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s1m0nth3swag · 2 months

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Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE; Haven't written in a while, but thanks to Arlo, a friend (Hi Arlo, I know you're reading this), Inspiration about Francis Mosses struck (he bought me That's not my neighbor and then continued to freak out about Francis with me) so I wrote this. I have so many thoughts about Francis, so... tell me if you want more because i will deliver ngl. Enjoy (or don't, I don't dictate your feelings)

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Porn with little to no plot, Submissive Francis, a little non-consensual at the start (but not in a super weird way, imo?), Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used, tried to write as GN as possible with the compliments and thoughts about Readers appearance), not proofread nor have I thought about this much, more a drabble than an actual thoughtful story (not apologising because I had such a long break from writing anything and obviously it's gonna suck a little when I come back)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

The first time Francis had realised that he hadn't gotten any touch from another human being was when someone brushed up against him on his way home from work. He had felt like a creep afterwards because he hadn't stopped thinking about what could've happened if the person hadn't moved away and had just stayed pressed against him. That was a week before you started your job as a doorman.

The second time Francis had noticed was when a friend of his had spoken to him on the phone, talking about his new girlfriend. Said friend gave too much intel on their sex life. Francis had wondered if he could have someone the way his friend explained - he quickly brushed the thought off. That was two days before you started working as a doorman.

The third time, he noticed when you had smiled at him. It was your first day, and he was tired from work. You had repeated his name after reading it off of his ID, and he had looked at you for the first time since his eyes kept falling closed, and you smiled so brightly. You had told him his name was nice, and you said it again. Francis swore that the way his name rolled off your tongue was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Not even an angel could sound more wonderful. Suddenly, he was a lot more energised. Totally not thanks to the fact that he had immediately grown hard the second he had seen your smile. He had gone to his apartment that night and had jerked off for the first time in probably months. He had always been too tired to previously, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how you'd sound moaning his name. Maybe you were more of a groaner, or you'd whimper and whine. He came as he imagined how you'd look sucking his dick.

Since then, Francis has always looked forward to entry checks. What had normally kept him away from his bed and a good night's sleep was now the best experience of his day. He loved the way you spoke to him even though he was too nervous to respond. Sometimes, he deliberately didn't show his ID at first, just so you'd ask about it, and he could listen to you talk a little more. He felt guilty about it. He knew you had never agreed to feed into this weird little obsession of his. It was awful of him to do this - have you talk to him enough to give him more scenarios to think about that night.

A few weeks after all this had started, Francis had built up the courage to finally ask you out. Just something simple, dinner at his place. He had to cook for himself all the time. Cooking for you as well wouldn't be too different, right?

Francis was wrong. He was anxious that the food wouldn't taste good and kept tasting it just so he could make sure it hadn't mysteriously switched tastes in the last 20 seconds. When you knocked on his door, he took a minute to make sure he didn't look like a mess - though you wouldn't mind either way since he always looked like a mess when he came through during your shifts.

You looked so good when he opened the door. Your hair fell perfectly, your lips looked a little too kissable, and Francis had to stop his train of thought just so he wouldn't embarrass himself by having yet another boner caused by just the way you looked. You were a little shorter than him, smiling up as he let you inside.

"You look good." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He seriously had to lay off thinking like a high-schooler. His nervousness and awkwardness were getting really annoying - to him, at least. You grinned, chuckling softly as you took off your shoes. "Thank you. You do as well." His heart for sure burst at that - he knew something else would burst as well if he didn't stop thinking right this second.

Throughout the evening, ignoring his thoughts came easier and easier. The two of you had eaten, you had told him he was a good cook, he had almost excused himself to the bathroom because of it. Now you were sitting on the couch, drinking wine and talking casually.

"You know, when you first walked through, I swore I would die." You giggled, looking at him with a mischievous look. Francis was confused by that statement. "How come?" He asked, tilting his head at you in question. "I was sure you were a doppelganger. You looked too handsome to be real." You cheekily answered, cheeks slightly flushed as you downed your wine. Francis blushed heavily, looked away from you, and thought about your words for a moment. The silence was loud as he wondered what to answer. "..you think I'm handsome?" He questioned while looking at the floor. If he had looked at you, he'd have seen the way you stared at him, your own cheeks coloured a deep red. "Extremely." You muttered. It took him a minute before he could look at you, but when he did, his lips pressed against yours in a desperate kiss.

When you reciprocated, Francis groaned and pulled you closer until you sat on his lap. He was just a tiny bit embarrassed when you gasped and felt his dick press against you. In all honesty, he had held back the entire night, and he was allowed a little selfishness. "Sorry. Can't help it." He muttered between kisses. You just grinned against his lips before grinding against him. A whimper fell from his lips - that was the moment he was actually embarrassed. "That's cute.." You had mumbled, a cheeky grin on your face as you started placing kisses against his jaw and neck. One of your hands trailed down his body to rest right over his crotch, Francis unconsciously bucked his hips up against your hand, whining. He didn't notice anything else as you caught the skin of his neck with your teeth carefully, leaving the softest bite mark on him. He shuddered at the feeling and gasped before realising that you had meanwhile unzipped his pants. A groan slipped from his lips as you ran a finger over his dick, still hidden from sight by his boxers, but god knows he would cum the second you'd touch it without. "Is this okay?" You asked him, and he nodded faster than he even knew he could. "Yes. God, yes. Please, please continue.." he muttered, his breathing heavy as he watched you slide off his lap, settling in front of him and between his legs. His dick twitched at the sight, and he let out a heavy sigh. Minutes later, his pants and boxers were discarded, and the way you looked up at him, his dick so close to your face, made Francis feel the way his orgasm was approaching way too quick. The second you wrapped your hand around him he whined pathetically, bucked up into your hand and knew that he'd definitely cum too soon. Your hand was so soft, cool against his hot flesh, and you worked his dick so good he almost thought you were a professional. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, watched the way you bit your lip, and grinned knowingly. "Such a pretty boy, huh?" You chuckled, and that definitely sealed the deal for Francis. He came, probably ruining his shirt as he dirtied both it and your hand. His heart stopped for a second when you licked your hand while looking up at him. "You didn't give me enough time to taste you properly. Don't look at me like that." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. "You should probably take off your shirt so you can clean it later." You then winked. He swiftly shed the piece of clothing, entranced by your voice and the way you looked. "Sorry, didn't mean to cum that fast.." he mutters, his voice out of breath. "Jus'.. unused to... this.." he added, clearing his throat awkwardly. You laughed and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. We have all the time in the world to make you last longer. I'm gonna give you a real reason to be tired tomorrow." You winked.

Francis didn't even mind that he was in for a long night.

Your honour I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #x reader #gn reader #thats not my neighbor #milkman x reader

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herozdiary · 2 months

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Who’s the hot ass milk man?

Francis mosses x reader

A/N:My FIRST time writing about him!This fandom needed more tumblr fics as the ones on Ao3 are good besides the fact people are already making weird content about this man…ANYWAY!Enjoy!🎀

In this day and age you wouldn’t expect people to have their milk delivered still,But some people still saw it as a nice way to make quick money.The only reason you liked milkmen still being around was because one of them was fine like hell.

Everytime you saw him it made you wanna do a cartwheel.Francis was a very quiet person who only seemed to wanna get his job done with for the day.His tired eyes always displayed had this tired look in his eyes.

When you first met him you had to stop yourself for saying the most down bad sentence to him and kindly accept the milk.The cold bottle would just sit in the fridge until you needed it for something like making pancakes or cereal.

But you were always thankful to see francis.When he did talk it was addictive to hear.His tired voice made you think things that didn't need to be thought.

Sometimes if you were lucky enough he would flash you a small smile before walking back to his truck.You always wondered if he had a lover of some sorts.He seemed to be a normal dude who was good looking so you were shocked when he revelaed he was single.

You joked about how you were always open but in the truth was that you werent really joking and that you would always be open to date him.

"do other girls try to hit on you?"You had asked while checking him out as he shook his head."Not really.Most of them don't end up even answering the door."Francis stated while handing you the bottle.You gladly took it before clearing your throat.

"Would you be interested in dating someone"You ask while swirling the container of liquid around the bottle.Francis paused before shrugging."Never crossed my mind.I'm always so busy with work i never thought about a relationship"He said before checking his watch.

"as much as i would love to listen to your ways of trying to figure out my love life so you can ask me out,I have more people to get to"He said before waving you bye and turning to head to his truck.

You stood confused on your porch before fully getting what he said.You felt your face heat up as you shuffled back into your house.Even if you wanted to deny it,You knew it was true.As you sat the bottle down on the table you realized that something was written on it.

inspecting the bottle more you smiled as you realized it was a phone number and it was signed with the letter F.You smiled as you went to write it down on a piece of paper so you dont forget to send him a text later.

#not my neighbor #not my neighbor x reader #not my neighbor x you #the milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #fluff #x y/n #x reader #video game x reader

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munson-blurbs · 4 months

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Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You've been crushing on Eddie since you joined Hellfire Club. Too bad he's crushing on Chrissy Cunningham...right?

Warnings: angst to fluff, idiots in love, super cheesy but it's Valentine's Day so idc WC: 1.6k A/N: My entry for @corroded-hellfire's This is Music! event!

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie’s looking at her again.

You can’t blame him; he’d be crazy not to stare at Chrissy Cunningham, clad in her tiny cheerleading uniform with a bouncy blonde ponytail and sugar-sweet giggle. If you just ignore him, act like he isn’t imagining sweeping her off of her feet–

“Do you think I should send her one of those candy gram things?”

Almost instinctively, Dustin’s eyes flicker to you, but he turns back to Eddie before anyone can notice. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he stammers, scrambling for an excuse. “She and Jason, like, just broke up.”

This information doesn’t deter Eddie in the slightest. “Exactly. She’s probably heartbroken from getting dumped right before Valentine’s Day. I could be her…Freak in Shining Armor.” He grins at his spin on the unwanted nickname, pausing for a half-second before turning to you and asking, “You’re a girl. What do you think?”

The question is almost laughable. What do you think? You think he should stop pining over Chrissy and start seeing you in that same light.

With a painful swallow, you force a strained smile. “If you like her, you should go for it.”

That’s all of the motivation Eddie needs. He slams his palm on the table and proudly declares, “All right, I’m doin’ it.”

Tears bite at your lash line as he strides across the cafeteria over to where the student council has set up the candy gram booth. You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you glance over to see Dustin offering you a sympathetic look.

“He’s an idiot,” he says, low enough so that his words are inaudible to other Hellfire members. “He’ll figure it out one day, but you shouldn’t sit around waiting for it to happen.”

Logic tells you that he’s right, but moving on is easier said than done. Especially when he’s one of your closest friends.

Determined to avoid any inquiring from the other guys, you do your best to assimilate into their conversation about beating this week’s campaign.

Chrissy received Eddie’s candy gram on Valentine’s Day. To his dismay, she also got one from Jason Carver.

“Of course she went back to him,” Eddie mutters, tossing his tin lunch box on the cafeteria table with a harsh clang. He heaves a sigh and rests his head on your shoulder, gazing up at you with his big, beautiful eyes. “Am I gonna be alone forever?”

“Probably.” You muster a tense laugh and brush a tendril of his hair off of your cheek. “Maybe you can try sending out a message in a bottle and see if anyone bites.”

He harrumphs and slumps over, burying his face in his palms. “She told me she ‘appreciates my friendship.’” He shakes his head. “Fucking humiliating.”

The irony of his statement is too much to bear, and you slip away from the table with a half-hearted excuse about needing to study for the history test you have next period.

The walk to the library feels like it takes decades, silent tears falling as soon as you find an empty table among the stacks of books.

Chrissy wanted Jason the way Eddie wanted Chrissy, which was the same way you wanted Eddie.

And no one wanted you.

A few minutes pass before Jeff slides into the seat next to you. “We’re in the same history class. Figured it would make your lie more believable if I had to study, too.” He shrugs. “Plus, I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe you, you know he doesn’t. Embarrassment is written all over your face, both at your abrupt exit from the cafeteria and your pathetic crush on Eddie.

Jeff takes a deep breath. “Look, Eddie doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Seems pretty obvious to me that he wants Chrissy,” you say wryly, twirling a pen between your fingers.

“No…I mean, yeah. But that’s because she’s, like, safe.”

You scoff. “Asking out the Queen of Hawkins High is safe?”

“Sounds ridiculous, I know, but hear me out.” Jeff leans in a bit closer so he can whisper to you. “She’s not part of our group, so he doesn’t have to worry about constantly hanging out with her. Plus, she’s nice enough to not publicly destroy his ego. I’m sure she didn’t tell Jason about the candy gram, or else he would’ve announced it to the whole school by now.”

You nod in reluctant agreement.

“And speaking of that jackass,” Jeff continues, “how many times have they broken up and gotten back together?”

“Too many to count.” Their relationship is like one of the novelas you watch when you’re stuck at home with a fever.

“Exactly.” Jeff exhales. “Chrissy paid a little bit of attention to Eddie because she wanted some weed for a party, and now he’s head over heels for her. Because he can be. Because her rejection stings a little, but it’s nothing compared to how being rejected by you would feel.”

Wiping at your tear-dampened cheeks, you shake your head. “I don’t think he cares about being rejected by me.”

He mumbles something under his breath but doesn’t say another word until the bell rings, and the two of you walk to class together.

Thank God you don’t actually have a test today; you wouldn’t be able to focus long enough to answer a single question. All you think about is what Jeff had implied: that Eddie does like you but is afraid to ruin your friendship.

You brush off the idea as ridiculous. Why would Eddie choose you over the gorgeous head cheerleader?

