#and then that domestic fluff better continue to the next book

[greetingfromthedead]

Little Feet (Dad!Vash x F!Reader)

Plot: After you save humanity, you start living your happily ever after and a year after your wedding, a whole new chapter begins in your life as you and Vash navigate through the trials and tribulations of having children of your own.

Series: Loose continuation of Wedding Bells

Pairing: Vash x F!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: post-Trimax (no major spoiler), domestic fluff, happy ending, pregnancy, birth, children, play pretend, family fluff

Word count: 2.1k

Author's Note: I've seen so much wonderful Dad!Vash fanart lately, I fell in love so hard and Dad!Vash just lived in my head rent free for like 4 days.

Not even a year after your beautiful wedding, you pulled aside your handsome husband and told him the news—he would become a father. It struck him like lightning from the clear blue sky. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes wide open, and it made you feel nervous, but soon the surprise got replaced with a wide smile and tears welling up in his eyes. He felt a rush of overwhelming joy and excitement.

"Are you sure?" he asked nearly breathlessly, and you nodded with a smile.

You guided the hand you held in yours to your belly, not yet showing any obvious signs of a baby bump. His fingers sprawled ever so gently over your skin, giving it a gentle stroke.

"Oh, honey," he said quietly, not even able to hold back the tears anymore as his other hand cupped your cheek and he leaned in closer. His lips tenderly brushed yours, and you felt the wetness of his cheeks. The man, usually so well versed in words and comebacks, was suddenly all out. Like the language itself failed to provide him with the correct words that would come even close to expressing the enormous feelings swelling in his chest. He knelt before you, looking up into your smiling face before directing his attention to near your belly button.

"Hello, little one!" He said softly, and the tone of his voice brought prickling tears to your eyes too. "I hope you can hear me. I'm your dad!"

The next few days, he was almost like in a trance; often, you found him looking at your belly, either sneaking little glances or staring from across the room. Every chance he got, either when cuddling you or holding you near, his long fingers would reach for your stomach, even just a little bit, creeping over from your waist, unlike they did before. You started to think he might be under the impression that he had dreamed it all up.

"I think they liked it when you spoke to them," you said casually, not really basing your words off of anything other than you definitely enjoying his voice. It's like a light bulb went off in his head, the wondrous glimmer appearing in his eyes when he looked up into yours. After this, he started spending a lot of time blabbering all sorts of nonsense to your unborn child, talking about the day and the world outside, some of the adventures you went on together, and even fairy tales Rem had told him. He often pressed his ear to your belly and kept talking. You loved listening to him, even when you pretended to read a book. You would gladly let him curl up next to you and rest his head against your skin. His soothing voice spun stories as you ran your fingers through his black hair.

As time kept going and your belly grew, you couldn't help but notice a new kind of fear appearing in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but you have been his unwavering partner for years. You were by his side when he had to face down his own brother and all his goons. Yet you had never seen this kind of terrified expression on his face before. After some gentle prying, he opened up about all his fears and worries. You talked for a long time that night.

"I know you, I dare say, better than anyone else. I know you have nothing to worry about; you will do your best like you always do. You will try, and even when you fail, you will try again. You don't ever give up, and you have so much love for everything and everyone in your heart. Any child would be happy to have you as their dad! I don't know what I'm doing either; there's a first time for everything, but what is one more adventure for the two of us?"

"You have always had so much faith in me. I don't know how I have ever earned it, my sweet blossom," he sighed deeply as his fingers gently squeezed yours.

"I'm not the only one." You pulled his hand closer and placed it over a spot on your lower belly, and Vash's eyes widened as the worry in them melted away. The baby, apparently just as leggy as their daddy, decided it was the perfect time to start dancing the jig. They kicked out hard enough that it would be the first time your beloved husband got to feel them too.

"Hey, darling!" Vash called out to the child with glee, and his other arm wrapped around you to pull you into a hug, the human hand still resting on your bump. In just a moment, the child filled him with unimaginable joy again, and the world fell away. It was just him and his little family.

As your due date approached, Vash started to dote even more. He did all the chores and fluffed your pillows; he became your butler and your nurse. Whatever you needed, he did it and more. All his fussing started to get on your nerves when he nearly always hovered somewhere nearby. It felt like a bruise on your ego, like he didn't believe you could manage on your own. You chased around bandits for years before even meeting him, not to mention the journey you embarked on together, and you took on the greatest threat humanity has ever faced with him. You handled yourself then, and suddenly he makes you feel like a bedridden weakling. But every time you voiced your displeasure, he looked like a wet puppy, and you realized he does it just as much for himself as for you. He has more confidence in you than himself and feels like making your life as easy as possible is the least he can do for the mother of his child.

The birth of his first child meant everything to Vash. For his whole life, blood and pain have chased him like a shadow. For so long, it meant little more than death and suffering, but then his daughter was born. After seeing you go through long hours of painful contractions where he could do little more than rub your back and let you squeeze his hands so hard, he couldn't feel either of them in the end, it changed. Accompanied by your pain and blood, she arrived, and as her cry filled the room, the whole world shifted for him. With a sigh of relief, you fell backwards against him. Moments later, the tiny, naked bundle was laid against your bare chest. You felt tears falling onto your shoulder as Vash looked to see the little baby in your embrace. His long arms wrapped around you more tightly, and he rested his head against yours, his eyes so filled with love for his two favorite girls.

He turned out to be exactly the kind of loving dad you knew he would be. He didn't shy away from any cry or need. Dirty diapers didn't scare him, and sleepless nights were also no obstacle. He did as much as he could to give you time to recover. You felt constantly exhausted and took the opportunity to nap a lot. The little fussing sounds stirred you from your slumber, but as you cracked open your eyes, waiting for a louder cry to echo through the whole house, you saw Vash getting up from the armchair by the window and going over to the crib. You hadn't even realized he was in the room with the two of you, so you quietly watched him as he reached down to pick up the infant. The baby scrunched up in her little onesie as she was lifted to be against your husband's chest. One arm cradling the baby, he gently strokes over her belly with the fingers of the other hand. He gently bounced the child and hushed her, soothing the fussiness. His eyes were so tender as he watched her closely, the tip of his nose nearly touching the child's. You tried to be as still as you could, quietly watching the two of them. The baby's eyes are bright blue, but they could still change. You are sure she inherited his sharp nose, but the lips look more like yours. You compared the dark tones of their hair as Vash noticed your gaze and gave you a blinding smile before coming closer. He sat next to you on the bed and leaned closer as you reached out your hand to gently stroke the baby's cheek.

"No! That's not how you have a tea party! Princesses sit at the table! They don't run around!" You hear the complaints of your eldest daughter coming from the next room over. They are quickly followed by tiny running footsteps and giggling.

"Oh! Thank you! I had just run out of tea!" Vash speaks gently before making slurping sounds. "It is very tasty! Is it jasmine? More tea? You have my thanks!"

"Dad! You're encouraging it." the older daughter sighs, accompanied by the giggling of her younger sister.

You zip up the onesie of your youngest sprout before picking him up and heading out of the bedroom. You see Vash and your older daughter sitting at a kid sized table on little chairs, meaning your husband has pulled up his legs tight against his chest in a manner that does not look comfortable, but he doesn't let it show in the least. They sit next to each other with their toy cups in hand, pretty pink tiaras on their heads, and pearls around their necks. The two dark haired beauties look prim and proper while your toddler runs around the table with the teapot, filling the cups of each and every stuffed animal with pretend tea.

"Might there be room for another princess and a well-behaved prince?" You ask gently and draw the attention of the rest of your family.

"Mommy!" the toddler drops the teapot and runs over to hug your leg tightly. You gently pat her head, and she looks up again before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the table.

"Sir Whiskers, may I sit here?" You ask the large stuffy before settling next to it beside Vash, who leans closer to sneak a glance at your tiny son. You're sure the baby will drift off soon; he has inherited his ability to snooze in any position and environment from his dad.

"May I offer you some tea, my lady? Perhaps some pastries too?" Vash asks with a flourish as he presents the teapot he picked up from the ground.

"If you would be so kind!" you say seriously as you pick up a little teacup from the table.

"Finally! A proper lady!" Your oldest seems to be cheering up.

"My honored princess, you look as radiant as ever! You must introduce me to your seamstress!" You bow your head to the kid. "And the rambunctious madame seems to be in a hurry to try all the different teas and cakes presented by our kind hostess!"

The toddler has resumed running around the table, this time with a pink plate in her hand. The seemingly endless energy and happiness also remind you of someone very dear to you.

"What an honor it is to be among such prominent and beautiful guests!" Vash says while holding the teacup, the pinky finger straight in the air as he bows his head to everyone around the table, including your middle child.

"Yes, princess dad, it is a beautiful day to spend with other princesses drinking tea!" Your eldest announces, seemingly in her groove again, "I am glad princess mom could make it too!"

You played for a while, the tea party became a doctor's office, there were bandits at some point, and aliens weren't left out either. Vash picked up the slack where you weren't able to keep up because of your son still snoozing in your arms. He played the roles of patient, goon, and sheriff and improvised some spoons as antennae when he embodied an alien. He put his whole heart and soul into playing with his daughters, making sure they both got to shine and be happy. The play was only interrupted by the little prince waking up and demanding something more nutritious than pretend pastries. Vash helped you on your feet again and gave you a kiss before ushering the girls into the kitchen to get started on dinner while you headed back to nurse your son.

Author's Note: I didn't even really get to write all the ideas I had so part 2?

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

#trigun #trigun maximum #fanfiction #fanfic #vash the stampede #x reader #humanoid typhoon #plant boi

[hanafubukki]

After having a talking with the resident father-son expert (mumble 💞🌺), what the fuck do you mean that Lilia never referred to Silver as his son?!? And the closest we had was him acknowledging that he raised him??

You’re telling me that he basically put a boundary between himself and the diasomnia boys??

With malleus, the boundary is the title he has and the guilt he couldn’t save his parents.

With silver, not only is he a human but you get the additional (probably, child of the enemy) he didn’t want to take away or lower the love of his birth parents.

With sebek, not his kid obviously, but his friend’s and her child’s kid that he trained.

Lilia freaking Vanrouge, we have to have a talk.

No wonder Sebek is the only one able to express himself because Baul never had trouble saying his thoughts and I image sebek’s parents were the same.

But the two kids you raised?? Mentored? Who look up to you??

Silver and Malleus?? Well, no wonder they have trouble saying their feelings and expressing themselves healthily when you are the same way.

We learn from those that we love, and this is something they have learned from you!

#hanas thoughts #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #twst analysis #I swear if we don’t get a group hug or some big family domestic healing at the end I’m going to riot #and then that domestic fluff better continue to the next book #Hana is feral this morning probably #because of lack of sleep again lol but I have thoughts to write down and so sacrifices must be made #twst devs if you can hear me through telepathy you better know I am threatening you for fluff and it better be fluff that’s worth it or I #swear to the great seven that I’m coming after toh

[thewriterg]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

pairing(s): jj maybank x gn!reader, pope heyward x gn!reader

summary: You lived for the moments you spent with your boyfriends the parties and the treasure hunting was nice but nothing beat the warm nostalgia of tangled limbs and sweet kisses in the bed bathing in the obx sun

word count: 500+

request: Hi, so some time ago I read your imagine between Pope, JJ and reader and I just thought it was incredible, because most of the time a poly couple is shown, it's two people giving love to one person, yours already showed the love between the three <3 So in that same JJ x Pope x reader dynamic, imagine where they're just in bed, just woken up from an afternoon nap and are simply cuddling in the warmth of the covers. Thank you, bye- @lovers-rockkk

warning(s): fluff, kisses, sweet short domestic, pet names, polyamory themes, and I think like one swear word

A/n: —GIF;— I can not tell you how happy it makes me when someone notices the few extra steps I to take to make my fics better thank you for the appreciation love it made me feel great <3 Also I have a surprise for you guys at the end of this so read all the way through!!!

You felt yourself begin to stir the feeling of the sun engulfing your figure that wasn’t covered by the duvet of your bed gave you a welcoming invite to blink the sleep from your eyes but you were quickly met with admiring brown eyes staring back at you

“Well good morning” You softly smiled voice soft and raspy from sleep as you stared at the rich skinned boy in front of you immediately throwing an arm over his slim waist you often teased him with your compliments it made his face hot and he was often bashful when you said the things you did especially about his toned stomach

“my pretty baby and his little waist”

“men and their slutty waist”

“we’ll look at you” you said while wrapping your around his torso pressing your face against his back

“Morning dove” Popes voice was almost the same as yours, raspy but it was less than normal letting you know he was probably up for a while before you silently moved not wanting to wake up the blonde next to you to straddle the brunettes lap as he watched you with a small smile as the sun kissed you through the blinds

You leaned down on Popes chest your bottom half still resting on his lap as you prepped small fluttering kisses on his neck traveling to his jaw as his warm hands traveled over your hips and lower back

You both stayed like that for a wild sun and love drunk In each others embrace warm and comfortable no worries of the outside world just yet… no gold, no running for your life, no gunshots, no pogues just them.

“Did you save any for me? You guys are mean” JJ groaned out a whine stretching as you both looked over to the blonde who were barely awake looking and searching for affection and you smirked widely while Pope chuckled quietly under you

“Come on Goldie” You couldn’t conceal the smile from your face while the dark skinned boy under you opened his arm out to take the blonde in and JJs ears perked up at the familiar nickname not wasting a second to crash into Popes side as he playfully groaned before kissing his temple

You sprawled out on top of them both with a over exaggerated sigh as the both chuckled before pressing a kiss to the corners of blondes mouth as he lied there in content letting you continue your acts of assault kisses to his face as you did Pope

“I think we should just stay in, hell we can put John B on hold for a day” The pale spoke up breaking the peaceful silence that fell over you all after you had settled and you hummed in agreement while Pope turned to scoop you both up in his arms a sigh that leaving the bed soon was very unlikely

You would forever persevere the love in these moments

💌💌💌💌

So I’ve started a book on Wattpad! It’s called “don’t go chasing waterfalls”

Its about a girl named Bonnie Sonnet and her group of friends follow the conflict and consequences after leaving Pouglandia in search for El dorado. How will her two certain best friends react when she makes empty promises for when this is all over? They were destined to make her keep said promises.

JJ and Pope are both love interests while also pinning over each other so if you like fics like these you’d definitely like it so you should check it out!

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x pogue!reader #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward x you #pope heyward x y/n #jjpope #jjpope x reader #romance #fluff #fem!reader #male!reader #gn!reader #pogues x reader #poly relationship #polyamorous #i love you #thewriterg #2023

[skiesofrosie]

sometimes, it's hard to be good

pairing: joe liebgott x reader

genre: fluff, conversations about life

a/n: horrendously self-indulgent, but i hope you enjoy.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I don’t think I’m a very good person,” you blurt.

“The fuck?” Joe says, confused.

It weighs on your shoulders like a stack of bricks, a truth that sends your mind into a frenzy. Joe noticed it a few days earlier, the way you started to cook, and wash the dishes, despite the half and half system you both have. The letters you sent to check-in on old acquaintances, despite them having never bothered with you. Your choice of books, a sudden affinity for self-help that you shove into your most hidden shelves.

“Are you having a fuckin’ identity crisis or somethin’?” Joe stopped you, just as you were about to take care of both his and your laundry for the third time that week. “Or do I pick up the chores too slowly, ‘cause I can do better.”

“No! No!” You said, a little flustered, then laughed to cover it up. “I’m just doin’ it all ‘cause I care about you.”

He kissed your forehead then, a little unsure. Truth be told, the overcompensation stems from the lack of doing enough–or at least, feeling like it. Joe is your other half, and he picks up well on his half too. If you cook, he will clean. If you do laundry once, he’ll take care of it next (even if he tends to mix the whites and the colors). But the insecurity seeps into your head like poison, the misbelief now running through your blood, and it makes you shoulder more than you actually can.

You slowed down too, because you realized the need to feel like a good person is inherently selfish. To really be good comes from the choices you make, and sometimes, the greater good requires you to be the villain.

Right now though, that’s all mixed up in your head, which means you feel like a piece of shit.

“Where’d ya get that idea?” He asks, now setting Dick Tracy down to pay you full attention. “Is someone tellin’ ya that shit? ‘Cause I’ll kill a–”

“It’s me,” you interject, shaking your head as you slap your book to your chest. “That's what I think.”

Curiosity washes over, as he furrows his eyebrows together and stares at you as if you’re dumb. The both of you are sitting on your balcony, the sun shining streaks of light across his face, and you wonder if you’re worthy of a man as strong and beautiful as him. 

The summer today is glorious, a little sweat trickling down your temples, but better than the way your nose freezes in the winter. Joe and you have made this a routine every Sunday, afternoons spent outside in each other’s company, to catch up on some reading. Your little apartment faces the San Francisco life, and even if the stench of running gas is discomforting, it’s still home. For Joe, it’s homeostasis; a reminder that the war is now behind him, and the domesticity you both have always dreamed of, is now real.

Today though, in the pits of your overthinking, you’re hardly reading the words as you scan the pages.

“Hey,” he gently probes. “What’s goin’ on up there?”

His fingers are creeping towards yours fiddling with each other on your lap.

“I,” you start, but find it difficult to reason. When his hand slips into yours, squeezing it in encouragement, you continue, but not without a sigh. “I found a photo from when we were in high school, and…I realized how many of them I don’t talk to anymore. Friends that have drifted apart, friends that I’ve cut off, or they’ve cut me off. It got me thinking, really thinking, about all the decisions I’ve made, all the people I’ve loved and lost, all the mistakes I’ve made and it all crashed down on me like I hit a brick wall head-on with your cab.”

You stop mid-thought, paying a good look at him listening intently to you, eyes a twinge downcast.

“It made me think that maybe I’m not doing enough, or I’m doing nothing right. That I’ve been selfish, and I have this urge to uproot my entire life and start afresh,” you finish.

He looks into the distance, fingers still entwined with yours as he collates the rush of thoughts. It makes his heart ache to know that you feel this way, because to him, the world owes you for your kindness. But he admires the way you know when it’s time to abandon your good and patience, because it fails to be returned.

“Joe?” He hears you call.

He speaks. “If that’s your logic, than all of us are fuckin’ shitheads.”

You gawk at his response, sputtering, “what do you mean?”

“Sweetheart,” he says, then turns to you unflinchingly. “I spent three years shooting Krauts just ‘cause I could. I did what I was told, convinced myself that I’d be doing the world a favor. Those were actual fuckin’ choices I made, and now I have to live with ‘em in my head.”

“But,” you say, “those people were shooting at you Joe.”

“Not all of ‘em,” he says, shaking his head. “Not all of ‘em.”

A silence falls over you both. It never occurred to you how difficult it is to actually be good–to make the right decision all the time. Even the sun, with its daylight to the skies, streaming into people’s homes to wake them up for another day, blinds you if you look at it for too long. It burns when you get too close, blazes ‘til there’s a drought.

We are all made up of imperfections, after all.

“We fuck up,” Joe adds, quietly. “Hell, we fuck up with each other too, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you smile, “you caused all my whites to go pink last week.”

“Hey,” he lets go of your hand to smack you. “I bought ya your favorite cookies at Betty’s to make up for it!”

You can’t help the laugh that breaks loose of you, despite the heaviness in your chest. In an infinite list, one of the reasons you love him is his ability to pull you out of your own mind, and make you laugh ‘til tears pool in your eyes. 

“Seriously though, we ain’t bad people just ‘cause we fuck up. We’re shitheads if we don’t try to do better,” he says, his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles. He throws his other hand up, the comic falling onto the ground. “I try everyday to be a better fuckin’ person, but I slip up. You will too. But at least ya try, you know?”

You know he’s right. Like the chocolate cookies he bought for you to make good on the clothes he ruined; like the moments you apologize to each other in petty fights, and figure out a way to make things better–even if you falter, all there is to it, is taking the next step. So even if you still worry, you can at least do that. And what better than to have Joe Liebgott by your side, a man who will never speak anything less than the truth.

“Baby steps, right?” You nod.

He nods, standing up, walking to you and pulling you to your feet. He slips his arms around your waist, as you cross yours behind his neck, pecking you once, twice, and you’re about to make out with him on your balcony–

‘Til a blaring honk from the road makes you jump apart.

“Fuck!” He yells at the road, and you wince, but with amusement. “I’m tryna get some, okay!”

This time you swat at his shoulder, as he guffaws, starts leaving kisses on your neck. You melt into him.

Baby steps, definitely.

