#guess I’ll post this to make up for the pain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenimmadolla · 1 year

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𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

(dad!eddie x mom/pregnant!reader)

*NOT Mature, SFW — incorrectly flagged

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 • more of the pennyverse here.

Summary: . . . After almost losing you in a scare related to your preterm labor, Eddie is reluctant to meet his newborn son, whose life still remains on the line, until some convincing from you. warnings: angst, a whole lot of angst, near death experience, difficult pregnancy, early labor, preterm birth, talk of loss of infants, birth defects, happy ending.

a/n: congrats on making it to part two! we still have quite a bit of angst to get through but we're almost through the storm! this part (even though i wrote Wayne's World as a whole) was my favorite to write, and i'm sure you'll be able to guess why. word count is 6k. good luck and happy reading! and for the people mad about the long post, sorry, had the 'keep reading' tab on but it kept fucking with the format and eating chunks of it. you're gonna have to scroll. let me know what you think? ◡̈

Hours passed by, Penny had fallen asleep in his lap again and so had most of his friends with the exceptions of Jonathan who looked like he could really use the sleep, Eden and Wayne. Steve would snap awake every once and a while, careful not to jostle his sleeping girlfriend. Nancy was asleep on Jonathan’s shoulder while Argyle used Eden’s lap for a pillow. Barb and Robin were hanging off chairs in the most uncomfortable looking positions, Robin’s snores almost painful sounding. The ‘kids’ (teenagers) had been picked up by their parents, only agreeing to go home if they could come back to wait with him first thing in the morning.

Eddie didn’t rest for a single second, mind torturing him with horrible, horrible thoughts. One played in his mind on loop; he was holding Penny as he walked out of the hospital. They were on their own.

It held him captive, he hadn’t even noticed your doctor approaching him until she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Munson?”

Wayne and Eddie traded quick glances and he handed Penny over, trying not to disturb her too much in his rush but she just curled up to Wayne.

Eddie stood up, already feeling lightheaded. That voice in his head that had been torturing him whispered something cruel to him, enough to make him want to cease existing: maybe you, somewhere in this hospital, already gone and he didn’t know it. Was she about to confirm his worst fears?

“I apologize for the fright we gave you. Your wife started hemorrhaging and she lost a lot of blood.”

Yeah. Eddie’s world was ending. It was over.

“But we were able to stop the bleeding and get her a transfusion. She’s stable and she’s going to be just fine.”

The relief was almost crippling, the heaviest weight he’d ever felt on him was lifted. Eddie wanted to cry, he squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to compose himself before he broke down in front of another doctor.

“We have her in a room, probably hold her for a couple of nights, depending on her recovery. Would you like to go see her?”

“Yeah, yes, please.” He nodded rapidly, wiping furiously at his eyes.

Dr. Eisenberg nodded and began walking down the hall, “If you’ll follow me.”

Eddie turned, ready to ask Wayne to look after Penny when Wayne cut him off, “Go. I'll let ‘em all know she’s okay and send ‘em home. They probably won’t be able to see her tonight or in the mornin’, but I’ll stick around. Let me know when I can come on up.”

Eddie wanted to hug him, but he really needed to see you.

“Thank you, Wayne. For everything.” Then he was scrambling after Dr. Eisenberg, who had stopped to wait for him.

The walk to your hospital room had Eddie ready to tear his hair out, he’d wanted to just ask your doctor for your room number so he could sprint the rest of the way because her pace was much too slow. He was desperate to get to you, to make sure you were really still alive.

“Here we are,” she stated, pushing your room door open. “Hello, again, Mrs. Munson. I brought someone who’s been waiting for you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched as Dr. Eisenberg stepped to the side and he finally saw you, eyelids heavy from whatever sedation you were still trying to pull yourself from, and a smile on your face that only widened when you locked eyes.

“Hi, baby,” you slurred, sleepy little smile not going anywhere. And neither were you.

The rush of emotions he was experiencing was too much, he burst into tears where he stood as Dr. Eisenberg closed the door behind her on her way out.

“Eddie…” you mumbled out, reaching the hand lacking an IV out to him.

Of course you were trying to comfort him, you were the one confined to a hospital bed, having just barely survived a traumatic birth and you were still trying to comfort him because you were perfect.

He slowly approached your bed, hot tears—he was surprised his body could even still produce more tears given how much he’d cried in the last few hours alone—streaming down his cheek. Eddie really did collapse when he reached you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him to your chest as best as you could, though you had no idea why he was crying, brain too hazy.

Eddie didn’t sob, just silently shook as he wet your neck, inhaled your scent, felt your warm skin and pulse beating beneath his lips. He hadn’t lost you, you were still here.

Ideally, he’d be holding you and squeezing you hard enough to ensure you’d never leave his arms again, but even in his emotional hysteria, he was mindful of your condition.

Eddie pulled away, large hands framing your face as he pressed desperate kisses all over your face, making sure every inch was caressed with his love before he focused on your lips, mouth meshing messily against yours.

You could taste the salt of his tears, feel a couple of stray ones catching where your lips met. While he may have been feeling a mixture of emotions, all you could feel right then was content and still a bit sleepy from the anesthesia.

When Eddie felt he’d conveyed his love for you sufficiently, he pulled away, a wet and hoarse chuckle escaping him when he realized you could barely keep your eyes open.

“You sleepy, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” Eddie’s thumb stroked over your bottom lip before resting over the center of it, “just, please wake up.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, eyes already shut. Still, you managed to press a kiss to his thumb before you slipped into a blissful slumber.

While you slept, Eddie had one of the nurses phone up the waiting room and sent Wayne. The poor man looked exhausted, but the relief on his face was evident when he saw you sleeping peacefully.

He looked like he wanted to cry, too. Instead, he just cleared his throat, blinked to keep the tears away and spoke low so as to not disturb you or the sleeping toddler in his arms.

“Everythin’ alright?”

“With her?” Eddie’s red rimmed gaze drifted back to you, focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Still breathing, “Yeah.”

Wayne nodded once and they both stood there in silence for a few minutes as the world began to turn again. Something still wasn’t right, felt wrong. He could tell by the tension his boy still had, arms crossed as he crouched in the seat next to your bed.

“And the baby?”

Eddie flinched as if Wayne had shot a gun off in the air rather than mention his son.

“I don’t know.”

Wayne watched him with a careful eye, Eddie looked almost like he was vibrating from the force at which his leg was shaking, even your hospital bed appeared to be affected by it, though not nearly enough to disturb you.

As much as he wanted to comfort him, for once, Wayne didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say and he had an inkling that anything that came out of his mouth wouldn’t be heard by Eddie. He was lost in the dark crevices of his own mind.

The most he could do was offer to give him some alone time, he was sure his boy wasn’t keen on others sticking around right now, even him.

“I’ll take Penny home, me and Maude’ll watch her.”

Eddie shook his head, a look of panic flashing over his face, “No, that’s alright. She can stay with me.”

Wayne was reluctant, mouth set in a frown. Penny was a good girl, usually, but he didn’t know if Eddie could really handle her along with processing everything going on around him.

“Really, we wouldn’t mind─”

“I need her.”

That shut Wayne right up, he and Eddie shuffled to exchange Penny from his arms to her dad’s without waking her. She stirred momentarily then shoved her face into Eddie’s neck, her little body falling slack once more.

Wayne gave his shoulder a good squeeze, ran his hand gently over Penny’s back before he leaned down—and in a rare show of affection—pressed a brief kiss to your forehead.

As he was walking out of the room, Eddie felt the panic crawling down his throat again. He croaked out a broken, “Wayne─”

Wayne paused in the doorway, turning to acknowledge Eddie but his nephew didn’t continue, just looked scared. For a moment, Wayne was caught off guard, sucking in a breath as his boy looked young for the first time in a couple of years.

Now, he knew you and Eddie were young. He’d been aware of it when you got together, aware of it when you told him you were pregnant with Penny but sometime after that, he stopped seeing your age, stopped seeing Eddie’s as the two of you grew up for her. Now, right then, he remembered with startling clarity that Eddie wasn’t even twenty-five. He looked so young because he was.

Eddie didn’t have to say anything else because Wayne knew exactly what he wanted him to say.

Wayne nodded slowly, mouth pressing into a firm line of determination, “Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

Eddie choked up, held Penny a little tighter and Wayne went on his way.

He found himself settling back into the seat he’d dragged near your bed, cradling Penny as she remained blissfully unaware and drooling on his scrub top.

Wayne wasn’t wrong, she’d probably be a little too much for him but she was his kid, it wasn't like he could just hand her off to people when life came at him like this and he really did need her right now. Again.

You were here and whole, but somewhere else in this hospital, a member of his little family was still slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t let the other one out of his sight, couldn’t lose her, too.

Once more, Eddie remained restless as the hours passed. He sat in mostly silence. He’d turned on the tv near your bed, the volume high enough to drown out the sounds of the hospital outside of the room but much too low to wake you. Rain trilled against the windows, much more gentle than it had been earlier. The storm had also passed, and if there was even an ounce of humor in him, he would have been amused with how this storm seemed to fester like a black cloud looming over him.

It’d been a normal day up until he’d gone to Lucas’ birthday party, but he’d been skeptical about leaving you, worried something would happen. The metaphorical little black cloud formed over him, as a result, and so did the actual black clouds, quickly calling for wind and rain at high speeds.

And when Eddie had found out you were okay, you were alive, his black cloud disappeared, though it left behind damage and a cold atmosphere. The real storm had also run its course, leaving behind weather that reflected exactly how Eddie felt.

Penny squirmed in his grasp, and he realized he’d tensed up so he quickly relaxed, shifting her into a more comfortable position in his hold.

“Why don’t you give her to me?”

Eddie’s head snapped over to you, surprised to find you awake, somewhat lucid and watching him with a small smile on your face.

“Because you just had your insides removed and put back in,” He smirked, another wave of relief washing over him. You’d woken up, you really were okay. You weren’t going to leave him.

You rolled your eyes, making a vague hand gesture to brush the subject off, clearly the surgeons hadn’t removed your sass.

“She’s tiny and there’s more than enough room on here for both of us.” You hissed as you slowly shimmied your way to the side of the bed and Eddie frowned.

“Okay, how about you don’t move so we can limit the amount of heart attacks you give me today, yeah?” You knew Eddie must have been worried so you didn’t take the lack of humor behind his words and the tension on his face personally.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed your suspicions, “It’s three in the morning, Eddie. New day, but I’ll keep my antics to a minimum.”

Insistently, you patted the spot next to you, perfectly Penny sized and high enough to guarantee she wouldn’t accidentally move against your incision.

With a sigh, Eddie complied, gathering his daughter up. Tensing up disturbed her but full on moving her didn’t, most likely used to being carried into your home after she’d fallen asleep in her car seat or on the couch.

She didn’t stir when he laid her down, either. You both had to rearrange her limbs into a more comfortable position, one that didn’t make it look like she was possessed. Once Eddie tucked her in, he let out another sigh and cast you an apologetic look, big brown eyes wide, glassy and full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” It was the last thing you deserved after what you’d gone through.

The sincerity in his voice almost hurt you, it was heavy, as though it carried more weight than just a simple apology for his tone.

You held out your hand and Eddie immediately slipped his over it, locking his fingers with yours, squeezing as his breath hitched.

Your hand was so warm and soft. At one point in the last twenty-four hours, he’d thought he’d never get to feel it again, never get to hold your hand or see your pretty face. Never get to say…

“I love you,” he blurted out, the panic he’d felt earlier when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those three words to you climbed right out of his belly, trying to claw its way out of his chest. Eddie took in a shuddering breath, head shaking as a hot tear escaped its confinement, trailing down his cheek. He moved to the other side of the hospital bed, so he wouldn’t crush Penny, and took your face in his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, hoping he was able to convey just how much he loved you.

He needed you to know.

“Eddie,” you mumbled as he pulled away, only to hide himself in the crook of your neck again. You could feel his tears against your skin and it alarmed you. “I love you, too, baby. What’s wrong?”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he confessed and you felt your heart seize up, “I thought I was gonna lose you twice in the same damn day. I was so fucking scared, sweetheart.”

When he’d been driving to the hospital, there had been a moment when he wondered if you’d still be breathing when he got there. It made him want to throw up so he quickly squashed it and forced it to the back of his head. It hadn’t been ideal when he’d entered the operation room, he didn’t like seeing you get cut open but it was comforting to see he’d overreacted. You were getting a c-section, you weren’t on your deathbed.

Until you had been.

And for the second time that day, he thought you were going to die, thought he’d somehow cruelly manifested this for you and himself.

“I’m alright, Eddie.” You freed your hand, grabbing his to cradle your cheek with.

“See? I’m okay. You didn’t lose me, you’re not going to.” Eddie pulls away from his hiding spot to stare down at you, the wounded puppy look still firmly in place so you add a little humor, hoping to get a smile out of him, “There’s no way I’m checking out this early, I can’t risk you moving on when you look this good.”

Eddie’s hand was so big his fingers were tucked into your hair, his palm alone took up most of your cheek. His fingertips lightly massaged the area of your scalp available to him as the hurt on his face morphed into an earnest look, somehow more vulnerable.

“There’s no moving on from you, you’re taking my soul, my heart, all of it with you when you go. You’re the love of my life, my everything. And that—fuck, it terrifies me because I’d still have Penny to take care of and I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know how to pull myself out of it, if it’d even be possible and quite frankly, I don’t ever want to fucking find out.”

Eddie was more than happy to have those types of questions remain unanswered for the rest of his life.

“You’d be able to do it, I know you would. You would be able to take care of Penny and the baby.” You knew he would, your husband would pull himself out of his depression to make sure your children were okay because of how much he loved them, despite his grief.

Eddie flinched, something you were quick to clock. You didn’t need to ask, he could see the question reflecting in those beautiful eyes of yours.

He had to break the news. You were already in a frail condition and he had to tell you the baby you’d almost died to have, your son, might still die.

“Honey, the baby—he—fuck, he’s uh…there’s something wrong with his heart.”

The way your face plummeted shattered something inside of him.

“What?”

“He’s got a hole in his heart, the doctor said it was pretty common amongst heart defects but since he was born so early, it’d be difficult to medicate him or perform an operation. All they can do is keep him under observation, he still might not make it because of how young he is.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, head dropping back to meet your pillow as you tried, and failed, not to cry. Why was this happening? You blamed yourself, why hadn’t you been able to keep him in your belly? Why had your own body betrayed you? Why had you failed your baby?

“This is all my fault,” you declared, eyes and cheeks growing wet with your tears.

“No, no, sweetheart.” Eddie was not about to let you take the blame for something out of your control or even allow you to believe any of this was your fault. “You can’t possibly believe this is on you. These things happen, it obviously isn’t ideal, but it’s just circumstance. It’s not your fault and it’s not the baby’s fault. You did everything you could and more. Okay?”

He leaned in, finger stroking gently across your cheekbone as he caught a tear. You sniffled, nodding once as he pulled you back together.

“What does he look like?” You asked, snuggling back into the pillow as Eddie coddled you.

He hesitated for a moment before he answered, “I—I don’t know.”

That elicited a small frown from you, “You haven’t seen him yet?”

Eddie swallowed hard, gaze moving away from you, “No.”

You waited, watching a series of emotions pass over his features. Eddie often tried to keep his internal struggles to himself, a habit you noticed once you became friends with him (ironically, through some trauma bonding) and even into your relationship. You hadn’t expected him to confide everything in you right away, though you had let him know should he ever need someone to talk to, you’d be there.

Now, it wasn’t a matter of if he would, it was when. It didn’t take him long.

“I don’t know—I guess,” he pursed his lips, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the all too familiar burn of fresh tears. How many times had he cried in the last twenty-four hours? He felt ridiculous to be so emotional, then again, he’d never thought he’d find himself in this tragic situation, so he was due for a couple of breakdowns, “I know if I go down there and I—I look at him, I’m gonna fall in love with him and then what? He dies. I can’t do that, not if I’m gonna lose him forever. I can’t.”

Eddie was leaking tears, not yet sobbing but well on his way as he made his confession. He couldn’t stomach seeing his baby boy if he was going to be taken away from him, if the two of you would have to put a tiny little coffin—a size that should never have to exist—six feet into the ground. He’d been put through the fucking ringer but Eddie couldn’t do that. It would break him.

Eddie’s confession had you crying as well, you shared his pain. You didn’t want to lose your baby, either. You couldn’t remember what he looked like through the haze of your fatigue when you’d given birth to him, but if you tried to think hard enough, you could remember how it felt to have him in your arms in the passenger seat of Wayne’s truck. The first time you’d held him and you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

Even if it was, you were grateful you’d had the chance to and you knew Eddie would never forgive himself if he didn’t get to see him, didn’t get to meet him.

“I know you’re terrified, Eds. It scares me, too.” You grabbed his hand just as it slipped away from your face, encouraging him to look at you. “I don’t want to lose him, either. I want to take him home. I want to cuddle with him, nurse him, take tons of pictures of him with Penny and with you, but most of all, I want to make sure he knows I love him.”

It killed you to imagine your baby in an incubator, small, helpless and with no one but the nurses, who could make the time to check on him in between all their other patients, offering him comfort. Human contact. And if he did end up passing, he could do so alone in there, not knowing how loved he was.

“I know you love him, Eddie, and you don’t want to lose him. But you can’t lose him if you don’t have him, baby. I hate that this is even a possibility for us, but I’d rather have held him and lost him than to never have picked him up at all. I’ll be okay with whatever you decide, but do you really want him to die without having gotten to meet his dad?”

Eddie let out a choked sob as he shook his head. He didn’t want his baby to die at all but you were right, if he did lose his kid, he’d spend the rest of his life agonizing over the same thing Eddie had been upset with himself for when he thought he’d lose you. He’d been unable to recall the last time he told you he loved you. Only, he’d know he never told his son.

“I’ll be right back,” he swore and you nodded just as he leaned down to give you a kiss. He wiped away his tears, inhaled a particularly violent sniffle and you watched as he left your room to finally meet his baby.

Eddie felt almost disorientated as he navigated his way to the NICU. He’d been there once, briefly, to check on Penny when she’d been there for a few hours, but that was a couple of years ago and he’d needed the assistance of several nurses and staff to direct him, but he finally made it.

The entrance room, where the viewing window was located, was nearly empty. There was a woman further down, gazing through the large window.

Eddie approached it with caution and his heart racing a mile a minute. It wasn’t too difficult to find his baby. His son was in an incubator, close to the window and labeled ‘MUNSON’. For the first time, Eddie got to take his son in. He had been right, he fell in love with him at first sight.

He was smaller than some of the other babies, bigger than others as well and surprisingly well developed. Kind of calmed Eddie’s nerves, just a little. He had a couple of monitor pads attached to his tummy with an additional one wrapped around his tiny foot. Other than the nasal cannula, baby Munson didn’t have a whole lot of tubes attached to him like Eddie had imagined and he could see a smattering of hair on his head, somewhat light in shade but he had a feeling it would darken soon to resemble his own.

It was hard to tell if Wayne and Penny were right in their description of him, Eddie couldn’t tell if he was still pale since the baby was cloaked in blue light, but he assumed his son had gained some color by then. Eddie also couldn’t make out his eyes, those were covered by some sort of eye cloth, most likely for protection. He looked a little odd, obviously resembled a baby and while his features were almost indistinguishable, appearing a little generic, as his face still needed to develop a little more, Eddie could see hints of familiar features.

He looked like newborn Penny, well, so far. Her features had obviously changed since then, and still were, but he was promising to look almost exactly like she had when she was born. And Eddie thought Penny looked a lot like you, so it got a smile out of him, regardless of the fact his son was bound to resemble his family.

Eddie watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest with concern. Was he supposed to be breathing that fast? Was he okay?

“Which one is yours?”

Eddie turned to peer over at the woman who’d asked him the question, “Munson.”

Eddie watched as her gaze moved over all the incubators until they found the correct one.

“Oh, he’s a cute one. And his breathing looks incredible.”

“Really? It’s not too fast?” He asked, the worry in his voice obvious.

“Considering it’s his first time pumping those lungs, I don’t think so, no. Looks like he’s breathing real good to me. Mine needs a little help.” She pointed through the glass to an incubator that housed a baby with a tube in its mouth as well as individual ones in each nostril unlike his son’s nasal cannula. Eddie felt horrible.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to apologize but she waved him off, a smile still on her face.

“Don’t be, that’s all mine is here for. As soon as she figures out how to keep doing it on her own, she’ll be back with me and my wife.”

Right on, Eddie thought. Before he could continue their conversation, a nurse knocked on the window.

She gestured down to the baby, “Is he yours?”

Wow, this glass must have been thin, he could hear her pretty good.

For some reason, Eddie still assumed she couldn’t hear him and only nodded. She disappeared for a minute and emerged into the room through a large pair of doors.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Eddie glanced at the other occupant and she gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Yeah,” he rasped out, turning to look at his son through the window once more, “Yeah, I would.”

