug ready to color however you pleased, and he, with a tiny canvas and a bunch of different paints and brushes that were placed next to the brushes you had brought.

“Let’s begin,” you said, receiving a wink back from Minghao making you frown in a ‘don’t use those cheap tricks on me mister’ kind of way.

The next hour or so was spent by the two of you deeply concentrated on your separate projects, occasionally looking up from whatever you were doing to try and catch a sneak peek of what he was working on. Of course, he caught you every time, snickering about how you were so incredibly mischievous.

When you felt somewhat satisfied you looked up only to meet Minghaos eyes curiously watching you. The side of his face was being hit so exquisitely beautifully by the warm sunlight shining in through the window beside your table. You were stunned for a moment before you could form a proper question.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Not too long,” he said and smiled brightly.

You squinted at him suspiciously, “And you’re done already?”

“I am,” he said and nodded, not removing that grin from his face for a single second. It made you wonder what exactly he was planning on doing.

“Who should start? Also, how do we decide on the winner?” you asked, now increasingly curious to see what he has been working on this entire time, but still intent on winning over him in his own sport.

“You can start if you want.”

“Fine, I’ll start. But only because I’m super nice,” you said with a very sarcastically morally righteous tone lacing your voice.

“And because you love me,” Minghao added.

“...and because I love you,” you admitted, rolling your eyes while his eyes revealed how his smile became even bigger than before.

“Anyways, I made this mug. It has pink clouds up here, and then we have green moss down here along with these tiny pink and yellow flowers,” you began and Minghao listened and watched your show and tell with much interest, “and then… sheep.”

You reached the mug over to Minghao so he could take a closer look at the dozen or so sheep grazing the wide moss fields on the surface of your mug.

“The sheep are the best part, I won’t lie to you,” he said after inspecting them for a while, “however, the pink clouds and the green moss are very visually appealing too, very interesting choice… may I ask why you chose those two in particular?”

You chuckled, he sounded like one of the food critics on master-chef, without the iconic Gordon Ramsey vocabulary and accent that is, and now he was dissecting your mug art.

“I don’t wanna say…” you said while trying to avoid eye contact with the man currently in possession of your prized art.

“Why?”

“Because it’s too cheesy okay!” you admitted, making Minghao smile a wide smile underneath his mask.

“Please tell me anyways.”

You hesitated but decided to just tell him instead of having him bother you about whatever they could’ve meant in the future.

“It’s because… you make everything feel like pink skies and green moss okay!”

There was a moment of silence, and then he chuckled, you opened the eyes you had closed as you said the words, cringing at your own sappiness.

“Oh god, that was cheesy.”

“See! I told you!”

He laughed again, seemingly loving how embarrassed you were over having made it thinking of how he made you feel every day.

“I like it though, it’s really cute if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t acknowledge what he had said, just desperate to move on and forget about it as quickly as possible.

“Okay, your turn!” you hurried to say, bringing the focus over to what he had been making.

“You ready?” he said. You nodded and he turned around the canvas, showing you some kind of an abstract mess of colors. It was reminiscent of a galaxy, you thought as you studies his work.

“I like it… but I can’t really tell what it is…”

Minghao’s face crinkled up with a wide grin at your confession, “It’s a feeling,” he said and chuckled.

You tipped your head to the side, deciding that maybe a new angle would make you understand the feeling he had portrayed better. It did not. You liked it a lot, you really did, but you could not for the life of you put your finger on what emotion he had made.

“I’m sorry baby, I just cannot figure out what feeling. You’re gonna have to tell me before I lose my mind.”

“It’s the feeling I get when I look into your eyes,” he explained, staring right into your eyes and seeing you become all flustered at his words.

“How dare you! How dare you call mine cheesy when you had this planned all along!!” you exclaimed angrily.

Minghao couldn’t help but laugh at your aggression toward his loving revelation. You began pouting, crossing your arms, and turning your head away from him while muttering under your breath. “I despise you,” knowing he would see through your charades as soon as you said it.

“Oh, you know you love me,” he said in a smug voice as he continued finding your actions highly amusing.

“So what if I do?” you retorted.

“If you do… we can agree that your beautiful mug won our little competition,” he said, his demeanor telling you he was smirking under his mask, knowing you would admit and take the win.

“I just have to admit that I love you?”

“Yup.”

“...I love you,” you said, feeling hot as you said it, his gaze so loving and warm and stuck on you the entire time.

“And we have a winner, your gorgeous sentimental sheep mug has taken the first prize making the boyfriend end up in a lonely second place,” he proclaimed, making a cheering ‘woo’ sound as well.

You decided it was only fair that you joined in, bowing in your seat and repeating “Thank you, thank you, everyone,” as you held your first-place winning mug in your hand.

When you were both done with your ceremony you put up your art on the shelves, deciding that you wanted to leave your artwork there along with the many people who had left theirs there before you. You placed them together so they would always stay by each others’ side and left the studio.

.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

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