“Oh and sweetheart,” he breathes against your skin, and you hum. “You’re the best fuckin’ person I know on this planet.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

@she-wolf09231982 a little snippet of Joe :D

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott

[bellaxgiornata]

Masterlist of Bella's Michael Kinsella Fics

Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Series

Safe Haven [Chapter List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; series contains violence, hurt/comfort, domestic abuse mentions, angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, friends to lover

Contracted to work on your next novel, you leave the States and move in with your sister in Dublin in hopes of a quieter, peaceful place to work on your writing. And somewhere safe to hide. But you weren't expecting to meet your sister's attractive and curious neighbor, the one fresh out of prison–Michael Kinsella. And you certainly weren't expecting to become his safe haven, or for him to become yours–especially when your past eventually finds you.

She Lit a Fire [Chapter List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; series contains smut, mostly fluff but some angst, and pregnancy

It's been nearing six months since your mother passed and nothing about your fast-paced life feels right anymore. Not knowing what else to do with the inheritance left to you, you quit your job on a whim and book a few weeks stay at a seaside cottage in a small town in Ireland. Unsurprisingly, you're quickly drawn to the handsome bartender at the local pub who curiously doesn't drink–and who also happens to live just down the beach from your cottage. The pair of you end up in a whirlwind romance, but when it comes time for you to leave, Michael is crushed when you refuse to continue things. Though you're certainly surprised to find yourself Stateside two months later pregnant with his child.

I Can't Lose You [List of Installments]

Warnings/tags: 18+; light angst, overprotective Mikey, love confession, smut

The night doesn't go as planned after being tasked by Amanda to seduce a rival drug lord in order to seal the deal for claim to more territory for the Kinsellas. When Michael finds out from his brother what happened, he's not happy with you for following Amanda's orders. Not only is he determined to get revenge on Titan, but he's even more determined to finally get the pair of you out of his family's business.

Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader One Shots

First Thing in the Morning

Warnings/Tags: 18+; nothing but soft and smutty Michael

Michael wakes you up with one thing clearly on his mind.

New Jeans

Warnings/tags: 18+; fluff, dirty thoughts, embarassment, confession of feelings, and Michael’s perfect ass

Tired of the power struggle and constant arguing between Frank and Amanda, you find yourself distracted by Michael’s ass in a pair of new jeans at an early morning meeting. But your inappropriate daydreams are interrupted when you get caught staring.

Whatever You Want

Warnings/tags: emotional hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff, soft Michael

You've been having a difficult year adjusting to your life in Dublin, struggling with a few things that you've kept hidden from Michael so as not to burden him further. Though when he comes home unexpectedly early from a family meeting, you realize he's been reading you better than you'd thought.

Keep Me Warm

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, soft Michael

After Michael cancels your date night because something came up with his family, you're surprised to find him on your doorstep drenched and shivering from the rain.

The Christmas Morning Surprise

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, holiday fluff

On Christmas morning you try to surprise Michael with breakfast, but you what you didn't expect was that he had a Christmas morning surprise for you, too.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella fanfic #kin amc #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella fluff

[dcrelated]

Perfect Fall Day

Summary: literally just domestic fluff, enjoy ♡

Jason Todd x fem reader

——————

It was a cold, rainy autumns day in Gotham. You were in your small, cozy apartment, curled up on your worn leather couch reading a book, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. You had your fall scented candles lit, and you were playing some music for background noise. You had cracked a window or two, wanting to listen to the rain mixing with the busy sounds of the city. The music quietly hums through your apartment.

You were too immersed in your book to hear the door open. Jason walks in quietly. He takes in his surroundings, the warm, orange lighting a beautiful contrast to the misty gray outside. His beautiful girlfriend curled up with a fluffy blanket and book on the couch, soft rock swaying through the air. If heaven exists, this is it. He smiles softly as he makes his way to you. “Hey, gorgeous.” He greets you quietly.

You jump a little, totally caught off guard. “Hey,” you breath out, smiling. “I didn’t know you were coming over.” Jason chuckles, moving to sit next to you. “I wanted to see you, is that so wrong?” He cuddled up next to you, blocking the chilly breeze coming from your window. You smile, returning to you book. “Of course not.”

——————

You and Jason both have your own books now. You’re sat in between his legs as he leans against the arm of the couch. You’ve been like this for an hour or two, enjoying each other’s presence. You put your book down, and lean your head back onto his shoulder.

“Im hungry.” You state, plainly. He chuckles, tabbing the page before setting his book down as well. “And what, pray tell, am I to do about this?” You sigh, dramatically. “Feed me, obviously.” You smile as you kiss his cheek. He hums, unable to hide a bashful smile. “Please, Jay? You’re just so much better at cooking than me.” You’re mostly playing around, but his cooking is much better than yours. He sighs, “fine. But you gotta get up first.” You get up quickly, happy to get your way.

Jason walks over to the kitchen, looking through your fridge and cabinets. “What would you like, my love.” You took some time to think about it. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup, please.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

——————

Once Jason had finished cooking he brought it out to you in the living room. “Thank you.” You give him a quick kiss, before digging in.

The two of you sat quietly, enjoying the warm meal. After you finished, you curled up next to him as he continued to read his book. You couldn’t help but think about how perfect of a fall day this is. Sure going to a pumpkin patch would also be a good fall day, but this is special in a different way. “I love you.” You say, softly.

Jason gives you kiss on the top of your head. “I love you too.”

——————

It’s kind of short but I hope y’all enjoyed ♡

*requests are still open*

#jason todd x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #batboys #batboys x reader #batman #jason todd x you #batboys x you

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

The Boxer Outside the Ring (Tommy Conlon x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Pairing: Tommy Conlon x Florist!Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: N/A, unless we count tooth-rotting domestic fluff as a warning 

Summary: The first time Tommy asked me why I took care of him, mostly by patching him up after each match, I gave him a yellow rose. A few days later I found him immersed in one of Gramps books about the language of flowers. The meaning behind the yellow rose is one of the first he learned and remembered, so he could have given me one today. However, instead he gave me something far more precious.

His company.

His time.

TH Masterlist / Monster Masterlist

Tag list: @buttercup32sstuff @liliac-dreamer @vir-tual @potter-solomons @ilovemanypeople @zablife​​ @hecatemoon87​​​ @alikaheroes

Want to be tagged in the future? Send me a message or leave a comment and I’ll make sure to add ye!

Never judge a book by its cover. It’s a common saying which even applies to a man as distant and closed up as Tommy Conlon.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected much from him aside from a cold attitude and a short fuse. The stories making the rounds at the boxing school have found their way into town, even whispered among the customers when they drop by for a new bouquet of flowers. Various nicknames have been mentioned. ‘Cerberus personified’ is mentioned most. ‘Cú Chulainn incarnate’ is a common reference to the boxer among the Irish community. ‘That chap who helps out on Mondays’, however, is how Gramps used to refer to him before he learned his name.

It was a quite strange Monday about five months ago when Tommy and I first crossed paths. The weekly delivery of flowers had come in alongside an additional order for a couple of new pots. Overestimating my ability, I tried to move a cart laden with the new supplies and package material from the street onto the pavement. I pushed and pulled, but to no avail and the driver wasn’t much use either, continuing to unload the rest of the cargo.

I stiffened when a pair of rough hands appeared at the back of the cart and a gravelly voice told me: “Push it. I’ll pull.”

Without harbouring any expectations, I did what I was told.

And on to the pavement it went. 

Clad entirely in black, an imposing muscular man with eyes as blue as the ocean appeared from behind the cart. I swallowed hard and tried to make myself as small as possible because, while I was grateful for the help, an air of violence hung around him. 

“Need help?” he asked with a gentle smile on his plush lips.

Perhaps that was the moment I started to trust him.

All because of that one smile. 

“Well, if you don’t mind.” After all, it was only me since Gramps had to think about his health.

“Sure.” His expression darkened when he noticed the driver. A flicker of hardly contained anger illuminated his eyes, grown cold and full of an animalistic menace. A chill ran down my spine while I mentally made the vow to never provoke my curious helper.

He walked over to the truck, voice raised so the other man could hear him. “Shouldn’t you have done something? She has to do this by herself and you let her struggle.”

The driver remained silent, chest rising and falling quicker with each step Tommy took towards him. Fortunately, he was the target of his wrath, but I’d be just as mortified had it been me.

“There better be a colleague of yours next week who’s a little more helpful because if I see you one more time, it’ll be the last. Understood?” Tommy leaned in, making use of his imposing stature, to drive his point home twice over . 

Perhaps I should’ve said something, but all I remember feeling was relief. Maybe things would change for the better, at least in the way of being given a little more help in running the shop on my own.

Tommy nodded at the last of the supplies and plants, sitting on the street and waiting to be taken inside. “That’s the last of it?”

“Y-Yes,” the driver stammered, his complexion gone as pale as snow. He looked ready to pass out or, rather, succumb to a heart attack.

“Good. We’ll handle it from here.”

The driver rushed into the truck, started the engine, and drove off as fast as he could.

 Tommy spat on the ground and turned to me. “Ma’am, would it be alright if I help out each week here with the delivery?”

“You’ve only known me for a couple minutes.” I crossed my arms and tried to get a read on him, unsure whether he was serious or pulling my leg. “Why?”

“Because you look like you could use the help. Don’t you have colleagues, ma’am?”

“I only have my grandpa. Tell you what, I’ll let you, but under one condition.”

He narrowed his eyes, chin lifted. “Which is?”

I extended my hand as I walked over to him. “That you call me by my name from now on. I’m Y/N.”

His handshake was firm yet gentle, like he was afraid he’d break my fingers. “Tommy Conlon.”

Since then he’s been helping out every Monday morning. Combine that with a couple of dates, more than once to our favourite bakery for breakfast, and we are where we are.

Five months later, living together in the apartment above the shop.

I cringe as another surge of pain flares up in my abdomen. It truly is great being a woman. Especially the fact that each month you have to experience what Mother Nature won’t give you a receipt for so you can return it. Fortunately, Tommy took over from me earlier today so I could put on my pyjamas and curl up in bed with a cup of tea. 

After a month of unloading the weekly delivery together and gaining each other’s trust, he insisted I’d at least teach him how to use the register. However, Gramps will, as always has been the case in my absence, take care of the actual closing of the shop. It is a shame, though, I won’t get to see the customers being caught off-guard by a hulking figure clad in an apron trying his damn best to remember everything we’ve taught him about flowers and plants.

The bedroom door opens and Tommy walks in, a plastic bag from the local drugstore in his hands. He sent a text earlier saying he'd first do some groceries before heading home. “I got you pads, both for day and night.” 

I pause my series and turn onto my side to face him. Not once has he shown any sign of the discomfort most men display when dealing with tampons and the like. At first, he remained completely silent and let me browse at leisure. Yet, he now pops in the occasional question and throws around inspecting glances as if he is trying to compose a database of information essential to him. 

The mattress dips when he sits down on the edge of the bed. Brow furrowed, he pulls out one of each package. “These are the ones you use, right?”

I nod and rub his forearm. “Yeah, you bought the right ones. Good job, Tommy.”

A relieved smile spreads on his lips. “I’m more observant than you think.” He runs his hand through my hair, features soft. “Need anything? Medicine? Tea?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. These cramps won’t kill me.”

He grabs Bun Bun, the light brown stuffed rabbit he gave me for my birthday recently, and removes the heatable component in its belly. “I’ll be right back.”

Tommy gets up and leaves for the kitchen. Albeit muted by the distance, I can hear him toss the small bag of cherry pits into the oven and the door slamming shut harder than intended. At first it used to annoy me, but I’ve come to accept he simply can’t help it because he’s stronger than he thinks. 

A giggle erupts from my throat as I envision how he tends to look whenever it happens. He’ll hang his head, handsome features contorted into an expression like a kicked puppy. The first time I saw it, it left me baffled for how could a man like him display such fragility? However, now, the only thing I’ll do is smile to let him know it’s okay. After all, he isn’t what the nicknames make him out to be.

He isn’t a cold-blooded monster.

Only a little clumsy outside the boxing ring. Moreover, he carries with him a story he hasn’t even given me a sliver of in the time I’ve known him. But that’s okay.

Sometimes things are better left untold.

I giggle and flip back over to continue watching my series. Tommy comes back a bit later, hastening to the bed while cradling the heat pack. Judging by the sound of velcro bands, Bun Bun gets once again opened up, this time for an implant. 

Blocking out the light with his broad shoulders, he looms over me to tuck the stuffie into my arms. Satisfied that I’m properly tucked in, he hums and runs his fingers through my hair. I briefly close my eyes, snuggle with Bun Bun, and lean into his touch. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long since he climbs off the bed the moment after. 

Unwilling to show my sulkiness, I continue to lie with my back to him. Nonetheless, the sullenness turns into unbridled restlessness at the sound of rustling fabric. I bite my lip to suppress the urge to flip around and watch him change into his pyjamas, to enjoy the sight of his muscles outlined by the light and decorated with tattoos. My fingers begin to itch with the need to trace his back, a pleasure I get to indulge in all year round since Tommy refuses to sleep with a shirt on. To cure the itch, I entwine them beneath the sheets so they can’t go wandering off on the sensual adventure my mind is begging for yet my body refuses with all her might.

The mattress dips again, the duvet ruffling with Tommy’s struggle to get comfortable. Once he is, however, he slips a big warm hand on my abdomen. 

“What’re we watching?” he murmurs, lazily placing a kiss on the back of my head. 

“Supernatural.” I glance over my shoulder. “Have you ever seen it?”

He shakes his head.

“If you want, we can start from the first episode.”

“Nah, don’t have to. This evening is all about you, not me.”

“You sure?”

He snuggles up to me, voice low and gruff with sleepiness. “Just press ‘play’.”

Legs entwined and his sturdy chest pressed against my back, we watch a few episodes. There’s a certain magic in two introverts sharing the same bubble. They are in a world of their own yet able to connect in a way others can’t. Silence is our language and his words tonight wrap me in a familiar cosy and secure cocoon.

It has already gone completely black outside, the moon bright in the sky, when a soft snoring cuts through the sarcasm and old rock songs. Puzzled, I pause the episode to make sure the noise isn’t my laptop breathing its last or in the series. Neither of which seems to be the case since the noise cuts through the silence regardless. 

A displeased grunt falls from Tommy’s lips when I try to look over my shoulder. I let out a breathless laugh, shut down the laptop, and carefully manoeuvre myself to face him and tuck him in. Instinctively, he props himself beneath my chin, nose pressed against my neck and his arms wrapped around my waist to keep us close together. 

I caress his short brown locks and press a tender kiss on the scar on his forehead, an injury he sustained recently in a boxing match. Slowly, my mind grows foggy while my limbs grow heavy with sleep. 

The last thing I feel is the warm breath of a content sigh on my skin.

And the sensation of something soft though firm digging into my chest.

Poor Bun Bun, firmly wedged between us, has lost tonight’s honour of being my favourite cuddle buddy.

#Tom Hardy #Facepuller #Tom Hardy imagine #Tommy Conlon #Tommy Conlon imagine #Warrior

[fandomdaydreamer]

Of a Sun and Flower

Pt. 1 Yesteryear

~

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC, alternating perspectives

Another Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to Pedro Pascal and I hope I'm not offending anybody. Believe me, I grow very uncomfortable from time to time but this fanfiction is supposed to be a real book someday and giving Pedro "the role" keeps me motivated haha, it's really just that (a fictional character) Yes, I'm very selfish and painfully self-aware.

Summary: It is a normal day back in New York. Pedro just tries to be a good boyfriend to a depressed trash gremlin but a fight in trying times makes them doubt they're not toxic for each other after all.

Warnings: some fluff, periods, grief over a pet (No more pets will die in this story, Edgar lives forever), mentions of over-medication, serotonin syndrome, mentions of plastic surgery, domestic fights (resolved in the next chapter) Well, ain’t that a doozy?

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist -here-

Length: 11.6k

~

Yesteryear

Pedro had always found the rain above the bustle of a metropolis to contain the essence of something irrevocably beautiful and mellow.

After living in LA for a year, he discovered he had missed his rainy, melancholy New York; the beauty of grey streets and the disturbance of the puddles beneath your feet as a reflection of one's own sense of solitude. The sight of these strangers' umbrellas and raincoats outside the window was evidence of the stubborn continuation of their necessary errands. Blessed were those currently in the comfort of their home with their loved ones and plenty of time for leisure and tranquillity.

The chair lightly creaked when Pedro swung it in and out the light of an oriental lampshade that shone softly against the impending darkness. He was sitting at the desk in Nini’s office that hoarded many of his unpacked moving boxes for a lack of time and better storage options. His feet were kicked up on a stool while he focused on figuring out the priority deadlines for his upcoming production. Finally, it had arrived, the fulfilment of his dream, his vision of the film he would direct this year and had spend the last in preparation for. The sheer focus was evident by the frown between his brows as he sighed and busied himself with answering an email and brooded over a level of Spanish business tone he wasn't used to and doubted his language skills over. How did he manage to solve the financing on such short notice?

Pedro's mind began to drift again as the distraction of his eyes centred on the thick droplets racing against the colourfully stained glass. He watched them drip, drip down the leaves of a front yard that had been ready for spring. Holding this view to the undesirable outside, he romanticised the moody grey skies above an equally grey city in a cinematic image he yearned to capture with a lazy camera frame. It was quiet, so peaceful.

If it weren't for this darkened presence he could sense in the living room, he might have said it was all perfect. He tried to reach out but attempting to fix this dreary silence would be too harsh on her, too strict. Slowly, like pulling at a loose thread, he held onto the tiniest opportunity to unravel what should be left in peace. Her mood had changed again. Yesterday seemed a whole year ago.

He had become tuned in to his girlfriend's subtle mood swings these days, detected it in the faint creaks of the floorboards where he listened to her weight shift from one side to the other. It was a telepathic link that thickened the air and made him feel powerless.

But what else was there but to look for your constant source of love when you felt like an anxious wreck and on top of that, like you'll never find a friend again such as the one you've lost? He leaned to the side to peek past the paper slide doors and saw her standing there, looking lost and hugging her slim frame. She flashed him a sad smile before going back to staring at the painting on the wall, seeming to simply listen to the silence and the rain tapping onto the giant window panes. Pedro felt overpowered by his inability to contribute any help, yet he was so hungry for her love. Moving back into Nini's house reawakened memories she had tried to initially escape. Fuelled by a surge of compassion, a deep yearning to hold her overflowed him when he saw her clutch an abandoned cat toy in her hand.

Poor thing. The death of her soulmate cat left a void inside her heart. Now the ashes of the cat that used to like making biscuits in his lap rested on the cupboard. A photograph had captured the pitch-black ragdoll in her prime days with its soulful yellow eyes in the arms of a girl who smiled cheekily into the camera. Nothing compared to the love a girl held in her heart for her first cat. After seventeen years of companionship, no treatment could have cured Poentje. Holding onto her former strength that would never return was then, unkind.

The strings of his heart pulled tight at the memory of this darkest of days; when he had stood by her, listening to Nini sing her cat her favourite song when the vet put the animal out of misery and finally, to eternal sleep.

Eventually, life continued, they had moved into his house in LA and for a while everything had been right again. The couple had been in love and happy, Nini had started improving her mental health and both their creativity had bloomed like never before. While he started directing the pre-production of his very first movie, based on the screenplay he had written, Nini’s magnificent music was praised around the entire world and contributed greatly to her sense of self-worth and artistic fulfilment. Entire stadiums had sung her songs, he had witnessed it himself. Pedro would try to see every future concert as well and cry when she closed her shows with his song, ‘The Lighthouse And The Ocean‘ and sang it only for him.

He wished they could have thrived in a constant state of bliss forever but then Nini had become too overwhelmed between gigs, interviews and recordings and the superficial glam of the city of angels. One wrong prescription and dubious therapy method was all it took to destroy all her progress in learning to live with a past life of trauma. He wasn't sure if uprooting Nini while she was in a bad place had been beneficial to her wellbeing but he never regretted his decision. Going home had certainly been necessary and right on time before something worse could happen than a song titled 'A Lethal Dose of Ketamine'.

For a while, she had hated him for taking her away from her studio and her band. In the hight of her withdrawal symptoms, she had accused him of wanting to undermine her with mismanagement. Once back in New York he had rented a new studio for her, flew in her band and made everything right again when she was reunited with her former agent. Olivia had finally relieved Nini of the burden of managing herself, Pedro could give over the reigns he had taken with so much brashness and sigh in relief that their relationship had survived yet another crisis. After all, they loved each other more than life itself and one would have to put him under ground before he'd ever stop prioritising the love of his life. Maybe he had enough real-life inspiration to write another screenplay after this eventful year.

