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takes1 · 3 months

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Bakugou has a crush on popular!fem!Senpai!reader. I love the idea of him trying to keep up with his senpai (senpai has no idea about his feelings, of course). maybe a little angst and where senpai's male classmates know about his feelings but don't see him as a threat because they think it's just puppy love and don't take him seriously

i took it in a slightly different direction, but hope it still holds up. kept the themes the same at least! 1st year bakugou/3rd year reader, puppy love, that sort of thing. tried to honor the angsty part, too. hope this does the job!

warnings. heavy alcohol consumption, suggestive petting details. sfw / nsfw to follow in p.2 / some suggestive petting / afterparty/houseparty / shadowing / mentor!reader / 3rdyear!reader / 'unrequited' love / puppy love / bakugou being a lightweight / sweaty bakugou / 1.6k words 🤍 scenario series. i have so much bakugou, please go check all of those scenarios out! / there will be a part 2 to this! / bakugou headcanons more links. my ao3

*shadow week: when a student follows and observes a third-year for a short period of time, such as a day or a week, for training purposes

The afterparty was much more crowded than you realized; the usual rule against first-years had been reversed in the spirit of shadow week. Right on the coattails of that stiff internship mixer, it was a pretty fitting way to finish out the week.

With the addition of a more excitable crowd, the general vibe was intense, loud, and near dizzying. It wasn't really your style.

You opted for watching, nursing something strong. Dancing, screaming, and the like was better far away. You didn't have the energy tonight, but you needed to make sure your shadow got to see what something like this entailed so the tradition might live after your class graduates.

Of course, you lost him almost immediately. He was steaming, almost itching to get away from you as he had been all week. The randomization process of choosing Mentors and Shadows faired unfavorable to you, because you couldn't have asked for a more difficult person to train.

It was an hour in and you still sat in your spot, surrounded by your closer friends who shared the same temperament about tonight in particular. Some normally big personalities took it easy in the presence of the younger crowd.

Togata settled in next to you with a big sigh.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?"

Your snort turned into an actual laugh. That's how you knew you were feeling it.

"Nothing much," You glanced around the room, half-concerned about your Shadow, "You seen that Bakugou kid?"

Togata rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"Probably left as soon as he realized a 'rager' meant a good time."

You both shared a chuckle and went on to talk about anything else.

Bakugou did, in fact, have a different idea of what this afterparty was going to be like. But his inhibitions had melted away long ago when he, unknowingly, began to drink a loaded cup.

He had inadvertently pissed off the guy in charge of the cooler with his usual attitude, and got himself the nastiest-tasting diet coke imaginable.

Bakugou didn't know any better. He believed this was a new disgusting flavor the Coca-Cola company came out with on the tails of their coffee bullshit, so something reminiscent of cinnamon didn't set off any red flags.

Thanks to this drink, easier to get down by the minute, he did seem to be having a better time at the party than he thought he would.

For a while, after the buzz melted away his better judgement, he searched for you, but quickly became distracted when he found some of his peers dancing fervently to a karaoke song.

The sight of Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari going crazy to a shitty, dated pop song made a rare grin spread over his face. It felt funny smiling, so he laughed and the unfamiliar sound from behind them caught their attention.

They all looked relieved to see him, somewhat amused, in on a joke he didn't quite understand.

Sero laughed after he greeted them and exchanged charged looks with Kaminari-

"Dude-haha, Bakugou-- what's up with you-?" Kaminari giggled under his hand.

Everyone was laughing, the music was so loud, and he felt good.

"I dunno!" He yelled and swung to grab Sero's shoulder.

The tallest of them flinched embarrassingly hard with a short, alarmed noise, but was met with droves of laughter from the rest of his friends. Bakugou was the loudest among them.

He had to catch his breath and leaned back with a hand on his neck. He raked his hands through his hair, a little dizzy, a little heavy, and somewhat confused, "Fuck! I feel so good!!"

His eyes were big as he finished his cup. Kirishima grabbed it from him after he was done and smelled it. He muttered something under his breath, but nobody saw.

"Yeeesss!! I fucking LOVE this song ohmygod," Bakugou belted, but hardly even loud compared to the booming bass behind him.

His well-muscled arms dropped, and he turned with vigor and pointed glee to the first person he saw.

It briefly occurred to him that something wasn't right. The way his perception grew fuzzy wasn't normal but he couldn't keep a worried thought for long enough to actually get worried.

You were leaning against the counter from your barstool. You looked mellowed- buzzed, and relaxed. Your crooked smile was partial to Togata, the big, burly blond consistently at your side. You shared a slow, intimate conversation that Bakugou very much wanted a part of.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, dodging a supportive hand from Kirishima, and stumbled towards the two highest ranking in the room.

He approached faster than he intended.

His hands landed to catch himself on your parted lower thighs, but he was heavier under the influence and leaned a little far forward. There were about ten of you swirling around the room.

Your stomach pooled with a warm, fast buzz that spread a blush from ear to ear.

Bakugou was coated in a thin layer of musky sweat, no doubt from the combination of his loaded drink and intense dancing.

He was panting softly, eyes lidded when he caught himself on you, his handsome, chiseled face tilted in a drunken daze. Your heart was beating between your legs as you looked each other up and down simultaneously.

Oooh, man.

You hardened up, just a little, and cocked your head to the side, "You feelin' alright, bud?"

Your hand raked through his sweaty, spiky hair, and his entire body shifted to that side. He hummed, smiling, and gripped your plush thighs harder. Fuck, you were warm, and strong; he wanted to fall asleep here.

A larger, scarred hand grabbed the first-year's shirt.

"I think he's had too much."

You looked up at Togata, radiating irritation with a face that didn't match. Your stomach twisted again and you shifted in your seat, which in turn shifted Bakugou.

As he moved to pull Bakugou off, you got another whiff of that sweet smell. That must've been from his Quirk, afterall.

Your head fell back with a sigh while he was beginning to be escorted away by a kind, although a little patronizing, Togata.

Bakugou popped him with a shout and you jumped up- thankfully most people were also screaming to the song, which helped to soften the blow of the tense scene playing out in front of you.

"You need to leave, kid," The older of the two asserted, despite the singe on his shoulder from where he was pushed.

The both looked frilled and ready to make a scene.

Bakugou squinted up at him.

Before he could spit out a horrible insult, or threat, or anything else bubbling beneath the surface, you placed your hand on his wavering shoulder and took up the space in his vision in front of Togata.

"Hey," You said gently, eyes dodging around his very clear signs of heavy drinking, "Hey--,"

"Hey," It sounded almost like a question coming out of his mouth.

Togata moved back. This was something out of his jurisdiction; you were technically in charge of the kid, anyway.

Knotted muscles loosened against your touch, heavy and uneven. He watched, focusing and then glazed again on your pretty bottom lip. It was quiet for a moment between you.

His infatuation; your concern.

"Have you been drinking?"

He shook his head, concern on his brow for a moment-- but it disappeared in a moment's notice. It almost didn't make sense; you tossed the idea that he didn't want to tell you, but then you made the realization of what had actually happened as he swayed, entranced under your gaze.

"Let's…" Your brow furrowed and you glanced around, "Let's get you back to your room."

You wore a distrustful, upturned expression at the sea of patrons. His redhead friend jogged by your side for a moment, about to ask where you were going, but instead of answering, you took the cup out of his hand and threw it in the trash on your way out.

Somebody thought it'd be funny to get some first-years shit-faced. Normally you'd agree about it humorous quality, but this was your shadow. Technically your responsibility for the week.

From the looks of it, he had never touched alcohol before.

It was a cool and breezy walk back to his dorm building. The quiet night gave you space to slow for a while, ask some questions.

"How are you feeling?"

He was out of breath just walking. His stammered for a moment but didn't notice. "Good…good-good, really great."

The anger he usually wore was practically a memory now. His small, permanent frown was the only reminder.

It took 6 minutes for what would've been a 3-minute walk. His hand missed the handle to open the door and you had to catch him, then twist to open it yourself. He didn't help you at all even though you suspected he had the capacity to.

"Alright," You strained, arms locked under his- he was incredibly dense, impossibly warm, and at the moment, very lazy. He melted into you at an awkward angle, breath dancing against the shell of your ear.

Getting him all the way up the stairs was going to take a million years.

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lovrily · 1 year

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hii!! i absolutely love your writing!! 😍 can i request a fic please with steve x fem!reader. mutual pining but they dont know with soulmate au. but steve is the first one who finds out that they're soulmates. thank youu <33

this is so sweet i love it thank u for requesting <3 i'm sorry it took so long, i'm in uni so i haven't had much time to write!! i hope this is similar to what you wanted!! - steve x fem!reader, 4000 words

the fact is that steve harrington knew you were soulmates the first time you opened your mouth, but he thought following that intuition would be corny, so he did not. instead, he let it eat him alive for a decade like a parasite, which made more sense to him to do. in the beginning, at least.

"hi."

this was fourth grade. you and steve had been in the same elementary school classes since kindergarten, and he knew who you were- but not well. you bounced between being quiet and loud; from sitting silently on the school bus with your head rattling against the window, to bouncing around the playground, coattails flapping in the autumn wind. all kids were like this, it seemed. elementary school flew by in a haze of long division, scraped knees, and complementary shaved ice. at the end of the day, every kid would end up talking to one another, at some point, shy or not. but this was the first time you had ever spoken to him.

steve bristled. "hey."

it was an incredibly fascinating phenomenon, you would later realize. the capacity of a child to fall in love with somebody they'd only spoken to once, and for it to never go away, even when adulthood made you strangers.

steve sniffled, cold october wind scratching his cheeks. he had an arm wrapped around the frozen metal pole of the jungle gym, his friends dangling about behind him.

"um," you started. "my friend dropped her journal down there and she's afraid to go get it."

you pointed at the mulch inside the dome of the jungle gym, then to your friend, who was whisper screaming profanities at you for saying, "she's afraid to go get it."

"i'm sorry!" you whispered back.

your frightened eyes followed the trail of mist your breath left in the icy air, dazedly. then you squinted against the breeze, trying not to stare at steve. you didn't want him to think you were weird, and you wouldn't ever have been brave enough to talk to him had your friend not begged for her journal back.

steve swallowed. he heard his heart in his ears; thump, thump. he liked the way you wobbled in the cold, nose all scrunched up as if it would somehow keep you warm.

"you want me to go get it?" he asked. "the journal?"

"yes!" you responded. "if you can. please. thank you."

steve dove into the jungle gym and retrieved the diary like it was a matter of national security. when he returned, valiantly, he banged his head against a rung of the jungle gym and hissed. you gasped, the sound a sharp wheeze.

"are you okay?"

"yeah, didn't hurt. s'fine."

he handed you the journal. the tip of your thumb poked his knuckles when you grabbed it. thump, thump.

"okay," you nodded. "well, thanks. thank you."

"yeah, no problem. you- do you need anything else?"

your lips crept up, threatening to make the widest grin you had ever grinned in your life, but you scrunched them down. don't look stupid.

"oh, no, just this. that's okay."

"okay. just checking."

you blinked at him, then sniffled, wiping your sleeve across your nose. "okay, bye."

steve saw an entire life before him, then; prom, marriage, a mortgage. she's so pretty.

"bye."

that's all he said.

steve's friends laughed like hyenas at him once you had gone. and your friend had dove off the jungle gym to chase you across the field and hiss, "hey, y/n, he definitely likes you!"

you weren't so sure. but you wished he did; that you were sure of.

. . .

steve decided he was going to marry you if you said yes. well, in a few years, at least. he definitely wasn't going to ask you before middle school. that was too early.

middle school came and went and he realized that, regretfully, middle school was also too early to ask a girl to marry you. but he wasn't asking you anything. at all. you never talked to him; and he wondered if it was something he did. he saw you in class, and in the hallways. he saw you help your friends carry their books, and pick the fuzz out of their hair when they couldn't see that it was there. you were kind. he watched your presentations and how your hands shook when you spoke. he wondered why you wouldn't talk to him, if it was because you didn't want to.

"she's just quiet, man," his friends would say. "you gotta' approach her. and, i mean, why would you even wanna' be with a girl like that? sounds boring."

after that, he didn't mention you anymore. to anyone. he didn't like it when his friends poked fun at you, and he especially didn't like that he never knew what to say in return. you were shy, it seemed. or, maybe, you just didn't like him.

or, maybe, you've only talked to her once in your life and if you just talked to her again, she would be your friend.

he decided that this was ridiculous. it was better to never speak to you again, and not have to deal with the scorn of rejection from a girl he had been in love with since age ten.

better to say nothing.

. . .

steve's infatuation became impossible to ignore when you started babysitting max mayfield.

in the fall of 1984- your sophomore year- max's mother contracted you (at a very discounted rate) to watch max when billy, her step brother, could not. at first, this wasn't overly often; just the occasional ride to school and microwaved television dinner. you liked max, and despite her cold exterior, she seemed to like you. when billy realized he could get you to watch max more often at even further discounted rate (a.k.a. no rate at all), he forced her on you more often. what were you supposed to do? refuse to watch her, and let her sit at home by herself? knowing max, she wouldn't sit at home, anyway. she would go find trouble. of course you watched her, even when billy gave you no choice.

this is how you ended up babysitting on halloween.

unbeknownst to you, it was steve's neighborhood that you were wandering through that night. max had gone to meet up with her friends; mike wheeler, lucas sinclair, dustin henderson, will byers- whom you had never seen her hang out with before. she seemed to think they would all be happy to see her, but apparently, some of them were not.

"mike is such an asshole," max huffed.

she kicked at the dirt along the side of the road as you walked. you folded your arms over your chest, fists bundled in your sleeves, hair whipping over your eyes. her michael myers mask dangled in your hand. you hadn't expected to be out all night, you hadn't expected to be working on halloween at all. not that you had other plans to attend to, or anything you would rather be doing, but you hadn't dressed for the weather. a zip-up hoodie was all that shielded you from the brisk wind, erring on the side of winter rather than fall that halloween.

"i believe you," you snickered.

"good. i just don't understand why he has to be such a dick. i mean..."

she continued to flay mike as you meandered down the interstate, having wandered completely away from the sidewalk and any neighborhood you were familiar with. anxiety beat in your chest and pooled in your belly. it had to be close to midnight, and you were nowhere near home. you had to turn around.

"hey, max-"

she ignored you for the distraction of flashing red lights. you had come upon a house; swathes of people milling about outside and dancing dangerously close to the uncovered pool. bodies in bloody corsets and leather jackets swarmed the grass and filled up the windows like paintings. your stomach sunk.

this was steve's house. you just knew it. you didn't know how you knew, but you knew. he always had halloween parties, and everybody came to them. and though you hadn't spoken to steve since, well, elementary school, probably- you didn't want him knowing you had nowhere to go on halloween night. and you certainly didn't want to be seen at his halloween party that everybody was invited to except you.

rightfully so. you weren't friends. he wouldn't want to be my friend.

"oh, shit," max murmured. "whose house is this?"

"i don't know," you mustered. "it's late, though. i'd love to berate mike some more, but we should probably head back towards your house while we do it."

"hey!"

oh, god.

"no fuckin' way," a voice surmised, sauntering over with staggering feet. he was tall, lanky like a pole, blonde as cornsilk. he wore a cheap costume- a blue muscle tank and two fraying boxing gloves. a troupe of boys followed him, each drunker than the last. "i know you!"

"do you?" you laughed, trying to sound unphased. you knew him. he was on the basketball team, one of steve's friends, though you didn't know his name. you wondered if you were about to become the victim of some outrageous, hollywood instance of bullying; like when kids got their skulls smashed in lockers or drowned in toilets in movies.

"yeah. you look alright, huh? never seen you out anywhere before, though. what's that costume? some kinda' track girl?"

thump, thump. your heart was in your ears and your throat. they laughed as you gazed over their heads, scanning the yard. thankfully, steve wasn't around. nancy. he was probably with his girlfriend, nancy.

"you're steve's girl," slurred the blonde.

max glowered. "she's what?"

i'm what?

you blinked like your eyelids weighed a thousand pounds. "no, i'm not."

"yeah you are. he talks about you, like, all the fucking time. well, not so much anymore. cuz' of miss nancy."

the troupe of boys fawned and groaned, mocking and kissing. their laughter filled your ears, an awful sound. they were making fun of you, right? they had to be.

"don't be an asshole," griped max.

they laughed even harder.

"seriously, i'm not joking. he's been talking about you for, like, years. he's obsessed."

your cheeks flared hot and red. there was no hiding your humiliation anymore, no reason to pretend you weren't upset. they could see it. everybody could. how is it possible that you could have made such an awful impression in the fourth grade that steve had been making fun of you for six years? was it that obvious that you had a crush on him?

you positioned max on your left to shield her from the drunken boys and tried to walk away.

"y/n-" max lamented.

"it's fine. no big deal," you whispered.

"goddamn," drawled the blonde boy. "makes sense why he gave up on you. can't even hold a conversation. not nearly fuckin' hot enough to be acting like th-"

the punch that followed landed like a hammer on stone.

you whirled around, clutching max by her shoulders like it would do anything to protect her. the sight before you was something out of dreams and nightmares.

the blonde boy was being hoisted off the ground by two scantily clad firemen, blood dripping from the sweaty skin between his upper lip and nostrils. and it had been steve harrington who'd thrown the punch.

he backed up slowly at first, ringing out his fist like a rag. a black suit was snuff against the breadth of his shoulders, dark hair flopping into his eyes. his eyes scrunched up for a moment, lashes fluttering, and he cursed under his breath. damn. that had to hurt.

you pictured a brunette boy with rosy cheeks, squinting through the cold like it burned him, leaning against a jungle gym.

steve looked at you and you backed away like you would be next. obviously, you wouldn't be. but when he looked at you, his eyes were painted red.

"you alright?" his gaze flashed to the little girl beside you, confused. "both of you?"

he was out of breath. suddenly, you were too. what hell is this?

"yeah," you blurted. "yes. we're fine. i'm so sorry, i don't even know what-"

you took to long to finish your thought. i don't even know what's going on, i don't even know what he meant. why have you been making fun of me?

"i don't know what he said," steve panted. "whatever it was, it's bullshit. he's a dick. don't-"

he faltered.

"i'm sorry," steve scathed. "i don't know what all he said."

"it's okay," you shook your head.

"no." he wiped a hand over his eyes. "it's not-"

"harrington!" the blonde boy shouted. "get your ass over here! now!"

steve kept his eyes on you. "you sure you're okay?"

"we're fine," you nodded, pulling max away, eager to be anywhere else. your head was reeling. "we'll go. it's really alright. we'll just go. don't...don't break your hand."

he made an odd face at you; something amused and furious. you spotted a black glint on the ground. his sunglasses.

you picked them up and held them out. he took them, and your thumb brushed against his knuckles.

thump, thump.

"don't break your hand," you repeated. "just, don't- be...i have to get her home. i'm sorry. thank you."

you took off, max dragging behind you, and halfway home she started cackling. "what the hell was that about?"