Uneasiness builds within you until it’s impossible to ignore, and you scrawl a note in the back of your composition notebook before you can fully think it through.

Eddie–

I’m sorry that Chrissy turned you down. Trust me when I say that I know what it’s like to feel unwanted by the person you want the most. It sucks, but you’ll move on and realize that she was the one who missed out, not you.

You sign your name and add a P.S. Fuck Valentine’s Day for good measure, folding the paper in fourths and slipping it into his locker between class periods. Not quite a confession, but it’ll do.

Eddie’s waiting by your locker after the last bell rings, scraping a front tooth against his bottom lip and fiddling with something. As you get closer, you realize that something is your note.

“Who is he?” Eddie demands to know, sighing impatiently when you raise your brows in confusion. “This mystery guy who doesn’t want you. Who is he?”

“No one. It’s fine,” you say quickly, refusing to make eye contact with him as you twist open the lock. “It was just to let you know that you’re not alone in this, okay?”

He shakes his head and chuckles tersely. “Nah, not okay. I’ve gotta kick his ass.” He shuffles from foot to foot, already anticipating a fight.

“Well, you can’t.”

“And why not?” Eddie scoffs. “I know I’m scrawny, but I’m pretty damn scr–”

“Because you’d be kicking your own ass!” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. Your blood runs cold and your pulse thuds in your ears when you realize what you’ve said. “I’m sorry. That was too much, especially with what happened with Chrissy today.”

You start to leave, but you’re tugged back in place by his gentle grasp on your wrist. “Follow me,” he murmurs. He makes a beeline for the Hellfire room with you right on his heels. As soon as you walk in, he closes the door. “Repeat that? Because I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You’re the guy who doesn’t want me,” you manage through the lump in your throat, “and it’s okay, because we can’t help who we like and who we don’t. I don’t want you to feel guilty or anything like that.”

You’re rambling, and you tuck your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from talking yourself in circles.

Silence seeps into the room, the only noise is the hum from the fluorescent lights overhead. Finally, Eddie speaks again. “Do you know why I asked you to join Hellfire?”

You swivel your head back and forth in a definite no.

“Yeah, I tried to keep it that way,” he says with an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “So, um, I kinda had a massive crush on you. And I figured that we’d get to know each other here and then I’d ask you out or whatever, but I kept chickening out. So…there ya have it.” He shifts his hands as if to say ta-da.

“And now you like Chrissy.” Out with the old, in with the new.

Eddie takes a small step closer, one ring-clad hand taking yours. “Not the way I like you,” he breathes, his other thumb tracing a faint line over your jaw. “Not even close.”

You close the gap between you, tilting your head so your lips meet his. The fear that he’ll hesitate or turn his head altogether disappears as soon as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. His hand tucks behind your ear, and he leaves it there until you both have to break away for air.

The two of you wear matching smiles, shy but relieved. Eddie leans in to kiss you once again, only to be interrupted by the rest of the club’s musings.

“Took them long enough.”

“Seriously, I thought we were just gonna have to watch them pine over each other forever.”

“Crap, do you think they can hear us?”

“Yeah, shit-heads, we can hear you,” Eddie calls out with a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief before turning back to you.

“Now, where were we?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson angst

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undercoverpena · 3 months

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5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

prev chapter | series masterlist

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #francisco morales smut

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senualothbrok · 6 months

Text

Enough

Summary: You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery. A very angry Astarion.

AO3 link

This is the first fanfic I have written for about 20 years. I should be working on my novel, but this story honestly possessed me. I hope someone out there reads and enjoys this! If not, it was therapeutic and cathartic to write it.

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

You have heard it a thousand times. The tales and the histories, all the songs you have sung. You are a bard, after all, and this story is as old and worn as your heart. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

You know this, and you have seen it. You have seen it twist kind men into savages, transform wary women into beasts. Your own family had suffocated you under its clutches, leveraging your gifts and talents for ever more power and influence. Stripping you bare, squeezing out every drop they could get from you. You were their very own song bird, pushed about and paraded until your fingers were raw and throat was hoarse, to grant them entry into the best parties and social circles. But you were never enough. You never sang sweetly enough, or got large enough crowds. Not enough people knew you. You should have been prettier, more alluring. All the things they made you do, but you never did enough. It was never enough.

When you had escaped from them, you had vowed you would never be like them. You had promised yourself you would never become the thing you fought against. You would be different. Better. You would be good.

And yet.

You are standing in Cazador’s palace. Blood spatters the smooth ivory of Astarion’s skin. In the nightmarish hue of the ritual chamber, he glows a strange green. His crimson eyes are all fear and desperation.

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

In that moment, you cannot say no. If it were anyone else, you would refuse. There have been many conversations with Astarion - around the campfire, in his tent, even as you walked around the labyrinth of Cazador’s living hell. You have talked to him at length about this moment. You have listened as he has confessed guilt and need and hesitation and rage. You have been kind and patient, always careful not to criticise him, not to push back too much, not to hurt him. You have been good. He must make his own decision, you have been telling yourself. He has suffered enough.

So you open your mind to him, because he asks you to. You feel his frenzied hunger as he devours the sight of every scar on his back, as though their cruelty is now beauty. You watch his features which you have come to know so well. You have seen them in sleep, in battle, in laughter, in pain. You have seen them shrouded and masked, bare and open. You watch now as they contort into something that you recognise from so many other faces and times. And as you watch, you can barely hear Cazador’s deafening screams, or register the way his mangled mess writhes and gushes. All you can see is Astarion’s widening smile as he carves at Cazador’s back, his eyes dilating like sinkholes.

You think it, even as he whisks away Cazador’s mutilated body like a rag doll. Even when Astarion slams the staff on the ground and everything around you blazes red as the blood of his convulsing siblings and the seven thousand spawn about to be slaughtered. Even when Gale and Karlach cry out at Astarion to stop, that this is a mistake, that the cost is too great. Even then, you think to yourself: this is what he wants. It is his choice. It is his right.

But in the scarlet haze, you are remembering. You are thinking of his trembling voice when he promised a broken husk called Sebastian, just moments ago, that he would free him. You think of the way his soft eyes glistened when he had thanked you and clasped your hand, stunned with the realisation that he was not just a thing to be used. You feel the crushing weight of Vellioth and Cazador and the decaying dungeons and centuries upon centuries of madness and terror. And you remember the tenderness with which he had looked at you, not days ago, believing the power of the ritual would keep you both safe. That he would protect you with it.

“I can feel their power flowing into me!”

You stare at him, spreadeagled, monstrous.

Something has begun to well inside you, like a cracking of ice, a convulsion of tears. In that whispering, you remember the promise you made yourself all those years ago. And you know, from a deep and tattered place within you, that that promise is greater than your yearning for his love.

The blade springs from your hand on its own. You watch it sing through the air and hit its perfect note in Cazador’s maimed gut. Astarion and his siblings crumple to the floor. The crimson mist lifts, and in the silence you know, with the certainty of death, that you have lost him.

You say something, but you know it is meaningless. Nothing can repair the mistake you have made. You could have refused to help him when he asked. You could have reasoned with him, urged him to stop and think. You could have told him, from the start, that you could not go through with it. And now, you have kept your promise to yourself, but not to the man you love.

When he rises from his knees and turns to you, it is the face of a stranger that you see.

“I was so close. I could have had it all, but you took everything from me.”

Hatred hardens in his every word. And then, a tide of despair.

“Cazador won after all. I’ll never escape the hell he built.”

You cannot bear it. Your failure rips through you, and you want to reach out to him, to beg and plead and weep. But you just stand there.

He looks down at the staff in his hand.

“And if I can’t escape, then no one can.”

He splits the staff on his knee. It makes such a small sound as it splinters, but it echoes through you like an avalanche. It is the sound of seven thousand spawn being condemned to death. It is the sound of their eternal suffering. And it is all because of you. The horror and guilt erupts inside you.

It happens so fast after that. There is no time to think, to feel, to act. There is the glint of a dagger raised. You are knocked back, and a searing pain slices through your shoulder as you stare up at bared fangs looming over you. Your limbs are heavy with shock, and suddenly you feel a surge of heat and the great arc of Karlach’s war hammer over you. You hear Gale shout out a spell, and you watch as Astarion topples to the side, frozen except for the furious twitching of his eyes.

“Don’t!” you hear yourself shout. “Please, stop!”

Karlach and Gale rush to your side, cradling you up, fussing over your shoulder. But you do not feel it. You do not really feel anything. All you can do is look from them back to Astarion, pleading, but you are not sure what for.

---

“You can release his hold now.”

You are back at camp, and you have recovered your voice. For a long time, you could not speak. Shadowheart and Halsin tended to your arm, speaking soothing words over you. Gale and Karlach came to sit with you, their faces creased with concern. Wyll, Lae’zel and Jaheira stood at a distance, arguing in hushed voices. All the while, you stared into the distance, thinking of the hatred in Astarion’s gaze, and everything you had done to deserve it.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gale says, frowning.

“We can’t keep him like that forever.”

“The man turned on us. He tried to kill you.”

You look into Gale’s eyes. There is warmth there, streaked with pity.

“Can you blame him?”

Gale scoffs. “Yes, I can.” Then he pauses. His voice softens. “Well, perhaps in the circumstances, in the heat of the moment…” He shakes his head. “But he truly would have killed you, had Karlach and I not intervened. And that is inexcusable, after everything you – all of us - have been through with him. After everything you have done for him.”

Your vision blurs and stings.

“I fucked up, Gale. How could I have fucked up so royally? I should never have let him start the ritual. I should never have agreed with it. I’ve broken him. Seven thousand innocent people will die in agony because of me. Because I was…”

You are not used to burdening others with your emotions. You give and not take, even when you have nothing. When you are nothing. But now, you are afraid that you will break.

“…Because I failed.”

Without hesitation, Gale lays a hand on yours. It is a such a kind gesture that it chokes you. You have always been the one to look after others, to give them what they need. That is your role. It is what you exist for. If you cannot do that, what are you good for?

“Those things were never your responsibility, my dear friend. They were never your burdens to carry.”

“But he trusted me.”

“That does not mean that you must give him everything, or watch him destroy thousands of people and himself.”

You ball your fists. “Then I should have told him that, from the start. But I went along with it-”

“Because you love him.”

You have not spoken about this with Gale or anyone else. You know it is common knowledge that you and Astarion are entangled, but you have always wanted to hide the love you feel for him away. You have always known that whatever it was that lay between you was fragile. Astarion himself was not sure what you were.

Attachment does not come easily to you. You know that if you give people what they need, there is a chance that they will stay. But there is also a chance that they will snap their heads one day and no longer want what you have to offer. And then, they will go.

You have always tried to guard yourself against the pain of that departure. Even with Astarion.

“Many a mistake has been made for love,” Gale continues. “I understand this better than most.”

“This is a monumental fuck up,” you breathe. “Not a simple mistake.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to start a competition about the magnitude and impact of our mistakes? Because if so, I believe that I would be a clear winner, and some others in our camp may also be worthy competitors.”

You are too weary to laugh. Too broken.

“Besides, I am sure if we knock our considerably enriched heads together, we can find a way to open those dungeons and release those prisoners. Especially with such a range of talented and well-resourced allies to draw on.”

You can see the questions taking shape in Gale’s head already. You give him a weak smile.

“You are only human, my friend. I know you try to be better than any of us, but even you are permitted to make mistakes.”

When he clasps you tightly to his chest, you let yourself rest into it. You want so badly to believe he is right, but you are not sure you can.

---

As you approach Astarion, you gesture behind you. You know the rest of them are all watching, wary and ready to strike at the faintest sign of danger. But you stand them down, and they linger at a respectful distance.

Released from Gale’s hold, Astarion hunches over slightly, like a cat backed into a corner. He knows he is outnumbered and vulnerable. He does not lunge towards you. His arms lie flat against his sides, his hands free of weapons. His fangs are hidden behind the tight line of his lips.

“What you did to me is worse than staking me. You might as well finish me off now.”

Every word is a cut. You flinch at each one, but you do not avert your gaze from his. Any gentleness, affection, and truth in those eyes is gone, locked behind blood-red walls. And in his abject contempt, you find a kind of freedom.

If he has already left, then you need not please him. If you are not enough, then it does not matter what you say. You have lost him already. He does not love you.

So you say what you wish you had said, from the moment that he showed you who he was, the moment you fell in love with him.

“The ritual would have killed you, your siblings, and seven thousand innocents.”

“Spare me,” he snarls. “You nodded and cooed at me, like you understood me, like you would help me. ‘I’m here for you, Astarion. I’ll help you Astarion. Tell me what you need and I’ll be there, Astarion.’ You fucking liar. You godsdamned hypocrite. You never understood me. You never wanted to help me.”

His fury is like a lash, but the pain is sobering. You brace yourself against it.

“I never said I would help you become Cazador, or let you kill thousands of people for power.”

“Please.” His laugh is vicious. “I told you from the start what I wanted. If you didn’t see that, then you’re blind. Delusional. A self-righteous idiot, living in a fantasy.”

“You wanted to be free, Astarion. To be safe.”

“You never wanted me to be free,” he seethes. “You liked me weak and broken, so I could come to you on my knees, and you could nod and smile and promise to fix me. Your own personal project, kept on a leash like a little puppy. Cuddly, harmless Astarion, healing from his hurts, all thanks to you. My saviour.”

Behind you, you can hear voices erupting and subsiding, a scuffle of shifting feet. You are grateful when no one interjects or rushes forward. This is for you and Astarion alone. It is your punishment to bear, and his truth to hear.

“You took all that power away from me,” he hisses. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was my decision. You’re worse than Cazador.”

The words wound you like arrows, but you half expect them. You have called yourself worse things.

