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hanjisick · 3 months

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yandere!stray kids reaction to … your confession.

warning. this is not how i portray the members of stray kids or how you should either. this is purely for entertainment purposes.

cw. alcohol. implied murder. stalking. kidnapping. manipulation.

bang chan.

it was late at night. he had just taken you out on an ice cream date, and now you both were lingering on the doorstep of your home, trying to make the last few moments last forever.

“i think that i might like you, no, i think this is love, chan.”

his heart raced at the confession, but he didn’t hesitate to reply.

“i love you too, y/n.”

he would go home thinking about this moment, his stomach full of nervous butterflies.

the first thing he would do is clutch the tank top that he had stolen from you in his hands, sniffing the material and thinking back to that beautiful moment.

this was all part of the plan. once you finally loved him, it would be so easy to just take you.

and that’s exactly what he planned to do.

lee know

you would’ve been minho’s girl for long before falling in love with the monster. i mean, how could you love this man? even if he was obsessed with you, to the point of being more than willing to spill blood for you, the thought of loving him was terrifying.

but slowly, through months upon months of losing your mind, it would’ve been while he was cooking dinner for the two of you.

his back was facing you as you sat on top of the counter, swinging your legs back and forth.

something about the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he measured ingredients, or the knife in his hand as he crushed the garlic.

minho caught you staring eventually. “what are you looking at, my love?”

a blush dusted across your cheeks. “you look handsome like this.”

his chopping halted. it would’ve been the first time that you’ve seen him truly flustered since meeting him. “i do?”

“i think i love you.”

changbin

it would be hard to not fall for the only man that you were ever allowed to see.

every day, like a mantra, you were told the same thing: you only need changbin. friends don’t compare to changbin. your family is changbin.

eventually it would’ve been hard to not give into the conditioning.

it was late at night and changbin still wasn’t home. you caught yourself feeling disappointed, looking forward to the one person that you saw in the day.

so when he arrived back home, you couldn’t help but jump up, greeting him at the door.

“i missed you.”

he stood in place for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you too. “what’s gotten into you, my darling?”

“why were you out so late?”

“i had to take care of some things,” he pulled away, nervously, “and you missed me?”

“of course i did. i love you.”

a wide smile spread across his face. “you love me? really?”

hyunjin

“i can’t believe he’s gone. i loved him so much, i don’t even know what to do with myself now.”

hyunjin rubbed your back soothingly, rocking you back and forth as you let out deep sobs into his shoulder. “i know you loved your friend, he was very kind to you.”

too kind. but you wouldn’t understand that— which is why he had to eliminate him.

“who’s gonna be there for me now? he always knew what to say and do.”

“i will always be right here. always. i can promise that to you.”

after a moment of sniffles, you pulled away slightly, staring at him with your puffy eyes that broke his heart. “i love you, hyunjin.”

“what do you mean?”

“i think i’m in love with you.” you were hysterical from the loss of your friend, not having slept for over 24 hours, and your head fuzzy from crying all day.

he was going to take advantage of that. “i love you too, y/n.”

jisung

the boy had been stalking you for ages. following you to classes, work, home— he knew everything about you at this point.

his first thought when you walked towards him, before he could even process your confession, was that you were so close to him. you had never been this close. he had only seen you from a distance.

the smell of you made him dizzy. he had sniffed your shampoos before, sure, stolen your underwear, bought your perfumes to spray around his house— but this was a whole new level and—

“hello? excuse me?”

he was brought back into reality as you waved your hands in front of his face, the butterflies replaced themselves with shock once you had asked for his number, admitting your feelings for him.

“a crush? me? you?” he stammered.

“i’ve seen you around and i think that you’re very attractive.”

felix

you were drunk out of your mind, right on his lap, dozing off on his shoulder. he was already losing it.

“felix, i think i have a crush on you.”

“what?” he pulled you up to look him in the eyes.

you giggled. “you’re so handsome. i’m so in love with you.”

he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

perhaps you wouldn’t feel the same if you knew how many times his hands have gotten bloody for you, exactly how far his infatuation with you went.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking, lix. tell me.”

instead of telling you his feelings, he decided to show them.

his hand met the back of your neck, leaning in to meet your lips.

seungmin

“i need to be honest.”

“yes?” your friend turned towards you on the couch, “you can tell me anything, y/n.”

“i think i’m in love with you.”

it was like the world had stopped for him.

no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to confess to you once the time was right. he needed to be confident and ready with your favorite flowers and a speech.

“seungmin?”

he couldn’t even respond, his entire face hot from your confession.

“you can tell me if you don’t feel the same way, i hope it doesn’t ruin things between us.”

“no! no!” he stammered out, “i love you too. i’ve loved you forever.”

it took him a moment to gather his thoughts together, “you’re beautiful. i’d love for you to be my girlfriend. i would treat you like a princess, every day of my life.”

now it was your turn to become a mess.

jeongin

it was all an accident.

you meant to send that text to one of your friends.

‘jeongin was so cute today. u should’ve seen him. it took everything in me to not kiss him’

within minutes, he was knocking on your door with the wind knocked out of him.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” your face was red, not even trying to excuse your actions.

“what about me was cute?”

“your hair. it was messy— and your jacket. i loved it. and fuck— i just love you. i have a crush on you, jeongin, you caught me.”

“i’ll wear that damn jacket every single day for you to say that about me.”

“what?” your eyes widened.

“i love you too, y/n.”

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nc-vb · 1 year

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𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

this is a repost from my old blog! and also the first fic i wrote for tumblr lol.

pairing -> vinsmoke sanji x reader

notes -> feminine terms (mellorine, mademoiselle); kind of based off of a scene from that vr one piece game; y/n is a new straw hat member i guess + her noble family kinda sucks; kind of rushy bc i didn’t feel like writing a backstory lol; honourifics are used; maybe a little suggestive…? just in case

wc -> 1.2k

“What a cute kitchen!”

Your eyes can barely contain their sparkle as you take in the final room of the tour. Smiling, you’d realize it’s already occupied by the light chopping sounds coming from the left of the entrance. You approach him from behind, tapping him on the shoulder. “There you are, Sanji-san,” you’d gently called, not wanting to startle him in the middle of his food prep.

“Ah, _______-chan!” Throwing a careful grin of his own over his shoulder to you, he sets down his knife at the edge of the cutting board to turn completely around to you. “I was wondering when you’d make your way in. You’re just in time – I’m making lunch!”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” you apologize with a small laugh. “I think Nami was just a little… excited? Relieved? That she wasn’t “the only woman” on the Merry anymore, I mean. Her grand tour felt more like a tea date.”

“No apologies necessary; making you feel at home with us comes first. Do you?” he asks.

“I do,” you reply easily. “Our captain encouraging me to toss a chair at my window to escape was probably one of the first signs of that one for me.”

Sanji chuckles. “I’m glad. Well, what do you think?” He raises his arms from his sides, inviting you to take in his safe haven.

“It’s quite lovely, as I suppose kitchens normally are?” You glide your fingers across the island, enjoying how smooth the surface had felt on your skin. “This is my first time being inside one.”

“Your first time?” Sanji repeats, genuinely shocked.

Nodding, “I was never allowed inside ours,” you explain. “My parents were… very conservative and traditional in their ways. It may have stemmed from them being apologists of the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, but they always said that entering such places would be beneath our name.” You sigh deeply. “I always knew they were wrong.”

For a moment, Sanji is quiet, the slight tapping of your shoes and the bubbling of the boiling liquid in the pot overtop the stove the only sounds filling the room.

“I didn’t know you were also the chef until Nami mentioned it in her tour,” you add, your voice soft. “How wonderful.” You sniff the air, your lips quickly rising once more in appreciation of the scent filling the kitchen. “Wow… That smells incredible.”

Sanji’s lips part in awe at you, watching you move closer toward the stove. Not wanting to hang your head directly over the pot, you waft the vapour closer to you, inhaling deeply.

“What do you call this, Sanji-san?” You gesture into the pot. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had this before.”

“… it’s called Sugo all’amatriciana,” he says, making his way to join her side. “A sauce made of tomatoes.” From the drawer to the right of the stove, Sanji steals a spoon. “Panchetta. Pecorino romano.” Having given the sauce a stir with a ladle, he dips the spoon inside to scoop some up. “Onion and garlic.” A hand cradling beneath the spoon’s curve, “and a bit of basil.” He lowers it toward you, and your blink. “Try it.”

“Really? Could I?”

Sanji’s lower lip curls inwards, pinching the inside flesh between his teeth when you lean forward to blow lightly on the sauce. Lips parted, you barely release a breath, one just strong enough to begin cooling it, before taking it into your mouth and sucking back the contents in the spoon.

“Sanji-san… this is delicious!!” you gush after a moment spent savouring the flavour. “It’s the perfect amount of garlic, and the pecorino tastes so fresh–” You hum almost excitedly at the leftover flavour on your tongue. “You really are such an amazing chef.”

Sanji’s grip on the handle falters, the metal slipping from between his thumb and forefinger and clattering to the floor, his other hand coming up to clap over his own mouth. Immediately, you’re turning to the cook with worry.

“Sanji-san, what’s the matter?” you ask, reaching out to him. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I did, I-I–”

“I…” You frown, the skin of your forehead bunched together in concern. “I just didn’t expect you to be so cute.”

“C-Cute?!” you exclaim, your face instantly exploding with heat.

Sanji swears his entire body stalls at your expression; like a set of cogs that’s lost one of its gears, the chef goes still, but his heart continues to pound beneath his ribs. As you attempt to collect yourself, Sanji slowly extends his hands out toward you, and places them on your shoulders.

“San… ji-san?”

“______,” he practically whispers, head tipped down toward yours. You swallow, nerved by the intensity in his one visible eye. “You really are the cutest.”

“I-I… Sanji…”

This time, your warmth is contained to your cheeks. Sanji’s smile is sweet, crooked with the relief of not being pushed away by his new female crewmate or battered on the head by them. The gentleness in your eyes entrances him, and before he can control himself, the young cook leans forward toward the young deckhand, his eyes shut and lips searching for yours. A small breath escapes you before you’re able to reel it in—it would be your first kiss. Your first kiss with, practically, a stranger. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to pull away— it’s actually quite the opposite.

Hands having risen to balance your trembling body against him, they press into the lapels of his blazer, your fingers winding around them to give him a slight tug toward you. Eye swirling with adoration, Sanji is quick to fit his lips to yours, his own hands respectfully daring to come up to rest above your hips. With a small sigh, you press into him just a little more firmly, a little more curiously, steadily becoming more and more listless the longer your kiss goes on, and despite the loss of air in your lungs, you discover it to be difficult to pull away from Sanji, your hands releasing his suit and travelling to hold him to you by his nape.

The sharp hitch of your breath should have acted as a sign that you should pull away, that you should break to breathe, but you couldn’t bear to let him go. Feeling the tip of your tongue suddenly dart along his lower lip, tasting the faintest hint of tobacco that had lingered from his last cigarette, Sanji chuckles into your mouth. Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, he gently insists on bringing you back down to earth with a subtle tap against your side that has your eyes opening. Finally, you part from him, sucking in a breath so deep that it nearly has you choking on it.

“M-Mellorine, mellorine,” Sanji calls to you over your heavy panting, a hand rising from your hip to tilt your chin toward him, “you have to breathe at some point, no?”

“I-I… I… guess…”

Sanji blinks at you, his own face flaming once again. Did she sound… disappointed? His hands, warm and slightly calloused at the tops of his palms, slide around to hold your face in them.

“I adore your enthusiasm, mademoiselle, but if you pass out, I can’t kiss you how I want to.”

#hnnnggggg eternally soggy for this man #i almost forgot to bring this fic over with me from the old blog and i'm kinda sad about that #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x yn #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x yn #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #one piece x reader #sanji fluff #✦ nc vb.

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 10 months

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Hey! I love your headcannons and stuff for njsj! Idk if i will do this request thing right but can i add like some numbers for 1 headcannon/drabble?

If i can i would like 20+23 with maybe a 18+ 12 ;) for shu and alban, idk if you want to add anyone else but i love those 2 sm so anyone with them!

Also congrats on 100 followers!!! Here's to many more to come!! You definitely deserve it !

thank you for the encouragement, i’m flattered. and yes, i’m alright with adding prompts into one entry! i couldn’t tell if 12 ;) was implying you wanted form the mature list or not, so i just went with 12 from the basic list. if you meant that you wanted mature prompt 12 let me know! kind of my fault for making both lists have numbers instead of a better way to specify mature from basic. regardless i hope you enjoy

ah... i feel like i took too long of a break from writing after stars above your skin and now i'm out of it... maybe i'll take some of my own ideas in my notes and write them in 3rd pov instead of 2nd, because i feel like my 3rd pov is getting stunted... you get that feeling after not practicing a skill for a while, right? i need to get better! i always want to get better!!

tags: established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff, off-collab, cuddling, sleepy kisses

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🎭 Alban Knox

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

The thief leans over your shoulder as you cut, and the knife drips. Residue sticks to your hands as you draw gashes along the flesh. The smell is pungent, and the chat frenzies at the revolving massacre even though you have yet to notice your witnesses.

Alban crinkles his nose. “You seriously cut garlic like that?”

You pouted and continue to fumble over the clove of garlic. “You said you wanted to see me cut it!”

“Okay, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad.”

“It’s going to get minced anyways, I’m just, um, preparing it!”

“Mincing is preparing it. Gimme some of that.” You pause so Alban could pick out two pieces and hold them up to the handcam. One chunk was so big that the camera could pick up the details of the center of the clove where it had been cut, and the other was miniscule in comparison. “You see this, chat? Reader’s cutting it like it’s supposed to get diced, but it’s not even in cubes. Just weird shapes.”

“Don’t shame my garlic! They can be whatever they want to be.”

“They look like they want to die. Here, let me try.”

Alban takes the knife away and chops the remaining garlic. He’s no Michelin star chef, sure, but he’s much faster than you, and with much better technique. In just a few blinks, the clove is nothing more than tiny, evenly minced pieces.

“You’re so cool, Alban.” Your eyes practically sparkled as you focused on his work. For a moment he’s glad there isn’t a good way for your models to track on stream, because with you distracted and the chat unaware, there’s no one to see him turn his head away bashfully at the sudden praise.

You take the knife and get started on the next clove. You still have a couple more to go. Unsteady hands try to replicate Alban as much as you can. “Is it like this?”

“It’s more like…”

Alban grasps your hand, still over the knife, and guides you along with slow motions. The clove slices apart into coins, then the knife turns and cuts into strips. Afterwards, he places one of your hands along the blunt edge while the dominant remains in the handle, and chops through the pile of garlic until there’s nothing but small, even bits.