Eddie was nervous the entire time as she prepped him with instructions. While they were concerned about the hole in his son’s heart, he was well developed, had strong vitals, good reactions, even for thirty weeks. He was so good that had it not been for his heart, he probably would have been sent home at the same time as you, given your longer than average stay due to your c-section and preeclampsia.

And when she placed him in his arms, the love he had for his son almost overwhelmed him. He couldn’t believe he almost denied himself this.

“Can I touch him?” He asked, after he’d stopped marveling at the small face—eyes still hidden—in his arms.

“Mhm, we’d encourage it. Babies, even born preterm, are still very much so human. He craves the contact, it might even encourage him.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate, fingers gently stroking over the soft fluff of hair on his son’s head. This close, he could see it all pushed towards the middle of his head, like a mohawk. His baby was already metal straight out of your womb, it made him chuckle.

The nurse stepped away to tend to another baby, giving him a little privacy. Eddie maneuvered his son so he was resting on his chest, little head pressed against the spot just over his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered down to the baby in his arms, “I’m your dad.”

Much to Eddie’s awe, the baby nuzzled his head against his chest, making him still. He didn’t know why, but he’d believed his son wouldn’t be able to move for some reason. It was nice to know he was wrong.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” he laughed, the sound soft, “I’ve been looking forward to it, you must have, too. You sure know how to make an entrance, huh? Couldn’t wait in your mom any longer?”

Eddie ducked down to kiss his little head, lips remaining there as he moved to sit in one of the few chairs of the NICU.

“It’s okay, though. I’ve got you, daddy’s got you.” Even if the outcome wasn’t okay, right at that moment with his son in his arms, everything felt like it would be. And if his son needed encouragement, Eddie would give it to him.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come find you, your mom had to talk some sense into me. She loves you a lot, you know? Probably jealous I’m down here and she isn’t, but only because she physically can’t just yet.”

Eddie’s hand went to support the back of his head as he moved the baby down to hold in his hands, staring down at his little face.

“I’ll bring her down to see you again as soon as I can, though. So you gotta keep fighting, okay? I know things are hard for you right now, not as easy as the other babies in the hospital, but I know you can do it. I love you so much, your mom and I just want to take you home, so you gotta beat this, okay?”

Eddie rocked his baby, gentle swaying motions as he pressed kiss after kiss to his head.

“I see you’ve made it down for a visit,”

Eddie glanced up at the face of Dr. Houseman, she didn’t look as intimidating as she had when she’d first approached him in the waiting room.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I’m very glad I caught you. I heard your wife is doing well.”

“She is,” he confirmed, with a relieved grin.

“Good, I’m glad. Have you been given an update on your little guy?”

Eddie recounted what the nurse had told him and Dr. Houseman looked pleased.

“Well, I have more news for you. He’s proving to be much stronger than we’d initially anticipated, and while his vitals were already good on intake, they’ve improved tremendously in the last few hours and so have his responses. I think he’s figuring out what he’s capable of doing; how to breathe, how to move, how to eat—we introduced him to a rubber nipple to check his latch response and it’s good, not quite there yet, we’ll have to get creative with his feedings but I think he’ll be able to latch onto his mom soon.”

She must have caught the way Eddie perked up at her use of the word soon. That meant his baby had a fighting chance.

“These first few hours after a birth such as his and with his condition are crucial. While he’s still significantly weaker than an average full term newborn, your baby seems to be a fighter. Should he survive this next night, I believe he’ll make it. He’d just need some time in here while the hole closes up, but it just might not be too much for him.”

She left him with that news and a parting smile.

Eddie held his son for a few more minutes before a nurse returned to put him back in his incubator. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, but he’d promised him he’d be back.

When Eddie got back to the room, his heart was a little lighter and he was able to smile when he saw you giving Penny, who was now wide awake, kisses. He pressed his back up against the door and watched for a few moments as you leaned in and gave her a loud kiss. She’d go into a fit of giggles before demanding another with an again!

“Daddy!” Penny beamed the moment she saw him and Eddie grinned as he made his way over, lifting her into his arms when she held hers up to him.

“Hi, pretty one. You sleep good?”

“Uh-huh,” it was clear she was distracted and didn’t care about his questions, no, she had some of her own. “You see my baby?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, trading an amused look with you.

“Oh, he’s your baby now?”

“Ya, he’s—he’s my baby.” She nodded with a grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers.

“Well, then yes. I saw your baby,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her nose.

“Wha’helooklike?” Penny blurted out, eyes wide as she waited for his reply.

“He looked a lot like you.”

“Nooooooo,” Penny laughed, shaking her head against her dad’s, “He is my potatoes, not anoda Penny.”

“It’s true!” Eddie laughed with her as he put her back down by your side and leaned in to give you yet another—he’d never stop giving them to you—kiss.

“He looks like her?” You asked, after you’d returned his kiss.

“Mhm,” Eddie fell back into the seat he’d occupied hours earlier. “Looks like she did when she was a newborn. He’s not pale—like a potato,” he directed that part to Penny who just laughed into her little hands, “anymore, at least. I don’t know whose eyes he has, they were covered.”

Eddie was right about you being jealous, you were practically green with it.

“I wish I could see him,” you stated sadly, frown on your lips. You knew, realistically, if he started to decline, they’d most likely let you out of bed to see him or bring him up to you, but still. You’d rather it not come to that.

“Ran into his doctor while I was there, she said he’s got a better chance.”

Your eyes lit up, “Really?”

“I was just about ready to kiss her.” He nodded and you made a face, nose doing that adorable scrunch he loved so much.

“Okay, well, don’t do that.”

Eddie snickered, “It was a figure of speech, baby.”

“I know, I’m just saying it on her behalf,”

“On her behalf?” Eddie pouted, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Yeah, I want to kiss her, too, but—uhm, Eds, you might need some sleep ‘cause—you’re hot, you really are, but you also look insane right now.”

Eddie got up to make his way to the bathroom so he could see himself in the mirror, nearly jumping once he’d turned on the lights.

His eyes were beyond bloodshot, his eye bags were dark and very apparent, his skin had an interesting almost gray like tinge to it and his hair was a wreck. Eddie looked like he belonged in a psych ward.

“Jesus,” he shouted loud enough to be heard by you.

“It’s okay, Eds. You’re still beautiful to me!”

Eddie did end up sleeping. Turns out the chair he’d been sitting on was also a pull out bed. You insisted that he get some rest, and while he did, you changed Penny’s diaper and got some hospital room service for the two of you, you’d even picked something out on the menu for Eddie to eat once he woke up.

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razzle-n-dazzle · 2 months

Note

- hi ! 💌,,

ISTG you’re writing is so well done and creative I had to contain myself from like spam!!

I hope you’re still taking request and if you’re not that’s totally cool, I’ll wait ‘till next round.

Adam reincarnates in hell and oh, would you look at that? the s/o is the only one trying to help and not making him feel worse that he already is. (i just need wholesome content, exam week is killing me rn).

AGAIN, love you’re writing thx for reading so far!

ᯓ★ Let's Give This Another Shot (and not fuck it up this time) Sinner! Adam / Sinner! Reader | Drabble

‗ content / trigger warning: fluff, swearing, Adam being Adam, not proof read (we die like Adam) ‗ author's note: this is for everyone who's dealing with exam weeks, it sucks but I believe in all of you any you're going to kill those exams! (don't let them kill you!). Also thank you so much for the compliments Anon <3, I write for the people and myself, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying the crazy shit I've posted here!

ᯓ When you fall from grace, it's not a pleasant feeling; That Adam knew - or at least he thought he knew - well enough from hearing about Lucifer falling, hearing the horrific things the others whispered about it, mentioning it in passing before the thought disappeared and dispelled into the air as though Lucifer had never held a place in Heaven. As though he was nothing that what he was now, demonic figure that wore a crown made out of skeletons and bones fashioned to mimic horns. Adam never cared about the stories that were whispered, about the horrors he sometimes heard through passing, about Sera recalling how she heard Lucifer scream on the way down, about how Michael watched with horror as Lucifer tried to shield Lilith and himself, about how Gabriel heard his pleads and couldn't do anything; No one could save him from the fate that had been weighed on his shoulders as soon as he had fed the apple to Eve. And partly it was because Adam blamed Lucifer for ruining his paradise, for infecting the mind of both his (ex) wives and causing him grief and pain. Dying alone is almost just as unpleasant as falling from grace; almost.

ᯓ You see, while Adam had died alone on Earth, at least his soul went to somewhere pleasant and he was able to continue living; To make a name for himself and, he guessed, make some friends and live a rather worriless and carefree life in the clouds. He was able to have fun, rock out, and be known as the first human soul ever being able to reach Heaven - that was something not even Eve managed to do, and he took it with pride! It was his title. It was partly who he was. Maybe it was all he was. That much became more clear to him when he found himself waking up in Hell again, the stabbing pain of a dagger striking his back still their along with the weight of his wings. At first, he had thought he managed to survive the assassination attempt, that Lute had just left him in Hell on accident or because she thought he was dead. It caused some sort of pride to well in his chest, a flame that sparked his need to go boost and scream at the top of his lungs - he had survived an angelic weapon! He was immune! He was the strongest angel there was, because Sera would totally fall and die in a sad crumble after being stabbed with angelic metal! He was . . .

ᯓ And that's when Adam happened to pass by a mirror, or well more of a reflective glass on the street of Hell (as he walked, not questioning the odd ball looks he got), and that's when he saw it; What looked like a stranger to be staring back at him, engulfing and taking over his reflection like they owned it, like it was there own. That wasn't him! Well, it looked like him, he could admit that, but it wasn't as sexy or as handsome as him! The reflection would copy his movement, snarling as he did and grinning all the same. With his same fluffed up hair and piercing eyes, the reflection wore no mask yet still held the horns of his all the same; Even the way they slowly curled back before dipping down, forming and L for the gold spikes to rest at the end. The reflection wore his exterminator uniform, yet it was the darker version with the yellow having somehow been dulled and deepened and faded out all at once. His wings were still golden, still tucking at his sides from under his arms all the same, though there was no halo to accompany them this time. And Adam almost wanted to laugh, maybe it was hysteria or maybe it was disbelief, yet he watched to cry and laugh and break the glass all at once; Denying that this was his fate, being unable to stomach that he, First Man Adam, was not only double dead yet in hell. Hell! The first man cannot be in hell, he had created everyone on Earth; All of them came from his nuts and in turn all of them should be praising the fucking land he walked on because if it wasn't for him he wouldn't be here!

ᯓ And yet the Reflection looked back all the same, teasing him with a distorted grin; Like it could feel his distress in the way he curled his fist, pulling back before he slammed it against the glass. It gave a crack, a small one at first, before completely shattering. Adam could care less what shop or business had that glass, he could care less how he effected them or how he was going to be painted in Hell, because this was some crazy mistake! He was not supposed to be down here and he was not going to stand for some stupid mistake that happened because some small crazy bitch decided to back-stab him! Literally! And yet, if Adam wanted any of the answers he so desperately craved, he would have to suck in some of his pride and trudge along to the damn Hotel and talk to the residence who had taken his life. It would take him a while before he accepted such a fate, taking the chance between deciding and doing to walk along the Pride Ring before stumbling into the wrong town and being chased out by crazy demons who wanted to bite him! Maybe even eat him . . . What crazy place is this?!

ᯓ When Adam had begrudging and reluctantly knocked on the new Hotel door, which he would never admit to stopping and marveling at for a second, he would feel that ever irritating dread weigh in his stomach. Who wouldn't feel such a feeling after coming to the front door of a group of people you had tried to exterminate only, Adam didn't know how long, prior! Maybe, silently, somewhere inside Adam knew if he were in their shoes, having faced what they had, he wouldn't accept him either; He would throw him to the curb. Yet, he didn't exactly like that thought, and it wasn't very on brand, so he shoved it down and away and deep until all the could think about is: How in the hell would they not accept me? I'm Adam, I'm the first man! And yet when the door opened, allowing Adam to come face to face with none other than Vaggie, he felt that dread creep in a little. But, not enough to stop him from greeting Vaggie in a less that desirable way, "What's up Vagasaurus?" The sneering comment left his mouth, "I love what you did with the place. You know, it looks slightly less like a destroyed pile of Sh-" Yet the door would only slam in his face before Adam could finish his thoughts or his words; Leaving him standing outside, a tad awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open again. He, also, would never admit giving a glance behind him, making sure no one was standing there to watch him standing in front of the doors.

ᯓ "Vaggie, who was that?" Charlie would call to her girlfriend as she walked away from the door, coming towards where Charlie sat on the floor organizing new activities that everyone could do. All while Nifty rushed around nearby, cleaning Sir Pentious' and Dazzle's memorials in the new Hazbin Hotel. She muttered to herself quietly, not bothering Angel and Husk, who sat at the bar. "No one important." Vaggie would mumble, not being able to catch her tone before it could reveal that it was someone less than desirable. Possibly another sinner choosing a path of redemption after the last extermination! Which the thought caused Charlie to gain a burst of energy, barreling onto her feet so quickly that she knocked around the carefully organized slits of paper on the floor. Vaggie tried to protest, saying it was truly no one at the door and Charlie should just leave it alone! But she was never a really good lair, "Oh calm down Vaggie, I'm sure it's no one bad!" Charlie would grin with a wave, her hand touching the crisp and cool metal of the door handle before swinging the door back open. "Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! How can I-" And yet her words fell flat as soon as her eyes were locked onto Adam's - who quickly spun around, pretending like he hadn't just been looking behind him - and was also welcomed by his light groan of annoyance. "Oh fuck me." ". . . help you." Charlie's voice flattened, dropping as her eyes widened. You know, she's never felt this shocked to see someone at the steps of the Hotel before since Alastor had came along without warning.

ᯓ "Adam?!"

ᯓ "BITCH CAN YOU NOT SHOUT MY NAME?!" Was the next words that were exclaimed out of the ex-angel, the now outcast, as he seemed rather eager to push Charlie inside of her own Hotel and walk in after; Quickly shutting the door as though there was someone outside waiting and stalking him, watching him with all their attention. "Hey no, you cannot just let yourself in here this isn't Heaven!" Vaggie was swift to march her way over to the two, seeing as Charlie wasn't doing anything to discard of Adam she might as well do it herself! No way was she going to let some two-timing exorcist angel not only push her girlfriend around yet also push his way into the hotel. Who did he think he is? And yet Charlie waved out a hand, stopping Vaggie in her tracks. There was confusion, and the two at the bar would turn their heads, before scowling seeing the fallen angel. Adam was sure he could hear Angel's accented voice loud and clear shouting out, 'oh what the fuck is this bullshit!' before Charlie began to talk to him again in a rushed fashion; One he remembered quite well during the meeting that Lucifer subbed her in for instead of coming to it himself, and he was still annoyed by her voice. "What are you doing down here? I thought you-! You know . . . " Charlie rushed out, trying to make it quick as though the others at the hotel would jump and kill Adam again with no remorse, finishing the job that clearly didn't stay permeant the first time; And, honestly, Adam wouldn't put it above anyone here to do that. Adam, who had been picking at his teeth with his pinkie finger, would turn away from Charlie and shrug his shoulders, "Yeah, well, I fuckin' did and ended up down here for some fucking reason, probably a mistake and mix up of souls. I'm sure you have plenty of those down here, pft!- I mean who else would want to stay in this charity case!-" "We're not entertaining you Adam!" Vaggie would cut off the ex-angel, causing his interest to peak over at her. Though he relaxed quickly enough, maybe too quickly seeing as Vaggie had drown out her own weapon and that . . . nasty little creature stood beside her with the dagger made out of angelic metal; Now that little one-eyed demon could give Adam the creeps, maybe even a little (lot) fright, but not Vaggie. "You know, I thought were all trying to redeem souls in this junk box of yours." Adam scoffed, quickly crossing his arms with a tilt of his head. "Are you fucking discriminating against me wanting to return to where I rightfully belong just because I was an angel before this? Wow, that's a low blow, especially for someone light you." Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with malice, maybe even still a little pride. "You literally tried killing up like- 2 weeks ago!" Vaggie would gesture to the side, as though trying to compare time to the length of her arm. "Oh shit it's been too weeks?" Adam paused, thinking about it yet drawing a blank and shrugging in result, "Shit, didn't know, pft! That shit must still be fresh for you then, huh? Well, let me remind you all that you weren't the ones who DIED!-"

ᯓ "Adam?" Your voice would slip out into the common space of the lobby of the hotel, honey sweat to Adam's ears; Filling them with a melody that could match the songs of Heaven, running down his spine with the comfort he didn't know he needed until now. But even then, you knew he wouldn't break his 'tough man' exterior until you managed to snag him along, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. "Holy shit, hey Babe!" Adam was quick, rushing past and slightly pushing Charlie out of his way to make his way over to you, over to his love. "What the fuck are you doing in a dumb like this? I thought you said you had your own fucking spot near Cannibal Town!" - It had been the only reason why he had tried traveling to that cursed town, even while knowing its residents might try and take a bite out of him or his wings. He craved for the familiarity of someone in this new world, as he had never felt this vulnerable since his first days on Eden; Earth. God's Earth. "Babe?" A chorus of confused, slightly concerned, and baffled voices followed as Adam came to your side, swinging an arm around your waist and instantly drawing you closer. You swore he was fighting off the urge to flick off the others, a casual fuck you for trying to push him off and out. You could feel their eyes as you leaned up to pepper a kiss into Adam's shoulder, to which he squeezed your waist slightly tighter, adorning a snicker upon his face. "Wait, wait!-" Vaggie started, taking a staggering step forward as her arms laid limp besides her. One of her eyebrows were cocked up, her eyes narrow, "What do you mean Babe?" Your name left her lips, "Don't tell me you're dating that fucker!" She would soon exclaim, tossing her hands out as they finally regained the life they had lost. To which you would turn towards her confused, and then remember oh yeah . . . the battle. The one you hadn't been present for though heard about through Channel 666 News; In all honesty it's why you had came here, to the Hotel, to see if you could try and get to Heaven and find Adam again - praying he didn't actually die but was taken back to Heaven to heal or was revived in some way. "Uh, yeah. Adam's my boyfriend-" You would start with a wavering smile, nerves tugging at the edge of your lips. "Oh, this couldn't have gotten worse." Angel would groan, slamming his head down onto the bar countertop, acting like a disappointed parent; Silently telling you that you could have done better. To which you placed a hand on your hip, about to tell Angel off, only to be cut off by Husk tsking and shaking his head, "I would not put you as an Angel and sexist fucker, but whatever rows your boat." His tone came off dry, uninterested, and a little hostile. And with Charlie's silence, you couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's words a little heavier.

ᯓ And Adam noticed that, with one glance down at you and your face, his wings would flare defensively and his glare was snapped back at the other demons. He couldn't care less that they had been talking shit about him, he couldn't care less on how they saw him or the reasons they thought you could do better than him; They shouldn't care about whether or not someone was out of their friend's league if they were clearly happy with the person! That, Adam knew - or maybe he believed it more. "Hey, what your fucking mouths!-" He would start, trying to draw you away from the others. Sure, he was no longer an Angel, but he was sure as hell he could take any of them in a fight anyways! And yet, his anger was snuffed like a candle as soon as you placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing in and pushing him back. The breath of ire was caught in his throat, not even being able to reach his lungs, as he glanced down at you, noticing the spark that you had seemingly stolen right out of his chest and placed in your eyes. He knew your reservations of fighting with friends, or with anyone in general, so he couldn't help but feel pride swell up in his chest watching you stand up for yourself, for you and him: "I will not let you speak about me, nor Adam that way!" You defended, shooting a star through your eyelashes that the group; Who seemed just as taken aback as Adam had been before the warmth spread from his chest. Vaggie would scrunch her face, much more concerned that irritated or disappointed, but also all of that at the same time. Your name slipped from her lips, "You can't be serious! He's . . ." She stumbled for a moment, trying to grasp her words, "He's led genocides on Sinners all over Hell! He's like really gross and he doesn't respect people. He's a douche and a dick!-" "Dick master," Adam would correct Vaggie just to piss her off, earning a slight jag in the gut from you and a snarl from Vaggie. Vaggie, who, tossed out her hands once more, yet pointed at Adam this time, "See what I mean?!"

ᯓ "And tell me how you felt when you first lost your divinity?"

ᯓ The question lingered in the room, drifting and sticking in the air, as Vaggie stared at you with disbelief; Her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide, and her stance rigid. You noticed how Charlie grew nervous behind her, how she seemed rather uncomfortable in the atmosphere that been created in the room since Adam had arrived than you. She would place a hand on Vaggie's shoulders, attempting to comfort her, yet failed to pick out any words to say in response. "It's hard enough to leave somewhere you've called home," You would continue, frowning, "To be tossed out like you had meant nothing, like one mistake had deemed you unworthy despite everything great you have done in your life. Vaggie! . . . out of everyone, I would have thought at least you would understand something like that." Seeing as she had gone through the same process herself, yet had always had Charlie there by her side to walk through everything with. Was she implying that Adam didn't deserve the same because of what he had done? Sure it was crude and cruel, but everyone deserved another chance to mistake their wrongs and that was what this hotel was about; And you voiced such concerns to not just Vaggie but to Charlie as well. What makes Adam so much different from Lucifer, or say another Fallen Angel that managed to wind up down here? What makes him less worthy to be redeemed? What made him less of a human soul as say Angel or Alastor? Everyone fucks up in their life and as long as they're trying to better themselves, understanding what they did wrong and why it was wrong, they should be given a chance!