“Cazador would have just compelled me not to do the ritual. But you gave me a taste of what I wanted, then ripped it away from me. You’re the cruellest bitch I’ve ever known.”

You do not care that hot tears stream down your cheeks, and that your voice trembles. You let yourself say what needs to be said, not what you think he wants to hear.

“You’re right.” You take a step towards him. “I should never have let you do it. I went along with it, when I should have pushed back. But I wanted you to feel you always had someone on your side. Someone who understood. I wanted you to feel loved.”

His disgust does not deter you anymore.

“You think that this is all you are. You can’t see beyond it. What was done to you. What he made you do to others. But it isn’t. It never was. You were always strong. You can be more than what happened to you. You are more than what happened to you.”

“Like you?” he sneers. “A hero? Someone so chained to other people’s approval that you’re lost without a saving mission? That’s what you so desperately want to see when you look at me, isn’t it?”

“No.” You are surprised by the strength of your voice. “Only someone who won’t let thousands of people suffer just because you did.”

Jolts of anger course through him. “You have no idea what I suffered,” he growls. “No idea what I am owed. If you had the faintest idea of it, if you truly loved me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be burning the world with me.”

You have listened silently before, when he talked about this. What he deserves after two centuries of agony. His comeuppance. You did not challenge him because you were afraid. Afraid you would offend him. Terrified that he would leave.

“Look around you, Astarion,” you say now. “Look at everyone here. We have all suffered. No, none of us have suffered what you have suffered, and I am so deeply sorry for that. But Cazador is dead and no one else will have to suffer under him. And now, no one will have to suffer under an Ascended either.”

A snide sound of disbelief. “You are so full of bullshit I can hardly breathe from the stench.”

Your tadpole rages, ramming into his mind. You expect the resistance of loathing, but he does not fight. He allows you in. And for the first time, you show him. You let him see him your parents, and your pain, and everything that was done to you. You open yourself up, the masks you put on that you recognise in him, the performances you too are familiar with in the economy of survival. You show him your promise to yourself, and your choices, and the failures you carry around with you like a noose.

He glares at you after it is over, but you think there may be less hatred in his eyes than there was a moment before.

“Why did you show me that?”

It is easier, now that there is nothing to hide.

“Because if we all burned the world because of our suffering, there would be nothing left. And because you said you wanted something real.”

He seems backfooted that you mention it. His first moment of honesty. Your first moment of connection. The beginning of your love.

“This is real, Astarion.” Your gaze is a waterfall. You cannot stop it. “Real love, messy and painful, with a real person who makes mistakes and tells you things that you don’t want to hear. Someone who sees who you really are and who you can be, the worst and the best of you, and still loves you anyway.”

He steps back, his features clenched in spasm. You think of how his hands felt on your skin, cold as ice to the touch, yet warming you inside out like summer sunlight. You remember the lilt of his laughter as you traded jibes and jests under the furs of your tent on cold nights. You breathe in his scent on the air for the last time, those hints of bergamot, rosemary and brandy that you could recognise anywhere. You are already mourning their loss.

“Then I don’t want it,” he spits out. “And I don’t want you.”

And then he leaves.

---

You are alone. You are lying in a clearing a short walk away from camp. It is spring, and the smell of earth and grass hangs around you as the sun streaks through the trees above you. Your ears are drunk with birdsong.

It has been weeks since he left. You would be lying if you said you did not miss him. Sometimes you feel his absence like a presence. It haunts and stalks you, and when the darkness comes, you cling to your pillow in your tent and weep through waves of grief that surge through you like labour pains. But at other times, you find a kind of solace in your solitude. You are not shackled by a desperation for love from a man so broken he is not capable of giving it. You are not trapped by your own brokenness in this yearning, this ache to fill the holes in his heart. And this freedom is worth the pain.

When you had asked Astarion what he wanted, he had never known. And perhaps that had struck you so deeply because you had never known either. You had never truly known what you wanted, who you really were outside of what you could do for others. You thought you were only a thing to be used, a tool to fill someone else’s need, whatever that may be. You could be good at that. You needed to be good at that. If not, you were nothing.

But you are learning. Since he has left, you are learning that you are more than that. You are learning that you can live with your mistakes. That you are enough, just as you are.

You find that you sing now, even when there is no one around. Even when it is not for a performance, or for support in battle. You sing for yourself, and you take pleasure in it, even when your notes are off key and you cannot remember the right words, even when no one is there to praise you or reward you for it. For the first time, you are enjoying your gift for no other reason than that you wish to. It is a gift, and it comes without dread or shame or conditions.

You are humming softly as you stroll back to camp. Scratch greets you with a frenzied tail, and you roll around with him, kneeling as he plasters sloppy kisses all over your face. The simple joy of this dances over the cracks in your heart. When Scratch suddenly stops, you are almost disappointed. You glance in the direction where he has bounded, an ecstatic flurry of delight. Then your eyes catch on silver shining in the sun, two bright rubies on white silk. Your breath halts.

There he is. He is different, but the same. You look at each other. And in that moment, it is enough that there is no hatred in his eyes, which flicker with uncertainty. It is enough that his mouth is not curled into a sneer, and his brow is soft and even. It is enough that you have both survived. You have shown each other who you are, and you are still here.

He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion angst #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3

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aechii · 11 months

Text

₍⁠₍ OF LOVE AND FASHiON ₎⁠₎

A/N ?! last fic for the day booooo 😥 i dont know if i will be able to post any tmrrw, but i hope i can. anyways enjoy my lovelies

p.s. there's a little written part in this but it's abt 500-600 words

[y/n]'s heart's racing. every palpitation hammers against her chest with much force, so much so that her full-upon-entry water has decreased to less than half left in just 30 minutes. the heat still fused with the air, but as the sun begins to sleep, it loses its energy, leaving a cool undercurrent that presses into the skin of all the attendees. she's so glad about the cooler weather, finding it completely unfathomable how she would've coped if the heat joined tham at night as well.

but the man seated beside her crashes all of her composure, and her body begins to feel hot and strangled.

she hasn't seen such a visually blessed male specimen in all the years of her living, and the fact that his body was so close to hers because of the crammed seating made matters worse. she can't think, breathe or concentrate on the influx of dressed models that come and go non-stop.

"you look disgusted."

the voice comes from right beside her, and her head whips around, startled. the man that has enraptured her entire conscience smiles goofily at her, and her heart wavers.

"what? me?"

"yes," he chuckles softly, "you."

his eyes turn back to the show before them, yet he continues speaking before [y/n] can justify herself, "i don't blame you, though. some of the outfits are... questionable."

his facial expressions are priceless, and [y/n] falls into a bout of laughter, "you're sick!"

he looks on seriously, eyes flashing with extreme judgement, "i'm not lying! how does anyone find pairing a skirt and baggy trousers aesthetic?"

the combination, that [y/n] had, most likely, missed from being consumed by her thoughts, makes her grimace, "yeah, that wasn't a good look at all."

he turns back to face her and, god, he stares so intently that she has to look away.

"speaking of outfits, what brand you wearing? 'cause i know it's not lv for sure, i'm not seeing any," he thinks of the right words, "over exposure of the logo."

"that's one way to put it," [y/n] snickers, looking down at her outfit, "i made it all myself... apart from the shoes of course."

the boy is taken aback, mouth agape and eyes wide, "no way!"

she begins to feel flustered by his reaction and just smiles.

"that's so cool, honestly. i would take more pride in that than wearing a slutted out luxury brand."

"slutted out?" [y/n] can't believe her ears; he's going to kill her, she's sure.

"how the hell did you come up that?!"

the boy purses his lips, looking smug, "i'm just that amazing."

"you're delusional."

he pretends to think for a moment, "delusional enough to think i'd get your number?"

[y/n]'s eyebrows shot up, "you want... my number?"

he doesn't hesitate to nod, "i don't think i'll be leaving without it."

jobe, who had been painfully listening in on their conversation, decides to make himself apparent, "don't do it, you'll regret it."

she turns around, coming face to face with a younger boy who looks almost identical to the one she had been speaking with for the past 15 minutes.

"you two brothers?"

the older one responds, "yeah, he's a cockblock though, don't listen to him."

"cockblock? jude, i'm trying to save her life!"

ah, so that's his name.

"clear off, jobe," he rolls his eyes, turning back to the girl sitting beside him, "sorry about that- so, your number?"

"don't do it!"

and much to his dismay, she does.

y/n_l/n

liked by judebellingham and 23,899 others

y/n_l/n paris photo dump !! met some cool ass people there lowkey

view comments...

judebellingham was lovely meeting you, such a vibe 😆

y/n_l/n you too!! <3

yfn__ best time of my life honestly

y/n_l/n paris at night is a sight to see

user1 you look GORGEOUS

user2 i really missed pfw just a day after i left france </3

user3 JUDE????

user4 I'M ACTUALLY SO SHOCKED

user5 😮

user6 WE FOUND HERRRRR

user7 and jude beat me to it already 😐

judebellingham

liked by y/n_l/n and 899,231 others

judebellingham ❤🇫🇷

view comments...

y/n_l/n love the after party candid, send it to me plz xx + tell jobe i'm sorry but not sorry

judebellingham you look so pretty in it ofc + he'll see it anyways xx y/n_l/n @/judebellingham stop plz 😭🛑 jobebellingham @/y/n_l/n buy me croissaints and maybe i'll forgive you

jadonsancho freshh 🔥

user1 who's that girl in the last pic????

user2 someone who he met at the lv show, got her number and everthingggg 😭

user3 AND SHE KNOWS JOBE TOO? that's my chance stripped unrightfully away from me </3

user4 icel, she's gorgeous AAAAA

user5 this is my 13th reason

#work de aechii 🫧#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham romance #jude bellingham #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham fanfic #borussia dortmund #football imagines #footballer x reader #footballer x you

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sillylittlestoryblog · 3 months

Text

(Not) Hard to Love

Part 2 (2/2)

Trafalgar Law x Reader

Warning:⚠️ smutty situation, angsty thoughts

Authors Note: sorry that it took so long to post this. I was having a few bad days, just struggling with my confidence. Now I m doing a bit better. So here you go. Hope you have fun 🥰

this is by far the most suggestive thing I have ever written. lol. I hope it doesn’t suck too bad. If you like it, leave a comment. It does wonders to my mental health ❤️ (btw this raspberry jam is just in the story because I have been planning on making it for the past months and this is my reminder to get up from my lazy ass and make it! )

You were relieved, after days of almost doing nothing, because the sun was too hot and your thoughts too distracting, you were finally able to work again. It was one of those days were everyone was doing their best to restore and repair their beloved home.

The Thousand Sunny was a big ship. And after days of not doing much, it often needed some time to get everything organized and clean again.

Knowing your captain wasn’t the biggest fan of an organized living space, most of the work was split between the rest of the crew. While Nami was always on board keeping an eye on the ocean, Sanji was the one who was keeping the kitchen organized, while preparing the dishes for the day.

Franky and Usopp were repairing something in the library, while Brook and Robin were sorting the newest books, they got on the last island.

Luffy and Zoro were supposed to take care of everything on deck, which already wasn’t much. But after cleaning the girls bedroom, you walked towards the kitchen and saw both of them sleeping in the sunlight. Random, uncomfortable looking items being their pillows.

You just rolled your eyes and smirked. These two weren’t really cleaning themselves regularly, so why would they clean something else. It didn’t really make sense why you guys kept asking them to organize, even though you kinda knew they weren’t gonna be much of a help.

Opening the kitchen doors a warm sweet smell came towards you.

Sanji was standing at the stove, filling sugar into a red liquid.

"Uhhh, this smells amazing. May I have a taste?" you point to the boiling jam in front of you with an outstretched finger.

"Of course, my dear."

The cook gave you a spoonful of the sweet liquid and without blowing for long you tasted it.

"It tastes wonderful, Sanji! I'm already dreaming of how it will taste on the fresh crossaints you make from time to time."

The blond man grinned. He had to concentrate now. Not get distracted. Even if he particularly liked compliments from you.

"I'm glad you like it. I bought lots of raspberries so I could cook them for you.

I just realized that a little vanilla is still missing. Could you do me a favor? I have fresh vanilla in our storage room, I just forgot to bring them up from downstairs earlier. Could you get them quickly from below deck? I don't want the jam to burn.“

"Sure thing." With a smile, you walk back towards the door. You suck in the wonderful smell once more before quickly scurrying outside.

You had given Sanji the recipe for this particular jam a few months ago. Your mother used to make it when you were a child.

With quick steps, you skip down the stairs towards the storage room.

Your mind was full of warm memories of sunny mornings. Jam on baked goods. A table filled with fresh food. The last good days of your childhood.

Being on the thousand sunny was kind of like that time. With a smile on your face you walked towards the entry.

The groaning door gave you the creeps. Chopper had accidentally locked himself in down there once before. So, to be on the safe side, you put a box between you and the door. That way, it won't fall shut the next time the wind blows.

The light was already turned on in the storage room. You expected the little reindeer, who often spend time organizing and storing medicines down here to refill them in his little doctor's room when they were empty upstairs.

But it wasn't this doctor who was waiting for you in the far corner of the room.

Law was sitting on the floor looking through several boxes of pills.

Presumably he was going to take care of refilling the medicine room. Chopper probably send him, because he was still scared of last time.

You whisper a quiet "hey" in his direction so as not to startle him.

Law just looked up briefly and mumbled something in your direction.

What was his problem? You were starting to get angry again. Everyone was trying to build a home, be nice and him?! He was just not accepting you whatsoever.

How could someone be so arrogant and ignorant ?

A loud bang snapped you out of your thoughts.