. . .

the next summer, babysitting max mayfield turned into babysitting all of her friends, and by then, you were irrevocably intertwined with the upside down, steve harrington, and apparently, russia. you'd seen it all. the demogorgon, the demodogs, steve's bat of one-thousand nails. you'd met eleven, whose pixie cut had grown into a bob, and then bangs. you'd watched her move away, the byers along with her. all of it, you had been there for.

but you refused to befriend steve.

it was the most ridiculous situation (as it always was with the two of you) and you had no idea why. you had no idea why his friends had made fun of you at the halloween party, why your one conversation in elementary school had led him to be so disgusted by you, why, no matter what you did; every class attended, every step taken, every word spoken, every alien-abomination killed- led you back to steve harrington.

steve knew why, of course. you were soulmates. but you hated him. so what was he supposed to do about it? you never talked to him; not when you brushed shoulders hiding from demodogs on an abandoned bus, not when you helped haul him out of the starcourt mall movie theater, his intoxicated head bouncing against the crook of your neck.

he thought about that every time he saw you.

and robin buckley knew all about it. when steve finally caved and told her everything, it was clear to her. she knew, without a doubt, that the two of you were just idiots. and no matter how corny it was, you were definitely soulmates. for better, or for worse.

actually, she knew it before he ever told her. all anyone had to do was watch the two of you.

each time you came to scoops ahoy that summer, steve scooped you a serving of black raspberry chip in a plastic bowl, without you having to order. (he'd seen you ask for it once when robin was working the counter, and had prepared it for you every time since). you were polite each time, saying thank you, you didn't have to do that. and steve would say, oh, no problem. you would turn to whichever kid you were babysitting that day and say, it's my favorite. and each time, steve would smile. but he would turn away and pretend to be scrubbing the sink- which made you think you had pavloved him into giving you your favorite ice cream each time he saw you, that you were holding him hostage somehow, because he pitied you.

this was not the case.

on the occasions in which upside-down business relegated you to riding in steve's car, you always sat in the back, passenger's side, where he could see you in the mirror. steve prefered to drive with the windows down. but his eyes would flick to the mirror, to where you sat in the back. when your hair swallowed your head, the summer breeze blowing it into your eyes and mouth, you never complained. but steve always watched. he rolled the windows up whenever the wind was too strong, without a word.

there was more. when you climbed the rope out of the upside-down into eddie's trailer, he lingered below, hands outstretched incase you fell. when you accidentally snagged your finger on a splinter at the creel house, he set down band-aids and neosporin on the coffee table, and waited around the corner incase you asked for help.

he recognized your favorite shirts. he never touched you without asking, even on accident, even to help. he never made a joke without looking to see if you were laughing. he listened to every word you spoke; to him, to the others, to yourself, but he never pried. he never sat close to nancy when you were in the same room, or robin, even- on the off chance you thought there was something there. he knew your favorite songs, and would search for them on the radio without saying anything. and when you were in danger, he always got you behind him; even if you didn't notice.

"grow the fuck up, steve, just TALK to her."

steve blinked, robin's open-mouthed expression the picture of exhaustion. he swallowed.

"yeah, whatever. okay? i'm not scared."

"don't be dense."

"i'm not dense."

"just tell her you like her," robin huffed.

they were folding clothes at the school, putting them in boxes to donate. vecna had torn a hole in the sky, crimson kindling behind the pewter clouds outside. a storm was coming. things might never get back to normal.

there might never be another moment quiet enough to tell you the truth.

steve nodded. "yeah," he muttered, not unkind. "i guess you're right."

robin threw a bra at him.

. . .

what kind of creep would follow you home in the middle of the apocalypse?

you balled your fists at your sides, charging ahead. the wheeler's house was only a block away, and with no car, you had to go on foot to pick up the remainder of their donations. you were out of breath, sweat beading on the back of your neck, happy and angry to be alone all at the same time. the sky looked like it was bleeding, and everything was changing. so much had already changed, but nothing that you wanted to.

you were aware of the guy's presence behind you, his body a wall of heat, his shadow casting a long grey ghost on the pavement in front of you. his hair flopped over his eyes like some sort of catalogue model, the imprints of his sleeves shown rolled up to his elbows. what a dick.

he'd been following you for about thirty seconds. you were the only person sent to the wheeler's to gather donations, and if this stranger had tagged along for that purpose, he would have told you by now.

you sped up. he sped up. you started running. he reached out his hand, as if to grab the back of your jeans.

you hauled around a wound up a smack that would tattoo your palm-print on his cheek forever.

steve seized your arm.

"what the hell?"

you sucked in a breath. "steve?"

"jesus christ," he panted, glancing between your eyes and your wrist inside his fingers. "you could have killed me."

"oh my god," you breathed out. he released you instantly, and you put your hands on your knees, bending. "oh my god."

"are you okay?"

"shut up! just shut up!"

"okay," he nodded. "okay. just-" he rubbed a hand down his face. "jesus, fuck," he murmured.

"i'm sorry," you stood. lunged closer, lungs deflated like old balloons. "steve. oh my god. i'm sorry."

"no!" he scoffed. "don't be sorry. it's my fault. fuck. i don't know why i didn't say anything, i should have said something."

"i thought you were following me!"

"i was," he nodded. swallowed, like there was a rock in his mouth.

you panted. "oh."

"well, yeah, i-" he squinted. for the briefest, briefest moment, his pupils flicked from your eyes to your lips, swollen in the sun. "fuck."

it was enough. that, right there, that was enough. you suddenly understood.

you saw that stupid brunette boy squinting on the playground, his lips chapped from the cold, his cheeks red as irons. you saw him with blood on his knuckles, staggering away from the friend he had just mauled. you saw his hand outstretched; handing you ice cream, opening the car door, lingering around your wrist.

he hadn't been making fun of you all those years. he liked you.

idiot.

everything bubbled to the surface; you had so much to say but so little at the same time. you were so embarassed, still embarassed, after all this time, after everything.

stop it, you thought. get over it. do something.

so you made a choice.

"kiss me."

his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "sorry?"

you couldn't even repeat it. nerves shot through you like lightning, seizing your heart, making your hands shake.

"if you want to, i mean. obviously. i thought- only if you want to-"

"i want to," he breathed.

"you do?"

"are you kidding me? are you joking?"

you grimaced. "no."

"y/n," steve softened. like a lament, like it was the first time he'd ever said your name. his brows knit together.

he didn't finish his thought. he just did what you asked.

when he kissed you, the two of you locked into place; slotted together like twin shards of broken glass, reunited. his mouth was surprisingly cool despite the blazing heat around you, like his nervousness was palpable, cold to the touch. his hands shook, grazing over your shoulders, your waist, the back of your neck, unsure of where to touch first, like he wouldn't have the chance to touch you anywhere ever again. he landed with one hand on the back of your neck, your hair spilling between his fingers, and the other around your waist, holding you close.

you ducked away for a breath and thought he might cry.

"i have to ask you," you panted.

"yeah, anything," steve breathed.

"at the halloween party, when you hit that guy. you liked me."

"what? of course. always. i always have. i should have said so. i'm so stupid."

"no, you're not. don't say that."

his hands shifted, palms on either side of your face.

"but you weren't making fun of me," you said, even though it was stupid. his pupils were darting across every point of your face- your nose, your cheeks, your chin. "and he wasn't making fun of me. not until the end, at least."

steve's face crumpled. "you're killing me, y/n."

"he meant it?" you grinned. "you did like me? the whole time?"

"for a decade, killer." he grimaced. "stop looking at me like that."

"like what?"

"like that's a good thing. i should've killed him for talking to you like that."

"no," you laughed, because he obviously didn't mean it.

"yeah, i should have. yes."

maybe he did mean it.

you kissed him this time, and you felt him shudder; his fingers twitching across your face. when you pulled back, he ran his fingers over your closed eyes, grazing your eyelashes.

"i'm sorry," he whispered.

"me too," you said softly. "i should have said something."

"no," he shook his head. "no. that's on me."

the two of you sat there for a moment longer. the sky had darkened overhead, the crimson behind the clouds now a shade the color of wine, dark and murky. heat lightning flashed like sirens. hawkins was imploding.

"this town is ridiculous," you muttered.

"i know," steve huffed. like he'd been waiting years to say it. "it's hot as hell. where are you going?"

"the wheeler's, for donations."

"i'll walk you. if you want. next to you, though, not behind you like a creep."

you tried not to grin. "oh, will you?"

steve shook his head, casting you an incredulous look as he fell in line beside you on the sidewalk. "nothing you say could embarrass me, at this point. absolutely nothing."

"why not?"

because i was right, he wanted to say. because i've known we were soulmates since the fourth grade.

actually, it was still extremely embarrassing, so he kept the thought to himself- despite the enormous amount of relief and euphoria it brought him. you'd missed prom, but marriage and a mortgage didn't seem so far off, as long as the world didn't end.

steve just shook his head instead. "nothing. hey, are you following me?"

"shut up!"

. . .

i haven't written in so long i hope this is similar to what you asked for!!! i wanted to write more than just a drabble so i expanded on it i hope that's okay. much love. mwah

#steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you

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hellowoolf · 3 months

Text

electra heart

pairing: din jarin x prostitute fem!reader

summary: with the softness of your body you have bought your piece of luxury, clawed your way to opulence, and wait now on the lustful whims of the rich and powerful. what havoc is wreaked when the only client you've ever loved, your mandalorian, finds you in the golden smoke of a gala on canto bight?

warnings: mention of alcohol, prostitution, reader is literally a prostitute, reader goes by alias "edie", din calls her “edee”, angst, quick mention of killing (bounty hunting), porn with plot, SMUT, soft!dom din, unprotected piv, beskar humping (sue me), tiiiny bit of degradation if you squint your eyes and pat your head and rub your tummy, little bit of begging, fucking in a literal suit of armor, creampie (if i left out any, let me know <3)

word count: 4.7k

authors note: first din fic alert !!! hand on heart i meant to keep this light hearted. and that’s what counts…right ??!!!!

woolfie’s masterlist

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you had been small, once. a young thing born into the streets of tatooine, conjured by them, slipping dirty like a curse through the city with a beggar's cup. in the day, the sand heated to glass and fire, and you trailed in the shadowed coattails of men the passers by could think your father, but with nightfall came the slow, syrupy suck of warmth from land, and even pressed up against building corners and doorways you shivered in the starlight. and what a cruel thing it was to know—to be, even then, so certain of your own poorness. you stuck little fingers through the holes of your clothes to cork the heat of your skin, and reconciled, in the meanwhile, with your birth as a nomad with no place to journey.

oh, but you loved the ships. with festivals held on the plains came warships and single-seat fighters, great discs of silver settling the baking sand, and you circled the throngs of people to let the gleam of sunlit metal blind you, if only for a moment. with scrap metal and a child’s palms you laid your plans there in the tatooine sand, to seek out whatever precious lavishness was left out there for you. beads of sweat jeweling down your wrists you thought yes, you were fit for that sort of life.

it became clear to you, when you came of age, that your body was your only currency for purchasing such plans. kicking stones while you wound through the cityscape, you supposed the home you could make in a brothel, and the money, too, made for an even exchange, and besides, you’d absorbed worse than man. you tap a manicured nail down your glass and hum with the bellish chime. where had all those girls gone? where were they now? you wonder if they’ve caught wind of you from here, if your perfume has traveled that far. you hope so.

“my edie, how are you honey?”

kel talbot is even blonder than you remember him. with his chest to your back in the sprawling porcelain of his bathtub he’d admitted, along the skin of your shoulder, that it wasn’t real, the color. he dyed it when he went home to naboo, he said. still damp and soapy he’d tipped you an extra 5,000 credits, for your discretion and your loveliness.

“i’m well, kelly. it’s always so wonderful to see you,” you lilt back to him. and because you can’t help yourself, so prone to indulgence now, you add, “have you been off home? i haven’t seen much of you here.”

he’s lovely, really, and delighted that you would ask. “as a matter of fact, i have. my mother’s been remarried a sixth time, if you can believe it. a great big ceremony and all, and i really couldn’t miss it.”

you smooth your free hand down the lapel of his jacket, black silk gleaming between the pillars of your fingers as you drag them. you wouldn’t mind him, for the night. “i really miss you so much when you’re gone.”

he steps closer, flattered little smile, and you look up at him through your lashes. “don’t stroke my ego, edie, it’s unbecoming,” he whispers, so thoroughly pleased with your attention on him, and you tug on the bunch of his coat in your palm.

“do you want me to stroke something else for you, kelly?”

he lets out a shuddered breath across your face. heir to an agricultural fortune on naboo, he is all tradition, brought up on pomp and circumstance and a set of shoulders shaped for the head of a long dining table. your innuendos fall heavy on him, always. he doubles over with them, sinks into you to realign himself upright. edie, edie, someone called you edee once, it means jaws, teeth, he’d told you. when it came time to shed your first name, your real name, it’d come naturally. edie, edie. kel is ripe for biting now.

“i–i have somewhere to be, honey, i can’t.” you pout at him a little. he tips generously. “don’t look at me like that.”

you set him back by your hold on his suit and he brushes himself with his palms, dusting the fabric from whatever coital indecency you’ve smeared on him.

“i’ll let you know when i’m in town again, okay?” and he offers it like a favor, and you suppose he hopes it to be one, so you nod with a gentle sigh.

“go enjoy your night, kelly. i’ll be here if you change your mind,” you promise, and with a tender smile his platinum hair filters back through the ballroom.

if you’re honest, you don’t really know the purpose of this event to begin with. canto bight shines bloated with galas and gamblers, and you dance, ephemeral, through the lot of them in search of clientele. scanning the dancing gold and satin of this crowd, collected on the bottom floor of the hotel you work from, you find mostly elderly men, married and elderly. you certainly aren’t above servicing either, though you went out tonight for the delights of it more than anything else. draping yourself in the inordinately expensive wrappings gifted by your previous clients, arms and collarbones dripping over with fine jewelry and precious gems, you enjoy the ritual of it, now. you enjoy the rest of it, too, with the right sort of client. you drag a red gemstone, set in gold, to and fro along its chain, your first little opulence left with the credits on the windowsill. edee, edee. a passing, devastating thought: like the girls from that first whore house you hope he smells you, hope through the filter of his helmet he’s struck with the scent like a sharp ache that sweetens in the middle. and—

you should’ve missed it, really. an inconsequential glimmer in the face of all the light you’ve gulped down these past years, but still you seem to find it, the little silver spotlight convexing through the curve of your glass. it points right on you, the beam, and you tilt the glass back and forth to watch the light twitch along your sternum. your body tenses with the stretch of a memory, of you in the sand on your back with the sterling starships jumping into hyperspace above you. but surely there’s no ship here, you reason, and when you look up, he’s right there. they all wear the same getup, creed driven and plated, but you are certain it’s him. with a cock of his hip and a shoulder leaned up against the wall you are certain, so certain, and he is right fucking there. it’s all coming back to you now, his beskar in the rotting wood of your doorway, little words in mando’a, your name, the first one, in his mouth. your mandalorian.

gliding through the dancing bodies of the ballroom—they part for you, now—you shiver with the breeze of your dress, a great sweeping curtain of red silk. you don’t remember, really, when he stopped coming to see you, only that you were wholly and inappropriately devastated. you missed the stick of him between your thighs, the way he loved you. you were so sure he did, back then, and you find that still, as this diamond sea of people carves a path for you to him, you are still sure. you can feel your own wetness collecting at your seam; you cannot unlearn this want for him.

he doesn’t notice you until you’re inches from his side, and still he won’t turn his head. from his peripheral you are unrecognizable, you suspect.

“which one?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move the way he does as your voice echoes behind his visor. it’s a startled jump, a straightening, a tip of his helmet to the side. you think he’s frightened, at first, a heavy terror that collects through the tendons of his hands, but the fear leaves easy, sugars into wonderment. he says your name, arced in question and through the rasp of his modulator.

you shake your head, look out at the ballroom. “i don’t use that name anymore.”

“i–you…” he shakes his head, knocks something loose, “...what are you doing here?”

you snort. “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i have someone i’m looking for.” and it should be ominous—i have someone to kill here—but his voice is still soft, airy with the sight of you. you turn back to him and nod to the crowd.

“yes, i ask again, which one?”

“you know i can’t tell you that.” and he says it like a memory, like the sweet juice of nostalgia on his lips, he says it like i remember you.

you shrug. “i hoped maybe the rules had changed.”

“mm,” he hums, “century old creeds don’t seem to, i’m afraid.”

you giggle with the youth he brings you back to. it’s so easy, falling back here with him. the tilt of his helmet leans to his other shoulder, dark visor tipping down your dress, and your skin fizzles.

“what’s brought you here, then?”

you mirror the angle of his neck. you know, you know. he grunts around something thick in his throat, your name, the first one, you think. he remembers what you said.

“what do i call you? now?”

the delight that twists through you is a sacred one. “edie.”

this does him in. his head tips back against the wall behind him, steadying breath filtering out. “edee?”

“not quite. e-d-i-e.” he lifts, with what seems a great effort, his head back up to look at you. you continue, softer, “but almost.”

and because you know your mandalorian, you see in the shift of his boots on the ground that he’s as ecstatic as his metal plating will allow. his hands twitch, and you want them to touch you, need him to touch you.

“come dance with me, mando.”

he does his best to hesitate, really, but then you’re out among the swaying people, one gloved hand at your back and the other clasped between your fingers, closer now than you’ve been since he last came inside you some years ago in whorish darkness. you squeeze him thinking of it, the stick and the smell, and he presses you further against the gleam of his chest, yes, i remember, i remember. it’s only here, molded around him, that you feel how much bigger he is, the broad width of his shoulders cemented out past the lines of him you used to tend to.

“you look…sort of different.”

“is that so?”

maker, you love the sound of him like this, so close in, so insistent on whispering, so incapable of doing so. “mhm.”

“doesn’t hold a candle to the changes you’ve made, cyar’ika.”

“mm,” you hum, “you know, it’s funny, i feel much of the same.”

he bunches his hand a moment in the silk of your dress. “the glamor hasn’t pulled you under?”

your laugh reverberates against his chestplate. “oh no, i’m sure it has. i just mean i’ve always liked shiny things.”

he groans, quiet and tight. “and why’s that? you like your reflection in them?”

he unlatches you from his chest to spin you around before fastening you back to him, and your scoff whips an arched path around you. “please, the vain one between us has always been you, mando.”

he lowers his head, great secret on his lips. “i haven’t shown my face in decades, edee.”

you can hear his tongue on the word, and you know he hasn’t said your new name, similar as it may sound. the lapping scoop of mando’a washes you over again with the memories of him. and laughing, again you are laughing. you love this bit. “yes, i do remember that part. though i find it awfully excessive that you prance about the galaxy in this welded jewel of a thing.” you knock against the beskar with a knuckle.

“welded jewel. you’ve gotten metaphorical while i’ve been gone.”