He retracts one of his hands, but his grip is still firm on top of the handle, above yours. You realize that even though the chat is likely freaking out over the hand holding, his arm is still bent out as if it came from beside you, and not from where he stands flush against your body.

Then he plants his free hand along the side of your hip, drawing you closer, and your face goes hot. Even if there’s no way the camera could pick it up, you can’t help but feel exposed. You lost count of how many live viewers you have, but you can only imagine thousands of people watching your every move, and how if that camera moves even an inch, you and your boyfriend would be in danger of getting caught.

Alban perches his head on your shoulder, coy as ever. “How’s that?”

“It’s…” You smack your lips and say the first thing on your mind before anyone can get suspicious. “Garlic.”

“Evenly cut garlic that won’t have weird cooking times,” he boasts. “Do you remember how to do it?”

Though you do have to admit, smugness is a good look on Alban, especially when he can embrace you like this.

“Nope,” you lie. “Show me again?”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Alban takes his coat off and on so often that there’s no real need for a coat hanger, even when he’s not wearing it. He tends to leave it draped in whichever room he took it off, and leaves it there until he wants it next.

This morning, it’s placed along the back of a chair in your room. It’s more of a nuisance moving it than leaving it where it is, so you continue about your morning routine as you get ready for the day ahead. You walk past it time and time again as you pace around and get yourself together.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It’s an off-day, so you plan on getting some errands done before the afternoon rush. You’ve finished everything in your routine, but you look down at your outfit. Something feels… incomplete.

Your eyes slide over to the coat hanging off the chair.

On Alban, the coat covers almost his entire frame, and on you it’s no different. It works really well with your clothes, though, and you can understand why Alban wears it religiously. The fabric doesn’t impede your movement, but weighs down on your shoulders like a heavy blanket, and feels just as comfortable and soft as one. You bury your nose into the baggy hood. Smells ambery, just like him.

You step out of your room, still buried in the hood of his coat, and prepare the last of your things before you leave the house. As you grab your keys, you see a figure enter the room, with a fluffy bedhead and oversized sleepwear.

Alban yawns like a housecat. One eye cracks open as he does, a chocolatey brown that droops a little with drowsiness. “Good morning, Reader.”

“Good morning, Alban.” You swipe your keys into one of the coat’s many pockets with one hand, and pat Alban’s head with the other. The sleeve slides down as you reach for his messy hair. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm, really well. I didn’t want to get up at all—” He stops himself. He blinks the sleep away, then focuses on your sleeve as it rolls back down your arm, one chocolate eye and one neon taking in your appearance. “Is that my…?”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, why would I?”

He makes grabby hands at you, and when you get close enough for him to touch, he fiddles with how the coat lays on your body, an affectionate look on his face. He finally decides on zipping it up most of the way and flips the hood over your head. It flops over your eyes.

You reach up to readjust it, and when you regain your eyesight, you’re greeted by Alban rocking on his feet with a sweet smile. His voice is still sleepy and low, but excited. “Aww, Reader, you look so cute!”

“It’s so comfy.” You hug your sleeves and nestle into the coat, proving both your and Alban’s points. The hood flops over again, so you brush it up with one hand, resembling a cat pawing at its ear. Alban coos. “All set? I’m about to go do some errands.”

“Wait, before you go! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He cocks his head, waiting for you to answer. Instead, you rest a hand on his shoulder and lean to meet your lips along his own. The taste is crisp and fresh, and even though you can tell he started his morning routine, Alban’s lips are slow, sleepy, and savory.

When you part, Alban playfully bats at your hood and knocks it back over your eyes. He chuckles. “Be safe, okay? I’ll see you later today.”

With a huff and clumsy hands, you push it back up while Alban’s sleepy smile turns into a smirk. In his hands is something you didn’t notice before: an old but cared-for leather wallet folded up in his grasp. Alban’s wallet.

“When did you get that?” You ask. You could’ve sworn he was empty-handed when he greeted you. Realization strikes you. You pat down the pockets on the bottom of the coat, where you last remember the wallet, and when those turn out empty, you search all the other small pockets along the coat. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“Did you think you could pull a fast one on me?” He teases.

“No, I just—didn’t realize! Did you grab it while we were kissing? I didn’t even notice!”

“Heh, you know me! I’m an elusive, badass phantom…” Alban trails off into a massive yawn. ”…Thief. I’m a phantom thief.”

“Sure are.” You ruffle his hair. “Cutest elusive badass out there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Come back faster. I’ll miss you.”

“Before you know it,” you repeat. “Besides, I’m wearing your coat. I’ve got a little bit of you with me today.”

He kisses you again, this time on your forehead where the hoodie rests. You can still sense the faded toothpaste smell. “Okay. Now get out, I need to make some coffee.”

“Screw you too.” You have a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be home soon!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

“Okay, they should be able to hear you now.”

“Eyyyy, guys. How’s my volume?”

“Chat says you’re good, Shu. What about me?”

Shu’s streaming laptop is gingerly placed in the center of your impromptu studio. This off-collab was rather impulsive, and the only place in the vacation home with enough outlets for all the stream equipment was on the floor, so you dumped a bunch of blankets and pillows over the floor for both sound preservation and comfort.

At first the setup on the floor was scuffed. It took nearly an hour before stream to get things organized with PNGs instead of your models, and the first ten minutes were full of chat mentioning someone was too far away to hear.

“Too quiet,” Shu says. “I think you need to get closer to the mic.”

You shuffle forward. “How about now?”

Still, the chat can’t quite understand you. Ready to readjust, you get to your feet but Shu tugs on your pant leg before you can fully rise.

You cock your head, trying to figure out his game, but it falls into place when he lightly pats his leg. He’s sitting on a pillow with his legs folded underneath themselves, the picture of elegance without even trying. His sorcerous nature tends to make him graceful even when he’s casual, including the relaxed position during the stream.

“I think I have an idea on how to fix it, Reader.” One pointed fingernail beckons you. “Come here.”

Curious, you scooch over inch-by-inch, closing the gap between you and Shu. That is, until Shu reaches out, scoops his hand by your shoulder, and brings you down in one fell swoop. Your body is placed along his lap, with your head resting along his thighs.

Shu reaches for the mic across your head while you’re too caught off-guard to react, and fiddles with it while you watch his focused face and elongated muscle above you. The mic stand lowers. “Say something now, Reader?”

“Um…”

Does he seriously expect you to stream like this? You may be dating, but this has to be unprofessional on so many levels, especially since there’s no way chat could know your position with those PNGs on screen. Is the audio okay? What happens if you bump the mic or it picks up a weird sound that clues your audience into the secret streamer relationship scandal of the year?

The paranoia is getting to you, but you can’t deny it; Shu’s lap is really comfortable. His calves fold at just the right place so that it serves as an incline for your body.

Shu's fingers rest on your hair, and it rustles as he begins to comb through. Your heart soars.

“What was that?” He says out loud in response to nothing. He’s obviously bluffing, but he looks so at peace with his hands in your hair and the stream online. This might be his perfect element. “Reader, can you repeat that again?”

“…Right.” Screw it. If Shu is this calm, then maybe there’s nothing to fear after all. You close your eyes as Shu strokes you, and you launch into your default greeting as your role in the company.

When Shu smiles, you can hear how his voice lifts. “Chat says it’s all good. Welcome to the stream, everybody.” His nails travel to your jawline. One finger lightly scratches along while the others prop along your face, and the action is so tender it almost feels religious. Shu watches you exhale, appreciating the moment to relax even while the stream is running, and when he continues, only one person listening can recognize how his voice clouds into cotton candy. “I have Reader with me today.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Shu’s sleep schedule is, as you know, a mess, but last night was probably one of his… messier moments. He scheduled a late-night membership stream, and only hours before he went live, he made a members-only post for the waiting room. The thumbnail and title both had soju in it.

Long story short, the stream ended in the wee hours of the morning with the Yaminions happily fed and Shu satisfied, but barely able to keep his eyes open until he raided another stream. You were asleep for the majority of the stream but woke up just as his head hit the pillow, still in his daytime clothes and not a single step of his nightly routine done. You gently jostled Shu to get himself ready for bed, but the sun was rising in the sky by the time he fell asleep properly.

The day doesn’t stop for anyone. A few hours later, you wake up well-rested and in time for your plans for the day. Shu is still sound asleep, however. He stole the covers and nestled up in the warmth while he was asleep, and you could barely see his face through untamed dark hair. Even in deep sleep and all covered up like this, he’s adorable. He doesn’t stir a bit even as you climb out of bed and get ready.

After brushing your teeth, you pass from the bathroom to the bedroom again and think on your outfit, before you see a plume of fur out of the corner of your eye.

The memories of last night—this morning?—Return as you examine the dresser, and the fur on top of it. It’s the loose black sleeves from Shu’s newer outfits, and on top of it is a large bat wing wrapped in a black-and-white fur pelt.

You take the sleeves and pelt in your hands, intending to put them away where they belong, but the fur is so inviting and cozy you don’t want to let go. You bury your face in it. It’s so fluffy! And it smells just like his everyday fragrance, subtly sweet while undeniably human.

The sleeves are adjustable, and slide in place on your arms easily. You think to yourself. His accessories are pretty wild, but you could tone these down into something a lot more casual streetwear with your outfit today. Besides, it’s your day off and you’ll be meeting up with some friends to hang out. It wouldn’t be inappropriate.

Shu probably wouldn’t mind, either.

You slip the pelt over your shoulder and fasten the sleeves as you finish up your breakfast, just about ready to leave the house. The pelt is surprisingly light, and the bat wing conserves your heat without getting sweaty.

The last thing left to do is to grab your keys. You head over to the bedroom and find them on your nightstand. Shu is exactly where you left him, the hair in front of his face swishing along to his gentle breathing.

It parts out of his face as you reach out. Your hands stroke his hair as you examine his sleeping face. His lips are slightly open, and whenever he exhales, you can see a flash of teeth between his blanket nest. His banana rests between his ear and the pillow.

The closer you get to him, the more your smile grows. He’s… really adorable. Everything about him right now seems soft, almost cherubic. He looks like a stuffed animal. A plush cat! You have to fight the urge to squeeze him like one.

Instead, you brush some of his hair out of the way, and press a kiss to his temple.

Shu doesn’t move. He’s still as plush as ever. Even as the kiss ends, he’s so warm that you want to stay nearby.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” you whisper, close to his ear. “I’ll be back.”

A lock of pink hair curls under your fingers as you tuck it behind the ear. Shu’s eyes are closed, but you hear him drowsily grunt. Is he awake? “Mm-mm.”

You stifle a giggle. “You want me to stay?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But I have things to do.”

“Mm-mm.”

“I’ll stay a little longer if you wake up. Are you awake?”

Shu finally opens his mouth. “Noooo.”

“Then I’ll let you rest while I’m out.” You kiss him again. “Goodnight. Bye-bye, Shu.”

“Wait.” Shu blindly feels around with his free hand, and finds yours. He takes it, groggily but gently, guiding you closer to him even though his eyes are shut. The back of your palm goes velvet pink, and you hear a small chu as he parts.

Then he tucks your hand in his grasp like a stuffed animal. You’re trapped.

“Shu,” you whine. You try to wriggle out, careful not to disturb him. No avail, however. You’re stuck, and the sleeves drape along his body like even more blankets. “I have somewhere to be!”

He cuddles up to your forearm, and his head meets the fur of his pelt. “Soft.” He nuzzles closer, considering your shoulder as a suitable pillow, before fully resting his head on you.

You call his name again. It’s a really strange position for you, and besides, you have plans!

But then you look down. You don’t remember seeing that light smile on his face when you first kissed him goodbye.

You can make five minutes for that smile.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ event post ✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#alban knox #alban knox x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #alban knox fluff #shu yamino fluff #nijisanji en #luxiem #noctyx #nijisanji x reader #luxiem x reader #noctyx x reader #4402 writes #100 followers for 4402 #writing this while wearing a new oversized orange and black hoodie. the longing. man #hiqhkey

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thatgirl-yn · 1 year

Note

I love your work, and can you do a mixed genre for Gyu as Husband. Just do what you can as long as the character is Mingyu, he keeps going around in my mind😭.

Sorry if my typing is weird, English is not my language and I use a translator kkk, thanks and love you so much❤️.

Here it is anon, thank you I appreciate it, I hope you like this. ❤️

Mingyu as your husband

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count:727 words

Character: Mingyu x Reader

You were tired from your work, no tired is an underestimation, you are exhausted. Your boss gave you a pile load of work and expected it to be done within the day so you have to work overtime. If not only for your high-paying salary you would have quit years ago. You got to your car heading home. You opened your door and Kim Mingyu, your husband, greeted you with a tight hug.

“How was your day?” his sweet husky voice entered your ear and you instantly relaxed a bit.

“Tired” you answered tiredly but still smiling. You get to the couch and he put you into his lap cuddling you.

“Aw my poor baby, your boss overworked you again?” You nodded like a child getting pity from your parent.

“Let me get you something to eat” he kissed your forehead and then got up heading to the kitchen.

You followed him like a puppy and sat down on the high stool. You watched Mingyu prepare the ingredients, chopping the garlic and onions and then putting them in the pan. You watched his beautiful and broad back, and how his bicep contracted while he cook. You are so lucky to have him as your husband. He takes very good care of you plus his food is beyond amazing. You are wondering how he got such a perfect body when his food is so delicious you could eat them forever without getting tired of them. Mingyu is a chef and he owns a restaurant just a few blocks from your home. So whenever you are craving something Mingyu always tends to your food cravings.

You can now smell his cooking and your mouth is already salivating.

“Dinner is ready” he said and put two plates in the high stool table. You are too tired to organize the table so you both settled to eat in the high stool counter. He cooked your favorite Pasta Carbonara. It was so delicious you ate two servings.

“Thank you for the meal,” you said then kissed him

“No worries babe, anytime” he winked at you before he turned around to clean the dishes.

You hugged him from behind while he was cleaning the dishes and he looked at you, “You want anything babe?” he asked

“Hm.. just want to hug you,” you said and closed your eyes feeling his warmth. He continued to wash the dishes, and after he was done he wiped his hands and hugged you back.

“Still tired?” he asked and you responded “yea but a little less now” then smiled at him

“Let’s go to the bedroom I’ll massage your back” he took your hand assisting you to your shared bedroom. He took your top off and then put oil in your back, he laid you down and massaged your back.

You can feel his large warm hands in your back and it feels so good. “hmm” you moaned quietly at the sensation, you can feel the tension from your shoulder loosen.

“feels good?” he whispered to your ear and it sent shivers to your back. He noticed that and he chuckled.