The heavy door had slammed shut.

How could that be? You had just put something in between.

Annoyed, you turn to Law.

"Shit, now we're locked in here. I can't believe Franky still hasn't fixed the door!"

You push against the door with all your strength. It doesn't move. With a loud groan you press on the door again. But it doesn’t help. A large hand rests on your shoulder.

"Hey. let me try it, Y/N-ya. I'm sure I can get the door open."

You step aside and let the dark-haired man go at it. He also pushes against the door with all his might, but it doesn't move a bit.

Frustrated you started screaming for your friends to help you out of this awkward situation.

"Hey Namiiiii! Luffy! Frankyyyy!!! Help!"

"fuck! don't shout in my ear" Law

dramatically put his hands to his ears and stared at you angrily.

"do you want to get out of here or not?! Apparently mister-I can do anything- wasn't strong enough to open a simple door after all."

"Excuse me?"

The captain turned to you. He looked down at you, annoyed.

You took a step towards him. Pointing your finger on his chest.

"I finally want to know what your problem is?"

"I don't have a problem"

"Oh? Really? You're a fucking liar, Law."

"It's none of your business, what's wrong with me. Don't talk to me like that.

Your crazy captain has decided to form an alliance, and if that's a problem for you then talk to him and not to me."

Annoyed, Law turned to the side. He only took one step before you pulled him back by his shirt sleeve.

"Hey! Stay here. I don't have a problem with you or the Alliance at all."

Your back was against the cold iron door.

Law actually turned back around and took two steps towards you.

Only now do you realize how close he was to you.

"Why are you making it so difficult for me?"

His gaze was still avoiding yours. How much you would have liked to look him in the eye now. But then you probably wouldn't have been able to hold back. Your emotions were already getting the better of you.

You spoke to him much more calmly than before.

„What's so hard, Law? I can understand that you don't like me as much as the others. But why do you hate me? Is it that hard to just like me? Or even less. Just to accept me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your own words stung your heart. All you wanted was to be looked at him. Be seen.

Law still stood rooted to the spot in front of you. One hand in front of his eyes, he shook his head.

„What makes you think I hate you?"

Your voice wasn't ready to answer that question. You just shrugged your shoulders, sobbing. You would like to sink into the ground. Now you're crying in front of the man who has no interest in you. You were a failure. A pathetic girl crying in front of her crush. Nothing more.

"hey. Shh. Don’t cry. Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Sternly but without anger in his voice, Law put his index finger under your chin. So that you can't help but look into his gray eyes.

" I don't hate you, Y/N-ya.“

A sigh escaping his lips. His eyes looked different then before. You almost thought he was leaning in. And the air around you got thicker and filled with more tension.

„I really don’t. Quite the opposite in fact. Ever since I saw you for the first time, I've been attracted to you. I just can’t act on it.

I have responsibilities and… I'm not a particularly good person. I've done bad things. I've taken lives when I should be saving lives as a doctor. I don’t want more people to get hurt because of me. And to be honest, I've never had feelings like this before. I have no idea how to deal with it.“

He looked down. Almost debating if he should say the next part.

„I think of you. All the time. I lay awake at night and all I see is your face. I long for your touch. And I want to learn to love, Y/N-ya. But I'm afraid of it. Fuck."

He took a deep breath. And exhaled.

"I want you. I need you.... And I don't know how..."

"Shhh."

Now it was you who put your index finger on Law's lips and slowly stroked his cheek with your hand.

"Just kiss me"

Horrified by your demanding words, Law looked down at you. He forgot how to breathe for a moment. His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he could hardly hear anything else. Your lips opened to say something. He didn't want you to change your mind. He took your face in both hands. Before he pressed his lips to yours.

"Just so you know. it isn't hard to fall for you, Y/N. But I m afraid, I have no clue what I m doing. My life is..."

"Law... just kiss me"

You moved forward again, pressing your lips to his. Law felt like the walls he had build up so maticulously, melting away by your kisses. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, letting his desire take over.

Soft moans escaping your mouth while he pressed you against his body and the door behind you. You were caged in by his arms fully accepting whatever was gonna happen now. Your hands exploring the doctors body, while kissing each other hungrily. Law let out a low groan. This was better than in his daydreams. Your soft hands roaming his chest. Tracing his tattoos with lingering touches. One of Laws hands firmly placed against your hip. Shoving you against the metal door. Law was overwhelmed by his emotions. Not a single thought in his mind while he started grinding against you.

Using your moaning as chance to slide his tongue into your mouth.

His lustfull eyes being the most beautiful sight to you, while you buttoned down your summer dress.

Law was breathing heavily. His hair fully out of place by you tugging at his dark strands.

He can’t remember the last time he didn’t take the time to unbutton his shirt, but right now he was rushing to get it over his head. Throwing it down on the ground next to your dress.

Moving towards each other like magnets, lowly groaning between kisses, Law lifted up your thighs around his hips. Moving you against the door again.

His jeans rubbing against your panties. Making you cry out his name.

And for the second time that day you were interrupted by the same door you were making out against. The (stupid ) door opened with a loud hiss. Falling out of its angle. You and Law tumbeling and falling to the wooden floor.

This was a very annoying disturbance to your newly found passion. But it definitely wouldn’t have stopped you from showering Law with kisses, if it wasn’t for the circle of people and a very shocked reindeer standing around your almost naked bodies.

You and Law got up from the floor with red heads and stupid explanations. Feeling humiliated but kinda happy.

Law held his shirt protectively in front of you and hoped fervently that no one was looking at his jeans.

You looked at a bunch of different expressions.

Nami grinning. Robin, playing shocked, with one hand over her mouth. But she couldn't fool you. Her giggle was the first to be heard from the crowd.

„We really only planned for you guys to finally talk about it… that all… -

Nami made some hand gestures towards your half undressed bodies and the broken door on the ground.

„ - was not our intention.“

Usopp covered his own and then immediately afterwards Chopper's eyes. While Franky and Zoro toasted with sake in their hands. Apparently everyone was part of the stupid bet.

Luffy just looked back and forth between you and Law, confused. Obviously he hadn't quite understood yet, what was so exciting about this situation. He had seen you guys in swimwear before, not really something different in his eyes.

Sanji had blood all over his shirt and on his nose but tried to control himself. And thankfully pulled the others towards the exit.

"Don’t you guys look at Y/N-san like that. That’s not how you look at a lady.

Lunch is almost ready… let’s go Luffy.

Let the two of them go. We'll get the food ready."

Nami pulled Usopp towards her by the collar.

„So Usopp... I hope you remember our agreement... right?"

Laughing, the Strawhats left on after the other. Leaving behind two embarrassed pirates.

Franky mumbled something about "now I really have to fix the door"

While Chopper desperately tried to figure out what had just happened.

Robin gave you a wink while walking up the stairs.

Embarrassed, you looked at Law.

He took your hand and kissed it gently. Although it was hard for him, he tried to stand in front of you as confidently as possible.

" umm that was something… you know…

We still have some time before lunch. Would you like to… continue?! … What do you say Y/N-ya?"

You look at your intertwined hands and then back to Laws face. His face blushing, his eyes looking on the ground even though he would much rather look at your beautiful body before him. You stand on your tiptoes to give a quick peck to Law's lips.

"You may be right there is still some time. But I'll only follow you if you promise to use your devil powers this time. I wouldn't survive being caught like that again." Giggling, you put your arms around Law's neck.

"Okay then, let's pick up where we left off."

He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead before lifting his hand. A smile on his face as he heard your heart beating loudly.

„Room“

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper

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nanomooselet · 4 months

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My Brother's Keeper (I)

So, uh, I have seen the complaints that Stampede is "poorly-written". Often enough, really, to get... somewhat overly bent out of shape about it. Stampede was my entry into the story and I may have mentioned once or twice that I like it. You know. Just a little. This is not to say it's without its flaws, but it's technically very skilful, at least to my eyes. It's just… skilful in roughly twenty-two minute chunks, so it crams a whole lot into those chunks.

Vash tells Wolfwood he can "see [kindness] in his eyes" half an hour tops after hitting him with a truck. It's assumed that they're relying on previous characterisation of the two to carry this beat.

They're not.

See, animated shows or films (and definitely in the case of Stampede) aren't only written. They're story-boarded, rendered, scored etc. and all the parts interlock with the other parts. It has to be taken as a whole: spoken, written, visual, musical, situational, compositional. These are twelve instalments of a single story where everything in it develops, comments on, or reflects what lies at the work's thematic heart, but you have to figure out how. It's not going to explain it to you. If the relationship between two characters appears strange, that's because there's more to it. And whenever you see something in it that visually echoes something else in it, get out your pasteboard and stick in two thumbtacks connected with string because the show's letting you know it's important.

Now, because I viewed Stampede first, my reaction to this part was very much like Wolfwood's ("???") but the more of the show I watched, the more sense it started to make, and the more I appreciated what it did for Vash's characterisation. Having since read the manga, in my opinion the boys aren't at all interacting like they're accessing past-life memories. Vash is too busy silently reeling over Jeneora Rock and dreading his confrontation with Knives to keep up the whacky act that the older WW pierced. Wolfwood is too young and trapped by his own hurt to empathise by seeing through Vash's false smiles.

There's something else going on with these two, and if you think carefully, it's clear what it is. There were two loved ones that Vash lost tragically early in life, and we can assume it's not Rem he's thinking of.* The heart of this series is "the song of the brothers."

Whose side are you on?

I have to choose.

Lo and behold, through that lens the character interaction made a whole lot more sense. And I want to talk about how.

So, according to the show's language, right from his very first appearance Wolfwood has a connection with Knives.

In the ensuing scenes/episodes, it was then clear to me that Wolfwood isn't just connected to Vash's brother. He's a representative, serving as a sort of understudy while Vash journeys to confront the real thing. Anything and everything Wolfwood does or says is with that role in mind, because he's either playing along or fighting against it. It dictates his development as the show unfolds. He's got a job and he'll do it, but which of the twins' agendas is he ultimately serving as he does? Even he can't yet be sure.

This is a significant change. It has a huge effect on Wolfwood's characterisation; it's why he comes across as less confident, more surly - he's rebellious, but conflicted and immature. In the manga, the first time we meet Nick he's (mostly) his own man and he (mostly) makes his own decisions. While he isn't honest about his agenda, he is trying to temper Vash's idealism for honest and well-meaning reasons, albeit in a bitchy way. When he reveals himself, throwing down the coin halves, you feel the man is protesting too much so it'll make what's coming easier on Vash. Despite how deeply the two came to love each other they couldn't communicate their forgiveness, but Wolfwood is at his core a good man first who lost his way, then finds it again in Vash. **

Again by contrast in Stampede, Nick's identity isn't his own to shape (yet). He standing in for Knives, and he doesn't much like it. He does know more about the actual shape of things than the reporters - for instance, he doesn't bat an eyelash when Brad mentioned how long they've known Vash. So he can readily talk with Vash and test his convictions. They basically both know each other's biggest secrets already, so they don't have to make a whole production of getting to know each other.

But standing in for Knives is also why the introductory aw-look-he's-nice-really scene is so quickly revealed to be staged. Knives is the primary antagonist, not a neutral agent - he's the most dangerous and personal opponent the protagonists face. He's also cruel, controlling and manipulative. His "help" is anything but. Any gift he seems to freely give, like a protector, will either extract an awful cost down the line or have some hidden purpose (if he isn't "solving" a problem he himself created). Approach with caution.

(You know how Nick did something no one asked him to do then hit Vash, Meryl and Roberto with a massive bill for it like a dick? You know how he then violently rescued them from a situation he himself engineered so they'd have gratitude? Those are Knives's most basic manipulation tactics, when he isn't just hurling verbal abuse: I help you/I love you so I'm entitled to take this from/do this to you. Wolfwood is causing problems on purpose by acting out because it's funny, and knows he won't get whatever he's demanding. Knives thinks he's helping, and rarely hears when he's told "no".

Also, both the English and the Japanese have Roberto calling Wolfwood someone who kills with a smile on his face. He doesn't, really, but we have met someone else who does.)

That means like every other character, Wolfwood isn't quite himself. Not yet.

And that's actually awesome. Because it speaks to who the other characters are - specifically, about Vash.

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part V)

(Part VI)

(Part VII)

* OR COULD IT BE, as inevitably assumed on tumblr when two men are in proximity, unspoken romantic desire????

I'm not saying it can't be a factor, but it doesn't explain why they start having discussions over their principles like they've known each other for years. Or at least, to me it doesn't. As I've said I don't ship them. If you disagree, it's totally fine! Hear me out and decide for yourself. There's no reason to believe both can't be true.

** By what's coming, I mean the same development that eventually comes to every iteration of Wolfwood. You know the one. And by "they loved each other" I don't mean necessarily mean romantically. My personal belief is that there were mutual feelings along those lines, but they're both too emotionally reticent to acknowledge them and might not have regardless. But that's just me!