Perhaps it was the faint clacking of fingers typing away at his laptop that brought her back to the present. Pedro couldn't immediately tear his eyes away from his work to acknowledge her when she came creeping into the room on silent polka dot socks but he was hyper-aware of the wave of sadness bustling over the threshold. Their distance never made a difference to him but her absence when she was just an arm's reach away pained him.

Unfortunately but not unexpected, the feeling of relief at the return to the quietness of her house in Pierrepont Street met a black pit of serotonin drop depression. Less potent medication just didn't do the same for a patient with addictive tendencies. Not one single attempt later in finding a new therapist, the only thing Pedro could do was keep a watchful eye on her while simultaneously making the biggest leap of his career.

Looking up to find her standing lost in the doorway, his frown deepened. "You okay?" He finally inquired, his lips forming a hesitant smile.

"Yeah." Nini lied and he waited patiently until she admitted her true condition with a shrug of her shoulders. Truth was she couldn't get used to her late pet not being around anymore but running away from her home and grief had not been a long-term solution.

"Come here." He opened his arm and let her walk into his sitting frame, leaning into her when her hands roamed into his hair and her cheek dropped onto the crown of his head. Her fingers twirled his unruly hair into neater waves, reminding Pedro he hadn't gotten a haircut in months. A multiplied amount of grey streaks adorned the mess of brown curls and a beard he hadn't trimmed in weeks. With his glasses a bit askew and his too long hair perhaps in critical need of a wash, he looked every part like the writer who had locked himself away for a creative period. "Did you take your meds?" He always tried to take care of her first.

She seemed nearly too tired to answer. "I did." "Magnesium and your vitamins too?" "You worry so much." She smiled as she bumped her temple into his.

"You're my girl. It's my job to worry." He stated as a matter of fact, like it was the only thing that made sense to him. He received a pleased hum in return.

"I 'am' your girl." Nini pouted then, grimacing when she lowered herself into his lap. "Ow." She held her tummy before his hand could join and enveloped hers completely. Pedro had great sympathy with her during this time of the month while she still thought of it second. "And you? How's your head?" She asked.

He chuckled and groaned. At least the lampshade was dim enough to soothe his eyes. "Better,“ he answered. “Lux just parties too hard for her old-old brother and hangovers only get worse with age, let me tell you." She pitied him over his miserable tone but he received a satisfactory amount of attention from her for now. Suffering together made the pain half as bad.

She stole a caramel candy from their desk. "Did you know saliva contains opiorphin, a self-produced painkiller?" Nini mentioned, struggling through the chewy sugar. "It's also linked to having an anti-depressing effect associated with comfort eating."

Pedro couldn't keep his tongue in check, pinching her love handles that were coming in nicely. "If you want me to spit into your mouth, just say so..." She let out a loud scoff but she had served him the joke on a silver platter. "Do you want me to get you something?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you, angel." "A heat pad, some tea?" He tried further, resting his broad palm against her lower belly and applying soothing, gentle pressure.

She let him pity the nature of a woman's body for a minute. "I feel a little lost. Can you tell me what to do?" She whined, leaning the entire weight of her body and mind on his shoulders.

"Be kind to yourself, you're hurting." He advised her, hoping that once she realised her body was her own abuser, the feeling of being down got better because... hormones. Normally, once she reflected upon the misfortune that she was just menstruating, her whole perspective changed and the view out of the window seemed to change for the better.

"Remember last year when we were so carefree and only love existed? This feels more like it. I'm glad to be back." The loss of her cat was still an open wound in need of healing and life back in New York was still difficult to adjust to but Pedro hoped day after day that Nini‘s condition would eventually improve and time would leave fewer struggles. Baby steps.

Pedro frowned, remembering realising too late what was happening due to his busy schedule. He hated himself for not reacting sooner. "Yeah, thank you for your cooperation."

“What cooperation?“ She let out a snort but then started to worry again. "Do you think I'm toxic? For you? You're one of the most beloved individuals in the country and I still get hate from two years ago."

He clicked his tongue in objection. "You're not toxic." "-Think I've got you on a short leash." She watched him take a sip of his cold and forgotten tea.

"I wish." Pedro injected dryly and for a moment he thought she didn't get the innuendo.

"Maybe they- oh my g-" Nini chortled, just catching up to where his thoughts had plummeted into the gutter. Her shoulders shook while he maintained a pleasantly oblivious expression.

Their moment of lightheartedness was interrupted by a cramp taking hold of her body. While she whimpered in anger, he tried to soothe her, cradle her and massage the pain away. He only sought to replace the tension with warmth. "I know it sucks, poor baby." He muttered with a kiss to her forehead as she leaned onto his shoulder, saddened at nature and content in finding solace in the comfort in his arm winding around her frame.

"Sometimes Poentje would come and sit on my belly when it hurt." She whined and cuddled further into him.

He searched her eyes. "Maybe you'll find a lost kitten someday and give it a loving home, hm? We'll check every shelter, alley or dumpster in the city."

"No-" Nini sighed. "I never want a cat ever again. She was the only one for me and besides, you're highly allergic, remember?" She stroked his greasy hair against the side of his head.

Pedro grumbled, thinking he'd do anything for her, including suppressing his allergies for another fifteen to twenty years. "I'm sure Poentje wouldn't have wanted you to never take in another pet to love like she received it, a gentle human like you who treats her pet with good care, gives them a lap to sleep in, cuddles and warmth. There are plenty of strays who deserve a home like that. Poentje's bowl, her bed." Tears threatened to spill over the waterline of her eyes at his words but Pedro continued speaking, stroking her cheek to catch a drop before it could stain her freckled skin. "Don't close off your love for someone who doesn't need it any longer. Give it to someone else." He suggested gently, looking down at the scruffy little dog that was currently sleeping on a pillow by his side. "Or give it to Edgar."

The pooch's ears moved at the sound of his name and they smiled down at him. "Yes, he's a sweet thing." She sighed. "I get it. You're a writer, my darling, you're optimistic to a fault." She drew her knees together.

He scoffed out a noise of amusement. "Why would you think that?" Pedro asked with a glance at his laptop, perching his glasses further up his nose with reawakened confusion written on his face.

She tipped her chin at his original script with countless changes scribbled onto the margins, proud of seeing him in the final stages of putting it on screen. She read one of the lines back to the writer himself when she had turned the pages to her favourite scene. "Art will always draw inspiration from life and every aspect of it. It's like all the negative shit becomes manageable simply by translating hurt into a magnitude of kindness. Something we should all strive for." A character she claimed reminded her of himself said in a moment of vulnerability. "Such beautiful words, such eloquent writing, my love."

Pedro clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "How do you know I'm not one of these hopelessly drunk writers who resent reality?"

"Because you're you." Nini gave back in a romantic tone as she gently caught his chin and stirred his face in her direction. Nearly recognising her old self again, he felt himself choke up a bit. She gave him an affectionate little eye-roll at the sappy face he must have been making at her. "I love this story about... the art of noticing. I can't wait to see it on screen. It will be vulnerable, poetic and it will speak so much of your soft side." "I am very proud of my soft side." He claimed with raised eyebrows and a firm grip around her ankle.

Nini chirped out a laugh at him. "Soft eyes." She placed a kiss on his eyelid, which he hummed at. "Soft hands." She kissed the palm of his hand above the green sea glass bracelet and Pedro's gaze melted. "Soft lips." They finally kissed, foreheads still touching as they were serenaded by the rain still pouring outside. Her cheek was soft against the touch of his hand and she tasted of caramel.

His eyes were still closed as he basked in her tender whispers against his lips. "I'm proud of you. And you have a great thing here, I know it." She placed another small kiss there.

"You're sweet." He hummed, still feeling insecure about what the world would think of his movie but never doubting he could disappoint her.

"You know I'll gladly help-" She told him again, but he interrupted with soft tutting and a finger pressed to her cupid bow lips.

"Baby, we talked about this." He dismissed it but she aggressively squished his cheeks between her palms and chose not to listen.

"And I keep saying you can shut up and take my money," Nini replied sternly.

He was overwhelmed at her offer, her faith and generosity striking him yet again. Gently, he took her hands back into his. "I couldn't possibly, querida. We have producers-" She gave him a sceptical look because she knew of their indecisiveness. "I'm willing to bet that Paramount is one stamp away from expanding our budget significantly and most of all, that's 'your' hard-earned money we're talking about." She would practically be giving up what was left of her earnings from her tour. Her generosity knew no limits, no wonder some of her previous boyfriends were able to take advantage of her. He could never, Pedro wasn't planning on using her as a resource. He cringed inwardly at the realisation that he wasn't even paying rent here.

At least they had already agreed to split the costs fifty-fifty once they had bought the new house.

"It's an investment in a promising talent." Nini tried again and now it was his turn to roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little. "I believe in you, we're a team, we're building a future together and I support your career too, you know. This isn't a one-way street." They giggled together but he was shaking his head. "Please just think of it as a joker or a last resort." She begged him again and he bit his lip in hesitation.

He stared at her, long and hard, willing his expression to remain stone while she made cute faces at him. God, he couldn't stand to hold her pleading eyes for even five seconds. "Okay." He drew out, able to deal with this unlikely compromise and her face lit up. "But only as a last option. I'd rather give my right arm than not make it worth your investment, you know that?" She nodded quietly at that, the corner of her mouth twitching in an effort to control her triumph.

He sighed. "What if nobody likes the movie and it's a flop?" "So you'll make another one. But I'm sure this will be phenomenal. I trust your vision and I'm gonna be so proud of you no matter what you do." She smiled softly and booped his nose. Pedro could have started crying. She believed so much in him and he was sure they both thought the other was the cutest person in the entire world. He would always be adjusting to this sense of worthiness she gave him.

Pedro grinned widely and pressed a kiss onto her cheek and neck, rubbing her thigh before she relaxed back into his chest. "What did I do to deserve you?" She squirmed when his rough beard tickled her skin at his whisper.

"You exist, that's enough," Nini replied kindly.

Hearing her say and mean it must have provoked the biggest sense of relief and peace felt by any human being. He was enough. "Well then, let me make it up to you by bringing you that heat pad and ice cream now. No argument." He prompted strictly when he was met with a timid look on her face.

She sniffled, a little overwhelmed and priorities in the wrong place when she directed her feet behind the kitchen counter instead. "Aren't you hungry?" She asked, looking around in a whirlwind on the hunt for condiments that would fit together somehow.

He stirred her into the direction of the couch with a gentle pat on the butt. "No, ma'am, get out of here. I'm calling delivery. C'mon, you can get even away with Chicago pie without my complaints today."

She threw an insulted look back at him. "Would it hurt to call it pizza?" While she settled into the couch with a confused grumble and a content Edgar, he was putting the kettle on but when he saw that she was still in pain, he tried to cheer her up by being goofy and it almost worked. She chuckled at the sight of him dancing in the kitchen to no music, banging random pots with wooden spoons in a wholesome replacement to a set of drumsticks. He pretended he had to quickly go 'downstairs' behind the counter, into the imaginary cellar to get some ice cream. Her giggles came muffled into the couch pillow. "Help." He could make out her words. "No more. Have mercy."

The dog barked at his antics. "Edgar, get him!" She ordered and the little white dog shot from the couch to join him in the kitchen and yip up at him. "Tranquilo." He reminded him and allowed Edgar a treat but failed when his age betrayed him and his back made him fail to come up smoothly. God, he would turn forty-nine this April and he didn't nearly take it as graceful as Nini having turned thirty. Which wasn't graceful to begin with.

He glanced under the lid of the pint in his hand. "We're out of ice cream." He didn't have it in him to ask her why she put only the spoon back into the freezer. Before making his way over to the couch with a tray, he replaced the desired dessert with a few biscuits.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Thank you so much anyway." He tutted at her nonsense and quickly returned with a hot water bottle for her belly to tuck her in properly. "Poor thing. Least I can do. Here you go, baby. Anything else?" She shook her head quietly. "You wanna watch The Mummy?" He tried again in a knowing voice and he smirked at his foresight when she gave him a tearful nod. "Part two," Nini admitted as she settled with a blanket. While she sighed at the warmth, he turned on the TV for her. "Are you gonna watch with me?" She pouted at him.

He would do anything for her but he had watched it twice this year already and it was only February. "Eh, it stopped raining, maybe we got a clear sky for a minute. I should take Edgar out for a walk, will you be okay?" The pooch's large ears shot into the air at the sound of the magic word. "You wanna go for a walk, boy?" He repeated more excitedly and Edgar was already up and barking as he ran to the door, back and forth.

"Of course, take your time, angel. Thank you for everything." "Call me if you need me, okay?" Pedro grabbed his jacket.

Edgar's impatient antics made him snap his fingers at his feet. "Sit." He muttered kind words of affirmation while slipping a warm little sweater on his dog.

"Angel?" He heard her shout from the living room, making him peak through the corridor. "Yeah?" "Can you please get me more ice cream?" "With these pretty big eyes, how could I not? Chocolate Fudge, right?" She nodded with a happy smile before it dropped back into a pout. "And can you buy more tampons?" She seemed apprehensive to ask when he reacted with a stunned set of blinks at her. "The organic ones. I'm almost out. Please?"

"Of course." He acted chill and competent despite the thrill this mission provoked in him. He got her.

"I can call an assistant if that's uncomfortable for you." She suggested, cringing but Pedro felt nothing but insulted at that.

His lips parted with a smack. "Are you kidding me? I'm a man. I'll get all the tampons my girlfriend needs." Nini swooned at him and stroked his ego. He flexed his triceps unnecessarily and while she giggled, he did a cocky pimp walk towards the door before he ran back to lean down as his goofy self again and smush a loud kiss into her hair. "Okay, see you in a bit."

With her hands folded between the sofa and her chin, she looked after him and blew him a kiss. He caught it and put it to his lips. "Love you." He called out before closing the door.

~~~

"Are you serious? Noooo. When did you hear that? I can't- with these companies." Pedro gritted his teeth as stood in front of the feminine hygiene section, phone pressed to his ear while he simultaneously tried to guess what flow he should get. He was in a hurry, for Edgar was waiting on a leash for him outside the shop. "They said they won't finance anything because the script is 'too woke'?"

Two girls, who had sneakily taken a picture giggled at him and he granted them a fleeting smile before focusing back on the selection of tampons, as well as the conversation at hand.

"We'll find a way to let you keep the final cut, Pedro. We have an offer from Studio Strigoi. They're willing to give you ten million with no involvement in the creative pro-"

"No. No, no, no." He interrupted. His gaze darkened at the sound of the movie production company being named, like its name alone could summon the evil. "Literally anyone else. Not Studio Strigoi." It did leave a weird taste in his mouth.

"We don't have anyone else. Yes, the CEO is an asshole but which one isn't? I get that you're loyal but-"

"Not them." He said decisively and Sarah sighed in understanding. Both knew he wouldn't accept a dime of the company whose producer had a horrible reputation, was quite literally the devil and his girlfriend's and many other women's past or current tormenter. It was pretty much an open secret.

"Well then, fuck it, we‘ll go independent," Sarah said in absolute sobriety.

Pedro rubbed his forehead, realising his next words were easier said than done. "It's simple. That just means more self-financing. I'll have to tell our partners, everyone, then... I'll have to tell Nini we can't afford something in the South Hamptons and then I can contribute the amount myself.”

There was one of Sarah's typical overwhelmed sighs on the other end of the phone. "P, I know you and Nini were set on that gorgeous house but it was 'so' unlike you anyway." She complained to him in a compassionate tone. "But were you able to imagine living in the South Hamptons? That's like placing a fish in the desert. Or like... a twinky on a Ceasar Salad. Maybe this is a good twist of fate."

He choked on a sound of protest. "What are you saying? Am I a twinky?" "I mean, you belong with the Bohème, where the little cinemas are, where you can get away and have a smoke on a rooftop. I've known you since we were eighteen. Come on."

He couldn't deny she had a point and he saw, now more clearly than ever, that he'd agreed to the house to appease Nini. "Fuck that, you're right. I wasn't feeling it. Screw rich asshole neighbourhoods. One mention of charade and charcuterie board nights and I'd spontaneously combust!" He hissed, secretly pleased he had evaded this version of the future. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he calculated the financial risk of producing this movie himself. "We'll have to see at which end we can cut some of the costs." He mourned this possible loss of quality already but would continue to pour more love, blood, sweat, tears and money into his movie to make up for it. A twenty million dollar budget would have to be enough. Finally, he admitted to himself that he was starting to give in to Nini's offer. Partly because she was the least complicated sponsor and he'd very much like to let her profit from the movie's possible success as well. Plus, this project was his baby and he'd also rather cut his foot off than cut scenes out unless it suited the narrative.

"Do you even need to move? Her house is lovely."

"Nini fell in love with the mansion. I'm not sure how she'll take the news. I mean... I feel at home with her but her fully complete and lived-in house kinda makes me act like more of a permanent guest. I'd keep living there forever but she's a collector, she owns too much stuff. I mean, we can play 'The floor is lava' on easy mode." Sarah chuckled. "Oh, invite me next time."

Pedro made a pause to laugh and store this piece of information away. "She said she would donate a lot and only keep her most precious collections. But dude, let me tell you. Sorting through it is a pain in the ass, I tried once, never again. There was this match box with a single grain of rice in it and she protected it with her life, Sarah. Her life." He made an annoyed face at the tampons.

"You'll find something bigger soon where everything will find its place, maybe after her tour and after you got this film up and running." Nini would go on another tour through the US, twelve shows in twelve cities and he would start overseeing the urban locations for his movie.

"How is she?" Sarah asked in a tone of deep compassion, probably still remembering the condition Nini was in when she had visited them in LA a couple of weeks ago. Everything became too much of a challenge when she nearly funnelled back into old substance-abusing habits. He had been working too much and the day he hadn't paid enough attention he found her high on tranquilizers, entirely overworked and unresponsive. Heavily triggering Pedro's own fears of losing another important person in his life, he cut the breaks and got her away from this toxic environment as soon as possible.

”Doing better, thanks.” Pedro didn't know how else to respond, for his tongue was tied in discretion but Sarah was nothing if not kind and resourceful. "People mismatch with their therapist all the time, it happens. She will find a new one." She said in good faith.

A wave of shame and helplessness clawed at him and he chose his words careful in fear of a lack of decorum in a public space. "I don't know what to do. I try to breach the topic, she doesn't want to talk about it and I can't just make an appointment for her, that's pushing her. I can't make a list of possible contacts and let her do it in her own time, that's patronising... and she won't do it on her own."

Seems his prayers for an epiphany came in the shape of a friend and words as liberating as a slap to the face. "Seems to me the only thing lacking with option number three is your faith in her."

He blinked rapidly, stupified by the simplicity of pointing out his entirely wrong approach. Was it really that he was doubtful while Nini did the opposite with him? "You're... you're right, Sarah." "I know." "I feel like an asshole." It felt like the comfort one might have known and now yearned for the moment after being dunked in ice-cold water. "Of course I have faith in her. If I ever stopped having faith in her, there would be nothing left for me to do." He released a deep breath of air. "Thank you for knocking some sense into me." He gulped and he could hear the kind smile in Sarah's voice when she told him he was welcome. In a moment of tender silence in which he tried desperately not to cry, he changed the topic and tried to sound more cheerful. "Can I ask you a question real quick?" He could focus on less immediate problems later.

"Sure." "The organic tampons with regular flow are out. Should I buy the inorganic ones with the regular flow or the organic ones with either heavy or light?" They laughed away the tension before Pedro rambled on. "Is flow more important than the fact that they're organic? Why even organic? Because it's fair trade or what?" He made a distressed face at nobody.

"Um-" Sarah took a second to gather herself at the tsunami of questions. "I suggest if Nini insists on the organic ones, then definitely go with those, toxins and whatnot. Are diva cups an option?" "They are now but I... I dunno, I guess they're good for the environment and stuff but if I were in the position of a menstruating woman and I'd pull this out, filled to the brim my monkey brain would just tell me... hard to pretend it's not port wine. Cheers, now shot it." Pedro rambled and heard a gargled laugh at the other end, followed by an outcry of disgust.

"What if I just... did a Jackson Pollock with it?" He narrated his fantasy and made Sarah howl with laughter. "Would it even work in a public bathroom? Where do I rinse the cup out? I'd bleed all over the place until I'm back inside the stall."

"Your intrusive thoughts win."

"What can I say, I'm a 'cup half full' kind of guy." He joked drily and had her stuck somewhere between crying and gagging.

He slowly caught up with his words and pulled a face afterwards, apologising to Sarah for his unhingedness and throwing a purple cup into the basket and a smaller pink one for good measure. "I'll buy all of it. Just to be sure."

"What a good boyfriend you are. Look at you. Should I reconsider being a lesbian just to get myself a man who's not afraid to buy tampons for me?"

"Okay, thank you, Ms. Paulson, whose bar is also, embarrassingly low. I'm more embarrassed that I'm leaving with a pack of cigarettes than going home with the ingredients for my girlfriend's monthly blood sacrifice ritual."

"Any time, Mr Pascal. Do give Nini my love."

"I will. I think I should go, these teens are taking pictures of me." "Take care, hun." "You too, alright? See you soon." Pedro hung up, his mouth having gone so dry it was hard to swallow but this was hardly the time to respond to his rising anxiety.