“this crowd enjoys it.”

he glances over and around your shoulder. “and you enjoy them?...this crowd?”

you suck on your front teeth to think on it. “you know, most of them don’t ask for it. not all of it, anyway. it’s mainly a lot of talking, now.” and it’s true. even above the lust, this powerful lot is lonely, irrevocably lonely. he nods, and as your heart hammers and wails you tilt your head up to his helmet to whisper against his visor, “you never wanted to talk, did you mando?”

the band of his arm around your back constricts again, a gruff admission, “no, i didn’t.”

he never did take anyone else in that little brothel, it was only ever you. the other girls liked to watch him pass by through the hallway, luster of his armor glinting in the low light, but he walked a tight line to your door, knocked twice, soft as anything. even in that wooden box, a bed and a window and an empty dresser, you remember the metal of him grating at the joins as he tried to make you feel something. you remember, too, that so green, so newly wrung out as you were, your limbs went limp before his credits ran dry, but he defected to your will, watched your body and worshiped at its altar. when your spine loosened and your hips unwound, still with time paid for, he stepped back into the sanded stench of tatooine, hand-cupped pile of credits on the windowsill. yes, the windowsill and the i’ll come back for you and the creak of the floorboards, you remember it so well.

“how much do you charge these days?”

you’re tightening your thighs together as you sway with him. “don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not.”

a ribbon of air releases from your nose, be steady. “20,000 credits.”

and he doesn’t flinch, only lets the hand around your back slip along the gloss of your dress, drawing a line above your ass with his thumb, the line he won’t cross without purchase. “i’d pay it.”

you can’t help this now. “will you?”

whatever mark he’s come to kill tonight is slipping through his fingers, but you fill that space just fine. his helmet tilts, and you feel a leather paw come up to retrieve that little red necklace from the hollow of your collarbone. the pad of his glove passes over the gem once, twice, body tightening and buzzing in metal. “this is mine,” he chokes.

yes, it is. you nod. and he’s decided, it seems. with a modulated groan and let’s go in your ear, he’s shepherding you from the ballroom, hand tight at your waist as you find your way to the elevator. and what with the ceremony of your mandalorian, the tediousness of his armor coming off, you fill the elevator shaft with the smell of your drooling pussy and the air thickens with the buzzing glow of you both together again, but you do not move. the tickle of his eyes through tempered glass rubs behind your ears, still a killer, always a killer, you think, just as you are forever what you have always been. the two of you, frozen in blood and sex, the only warmth you’ve ever known. this reality pulls behind your tongue and you gag on it.

ding. the doors slide open.

you press a thumb to the screen on your doorknob and your mandalorian crowds up behind you, lets you feel the cool touch of his body, the heat that peeks out at the corners. with thick fingers squeezing at your waist and the hard curve of his helmet at your hairline, your knees buckle with the thought that you might have loved him, too, perhaps fatally, but as the lock clicks open and he pulls you inside you suppose it doesn’t matter much now.

you’ve worked this room for nearly a year. a window expands from one wall to the other, beams the morning light and warms the bed sheets, and in the drab of afternoon, twinkle of the city just barely cresting over the sunshine, you watch the people below. drunkards and lovers and princes, you scratch their heads with the cliff of your nail, nose against the glass and breath fogging there, drawing up their mythology and smudging it with the skin of your palm. now, though, with the constructed starlight of clubs and casinos shouldering its way through the night’s darkness, the room bathes in polluted light and the faint sound of wealthy indulgence. there is no windowsill for your mandalorian to balance his payment.

“come here, edee.”

he’s sat himself on the edge of the bed, hand running up and down the metal expanse of his thigh. you stalk your way to him, ruck the hem of your dress up passed your knees to straddle his leg, and slowly, so slowly, through honey and slick and years of parted wanting, he brings his hands to your sides. you splay your fingers on his helmet.

“been a long time, mandalorian.”

he hums in agreement, tips of his thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts over the silk of your dress before running down again, relearning the ends of you. “my cyar’ika,” he whispers.

your cunt clenches, sobs with his sounds and the pressure of his thigh. breath shuddered and indignant you drag your pussy along the plate of armor. throat tight with a whine you ask him, “how do you like it now, cyare?”

his body takes to the slice of mando’a in your mouth like water to sand, something dark and heavy, and his hips tilt up to you as you undulate your cunt along him again. the coil of you both is raveling taut and knotting at the edges, perhaps permanently now, twisting back into the shapes you used to make together. and it was always this way between you, this dancing walk to madness; with the head of his cock he fucked a shard of beskar into you, you think, that first time, and in every meeting since he’s rut his hips to claw the thing back out, but your body has absorbed the alloy of it.

“i want you to fuck me like you missed me.” a shuddered breath, a secret thought, and then: “did you miss me?”

and that question doesn’t come from the metal. no, with your palms warming his helmet you know he’s asking from the fleshy lines between the silver pieces. this is a bloody question. the drag of your cunt against his leg continues still, toes curling beneath you with the cold sting through the fabric of your panties, and perched here atop him you suppose your honesty costs you little in the face of all the rest you’ll give up.

“yes, i did.”

his hands collect your dress like water, silk spilling out between the fingers of his gloves, as he bares you to him, and his visor tips with the sight of you, a feat of topology he memorized so long ago. with a brush of red fabric against your ears you cling to him in only the little scrap of lace that licks along his leg with the wet kiss of your cunt.

“this pussy get wet for me like it used to?”

fuck.

“yes, yeah,” you breathe out, little bites of ecstasy weaving their way from your clit to the nape of your neck.

“oh, my edee, look at you,” and he grips a hand in your hair, pushing your eyeline down to watch the gleaming strip of want brushed and rewritten over on his armor. “you like drenching me like that? fuck cyar’ika i’ll leave this hotel like this and everyone will know i’ve fucked a fucking whore.” fuckfuckfuck. you remember the vein along the underside of his cock, want him to hurt you with it now.

“so fuck your whore, mando, you’ve paid for her,” you plead, but he drops his helmet to your forehead, the both of you still awe struck at the starlit gash of slick you’re dripping on him as your hips gyrate.

“you’re no more patient than you used to be,” he chuckles, but the wobbled rasp of his voice strips him all but naked to you. his hands grind you harder on his body and you wail, neck open as your head falls back. the pleasure sinks its teeth in you now, all hot bloodlust and bubbling open like seafoam.

“fuck, mando, i–i’m gonna come.”

“yeah, that’s it, right here, make that pussy gush for me and then i’ll fuck her open.”

ecstasy knocks through your arteries as your body pulls tight against him, and with desperate hands he grabs at you, around your asscheeks and between your shoulder blades, to feel you jerk with it. he’s groaning something deep and unforgivable watching you move, but already you’re looking for the weight of his cock.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you heave into his shoulder as you slump over, and he’s nodding silently with you, yes, i remember, i remember. the preamble of fingers and tongues is being leapt over, but neither of you seem to mind. he pulls the leather of his gloves off to maneuver you onto all fours on the bed, and after working his pants open with the bared warmth of his fingers the pads are back on you, running down your back and up your thighs. the heft of him pokes at you and you’re clenching with the feeling, the memory, again the memory. from between your open legs you drop your head to watch him pump his length, fingers tan and thick and a little tattoo between them.

his head catches at your opening and a whine spills from between your teeth.

“louder, cyare,” he grounds out. another inch in and you keen.

“fuck.”

his palms find purchase on your side and he anchors himself there, partway within you. you both whistle out whispered breaths listening to the sound of you joined together, him pulling out a centimeter before sinking it back in, fucking you with the head of his cock.

“oh, it’s just the fucking tip and i’m stretching you already, cyar’ika,” he moans.

“more,” you mewl, “i want more.” and really that’s always been your problem, you suppose.

his hips are speeding up now, wretched little humps into the tight clutch of your cunt, but he abstains from the whole of it. “fucking beg me for it, edee, i’ve waited this fucking long.”

into the sheets, bunched by your fingers and your jostling knees on the bed, you moan, “please, please, please, fuck me on your cock, cyare, i need it, please.”

the piece of himself, the metal and his creed’s tongue, that he rutted into you all those years ago comes roaring at him now, is cracked open in the air of your voice, and he stutters with it. he fucks you like retribution, hips slapping against your ass with a wet crackle, and you’re screaming, suddenly.

“that’s it, edee, that’s it.”

the walls of your cunt pulse velvet around him as he punches in and out of you, cock reaching up like he’s trying to touch your tongue with it, run through the length of you with his steel and grunting. your body blooms for him, petals open like it always did. when was the last time fucking him felt like your job? it’s all coming back to you now, crying at the foot of your bed, missing him dearly. you have always been a professional despite the intimacy of what you do, but you feel wholly unprofessional here.

“fuck, you’re so fucking tight, it’s like you’re sucking me back in,” and you can’t help your clenching now, “yes, edee, again for me, again.”

and you do, pulsing and clamping on his shaft, and he nearly wails with the feeling. the hum of his voice through the helmet protects him some, but maker you know him well, years worth of your mandalorian, and so you hear it all clearly, him melting behind the metal and fusing at the edges. you push away the thought that he’ll pay you for this.

“maker your pussy feels so fucking good, i’ve never stopped—ah—never stopped fucking thinking about it.”

the jut of his chestplate bites your skin as he pulls your hips up but you barely feel it. “no?”

“never, never,” he repeats, and his own babbling eggs him on, you think, as he thrusts impossibly faster. he fucks you like he needs it, has always needed it, and you’re reminded again that you loved him before, that you love him again, now, perhaps, but it’s all so hard to see clearly with the tight chain of pleasure running up your spine.

slick seeping from your hole around him you moan, “feel so f–fucking full of it, fuck.”

a frantic hand comes around to your front, pulls the red gem from your chest to lay along your back, and watching the glint of red and gold that he left you bounce on your skin makes him growl and choke. “fuck, fuck, i’m so close, cyar’ika.”

he bends to meet your back and drops the weight of his helmet on the wing of your shoulder and you might not survive the angle of his cock in you now. you’d clasp your hands in penitence if they didn’t hold the both of you up, because this luxury, him greeting your body like it’s his final gutted conquest, is the last you’ll ever beg for.

with both of you sputtering your souls out on the duvet he groans, “i miss your old name, edee, give it to me again.”

the begging makes you pulse, but you shake your head. your name is your first and only born inheritance, and when you grew old enough to realize it you’d had to shed the thing, or rather hide it, stashed away, untouched.

“please cyar’ika, just one more like this, just like this, your real name.”

your moans screech with the tragedy of him pleading with you this way, and bellow because you want to let him. yes, you love him now, and you wheeze, “i don’t know your real name, mandalorian.”

this knocks the wind from him and it blows out along the back of your neck but the piston of his cock in you continues, heightens further, and you’re both on the precipice of something devastating. he groans out breathless “din, din, it’s din,” and then, “maker please let me use it.”

as deep and jagged as the naming cuts you, you have never felt this hallowed a thing. him inside, and knowing what to call him, is unlike any bliss you’ve ever known. “din,” you wail.

he nods at your back. “yes, yes, din. let me use it.”

at last you’re nodding, crown of your head bobbing back on his body, and a torrential downpour of your name spits from his mouth, slides down his helmet and onto your spine. and the coming is unlike all the rest, a slow climb, a painful clawing that rips your flesh from the bone, but suddenly you’re both heaving with it, his warmth pumping through you and your gushing slick sliding out. for a moment you panic, worry for the windowsill, for the way it always ends. but your din. the panic catches on din and smokes away.

your limbs give out and you meet the mattress with your eyes closed, aching and a little empty, but mostly as satisfied as a desperate creature like yourself is capable. you’re reminded of the clank of his armor as he rights himself behind you. it’s so easy to forget it, what with how human he feels.

“din.”

the rattle of beskar stills. he returns your name, the real one again.

i love you, i loved you then, and you loved me. no. no, you think, it’s far too true to say. so instead: “will you come find me again?”

the bed dips as he sits on it and a gentle glove strokes through your hair. “always, cyar’ika. i’ll come back for you.”

and because you believe him, din, you do not lift your head to watch him place the credits and dissolve away. you’ll save the shine of him, you vow, for the next time he arrives for you. your mandalorian.

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#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #the mandolorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #hello woolf

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frenchkisstheabyss · 7 months

Text

♡ I Will Follow You Into The Dark ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!felix x fem!reader

♡ Genre: cotton candy fluff

♡ Summary: After a long night filled with tough emotions, an early morning bubble bath cuddled up with your boyfriend while he tells you a story is the perfect thing to ease your mind.

♡ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: It's briefly mentioned that the reader has gone through trauma in the past that led to a breakdown. You're in a bathtub together so, ya know, no clothes. You get a little flirty. Kissing. Mention of a snake bite in the story he tells you.

♡ A/N: Tonight was another "let's be all in my feelings night" so, as always, please hop into the feels with me and partake in some fluffy sweet comfort.

It’s early enough in the morning when you slip into a warm bubble bath with Felix that it feels like you’re the last two people on Earth. The small window above the vintage clawfoot tub is cracked, allowing birdsong to float freely into the room on the coattails of a crisp autumn breeze. As you curl up between his legs, your head tucked comfortably under his chin, he brings his arms around to embrace you.

Lilac blossom scented bubbles cling to his arms, dripping down your chest and shoulders to rejoin the others that float atop the water. You haven’t turned the lights on yet, leaving you tucked in the shadows, partially hidden from the sliver of light that breaks through the pleated cotton curtains. What little light that does reach you soaks your skin in rich amber. “The sunlight,” he says, “Makes you look sweet.”

You look up at him, smiling soft as autumn leaves falling from trees when you realize he’s been staring at you this entire time. “It makes me look sweet?” “Yeah, like honey. I could just eat you up.” Kisses rain down on you, a tender yet ruthless attack that has Felix holding you still as his lips jump from your cheek to your neck to your shoulder and back to your cheek again.

It tickles something fierce, leaving you unable to do much else besides kick your feet and giggle. Water splashes onto the marbled tile floor, clusters of bubbles sailing across puddles like ships out at sea. Felix couldn’t care less about causing a small flood, every bit of his focus is on you. He only stops when he’s satisfied, kissing your cheek one last time for good measure just when you think he’s done.

Together you gradually settle into a space of quiet tranquility. There’s no awkwardness. No underlying pressure to do or say anything in particular. You’re here in this moment together. Just the two of you. Your love for each other prominent enough in its essence that words aren’t necessary. But even in the comfort of his arms, emotions from last night linger within you.

Your trauma, you do what you can to manage it, but sometimes it comes back to haunt you. When it does it clings to you like sticky pink bubblegum on a hot summer day. Last night was one of those times. You felt lost, fully incapable of holding yourself together, so you came to Felix. The safest place you’ve ever known for your broken pieces. There’s so much distance now between the brokenness that consumed you last night and the peace you feel this morning.

A distance that grows wider and wider the longer you’re with him. “No matter what you do,” he’d whispered only a few hours ago, cuddled up behind you on his couch, “I’ll always be in awe of you.” He meant it then and, watching you zone out playing with the bubbles, he hopes that, even in your daze, you know he means it now. That he’ll mean it forever.

Felix takes your hand, placing his fingers in the spaces between yours just as the universe intended, “Hey.” “Hi,” you say, sensing almost immediately that he wants to do something—anything—to ease your pain, “I could use a story.” “Ooh, a story. What kind of story?” You pet his cheek, closing your eyes in preparation for the full ASMR experience of listening to him speak. “Dealer’s choice. I’m just here to listen.”

He pokes his lips out, pushing air from one puffed up cheek to the other as the gears turn in his brain. “I’ve got one. Okay, so, there’s this story Hyunjin taught me about. A myth actually.” “Mythology. Sexy.” you tease, lightly running a nail down the side of his neck. Felix shivers when you hit that one spot that always gets him. He tilts his head to whisper in your ear, “Did you want a story or something more...active? Cause if you keep doing that—”

One of his hands glides down your right thigh, sending the shivers from his own body straight through yours. “Fine, I’ll behave,” you pout, “Continue.” You don’t clarify what to continue. Rubbing your thigh? Telling the story? He chooses both. You’re nearly glowing, clearly pleased with his decision. And so he begins—

“There’s this ancient Greek myth about Apollo’s son Orpheus who fell in love with this really gorgeous woman named Eurydice. It was love at first sight. He saw her and just knew she was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.”

“How romantic,” you sigh, eyes still closed, blissfully unaware of the adoration in his eyes when he speaks. He just knew.

“Very much so,” he agrees, continuing the story, “So Orpheus and Eurydice. They were married shortly after they met. Not everyone supported it but they loved each other. That was all that mattered. And they were happy. At least until Eurydice died. There are lots of different versions of how she died. Most commonly it’s a snake bite though.”

Felix bites your cheek a little, hissing like the cutest snake on the planet. If this is the snake bite that ends you, you’ll take it.

“Losing her…he wasn’t able to accept it. So, with the gods’ protection, he traveled to Hades to bring her back. Once he reached the underworld he played a song for Hades that was so beautiful he was offered a deal. Eurydice could return to the world of the living but she couldn’t walk out by his side. She had to walk out behind him in her spirit form, only becoming human again when she stepped into the light. And if he looked back—”

You open your eyes, dramatically clutching your hand to your chest, “If he looked back what?” Felix runs a finger across your neck, sticking his tongue out in his best attempt to mimic a corpse. “Dead for good. Lost forever.” “Let me guess. He looked back, didn't he?” “That’s right my smart little cookie."

"The closer they got to the world of the living, the lighter her footsteps became. He started to doubt she was following him so when they were only a few feet from the surface he looked back just in time to see the face of his love as she disappeared into the darkness.”

Readjusting yourself in the tub, you turn to face him, your face near enough to his that the air you breathe out is what he breathes in. “If it were me would you look back?” “No,” he answers without hesitation. “Because you trust me?” He leans in closer so that his words are spoken directly onto your lips, “Because I’d never take that deal. We come out of the dark together or not at all.”

It steals your breath away to hear such a heartfelt answer. To feel him spell it out across your lips. Felix kisses you, his arms closing back around you as he fills your hollow lungs with the passion laced air of his own. It’s enough to make you cry, that he loves you so completely.

If you hadn’t woken up and asked him to take this bath with you. If you wanted to lay in bed all day with the curtains closed and the lights out. He would’ve stayed there with you in the darkness. In the underworld. Playing songs of devotion not for the pity of Hades but for the love of you, his Eurydice, until you could return to the light.

Together or not at all...

#lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #lee felix x female reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #lee felix flu

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worriedvision · 1 year

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omg help im actually infatuated with your writing im so sorry but this is another angst request for cyno and tighnari 😭

scenario inspired by the song tears over beers (he needed more than me, friendly and thoughtful and quite awfully pretty, but he needed more than me) where tighnari set his standards too high, rejecting reader because he has his eyes set on cyno but cyno actually comforts reader? so tighnari basically ruined two friendships lmfao 🦅

Okay so I'm gonna do this as a Cyno dating the reader, and both of them wanting to have Tighnari in the relationship as well. Gender neutral reader, angst.

"Okay, so I'm gonna be the person asking Tighnari if he wants a relationship?" You ask. "But he's closer with you than me." You protest lightly.

"Well, I'm sure he'll love you as much as I do." Cyno reassures you. "As much as I'd like to be there, unfortunately -"

"I know, I know. You have work." You giggle, Cyno nodding before giving you a quick kiss.

You approach Tighnari with the confidence you could fake well enough, and you already had a strange feeling.

"Master Tighnari!" You call out.

"Just Tighnari is fine enough. We're friends, aren't we?" He hums, smiling softly.

"Ah, okay!" You agree, clearing your throat. "I'm glad I've caught you before your work started...the words have left me." You trail off, scolding yourself lightly.