#trigun stampede #trigun meta #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #millions knives #not sure when to add the next part #there are at least three more. maybe four. help it's so long #day? two days?#tristampparty #meta: my brother's keeper

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pepperonidk · 2 years

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seventeen as little things that say “i love you”

pairing: none, just ot13 genre: fluff wordcount: 1.3k warnings: food mentions

a/n: these are little things that i've experienced as love from other people. from friends, lovers, family, so i really appreciate these.

seungcheol: eats the part of the food you don’t want.

for example, if you say you hate olives, he would offer to take them from you. OR like in that drama where one of them hated the egg white and the other hated the egg yolk and they would trade them with each other. like THAT. to seungcheol it’s just evidence of how harmonious you two are together. two pieces that complete each other. he calls you his other half and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

jeonghan: listens to you talk about your latest obsessions.

he will sit there with a dopey smile every time as he just stares at you and all he can think about is how happy he is that you’re happy. and he doesn’t just listen, he’ll remember what you tell him and he will find little ways to contribute to it, knowing it’s making you smile. whether buying you something related to it on his way home, or sending you a youtube video he saw about it. jeonghan just wants to know you and to know he’s always contributing to your happiness.

joshua takes candid pictures of you every time you laugh.

his wallpaper is a picture of you laughing at the stupid joke he made about seals at the beach. he truly believes his heart will leap out of his chest every time he hears you laugh. he started googling dad jokes before every date because he knows they make you laugh. every time he sees his phone wallpaper, his heart does a little flip, so he finds himself checking the time often.

jun learns your favorite songs on the piano.

once you briefly mentioned your latest obsession with twilight and the next day jun played renesme’s lullaby for you. just finished watching howl’s moving castle? next week he’ll play for you merry-go-round of life. jun feels that he connects with you most through music, that the music you like says a lot about you as a person. to him, playing the piano for you is an intimate event, like he’s showing you his own soul as he plays for you. not to mention he absolutely adores how excited you get whenever you hear him play.

soonyoung leaves encouraging sticky notes in all of your things.

sometimes (most times) there are roughly doodled tigers on orange sticky notes that also read “horanghae <3 have a great day.” sometimes he will try to fit as many words as possible onto the sticky note about how much he loves you. and sometimes, he writes you reminders to drink water and eat lunch. life can get very busy sometimes so he wants to make sure he’s on your mind as much as you’re on his. at the end of every day he’ll ask how many of them you found, and sometimes he’ll even make you do a scavenger hunt for them throughout the day. but it always spells out “i love you”

wonwoo tries to write you letters even if he thinks he’s bad at it.

stop no bc this one hits a little too close. because his letters to you would be little diary entries in his notes app, but every once in a while he'll write you a hand written note and it's just him telling you about his day since he doesn't know what to write about, then all of a sudden he says something like "if i was a better writer i could explain even better how you make my heart do flips whenever you look at me." right before the next sentence about minecraft.

jihoon pretends to offer to pop your knuckles for you as an excuse to hold your hand.

he will do this ALL the time. he won’t even pop your knuckles, he’ll just hold your hand and look away and pretend he doesn’t notice you noticing his cheeks turning red. and you’ll pretend you don’t know what he’s up to. and if you ever try to ask him about it he'll tell you it's an old technique he picked up from a friend and you're just like "mmm sure jihoon."

seokmin makes up bedtime stories to tell you when you can’t fall asleep.

it all started one night you called him after a pretty rough nightmare early on in your relationship. once you came to your senses you felt bad that you kept him awake, but seokmin didn't want you to go just yet. so he decided to tell you a story about a faraway kingdom and magic, and once he was sure you had fallen asleep he whispered those three words for the first time. (you weren't asleep)

mingyu always keeps an extra jacket in his car for you.

"it's not even that cold today," you had told him once many winters ago. and to your surprise (not mingyu's) it was actually that cold. at first mingyu gave you his jacket, thinking himself to be a model boyfriend. but after 2 hours of walking around to see the holiday lights, mingyu realized he could be a much better boyfriend if he was warm as well. how was he supposed to feel your hand in his when his fingers had gone pale from cold? so bringing an extra jacket was his idea.

minghao sends you pictures of the sunset.

at first, it was a joke. a selfie of him with the sunset saying "tell me what the prettiest thing in this picture is. get it right or it's over" and you had replied "the sunset, duh." and only when he began to pout did you relent. "you are handsome. but the sunset is simply gorgeous." now, it reminds him of the sparkle you get in your eyes when you look at the pinks in the sky, the same way you look at him, and he sends these pictures to you almost every day, especially when he's away from home.

seungkwan calls you when you’re on the way home.

if he's honest, he just likes to hear your voice. but the added bonus is that he can make sure you're getting home safely every night. when you told him the first time that you live quite a long distance from your office, he was immediately concerned. he asked what time you usually head home, and you were surprised to see him call at the time. he doesn't hang up until you let him know you've arrived at your house. no matter the time of night, he will keep you company.

vernon orders an extra side of french fries every time.

you honestly don't ever even have to ask. he used to absolutely hate when people would say "i'm fine" when he asked if they wanted to order anything... then would ask for some fries. so now he's gotten into the habit of ordering an extra of anything, so that he always has some to share with you. compared to a lot of things on this list, this is a lot more subtle, but i think in general vernon is a subtle man. his love is quiet, but not any less fierce or passionate, and i think that's so beautiful.

dino makes pinky promises.

these pinky promises are sacred to him. he has never broken one and he never plans to ever break one. from small things like “i pinky promise i’ll buy you a coffee tomorrow morning if you study with me,” to big things like “i pinky promise to love you every day,” he holds it all sacred. when he texts you and says pinky promise, he’ll send a picture of his pinky and expect you to do the same. he already knows that when he proposes he’s gonna propose with a pinky ring, to be cute.

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coltermorning · 11 months

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Where Stubbornness Leads Pt. 2 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A trip to town results in a conversation Arthur can’t get off his mind.

Author’s Notes: Part two of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, high honor Arthur Morgan

AO3 Link

Where Stubbornness Leads

Word count: 7045

Part Two

It had been two weeks. Already two weeks of being with you, something good enough as to make Arthur think he was the luckiest man alive.

He wasn’t quite sure how it had ever happened or that he deserved it, but those things didn’t matter when he was with you. What mattered was that a woman as fiery and passionate and good-hearted felt for him right back. All things considered, he had thought that part of his life was over for a long time. And now that it wasn’t, each morning was like waking up to a pleasant surprise—something to lift his spirits beyond what anything else had for years.

Arthur awoke with that very feeling and decided to write it down—he was making a quick journal entry in the overlook’s early morning hours so as not to attract any attention. Halfway through his words, he debated what to draw alongside them. He would be lying if he said this was the first time you made your way into his journal. The night you met when the gang took you in, he’d written in a quick retelling. Then again on the night he kissed you, that one with a rendering of you in that dress you wore he couldn’t get out of his head. But this entry wasn’t about any night in particular, just spending time with you and how proud you remained. He chuckled at the thought, suddenly knowing exactly what to draw.

Half an hour later, he had a nearly-finished sketch of you, the perfect tilt of your hips as you cocked them at him making him smile. He looked up and saw the real thing meandering around camp and shut his journal to go join you.

You were wearing a dress this morning. You didn’t wear them all that often, and when you did it was a rare treat. Not only did you look good enough to make an ache settle in Arthur’s chest, but you couldn’t do as many of the chores you kept insisting on in a dress. This of course moved Arthur to step in for you, and even better, you didn’t refuse him when he did.

This was exactly what he found himself looking forward to when you waltzed over to the feed sacks. Another chore you knew would get his attention as if the dress hadn’t already. He walked over to join you.

“Don’t even try it,” he teased, making you turn.

You smiled that devilish smile he knew meant trouble. You reached for the sack anyway.

“Uh uh,” he said, denying you by stepping in and batting your hand away. He took the sack right out from under you, flipping it over his shoulder. You crossed your arms at him, eyes smoldering. The sight ate him up. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” you said innocently, and before he could stop you, you’d reached down and gotten the other sack, coming up beaming at him.

“For christ’s sake,” he said, the edges of a grin tugging on his mouth despite it. He started for Pearson’s wagon with you alongside him.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you shot back. You were right about that much.

“Maybe, but I prefer you didn’t throw your back out.”

“Oh, because I’m just a helpless little woman, am I?”

“No,” he said smugly. “Because you lifted that thing with your back, not your knees.”

Your expression soured. He laughed.

“Shut up.” You gave him a small shove, making him smile like a fool.

“Good lord. Get a room already, would you?” This from Karen who stood over her coffee at Pearson’s wagon. Mary-Beth, standing just beside her, snorted with laughter.

“How about you mind your business?” Arthur said hotly. The two of you hadn’t yet brought your relationship out in the open in front of the gang, but that didn’t stop them from making comments like this at every turn. In fact, Arthur was willing to bet there wasn’t a soul left who didn’t suspect you of being sweet on each other.

Karen barked a laugh. “Relax, I’m just needling you.”

“Very funny.” Arthur let you put your feed sack down first, hoping you weren’t too embarrassed by the gang’s constant badgering.

“Mr. Morgan!” Arthur turned at the sound of his name, finding Pearson ambling over. “Thanks for the help with those,” he said as Arthur set the sack down atop yours.

“No problem.”

“Listen, I need a few supplies from town. Think you could go get them for me?”

“What do you need?”

Pearson dug in his pocket and pulled out a list, handing it to Arthur. “There. Nothing too complicated.”

He looked over the list, figuring the trip would be quick work. He was glad to have a reason to visit town besides. To get away from all these people, more like.

“Sure, I’ll get it, Pearson.”

“Good man!” Pearson replied, already walking away when Arthur turned to you.

“Care to join?”

That gleam was back in your eye, and for a moment he thought you would tell him no. But then your face went slightly red, and you glanced at the other women. “Sure. I, uh, need to get some things myself anyway.” Before he could ask what, you were backing away. “Meet you at the wagon?”

“Sure.” Awful strange, seeing you unsure. Or hiding something.

Five minutes later when he was joining you on the wagon, Arthur asked about it. “What’s got you acting all strange back there?”

“Back where?”

“In front of Karen and Mary-Beth.”

“I weren’t acting strange.”

He chuckled. “You kinda were.”

“Well you’re strange,” you said quickly, your temper flaring.

“Whatever you say,” he quipped, making it obvious he didn’t believe you. But you didn’t say another word about it, and he dropped it for your sake. Precious few things got you embarrassed. He didn’t want to pry.

The two of you fell into pleasant conversation on the way to Valentine. You were discussing Pearson’s cooking, his need for some of the flavors he’d asked for, when the wagon jolted over a deep divot in the road. You winced, bringing your arms around your middle. The movement drew Arthur’s attention.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you answered, but your gritted teeth said otherwise. He pulled the wagon over and stopped. “Arthur, really. I’m fine.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You met his eye then. He had discovered very recently you would forfeit your stubbornness if he was gentle toward you. As if you liked him enough to trust him, to put down your toughness when he did. Whatever the cause, it worked.

Your face heated again as you said with shyness, “I- it’s…women problems. Ain’t nothing.”

It took Arthur an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out what you meant.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, you big brute, now get back on the road,” you said, giving him a small shove of affection.

He obliged you, turning away as he steered the wagon, hoping his hat hid most of the redness on his face.

“Badgering me,” you muttered.

“You looked in pain,” he said in his defense.

“I am in pain.” And, at the look he gave you then, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with every month for years now. Relax, would you?��

He dropped it. He knew better than to say another word.

As it turned out, you had needed a few things from the store for said pain. That was what you’d been embarrassed to say in front of the women. Arthur leant you the money to buy what you needed, giving you space to breathe as he told you he’d be waiting on the bench outside. In a few minutes, you joined him.

“Thank you,” you told him with an unusually sincere look. “Didn’t have to make a big show of it.”

He shrugged. “For you I would.”

You smiled. And it tugged at his heart enough that when you got back on the wagon, he pulled you over and kissed you on the cheek before grabbing the reins and steering back out into the street.

Now that he knew the reason behind your pain, you stopped hiding it from him quite so much. On the ride back, you were wallowing around, curled in on yourself.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

“Not terrible. But not great. Nothing I can do about it though.”

“Is there not?”

You looked at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just-” He immediately stopped himself, realizing why he had said that. Something he had heard a long time ago as a teenager, most likely just men being idiots, telling him that. No truth to it whatsoever. Arthur felt his face go so red that he knew there was no escaping your next words.

“What? What’s got you all red in the face?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Awe, don’t pull that crap,” you said with a smile. “What is it? I’ve already admitted all to you, so spill it.”

“No,” he said, digging his heels in this time. Admitting what was on his mind would only bring trouble.

“Come on,” you said, taking his arm and shaking him. “I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. And it’s unfair that you-”

“Drop it this time,” he said, knowing how you were and that you wouldn’t unless he asked outright.

He thought he had gotten through to you until you yanked the reins out of his hands and pulled the horses up.

“I most certainly won’t drop it. Tell me.”

He sighed. “Y/N, now’s not the time to be stubborn. Trust me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You were getting madder by the minute, and what he was holding under his tongue would only make it ten times worse.

“Tell me, Arthur Morgan.”

He turned away, shaking his head. May as well get this disaster over with. “Just…something I was told as a boy. About women and their…” He made a general motion that had you raising your eyebrow dangerously high. “Forget it. Forget I said a word,” he muttered, taking the reins back.

But your hand on his own stopped him. And he looked up to find you watching him smugly, like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Do tell.”

He huffed a breath, shifting around in his seat, not meeting your eye as he said, “Promise you won’t slap me?”

“No promises.” Of course not.

He took a breath before starting, knowing he was damning himself with every word. “There’s…an old wives tale I guess. Or maybe just some idiot spouting off things he don’t know, better left unsaid.”

“Which is?”

Arthur couldn’t keep the color off his face. How he got himself into these things…

“That, uh, a woman who’s- who has menstrual pain can lessen it by…well-”

“Good lord, spit it out man.”

“By pleasuring herself,” he said quickly. And he was met with such silence he braced himself and turned to you. You burst out laughing.

“You thought I would slap you over that? Oh, Arthur,” you said, your laughter barely contained. “Men are idiots. You included.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I will slap you,” you said, the smile on your face nearly contagious. “But I do appreciate you being so thoughtful.” If his face got any redder, he would be setting some kind of record.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile of his own, whipping the reins. The wagon lurched forward, bringing your continuous laughter with it.