~~~

"Hey, I'm back." He didn't receive a response. Shrugging off his jacket, he let Edgar off the leash and dog sweater before investigating the silence. "I'm sorry, your normal choice of tampons were out but I got every other opt-" He entered the room and found her munching on shredded cheese. "Hey songbird, what happened while I was gone?"

Her words through her crying were fast and nearly incomprehensible. "I think I'm never going to be ready to be in front of the camera ever again, I had such self-confidence but I think I should maybe disappear from the public for good, like what would they even want me for now?"

He had to catch up with the meaning of all of this. "What are you talking about?"

"I think they're done with me anyway, now that I'm thirty. I started acting at fourteen..." She gulped away cheese and tears. "Then real jobs when I was sixteen and as a sixteen-year-old you play kids, you play the daughter, the high school girl, whatever. Then you're in your twenties and they start seeing you as a woman but I was still cast as a teenager until I was like twenty six and then they start giving you a baby, just a little baby. Now, by the standards of this industry, I'm middle-aged and I might be cast as a mother now but what- in like five years? I'll be the mother of four babies who's got a drinking problem. All until I'm forty, then I'm the grandma until sixty, then I'm dead!" She made intense eye contact at that. She gestured at him, admiring his physique in a mix of good humour and envy. "While you'll always look hot. You just keep improving until you're physically incapable, that's what. You're allowed to age like fine wine and everyone will say 'Oh, look he's so scruffy, so seggsy. Look at you, Gladiator two point O. You know how hot you’re gonna be as cyborg pirate captain Silver?"

As much as Pedro was looking forward to these roles, he was apprehensive and still wasn't thinking through what these strong body transformations meant. "You're biased. I'm not going to make him hot." "I'd like to see you try."

Pedro had let her rant peacefully. "We are both seggsy, damn, do you know how gorgeous you are?" He simply commented and scrunched his face at the insulting notion that she thought she was getting old. "You don't need botox, fillers or even makeup to be beautiful. And you're not old, silly thing. What am I supposed to say, nearing my fifties." He scoffed. Outrageous.

"Thank you." She sniffled, at least a tiny bit more relieved. She sighed and stood up, digging into the shopping bag and retrieved a box of tampons he made a mental note of. "These are just fine, thank you for getting them."

Her cheeks were flushed eyes still glassy when she returned from the bathroom, her full cupid bow lips were all pink and puffy and he was so in love with her, no matter which state she was in. "Did I ever tell you how pretty you are when you cry?" He tried to console her and made her laugh and roll her eyes at him before wiping the track of her tears away with the palm of her hand.

"You’re you always so kind to me." Nini blubbered. The strings of his heart pulled tight. "Aw. I can fix you." Pedro spoke his inner thoughts out loud. He couldn't help but baby her, fingers prodding at her skin and trying to smooth out the worried frown between her brows.

She laughed at that. "Thank you for the ice cream, for everything." She sobbed and dug in. She then somehow laughed with a mouth full. "This is delicious."

"No worries, baby girl. You're welcome." Pedro at least tried to hold back but his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

She chuckled messily.

Maybe it was the stressful time she had been dealing with but she was finally letting the traces of it get to her head. "M'sorry. I guess I was just getting inside my head thinking that in this industry, most other women my age have gotten surgery by now."

"You’re not saying you’re thinking about it?" He frowned deeply, not on board with the idea at all.

"Some botox here and there, buccal fat removal-" she pinched her face and hollowed her cheeks grotesquely. Pictures of Burtonesque transformations of female celebrities flooded his memories. In their world, surgery was standard, a mandatory procedure... the next tragic step of many an actress's evolution.

"Leonie." He cut her off, raising his hand and taking a moment to collect his patience.

He stuttered out random noises to interrupt her talking points. "They cut the fat out of your cheeks and sculpt your face to have higher cheekb-"

"Yeah, I know what that horrible thing is. I've seen the before and after pictures." She shut up immediately, eyes going wide as she seemed to hold back a laugh. Pedro took a long and serious look at her. "What are you talking about?" He asked calmly.

"Surgery," Nini repeated obviously, ready to further test him.

For several heartbeats, Pedro's face was frozen in an expression of utter horror and confusion while internally, he tried to remain patient. Finally he sat down next to her and raised his hands like he needed to calm down a wild horse. "Nonono, baby, I know-" he breathed calmly, gathering his thoughts. "I know the industry has too high expectations of women conforming to beauty trends but that's just what it is, a trend. I have no say in what you do with your body but- the tragedy of it… I don't want you to get plastic surgery. Please. Please?” Pedro was truly panicked, devastated even.

"No?" There was the faintest hint of a cheeky smile playing at the corner of her lip. His face fell at her success of having messed with him.

"You little shit." His voice came out as a monotone. “You had me. You really did.”

He cracked up as well when she started giggling at him. "I have bottom lip filler. And had my ears done also." She confessed and schooled her expression like she had just told him the world's worst dad joke.

He made a noise of understanding. "Is that why you're so pouty?" "Oh, shut i-" "No, you shut it. If you cut up that cute face or gorgeous body of yours... any more, I'm gonna leave you." He threatened in a bitchy tone.

She hunched over in a decent impression of a caveman. "Husband said no." She grunted, mocking his voice.

Pedro tried to stay dignified but his voice trembled. "Husband will get a heart attack if you’re gonna be like this." She snorted out a laugh and he tried to interrupt her with a failed strict, then pathetic whine. "I mean it, baby girl. You don't know how perfect you are." Yet she only cooed while he talked over her, serious enough to have the opposite effect.

"You'd really leave me?" She repeated in a high, heartbroken mewl.

He nodded, pinching her cheeks, her round Hobbit cheeks. "I'd nurse you back to health and then leave you." He explained and the sentiment drew a chirping laugh out of her, the kind that made him crack up too. He placed a kiss on her lips that turned into two, then three, making him lose himself in her for minutes to no end.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Don't worry, I wasn't seriously thinking about it. It looks horrid." "It really does." "By the way, don't you dare do anything yourself. Your doctor's name is God and we know he only uses the good stuff when he makes angels." She said up close, tracing her thumb over the deepened lines across his forehead. The crow's feet in the corners of his eyes crinkled into an adoring smile in the wakes of her tracing down the arch of his nose until she had reached his lips and lingered on his chin. Her hand cupped his beard, the bristles having gotten so long they had nearly grown soft to the touch.

Pedro smirked, catching up with her affection. "I was also not gonna leave you, I could never." He admitted.

"I know." She draped her arms over his shoulders, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

"I almost forgot what I wanted to tell you." He finally spoke up. "I still got some news." He rubbed his forehead, getting this over with.

"Sean Astin agreed to play my dad in a zombie film." She threw in her wildest guess.

"Nobody has offered that... yet." He replied compassionately and Nini let out a sad noise.

She hit him with another hopeful guess. "You said yes to the queer story with Mads Mikkelsen."

"Do not remind me of the things I'm missing out on." He told her in a strict tone before catching his bearings. "I'm afraid you will think it bad news, should I tell you later?"

Never a great fan of bad news, she groaned and let herself fall back into the sofa. "Oh no. Tell me now or I'm gonna throw up."

"It seems we can't afford the house in the South Hamptons. We lost a producer due to my film’s well… let’s call it political message but I'm not willing to sacrifice the soul of my movie. So, my ability to contribute a big budget to our housing situation is limited." He confessed.

"Oh..." She stared ahead, lip pouting but at least she didn't start crying over a house. "Well, maybe there could be worse things."

His eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. "I thought you loved it." "The beach was nice." "Nice' is not good enough for us to go way over budget. We almost bought a house we both don't want." There was a reason why he didn't value owning a house, let alone a mansion. Not ready to face the consequences of an ill-timed outburst, he counted to ten. "Let's be real, we can't afford and maintain a mansion right now, maybe if my movie pays off. Until then... well..."

"Damn, are we both too much of a people pleaser to communicate what we really want?" She sighed with a lopsided smile playing on her lips. Nini seemed sheepish at his insight. "I'm sorry. Hey, if you want to live here forever or move into a red brick apartment above a pizzeria, I'll still be happy as long as I'm with you." She gestured around. "I know this place has increased in worth. If I sell it, we can afford something else and use the rest for your movie."

"Oh, you sweetheart." He sighed, not annoyed but yes... annoyed that she was genuinely willing to give up so much for him. He caged her in against the cushions of the sofa. Looming over her, he revelled in her smile. "That's out of the question." He kissed her, letting himself disappear in her loving embrace, not even able to fathom how much he adored her. For a moment, he let worry pass from the flickers of his eyes. "Do you even want to move?" He asked his love.

Something between grateful- and playfulness sparkled back at him. "I do. I really do. I want a place that's both you and me. I want a separate kitchen and a library for you." Nini swore, petting the side of his face.

That sounded lovely. God, he wanted it so much but he didn't know where to go from here with his serious lack of time. "We'll find something, I promise." He rubbed his forehead, starting to feel a headache from all this stress. He yearned for a moment of quietness and walked over to the shopping bag to retrieve the pack of cigarettes like a busy, stressful time somehow excused a life-long bad habit he had been so close to quitting. "Gonna head outside for a minute." He said with the cigarette between his teeth.

"Okay." Nini paid no attention to it and went back to watching Brandon Fraser beat up some shrivelled Egyptians when he wordlessly opened the glass door into the garden, lighter cupped behind his hand before he had even passed the threshold.

He stood outside for a while, wondering if the cigarette would keep him warm as he set up a new appointment for house viewings. Phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, he looked up when he saw movement behind the wall. "I'll have to call you back, sorry. Gotta go- yeah, I appreciate it. We can do Tuesday. Riverside Drive, two p.m., got it. Okay, sounds good, bye." He hung up just when their neighbour Samir 'I am your mother now' aka Brooklyn's most beloved drag queen 'Peachy' du Maurier peaked over the wall.

"Hellooooo Habibi!" His wide figure in purple fur and leather cap appeared fully. "Just wanted to join you for a second. Making sure you're doing okay, just checking in." Sammi said sweetly with a worried frown between his brows. Pedro nearly teared up at the sentiment alone but then his friend-shaped character had to reappear with a large plate of food for them.

Pedro's hand flew to his chest. "Sammi, oh my God, you didn't have to." He gasped. He willed his face to light up despite his tiredness while he watched the cherubim trying to figure out a way to climb without nail breakage. He complained loudly while doing so. "Ya- I don't know how you guys always do it. I wasn't made for this. Oh fuck, I'm shakin' like a pole on Friday night, honey."

"Hey, whoa, careful mama." Pedro led him a hand, pulling him across and making sure he wouldn't fall. "I saw you double Dutching and doing the split in ten-inch heels, what happened?" Sammi was out of breath and breaking out in sweat unlike one of his many, way more exuberant drag shows.

"Old age, bitch." He pulled his shirt back over his belly and groaned in agony one last time. Clouds of condensation met clouds of smoke.

Pedro emitted a chuckle. "Don't I know it?" He brushed a leaf off Sammi's shoulder as he balanced the aluminium foil-wrapped dish that seemed way too much and way too generous.

"It's Börek, thought you might-" he squinted. Sammi raised his eyebrows, looking somewhere past him through the house. "Oh dear, is she okay? Is she inhaling her ice cream?" His softness betrayed him when he noticed his chosen ward inside and in distress. Nini placed a kiss into her hand and waved it at Sammi momentarily and glared at Pedro before continuing to mind her own business on her phone.

Sammi looked at Pedro in disappointment. "Did you guys have a fight?"

"No-" he sighed, unsure. "At least I hadn’t thought so." Pedro briefly looked back into the living room, confused about where this new agitation suddenly came from. "She'll be okay, especially with your burek. Thank you so much. I had to find a way to feed the hangry gremlin inside soon."

"Relationships are difficult, sometimes I just take several seats and breathe in and out for a while." Pedro snorted at the self-depreciation. Sammi was a big queen but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be gorgeous. "You look stressed though. Do you wanna talk about it?" Sammi had pointed him up and down, Pedro's fatigue speaking more than a thousand words.

"Yeah..." He met him with an apologetic expression on his face but didn't know what to say. "Is there a twenty-four-hour support hotline for husbands who are trying very hard?" He scream-whispered, fearing Nini might hear him otherwise. Somehow they had found teams. Sammi was a wholesome, teary-eyed genuine pure person while his husband and Pedro's girlfriend brought up the mean girls in each other. Sammi cackled, too familiar with the feeling after being with Hugh since the nineties. "It's called calling your sisters and talking shit." He bummed a cigarette without the need to ask but made a tutting sound at the sight of Pedro's evident fresh supply.

"I'm fine, I swear. I just had to get away for a second... but it's always nice to have a kiki with you." Pedro replied, proud of his correct use of ballroom terminology and despite the utter delight in Sammi's laugh, he suddenly looked like he was struggling to come up with words. "Actually, I also came to ask you and Nini a favour."

Pedro became flustered again. "Oh, we have been closing the blinds when we-" "Oh, no it's not that!" The shorter man pretended to gag. "No, we're in trouble," Sammi admitted.

"Oh?" "Remember when we were dog-sitting Mon Bernadette and you helped us look for her when she escaped?" Sammi couldn't inhale a bigger drag and he stared ahead like he was going through massive trauma.

"Is the dog alright?" Pedro couldn't deal with more bad news.

"Yeah, she's fine, alhamdulillah but she got herself knocked up. She's having puppies soon."

Pedro's initial reaction was a gasp that was made of pure shock and delight. "Wait, really?" They stared at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter. "Fuuuck."

Edgar waddled his tail. "No buddy, you're not the dad. You don't have balls." The pooch quit the excitement just when Pedro remembered in clear detail finding the fancy designer poodle in her rebel phase who had then currently been mounted by a very ambitious schnauzer-like creature in a Brooklyn side alley. Pedro had suppressed a laugh then and conveniently never mentioned it to a single soul after. Now he was staring at an upset Sammi and the consequence of his silence, pondering whether to come clean or not. "Crazy." Pedro exaggerated after the awkward flashback of two copulating dogs. Coward.

"The owner wants to sue us! Can you back us up and tell her we're no damn animal abusers? It was an accident!"

"Oh, they're not saying that." Pedro countered, scandalised.

"I miss the cat. It was so much easier." Sammi cried. "That beast of a puppy-hating woman wants us to pay alimony for the ‘flea alley’ bastards-" he made quotation marks into the air. "-who are God knows what mixed." Apart from being queer, Sammi was Muslim and knew too much about experiencing mistreatment himself, especially in the early two-thousands. Apparently, the puppies weren't better off in the company of a snob. "She says she won't bother looking for homes for the pups since that's an 'us' problem now." These words caused a surge of anger rise within Pedro and he looked down at Edgar, thinking the ratty white shelter dog wasn't a fancy breed, rather skinny and his thin fur one shade away from being called 'crusty'. Edgar was, therefore, all the more lovable and tilted his little head with giant bat ears at his owner. An idea struck Pedro.

He thought for a moment, looking back at the glass front at a still, very unhappy-looking Nini. "When's Bernadette having them?" He turned back towards Sammi. "I dunno, soon. End of the month?" He guessed.

Thinking out loud, Pedro made a calculation. "One month plus eight weeks minimum before the puppies are old enough for adoption. That's when I'll be busy on location but I'm in the city. She'll be back in New York from tour by then and we'd have longer breaks together after." He muttered under his breath.

Sammi's expression became nearly emotionally devastated. "What are you saying, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Would it be crazy to ask if we could adopt one of the puppies? We'll work together in finding homes for every pup, of course and help you with anything you need." Pedro said hopefully, ruffling Edgar's head when he allowed him to lean his front paws up onto his leg like he was adding his approval. He pet his bony little head. "Slowly but surely I’m thinking about a playmate keeping Edgar active too, having someone younger around does make you feel younger as well." He spoke from experience. Maybe Pedro's main motivation was born out of an impulsive decision but quite frankly, he was also keen on taking care of a small living being that depended on him. Their busy schedule made it look like Nini and he wouldn't even think about starting a family any time soon or ever so, a puppy was the next best thing and the desire for it was maybe but not entirely a bit selfish. He normally would have preferred adopting a shelter dog but these special circumstances spoke to everything he could have wished for.

Sammi's jaw dropped. "Really?" He asked too loudly, tearing up.

"Yeah!" "We wanted to move but haven't found the right place yet anyway. Plenty of time before we'll open a new chapter in our lives." Pedro said and bit into a crunchy spinach cheese roll.

He was met with a pleased hum from the other man. "Are you going to get married soon, then?" Pedro had anticipated this question sooner rather than later and therefore didn't choke on his food.

Sammi smiled innocently, a romantic through and through. After all, he and Hugh got married the minute it was legal for them to do so.

He knew his explanation of 'Well, we have been for two years, just not legally,' wouldn't suffice so he consoled his friend with the answer he wanted to hear. "Someday soon," Pedro said. "Yeah, real soon. These are delicious, thank you very much. I'll tell her these were made with love." He distracted him by finishing the delicious burek. He hummed in satisfaction and Sammi seemed delighted.

"That's my cue. I'll let you know when the bad girl's having the bastard puppies. No telling Nini." He reminded him and groaned in protest while climbing the wall back to his side. "I know you want this Peach, why you gaggin'?" The glam lady bellowed her famous catchphrase and went over the wall head first, but not before blowing him a kiss. "Love you, Pedro!"

"You too." Pedro waved and smiled to himself before he went back inside.

Pedro could only worry at the sight of finding Nini face down and beside the couch on the floor while Edgar already worried over her. ”Oh no.” He set the food on the dinner table before rushing over.

She turned her face towards him, tear-streaked cheek pressed to the floor with a sob spilling from her lips. Nini broke out in tears again when she saw him kneeling beside her. "Is it because the meds killed my libido?" She cried out.

"Jesus," He tried to pluck some of her terribly askew hair away from her damp face and behind her ear until she shoved his hand away and scurried off. He didn't know if he wanted to send a curse down into hell or a prayer up above. "Please, tell me what happened. Just... calm down." He could feel his patience running thin while Nini grunted in frustration and limped through the living room, holding her tummy.

"What's going on?" She choked out a noise of upset at his question, picking up after herself which was a telltale sign of her annoyance with everything in this world including him.

Her bottom lip trembled. "I don't know. Pedro, are you happy?" Her hands gestured weakly into the air at the question. She finally looked up to witness him slightly paling and he only managed to make a confused sound.

Pedro tried to make sense of anything but failed. "You're angry with me and I don't know why but yeah, I'm happy. What's this about, honey?" He asked, standing up to approach her when she unlocked her phone.

"Well, are you happy? Because if you were, would you go out on a date with someone else and lie about it?" He could only try to form the word 'what' threatening to spill from his lips. "Tell me I'm just being silly- please." She begged.

His gaze softened when she showed him a recent online post and he finally understood. It was showing Pedro having lunch with a woman he had met yesterday. An Instagram post with the footnote 'When Pedro Pascal went on a date with me. You made my day'. Still unfamiliar with Instagram ever since they both deleted Twitter, she had scrolled through the comments, which for most parts still didn't agree to their relationship and praised him for having plenty of other options.

Even more than a year after their temporary breakup and after several of their public appearances and interviews together, she was still the one who couldn't claim her own narrative. They were cute together, yes but the toxic domain of their less-favoured fans didn't know she wasn't half as problematic as she appeared to be.

Now Pedro seemed to be in trouble. In the picture she showed him, he was wearing the same outfit and bad hair day he had gone out with yesterday before meeting Lux and he was suddenly very aware of what this looked like. Her crying fit was not unreasonable anymore. The way the woman and he looked so close and the fact that Nini had never seen him do this before with anyone who wasn't a close friend made her jealous and genuinely heartbroken. "I hate to sound cliché but this is not what it looks like." He almost laughed out.