“Want me to make you feel good babe?” now he is asking you in his seductive voice “yes please” you answered submissively. He kissed your lower back before he guided your hips to arch back. He removed your remaining clothes. You can feel his breath in your sensitive part, he kissed your inner thighs before he guided his mouth to your sensitive mound. He licked it and it made you squeal, you felt him chuckle from down there. He continued playing your private part with his tongue then he put his fingers inside of you. It felt so good as his hands play with your mound tickling something inside you. He moved his hand inside and out of you faster and you felt something inside you tightening, “I’m gonna come” you said with a staggering breath and he continued to make you feel good until liquid rushed out from your pussy to his mouth, he licked it clean. “I love you,” you said while panting “I love you too baby, can you take more?” he asked you with a smirk, challenging you. “Of course,” you said accepting his challenge. You are so lucky to have him, not only good in the kitchen but also in bed.

To be continued...

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oppaspearl · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Pairing: Idol!Mingyu x Non!IdolReader Words: 1,253 Notes:

Anyeong! this is my first shots of Mingyu, I wrote it last year when I'm feeling so tired. By reading this, I hope you can heal fast and find your warmness again! Warning that English is not my mother language, so bear with some mistaken grammar. Any constructivism critics will be helpful hehe! See you at the next shot! - with love, oppaspearl. ---

The steam was fulfilling your bathroom ceiling as you wipe the moisturizer on your cheek. It was a long day for you. Some meetings did require your attention and concentration, then some papers works also made you concentrate to read all the agreements before you sign them. Not to mention some brainstorming about upcoming events that required your creativity. Indeed, being a creative director in a creative agency had a lot to do.

So by that, when you arrived at your apartment, you straight off to your bathroom. Your muscles and brain are screaming for a hot and relaxing shower. After all, tomorrow is the weekend, and you don’t have any schedule besides being at home and taking a rest. Well, you do have a schedule that is enjoying your boyfriend's cuddles.

Speak of the devil, your boyfriend who was no other than Kim Mingyu, told you that he will be home late than usual when he called you previous that day. Dating an idol, make you realize that they spent almost their comeback preparation not only practicing, and recording, but also some meetings that take hours. It was the fourth time in a week, as you count, Mingyu told you that he will back later than usual which was usually already at home around six or seven in the evening when his schedule was not too tight.

As you step out of the bathroom wearing your bathrobe and towel on your wet hair, you glance at the digital clock hanging on the wall near the bed. It’s already half past nine, so you decide to cook an easy dinner for yourself and your boyfriend. Changing into one of your boyfriend's shirts and bike shorts, you then make your way to the kitchen.

Tonight you decided to cook spaghetti alle vongole, the clams pasta that you usually make when you are lazy to cook. Combining with Mingyu’s favorite wine, you believe that dish is the best to close both your and Mingyu long day. Putting the slow jazz music to the speakers on the storage below the television in the living room, you then begin to chop some garlic and peppers.

You were really into the music since you didn’t hear any sounds of the main door the time you cooked the pasta and the clams on your pan, you feel a pair of arms wrap securely around your waist. The smell of cooked clams was beaten by the strong cologne smell that you know so well. Smiling to yourself as you stir the pasta, you feel a familiar head on your shoulder blades.

“Hi, sweetcheeks.” you greet him. “You said you will be back late tonight, baby.”

Mingyu nods and sighs. “I told hyung-nim that my back hurt from dancing too much since yesterday, so we finished early.”

“Did you already shower, my love?” you ask softly to him as you notice that his hair was damp.

“I did, baby,” Mingyu tells you and he sniffles your bare shoulder blades that his shirt didn't cover up.

His action makes you start to wiggle since it was ticklish for you. Instead of stopping, Mingyu tightens his arms around you and lets out husky chuckles.

“Stop it will you? I tried to cook us dinner here, sweet boy,” you warn him but he keeps sniffling your smell.

Mingyu sighs in relief. “How can I stop when you smell too good to resist.”

“Well, it was your shirt, dummy.” You chuckle. “So, it makes me smell like you.”

“I know that,” he points out. “But your soap make me sleepy.”

“Oh, so I’m your pillow now?”

“I’m always your pillow, baby,” Mingyu tells.

“Fair point,”

Your hand turns off the stove, and you turn your body then give him a kiss on his lips. The softness of his lips was always your endgame whenever you are tired or even having a long day. It is similar with safe and warm whenever you feel it. You can’t lie that you are not addicted to his kisses and cuddle.

As the kiss grows intense, you pull away from him and make Mingyu pouts at you, “Don’t you want to kiss me, baby?

“I want to,” you admit. “But we need to eat, okay? How about you take your favorite wine?”

“Red or white, missy?”

“Up to you, love.”

Mingyu nods and leaves a peck on your lip, then says, “Okay then, sweetheart.”

Mingyu releases his hugs around you and does what you said. While he takes the wine, you begin to prepare the pasta on the plate before turning to the dining table that was not too far from you. You set both of your plate and glass above the marble dining table that was behind the couch. As you gonna sit, you realize that you didn’t take any utensils yet, so you go back to the counter to take them.

By the time you already got the utensil, you turn to the dining table, finding that Mingyu pull two of the seat together. It makes him sit not only in his chair but on the chair that is supposed to be yours. You grin ear to ear before looking at him with a smirk as Mingyu also smirks at you.

With smirking, Mingyu looks at you with a sneaky expression. Like it told you that there was no seat left except his lap. But then you don’t know if Mingyu was too tired or too clingy until he didn’t notice that there were also chairs in front of him. Smirking you pull your plate and your glass to that position until it makes you and him face each other.

Groaning and throwing his head back, Mingyu then whining, “Yah! Why don’t you sit on my lap?”

“You know if I sit on your lap, I cannot eat in peace, right?” smiling, you pour the wine that he got into both of your glasses. “You just gonna sniffling around my shoulder and it tickles.”

“Which means, I love your scents, baby.” Mingyu pouts. “You know it’s such a shame if you don't sit on my lap because I thought you you gonna feed me and enjoy my cuddle.”

Your jaw dropped at Mingyu’s words. After two years of dating, you are always surprised and shocked by the way Mingyu flirts with you and also his clinginess to you. Well everyone knows that Mingyu is the golden retriever of Seventeen but not everyone knows that Mingyu will be extra clingy and drop his cool boy image when it comes to you.

“Fine,” you sigh and walk to him. “You lucky that I love you, you know that?”

Mingyu grins ear to ear and wraps his arms around your waist as you sit on his lap. “I love you too--so much, baby.”

“Say Aaah.....”

You hold the spoon and move directly to his mouth, which Mingyu opens to welcome the food. You pull away the fork from his mouth as Mingyu took a bite of it. Mingyu then chew the food happily wiggling his head like a happy kid. Looking at it, you just chuckle and shake your head.

Yeah, he is something else.

“You big baby,”

“I am your baby, tho,” Mingyu says in between chewing. But when Mingyu notice that you narrow your eyes at him, he stops chewing and looks at you with his puppy eyes. “Right?”

“Right, right.”

You nod and offer him another bite which he accepts happily.

It is indeed how your long days should end; in Mingyu warmness.

#mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #mingyu oneshot #mingyu scenarios #svt x reader #kim mingyu #mingyu x you

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matchamorphosis · 2 years

Text

— ❝ 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐀 𝐃𝐀 𝐃𝐎 𝐁𝐄 ❞

summary: you return to the city that raised you and help make dinner for the man that claims your heart.

pairings: friends with benefits!carmen berzatto × fem!mena!reader

genre: friends to benefits to lovers. wordcount: 1.6K

warnings: 18+ only. steamy moments but no smut. cursing. small talk of cultural differences. handjob mention. nicknames: “bear” and “clem”. reader is a food critic. mentions of death, generational trauma, anxiety, and stress. a lot of food talk. past friends with benefits sort of thing.

w. note: so i’m officially a carmy whore, that’s what’s new. reminder that reader is middle eastern north african (that’s what mena stands for). anyway make sure to read, reblog and give feedback. muah!

Be ba da do be; a man loves a woman, the woman loves a man.

“It was a hand job, Carmy. I remember it and so do you, you were dazed as fuck for two hours straight on the drive home and my wrist was sore as shit.”

God how he missed her and her tease, more than how he missed the supercut memories of Chicago that lulled him to sleep when he was homesick in New York.

“Clem,” the nickname zesty, tangy, and sweet in his mouth just like the effects of a slice of clementine on his tongue. “I was dazed for an hour at max, the bottle you coerced the waiter to give you just aided in getting me wasted.”

A stream of laughter flows out of her mouth, her teeth gleaming in a smile that is nothing but contagious as she begins to remember more of that summer night she and him spent downtown.

“Sure, baby sure. Go play innocent Carmy on me, it’s not going to work though cause my memories not shit.” shaking her head, throwing in a liberal amount of garlic on the yellow zucchini, roasted butternut squash and sliced red onion soaking in a pot of melty butter.

Be ba da do be, the man grins a smile he doesn’t know he could manifest but knows well it’s the cause of the woman.

The kitchen is clouded in a variety of smells, from the sweet squashes cooking to the spiced yogurt marinated lamb chops searing and the sourdough rising. Sounds hit each other’s ears in a symphony of roaring laughter, loose footsteps following the groove of the stereo, and the music of food cooking a dinner that will fill their hearts before their stomachs.

Carmen looks at her, really taking a good look at her. Because he feels the heavy ache in his belly strengthen, that ache that simultaneously goes along with the fluttery excitement of seeing, hearing, feeling somebody you care in a long time. It’s making his heart hungry, he never felt this hunger in a while.

The feeling is brightening up his face like a runny egg yolk, pigmenting it with a cherry blush when she grabs him by the back of his head to try the sauce coated on her wooden spoon. Cherry-colored like the filling of Marcus’s doughnuts, making him see stars the same color as the icings when she whispers the lyrics of the playing song in his ear.

The details of the occasion where written and sealed when he sent you a late night voice message after looking through some five year old photographs he had hidden away in three of the cookbooks you gave him for his birthday five years ago. The firecracker of realization striking him that so much time has passed since he was in New York, and you were in Boston.

That hungry sensation scented in a cloud of spices that wrap Carmen’s senses, like a pair of arms that he wants to be within each night. Slow then fast, his chopping escalates then declines as he moves the knife with precision across the cutting board.

Be ba da do be; is the exact pace of his heart thumping in his chest.

It goes along with the movements of her lips and the rain against the kitchen windowsill. Warmth filling his heart, making it rise like the sourdough baking in the oven.

“Carmy?” the approach of her words smooths over to him at the counter, “Yeah y/n/n?” he responds, whisking the dressing of a salad then tasting a bit with his pinky, it’s need some more citrus.

It was a night to make up for a lot of lost time, so the both of you decided on a day to experiment with whatever that was in Carmen’s fridge and you bring whatever the hell that could fit inside your grocery bag.

“Could you hand me three sprigs of rosemary?” his head turn over his shoulder to see her jean clad hips expertly swaying, and moving to the beat of the song.

The exposed skin of her back neck burning a hypnotizing trance in his blue eyes, tightening a knot in his stomach as he licks his lips. He remembers how he used to mark it up with his lips and teeth, leaving behind a trial of blemishes that varied in size and visibility. Carmen manages to snap out of it, dashing his eyes up to her at the stovetop.

Her own eyes stay focused on the sight of onions caramelizing in a sizzling puddle of olive oil, loose curls frame her face as the rest stay in order with the great help of a citrus-colored claw clip. A wooden spoon in one hand as the other motions to the rhythm of the music playing on the old stereo in the living room.

Carmy believes it’s Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass because he hasn’t heard the song “Ladyfingers” since she went away to Boston.

“Rosemary? Ah yeah, yeah, I got rosemary.” Carmen's hands quickly steps away from his area of chopping a lemon and squeezing it in the bowl, heading to his spice cabinet where he opens it as he inspects what little contents fill the empty space.

I really need to do some shopping before I think to invite people over for dinner, he thinks before closing it.

“Um no rosemary actually, sorry about that Chef.” he just sees her smirk and turn to grab her grocery tote bag, pulling out a small jar of rosemary sprigs from the endless depth. A magician, truly, Carmen also thinks as he gives her a smile.

“That’s why I come prepared for the worse when I plan to cook with you Chef.” it’s playful and filled with just the right amount of spark he missed, he secretly yearns for more of it just as he wants more of her saffron tinted rose water flavored presence filling the lonely blue void of his soul.

Be ba da do be; the man spills the bottle of memories, letting the nostalgia soak him through.

“Hey y/n.” he mumbles, standing besides her as she spoons the hot liquid butter over the garlic and rosemary sitting atop the seared steaks.

“Hey Carmy.” Her response crisp, her own eyes drifting to his that move away every few seconds and he licks his damn lips.

Fucking fuck, Bear — little thoughts of moisturizing his lips with the birthday-cake flavored chapstick you have on emerge.

“What do you remember from that night?” his voice stitched with curiosity he tries to hide, covering it up by stirring the couscous added to the squashes. Carmen knows the tiny bowl of chopped parsley will be sprinkled on top it after the couscous cooks through.

Internally, the highly acclaimed Chef asks himself why he hasn’t ever asked her out then but that answer always seems to answer itself time and time again when it pops up. Torturing him when he laid in bed thinking about the bike rides through green Orland Park. How they read each other recipes from cookbooks on Chinatown Branches library shelves, kissing behind the coffee shops in Little Palestine.

That time ago, it wouldn’t have happened. No matter how much confidence he harnessed from pep talks with Mikey or just the willpower of adolescent desire. It wouldn’t have happened, in secret was the only way the both could explore the world and each other and even then you both wouldn’t go as far to call it a relationship. Him and her, the two of you, were just too different.

It was hard truth to swallow from the criticisms Carmen got from his family, being so interested in a woman from her culture who wanted to taste food for a living just as much as she got backlash from her family for being interested in a white guy who wanted to cook for a living.

“I think we have some polar opinions on what happened that night. But we both know it was your bright idea to convince me to skip my afternoon course and drive downtown with you.” her accent slips into your words formally and naturally.

Carmy loves it when that happens, because she can’t control it one bit. The y/n he knew five years ago used to be so overtly embarrassed of it but now, she doesn’t mind it showing whatsoever.

“You’re right, I remember that part of the night crystal clear.” he tags along to this journey back to the past but he’s hoping you’re willing to talk about what happened late that night.

She smacks his bicep with the back of her hand and laughs, an aspect of his physique she knows has gained a few muscle that last time she saw him. It’s then did Carmen realize he said that thought aloud and not to himself.