"...is this an admission of feelings?" Tighnari stops you, you nodding as you look at Tighnari hopefully, opening your mouth to explain you were happy to have Tighnari join you and Cyno together. "I'm sorry, but you aren't my type. I need someone who can keep up with me. Not someone that rides on the coattails of their friends."

"I-'

"And not to mention, i have feelings for one man. He is a mutual friend of ours, and I'm sure you can figure it out." Tighnari finishes, walking away without giving you an apology or any form of reassurance you are still his friend.

Cyno walked into the home, hopeful that you had good news. The state he found you in broke his heart.

Clearly, it didn't work. You didn't look at Cyno, and you tried to avoid him.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Cyno asks you softly, holding your shoulders.

"Tighnari likes you." You explain quietly. "As for me..."

On cue, you begin to start crying. You expected Cyno to leave you for Tighnari, especially because of the way Tighnari explained you were supposedly taking advantage of Cyno.

"Then we will stay together." Cyno reassures you, holding you in his arms. "You are my partner, Tighnari has no right to hurt your feelings like that."

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #tighnari #tighnari x gender neutral reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #cyno x gender neutral reader

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millerscoffee · 8 months

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they don't love you like i love you

1.7k | frankie morales x f!reader

thank you @addictedtotlou for this prompt idea under “You want to do something for me? How about this?” X says. “Leave me the fuck alone and never come back” | and for your inspiration! i loved this idea so much. i hope it's to your liking ♡ i could've been with these two for a lot longer, but i had to wrap it up!! 😭

warning: angst, flirting, will they/won't they, benny will & pope are around!, house party, frankie's lowkey a fuckboy if you squint but look at those puppy eyes - we won't say nothin' 🤭

A/N: this is part of my 500 followers celebration running until 9/9 ♡

You’ve known the Miller family for a while. Your parents were close friends with Will and Benny’s and they felt so much more like brothers than children of your parents’ friends. You were friends with them as well. Supported them throughout their careers, were there for them in times of struggle and times of success.

So when Will asked you if the three of you could throw a party at your parent’s summer home, it was easy to say yes. Despite the impending dread that came with the fact Catfish and Pope were at the top of the list to be invited.

It’s not that you didn’t like them. You got along with almost all of Benny and Will’s friends. The last time you saw them, with Frankie specifically. You remember it, your mouth all filled with rum, Morales chasing your lips until you came to your senses. It was wrong, plus Will came out the very second your lips almost touched.

You were all friends, and you didn’t want to jeopardise anything. You didn’t kiss him that night, and that didn’t bode over well.

It wasn’t that Frankie was a jerk about it, it just… changed things. The awkward silence filled between the two of you for your own inability to let it happen. You thought about the ghosting of his lips, the warmth, just before you pulled away.

As visceral and heartbreaking as it was, you decided on a black party dress that cut at your thighs tonight.

Why? Even though deep down you knew the reason why, you couldn’t bring yourself to see it.

Benny lets out a whistle when he sees you and you laugh, shoving him lightly. “That’s gonna do it!” he drawls and you make a face in his direction.

“What on earth are you talkin’ about?!”

He nudges your hip on the way to grab a beer, “Keep pretending, that’s alright.”

And before you can get a response, you see Pope out of your periphery first. A wave of butterflies rise, and then like a ton of bricks, you see it: Frankie and a girl on his arm.

“Ho-ly shit,” Benny says beside you, handing you a cold beer before loosely wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “didn’t know ‘bout that one, champ.”

You feel the knot form in the back of your throat, and Pope catches you right away.

“Hey, hey,” he is hushed, pulling you in a hug and you’re consumed by the scent of his cologne, the height of him ushering the sight of Frankie and this girl laughing from you. “I’m sorry,” Pope’s voice is quiet, specifically for you, and it’s like you could drop the beer from the disconnect you feel. Why are you feeling this way, and why is everyone feeling bad for you? Making it so you’re okay without even asking if you were okay.

You pull out of Santiago’s hug politely and shrug it off, blinking any remnants of tears away – your makeup was too pretty for this. “Sorry for what? Do you want a beer?”

Switch: off. Just like that.

Still, it remained. You almost kissed Frankie. You flirted with him constantly. He had the audacity of inviting someone to your party in your family’s summer home.

You can’t even look at him. “Hey,” you say dryly, brushing past Frankie on the way to be a good host – to grab Pope a beer. Pope flashes Frankie an apologetic look at your coattails and brushes his hand to the top of your back when you both make it to the kitchen. Frankie, out from view in a different part of the house as Will and Benny greet him and the mystery woman, escorting them outside. A diversion.

You hear Pope say your name, and that’s when you turn around – tears tempting the brim.

“Why’d you follow me?” You sound so pitiful, Santi can’t help but wrap you up in a hug, and this time you allow it.

“Listen, I tried to talk him out of this, but he’s pretty beat up about you rejecting him. Wanted to take his mind off of you… yeah, don’t give me that look. I don’t know why he’s here either, then.”

You calm yourself down. Not that you were sobbing, but fuck, how could you not get emotional about this? It was becoming obvious, Benny’s crass words were ringing true. You were dressed up for Frankie, and you didn’t want him to be with anyone else.

Pope takes his beer, and cups your shoulder when he sees Will come into the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two alone. You need me, you tell me. Alright, cariño?” you nod, and watch him nod in Will’s direction, before it’s just the two of you.

You take a swig of the yeasty liquid and turn your back to the counter with a long, contemplative sigh.

“What the fuck do I do, Will?”

“You want my opinion? That’s a first,” he gruffs and you roll your eyes. But it does make you smile and brings you out of your headspace. He was good for that.

“For once. you‘re the one who told me I should be with Frankie in the first place. I feel so stupid.” you gesture at your dress. Of course, everyone looked pretty good, but you couldn’t help but feel out of place now. You wanted nothing more than to put on your sweatpants and forget about tonight. Kick everyone out. But you knew that just wasn’t an option. And besides, you wanted to have some fun yourself.

“You know what you should do?” Will asks rhetorically, “You should take Catfish aside and tell him how you feel. It’s the only way either of you will get through this bullshit.”

Crass was a Miller trait. But he was right.

After another moment, you nod – hoisting yourself from your back to stand tall, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

You mustered courage to walk out to the firepit where everyone was, and you felt it again – the urge to cry, to run, the very second you saw the girl and Frankie smiling at each other and talking. It was like clockwork, like it was timed perfectly for your arrival.

“Catfish,” you say dryly. Not using his real name, but instead the name set aside for his friends. Since that’s how he felt you were, after all. He pulls away from her with knit brows and a pouty bottom lip, and you swallow hard. “Could I see you? Over there?” you tilt your head towards the house.

It’s not lost on you the way he hasn’t said a word to you since he got here, but he agrees. Tells the girl he’ll be back, and Will walks in on the scene – joining the other two boys whose mouths are borderline agape.

Frankie follows you, sliding the glass door behind him, and you both walk towards the couch for some privacy.

“Listen,” he finally speaks, and when you do it churns your stomach. The life that is brought to him rather than some entity in the room. You shift further away from him and shake your head.

“You listen. You want to do something for me?” your eyes fill with tears, tongue connecting to the inside of your cheek. “How about this?” Leave me the fuck alone, and never come back.”

It is childish. Counterintuitive to why you brought him in here, but you are hurt. You are upset. And he sees that, now.

This was a puzzle piece he couldn’t see before. You seemed so nonchalant about it all before this, unbothered about whether or not the two of you got together.

But Frankie won’t let this happen. Not after all the hell the two of you went through in preventing this inevitability to happen.

“Mierda, I’m a fucking idiot,” he starts and you swallow your words as soon as they come out. Fuck. Pope was right. Frankie seems genuinely upset by his actions that you don’t know how to recover right away. You can’t really tell him he’s not an idiot, because fuck – you feel that way. You feel like he should’ve talked to you.

But then again, what would you have said?

“Frankie, I–” you start, annoyed at yourself for unraveling for him almost instantly.

“No, don’t talk, okay? Please? I’m so sorry. The guys, they tried to tell me, I didn’t listen. I haven’t– I haven’t moved on. Or anything…,” and he trails off this time, and his eyes look so full and sad – it makes you want to forget.

“Frankie,” you don’t recognise the tears in your eyes until they’re spilling over your cheeks because fuck, it’s been emotional since he arrived. But he won’t let you finish your sentence, his lips are on yours – large hands on either side of your face and you reciprocate, fingers tying tightly into his shirt, crying and laughing into the kiss. A mixture of feelings rapture you both.

“We’ve been pretty fucking stupid, huh?” you sniffle when you both inevitably pull away, he thumbs under your eyes – musn’t dare mess up your makeup any further. Not on his watch.

“Only slightly, hermosa. I’ll make up for it.”

You tempt your hand closer to his. “We have the time.”

---

As other people start to pile in outside, you scan the backyard and Frankie wraps his arm around your shoulder. “I should probably apologise to her,” he says but his gaze doesn’t leave you, “brought her out here just to leave her? It’s kind of a dick move. I’m all fucked up.”

“Well, did you tell her you love her?”

Frankie snorts, wrapping your head closer to his chest, “No, I was saving that fo– you know what, never mind.”

Your cheeks flush, but that’s exactly when you get the sights of her and Benny – him with his hand against the wall outside, the obvious flirt. And she seems into it.

“I think she’s in good hands.”

Frankie shakes his head, “Motherfucker.” you both laugh before you squeeze his hip.

No longer waiting for new, it was right there at your fingertips.

And, wow, was it going to be so sweet.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic

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ventique18 · 2 years

Text

Generous

(Full image + fanfic under the cut)

Type: Fanfic + Sketch

Pairing: Malleus x afab!Reader

Warnings and notes:

Smut! 🔞 Minors DNI!!

Malleus POV

Oral (Y/N receiving), Dom!Mal, pseudo-public

Sketch: suggestive (MC in underwear) but not too graphic

Links to other works: https://ventique18.tumblr.com/post/686055226886832128/masterlist

- Fanfic start -

“Outrageous. Utterly odious.”

The heels of my shoes resound in the hallway in sharp clacks. I thunder across the stone floor; aware that the mere pressure of my stride is battering the poor, weathered pathway— and yet, not caring enough to calm myself out of my turbulent thoughts. Too impassioned to slow down if only for the sake of the footsteps behind me.

“Mal,” you breathe, frantically trying (and failing) to catch up to me, “I’m so, so sorry. We all thought you were just running late—“

“And you deem me not important enough to wait for, or even inform, before you all began your merry tea party? Diasomnia, my own dorm, downing tea and stuffing their faces full of cupcakes without their housewarden?” I whirl around to face you, and you stop abruptly, “What is the purpose of this cellphone you humans are so fond of, if you cannot even utilize it to send a simple notice?”

I see your body freeze, eyes wide in what I surmise is guilt. You bring your hands to the hem of your slack’s pockets; fidgeting and not meeting my eyes, “Grim borrowed it earlier to watch spelldrive videos."

“I believe other students have phones, Y/N,” I snap back.

You clamp your mouth shut, and I sigh. It’s not as if I do not grasp the concept of getting carried away by the moment, and indeed I am guilty of such in many moments of my daily life. It’s only that… Whenever I think of how happily you were chatting with my subjects— the way you chuckle at Sebek’s eating habits and how you prod at Silver’s arm to stir him awake…

If I were in that picture, you would be laughing with me instead.

Still, I suppose it IS rather unfair to put all the blame on you solely because I was… jealous, of my retainers. Ah, how degrading it is to admit such paltriness, even in my private thoughts.

I sigh again, “No matter. I’m quite used to such audacity,” I turn my back to you again, intending to return to my quarters at once, “Now, forgive my rudeness, for I wish to retreat for the day.”

In one stride, my hand was on the door to the dorm’s throne room. And then I stopped when you hesitantly tugged at my coattail.

“Mal,” you look at your shoes; likely stringing your words in your head, "I'm really sorry for earlier," your eyes flicker up to meet with mine, "I really thought you were just... busy in the restroom or something."

A faint blush creeps up your cheeks, and I do not know what kind of foolishness you're thinking.

I let you continue, nonetheless, "But I want to make it up to you. Twice, ten times, I don't know. I hope I'm still your favorite person even if I accidentally ate your share of cupcakes."

I blinked, "You ate my cupcake?" I asked, honestly not knowing what to say. I do not understand the relevance of this cupcake in this conversation.

Your face grew noticeably more embarrassed, "Any-anyway, if you're free, let's go on an ice cream date at Sam's? I'll treat you!"

I almost burst into laughter right there and then. Leave it to you to turn any situation twice lighter. I already forgive you, of course I always do, both for the lack of notice and for eating the cupcake I care so little about. And yet who am I to reject your gracious offer to make it up to me?

If I were a common man, I would have already taken your hand and pranced our way to your idea of a childish date. I would have kissed the cream off your lips and exchanged fruity flavors with you. I would have held your hands and whispered to you how much I loved you.

And yet that was not me. Such colorful imagery was not me.

You give me an inch, I'll take a mile. You know how the fae work.

"Ah, but I'm not quite in the mood for anything sweet," I gently pry your fingers off my jacket and into my hold, "But I have a different flavor in mind, if you would?"

I narrow my eyes at you; a heavy meaning deep in my tone. I watch your pupils dilate, and whether it be from fear or excitement, you do not voice. Yet, you nod greedily at me-- too quickly to be innocent, and my lips tug into a wide grin.

Thud. Your back hits the door with a dull sound, but you do not react at all to the pain-- too entranced by the pleasure brought about by my mouth on your neck.

I run my tongue from the base of your neck to the edge of your jaw; sucking and licking your plump flesh as if I'm melting a ripe peach on my mouth. I flick at your earlobe and watch you shudder. I chuckle. To see your trembling in my hold, your hands clinging onto any part of me you could hold, feet helplessly dangling and pressing against the door as I keep your weight from touching the ground.

Truly, seeing you so desperately depend on me sends a perverse wave of satisfaction to my core.

More.

My hand wanders to your stomach; squeezing tightly to inflict just a little bit of pain while my tongue massages the column of your throat.

I want you more.

And so my fingers, sinful as they are, glides between your thighs-- and you close them shut.

"My," I draw circles on your thigh with a finger, unimpeded by your action, "Do you dislike my touches, my darling?" I whisper languidly before blowing a hot breath to your reddened ear.

You shiver once again, eyes closing as your breath catches in your throat. You don't respond to me, however.

"And yet you seem to like my kisses, no?" I provoke, a low chuckle rumbling within my chest, "Very well. Luckily for you, I'm feeling rather generous today."

I drop you down, and you squeak. Not out of the sudden impact on your toes, I don't think so, but perhaps because of me suddenly kneeling in front of you on one knee. I laugh at your bewildered expression.

I see. I believe this is how humans profess their undying love to each other, correct? How adorable. The way your cheeks redden like round apples is adorable. Your innocent thoughts are entirely adorable.

Though, I am no such romantic.

Without bothering to comment on whatever it is that is running in your mind, I quickly bring my hands on your waist and undid the buttons of your slacks. I've done this a dozen of times, and so it didn't take long for me to bring both your pants and underwear to your ankles.

You gasp and throw a hand on my shoulder on reflex, "Malleus, what are you doing--"

Exactly what you see I'm doing, love.

My mouth opens, and your knees buckle at the hot breath that caresses your labia. I prod your bud, ah how small and cute it is, with the tip of my tongue and an unintelligible garble flows out of your throat. I sweep a circle around your bud before taking a straight line towards your awaiting hole.

A drop of salty honey drips in my mouth. Thick, viscuous, slick. Hot. I greedily suck at your folds; desperately extracting more of the heavy scent invading my senses.

My nose hits your bud and you muffle a scream. Why are you holding back?

Sing.

So my tongue stabs at your hole; mercilessly, impatiently. I run it through the ridges of your cavern. I explore urgently, wanting to taste every nook and cranny of you, drinking myself silly with the intoxicating tincture of your nectar and your sweat. I silently thank my anatomy for giving me quite the long tongue. Reaching the deepest parts of you proves to be fascinatingly easy, and the melody of your moans turns out to be an easy reward.

"Mal, Malleus!" You groan, and I feel a tightness in my underwear at the thought of you dirtying my name with your lustful mouth, "Public, we're in public..." You manage to choke out.

The door is tightly locked. The room is enchanted so that not a sound would escape through any gaps at all. I do not delight in the prospect of others seeing or hearing your lewd body.

But of course you have no awareness of that.

And I like that.

I like seeing you writhe.

Instead of answering, I close my mouth around your bud and give it a hard suck. You scream in surprise, but I do not let up and instead flick my tongue across it multiple times. Front and back, sometimes left and right. I put a light nibble in between, and then a light bite to throw you off the rhythm.

I watch in perverse satisfaction as you throw your head back and knock it against the door, legs shaking wildly as the balls of your feet lift off the ground. Your fingernails scratch at the wood. Your drool dribbles down your chin. Your chest, still clothed, heaves up and down to catch the air that escapes your lungs.

How annoying. That shirt is annoying.

And so magically it's gone, and you are left completely naked with your pert nipples completely exposed for me to feast my eyes upon.

Stiff and supple. Cute.

"Mal!" You yelled, embarassment amplifying your heavy arousal, "What if," you moaned again as I plunge two fingers inside you, "What if someone... someone.... Nhhn, ah!"

Three now. My fingers are long, and I reach the entrance to your womb. How cute the little button inside you is. I caress it, and you collapse forward, hands tightly grabbing on my horns.

I must punish you for that.

I send a shockwave to your womb, and you sputter. Your walls clench and unclench in such an erotic way, as if you're begging me for more. Holding tightly onto me like a death grip. Releasing copius amounts of honeyed liquid as if weeping for me to put my cock inside you, fuck you hard, and inject you with so much semen you're sure to wake up carrying my child in your stomach.

"Malleus!" You scream once more, loud enough to rattle your entire body against my hold, "I'm going to--!"

And then I pull out. Your eyes open wide. I let go of you, and you almost slide down to the floor with how weak your knees have become.

I turn my back to you and walk away.

You, using your bewildered, shaky voice, reach out to me with an echo, "Where... Where are you going?"

I stop, "Why," I half-look at you, a huge grin splicing across my face, "this is the throne room. My throne room. And I am to take a seat, as its King."

I see you tremble from the unsatisfied arousal leaking out of your petals. I laugh wickedly, "If you have any requests, I shall listen to them."

I lazily stroll forward, taking my time to lower myself onto the throne all the while watching you struggle, "But only if you prostrate yourself before me and beg, Child of Man."

I raise a finger and beckon. You lower yourself on the ground, as if glamoured. But you were not. Of course not. It was only you, and only your own lustful thoughts, only your lewd body, that obeyed my ridiculous words.

You inch forward, breasts swaying, naked. Plump ass up in the air. Your core exposed, reddened, swollen from how much nectar is leaking and dripping and oozing out of your desperate hole.

Such a beautiful, sinful fruit. Molded by me, ripened for me. Only for me.

I lick my lips, "Now, what shall it be? Luckily for you, I am feeling quite generous tonight."