"Well, whatever it might be, you told me the story of how you've been out all night with your sister!" She said in between a yell and a sob and through his dumbfounded moment in which he cursed his forgetfulness. "Honey-" He had been out all night, just not with her. "And she's pretty too." She said with a whine but while Nini was pouting, he couldn't help but grin at the misunderstanding.

He sighed. "Michelle was just a friendly encounter. Nini, wait-" He had to catch up with her when she repeated her name in a mocking voice and was already leaving him on the couch and stomping up the stairs. "I was too busy this morning to remember telling you the entire story and then you were being difficult-"

She looked back from the top of the stairs. "Oh, sorry I'm causing 'you' to have a bad day!" She huffed at him and shut the bathroom door in front of his nose. He hated it when she did that and chuckled in anger. "Great." "Don't laugh at me!" "I'm not!" "Fuck off!"

He huffed against the barrier between them, tapping his fingers against the unforgiving wood. "I get it, you basically caught me lying... unintentionally. I'm sorry, okay? Please at least let me explain." He sighed. "She was just really nice and of course, she posted this. I just forgot to tell you because I was fucking hungover-"

"And I was difficult!" She quoted back at him, terribly insulted and he could gnaw his arm off in frustration. A mute yell later, he had composed himself again.

Pedro needed her to listen but he'd rather do it to her face. "What are you doing?" His hands slapped onto his thighs.

"Maybe going to a club. If you can go out and have fun, so can I." She explained, stubbornly.

He let out a long exhale, tried and failed to count to ten. "While you're on your period? C'mon, don't do that."

"I've done three-hour concerts for an entire week while I was on my period!" She screamed in an outburst of emotion and Pedro dead panned at the door. Fair point.

He gathered a breath. "Come on! Just because I missed- just because it was a lunch. Yeah, but only by definition of two people sitting down and eating food. There was nothing romantic about it." "Yeah, no. Sure." "I can have a life outside this relationship, you know?" "Wh- nobody said you couldn't! Am I giving you the impression that I'm that kind of girlfriend?"

"Right now you are, asking me who this woman is. I'll tell you." He leaned forward with his hand against the door. "I was waiting for Lux at the restaurant forever and she stood me up eventually and we agreed to meet up later but while I was waiting, I noticed this couple who was clearly on their first date and Michelle was extremely uncomfortable." He told the story in a calmer voice now, leaning his shoulder against the frame but feeling like he was talking to a wall. "The guy was saying things she shouldn't put up with like... making comments on her tight dress and how fantastic her tits looked." Nini made a sound of disgust at that and he relaxed a little, feeling her rage ebbing away. "-and I couldn't watch it anymore and the moment he went to the bathroom I asked her 'Are you okay'? And she was like 'No, he's absolutely disgusting' and I took his seat then and he came back and I explained very calmly he was not supposed to be so inappropriate like 'Oh-" he imitated the man's unpleasant asshole voice. "She's fucking hot, why shouldn't I comment on her nice ass?' and I stirred drama and eventually paid for his taxi to go home and Michelle and I had lunch together instead."

"Oh." Her voice came out almost too quiet for him to have even detected it behind the door. "Well, did she?" Now it had turned heated again.

He squinted his eyes. "Did she what?"

"Have a nice pair of tits and ass?" She clarified and he cleared his throat, speechless.

"I guess? I didn't judge h- why..." Pedro at least tried to hold back but his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "You don't think I'd ever cheat on you?"

"No... not really," she admitted grumpily.

"No, seriously. If it weren't so stupid, it would be cute."

"Stupid? Who's stupid?"

Pedro let out a long exhale at her new rage. He tried not to sound condescending at her overreaction to what he thought had been out of the ordinary noble of him. Maybe Nini was down to listen to reason. "Just... dammit. You can't just... put yourself in danger because you're in the mood for getting back at me." But before he could say anything more the door swung open and she came out wearing heavy makeup that covered her freckles entirely. He was too stunned by her appearance to realise she was sticking to her plan than to even appreciate the sight of her in black lace underwear.

"This is not about getting back at you!" She hissed heatedly over her shoulder while he followed her into their bedroom. "Stop this, please. I'm not letting you go out like this." While she stomped into the walk-in closet, he suddenly realised she was dead serious when she put on the wig with long raven hair she had worn for their Morticia and Gomez Addams partner costume last Halloween. Truly, it served the purpose of making her look like a completely different person.

"Why not?" She seethed, putting on a two-piece black outfit and heeled boots. "Guess what, we've been back in New York for two weeks and I haven't been out without you in months. So, why can't I have fun too?"

"Well, for once, you're in pain, second it's dangerous for you to drink anything on medication." "I forgot to take it anyway."

Pedro wanted to throw something through three layers of walls. "You told me you did!" No wonder why she was behaving this way despite her acting like it wasn't a big deal.

"I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I thought you meant Ibuprofen."

"You are ‘supposed‘ to give yourself time to adjust to less-potend meds." He attempted to reason with her. "Wait," She snuck her way past him, batting his hands away. "Stop i- stop it, Leonie. What if something happens? They'll recognise you, then what?" He tried a different approach.

She scoffed. "People can't even tell the difference between Amber Heard and me these days, I think I'll be just fine in disguise."

He knew he was being the jerk as soon as he heard himself say it. "I don't want you to go clubbing, unstable, looking like this. Alone this late in fuck knows which part of New York and in what's basically lingerie? No. No chance." He caged her in, aggressively. "I don't want any men out there to be a danger to you."

She laughed in his face and left him in the doorway, feeling like a control freak boyfriend.

"I'm not scared!" "That’s not the point. It's dangerous and you're in a vulnerable state. Hey- we're not done talking." He tried to argue while she furiously gathered her things and skipped down the stairs quickly.

"Oh, I think we're done talking." She decided with a flick of her straight fake black hair, somehow managing to glare him down, looking fierce, full of rage and devastatingly hot in her entire dark gear. "You-" She pierced a finger into his shoulder. "-you've had way too much control over my life anyway!"

Another verbal slap to his face at this point, one he thought he'd deserved this time. "I didn't -" He choked, never meaning to hold any power over her head. Everything he'd done had been for her wellbeing, for her protection... right? The apology got stuck in his throat out of pure shame.

Nini's eyes had turned glassy. "Wait, please." Pedro tried to block her way but she ducked underneath his arm on the second try. "Fine, just go then!" His patience snapped, he had given up.

"I will!" She always had to have the last word but so did he.

"Have it your way." He sighed in frustration and went into the living room where he didn't have to see her leave. "Can you at least please send me a text so I know you're okay?" He tried one last time.

"Jaaa haaa." She called back through the echo of the corridor, annoyed and he knew that meant, 'fuck off.'

Edgar's ears were droopy and the dog whined when the door slammed shut and she was gone. Somehow, Pedro hadn't thought she'd really do this.

Slowly, his tired body sank back into the sofa. Pressing the heels of his hands to his throbbing headache, he cursed. All he could do now was go through every stage of grief, wait and hope Nini would get home safe.

Part 2

~

Translation notes:

(sp): querida - (eng): beloved

(sp): tranquilo - (eng): calm down

(ara): habibi - (eng): my love

(ara): alhamdulillah - (eng def): Arabic phrase meaning "praise be to God", sometimes translated as "thank God"

#pedro pascal x actress #pedro pascal x singer #pedro pascal #series #fanfiction series #of a sun and flower #pedro pascal/original female character #fluff #domestic fluff #pedro buys tampons because he would

[violettduchess]

Heya! Congrats for 500 followers! Could you do "Apple Blossom | Silvio Ricci" please? His route is coming out and we need woemthing to commemorate this occasion!

A/N: Part of my 500 Follower Celebration 🎉

Silvio x f!reader

fluff

Word Count: 821

Silvio Ricci is not a man known for his patience. And while many claim his time with you has helped to tame the crude beast, you know better. He is just as impatient today as he was when you met him. Now he is simply quieter about it. His rough porcupine quills are still there, just not quite as sharp, rounded by years of peace and domestic tranquility both in his country and in his home.

You glance up from the book in your lap.

“Pacing will not speed things up, love”

He pauses, his gaze settling on you. No matter how many times he looks at you, no matter how often you have gazed into those blue depths, a small part of you is always pressed to believe that if heaven exists, the light it shines would be the exact blue of your husband's eyes.

“How can you be so calm?” His voice snaps like a sail in the wind.

Sighing, you set aside your book and reach out, taking his hand in yours. It only takes one little tug and through grumbled words, he allows you to pull him down onto the settee next to you. You keep his hand in yours, your thumb rubbing a soothing rhythm over his skin. His fingers are adorned with gold and jewels the color of the Benitoite sea. You wear only one ring. Your fussy, more elaborate diamond and sapphire engagement ring is home, nestled safely in its blue velvet box, allowed out for state functions and parties, but it is this plain band of gold, your wedding ring, that means the most to you.

“It takes as long as it takes.” 

He snorts in derision at your platitude, but the energy running through his lean frame is firing down, his muscles relaxing into the rhythm of your touch. You reach up with your free hand, brushing back the soft strands of his light hair. 

“There we go.” 

He sighs now, leaning into your touch, allowing your hand to cup his cheek. He softens for you in a way he does for no other, allows you in to the places few can enter. Even now.

You begin humming as you stroke his hair, a simple childhood song, repetitive and soothing. His nervous colt energy continues to fade and you smile, pleased with yourself.

The door to the salon opens. Immediately he is on his feet and you can only shake your head at how quickly the tides turned. Calm Silvio vanishes in the spray of an ocean wave.

“And?”

The physician smiles, motioning for you both to come along. “This way, your majesties.”

You walk alongside your husband, anticipation coiling itself around the pit in your stomach. Together you pass through the blue double doors, hurry across the white tiled floor, towards the massive bed with its soft, gauzy canopy the color of gardenias.

Your jewel is there. She is sitting up in bed, hair damp with sweat, cerulean eyes ringed with exhaustion but burning with a new light that you know so well. 

“Mama, Papa.....meet Silvana.”

You lean over your daughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead. You run a soothing hand over her hair, mirroring the gesture you had used on her father moments ago.

“Well done, my love,” you murmur, your voice cobwebbed with emotion.

She looks to Silvio, her smile as bright as sunlight on water.

“Would you like to hold her, Papa?”

He is so very still as he takes in the scene, his gaze traveling from you, to his daughter, to the small bundle swaddled in a blanket of the softest teal-colored cotton.

He leans down, almost reverent as he lifts the baby up into his arms.

“Mind her head," your daughter says. You smile at how the maternal instinct to protect is immediate and fierce.

He arches a brow at her words. “I have done this four times myself, cucciola.” 

He walks away from the bed, turning from the others in the room, you, his daughter, his relieved son-in-law, the physician. He makes his way to the balcony, stepping outside into the warm light of the rising sun.

The tiny girl in his arms is sleeping, having conquered the hard business of being born and deserving of rest.

He lifts one finger, touching the angel-soft skin of her plump cheek.

“Hello Silvana,” he says softly. “It’s me. Your grandfather.” He raises his gaze to the water in the distance, to the wide and wild sky bursting with a pink and orange sunrise.

His voice is soft as the waves kissing the sand, tremulous with a joy that billows within his heart. A heart that no longer belongs to him. She has stolen it completely.

The king bends down, bestowing the tiny thief with a kiss on her forehead.

“Welcome to the world, piccola mia. There is so much I cannot wait to show you.”

*

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen silvio #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #500 follower celebration #fluff #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #violettwrites

[alexiethymia]

domestic hitsuhina things in bleach brave souls I live for:

(although bleach brave souls may arguably not be canon, I love these possible hints or scenarios of their everyday relationship. I love the epic tragic aspects of their story, but I also love the everyday fluff)

Momo baking him cakes for his birthday and cookies and chocolates for valentines day. It’s perfect because of his love for amanatto which makes me think he loves sweet things in general.

Her verbally expressing how much she appreciates all he’s done and continues to do for her, gah my heart.

Multiple times, Hitsugaya puts her happiness and safety above his own comfort.

He hates the heat but swims with Momo when she asks because he worries about her, and part of me also thinks she asked with that outcome in mind, puppy-dog eyes and all.

He dons a suit! Just to give her a white day gift!!

Said white day gift is a bouquet of ice roses he made just for her!! Speaking of flowers, he also gets her flowers for her birthday. Despite not knowing who they were for, Momo finds them beautiful which proves that Hitsugaya knows what Momo would like. It’s the utter thoughtfulness that gets me. 

“Let’s play again, Shiro-chan!” while wearing a wedding dress?! With a flower bouquet with blue ribbon?? I can’t help but have this head canon that they used to play house together when they were much younger. It’s utterly sweet and domestic. 

But my most favorite moment is the fact that he gets her a book she’s been wanting to read for her birthday. And I can’t help but imagine that Momo just talks to him about the books she’s been reading, just gushing, and he listens to it all because he knows what’s on her next-to-read list. That’s my love language right there. 

But it gets even better! He apparently greets her “Happy Birthday Hinamori fuku-taichou”. This guy, this guy who’d rather say “Kuchiki and Kuchiki” and who doesn’t even call fellow captains by their title, greets Momo by her title, and it’s such a neat detail, because it’s as if he’s reaffirming Momo’s worth as a vice-captain which he recognizes. That or the more hilarious reason that he thought if he called Momo by her title, she would also pay it back. No dice though, haha. Even so, still cute. 

We don’t get enough day-to-day interactions in the manga, so to have these, and see their utter thoughtfulness and regard for each other, just that simple detail of knowing each other inside and out, knowing what makes each other happy, conveying how much they treasure each other, whether through words or gifts or acts of service, and exerting that effort just to see the other smile or be happy or content, I just really, really love them. 

#hitsuhina #hinamori momo #hitsugaya toshiro #bleach #ships #ramblings about bleach

[thehistoriangirl]

I’ll Be There For You

Idk what happened, I wanted to write a continuation of some story but instead I got this. Aka I have no excuse for this one

Viktor x gn!Reader----1.3K-----SFW

Summary: Viktor had a bad day, so you console him when he comes back home :)

Tags: A lil angsty| Mostly domestic fluff| Established relationship|

The hallway was deadly quiet at night, all the residents had already come back home and were surely tucked into bed. Except for the apartment situated at the end of the fourth floor. Today, one of the tenants was coming home late. You were waiting for him, distracting the tiredness away by reading and folding up the laundry. Just in time to be half past midnight, you hear the lock clicking.

You stood up and went to open it, because the hallway was badly illuminated, even if the door was near a window, with the moon was full tonight and the dim hue of the streetlamps below. With each step, you could hear mumbling filtering from under the wood, keys clattering against the metallic door, and even falling to the ground. A chuckle left your mouth at the time when, at the other side, someone mumbled a curse that you didn’t quite catch.

“Hi,” you said when you slid off the lock, observing Viktor’s silhouette, with an extended hand still holding the keys towards you before blinking in surprise. “How was your day?”

He answered by hugging you tightly. "Oh—" you exclaimed when your sleepy senses caught the motion, his hair tickling the back of your neck and his face buried against your hair. The cane's end was pressing uncomfortably at your thighs, but you dismiss it while your arms reached for his back, patting, and sliding back and forth in circles.

It was one of those days.

The area was deserted, with no interruption or curious stares, so you two stayed in the embrace for several minutes, until Viktor pulled away, his features somber and exhaustion highlighted in the incipient eyebags, making his gaze deeper.

You moved out the way, closing the door behind you when he got his shoes off and put in some slippers, walking slowly to his designated bedroom, even if most of the time he didn’t even sleep there.

“I’m going to take a bath,” he muttered, closing the door when he entered the room. You could hear the shower going on and off, and the echo installed in the bathroom allowed you to slide inside the room without him noticing until it was too late.

Around twenty minutes later, he emerged with a vapor column behind him. You were already tucked in bed, a book in your lap.

"Come here," you said putting the book aside and taking a little plate that was on one of the night tables before. "I cut you some fruit."

“I appreciate it, but I’m not hungry.” He let of his sleeping gown slid off his shoulders while walking towards you with both a curious and intense gaze.

“You’re going to like these. I promise," you couldn't stop from giggling once he sat at the bed's edge, peeking at the content on the platter. You had cut some apples and put some nuts like they were pupils, banana slices curving as a smile. A single grape was a little nose.

Viktor chuckled slightly, extending a hand to stroke your hair. “Thank you.”

“Can I brush your hair?” He wriggled his body against the bedsheets until his back was next to you, the fruit plate taken from your lap and now resting between his hands. “Eat it, please.”

“Are you not going to brush my hair if I don’t?”

“No, but I’m not going to buy you cookies and sweetmilk when I go for the groceries tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Viktor picked one banana slice with a fork, eating carefully as you brushed and dried his hair. You were biting your lip, thinking about if it was a good idea to ask about today or not. Sometimes he was used to bottling up negative things to not worry you, and you could understand his restraint. But you wanted to make him feel better.

You didn't want to push him too hard, either.

“What are you thinking about, hmm? You’re quieter than usual.” He half-turned his face towards you, a concerned look in his eyes.

“I’m thinking about you.” You smiled when a light flush colored his cheeks and nose with pink. Leaning against him, you kissed him on the cheek. “Are you okay?”

He left the empty plate on his nightstand, tucking his legs inside the bedsheets and turning his body so his head was comfortably laying in your lap. You were little by little stroking his slightly humid hair. Viktor sometimes made little noises when massaging his scalp, like if he were a purring cat, but not when he was sad.

“I… couldn’t make my project work,” he talked slowly, a sigh mixed between the words. His hands were absently playing with the fabric of the blankets. “I can’t sign it up for the Progress Day’s exhibition now.”

You furrowed your brows, a quick movement you didn’t want Viktor to see. That’s why he looked so defeated, a sad grimace governing his beautiful features.

“Do you remember when you found me crying in my bedroom because I couldn’t meet the deadline for my research paper?”

“Of course I do.”

You were brushing his hair with your fingers, massaging in gentle circles his scalp.  “You told me that my worth isn't measured by the times I fail, but for the moments where I decide that my mishaps aren’t going to define me.” Leaning, you kissed his brow. “I think you should know that.”

Viktor looked at you. “But I’m an inventor, if I can’t create new things to help people, then I’m a failure.”

You frowned. “You’re never a failure, Viktor. Look at you! You have come so far. You’re not perfect, but you do not have to be.” You slide off the headboard, letting Viktor lay at your stomach while your arms hugged his chest under the covers. “You’re not your inventions, Viktor. You’re worthy of love and praise even if they fail.” Pausing, you let him readjust so he could be practically on top of your body, his right leg resting comfortably above yours. “I still love you all the same.”

Pausing, you let his eyes wander around the room, unsure of locking gazes. “…do you?”

It was your turn to snuggle against his hair, kissing his temple and knitted eyebrows. Viktor hummed happily when you almost reached the corner of his mouth. “I do. Even a little more because you trust me enough to tell me these things. Besides,” you whispered and kiss him, even if it was just a tempting peck of lips brushing against each other, “tomorrow you can try again. I'll help you if you want me to.”

"Well, in theory, there's already tomorrow." He signaled with his eyes the clock hung on the wall. “We should get some sleep.”

“Too bad, I was planning on demonstrating my love for you. But I agree, we should rest.” You pouted briefly, before Viktor could change his mind if he caught a glimpse of you. “Do you want me to sleep here tonight?”

“Yes, please. Your presence… comfort me.”

You both extended your arms to turn off the lamps on each side of the bed. In the semi-darkness, with a silver hue of the moon filtering through the translucent curtains, Viktor’s eyes glowed like stars.

He went up to kiss you goodnight, allowing you to rest your forehead against his chest while his right hand rested against your hip. Legs tangled carefully so his right leg ended up on top, feet laying over a pillow.

“I love you,” he said when you muttered your goodnight. “If you believe in me, then not even failure can stop me. I will try my best, I promise.”

“You always do your best, Viktor. That’s why I love you,” you whispered back, nestling against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat lullabied you to sleep, while he hugged you closer, your words spiraling in his mind as he drifted to the dreamlands with a smile playing in his lips at hearing your calmed breathing, the gentle warm air tingling in his neck.

When going to sleep like that, or waking up next to you, he never felt more cherished.