ᯓ It wasn't long before Charlie said that everyone should take a break, and as such you would lead Adam away from the crowd of people and up to your own room in the Hotel. You could feel Vaggie's eyes linger, you felt like she wanted to say something yet let her words fall short before they were ever given a chance. But, even if they had, you were too pent up to even discuss anything logically with her at the moment. And you think she could feel or at least tell and that's why her words fell short, yet you would never know - you're not Vaggie nor would you ever think like she does.

ᯓ You and Adam found yourselves in your bed after settling some matters, such as a change of clothing for him and whether or not you wanted to try and make the trip back to your apartment today; Luckily you had some of Adam's old T-shirts and joggers you had stolen from him from one of the few trips where Adam had snuck you into Heaven - and yet on the same note, either of you felt like going downstairs to face anyone to leave to your apartment. So, with not much to do, you set the TV on as background noise and brain fuzz as you snuggled up to Adam's side. You felt as his claws, at first, scratched gently at his side, pairing with a kiss on the forehead, and then they began to tap the flesh there; Like you were some little drum that made no noise, yet Adam continued until he switched to rubbing his thumb against your hip. "What's wrong, Adam?" Concern dripped from your lips, forcing Adam to draw his eyes away from the mindless television and down to meet you, and your eyes. He had known your attention had been up at him for a while, at first admiring his face (as you didn't get to see it much) yet it had shifted to concern the more he played with the plush flesh of your waist. He wondered if you could tell he was nervous from the start. Adam's eyes would falter and glance off to TV again, his words causing a lump in his throat as he tried to play through them; Trying to find the best combination to spew out instead of talking without thinking - vomiting whatever first came to mind and not thinking about it later. And maybe you could tell the trepidations that filled his head too; Seeing as you shifted your position from his side, pushing yourself up, and instead onto his lap, effectively blocking his vision of the television. Your hands rested on his chest, something so natural at this point yet something that still caused Adam's lungs to halt for a minute and for his stomach to flutter. Even so, he would give you a curious glance up and down, trancing the curves of your body with his eyes as he has done countless times before - yet every time, you managed to take his breath away. "If you wanted to fuck, babe, you could have just said so!" The snarky remark left his lips, meeting your amused yet disapproving face. He knew that's not what you wanted, yet he couldn't help but entertain yourself when you were basically straddling his waist; As such, his fingers would drag along the calf of your leg before his hands would trail up your thighs before tailing back down and up once more. He saw the flutter in your breath, yet you tried to keep your composure. Even if Adam was making it ever so hard.

ᯓ "Adam," You would start, your tone causing Adam to stop caressing your thighs. It stuck his eyes to yours, and he couldn't look away no matter how much his nerves pulled at him to. "I want you to know, no matter what happens . . . I'm here for you, okay? We're in this together. You're not a solo act anymore, we're a duet . . . or, well, more a duo act." Your words sunk down into Adam's skin, they infected through his lungs and ran to his heart before infecting all his blood and his veins. His hands, which had ran up to hold your waist, gave a gentle squeeze as he swallowed down the saliva that built up in his suddenly dry mouth. A duo act? Sure, he knew you two were dating, that you had been for a while, yet even then he had a silent thought in the back of his head that you would leave him, much like the others; So he never considered himself no more than what he had: A soloist. First Man Adam! . . . but now he was able to add being 'Yours' to his list with some sort of fire-like confidence; Burning and bright. It made his heart catch fire, even more so when you would stretch out lightly and lean down to lay down on his chest; Your warmth infecting all of him you touched, allowing his arms to wrap around your back and for his wings to fluff out and wrap around your frame. It was like he wanted to shield you from the world, shield you from Heaven, shield you from everyone and anything that wanted to hurt you. Sure he had the urge before, but now? . . . "You heard that big man?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, your teasing smirk had him fighting for a breath. You would playfully nudge his shoulder, "You're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you're, we're stuck together so you better be getting used to it! I'll fight for you, you fight for me, and we'll get back to that stupid place that outcasted you in the first place!" But he would like to stay here, with you, forever. "And we'll show Charlie and Vaggie that it can be done and that even if you fucked up you have a good heart in you! . . . Because I know you do under all the gunk." And your laughter had never sounded so sweet, and you touch has never felt so soft and loving.

ᯓ A duo act, huh? With you? Adam could get used to and stand behind that thought; Perhaps, even after all this time, he wanted nothing more than to hear those words, or well the meaning of those words, from your mouth since the start.

ᯓ But even then, with the emotions that swelled Adam's heart with nothing but pure love, he couldn't help but nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent filled his nose with a warmth he missed, the soft skin of your neck flushed against his smirking lips, a feeling he longed for and couldn't forget. You were perfect, you always had been! "Fuck, Babe, when you say pretty shit like that, it's hard not to fuck you right here and now." Adam would groan before a loud cackle left his lips as soon as you smacked his back. All too used to his ways, you couldn't do much yet shake your head against Adam's shoulder, like a parent scolding their child for saying something offensive. "You ruined the mood Adam!" The huff escaped your lips, it hit Adam's neck and made goosebumps spring up his arms. "Again!" And yet, you didn't protest as Adam tossed you both into your sides with a fever, still cackling as though this was the funniest joke in the world - and you couldn't deny, you loved the sound of his laughter so much. Even as his stubble would tickle your neck as he did so, causing you to start laughing soon after and trying to push his head away from your neck. "Adam! Oh my god, Adam stop that tickles!" You gasped between breaths, struggling to push your boyfriend away as he found joy in your lighthearted misery. Though he would only curl around your frame, not answering your desperate calls of a truce and a stop, and trap you in his arms and wings with no remorse. "You're stuck with me Babe, you said it yourself! Now come here, let me kiss that pretty fucking face of yours until you can't breath!"

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ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

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traveler-at-heart · 7 months

Text

Flirt

Based on this post

WandaNat x Fem!SuperSoldier R

Nothing too serious, just silly stuff

Can you hear me calling Out your name? You know that I'm falling And I don't know what to say

Wanda hums along as she chops vegetables, glancing over at the casserole to check the water. As she moves over to get a pan, she feels a presence behind her.

“Hi there” you say and she blushes. Coming back from a training sesion, you’re desperate for some water so you reach behind her, trapping Wanda between your body and the countertop. “I’m sorry, I’m all sweaty and invading your space”

“It’s ok” she says, turning back to look at you. Her heart flutters with your half smile, as you finally take a glass and fill it with water. She misses your warmth instantly.

“Smells incredible” you comment, looking to the stove.

“Here” she offers you a taste and you let her feed you. Wanda’s eyes never leave your mouth, especially when you moan at the taste. “I made extra, in case you want some”

“Absolutely. Let me shower first and I’ll do the dishes, yes?”

“Ok” she nods, her hand dropping. Wanda’s too distracted to notice it is dangerously close to the fire, so she lets out a small whine as she jumps away from the heat.

“Come here” you inspect the small burn, and put her hand under the sink so the water helps with the pain. “Better?”

“I can also use magic”

“Well, maybe I wanted to hold your hand” you tease, and bring it to your lips. “There. I won’t be long”

“Yeah, ok”

Wanda smiles as you leave the room. She’s definitely asking you out soon.

—

“I’m almost done” Natasha mutters, inspecting the mess of wires.

“I’m not complaining” you say. She’s sitting on your shoulders, propped up to get a better look at the security system that was glitching.

Your hands are on her thighs. She’s pretty sure you don’t realize it, but from time to time you run them up and down her legs or squeeze when she seems frustrated with Tony’s stupid system.

Truth be told, she may have done it quicker if she had a ladder. You could be… distracting.

“You’re so tight” you say out of nowhere and she almost falls from your shoulders.

“Pardon?”

“I meant tense” you look up to meet her eyes.

“Don’t give me those puppy eyes” she complains, upset that you were able to get a reaction out of her. You always can.

“Can a super soldier give puppy eyes? I thought we were big and scary”

“You definitely can”

“What else have you noticed about me?”

Natasha continues to work quietly, and you figure she’s either angry or simply not in the mood to entertain you. Silence lingers for a few more minutes until she speaks again.

“You always smell like cinnamon”

“Do I?”

“Yes, even after the most physically demanding mission. The boys stink, even Barnes and Rogers”

“Thanks, I guess”

“If you tell anyone I said this I will deny it and kick your ass. And I’m all done here so you can put me down”

“Alright” you change your positions as if she weights nothing, but manage to carry her bridal style. Natasha glares, but your laugh is enough to hold her back.

“Since you worked so hard to fix this, why don’t I make you lunch and give you a nice massage, princess?”

She blushes at the pet name.

“Lead the way”

—

It’s movie night at the Compound. For the first time in months, the entire team is together, no urgent missions or new recruits to train.

Wanda keeps looking to the door, hoping you’ll join her on the couch.

Natasha is trying to be casual about it, but she is also waiting for you.

But minutes go by without any sign of you. Wanda has no choice but to make room for Vision and Natasha hoards a whole bowl of popcorn, feeling defeated.

“Are we missing anyone?” Steve looks around the room.

“Y/N” Wanda says too fast for Natasha’s liking.

“I believe she is out with a woman” Vision replies.

“What?”

“Who?”

Wanda and Natasha speak at the same time. They look at Vision and then at each other. Wanda tilts her head and Natasha glares, daring her to do something.

“She said it was a special occassion. But I’m afraid I don’t know anything else. I sense you are both upset about it”

“I don’t care” Natasha turns to the screen, sinking in her seat.

Wanda lifts a finger and the movie starts, making it clear that she won’t answer any questions.

“What’s happening here?” Steve says and Bucky slaps his back.

“You really don’t wanna know”

—

You go back to the Compound a day later.

“Welcome back, Casanova” Sam says with a wicked grin.

“Huh?”

“Y/L/N” Steve shows up a second later. “There’s a mission. Wanda and Natasha are joining you for an extraction”

“I’ll go get changed”

“Try not to piss them off any more” he warns, but seems too flustured to explain himself.

His words echo in your head while you get changed and step into the Quinjet. The last time you spoke with Wanda was during dinner; you left after your lunch with Natasha.

Why would they be upset?

“Hi, there” you greet both of them, but are met with silence. “Uh… you want me to fly the Quinjet?”

“No” is all Natasha says.

“Did I do something…?” you begin to ask, looking between both women. With a sudden shake, the Quinjet takes off and you fall to the back, hitting your head against the wall.

Wanda doesn’t ask if you’re ok. You figure it’s better to stay quiet for the rest of the ride.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask as Natasha lands, but both women ignore you and walk in different directions.

Damn it, what the fuck is going on? And who are you supposed to follow?

“Move” Natasha barks and you go after her.

“Six guards ahead” she warns you a second too late. You knock them down while Natasha stares, but still shoots a couple of widow bites and two of them land on your back.

“What the fuck, Nat?” you complain.

“My aim is really bad today”

“Bullshit, your aim is better when you’re pissed off”

“Why would I be pissed off?” she challenges you as more guards arrive.

“I have no idea”

“You think you can flirt with me and then go away with another woman?” she kicks a couple of guys, mainly on the balls. They don’t stand a chance against her sudden anger.

“What?! You mean yesterday when I left for my mother’s birthday party?”

“Huh?” the redhead turns to you, and misses the man that is sprinting straight towards her. You push her aside and crash against him, going through a glass wall.

“Asshole” you complain, making sure he’s unconscious. As you begin to stand up, you notice a shrad of glass sticking out of your abdomen. “Fucking great”

“Wait, don’t take it out” Natasha kneels next to you, but you pull it, groaning in pain.

“It will heal in a minute” you ease her. “Now, the other thing. Yes, I was flirting, but I didn’t think you’d like me back. Or Wanda for that matter. You’re both way out of my league”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s fine, really” you check to see the bleeding stopped and then stand up. “Let’s get the intel”

“Wanda, where are you?” Natasha calls through comms.

“Engaged in battle” the Sokovian says. “Would be nice to have some back up”

“I’ll go” you offer and Natasha nods, heading to the computer room.

“Hey, Wands, I’m he…” you greet and as soon as she sees you, red envelopes you. Wanda uses you as a wrecking ball to knock down five guys. “Ok, that was not nice”

She tilts her head and you feel your blood run cold as her eyes go red. You’re launched across the room to knock down more agents.

“Do you plan to use me like a boomerang every time there’s another enemy on sight?”

“Maybe” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

“I got the intel, let’s go” Natasha shows up, helping you up.

“Oh, I see, she managed to convince you she’s not bad”

“It’s all a missunderstanding” Natasha defends you.

“Oh, yeah, I bet it is” Wanda steps forward and you have to stand between them before they start fighting each other.

“Can we finish this back at the Compound, please?”

But they won’t stop arguing and you’re seriously considering just carrying both of them back to the jet.

You’re ready to do just that when a man throws grenades at you.

“Get down” you warn, pushing them away. You’re thrown back with the blast, feeling how your left arm, leg and a couple of ribs shatter.

That’s gonna take a little longer to heal.

“Y/N” Wanda floats to you, while Natasha covers her back and shoots at the guards. Each woman helps you up, and you jump on one leg to the jet.

“I’m ok” you reassure them as they set you down. “The bones are healing. It’s just a bit… uncomfortable”

“I’m sorry… for the way I acted” Wanda looks between both of you. Natasha sets the jet on autopilot and walks to you, arching her eyebrows.

“I can’t really blame Wanda, Y/N. You were being a tease after all” she says with a playful smirk. “What I’d like to know is how you’ll make it up to us now”

“Well" you smile in spite of the pain. "I can think of a few ways”

—

Steve knocks on your door.

“Rogers” you open, barely showing your face.

“You ok? I heard you had a rough time during the mission”

“It’s fine. You know how it is. We’re fast healers”

“That’s not exactly what I meant. It seems like you upset Wanda and Natasha. Whatever it is you did, I hope you find a way to fix it”

“She did” Natasha opens the door wider, wearing one of your shirts. “Thank you for your concern, Steve”

“Get back to bed” Wanda calls and Steve blushes.

“Is there anything else?” Natasha says and he looks to the ceiling.

“Nope”

“Good. If you’ll excuse us” she shuts the door in his face and pushes you against the bedroom wall.

“Have I told you I’m really sorry?” you say, mildly scared and very turned on. Natasha pushes you to the floor until you’re on your knees. Wanda follows your every move with eager eyes.

“Yes. But one more time couldn’t hurt”

#wanda maximoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x Reader #WandaNat x Reader

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 6 months

Text

"Not exactly what I expected." Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F! Reader

Summary: Rooster calls you begging for help, he's got himself into a bit of a sticky situation. But it's not exactly what you expected.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + only for smut, language, toys (reference), masturbation, oral.

Cross Posted on AO3

“This is not exactly what I expected when you said you had a problem,” you rest your head on your fist, turning left and right.

“What did you have in mind?” Rooster lets out a painful groan.

“Well,” you approach carefully, almost like he’s a feral cat, “for one I thought you’d have clothes on.”

He groans, covering his eyes with his left hand, “this is so fucking embarrassing.”

“Heh,” you chuckle, “yeah it is. But it’s okay Roo, I don’t judge. I'm just wondering why you didn’t call one of the guys?”

“This was all Hangman’s idea,” he lets out a gasp when you move it left and right, “I’d never fucking hear the end of it.”

“You really believe I’m not going to mention this again?” He opens his eyes giving you his best glare before looking back down and grimacing.

“It says on the package, that this doesn’t happen. That the…suction…is part of the,” he groans looking back at the sky when you give it a tug.

“Pleasure?” you ask, smiling, “experience?” He ignores you, closing his eyes as you tug it up and down.

“Fuck,” he groans, and your hand freezes.

“Did that hurt?”

“No…” he whispers, breathing through his nose.

“Oh,” his eyes open and he goes to apologize when you lean across and kiss him, your hand squeezing the device and pumping it. He chase your lips when you pull away, a tiny whimper following, “I think I know how to get this thing off.”

“How? I-I don’t want to make you do anything you're not comfortable with.”

“I just kissed you Bradshaw, I hoped that would be an indication of my feelings on the matter.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “that was really nice.”

“Yeah?” you grin, “well to get this off I’m gonna have to use my mouth a lot more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to make you cum, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” he visibly swallows, nodding along. You lean closer, whispering in his ear and licking it playfully, “and when this thing is so wet and sticky from that cum, it will just slide right off.”

“Yeah,” he moans, reaching a hand out to touch your breast, his skilled finger pinching your nipple.

“Yeah,” you whine, “and then you’ll be a mess baby, and someone will need to clean you all up.”

“Who’s gonna do that?” he leans his head back on the couch.

“I’ll give you three guesses,” you kiss down his chest, his hands tangling in your hair.

“Hmm,” he watches, “I think I can get it in one.”

“So cocky,” you tease, spitting at the end of his cock that sticks out. The spit sliding down between the rubber and his dick.

“That’s why they call me Rooster, baby. That and I have a big cock.”

“Hmm, you show your cock to all the boys at flight school? Ballsy move.” He goes to protest when you suck his balls in your mouth silencing him, and you let off with a pop, “What was that?”

“Come on baby,” he groans, “don’t torture me like this.”

“I think you’re the one who tortured yourself,” you oblige, licking and sucking any part of him you can get, all the while pumping his cock up and down. “But I think you learned your lesson, next time you wanna get off, call me.”

He trembles as he gets closer and closer, spurring you on. “Come on Rooster,” you urge, pumping and sucking him harder, “I wanna see that big cock you’re named for.”

“I’m gonna show you,” he moans, “fuck baby, I want to feel you all around me. I wanna be inside you, fucking you full of my cum.”

His words are filthy but you love that shit, your hand reaching down into your soft shorts and rubbing your clit. He notices, his eyes focused on the way you’re rubbing yourself, getting off on his words.

“Oh, you like that baby? Like it when I tell you all the dirty fantasies I’ve had about you? I want to taste you, sweet girl, I want your pussy all in my mustache, so I can smell you for days. I can make you squirt, I’ve done it before.”

You squeeze his cock tightly and he shouts, before letting out a laugh, “okay baby, my girls got a little of a jealous streak.”

“You listen here Bradshaw,” you sit up, pulling your fingers from your pussy and putting them in his mouth. His eyes close as he sucks and licks them clean, following them as you pull away.

His eyes widen and he has a line of drool running down his chin when you press his cock between your breasts. “I’m the only pussy you’re gonna be talking about from here on forward. I’m the one you call when you need to get off, and I’ll be the only one you take to bed and make squirt. Understood?”

His hips rise and he thrusts between your breasts, “crystal clear, baby.” He moves quickly and you rub his balls and lick every inch that is exposed before he shoves it back inside. “Fuck,” he groans, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then fucking do it, Bradshaw.” He cums with a roar, the device popping off with the power of his orgasm, spraying you in the face with cum. You lick every drop you can get before sucking his cock clean.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles down at you.

“I made you cum so hard, you forgot my name?” you tease and he lets out a laugh before pulling you into his chest.

“Smart ass,” he kisses you softly, a smile spread across your face.

“It’s better than a dumb ass,” you stand, holding out a hand for him, “now let’s take a shower, I feel sticky.” He takes your hand rising and pulling you in for a hard kiss, taking your breath away.

“How about a bath?” he runs his nose down your cheek, pressing soft kisses. “I can get you all wet and soapy, keep my girl clean and happy.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think for a moment, “I was promised squirting.”

“I’m a man of many talents baby,” he leans down, lifting you up in his arms, “ can make you cum in the shower, bathtub, counter, the bed….” he keeps kissing you and naming all the places, and ways he wants to fuck you. It might not have been what you were expecting when he called for help but it sure turned out perfect.

#Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader #Rooster x Reader #Female Reader #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Fanfiction #Autumn Writes

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mari-the-bimbo · 7 months

Note

PLS — DON’T LEAVE US HANGING

I just love your dorm mate Geto series, there will be other parts? Plsplspls

Dorm mate Geto: Just friends pt. 3

A/N: OKAY OKAY FORGIVE ME YA’LL!! At first I just wanted part 2 to marinate a lil you know? Then I forgot to post whoopsie! Also in my defence I was depressed over jjk new chapter leaks 😭 Enjoy! <3

It’s 8pm in the morning when you woke up and made some breakfast in the quiet dorm kitchen. The sunlight seeps through the window as you munch on some cereal.

“Bit early for a Saturday don’t you think doll?” A honey-laced voice teases from behind.

You turn around to see Geto. The usual mischievous dark coloured eyes which stared at you adoringly. His tall, broad figure towers over you, and his hands in his pockets but you can’t focus, all you could think about yesterdays confessions and kisses.