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #smut #malleus x reader #twst fanfic #twst fanart

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sixty-silver-wishes · 1 year

Text

Tumblr’s Guide to Shostakovich: An Uncomfortable Truth

Hello, everyone.

You may be wondering why I'm writing another essay on the subject of Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich today, right after another one I just finished recently. However, important information has come to light, information that cannot be ignored. As a researcher, it would be irresponsible and dishonest of me to hide this information from the public, especially on a subject I have devoted so much time and effort into researching. It pains me to reveal this information, but in the field of history, sometimes uncomfortable truths must be brought to light in order to further our understanding of the past. I have known this information for a very long time, and, I'm sorry to say, have withheld it from the public, as not to soil and degrade the image of such a beloved composer (although historically, plenty of people have soiled and degraded his image, so if that many people are doing it, it sort of seems like it might be fun), but I am done hiding this information and must share it with my devoted readers, lest they continue to consume lies, falsehoods, and half truths. I will waste no time in divulging this information to you all. To those of you whom, like I, love Shostakovich's music, I hope this revelation will not alter your view of those brilliant works which you hold in such high esteem.

The truth is this.

After three years of researching and analyzing sources, contacting experts, and learning as much as I could, I have come to this unavoidable conclusion-

Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich was a Tumblr Sexyman.

I know. It's very hard to process- I myself spent a very long time turning this devastating conclusion over and again in my mind, trying to think of another possible explanation. But the truth is, he fits all of the criteria and more to be considered one, and I can no longer ignore the truth and pretend it doesn't exist.

First, his physical appearance. Most Tumblr Sexymen, from The Lorax's Once-Ler to Hazbin Hotel's Alastor, wear dapper formalwear, often with coattails, a bow tie, and a button-up shirt. This is often the case as well with our dear Shostakovich. There are plenty of photographs out there of him in formalwear, playing the piano at concerts or conversing with fellow artists. His intellectual pursuits add to this qualification of seeming refined and classy as well- Shostakovich was an avid reader, and often quoted his favourite authors in conversation. His friend Isaak Glikman, perhaps the first person to observe Shostakovich's Tumblr Sexyman status, even notes this about his manner of dress in his younger years:

Some accounts portray the young Shostakovich as a puny, sickly weakling. This was far from the case. He was well-proportioned, slim, supple and strong; he wore clothes well, and in tails or a dinner jacket cut a most attractive figure.

Already, this reads like a fanfiction about any Tumblr Sexyman. In addition to the suit, Shostakovich was very pale and also wore his trademark round glasses, giving him a distinguished, intellectual appearance, and Glikman also cares to note his friend's "splendid head of light-brown hair, usually neatly brushed but sometimes 'poetically' dishevelled with a mischievous, unruly lock falling over his forehead." Indeed, Tumblr Sexymen often have playfully messy hair and sometimes distinctive eyewear, and Shostakovich is no exception.

But clothes do not a (Sexy)man make. A Tumblr Sexyman is not complete without a bit of darkness- sometimes an evil side belies their composed exterior, or, like Sans from Undertale, their goodness is tragically juxtaposed with some sort of great trauma they experienced in their backstory. Shostakovich seems to fit the second category, and as a result, was very withdrawn and mysterious. From a young age and well into his older years, he faced the deaths of loved ones, public humiliation, the horrors of war, constant thoughts of his own demise, numerous health issues, betrayals from friends, and of course, the ever-present demands of the Soviet regime. With most Tumblr Sexymen, a tragic history makes them intriguing to fans, and given the decades of musicological research and debate surrounding Shostakovich's own history and political ties, it seems his own backstory has proved to be compelling as well.

But a Tumblr Sexyman has ways of dealing with his troubles, and wouldn't you know it, Shostakovich fits this criteria as well. Tumblr Sexymen often have a sense of humour, joking and making sarcastic jabs to hide their pain and anxieties. They may give witty one-liners, tell puns, or even perform comedic or upbeat songs. And with Shostakovich, we see multiple accounts of his sarcastic humour, especially in his letters to Sollertinsky, a penchant for wordplay, even satirical musical pieces about his life experiences, like the "Antiformalist Rayok" and "Preface to a Complete Collection of my Works." He may not be singing about an evil plan like other Sexymen may, but the fact that these pieces exist certainly make it clear that he used music, comedy, sarcasm, and wordplay to cope with his anxiety or depression.

His chaotic unpredictability and political greyness clearly factor as well. While Shostakovich had a very strong moral center, his unique historical position in both expressing himself as an individual and an artist and being a dutiful servant of the regime meant he had a rebellious streak, which would surface when least expected. The composition of the joke-filled Ninth Symphony at the end of the war, for example, is seen by many as an act of rebellion, especially when compared to the earlier Seventh, and even in pieces like the Fifth Symphony, called a "response to just criticism" after the harrowing denunciations of 1936, subtle acts of resistance are interpreted in this work as well. Indeed, Shostakovich's political alliances are hard to place, and the fact that he lived by his own moral code first and foremost gives him an almost chaotic edge that would fit right in with any Tumblr Sexyman. Every time it seemed as if he had finally conformed to the expectations of the Party, Shostakovich would once again stir controversy with an innovative or subversive work, displaying a disregard for the strict rules of socialist realism underneath his quiet and unassuming exterior.

So yes, Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich was indeed a Tumblr Sexyman. He fits all the criteria, from his appearance, to his personality, to his backstory. I know this information may be hard to process, but it's the truth. But perhaps I'm overstating things. After all, as one of the greatest Tumblr Sexymen of all time once said, "how bad could it possibly be"?

(Happy April Fool’s Day! If this looks familiar, I posted it to my Reddit a few years back.)

#shostakovich #dmitri shostakovich #tumblr’s guide to shostakovich #classical music #music history #soviet history #composer #russian history #music

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possumbylight · 1 year

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Rose Colored Goggles

A/N: y’all are so cool for liking and reblogging my last post i love you all. anyway here’s another thing that i have previously posted on my ao3 that i’d like to move over to tumblr as well, hope you enjoy!! ;)

Summary: In which the Knights of Favonius, the Anemo Archon, and the Darknight Hero perform an experiment on the Chief Alchemist, all while missing a crucial element that’s hidden in plain sight.

Warnings: None I don’t think? slight drunkenness but that is expected amongst these folks

Pairings: Albedo/Reader, the knights and others as assorted friends because once again i love writing fics where all the characters get to hang out together

The Angel’s Share on a Tuesday night was not the ideal place for those wishing to maintain any pride they harbored for the famed Knights of Favonius. Should any inquiring minds visit the tavern on that particular night, they might find, to their horror, that the Knights were not windswept heroes of legend, but common drunks who bantered and argued with the bartender until he threw them out by their coattails and reminded them not to puke on the cobblestone outside his fine establishment, so they might not scare other patrons away.

Tuesday night was the least likely night for heavy drinking amongst the Mondstadt population, should there be any night that Mondstadt did not prefer drinking, but it was the most likely time for the Dawn Winery’s master himself to make an appearance behind the bar, and thus an ideal opportunity for certain members of the Knights’ ranks to pay a friendly visit—or rather, bother—Master Diluc until he gripped a wine bottle so tight it threatened to crack.

It was his fault, though, for returning every other Tuesday to be subjected to such nonsense.

“I asked him to describe his ideal woman, of course,” Lisa supplied as the end to her story, sending the knights around her into laughter and groans at the very idea. “Timaeus was so red he could hardly breathe. He looked like a tomato.”

“Oh, poor Timaeus,” Jean lamented, though the other knights hardly shared her sentiments. “You know how flustered he gets, Lisa.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the Chief Alchemist get flustered,” Kaeya lamented, planting his face in his palm as he leaned heavily on the bar. “Tell me, Albedo, with all the romantic attention you receive, surely someone has managed to make you blush.”

Albedo, barely aware of the conversation at hand but all the same adamant to willfully ignore Kaeya’s salacious suggestion that he was the recipient of any amount of romantic attention, merely furrowed his brow and stared past his cup at something the other knights could not perceive.

“Speaking of romantic attention,” Venti swooned after loudly gulping down the remaining contents of his glass, “a little birdie told me that Donna—”

“Quiet, bard,” Diluc ordered with seething vitriol, but the bard had little regard for Diluc’s discomfort.

“—brought a whole bouquet of flowers to your door the other day. Are you going to send her a thank you? I could write a poem for you to gift her, in exchange for a little off the top of my tab, of course—”

“No, I won’t require your services. And while we’re on the topic of your tab—"

“I don’t believe I am capable of such a thing,” Albedo finally responded, interrupting whatever Diluc had been planning to threaten, much to Venti’s delight but to the confusion of the other knights.

Venti hardly missed a beat, replying, “I’m sure you could write a poem if you tried, Mister Albedo, no one is incapable of making art.”

“No, I am referring to the prior conversation. I don’t believe I am capable of blushing.”

Kaeya’s mouth dropped open as though the alchemist had just shared with him the secrets of life and the universe, but Rosaria maintained a flat aspect, sipping politely at her drink until the commotion from Albedo’s comment settled.

“He’s probably right. I’ve never seen him go red, even in the cold of Dragonspine. If that doesn’t make him flushed, I doubt any foolhardy romantic advances would be able to do it.”

“Though it is true that I bleed when injured, I have yet to study the patterns of my internal blood dispersion beyond its basic course through my heart.”

“Albedo, everyone bleeds when injured. Stop talking like you’re mechanical.”

“Yes, of course,” Albedo agreed with little hesitation before excusing himself from the bar, returning his glass of tap water to the bartender as he wandered off, muttering under his breath about veins and ventricles and all form of scientific babble that the other knights were simply too drunk to process.

“Well, I for one would like to make a bet,” Kaeya announced as soon as the door had clicked shut. “A competition, of sorts. Any takers?”

“I’m in.”

“Venti,” Lisa cooed from beside the bard, startling him as though he hadn’t known she had been there the whole time. “You haven’t even heard the stakes.”

“Yeah, but Kaeya’s fun. And if I can earn a little extra drinking money, then why not?”

“You won’t be drinking until you can pay off your tab,” Diluc reminded. “And knowing Kaeya, it’s a bet in which he’ll have an unfair advantage. He only makes bets he knows he can win.”

“Now, now, Diluc. That’s rather unkind, don’t you think? I don’t have any advantage here, aside from my charm.”

Rosaria scoffed, “Get on with it. What’s the bet?”

“First to find out what makes the alchemist blush gets free drinks every Tuesday night for a month, courtesy of the losers of the bet.”

“I thought we established that he can’t blush.”

“We haven’t established anything. Albedo himself said that he was unsure. So, who’s to say that he doesn’t get flustered at all?”

The group was pensive for a moment, weighing the prospect of putting Albedo in potentially uncomfortable situations when they respectively found him either highly respectable, strange and off-putting, or possibly dangerous given cause. But, one by one, they all silently agreed that the reward was worth the risk, and hummed their approval of Kaeya’s idea.

“I’m in,” Diluc finally spoke aloud, startling the whole bunch.

“Why, Master Diluc, that surprises me. Could it be that you have an unfair advantage here? And tell me this—should you win, however doubtful that outcome may be, do you intend to take advantage of our good nature to buy you free drinks that you won’t even consume?”

“If I win, you’re all giving me a month of peace and quiet. Every Tuesday night, you’re staying home or finding someone else to bother. Go to the Cat’s Tail, I don’t care, just don’t come here.”

“Interesting. I accept the terms of your agreement. Shall we drink to it, then?”

And thus, Albedo was in for the most confusing week of his already strange life.

Jean had hardly been paying attention to the conversation at the bar, and she certainly didn’t have time to be playing into Kaeya’s meddling games, but when the opportunity presented itself, she could hardly pass up the opportunity to save some mora at the Angel’s Share. Albedo was hardly ever at HQ in person, after all.

“Good morning, Albedo,” she greeted, knowing full well that her tone was abnormal as she fought to find a natural way of introducing her theory, but also knowing that Albedo, intelligent beyond reason as he was, was not particularly well-versed in conversation.

“Ah. Good morning, Acting Grand Master. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you could help me find Sucrose. Have you seen her this morning?”

“Sucrose,” Albedo mused aloud as he pressed a hand to his chin in thought. “I have not seen Sucrose for a few days. It is likely she is in her room, studying bones or some other organic matter. If you need to speak with her immediately, I recommend knocking on her door, as it’s unlikely that she will reemerge until the end of the week, at least.”

“Oh. I see. Thank you, Albedo.”

“You’re welcome.”

With that, Albedo continued on his way down the library stairs until he was almost hidden from sight, pulling dusty tomes from ancient corners that hardly anyone but Lisa’s apprentice ever touched. Jean watched as he greeted Lisa's assistant, asking her a question Jean could not discern, and pointing towards a book on the upper shelf.

“Was that your attempt at winning the bet?” Lisa sighed as she emerged from behind her desk. “Oh, dear. You really don’t know much about him at all, do you?”

“Does anyone?”

“That is the question, isn’t it? But I’m far more interested in the little exchange that just occurred. Were you under the impression that Albedo is overly fond of Sucrose?”

“I just wondered. They work so closely together sometimes that I thought perhaps there might be some feelings there.”

“Hmm, no, I don’t believe so. He can be protective of her, the shy little thing, but it’s hardly romantic.”

“Well, what’s your grand plan, then?” Jean asked, defensive of her own tactics even as she realized that she had marvelously failed in plain sight of Lisa. “How do you plan to win the bet?”

“You think I haven’t made anyone blush before?”

“Lisa, please don’t make him uncomfortable. If he resigns, there won’t be anyone qualified to replace him.”

Albedo had thought nothing of the exchange with Jean—it was perfectly reasonable for the Acting Grand Master to inquire about the location of one of her knights—so he had gone about his business in the library and headed straight for the section under the stairs, where he frequently found the most appealing books on the origins of natural species, as well as the librarian’s assistant.

“Good morning, y/n. How are you?” he asked politely, trying not to startle her as she reached up to secure a hefty encyclopedia into its designated spot.

“Good morning, Albedo,” she sighed. As soon as she had settled properly back onto her feet, her hand swept a cloud of dust onto the top of her head which briefly made her cough. “I’m alright, but I think I’ll have to put off my alphabetization of the fiction section until I can finish dusting these shelves.”

“I see. It seems I am alone in my interest of these topics, then?”

“Just about. Sometimes, Cyrus will come in to study for a specific commission, but you’re the only one in the past fifty years who has checked out—” here, she paused, squinting at the title he had returned only a few days prior, “—The Anemo Archon’s Aviary: A Comprehensive Study on Local Wind Patterns, Development of Localized Bird Species, and How Anemo Affects Avian Wildlife.”

“A fascinating read,” he chuckled. “I would recommend it, if you have the time.”

“I’ll put it on my list, but I promised Fischl that I would finish reading that fantasy series she’s been telling me about.”

Just as Albedo was about to agree, perhaps adding some remark about what the prinzessin’s dramatic reaction might be should y/n not heed her decree, the click of Lisa’s heels turned the conversation towards the librarian herself, stepping grandly down the stairs with one hand tracing the banister and the other holding a purple rose.

“Funny seeing you here, Albedo,” Lisa intoned as she swept into the conversation with ease. “Have you come to pester my little assistant again? I’m distraught that you didn’t come to greet me first. How is a lady supposed to feel when a handsome gentleman caller pays her no mind?”

“I apologize, Miss Lisa. In all honesty, I did not realize that you were here.”

“Hmm, you’ve always got your mind on something fascinating, don’t you? I would love to hear all about it, dear, but I do have a question for you, if you don’t care to hear me out.”

“Of course.”

As Albedo turned his attention fully to Lisa in preparation of her inquiries, y/n excused herself with an awkward, pardon me, and returned to replacing all the books on her cart.

Lisa turned over the rose in her hands, allowing Albedo to take it in from all angles as she eased him into light conversation about basic alchemical principles and natural floral phenomena. It wasn’t the conversation that she intended to use to leverage some reaction from him, but her own actions, motivations, and physicality that she hoped might dust his cheeks even the slightest bit red.

“I understand your concern,” Albedo mused, hardly noticing one bit when Lisa began drifting ever closer towards him. “The forests of Sumeru experience dense rain and fog during all seasons, providing the soil with an intense moisture that simply cannot be recreated by any natural climate of Mondstadt. However, many roses of this quality do grow in the temperate hills. If you were to start a garden just outside the Mondstadt gates, I predict that your roses would grow quite well.”

“Interesting.” Lisa swept her hand across the uncovered skin between Albedo’s coat and gloves, skillfully masking the gesture as an accident. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to—oh, your skin in marvelously soft, Mister Albedo. How do you manage that in the cold of Dragonspine?”

“Hmm, I am unsure.”

Albedo jotted down a few simple notes for Lisa to take with her— instructions on the best conditions for growing Sumeru roses outside of Sumeru—and pressed onto the next inquiry she had asked of him. She continued running her fingers across the band of skin on his upper arm. When he did not flinch or fluster, she pressed closer.

“Miss Lisa, is there something else I can do for you?”

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I watch while you work?”

“No, not at all. You are free to stay, if you wish. But I may require some measure of concentration.”

“Concentration?” she gasped, eyebrows raised. “You certainly seem like a man with indomitable focus. I wonder, though, what kind of enticing situation might distract a man like you?”

As if to answer her question, he did not respond, fully immersed in his work and entirely shut off to the outside world. Lisa’s ruse went on for at least the next half hour. She would ask a question, often a flirtation disguised as innocent inquiry, and Albedo would respond with genuine interest in her query and not an ounce of heed for her more lascivious intentions.

“How did it go?” Jean asked, more excitable about the whole ordeal than she had meant to be.

“Miserable. The man is made of rock, or steel, or brick. He’s dead to the world.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration.”

“I tried everything. He had no response for me.”

“Perhaps you’ve lost your charm, Miss Lisa.”

“Don’t push your luck, Acting Grand Master.”

Rosaria wanted to drink, free of charge, and that was the only reason she was doing anything so stupid as trekking through the cold of Dragonspine, up towards Albedo’s lab, Sister Barbara in tow.

“Why would Mister Albedo require my assistance?” Barbara’s teeth chattered as she spoke, and she pulled her arms in close to her chest to bar off the cold. “He has never requested healing before.”

“I don’t know. He just told me to bring you up the mountain with me.”

Rosaria was lying. She was outside of church grounds, so it didn’t really matter how honest she was when Bartobas wasn’t watching. It did, however, give her an uncomfortable chill to know that it was Barbara she was lying to, of all people, the most honest and innocent person ever to stroll under the sunshine of Teyvat. If any of her fan club members were to find out that Rosaria had dragged their precious idol onto a frozen mountain, they would have her head on her own pole.

“Albedo, I brought Barbara,” Rosaria called into the cavern, hoping that if she could be loud and confident enough, both Barbara and Albedo would believe that neither of them were being led astray.

In all reality, Rosaria really hadn’t planned very far ahead. She only knew that when Barbara danced her cute little dance and winked her cute little eye and tilted her cute little head to the side, whomever was on the receiving end of such gestures always went pink in the face.

“Good afternoon, Sister Rosaria, Sister Barbara,” Albedo greeted with a slight pitch of his brow. “If you required my assistance, I could have easily made the journey down to Mondstadt proper. I hope you have not suffered from the cold. Before you return home, please allow me to provide you with a heating potion.”