#i know the title it's bad i usually plan my titles with 3-5 business days prior #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor/you #viktor x gn reader #viktor x you #viktor/reader #viktor the machine herald #viktor fanfic #arcane fanfic #arcane fluff #arcane viktor x reader #my thingies :)

[noa-ciharu]

Thinking bout sub kissing seishiro's hands has me frothing at the mouth

It had me frothing at the mouth too so I went ahead and wrote small(1.2k) fic about that. It's the forbidden AU: X!Seisub fluff. But also with Seishirou's mental gymnastic added to the mix. Imagine some Bible level miracle happened and they're living domestically dysfunctionally together :D

Fic is under-cut

From corner of the eye Seishirou noticed Subaru approaching the couch. Before Subaru could discern him staring, Seishirou lowered head and resumed with reading; alas with divided attention. Even after years of living together Seishirou couldn’t help being on guard around Subaru; biology in motion, second nature to stay on slight guard around anyone.

Once Subaru closed enough proximity for not being aware of his presence being too unnatural, Seishirou gazed up and regarded him with brief look; acknowledged presence. Meek smile from Subaru in return, almost shy; perhaps fondness was also there, something Seishirou had to admit to still not being able to fathom entirely. Oh well, leastwise his over-sized pyjamas looked adorable on Subaru; he didn’t even suggest Subaru uses it, he wore it on own initiative. That fact made gesture more endearing.

Without saying a word Subaru lounged on couch to his left; always on side he could be noticed on, Seishirou realized shortly after they’ve got back together; kind but pointless. If he wanted to sleep Subaru ought to have went straight to bed, not nap here on couch. It was almost December, certainly not advisable to lay down without any sort of blanket. Plus Subaru was likelier to catch all sorts of nasty cold as self-care simply wasn’t his strongest suit; add magical backlash into mix. Cold would be Subaru’s problem to deal with however by extension also his; therefore Seishirou would rather avoid what is avoidable.

Perhaps Subaru was silently urging him to take a shower so they can both go to sleep? Cute but I’m afraid you don’t hold that sort of control over me Subaru-kun.

Subaru yawned beside him and bent legs at knees. Seishirou had ti suppress yawn on his own; instead he flipped next page. Eye hastily scanned text up and down, then left to right. Maybe Subaru did have a point; certainly warm bed sounded like far better idea than forcing himself to concentrate on book he lost interested in; especially when half of his focus was on person laying beside him. Nevertheless he refused to give in to any will other than very own and for those reasons Seishirou decided to spend couple minutes more in somewhat soothing silence before calling it a day.

Soft rustle to the left; just as soft hair strands brushing over trousers. Seishirou glanced down; realized Subaru cuddled closer to him. Maybe it’s attention he wants? Oh well, even if not in the mood for anything too serious nor ardent, how could he pass the opportunity of playing the role of devoted lover? Permitting corner of lips to curve into knowing smirk, Seishirou brought free hand down and combed through Subaru’s bangs. Instant puff, but there was no mistaking shy smile on Subaru’s lips.

How absurd. Fundamentally you’re not that different from naive boy you once were, yet were far easier to read when you were so desperate to hide what you’re feeling. Seishirou returned attention to his book; just in name. As on autopilot continued stroking Subaru’s hair and cheeks; caress was accepted, even welcomed. The advantages of having docile lover, irrefutably worth one’s time. Still, Seishirou was no fool. Said yielding extended only to surface things; ones that failed to matter in long shot. Inane to even assume tension between them would ever be resolved, that Subaru didn’t have volition on his own and -

Subaru’s fingertips grazed over his wrist. That captured Seishirou’s undivided attention; alarms went off within psyche; he silenced them with ease. As well as whetted appetite. Seishirou remained motionless, simply waited to see what Subaru had in mind. Oh so slowly, like he was avoiding raising up any further alarms, Subaru encircled hand around his wrist; then just as gradually lowered it down. Seishirou allowed the maneuvering. What he didn’t expect was for Subaru to kiss back of his hand.

Touch, for being mundane and chaste as it was, felt oddly intimate. As if slipping into uncharted territory, instinct nudged at him to retreat into safety. Refusing to yield into own irrationality, Seishirou stilled his hand; allowed Subaru to place kisses over palm and back. With eyes closed and expression serene, Subaru appeared deeply engrossed in such trivial touch. They had to hold some meaning to Subaru he failed to comprehend at the moment.

I’ll reach into your soul eventually. There won’t be a thing about you concealed from me. I'll own your every thought.

Seishirou envisioned inverted pentagrams on Subaru’s hands; moment later marks came to life. In reality, situation tended to be reversed, he’s usually one placing kisses over Subaru’s hands; over where marks of his ownership were craved. In split second it flashed through Seishirou’s mind that this was ritual of reverse ownership; those apprehension diminished as no chants from Subaru were detected; no hints of omnyojitsu.

Perhaps symbolically then? Of no account, for time being he’ll settle on observing tenderness of Subaru’s expression; even if odd intimacy threw him off loop in ways he couldn’t pinpoint. Quite peculiar of himself to pose an enigma to no other than himself, nonetheless such uncanny moments intensified in frequency whenever Subaru was added it mix. Seishirou would be lying if he claimed he was delighted with that prospect but sometimes one needn’t probe too deep; mustn't as some things were better left unanswered; unlabeled.

Longer kiss was placed right on back of palm. Subaru finally opened eyes and their gazes met. No flinch, no pause. Seishirou made sure his expression betrayed none of inner conflict; let subtle smile reach lips, neither too flat to be closer to frown, nor too plastic to be obviously fake. Subaru and melancholia went hand in hand, better for both of them if Subaru remained in somewhat normal spirits rather than one of his blues; after all, he’d be one reaping the benefits of keeping his lover content.

Eventually Subaru let go; let hand slide down and lowered head back on his thigh. Silence stretched on, like nothing happened in the first place. Curiosity weakness of his, even more when something piped his interest. Seishirou decided to press the matter, but play it off as triviality.

“Cute of you Subaru-kun but what was that for?”, he asked while raking through Subaru’s hair once more.

Soft groan; Subaru appeared to be enjoying the tenderness. At that moment he appeared as if he hasn’t aged a day past sixteen; timid and sentimental. Yet unguarded eyes let out nothing of inner thoughts and wishes; no less of an enigma than night they reunited couple months ago.

“I’m not sure…”, Subaru began indeterminately. Paused briefly, gazed shyly to side before finally answering with more assurance.

“I just felt like it”

That answered absolutely nothing, Seishirou through privately. Howbeit typical of Subaru to act upon emotions. In retrospect he probably projected own inclination towards deceptiveness onto Subaru; habit of his, but also innate instinct to always stay ten steps ahead of everyone; especially someone as enigmatic and magically powerful as this grown up version of Subaru is.

All of that apparently unnecessary scrutiny evoke hunter in him; looks like he was in the mood actually. Seishirou slid hand down to Subaru’s chin and coaxed him into lounging position. Subaru didn’t appear startled, if anything he seemed receptive to anything Seishirou had in mind. Good. Distraction more then desirable; perhaps he needed it more than Subaru did.

“Let me show you then what proper kiss looks like”, Seishirou teased and brought Subaru up into real kiss.

#thanks for prompt #oke maybe it's semi-fluff? Idk hwo to rate level of fluff-ness given which ship it is #shameless self indulgence #x/1999 #seisub

[hoebaring]

Open Books (48) | Kim Namjoon

Tags/Warnings :- Child abuse, domestic violence, traumatized characters, bullying, self harm, mentions of toxic relationships, angst. I know it's dark but trust me it gets better! namjoonXreader, Namjoon and Y/n, A slow burn romance, fluff, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, self love, healing, etc.

Cross posted on Wattpad

Written by Author G

Word Count :- 3.5k words

Additional Tags/Warnings ;- This chapter has ANGST! Sad tears everywhere! But don't worry, they get through it (at least a part of it). Namjoon is smug in this- he can NOT stop teasing Y/n omfg :( I feel bad for her, and myself (cause your author is falling in love with her characters and has to stop) To summarise this, buckle up for a lot of tears, lots of teasing and lots of smiles. It's the whole package (like namj- ok, I'll stop now)

heavily unedited, btw :) please, please forgive me if there are spelling errors. I stretched this out over a lot of days so it got tiring at a point :( thankyou for understanding <3

Masterlist   Previously Next..? (In 2 weeks)

~Hope~

As Y/n stands behind the curtains that conceal her from the audience, her heart beats fast against her ribcage, loud like the bass of the speaker as the host starts the event, making blood rush up to the tips of her ears, awakening the unusual dream-like view on the world around her right now.

This is it. The turn in her life that leads to the smooth road on which she will continue her journey towards achieving her goals, her journey towards her dreamland that she'd been fantasizing about for as long as she can remember.

Nothing could ever compare to the excitement she feels right now!

Or at least, that's what she thinks.

The minute Y/n peaks out of the velvety, red curtain to get a look into how much of an audience there is, she spots Namjoon dusting something off of his pants as he settles down into his chair in the front row.

The mere fact that he chose to sit so close to the stage makes her heart flutter girlishly, mind squealing in delight.

The excitement she feels soon lulls into a lovely, pastel shaded emotion of calm when his eyes meet hers, a dimpled smile present on his face.

It's at this moment when she remembers how her liking for him has become a much simpler emotion than the complex one she had at the beginning. That is, when her liking for him tip-toed a small way past the fine line between friendship and more.

Y/n has willingly run away from the fine line now, further and further into the section of 'more', and the more she realizes how much of her heart she's putting into this, the more soft and homely it, & he feels to her.

Y/n has always thought of love as an emotion that would, in an ideal situation, occur naturally.

Her foster parents' relationship, however, had almost convinced her that she might be wrong.

Nevertheless, she did not ever see any harm in trying to cling onto hope for survival.

It's what enabled her to stay strong and live, after all.

This idea of 'love occurring naturally' is what makes Y/n's heart melt into a puddle of happy tears when the realization of how it is not a grand or fancy moment that she requires, but a simple, momentary glance into his eyes to remind her of how she feels more than just hope now.

Like how a flower gradually blooms to it's fullest to spread it's wonderful fragrance for everyone to enjoy, her hope has evolved and grown to become love.

What better way to dwell in the love than by spreading it?

And that's exactly what Y/n decides to do.

Little does she know, she's already spread it.

Namjoon loves it, and her.

*

The sound of the microphone's feedback combined with the audience's applause is the only indication of the seminars end, for her mind and heart are still stuck back at the stage that she walks away from, swooning at how well the entire ordeal had gone by.

She loved every part of it. The steady grow in confidence the longer she stood on stage was impeccable as the slight tremor in her hands waned away, mic no longer heavy in her hands as she explained the entirety of the project along with Ji-Hoon, highlighting every little detail that they worked on for hours, days, together.

But, oh, nothing could ever compare to the loving warmth she felt when she looked Namjoon in the eye.

It wasn't just her love for him that made her feel warm, but his.

Speaking of which, where is he? She asks herself as she strolls around the long, red carpeted corridors in search of the male.

Y/n had observed him get up half way through the seminar when he saw Seok-Jin arrive and signal for him to come over.

She strolls around for a little while more, a happy little skip accompanying her walk every now and then, much like the skips of her heartbeat as she thinks of finding him, speaking to him, merely being with him, in his presence.

Never once had Y/n thought she would have anything that she did today.

Getting an offer from such a prestigious university was far from the clutches of her thoughts when in high school, because, unlike her current academic scope, she wasn't a high scoring student. 

What was the reason? Well, it could be because of problems at home, or the fear of math, but who cares? They're just excuses. And that attitude, the mere thought of wanting to be better than excuses, gave her hope.

Wanting to better herself and not limit herself to excuses, allowed her to grow room for more.

And liking someone? love? dating? Hah! Not only did Y/n frown upon the ideas, she thought they were unnecessary; blasphemous even.

She didn't believe in the superficial means of dating and attraction that accompanied the teenage dream.

She never believed she would be able to find love at such a young age.

And the fact that she did, makes her feel like a fool.

A fool, yes, but a fool in love.

Y/n turns to walk around the last corner on the left, voice low as she calls out to Namjoon in hopes of getting a reply.

"I know this is surprising Namjoon-ah" Seok-Jin' s voice is but a mumble as it comes from the dim lit room in the corridor. Y/n walks closer, hand raised to knock on the door, but before she can, she hears his voice.

"I'm n-not surprised" Namjoon's pleasant voice cracks, despair tainting it, making her heart drop.

On quiet toes, she moves away from the door and takes a seat on one of the many chairs present by it. It creaks slightly as she does, making her cringe, hoping that they haven't heard her.

"That's the problem.. I'm not surprised" Namjoon continues with a bitter chuckle and it's almost as if she can hear him grit his teeth as he says it.

"A part of me knew this would happen, and yet, I let it happen. I've let her down, hyung."

Oh..

Is it what I think it is?

"And I hate myself for it right now. How am I to tell myself to choose between things that I love, hyung?"

A small part of Y/n knew that a day like this would come. She knew all along.. and yet, let things go on as they were, for as far as they were.

"It's so unfair hyung.." Namjoon sniffles.. wait, sniffles?

He's crying?

Y/n's eyes widen at the thought, heart plunging to her stomach, dismissing the remnants of the butterflies that had pleasantly occupied it earlier. Now, the butterflies flutter their way up to her throat in the form of unshed tears, sitting there in a way that is too uncomfortable for her.

But then, what about this situation is pleasant?

"Namjoon-ah.. I tried.. I really did. But there was nothing more I could-"

Before she can stop it, the unshed tears in her throat escape her in the form of a small whimper, which they hear, no doubt.

"I'm sorry Namjoon-ah" Seok-Jin almost whispers before seemingly walking away, toward the door.

The want to help and comfort his friend weighs him down, head hanging low with the weight. He feels helpless. There's nothing he can do, really.

He comes to a stop beside Y/n and whispers a small, feeble apology, before he continues to make his way out of the corridor, the sound of his receding footsteps heavy like the dense atmosphere.

It's quiet as she listens to the silence that hangs in the air, contemplating on whether or not she should talk to Namjoon.

Hell, why was she even considering the latter?

She turns on her heel and faces the room.

There he stands, face blank, eyes filled to the brim with tears that threaten to spill as he stares at her, the hope that had blossomed up until now nowhere to be seen.

This is the first time Y/n has seen Namjoon cry.

It's always been him that stayed strong, for his mom, Dahee, for Y/n too. Not once has he failed her.

As she walks closer towards him, it becomes clearer as to why he is crying, pieces fitting together way too perfectly for her liking as she feels the familiar sting of hurt and anger prick her in the chest.

"Namjoon-ah" she calls out and his eyes meet hers.

Damn..

The very same eyes that looked at her with hope for more earlier today, stare into hers devoid of it.

Instead of the sparkling light behind those intricate slits, there's a dull, almost tired spark of the simple emotion we like to call love.

Namjoon is.. tired, to say the least.

Tired of having to fight for the smallest slivers of love that he expects from life. Tired of having done so at home, and having to face the same torturous experience here too, with her.

Not with her, please.. not her too!

Anger, contempt and distress bubble through his veins, and before he can stop himself, the emotions seep through his voice like they usually would when around the man that caused a similar kind of pain back at home.

"I do not want to talk about it, Y/n" his voice is curt, a sneer on his face, almost as if there's a.. wall that he's trying to put up around himself, as if he is trying to protect himself.

Protect himself, not from her, but from that miserable concoction of emotions that he whirls in right now.

Y/n feels a familiar prick in her heart, one that she knows all too well.

Never once had Namjoon, her Joon, ever spoken to her like so.

Voice ever so cold, eyes not willing to meet hers as if the very thought was foul. Instinctively, the sirens blare at her, noisily pleading for her to shield herself from the violent pinch in her proverbial heart.

Why? There is no need. This is Joon. He'd never hurt her.

His reaction.. was something she hadn't ruled out, something she considered might happen.

She has seen this before, felt this before.

This miserable instinct of not wanting to let the other person know that they've gotten to you no matter how much it hurt on the inside, might be the only thing that kept her sane back home.

And she completely understands how it might have affected him outside of such a hostile environment too. You see, she's experienced it too.

And she knows that the moment he uttered those words, a huge truck of shame would have crashed down upon him, making the self respect wither and welt away like the last flower in winter.

"Please.. talk to me" she whispers, hand on his shoulder as she tries to swallow the lump of tears down in hopes of staying strong for him.

Silence.

"Joon.. tell me. Is it what I think it is?" Y/n speaks once more, hating the fact that she can't find it in her to truly voice it out.

"I.. I can't Y/n-ah.. I can't do this all over again. I'm tired.." he breaks as pitiful sobs wrack through him.

"How.. how is it fair of him to ask me to choose between you and them?"

So it is that. The cliché "trainees must not date" rule they'd been dreading silently.

It must have been because the producer saw them together that day.. when Joon introduced her to him as his girlfriend.

This is isn't a big deal! We'll move past this.. right?

This.. sure, it might seem dramatic to most people. But to Namjoon, to Y/n, oh, it isn't drama. It's true exhaustion that settles in their bones as they think of how much they'll have to struggle for this too.

It's always been a battle for them. Be it at home, at school, with themselves.. they've always had to struggle for the smallest bits of hope. And now, Namjoon can't seem to find any more strength within himself to get up.

She can see that he's on the verge of letting go.. of giving up.

"Please, Namjoon-ah.. talk to me" Y/n begs, as if hearing his voice will soothe her aching heart.

However, it doesn't.

"No Y/n! I can't talk!"

Her breath hitches, and for the first time around them, uncomfortable silence follows.

Unbeknownst to him, contempt seemed to lace his voice. His face is twisted into a hateful scowl, the tears that stain his face angry, his eyebrows furrowed as if the last thing he wanted was her to see him so vulnerable.

The anger he seems to carry. The contempt. The fact that he doesn't want her to see him vulnerable, without any walls up.. she knows why this is happening. Like said before, sge is all too familiar with the trauma for her liking. She understands.

But, a small part of her can't help but think that maybe.. maybe it was only her that felt comfortable. Maybe she didn't earn all of his trust yet..

That breaks her.

Hot tears roll down her face, burning the skin as they do and she has to grit her teeth to try and calm herself down, eyes closed to try and block out the bright light, feeling all too overwhelmed by everything now.

Before she can let her mind race farther down that dark road, however, she feels herself being engulfed into a hug. One that seems to piece back all that she felt break inside her.

She feels safe in his arms. Warmth. Like a subtle ray of sunlight when out on a cold day.

The pleasant silence returns, loud enough to block out all that noisy chit-chatter.

That's all the apology she requires to soothe her. That's all the love she needs to find her way out. To find hope.

"I.. I can't talk about it" he starts, voice broken. "Because if I do, it would mean that it matters."

"But it does matter, Joon.. doesn't it?" She asks, although she feels no reason to.

She knows it does.

"Of course it does, Y/n. But, that scares me. Because, if it matters, it's real. And when it's real, it hurts." He completes, voice growing more steady, more sure with every word he speaks, almost as if the strength he lost returned as he did.

That's what being in her presence did to him. She gave him strength.

"But it is real. It does hurt, Namjoon-ah. We can't run from it." Y/n shakes her head, gently moving away from him to look at him. "Don't you think it's going to be easier if we do this together?"

"It would.." he nods as he cups her face, wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. The tears he caused.

Wincing at the thought, he looks away, the pain returning once more.

How could have done this.. ugh.

He was the one that was supposed to protect her from harm if ever threatened.

He was the one that was supposed to keep her safe from pain.

He wasn't supposed to have fucking caused it!

That is the responsibility he took the moment he loved her. The moment she allowed him to do so.

To keep the other's heart safe. That is the responsibility of love.

And he failed, miserably so.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n-ah. I promise.." he feels his voice break once more as he presses his forehead against hers, unable to look her in the eye, ashamed of himself.

".. I promise Y/n..! I never meant to hurt you. Truly.." he begs.

"I know, Joon. I know. But, it.. it hurt that, even though it was for a second, you felt the need to hide how you felt about this from me." Y/n sniffles, hating that she can't stop the small tears although she isn't mad at him.

That, he hates.

She should be mad at him! Not just look at him with those eyes that already whisper words of love and affection.

She should give him a chance to work for it! How else is he supposed to get rid of the guilt he feels? How else is he supposed to feel worthy of her love once more? Of her, in all her grace?

"I can't take back how I said what I said, Y/n-ah. But, I don't know what else to do, but ask you if you can forgive me?" he pleads, voice a mere whisper, as if anything louder would break him.

"Of course I do, Joon." She replies, a small smile making it's way onto her face when he tucks a small strand of her hair behind her ear, staring at her as if she's the most precious to him on this planet.

She is.

"Let me make it up to you.. please. I really am sorry." His shoulders shake ever so slightly with the guilt that consumes him.