“Well good morning to you too” you tease back before placing your bowl in the sink about to walk away. He chuckles at your quick wit, he can’t help but swoon over you.

Until his large hand stops you by simply grabbing your mid section.

“Where you do think you’re going doll? I said we’re going to talk later remember?” He says like a demand but his tone is still so soft, causing butterflies in your stomach. “B-but Gojo is still here-“ you say, suddenly losing the last drop of the confident facade you had left.

“He’s still asleep after his late night. It’s just you and me doll” he reasons, unwilling to let you slip away out of his arms again. He sits at the dining table, one hand tugs on your hand, and the other pats his thigh, urging you to sit on his lap.

“Geto..”

“don’t be shy with me. You know I’m all yours y/n” he rasps as he stares into your eyes, making you grow hot and bothered, nevertheless you comply. You sit on his lap and he lets out a relaxing hum as your butt rests on his thighs.

“How you feeling after yesterday?” He asks like a whisper in your ear, rubbing your upper arm to help ease it out of you.

“I feel okay” you say, keeping it brief, even though you knew you could probably write a whole essay about it. But so did Geto.

“I need you to feel more than okay hun” he says so sweetly, making your stomach stir again.

You sigh, knowing Geto knew you too well. “Well I guess I still feel a bit bitter about you with other girls but I understand it’s not your fault because you thought your feelings were one sided.”

He nods empathetically, he’s always been so mature. You watch a strand of his black hair fall out of his hair bun, “those girls will never mean what you mean to me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.”

“It’s not been easy having feelings for you since the day I met you, you know?” He adds, and your mouth slightly opens at his confession. Sure, you’ve liked him for a long time too, but you can’t imagine how painful it must’ve been pining for the same person since the day you met them.

He laughs softly at your reaction, his hand playfully grabbing your chin to close your mouth. “Don’t worry, it was all worth it in the end right? Don’t feel bad” he said as if he read your mind.

Your eyes soften, asking him the same question you asked last night before he kissed you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you ask, your frail cold fingers touching his face, you feel him relax against it. “I guess I was scared that you wouldn’t like me back” he admits with a sad smile which felt unusual on the usually confident secure man.

“Well that’s not true. I like you…a lot” you say, causing him to give you the cheesiest handsome smile. “Yeah? I like you a lot too” he says, kissing your fingers, both of you dancing around the word ‘love’.

“Then are you gonna kiss me or what?” You say impatiently with a cute pout, he chuckles at your princess behaviour before pulling you closer by grabbing your cheeks with his one large hand, taking advantage of the size difference, pressing his lips against yours. His lips feverishly move against yours. He pulls away for a second to let you gasp for air before attacking your lips once again.

You’re dizzy when you pull away from the handsome man who cuddled you in his lap, your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. All you can smell is his musky woody scent and all you can feel is his wet lips on your jaw.

“Y/n?” He murmurs against your skin, “yeah?” You ask breathlessly.

“I love you”

Your eyes widened as you felt your heart beat hundred times faster. You pull away only enough to see his face again, his eyes are genuine as he stares up at you as if you’re an angel.

“I love you too pretty boy” you say, playing with his black ear studs shyly.

He feels happy yet so smug at the same time. “Yeah? What do you love about me the most?” He asks with a smirk.

“Free barista”

He laughs so joyfully at your answer, and he looks so pretty as he does it. Geto genuinely doesn’t mind if that really is the reason you love him, he’s happily make coffee for you for the rest of his life.

“Good, that means you’re all mine”

You suddenly feel shy at his words, choosing to mess with his ear stud again. “You really love me huh?” You ask, with a hopeful smile, anything to hear him say it again.

“Oh doll, you have no idea” he says as he tucks your hair strand behind you ear, kissing your cheeks.

“C’mon now” he says patting your butt, “lemme make my princess some coffee”

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ada7201 · 4 months

Text

what do the blue lock boys do for you on valentine’s day?（╹◡╹）♡

Shidou, Rin, Sae, Kaiser x reader (seperate)

→ part 1 ⭢ part 2 ⭢ part 3 on the way!

gn! reader, google translated German for Kaiser’s part

don’t forget to suggest me things if you have any ideas! happy early valentine’s day (๑>◡<๑)

Shidou Ryusei

he gets you a TON of sweets (which he eats half of)

Sae once told him that love letters were a common thing for valentine’s day, so he tried to make you one.

it was a piece of paper, which was poorly folded and drowned pink glitter glue. he used scented gel pens to write a few “i love you’s” and smiley faces… it’s the thought that counts?

wrapped a ribbon around his neck and called himself your valentine’s gift.

decided it would be fun to wear your lipstick and kiss your cheeks - staining your skin with kiss marks

for lunch, he brought you to the park where you both played around, and afterwards sat down somewhere on the playground and munched on sweets (of your choice!)

the two of you watched those romance dramas together in the evening and fell asleep on an episode you weren’t paying attention to

“come on sweets, it’ll be fun!” Shidou whined, clinging onto your arm like a monkey, smushing his cheek against your shoulder as he pouted. why wouldn’t you let him do your makeup? “im great at makeup! you know that! i’ll do a special valentine’s day theme〜”

“Shidou- no!” you groaned, attempting to pry the taller man off of your arm. “you will not do my makeup, and that’s final!”

“fine…” Shidou sighed dramatically, letting go of you and falling to the floor in a pathetic manner. “guess you just hate me… and you’d even do this on valentine’s day?”

you huffed. he could be such a pain sometimes…

“alright, you can do my-“ your voice was cut off by Shidou’s big hand on your lips, a grin on his face.

“no need to talk more, bae - let’s get started…” he’d chuckle, almost evilly, before pulling out your makeup bag from the pocket of his sweatpants.

“how did you—?” you were cut off once again by his hand, and that stupid smile on his face.

“ah-ah,” he’d wiggle his pointer finger, before poking your cheek.

“let me do my magic!”

by the end of that hour, your face was decorated with sparkly stickers and hearts drawn in pink lipstick. your eyeshadow was almost terrifying, with the way it was so bright - brighter than Shidou’s eyes.

“perfect.” he’d giggle, hand on his mouth as he tried to hold back from full on cackling in your face.

surprisingly, Shidou isn’t bad at makeup - he just wanted to be a little silly for you on valentine’s day!

he posted a photo of you and your makeup, along with cute photos of the two of you throughout the day - like one of the heart engraved onto a bench with your initials, or maybe the photo of you sleeping peacefully with a bow stuck to your forehead - totally not Shidou’s doing!

he also baked with you - but it didn’t turn out great so you both decided to order takeout instead.

takeout wasn’t the most romantic meal, but it sure best whatever you both made…

Itoshi Rin

poor baby didn’t know what to do at first.

he spent a couple weeks planning and brainstorming ideas in his free time - even considering asking Isagi for advice.

instead of turning to that lukewarm freak, he chose to go with what he thought you’d like the most.

he bought you a sweet and simple bouquet, assorted with flowers of your favorite colours and type.

he wrote you a card, and got a plus he’d toy with it too.

he placed everything next to you in the morning, since he wakes up considerably earlier than you do.

when you woke up, you were pleasantly surprised with everything. thanks Rin!

when he got back home, he made the two of you some lunch.

he didn’t want to admit it, but he had been waiting to use the cute little heart plates you had bought especially for valentine’s day.

“this bowl is so cute!” you’d smile, admiring the pretty white plate decorated with pink and red hearts. “is this the one i got you valentine’s day?”

he simply nodded, placing down his plate - and sitting on the chair opposite you.

posted a photo of the two of you holding hands, along with a pretty sunset you both witnessed on your evening walk.

he definitely wasn’t too embarrassed to include the photo he took of your plates! he just wanted to be the only ones to see them

yes, he took you out on a walk in the evening - and when he noticed you shivering, he was quick to wrap his scarf around you and drape his jacket over your shoulders - not realising he just exposed himself and the pink shirt you had gotten him.

his face turned the same colour as his shirt! cute!

“Rin, why is your face so pink? are you getting cold?” you ask him, worried gaze focused on the way his cheeks were pink. “do you want your jacket back—?”

Rin quickly cut you off with a small peck, cheeks blushing even more after the small gesture.

“i was just… blushing.” he mumbles, looking away from you as a teasing smile made its way onto your face.

“aww, you were blushing〜”

Itoshi Sae

bought you a bouquet of purple roses.

purple roses mean love at first sight. <3

he also got you a matching set of earrings, a necklace, bracelet, and an anklet.

along with jewellery, he got you a piece of fancy clothing that he saw you eyeing. (example: dress, suit, button up, tie, skirt, and more! your decision)

got you a pack of cupcakes as a desert for lunch (or any yummy food if your choice)

he spent most of the day taking photos of you and admiring how beautiful you were - even with morning hair, even if you were still in your cheesy pyjamas matching that Sae got you, even if you had your face stuffed with sweets - you were beautiful and Sae wanted to capture that moment. (this is a regular occurrence, but was feeling it a bit more today!)

either takes you to a beautiful and expensive restaurant, or hosts one at home with candles lit nicely.

this valentine’s day, he chose to eat out with you - and brought you to one of the newest and most expensive restaurants in town.

“wow, Sae! this is really nice!” you smiled, placing your fork down next to your plate before looking up at Sae, who was sat opposite you.

“you deserve 10 times more.” he’d respond simply, shrugging off your words with a slight blush on his cheeks.

he watched the way your smile grew. cute.

could it be the perfect time?

“y/n.” Sae said, almost quietly - before pushing his chair back and standing up.

his slim fingers reached into the pocket of his nice dress pants - and you couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken. what was he about to do?

“i have loved you since the first day i met you.” he started, hand wrapping around a small velvet box, before pulling it out of his pocket - he wasted no time on getting down on one knee, eyes looking up at the way you stared back down at him. “do you think that… you could make me even happier, and marry me?” he asks with a small smile on his face.

im sorry, but i definitely feel like he’s the type to propose on valentine’s day!

on the drive home, you had to remind him to her his eyes on the road because he kept admiring the pretty ring on your finger!

bought you another pair of cheesy pyjamas - this time, they were pink cat onesies.

he took so many photos of you and your cute little smile!

he posted a photo of your hand with the ring, being held by his

it took him a good 15 minutes to decide what photo to choose for the ring photo

along with the ring photo, he posted a picture of the two of you in your onesies, a photo of his hand on your thigh as you were both in his car - along with some others of the two of you having fun

Sae was stood in the jewellery shop, looking down at each glimmering ring in the display case.

his cheeks blushed as he imagined each one of them on your pretty hands, how could he ever choose?!

he just could not wait to hold your hand, and look down at the ring.

“um, Sir?” the accountant could ask, waving a hand in front of Sae’s face - who was currently spacing out and fantasising about holding your hand.

oh, guess he got caught up thinking about you.

just then, his eyes caught the most beautiful ring. he could practically see the happy face you’d make when he presents it to you!

he wasted no time pointing to the ring, neutral gaze looking back at the woman.

“i want that one.” he says flatly.

no woman other than you deserves to even look at him. how dare that saleslady even talk to him?

(this wasn’t on valentine’s day, but he practically danced out of the shop when he finally bought the ring)

Micheal Kaiser

how bold of you to assume he’d get you something?

jokes!

he bought you a bouquet of blue roses (a little cliche, but you it’s his thing!)

like Sae, he bought you a lot of pretty jewellery.

got you the prettiest piece of clothing, one that would match an outfit he bought for himself.

he absolutely insisted that it was a coincidence.

for lunch, he brought you to a diner he knew you liked - but when you asked, oh you liked this place? he never knew!

made sure to show you off more than usual the whole day, saying things like “they’re the only person worthy of my love” and other egoistical love confessions, if you get what i mean

for dinner, the two of you dressed up in your matching outfits

he practically begged you to be able to do your hair. (he’ll never ever admit it though, not with his ego)

when you were both finally dressed, you went to a party that his team was hosting.

when the two of you got home, he basically fell asleep on you!

“i’m not falling asleep.” he’d huff, unconsciously nuzzling further into your stomach as her hugged your waist. he just … wanted attention.

“sure,” you’d tease, fingers threading through his hair gently. “is that why you’re cuddled up to me right now?”

“ruhig sein,” he’d huff. “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

ruhig sein = “be quiet” / “pipe down”

you simply giggle at his words, patting his head gently.

“i’m sorry.” you’d pout playfully, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Kaiser had always loved being babied by you.

it was somehow… comforting?

posted a mirror selfie of the two of you, and maybe, just maybe, a photo of your cute smiling face - if i felt like it!

The next morning, Kaiser woke up to his phone buzzing constantly - and you clinging onto his side. he couldn’t help but bask in the glory of being so famous. he had a pretty person next to him in bed and his post has most likely gone viral once again.

he reached over to the side table and picked his phone up, u locking it quickly to read the comments left on his newest post - which was of the two of you yesterday.

“best couple!” “they’re made for each other.” “y/n looks so pretty!” “they’re matching!?”

was very excited to have so many compliments.

he realised that he gets a lot more when he posts photos of you

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

Text

And I cried when you first said, "Oel ngati kameie" - Neteyam x Metkayina ! reader (forbidden love)

summary: despite her father's wariness of the sully's and their 'demon-blood,' y/n can't help but feel drawn to neteyam. as the two of them bond over their similar experiences of parental pressure, he finds himself falling in love with her

contains: love triangle, friends to lovers, forbidden romance/love, daddy issues (idk where that came from), fluff

wc: 5.7k

a/n: damn, i was hoping to post this like six hours ago but i did not expect for a oneshot to take a whole day to edit. please don't question me about neteyam and y/n's father, i don't want to develop that plot further bc this is a oneshot, so just assume it's a happy ending

masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Ever since the Sully family moved to Awa’atlu, whether for better, or for the worst, they became the center of attention. Despite the initial wariness of their nature, villagers eventually seemed to warm up to them, making their stay more comfortable. But unlike the others, you remained hesitant to approach them, your father's warnings of their 'demon-blood' weighing heavily on your mind. It was only in these rare moments, when you couldn't help but notice their oldest son, Neteyam.

“Where were you? I needed you there exactly for situations like this,” Jake raised his voice at Neteyam, “You’re supposed to look after your siblings!”

You watched from a distance, observing the way Neteyam hunched in shame and nodded his head in acceptance of the fault, the way he’d blink rapidly to avoid the tears welling up in his eyes, every time his father’s voice would get louder. It was a familiar sight to you, one that brought back memories of your own father raising his voice at you for disappointing him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Neteyam expressed with sincere guilt in his voice, “I promise I’ll do better next time.”

“I know,” Jake sighed, “Dismissed.”

Jake's pained expression mirrored the face of your own father after his angry outbursts. Ever since your mother's passing, the responsibility of caring for your younger brother Tewtxey had fallen on your shoulders. Your father was tough on you, stricter than the other parents. He believed that protection meant safety, rarely showing you any tenderness. But he had no idea how much his tough love only made you rougher around the edges and deepened the resentment you felt towards him. You despised him in the depths of your heart, unable to make up for his harsh ways with the love you craved from him.

The sight of Neteyam rushing off into the trees tugged at your heartstrings. You guessed that he was in a hurry to find a private corner where he could finally break down. But as much as you wanted to trail after him and tell him that you understood, that it was no big deal to mess up sometimes, you couldn’t. You weren’t close like that, in fact, your interactions had been limited to mere greetings exchanged in passing. Yet, you had witnessed the way his father scolded him for his siblings’ troublemaking on many occasions now, and it felt like you knew him. You were already struggling to take care of one sibling, you couldn’t imagine how hard it was on him to keep an eye on three.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“And what were you thinking leaving Tewtxey alone?” your father was pacing around your marui, tail swishing aggressively from side to side.

You winced when he halted directly in front of you, waiting expectantly for an answer. It was easy for you to tune him out whenever he went on long angry rants, counting down minutes for him to cool down, but whenever he wanted you to answer him, that was when you felt your blood boil. Admitting to your mistakes verbally, without sounding defensive, was a challenge.

“He wasn’t alone,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“I said, he wasn’t alone. He was with Tuktirey, and her father was watching them,” you raised your head slightly to look at his face.

“I told you I do not trust that demon,” your father spat through gritted teeth, “How could you leave your little brother with him?”

“Dad, he is the Toruk Makto. Hasn’t he proved himself to be one of us?” you felt irritated with your father’s stubbornness.

You knew that it was a sensitive subject for him. Having lost his mate to a stupid, pointless interaction with sky people, he was forever in deep hatred towards them. He was conflicted when he first found out about Toruk Makto’s past. It was difficult to respect someone who was a dreamwalker, whose children were only 'half-Na’vi.'

“You dare to challenge me?” he raised his voice at you, sending a shiver down your spine, “All I ask of you is to protect your brother! Is it so hard to listen to me? Is it so hard to understand why your mother is no longer here?”

He hit a nerve with the last question. Of course, ever since her passing, you missed your mother terribly. She was the balance in your family, the gentle touch you craved. But instead of bonding over the loss, your relationship with your father grew more distant. Suddenly, you were too reckless for him, too distracted. He was scared of how much you resembled your mother, of the possibility of the same fate befalling you.

“I’m sorry,” you hung your head in defeat.

Your father began pacing around the room again, his mind searching for another reason to scold you for. It seemed like it wasn’t enough to make you understand how disappointed he was. He stopped, when his eyes landed on the spear resting against the wall. You drew in a sharp breath, realizing that you had forgotten to sharpen the weapon for his upcoming hunt.

“What is this?” he gripped the spear tightly, pointing it accusingly at you, “Are you abandoning your chores now?”

“I forgot about it,” you mumbled.

“I cannot understand what could be keeping you so occupied all day that you neglect your duties. What kind of behavior is this, Y/N?”

Taking the spear from his hand, you stepped back, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes. It wasn't his disappointment that frustrated you; it was his inability to see things from your perspective. He didn’t understand how hard it was on you to grow up without a mother, to always be strong in front of him.

“I’ll do it now,” you promised, taking another step back, “May I go now?”

“Go!” your father shouted.

You fled the marui, gasping for breath to calm yourself down. It felt like all the emotions you had been suppressing came crashing down on you at once. But before you could even begin to process them, the sight in front of you captured your attention.

Your brother was standing with his back turned to you, Neteyam crouched down in front of him not too far. They were playing some sort of game with their hands, when the pair of golden eyes followed your walk up to them. Your brother seemed to pay you no mind, but Neteyam lifted his gaze to greet you with his thick accent.

You only nodded, pursing your lips together and deciding to send away your brother after he’s finished with the game. As you watched them play, it wasn’t hard to notice how distracted Neteyam was by your presence. He’d constantly glance at you to read your expressions, and you guessed he heard the argument that was unraveling minutes ago. Taking advantage of his opponent’s distraction, your brother exclaimed in victory.

“Good job,” Neteyam smiled, patting your brother’s head.

“Y/N, did you see?” Tewtxey looked up to you with a bright smile. You were forced to return it, placing an arm around his shoulder.

“I did. Now go home and eat, alright?”

Your gentle approach has always worked wonders with your little brother, unlike your father's strictness. He usually obeyed you without hesitation. Tewtxey smiled at Neteyam one last time before leaving the two of you alone. Neteyam stood up, looming over you with his frame.

“He was bouncing around here and looked scared to go in,” he began to explain, “I just wanted to distract him before things cooled down.”

You nodded in agreement. You were always worried that Tewtxey would get caught in the crossfire of your arguments with your father. He was too young to be involved.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Neteyam’s gaze softened, eyes roaming over your features again.

Given the distance from your marui, Neteyam had likely heard everything. He seemed to be curious about how much you were hiding, how the pained expression on your face a few minutes ago was now replaced by a neutral one. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, the weight of the spear in your hand suddenly seeming heavier.

“Well, I have to go,” you cleared your throat, stepping back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

You nodded, turning to leave. Neteyam trailed after you as you walked towards the far end of the beach. When you sat down to sharpen the spear, he joined you and plopped down quietly beside you.

“Are you sure you’re alright? That sounded harsh,” he broke the silence.

You blinked rapidly, not daring to meet his golden eyes. Instead, you tried focusing at the task on hand, your motions quick and rough, attempting to make the tip of the spear as pointed as you could. The wood occasionally nicked your fingers, causing stinging pain, but you paid no attention to it. Neteyam watched you silently for a moment, before he reached out and took the spear from your hands, setting it aside. You exhaled, finally meeting his eyes.

“I'm alright. My father just doesn’t know how to handle this by himself."

“Handle what by himself?”

“Me, I guess…raising me. Without mom by his side.”

You were a mystery to Neteyam from the first day of his arrival, always keeping a distance with him, as your father’s harsh gaze grazed his family whenever they crossed paths in public. Neteyam didn’t really understand the reason for the dislike but the argument he overheard earlier helped him piece together some of the puzzle.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said quietly, “Ao’nung mentioned it once to us. It must have been hard without her.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, turning your gaze towards the horizon.