“You know what Bear, you’re a lot more of a pervert then I remember.” She smirks as he begins to pour out apologies for all the faults this night has, from the lack of herbs to his “creepiness”. But to be fair, it’s taking her a severe amount of discipline to not think about other areas that may have changed as she looks at him trying to explain himself.

“It’s not a problem Carmy, I wanted to talk more of that night to. Just wasn’t done talking before you swang in on your boner.” she grins and he just continues to blush and apologize, accepting to laugh along with you and your endless teasing.

“The dumplings you got us were good though, and I didn’t have to subject myself to unnecessary persecution from my professor so that was an added bonus.” you sigh as you wipe a little bit of sweat off your forehead with your hand towel.

The heat from the oven and stove rises the temperature of the kitchen, convincing you to slip out of the thick university sweater that wraps your body up and reveal the deep richness of your exposed skin the short tank top provides.

“And I liked the fact that it was me and you. Just us walking through the city and catching a late night movie.” and simultaneously you both think back on his lips hungrily devouring yours and your hands unzipping his pants in the shadowy dark of the theatre.

Be ba da do be; the woman doesn’t know why she feels a pain in her heart but she hopes the man can help relive it.

Carmen nods along — I haven’t forgotten that night. I don’t wanna forget how you made me feel because I feel like I’ve forgotten you.

He couldn’t think of the name of the movie that was playing even if it could save him, and why would he want to be saved? His mind floods of memories of that night with his hands in your hair, your hand playing with his hard cock, and his lips hidden in your neck as he tried to maintain his moans by bitting down and sucking on your skin.

Cool air hits your skin but you feel a burn, something similar to the swelter of something hot to your senses but without the sting. Carmen can’t tear his eyes away, even when the pans of food are under his mercy he can’t help them because he’s under the mercy of your figure swaying under his kitchen lights.

You’re crazy, you’re driving me crazy and you’re enjoying it, Carmen thinks as he leans his weight against the countertop, unashamedly enjoying the show before him.

The pure gold plate of your name in Arabic winks at him as it lays comfortably on your exposed cleavage. Bare waist moving softly then strongly like the waves of a tide, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It unleashed another memory of playing near the Pierre, the water that night reflecting off the moonlight as his hands slipped into her underwear, massaging her wetness and bringing it up to his lips to taste her for the first time.

Her eyes meet Carmy’s for a second, his face deep pink like the juice of a raspberry before he turns away with an apology.

Enjoying the view? — is what you want to say but you find yourself a little flustered to tease him — because he looks so fucking good.

The veins running from his hands to his forearms popping here and there with his tight grips and motions. The black ink of his tattoos strained through the muscle of his skin it’s making you hot all over. You’re drinking him in, practically thinking of him fucking you while you try to look anywhere else besides his strong nose or shoulders.

“Do you ever think that you’re using a bit too much onion and garlic in your dishes? It smells damn good but I can immediately tell which plate of food is yours from a hundred just from the onion to garlic content and ratio.”

Carmen means it in the most politest manner and he tries and fails to keep back a laugh when you give him your signature questionable look that is ingrained in your family.

“Is that your nice-guy way of saying i’m predicable Carmy? That I’m some sort of onion and garlic addict? Well listen Carmy, I can’t help it, onions and garlic are my love language. The more I love a person the more I use them.”

“You must love me a whole lot then ‘cause my apartments gonna be smelling like ‘em till next month.” he laughs and she giggles while shrugging her shoulder in agreement then taking her squash couscous and braised lamb chops to the little table in the corner of his kitchen.

“Sorry Carmen, I hope you don’t mind it. I mean I just moved back here and i’m already etching myself on you. How is the restaurant doing?” her words soft and gentle, her eyes etched on Carmy’s back, her heart pausing when he stops whatever he was doing to turn around and look at her.

“No no I don’t mind it. It means a lot for you to be here, I’m glad I called you. I, I really missed seeing you, talking to you.” Carmen assures, he doesn’t want to have her walk on eggshells around him, he already cleared everything up with her about Michael and doesn’t want the tension to resurface.

It was great that you two had a lot to talk about but the generational trauma of both your families anxieties and stresses wasn’t a light subject that you both are eager to dive into.

Be ba da do be; the man plays at the strings of his heart, grateful to know they still create the same ballad that plays when the woman’s near.

“And the restaurant is going great. We’re still experimenting with a new menu. I have to talk to some contractors and designers for the layout tomorrow.” she nods along, a little seed of happiness for him growing fast. Growing green veins that wrap around the vesicle of her heart, like a second skin she didn’t know she shed once she stopped talking to her old dear friend.

“I’m happy for you Bear. It all has lead up to this huh?” the twinkle in her eyes glisten, giving him a quick wink that makes him do a mental double take.

Carmen watches her pour her standard household amount on both of their plates and sprinkle it lightly with parsley. The candle in the middle of both your dishes was lite, only she’s not the one that light but him earlier that night.

“Yeah, yeah really it has.” Carmen can’t tear his eyes away from hers, “You know, if you’d like you could drop by tomorrow. You could try this new dessert Marcus is whipping up, I have this ah—” Carmy’s hand lifts up to scratch his head, his eyes roaming from her lips to her nose to the earrings that hang from her ears.

Everywhere before swimming in the soft intensity of her eyes, licking his lips when her lashes shut her eyes for a second before opening them to reveal the intensity of them again.

“This dish, that I’m working on. It has a some uh, you know you could see what I’m talking about band try it out. Only if you want to, you know.” Carmen explains, now looking at you after taking the sourdough out of the oven and playing with the gorgeous brown crackly surface.

“Oh I know, maybe I do want to drop by tomorrow.” her tone is making his head spin, a dozen of ideas for new dishes coming to mind that he wants her to try. Each step she takes closer to him makes his heart pound a new beat, he wishes the smell of her perfume would stay present.

“And you know, maybe you could go easy on me and my crew to. I know how offended you critics can get when you don’t like what the Chef serves up.” Carmen whispers, he doesn’t need to raise his voice with her face inching so close to his.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go more than easy on you Bear. You don’t have to worry about that.” She whispers back, he breaks from his reserved space to inch closer. Admiring the shape of her lips, imagining how soft and warm they feel.

“Then what should I worry about, sweetheart? Should I worry about your daddy? Or your mama? Or my mom? I don’t really care about them right now. I don’t care because they don’t matter.” all forms of fear and hesitancy are thrown out the window and into the rainy night.

“Stop fucking around and tell me what you’re trying to say Carmy.” he sees the watery glint in her eyes, regret rises in his chest as his throat goes dry.

It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair how he’s letting the fears that prevented him from loving her then keep him from loving her now.

When Carmen thought of Chicago when he was in New York he thought of his family, his childhood, his food, and her. Any image of her just is associated with a feeling of regret of what could have been. He just wants to know if she feels that to, and if she doesn’t want to live in that stage of regret anymore.

“I’m saying that maybe we don’t have to feel scared anymore because there’s nothing to be scared of. You know I’ve— I’ve always loved you. I was stupid then to not have told you that but I’m telling it to you now.” he stops talking to take a good look at her, vulnerability spread on every feature of his face.

“What should I be worried about now? There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you.” he whispers, grasping her face in his hands to keep her avoiding glance to his.

In that action, his nose touches hers, the warmth of her lips seems to radiate against his mouth, her loose curls and his blonde strands of hair touch and twine together. Her hands touch his that still cup her cheeks and she holds the nose of his neck and pulls him to her.

Be ba da do be; they kiss and fill up that space of feeling they never felt but so desperately wanted.

“There better be plenty of onions and garlic in that special dish of yours tomorrow Chef.” y/n lightly demands, taking his mouth to hers again when he decides to lick his damn lips again.

A smirk spreads on Carmen’s face as he kisses back, it was so typical you to make him fall harder with her weird preferences, if that was possible.

“Trust me sweetheart, there’ll be more than enough.” he whispers against her lips, tasting the cake flavored chapstick she had on. “The whole blocks gonna know how much I love you.”

They can’t help the laughter that escapes them, her fingers tangled in his hair whilst he laughs into the crook of her neck. A new ache fills their chests after they come down from their giggles and smiles, but it’s an ache they’re willing to protect and nurture.

Be ba da do be; the man loves the woman and the woman loves the man.

#carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fluff

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

Text

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 33 (FINALE)

Masterlist

Well, it's been a long journey here, huh? I hope you have all enjoyed this story as much as I have. I've loved writing this, seeing all of your reactions and love for the story. Just, thank you all for your support.

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for elevating this series through her beta reading. And for cheering me on and helping make good decisions.

Thank you to the following people for cheering me on: 🐘 anon, @flowersarefreetherapy, @oddsconvert, @whumpsday, @pumpkin-spice-whump, and @verkja. Y'all are awesome

CW: none

===

The car ride was long back to Hope. New York was never a big state in Cyril’s head. He was from a small town not far outside Oswego - not far from the United States-Canada border, not far from Lake Ontario, and not too far from New York City. It was easy to forget the expanse that was New York State in that small town, in that small cabin.

Trees blended into one and the conversation between Sacha and his parents was hopeful. Sacha and Cyril had both said that they didn’t really want to talk about what happened, so his family did the talking. They couldn’t stop telling Sacha about everything he’d missed while he was gone, how happy they were to have him back. Soon, the conversation changed to what they wanted to do for his birthday. Cyril would chip in when asked or when he thought of something to say, but he mostly stayed quiet.

Finally, they arrived at Hope. The sun had started to set, but that was only natural - it was winter after all. They’d driven through snow-covered trees in the Upstate.

Sacha’s home wasn’t big. In fact, it reminded Cyril of his cabin more than the houses he saw when he worked in Syracuse. It was a ranch with a dirty door and windows, but the garden in the front was netted - probably for the deer. Cyril recognized the tomato plants. It must’ve been a dormant vegetable garden.

Sacha’s mother hurried to open the door to welcome the two of them in. “I’m sorry for the mess. We didn’t really have time to clean,” she said with a chuckle.

Cyril chuckled, too. The house was almost perfectly clean inside and smelled of vanilla.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Sacha’s mother led them all to the living room, while Sacha’s father brought over four bottles of craft beer.

He smiled at Sacha. “You’re finally old enough to drink.”

Sacha chuckled a little. Cyril thought over any medication that Sacha might be taking, but then remembered that Sacha wasn’t taking anything more than acetaminophen and ibuprofen. He chuckled a little to himself, which drew a look from Sacha. Cyril was quick to wave his hand dismissively.

“I just remembered something.”

Sacha nodded and accepted the beer from his father. The four of them toasted then all took a sip of their beers. Cyril hummed a little. He missed craft beer, all those years in the mountains.

After a little beat of happy, content silence, Sacha’s mother spoke. “I’m headed to go make dinner.” She looked at Cyril. “Don’t you dare ask to help. This is for us to do for you.”

Cyril laughed a little. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You just seem like the type,” Sacha’s mother said with a laugh.

Sacha and his father got talking about different things. Apparently the Buffalo Bills were getting a lot better recently. Cyril wouldn’t know. He wasn’t into sports. However, to see Sacha’s face light up and for him to talk, actually talk, excitedly without hesitation made Cyril smile widely.

However, after a while, a thought started to hang around in Cyril’s head. One that bothered him and needed to get out.

He stood up politely and said he was going to talk to Sacha’s mother. Clementine - if Cyril remembered correctly.

Cyril knocked a little on the door frame. “Mrs. Matisse?”

Sacha’s mother smiled and looked back at Cyril. She was chopping up yellow potatoes and garlic.

“You aren’t asking to help, right?”

Cyril cracked a smile. “No, I’m not, Mrs. Matisse.”

Sacha’s mother waved her hand. “Call me Clementine.”

“Clementine, then. I, um, pardon. I’m not the best at talking.”

“Neither was Sacha. It… it took him a long time to climb out of his shell.”

Cyril swallowed a little. “I’m a doctor.”

Suddenly, he has Clementine’s attention. “Did he-?”

Cyril shook his head. “I left medicine for personal reasons a few years ago. I found him half-dead in the forest near where I live. I know the house he came from, now, but I wanted you to know that the man who kept him captive is dead. He died of an infection. Sacha almost did, too, but I healed him.”

Clementine’s knife fell and she turned to look at him. In fact, she didn’t just look at him, she came and hugged him.

“You, a total stranger, saved my son?” There were tears in her eyes. In the other room, the TV was on a football game and Sacha and his father were watching happily. “Even after you left medicine, you saved him?”

Cyril nodded. “I guess so.”

Clementine hugged him tighter. “Thank you. Thank you for being my son’s guardian angel.”

Gently, Cyril rubbed her back as she cried a little into him. “Was it bad? The condition he was in?”

“It was bad, yes.”

She went quiet again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never be able to repay you, but thank you. Know that if you need anything, you can come to me.”

Cyril took a breath. “About that, I had a question.”

“Anything,” Clementine breathed.

“I’d like to come practice here,” Cyril blurted. He took a moment in the silence that followed to put his thoughts together. “I know you hardly know me but I wanted to ask your permission. Sacha would say yes no matter what, but that doesn’t mean I’m wanted, you know?” He took a breath. “I can’t imagine living away from him anymore. He’s become like a little brother to me. I took care of him. I helped him break out of his shell and…” Made him ready to live in society again.

Clementine nodded her understanding, taking a step back with a warm smile that created peaks and valleys on her face. “We would love to have you. It’s a long drive to the nearest doctor out here.”

Cyril’s heart sang. “Are you sure?”

Clementine laughed. “Just make sure you get vetted as a Medicaid provider. There’s a lot of people out here on Medicaid and the nearest doctor doesn’t even take it.”

Cyril nodded, smiling. He’d intended to, anyway. “Thank you. I cannot put into words how much I owe you for that.”

“We owe you more, I guarantee that. I just have to ask, don’t you have any family or anything? Anyone who would miss you up there?”

Cyril shook his head, looking a little sad. “I was a foster kid, never adopted. Didn’t really get to know many people. My only real friend died maybe five years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Clementine gave him a kind look. “You can stay with us until you’re set up.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Clementine laughed a little. “Go with the other boys and watch some football. Even if you don’t like it.”

Cyril laughed a little. “Never did.”

Clementine laughed heartily. “I never did either.”

—

One month after Sacha’s homecoming…

Each breath that Sacha breathed let out a puff of white steam into the air. The Lake was just starting to ice over as Cyril and Sacha were sitting, feet hanging off the edge, looking out onto the water. They’d cleared a small area for themselves and brought two cushions.

The sky was dark and filled with stars. So far out from the city, you might even see the Milky Way if the night allowed. It was getting late and Sacha was getting tired, but it was tradition to stay up until midnight to open their presents. It was a long-standing tradition in his family for Christmas.