“No need, Albedo. We won’t be here long.”

“Mister Albedo, Sister Rosaria told me that you need healing,” Barbara announced before Rosaria could fully take control of the situation. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I appear to be alright. Ah—I suppose you are referring to my arm?” The alchemist lifted his arm to reveal a loosely-tied bandage around his forearm that was beginning to show a patch of crimson bleeding through the white material. “I must have forgotten. I… don’t even remember how this came to be. How did you know?”

“I heard about it.”

“You heard about it? I see. You must have run into y/n. I informed her that I could tend to the wound myself, but it would not surprise me to hear that she would turn to Sister Barbara for help. She was quite worried about the whole ordeal.”

Rosaria quietly gave thanks to Lord Bortibos for his good graces. She didn’t even know who y/n was, but Barbara seemed to recognize the name, nodding as she cheerily made her way over to Albedo to take a look at his arm.

Barbara did her cute little dance, and she sang her cute little song, and she winked her cute little eye, but Albedo’s face remained still as a statue and pale as the snow outside the cavern throughout the entire experience. Rosaria at least felt comforted, somewhat, that if Barbara couldn’t get him to blush, surely no one else would discern any other way to do it. She had exhausted every possible avenue, in her mind, and now, it was time to return to more important business.

Amber and Eula tag-teamed the challenge, but their plot failed as soon as it had started. Amber had laid out their game plan as a subtle, masterful appeal to Albedo’s emotion, but Eula Lawrence was not subtle.

“Albedo. Have you ever cried?”

“I—hmm. Perhaps as a child, Captain Eula. Is there any particular reason you ask?”

“Amber wanted to know.”

“No, I didn’t!” Amber shouted to clear her name. She had wanted to know the answer to that strange and invasive question, but she hadn’t wanted Eula to bring it up so brazenly. “What Eula means is that—”

“What was it that made you cry as a child? Your parents? A childhood bully? If you need vengeance to be extracted—”

“Eula means that we were interested in your upbringing. We didn’t mean to pry, Mister Albedo,” Amber physically stepped in between the two before Eula could threaten any figures from Albedo’s past. “We just don’t know much about you.”

“Ah, I see. There is not much to know.”

“Understandable. Have a nice day, Mister Albedo!”

Amber tugged Eula away by the hand, rattling off all sorts of explanations as to why Eula’s questions had been inappropriate, but Eula saw no real merit to such accusations. If Amber had a question to ask, she should ask, not beat around the bush.

Venti knew that he had the upper hand, because who could possibly resist a love ballad played by the dutiful and skilled hands of the Anemo Archon himself? If Lord Barbatos could not woo the alchemist with his dulcet tones and witty lyricism, then surely nothing else could be done.

“Excuse me, dear y/n, but have you seen Albedo today? I heard that he’s in town, and I’d like to pay him a visit.”

Y/n finished placing the return date card in the back of a freshly returned novel, complete with slight electro elemental traces from Lisa’s famous late fee policy, and eyed Venti up and down, taking in the way the bard’s fingers plucked the air just above the strings of his lyre as if practicing.

“Have you written him a song?” y/n asked, buying time. She had seen Albedo, not five minutes prior, and he had paused his deep and entrancing train of thought to greet her, but she worried that any other distraction would simply bounce off of him like Jean repelling a pyro slime. Even Venti’s greatest masterpiece would go unheard with Albedo in that state.

“I have written a song, and I have the feeling he’ll like it, but I need to try it out first. Have you seen him?”

“Venti, Albedo’s in kind of a mood today.” She winced at the way his countenance dropped entirely at the idea. “I don’t mean that he’s upset or anything. He’s just got his mind on something important, so it might not be the best day for a performance. I’m sorry, Venti, I’m sure he’d love to hear it on any other day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright, y/n, thank you for—”

“Y/n, I’ve come across something interesting, and I wonder if you might take a look at it,” Albedo announced as he took great strides down the hallway towards y/n. “The specimen you helped me collect from Starsnatch Cliff has successfully adapted to synthetic photosynthesis. The primary difference to the naked eye seems to be an odd discoloration of the inner petals, but I would appreciate a second opinion, as well as a second set of hands, so that I might extract—oh, hello, Venti. I did not see you there.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Venti announced. He seemed to lift right off of the ground as he bounded towards Albedo with his lyre held aloft, giving a playful strum to the strings. “I was just looking for you, Mister Albedo! Would you be interested in hearing a song that I wrote?”

“Venti, I must apologize, but I am exceedingly busy with an experiment, and I fear—”

“Nonsense! You should always take some time to rest, have a break, enjoy some local entertainment. Come now, sit down. Y/n can listen too, if she’d like.”

Albedo scratched across his forehead with a weary hand before sighing, deciding that humoring the bard would be far easier than prolonging the conversation. His eyes traveled briefly to y/n, who stood awkwardly but graciously smiling between the two. She, at least, seemed interested to hear what Venti had to show for himself, so it couldn’t hurt to rest his feet for a moment, for y/n's sake.

When the song began, Albedo was not overly concerned with the melody or the lyrics or the performance at all, but the more he tuned his ears to really listen to it, the more bemused he became. A love song, of all things, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of Knights HQ, in the middle of an experiment he was quite keen to finish. Why had Venti been so enthused about performing this for him right then and there?

The lyrics were well written, if not a bit esoteric to a man quite literally made from chalk, and he could appreciate the artistry of it. It didn’t hold his interest quite as much, however, as y/n, who, by the third or fourth chorus, had picked up the lively tune and began humming it under her breath as she swayed gently in her seat.

“So, how was it?” Venti exclaimed.

“It was pleasant.”

“Y/n, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“I did, thank you, Venti.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that you both enjoyed my latest masterpiece. You know, when I wrote it, I—”

Venti’s explanation was cut off when he realized that Albedo had risen to his feet, picking up right where he left off mid-ramble. As he watched the two disappear down the hallway, Venti couldn’t help but think that he had somehow ended up on the right path, just with the wrong motivation and at the wrong time.

If Venti had been close, Kaeya was near right on the mark, if not slightly to the left of a bullseye. He was a master of gathering information, an expert in the field of loosening inhibitions and coaxing secrets from anyone from gossiping servants to high-ranking Fatui officers.

The sweet little librarian’s assistant would be no challenge for him, or so he thought.

“Oh, come now, y/n,” he crooned, leaning conspiratorially across the counter to peer up at her. “Everyone has a weakness. Don’t tell me that Albedo is so composed all the time.”

“A weakness?” she pondered aloud, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation but more uncomfortable with the idea of confronting Kaeya about it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“No? Don’t you have a weakness, y/n?”

“Do you mean physically, or…? I suppose I’m not very good at using a claymore. I can’t seem to get used to the weight distribution.”

“You’re lucky you’re adorable, y/n. I’m talking about an emotional weakness. What flusters our dear chief alchemist, hmm? What makes him blush?”

“Blush?”

“Yes, blush. Just like you’re doing right now.”

She lifted a hand to her cheek as if to physically try to wipe the red off of her face before Kaeya could make any more untoward comments about it, but he only pressed onward, willfully ignoring her own flustered behavior.

“Why do you ask?” she elected to sidestep his original question with one of her own.

“I’m merely curious. And you two are friends, correct?”

“Um… yes, we are. Captain Kaeya, if you would like to know more about Albedo, I doubt he would be upset if you asked him yourself. He’s not particularly shy, he’s just not… talkative, I suppose.”

“Right,” Kaeya muttered. He hadn’t anticipated that y/n would be straightforward, if not a little coy, about the matter, though he should have guessed. Anyone who was as close to the chief alchemist as she would have to have some similarities in personality. Kaeya couldn’t imagine Albedo befriending anyone garrulous or grandiloquent.

“Is there something else I can help you with?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I have a few more questions about Mister Albedo. Nothing too personal of course, just some basic information, if you happen to know the answers.”

“I can try, but again, I’m sure Albedo wouldn’t mind if you asked him yourself.”

“And what if I’m planning some sort of surprise?” Kaeya intoned. Y/n’s brow furrowed at the thought, but Kaeya swooped in to reassure her before she backed out. “Nothing too extreme, of course. A private gift, perhaps. He helped me with a problem I had recently, and I would like to thank him properly. Does he have a favorite color, perhaps?”

Reasonably, Kaeya could do nothing with that shallow information, but if he intended to ask anything beyond surface-level attributes, he was obviously going to have to ease y/n into it with softball questions that wouldn’t raise her hackles.

“He does like blue—that kind of deep blue that’s on his shirt. I wouldn’t say that he necessarily has a favorite, but he does tend to favor colors that aren’t garish.”

“I see, I see. A favorite flower?”

“Cecilias,” y/n answered easily, with a brief smile that Kaeya might have missed had he not been watching her closely. Even though she turned from him to stamp a return date, he could read her honest expression plain as day. “There’s a species of large flower that grows in Sumeru, primarily in open, grassy areas, that he always mentions he would like to see someday, but I wouldn’t say that it’s his favorite. He’s very fond of Cecilias.”

“Interesting. So you two are quite close, then?”

The blush returned to her face, and she cleared her throat before she spoke, “Yes, we’re… close. Albedo is—he’s a good friend of mine. Do you have any other questions?”

“Just a few more, if you would humor me.”

“Of course, Captain Kaeya.”

“Since you work in the library, I’m sure you know—what genre of book does Albedo prefer?”

“Non-fiction, usually.”

“Usually?”

“Almost always some scientific study for an experiment he’s working on. I’ve managed to talk him into reading a few adventure novels, though, and he seemed to enjoy them well enough.”

“Does he read romance novels?”

“No, that’s not something he’s ever expressed interest in.”

“He’s not a romantic?”

She blanched, an interesting reaction, but one he didn’t pay near enough mind to. Y/n appeared to be skirting some issue—she had been honest and gracious in playing along with Kaeya’s questioning, but she shifted her gaze uncomfortably from time to time as if desperate to find an out from certain topics.

She’s shy, he thought to himself as he watched her fingers busy themselves with the fraying edge of a hardback novel. And I am being awfully forward, especially to someone who spends more time around books than people.

“He’s—” she began, then stopped abruptly, trying to rephrase her thoughts, “he’s not typically interested in romance, I suppose. That’s not to say that he’s incapable of… or uninterested in… um, do you have a different question?”

“You think he would be interested in romance, given the right circumstance?”

“Yes, I suppose. That makes sense.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it does. Well, thank you for your time, Miss y/n. I apologize for taking up your afternoon with my silly questions.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Captain Kaeya. If you need more help finding a nice gift for Albedo, I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, y/n.”

“You thought that he was romantically interested in Sucrose?” Eula scoffed before downing another full glass of something so strong that Jean could smell it several seats down.

“Don’t tell me that your approach was any better, Captain Eula.”

The knights and friends, defeated after a week of attempts at catching the chief alchemist off guard in hopes to catch him blushing, had nearly decided that the man was incapable of going red at all.

“Maybe we should tell him that he can’t blush,” Amber suggested. “He said himself that he wasn’t sure if he was capable of it. I bet he would like to know the answer.”

“But then we would be giving away the game,” Kaeya retorted. “And we need a full mission report before deciding that he’s a lost cause. Lisa, how did you fare?”

“No better than Jean, unfortunately. I gave him just about everything I could without being indecent. He hardly noticed I was there.”

“Rosaria?”

“I called in Barbara. Nothing.”

“Amber?”

“Well, I was going to try something simple, but Eula was a bit too forward about it. We got no results at all from it.”

“Venti?”

“I played him my song.”

“And?”

“He liked it, of course. But he didn’t blush.”

“Well, then, that leaves me, I suppose,” Kaeya sighed. He had saved himself for last, despite having nothing to show for himself. His conversation with y/n had been only slightly illuminating, but nothing he had attempted during his subsequent conversation with Albedo had produced results, and he was ashamed to tell the group as much. “I suppose none of us are getting free drinks, then. A shame, really. I was interested to see the results almost as much as I wanted free liquor.”

“You’re forgetting someone,” Diluc suddenly announced as he stepped lively into the room, taking his place behind the bar with a chipper attitude that was unbecoming of him. The entire group was baffled at his words, and at the smile that graced his usually stern features.

“Oh, Master Diluc, don’t tell me that you’re the one who has actually been successful? Turning someone’s face red with pyro will get you disqualified, you know,” Kaeya intoned, hoping to slightly infuriate the man but only lifting his countenance even more.

“I have proof, and as soon as I show you, I will have an entire month of peace and quiet. If I see even one of you lurking around my tavern on a Tuesday night, I will personally ensure that you never see the inside of this establishment ever again.”

“We all agreed to it, Diluc,” Lisa bargained, leaning over the counter as if Diluc’s proof were hiding behind the bar, just out of sight. “Go ahead and show us, dear, don’t leave us hanging like this.”

“Charles?” Diluc asked.

Charles nodded firmly, “They’re just outside.”

“Good.”

With this, Diluc wordlessly stepped towards the back door, pressing a gloved finger to his mouth to signal that the rest of the group should be quiet. He poised his hand over the doorknob for several agonizing seconds until suddenly and forcefully, he flung the door open, sending the couple on the other side flying apart.

“Barbatos preserve me,” Venti muttered drunkenly, the only one of the group who could speak at the moment.

The sight was startling, but after the initial shock had faded, it became increasingly obvious to all of them precisely how oblivious they all had been in their research. It should have been obvious. There was a common denominator to nearly every respective conversation they had conducted, and it was not a thing or a topic or an action, but a person.

Albedo was behind the door, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears as he and y/n sheepishly parted. What they had been doing before the door opened had gone unseen by the bar’s patrons, but they could wager a strong guess based on the way y/n was quick to cover her lips with her hand.

“Oh, my—” Kaeya began. “Well, this is interesting. Why didn’t you two tell us about your little arrangement? I’m sure we all would be quite happy for you.”

“You did not ask,” Albedo replied simply. By the time he stepped in properly through the door, his face had returned to its normal color, though y/n was still the color of an unripe sunsettia.

“And to think, we were all going about it the wrong way.”

“Going about what?”

“These idiots made a bet,” Diluc said, straightforward and stern as he moved towards the front door, preparing to physically toss the knights out by their collars. “And they’ve all lost, so now it’s time to leave. Y/n and Albedo, of course, are free to stay.”

“Oh. Thank you, Diluc,” y/n muttered, half lost in thought. “Wait, is that why everyone was acting like that this past week? You were all trying to get Albedo to… to do what? What were you trying to do?”

Albedo was quick to respond, having connected the dots rather easily, “I see. This is because of our conversation last week, yes? You were performing an experiment to see if I am capable of blushing. And, judging by your expressions, you seem to have gotten a satisfactory answer.”

“Yes,” Diluc interjected. “Goodbye.”

With this, the knights were summarily kicked out of the tavern for the next month, and Diluc was rewarded handsomely with his peace and quiet, for which he was happy to provide the happy couple with a set of drinks, on the house. He did feel a bit uncomfortable, after all, that he had exposed their relationship for the explicit purpose of clearing out his bar.

“Did they make you uncomfortable, y/n?” Albedo asked her quietly after Diluc had disappeared into the back to refresh his ingredients. “If I had known that they might confront you for an answer, I would have asked them to refrain.”

“I’m alright, Bedo. I just hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable, trying to make you blush like that.”

“No, I hardly noticed. I do commend their dedication to their experiment, however. I hope their results were satisfactory.”

“Hmm, I guess so. But if they wanted to know if you’re capable of blushing, they could have just asked me outright. I’ve seen you blush plenty of times.”

“Have you really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Fascinating. When does this happen?”

“Well—different times, I guess, but… most of the time, when I kiss you, you turn red.”

“I would like a demonstration, if you don’t mind.”

She was happy to provide.

#albedo x reader #albedo imagine #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #if you read this far i love you #also i love making up fake book names #it was call of the ocean void and now the anemo archons aviary #i just love coming up with fake book titles what does that say about me

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pain-in-the-butler · 8 months

Text

A compilation of art for my Dadbastian fanfic Coattails that I commissioned from the incredibly talented @tomoyoo! They went above and beyond with the details... Each picture feels as cozy and warm as a storybook, right? I'm so delighted with how they turned out!! Thank you for making each one so beautiful! 🥹🥹🥹

#coattails #not sebaciel so please don't tag as such! thank you!#kuroshitsuji #the backgrounds are just gorgeous.. thank you for your research and dedication to them #the outfits in the first one are amazing! I love Ciel's shirt and Soma's whole ensemble is so cozy yet regal #look at Ciel in the cardigan in the third one though? he is cozy #the expressions are my favorite. they're so animated! just as I imagine them to be..#I really like Ciel's in the first pic because I imagined him looking annoyed but you actually made him seem curious #and I actually like that more I think it's cute... he really does want to be friends with Soma huh 🥺#Sebastian's expression in the third picture is great. >:o #he's about to throw hands with an old lady #Edward and Ciel's competitive faces! being silly... I love Them #Ciel needs to get swept up in silly competitions more often I think...#and then the last one!! bonding over tea! it's so amazingly tender 😭#I don't think I imagined it coming out so calming and gentle... it's so emotional #it makes me want to keep writing!#if you are a Coattails reader I hope you love these as much as I do!#and if you aren't a Coattails reader... maybe these will convince you to become one? 😏 because they are so full of personality!#thanks times a million tomoyoo!!#(I should wait till tomorrow to post but I want to do it now...)

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claymorexpunisher · 1 year

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Together We Make Magic... (Roman Reigns x Fem. Reader 18+ Fic) (Pt.4)

(gif made by me. Vid cc to: Your Tribal Chief on Youtube.)

Soooo... So sorry the smut scene is pretty short but like... where I've got one 1 Roman fic posted, I got another... 10000 cookin' LOL! Love you guys and I hope you enjoy!! 💙💙💙

Summary: Theory crosses the line and Roman decides to make him pay...

Tags: 18+, misogynistic language, age gap, smut, violence, unprotected sex, size kink if you blink.

Word Count:

As soon as Austin left and the guys got back, I asked them to leave Roman and I to ourselves.

Ignoring their suggestive stares and comments, I focused my eyes on my boyfriend, who didn’t meet my gaze.

He knew I wasn’t happy.

When I heard the door of the locker room click shut, I sat down on the couch, a few inches away from Roman.

‘’Austin was here.’’ Roman murmured without any doubt in his voice.

I watched as he clenched and unclenched his fist, and I rolled my eyes.

‘’Well, someone had to tell me what went down out there. Cuz you clearly didn’t care to. Even when it had to do with me.’’ I said, my tone suddenly sharp and cold.

At the sound of my voice, Roman turned to look at me, as if he had just snapped out of whatever he was feeling at that moment.

‘’What’re you talkin’ about, babe? You weren’t feeling well so I didn’t see the point in bringing any of it up-‘’ Roman started, only pausing when I held a silent hand up.

‘’I’m a big girl. I can handle myself and I can decide whether or not I wanna deal with shit that has to do with me. Can I not? Or do you see me as this dumb little girl that can’t handle herself?’’ I bombarded with accusations that seemed to fly out of my mouth by their own accord.