The gentle sound of waves crashing against each other accompanied the sunset, casting a sparkling glow on the water.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After that moment you shared with Neteyam, you often found yourself running into each other. Whether it was after a fight with your father, or a stressful day for Neteyam, you somehow managed to offer each other a listening ear.

It was easy to open up to him, when you knew he could relate. His eyes always softened at the sight of you, arms instinctively reaching out to pat you on the back whenever you sobbed into his chest after another heavy argument. It seemed like with age, your father was becoming more unbearable, and refused to understand you on any given matter.

“What did he say?” Neteyam asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Well, he saw us hanging out, so make your guess,” you let out a bitter chuckle, wiping your face.

Neteyam couldn’t help but feel partially guilty for the treatment you were getting. He knew about your father's disapproval of him, but he couldn't resist spending time with you and offering comfort after a fight, even if he was the cause of it. You were the only person with whom he could share his own struggles, and feel accepted.

Of course, hanging out with Neteyam was also a way for you to rebel against your father's orders and show him that he couldn't control you. He didn’t realize that it was his hatred that pushed you further into Neteyam’s arms.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As the weeks passed, your friendship with Neteyam grew stronger. There was something special between you but you failed to see the impact you were having on Neteyam's life. You had become the first thought on his mind every morning, his trainings passed in hopes to see you. When he was with you, he wished for time to stand still. And when he went to sleep, he anticipated dreaming about you. But Neteyam was fully aware of the risks of catching feelings for someone whose family despised him.

So he bit his tongue, hoping that you wouldn’t notice it. That maybe with time, things will get better. He was from a different clan, and your father had a clear disdain for him. Even if you reciprocate his feelings, pursuing you would be complicated, if not impossible. But he couldn't deny the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, the way his heart fluttered when you laughed at his jokes. He couldn't help but wonder if there was a chance for something more between you two, yet he was forced to push the thought aside.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

But jealousy is a disease that brings out the worst in one. Neteyam felt it brewing inside him, as he intensely watched you talking to Ao’nung. Despite knowing about your close friendship with Ao’nung, Neteyam didn’t like him. The way his smile widened every time you said something, the way he stood so close to you…it made his blood boil.

He tried hard to focus on sharpening his arrow, not to raise suspicion in Tsireya and Lo'ak next to him, but his eyes kept drifting to you and Ao'nung. With another stroke of his knife, he accidentally grazed his finger, catching Tsireya’s attention.

“Lo’ak, could you please bring me my shawl? It’s getting chilly,” she asked, her eyes big and innocent.

Lo’ak stood up without a question, not paying attention to his brother’s strange behavior. As soon as he was out of earshot, Tsireya turned her concerned gaze back to Neteyam. He was still watching you with Ao’nung, now sitting down on the sand, your knees touching, deep in a conversation. He had never even heard Ao’nung speak to his friends for more than five minutes, what could he possibly be saying to captivate your attention for so long? Neteyam scoffed in disbelief.

“Is something bothering you?” Tsireya asked. His head snapped to her, embarrassed that he got caught.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, returning to the task at hand.

For a moment, Neteyam pondered whether he should ask Tsireya about her brother. Find out if the rumors he had heard from Rotxo were true, if there was a possibility of you being promised to Ao'nung.

“Tsireya, can I ask you something?” he lowered his voice.

“Sure,” she nodded. When Neteyam hesitated to continue, looking around, she reassured him, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Um…Is it true that Ao’nung and Y/N are to become mated?”

Tsireya frowned slightly, and Neteyam couldn’t tell if it was because of his sudden interest in the matter, or because it was untrue. He gulped, secretly hoping it was the latter. She took a long pause before answering.

“Sorry, you caught me off guard,” she apologized, “I just haven’t heard that rumor in a long time.”

“So, it is a rumor?”

“They haven’t promised themselves to each other as mates, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Tsireya elaborated, making Neteyam cringe in embarrassment, “But I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“What do you mean?” his ears perked up at the implication.

“Well…” she sighed, “Ao’nung and Y/N always have been close friends. And my father is quite vocal about his admiration for her. He thinks she can be a good mate to Ao’nung, when he becomes the chief.”

Neteyam's eyes darted all over Tsireya's face, trying to understand if there was anything else she wasn’t saying.

"What about Y/N?" he asked, quickly glancing in your direction, "Does she like him? Does she feel pressured because of your father or something?"

“Any girl would feel pressured by my father, but I cannot speak for Y/N,” she answered honestly, “If it makes you feel easy, Y/N and Ao’nung never crossed their boundaries.”

Neteyam hummed in agreement but he didn’t understand anything. His mind was racing with questions, yet he didn’t have the answers. How come Tsireya did not know if you liked her brother? Were you into him? Even if you weren’t, wouldn’t you reciprocate the feelings of the future chief? Surely, Ao’nung wasn't the easiest person to be around, but he seemed different with you.

“Maybe you should ask her about it. You’re friends,” Tsireya nudged him.

Friends.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“You’re quiet,” you pointed out, as Neteyam dragged his feet after you, deep into the trees.

“I’m usually quiet,” he muttered.

“Not like this,” you disagreed, gauging for further clarification but Neteyam remained silent.

You did not know that there was a burning desire to confess his feelings to you raging in Neteyam’s mind. Despite Tsireya’s uncertainty the evening prior, Neteyam had already convinced himself that there was something going on between you and the future Olo'eyktan. So he felt rushed to tell you about your feelings, to prevent you from mating with Ao’nung.

But he couldn't help but wonder if he would truly be the best thing for you. What could he offer to you? He was a forest Na’vi, who did not know the way of water, who was useless in the sea. He was unfamiliar to your traditions, his whole life Neteyam prepared for leading the clan, but in Awa’atlu he had nothing to give.

To make matters worse, he found himself competing against the chief's son, someone you had grown up with and knew very well. And Neteyam could never replace that kind of relationship. Did you ever see him past your friendship, the way he saw you? The doubt and insecurity were consuming him from within.

“Is it because of my father?” you decided to guess, stopping in your tracks.

Neteyam walked past you, shaking his head. You pondered for a moment, before following him.

“Did my little brother break something when you let him play with your stuff the other day?”

Neteyam ignored your guess, holding back the big leaves in your way, waiting for you to catch up. He was deep in his thoughts, yet remained gentle and caring with you. Your gaze softened at the gesture.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He held your gaze without answering. That was it.

“What did I do?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Nothing, you did nothing wrong.”

“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be tuning me out. I must have done something wrong,” you nudged his shoulder for a reply.

“I was just thinking…” he sighed, meeting your eyes, “Is it true about you and Ao’nung?”

“What about me and Ao’nung?”

“That you’re going to be mates.”

You snorted in disbelief. Although it was a topic of countless conversations with your father, who was eager to arrange a match between his daughter and the future Olo'eyktan, you were too stubborn to comply with your father’s wishes, instead of your own. You and Ao'nung had a strong friendship, sharing almost everything with each other, but it was just that. Friendship.

“That’s ridiculous, where’d you hear that?” you quirked your eyebrow at him.

“Rotxo.”

“It’s just a silly rumor that’s been going around since we were kids,” you rolled your eyes. You especially despised it a few years back, when people started teasing you for hampering other girls from pursuing Ao’nung.

“So you’re just friends?” Neteyam asked, his tone more hopeful.

“Just friends,” you confirmed, “He is like a brother to me.”

“I don’t think he sees you like a sister, Y/N.”

“Why do you care?” you teased him, “Are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of Ao’nung?” he scoffed.

“No reason,” you snickered, walking past him into the clearing.

Neteyam followed after you eagerly, his steps quickening to catch up. You tried to hide a devilish smirk, knowing that you'd pique his interest.

"What is it that Ao’nung has that I don't?"

"Let it go, Neteyam," you swatted at him with your hand. "I'm not going to compare my two friends to each other."

Neteyam pursed his lips, annoyed that he had to drop the subject. He knew that if he pushed too far, he'd be caught in his own trap, coming undone in front of you. There was something about you that made him feel exposed, and he was afraid that you would see right through him.

“Here it is,” you pointed at the spear on the ground. You had lost it the evening prior, and Neteyam was sure you dropped it around here.

“Told you,” he murmured, beating you to it and picking up the spear for himself.

“Thank Eywa,” you grinned at him, “Now let’s go back. If father sees you carrying my spear, he’ll be so annoyed!”

It was an innocent joke. The way you said it wasn’t mischievous, at least not towards Neteyam. You only enjoyed the irritation growing in your father, whenever he saw you spending time with the ‘demon-kid.’ In a strange way, you felt like you were fighting him back. But to Neteyam it was stressful to bear your father’s angry glances. He didn’t like pushing it.

“Is that all this friendship is to you?” his sudden insecurity caught you off guard.

“Huh?”

"Getting back at your father? Is that the only reason you hang out with me, just to piss him off?" his voice grew more accusatory.

“Where is this coming from?” you chuckled in disbelief, “Are you serious?”

“I am,” Neteyam gulped down, “Would you still spend time with me, if your father didn’t hate me so much? I can tell this is how you repay him for being harsh with you. But it’s unfair to me. You don’t get to use me as a tool of your rebellion, don’t get to play with my feelings like that.”

“Neteyam,” you exhaled, now speaking seriously, “I would never let him control my life to the point where he decides whom I befriend. I like spending time with you because of you. You’re very dear to me.”

Neteyam fell silent, doubts bouncing around in his golden eyes. You held his gaze, trying to convince him of the sincerity of your words.

“Do you believe me?”

“I guess,” he shook his head, “I just have a hard time believing anyone genuinely likes me.”

“What are you on about?” you neared him, “The whole village has grown fond of you. I mean, even Ao’nung… He used to fight with you, but now he’s hanging out with Lo’ak like nothing happened.”

“Exactly, he’s hanging out with Lo’ak, not me. He still doesn’t like me,” Neteyam said, his lips twitching with a hint of a smile.

“You dislike him,” you disagreed.

“Only because he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, he just…” you sighed, already regretting what you were about to reveal, “He just thinks that you’re stealing me from him.”

“Stealing you? Is he jealous or something?” an amused smile creeped onto Neteyam’s face.

“I guess. Ao’nung is possessive, you know, he doesn’t like to share.”

“Well then, I guess he’ll just have to deal with it.”

As Neteyam turned on his heels, his braids swayed around with a mind of their own. You watched him walk towards the village, gripping your spear, a slight spring in his step. You could already feel the punishment you’d get, once Neteyam uses this new information against Ao’nung.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Hey, play nice,” you called out to Tuk and your little brother, as they were actively splashing water over each other.

While it was mostly playful, kids their age could easily get too competitive and excited. You propped yourself on your elbows, watching them play in the shallow water. After a fight with your dad, it was now your responsibility to watch Tewtxey whenever he played with Tuk. If it weren’t for your protests, your father wouldn’t even allow their friendship to flourish, so this was the only compromise that you managed to agree upon. You grinned as you watched how happy your brother was, his little giggles filling the air around you with a warm glow. It was in moments like these that you especially missed your mother. You wished she could be there to see her youngest making a friend.

“Babysitting duty?” a thick-accented voice called out, before Neteyam came into your view.

You rolled your eyes at him, earning a low chuckle. Neteyam sat next to you on the sand, his hand brushing past your thigh. You tried to ignore the flush in your cheeks.

“Is your father okay with this?” he pried, gesturing at the kids.

“As long as I keep an eye on them,” you replied with a sigh, “But don’t worry about it, it’s only temporary. My father will get over it.”

“How come?”

“Well, it’s hard not to like Tuk,” you turned your face to look at Neteyam, “And my father has a soft spot for kids. He’s not good with me, but he’s good with Tewtxey and his friends.”

“You think if you have Tuk around enough, he’ll warm up to her?” Neteyam guessed.

“Definitely,” you nodded, “It’d take some time but he’ll like her. She’s a good kid.”

“Okay,” Neteyam agreed, “What about me, though?”

“Hm? What about you?” you asked playfully, catching a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Do you have any ideas on how to get your father to warm up to me?"

“Why would I want that? It wouldn’t be as fun,” you teased him.

“Well, I could argue that it's best for your father to like his daughter's future mate, don't you agree?" Neteyam's voice was light-hearted and playful, yet your heart started racing in your chest.

“W-what?” you stuttered.

“You heard me,” he chuckled.

He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your reaction, it was certain to him that you might have felt something for him too. It was the first time Neteyam blatantly tested the waters for a sign, and you didn’t let him down. He turned his face to continue watching the kids, acting nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Ao’nung pushed you down, his arm firmly planted on your chest, while his other arm quickly snuck around your back to try and flip you over. You protested, pushing against his ribs, trapping his legs with your thighs. You were fake wrestling on the sand, both of you trying to get the upper hand.

“Just give up,” Ao’nung huffed, as you struggled against him.

“Never, skxawng,” you huffed back, determined to win the friendly match.

“Get off her!” a thick accent cut through the air, and you caught a glimpse of blue hands grabbing Ao’nung by the neck and pulling him off you.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam attacked Ao’nung with a flurry of punches, one of them landing right on the confused boy’s cheekbone. Angrily, Ao’nung hit him back in the face, and before things could escalate further, you jumped in between the two with an angry hiss.

“Back off, both of you!”

“How dare you hit her?” Neteyam ignored you, trying to reach for Ao’nung.

“We were just playing, Neteyam, calm down,” you said, pushing him back slightly and taking a protective stance in front of Ao’nung.

“Who plays like that? You could’ve hurt her!” Neteyam growled.

“It is none of your business, anyway, skxawng,” Ao’nung stepped forward, looking him up and down.

“Ao’nung, stop,” you exhaled in frustration, then turned to Neteyam, “I’m okay, you didn’t have to protect me.”

“He thinks he has some sort of claim over you because he likes you,” Ao’nung let out a bitter chuckle, “She doesn’t need your useless ass guarding her.”

“What did you say?” Neteyam took an angry step towards him, but you quickly extended your arm to prevent him.

“Neteyam, stop,” you pleaded with him.

Neteyam hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Ao'nung. He clenched his fists, his posture still tense, but he took a step back. His lip was bleeding.

“Let's all just go to Tsahik,” you said softly, turning towards Ao'nung, “Are you okay?”

Ao'nung nodded, wincing as you touched his swollen cheekbone. Before you could even grab Neteyam’s arm, to make him follow after you, he was already storming off, a sense of betrayal pitting in the bottom of his stomach.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“No matter how much your father scolds you, it is never enough,” Ronal tsked in disapproval, as she treated Ao’nung’s wounds.

“I told you, that skxawng attacked me first,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes at his mother, earning a low hiss from her.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” you explained, feeling the urge to justify Neteyam in front of the Tsahik, “He thought that you were hurting me.”

“Neteyam is a good boy,” Ronal stood up, signaling that she was done, “You’re nice to Lo’ak, you should be nice to him too”

“Lo’ak is still a kid, he can learn from me,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes, “But Neteyam is too arrogant.”

“Neteyam is not arrogant. In fact, the two of you have many similarities,” you added, earning a supportive nod from Ronal.

Ao’nung ignored you, as he thanked his mother and walked out of the marui. You couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving Neteyam untreated.

“Tsahik, do you think I could take some of that balm to Neteyam?” you asked hesitantly, “I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time.”

You walked out, determined to find Neteyam, a bowl of white paste nestled gently in your hand. You were surprised to find Ao’nung lingering around the marui, kicking the rocks under his feet out of boredom.

“You should stop playing with him if you don’t want him to get the wrong idea,” he commented, acknowledging your presence.

“I’m not playing with anyone,” you frowned in response.

“Come on, Y/N,” Ao’nung looked up at you with a smug smile, “Surely, you can see that the boy is head over heels for you.”

“Who? Neteyam?” you were taken aback.

“Who else?”

“Nonsense, he sees me as a friend.”

“Whatever,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes at you in annoyance, “I’m just saying, you should tell him the truth. Whether you like him or not, he needs to know. I’m tired of him shooting daggers at me, whenever I talk to you.”

Did he really believe that Neteyam liked you? You could only hope that Ao’nung was right, that this was the only matter when you couldn’t see right through Neteyam.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you reached Sully's marui, you spotted Tuk standing at the entrance, as if guarding someone. Upon catching sight of you, she ran up to you, grabbing your wrist.

“Y/N, Neteyam is hurt!” she exclaimed, “He won’t let me get mom to take care of him.”

“Is he alone?” you asked, following after her. She nodded, “Don’t worry, I’ll help him, okay?”

Tuk hung back at the entrance as you walked into the marui. Neteyam was sitting on the ground, shooting an annoyed look at his little sister. She quickly ran away, before he could even open his mouth.

“How come you never listen to me?” you started light-heartedly, approaching him.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you too busy taking care of Ao’nung?” he frowned at you.

You only shook your head, crouching down in front of him. He had wiped away the blood, but you could still see the cut on his wounded lip. It definitely stung when he spoke.

“I wanted you to come with us to Tsahik, why did you run away?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt your moment with him,” Neteyam answered through his gritted teeth.

You were confused by his sudden behavior. Sure, it might have been a little embarrassing to misinterpret the situation and react to it, but you wondered if there was something else bothering Neteyam. Was Ao’nung right? Without talking, you used one of his shoulders to rely on him, as you leaned in. Neteyam relaxed under your touch, letting you apply the medicine to his wounded lips without much protest. You let your finger graze over his face for a little longer before pulling away.

“Better?” you asked, earning a grateful nod.

As the sight of his bruised knuckles caught your attention, you immediately picked up his hand. He must have been furious, thinking he was protecting you from Ao’nung. Neteyam flinched, when you brought his hand closer to your face.

“Mawey,” you whispered, before placing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He watched you quietly, trying to calm his breathing. You weren’t sure what exactly you were doing, but it just felt right to comfort him this way. To show him that you weren’t betraying him, that you wanted him to be safe. When you turned his hand for further examination of wounds, your fingers grazed over the small cuts and calluses on his palms. You guessed they were from his training, and your heart swelled a little with admiration at the thought. It was a reminder of Neteyam's dedication and strength, the very same reason why you started seeing him in a different light. You looked up at him, your eyes conveying your unspoken admiration.

“Why are you upset with me?” you asked softly.

“Because you chose him over me,” he mumbled, his tone offended, yet he allowed you to hold his hand in yours.

“I wasn’t choosing anyone. It wasn’t about picking sides.”

“But you did,” he shook his head, “Whether you admit it or not, your first instinct was to protect him.”

“You attacked him first, Neteyam. I was only defending my friend,” you tried to break through his stubbornness.

“I am your friend too,” he pursed his lips again.

"Well, I kind of hoped that you were more than just a friend," you exhaled, letting go of his hand.

Neteyam's mouth hung open in shock, and you wondered if he had picked up on the double meaning in your words.

"I don't understand," he sat up straight, his gaze fixed on you, "Are you saying that you don't want us to be just friends?"

"Yes,” you felt a wave of frustration washing over you, “You can be so dense sometimes. Has it ever occurred to you that I like you?”

Neteyam's face lit up with a smile, and he reached out to cup your face in his hands.

"I could only hope for you to feel that way," he said, his eyes shining with pure happiness, “Oel ngati kameie, Y/N.”

“Oel ngati kameie,” you whispered, feeling tears of joy welling up in your eyes.

You had never cried out of happiness before, but in that moment, knowing that Neteyam truly saw you, the real you, and loved you for it, you couldn't help it. Neteyam let out a confused chuckle, but quickly gathered you into his arms, holding you close and comforting you, as you cried onto his chest.

“I didn’t want to make you cry, silly,” he whispered softly into your hair, amusement evident in his voice.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

forgot that i had a taglist :'( i hope you guys still get the notification

@bigdikzaddy @awriana @scarletrosesposts @abbersreads @mechformers @my-love-of-books @avatarbyamara @robin-the-enby @netemoon @minjix @nilrilie @jakes-babygirl @grierpilots @suntizme @jakesully-sbabygirl @mechformers @lovedbychoi @netemoon @avatarbyamara @live-laugh-neteyam @lovedbychoi @jakesullylongjuiscyshlong

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nyoomiin · 2 months

Text

'til the end of the line.

“do you believe in fate?”

in which one late night conversation spirals into many, many more.

pairing. danheng x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, healer!reader

notes. yes this is a repost <333 i adore this fic so much

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was nothing.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, calm despite the pounding in his heart. He was never one to dream, and more of the kind who never woke up fully rested. Yet, they were always similar in nature when he did, phantom pains ghosting over his chest in their wake. There was no point in trying to get back to bed now — his body had already had its fill, it seemed.

He heads to the kitchen, suddenly parched.

Clattering noise resounds from his destination, and he tenses, the residual fight or flight instincts kicking in immediately. Who could possibly…?

It was only you.

You were new. He didn’t know much about you, actually. The day before was your first day as a passenger of the Astral Express, and he had watched from the shadows as you flit about, chattering and bubbling and sunny. He left for the archives before March dragged him out and introduced him to you.

You were… baking, humming a cheerful little tune as you did.

“What are you doing?” he asks anyway.