"Hey.. hey, I know." Y/n tilts his face up so its no longer looking down with shame, hating how he can't seem to accept her forgiveness. Hating how he's beating himself up for it.

"There's nothing to make up for. You made it better. It's ok, Joon. I'm fine, see?" It's her turn to wipe away the tears streaming down his face, smiling once he nods his head.

"Oh, I love you" he confesses, chuckling once she starts crying once more.

This wouldn't stop anytime soon, would it?

Neither of them are surprised with his confession. Maybe because he just stated what they knew all along.

There isn't much that changes for either of them when he utters the words.

The world doesn't stop, their hearts don't beat faster, there isn't a chaotic dance the butterflies perform.

No. Instead, they feel at peace. Like as if saying those words restored that little bit of hope they needed in the moment.

Of course he had to say it first! This day wasn't going as planned at all..! But then again, she isn't going to complain about this.

"Why? Don't you want me to love you?" Namjoon teases, a cheeky smile on his face as he tries to make the situation better, wiping away her tears once more.

"Shut up..!" She slaps him on the arm with a frown before engulfing him into another hug, laughing at how silly she was being.

"Come on, say it back. You know you want to." he teases more, tickling her once she refuses playfully.

"Ok, ok, fine! I love you too..!" She laughs out, swollen eyes seemingly disappearing when she smiles, nose a tinge of red from all the crying.(blushing too)

"There you go" he smirks cheekily, before leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead, making those butterflies flutter about once more, as if to celebrate the moment, dancing to the beat of hearts that compliment each other.

"What do we do about this.. situation, then?" Y/n asks, glad that they're both in a better frame of mind now.

"What? The one where you can't stop blushing like a tomato? Hm, let me think-" he teases, laughing once she slaps him on the head once more.

"Ok, ok! I'll stop!"

"You're so.. ugh!" She rolls her eyes, as if annoyed by him, although they both know that ain't the situation. The smile she wears gives it away.

"Either way, you still love me"

"Yes, you big old oaf, I do- That's not the point..!"

"Really? I can't help but think of anything but that, however. I wonder why.." He asks, standing up from his spot on the ground.

"Namjoon."

"What?"

"Shut up." She quips, making him laugh out once more as he helps her up onto her feet. He absolutely loved teasing her!

"Come on now, let's get some ice cream and.. you know, talk." He suggests, holding her hand in his warm one.

The walk to the convenience store is quiet, the fresh air just what they need as they think back to what happened, and the situation they're in.

They'd just have to handle it like how they would with any other, they agree. Face it head on, together.

They can't help but smile at the thought of how.. right, it feels to be together as Namjoon shows her the picture of their first outing to the amusement park. One where, much like they are now, eating ice cream, a small bit of it smudged on her nose in the picture.

This day could have gone better, yes. But it doesn't matter. They don't

want a fairy tale. They want each other. At their best, and worst. At their most true moments.

Their love is now stronger than before. Truer than before, because they got through it together.

After all, that's the purpose of their hope, isn't it? To get through tough times. To give each other strength. To be each other's love, and hope.

Oh, they loved this. Each other. Without a doubt.

#open books #namjoonff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #fluff #angst #hawt #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts #kim seokjin #btsff #bts fanfic #romance #slowburn!au #slowburnromance #smugness #is #af #bye- #:) #finally!

[seiya-starsniper]

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - Chapter 5

Link on Ao3 [Here]

Chapter summary: A little bit of domestic fluff, as a treat. Also, Dream shows up in Hob's dreams :)

They talk. Really talk. The next morning, Hob and The Corinthian sit in bed for hours and speak openly for the first time about their pasts, and their history with Dream.

Hob learns about The Corinthian’s creation, how warm Dream had been in the beginning, how the Endless had only grown colder and colder over time. How jealous The Corinthian had been when Dream had started his appointments with Hob. The Corinthian had been around for all of Dream’s failed lovers, and Hob could feel the loneliness the nightmare felt every time Dream fell in love again, along with the anger that followed every time Dream took out his sorrows on his realm, on his creations, on The Corinthian himself, when things eventually soured. 

The Corinthian also opens up, for the first time, about his time in the Waking prior to meeting Hob. Hob of course had done his initial research, had devoured documentary after documentary, book after book, podcast after podcast. The world was obsessed with The Corinthian's crimes. But now Hob knows the true story behind each of the victims. Some were random, others targeted. Hob feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner quite a few of them resembled Dream's mortal form. But he had been preoccupied with other things at the time.

One particular tale catches Hob's interest though.

"Wait, so the man you killed the night we met…he was also a criminal?" Hob asks, shocked.

"Oh yeah, big religious type, set fire to a bunch of people's houses he didn't like, put his son in the hospital for being gay even though he had a thing for guys himself, real charmer," The Corinthian shrugs. "He was fleeing an assault and arson charge in the US. I thought he was interesting so I followed him. He ended up being a huge disappointment though. All that rage and he ended up begging for his life when someone stronger came along.” Hob snorts at the distaste in The Corinthian’s tone.

"Wow," Hob says. "I was so concerned about you coming for my head next I didn't even think about looking up an obituary or anything like that."

The Corinthian grins. "Good, he was boring. I was a much better use of your thoughts."

Hob can’t disagree with that. “So, by the time you and I met, you were already bored with regular murdering?”

The Corinthian hums. "Not quite bored , but definitely looking for variety. Which I found a lot of with you."

"Makes sense.” Hob agrees. “I was really prepared to try harder to convince you to stay with me here."

"Hard to say no with the bargain you gave me.” The Corinthian shrugs as if it were an easy decision. It gives Hob a warm feeling, like they were always inevitable for each other. 

Hob knows his next line of questioning is going to upset the blond. "And then when you went back…"

The Corinthian's expression sours like curdled milk.

“Nothing worked,” The Corinthian grates. “I tried criminals, I tried total innocents, I even tried to be as depraved as possible, nothing worked .” A pause. “Sorry if that relapse disappoints you,” he finishes moodily. 

“Hey, hey, no, you're here,” Hob reassures the blond. “I mean yes, I am extremely unhappy that you went off and did all that…but you know I've done bad things too.”

“You didn't know they were bad at the time,” The Corinthian grumbles. "You said everyone else was doing it. How could you know?" 

“No…I think I did. I just refused to see the humanity in other people who didn't look like me,” Hob admits. It's an ugly truth he's had to face over and over again over the years. Society has made progress for sure on that front, but Hob still sees old attitudes creep up from time to time, passed down generations like an old blood stain that fades but is never truly gone.

“And anyways," Hob continues. "You're something other than human, it's more of a challenge for you to emphasize, me enslaving my fellow man, woman, and even children for money though…”

“No,” The Corinthian says with finality. “We're not comparing bad deeds Hob. We'll be here all day. They happened, and you’ve been atoning for them in a variety of ways, least of all, trying to reign in a rogue nightmare…I don't even know where I'd start for myself.” the blond admits. 

“I'm sure Dream has a few ideas,” Hob replies.

“Dream tried to unmake me,” The Corinthian bites.

“And now he won't. So he probably has some ideas. And if he doesn't, then he has a good friend to help him come up with some.” Hob pats himself on the shoulder.

“I'm sure that's a conflict of interest Hob,” The Corinthian says. 

Hob then hears something he hasn't heard in a while. It's a quiet "tsk"-ing noise, followed by a small click and he knows for a fact it did not come from The Corinthian's primary mouth.

"Cory, did you just roll your eyes at me?" Hob asks, fake offended. 

The Corinthian just smiles and says nothing.

"You little shit," Hob laughs, then kisses the blond. 

Eventually, Hob's stomach grumbles and it's all the motivation they need to get out of bed. Hob knows for a fact that he hasn’t moved anything around in his flat since The Corinthian left, but the blond still decides to sift through Hob’s drawers instead of his own for something to wear. It makes something possessive curl in Hob’s stomach, to see The Corinthian wearing his clothes.

Hob takes over the conversation while preparing fried eggs and toast. While The Corinthian had been able to see all of Hob's memories via his eyes, Hob still prefers to relay his own experience to the blond himself, and The Corinthian seems more at ease talking about Hob’s experiences than his own. Or, more accurately, he seems to take more delight in poking fun at Hob’s more embarrassing experiences, such as his raging jealousy of William Shakespeare in the 1600s. 

“I can’t believe you tried to feed Dream duck, and he ditched you for a poet, ” The Corinthian laughs.

“Ugh, I’m still mad about it. I had enough food for a whole dinner party! He ate none of it ,” Hob groans. “I don’t care how revered old Shaxberd turned out, that was one of the most embarrassing nights of my life. Here’s your eggs, did you want anything on them?”

“Hot sauce?” The Corinthian asks, perking up. Hob rolls his eyes.

“ Americans.”

The Corinthian gets his hot sauce. He drowns his eggs in them, and then dips the toast in the mixture of egg yolk and sauce. It’s nauseating. The things Hob does for love. 

Hob does feel a bit bad about not having a set of eyeballs for The Corinthian to consume along with eggs, but the blond just snorts when he mentions it.

“My diet is not exclusively eyeballs, Hob.” The Corinthian says.

“I know but they always made you so happy!” Hob explains. The Corinthian mumbles something under his breath that Hob doesn’t catch. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I'm happy to just have breakfast made by you again.” The Corinthian stabs at his egg and hot sauce mush with his fork as if the admission physically pained him to admit. 

“Aw, Cory,” Hob coos. “I’ll make breakfast for you every day.” He would too. Terrible hot sauce and all. Hob may or may not have added the infernal ingredient to some of his meals that last two years just to give himself a reminder of the blond.

“You’re lucky I love you,” The Corinthian grumbles in response. “You’re so sappy, it’s gross.”

“Oh, you should ask what Johanna has to say about that,” Hob replies.

They settle into a comfortable silence after that. The Corinthian finishes his breakfast relatively quickly and then moves his chair next to Hob’s so he can nestle into the immortal’s shoulder. Hob thinks it’s adorable but decides not to say anything for now. If The Corinthian is touch starved and wants to cuddle up to him as much as possible, Hob’s not going to ruin the moment by pointing it out. 

Hob still has end of term papers to grade though, so once he’s finished his breakfast, he takes the dishes to the sink and starts to make a kettle of tea. Luckily, none of the essays were permanently damaged when The Corinthian and Dream had blown into his apartment like a tornado the night before. Even though Hob could reprint anything that got damaged, that would require going to the university, and he doesn’t want to leave The Corinthian for anything if he can help it.He still can’t believe his lover is really here after all this time. 

“Tell me about Rose Walker,” Hob says once they’ve settled on the couch with tea and Hob’s papers. 

The Corinthian does. He explains to Hob how dream vortexes are born, how there’s no real explanation for why they come into being, and the reason why they’re so dangerous to the fabric of reality. He also explains why he wanted to get to Rose so badly. It’s heartbreaking. Hob puts down the essay he’s grading and pulls the blond into a tight hug.

“All this time, I didn’t know how scared you were of Dream,” Hob says. “I should’ve pushed you more about the identity of your creator but…”

“Yeah, I saw, Dream didn’t take too kindly to being told he was someone’s friend. ” The Corinthian’s ocular mouths release that soft clicking noise that tells Hob he’s rolling his eyes. “It worked out that Dream being a dick made you afraid to ask more questions about me.”

“I suppose it did,” Hob agrees reluctantly. “Would you have told me his identity if I’d asked?”

“I…I’m not sure,” The Corinthian admits. “There was always just something that made me not want to.”

“Might be just another trait you inherited from him,” Hob teases. “Maybe all your fellow dreams and nightmares were under strict orders to never reveal Dream’s name to me.”

“Oh please, almost none of them even knew you existed. Dream kept your meetings such a secret, he nearly unmade me when I found out about you.”

“He what?” Hob exclaims, aghast. “Why would he do that?”

The Corinthian shrugs. “He’s pretty possessive of you. I didn’t understand it before, but I sure as hell do now.” The admission warms Hob’s heart, but he’s still having a hard time reconciling the aloof and distant way Dream treated him in the past with the overly possessive way he guarded his meetings to the residents of his realm. 

“Hmm…he sure had a funny way of showing it, all things considered,” Hob replies. “At least, back then. When we met after he escaped from the Burgess estate, he was…different. A lot more open and affectionate for sure.” Despite himself, Hob smiles at the memory.

“Really now?” The Corinthian asks, waggling his eyebrows. “Were you cheating on me with my maker, Hob Gadling?” 

“Oh, hush, like you have room to talk!” Hob swats at The Corinthian’s shoulder playfully. “But no, nothing happened, all we did was hold hands…and well, then the news came on and ruined the mood.”

“Let me guess, news coverage of me?” The Corinthian says, pride evident in his voice.

“Hey don’t look so smug about that, I was worried about you, you prick!”

The Corinthian laughs. “I can’t help it. But oh, I didn’t tell you, there was a whole cult dedicated to me that I found out about in the States!”

“A cult,” Hob repeats, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Yes, with a whole convention and everything, they invited me to be their Keynote speaker.” The Corinthian confirms. Hob thinks The Corinthian should not be proud that he inspired an entire cult of murderers, not when they worked so hard for him to not be needlessly killing but…it is a rather impressive feat. After all, only the most infamous serial killers had followings. He won’t admit that out loud though.  

“Who the hell is hosting a convention for actual murderers?” Hob says instead, exasperated. 

“Well, it was called The Cereal Convention. You know, C-E-R-E-A-L,” The Corinthian supplies.

Hob groans. “Excuse me, that pun has no business being that clever, I’m offended.”

They look at each other and then both burst out laughing. They don’t stop for at least ten minutes, and Hob is wheezing from the effort. The Corinthian, on the other hand, has the audacity of being a literal nightmare who doesn’t need to breathe, and laughs even harder once Hob starts struggling to reclaim his hold on oxygen. Eventually, once Hob insists that he absolutely needs to calm down, they settle into a comfortable silence.

Hob’s pretty sure this is the first time they’ve ever been domestic like this, lounging on his couch, wrapped in blankets, and The Corinthian making snide comments about some of his students’ writing styles from time to time. 

“Do you think he’ll be coming back today?" The Corinthian asks when Hob decides to take a break, a few hours later.

Hob shrugs. “He didn’t say. Ugh, it still doesn't sit right with me, that Dream has to kill someone so young,” he laments.

“There's no other way. There’s never been any other way.” The Corinthian replies. 

“No other way, before , remember, Dream's changed. He'll find a way to fix things without killing a young girl. I'm sure of it.” Hob’s not sure why he has such faith in Dream, but he does. The Corinthian, on the other hand, understandably, does not. It will take more than just a single heart to heart to undo all the damage between them. Hob’s patient though. He’ll walk them both through it if he has to. 

—

They make love again later that night. It's as soft as their lovemaking the night before, if not more so because this time, The Corinthian is the one inside of Hob, their foreheads pressed together in a gentle rhythm. Hob tilts his head up to bestow a light kiss to The Corinthian’s left eye, causing the blond to gasp. He snaps his hips hard into Hob, and the immortal curses loudly when it hits his prostate just right.

"Fucking Christ, Cory do that again," Hob growls and The Corinthian obliges immediately, driving his hips into Hob at a punishing pace.

Hob thinks The Corinthian is the most lovely in his reactions to tenderness. It's like watching a dam burst under the pressure of a storm, or a star explode into a supernova. The Corinthian may not have been originally created to love or to be loved, but he still absorbs it like parched soil soaks up rain. Hob would give this beautiful creature everything and more, just for the pleasure of seeing his reactions.

When The Corinthian touches the spot on Hob’s chest where he carved his name all those years ago, the skin lights up, shocking both of them.

"Fucking Mary's tits!" Hob yells, grasping at his collarbone. The pain is something fierce he’s never felt before, so much so that he doesn’t feel The Corinthian slip out of him. He’s still clutching at what he expects is some sort of burn mark when The Corinthian moves his hands away to inspect the damage to Hob’s person.

“I'm sorry I have no idea what happened I didn't mean to…” The blond cuts off, suddenly silent.

“What? Is it that bad?” Hob asks. Do they need burn cream? Is this the sort of thing that could be treated with burn cream?

“I've…bound myself to you,” The Corinthian whispers, astonished. He traces his fingertips over the burn spot, and Hob feels a shiver go straight down his spine. He looks down at himself and sees The Corinthian’s name outlined in gold on his chest. Hob runs his own fingers along the mark, and The Corinthian gasps and shakes as if run through with a live wire.

“What…what does this mean Cory?” Hob asks, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Binding sounds like enslavement and you know I don't want-”

“No, it's different,” The Corinthian reassures, and thank God for that. Hob doesn’t want to think about the semantics of accidental supernatural slavery. Johanna would have his head. Dream would have his head.

“It's old magic,” The Corinthian explains. “It allows…it allows you to call out to me from within The Dreaming. The mark here,"  he points to the bed, "is a protective measure, to keep other nightmares away from your dreams. The mark on your shoulder means you need only call out to me in your dreams and I will go to you."

Christ. The idea of having access to The Corinthian from within his dreams, to be able to call out to him from within the Dreaming, when Hob’s never had a lucid dream in his entire immortal life, gives Hob an indescribable feeling of warmth and softness. 

“So, if I understand correctly,” Hob begins. “Whenever I'm having a bad dream, I only need to call for you and you'll come?”

“You shouldn't be having bad dreams in the first place,” The Corinthian grumbles. “The mark-”

“I know, Cory, but you can't hide me from my bad memories,” Hob interjects. “Those will always stay with me, whether there’s a nightmare to trigger them or not. But at least now I know you can wake me up if I get too lost in them.”

“It's…not quite like that,” The Corinthian says, suddenly shy. 

“No?” 

“I…if you call me, I would be able to take you to a safer place in The Dreaming. To…wherever it is I'd consider home.”

Home.

The Corinthian had told him he hadn't felt like The Dreaming was home since at least 1916, when Dream had tried to unmake the blond. If this mark means what Hob thinks it means then...

“Feeling homesick are we?” Hob can’t help but tease.

“Shut up it's not…it isn't like that.” And isn’t that adorable? The Corinthian is pouting so it definitely means what Hob thinks it means.

“Hmmm I think it is, pet.” Hob says, as conclusively as he can manage. “Otherwise this thing would've come about a lot sooner with the way we fuck.”

The Corinthian’s response is to try to smother Hob with his own pillows. Rude. They wrestle in the sheets for a while and naturally Hob is the first one out of breath. It’s truly a miracle he was ever able to spar with the blond. The wonders of a fight or flight response.

“I'm glad, you know.” Hob says once they’ve called a truce on their pillow fight. “That you and Dream have made up. And that's not just me being selfish, I swear. But you were always so sad when you used to talk about him.” 

“I wasn't sad,” The Corinthian replies. “I was…angry,” he finally admits.

“Which is really just another facet of sadness.” Hob replies. “ And why wouldn't you be? There's so much history between you two. More so than with me and him, and I fell for him even so.”

“I guess…”

“Look, I know I said we'd talk about things more today, but if you need to ruminate more that's okay too,” Hob says as placatingly as possible. He can see and feel the tension melt off The Corinthian’s face and shoulders.

“Thank you,” the blond says. 

“In the meantime, I'll try not to abuse having access to you in the Dreaming, I don't want you to shirk your duties on my behalf.”

“I don’t care if you abuse it, I love you, I’ll come whenever you call.”

Hob smiles. “Tell me again, love.”

“I love you.” The Corinthian repeats and kisses him. Hob knows he won’t ever get tired of hearing it.

“I love you too.”

—

“What do you know about polyamory, Cory?” Hob asks two days later when they’re rewatching season 2 of Hannibal. 

The Corinthian wrinkles his nose. "That thing the Mormons do?"

“No no, that’s polygamy, an entirely different concept, and also I’m pretty sure the entire religion doesn’t practice it.” Hob says. He takes a deep breath to prepare for his next sentence. 

“Polyamory is, well, it's when more than two people are involved in a committed relationship with one another. It’s actually become more popular in the last few decades, especially in queer relationships.” Although, more popular did not exactly mean common , per say, but Hob’s pretty certain that neither Dream nor The Corinthian really care about outdated standards for traditional relationships. Johanna had been in few multi-partner relationships over the years as well, and Hob’s been texting her on and off asking about logistics on them. Johanna had sent over a lot of emojis and exclamation points. She also called him “a man with zero survival instincts, immortality be damned.” But she was helping nonetheless.

The Corinthian has a thoughtful look on his face as he digests Hob’s explanation. “Okay, I’ll bite, why are we talking about this?”

“You really don’t know?”