I don’t know why I let Austin’s words get to me, but the confirmation that something had gone down and Roman hadn’t bothered to tell me didn’t really help.

‘’… Look, why don’t we talk about this later? Let’s just get you feeling better, and we’ll talk about this.’’ Roman said.

I shook my head.

‘’Stop making it seem like I’m being irrational, Joe. It was a simple question.’’ I replied.

I shrugged and gave him an expectant look.

‘’I don’t think you’re a dumb little girl. I just think that there are certain things that you don’t need to hear. And if it bothers you that I wanna protect you from that, I’m sorry. I can’t just let some little bitch ass punk run his mouth like that about you,’’ Roman ranted.

My eyes lit up in amusement before I groaned and plopped my head down onto his thigh and I looked up at him as he stroked his hand over my hair.

‘’I can’t stay mad at you,’’ I glared playfully to which he responded by chuckling and bending to press a series of light kisses to my lips.

‘’What did he say?’’ I asked Roman once we pulled away.

I could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to tell me.

But that wouldn’t do much good.

For how much shit I was giving Roman, I needed to put my foot down.

Deep down I knew that I had been hiding behind him in some ways.

Squeezing his hand in mine and reaching up to hold his cheek with my free hand, I willed him to tell me.

‘’Babe, do you really think I don’t hear the shit people say about me simply because I’m with you? That I’m a gold digger- as if I don’t earn my own paycheck- that I’ve got Daddy issues, that I’m ridin’ your coattails… I’ve heard it all. And it honestly doesn’t bother me… But I do think that Austin needs to be dealt with. But I need to know what he said so that we can come up with a solution together. I don’t give a crap that I have a migraine- he’s a bigger migraine and a bigger pain in our ass.’’ I shrugged and Roman stared at me for a moment before he chuckled and shook his head.

The chuckle quickly died as he began to tell me in full detail, what went down outside the locker room.

I wasn’t shocked.

I wasn’t even offended.

And now that the fog that Austin tried to put in my head, had cleared, I remembered Roman was the man I loved.

Austin was… nobody.

And thinking about his behavior as of late, it was easy to see that, yes.

Austin Theory needed to be dealt with.

So, Roman and I got to scheming.

We agreed that he didn’t need to lose his job, but he definitely needed to be humbled.

That night, Theory was involved in a segment with The Bloodline, and he left in a stretcher.

The boys didn’t absolutely pulverize him, but it was enough.

It was enough for Theory to realize that neither Roman nor I were fucking around.

Roman got to settle things his way, and I got to have my say.

And everyone was happy.

Well… except Theory.

But the important thing is that he learned his lesson and once he was healed in the next few months, he apologized and began to keep his distance once again…

Pt. 5/5

#roman reigns #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x female reader #roman reigns x reader #roman reign #roman reigns fan fiction #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe fanfic #wrestling fic #wrestling smut

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dragondemoness · 2 years

Note

elloo!! i really loved the sucrose-like reader post a lot :) i hope you dont mind if i send a request to you now, i hope im not annoying you like this if i am im really sorry, but anyways ill start now...

can you do Aoi Asahina, Kiyotaka Ishimaru and Sakura Ogami with a S/O with a Kujou Sara personality, ill give you the info to help a little more this might be long....

Kujou Sara has a stern, no nonsense demeanor that is solely focused on the enactment of the Raiden Shogun’s vision of “Eternity”, even if she herself may not live to see it. Another source of her unshakable devotion to the Shogun is the fact she was saved at a young age by her vision’s appearance that lead to her adoption by the Kujou clan.Compared to other higher ups in the Tenryou Commission, Sara prefers to be more hands on, doing things herself whenever possible, and follows training regimens that others have described as near insanity.

Kujou Sara has raven colored hair cut into a slightly uneven bob and eyes that shine a pristine golden yellow. Her red tengu mask sits at a tilted 45 degree angle on her forehead. She wears a black form fitting top shorts covered by white ceremonial sheets and dark purple coattails with a seal of the Kujou clan worn as a necklace. She can display and retract her 4 sets of pitch black wings at will, and has a pair of red and gold tengu-geta sandals. Her vision can be found on her waist held in place by a golden ribbon

The blood of the tengu runs through Kujou Sara's veins, but she does not dwell in the forests and mountains as they do. She was fostered from a young age by the Kujou Clan and has served since then as part of the Tenryou Commission.

omg, i hope this helps, agian sorry for the long info abt her, do this whenever your ready, and have a great day :D

Glad you liked it! Thanks again for the info :) Apologies for taking a little long

You too, have a great day!

Aoi, Taka and Sakura with a Reader who's like Kujou Sara (Genshin Impact)

Aoi Asahina

She found your sternness to be a little intimidating at first

You were not the type to mess around

You just had that aura surrounding you, and it kinda gave her the chills

She does think you're pretty cool though

She noticed how independent you were and how much you tried to shoulder stuff by yourself

She offered to help a couple times, but you always refused

Your training regimen has her interested

She's athletic and likes to work out, so she wouldn't consider what you do to be insane

Unless it is, then she'll be concerned

So she asks to join you, and offers you to join her

She decides that you're actually really fun to be around

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

He admires you honestly

You take things seriously, including your studies, which he can always appreciate

But when it comes to your independence, he gets quite concerned

You seem to have a lot on your plate, way too much to handle by yourself

But every time he offers to help with your studies to take that load off your shoulders, you always refuse

Then there's your training regimen

He just doesn't understand

But as he gets to know you, he realizes that you have your own way of doing things that are different from your family's

And he still has the same admiration for you

Sakura Ogami

She also admires you

You're not the type to waste time, which she likes about you

She doesn't like to waste time either

But she does worry about you sometimes

Especially when it comes to your independence

She offers to help you with whatever you might need, but you never accept it

She doesn't think your training regimen is insane at all unless it is

Like Aoi, she'll also like to train with you

She appreciates how hardworking you can be, but she encourages you to take a break

#danganronpa #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa x reader #aoi asahina x reader #kiyotaka ishimaru x reader #sakura ogami x reader

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Best-friends to Lovers (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: can we get like... a lil fred weasley, you guys are good friends and you don’t usually go back for the holidays, and Fred invites you back to the Burrow to spend the break there and y’all like totally fall for each other 🥺

Warning: None (I switched it up just a tiny bit to where they’ve already developed some feelings but they finally admit them sooo hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 4.5k

It was a flurry and cold winter night, the kind of night when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. The frigid air, the slippery ground and the sheet of white covering the once green grass. All signs winter was here and cold times were ahead. Even in the highlands of Scotland, the winters were ferosus and unforgiving. You despised the freezing temperature, but Fred was far too convincing and a midnight walk with him was something you couldn’t find the words to turn down.

For the first time in the five years you had spent at Hogwarts, and the five years you had been best friends, you had finally accepted the twins offer on spending Christmas at the Burrow with their family. It was a turn of events in your typical holiday plans which were mostly spent alone at the castle. Your first two years at school you had traveled home for Christmas. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly a ‘jolly’ time either. Family time came few and far between. The sparse time you did spend around your family had grown… awkward. Being the only witch in your family didn’t help much either. As the years dragged on, you felt like a stranger in your own home. Your parents spent their entire year with your younger brother, so he had undoubtedly grown to be the favorite and the prized child. They still loved you of course, it just felt forced to engage with them at times.

So it came as a pleasant surprise when you walked into the Weasley’s home and were engulfed in a warmth you had never known. Molly Weasley was the first to greet you, popping out from the staircase with a shimmering grin. Before you could register what was happening, she pulled you into a bone crunching grip rambling on about how good it was to meet you. Arthur hugged you as well and teased about how much the twins would talk about you, especially Fred. Fred would turn bashful but he didn’t deny it.

Ginny showed you around the house, beating Fred and George to the chance. Molly set up a mattress on the floor next to the youngest Weasley’s bed, something Ginny was over the moon thrilled about. She had been longing for a sleepover with you for years now. Ever since her first term, she followed you around like a little puppy. So your first night at the home, Ginny coerced you into a slumber party immediately.

The twins, mainly Fred, weren’t too happy at this. They were the ones who invited you yet their little sister was stealing all your time. Fred was bitter when you hurried off from dinner to go join Ginny upstairs, not even bidding him a farewell.

George insisted his twin was being dramatic- they had an entire month for Merlin's sake! The feelings his brother developed for you, their best friend, was clear as crystals to George. They both shared a crush on you for the first year at Hogwarts but George’s feelings quickly shifted to a friendship, sister love. Fred on the other hand, well his crush only evolved further. George noticed it the second Fred started combing his hair before dinner and always placing himself the closest towards you. It was a topic they danced around for quite some time. He teased his twin for years until the idea came to him that Fred still felt this way towards you even after years. George had devoted his previous two summers to breaking Fred into admission. All he wanted was to hear his twin confirm his suspicions. Not that he needed that really, other people were beginning to notice as well.

One of them being your temporary roommate. Ginny was a top notch observer. During her second year, she started to catch on to the elephant that followed you and Fred into every room.

That first night, Ginny shed light on her theory by offhandedly making a rather large claim late that first night. While the two of you were chatting softly in the dark, the young girl declared out of the blue,

“I think my brother is in love with you.”

In an instant, your whole body froze over like water on a lake. You were thankful for the dark, it kept Ginny from seeing your wide eyed stare of shock.

“What?”

It was now you could see her small frame adjusting in her bed. Even with the lack of light, you saw her sitting up on her bed, propping her weight on one elbow. It could be assumed she had a devilish smile as she probed on.

“Fred… pretty sure he’s in love with you.”

“Why, what makes you think that, Ginny?”

“Quite a laundry list of things, actually. First, he never shuts up about you. Second, he’s always trying to be around you. Third, he’s always staring at you… bit creepy. Fourth, he’s told our nanna about you! Lastly, and most obvious, I heard him telling George right before school started.”

Laying back down, you fixed your eyes on the ceiling taking in her words. Does your best friend really share the same feelings for you? It was too good to be true, it couldn’t be true, you thought. This kinda stuff only happened in the movies and your life definitely was not a film gracing the silver screen. The butterflies went rampant in your stomach, fluttering about wildly. For a moment, you had forgotten Ginny was there, or that you were in her room, until she spoke again.

“So, what do you think of him?” She asked innocently. Tugging the fluffy blue blanket closer to your chest you replied,

“Pardon?”

Ginny wasted no time and reached over to flicker the light switch on her bedside lamp. A bright light broke through the pitch black darkness of the bedroom. You groaned at the act but Ginny spoke over your sounds of protest.

“Are you in love with Fred?”

Running your hand over your face, you let out a sigh. It was getting too late to be thinking about such heavy topics. You had a great friendship with Ginny, you really did, but if you couldn’t even deal with these emotions on your own, you really didn’t want to throw your thoughts on her.

Turning over on the mattress, you rolled your eyes.

“Ginny, I’m not even dating Fred.”

“But you want to.” She confirmed stubbornly.

“I mean… I-I don’t know, Ginny. Can we talk about something else, please?” You wanted to hide under a blanket and avoid the question for all of eternity. She had caught you off guard and although the feelings you felt towards Fred were strong, it wasn’t something you felt ready to face yet. It wasn’t easy being in love with your best friend- there was so much risk, so much to lose if things went south. You settled on keeping Fred as a friend rather than gamble the option of rejection and a change in your relationship forever.

Ginny perked her brow, opened her mouth as if ready to rebuttal, then deciding against it. The corner of her tip twitched to a smirk as she replied,

“Hmm, okay.”

The topic was dropped for the rest of the night as Ginny went to bed shortly after, but it wasn’t completely over. From then on, you began noticing the constant little redhead attached to your coattails. You noticed each time Fred shooed his sister off and demanded she find something better to do. He was edging closer and closer to his point of eruption. This break was supposed to be time for him to spend alone with you and finally confess his feelings. Not Ginny being your shadow and George tagging along for every outing.

Now on your walk almost a week later, your mind hadn’t stopped wandering to that conversation. Ginny hadn’t brought it up again, at least not vocally. During breakfast the next morning after your talk while you're placed between Fred and George joking around with them, she’ll send you knowing looks, giggling to herself. Harry started to pick up on this as well and you noticed Ginny whispering to him afterwards. It didn’t help that Fred would take any opportunity he could to make you laugh and be in your presence.

Last night you found yourself sitting in front of the fireplace with George, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Fred. A steaming mug of hot cocoa was clutched in everyone’s hand. After about an hour of talking softly and sharing stories, Ginny, Ron and Harry decided to call it a night and trudged up the stairs together. You waved to them as they disappeared up the wooden steps, the sound off their feet turning quieter with every second.

As the three of you sat closely, it felt like you were back at Hogwarts in the common room. George was gushing about a Muggle film you had shown him earlier in the day and Fred was silently listening in, a small smile kissing his lips. You were sat at Fred’s side, your backs against the couch and his arm thrown casually around your shoulder. George was laid on the smaller couch across from the two of you, rambling on to himself. As his talking continued, Fred slowly worked to move your body closer to his and nearly in his lap. He did it so naturally you almost failed to notice. The loud, booming tone of George simmer out within minutes. His voice seemed to sooth him into a slumber as his harsh snores suddenly cut through the air, having talked himself to sleep. This caused the both of you to start laughing. Fred’s arm gripped you tighter as his body shook with chuckles. The sensation sent an odd shiver down your spine. It felt… nice, really really nice to be in his arms.

Fred wondered if now was the time. It was the first chance he had gotten alone with you for almost a week, so there was a good probability he wouldn’t get another for a while. He needed to make a move, something at least! Fred hated not having the bravery like the Gryffindor he was to fess up and spit out the words to describe how he felt about you. Closing his eyes, Fred took a deep breath then peeked his gaze open once more. The nerves had calmed and for the first time, he felt ready and he knew he had to act on it. But as he looked down at you, all the confidence had vanished with one glance. His throat dried as your eyes met and a faint precipitation budded in his palms. All the words he had been rehearsing for a year now simply slipped out the back door.

You took note of the ghost white paleness that took over and immediately sat up, removing yourself from his arms to ask,

“You alright, Freddie?” The concern dripped from your words as you examined the face of your best friend. His eyes were lowered, glued to the flickering flames of the crackling fire.

“Of course, love. I’m sorry, was just thinking.”

“Aw, Freddie, we talked about this. You know thinking is no good for you- you’re brain can’t handle it, darling!” Fred’s heart leaped at the adorning pet name. Only recently had you started calling him more loving names, and it drove him absolutely mad. No girl could ever get his heart racing with just one word like you could. He loved hearing such names coming from your mouth, and directed to him. There was only one name he would die to call you and that was his.

“Can I take you for a walk, love?” The request came abruptly, completely out of the blue. Your eyes widen at his question. Any other time you’d say yes without a second thought. Although, it was late and the land was not a territory you were familiar with like Hogwarts.

Your eyes fell on the window behind the couch. Large white snowflakes swirled from the sky and coated the grounds. The heavy black winter jacket you packed was hung up neatly by the door, not having been touched for at least a day.

Turning your attention back to Fred, you realized his eyes were already trained on your face. At your glance, a hopefully smile reached his cheeks.

“It’s nearly midnight I… actually, why not? Sure. But if we run into any wolves, I’m sacrificing you to them, Weasley.” He laughed at your response and quickly jumped up. You set your hands to your side, readying yourself to stand when suddenly, Fred’s large hands attached to your sides and lifted you up to your feet. You stumbled trying to gain balance but once again, Fred was right there to help you.

Unexpectedly, his left hand extended out and intertwined his fingers in yours. Just as you had predicted, his touch was warm, addicting in a way. It set off a pool of security and protection. Instead of fearing what may lie in the open land outside his house, you trusted Fred.

The tall boy walked you towards the door and pulled your long coat from the hook then threw it around your body. You slipped your arms into the fuzzy material as he yanked his heavy jacket on. Watching the never ending snowfall outside, you worked your hands into the black mittens you had stored in the coat pockets. You hoped it wasn’t as bone chilling outside as it looked.

“Here, I think you might need this, love. You can use my scarf too if you’d like. Don’t want you freezing to death, that’d be hard to explain to George and the rest of our friends.” Fred placed an extra winter hat of his on top of your head. Heat slapped your cheeks at his movements. Fred was commonly sweet towards you but lately, he had been extra sweet. Small gestures here and there were adding up and raising a bit of questions in your mind.

You knocked Fred jokingly on the shoulder and remarked,

“Reckon they’ll send you to Azkaban for that one. I’m a saint, everyone loves me, Fred.” You teased him playfully before accepting his offer with a thank you. Instead of handing you the maroon and gold striped scarf, Fred leaned forward and wrapped it snug around your neck. Once finished, his fingertip tapped against the tip of your nose, grinning to himself.

“You’re not wrong about that. We should get going though. The killer trolls will rise from the ground soon!”

“Knock it off!” You scolded him in a hushed tone, careful not to wake his sleeping family as you chased out of the house after him. Running down the steps, you saw Fred waiting near the car for you. There was an open path behind the car, a makeshift road but the kids used it for a walking guide.

He motioned you over waving exaggeratedly.

“C’mon, darling! You’re taking forever.” Fred moaned on dramatically as he waited for you to catch up to him.

“It’s freezing out here, be patient.” You waddled over to his side and stood close to his frame, egar for warmth. Fred took in your shaking body and wrapped his arm around your shoulder and tugged you towards his side.

Snowflakes landed on your eyelashes, conflicting your view. Despite the coldness of the winter air, the landscape was beautiful. There were miles and miles of open plains on all ends of the Burrow. In a way, they were isolated, but the atmosphere was live with activity. It was impossible to be bored when the Weasley siblings were around. There was so much to do, in an exploring sense. You had never felt so free, so open before. It was refreshing to spend time at Weasley's home. As the two of you walked together in the crunchy snow, Fred pointed to a large field, a makeshift pitch if you had to guess.

“Charlie and Bill taught George and I how to play Quidditch over there the summer after our first year. Percy hated playing with us! We’d all gang up on him- even if he was on our team- and try to knock him off his broom. I don’t think he’s played with us since! You would’ve died of laughter seeing how angry he got.” You watched as Fred’s features scrunched in laughed at the memory. His contagious chuckles infected you as you laughed along. It was a recollection you could imagine perfectly, even if you weren’t there. Percy was an easy target but he had done it to himself so there wasn’t much room for blame.

Shrugging your shoulders you said,

“I would say poor Percy but he turned me in for being out past curfew so, I’m proud of you, Fred.”

“Sounds like him, just try being related to him. He runs to our parents for everything! Every. Little. Thing. It’s infuriating.” Your cheeks began to sting from smiling so much, but when you were around Fred, it was a given. He had an affect on you that no one else seemed to earn. Even when you were on the brim of tears, Fred always found a way to bring a grin to your face.

But still, you thought about Ginny’s words and the change in Fred throughout your years as friends. Nights were lost tossing and turning over the thought of that prankster redhead who had occupied all your notions.

Lifting your hand up slightly, you grabbed for Fred’s gloved hand. He gladly accepted your gesture and squeezed on your hand as you continued to walk further from the home. Fred’s attention soon dropped as his consciousness drifted once again. Pursing your lips you drew him out.

“Freddie, what’s on your mind? You’ve been different since we got here. I mean, it’s not a bad different. It’s just… something is different with you and you’re my best friend so I wanna know.”