You startle, neck snapping around to see him. Batter spills from the whisk in your hand and onto the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, looking him up and down, but he supposes he must seem a mess, having crawled out of bed post-nightmare.

“Oh,” you say finally, “I’m making cookies.”

“... At this hour?”

You snort, using the whisk to gesture between him and you. “Pot, kettle. What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I wanted water,” he replies. “That’s nothing like baking.”

Shrugging, you turn back to the counter. It’s a right mess, with crockery and ingredients scattered and strewn across. Still, you move with practised ease. You must do this a lot, he notes. His observations are confirmed when you speak again. “I like baking when I can’t sleep. You?”

“I work.”

You chuckle, and it’s a warm thing. “To each their own, I guess. Anyway, you getting that water or what?”

Ah. Right. He moves from the doorway and toward the tap when you whirl around, eyes alight. He doesn’t have the time to be startled before your hands are firm against his shoulder, guiding him toward the seat at the aisle.

“No,” you seem to decide, “I’ll make us both hot chocolate.”

Amusement bubbles in his gut. You were endearing, in a way. He can’t seem to get angry at the flour stains on his sleeve, too. You work fast, and in no time there’s a steaming mug of goodness being offered to him. It’s warm, he thinks, but your expectant eyes might be warmer.

Your head jerks toward the cup, so he drinks. It’s good. Better than good, actually. He can feel the heat seeping down his throat and through his chest, pooling near his naval. When was the last time he had a drink this comforting?

“Good, isn’t it?” you ask, taking the seat across him. You sigh contentedly as you sip on your own mug, drink cradled in your hands. “My best friend used to make it for me.”

Then you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes comically wide. He frowns faintly, curious and wary. “I still don’t know your name! And you don’t know mine either! Damn, you must think I’m weird.”

Compared to March, or even Stelle, he feels you’re pretty tame. He doesn’t say that, though. “My name is Dan Heng. I am the guard of the Astral Express and its archiver.”

You introduce yourself in turn, grinning sheepishly. “So you’re the one I hadn’t met.”

He nods slowly. “I suppose I am.”

You stand then, stretching as you do. Your mug clinks as you set it down in the sink. “I’ll finish my baking now. You can leave your mug there after you’re done. I’ll clean up.”

Glancing down, he realises his hot chocolate has long gone. He stands too.

(That morning, he rises to a box of fresh cookies by his door. Chocolate chips. He decides those are his favourite sort now.)

—

The first time he officially meets you is two days later. Somehow, your schedules hadn’t aligned until March was physically pounding on his door.

“DAN HENG!” March shrieks, excitement coating her tone. “Muffins! Come on! Have some with us — they’re great!”

“I’m coming,” he assures her, “Would it kill you to relax?”

She blows him a raspberry, grabbing his wrist and making a break for the parlour carriage. And these muffins really do smell great, it’s buttery scent wafting through the express even from where they are. He has a sneaking suspicion on the identity of their maker.

The first thing he sees stepping inside the parlour is Stelle unceremoniously stuffing her face. “Wha’?” she asks, mouth filled to the brim. “‘ey’re very goo’.”

A laugh draws his attention from Stelle to you. A bashful smile sits on your face, whilst you hold out a tray of blueberry muffins. “I’m glad you like them, but don’t eat too fast — what if you choke?”

Stelle waves your concern away and your gaze finds him, your smile widening. You’re wearing an apron with the words Kiss the Cook printed on, hair tied in a messy bun. Honestly, it’s adorable.

“You want one?” you ask, holding the tray out to him.

March bounds forward before he can reply, swinging an arm around his shoulders with a force that makes him stumble forward. “This is Dan Heng!” she chirps. “He looks mean but he’s really not. He’s all sweet and mushy inside, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I’m literally right beside you.”

You snort, and he takes a muffin from your tray, thanking you softly. Grinning, you look him up and down like you did that night, eyes are tinged with amusement. “Bet you fight well too.”

March nods eagerly. “One of the best I’ve ever seen! It’s like — Hiya! Kapow! And everyone’s down.”

“Huh. What I’d give to fight like that,” you muse, more to yourself.

“Nah. You keep making these and we’ll keep you here for life,” Stelle pipes up, having inhaled the last of the muffins.

Laughing brightly, the three of you begin chattering away, drifting to the other side of the parlour. He takes a seat near the window and a bite of your muffin. Damn, it’s like biting into a piece of heaven. He can’t tell if he wants to devour everything you have or squirrel it away to treasure it later.

Himeko sits on the seat beside him, eyeing the muffin in his hand and following his gaze towards the three of them. “Y/N really has a knack for baking, hm?”

You do, he agrees. You must practise a lot. Admiring the curve of your lips as you smile, the glittering warmth in your eyes, he wonders where you are headed. Most passengers don’t stay long, excluding the Nameless. He’ll miss you, he thinks.

“Y/N’ll be joining the crew,” Himeko says, as if reading his mind. “It was time someone who follows the path of Abundance joined our ranks, anyway.”

You’ve been hopping from world to world, different IPC ships and had been just about everywhere, helping people affected by the Fragmentum, before Himeko approached you on Herta’s Space Station, she explains. You had never accepted money, only food and shelter and enough to get by before you’d move on.

How noble.

“That’s a lot of work,” he comments. If that was how it was then it’s no wonder you’re so warm. You carried that air of self-assurance that most healers had, something he hadn’t quite placed before.

Himeko nods, smiling faintly. “Y/N is a good person. I think we’ll help them as much as they’ll help us.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant by that last statement, but she didn’t elaborate, and he never asked. Instead, he directs his gaze out the window and at the winking stars. He wonders how many are worlds you’ve helped before.

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was silence.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, his chest raw like the moment he first received the wound. The same dream twice in a week? He sits up, breath escaping in shallow puffs. Standing, he’s out the door before he even realises it, body moving on its own accord.

Water would be good, he decides. Maybe you’d be there too, call it a hunch or call it hope.

He was right. There you were, puttering about the kitchen under the lamp’s golden glow, a soft tune dancing under your breath. Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, he can’t quite decide what to say.

What a coincidence was too snarky, yet what are you making was too blunt. He couldn’t just walk in without saying a word either, that was too rude. Perhaps he should simply return to his room.

“I’m starting to think neither of us sleep.”

Your voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he finds you leaning against the counter, smiling at him with soft amusement. Unwittingly, he begins to smile too. Just the slightest.

“No, I guess not,” he agrees.

“Rough night?” you ask, turning to reach for two mugs. “I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, mostly out of courtesy. Just the thought of the warm drink reveals a slight craving for it. “Nightmares,” he finds himself admitting, something in the atmosphere drawing the confession that much easier. “No, memories, to be precise.”

“Ah, I get it,” you murmur, and he feels like you really do.

He seats himself in the same seat he did three nights prior, and you do as well. The mug of hot chocolate you offer him is accepted gratefully. They might become his favourite drink yet. You have a knack for making them feel like drinking warm hugs.

“I’m making cupcakes tonight,” you explain, noticing the way he glances at the batter on the counter. “Red velvet, one of my favourites.”

He nods in assent, and the both of you settle into comfortable silence. You’ve relaxed into your seat, he observes, resting your head against a hand as the other taps on your mug rhythmically, the porcelain clinking as you do. He maps out the lines of your face whilst you map out each constellation outside, gazing into the eternal night.

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask suddenly, in the moments just before his mug goes cold. He had finished the drink ages ago, he realises. He frowns faintly then, bewildered at the change in the conversation’s direction.

You must sense his confusion, and you’re continuing, “You know, when everything in your life happens because it was meant to be, and all that.”

“I know what fate is,” he replies, “But… why?”

“Why not?” you answer, a playful smile on your lips. “Just… hell, even gods are real, but no one has an answer to it, fate, destiny, or free will?”

You seem to be serious despite your lighthearted tone, so he tries to give you a serious answer in turn.

“I don’t,” he says slowly. “Fate is… complicated. To believe your future is set in stone is foolish at best. What I do believe in is the existence of free will. Life is filled with countless possibilities. Everyone has a path to walk, but it is the individual that chooses their direction.”

“What do you believe in?” he ends off, looking at you piercingly. You’re sitting upright now, alert but pondering all the same.

You hum. “I think… some things really are meant to be, but in the end, it’s your own hands that forge your destiny, no? Fate, free will… whatever it is… It might simply be just what we make of it.”

“Yet if there is no right answer, why ask anyway?” he counters.

Your eyes sparkle, and at that moment, you just might have the universe in your eyes. “Maybe some questions are meant to be asked.”

“And some things aren’t meant to have an answer?”

“Exactly,” you say, with the vigour of a bursting sun. “Nothing matters. Everything matters. Maybe…”

You trail off, an embarrassed chuckle sounding in your throat. “Yea, I have no idea what I just said.”

He can’t quite stop the laugh that leaves his lips.

(Some time later, you stand, stretching as you do. “Damn, I might leave the baking for another day,” you say, voice thick on the cusp of a yawn. “All this philosophical stuff is making me sleepy. You should get some sleep too, I think both of us need it.”

When he returns to his room, something in him prompts him to heed your advice. He sleeps.)

—

Somehow, both of you had taken to ‘meeting’ in the kitchens during the twilight hours, once every few days. He’d wake up after a nightmare or when sleep simply eluded him, and found you with your sun-like eyes, the songs under your breath and the hot chocolates that felt so much like hugs. You’d speak about anything and everything under the stars, of questions with no answers and answers that meant everything and nothing. Then you’d part ways with his mind swirling and chest bursting, all traces of that phantom wound gone.

(There were days you weren’t there, of course, and he’d be faintly disappointed, but you did still need sleep.)

He’s computing data on Jarilo-VI when someone knocks on his door. It can’t be March, as she’d simply forgo all etiquette and barge in after the first knock. Stelle was out exploring the planet they were currently stationed at, and both Himeko and Mr. Yang were busy. That left… you.

“Come in,” he calls, hearing the door slide open and click shut.

You’ve been an official member of the Astral Express crew for a month now, and this was the first time you’ve specifically sought him out. You’re smiling slightly sheepishly, hand picking at your palm. “Are you busy? I can come back another time…”

He sets down the files, looking up from the monitor. “No, it’s fine. What do you need?”

“I wanted to learn more about Yaoshi,” you tell him, sidling up to his side.

“You can use this,” he says, tilting the screen to you and standing up. He can complete archiving later. The work never ended, in any case. “Search up whatever you need.”

“Thanks!”

He makes himself comfortable at the other corner of his room, picking up the half-finished book on his desk. Vaguely, he’s aware of his bed on the ground and the mess that is his half area of the room. He hopes you don’t think too much of it.

A while later, you stretch, letting out a sigh as your hands drop back to your sides. Your gaze darts around the room inquisitively. “So, this is the archives…” you murmur. Then your eyes meet his. “And your room?”

“I hadn’t planned on staying for long,” he says quickly, an odd need to explain rising. “Then, I suppose I got comfortable.”

You smile, a tad bit wry. “It’s definitely got charm — like that map!”

And you’re getting up, fixated on the large map on the wall. Your eyes are starry, mouth slightly parted as you study the endless abyss that is the observable universe. “That’s, wow, has the Express been to all of them?”

“Not even a fraction of it.” His reply is soft, much like the moment itself.

Your hand raises, reaching for the blank areas at the edges. “So I’m guessing these are the parts yet to be.”

“The universe is always expanding,” he says in lieu of an explanation. “And the Express will trailblaze along with it.”

“That sounds rather pointless, doesn’t it? Mapping out the infinity?” you muse. “Boarding a train whose line never ends? Or does that make it poetic?”

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it.”

You swivel around, eyes bright and blazing with delight, and he can’t quite place why his breath catches. “Maybe that’s just how the universe is meant to be. A line with no end. A atlas which always has two blank pages at the end.”

You seem to catch yourself then, gaze darting downward and a chuckle leaving your lips. “Sorry, I always get weird about these kinds of philosophical stuff.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you, it really is. Life would be that much duller if he had to do without these types of conversations with you. You meet his gaze then, almost bashful, and in that moment, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

Then you blink, clearing your throat, and the moment vanishes.

“Right. I’ve been here long enough, though, so I’ll just… go now,” you say awkwardly, sending him a dizzying smile before you’re bounding out the room.

—

Weirdly enough, despite everything he’s seen in this life and before, this was certainly one of the oddest situations he’s been in.

He’s in March’s room, a room bursting with colour and vividness, a stark contrast to his. You’re here too, along with Stelle and March herself. Positioned in the fluffy armchair in the corner, he’s got the best view of the entire place along with the door. Stelle’s made herself comfortable, spread eagled on the bed whilst March and you are seated beside her cross-legged.

He’s not too sure how it came to be so. The three of you turned out to be quite the trio, and he had been in his room as per usual when you three burst in, manhandling him into joining you. (With that grin and your hand on his wrist, he’s partly sure he’d follow you anywhere.)

“Wait, so your name isn’t Stelle because of the stellaron in you?” you ask, head tilted to the side.

Stelle shrugs. “It could be? I don’t remember much of anything before I woke up on the space station.”

“And March’s name is ‘cuz she was found on March 7th…” Then, you pout. “Now I want a cool made up name. Is Dan Heng a made up name?”

“All names are made up,” he tells you dryly.

March blows a raspberry at him. “Don’t be such a wet blanket —” Her eyes light up, and she visibly straightens. “I know! I know! Stelle also means star, I think? We can be the sun, moon and stars! Uhm, I’ll be Solar and you’ll be Luna.”

“That’s kinda dumb,” Stelle adds in, throwing a plush toy in March’s face.

It was kind of dumb. You were definitely more sun than you were moon. He didn’t quite know how he knew. It just was.

March splutters, hurling the plush dog back with vigour. Stelle returns it, hitting you instead, to which you gasp in mock offence to and somehow the three of you end up flinging pillows and plushies at each other. You laugh, bright and delighted, and he’s drawn to the curve of your neck as you throw your head back, the glitter in your half-closed eyes, and the carelessly toothy grin on your face.

He doesn’t notice March staring at him thoughtfully, cogs whirring in her head.

“You like Y/N.”

It’s a week after the pillow fight the three of you had, and it’s one of the times everyone’s gathered in the parlour, with the extra bonus of your delicious baking. Cookies, this time, buttery and vanilla and sweet.

The statement startles him from his thoughts, and he turns to see March in the seat beside him, so close their shoulders brushed. There’s steely determination in her gaze, and a triumphant little smile on her face.

“... What?”

“You like Y/N,” she repeats, and his eyes dart to where you were, conversing with Himeko and Welt a few tables down.

He didn’t quite understand what March was hinting at. Of course he liked you. Everyone liked you. He tells March as such. "Do you not like Y/N…?"

She facepalms, groaning softly.

"No! Of course I do! But you have a crush on Y/N," she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. She beams excitedly, bouncing in her seat. "Like, you know, you wanna date and stuff. It's so cute!"

"I…" he blinks, utterly puzzled, mouth slightly parted. "No…? I don't."

The sound of your laughter draws his attention away from her for the briefest second. Snorting, March slugs his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she does. "Funny. It's so obvious! You're literally giving Y/N heart eyes right now. Even Stelle noticed."

He huffs, fixing her with a glare. "I do not have a crush on Y/N."

March sighs, a knowing smile on her face. Standing, she tousles his hair as she says, "Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night!"

She flounces away, leaving him there to scowl and fix his hair. Still, he can't help but feel as if he's missing something important, like a book without its title, or the sun without its moon.

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was warmth.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, a hand instinctively rising to his chest. This was getting ridiculously repetitive, to be haunted by the same memory for nights on end. Still… Something felt off about it, as if there were pieces of the puzzle that had yet to make the scene. He doesn’t realise when he got to the kitchen, but he does, and the sight of you chases the worries out of his mind for now.

“Do we ever sleep?” he asks rhetorically, taking his usual seat at the aisle.

You grin, setting down two mugs in front of him. “S’pose not. I’m gonna have to take a really long nap soon, though.”

Your nails clink against the porcelain, a habit of yours he’s gotten used to, but what’s curious is the way sparks are emitting from your fingertips. He frowns, concerned, but you don’t seem to notice — or mind.

“Your hands…”

Looking down, you let out a soft ‘oh’, and wiggle them. “Eh,” you say nonchalantly, rubbing your thumb and index finger together. “Part of the package deal with my powers. They’ll go away soon.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” he questions, just to make sure.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ ever so slightly. “But the insomnia’s a bitch.”

You’re rolling a ball of… fire(?) in your palms now, eyes golden with the reflection of it. His confusion grows by the second. Glancing up, you notice it, and you smile a little wistfully.

“When I started following the Abundance, I gained some sort of fire powers? But there’s always a catch, isn’t there? The energy kind of accumulates inside of me until I use it. When I don’t use it, this happens —” you hold up your hand to show him, summoning a wisp of a flame before snatching your palm back “— along with the insomnia. But after draining the energy, I get really sleepy and black out for a few days. It depends on how much I drain, of course.”

“And your energy hasn’t been drained since…”

“Since I joined the Express,” you finish for him. “No one’s needed healing since then, anyway. Which is a good thing.”

“Nothing in the data bank stored any information on this type of power,” he says, mostly to himself. He’d do another search later. There had to be something. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yep! Our next station is Penacony, isn’t it? I can stop by the hospitals there or something.”

“Alright,” he replies, albeit rather dubiously.

Then your eyes gleam wickedly, and you rub your palms together in imitation of some storybook villain. “Wanna see something cool?”

And as you showcase your talent in manipulating fire, he can’t help but admire you. The minute he thought he knew all there was to know about you, you had gone and revealed something entirely fantastical about yourself.

Literal healing abilities that stemmed from pyrokineses. That explained quite a lot, actually. Sunny eyes, sunny smile, sunny demeanor. You were practically the embodiment of the sun, and this simply perfected it even further. Warm inside and out. He brings the cup of hot chocolate to his lips, taking a small sip. You could even create warmth too.

Your smile is wide and expectant as you present to him a fiery image of the Express, which morphs into Pom-Pom, then Stelle, Mr. Welt, Himeko and finally March.

Intrusively, his mind conjures up the image of March’s excited, knowing announcement. You like Y/N.

Preposterous. He didn't like you in that way. You were a good friend, and he was merely close to you. Sure, you were sweet, baked really well, funny, a great conversationalist, bubbly yet not overbearing like March herself and utterly sunny and— Oh.

Oh.

He liked you.

—

Nothing changed. Much. Realising he had a little more than platonic feelings toward you only seemed to heighten his awareness of you. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your warmth. You, in general.

Except March seemed to know too, if her shit-eating grin and horrendously concealed inneundos were any indication. You should ask them on a date, she had squealed once.

He couldn’t just ask you out. How would he even go about doing that? Any train of thought in that direction just left him feeling incredibly awkward. Being your friend was enough, he decided. Your night-time meetings. Your hot chocolate. It was more than enough.

“He almost kissed me,” Stelle wails dramatically, shaking your shoulders. “You know how shocked I was? I woke up to a random dude in my face! Never let him do CPR ever again.”

March nods along solemnly. “You can do all the first aid, right Y/N? That man doesn’t know any to save his life.”

“As if you know any more than I do,” he snipes back, faintly horrified they were telling all of this to you. He remembers that day. March and Stelle were definitely overselling it. “And it wasn’t that bad.”

“Of course not,” Stelle says dubiously, shooting him a dirty look.

You’re cackling, wiping tears out of your eyes. “No way. None of you know first aid? I can teach y’all some.”

March squeals, clapping her hands. “YES! Let’s do CPR. I volunteer Dan Heng as tribute.”

“I don’t want CPR on me again.” Stelle nods in a ‘fine by me’ gesture, humming as she does. “Dan Heng, you do it.”

“Majority wins,” you sing, grinning, and shrug at him as his gaze meets yours rather helplessly. “Get on the ground, on your back.”

March does it for him, practically shoving him on the ground. He glowers at her, to which she deftly ignores. Stelle’s only snickering from the bed. You settle down near his side, and all he can see is your back and hair as you turn to speak with the other two.

“Right, so first, you make sure there’s nothing dangerous around you, the casualty and anyone else. Then, you check whether they’re responsive or not, and for major wounds and whatnot. Call for help if you can.”

You shift him flat on his back, and kneel with one knee near his shoulder and the other at his waist. You lift up your palms and show everyone how you put one above the other, interlocking them, positioning them. He can’t quite stop the small hitch in his breath when you lean over him, hands hovering just above his chest.

“Make sure your knees are positioned like this, and your elbows are locked. The heel of your palm should be right in the middle and your middle finger should align with the nipple.”

March and Stelle both giggle at your last statement, and he wills himself not to react. He can feel you roll your eyes at them. You lean away from him then, and there's a small pang of disappointment which he wholly ignores.

You continue to explain how to count each set, and how to time them, and rattle off some songs they could follow the beat to.

He's hit with a strong, strong sense of admiration for you. He hasn't seen you out on field yet, but with the way you teach and demonstrate everything with practised ease makes him that much surer of your capabilities.