“Sacha,” Cyril began, turning to look at him. The two had hot chocolate warming their hands through their gloves. The winds were always cold on the Lake.

“Yeah?”

“This is the first Christmas I’m celebrating since Oliver died. I… um, I used to celebrate with his family, but his family stopped wanting to see me after he died.”

Sacha nodded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Eventually, after an awkwardly long silence, Cyril spoke. “I’m really glad that I found you, Sacha. You’re my family now. Your family has been wonderful to me. Even standing up for me when the cops came to check me out.”

Both of them knew what Cyril was referring to. When news surfaced that the long-missing Sacha Matisse had returned home, the FBI had come to investigate. Upon looking at Emery Abberton’s mansion, they found the bodies of three other victims, victims like Sacha. Sacha was his sole survivor.

Emery’s mother had been covering for him and spilled the whole truth. After that and a quick investigation into Cyril’s connections, Cyril’s name had been cleared, in part because of the way that Sacha’s family stood up for him.

“I never imagined that I’d get out alive.”

Cyril patted him on the back. “None of that matters now. You’re a survivor. Now, you’re home.”

Sacha laughed a little. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now.”

Cyril got serious. “Study. Learn something. There’s got to be a community college close to here.”

“But what would I study?”

Cyril shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s up to you. You could become a therapist, a social worker. I can see you as a woodworker.”

The two of them sat in silence for a little while longer. “I was thinking about marine health. Something like environmental science but for the Lakes.”

Cyril smiled and laughed. “That suits you. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

Sacha laughed a little too. “I guess it does.”

Sacha’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. He always kept it on do not disturb except for certain family members, one of which was his mother.

Sacha picked up his phone, only to see the time was 11:55pm.

“Where are you two?” Sacha’s mom sounded panicked, afraid almost. Sacha and Cyril had simply lost track of time, but Sacha was sure that it reminded her all too much of the night that her son disappeared.

“It’s okay, Maman. We’re at the dock. We’ll be there soon.”

Sacha’s mom took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We’ll see you soon.”

It was a ten-minute walk back to Sacha’s house from the dock, but once they got inside, they were hit with warmth and the twinkling of the Christmas tree.

Sacha’s mom was smiling warmly at the both of them. “Sacha, Cyril, we want you to open your presents first.”

Sacha smiled and nudged Cyril who was a little in shock.

Sacha’s father handed Sacha and Cyril each a box. They motioned for Cyril and Sacha to open it at the same time, which they obliged. Inside, there was matching carved goldfish made from wood, hand-finished and painted. Each one was almost the same, except for those little details that hand-finishing made.

Sacha’s mom was the one that spoke to Sacha first. “We wanted to welcome you both into the family. Sacha, we’re welcoming you back. We want you to know that we’ll always love you, no matter what. Okay? We’re just happy to have you home.”

“And Cyril,” Sacha’s father said next, not giving Sacha even a moment to absorb what had been said, “The goldfish is a symbol of our family. We wanted you to have one that matched Sacha’s. You’re a part of this family now. You saved our son. If ever you need a place to go, we’ll always be here for you. Regardless. Okay?”

Cyril bit his lip, tears forming in his eyes. Though Sacha had heard the speech about loving him unconditionally many times over the past month, Cyril was being welcomed for the first time. Cyril nodded a bit, struggling to absorb the information.

“Th-” his voice broke a bit. “Thank you. This means so much to me. Thank you.”

Sacha’s mom looked upon Cyril with kind eyes. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

Cyril nodded, but the disbelief was palpable.

“Let’s move onto your other presents.”

For Cyril - all new gardening tools, scented lotion for his hands, and an invitation to work on the garden in front of Sacha’s house. Again, Cyril was emotional. After all, now he had two gardens - Sacha’s and his own.

For Sacha - a new, thick blanket and bed sheets for his room, a Buffalo Bills jersey, signed by a star player that even Sacha didn’t recognize but knew was important from his father’s pride, and a new cat tower for his room for Amber.

Sacha didn’t have money to buy his mom and dad gifts, but Cyril had given them each $100 in cash, explaining that he didn’t know them well enough to buy them presents quite yet.

The two understood. Of course they did.

As the night wound down and the tiredness set in, Cyril went to the guest room and Sacha went to his bedroom that hadn’t changed much since he’d disappeared.

Lying there, Sacha felt warm and loved in a way he hadn’t before. His mind went to Emery, but he quickly thought of the goldfish, of Cyril, of his parents, and of the content feeling that now rested in his chest. The image of Emery didn’t belong there anymore.

Sacha didn’t just own himself.

He was his own person now, with a brother and parents. He was happy. But, most importantly, Sacha was at peace.

That peace was worth more than gold and tasted sweeter than any nectar from the heavens.

===

Taglist: @whumpsday @i-can-even-burn-salad @pigeonwhumps @darkthingshappen @pumpkin-spice-whump @darlingwhump @maracujatangerine @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @flowersarefreetherapy @octopus-reactivated @quietshae @whump-blog @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @whumpkinz @roblingoblin285

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump writing #completed whump work #whump work #whump community #sacha #cyril #happy ending #recovery whump

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nelapanela94 · 2 years

Text

wc: 3.7k

tw: +16, mild SMUT scene. angst. hurt/comfort, fluff.

This one centers on Levi and Y/N's stumbling relationship prior Isabel Ackerman. For me they're two wound souls foolish and afraid to love. Fluffy ending!

Marley, 856

“What’s with that face? You constipated?” Levi hedges when you enter the kitchen.

The tempting smell of sizzling bacon and garlic wafts in the air and makes your stomach growl louder.

You roll the eyes. “Not at all,” you say, the hinges of the cupboard doors squeak mildly, and you reach out for two glasses. “It was nice and smooth, but can we just not talk about poo before dinner?” Glass whumps on the checkered clothed table, and you turn around to head to the fridge. However, something on the countertop catches your attention and a haughty smirk curves on your lips. You take a last-minute strategic detour and snatch a discarded chunk of parmigiano. Something to appease your hunger because your stomach wouldn't stop making funny noises, and you clamp your teeth into it. You steer around a frowning Levi, waving with a victorious smile and your hand curls around the fridge handle.

He goes back to work and whisks the eggs, cream, and part of the grated cheese in a bowl. Then he adds the mixture and the crispy chopped bacon to the pasta and toss over in low heat.

After leaving the jug of water on the table, you fetch two plates and put them next to him, ceramic clatters on granite. With mastery, he plates, and a rain of cheese coats the twirl mounds of pasta.

“Extra cheese for me.” You stomp to the table. The legs of the chair screech and you take a seat.

He snorts and slips your plate of spaghetti carbonara before you. Your eyes beam, your hands rub together, and you utter a thanks that Levi ignores. He drags out his chair and sits across the table from you.

“So, you’re not telling me.” He takes a swig of water.

“Telling you what?” You grab the fork and plunge it into the coil of pasta, swirling.

“What’s nagging you.”

“Nothing it’s nagging me.” You moist your lips, squinting. You hate how good he can read you.

He’s staring at you, elbows resting on the table, hands steepled, waiting.

“Mattias Dupont.”

A black eyebrow arches. “My doctor?”

“Uh-huh. Well, he asked me on a date, and I said yes.” Your eyes fixated on the twine of pasta as you drag the fork to your mouth. “The other day, he went to the tea shop while you were doing the inventory with Gaby and Falco in the storeroom and asked me.”

A lash whips on his chest.

You swallow.

His fork catches a few strands of spaghetti, and he twists forming a wrapped-up bundle. Seconds lengthen. He hoists it, beads of sauce drip back onto his plate.

His good eye flickers to you.

“He’s not your type.” He blurts.

You let out a wild laugh that almost chokes you and smack a fist on your chest to keep the food in your stomach before it dashes back through your throat. “What’s my type then? Enlighten me.”

“He’s not your type.” He scoffs, his eyebrows sink deeper. His fork is still hanging before him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

His toes curl in his shoes, his chest tightens. Broiling blood fizzes through his veins. He’s seething and for no valid reason.

He bites his lips, then opens his mouth to speak. “Why?” He gulps, “I mean why you said yes?”

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrows knit together, your mouth twitches. Your love life is none of his business. “Well, he’s good-looking, smart, fun, easy-going…”

Your words are stabs ripping his chest. He gets it. Mattias Dupont is everything he’s not. And he can’t blame you. He’s just a scarred, one-eyed, cripple with the shittiest attitude.

He shoves the pasta into his mouth, but it’s bitter. Listlessly, he chews and swallows. Shards of broken glass slam down, lacerating his throat.

“Well, maybe you screwing my doctor can be used to my benefits so I won't have to wait so long for an appointment.” He nudges, unabashedly.

Your slam on the table echoes, taking him aback. “Your assholery has no limits.” Your teeth gritted.

He shrugs. “I was raised that way.” His cutlery clanks over the edge of the plate, and he washes down with water the amalgam of distress and rotting pain that strangles him.

He gets up, takes the leftovers, and puts them in the fridge. And so do you. The door to his room slams shut, and a subtle ‘fuck you, Levi’ dribbles of your mouth while you roughly scrub the pans and dishes. When you get angry, you get to clean up better than the grumpy midget. Chips of foam strike on your face, and groaning, you sweep them off with your sleeve.

You barely exchange words. The next morning, Levi prepares scramble eggs for breakfast, but you’d rather let your guts stick together and die of starvation. You leave the house first without saying goodbye, and make a stop at the boulangerie, and buy a two-feet-long baguette for yourself. Crispy crust, chewing texture. You leave a trail of crumbs behind which leads and halts in front of the teashop.

He's flipping the sign open.

The welcoming bell tinkles over your head, he doesn’t glance at you, and you don’t glance at him. You go straight to the office in the back, snatch your apron from the hook and slip your head into the loop, then tie the straps behind your back, kick-starting one of the longest days of your life.

At least, you could keep your mind distracted, thinking of what you’d wear in the evening. Mattias would take you to the theater. Hamlet posters have been saturating the city, walls and lamp posts covered to the brim.

A melancholic smile tugs up one corner of your lips. He’s not Levi, but you still could give it a shot. Why not?

Levi. Levi. Levi.

Levi, the one who made you understand the songs of love and heartbreaks.

Tears swell in your glassy eyes, but you wipe them right away. You can’t let him ruin your day.

The lock of the door clicks. You twist the knob and push the door open. You stomp in, your heels click-clack down the entryway. The switch snaps, followed by a faint buzz, and the lights flutter on. You slip off your coat and leave it on the hanger, your purse too. You flump on the cushion bench and take your mauling shoes off.

Darkness envelops you again, and you cross the living room, then pass by the kitchen and you spot his silhouette, coated in the silver gleam of moonlight that dress him in luster and carve the line of his brows and scarred cheek into chiseled marble.

Pathetic.

He’s sitting at the table, kind of. Bare toes touch the floor. His head is nestled against his bicep. Arm stretched out, and a hand dangling over your side of the table. Two empty bottles of wine toppled, and the one standing half full. Fingers curled around the stem of the glass. He tilts it, and the glinting crimson bottom drop slants.

“Loser.” You heave.

He spots the smudged edges of your lipstick. “Did you have fun?” He rasps, the glass languidly spins in his hand. Yes Levi, scrape the scab. Let the wound bleed again.

“I did.”

Barb wire scourges his back.

You turn around, ready to leave, but you still can't pluck out the thorn of your heart. You’re afraid that as soon as you pull it off nothing would stop the bleeding.

But you need to know.

You clomp to the table and stand on the spotlight when he can see you. You’re heaving. You walk back and forth with your arms folded over your chest. If you were a fire-breathing dragon you would have already set the whole building on fire. Levi snorts at the thought, pulling the pin of the grenade.

“Whatever you have to say, say it.”

Your assuaging saunter, that felt more like a yomp, halts, and you clear your throat.

“Why? When are you going to stop playing this game? Just tell me how miserable I have to be for you to be happy?” You shout the last part, and he jerks up. “I try to move on with my life, heal wounds and you insist on sinking deeper, making me feel guilty.”

Your eyes sting with tears, your fists clenched by your side. A throbbing vein pops in your temple, threatening to explode. You’re trembling and the clog that seizes your chest and throat grows bigger.

Don’t cry, shit I make her cry.

His feet drag him to you, like inertia and he’s standing in front of you.

“Fuck, say something. Please.” You plead amid sobs.

And what do you want me to say.

It's true. In the depths of his heart, in the black rotten corner, there is something that does not allow him to move forward, and sometimes it spreads in him like a cancer. Grappling him like dense shady hands. They control him, and he ends up doing what he swore he'd never do: hurt you.

Driven by an impulse, his fumbling hands slip on your damp cheeks. His palms are warm, and they feel right. And before you know it, his lips are brushing yours. Your eyes widen round like plates, white glinting flecks quiver in your dilated pupils like stars forming a mantle of diamonds over the calm waters of a lake. You close them. Blood rushes through your veins with a fizz of delight.

Your hands relax, your nails are no longer digging into your palms.

Like his hands, his kiss is rough. His mouth mashes against yours as if to flatten and trounce your lips. The bristles of his three-day-stubble chafe against your chin as he squeezes your cheeks firmly, as if to keep you from running away. This is wrong, this is a mistake. Tears wring out through your lashes. You work your mouth against his, plunging your tongue in his, wrestling with him for control. Red wine, that’s what he tastes like.

The chirping voice in your head keeps nipping This is wrong. And you listen to it.

You reel back, his mouth chasing you, and then the sting of your palm on his cheek scorches him. Gaping, trembling, he’s looking at you, his own hand pressed on his face, burning with the shape of your slap.

“What the fuck?!!!”

You holler in unison, eyes slather with rage.

“Why did you kiss me?!” His shirt wrings in your tight fists.

“Why did you kiss me back?” He spits, his voice scrapes each syllable like sandpaper.

“Fuck you, Levi Ackerman, Fuck you! FUCK YOU!!!” You squeal, eyes stinging red with madness. Your punches on his chest doesn’t budge him, yet he doesn’t stop you. He knows he deserves it. He deserves being stab with a toothpick, you could flay him with a nail clipper, and he’ll take it.

His tears are seeping out too, unfamiliar sensation.

“You’re old enough to keep playing this fucking game!!! Pushing and pulling. The rope will eventually snap, and we will fall on our butts.”

And your rope is hanging together by a single thread.

“You’re hurting me.” Your wails and sobs hung in the air, stabbing his ears with a screwdriver.