You only quieted down once you were nearly into camp. “You’re lucky I don’t know the other women well enough to tell them this. No matter how much I want to.”

“Please,” Arthur said, desperate. “Resist the urge. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Oh, you won’t ever hear the end of it. Not from me.”

He met your eye and leaned over, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“Won’t I?” you said, though your gaze caught on his mouth.

And soon you were back in camp, about to get off the wagon when your hand around his arm stopped him. Your voice dropped low so no one would overhear. “Any pleasure I get’s going to be from you, Mr. Morgan. Though you’re welcome to think of me doing that if you want.”

He quit breathing.

You jumped down and spun, your dress twirling around you as you leveled him with a wicked grin. He didn’t miss the color crossing your face, though his was likely ten times worse with how hot his ears suddenly felt.

Just like that, you had turned and walked back into camp. And Arthur realized he was still sitting there like an idiot, trying his best not to dwell on the image you had just put in his head. It was a nearly impossible task.

The rest of the day, Arthur worked harder than he had since Colter. There was no other way to keep his mind off your words. He didn’t necessarily want to keep his mind off them, but the feeling that shot through him every time he did was making it difficult to focus. So he worked. You joined in with some things, going on like the two of you normally did. He was almost sure you were enjoying this though, as he caught the corner of a smile on your mouth twice before you could turn away in time. This was a dangerous game you were playing.

The night turned unusually cold—something Arthur resented when he went to bed. Because he always let the canvas down around him when it was cold to keep the wind out. And he had just done this and had barely had time to sit on his cot before he remembered what you whispered to him. The thought brought the same image to him, of how you would look splayed back with your hands between your legs. And damn the cold weather, because the canvas was down, and he felt his arousal take hold, and there was nothing stopping him now from thinking about you all he wanted.

He laid back on his cot, taking his hat off and letting it fall to the ground. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands but discovered this to be worse—the darkness gave way to the image of you once more. And, with a breath of impatience, he gave in, reaching for the buttons of his pants. He was already half-hard when he pulled himself out, beginning to stroke himself to the thought of what else you had said, wanting him to pleasure you. He gladly would if that was what you wanted. He’d be honored to. Surprised, really, since you seemed to hate his company so much when you first met.

He thought of your smart mouth and felt pleasure jolt through him, working his hand a little faster when your mouth around him came to mind. He held back a groan when he thought of burying himself inside you, how perfect you would feel around him. All other thought fell away as he began to pump himself hard and fast, imagining it was you he was pleasuring.

In moments, Arthur felt his high nearing, closing his eyes tight to the sharp pleasure of it. The thought of your naked body splayed out beneath him sent him over the edge, wringing out every ounce of pleasure he could as he tried his best to keep his labored breathing quiet.

Arthur came back down to the thought of your words, knowing they had taken hold and wouldn’t let him go now—it would be this every night until he could have the real thing. He would wait as long as you needed him to, wanting you to be sure, but he had a feeling the simple act of admitting that to him meant you were close to giving in to your desire too.

The next night was the same hell in different form, having you but not having you. He was sat at the poker table playing against Javier and John. You and Karen lingered, you not giving him any help whatsoever like you had at the poker tournament, no matter how much he asked. That didn’t stop you from calling him a fool every time he made risky bets or played poor hands. The pair of you were beginning to interrupt the game bickering so much that Karen cut in.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Can you two just admit you’re sweet on each other already and let us get on with the game?”

Arthur felt his face heat and watched yours do the same before you met his eye with a sharp glance.

“Fine,” you said on a sigh, your annoyance aimed at whoever prodded it. To Arthur’s shock, you rounded him and sat down right in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Karen cheered as you did it, John and Javier joining in. You broke the kiss like it was nothing, further proving to everyone you two had already done this before.

“Happy?” you asked Karen, still perched on Arthur’s lap with your hands around his neck like it was the most normal thing in the world. Even though the question wasn’t directed at him, he was happy. Happy as a king.

“Finally,” Karen said through a snort of laughter. “You owe me five bucks, Tilly!”

Tilly called out from somewhere in camp, “You’re kidding!” Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle, resting his hand on your lower back as Tilly came running over.

“Oh, I knew it!” she said when she saw you in Arthur’s lap.

“No duh,” Karen said. “We all did.”

“What’s this bet about then?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the pride out of his voice.

“I bet you would make the first move,” Tilly said with a smirk. “Thinking you didn’t care what any of us thought.”

“And I bet she would,” Karen said, pointing to you. “Knowing Arthur wouldn’t dare admit his feelings lest he impose.”

“Oh, lay off it,” Arthur said. His ears burning with the truth of it.

You barked a laugh. “She’s right, you know,” you said, looking down at him.

“Is she?” he said lowly. You held his stare, a grin turning your mouth.

“Good lord,” John said, throwing his cards down. “Why’d you have to bring it up? Now they’ll be worse,” he said to Karen.

“Why do you have to be so miserable?” she shot back.

“Forget it,” John said, getting up and stalking off.

“Goddamn baby,” Karen mumbled, the jab making Tilly laugh.

“I’ll take these,” Javier announced, shuffling John’s few chips over to his own pile. Arthur didn’t even care. He was having a tough time focusing on the gang’s usual camaraderie, his hand skimming over your back and coming to rest on your hip.

“Come on then, I’ll help you beat ‘em,” Karen said to Javier. She moved around to stand behind him, viewing his cards.

“Ooh, me too,” Tilly piped up, doing the same. Little did they know you were a damn good partner to have at the poker table. If you had finally decided to help him, that is.

You turned in Arthur’s lap, facing the table and joining the game. He would have been glad for it had you not just moved against him in a way that sent arousal shooting through him. He tried to adjust himself a little but only ended up with his hands on your hips. And the feeling of you in his grasp alone made things immeasurably worse.

“Let’s see…” you said, taking his cards, adjusting your seat. With the motion, your backside moved against him. Where Arthur thought you hadn’t noticed the effect you were having on him, he had been wrong—you had moved like that on purpose, throwing him a snide smirk over your shoulder.

“You make a habit of drawing the worst cards?” you teased.

“Seems so,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from shooting too low. Wondering how you kept such a straight face when all he could think about was your body against him.

“Here,” you said on a sigh, throwing a few chips into the pot. The game resumed, the two of you fairly evenly matched with Javier and Karen and Tilly. But Arthur could hardly give a thought to the game. He barely even noticed when his chips ran out, you turning to look at him.

“Oops.”

“What?”

“Bust,” you said, eyeing him knowingly, like you could read his thoughts.

“Damn,” he said, though it couldn’t be more obvious how satisfied he was with his lot.

“Damn indeed,” you said, tucking a strand of his hair back into place. He felt the same longing as he had when you’d straightened his coat. Worse.

After Javier gathered the coins that had been thrown down, he stood with satisfaction, saying, “Well, that was fun. Let’s do it again, Arthur. Maybe you’ll have more luck next time.” He smirked and managed one step from the table before the women started demanding their cut. Arthur chuckled, watching Karen and Tilly chase after Javier as he did he best to shake them off. He knew that was useless.

You ran your hand through his hair again, turning Arthur’s attention back to you. He was pleased to see the two of you were the only ones left at the table. In the nearby vicinity, even. It had gotten late enough to give you a bit of privacy, especially since he was sat in the seat nearest the cliffside so that he could see anyone approach. This left less than gentlemanly ideas coursing through his head, the look you were giving him not making things any better.

“What’s got you all in a bother then?” you asked, intentionally moving against him as you turned to face him better.

“You know what you’re doing,” he answered. “Don’t play like you ain’t doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what?” you said with a tilt of your head, turning fully so that you planted your feet on either side of him. Straddling him. He couldn’t tear his hands away from your sides if he wanted to but resisted the urge to pull you flush against him. Barely.

“I’ve seen how you sit in a chair,” he said. “This ain’t it.”

“You’re not a chair,” you said simply.

“No.”

He watched the gleam he adored enter your eyes, that scheming look enough for him to know he was done for. Sure enough, you raised up almost imperceptibly, moving against his erection in slow, intentional movements.

He clenched his jaw. “Sweetheart…” He said it in warning, wanting you proper, wanting to pleasure you fully, not like this in the middle of camp. But he knew if you kept on, he wouldn’t have it in him to stop you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side again. You kept on, grinding against him torturously slow.

“We’re in the middle of camp,” he managed, his voice so shot through with his arousal it was a wonder he could still speak.

“I’m just sitting on your lap,” you lied. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“This ain’t sitting,” he hissed when you sat a little lower, building the pressure against him.

“No?” you asked. “Well, let’s fix that.”

You sat, suddenly and fully enough to make Arthur hold in the edges of a groan. He felt one of your hands take his, bringing it to your thigh. He couldn’t tear his eyes from yours, that mischievous look pinning him down as much as you were. You slowly dragged his hand toward your middle, beginning to smirk like a cat. Arthur’s mouth went dry.

“You want to test your theory?” you asked lowly.

“What’s that?” he said, his voice catching.

Your smile widened. “Would you pleasuring me make my pain go away?”

He had forgotten all about your cycle. And concern trickled through him, not quite catching enough for him to stop what you were doing with his hand, though he still spoke his mind. “Are you hurting?”

He said it with sincerity, not wanting to cause you any worse pain. But he thought he saw a flash of something cross your face, something a lot like arousal. And just like that, you brought his hand to your clothed sex, his palm pressing against you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before they were on him, all haughtiness gone, only want remaining. He was happy to oblige you.

Arthur moved his hand in small circles against you, loving the way your breath caught when he did. He cast a quick glance around to make sure the two of you were still alone. You were. God, did he want this to be more private. He would take you right here on this table if he could.

You parted your lips and let out a slow breath, the action drawing Arthur’s attention like nothing else. He kissed you, quick and soft, before pulling back. “My beautiful girl.”

Your face went red. He couldn’t tell if it was from his words or a flush in response to what he was doing to you. Your hands had gripped his forearms tight, your eyes losing focus.

His cock was straining beneath you, and he was seconds away from encouraging you to move with his other hand before he heard a voice nearby.

“…knew he was shit at cards. Hey, Morgan!” Arthur’s eyes snapped up, his hand going back to your hip.

“What, Bill?” He said it shortly, not meaning to sound so harsh but annoyed all the same at being interrupted. Even worse was the small noise of impatience you made that had Arthur debating taking you to his tent right then.

“There’s no need to snap at me. Hey, you two are…” Bill looked at you both like it had just dawned on him you were sitting in Arthur’s lap. Arthur spotted the bottle in his hand and scoffed.

“You’re drunk, Bill. Go sleep it off.”

“So what if I’m drunk?” he shot back. Arthur heard you let out an annoyed breath. He looked to you and found you already turning, your temper rearing its head. You stood and swung over Arthur’s legs, storming down Bill instead. Arthur felt his chest cave at the loss of your touch but didn’t dwell on it long, not when you flung so much anger in your approach that Bill cowered.

“Leave him the hell alone. He said go sleep it off,” you spat. You were much shorter than Bill but managed to tower over him with your rage alone. Bill knew not to test you with the way you were poised to strike. It turned Arthur’s mouth in a smile, seeing you like that.

“Sorry,” Bill said, his voice going high. “I’ll leave you alone then. Christ.”

You pointed to Bill’s shared tent, and with a scoff, he turned and did as you said, walking to it. Arthur chuckled lowly. Bill was normally too stupid to be intimidated, much less take orders.

Arthur got up, adjusting himself before he walked over to where you stood, fuming. “What’s got you all in a bother?” he asked lowly, repeating what you had asked him.

You swatted at him. Arthur laughed aloud, catching your hand. “Easy. Didn’t mean to draw that temper of yours.”

“I don’t have a temper,” you spat before turning on your heel, making for your own tent. Arthur was too busy smiling at that to be angry over the interruption. He would get to pleasure you proper soon enough. And next time, he would find the privacy to do each and every thing he wanted, drawing your want out of you until you were satisfied enough to forget all about that temper.

Arthur’s chance came four days later. It was late, most everyone else was asleep, and he found himself lowering the canvas around him as he had done every night before. Only, there was no chill in the air. Each night before, it had been for privacy as he worked himself over to the thought of the flush on your face, your pleasure made palpable. Now, it was for a different kind of privacy. For you stood in his tent before him, in a dress again, trying to argue with him about something. He couldn’t give said argument a moment’s thought.

“You’re not even listening to me,” you said, crossing your arms.

He finished tying the last of the canvas together and turned to you. “No. I ain’t.”

You had the briefest moment to look offended before he stepped forward and kissed you, any annoyance you had melting away as your hands found his face and you kissed him back.

The kiss turned heated, the first time he allowed it to. He knew he would never be able to stop himself after kissing you like this, your mouth parting for him, his tongue finding yours. And god above was it perfect.

He wrapped his hands around your back, reveling in the taste of you, the small heat of your mouth.

You pulled back suddenly, meeting his eye. “Don’t think we won’t finish this argument later.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, already kissing you again.

His hands drifted down, finding your backside and slipping just below. He lifted you with ease, making you emit a small gasp as he continued kissing you, backing your toward his bed.

You took the lead then, desperate in how you kissed him. Greedy. Your legs wrapped around his waist before he could set you down, and his erection hit you right where he needed you most. He lined himself against you before remembering himself, remembering his patience. His own pleasure could wait.

He set you down on the bed softly, breaking the kiss, withdrawing his grip on you. He climbed over you, meeting your lust-blown gaze. “Let me make you feel good. Take that pain you were talking about away.”

“That pain’s gone. Has been for a day or two.”