Then you turn back to him, a sheepish look on your face. “Okay, time for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

Oh.

"No! Not actually!" you practically screech, with the way March and Stelle start howling and the widening of his eyes. "I'm just going to explain how it works — Stelle, shut up."

"Fine, fine," the girl in question says, voice thick with amusement.

"After you're done with the first set of CPR but the casualty still isn't breathing, you'd want to do something called a head-tilt chin-lift."

You place two fingers under his chin, literally tilting his head upward. He sincerely hopes you can't feel how shallow his breaths are.

"Then you're gonna have to pinch the casualty's nose, and well, breathe into their mouth. If their chest rises on the first breath, yay, you’re done! If not, you breathe into their mouth again, and..."

You carry on with the impromptu lesson, walking everyone through a few different scenarios. He'd be committing everything to memory if only his mind would stop flashing back to how your hands were so close—

Soon enough, the conversation changes its course, and everyone moves on except for March, whose grin is ever wider and the sparkles in her eyes like fireworks.

'Stop it,' he mouths at her.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

("Hey, we're good, right?" you ask him the next day, a faint furrow between your brows. "The CPR thing yesterday, you just seemed a little uncomfortable."

"It's alright," he says, because it really was. "It was fine."

"Okay then.")

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was a gentle voice, hushed and comforting.

“You’re gonna be fine. This is no place to die.”

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open. That dream… how odd. That was certainly something different. He raises a hand to his chest, feeling at the scar through his clothes. There was no sting, no burning sensation. It didn’t hurt, not one bit.

He stands easily, to the kitchens, by now a well rehearsed habit.

You were there, as always, somehow as it should. It brings him comfort all the same.

“Rough night?”

“Memories, is all.”

“Ah…”

Setting down a mug in front of him, you turn back to your baking, an odd deviation in routine. Sparks dance down your hands and fingers from time to time. “No hot chocolate for me today — I want to finish these cookies. Any requests?”

“Chocolate chips?” he suggests softly. “I like them.”

You chuckle. “Sure.”

He watches as you putter about the kitchen, waltzing to the rhythm in your soul. Humming again, bright and airy, that same old tune. He never did get the name of that song, did he?

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask suddenly. “About the memories? Talking with someone usually helps.”

“They’re not very happy stories,” he tells you in lieu. Would you want to hear about how he almost died? How that memory plagued his sleep? His past was a miserable, miserable tale.

“They never are, are they?” is your reply.

He chuckles humorlessly, watching the bubbly foam in his cup swirl and swirl and swirl itself into a vortex. “When I first — long before the Express, I was on an IPC ship affected by the Fragmentum, helping to clear it out. I was too inexperienced, and got myself outnumbered. I should’ve died then, but I didn’t.”

Letting out a soft, frustrated exhale, he takes a swig off his drink. “That’s where the memory ends — where I wake up. I never got to see… When I woke up, the doctors told me the person who helped me had already left.”

“What a shame,” you comment. “But c’est la vie, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” he asks curiously. He never knew you spoke another language.

“It’s a saying I got from one of the worlds I visited! It means ‘that’s life’, I think,” you say brightly.

“You know the worst thing?” he asks, and after your prompting, continues, “The only thing I have left from that day is a scar.”

You’re moulding the cookie dough into shape now, its scent wafting through the air delectably. Sighing, you turn back to look at him with a small, sad smile. “Some say scars are the tapestries left on your skin from the victories you win. That kinda applies there, right?”

“Technically it was a loss…”

“Well, you survived against all odds. That seems like a win enough.”

The fervour in your voice is… surprising. He’d never know you’d defend his honor this passionately, even if it was to himself.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess it does.”

The both of you fall into an easy sort of silence for the rest of the night. It was, admittedly, another thing he loved about you — how simple it was to talk to you, yet at the same time to be silent with you. Spending time with you was something he loved, point blank.

—

His new form was… jarring, to say the least. Or was it his old form? There had barely been anything to process anything when—

"Dan Heng," you breath out, hushed and hasty, eyes sweeping over his body. You're bloody and bruised, he notes, breathing hard through your nose. A gash on your cheek that's half healed, and the odd angle your wrist is in.

Your first fight, he realises. The way you held your own is no mere feat, but you weren't a fighter, you shouldn't have had to. And against people that could've killed you a thousand times over? All because of him, and his past.

Yet you're only staggering up to him, concerned etched into your every feature. He meets you there partway, resisting the urge to bring his hand to your cheek.

"Are you hurt?" you ask, a hand reaching for his chest.

Your touch is warm, familiar. It sends sparks flying down his spine and heat up his cheeks, but he wills it away. He murmurs, "I should be asking you that."

"I'll heal," you tell him nonchalantly, batting the concern away. Your other hand wipes the blood off your cheeks, revealing smooth skin where the boy had once cut. "See? Now, what about you? That guy really did a number on you…"

Your gaze stray to where his heart should be. Not even his clothes are torn.

"The last time you got stabbed, you —"

"Nearly died," he finishes. "Don't worry about me. I… The Vidyadhara are hard to kill."

You snort, smirking slightly. You glance at his horns, gaze trailing down. It felt… different from how you did earlier. "You never told me you had an even prettier form."

He feels his entire brain short-circuit right then and there.

"I… you — what?"

You laugh, teasing and delighted. He scowls, to cover his fluster, reluctantly pushing you away. "March is corrupting you."

Shrugging, you turn to Jing Yuan, who he had forgotten was there. His… old friend. At least, his past incarnation's friend. The man leads the both of you to a starskiff. It was high time you reunited with the rest, anyway.

You nudge him with your elbow. "You're keeping it, right?"

He huffs.

"That's not a no!"

"Am I dying?" Stelle rasps, staring at her blood-stained hand. She's audibly wheezing, breath shaky as she stumbles to the ground.

You're there in an instant, shooing March away, however much the girl wanted to help. Even her shields hadn't been enough for Phantylia, and one of her attacks had struck Stelle in the ribs.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Stelle clutch your hand. "I'm too young to die!"

"You're going to be fine, you hear me?" you tell her, yet he detects undertones of worry in your voice. "This is no place to die."

That statement. It sounded so… familiar.

He takes his chance in the lull during battle to glance to the sidelines. Stelle's flat on the ground, blood pooling near her waist and your knees. Hands above the gaping wound, red-hot energy spreads from your palms to her skin. That must feel warm, he finds himself thinking inadvertently.

"That tickles," she complains, evidently much better.

"At least you're not— not dead," you retort dryly, punctuated by a yawn.

"Hey, you good?"

"Just peachy."

You help her up, and Stelle takes her place beside him, already raring for another go. His gaze finds you with concern, only to receive a soft yet determined smile in reply.

"Let's finish this."

(Later, you're all on a starskiff headed toward respite.

Immediately, you slump yourself against him, dropping your head on his shoulder. You're warm, and he can feel the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. The way his heart flutters is utterly juvenile, but it does all the same.

However… the battle was over, yet your words couldn't seem to leave his mind. This is no place to die. Somehow, he knew that statement. But where was it from?

He's definitely never heard it from you. He'd know if it were, he could probably recite most conversations he's had with you by heart. And still…

He turns to you, only to find you already lightly dozing. He can't find the heart in him to wake you.)

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there were warm hands, soft eyes.

“This is no place to die.”

Dan Heng’s eyes flutter open. That dream again…

But how could it be? You? Had you been the one to save him? Or was he just projecting his crush on you into the memory? You would have told him if you had met him all that time ago, wouldn’t you have? He had even told you about it some nights ago…

Swiftly, he stands, resolve firm. He heads to your room, a feeling in his gut that told him that was exactly where you’d be. Honestly, if you were in the kitchens tonight, he’d drag you back to bed himself.

A faint ‘come in’ responds to his knock on your door, and he steps in carefully. Your eyes are half-mast, hair mussed from sleep, and he vaguely wonders if he should’ve saved it for the morning. Yet, the sight you make is just incredibly endearing and he can’t bring himself to regret much.

“Come sit.” You pat the spot on your bed next to you, beckoning him over. He moves almost on his body’s own accord, settling by you so naturally as if it had always meant to be.

“You know, they say ‘character is fate’,” you tell him, interrupting whatever he had been about to say. “Because even from infinite paths to choose from, your character makes it so that you wouldn’t have chosen any other way, in every lifetime and the next.”

“Does that make the two of us fated?” you continue softly, playing with the strands of his now long hair. “If I hadn’t chose to become a healer, if you hadn’t been on that ship…”

“The whole time, why didn’t you tell me that — that it was you?” he asks, gaze meeting yours searchingly.

“That day I saw you on the Express, I thought that it must’ve been fate, y’know?” you explain, smiling wistfully. “You didn’t remember me then, and I didn’t want to bring up the past since you’ve always seemed so uncomfortable about it. I told myself that it would be up to fate if you remembered or not, hah.”

Your reasoning was entirely, perfectly logical, and yet fantastical all the same. You were always one to believe in fate. Still… “I just… it had been you all along.”

You, with the hot chocolates and the sunny-like demeanor and the midnight talks. You, who traversed the universe helping others selflessly, who during your first battle were only concerned with him and his health. You, who he had so irrevocably fallen in love with.

Shit, he didn’t just like you. He loved you. Or at least, he was on the very cusp of it, at the moment just before a star was born, ready to fall, ready to let go.

“I think it’s fate,” you announce seriously. “I mean, I made chocolate chip cookies the day we met and they’re actually your favourite.”

“I only decided they were my favourite after tasting yours,’ he retorts without thinking, still faintly stunned by the revelation.

You laugh, sharp and amused and delighted. “That good?”

“The best.”

“Can I see it?” you ask suddenly, turning to him in a way your shoulders lean against his.

He swallows, instantly understanding what you were alluding to. Hesitantly, he nods, pulling up his shirt to reveal the spot where there should’ve been a scar. Your hand grazes along his skin, and he’s sure you can feel the way he shudders.

“This form doesn’t scar,” he murmurs lowly, almost apologetic. That scar had meant many things. His weakness, his survival. His past, his future.

You hum under your breath, and the way the faint starlight reflects off of your eyes should be considered ethereal. “Well, I guess it’s good you don’t. With the amount of fights you and Stelle get into…”

Glancing up at him, you meet his eyes, and you smile shyly, like the sun peeking through the clouds. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Suddenly parched, his tongue darts across his lips. Was it just him or had you always been this close? Something delicate was in the air, as if the simplest move would break it, and he couldn’t quite make a sound despite the hammering in his heart. The hand you have on his chest hasn’t moved, warm, but trembling ever so slightly. He —

“If you don’t say something I think I’m gonna kiss you,” you whisper, almost out of breath, and your eyes oh so wanting.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. He dips his head, a hand snaking around your waist as finally, your lips meet. Your hands find its way in his hair, and you’re sighing into the kiss, the smile evident on your face. He feels himself do the same.

It’s no more of a kiss than a simple brush of lips, but it’s sweet and shy and promised so much more that he feels warmth unfurl in every fibre of him. You relax against him, nuzzling your face into his neck, and he can’t help but place a kiss atop your head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” you confess, muffled into his body.

“Surely not as long as I have…”

You laugh. “March is going to take one look at us tomorrow and scream ‘I told you so’. She’s been saying you liked me back since forever.”

Despite March’s annoying meddling, he feels a tad grateful toward her. Without her intervention, he probably would’ve taken much longer to realise his feelings toward you.

“You asked me once if I believed in fate, and I told you I didn’t. I still don’t,” he says, musing, rambling, barely putting two words before the other before he’s speaking. “But you do. So if it’s any worth, you’re my fate. Infinite paths to choose from and I’d always pick this one, if it gets me to you.”

You still, and for a moment, he thinks he’s messed up, that whatever he had said earlier was too rushed. Then, you’re hugging him, squeezing him so tightly his ribs might cave in. The smile on your face is radiant, your eyes dazzlingly bright.

“That means you’re stuck with me, y’know,” you say loftily, “Possibly forever.”

He’s sure the look on his face is absolutely, irrevocably lovesick. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he vows. “‘Til the end of the line, and not a second less.”

#dan heng x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng #honkai star rail #hsr

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 9 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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neon-lights-and-glitter · 12 days

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First Time Parents (Paisley's Birth Fic)

Summary - You give birth to you and Jack's first daughter, Paisley.

Warnings - Labor and birth descriptions

A/N- wanted to post this either on her official birthday which is April 6th, or on my two-year writing anniversary, but both of those have passed so here we are.

You were two weeks away from Paisley’s due date and you were super uncomfortable. You had been having some mild contractions, but you didn’t think anything of it. Jack’s mom was going to drive down to Atlanta a week before your due date to be there and help you and Jack. She wanted to come down sooner, you and Jack, but mostly you, had insisted that it would be fine if she waited. Your doctor said you weren’t showing signs of going into labor soon, and Jack decided against arguing with you about it. With Paisley being your first baby, neither you nor Jack knew how quickly things could change.

You had been having braxton hicks contractions for about a month now, which scared Jack and Urban every time. Jack and Urban were already protective of you, but even more so once you got pregnant, and as you reached the end of your pregnancy they pretty much didn’t let you do anything without help. You found it annoying at first, but the further you got, the harder your pregnancy got, so you became okay with the extra help.

You and Jack had been working on the babies room almost all day, and you were exhausted. You, Jack, and Urban had sat down to watch a movie, but you ended up going to your room before the movie had even been picked. You fell asleep almost immediately, but you woke up about an hour and a half later. You got up to get some water and as soon as you stood up you felt your water break, or at least what you thought was your water breaking. You walked out into the living room.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked as soon as he saw you walk around the corner. Urban was asleep on the couch.

“Don’t panic, but I think my water just broke,” You said and Jack jumped up off the couch.

“Wait, really? We have to go to the hospital, I’ll grab the bags. Wait, are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you need help?” Jack asked, automatically panicking. Jack panicking woke up Urban.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

“Y/N’s water broke,” Jack answered as he practically ran to your room to grab the hospital bags.

“I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen for a little while?” Urban asked.

“My due date was in two weeks, but she could be coming early.” Jack came out of your room, carrying the bags.

“Urban, take these bags to the car.” Jack said, handing everything to Urban.

“We don’t have to go to the hospital yet,” You reminded Jack.

“But didn’t you say you might have been having contractions last night? We should go, the worst thing that could happen is they send us home.”

“You should go because I am not about to be responsible for delivering a baby,” Urban said before walking out to take the bags to the car.

“But I can’t have her now, your moms not here.”

“We can call her on the way,” Jack reassured you.

“But I don’t want her to panic and try to rush here if I’m not into labor.”

“Okay, then let’s go find out if you’re in labor, if you are, we can call her, if not then maybe we should call her tomorrow and see if she can come down earlier just in case,” Jack suggested and you nodded.

“Okay.” You agreed, both of you walking out to the car. You met Urban half way.

“You guys going?” He asked, and you and Jack nodded.

“Yeah, Jack’s insisting.”

“Well, text me when you know if you're in labor, or I guess have Jack text me, it doesn’t really matter. If you aren’t, I’ll see you two soon, and if you are, I hope the baby doesn’t have a big head like Jack,” Urban said, making you laugh.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, come on, everyone can see you have a big head.”

“If she wasn’t in labor, I swear,” Jack muttered underneath his breath.

“I’m not in labor.” You insisted. “But let’s go before I am,” You joked.

“I’ll remember that,” Jack joked to Urban before you left.

While you had been feeling what you thought were braxton hicks all day, on the drive to the hospital you realized they might have been contractions. You realized you were feeling the same pain, but more intense. You didn’t tell Jack because you didn’t want him to freak out.

You had to wait to get checked, but once they brought you back you were admitted since your water broke, and you were five, almost six centimeters dilated already. Once the nurses put all the monitors on you, they left you and Jack alone.

“Holy fuck, I guess we’re having a baby soon,” Jack said, both of you were a little in shock, everything was happening so fast. You had gotten checked at your last doctor's appointment, and you weren’t dilated at all.

“I’m not ready, I can’t have this baby yet. Your mom isn’t here, you were supposed to go to the studio tomorrow, I’m not mentally ready to push a baby out, or ready to be responsible for a newborn.” You said, starting to panic.

“You can do this. I promise. I’ll call my mom, she will be on her way as soon as she can, if she doesn’t get here in time, it will be okay, we’ve done this so far all by ourselves, I have no doubt that this part will be any different. Plus, there’s nurses and doctors here, so everything will be okay,” Jack tried to reassure you, but you were still freaking out. And so was he.

Since it was essentially the middle of the night at this point, it took Jack about 30 minutes to get a hold of his mom, who immediately booked the first flight out. Unfortunately, the first flight wasn’t until about 7am, and it was midnight. She could have driven, but it was almost a seven-hour drive, after stops, and potential traffic even though it was the middle of the night, it wouldn’t have saved any time.

It became apparent very quickly that your labor wasn’t going to be very long, at least compared to most first time labors. In the first hour of you getting to the hospital, you had already dilated from 6cm to 7cm and your contractions started to get intense quickly.

“I feel like you have probably been in labor for longer than you realize with how quickly you’re progressing,” The nurse told you. “Most first time moms don’t progress this fast, but it’s also easy to not realize you’re in labor when it’s your first.”

“Is it too late to get the epidural?” You asked, you were terrified of getting the epidural, but with how fast the pain came on, you thought it was worth getting over your fear.

“No, it’s not too late, if you want the epidural I can get the anesthesiologist to come in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I want the epidural.” You said and she nodded.

“I’ll get that taken care of, is there anything else I can get either of you?” You and Jack shook your heads before she walked out.

Jack felt helpless, there wasn’t anything he could do to take away your pain or make it better. He was also nervous. He had hardly even sat down since you got to the hospital, he was either standing by the side of your bed or pacing around the room.

“I’m never doing this again,” You said as you felt another contraction start.

“I’m sorry,” Jack sighed, reaching out to rub your back.

“Don’t touch me until I get the epidural,” You said, and Jack immediately pulled his hand away.

A few minutes later, they came in for the epidural, as they were prepping you, you got even more nervous.

“J, can you hold my hand?” You asked quietly, and Jack nodded, reaching out immediately to hold your hand.

Getting the epidural wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, and it helped ease the pain. Unfortunately, it didn’t help ease your anxiety.

“I’m scared,” You admitted.

“About giving birth or just in general?” Jack asked, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Both.”

“You can do this, I promise.” Jack reassured, he wasn’t sure what to say to make it better, he wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say that would make it better. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” You said as Jack leaned down to kiss you softly.

“Do you still think we should name her Paisley?” Jack asked, trying to distract you.

“Yeah, I still really like the name Paisley,” You said. “Do you?”

“Of course. Our little Paisley Sage,” Jack said, placing his hand on your bump.

It was only a few short hours later when you started pushing. You pushed for a little over an hour and a half, and even though it wasn’t, it felt like the longest part of your labor. Jack was right next to you the whole time, pushing your hair out of your face and letting you squeeze his hand when you needed to. Of course, you also may have cursed him out a few times during the process.

Everything was worth it the second she was born and laid onto your chest, neither you nor Jack could take your eyes off of her. You were both automatically in love. Jack reached over to touch her hand, and she grasped his finger immediately.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jack whispered to you, taking his eyes off of Paisley for a short moment to kiss you. You were both overwhelmed with emotions, tears falling from both of your eyes.

Once you were done with skin-to-skin, she was wrapped in a blanket and after you and the baby had been checked out to make sure you were okay, you, Jack, and Paisley were left alone. Jack was holding Paisley for the first time, rocking her slightly as she slept.

“Can you believe we're parents?” You asked and Jack laughed softly.

“Not at all, I can’t believe we’re responsible for someone as perfect as her.”

“Me neither,” You smiled at Jack. “It feels like it happened so fast.”

“Well, the labor did,” Jack joked, looking at the clock. “My mom still won’t be here for another hour.”

“I feel like it’s going to kick in a lot more when she gets here,” You said.

“I think it will kick in for me when we take her home and have to figure everything out on our own.”

“Well, there’s no one else I’d rather figure out life with.”

“I love figuring out life with you.”

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128 @christinabae @lafavoritaangel

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader

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stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 (𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬)

Pairing: Morpheus / Dream x (female) Reader

Summary: being reunited with your lover, Morpheus, after he’d been captured for nearly a century

Warnings: angst, smut, tiny bit of dry humping I guess?, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex (m+f), multiple orgasms, minors DNI

A/N: here we are adding another pale emo boy to my never ending list of men I’d like to fuck lmao! title is of course from Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics! I hope you guys like this <33

p.s. this was not properly proofread bc I was in a rush to post it before I left for holiday so I’m so sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes, hopefully it’s still readable lmao

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. By clicking ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

“Here’s here! He’s back!” Lucienne pants as she barges through your door, or what was left of it at least.

You sit upright from where you were lying on the bed.

“What?” You squeak.

“He’s back. Morpheus. He’s here. He’s back at last,” she smiles at you, elation and sadness both mixing in her eyes.