The Corinthian sighs, rather dramatically in Hob’s opinion, and then maneuvers himself so that his head is sitting on Hob’s lap. Hob looks down fondly at the blond, who has not worn his glasses the entire time he’s been in the flat. There’s a bit of tension in the way The Corinthian’s eye mouths grit their teeth, but the rest of the nightmare’s face seems more curious than anything else.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any to talk about it,” The Corinthian says. Hob can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant, but the immortal knows better. It seems silly to him that someone otherwise so confident would be so insecure when it came to their relationship, but then wonders never cease, Hob supposes.

“Look this is not something you need to make a decision on now, but something to think about, before you go back with Dream,” Hob says. He runs his fingers through the blond’s hair, soothingly. It has the intended effect and The Corinthian’s eyes flutter shut, finally relaxing fully.

“Who says I’m going back?”

Hob just smiles. He swears he feels the mark react as well. He leans his head down to press a kiss first to The Corinthian’s left ocular mouth, then the right.

“I thought we said no more lying, darling,” he whispers to them.

The Corinthian sighs happily through all three mouths and shudders. “Ok fine, let’s talk then.”

“Is it something you want?” Hob asks. “To be in a relationship with not just me, but your maker as well?”

“It sounds like something you want,” The Corinthian replies far too quickly.

Hob hums. “It is. But, if it isn’t something you want, then I don’t need it. Our relationship is complete with just me and you. I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.”

The Corinthian surges up to kiss Hob instead of responding. They kiss until Hob’s neck starts to bother him, and The Corinthian whines as he pulls away to unstrain his neck.

“Now…that being said,” Hob picks up from before. “It’s pretty clear Dream’s already part of this relationship in some way, just because of how entwined our lives are with him. If you want to keep things the way they are, we can, but I also feel that we can have something more.”

“But what if…” The Corinthian pauses, unsure. “What if he doesn’t want it?”

“Then that’s fine too,” Hob shrugs. “He’s allowed to not want to become involved with us for whatever reason.”

“And then what if he only wants you and not me?” The Corinthian demands.

Hob laughs. “Darling, I told you, he loves you. And there’s nothing that will keep me from you. Maybe I met Dream first, maybe I had romantic feelings for him first, but I loved you first, Corinthian.” The Corinthian visibly shudders at the use of his full name, and Hob takes the opportunity to gently push the blond upwards into a sitting position so Hob doesn’t have to strain his neck to kiss him. It only takes a little bit of maneuvering to get The Corinthian fully in his lap from there.

“You left your mark on me, a golden tattoo for everyone to see,” Hob whispers in The Corinthian’s ear. “I've made my commitment to you and I'm sticking with it, so please stop worrying your pretty head about things that won't ever happen.” The Corinthian keens at a pitch Hob knows humans cannot normally reach. Hob tightens his arms around the blond and nuzzles his face against The Corinthian’s neck. They sit there quietly for a few minutes, simply enjoying the intimacy.

“Yes,” The Corinthian finally says, gasping. “Yes I want you, I want him, I want everything. ” 

Hob smiles and kisses The Corinthian again, long and slow. “I figured you might. Well then, now that we’re in agreement, how do you want to go about things?”

“Ugh I don’t know," The Corinthian groans. "I feel like I don’t even know him as he is right now.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. Getting to know one another.”

“What, like dates?” The Corinthian asks incredulously.

“Exactly like dates!” Hob confirms enthusiastically. “And hugs. Lots of hugs. Maybe some hand holding too.”

“You’re such a sap.” The Corinthian's tone is deprecating but Hob can feel the fondness underneath.

“A sap that you love!” 

–

When Hob goes to sleep that night, he wakes up in a field of green.

It's peaceful here. He knows he's never been in a place quite like this in the world and yet it feels like home. Hob can hear babbling brooks and waterfalls, can smell the wildflowers in bloom, and can taste the crispness of the air. He lies in the grass, enjoying the feel of the blades between his toes (He’s barefoot? Neat.).

There’s a crunch in the grass, an unknown amount of time later and Hob sits up suddenly at the sound. Someone is approaching. He should stand up and greet them, he thinks. It feels like he should.

Hob scrambles to a standing position just as he recognizes the figure approaching him. 

"Dream,” Hob whispers, awed. Dream is different here, he’s somehow more radiant, more present, more everything. Hob feels as though he is looking upon an angel, no, a god, no…he knows the word now.

Endless.

"Hello, Hob,” Dream greets him. His smile, though small, is warm and absolutely breathtaking. Does he need to breathe here?

"This is…this is the Dreaming, isn't it?" It’s so relaxing, Hob can’t imagine he’s anywhere else. He feels lightheaded, almost floaty. His thoughts come and go like wisps of smoke. It's almost like being high on hallucinogens, but not quite.

"It is, my friend,” Dream confirms, stepping closer to stand directly in front of him. “And I see you're now able to walk freely amongst it."

Dream is very pointedly staring at Hob's chest and then the immortal suddenly remembers the mark The Corinthian gave him. Hob looks down at his collarbone and the mark is giving off a brilliant glow. It’s so bright Hob is sure it could be seen from the sky, no, from space. 

“Oh shit, I didn't know it could do that!” Hob exclaims. “Is…is that normal?” 

“Only in the Dreaming,” Dream confirms, and thank God for that. Hob’s not sure how he’d hide the thing if it glowed like that all the time when he was awake. “You have been marked by one of its most powerful residents, so naturally the mark's radiance will reflect the strength of its originator.”

“Wow uhm…that's pretty crazy,” Hob says, unsure of what else he can add to this conversation. He’s never had a lucid dream before tonight, and he’s feeling rather discombobulated. 

Dream touches the mark. Hob swears he was wearing a shirt prior to this exact moment, but now he is very much shirtless in front of Dream. He thinks he should be self conscious about this. He’s not. He's far too focused on the fact that Dream is touching him , and if he thought touch in the waking world felt electric between them, touching in the Dreaming feels like he's unlocked a whole new sense, just for this. 

“This mark is old…and yet new,” Dream notes, tracing pale fingertips along the curves and lines of The Corinthian's name “ How curious. ”

"Uh yeah…" Hob swallows thickly. "When Cory first started living with me, he actually explained a bit to me about how the mark works. He meant to only carve it on my bedpost at first to keep out nightmares but then…you know, we got a bit carried away…"

Dream raises an eyebrow. "I see. The Corinthian is not known for taking half measures so I suppose that makes sense.” He moves his hand away from Hob's chest and somehow Hob does not whine, just exhales a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

“Uh…yeah, exactly that.” Hob confirms, dizzy from the interaction. “But it healed over back then, and only just recently appeared the way it did.”

Dream's expression softens significantly. “He has reclaimed his place in the Dreaming then.” Dream sounds…relieved? And maybe a little happy, Hob thinks. “He had previously cut ties with it, which is why I had chased him into the Waking.” Dream does not mention that he had no intention of bringing his creation back with him.

“He did say that," Hob says. "He also said I could…call out to him here?”

“You could…if he were currently in the Dreaming.” Dream replies, a faraway look now in his eyes. “As it stands, he lies next to you in your home in London.” Dream purses his lips. “I imagine he has realized I am speaking with you.”

“Oh uh…is that going to make things awkward?” Hob asks sheepishly. He looks around as if expecting The Corinthian to pop up out of the grass like a weed. 

“He has not come storming through Fiddler's Green to claim you, another curious matter,” Dream replies, thoughtful. “I would have expected him to be more cautious of our interactions, lest I attempt to turn you against him.”

“Ha, Cory said the same thing you know. I had to spend some time trying to convince him my loyalty doesn't flip that easily, no offense Dream.” Hob expects his oldest friend to at least take some offense, but instead, Dream simply looks confused.

“That name…” Dream says, puzzlement clear in his voice. 

“What na-Oh you mean Cory?” Hob asks.

“His name is The Corinthian…and yet…”

“Yes well, The Corinthian is a bit of a mouthful," Hob explains. "Plus if you recall from our aborted meeting, the name Corinthian is a tad infamous around the mortal world, and I needed to not draw attention to ourselves. Ergo, Cory.” 

Dream hums. “The Corinthian has never been one for nicknames, and yet you give him one so easily accepted.”

“Oh, that's not true and you know it Dream,” Hob accuses.

“What do you mean?” Dream asks.

“My little nightmare? That's a nickname if I've ever heard one.”

“I…suppose so,” Dream concedes.

“Or do you call all your nightmares that?” Hob asks. He knows Dream doesn’t, but he wants to hear his friend admit it.

“No…you are correct. I had forgotten about that aspect of our relationship. To our detriment it seems.” Dream sounds rather melancholy about this, and Hob has to stop himself from smiling at that fact.

“Well, there's no rule saying you can't start again,” Hob says, chipper. “I think he’d really like it.”

Dream looks taken aback. “You are certain of this?” he asks, and there’s just the slightest amount of naked hope in his tone. Hob wants to hug him, but he holds himself back.

“With the way he was shaking when you said it the other night? Absolutely,” Hob confirms. “Which, by the way, I don't want to press but…are you coming back?”

“In time, ” Dream replies.  “I need to work on rebuilding the realm. And I must collect my thoughts. I do not wish to cause a further rift in our relationship. I have…many relationships to repair in my realm it seems.” Dream has that faraway look in his face again. Hob wants to ask more but something tells him he’s about to wake up. Once he figures out how time works here, he’ll ask as many questions as he can of Dream and how his realm works. For now, he’s focused on just helping repair the relationship between The Corinthian and Dream.

“All right, well you know where to find us,” Hob says. “Take your time, but not too long, okay?”

“Of course. Thank you for your time Hob. This dream is over.”

Hob wakes to The Corinthian's eye mouths right above his own eyes.

“Hey you,” Hob whispers, then pulls The Corinthian down for a kiss.

“You looked like you were having a good dream," The Corinthian says.

“Mmmm yes. It would've been nicer if you dropped in too,” Hob says.

“Not yet,” The Corinthian replies. “You were right, he and I need to talk, just us first. There are things we need to resolve first before…before we try to do something new.”

Hob smiles. “Well, he said he'd be by soon once things settle down. Let's do a bit of tidying up while we wait so he comes back to a clean home, yeah?”

#hobrinthian #hobrintheus #sandman fanfic #seiya writes #the sandman #mystuff #seiya writes hobrinthian #seiya writes hobrintheus

[ppangjae]

SOMETIMES | CHAPTER 4. STICKY NOTES

SYNOPSIS. Sometimes, Jaehyun forgets that you are roommates.

— or, alternatively: it all started with a blackout in the whole building.

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff | slight smut | roommates!au

word count. 1400 words

warnings. swearing

author’s note. happy reading~ chapter 5 will be posted tonight!

prev > masterlist > next

What are you? That’s a question that never seems to leave your mind, especially after that night. You can’t seem to formulate an answer to that question. Not when you woke up the next morning next to Jaehyun’s shirtless body. Not when you both act like a domestic couple living in the same apartment. Not when you both forget that you’re just roommates.

The two of you have seen each other, quite literally. You’ve seen right through Jaehyun. He’s seen right through you. You’ve both crossed boundaries. Roommates are to never develop some sort of feelings for each other simply because they are two complete strangers to each other, sharing the same living space until their lease is up. Right… your lease. You and Jaehyun signed a 1-year lease. Once one year passes, the two of you become strangers again. You’ll be strangers unless you both agree upon extending your lease.

But with what’s happened so far in the past couple of months, you’re not sure if extending the lease would be an option.

“Jaehyun, we need to clean the apartment.”

It’s the first thing you tell him when he comes home from work. Your conversations with him have been short. You know that he’s aware of how short they’ve gotten.

“Alright. Let me clean myself up first and we can start cleaning,” he insists as he excuses himself to his bedroom.

His bedroom. It haunts you in your sleep. The memory of you losing yourself on his bed sheets, him towering over you. Your hands gripping tightly onto the bed sheets as he thrusts himself into you, head thrown back in complete pleasure. It haunts you. You know the musky scent that fills his bedroom. You can hear and remember the sound of his moans in your ear. You know where all his things are. You shouldn’t know. You shouldn’t be feeling this way. You shouldn’t have even stepped into his bedroom, let alone have sex with him in his bed.

It’s been two and a half weeks since that night. It still haunts you in your sleep. Tonight will be no different.

You’re too absorbed in your own thoughts that you barely notice him walking into the living room and plopping down next to you on the six hundred dollar couch. He nudges you gently and it brings you back to reality.

“Shall we get started?” He asks.

You make the biggest mistake of looking at him. Your eyes meet. You quickly look away, getting up from the couch. “Let’s get started.”

It’s been two and a half weeks since you both cleaned the apartment. Everything is lazily placed around in the apartment, your socks and hair ties, his sweaters and bucket hats. The two of you start with your own bedrooms, conducting a deep cleanse before grouping together to clean the rest of the apartment.

It takes you about half an hour to deeply cleanse your bedroom. Jaehyun takes about roughly the same amount of time. The two of you then help each other clean the living room, where most of the mess was made. Empty coffee cups, empty coffee mugs, hair ties, worn clothing, and all the like. You and Jaehyun make yourselves busy, not starting a single conversation.

You’re dusting the TV setup when one of the books on the bookshelf falls to the floor. Slowly picking it up, you place it back onto the shelf before noticing a yellow sticky note attached to the back of it. Peeling off the sticky note, you bring it closer to you to read the scribbled note on it.

Is this book your favorite? I waited for you to finish reading it before reading it myself. Hope you don’t mind. You have great taste in books. I feel like I should get to know you better. -J

Your cheeks heat up. You place the sticky note in your pocket. Continuing with your deep cleaning, you see Jaehyun move on to the dining room to wipe down the tables and chairs. You head to the couch to fluff up the couch pillows until another sticky note falls from one of them.

Loved our IKEA trip. We should go again. It was nice couch hunting with you that day. -J

It’s too risky for your heart to be feeling this way. Soft. Mushy. But you place the sticky note into your pocket anyway before moving on. You’re dusting the coffee table and somehow, you take a look underneath and to your surprise, there is a blue sticky note stuck underneath. You tilt your head in confusion. It’s an odd place to put a sticky note because you would have never found it.

I remember how you like your coffee. Three cream and three sugar. I think it’s the small things like this that truly makes me want to know you better. I’m trying. -J

Jaehyun takes out the trash and leaves you all alone in the apartment. You take this as an opportunity to look for more sticky notes. Rushing to the bathroom, you look through all the drawers, underneath the shampoo bottles, until you eye the mirror. You open the mirror and right behind it is a yellow sticky note.

K, stop studying and dreading how you look when you look in the mirror. I always found you pretty. -J

You rush into the kitchen to open every single cabinet. You find at least three sticky notes. One was stuck underneath a coffee mug, one was stuck on a jar to mimic a label, and another one was stuck right behind the cabinet door.

Everyday, I find you charming when you’re cooking dinner for the two of us. Let me cook you a meal sometimes. I promise I’m a great cook! -J

You have an eye for details, especially by remembering how I like my coffee. I admire that. -J

Oh, have you ever wondered how our lives would’ve been if we didn’t meet each other at the rental office? I’m so happy to have met you. It happened at the perfect place and at the perfect time. -J

You agree with the last sticky note.

Bumping into Jaehyun at the rental office was the perfect time and the perfect place. You were looking for a place to stay. He was also looking for a place to stay. Somehow, you both made it work. If you didn’t bump into Jaehyun that day, you probably wouldn’t be living in the city. You would probably still be living with your parents, commuting your way to the city every morning for work. Sometimes, you wonder how things would’ve turned out if you never met Jaehyun that day.

“Hey, the mailman came in and I brought you your mail—”

You snap your head towards the door to see Jaehyun standing there. Frozen. He has a stack of mail in his hands and you gulp nervously. He eyes the sticky notes in your hands before breaking out into a smile.

“You found them!”

“I—”

“Finally. It took you a while to find them, huh?”

“But—But—”

He points at them. “How many did you find?”

You count them by pulling each one out of your pocket. “Seven.”

He slowly nods his head. “You’re missing one.”

“Is this some sort of game, Jaehyun? Easter egg hunt?” You question and he smiles.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell you where I put the last one,” he grins. “Two weeks have gone by and it is only now that you’ve started to find them.”

“They’ve been hidden for quite some time now?” You raise an eyebrow and he nods.

“I spent the last two weeks hiding them around the apartment. I guess you were just too busy with work to even stumble upon one.” He explains. “But I’m glad you found them now. It would’ve been embarrassing if you never found them. It would be even more embarrassing if you find them when our lease is up.”

You find yourself smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. “Jaehyun, you shouldn’t have. This is so sweet.”

He folds his arms. “Well, now you have to find the last sticky note.”

“Where did you put it?”

“My lips are sealed!”

“Hey!”

Right before Jaehyun runs away from you, he eyes your six hundred dollar couch. Soon after, he rushes to his room when you start to lunge at him.

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[hotchnerxo]

Sunday Afternoon

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader Words: 700 Warnings: NOTHING! JUST PURE DOMESTIC FLUFF A/N: No pronouns nor (y/n) for the reader, a blank canvas. This is just a soft little domestic blurb idea I had in my head and had to get it out as a way to cure my writers block. This is dedicated to everyone who's been having a hard time lately and days are a struggle. I am very proud of you <3

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Sunday afternoon

The weeks are usually hectic in the Hotchner household. Yours and your husband’s work schedule can be all over the place at times and trying to balance a home life with a 12 year old Jack is not the easiest task to do. But you manage it and you all have learned to love it and take every day as they come.

Saturdays are spent at Jack’s soccer practices and hobbies. There are so many errands to run and things to take care of. Sometimes both of you are still stuck on a case somewhere -criminals rarely care about your weekend plans.

But Sundays are dedicated to the family and to rest. It has become your favorite day of the week. Even Aaron’s usually able to properly rest and relax. A few times he’s even slept longer than you have, which is a miracle for a chronic insomniac.

This Sunday is thankfully one of those Sundays. You’d finished a nice family dinner with your boys. Jack had just moments ago stormed to his room, excited to continue his new lego project he had going on. He was telling you all about it on the dinner table and seeing how thrilled he is about building his own world in his room and showing it to his friends next week, it makes your heart feel so full.

After everything was cleaned up, you and Aaron thought it would be a good idea to sit down for a moment and relax on the couch together. He puts on the TV and surfs the channels until he finds something that he’s interested in watching for more than 5 seconds at a time. You lean your back to his side, feet up on the couch. His arms come to wrap around you and settle mindlessly on your waist. It’s like it’s drawn there magnetically, it’s where it belongs.

But instead of watching tv, you feel like reading the book you’ve been putting off for so long. It’s been staring at you on the coffee table for weeks, but you’ve been avoiding reading it. Because once you read the book, it can never be unread again and that’s kind of sad. You’ve explained the feeling to your husband many times and it never fails to get a chuckle out of him.

Aaron’s fingers so gently trace over the fabric of your shirt as he watches the document on the TV. His breath is warm on your hair as you lean your head on his shoulder. His chest rises and falls in a relaxed rhythm beneath you and you realize that your own breathing matches his.

You move slightly to get a better position and once you settle back down, your head on his shoulder, he pressed the softest set of kisses on your hair. You hum to the feeling. It’s so soft and gentle; you feel so cherished.

Only a few pages into the book, you put it down on your thighs momentarily. You lean your head back, just enough to see him better. There’s a small smile on his lips even if his eyes are still focused on the screen. “Something on your mind?” his voice is sweet like honey and it never fails to make you feel all warm and giddy inside.

“Nah” you smile at him as his eyes finally meet yours “nothing at all”. Your hand raises on his cheek and feels the slight stubble underneath your fingertips.

He lowers his head to kiss your forehead before looking back to the television. You close the book and put it back where you’d picked it up earlier, to wait for another Sunday. Aaron’s eyes are curiously following your movements as you climb up on your husband’s lap. You curl up against him and nuzzle your head on the crook of his neck.

No words are said, they’re not needed. His arms wrap tightly around you and hold you closer to him; one on your waist, one on your thigh. His fingertips continue running on the surface of your clothes, not expecting anything more from you, but to hold you and to feel you so close.

You kiss his cheek before you settle yourself to his embrace.

Taglist: @ssahotchsbitch @mayasreadingnook @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @ssamorganhotchner @kajjaka @reidsbookmark @thenewnormalforensicator @wheelsupkels @thedancingnerdmermaid @agirlinherhead @tonystarkscumslutz @haley-h0tchner @ashhotchner @itsmytimetoodream @marvel-mars @witchybitch2 @mintphoenix @mrslizzyolsen @louderfortheback

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