Fred’s eyes snapped up at your concerning voice and the startled expression met yours. This was definitely not a common act for Fred. Your mind raced at the possibility of what it could be but luckily, Fred didn’t make you wait long for an answer.

His pace slowed, but his feet still dragged in the powdered flakes holding your hand. You wanted to hear him speak so bad although you respected the time he needed and waited in silence as you continued to walk. It didn’t take long for Fred to shatter the thin air,

“Can I ask you a serious question? Like one that could change everything.”

“You can ask me anything, Fred. You know this. It won’t change a thing.” You replied seriously. Fred could hear the truthfulness in your words and it calmed him, only a little though. The looming fear, and reality, of rejection was becoming all too real. Even worse than rejection, Fred had a feeling if he didn’t take his chance now, he might never have the opportunity again.

“Do you see me only as a best friend?” The nervousness in his voice broke the peace of the air. Your feet halted at the cavalier inquest. Fred had asked quite the offhand questions before but this, this was new. Mentally attempting to connect the pieces, you tilted your head in confusion.

“Freddie…” The mummer was faint, almost failing to register from your lips. The Burrow was still in near distance and the moonlight provided enough light to search Fred’s face. You weren’t sure what to make of the inquiry exactly, but your heart race excelled in anticipation.

Fred Weasley shifted in the crystalline snow. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets and his legs bounced in his stance. You knew him well enough to see the contemplation written across his features.

“Y/n I really really like you. I promise this isn’t a joke or some prank. If you don’t feel the same I can find a way to accept it but I don’t wanna lose you in my life. I just can’t hold it in anymore. It’s been five years of tortue now and… I just needed to get it out, love. I think I might be falling in love with you- if I haven’t already.” As Fred poured his heart out openly, the dripping snowfall ceased all together. It was magically in a sense. The loud slush was now quiet, almost like drizzling rain. His gingerbread eyes were studied upon you, waiting for any sort of reaction to surface. You just gazed up at him scavenging for the perfect words to spill your emotions.

“You’ve liked me for five years?” You asked, stunned. That was impossible. All this time you had spent crushing on Fred and admiring him, stuck in the friendzone, you could’ve just talked to him and been honest. Fred’s eyes darted back to his house then to you anxiously.

“Yeah. I’ve just been too scared to tell you. I don’t want it to ruin our friendship, that’s the last thing I could take.”

Your heart dropped at his words. It was funny in a way, he had the same fears as you. In the same way, you felt guilty for putting him through the same torture you had been going through the last few years as well.

With a surge of confidence, you snapped your head up to Fred and quickly remarked,

“Will it ruin our friendship if I think I’m in love with you too?”

The stillness in the air was unreadable at first. Your gazes trained intently on each other. The uplift gleamed in Fred when he took in your words. All his fears went away like the swish of a wand.

Half out of adrenaline, the other half out of want for years of desire, Fred took one step forward and closed the small gap of space between the two of you by pressing his lips tightly against yours. His hands rested on your face, and the small of your back to keep you steady. This you were thankful for this as his quick actions took you by shock nearly knocking you off your feet.

Your left hand drew up to his hair, finding a tight grip in his shoulder length locks, something you’d been dreaming about doing. The kiss intensified as you indulged in the lock and pressed closer to Fred. Your mouths moved together as if snogging was naturally with you two.

Your lungs demanded air after a few minutes and you slowly pulled away from Fred’s lips and leaned away to regain your composure. You could hear Fred panting at your side, also processing what just took place. Your hands never left each other’s and he suddenly squeezed yours to earn your attention. A genuine look crosses Fred’s face as he whispered into the cold air,

“Can I ask you to be my girlfriend now or do you want me to woo you over on a date first?” His sweet words nearly melted your heart. As easy as you were to please when it came to Fred, this heartwarming exchange felt like the perfect night to declare as a first outing.

“I think I’ll count this as our first date, it was quite romantic.”

Fred rolled his eyes with a smirk. It made him happy that you weren’t demanding or the snotty type. He loved that the small things made you glow with happiness. Even with this, he was still mentally planning a date to take you on before break ended. Although you still had yet to answer his big question.

“So does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” You had to swallow back a laugh as you realized you never officially answered Fred. Despite your kiss, he still looked worried you’d turn him away. Shaking your head with a smile you replied,

“Yes, I won’t make you beg anymore.”

Fred wasted no time snatching you by the waste and giving you a small twirl around the snow. A yelp sounded from your lips and you hoped it wasn’t loud enough to wake anyone sleeping at the Burrow. Fred chuckled at your protests and placed you down delicately. Placing his hands on either side of your face, the joyful Gryffindor snogged you lightly, but his passion still seeped through.

“Merlin’s beard, can’t believe it took my stupid arse five years to ask you out. I could’ve been kissing you years ago!”

“Guess we were both missing out. Feel dim for thinking I was going to ruin everything between us if I told you how I felt. But I’m so happy, Freddie.”

“Here, darling,” His gloved hand jerk back to the house, “We oughta head back, now. Mum will kill me if she finds out we were out this late! She thinks you’re an angel so you’ll be fine but I’ll be six feet under by dawn. I can’t wait for morning, though. I can finally brag to everyone that you’re mine, love.” His lips pressed against yours again, desperate to relive the spark and it did not disappoint. Kissing Fred felt natural, like you melted into the embrace. Your lips molded in sync, matching up like magnets. His tongue drew a line across your bottom lips as he kissed you deeper.

Coming back to earth you detached from Fred with a light ‘smack’ noise. Neither of you could wipe the childlike grins off your faces. His plump cheeks turned crimson in the night. Unable to shake off the excitement of the night’s events, you leaned into Fred’s body, giving him a tight hug. He returned the embrace instantly and left a long kiss to the top of your head.

Leaning away, you planted one last kiss to Fred’s cheek then held his hand as you two walked towards his home. The light at the top of the Burrow, assumingly Fred and George's room was turned on. Brightness shone from the window and you pointed up at the sight. The house was only feet away and you started to wonder what George would think of the news.

It could be assumed he wouldn’t be shocked. George spent the last year making comments to you here and there, prying in on you and Fred. Ginny of course wouldn’t be too blown away either, but what about Ron and Harry?

Fred already knew what their reactions would be. He knew without a doubt all of your friends would be thrilled, but no one would be too taken aback by your new relationship. It seemed the only two students who were oblivious to your shared feelings, were Fred and yourself.

“You think they’ll be surprised to hear we’re dating?” You wondered out loud. Fred swung your hand in a back and forth motion as you approached the front porch of the house. Your question obtained a chuckle from Fred as he shook his head,

“Not one bit, love.”

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16ruedelaverrerie · 3 years

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I’LL NEVER STOP PRETENDING THAT SOME OF THESE ASKBOX MESSAGES ARE SENT IN BY RK900 IN REFERENCE TO GAVIN. Anon you’re vastly mistaken but only because you have a heart the size of a mountain! Please accept this comic as my penance for failing to live up to your expectations. (If you feel like there’s some strong One Piece energy coming off of that last panel... you’d be absolutely right)

Aw thank you so much anon! :’( I love food and wine so much that writing Les Mignardises was a lot like making fanwork for both DBH AND, LIKE, THE CONCEPT OF DINING OUT. Double the indulgence!

You know how sometimes you, like, look at a thing that you did, and even if it’s objectively not a REMARKABLE FEAT, it still lies somewhere outside of the bounds of the limited capabilities you have imagined for yourself? Chapter 9 of Les Mignardises is one of those things for me, in that I don’t understand how this me of the fairly recent past had the stamina to write 10k straight words of filth. In the larger scheme of things, is it worth marveling over? No! Absolutely not! But is it something that I, a person who spends most of her writing time staring blankly into space while sitting completely still, am surprised to have done? Yes. All this is to say, I’m really glad that you enjoyed it, and I’m grateful that you took the time to drop this note!

Anon I do not think it is fair that you took so much time and energy to write this absolutely lovely message, only for me to sweep it behind a “read more” cut-- but I hope you understand that this is something like when you are gifted with jewelry that you know is much too nice for you, to the extent that you are ashamed to wear it in public because it would only highlight just how ill you deserve it. So I am tucking this message away in my closet, for me to stare at in private (or what roughly approximates private)!

I’m just a freeloader riding the coattails of Vape’s incredible ideas and art for Fata Morgana -- I’m deathly serious when I say that Vape really should have written the fic too! -- and of your limitless capacity to be a generous reader. There’s no need to get into a whole autobiography here, but there was a very clear moment when I was young where I deliberately decided that writing was something I wanted to do-- and it was motivated entirely by the desire for feedback. There’s definitely an element of... a need for extrinsic validation, which is, you know, something that I need to work on! It’s something we all need to work on! But even more than that, feedback of the sort that allows me to hear about what connects with you, what works for you, what maKES BOTH OF US FEEL LESS ALONE AS WE FLOUNDER THROUGH LIFE, the prospect of that kind of feedback is what fuels me as I stare blankly into space, sitting completely still, “writing”.

So even if you’re much too nice and much too loving in a way that wiLL HURT YOU, MY BEAUTIFUL SPARROW, you’re what keeps me going! In addition to being super fucking sweet, your comment brings up a lot of points I’d love to talk about in more detail once Fata Morgana wraps up -- something about plot, atmosphere, language, and Raymond Chandler -- but that’s for later days, and I very much hope that I will see you there. Thank you so much for talking to me. ♥ ♥ ♥

#askbox #detroit become human #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #sketch #les mignardises #fata morgana

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gemma-collins-ily · 3 years

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could you please write something for Inej and a fem reader? Maybe they are in a heist or something and they get split up and the reader gets hurt or barely gets away and when they find each other Inej just holds her for a second because she thought she lost her and then accidentally confesses her feelings? <3

The Stars in Her Eyes

Inej Ghafa X reader

a/n - I love Inej, seriously so much it's unhealthy. So excited to write this because awww the love confessions and fluff I simply adore it!

Warnings: injury, passing out, mentions of the Menagerie (literally the word once).

Tagged: @inthegistoftime @mrs-brekker15

You were late.

If it were, say, Jesper then Inej wouldn't be nearly as bothered.

But you were never late.

That was why she was currently biting her nails down to the nub and tapping her foot in an extremely fast paced, irregular rythm.

It had only gotten quicker as time went on, and now there were barely any gaps in-between her foot landing on the cobbles, as if it had never been lifted.

This went on for minutes until Kaz tossed Inej a handkerchief, it billowing in the wind. For a person with slower reflexes, the fabric would be lost permanently but she snatched it out of the air as soon as it left his hand.

However, her mind was still on you and all the possible reasons for why you weren't at the meeting place promptly.

"For your lip."

Kaz's gruff voice brought her back to earth and she concluded that her bottom lip must feel so warm in one area because she had practically mauled it.

She hastily lifted the handkerchief to her face and when she withdrew it, it was stained with a dark crimson and her lip burnt.

Kaz didn't say anything of her concern for you, even if it was at an all time high - a little too concerned to just be friends. He too cared for you, as he did all his Crows.

He would just never deign to admit it. You couldn't have any weaknesses in the Barrel: none that showed anyway.

But for now, he would allow the spider to convey visible distress as the whole point of choosing the specific location for the meeting, was that no one ever went there. No one would be able to see her weakness and so they wouldn't be able to exploit it.

Kaz and Inej stood at the end of the alley, Inej constantly poking her head around the corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

"What's the time?"

"No different to when you last asked." Was Kaz's stoic response.

At this point, she would take any scenario in which you were alive. You returning injured would be bearable. Yes, she would hate to see you in pain but it was better that than dead.

Inej only wanted you to come back. Come back for her. Come back to her.

"Wraith, survey the skies."

This meant Kaz was giving up. That order was always his last resort before he would return to the Slat and consider possibilities of capture, torture and death.

"No."

Kaz let a flash of shock cross his features involuntarily, then straightened. She had never disobeyed him like this before. She had never outright refused.

"You will do as I say."

"You can't be giving up. Not on her. We both know she has a higher chance of survival if we delay leaving her here."

This was quickly turning into a heated act of defiance. And Kaz needed to quell it.

"She will survive."

That was when he realised that maybe a matter of fact approach wasn't the best and the truth was, Kaz had repressed his emotions for so long, all except anger, and this meant he had no idea how to comfort or sympathise.

"No Kaz! She might not! And you know, I will look for her! And even if you lose hope, I will not! I will keep searching... I will."

"Have you wondered why you want to cling to the ever fading idea she is alive."

She blatantly ignored the way Kaz had gone back on himself and reversed his previous statement.

"Because... Because I love-"

You were tumbling round corners, your feet slapping over the smoothed stones and your breath coming as heavy pants from your throat.

Your hand was plastered to your side, the knife in-between your middle and index finger. You hadn't pulled it out - if you did, you would bleed out ten times faster.

Four streets left.

You counted them off in your head as you passed them, doing anything to focus on something other than the pain slowly overriding your brain.

You had made all of the correct turnoffs. There were two remaining but the blood coating your fingers reminded you of the little time left. You weren't going to make it.

It was one of your worst nightmares, dying in a creepy, damp and withering alleyway, the moss and grime giving a possibility you'd never be found.

Your family would never get the closure they needed and Inej would probably look for you everyday.

You were filled with a new kind of determination, to stay alive, if only until they saw you. All they had to do was see you once, that was all. Then you would be happy as you passed on.

You were halfway down the second alley when you saw it. Kaz's coattails were flapping in the wind and Inej's braid too.

You sped up slightly, only to stumble as your hand went to the rough brick wall. You retracted your hand and it came back grazed, but that was the least of your problems.

As you came into their view, her back was turned to you but Kaz's wasn't. His eyes widened in terror, just barely, but Inej caught it. She whirled around to see you, faint blood splatters covering your face and a dried, rusty maroon crusting beneath your nails.

"Hi. Hope I didn't stuff it up-"

You had been sending a weak smile in Kaz's direction, attempting not to let it waver when Inej collided with you, and all your attention was brought to her.

She wrapped her arms around your waist, careful to avoid the wound in your torso and the sensitive skin surrounding it. You could not reciprocate the hug wholeheartedly as you wished to, because of the necessary pressure being provided by your palm, pressed flat against your flesh.

You had just managed to lift your spare arm from the elbow upwards to stiffly pat her back when she pulled back.

"Saints, you're alive. Not that I thought you were dead. I just, don't know what I'd do without you."

She was rambling and you raised an eyebrow to Kaz, wordlessly asking what ideas he had put in her head about you never coming back. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, as if he had no clue what you meant.

The newfound strength you had gained by seeing them, seeing her, appeared to be fading and you swayed haphazardly on your feet.

Inej rushed to steady you, her eyes enlarged and frantic and you leant on her heavily, slumping and in turn forcing her to support the majority of your weight as you travelled back to the Slat.

Two streets.

Cobblestones.

Cobblestones hurtling up to meet you. Or was it you falling down?

And as your vision progressively became fuzzy, you were caught before your head made impact with the floor.

Black. Black and no cobblestones. No streets.

"Kaz!"

He glanced back to see her cradling your head to her chest, having squatted down at the last moment.

Now, her training would come into use. Her muscles had been built up in the air, swirling the silks and during the throwing of her knives to train in the Crows.

She repositioned her hands so one was at the back of your knees and the other looped over your lower back and carried on walking the winding paths.

Kaz was hurrying with more urgency now, Inej too. She quickened her pace and lengthened her steps to match his, so eventually they were almost jogging side by side, solemn and sorrowful.

The door to the Slat nearly burst off its hinges as it was carelessly flung open and Kaz hollered for Nina.

She rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time and didn't hesitate when seeing you, battered and bleeding. There was never any time to hesitate when any millisecond could make the difference between life and death.

Inej stayed by your side while Nina was trying her best to do what she could. She forced herself to witness the needle dipping through your flesh and envision it as a dance of sorts, so she wouldn't be sick.

Nina too left, just as Kaz had, after mentioning Jesper was probably sidetracked gambling for celebration after partaking in his section of the heist, unaware of the turmoil in the remaining Crow's hearts.

But Inej stayed. She always did and always would. You had stuck with her through everything, by her side as her friend and she as yours, each wishing the other was so much more.

Before you awoke, she considered what she would have said before. That she loved you. Did she? Inej was always so unsure if she could ever love anyone. But, she supposed, that was before you.

Your door was always open for her, no matter the time of day, letting her know you were there for her, just across the hallway.

The red fabrics could never follow her in there and it was a given she could rest easy, no longer thinking of the Menagerie.

You would always spare her a coffee and never accept her trying to pay you back. She probably owed you a hundred kruge by now, at least.

You would always buy her a small gift for her birthday. Last year it was an anklet with a glittering spider in the centre, to represent her ability to scale buildings and jump from rooftop to rooftop like it was nothing.

It must have sold for a lot, but you never specified exactly, making sure she had no way of knowing its true costly value.

And she knew as your eyes fluttered open, she was in love. The kind that if you were apart for weeks, hours, minutes it would feel as though years had passed.

"I love her."

It was a whispered confession: falling from Inej's lips like sweet honey, blurted out before she could help it.

"Who?"

She jumped. It took a lot to make her, the one who always monitored who was in the room, shocked, but she had been so lost in thought she hadn't seen you had been observing her.

She shook her head unbelievably swiftly them said, "That doesn't matter. You're awake."

She stood so she was leaning over you and helped you to sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows accordingly. You had a faint trace of a smile gracing your lips as you asked once more.

"No, tell me. It's important to know if my friend is in love."

It's important to know if you can ever be mine, and I yours.

Instead of answering she called for Nina, who checked your heartbeat and declared you only needed rest. She told you her conclusion with a wag of her finger and you knew what she was thinking. You would try to get up the first possible time you could.

She left once more and you gazed at Inej, all the stars in her eyes that were just as important, if not more so, to you than the Saints she so stubbornly believed in.

Those words accidentally toppled away from her and into the silence once again, only with a sentence added at the end.

"I love her. You."

"What?"

It was barely said at all, almost failing to reach her ears and she clarified, took the leap of faith she should have so long ago.

"I'm in love with you."

Your jaw dropped, mouth gaping open then closed, like a fish out of water. You had just processed what she had said when she began to stutter over her words, apologising and saying she understood.

It broke your heart and you were quick to reassure her you did love her too.

And you really did.

How she could dance over rooftops, never stumbling, the way her plait swayed as she walked and the determination in her eyes, the fire that hadn't been put out, even after all she'd been through.

"No I do understand, even if you don't want to be friends at all."

She stopped talking as you let out a pained grunt, manouvering your torso to sit up and legs to dangle over the edge of the bed.

"What are you-"

She didn't have a chance to finish her question and the last word was muffled against your mouth as your lips pressed to hers, your hand at the nape of her neck and hers automatically lifting to your cheek.

As you pulled away, you sported a confident smirk, and said, "If that wasn't confirmation I love you too, I can always, I don't know, try again?"

The stars in her eyes sparkled once more and she responded eagerly as she too grinned.

"Oh, I'm still not quite sure. Think you could help me out on that?"

You hummed affirmatively and your lips met for the second time out of many.

#inej ghafa x you #inej ghafa x reader #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone imagine

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