Your head rests on his chest, his moistened shirt feels like a cold bite against your cheek. "I want to love you, but you won't let me. When you leave the door ajar and I try to come in, you slam it shut in my face.” A long sniff. “It’s always been that way, Levi. Always. And I've had enough. I don't want to waste any more time waiting for you.” You inch back and stab a finger on his chest. “If you can’t give your all, I don't want anything. Simple as that. So, make up your fucking mind before you end up destroying you. Destroying us.”

He always loved you in his own way with silences and distances because he didn't know any other way, because he was afraid.

His eye pierces you, but no word comes out of his mouth. His silence is the answer.

“Good night, Levi.” You mutter. You turn around and walk toward your room.

Fuck, he rubs a hand over his face. The heap of emotions are about to crush his head and all he can think of is how beautiful you look in that red dress. The skirt billowing at your knees. Mesmerized in the sway of your hips.

He stretches out a hand before him, hand splayed open. Turn around, turn around and look at me. His mind calls you, but it’s forwarded to the voicemail.

You slither through his fingers.

His body feels heavy, as if he had looked Medusa in the eye and turned to stone. His legs do not respond. He tries to take a step but his knees buckle. He clings to the tablecloth and a fraction of a second later, an explosive wave of pain bursts in his face. Glass shatters and a bright stain of red expands on the wooden floor.

“Levi!” You slap a hand over your mouth, panic surging and infesting every cell. You tiptoe avoiding stepping on glass and crouch next to him, slipping an arm around him. He holds onto you.

“Levi, I’m here, I’m here’ I’m here.” You croon. He lolls his head and a smudge of blood smears over his right eye.

“Don’t look at me, please, don’t look at me. Not like that.” His voice quavers. He hisses as the tears prick his cuts.

You tow him up. “Can you walk?”

He nods.

He no longer weighed so much as he used to. After the war, a poor diet and lack of training had trimmed down his muscle mass.

You sit him on his bed and carefully sling off your arm. You rush to the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit and clean his wounds. After so many tumbles, you were already an expert at patching him up. He winces and hisses and tries to pull away, the last not for pain, but shame. Your fingers lace through his hair and sweep his meddlesome strands away. You swab and dab a cotton ball on the cut above his eyebrow and gauze it.

“Thanks,” he shyly mutters, gazing down.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?”

He shakes his head.

You place the kit on his nightstand, and the mattress sink with your weight. He eyes you askance and fights the urge to tangle his hand in yours. Oh, fuck. He wants to touch you.

Your eyes sag, your shoulders too. Dismay and fright ebb from your limbs, and the wave of weariness crashes in your shore.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Serenity envelops his voice.

“Yeah,” you breathe and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I was dozing off during the play, but dinner was great. He was kind and gentlemanly, never tried to overstep or do anything I didn't want, but…”

“But?” He turns his face to you, lifting a brow.

He’s not you. “We don’t have much in common.” You chew on your lip and scratch your temple. Your eyes met his.

Deafening silence engulfs you.

You lean back, your hands embed on the bed behind you. You sigh.

“Is there anything you want to say?” He folds his arms over his chest and turns his head to see you.

“I hate that you can see right through me, and I can't figure you out.” You flump back onto bed, your tangle of hair sprawls around your head. “It's just that I feel like life is passing and I'm not. The years. And I…I,” you swallow, “I want, I always wanted to build something with someone, settle down,” you purse your lips into a thin line and tuck an arm beneath your head. “have a family. I don’t know, maybe I’m being too childish and greedy, but I want an ‘I love you’ whispered to my ear, good-bye and welcoming kisses. I want a man who will sweep me off my feet, who drives me crazy, in a good way, who loves me and protects me. A best friend. Someone who makes me laugh. And the best lover, someone who loves me so well that I can't look at anyone else." You let out a loud guffaw and haul yourself up, wiping off your tears of laughter.

You swing your head and meet his eyes. He seems lost, lips parted, a dull gray orb drills you. You feel the temperature and weigh of his gaze. You know it by heart.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The blow dislodged something in his head.

If you can’t give your all, I don't want anything. Your words, like an annoying luminous advertisement, light up in his head in the most fluorescent and annoying colors.

You were right. You don't deserve bits and pieces or leftovers. You didn't deserve a cowardly love like the one he had shown you all this time. He didn't have the strength to fight like he used to, but even if he had to crawl in the mud and fight with his fingernails and teeth, he would protect you. He could give you all the kisses you want until his lips are blistered and worn out; with effort, he could tell you ‘I love you’. It’d take time and you’d understand. He'd adore you till the end of time; he'd walk on a path of rusty nails to bring you a cup of tea. He'd drive you crazy, but not the way he's been doing it, he could be your best friend, and come on, his shit jokes are not bad. He’s seen you laugh at them. And damn, he'll love you, every day even when his cock won't stand on its own and he'll need the little blue aid.

“Levi,” you snap your fingers, the wanton brush of his fingers on your thigh tickles you, but more than that, it sends shivers through you. It’s electrifying, arousing. “Levi.”

Your voice awakens him, and his eye flicks to you, then to his sneaky hand. He stops but doesn’t retrieve it. Instead, he searches your eyes again.

You don’t flinch, you don’t react at all. For a while, you’re drinking each other through your eyes. Tired, beaten up, physically and emotionally.

And then a desperate kiss, an unzipping sound. Clothes pooling on the floor. The cold biting your naked bodies. Caresses, kisses; moans, groans, whines, and giggles composing an erotic melody. You map your bodies with your hands and lips. Lying on your sides, facing each other, you swing a leg over him. He studies your face, and you nod and kiss him, and he rolls his hips, sheathing himself into you, slowly, both tensed and holding your breaths, and then he’s fully inside you, enveloped in your silky warmth.

He stills, getting use to you and letting you get use to him. You smirk, and squeeze your walls around him, teasing him, and the fluttering around him would make him blow up soon.

“Fuck, Y/N. Don’t do that.” He grunts and hisses and begins to move his hips. “Stop doing that, shit or I’m going to come now.”

But you can’t stop giggling and he shuts you up with a kiss. His hands roams over your thigh and hips, his fingers grip tight to your waist when the tingling sensation builds up in his lower belly. Whether it's right or wrong you don't know. Risks take a back seat. You just want everything from him. Everything. His mark on you.

“Come inside.” You muse, and your back draws that beautiful arch and jolts of pleasure unleash through you. Gasping. Your eyes roll back into your head, your lips shaping an O.

He’s about to pull out, but you wrap your arm around him and stop him.

And, Oh, holy fucking shit!

He fills you up.

And greedy you, don’t want him to come out. No. With your bodies still joined, and your legs entangled, drowsiness catches you. Not all love stories are like in romance novels. And it's okay.

Six months later, you got married, in an intimate ceremony. Gaby, Falco, Oni, and the kids–no longer kids– of the 104th were there too. Five more months flew by, and you dropped the news to him. You were expecting, and he couldn't believe that he had created a new life with you. He wept with joy, and immediately, his protective instinct kicked in. He hardly let you breathe, now he had to take care of two, and if the baby was reckless like you, he would lose his mind. You promised not to reveal the baby's gender, and it would be a surprise for him until they were born, but oops, it slipped out a few weeks before term.

The room that used to be yours became his baby girl's room. Onyankopon helped him to make it suitable. They painted the walls in pastel colors, and set up the crib, the changing table and two wing chairs. The shelf was crammed with all the baby would need and more. Onesies, dresses, ribbons, mittens, scarves, even if it was summer. Wipes, diapers, barrier creams, baby soap, and any product he could find with the word baby on it. Although he knew he was not going to use it for the first three years, he also installed the tea set in a corner of the room. He fit in the tiny chairs too.

“Levi, isn’t it too much?”

“No.”

It warmed your heart to see him like that. Deep down you knew he did it because he wanted to give the baby everything he didn't have and more.

Cuddled in bed, he’s gently stroking your belly. It tickles. Your hand intertwine with his, and the baby starts to kick.

“Oi! Don’t give mom a hard time brat,” he spews, and you both laugh.

“She’s gonna be like you.”

“I'll teach her how to kick asses.”

You roll the eyes, shaking your head.

“Do you have a name in mind?” His voice softens.

“Nope, do you?”

“Yeah,” His eyes tinge with wistfulness. “Isabel.” He coos, the name coils in the tip of his tongue like a prickling velvet.

“It’s perfect.”

Dadvi 2022 Masterlist

#Levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #Levi x you #Levi x y/n #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #snk levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #Levi ackerman x you

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because-she-goes · 1 year

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the dinner party

warnings: none, just sweet domestic George fluff since he doesn’t get enough written about him. Enjoy!

A massive pot of boiling water sits on his stovetop steaming away. A few packets of pasta rest off to the side with the garlic, oil and lemon. You have never been more at peace, than cooking their favorite meal for the people you love. Dumping the spaghetti in the pot with a few handfuls of salt to flavor the water. You chop the cloves of garlic in a breeze, watching your beloved fiancé delicately set their kitchen table for six: the four boys, Carly and you. They’ve been on tour for ages and you know how they all eat whatever gross convenience store snacks they can find on the road and whatever the catering people decide to set up for them at the venue if they’re lucky meaning a total lack of home cooked meals. Tragic, you think.

You sigh contently and laugh as you watch the gentle giant debate which side forks go next to a plate. “Right side, Gorgeous. None of us are lefties.” You help the poor guy. Now checking the pasta, deeming it still a little too toothsome to eat. Letting the carbs boil away for a few more minutes. Getting out the special red wine and letting it come to room temp, you go next to him. Leaning into his side and resting your head more on his bicep. Breathing him in, amber, lilac and sandalwood fills your lungs. God, you will never get tired of how heavenly he smells.

“Hi, fiancé.” You beam at him, twisting the engagement ring around your finger to reveal the diamond.

“Hi, my love. Need anything?” He asks kindly, eyes dripping with fondness as he looks at you fiddling with the ring, his own band resting on his finger. You loved the way the gold gleamed off his skin tone. “Music, cheese board, blankets on the couch for later?” He runs through your regular hosting routine.

“Actually yeah, can you turn on that ambient music you made for the holidays? The one we had playing during the boxing day lunch?”

It being late January, you don’t think it is too late to still be playing the holiday dinner playlist. Nervously, fixing your jumper and smoothing out any wrinkles, flipping the ring back to hide it until later. Going back to check the pasta again, you do a happy dance - perfectly al dente! Hearing the music start gently, you call George over to drain the massive pot of pasta. Thanking him and then bringing it back to the stove and covering it to keep the heat in. They should be here any minute you think, checking the clock.

The doorbell rings and George greets Carly and Hann, taking the beautiful bouquet of flowers from her and going to grab a vase from their garage. The pair make their way up to the kitchen and greet you with a hug. Asking if they “could help with anything before the rest of the boys arrive?”, you say everything is settled. George comes up the steps, vase and flowers in a hand as he mumbles a “for you” and kisses your temple. Filling the vessel with fresh water and letting the flowers fall gracefully into place. Grabbing fresh wine glasses and pouring the four of you some, Adam and Carly take theirs with a thank you. Next to arrive is, Ross. “Matty should only be a few minutes behind me”, he says while handing over a tray of delicious looking brownies he made earlier. George steals one immediately knowing how his friend is the best baker of the group. The three friends run off to god knows where upstairs.

“George Bedford Daniel, don’t you go spoiling your appetite!” You say after him with a sigh, swearing sometimes you feel like a pre-school teacher trying to wrangle the lot of them.

Matty comes sweeping in, looking exasperated. “Sorry, love, traffic was brutal from my house. Forgot about rush hour.” He reasons. “Can I help with anything? Wheres the lads?”

“Up here, mate! George got an awesome new home studio all set up here!” Calls Ross from the stairs. Matty runs up yelling something back about him getting that new synth board yet. You shrug at Carly with a laugh. Deciding to finish the pasta, you uncover the pot and dump in the oil, chopped garlic, a squeeze of lemon and some parsley. Giving it a whirl and final taste test, you practically moan the food is so good.

The two of you plating it up, you call George and the guys back down. Carly goes to light some candles on the table and you set all the bowls down in their spots with the bottle of wine and some water.

The guys scarf down their food like teenage boys who haven’t eaten in months. “Unreal, Honey!” George praises, the rest of the group nodding in agreement as words like phenomenal, comforting and delicious are all thrown around. You beam towards George,seeing how how proud he is of his girl. How he got someone so wonderful and so able to fit into the four of them is unbelievable to him. He is the luckiest man ever, he thinks as he takes another forkful of the pasta and sip of wine.

“Well, guys.., we actually have a bit of news…” George begins, glancing at your hands. Carly giving you a knowing smile, her being among the first you told.

“We are engaged!” You cheer, revealing your ring to the group.

“Oh my god! Congrats mate, thats huge!!” the boys cheer as the six of you wrap in a group hug.

George mouths an “I Love You.”

You swoon. “I love you.”

He makes it too easy to love him, you think.

Oh how lucky he is to love her, he thinks.

#Spotify #the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel fluff #drew’s writing :)#NOT matty and nora #bedford danes baby !!#HUSBAND !

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jimmyssnuggs · 1 month

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Okay..so since it's unhinged hours-

Jimmy and Teagan having a night in alone...Teagan making dinner and Jimmy coming home to Teagan in like a dress or something and maybe later that night, she changes into a cute lingerie set?

Jimmy's reaction, etc?

he can tell she’s making his favorite dish as soon as he walks through the door. he had just dropped hallie off at his parents for the night, and the one year old was more than happy to spend some time with her grandparents.

“smells delicious tee.” he wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck as he kisses it.

she’s chopping up some garlic, using her free hand to fluff his hair. “can you dice the onion for me?” she sends him a smile and kisses his cheek when he nods his head.

“i picked up a bottle of wine to go with dinner.” he mentions as she moves to the stovetop, salting the water for the pasta.

“thank you,” she walks over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “i have a surprise for you after dinner.” she whispers in his ear, and his eyes snap to look at her.

“i don’t like surprises,” he lies. “tell me what it tee.” he looks down at the smirk on her lips.

“hm,” she pauses, “you’ll just have to wait until after dinner.”

after, she’s guiding him to the bedroom, slipping her dress down and watching closely at how his eyes turn dark with love and lust.

“teegs,” he walks the short distance to her, running his hands up and down her body. “baby, fuck.”

she’s wearing a new lingerie set, in black. it looks perfect against her tan skin, and he has the urge to lay her down on the bed and have his way with her immediately. the rational part of his brain is telling him to wait, and he’s surging forward to kiss her lips, hovering his body over hers.

“jimmy.” she whines, wanting more from him.

“i know tee, i know. i’m gonna please you, i promise. let me take my time, i want to make this the best we’ve ever had.

by the end of the night, teagan is arching her back off the bed as she comes, and jimmy fuckd her through her orgasm. she’s mumbling about how good she feels, scratching her nails up and down his back. the sound of her moans finish him off, and he’s grunting as he shoots a load into the condom, flipping her around so she’s laying on top of him.