He could only nod, staying quiet as he began to undress you. He made quick work of your pretty little dress, bringing it over your head and tossing it aside. He was slower with your chemise, kissing every inch of skin revealed, making you wait for his touch. He couldn’t help it. You were beautiful, and the more he saw of you, the more he wanted to kiss and taste and suck. The urge only worsened when he brought the fabric down over your breasts, your nipples hardened in your arousal for him. He immediately brought his mouth to your breast, flicking his tongue against you. He heard the slightest of sighs escape you and nearly lost himself over it. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to make you make that sound for him over and over until you were too hoarse to make it anymore.

He worked your other breast with his hand as he licked and sucked against you, eventually switching to show the other the same kindness. Your hands roved over his back all the while, your touch awakening something within him he tried desperately to fight down. This was about you, not him. Not yet.

He eventually began moving downward still, the anticipation eating him alive as he removed your chemise entirely, pressing kisses against your belly as he moved down the bed. Your hands found his head and tangled in his hair, tugging slightly the closer he got to your womanhood.

He finally broke away from your skin, looking down to see your perfect sex. You were glistening wet through that small thatch of hair, enough to make Arthur’s cock throb at the sight. Not wasting a second, he brought his mouth to you. He would normally use his hands, had planned on it, but he suddenly couldn’t resist tasting you. The second your slick met his tongue, he groaned in satisfaction, your grip on his hair tightening.

“Arthur,” you said on a sigh. He could have found his release from that sound alone.

He licked against you before finally plunging his tongue into your entrance, tasting you. He repeated the motion enough to be sure you were enjoying it before he ran his tongue upward. He found that small bundle of nerves and kissed it, making your breath catch. He paused, just barely, long enough to look up and see your expression. Your head was thrown back, your mouth parted, your eyes shut against the pleasure he was showing you. He had half a thought he would have to make a new journal entry of you before you were tugging his hair, guiding him back down to where you needed him. He smiled as he began pleasuring you once more, his tongue finding your clit. His hands came down on your hips, pinning you down when you began squirming beneath him. He made you take every ounce of it, loving each and every noise that escaped your mouth as he did. And finally, when your breaths became heavy and he knew you were close, he pushed his tongue into your cunt again, his thumb finding your clit instead. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and in seconds, you had found your release on his tongue, panting from it. He nearly found his own too but caught himself, keeping his breathing even to fight it back down.

He focused on your body, tasting your slick again before pulling away from you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You met his eye. “Arthur,” you whined quietly.

“You say the word and I’ll do it again,” he answered. He would. In a heartbeat, he would. He was completely at the mercy of that arousal on your face.

“Want you inside me,” you muttered. It broke his will clean in half.

He moved upward, kicking his boots off as he did, kissing your belly, your breasts, your neck. You took his face in your hands and kissed him hard, your tongue finding his this time. You moaned into his mouth, and the feeling made Arthur’s patience shatter. He needed you now. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants, letting you take his mouth. But you were soon moving out from underneath him, turning him over. You made him settle on the bed beneath you and started undressing him. He didn’t quite have the patience for this, but he let you do as you pleased, knowing better than to test your anger. You stripped his shirt away, your hands finding his chest, your mouth finding one of his scars. He went dead still. And just like that, his patience was restored. Likely because of the small act, of you showing love to such an ugly part of him.

You continued, finding every scar you could reach and pressing your lips to it. Lovingly. The feeling made his chest catch in sadness and longing and adoration. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have found someone this perfect, someone to love him, scars and all. The feeling welled up in his chest until you finally broke away, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re ungodly handsome,” you whispered into his mouth. “It’s unfair.”

“Far from it,” he replied. “Nothing like you.”

“Better,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath it, a response to all you were doing to him. Giving him. You moved down, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them off. Doing the same to his undergarments until he was as bare as you. He watched you take in the sight of how hard he was for you, seeing the adoration in your eyes. Pride. Always pride with you. You met his eye and moved up, your body laying flush with his. You kissed him again, your hand finding his cock, stroking him. The feeling was so good he knew he wouldn’t last. He almost let you be anyway. Almost.

Arthur turned you, pulling you beneath him once more. You huffed in annoyance. “Stubborn bastard.”

He smiled. “Won’t last like that, darlin’.”

Your scowl in answer didn’t last long. He lined himself up with you, his cock pushing against your slick, and all your fight fell away, your touch gentle and wanting against him once more. He kissed you hard, reveling in the anticipation of it all for a few seconds before he pushed into you, slow and grating. Nothing on this earth matched the pleasure that shook through him as he did. He bottomed out, trying not to groan too loud. He was unable to keep kissing you. Unable to focus on anything but being buried in your cunt.

“Feel so good,” he muttered.

“So do-” He slammed into you, and your words blurred into a whiny moan.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Need you to stay quiet for me. Don’t want to wake the whole camp.”

You met his eye, a hunger burning in your gaze so hot he wondered whether he’d angered you. “I don’t care about the camp. Take me already-”

He had bucked into you again, so harsh the bed rocked. The last word you uttered gave way to a seething hiss of pleasure, your best attempt at staying quiet.

“There,” he said, starting a slow pace. “Good girl.”

“You did that on purpose,” you breathed, your eyes shutting in response to him rocking into you, his cock hitting so deep he knew this wouldn’t last long.

He chuckled, his happiness uncontainable. You kissed him, your tongue pushing his mouth open. Demanding. He did it right back. His arousal took over once more at what he was doing, at the thought of this being you underneath him, taking his cock so good. You were so tight around him he groaned again, especially when you started to dig your nails into his back from your own need.

He picked up his pace, wanting to feel you let go around him before he gave in. You let out a loud moan, and he didn’t have it in him to quiet you down. He loved the sound. He wanted to hear it again. In fact, he was a fool for doing this in camp and not taking you somewhere far away where he could make you moan as loud as you wanted. You shifted beneath him, bringing your legs up slightly, the new angle so good he clenched his jaw to keep his release at bay. He hadn’t wanted to be too rough with you, but he took this as proof of your toughness and wrapped his arm under your leg, tugging it upward. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and thrust into you hard. You both let out a noise of gratification, the feeling so pleasure-filled it hurt.

He was close. He wanted to watch your orgasm take over again, wanted to see your face this time as he got you there. So he brought a hand down and started circling his thumb against your clit.

“Arthur,” you breathed, your hand finding his forearm and clinging to it as you writhed beneath him. He swirled his thumb faster, making you clench down on him. “Fuck, Arthur.” And your mouth fell open, your chest rising in a held breath. Arthur fucked you through your release, buried beneath his own pleasure at you saying that word to him.

You let out sharp breaths as your high broke through you. The sight of you alone had Arthur teetering on the edge, but those sinful little sounds…

He pushed into you two more times before he came, pulling out and spilling across your stomach. It was ungodly good, pleasure that rendered him numb to anything else. It tore through him so harshly he fell onto you, barely aware that he was crushing you until you tried to pry your leg out from between you.

He took a breath before he could speak again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” He used what little strength he had to raise himself off of you.

You smiled at him, the look of it on your blissful, tired face something he wanted to see over and over again. “Not that,” you breathed, still catching your breath.

“What then?”

“If I don’t get away from you now,” you said, taking another breath, your chest heaving. “I’m gonna keep you here all night.”

“Keep me here?” he teased. “This is my bed last I checked. I’m keeping you here.”

You smiled. He kissed you. “Or,” he went on. “I could just use my mouth on you again. You seemed to like that.”

You hummed in approval. “I have good reason to.”

He grinned wide. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re too busy with your mouth to talk back to me.”

He laughed. “Unbelievable. Like I’m the one talking back when you know good and well it’s you.”

“It’s not me, like I was telling you before you-”

He kissed the argument right off your lips. And in doing so and moving against you, he remembered his spend on your skin, on his now too after he fell against you. He picked his shirt up off the ground and cleaned you both off, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his embrace. Trapping you, more like, as he was sure you weren’t done arguing. Not by the look of defiance still on your face.

He pulled the blanket over you both, crushing you to him, glad to finally be able to have you in his bed. And when you did speak again, he was surprised to hear that it wasn’t about your earlier argument.

“Damn you for being so warm. And sweet. And good to me.”

He grinned, propping his head on top of yours, settling into the tiredness that stole over him. “Careful. That was damn close to a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, you bring out the worst in me.”

Arthur couldn’t help but snicker at that as you relaxed, finally settling against him like you were meant to be there all along.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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mimisempai · 8 months

Text

Dear Crowley…

Summary

A sudden gust of wind blew a sheet of paper written by Aziraphale into Crowley's hands as a word suddenly caught his eye. His own name.

Impossible, of course, for him to resist the urge to read it.

Notes

Not much time for today's story, but I hope it will be just as enjoyable.

On Ao3

Rating G - 1165 words

"Angel, I'm back! It's windy out there!"

As if to illustrate his point, a gust of wind rushed through the still-open door, and by the time the demon had closed it, the wind had blown away a few sheets of paper that twirled around before falling to the carpet in the middle of the bookshop.

Crowley picked them up and stopped when he saw his name in Aziraphale's elegant handwriting on one of the sheets.

Curiosity got the better of him and he began to read what was written.

Dear Diary,

Or should I say,

Dear Crowley,

Crowley figured since it was addressed to him, it wouldn't hurt if he read it, so he continued.

Dear Crowley, because what I'm going to write today concerns you.

As do many of my diary entries, but this is the first time I'm addressing it to you.

I have so much to say to you.

When I met you, Crowley, nothing prepared me for you.

So beautiful, so colorful, so bright in a sky that didn't yet sparkle. So full of life and passion.

How could I not have been immediately enchanted?

Circumstances should have made us sworn enemies after your fall, but they didn't.

For you and I never really fit the mold. Though it took me much longer than you to realize it.

I have been like a moth drawn to the flame, but I have so often rejected that draw out of blindness and fear.

But you never stopped being there, a constant warm flame that never went out.

Thank you for always being patient with me. For letting me go my own way at my own pace, even the times when I stopped moving forward or went backward.

I'm going to get even sappier, but after all, only I will read his words, so I can indulge myself, can't I?

Crowley, my love.

I call you my love here until one day I have the courage to call you that out loud.

Crowley gasped and felt his cheeks redden slightly at the thought of hearing Aziraphale call him that one day.

My love.

Overcome with emotion, he sat down on the sofa and resumed reading.

I love that you're the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning.

I love walking through the bookshop and seeing pieces of you everywhere, reminding me that this has become our home. That this is not just my bookshop, but the place where we are now building our life together.

I love what we've become. This us.

You're strong, you're my safe place, I can lean on you, but I also know your weaknesses. I know when you're hurting, when you're afraid, when you doubt. Because you trust me enough to show me and allow me to be your safe place too.

Thank you for letting me be your strength, your support, your comfort in these moments.

I could go on telling you how much I adore you, but it would take me at least ten pages to tell you how much I love you and why, and now that I'm at this point, I realize how silly that idea is.

I'm going to throw away this piece of paper and tell you all of this in person as soon as I have the courage. Because you deserve to hear it from me.

Until then, please know that I love you more than anything.

Crowley dropped the hand holding the letter and let his head fall back as a soft smile played on his lips.

Aziraphale...

Only someone like him could write something like that and make it so adorable. His sweet angel.

The demon stood up and carefully folded the sheet of paper before tucking it into his pocket. He wouldn't let the angel throw away such a treasure.

Seeing Aziraphale's coat hanging, he realized the angel was home and suddenly wondered why he hadn't answered when he had called him.

Seeing no sign of the angel on the ground floor, he climbed the stairs.

He called softly, "Angel?"

Still no answer.

He approached the bedroom, and there, on the doorstep, he couldn't help but smile, a smile filled with both affection and wonder.

Aziraphale slept on the bed, the book he was reading open on his chest.

The demon realized it was the first time the angel had slept anywhere but in his arms or at his side.

Crowley couldn't help but smile warmly as the words he'd just read danced before his eyes.

He approached cautiously and nestled close to Aziraphale's head. He moved his hand forward and gently ran his fingers through the angel's soft curls. Aziraphale smiled in response and awoke gently. He turned his head toward Crowley and leaned into the demon's hand as it stroked his hair.

He opened his eyes and his smile widened as his gaze met Crowley's, now very close.

"Crowley, my l-dear?"

The demon, who had clearly heard the slip of the tongue, said softly, "Shhh..." and put a finger to Aziraphale's mouth, who kissed him playfully.

Then Crowley began to speak, his eyes in Aziraphale's, "Dear Aziraphale, I received your letter. I know I may not have had the right to read it, but I don't regret it and I will be happy to answer it."

"Cr-"

Crowley shook his head, "Let me finish, will you?"

He kissed his forehead gently and continued, "You gave me hope when I thought I had none. When you, an angel, spread your wing to protect me, a demon. You made me forget the loneliness of being a demon of another kind when you showed me that you were an angel of another kind as well, making our two loneliness the first we."

Crowley paused for a moment as he saw a tear roll down Aziraphale's cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, kissed him gently and continued, "You make me laugh, Aziraphale, you make me smile when sometimes I just can't. I'm not afraid to fail because I know you'll catch me. When I don't feel like going on, you're the one who keeps me going. I love that we take care of each other, that we lean on each other. And finally, I'm going to be as sappy as you, I also love that you're the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. And I like the idea of that being forever."

Crowley moved even closer and whispered against Aziraphale's lips, "I love you too..." He placed a light kiss on his lips and continued, "More than anything.

The angel, his eyes shining, whispered, "My love..." before pulling the demon to him and pressing his lips to his in a long, tender kiss.

Because sometimes words, whether on paper or spoken aloud, weren't enough to express what you felt.