You waste no time in following her, the two of you running through the ruins of your once beautiful castle until you reached the throne room. Your breathing fast and shallow, your heart pounding ferociously in your chest.

“Morpheus!” You all but sigh in relief as you finally lay your eyes on your lover.

He was standing by his throne, one hand rested on its back, dressed in his usual dark attire. For a moment your breath hitches in your throat. For a moment it was almost as if he’d never left, as if he’d been there, where he belonged, all this time. But your reverie is quickly broken when you feel the pang in your chest, the pain as it hit you again just how long your lover had been kept from you.

“My love,” he calls back quietly, his tone as serious and calm as it ever was.

He descends the stairs slowly, making his way towards you. You didn’t have it in you to be as calm and reserved as him. You raced towards him, closing the the distance between you as quickly as you could. You almost don’t stop when you reach him, you just crash into him. Your arms fling desperately around his neck, pulling him down into you. His hands snake around your waist and pull you flush against him, his palms flattening against your body, his fingers digging into your back.

You bury your face into his chest, titling upwards to nuzzle against his neck. He buries his own face into your neck, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin, making your hair stand on end. Your hands wander up his neck, moving to run through his hair, tugging it tightly, afraid that if you let go he’d somehow disappear again. You’re so lost in the moment, of having Morpheus back in your arms, you almost completely forget about Lucienne until she clears her throat lightly.

“I’ll, er, let you have some time alone,” she murmurs.

Morpheus raises his head slightly to nod an acknowledgment at her. As soon as she’s exited the throne room you tug him down by his hair, crashing his lips against yours. You both moan desperately into the kiss as your mouth greedily devours his, as if you could somehow make up for a century of having his lips parted from yours.

You didn’t need to talk, to say anything. There were no words to comprehend this moment. Instead you let all your feelings pass to him though your lips; a century of torment parted from your lover, a century of aching for him, of feeling so empty and incomplete. ‘I missed you’ simply wasn’t enough.

You moan softly again as you push your body against his even harder, arching your back and curving yourself into him. You feel a gentle smile tug at Morpheus’ lips as his hands hold you even tighter against him. Your hands move to tug at his long coat, pushing it off his shoulders. He lets the coat slip off his body before he presses into you even harder than before, walking you back a few paces.

You gasp in surprise against his lips when you feel something hit the back of your knees. You twist your head to suddenly see a magnificently large bed placed behind you. The sheets were black silk, it’s frame made from darkest of brown woods, gothic twists and turns carved into it’s structure.

It was beautiful. It was Morpheus.

“I almost forgot how much I missed that trick,” you smirk, referring to Morpheus’ ability to manipulate everything around you in the dreamworld.

Morpheus just hums deeply against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he tilts you further backwards, gently lying you down on the grand bed. He moves to kneel at the edge of the mattress, pausing briefly to slip off his black t-shirt and toss it to the floor. You feel your heart flutter with a mix of pain and excitement as your eyes take in the sight of his pale torso. He looked exactly the same, exactly as you remembered him. The nostalgic familiarity of his body causes a flood of emotions to surge through you, a tear blinking in your eye.

Morpheus notices your tears as he leans down over you, positioning himself above you, his hips against yours. He shushes you gently, bringing a hand to cup your face, his thumb swiping at your fallen tears.

“Shh, I’m here now, my love. I’m here,” he whispers before kissing you gently again.

Suddenly the messy urgency of before dissipates, melting into a languid and lazy kiss, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Your hands roam over his torso, revelling in the smooth skin you hadn’t touched for a century. You feel the soft contours of his body, the ripple of his muscles as he holds himself above you. You scratch your nails down his stomach, eliciting a deep groan from Morpheus. You stop your movement just short of the small trial of dark hairs on his lower abdomen, sliding your hands back up his body until they clasped around the back of his neck once again.

As Morpheus kisses you his body starts to slowly rut against yours. You can feel the buckle of his belt dig into your lower belly as he grinds himself on top of you. Another moan passes your lips when you feel how hard he is; his cock straining against his dark jeans and poking between your thighs. You shiver and whimper when he moves his hips further forwards, pushing against your clothed pussy, providing the tiniest amount of friction.

Your hips buck up into the movement, humping him just as fervently as he was humping you. Your back arches, your covered chest pushing against his bare one. Slowly the urgency and desperation from before starts to creep back into your kiss, into your bodies. His mouth starts to attack yours more hungrily again, his lips moving faster and more greedily against your own. Your hands tug on his hair again, silently pleading him for more. His hands run down your body, grabbing at your hips and giving them an almost painful squeeze.

“Morpheus please,” you whisper. “I need you,” you whine, pushing your hips up against his for emphasis. “I need you to fuck me.”

He groans deeply again at your words, his fingers almost trembling where they held onto your hips. His eyebrows furrow, his face twisting in contemplation, almost as if he was fighting with himself, or fighting to control himself.

“I- I want to take my time with you, love,” he murmurs against your lips.

You shake your head lightly, your nose bumping against his.

“We can take our time later. We have all the time in the world now you’re back,” your sigh against his lips. “But right now, I just want you to fuck me. Please. Please,” you plead with him.

You continue to murmur the word ‘please’ against his skin as you kiss down his jaw, along his throat. You make your way to the spot just below his ear, the one you knew always drove him absolutely wild. Once you find the spot you bite gently at his pale skin, sucking quickly to pull a bruise to the surface; you were determined to show the worlds, dreaming and waking alike, who Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams himself, really belonged to.

Morpheus grunts when you suck harshly on that sensitive spot. His hands run up your body quickly again, snagging on the hem of your shirt and hurriedly lifting it free of your body. He groans deeply when he realises you weren’t wearing a bra, his gaze burning as he takes in the sight of your perfect tits. It seems he practically has to force his gaze away as he sits up and begins to make quick work of undoing the fastenings of your jeans. You shimmy your hips, helping him as he tosses them aside. You sit up, ferociously crashing your lips against Morpheus’s again as your shaky hands fumble desperately with the fastenings of his own jeans.

But he pulls your hands away, not so gently shoving you back down onto the mattress. He looks down at you with a commanding glare in his eyes. You move to sit up again but he grabs your jaw in his hand, pushing you back yet again until you were lying hapless on the bed.

“Morph-“ you whine, cut off when he squeezes your jaw.

“I will take my time with you, my love,” his voice is a whisper and yet it holds all the command and authority of a king.

A whimper lodges in your throat as Morpheus starts to drag his hand down your body. He gives your throat a gentle squeeze before his hand is trialing down your chest, between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, right down until he reached your navel. His gaze follows his hand, his eyes mapping your entire body as you squirm naked beneath his stare.

“I’ve missed this body,” he muses to himself, his eyes glazed, drunk on the sight of you. His eyes snap back up to yours before he adds; “I’ve missed you.”

He looks at you with such an intense and sad gaze that you feel your heart twinge again, a tear pricking your eye. You take one of your hands and place it over his where it still rested on your lower abdomen.

“I’ve missed you too,” you squeak, giving his hand a squeeze.

He flashes a soft smile, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so that he could place a chaste kiss to your knuckles. Your heart twists at the gesture; it was something he used to do frequently before he’d disappeared. He bumps his nose against your knuckles before gently placing your hand back on your stomach. His small smile twists into a smirk when he finally leans forwards again, hovering over you. His lips land on your chest and begin following the same trail he’d just made with his hand.

You shiver as he kisses down your body, his lips somehow cold and yet burning like fire as they sear down onto your skin. You bite your lip as you look down at him, his eyes trained on yours even as he kisses lower and lower down your body.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs he first places a gentle kiss to your pussy lips. His hands move to tuck under your thighs, helping to hold you open. He flashes you that tiny beautiful smirk again before he finally licks a stripe up through your folds. You shiver at the sensation, throwing your head back immediately. It was almost outrageous how just the lightest of touches was already driving you wild; you are simply just horrendously desperate for your lover’s touch. And he was more than happy to oblige.

Morpheus licks through your folds a few more times, spreading a mixture of your arousal and his saliva all through your slit. A strained profanity slips past your lips when he finally starts to focus his attention on your clit. He sucks it into his mouth, his tongue swirling it languidly. Your hips buck, your body jerking under his touch as the feeling almost overwhelms you. You swear you can still feel his smirk as he brings one of his hands from under your thighs, moving it to splay across your lower belly again, pushing you down and pinning your hips to the mattress. You whine, a sound somewhere between frustration and pleasure.

“Mmm, I’ve missed your taste,” he groans against your cunt. “You always taste so exquisite. Just heavenly,” he hums.

You whimper, his name falling from your lips in a sinful moan. He reciprocates your moan, the noise vibrating through to your clit as he sucks it back into his mouth. Pleasure sears through your body, a fire inside that you’d not felt for over a century. Your head almost feels dizzy, your breathing shallow and fast, your skin tingling, your fingers and toes almost going numb as all feeling is focused in your core.

“M-Moprheus,” you whine, twisting your head to hide in the sheets, almost embarrassed by how quickly your orgasm was building.

Your thighs tremble and shake on either side of his head, your toes curling and pushing against his shoulders. He moans against you again as he feel you start to buck your hips more fervently against his face. He glances up at you and sees how you’ve twisted to cover your face, hiding the heat in your cheeks as your body surged closer and closer towards your climax.

“It’s okay, my love, just let go. I want you to let go,” he whispers gently.

You mewl, your fingers knotting harshly in his hair, your back arching and your neck twisting even further away from his stare.

“Look at me, lover, please. I want to see your face,” he pleads quietly. “I need to see how good I make you feel.”

Though he may be pleading there’s still that edge of command in his tone that lets you know it wasn’t really a request and there really wasn’t any room for arguing. You bite your quivering bottom lip as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You moan lewdly as you catch the sight of him between your thighs. His gentle blue eyes are somehow dark with lust, his hair even messier than usual from where your fingers were gripping it. You can just about see, as well as feel, the smirk on his lips as he keeps his tongue swirling over your clit, sucking softly at the same time. The sight and sensation of it all is finally enough to tip you over the edge.

“O-oh, fuck,” you barely manage to choke out as pleasure races through your entire body, spreading from your core right into the tips of your fingers and your toes.

You fight the urge to toss your head back and arch your spine as you desperately try to keep your eyes on his. You feel his smirk grow into a small grin of pride as he continues to just lightly suck on your clit, enough to prolong your orgasm without making you go too sensitive. When your body has finally given every ounce of pleasure it had to offer, for the moment anyway, he removes his mouth from your cunt and starts kissing your inner thighs again lightly.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs lowly against your skin, placing another kiss to your thigh. “You did so well for me,” he praises gently.

You slump back against the mattress again, your chest rising and falling heavily as you try to catch your breath. Morpheus just continues to kiss all over your thighs as he gives you a moment to recover, occasionally biting and sucking a hickey into your skin. Feeling the wetness of your euphoria on his chin and lips as he kisses over your skin feels deliciously filthy.

His hands stroke the back of your thighs and your ass, grazing over your hips, causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh, a shiver running through your whole body. Your hands loosen their grip on his hair, instead just stroking his head lightly as you try to relax and just revel in the feeling of being with your lover once again.

But it’s not long before you start to feel the ache build in your core again, your cunt clenching desperately over nothing as Morpheus kisses tantalisingly close to your pussy.

“Please,” you beg quietly, your head lulling to the side again. “Please Morpheus, I need you inside me,” you almost cry, your voice pitching in tone.

“Shhh,” he kisses the inside of your thigh. “All in good time, my love,” he promises.

He continues to kiss at your thighs for a short while before you feel one of fingers gently brush through your folds. You mewl at the feeling, at the promise of more. He swipes his finger through your slit, gathering the wet mixture of his spit and your cum. It’s like fireworks explode in your chest when you finally feel his finger push into you, slowly and gently stretching you open. You swear your body was about to combust when he’s quickly able to add another finger, your wetness making it all too easy for him to pump his two fingers in and out of you.

Your fingers knot tighter in his hair, yanking hard as he starts to curl his fingers, searching for that sweet spot inside you. He hums in satisfaction, kissing your thigh again when he hears a squeaky moan lodge in your throat, knowing he’d found the right spot.

“O-oh fuck. Yes...” you whisper with a shaky breath as he adds his mouth back into the mix, his tongue smothering over your clit again.

He curls his fingers in time with his tongue, stroking your sweet spot with the pads of his fingers as his tongue swirls circles around your swollen clit. Your body feels impossibly hot, the pleasure making you feel tingly as it races through you. Your orgasm builds even faster than before, rushing to the surface and breaking over your body. You can barely moan Morpheus’ name as he pumps and sucks you through your second high. You convulse and shake, your body almost twitching from the pleasure, your pussy clamping over his fingers as he slowly continues to curl them against that spot inside you.

Morpheus hums in satisfaction again as he steadily slows down his movements, slowly bringing you down from your high. He sits up, his eyes never leaving yours, before he gently pulls his fingers free from you. You gasp at the loss of contact but the sound quickly develops into a full blown moan when you see Morpheus bring his two fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices as he continues to stare you down.

You can’t wait any more; you needed this man to fuck you.

You didn’t even care how sensitive you were from your first two orgasms. You sit up and grab him by the back of his neck, yanking him harshly down until his lips collided with yours. Another moan escapes you as you taste yourself in his mouth, the tang of your arousal coating his tongue as it roamed over yours. You pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, arching your back and pushing your chest up against his, your perked nipples brushing against his skin.

Morpheus groans into the kiss as his body starts to move against yours, his still clothed hips slotting between yours. The tent in his dark jeans rubs against your pussy and sends a flare of euphoria through you again.

But it still just wasn’t enough.

Your fingers quiver as they fumble once again with the fastenings of his jeans; only this time he doesn’t move to stop you. You moan greedily into the kiss, your lips moving with an even more urgent hunger against his as you start to push his jeans and boxers down his hips. He breaks the kiss briefly as he shifts to remove his jeans completely, throwing them to join the rest of your clothes somewhere on the floor.

The sound that leaves your throat when you’re finally able to take in the glory of his naked body is almost indescribable. He was just so painstakingly beautiful it genuinely made your chest ache. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer as you reach forwards to grab his glorious cock in your hand. You swipe your thumb over his red and swollen tip, gathering the pre-cum and swirling it around his head. Morpheus all but shudders as you do so, his eyes fluttering as he tries to keep himself under control.

You’re just about to start stroking him properly when his hand clamps over your wrist, giving a quick but firm shake of his head. You release his cock as he gently guides you to lie back on the bed, his body crawling over yours. His nose bumps yours as he gives you a desperate and messy kiss before you feel the wet and warm tip of his cock nudge against your folds. Your fingers curl and dig into his shoulders as you desperately try to pull him against you.

Morpheus grabs his cock and helps guide it through your slit, gathering the mixture of his spit and your cum and coating himself with it. Then, at long last, you finally feel him start to push inside you. A whimper escapes traitorously past your lips as you feel the dull ache of him stretching you open. You could feel just how tight you were around him as he slowly pushes himself into you, slowly slotting himself to the hilt, until you could feel his hips flush against yours again.

You feel the light tremor in Morpheus’ body, the slight tremble in his arms as he holds himself above you. His eyes close and his face twists with pleasure, and with concentration, as if he was pouring all of his focus into not cumming almost immediately at the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him after a century apart. His head hangs low, his fringe ticking your forehead as he pauses there for a moment, giving you a second to adjust, or giving himself a moment to gather himself before he loses himself completely to the feeling of you.

He takes a deep shuddering breath, searching your face. You nod quickly, bucking your hips again as you silently give him permission to move. He nods shortly himself before he obliges your request from the beginning and slowly but surely starts to fuck himself into you.

He’s barely started to move and already you can feel fireworks explode throughout your body. Your hips buck to meet his, your tits pushing up against his chest, your nails tearing at the skin of his shoulders. He shudders and groans as he feels you pulse around him, hugging his cock impossibly tight.

“Oh, my love, I’ve missed how good you feel,” he whispers with a deep groan, “how tight and perfect you are for me.”

HIs voice is so quiet, almost as if he’s rambling more to himself than to you. You can feel his breath tickling your face as he hovers just above you. His one hand holds himself up, resting just next to your head. His other travels across your waist, caressing the soft curves of your body. That same hand trails higher up your body, grazing the side of your breast until he reaches the apex of your arm.

You shiver, more goosebumps beginning to litter your skin as his fingers dance back down your arm. You mewl softly when his hand reaches yours, dancing over your palm until his fingers interlock with your own. He gives your hand a quick squeeze before he lifts it above your head, pinning it to the mattress behind you.

His name escapes your lips in a plea as he squeezes your hand again. At the same time he begins to speed up his thrusts. His pace is still relatively slow and steady; he puts all his effort is focused on trusting deep inside you, the tip of his cock brushing that spot inside you with each snap of his hips. With each thrust another cacophony of moans fly from your lips.

“I think most of all,” he continues through his shaky breathing, “I’ve missed the sounds you make. The way my name falls from your lips,” he pants hotly, his breath fanning over your face. “You are divine,” he groans through gritted teeth, “like the sweetest dream there ever was.”

You moan his name again as you feel your body coil again, the fire burning and building in your core with each brush of his cock inside you. Morpheus pushes his forehead down against your own, his nose bumping against yours as his own moans start to increase in frequency. You almost smile as you feel a small jolt of joy swell in your chest. His moans grow higher in pitch and you knew it was his telltale sign that he was close to finishing himself.

But you also knew he never let himself finish first. And, as you expected, as he always used to do, he brings his hand, the one not holding onto yours, down between your bodies. His fingers find your clit quickly, wasting no time in circling it with expert precision.

His eyes search yours desperately, a century of unspoken emotions passing between the two of you. You knew there were no words to describe how you both felt. No amount of letters would ever be able to encapsulate the enormity of torment that had been your time apart.

Instead you just let your bodies do the talking. The glaze of tears in his eyes letting you know how much he loved you. The hunger of his lips when they moved with yours showing you much he missed you. The tight grip on your hand signalling that he would never let you go; a silent promise that you’d never be parted again.

You lose yourself in the moment. Nothing else exists other than here and now. You pay no mind to the crumbling castle around you, the vast and empty space that stretches on forever. All you see, all you feel, is Morpheus. Your senses are clouded and overwhelmed by him. The sight his ethereal blue eyes boring into yours. The smell of him, light and clean, refreshing and comforting. The feeling of his smooth skin under your palms are you claw at his back. The wet sounds of his cock slipping in and out of you with ease. The gentle sounds of his heavy breathing and soft groans in your ear.

“Morpheus, I- I’m close,” you breathe, nudging your nose up against his.

He nods lightly; “let go for me, baby.”

You whimper, something akin to a sob, when you hear him call you ‘baby’. He hardly ever called you that despite knowing how much you actually loved it. The pet name, his fingers circling your clit, and another deep thrust of his cock inside you, finally work to tip you over the edge once again.

This climax was different to the others; it was more intense but not in a way that felt overwhelming or too much. It was just the prefect amount of pleasure and you swear your vision goes blurry as you reel from the sensation. Your eyes roll back slightly, your head lulling onto the pillow, your jaw going slack as your mouth hangs open in a silent O.

“Oh how I’ve missed that view; how beautiful you are when you fall apart for me,” Morpheus groans lowly as he keeps fucking into you slowly.

His hips jut raggedly against yours, his pace faltering and his thrusts turning sloppy as he fucks himself towards his own climax. You paw at his back with your free hand desperately as you encourage him to let go. You slide your hand up his neck and fist his dark hair again, pulling tightly in the way you knew he liked. And it worked, as not a second later his hips still completely as he lurches deeply against you, finally climaxing himself.

He pants shakily, deep groans falling from his parted lips as his cock twitches inside you. You sigh his name contently as you feel the warmth of his release flood inside you. His hand shakes where it still holds onto your own. His other hand had moved to squeeze your hip as he slowly rocks you both through the remnants of your highs.

The two of you just stare at each other for a second, the both of you trying to make this moment last for a century, as if this could make up for the century spent apart.

Morpheus smiles gently down at you, his hand moving from your hip to palm your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You reach up to cup his face in return, your fingers softly tracing over his features. His eyebrows furrow when he sees a slight sadness behind your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly, twisting his face to place a gentle kiss to your palm.

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head slightly.

You sigh defeatedly before explaining further, warmth rising to your cheeks with a slight embarrassment.

“I want to say 'I love you', but the words seem somehow so small and insignificant, like they’d never be big enough to capture how I actually feel,” you whisper.

Morpheus just smiles gently, leaning down until his lips connected with yours in a gentle kiss. You both smile softly into the kiss when you feel the silent message pass from his lips to yours.

Perhaps words would never be enough to encapsulate how you felt about each other. But it didn’t matter. You could feel it in your heart. And, somehow, you just knew that he could feel it in his heart too.

Masterlist

A/N: just gonna tag my babies @mothdruid and @siempre-bucky as well bc I know how much they love this pale emo too!! I really hope you all liked this <33

p.s this will be my final fic for a short while as I’ll be away on holiday and taking a short hiatus from Friday onwards!

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