“you did so good. fuck, i felt so good inside of you tee, just like always. you’re always the best.”

she hums in response and her eyes slip shut. he’s scooping her up into his arms, holding her as he draws a bath for them both to wash themselves off.

“i love you.” she looks up at him, pupils wide.

“i love you more.” he kisses her lips gently as they sit in the bath together, soaking up their alone time.

#teagan x jimmy #q chats about her aus #q’s asks

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stardustedsins · 1 month

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Gentle love prompts #44: kisses on the tip of their nose

Tonio/reader (gender neutral reader)

You’re not much of a cook, but Tonio had always said it’s not hard to learn the basic techniques and follow a recipe. It’s learning to craft your own dishes and knowing when and how to change things that’s more challenging, he says.

That’s why you’re in his kitchen in an apron, learning to make his grandmother’s stuffed peppers. He’s starting you off with something easy, a family recipe that he’ll teach you by doing, the way he himself had learned it.

“My favorite kind of food.” He calls it. “The simple dishes that families treasure enough to pass down, along with stories.“

He turns the oven on to preheat and pulls out a large skillet to set on the stovetop for later.

“First, we‘ll chop the onion, garlic, and walnuts.” He says, putting a cutting board on the counter in front of you. “I’ve already peeled and shelled everything to make things easier for your first lesson.”

You watch as he demonstrates safe chopping, with fingers curled and the proper grip on the knife. Then it’s your turn, chopping much slower than him. Your eyes water a bit as you finish the onion, and the garlic makes your fingers incredibly sticky, but soon enough you’ve got everything chopped.

“My great aunt Donna, I’m told, tried to wipe her eyes when they started to water the first time she ever chopped onions.” He pauses for comedic effect, likely recreating the way the story was told to him. “With the same hand that held the onion. She was so miserable after flushing her eye in the sink that she didn’t finish cooking dinner that night, poor thing.”

“Ouch.” You wince just thinking of it. “I guess they tell you that story so you’ll be sure not to do that yourself.”

“Oh, there are plenty of stories like that. What not to do while cooking. It’s certainly a memorable way of learning those lessons.” He laughs. “Now we can cook the onion. Will you get the olive oil from the pantry?”

You grab it and bring it to him, and he adds some to the pan on the stove without measuring the amount, turning on the burner while you put the oil away again.

“Now, we have to stir often with the onion, so you can’t take a phone call and forget about them like my cousin Angela. Her house smelled like burnt onion for days.”

There are plenty of silly anecdotes of beginner’s mistakes to go along with the lesson as you begin to add other ingredients to the pan and finish cooking them. Then it’s on to mixing ground meat together with your hands, the fresh-from-the-fridge chill of it making for a weird sensation. Tonio adds the rest of the ingredients into the bowl while you’re washing your hands, passing it to you to mix.

“Now, we’re almost done!” He opens the fridge and pulls out the bell peppers for stuffing, washing them quickly and putting them onto the cutting board where it still sits on the counter. “To start, just cut a bit of the bottom end off so that they can stand up. Not too much, or they won’t hold the stuffing.”

“I’m guessing someone in your family has had that mishap, right?” You ask, and he laughs.

“Yes, me.”

You laugh along with him, picturing a much younger Tonio with the stuffing spilling out of the stuffed peppers he’s trying to serve for dinner. He walks you through cutting the tops off and scooping out the insides, and then it’s a simple matter of spooning the filling into them and patting it down with the back of the spoon.

“Now they bake in the oven, and we have time to clean up and then relax.” He says when the peppers are arranged in their baking dish with tomato sauce and cheese, and covered in foil. He puts the dish into the oven and sets the timer.

“Most of the work is done, we just have to come and take the foil off in an hour so they can bake uncovered for a bit before they’re done.”

“Then I guess the next step is washing the dishes.” You start to gather them up and stack them by the sink. His sponge turns out to be one of those special ones that lather up the soap for you, and you realize very quickly that in light of that, you may have used a bit too much. A little cluster of soap bubbles breaks free and drifts into the air when you squeeze the sponge.

Tonio wipes down the counters while you wash, and then comes to stand next to you, taking up the drying towel. You hand each dish to him as you finish cleaning them, the two of you chatting aimlessly as you work.

“Oh, hold still a moment.” He gently swipes the towel across the end of your nose, following it with a quick kiss. “You had a little bit of soap suds there. Maybe a little too much lather, hm?”

“Just a bit.” You giggle, raising the sponge to blow a bit of suds in his direction too.

#I hope you like it anon! I hope I did him Justice #sfw #gender neutral reader #my writing #gentle love prompts #diamond is unbreakable #tonio trussardi

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folkgirlhero · 2 years

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The Unbecoming of Elias Bouchard (M, ao3)

After about 1,000,000 years (10 months), my Michael/OGElias fic is finished! Hooray! Enormous shoutout to @blindbeta for doing a sensitivity read (and more, tbh) for me! Check it out here

Excerpt (from Chapter 4):

Some days it was like this:

“You’re too old to sit like that now, surely.” Michael commented, dropping two tote bags of groceries on the kitchen island and shaking off his coat.

Elias grinned where he was sat at the dining room table, chair turned the wrong way ‘round, chin resting on the chair back. “Counterculture ‘til I die, baby.”

Michael laughed and leaned over Elias where he was now frowning at his Perkins Brailler, trying to remember what his teacher had said about telling the difference between “i” and “e”.

“And how goes the memoir?” Michael teased. Really, tell the man you feel like Hemingway on the machine one time…

“It will be earth-shattering, so long as I can learn to spell my name right. Check for me?”

And Michael did, and then started chopping vegetables for their dinner and Elias turned on the record player and went back to clacking away with his tongue between his lips in concentration. The quiet between them was comfortable as a warm quilt, patchworked with the worn scraps of who they were before, and when Michael walked by Elias to go to the pantry, he trailed a hand over his shoulder and Elias leaned into it, easy as anything.

Elias dug his socked toes into the carpet and inhaled the smell of onion and garlic sauteing in a pan and the soft sound of Michael singing to himself and it was perfect.

Then, other days were like this:

The sounds of Michael pacing his bedroom, rambling to himself, his manic bursts of laughter. Elias knew better than to go in and try to talk to him—these dark moods were just another part of their life now. Sometimes Michael was still his ray of sunshine, bright and eager to please and then a switch would flip and his laugh would turn mocking, or he would have a short burst of meanness, like a raincloud passing by, there and then gone. It was a small price to pay to get Michael back, to be allowed to keep him. But that didn’t make it any easier.

There was a crash that suggested broken glass and Elias huffed out a sigh and flipped to his other side, resisting the childish urge to stuff a pillow over his head. Michael—the old Michael—would have been much better at this than Elias was, if their positions were reversed. Michael had been much better; how many times had he held and soothed away Elias’s frantic energy?

It’s just. They weren’t—well, Elias wasn’t sure what they were and weren’t, exactly. They certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not the kind they had been in when they were in their 20s. Elias would say “roommates,” if the thought wasn’t so depressing he wanted to fling himself off the roof, but, honestly, that wasn’t quite right either.

It felt like living with a total stranger, in many ways, except the total stranger knew a handful of the most important things about you and also you were still, inconveniently, in love with him. Also he was a little bit of a monster.

An enormous thud let Elias know that Michael had flipped over the guest bed again. He should really get up and go to him.

Instead, he groped around the bedside table for his earplugs. For all his growth, he was still a coward.

[don't worry, this has a happy ending :))]

#my fic #tma fic #michael shelley #michael distortion #og elias #ogelias/michael

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marvelsimp97 · 2 years

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We Found Love Again (Loki x Reader) Chapter Two - The Walking Dead

Summary: Once upon a time Asgard and Alagaësia had an allience. The Alagaësian elven princess, (Name) usually visited Asgard to learn combat and have kids around her at the similar age. She almost grew up there and became good friends with Loki after the dark prince realized why he wanted to avoid her presence in the first place. They fell in love but never got the opportunity to try and confess their feelings for each other because of the war Alagaësia was in with another kingdom. (Name) was called back to her home and Loki never saw her anymore. But one day, she came back to Asgard, centuries later. Why?

Word count: 2790

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

You walked down the busy streets of the city trying to walk past the people without touching them. You couldn't risk anyone bumping into you and getting your robes down onto the ground revealing your identity. Vendors yelled loudly around you trying to sell their goods, maids and commoners hurried to their duties while you could smell the fresh pastries, vegetables, fruits and wines' smell.

A scent hit your nose making your mouth salivate. It was a roasted deer spiced with pepper and with a lot of potato and garlic roasted with the meat. You weren't completely elven which meant you could try out meat but not as much as a human could eat. Your stomach grumbled but you just ignored it and continued to walk to the palace. You were here because more important cases than your stomach. As you got closer and closer to the palace the houses and people changed as well from poor to the richest ones. Women wore jewels and gowns from expansive fabric while men wore clothes showing off their titles and every of them wore a sword or some kind of weapon on their belts. You drew their attention and you knew you had to hurry if you didn't want the guards to drag you in the palace like you were some kind of lowlife.

You just got out of jail you didn't need to be on that side of the metal bars. The moment you reached the palace's gates guards crossed their spears in front of the gates as you approached them. You knew it would come but you knew it would've cost more energy for you to just sneak inside and you weren't a common visitor of these walls anymore the secret passageways must have been moved and you would end up lost.

'Clarify yourself' spoke up one of the guards. You pushed your hood back to reveal your identity earning a curious stare from both of them. Your cat like (e/c) eyes looked at them coldly.

'I am high ranked visitor of prince Thor. How dare you stop me when I have an urgent case to deliver to him?' you asked faking anger. It usually worked if they were dumb enough. However you weren't so lucky now.

'Who. Are. You?' asked the other guard impatiently. You narrowed your eyes at them and changed to plan B.

'If you really want to know, I am Princess (Name), the heir of the Alagaësian elven kingdom, the childhood friend of the princes. If you wish to question my identity you can always send for Thor and he will clarify my rank and identity to you' you answered not wavering for a second. 'I can wait for his answer here as long as I need to. Thereon! Chop chop!' you waved with your hand dismissively faking impatience. You saw the other guard gulp nervously realizing that only a royal could act this way. You yourself despised this kind of behavior from the nobles and royal people who would need to be the most caring and kind people for their people but you could make things faster this way.

'All right' nodded the nervous guard and went off hurriedly to send for Thor while the other guard eyed you warily your own gaze not showing fear. You stood silently for more than fifteen minutes until a booming voice interrupted your thoughts about just jumping over the gates and running inside to the throne room where you would surely find the blonde.

'(Name), is that really you?!' came a tall... no, that man was more like a bear compared to you, blonde and bearded man. He wore red cape and silver armor with dark blue pants and black boots. His muscles bulged on his arms and you were sure the armor could only contain his muscles on his torso straining.

'Thor? Is that you?' your face changed to a soft and happy expression from the grim and cold one. 'Oh, a long period of time passed by us, indeed...' you walked inside the gates towards the blonde.

'(Name)! What a surprise! After so long!' he picked you up happily and twirled around with you in his arms while you felt all of the air leave your lungs. 'What happened to you? Where is Srunugr?'

Your heart stopped at that question when you heard it and you didn't even realize he already put you down. You could hear fire crunching in the distance, metal meet with metal, painful screams of elves and humans, desperate orders from the commanders of each division... but the only thing you remembered of it all was Srunugr's last howl falling to the ground by a sword pushed through his heart. Thor's large and firm hand touching your face and wiping a tear from your cheek woke you from your daydream.

'I should not have asked that... I am sorry for your loss, (Name)' he sighed with pity in his eyes. He pulled you in a tight hug and petted your hair soothingly. You sniffed at his scent and you found it quite tolerable. You remembered how badly he smelled usually because of the lot of sparring and training when you were younger.

'I have lost my other half, Thor... Two hundred years passed since that and I could not stay at my home land anymore. I just had to come here... away from... that...' you pulled away and wiped at your eyes with your wrists. You looked up at him and smiled at him trying to tell him that you would be okay with time.

'Well... you are always welcomed here, (Name)' he circled an arm around your shoulders and started leading you inside of the palace. 'Do you want your old room or would you prefer a new one?'

'Any room would be good, Thor... and please do not send me maids to help me with anything because I am capable of making my own bath or dress up, okay?' you smirked.

'It is their duty to help you, that is why we pay them, you know... they would come and want to help you on their own fearing they would lose their job' he answered making you sigh in defeat.

You walked with him down corridors after corridors until you found yourself in front of a large pair of doors painted in gold. Thor knocked on them without a word before he pushed them open and looked back at you to follow him.

'Mother, Father, we have a visitor... from Alagaësia' spoke up the blonde turning his parents' attention on him and eventually on you as they sat in chairs. Odin was seated behind his work desk while Frigga sat in another chair reading a book. The queen's eyes shot up to you and the book was long forgotten as she made her way to you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

'Oh, my child! How pleasant of a surprise is this?!' she sighed hugging you tightly.

'Last time you resided on Asgard you left in a hurry... it is fortunate to see you again, princess' boomed Odin standing up from his chair and walking to you lifting your hand up to his mouth and breathing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

'What happened to you? Are you alright? What happened on Alagaësia?!' asked Frigga not waiting for an answer. 'How could they drag you back and immediately onto the battlefield?! You were just a child! It was a blameworthy deed on your mother's part... you were so young yet you had to see so many...'

You looked down on your combat boots and tried to gather the courage to talk about what have happened. Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought back to the time you had to watch all of your friends and family die. Your father was still alive but you did irrevocable things to him pushing him away... far, far away from your reach. You missed him so much... he was your master too and he was always in a special place in your heart.

'Yes... a battle is not for a child... but difficult times requires difficult decisions. Queen Arya has died and... my father took her place' you spoke up your voice changing at the word who took her place on the throne. 'However... I came here because all the time that passed, my heart still aches after Srunugr like it happened two seconds ago. I have failed my dragon, my only companion through life, my best friend and the only one who could understand me and accept me the way I am. I could not stay in my home everything reminding me of my loss.'

'Oh my child!' gasped Frigga hugging you again. 'That is horrible...'

'I only ask for your hospitality as long as I can recover to go back and sort things out the way my mother would do. My people does not deserve the misery my... father brings them. But with a clouded head I cannot help them...' you looked at Odin meaningfully.

'What are you talking about, my child?' asked the old king confusion on his features. 'Do you think Vraë is not fitting for the throne?'