Because sometimes happiness was speechless, you just had to know it was there.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

Eddie, diary, detention ^^

Oh, y'all are getting sick of Eddie fluff fics? Too bad, sorry xoxoxo 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

“Goddamn Carver,” Eddie mutters to himself, slinging his backpack onto the desk and plopping into the attached chair. “Always running his goddamn mouth and then pulling the ‘But I have basketball practice’ excuse to get outta trouble.” He brings his voice up to a grating falsetto, mocking the jock’s whiny tone. “But does Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson get the same courtesy for his Hellfire campaigns? No, sir, he does not.”

“Wonderful monologue, Mr. Munson,” Mrs. O’Donnell says dryly, heels clacking as she walks through the open doorway. “Perhaps you’ll be a playwright in your next life.”

“Like one lifetime isn’t enough,” Eddie grumbles, low enough so his least favorite teacher can’t hear him.

O’Donnell peers at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You know the drill better than I do, Mr. Munson,” she scoffs with a wry smile. “One hour. No talking, no music, no funny business. You may do homework if you’d like, though I don’t anticipate you choosing now to act like a star student.”

Eddie slumps down into his seat. He’d already counted all the ceiling tiles last week when he ended up here after shoving Patrick for picking on Dustin Henderson. Guess I’ll start on the floor tiles now, he thinks grimly.

He makes it to 28 before something catches his eye. In one of the baskets underneath a desk is a purple leather-bound notebook. The way it’s resting halfway out of the basket looks like it had fallen out of a backpack or accidentally left behind. It’s too fancy to only be used for school, and it piques his curiosity.

“Uh, Mrs. Oh-Dee?” Eddie blurts out, shooting his hand up in the air. “Can I grab a textbook? I think I’m gonna take you up on that homework offer.”

The teacher rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she quips. “And for the last time, stop calling me that.”

But Eddie’s already scrambling to the seat, plucking the journal from its spot and shielding it with a history book. As soon as he opens the cover, his eyes widen.

This diary belongs to is printed on the first page, with a name handwritten in neat cursive underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, earning a scowl from O’Donnell. This is your diary.

Eddie doesn’t have too many classes with you; you’re in mostly honors courses, while he’s in his third senior year. But you do take health together, and he constantly finds himself stealing glances at you whenever he can.

He knows he shouldn’t read any further; he can close the diary and turn it into the Lost and Found box. But Eddie Munson’s never been known for his impulse control, and before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages.

Most of the entries don’t draw too much of his attention. There’s one from a few weeks ago about an argument you had with your best friend, but Eddie’s seen you two laughing together since then, so he assumes all’s well. A few days ago, you’d just written, “that history test was a bitch” accompanied by a frowning face. Eddie laughs quietly, knowing you’d probably aced it.

It’s the entry after that where he finds what he’s looking for.

Mr. Ellison paired me up with Eddie today! We had to work on an anti-smoking poster together, which was ironic, because he reeked of cigarettes. He asked me what I was doing this weekend, and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn’t. Guess he’s not into shy nerdy girls. Then again, who would be?

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. If you only knew how much he wants to take you to dinner, hold hands across the table, maybe kiss you after splitting an ice cream sundae. He had planned on asking you out that day, only to wimp out at the last second.

He hastily tears out the page and pulls out a number two pencil that’s sharpened down to a nub. In the margins next to your entry, he draws and arrow and writes:

He’s definitely into shy nerdy girls, but he didn’t think you’d be into loud metalheads. Meet me at my locker tomorrow before health?

He slips the diary into his bag, vowing to put the note in your locker after his prison sentence—erm, detention, is over.

The next day, Eddie waits by his locker in between second and third periods. His heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach is doing that flip-flop thing it does before a gig. He relaxes a bit when he sees you walking towards him, note in hand.

“Hey,” you say softly, holding up the sheet of paper. “Did you…”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah, that was me,” he admits.

Your ears heat up, suddenly bashful. When you found the note, you’d assumed it was some prank by one of the jocks. The fact that it actually was Eddie gives you heart palpitations. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you manage.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me till, y’know, I read it,” Eddie mumbles, hoping you’re not too angry about that.

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, we’re just snooping through diaries now? A bit juvenile, dontcha think?” But your tone is light, despite the truthfulness of your statement.

“It, um, wasn’t my finest moment,” Eddie’s cheeks turn pink as he reaches into his bag, “which is why I wanted to show you this.” He pulls out a tattered composition book and hands it to you. “It’s not as cute as yours—oh, which I also have, heh.” He offers you your beloved purple journal.

“Thanks,” you mutter, ensuring that it’s now safely stored in your own backpack before bringing your attention back to his notebook. “What’s this?”

Eddie bites his lower lip anxiously. “It’s my lyric book,” he explains sheepishly. “But not the one I show the guys. This has all my lovey-dovey songs in it. Y’know, shit they’d kick my ass for.” Another nervous chuckle. “They’re, um, they’re about you.”

“Me?!” you ask incredulously.

“Yeah,” he smiles, letting his fingertips graze your hand. “Figured it was only fair, since I totally read your stuff.”

You flip through the pages, heart warming at the words etched on them. Lyrics like, her smile melts me like snow on my tongue/grow old together but we’ll always feel young make you giggle. “These are really good,” you muse.

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Not too corny?”

“Oh, no,” you tease him, “they are extremely corny. But I’m a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, so…” You trail off as Eddie grins.

“Maybe I could play them for you sometime? Like after school today?” He winces, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he thinks he does.

You nod. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Eddie closes his locker and turns to you slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Actually, what do you say we ditch health and hang out at mine? I promise I’m a lot more interesting than whatever Ellison is going to lecture us about today.”

You peer around the hallway, making sure it’s clear of teachers before slipping your hand into Eddie’s larger, calloused one. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s my girl.”

#bug's 2k celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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lou-struck · 1 year

Text

Sugar and Secrets

Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Prompt:💌 + bakery!

Genre: Fluff

WC: 1.7k

A/n: I wrote 1.2k of this and hated it so I had to scrap it and go another direction.

~This is one of the requested prompts for My Emoticon Expression’s Event; check out the masterlist On my welcome page.

When you own a bakery, there is nothing more satisfying than having to restock a tray of sold-out goods. The tray of strawberry shortcake rolls only got sent out an hour but now, not even crumbs remain on the doily-lined platter. Carefully remove the old sheet and replace it with a new one. The sweet scent of sliced strawberries and sugar fills your nose as you take a deep breath, wondering how quickly these will sell out.

The bell on the inside of the bakeries door chimes merrily, and a voice calls to you from the entrance. “It looks like you’ve got mail,”

The cheery tone brings a smile to your face as you see Anne, one of your bakery’s part-time employees, coming toward you; in her hand is a pink and red striped envelope that makes your heart flutter.

“They sent another one?” you say softly, feeling your cheeks heat up. Over the past few months, you have received dozens of little notes and letters from what people around you call a secret admirer.

These little notes are filled with lovely written compliments and praises that have filled you with confidence and have brought a new kind of light into your life.

“they did! You should open it and see what they said today. I think it is so cute that you have a secret admirer like that.” She says, handing the letter to you. “Don’t you wonder what they look like?”

“I’m curious for sure, but so many people come in here all the time it’s hard to narrow it down to one suspect.” You say, toying with the seal on the envelope

The truth is that who they are doesn’t matter much to you, not when you already have feelings for someone else. Someone you are sure would never have to resort to sending anonymous love letters.

“Or are you just not interested because of a certain Pro Hero customer that comes in here all the time.” she giggles, dodging out of the way of your playful swat with ease.

“Tamaki Amajiki is just a customer,” you mutter. “He’s one of the Top Pro Heroes; he can have anyone he wants; I don’t stand a chance.”

She frowns at your self-deprecation slightly before bumping your shoulder. “You can be so blind sometimes. I’m gonna go clock in; tell me what the letter says once you read it.”

“Maybe,” you tease gently, opening the envelope and opening the crisp parchment. The carefully penned handwriting stares back at you as you read.

Y/n,

Your smile is just as sweet as your baking. They both radiate warmth and are made with love.

My day gets a bit brighter every time I walk into your bakery.

Maybe one day I may feel bold enough to tell you all these things in person, but for now, I hope these notes suffice.

~Your Secret Admirer

You reread the letter a few times, letting the sincere compliments fill you with joy. If you ever find out who your secret admirer is, you will be sure to slip them freebies whenever you can. Even if you can’t return their feelings.

The entry bell rings again, and you jump a bit, sliding the envelope under the countertop before the customer comes in. A figure wearing a long white cape with gold accents on the hood walks carefully across your clean floors.

Your day just got one hundred times better. “Hey there, Suneater.” you beam, giving the pro hero your best smile.

“H-hey y/n, it’s good to see you,” he says, his eyes already eagerly scanning the display case for what catches his eye today. Unlike your other regulars who stick to buying the same couple of pastries every time they visit, he likes to order a variety, wanting to try something different every time. It keeps you on your toes and inspires you to bring in new desserts as often as you can.

“What are we thinking today?” you ask, making an awkward little gesture with your hands at the large variety of sweets in front of you.

He smiles softly, chuckling a bit at your actions. “Could I get one of these, one of those, and one of each of the cream puff flavors?” he asks. “Is there anything else you recommend?”

“The new shortcake rolls have been doing well.” you smile, pointing to the pristine tray you just restocked. “I know how much you like strawberries.”

He looks a bit surprised that you remembered that about him, but he thanks you anyways, walking over to the coffee station to fill his cup.

Your eyes scan your large display case, searching for the best-looking pastries to give to the shy hero. Although it takes longer, you grab ones from the middle that look the best to place carefully into his pink and brown spotted pastry box.

Throwing in several extra pasties and meat buns for good measure

Sure, it may be irresponsible to give away so many products for free, but sneaking him food is the only way you can express your feelings for him.

“Here you go,” you smile, placing the box in front of him as he taps his credit card against your card reader.

“Excuse me, uh y/n.” he says, looking into his box of pastries, “I think you may have miscounted; I only asked for one of each.”

“No, I didn’t miscount.” you smile, “I just wanted to pack you a little something extra today since you’ve been working so hard. You’re my best customer, after all.”

He gives you the most adorable smile as the tips of his pointy ears turn pink, “I think Fat is really your best customer, but-”

“Tamaki,” you sigh, using his first name without thinking and pushing the box closer to him, “Take the freebies; you deserve it.”

“R-really? Thank you then.” he smiles, his eyes never leaving your own. “I’ll see you later, y/n.”

“Thank you for coming in,” you mumble, watching as he takes your carefully packaged box and leaves you with your thoughts.

One week later, you are getting ready to close up for the night, sweeping the floor with frustrated concentration.

You didn’t receive a letter today,

And Tamaki hasn’t come into the bakery in a week.

Is it possible that your secret admirer has lost interest in you and your crush is avoiding you?

You are so wrapped up in your thoughts you don’t notice the uneven cart of ingredients in your path. You bump it slightly, sending a bag of powdered sugar tumbling to the ground. It immediately bursts at the seams, sending a thick cloud of white powder into the air.

“Shit,” you yelp, inhaling the cloud of sugar in the air. The sweetness overwhelms you and sends you into a fit of coughing. Sugar gets everywhere, your hair, your eyes, up your nose. You can’t see anything, and the sensation burns as you try to wipe it away blindly.

“Are you okay?” Voice calls from the entrance.

“No, I need help, “you cough. The voice sounds so familiar you feel that you can trust them in your time of need.

You hear rustling as your savior comes towards you. “I-it’s okay, I am here.” They say, gently taking your hand and wiping away the sugar from your face with a gentle touch. It takes a few seconds for you to blink away the last bit of the product, but then you see the handsome yet concerned face of Tamaki Amajiki.

“Suneater?” You say, coughing, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“What happened?” He asks, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a bit clumsy. “You explain cleaning a bit more of the powdered sugar off of you. “I accidentally knocked over a bag of sugar, and it did not feel great to breathe in.”

“That sounds like something you would do,” he says, giving you a sweet wobbly smile, his violet eyes still looking over you carefully. If he notices the coating of sugar on your skin, he doesn’t mention it.

“Thank you for helping me, but what are you doing here? I thought you came in already today.”

He looks around nervously, his hand balled up in a fist. “Well, it’s just that I-I,” he starts to say, but then you notice some things sticking out of his pocket. A very familiar-looking red and white striped envelope.

In an instant, you reach for it, pulling it away from him before he can react. These are the envelopes your secret admirer uses. “Is it you? Have you been the one leaving these letters?”

He casts his eyes to the sugar-coated ground and nods.

Your heart feels as if it is going to burst out of your chest; not only has the customer you have been crushing on for a year been your secret admirer. But why does he look so sad?

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” you ask.

“You were probably expecting someone else,” he sighs, giving you a look that makes your heart want to break. “Someone more confident and capable than me.”

‘Is he serious?’ you think to yourself, ‘Tamaki Amajiki is one of the most amazing people you have ever met. How is it possible that someone who builds your confidence so easily with his words struggles so deeply with his own?’

“Tamaki, I haven’t thought about anyone else. I liked you even before the letters,” you say, taking his hand and giving it a soft little squeeze.

His features light up with hope as he begins to realize that you like him too.

“Then would you maybe want to get dinner tonight?” he asks, his voice coming out steady and comfortable.

“Well, first, I need to go home and shower, but after that, I would love to.” you laugh, glancing at your reflection in the mirror.

“Maybe we should skip the dessert then; I think we have had a bit too much sugar today.” He quips boldly, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter.

#bnha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tamaki amajiki #bnha x you #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki x reader #tamaki amakiji #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #mha tamaki #bnha tamaki

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