'I saw with my own eyes how he treats everyone who disobeyed him in anyway. I saw how he persecuted the Riders because he has a few disagreements with my master, Eragon Elda. He only sees what he wants to and not what he needs to see.' you answered trying to stay polite and diplomatic. 'Did he try to reassure you, your Highness of how well the elves are? Did he approach you already? Because all he showed you were illusions and lies.'

'He told us about... that you could lose your sanity due to losing your dragon. These were his own words, my child' admitted Odin. 'Does he mean a threat to the other realms? Should we be cautious?'

'You believe me instead of him?' you asked completely surprised. You were imprisoned because no one believed you. You were locked up because they assumed you were mad when you only saw the truth.

'Should we not?' asked back Odin. '(Name), during my rule, I have seen a lot of attempt at taking power away from others out of greed or jealousy. In your eyes, I can see none of them. I can see your mother's knowledge and tenacity, nobility, strength, power, care. Not everyone, moreover, only a few are born with these characteristics. When he contacted my court, Frigga and I could clearly see the falseness of his every word... we even asked for Loki to join us for that one.'

'He could see through Vraë...' you realized earning a nod from both royals.

'It is already late to discuss such matters and you look tired, (Name). I will escort you to your chambers' smiled at you the queen intertwining your arms at your elbows. You didn't even have the time to curtsy to the king and Thor before she led you out of the room. The walk to your chambers was silent and you felt more and more uncomfortable at the queen's silence. You felt like she knew exactly what she wanted to say but she wanted to wait for the right moment. At a corner you turned on her soft voice broke the quiet finally.

'Do you wish to know where Loki is right now? You two had quite the friendship that time' she said. You sighed heavily with a sad smile on your lips.

'I assume he would not recognize me or if he would do he would not want to do anything with me. I left him alone to deal with life when he asked me not to. And I am certain that he have found a suitor already' you answered your heartbreak paining you.

'You did not hear the things he did? Why he is in prison?' asked the queen surprised. You stopped dead in your tracks with wide eyes.

'What have happened to him? Is he alright? Is he in pain? Will he be executed?' you asked jabbering. You grabbed Frigga's elbows and shook them. 'Where is the dungeon? Which way should I go?'

'I will escort you to him' smiled sadly the golden haired woman.

Time skip~

Loki's PoV.

I sat in a black carpeted armchair waiting for my dinner like usual. Surprisingly it was edible and never poisoned which truly surprised me considering how furious I made Odin last time we met. It brought a smirk to my lips as I thought back to the way his nostrils flared with rage, how his face changed into blood red and how he shouted at me.

The book I was reading was one of my favorites however it did not satisfy my need for mischief. The damn barrier secured my magic within my cell which was absolutely boring. I was out of ideas how I could frighten the guards with the image of a beast in the cell instead of myself. I heard steps from the corridor.

'Finally... I thought the All-Father would try with starving me to death this time' I spoke up while putting the book down on the table but it was not a guard's voice replying.

'Your father would not try to kill you, Loki' sounded the calm and always so soft voice from the other side of the barrier.

'Mother... did you not give up hope of making me see the light?' I asked sarcastically.

'Today I brought you a visitor' answered mother. I lifted my head to spot someone I never hoped to see ever again. That woman there, next to my mother, wore the only love's face I knew. That woman had the same (e/c) eyes, pointed chin and fair skin she had.

'Who are you?' I asked quietly anger slowly rising inside my chest. I do not know what is that supposed to be but if it is a trick I will slit the throat of the one who dared to wear the only woman's face I ever loved. When she did not answer me I jumped to my feet and went as close to the energy barrier as I could. 'WHO ARE YOU?!'

'I suppose the phrase that war changes a person is true... am I really that different, Loki?' asked the woman with a sad smile on her face. I tsk-ed and shook my head. If she wanted to play it this way I will surely play along.

'We all changed then' I replied. I turned away and started pacing back and forth in front of them feeling mother's disapproving gaze on my form. I knew it couldn't be (Name). It must have been an illusion, some kind of torture of the All-Father. I knew he would start torturing me after a while and I knew I couldn't let him get to me. 'Tell me, how did the All-Father do this?' I motioned all over her form. 'Taking on the woman's face I called my friend once on you?'

'I am the one you called friend' she hissed the last word irritated. I quirked an eyebrow not feigning my surprise. She looked hurt at the fact I called her friend and not more.

'I need to accept that you are a good actor... mother please tell, father that he can double the money he would have given to her' I turned to mother who started shaking her head. Did any of them think it was a game?! I knew I could show my rage at any moment and would erupt so I had to cut it short.

'I am no actor, Loki. Look at me and try to look farther than your nose to see the one you sneaked out in the middle of the night to play hide and seek in the library or the one who gave you the case knife which is on your belt even now, after all this time! Look at me!' she shouted angrily which only made me angrier. How could she know about it?! How could Odin tell her such things when I hid every evidence of my affection towards her?!

'YOU ARE NOT HER! YOU CANNOT BE HER! SHE DIED!' I shouted not bearing it anymore. The illusionist stepped back with tears in her eyes, her mouth ajar and disbelief clearly on her face. What left me speechless was the next thing she said.

'Yes, I died Loki... but I promised you something on that night... and I came to fulfill it' her voice rang in my head even after hours of her departure. She couldn't be (Name)... she couldn't be...

To be continued...

#romance #loki god of mischief #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #mcu loki #loki x you #thor #frigga #odin #angst #lovestory #eragon #saphira #the inheritance cycle

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wholesomebellies · 1 year

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Olive and Rosemary Bread

I’ve always shied away from making bread. In my head, it was all too hard. The idea of letting it sit for hours and even overnight just didn’t work for me. I knew there had to be a simpler way to make fresh bread, quickly.

So, I came up with what I believe is a simple version and super tasty. Now the artisan bread makers may call my bread a baker’s sin – so sorry in advance to all the bakers if this recipe is not the right way to make bread.

With my busy schedule, this bread recipe is perfect for our family. In fact, I make it weekly now and we don’t buy bread very often. How good is that!

Prep time: 15 minutes

Cook time: 15 minutes

Total time: 30 minutes

Serves: Makes approx 20 biscuits!

Ingredients

500 grams of flour of your choice – either a white baker’s flour or wholemeal, spelt or a combination of them

1 teaspoon salt – we like to use Himalayan or sea salt

1 – 2 teaspoons chopped rosemary – you may like more if you are after a strong rosemary flavour. Fresh or dry herbs will work

½ cup black kalamata olives, chopped – you can use green olives too (yum)

1 teaspoon garlic powder – you can substitute for onion powder or keep it plain if you prefer

2 ½ teaspoons dry yeast – make sure once you open a brand-new packet you keep it in the fridge

1 ½ cups warm water

Method

In a large mixing bowl combine flour, yeast, and salt and mix well. Then pour in the water and with your hands combine to form a ball of dough. You don’t want your dough to be very firm. In fact, it’s best if it is a little bit sticky.

Dust some flour on your bench and place your dough onto the bench coating it in the flour.

Hand mix into the dough the chopped olives and rosemary. A great technique here is to simply fold the dough repeatedly until the olives and rosemary are eventually mixed through. There is no need to knead this dough just a gentle few folds will suffice.

Shape your dough into a round ball and then place it back into the bowl and cover well with cling wrap or a tea towel. Let your dough sit for at least two hours (the longer the better) to grow. It needs to at least double in size.

Ideally, bake your bread in a dutch oven. If you don’t own one never fear, I’ve made my bread in any type of pan or baking dish and it works well there too.

Once your dough has at least doubled in size place it in your dutch oven or baking tray. Score the top of your bread with a knife creating three to four lines across and then horizontal.

Let the dough sit in the dutch oven or tray for another half hour – covering it with a tea towel. This allows it to grow a little more. Bake in the oven for 30 – 40 minutes at 190 degrees.

If using a dutch oven bake first 20 minutes with the lid on and then remove.

Remove from oven, let cool, then slice up and enjoy!

Equipment you Need

Large mixing bowl

Dutch oven or baking tin of some sort – any shape will work. Even a cake tin

Baking Paper or silicone mat

Mixing spoon

Measuring Cups

Cooling rack

So why do I love this vegan recipe so much? I like this bread so much is that it’s full of flavor, it has a delicious, hearty, rustic taste with a soft centre and crusty outside. The bread smells heavenly as it bakes – always a bonus.

There may be some vegan cooking schools that teach bread making. Out our vegan cooking classes, Brisbane we don’t bread making, but we are delighted to share our recipes here with you for free.

There are numerous types of flour that make delicious crusty breads – wholemeal, spelt, rye, etc. These types of flour are often healthier and supply more protein, fibre, multivitamins, and minerals

Regular Flour is the standard in most other recipes. However, it’s not as healthy and has a lower protein content.

Whole wheat flour or wholemeal is made from white flour that replaces the part of the grain lost when the husk, endosperm, bran, and germ are removed to produce refined white flour. Wholemeal flours are more nutritious than white flours because they contain the entire grain. You can also use Spelt Flour – spelt is a type of wheat, usually known as a superfood, and can be used as an alternative to ordinary flour in any recipe that traditionally calls for wheat flour. Spelt is an ancient form of wheat that has been cultivated for thousands of years and has been used medicinally for over 2,500 years..

The other great thing about this recipe is that you can add in whatever fillings you want instead of olives. If you think you want a garlic flavour by adding garlic powder or maybe some seeds in the bread like pepita, pumpkin seeds will be amazing – just do it!

Check out our vegan cooking classes in Brisbane to learn how to make incredible vegan dishes to pair with your freshly baked bread.

Frequently Asked Questions

How much bread does it make?

A standard-size loaf tin or 25cm round time.

How long will it last?

As it’s preservative free the bread will last up to 3 – four days wrapped and kept on the bench. Keep in the fridge to last a couple more days.

Can you freeze?

Yes absolutely. Recommend slicing first then wrapping in a plastic bag and placing in the freezer

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orientaltasty · 1 year

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Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe | Oriental Tasty

Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe by Tasty INGREDIENTS: 2 cups penne pasta about 8 oz 1 tablespoon butter 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 small chopped yellow onion about 1/2 cups 2 cloves garlic minced 1 1/2 cups canned crushed tomatoes 1/4 teaspoon chili flakes or to taste salt to taste Preparation Heat a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add the olive oil and onion, and cook until the onion is translucent, 8-10 minutes. Add the chile flakes and garlic, and cook for another 2 minutes, until fragrant. Stir in tomatoes and simmer uncovered for 20 minutes. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta according to package instructions. Save ½ cup (120 ml) of pasta water, then drain. Add the drained pasta to the sauce. Stir well, adding a little pasta water if needed to loosen the sauce. Season with salt to taste. Enjoy! Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe INSTRUCTIONS 1- Melt the butter with olive oil in a medium skillet. Add the chopped onion, cook over medium heat until the onion is soft and translucent, about 5 to 6 minutes. 2- Add the garlic and cook stirring for 15 more seconds. Then pour in the crushed tomatoes and bring to a simmer – season to taste with chili flakes and salt. Simmer for 15 minutes. 3- Meanwhile, bring a medium pan of salted water to a boil. Cook the penne until al dente about 10 to 11 minutes, or according to package instructions. Drain the pasta and save 1/4 cups of cooking liquid. 4- Add the pasta along with the cooking liquid to the tomato sauce stir well to coat and cook together for 1 more minute to merge the flavors. Adjust the seasoning to taste and serve right away. Easy Penne Pasta with Tomato Sauce For me, there are very few meals more comforting than good old pasta with thick and flavorful tomato sauce. This dish seems very basic; it actually is. It consists of only six ingredients: olive oil, butter, onion, garlic, crushed tomatoes, and a handful of excellent Italian penne (I don’t count salt and chili flakes). The secret is to use the best ingredients you can find and cook pasta to a perfect al-dente. Yes, as easy as that. If you’re looking for a quick-fix meal for dinner, this pasta is ore than simply perfect. It will take you under 30 minutes to make, but the flavor and texture are incredibly satisfying. Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe The love for this pasta comes from my childhood when my mom would make it for me after her a long and restless day at work. She was never shy of using garlic in this one. Since then, I’m absolutely in love with the smell of freshly crushed garlic sizzling in hot oil. In summer, she would use fresh tomatoes from our garden, and in winter, we would open a can of our homemade crushed tomatoes vividly red as a communist’s flag of a country that doesn’t exist anymore. I haven’t had this pasta in more than two decades, and I can’t describe to you how much joy it brought to me (hello nostalgia). I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. Make it for someone you love and spread joy. -------- #PenneWithTomatoSauce #OrientalTasty #مطبخ_سُمية #مطبخ_سمية #food #foodie #instafood #foodphotography #foodstagram #yummy #foodblogger #foodlover #instagood ------ Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe #food #likes #delicious #sweet #bhfyp #vegan #dinner #breakfast #cake #chocolate #homemade #healthyfood #lunch #foodstagram #healthylifestyle #yum #foodphotography #dessert #foodgasm #foodblogger #foodlover #food #indianfood #foodlove #foodphoto #fooddiary #foodiegram #foodoftheday #foodshare #foodforthought #foodandwine #foodtruck #foodcoma #foody #foodbeast #foodaddict #foodisfuel #foodoptimising #foodforfoodies #food52 #foodnetwork #foodislife Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe by Oriantal Tasty #food #foodjournal #foodbaby #foodblogging #foodfeed #foodiesofindia #foodilysm #foodtravel #foodsg #foodblogeats #foods4thought #foodtography #foodpicture #foodfestival #foodyhanoi #foodpanda #foodiechats #food4thought #foodwinewomen #foodgraphy #foodforfuel #food #foodporn #foodie #foodstagram #foodphotography #foodgasm #foodblogger #foodlover #foodpics #foodpic #foodies #foods #foodblog #foodgram #foodlovers #foodiesofinstagram #foodstyling #foodart #foodlove #foodphoto #fooddiary Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe by Tasty #redsauce #delicious #dinner #homemade #lunch #foodstagram #yum #foodphotography #smallbusiness #foodgasm #foodblogger #foodlover #tasty #pizza #eat #cooking #foodpics #foodies #pasta #chicken #cheese Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe by Tasty #redsauce #comfortfood #homemadefood #mexicanfood #spaghetti #garlic #sauce #basil #cheesy #lasagna #meatballs #hotsauce #pastalover #parmesan #garlicbread #italiancuisine #food Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe by Tasty #redsauce #penne #tomatosauce #homemadepasta #pastalovers #pastapasta #pastasauce #whitesauce #redsauce #marinarasauce #greensauce #redsaucepasta #food

#youtube #redsauce #creepy pasta #foodie #food #foodporn #foodphotography #italianfood #redsaucepasta #Penne With Tomato Sauce Recipe

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